I had no work on Friday, so John and Ezra and I drove out to Exit 32, hoping for clear weather and few crowds. We definitely got the latter: we didn't see a single other climber the whole day. The drizzle and rolling thunder kept the climbers away, I guess, but it didn't stop a gaggle of old folks from hiking up the Little Si trail. They were all very talkative, and amused by the fact that we were up on the rock, asking how we got the rope up there and so forth.

We climbed Reptiles and Amphetamines to warm up, and then got on an awkward 10b to its right (not highly recommended). Next was a fun, steep 10c, which I led successfully for the first time. Feeling good and dry under the overhang, even though it had started to spit rain, we headed left to try Slaborigine, a 10d that meets up with Aborigine's line and then continues up on 11b moves to a second set of chains. John and I had been trying for the last part for a few days now, and thought we could get it today.

John led it and moved well to the first anchor, then tried out the next few moves between rests. Finally, he pushed up and made the last hard move to a big chalky hold, then started struggling with clipping the chains. His arms were too tired, and he yelled that he was falling. After getting hurt in a badly-belayed fall recently, he wasn't excited about taking a whipper, especially well above the last bolt. He pushed off and I caught him gently, popping up off the ground. There was a lot of rope out, so he just bounced to a firm stop. Too tired to continue, he lowered off and let me have a turn at it.

Last time I was on this route, I struggled inexplicably on the short wall before the ledge where the real route starts. This time, however, I was feeling good and moved smoothly up through the small holds to the steep traverse out and up to the crux of the first section. I found the hidden hold (it's easy when you know it's there) and made it to the first chains. I found much better holds on the 11b section and didn't tire myself out as quickly as in my last attempt. Moving slightly right and using the slab for your feet is the key here. I found myself at the last move, staring at the big ledgy finishing hold and holding on down low with my left hand and with a tenuous sidepull to the right. I flashed up for the final jug and it didn't take—I peeled off. In my focused haste to find good footholds, I somehow got the rope behind my left leg. The rope quickly came taut and spun me to the right and head-over-heels. I only fell about 12 feet, but landed on my right shoulder, smacking my elbow and bouncing my helmeted head off the rock. Little colored pixels danced before me and I just hung there in surprise. Having desperately grabbed for the last hold, I almost expected to fall, so I didn't tense up too much, which probably saved me some hurt.

"Geez, are you ok?" called John from below. Ezra had been taking pictures, and started to take one as I went for the finish, somehow catching me mid-fall, just as I started flipping over. "Yeah, I'm ok. I think that's it for me today." I was shaking a little when I reached the ground, and started checking for injuries. Thankfully, I was wearing pants, which saved me from getting really bad rope burn on my leg. My arm got caught between my body and the rope, however, and paid for it in skin. Though it was a little banged-up, my shoulder felt ok and aside from a vague headache all was well with my head. I remember how unexpectedly soft it felt to smack the rock with my helmet on.

John cleaned the route, removed the one draw above the first anchors, and downclimbed the few feet to the first anchors. The clouds were slowly lifting, but our day was done. After plenty of sympathy and use of the first aid kit on my arm, we headed home.

Moral of the story: wear your helmet. Many people assume that bolts == safety, but you can still get hurt. Too many hardcore climbers who consider themselves too good for sport climbing look down on "clip-ups" as a risk-free, toothless version of real climbing. Sure, clipping bolts does not have the same appeal as placing your own gear high in the mountains somewhere, but climbing is climbing is climbing, and it's all dangerous. A young woman from Seattle died a few weeks ago in City of Rocks, Idaho after taking a fall similar to mine. Just below the anchors of a sport climb, she peeled, tangled in the rope, flipped over, and smacked her head. She wasn't wearing a helmet.