I could feel the lactic acid leaking into my every muscle as I clung to the wall.  My legs felt like a sewing machine in an Indonesian sweatshop; there was no end to the shaking.  I thrust my arm deeper into the narrow crevasse.  The rock from the chasm bared its vicious teeth and grated my flesh as I struggled to secure a hold on the tiniest piece of rock.  Finally, I managed to elongate my arm just enough to get a hand on that precious gray chunk of stone.  I tried to ease my mind, tried to push the pain out, tried to gain the courage to do what was of vital importance.  “SLACK!” I yelled, back down to my partner, the person who secured my safety in his sweaty grasp.  I felt the tension go out of the line and knew it was time for work.

            With my left arm securely wedged into place in the tiny gap of the wall, I took my right, reached down to my hip and grabbed a quickdraw.  This neat little device has two carabiners attached by a stout piece of nylon webbing that is usually about eighteen inches long. Eighteen inches didn’t feel nearly long enough for the task at hand.  I reached up and with practiced precision, clipped one end into the shiny silver clip a couple of feet from my head.  Pressured, I hurriedly pulled up a few feet of rope to clip in to the other end.  My arm was burning.  My legs were trembling.  My grip was slick with perspiration and threatened to drop the lifeline.  I extended the rope, held by my now quivering arm, up over my head and towards the carabiner.  My body was screaming for release from the tremendous pressure.  Sweat poured from every gland. 

            With a faint click, the gate on the carabiner hit home, my rope securely in place.

            I managed a booming, “Tighten it up!”

            “You’re good!” echoed the gruff voice from below.