The alarm takes a stiff one to the upper lip. I cannot believe it. In my outline to do the right thing and bed early, I had spent the evening tossing and turning with anticipation, gaining no more sleep than if I'd stayed up for Saturday Night Live like I'd wanted to. Oh - well. Better get my ass up and get motivated. Collin will be here in an hour.

I shower and begin to select my clothes for the day. Hard to tell what the temps will be at three thirty in the morning so I choose to dress slightly warmer than if I was just headed to the beer walls again. Perfect excuse to wear my new "Patagucchi" pants, as my friend likes to call them.

I dump out my backpack and begin to sift through the ammo. Should I take this? Well, I might need it. Does the monster cam come? Might as well have it just in case. In my efforts to "go light" I manage to pare the rack down to just about my regular rack size (which some climbers would glance at and inquire what aid route I'm heading for). Some day I will be the fearless alpinist heading into the 5.8 mountain routes with little more than a selection of nuts, a couple cams and a few slings and biners for good measure. For now though - my rack is my security.

I am two weeks back from a trip to the Tetons. The time as a whole was a definitive learning experience, although my heart still aches from a failed summit push on the Grand. I guess I figured my acclimatization period would be in the 737 on the flight out. Altitude sickness- not a myth I guess. So when my friend called me to join him into Wallface (New York's largest cliff) I jumped at the opportunity. This would be a perfect chance to prove myself.

I see Collin's headlights pulling down the driveway. I grab my pack and meet him outside. I notice two brand new climbing ropes seemingly no bigger than the thickness of my cordalette laying in his back seat. "Going light?" I ask. He throws a devilish grin and we set off.

Forty-five minutes later we find ourselves at the Tahawas parking lot just outside of Newcomb. Collin spreads a cut piece of tyvek out on the ground, we dump both our bags and begin to assess our situation. "Your rack or mine?" he asks. Because of the calculated assembly of my rack I suggest mine. He nods his head, shoulders my rack and begins plucking out piece after piece after piece. My heart sinks and my nerves rise. "The Diagonal", our intended route goes at 5.8. Not the grade I would typically scale a rack down. I say nothing and finish gearing up.

We start our four and a half-mile approach into Indian Pass. Collin sets the pace at a slow jog. The trail moves under my feet with ease and I find my rhythm. The sun has risen, the birds are singing and I gain a feeling of appreciation. I feel like a part of the picture. Man negotiating terrain- nothing more nothing less.

Both lean-tos are passed and we reach where the trail breaks off from the stream. From here we will follow the stream until a climbers trail can be found. We take our first break. I shed a layer, choke down some GU and hydrate. We are making great time so the break feels well deserved.

We head back out following the streambed until a faint trail lures us left. At this point we can see the mass of granite Ive dreamed about since I started this madness two and a half years ago. A surge of adrenaline hits me. I find myself moving faster. We soon realize that we are not on the typical approach trail. We are actually on no trail at all finding dead ends and bushwhacking through thick brush. We are well left of the main part of the cliff and just keep fighting right. The density soon thins and we spot a cairn ahead. Sweet! That did not delay us as much as it could have I guess. We follow the trail up and can finally see the diagonal ramp we will soon be climbing on a couple hundred feet overhead. Its hard to plan a clean line to get at the ramp so Collin suggests we go straight up from where we are now and just forge ahead. We get to the base and start soloing up some third and fourth-class terrain. It's starting to increase in difficulty beyond my comfort level so I give in and say "uncle". We are stopped on a ledge big enough for the two of us to sit. We drink some water, put on our harnesses, rack up and tie in. Let the business begin.

Collin heads off on the first lead. His new ropes are twisting uncontrollably. He comes tight one too many times and finally asks if I could take a minute or two and straighten things out. I reflake both ropes and yell up that I'm ready. I am getting nervous about how much flesh I will have left after the deerflies and mosquitoes are done having their way with me. Collin is moving quickly though. There is soon a pause. I can tell through the nuances in the rope that he is setting an anchor. I can't wait to get up into the breeze away from the bugs.

"Off belay!" He yells.

"You're off!" I belt.

The ropes come tight and I give them three deliberate tugs to signal that I am climbing. The climbing is easy but I can appreciate the routfinding and cool head required for the lead. I mantle over a small vertical step and can now see Collin. His face is beaming with a wide smile. He is in his element - I am in mine.

