The next few weeks passed quickly with focusing on a single problem being our greatest challenge. Projecting was hard with a multitude of inspiring lines to throw ourselves at. Line after line we tried them all; ‘Bush Pilot’, ‘Centaur’, ‘Nuthin But Sunshine’, ‘Sunspot’, ‘Gangbang Arête’, and ‘Tommy’s Arête’. They all rewarded us with an insight into our own strengths and weaknesses. Each day we hiked out completely exhausted. Headphones on, stumbling down the trail, we were in our own worlds pondering whether next time we would make it back to the park again. Back in Boulder we immersed ourselves in the simplicity of climbing; speculating on and on through the nights about our failures and successes.
One day while warming up on Tommy’s Arête we couldn’t help but notice the line of holds cutting left after the starting moves. We were to learn that this was the ‘Automater’, a V13 of immaculate beauty. Roughly 15 moves unlock this problem. It looked so delicate and fascinating that we had to begin lightly figuring out the sequence. A beautiful dance 
but a few feet off the ground, rising out of a deep chasm it has the feel of a miniature route. Micro-crimping is the heart and soul of the Automater. Ghastly sharp were the holds but the beauty of the line drove us on. Our friend Jonny Landry had now joined us and with his added perspective we quickly figured out all of the tension-oriented movement. This was the project, the one we had to stick to, had to send at all costs if that’s what it took. We were trapped by our obsession, the same obsession I had felt not but a month before just trying to find these glorious boulders. Now we were all locked in; we were trapped by the desire to open our minds and bodies to this bloc.
We managed to find the persistence to drive ourselves back to the boulder day after day. We rapidly made progress linking sets of sequences and each day our confidence grew. On the fifth day the goal was to link the first two thirds of this ‘mini route’. Anticipation was thick in the air as we spread the multitude of pads under the huge problem. I was to try first. Fighting the nerves rattling in my head I breathed deeply, focusing on my breath to gain a hold of the present moment and find that place of no distraction. I would begin shortly if only my heart would slow down. Concentrating only on movement and a mindset where pain does not exist, I could feel that today would be the day for progress in my climbing.
Then I was flowing, my body was weightless and the holds seemed big. One move in, two moves in, three and four moves passed with effortless focus. Then something distracted me, the ring finger on my right hand wasn’t planted right. I was too far to the left. My accuracy, so crucial to the climb, was off. Then there was an audible cracking sensation. Did the hold break? Was I really on my back on the pad? It had been going so smoothly, I was dumbfounded. Quickly the pain kicked in, my whole being was in shock. With my mind racing and my hand shaking uncontrollably, I didn’t understand. There was a moment of pure ignorance. The finger that, moments before, had been planted wrong was now mere jelly on my hand. The blood flushed from my face and I felt nauseous. Glancing back at my friends their faces told me all I needed to know. It was a sound every boulderer dreads. The pulley ligament in the first joint of my ring finger had ripped completely through. Speechless I stumbled out of the cave where we were hiding. It all felt so surreal and painfully stupid. My jaw was trembling; I couldn’t face my best friends although I knew they understood me as well as anyone. Needing to be alone I half crawled, half walked down to the lake a few hundred yards from the problem. Plunging my hand into the glacial melt water I began to weep. Only a year before, I had made the same mistake on my other ring finger. Distraught, I sat in the water contemplating the emotional attachment involved in this sport. Why hadn’t I dropped off when I felt the discomfort of the hold? Why did this happen to me? It means so much to me, why, why, why? Was it karma? I knew my friends were back at the boulder feeling terrible, but I had to be alone. My heart ached, I felt childish, immature, like a horrible climber. But deep down I knew there was nothing I could do. So I sat, hand numb and throbbing, tears streaming down my face, wanting to go back in time. Uselessly wanting…
