The Lightkeeper's Wife - By Karen Viggers Page 0,91

the rope so I can halt her descent. There’s a trade-off between having the rope too tight or too loose. She wants enough slack so that I’m not pulling on her as she ascends, but not so much that she’ll fall a long way if she comes off the rock face.

I have to be ready, she says, and I have to watch her all the time. She’s not planning to fall off, but it’s important that I’m prepared if she does. Then she runs through climbing communication, all of which sounds funny to me, but she says that after a couple of times it will become automatic; climbing is a dangerous sport and it requires a thorough and pedantic approach. Watching Emma’s serious face I have to resist the urge to kiss her.

Now we are ready to begin and I have so many things to think about I barely notice the view. I start to get nervous. The rope is in my left hand, running through the belay device to my right hand, which is ready to tighten the rope at any time. Emma gives me a final check over. My palms are sweating.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Climbing.’

I feed out some rope and watch her inspecting the rock for finger- and toeholds. She reaches up to a tiny ridge, sticks her toe in a little crack, makes a few swift moves and is already a couple of metres above my head. How did that happen so easily? Emma pokes a camming device into a crack above her and tugs on it firmly once it’s in place. She snaps a clipdraw into it and pulls on the rope. ‘Rope,’ she puffs. In my anxiety, I am holding on too tightly. Quickly I feed out some slack and she clips the rope through the hanging carabiner.

‘Good,’ she says, wedging her hand in the crack next to the camming device. She pauses to inspect the rock above and plan her next moves. ‘What you have to remember on granite,’ she says, ‘is that the footholds may not be obvious. It’ll seem scary at first, but if you put your weight on your foot, you can use friction to help you step up. This climb is not too steep, so take your time and you’ll work it out.’

Right now, this seems overwhelming to me, so I focus on watching her instead. Shifting a little on her foothold, she reaches up, brings up her feet, and in no time she is ten metres above me, stopping to look for the next suitable crack or crevice to insert another piece of equipment for protection. It looks amazingly easy, and my heart swells with the excitement of watching her.

She’s good at this—carefully placing her feet on the rock and cleverly using her body to gain elevation. She moves smoothly and expertly. Even so, my hands are slick with sweat and my feet are damp in my runners.

Eventually, she climbs out of sight. Somehow it’s easier not watching; instead, I listen for her directions and pay out rope as she needs it. The clinking sound from above tells me when she is moving again.

Glancing below, I see the sea swelling and frothing over the red rocks. Small puffy clouds have appeared on the eastern horizon and out to sea a bulk carrier is moving slowly north. Standing on this dome of granite in the warm sun, I can smell the rock; it’s a dry hard smell, quite distinct from that of dirt. It mingles with the sweat of my fear, reminding me that I am yet to climb.

Soon Emma calls that she’s safe, and I take myself off belay then sit down to jam my feet into the tight little shoes. I lace them firmly and tie my runners to a loop on the back of my harness. Emma is pulling in the rope from above; soon it will be tight and then I will have to climb. I check my harness and knots for the tenth time. It’s a long way down if I fall. The rope tugs on my harness.

‘That’s me,’ I say.

‘Is that you?’ Emma yells. ‘I can’t hear you.’

‘Yes.’ I try to muster a bigger voice. ‘That’s me.’

There’s a pause before Emma’s voice floats down again. ‘On belay.’

So this is it. My heart is in my mouth. ‘Okay. Climbing.’

Emma tugs reassuringly on the rope, but the rock wall above me seems blank, with nothing significant to hold on to. A long time seems to pass