In the spring of 2018, I was in Canmore, Alberta. I was housesitting. 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.
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’s some random bits of information:
The Cobra Crack is a really, really good rock climb. It is so much fun. And yes, you feel like a badass when you do the mono.
I’ve probably thought about the Cobra Crack once every thirty minutes since September, 2020. It has been a constant in my life. It kept me company for two winters during which I specifically trained for it. Last year, I fell 7 times after the invert. In the context of rock climbing, I think that experience caused me to grow up a lot.
I did so many fucking weight pull ups.
I’ve probably scrawled COBRA CRACK on ten different journals as I logged feelings, attempts, and revelations (drive the knee, drive the knee!)
The Cobra gave me many new friendships. It steered my path into the direction of others. Corny, sure, but this was by far the best part. Stu. Andrew. Jérôme. Didier. Sam. Bailey. I’m looking at you! For the last little bit, I incidentally became the steward and would receive random texts from folks coming up to Squamish to try it. That was an honour, and one I’m glad to pass on!
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 chainsmoke 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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