I had just two more days to explore Red Rock Canyon and the weather was ripe for climbing. Unfortunately, I saw a message from the person I was scheduled to partner with: she had to bail, leaving me on my own. It was too late to reliably find a partner online, so I decided to just wander around the most popular cliff with a guidebook. In the best case scenario, I’d find a an odd-numbered group willing to rope up with me. In the worst case scenario, I’d become more familiar with the crag.

I barely parked my car before a couple came over to me and enthusiastically asked what I was climbing. I told them my plan and they invited me to tag along and climb Physical Graffiti (5.6). As we walked over to the route, I tried to gauge their experience level, cautious about what I was getting myself into. I was thrown off by how warmly they pulled me in, given my personal conservative approach to climbing partners. I knew the route would be well below my abilities (Red Rock grading is soft and crack climbing is my jam), so I relaxed and played along.

We were moving slowly as a party of three, which was expected, but it was clear to me that I was vastly more experienced than they were combined. Despite them noting they had over a decade of climbing experience, I was very doubtful and assumed they included gym climbing and top-roping outside.

I switched into ‘guide mode’ and tried to control as much of the risk as possible without being overt or obnoxious. Most of this meant efficient rope management, but not entirely. At one point, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest at the top of the first pitch. The husband was well on his way leading the second pitch, while the wife and I stayed behind to belay while tethered to a quad anchor I built. I knew we would rappel off the top, and I wanted to keep the sling configured as a quad intact for the sake of convenience later. I asked the wife if she could not undo the knots when she cleaned the anchor when it was her turn to climb, explaining my logic. Eager to help and not understanding the obvious benefit of being anchored and equalized to two bolts, she said “You can take it now!” and began to unscrew the locking carabiner on the quad, which was tethering her to the wall. I instinctively yelled for her to stop. She was perplexed and said, “It’s no problem, I’ll just transfer my PAS to that bolt here!” I was stunned that it hadn’t dawned on her yet that the locking carabiner she was a second from opening was what was keeping her from plummeting to the ground. I tried to explain that we were standing on a thin, crowded ledge, wide enough for only our toes, but she replied that she felt safe making the move. I wasn’t sure what to make of this, since the she had spoken earlier about how risk averse she was after becoming a mother of two. I ended the conversation and just insisted she stay tethered in.

I had fun on the climb and I was grateful for them including me into their day. Both of them were delightful and extremely nice, but I was a bit fatigued with the idea of playing guide. I suggested we take a look at some problems in the Kraft boulders area, staying lower to the ground.

We went to the famous Plumbers Crack, an easy chimney that ascends 40 feet. We met Matt and Matthew, two boulderers on the road. After making it to the top, Matthew ended up falling the last 5 feet of the descent after a foothold broke. He was fine, just a bit bruised.

We moved on to another famous rock, the Monkey Bar. It was nearing sunset so we got in as many laps as we could.

I made plans to climb with another person the next day. I politely turned down the couple’s offer to join them on a 6 pitch route.

Today’s partner hadn’t trad climbed before, so we climbed a sport route to keep it simple. After leading the first pitch, I set him up on a belay and he began to climb pitch two. He was within eyeshot of me at the top of the belay, and I could tell immediately that he was sloppy and unsure how to manage a simple lap coil. Once he called for me to climb and noted that I was on belay, I double checked, asking “I’m good to climb? You got me on the correct side of the belay device?” He was quiet, and then said, “Uh, do you mind if I use my gri-gri instead? I’m more comfortable that way.” I told him he should use whatever he was most comfortable with, and quietly wondered why I should ever need to say something so obvious.

Once I was on belay again, I confirmed once more and got an affirmative answer. I broke down the anchor and began climbing. I was at about the second bolt when he yelled, “Wait, wait, can you not climb for just a sec?” I cursed to myself, wondering if I was solo-ing unintentionally. I grabbed two opposing quickdraws and went in direct to the nearest bolt. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but after a few quiet minutes, we resumed climbing. I was careful and on edge, but treating this climb as if I was actually solo-ing. A similar scenario played out as I led the third pitch. “Wait, can you not climb for just a sec?” He made a rat’s nest of the rope again. I went in direct to a bolt and sent a quick text and photo to Leah, explaining the absurdity of my situation.

When we made it down to the ground, I turned down his offer for another climb, noting that I needed to head out. We didn’t acknowledge the sketchiness on the route, and began chatting with the with the climbing party nearby. He exchanged contact information in the hopes of partnering up with them on a future date. I later tipped them off that they should steer clear of him. With the next few hours, I decided to wander around the Kraft boulders, talking to the boulderers there.

Approaching people to take photos was extremely awkward for me, and something I wasn’t used to doing. I felt like I was the weird guy interrupting their focus and trying to force my way into a conversation. I knew I’d be more comfortable without my camera, but I saw an opportunity to work on something different.

All the climbers I chatted with were open to the idea of being photographed and were excited to have me share my photos of them later.

Colin (below) and I chatted, talking about the poor etiquette of climbers who didn’t respect the rule of waiting days after a rain storm to climb again. On long routes, this could be dangerous and fatal. On boulders, it more likely meant that essential holds on classic routes could be pulled off. Colin told me that a group of locals would come by and super-glue the pieces back, which both made sense and also seemed weird. Colin asked if I had a place to shower and offered his place, which was quite generous of him. I didn’t need it, but I was reminded of how lucky I am to be a part of a welcoming community of climbers.

I had about a full day to reflect on my trip before I boarded a flight back home. A few days of poor weather drastically changed the course of my plans for the entire two weeks. I was bummed that I needed to pivot and adapt, but I’m proud of myself for finding a meaningful experience each day despite it all. I’m also grateful for the new friends I made and I hope we cross paths again. Although I was on my own throughout the two weeks, I’m glad I had Leah on the phone whenever I needed her to help me find perspective and make the most of the beautiful places I was in.