What's the worst climbing day you've ever had?

I was recently having a discussion with some friends about the best climbing days ever, but afterwards I got to thinking about the worst. I've been fortunate enough to narrowly miss some epics (getting caught in a lightning storm in Dream Canyon comes to mind...) but I've still had some pretty crappy days at the crags.

One day at Smith Rock in high-school stands out: it was searing hot that day and it felt like we were climbing in a kiln. Nobody really had the energy to do much and the whole drive down there was starting to feel like a waste of time. I hopped on an .11d I was hoping to onsight and my belayer, rather than pay attention to me, struck up a conversation with someone and managed to drop me 30ft. to the ground when I fell off the crux. No broken bones or anything, but needless to say I was in a pretty foul mood afterwards. I then managed to twist my ankle while hiking back to the car, got shot down by the cute girl I was hitting on at the campground, slept like crap all night, and didn't climb at all the next day before driving home. Pretty much a wasted weekend in every respect.

Not so bad in the grand scheme of things, but I'd love to hear other's stories.

One of my friend's epics was enough to give me a bad day:

Anthill Direct - Redgarden Wall, Eldo. Offroute/runout/hard climbing - supposed to be a nice warm bluebell day. Got hammered while offroute with freezing sleet/hail/drizzle. Couldn't go up or down, had to commit on a scary anchor position. He probably still doesn't know how they survived that!

Why is it my bad day? Because I couldn't be on the wall also.

There are no bad days of climbing.....Any day outside climbing in any conditions beats the sofa, or "wish I had gone" attitude.
Each "epic" is a learning experience,
and each good day keeps you coming back for more.

Decko wrote:There are no bad days of climbing.....Any day outside climbing in any conditions beats the sofa, or "wish I had gone" attitude. Each "epic" is a learning experience, and each good day keeps you coming back for more.

Decko wrote:There are no bad days of climbing.....Any day outside climbing in any conditions beats the sofa

You know one of my buddies, Phil, calls these days retrospective fun.

Probably the day I got Pulmonary Edema up on Aconcagua.

Or the time I climbed Chip Tower in Canyonlands. Whipped at the start of the second pitch when some rock broke, and broke three ribs hitting the belay ledge. I managed to finish the route purely because Joe the Bleeder heckled me until I had no choice, but it wasn't pleasant.

1. Exploding diarrhea en route to climb in the Indian Peaks.
2. And messed up rap on climb in RMNP.

Both days, my couch would have been a better friend than the peaks I was climbing.

Attempted Crimson Chrysalis on a very cold day in brutal winds. We should have gotten the picture of what our day would be like, as three parties ahead of us bailed, including two ice climbers. The parties all bailed from the first pitch, so it caused us to have a later start than we had planned. To make matters worse, a Crimson Chrysalis rat chewed a hole in the bottom of my water bladder and all my water drained out of it. He also ate half my food, which was in a little ziploc. WORD OF ADVICE: HANG YOUR PACKS AS SOON AS YOU GET TO THE BASE OF C.C.

I was horrible girlfriend and didn't tell my Jonny, because I didn't want to ruin our day. We continued on in the torturous cold and brutal winds and made it 6 pitches up, then darkness fell. We had to bail with our tails between our legs, cold, miserable and dehydrated. I think I had told him on the third pitch of the reason I didn't have any water and I why I drank half of his. I remember he just looked at me with a straight face. It's a good thing my Jonny never panics. The worst part of the day was only just beginning. We didn't complete the climb and our ropes got blown in every direction when pulling, due to high winds and got stuck on every rap. I was very lucky to have a rigger boyfriend, let me tell you! He had to handle every rope situation, doing scary traversing, complicated rope management, soloing etc... while I hung there at every rap anchor and froze my ass off. (I hate to say, I deserved it!) A couple of times it seemed like it was taking forever and I was like, "What the hell, did something go wrong, is he still alive?" I had racing thoughts of, "If he's injured or worse, what should I do?" Plans on self rescue were going through my mind, as there were no other climbers on this route or anywhere near this route. I had a few skills on self rescue but I wasn't confident enough in what I knew to put me at ease. The only thing that made me feel better while I was hanging and freezing was closing my eyes and imagining myself warm in my bed at home under my down comforter with a gallon of water, hot coffee, and a hot plate of food on my night-stand.

Anyway...to make a long story shorter, Jonny got us down, and even though I thought at the base of C.C. I didn't want to climb for a month after that, I believe we climbed a couple of days later (short trad routes). We returned to do C.C. later on and had a great, smooth, beautiful climbing day to the top. Was a little hot though, in the 90's, and not much shade. It's hard to get the weather just perfect for this route. Such is life.

Convincing a friend to come to the Gunks, looking forward to showing them around, only to have them belittle the place, delay gettting to the cliff endlessly, only to climb 4 pitches in a 5-day trip. And then hearing later that they returned home and were spraying about how shitty the place was. The Gunks....uh huh....

