Don't Look Down

As I prepare to climb the rising sun’s first honeycomb beams cast an unsettling shadow on the dusty grey surface opposing me. Tasmania’s Totem Pole, Australia’s tallest and most perilous free climbing ascent, stares down at me like a raptor eyeing its prey. I take a deep breath to sharpen my senses, inhaling the stinging scent of salt arising from the cliff face’s surrounding ocean. I look up, grasp the first rough handhold and begin the ascent.

Climbing is like a rhythmic dance. You place one hand in front of the other in a practiced routine. Except, unlike a dance, if you miss a step in your routine there is no second chance. I press my body tightly against the cool rock as my moving muscles are assaulted by an icy Tasmanian breeze. It sends a shock through them, amplifying a prickly pain brought through the endeavour’s exertion. I will not let you beat me this time, I think to myself. With teeth grit I continue.

As I pull myself upwards past the climb’s first quarter I am reminded of the raw beauty found in this sport. To my right a colony of honeyeaters sail through the air, their calls ringing off the surrounding cliffs. To the left a rising sun casts a golden glow over the picturesque Tasman Sea while around me the wind whistles, using the sea stack’s maze of cave formations to sing a symphony that pushes me forwards. Despite the challenge I am enjoying my climb. I feel deeply connected to the Totem Pole, like I’m part of Australia’s natural landscape itself until, midway up, I suddenly see it.

Beckoning to me from a seemingly ceaseless grey surface is a feint etching, weathered by years of exposure to the salt-soaked winds, but still there. I stop for a moment and gently trace the figure with calloused hands. MJ it reads.

My focus breaks as an overwhelming cyclone of regrets floods my thinking. I feel my legs, normally strong during a climb, begin to shake and the prickling pain grows intense. I tighten my grip. I will not let it beat me again.

As I push forwards a series of familiar cave systems and ledges, echoes of a happier time, race to confront me. They are like ghosts, with some reflecting joy while others emanate sorrow. I approach the climb’s three-quarter mark when one particular ledge catches my periphery. The corners of my mouth turn to meet the sun as a faded laughter reverberates through my memory. I pause to grab the memory but am horrified, as jubilant laughs morph into a harrowing scream. I quickly build a barricade to shut the past out. You will not beat me.

The terrain begins to grow steeper as I pass the three-quarter mark. Experts called this section Pritchard’s Passage, after it had left a man of the same name paralysed. In the years since, Pritchard had become just the first in a troop of victims. Yet, I continue. I must continue. His voice whispers from the summit, calling me to join.

I am nearly there now. Ahead, lies my final obstacle before reaching the peak. The precipice’s previously flat terrain expands into a contorted assembly of haphazardly jagged rocks, themselves enveloped by a curtain of zagging cracks. They look like a thinly sewn string net tasked with barely holding the cliff face together. I feel my heart pounding like the percussive section in an orchestra as a palpable tension consumes me. John died here.

Time turns to rubber as its seconds stretch like an elastic band and the memory flows over me. We first attempted this climb five years ago. Two brothers, with no other family or friends, had set out to complete the impossible. A loose footing put an end to that dream and now one of them only existed in the other’s memory.

My breathing quickens into sharp bursts. The pain amplifies and barricade against the past comes crashing down.

I remember the laughter, pain, happiness and despair. John is gone. I have nothing left of him except his last words. “I’ll race you to the top.” Maybe that’s enough.

Through blurred vision I look ahead and climb. I put one hand in front of the other, letting nature’s music guide my routine until suddenly, I make it.

Pulling myself over the threshold I collapse exhausted on the summit. Emotions crash over me as I take in the serene view. It’s beautiful. Feeling his presence, I take a knife from my coat pocket to carve MJ into the summit’s surface for Michael and John. It would be a testament to our bond. As I make the last stroke a sense of peace fills me. Now we will never be forgotten.