A life full of different emotions and experiences is a life well-lived. This climb, however, created emotions that I hope no-one will ever experience.

It all began on the summit of El Cap, a place where all great ideas are formed. Basking in the glory of a relatively epic-less ascent of the notorious Reticent Wall, Callum and I confidently believed that we could climb anything. It was time for us to put our Yosemite training to use in the much bigger, more remote mountains of Patagonia. The mythical Paine towers dominated our thoughts just like they dominate the landscape that surrounds them. The tantalizing 4000 foot east face of the Central Tower was calling our names.


We calculated that if we continued living in our van, worked continuously without paying taxes and sold some of our belongings, then we could theoretically make the trip happen. Dreams began to turn into reality and I soon found myself breaking the news to an unhappy girlfriend. If I was away for months in Patagonia, she would never speak to me again. There was only one thing I could do; I booked a one-way flight later that morning.


The quaint town of Puerto Natales is the gateway to the iconic Paine towers. We found a place to stay that was within our budget; a dog sh#t minefield behind someone's house with just enough space to pitch our tent. This became our base for the next 3 months.

We hitch-hiked to the Torres del Paine National Park and did a quick 'warm-up' climb of the North Tower to get acquainted with the rock and climate. This went surprisingly well so we returned to town boasting to anyone who would listen and prepared for the Central Tower. We chose The South African route because it was the only climb that we could find a topo for.

We bought a 3-week supply of food and made repairs to our torn haulbags. I cut the legs off my jeans and super-glued them onto our portaledge fly to re-enforce the part that touches the rock. But really, this was just an excuse to make a pair of denim hot pants.


For 7 days, we carried haulbags of stuff through boulderfields, across glaciers and past groups of confused hikers to reach the base of the Central Tower. The conditions were terrible, a rescue would be impossible and we didn't quite have enough equipment, but these were not sufficient reasons for staying on the ground. I was afraid of what I wouldn't find if I didn't go.


The route started with 10 pitches of moderate free-climbing on poor quality chossy slabs. On the second day our new 70m lead rope rubbed over a sharp edge and wore through to the core, effectually creating two 35m ropes. Usually, teams climb this tower with 10 or more ropes, enabling them to fix many pitches above camp with the security of having a quick escape if necessary. We now only had 2 old ropes. Also, our portaledge had broken in the 'set-up' position, meaning that whoever cleaned the pitch had to have a fully set up portaledge attached to the back of their harness. Comical at first, strong winds and loose rock soon made this task remarkably dangerous.


During rain storms, we entertained ourselves by counting the drips leaking through our portaledge fly. On average, 2.6 drips per second would leak through. This equates to 1 gallon every 10 hours. With the language barrier, we had mistakenly bought condensed milk instead of honey, cat food instead of tuna and 7 kilos of congealed wheat clumps instead of pasta. Morale was drifting down, this was not fun.



The fierce Patagonian weather lived up to its reputation. It's the only place that I've been where it snows upwards during mid-summer. Everything always had to be anchored down and 'portaledge surfing' became a daily event. It was like camping on a busy airplane runway, except not as safe.



On the third morning we were awakened by the sound of a thunderous rockfall. Directly across from us, hundreds of feet of rock had fallen off and exploded down the face into the glacier where we were standing just 3 days before. Every day, rocks would fall and equipment would break. The climbing itself was relatively straightforward compared to the objective dangers around us.



After 7 or 8 days on the wall, we reached our high camp. From there we planned to fix ropes as high as possible and then make a push for the summit when the weather allowed. Callum climbed the pitch above our camp; An icy crack system with a vertical stream-crossing half way up. From the belay above he warned me that I should "probably bring some waterproofs" since I would be leading the following pitch. I "couldn't be bothered" to get my waterproofs out of the haulbag, but after 30 minutes of vertical swimming I was regretting my laziness. The pitch went through an icy waterfall chimney with the crux being within the main flow. Water was gushing into my face, seeping through my clothes and pouring out through the holes in my shoes. I was splashing around in the chimneys entrance for an eternity until eventually I managed to get a cam to stick in a flared crack between ice and rock, I clipped my aiders to it, high stepped and fist jammed out of the vertical river. The pitch went on seemingly forever and strong winds ensured that an igloo formed on my outer layer of clothes.



On the morning of day 10 we awoke to find an extremely rare, perfectly calm, clear sky. Great timing for our summit push. We ascended our fixed ropes and simul-climbed to the summit, making the 4th ascent of the route. The summit of the Central Tower had only existed in our dreams until that moment. The view was incredible, but there was no real celebration. We had merely reached the half-way point of our climb. We shook hands, posed for photographs and then began what turned out to be a 3-day long nightmare descent.


We 'zig-zag rappelled' on the descent to avoid being hit by rockfall when pulling our ropes. This technique proved to be extremely valuable, especially on the lower slabs. With 3 rappels to go, strong winds had blown our ropes on a ledge directly above us. Cautiously, we pulled the ropes through. Small pebbles fell down and bounced off our helmets with each gentle pull. Suddenly a booming groan echoed from deep within the tower. I looked up and saw the image that continues to haunt me every time I close my eyes. An enormous jagged rock slid to the end of the ledge. It slowly turned to look at us with revengeful, evil eyes, angry that we had awakened it from a thousand year sleep. I watched in disbelief as the monster tumbled from the ledge and rapidly accelerated directly towards us. There was no escape. It crashed straight into us.


The huge rock exploded into our belay, smashing into my leg on a kamikaze mission into the slabs below. Numb with adrenaline, I couldn't feel the pain at first. I didn't dare to look incase my leg had been severed. But that was the least of our worries..

The rock had almost completely stripped our belay. All our haulbags, all of our equipment, my life and the life of my best friend were now hanging solely from a single strand of frayed 5mm cord wrapped around an ancient, rusty piton. Callum frantically began rebuilding the belay while I hung motionless, my brain unable to comprehend what had just happened. We should have died. Intense pain began to set in, my skin turned pale grey, I was quickly losing consciousness. All 3 of our ropes were now shredded to the point of uselessness, and the rest of the descent is a distant blur in my memory. Always the strongest member of the team, Callum ensured we got down.


I suppose I went to Patagonia to continue escaping my greatest fear; Conforming to a life of steady jobs, materialism, paying a mortgage and changing diapers. Previous big-wall routes have been incredibly powerful, defining moments of my life. I thought that by doing a harder climb, I would have even greater experiences. Instead, I found myself dealing with post-traumatic stress and contemplating the meaning of life.


I haven't climbed since.


Here's a short video:

http://vimeo.com/41232209