Saturday 13^th.

Park on the pullover just under the cliffs at Cathole Pass. Slog up through a foot of snow following steps someone else had taken sometime in the preceding days. But they stop too soon. Whoever it was gave up and turned back. So we break trail on our own, slipping and sliding on snow and the loose stone just underneath it. Get to the base of the little cliff. Drifts of deeper snow are everywhere. Untrammelled. Nobody has been up here for more than a week. Of course not, this is January for Christ's sake. Who the hell would want to climb here now?

Well, Leon does. He leaves the east coast in a couple of months, possibly never to return. He wants to do a few classics before he goes. Fair enough. We're here at Cathole Pass in central Connecticut to do Pegasus. A beautiful dihedral crack of sustained difficulty, a classic rated at 5.8 with some adequate protection. Adequate, that is, if you don't mind leading trap-rock choss. This stuff blows pro in presidential style, it's a total surprise every time ... even though it shouldn't be.

It's cold, the sun doesn't reach this face except for a short time in the afternoon. At least there's no breeze to speak of and in reaching the top he'll be climbing into the arms of the sun itself. Leon suits up, sitting on a ledge to change shoes. Pretty soon he's on his way. His hands start to freeze up so badly and so quickly that he briefly considers bailing. But he knows that this opportunity may be the last. So he shuts his mouth, ignores his pain and works upward towards the crux.

Overhanging left face of the dihedral, smooth vertical right face, poorly protected. An unavoidable runout to the edge of your limits. Fighting, shaking, gasping, Leon makes each move count. Not one single mistake. No penalty incurred. The leader does not fall. He's over it and I'm breathing again. In goes some protection, he continues up and the shivers melt away. The rest of it is just as sweet. Leon doesn't get lost, he doesn't ask for help, he doesn't put a foot wrong. His hands even warm up a little. Around the roof near the top and he's out of view. Snow tumbles down and tells me that he's moving up to the last ledges and the top. He's over, the rope smoothly pulling through my hands as he marches off to find an anchor. Three tugs and I know he's ready to come off the belay.

I follow. Feeling the stone chill of deep cold. Falling. Freezing hands that cannot hold an edge. Falling. Flailing like a man drowning in his own frustration. Falling. How did he do this? How? How? Leon's lead today was light years ahead of anything else either of us had done before. Awesome. Absolutely awesome.