Taking the Fall
It was really just a matter of time. Every climber, at some point or another passes this threshold into wo/manhood. Some do it earlier rather later, and some just embrace it when it happens, hoping to escape with minimal damage and trauma. It's the kind of thing that is better to take place without prior knowledge or prep, and definitely one of those things that you tell your mom about de post facto.

It happened to a fellow French climber called Jean, who was working a tough 6c. I was above him and to the right squatting on a tufa, and the next thing I knew his feet were kicking air upwards, arms flailing and shoulders banging rock. He was out for 3 days with a pulled back, and I, helplessly, watched it all happen.
Of course conventional Top roping, leaves little to worry about in the way of falling. climbers can adopt the nonchalant mellow approach and assume the sometimes necessary risk of reaching far or even jumping for the next jug. Lead climbing, however, is an entirely different story. The falls, while eventually protected, can accumulate a distance of 5 to even 10 meters (depending on the elasticity of the rope, and the belayers preparedness).

My trial by fall came on Tuesday, as I was working a beach front 6b. I was one move away from passing the crux and finishing the route. My arms were aching, and palms sweatier than a sumo wrestler in a sauna. I had gotten the quickdraw in the next bolt and just had to clip in. Apparently easier said than done. I had practised the moves and had the necessary beta (climbing slang for "info") to accomplish the move. I reached right hand (two fingers) into a crack, feet plainly gripping a polished almost marble-esque surface and left hand up to the shelf. Then a right hand match. I was all set to clip. I grabbed the rope held it in my teeth for more slack, and reached up with north paw for the unbearable relief of the clip. With rope between thumb and forefinger I fumbled lamely like a skier trying to thread a needle with his mittens on. Drenching the sand below me with warm salty liquid I just couldn't get it.

"C'mon, C'mon, you got it!" a small crowd shouted at me from below. I had now left Mike (my climbing partner and current belayer) holding me for an unfairly long time. I had to get it. one more second of forearm burn, and I was going to just cheat and grab the quickdraw itself! In my head, I thought I had it as well, and a last second effort to get that rope through the god forsaken gate of a lone carabiner, which meant more to me now than had ever before, looked good... and then I was off.

Stomach in my throat, loss of breath, and a lone yelping expletive having something to do with unlawful carnal knowledge - sent me the full length of two bolts plus another meter or two of stretch, Mike almost into the wall, and the modest gathering of spectators and passers by into a unanimous "Holy Sh*&, nice fall man!"

It was just my time. And, not to disappoint, my time came again on Wednesday, my final climbing day. On a tufa/stalactite filled 6a+ in an area called the nest, I took another 7-8 meter fall. This time, my aching biceps slippery swollen digits, almost sent me decking. Zach, my chain smoking tattooed Australian belayer, was not prepared for such a sudden descent. As my groin neared his shoulder (Bruno-Eminem style) he luckily escaped with only a cut toe.

The 6b I finished, the 6a+ I didn't. (I did do another short but challenging 6a just to finish on a high note).

And such concluded my climbing adventure in Ton Sai. I can't say that I have mastered anything. I felt a minor, but significant improvement, and let's just say that there are no lack of climbs that fall under the category of "we'll get that one next time," including the 5 pitch famous 'humanality'. Needless to say, I loved the climbing, and the atmosphere. The people were alright as well. I will miss the omelet-on-rice breakfast at "The rendez-vous" - a small fly infested shack which everyone knows as 'chicken-mama,' coffee and books at Pyramid, and fire twirling and slack-line shows and Changing out at Small World bar. I owe Mike a debt of gratitude for supplying the rope, quickdraws, safety sling, and quarry fills of chalk. He was a great encouragement and overall superb climbing partner. From one former camp counselor to another, thanks man.

Scary Monkey
So, sitting at 'chicken-mama' for breakfast the other morning, and business was usual. I placed my omelet order, and joined the ranks at the bamboo tables and chairs. Pretty soon I looked up to a small commotion, and a Mama-Monkey had jumped down on the table and made off with the dregs of someones bowl of muesli! The whole bowl and everything. After licking it clean, the monkey returned. It casually sauntered over to my table, hopped up, looked around and sat down on my camera.
Now, in my infinite wisdom, and excellent judgment decided to gently remove my Canon power shot from its pink cheeks (no surgery required). Feeling something slightly unusual, it turned around, made eye contact, and from about half a meter away ROARED at me with full fangs and scary attack face and all! Nearly soiling myself, I jumped back, screamed a little, and watched it run away from a barrage of rocks and banana peels, courageously saving me from having to throw down (I don't think it would have waited for me to dig out my leatherman and find the right tool of defence). My heart was racing, and it took some time to regain my composure. So the next time a big mother monkey sits on your camera, well, let it!