I'm tied --

1) winter road-trip to Red Rocks in which a) partner's van broke in middle of Utah, spent night in -20 deg. until tow truck arrived; towed 80 miles to Cedar City; b) spent 2 days waiting for van to be fixed (timing belt); c) during 2-day interlude partner and I got angry at one another, decided to call off trip; d) partner totalled van on the return trip in downtown Denver.

or

2) Regular partner was a no-show at Eldo, I decided to climb with a guy I met in parking lot. He leads p's 1/2 of West Buttress on the Bastille, decides to take a leak mid-lead all over the holds on the route, calls down "uh, you might want to avoid some of these holds". Then, after climbing, he tried to steal some of my gear.

I agree with what one other person wrote that in retrospect the epics weren't so bad by comparison -- what really sticks is the (fortunately few) times when something just wasn't right with the partnership. Maybe I just haven't had a bad enough epic yet....

How about... Being awoken (before 4 in the morning from a dead sound sleep) way off the deck on the last day of climbing the Hallucinogen Wall to driving sleet and lightning hitting the river. In under 3 minutes Gingus and I were out of our portaledges and into etriers with knives in hand wondering what metal we could do without. Everything below us was overhanging so we shivered til dawn knowing our only chance was to climb up through it. At one point, while Joe hunkered down on lead, I was being blown completely off the belay, flown around at the end of my tether, and battered into the flying haul bag. The wind and sleet were one thing but it was the intense static electricity, that felt like being stung by a thousand wasps, that really got on my nerves enough to say "that's it I'm dead!". Spending all day climbing to survive while watching lightning sizzle down your back and explode into mushroom clouds in the river all along knowing I was surely next wasn't my worst day of climbing. Just one of a few I would not want to repeat.

I guess I'm lucky. I really can't think of a BAD day of climbing. I really like climbing. Usually the worst days of "climbing" have come not from the climbing part but from the other events around the climbing.

I remember a day that I thought was going to be bad, but as always turned out good, just cause I was out.

We were getting ready to wrap up a day of short sport routes when my buddy's sister and some friend came down from Narcolepsy. They were heading in too, so my buddy and I decided to borrow their rack, and go take a crack at the JHCOB wall.

Well it was about 3:30 when we started up the slate scramble, and by the time we had finished the 2nd pitch, the sun was setting.

Well, my buddy was the better leader, so he headed up the 3rd pitch, using a PETZL spelunking head lamp to place his gear. We had brought with us a big Army rucksack, loaded with with a couple of old 11 mil topropes, some junk and a 6 pack of Bud. It had a metal frame and weighed a ton, and we had been tying it and dragging it up until then, but there was a roof I had to get over and we didn't trust pulling the backpack over that, so I tried for a half hour to summit that little roof with that big backpack on me. I fell a couple of dozen times, until finally I made it over. We finished the final pitch in pitch (pun not intended) black dark, and sat at the top and each popped the top of a warm beer, and dangled our feet off the edge into the blackness of a beautiful, warm Cottonwood evening.

That was a good day. The walk off wasn't bad either.

was climbing in el potrero on diablo's path. 1st- rapped past the anchors and had ascend (on an ATC) up 20 ft and go to the left 20 ft. 2nd- the next rappel (due to lack of use of brain). we couldn't pull the ropes. 3rd- fortunately it was a hanging belay in the middle of outrage wall. luck was with us though, and since we were rapping with a 50 and 60 m ropes the last 5m of the 60 got us to a comfy belay ledge. now at least we were comfortably 100' + off the ground. 4th- it wasn't too bad being without water and food all day at the end of a marathon spring break climbing trip. but luck was with us as a friend came looking for us since we were due back several hours earlier. he led the pitch up to us allowing us to be on the ground where we could eat and drink. 5th- we then had to get aiders to go retrieve our ropes!

after collapsing in exhaustion that night, we woke the next morning to a 22 hour drive home.

yes....they are better memories when you are home and drinking a beer.

Could have been the worst climbing day for this girl but it was all good!

G, Wanna climb today? J

It was a typical text message I would get from John that summer while I was slaving away in a short staffed, high acuity mental health war zone. His text msg. always seemed to come towards the very end of my shift after I had just finished fantasizing about crashing out on my couch for the rest of my evening. Initially, I would cringe when I saw his text for after work climbing, but the mere thought of climbing off my frustrations made me want to meet up with John.

I'd reply with...J, when and where should we meet? (with some typical non-relevant rambling I usually threw in)G

John's straight to the point text,
G, 4:30 Calico Basin, J.

Here we were several months into our self-centered climbing partnership, as we both had limited energy in those days for anything else. I was torturing myself with overtime in a hard-core mental hospital and John was working 6 or 7 day, (60-80 hour) weeks of awful, alternating shifts as a rigger during an install of a new show on the strip.

