Before I came to the United States in March of 1998 I knew almost nothing about traditional lead climbing. I had, however, gone top-rope climbing at Kangaroo Point (Brisbane, Australia) on a handful of occasions. Many years ago, perhaps sometime around 1988 while I was an undergraduate at Griffith University, I was invited to go along with the uni climbing club and try climbing - for free! Being a starving student and searching for something interesting to try I jumped at the chance. It was fun, I met some friendly and encouraging people and I found that I enjoyed the experience quite a lot. With only a slight twinge of pain I paid the $5 membership fee and proceded to go climbing with the club whenever I could, the club supplied all the necessary gear. Anyway, on one of these trips (I think I only went about a dozen times in total) I can dimly remember being at the cliffs and seeing something very strange. There was this guy climbing, which wasn't strange at all, but he was not top-roping. He was trailing his rope after him. It was quite a shock to see this. Somebody pointed out for me all the shiny jangling stuff hanging from his harness.

"Protection." I was told.

I was being invited to climb nearby, so I didn't really pay any more attention after that. But I do remember that my grasp on exactly how this guy would "protect" himself from a fall was almost non-existant. I didn't see this style of climbing again for over ten years.

In the Spring of 1998, during a hike at Ragged Mountain (Connecticut) with a bunch of new friends, I saw rock climbers on the main cliff. Actually, I didn't see the climbers as such, but their presence could be inferred from all of the complicated rock-biting or crevass-jamming devices being used to anchor some top-ropes at the top of the cliff. The walking trail went right by, even over, these set-ups. I remember that we stopped and crept to the edge of the cliff to look down at the climbers. My most vivid memory is that of Leon, hanging on to the rock and leaning way out to get a clear view. It was unsettling.

Leon took a few of us top-roping a couple of times later that year. It was at Chatfield Hollow and it was during the Fall. One time we were bar-b-queing with a bunch of friends and Leon found this very small crag and in the dying light of day set up a short top-rope which a few of us had a go on. I remember losing a glove around there somewhere. On another occasion we set up a climb on another, slightly larger, cliff and enjoyed several hours of true top-roping fun. Fun, that is, until I fell. I had just finished a climb and I was being lowered by Gordon MacGregor. Let me interrupt for a moment to talk about Gordon.

Gordon MacGregor is a Scot and a madman. Which makes him excellent company if you can cajole him into an evening of quaffing fine beer or even finer whiskey. A happier face you'll not find behind a glass of single malt. He's also a climber of some experience. He would never give us all the details or tell fully of his adventures in the Scottish highlands, but we surmise from snatches and hints that he knows his stuff. So I was unconcerned by the body belay.

We both had a bit of a brain-explosion during the lowering off. We thought it would be cool if I sort-of abseiled down. Pushing off from the wall and MacGregor lowering me down with each jump. Unfortunately I pushed off very strongly and MacGregor saw, as he lowered me, that I had built up quite a bit of potential. He had to keep paying out the rope with my push, for if he stopped it too soon I would smack quite hard against the cliff. He only stopped it just as I hit the ground. Now it wasn't really very far, although I believe that as time passes I mentally stretch the distance with each retelling of the tale. If I were to guess now I would say somewhere between 15 and 20 feet. Certainly not a life-threatening distance. However I came to earth with a thump and solidly wacked my heel against a stone hidden under the fallen Fall foliage. To calm me, MacGregor and the others (Leon and Leila) we immediately retired to Essex on the Connecticut River to have a beer (or two) in one of the fine drinking establisments that may be found there. Additional to the Guinness we supped we also purchased two bottles of wine, neither of which survived the return to New Haven. So in the end I felt no pain at all, until the next day of course.

Winter came and climbing sort of fell by the way-side. I believe that some-time during 1999 we joined the climbing gym in Wallingford and went there once a week. Although Leon found it very difficult to get us to go rock climbing with him outside. Perhaps we got to Chatfield Hollow again once that year. I don't really remember.

The following year (2000) saw a great change. We went top rope climbing at Ragged Mountain a couple of times, we even went once on New Haven's Snake Rock (very close to East Rock), and our gym climbing was improving steadily. Some time in June Leon suggested that maybe we could try lead climbing. Leila, I and he agreed to go to New Hampshire and pay for the services of a guide, who would teach us what was involved. Which, in July, we did.

It's the story at the bottom of the climbing list, just above the link that brought you to this page.