I learned how to climb years ago with The Alpine Club of Canada’s Saskatchewan chapter. Whenever we climbed near Canmore, the call of “rock!” was a cheerful but essential sound — a clear alert that meant everyone should take cover. That call felt like the heartbeat of climbing: a reminder that while you relied on your belay partner, you also relied on everyone else on the rock just as they relied upon you. Usually you could rely on them, not to help you if it meant endangering their own lives but certainly to avoid making things more dangerous.
Usually.
That “usually” is a big word — covering both heroic rescues and tragic mistakes that are close to crimminal negligence. This excellent article by Alan Prendergast explores what happens when climbers break that pact of mutual safety with each other. But despite the dark subject matter, it is hopeful and focuses on the kinds of people that make me love being outside.
Herlihy took a moment to digest this. It wasn’t a loose rock that had killed his friend. This kid had thrown the rock. Herlihy didn’t know what to say. What came out of his mouth next amazed the Rodolph brothers, who were half expecting him to attack them. He looked at Luke and said, ‘I forgive you.’