On July 17 my girlfriend, Hannah (29), and I (30) went out for a day in an obscure climbing area, just southeast of Lake Tahoe, called Cloudburst Canyon. On my third climb I fell at the crux, ripped three pieces of protection, and fell to the ground.

I have been climbing for six years with most of my experience on multi-pitch trad moderates. Ready to push the grades, train harder, and be okay with taking more falls on trad, I jumped right in and looked for some 5.11 trad routes. I had heard of Cloudburst Canyon from a new friend, Nate. He said the only beta was on Mountain Project. We looked and saw several classic climbs in the area, including a 5.11- for me to attempt. We arrived, met Nate, and headed into the canyon.

After a loose and technical approach, we warmed up on two routes, a 5.9 and then a 5.10-. Both felt solid, so I turned my eyes toward an obscure route called “Unknown 11-”. I also saw a 10- directly to the right that shared anchors, which gave me the option of setting up a top-rope. I decided against this because of my new mindset. I was ready to lead harder climbs and was willing to fall. On the 11- route, the main feature was a lightning-bolt crack zigzagging up the slightly overhanging face. The first piece of protection was a bolt I could reach from the ground. After that it was going to be gear placements through the crux, then three bolts to the top.

A few moves into the climb, I placed a horizontal 0.3 Camalot in a shallow crack. Considering this route was at my limit, I didn’t feel I had time to make sure it was perfect, so I moved on. After five more feet, the gear was getting harder to place. I placed a small offset nut that passed a few tugs and looked decent. I kept climbing. I reached a bit of a rest and got another small offset nut above my head. I fired into the crux and got about five or six feet above my last piece when I couldn’t move up safely anymore. I did not want to come off desperately reaching for holds, so I yelled “Falling!” as I let go of the wall. I felt tension in the rope and then a “SNAP!” The next thing I knew I was on the ground, about 15 feet downhill from the start of the route. I’d fallen about 30 feet to the ground. The only thing keeping me from continuing down was Nate arresting my fall through the only piece left in the wall—the bolt at the start.

I had landed standing up, shattering my right calcaneus and fully fracturing the talus bone in my left foot. We quickly realized that getting me out of this remote canyon alone was not realistic. Nate went looking for some climbers we had spotted on the way up.

With Hannah holding my right leg up, I started slowly sliding and crawling down the loose slope. Nate came back with three other climbers. As a team of four, they slowly moved me down the talus, loose rock, ledges, stream crossings, and stinging nettles. The full effort took three hours. I made it to urgent care and had surgery two weeks later.

ANALYSIS

I made three placements that failed on this climb. The highest was a number 2 or 3 DMM Peenut offfset (rated to 5kN), whose wire broke, leaving the head of the nut still stuck in the rock. Next down was another offset (a number 1 DMM Peenut) that ripped out of the wall, followed by a number 0.3 Camalot.

The first lesson was to understand the limits of my gear. A microwire rated to 5kN could handle a short fall under perfect circumstances, but I was too close to the ground with little slack in the rope. I essentially shock-loaded this wire and broke it. I learned to pay attention to the entire system and how each part plays a different role in the forces applied to my pieces of protection. Second, as a heavier climber (around 200 lbs.), I need to start taking fall ratings on gear more seriously. If I am placed in a situation where small gear is required, I should be nesting and/or placing them frequently instead of relying on one small piece every six feet. The third is to get the best placement possible. If you have doubts, don’t just move past it in the hopes that it will hold. If you can’t find good protection, consider lowering or aid climbing.

The main lesson I learned was to approach climbing with a more focused and safety-oriented attitude. Over the last six years, I had numbed that sense of caution by climbing mostly within my onsight ability. Because I was not taking any falls, I slowly built up a false sense of security both in the gear I was placing and my climbing abilities. This laissez-faire attitude was the reason I skipped many safety checks that day, which could have made this accident possibly fatal.

Considering all the following mistakes I made, I feel extremely lucky with how the accident turned out:

(1)  I skipped the opportunity toc limb a much easier route and set up a top-rope in order to get gear and movement beta for a route that was at my onsight limit.

(2)  I was in a new climbing area and did not consider the rock quality. I found out after the fact that the granite in this area and the specific climb was known to be crumbly at the surface.

(3)  I chose to fall instead of simply downclimbing to my piece and resting. If I had done this, the piece would most likely have held and I could have reassessed.

(4)  I chose not to wear a helmet. I had convinced myself the situation didn’t call for it: no climbers above, not a multi-pitch climb, and I chose comfort over safety.

(5)  None of us had a first aid kit, which would have been critical had my injuries been worse. (Source: Kyle Broxterman.)