“New rack?” Will asks. Gear is, indeed, very new and very shiny. Never been used. Product of last week's shopping trip.

“ . . . and a s-s-set of nuts, please, and s-some extenders . . .” Pause. “They're called quickdraws, love.” Scuttle out, red-faced.

First time climbing with Will, for that matter. Since he offered a belay, he obviously hasn't heard the me-joke yet. He will, in time. I am the club zero. It's no fun being the zero, but an awful lot of bigger numbers would look pretty daft without it. Every pile has to have a bottom.

Will's been climbing a long time – well over a year – and knows his gear. “Pretty long rope you've got on those hexes. Still, I've always thought the club ones were tied off too short.”

I've never seen the club rack. One rack, and the top of the pecking order get first dibs. Never even seen a hex in use, no idea how long the rope should be.

Onto the rock. Let's get it over with before the audience gathers and the “you shouldn't be doing that” line comes out.

Half-overheard, “ . . . not a climber. Only here cos she fancies Phil”. No, I don't.

Wiggle a nut in. Will can see it and hasn't said owt, so presumably it's Ok.

“A nut should be placed in a natural constriction, with as much metal as possible in contact with the rock.” Engineering student - if in doubt, read the instructions and guess. Of the grand total of two routes I've seconded during my six-month climbing career, I think I've seen one placement that conformed to that description.

Up, hands scraping on the grit. Hex eleven, sideways across the crack just like the picture in the book. Clip the too-long purple rope. Breathe.
“Erm . . . hate to tell you this?” Will sounds totally relaxed. “You do realise you've clipped the wrong bit?” Look down. The trailing tail of the knot, dangling through the carabiner, looks back, mocking.

You shouldn't be here, you know. Climbers only and all that. “Oops.” Clip the right bit in, careful not to fumble it. Easy mistake to make. I hope.

Only easy for incompetents. Why not turn round now before you kill yourself?

Udge up. Reach across into the other crack. Nothing to hold onto.

Wasn't it somewhere round here that JR broke his back?

Cold enough to see breath. Sweating. Outside the little bubble of insane cold fear, the rest of crag is blissful normality. Sunglint and rackjangle. Happy fleecefolk having happy smiley days out. Lucky them. Try to cram hand sideways into crack. Blood. Hex looks so very far away.

Your choice, you idiotic little girl. If you want to play with the boys, you take the knocks with the boys. You chose to be here.

Cram hand back into crack. Ignore the blood and pull. Hand pulls straight out again, try to scrabble back downwards, miss holds entirely.

Fuck.

The end of the rope arrives surprisingly gently.

Will doesn't bother to tie on. He just ambles casually up the rock. Stops. Feels. Ambles casually down the rock, knocking the hex upwards to free it as he goes. “Bit stiff for the grade, that one. Baggy jams.” Pause. “Good hex.”

Maybe, just maybe, the gap between clueless and competent isn't as big as I think.

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