A case for the GriGri

It was going to be a fantastic day. The stoke was high as we headed into the gorge. My good friend and climbing partner, Noah, and I had decided that we were going to take on the classic NC test piece: The Linville Crusher. It’s a beautiful link up in Linville Gorge, which has some of the best moderate trad routes in the state. It goes around 5.9 but can have significantly increased difficulty if you want. We had decided that we were going to attempt the slightly harder (but much more rewarding) 5.10a version. 

Following the East side of the gorge, the link-up hits all of the major features: Sitting Bear, Hawksbill Mountain, Table Rock, The NC Wall, The Amphitheater, the Mummy-Daddy Buttress, and Shortoff Mountain. Our route followed most of the easiest climbing: The Original Route, 5.9; Lost In Space, 5.10a; Northridge, 5.5; Bumblebee Buttress, 5.8(ish); The Prow (down climb), 5.4; The Mummy, 5.4; and Little Corner, 5.6. 

We woke up early below Sitting Bear. There’s a beautiful campsite in a clearing that splits the trail between Sitting Bear and Hawksbill. The morning was Western North Carolina crisp: sunny, 60 degrees, and damp. We hiked our rack up to Sitting Bear to check out the O.R., psyched that our scouting mission had such good weather for July. I took the first lead. Staring down the Leeper hangers and tricky pro that guarded the rings, I launched into the air. It went great! I blew the onsight on the bouldery start, but once I sunk the jug, I was able to make it up. Noah followed quickly with my beta, and we felt ecstatic that we had made it past what could have been a classic 5.9 sandbag. 

Hoofing it to Hawksbill took no time. The Rhododendron tunnels opened up into the inviting and looming quartzite of the two-pitch climb that is Lost In Space. The first pitch opens with an unprotected, easy slab to a beautiful finger crack in a dihedral. Noah took the first pitch, as he was happy to give the money pitch to me. He scampered up the first pitch, every bit of 5.9 laybacking and finger locking. 

Pitch two is a roof boulder problem in the sky. Incredible holds, 200’ of air underneath you and NC blue above. It’s also my nemesis. There are two rules in NC: don’t bolt anything, and don’t fall. I’ve scampered up the scary slabs of Laurel Knob, run it out on the eyebrows of Looking Glass, and enjoyed my fair share of NC “Sport” climbing-- but for some reason, roof pulling is not my forte. Today, I put on my rugged face and traversed out under the roof. Placing a bomber .75 C4, I stretched out. There are two options here. You can place an aggressively average #1 C4 for the mental or pull through the roof to gain the mail slot. I opted to pull through and gain the mail slot. With feet under the roof and hands over, blood rushed out of my arms, and I felt the pump. 

“I think I’m going to fall, dude!” 

“Nah, man, you’ve got this!” 

I kept thrashing, pulled up, and fell. 

It was fine. The cam held, and I dangled against the wall, seething with frustration. I should have just pulled into the jug, but there was too much hesitation. The doubts of “what if I pull the roof and then fall after I gain my feet before pro.” I could hear the hardmen of old laughing at me with my sticky rubber and lack of gumption. I was peeved. 

I clambered back up the lichen-covered face and enjoyed Noah's pep talk. I was now off the belay and into the anchor; his reverso hung below his belay loop.

Venturing out into the vertical again, I struggled up for the jug. I sunk it and held on for dear life. It was my first time getting completely bicep-pumped. I had all the grip left in my hands, but my poor biceps couldn’t pull me up. Perhaps from fear, perhaps from sheer effort, they gave out, and I hung on my skeleton 200’ in the air, staring at my belayer. 

“I don’t have it!” 

“You got it, dude!!”

“No, man, I really don’t have it!”

“I got you, homie, no worries.”

I fell. 

It all felt wrong. I stopped at a normal distance for a split-second, then dropped twenty more feet before stopping much lower than I should for a simple whipper. In my gut, I knew I was lucky to be alive. I called up to Noah, “Climbing!” 

“Climb on,” came his haggard reply

I got to the belay ledge, and a sheet-white Noah sat there with a bruised hand still wrapped around the brake strand-- knuckles white. 

We sat in silence for a few minutes. 

“So did you …?” 

“Yeah.” 

It turns out that since we hadn’t extended our anchor to account for a fall, he was pulled into the wall with such force that he punched the unflinching quartzite. Out of reflex, his hand released the brake strand. As such, I dropped 20 extra feet. In a vacuum, I would have hit the deck in just under four seconds. 

We sat in silence for a bit. It was an awkward moment. Neither of us really knew how to react. 

The climbing community has deep roots. We often find ourselves stuck in the past, holding onto antiquated practices and ideals. For years, when the GriGri came out, people held onto the tube-style device, claiming its weight savings as a reason to keep it as the primary belay device. Plus, you can rappel on two strands, eliminating the need to block the top in some way for a single-strand rappel. The first iteration of the GriGri was heavy, too. However, to use a plaquette in its auto-blocking mode, you need two locking carabiners, thus increasing weight. The newer versions of the GriGri are much lighter than the first, which also closes the weight gap between the two options. Plus, in my experience, the folks who seem to harp about using the ATC also use a quite heavy Big Gun harness, 20 runners, and 10mm ropes. Shaving grams could be done in more efficient places. To go even further, perhaps doing more research and thinning the rack could shave the grams and allow for both the GriGri and ATC without compromising much weight. 

Admittedly, I didn’t die. I’m still here and still typing this very article. But I’ve been haunted by the thought that I wouldn't be here if Noah hadn’t been so swift with his brake hand. I’m also haunted by the fact that if he were using a GriGri or some other assisted braking device, I would have at least one more layer of protection.

I figure that if I sew up routes and meticulously equalize gear in order to protect the crux sequence, it might be worth it to have my belayer use an assisted braking device on lead. Yes, even for trad. It may be more demanding on the gear itself and harder to provide a softer catch, but if you’re placing good gear in solid rock, it shouldn’t create much of a difference. 

So this is my case for the assisted braking device. I’m sure there will be a plethora of comments along these lines: “What if I use twin ropes in the ice uphill in the snow with pitons and Jim Bridwell on my back while hauling a carton of cigarettes?” but I reject them. The only argument that feels acceptable is that the cost difference between a tube-style device and an assisted braking device is substantial. However, in purchasing your Rack, I’d encourage someone to consider buying a cheaper set of nuts in order to pick up a Grigri. It’s an excellent tool and one that I wholeheartedly endorse. 

Noah led us to the top of the climb. We celebrated with a hug and a solemn swear to us an ABD whenever possible.

Onward,

-Michael