Complacency Almost Killed Me. Here’s Why Luck Doesn’t Cut It as a Climber.

The crisp August air, hinting at fall. The roar of Boulder Creek cutting through the canyon far below. The steady flow of traffic on Route 119, wind funneling up the granite walls. And the image of my partner—eyes wide, white knuckled, clenching the rope barehanded while I hung, midair, above the earth.

It was the summer of 2012, and Gates of Eden at Bell Buttress in Boulder Canyon wasn’t meant to be an epic. At 5.10a, it was supposed to be a quick jaunt. I’d just come back from two months in Squamish and Yosemite, climbing over a hundred trad pitches up to 5.11a. I was confident, maybe a little too much so. My partner, Tom, was a trusted friend who had taken multiple safety and rescue courses with local guides. We’d been ticking off 5.10s in Eldorado and Boulder Canyons to prepare for the Casual Route on the Diamond. We trusted each other.

Gates of Eden starts in a tight chimney with a crack deep in the back. I placed solid cams, but didn’t extend them. When the chimney ended, the line wandered left, zig‑zagging across the wall. By the time I reached the anchors, the rope drag was horrendous—I could barely pull slack.

From the ground, Tom couldn’t see me or even tell whether I was still climbing or anchored. The canyon amplified the wind, the rush of the creek, and the traffic, making communication difficult. We’d used a system before—a set number of rope tugs meant “off belay.” After waiting a while, yelling, and feeling what he thought was the right signal, Tom reluctantly took me off.

Then I leaned back.

At first, nothing happened. The rope drag held me in place. Then I began to move slowly …  then faster. I shouted “Whoa, whoa!” and looked down to see him bracing, hands locked on the rope. The drag was so intense he could hold me bare‑handed and, as he later said, could have lowered me hand‑over‑hand if he’d needed to.

He quickly put me back on belay and lowered me safely. We both knew how close that had been. But our reactions couldn’t have been more different. Tom was shaken, and I shrugged it off as “lucky.”

I like to say that I used my get out of jail free card that day on Gates of Eden. The universe cut me a break I didn’t earn. Some people don’t get dealt that card, some never play it, and others—like me—burn it early. But climbing isn’t like Monopoly, and luck isn’t a cup of water you sip carefully until it runs out.

The truth is, luck is fleeting and unreliable. It won’t save you when you skip the basics, fail to communicate, or assume your partner knows the plan. The only way to keep yourself safe is to take responsibility, plan clearly, and respect the risks—because when luck runs dry, there’s no refill.

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