At the belay we waste no time exchanging gear. Collin flips his ATC and I put my head down and go. The route is obvious for about fifteen unprotected feet and I'm now faced with some choices. I follow the line of least resistance thinking this is somewhat how first ascentionists must feel, then make a thin friction move up and right to a narrow ramp. I'm now in "the don't fall" zone. Thirty or forty feet out with no pro. I take a couple of moves up and sling a poorly rooted, sorry looking two-inch spruce. Welcome to the Dacks! That should protect me for a few moves anyway. I turn a corner and begin to feel lost. I don't dare try to reverse my moves so I head into a lichen-covered dihedral a few feet away. I frig in a #3 stopper (more for my head than my body) and begin to commit to what was probley the crux of the pitch. My legs are shaking, my pack pulling me out but I have no choice in the matter. I tell myself that this is why I am here and pull through the move. Very anti-climactic really. I can now see a sling salad about fifteen feet up. I find a nice crack and stuff in my first good piece in almost ninety feet. I make a few more moves and grab the anchor. "I'm off!"

I take a minute to shed my pack, take off my shoes and get my water handy before I put Collin on. Wow, have we gained some altitude quick! I am now at the bottom of the diagonal ramp. What a cool feature.

"You're on!" I yell.

Collin starts climbing. I can't pull the ropes in fast enough. Without having much gear to clean he is flying. He reaches the belay in minutes. We take in the views and relax for a moment. He wants me to take this next lead to set me up for the last pitch. Having climbed this before, he refers to the last pitch as the "hero" pitch. I sheepishly agree, but in my own mind I resign to having a look at it before I will internally agree to lead it.

The next three pitches go smooth. It's some of the coolest slab climbing I've ever done. Extremely textured with endless possibility on choice of line. What exposure looking over the edge just below the ledge system at the base of the final corners.

We decide to leave our packs here for the last two pitches. The last time Collin had climbed this they walked off the top. It was not a pleasant journey so he is very intent upon rapping off. We're not sure if we will be able to rap right back to this belay or not. But we would still rather figure out a way back to our packs than climb with them through these final chimneys and corners.

Collin fights through the initial section. It looks cruxy. A couple face moves to an awkward looking, lie down on your stomach chimney. I can hear him grunting. Sounds like a fight.

"I'm off!"

I drink the last off my water and get ready to do battle. I make a couple moves up in the corner then start feeling around on the face for holds to move right. The climbing is all of 5.8. I barely squeeze through without taking a long swing right as in Collins slightly traversing lead he didn't bother with much gear again. I slither through the chimney then make some moves up an overhanging corner. I reach the belay.

I now have a good look at the last pitch. It looks intimidating. My heart starts beating faster as I take the rack from Collin. Wish I had my full rack for this one. It looks long and difficult. I resign to go for it. I start climbing. I am soon in a rhythm. My mind becomes razor-sharp. I love the state of mind I am forced into in these situations. No past - no future. Just an acute awareness of the moment and task at hand. It is a very spiritual thing at times like this.

I place a cam then down climb to clean a #2 camalot that I think I will need later. Maybe a scrawnier rack is better. It forces me to be more selective in my placements. More strategy involved. I pull onto a short slab, now finished with the first corner. Halfway through! This next corner is steep. I move up, place a piece and start planning my next moves. My arms are pumped and I am trying to slow my breadth. "Just keep your fear in check and work." I tell myself. The moves are difficult for me but I feel solid. I spot a line of pitons heading left out of the dihedral to the arete. I place a cam high in the corner and start making face moves left. These pins are awfully manky looking. I clip the first pin and motor by. I reach the next pin and start looking around the corner. The rope drag has gotten intense. Reversing my moves to clean the culprit cam would require too much energy. I reach up around the corner and can find no good holds. My knees are shaking and my arms burning so I had better hurry. There is a rest directly overhead if I can just get to it. I pull up on a bad hold and my feet start skating.

"TAKE!" I yell.

I stare at the rusty old piton, praying to it like my executioner. Off I come! The pin holds but is flexing in a manner that makes me jump right back on the rock with no rest. I immediately spot a good hold right in front of me. Anxiety must have made me blind. I pull through the move, rest my head against the rock and breathe deeply.

The last twenty feet or so looks easy. I go to take a move up but can't. Damn rope drag! I muscle up six feet of rope, throw it over my shoulder and climb on repeating this process until I top out. The view is spectacular. I can clearly see all the ground we had covered today as well as the whole Mackintire range just to the front and left of me.

I bring Collin up. It takes all of my strength to do this because of my poor rope work. He tops out. We congratulate each other on a great climb and begin preparations for our descent. The rappels are exciting and go quickly delivering us right to a well-marked descent trail. We stuff our gear in our packs and make a mad dash for the stream to filter some much-deserved water.

We arrive back at the trailhead eleven and half-hours after our departure. Not breaking any speed records by any means but a lot faster than either of us had anticipated. My body and mind is tired and I am left with only one mantra----------What next??