Being two people that shared a common desperation to climb when we could, a solid climbing partnership quickly developed between us. I got the picture that being two people with limited time, and a shared desperation to climb, that we sometimes overlooked most weather issues. Too hot, cold, windy, and/or possibility of rain, we'll find somewhere and something to climb. I'd only question the weather when I felt like shopping at Bath and Body Works instead, or when I was feeling lazy. John was always so optimistic and up for the climbing. He'd calmly say, "Let's just head out and see," which usually meant, we'll hike to the base of the climb, then see.

Well here we were, heading up to do a nice two-pitch trad climb called Physical Graffiti in Calico Basin, on a stormy looking summer afternoon. Now we knew it might rain, as I remember we both sort of covered our boots and stuff up at the base of the climb. I watched John move over to a flat ledge to gear up and stash his pack. I remember laughing to myself, of the thought of his stuff getting drenched, in the area he had chosen, if it should rain. I was being a bad girl and just had to amuse myself at the thought of it that day. I found a perfect, rain-proof spot for my stuff, pushed up under a little overhang at the base of the route, and threw my rope tarp over it for extra protection.

We started up the climb, with the weather holding out fine for the first pitch, but as John was half-way up his leading of the second pitch a dark cloud suddenly moved over us, with torrential rain, deafening thunder, and bright flashes of lightning dancing around us. I was a somewhat worried being strapped to the anchor atop the first pitch, pre-occupied with all the metal, especially when the lightning strikes seemed to be moving closer to us. John finished his lead, very quickly, and I started following up the beautiful crack that suddenly turned into a huge waterfall in the pouring rain. I blocked out my fear of the possibility of the waterfall getting any bigger and climbed on. I had to literally submerge my entire head and half my body into the waterfall to remove John's gear. I was lucky to be able to laugh for a split second, as some of John's new cams I removed resembled a mini Swamp Thing with leaves and grass entangled in it. Laughing sure does make me feel better in stressful situations. I laughed again (a nervous laugh this time) as I was forced to straddle the waterfall the whole pitch up, as the only effective way to climb, as I couldn't use the crack. I was very surprised at how good my footwork was and how well my shoes could smear on wet sandstone, especially when climbing fast; more on instinct rather than learned skill, I suppose.

As I neared John who was belaying in a little cave, I noticed that he was looking at me funny. Being a girl who was suddenly aware of a little secret crush I had on him, I was embarrassed, as I imagined I must have looked like a wet dog, or a D-movie zombie reject emerging from the waterfall.

When we walked off, the rain stopped. I was happy but couldn't laugh when I saw my rope bag, pack and boots drenched in mud as I unknowingly put my stuff right underneath the waterfall's path. My stuff was thrown around like a rag doll. Looks like John had the better spot after all. I was jealous that he had warm, clean boots to put on but also glad he did. Besides, I deserved what I got for laughing at him earlier.

Months later, when we became a couple, he told me he had stared at me the way he did that day because I looked beautiful coming up from that waterfall and he wanted me near him in that little cave. What a sweetie!

It turned out to be one of my best climbing days with J.

Worst day? Hmmm. Nothing worse than a crappy partner. Took a guy I used to work w/@ a climbing wall on Long Island to climb in NH on Whitehorse & Cathedral Ledges.
Me, my bro, and this guy were on the 4th pitch of a climb on Whitehorse when he decides he wants to go down!!! My Brother & I looked @ each other like WTF Over??!!! We gave him a rope and continued on. That was part one...

The other part has to do w/ some winter camping, an avi 1 course and ice climbing with the same guy. Should have left him @ strike 3. Be careful who you climb with as I feel climbing's often epic days bring out the flaws in one's character.

I am sure that I've got some better stories, but this one always pissed me off.

Hmmm. Worst day decking off The Pirate at Suicide. Decking always ruins a good day and tends to hurt a lot too. And keeps you from climbing for a while.

Second worst, my partner screwed up at the top of Mr. Toads Wild Ride on Fairview in TM and we had to do 2 pitches out rotten, wet, 5.11 roofs with almost no pro.

Having survived both, I now consider them epics that will always be entertaining to talk about, even when I am 90.

No specific order, but a few come to mind.

April 1996. I was dropped while on lead on one of the Elephants and fell 8 meters flat on my back on a ledge. Yes, people do truly bounce, but just once. I actually felt my head compress and bounce back up. Bruised ribs, chipped bones in one heel, concussion, etc... I was NOT wearing a helmet. I soloed for about 4 months after I recovered, but would not climb anything significant with a partner. In retrospect, I had a nice time learning to aid-solo in Zion.

