My name is Nat. I was a routesetter this winter at Café Bloc. Below is a translated (thank you, Sarah) version of a piece I wrote about climbing Cobra Crack in May 2023.
Cobra Crack is a single pitch finger crack in Squamish, BC. Tucked away from the summer crowds on the backside of The Stawamus Chief, it is a singular line that shoots through an otherwise featureless panel of rock. Sonnie Trotter—the first ascensionist—described it as “hands down, the best stone I’ve ever climbed on.” I’d have to agree.
It was a pleasure to work and train at Café Bloc this winter. I fondly remember the tight-knit community of the gym, how much cooler everyone dresses in Montreal climbing gyms, and the churros across the street.
Please consider this a genuine thank you to the staff and customers for putting up with my West Coast, “Je ne parle pas français” self. Be it a problem in the gym or some climb outside, I hope you have the opportunity to experience what it feels like to be completely immersed in this craft. It sure is a joy.
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In the spring of 2018, I was in Canmore, Alberta. I was house sitting. A few friends and I were gathered around the kitchen table drinking beers we’d found in the fridge, and watching Cracking Cobra, the short Eliza Earle film featuring Mason Earle climbing the Cobra Crack. Eighteen, a little buzzed, and fresh off my first climbing trip, I told my friend Luke that “I was going to live in Squamish until I did the Cobra Crack.” I had climbed one 5.12 sport route, and one 5.11 trad route. I moved to Squamish that spring and immediately walked up to the Cobra in the pouring rain. A few days later, I quickly forgot about the Cobra Crack after taking a 30-foot fall on the 10b second pitch of Angel’s Crest. I tried the Cobra after a few seasons, in 2020, and then dedicated myself from 2021 onward.
Well, it is spring 2023 now. I’m twenty-three, writing this from a quiet corner of the climbing gym in Squamish. After two and a half years and probably sixty attempts, I climbed the Cobra Crack and am trying to wrap my head around those few minutes and the last few years.
I’ve long imagined what it would feel like to send the Cobra. I thought it’d be desperate, even when I sent, and honestly, I thought it’d be validating. Really, really validating. I mean, it’s the fucking Cobra Crack. When the long-awaited, long hoped for, dreaded, and seemingly heroic moment of sending actually came, it was very different.
It was nowhere near as epic as I imagined. I guess this makes sense. Over sixty or so attempts (and probably twenty one-hangs), it had been broken down and built back up. It more or less felt like any other redpoint attempt, only with more flow. The final go was the finishing touches to an iceberg of a process; how much different could it possibly be?
This is the longest project of my life and unknown terrain for me— I haven’t completed an academic process or any other massive creative project. In climbing (and I suppose life in general) we emphasize endings; there is a reason I haven’t written extensively about the things I’ve almost done over the last year. There’s a reason I’m writing about all of this now. I guess you don’t present a painting until it is finished, but maybe the final brush stroke is important, but not any more important than the rest. I’m not sure.
It is strange that once something in life is over, we are sometimes hit with a brief wave of clarity. With that clarity, I’ve seen regret. I’ve seen gratitude. I’ve seen ugly parts of myself and parts of myself that I am quite pleased with. This time, I see a lot of gratitude. I see a clear and stark reminder that once something is over, it is really over. Validation isn’t as sweet as you think it is going to be. Writing your name on a piece of wood really does feel as stupid as it sounds.
Thus, all we have are the moments, and man, there were so many good moments on this journey. I was deeply, deeply in love with the Cobra Crack, and I see that clearly now.
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With this emphasis in mind, I’ll try to spotlight the meat of the process before I verbally vomit up what it was like to actually send the thing. It is impossible to speak to the meaning of such an immense process; if you have the privilege, time, and motivation, I strongly recommend you run down a dream and find out for yourself. Here are some random bits of information:
Anyway, when I did it, it didn’t feel much different than any other go. I was more in flow, more present than I’d ever been. When I got through the meat of the route, I was convinced I’d hung on the rope somewhere, and wasn’t actually sending.
When I topped out, I wanted to feel elation and tried to feel elation but didn’t, really. I felt a sort of comforting heaviness, like a big blanket on a cold night. When I topped out, I thought about Stu—my guru and first friend on this journey—and felt an immense gratitude toward the Cobra Crack for bringing us together. I thought about my friends at the base, whooping up at me with delight. I thought about all the people I had shared that crag with over the last few seasons and how happy I was that it didn’t happen any earlier. I thought about what a fucking crazy journey it had been, and how beautiful it is that it doesn’t last forever. This translated into tears and saying “what the fuck” over and over again, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.
As I lowered, I felt happiness on the periphery, but mostly foggy about what had just happened. It was like I had woken from a dream where I sent, and was still laying in bed wondering if it had actually happened. My friends were gracious with praise and I heard them but couldn’t feel the words they were saying. All I could do was chain-smoke and shake my head, laughing. I wrote my name on the infamous board, right below Stu’s (man, I wish Travis could’ve seen that, Stu, he’d be SO psyched to see our names back to back, and maybe a bit pissed we signed it in the first place). Still, it all felt like I had watched someone else climb the route, and now they were going through the ritual at the base of the crag.
I’m so thankful for this chapter in my life, and for whatever comes next.
The Cobra Crack—like all good things in life—is certainly something to be experienced and not consumed.
It won't be linear, but I’ll try to keep this in mind.
Before we walked down, I looked at the route and thought of an Elliot Smith lyric: “This is not my life, it’s just a fond farewell to a friend.”
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