“You want my XTC?” I said, blurting with nerves.

“XTC...?. There was a flick of his thick, dark eyebrows.

“... you mean ATC?...Though both gonna help you get high I guess.” Dave grinned so wide it creased his eyes, nodded knowingly, and broke into a chuckle. A warmth flushed my face. Wrong guy, wrong comment, I thought.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

We'd become friends through a need to climb. Me, to push away from my safe, soft-edged life; him to try to return to it. I looked forward to Wednesday evenings as a chance to cut away from my endless routine, from the meaningless talk and half-promises of the day. For Dave climbing was a familiar friend he could trust through difficult times - routine brought safety which brought calm. We'd climbed indoors every week for a year or so – him the seasoned, assured climber steadily teaching me even when I wasn't prepared to listen, me the fiery over-confident new boy fancying myself to second anything he could sling a rope up. We'd reached an impasse – the monotony and boredom I'd looked to escape had returned like the humid stuffy air of the wall, while Dave's memories of exhilarating leads intoxicated his thoughts into suggesting we should move to the next high and get on the lead - I'd accepted without thinking. Hell, it certainly sounded cool. As the sou'wester blustered through my shivering T-shirt I was cursing my vanity.

There was an awkward silence.

“You good?” he said, searching for some indication that I knew what all the gear around my waist did.

“Yeah!” I said, nervously swinging my arms to and fro, “Bring it on!”, trying to convince at least one of us this was a good idea.

Dave was on the up. By the lack of track marks, I knew he'd cut back his habit, I'd heard he'd committed to counselling, and the wide-eyed, angry disbelief of our boss had softened into much needed support and understanding. As we shook hands to leave on Wednesday nights and his outline melted away into the soft mist under the street lights, I felt confident he'd appear the next morning oozing nothing more worrying than stories of my appalling footwork and gung-ho attitude. Even his darkest comments ended with a wry grin of self-knowing.

We'd top-roped the route twice comfortably, agreed that I looked OK and he pulled the rope before I could hesitate. I squinted up into the sunlight and pretended to think it through, and with a nervous dusting off of my shoes, I stepped up. The first few moves felt tense and the lack of a top rope jangling in my face constantly reminded me this was different.

“You gonna stick some gear in at some point?” came a sardonic voice from below.

“Uuhh... Yeah... Jeez... Sorry.” I glanced down, my chest thumped, and I fumbled a nut and two cams in the next three feet. I realised how amateur this looked, swore at myself and called down more in panic than in need. “Err... which way now?”

“Up” came the inevitable answer, with a slow nod.

I thanked him with a series of carefully chosen four-letter expletives, jittered to myself to stay relaxed, and slowly the feeling of the route flooded back to my hands and feet. I topped out.

As I clambered to my feet and turned to look down, the tension and cold gave way to a warm energy coursing through my limbs, a meaningless laugh spilling over into the crisp air. I pulled the rope up, hands tingling, dizzy with pleasure, giggling to myself. “This is the buzz”, I thought.

“Safe” I called down.

Pause.

“You reckon?” came the reply.

I laughed again, but not quite as much.

www.dmmclimbing.com

Write approximately 500 words about your first outdoor lead and supply an image of you climbing (not necessarily your first lead) and submit to: http://www.ukclimbing.com/articles/send.html

The competition will be judged by us here at DMM and the winner announced on Monday 24th December and will win a complete DMM rack worth £500.

But more than that, everyone who submits an essay will receive a spot prize.

More details HERE