January 3, 1997. Cleaning up brains off a ledge in Eldo, then coming home and finding out that they belonged to a friend. An account in this was published in R&I last year called "Nobody I Knew." In retrospect, I learned that "No man is an island, entire of itself. If a clod is washed away from the main, Europe is the less".

July 3 1997 (1996?) shoot, I don't know, but it was the day the storm wiped out the Redgarden Trail in Eldo. I was 1/2 way up D7 on the Diamond. It felt like standing at the end of a driving range, getting pelted with golfball-sized hail and about drowned besides. Since we bivied at and rapped in from Chasm View, we had to go back up there to get all of our stuff after rapping to the lake. This involved a huge amount of B.S. in bad weather. In retrospect, it taught me respect for mountain weather. Plus, I lived.

Thanksgiving 2001, getting stuck at the top of the First Flatiron soloing and not being able to downclimb because of snow plastered to the backside. I was able to downclimb to about 40' up the backside well North of the standard slab, but RMR had to toss me a rope to rap down from there. It ended up in the local paper, then in USA Today... where my parents read about it. In retrospect I learned that getting up a climb is not the same as getting down it when soloing.

Thanksgiving, perhaps 2002 or 2003, forging my way up off route on Babes In Thailand in Snow Canyon State Park UT. About 400' of new climbing without a bolt kit and largely runout. Complete with a 1000-lb. boulder turning loose while I was climbing there. Getting DOWN was the hard part. I managed to lose nothing but a full set of hexes and some biners (rapping off in spots) In retrospect, I learned that on larger climbs, a headlamp is a must, even if you do finish the route in the light, you have to get back down. One might observe a theme here- that Thanksgiving is apparently not my weekend to go climbing.

July 2004. I survived one of the worst electrical storms I've ever been trapped in on Childhood's End on Big Rock Candy Mountain. My partner's vague description of this is posted on this site under the route description comments.

June 2005. After climbing and more or less on the way back to the car (10 meters away) I was fooling around jumped down to the trail. I ended up with my foot sideways and lodged between two semi-buried rocks (immobile) and then fell over with it stuck there. I ripped up so much anatomy in that foot that I passed out and crapped my pants. I spent my summer disabled. I've since gone back with a sledge hammer and pick-axe and removed the offending rocks, which by probably no coincidence broke someone else's ankle just 1 week later. In retrospect, I learned a few things that day too.
1) Don't fool around even close to your car.
2) Ligaments take a year to heal (I still run with a limp and can't jam thin cracks)
3) I have amazing pals who will literally carry me across a scree-field to a cliff to TR-climb on one foot if I can't walk there.
4) If something hurts bad enough, you can pass out from pain.
5) I should always keep a pair of clean undies in my car.

Trying to bivouac in a tee shirt on the top of Cathedral Spire back in the '70s in Yosemite. Freezing a slow death we rapped off in pitch black, got our ropes snagged in a crack, but did manage to make it back to the crotch. We covered ourselves with rocks to try and keep warm till morning.

The Snake Dance

The other day, an acquaintance of mine, after hearing me spew about yet another climbing adventure, asked me if I ever had a bad day climbing. I had to think about this. After reflecting back upon thirty-four years of pulling down, a memory of one particular day did stand out.
It was on a typical hot and sunny day at Castlewood Canyon, perhaps ten or more years back. The usual crew, The Boys of the Wood, were there, Mike, Scott and Steebo.
We had spent the first few hours bouldering and decided to head over to the east rim to do a few sporty climbs near Patrick Hedgeclipper at The C-Section. I decided to jump on The Korbomite Maneuver. All was going smoothly until I was approaching the anchors when suddenly the rope popped out of the last draw. Dang, I shouldn’t have placed that bolt so close to the corner. Now I was looking at possibly decking on a ledge about fifteen feet below. I needed to concentrate, but it was difficult because of the commotion taking place below me. While I was on the route, Steebo had managed to catch a rattlesnake. The last twelve feet to the anchors was pretty loose back then, even by Crumblewood standards. I managed to make it to the anchors and lower off to the excitement taking place below.
As I was coming down from my adrenal overload, I was, for the first time, able to take notice of what was transpiring at the base. Steebo was holding his proud catch behind its head and showing it off to the boys, when the serpent twisted its head, freaking out Steebo, who lobbed it in my unfortunate direction. The rattler bounced off my shoulder, inducing from me, the classic “snake dance.”
That day would have to be the closest I’ve come to personally experiencing a bad day at the crags. No one wants to reflect on those times that friends or acquaintances have been injured or worse. In retrospect, the day of the snake dance was really pretty cool, now that enough time has passed to put things in perspective.
When everyone comes home in one piece, there is no such thing as a bad day climbing. Getting rained out, losing a send to a competitor, getting kicked off of a classic line on private property, forgetting your rock shoes at home, even having a rattler thrown at you, are all part of the lifestyle and no reason to get bummed.