Returning to Boulder a few days later after a flight back to Alabama and then a drive across country was hard. Everyone was cheery, gushing about climbing and how awesome it was. I couldn’t bare the thought of anyone having fun while doing something like that, or talking about it, or really even looking at the pictures I had taken. Climbing was evil, but I knew I would have to face it again soon.

Less then a week after getting back, I rappelled into the Vail amphitheater to shoot some friends on Octopussy, a classic Jeff Lowe mixed line. I was fucking terrified but also felt better getting back on the horse so to speak.

19 months later, and I still think about the accident and Andrew just about every week. I wish I could say that I have moved on and healed, because I don’t really think I completely have. Sure I’m better, but I’m still processing what happened that day. I’ve climbed long routes since then, dangerous ones even and felt strong, mentally solid and capable. But I’ve also tied in below short pitches and flipped my shit and acted like a turd, at the dismay of my partner and my friends.

It’s a work in progress.

RIP Andrew.

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