Every climber has a few lines they dream about. Whether inspired or haunted—or sometimes both—these lines can push us beyond what we thought we were capable of, in turn teaching us who we really are. BD Ambassador Ethan Salvo recently restructured his entire life to focus on two climbs that pulled him into the void with only one way out … getting to the top. This is his story of sending Dreamcatcher and becoming the first Canadian to climb V16 in the same week.
It’s a feeling that most climbers are familiar with. Butterflies swim in your stomach. The hairs on your arms stand up. Maybe a shiver runs down your spine as your breath is swept away. I’ve found this feeling when standing below El Cap, driving into the Buttermilks, or lost in a talus field deep in the Wind River Range. You feel so small in the grandness of it all. Mother nature's creations loom over you as lines and textures in the rock call your name. You can feel the desire to be a part of it. Learning how to move correctly in order to ascend is a simple and pure motivation for many climbers. The first and most impactful time I felt this was five years ago on a trip to Vancouver BC for Youth Boulder Nationals.
My mom and I landed at YVR in the midafternoon, 24 hours before the comp began. We picked up the rental car and drove north to Squamish. I told her I needed to shop at Climb On Equipment (funnily enough, now my employer of the last two-and-a-half years), but really, I just wanted to see Dreamcatcher. We got lost on our way through the boulders, but eventually we could see one larger than the rest.That must be it right? Standing outside the entrance I knew I had arrived. This must be the place. The feeling was right. I walked through the tunnel and into The Room, stepping over an Event Horizon I did not know was there. The black hole that is The Room slowly started to consume my life. The shapes that laid on the walls were striking, difficult, and complex. A sense of motivation for stone I’d never felt before was instilled in me. I didn’t know how or when I would, but I knew I wanted to become a climber that could scale the lines in The Room.
We returned two days later after a poor semi-final round that ended with me telling my coach Inever want to compete again. My Mom supported me as I played on Room Service (V11/12) for my first time. Eventually, I’d watch videos of those attempts during the months I was at home. I returned in August to finish it up. After that, Room Service Low (V14) and The Singularity (V15) were logical next steps, although they were steps I wasn’t ready to take yet. I’d think about them all year while working and saving for the next summer trip, and the following year while saving for a van to move west to try and climb my dream boulders.
In April of 2022, I drove through spring rains up the Sea to Sky Highway, stopping to climb in The Room before I could make it to a grocery store and settle into the place I now call “home.” I dove right in and started trying The Singularity again but finished my session trying the project to the left. Room Service Low starts about halfway up the prow of The Room boulder, but the full line was still an undone project. Everything about it inspired me, the line, the movement, the rock quality, the difficulty, and, above all, the setting. I told myself that day that I’d never move away from Squamish until I climbed the line, thinking it might become something of a lifetime project.
A few weeks into my time in Squamish I found myself at a dinner party flipping through the pages of a birthday horoscope book. I got to my birthday, October 21, and below the date were the words “The Day of Singularity.” This feeling of purpose I found in The Room morphed into a universal destiny. From that day forward, my main focus was that problem. I spent around 60 days trying The Singularity. A lot of them were cold winter days on my own, and the others shared the space with my friend Andy Lamb. While I climbed on The Singularity, he tried the project to the left. Sometimes, I’d join in, and we began to slowly unlock the sequences together.
In Feb 2024, I made the third ascent of The Singularity. I was 21 and had just gotten back from Bishop. The following week, Andy completed the project naming it “Event Horizon” and proposed V16—the first and only of the grade in Canada. In astrophysics, an event horizon is the boundary around a black hole or other massive object where the gravitational pull is so intense that nothing, not even light, can escape. A very fitting name, for I already felt pulled in enough by the line that the only way out now was to continue forward.
I continued to climb on Event Horizon until June when it was time to swap crash pads for a rack and rope. I set my sights on The Cobra Crack (5.14b) and Dreamcatcher (5.14d)—the only routes I knew of before moving to Squamish—and set off on a big learning journey. As the months wore on, I zoned in on the goal of sending each of these dream lines in the same season (The Singularity, Dreamcatcher, Cobra Crack). I slipped up and let the pressure build. After I did Cobra Crack at the end of August, I felt I really had to do Dreamcatcher for the sake of completing this arbitrary goal. My attempts became stressful and shaky, and, after another handful of sessions, I gave up on it for the year, opting for the comfort and familiarity of the boulders.
That winter, I went to Bishop. I planned to spend a month living out of my Subaru like I did the winter before, but one month turned into two, which then blurred into three-and-a-half. Before I knew it, I missed the whole winter season of climbing on Event Horizon. I wouldn’t have had it any other way, for those months with friends, strangers, open landscapes, sharp rock, dry air, short days and long nights taught me so much about myself. I returned to Squamish at the beginning of April ready to train for some lofty rope climbing projects, but The Room pulled me back in like it always does. After months of trying a four-move crimp boulder in the desert, I didn’t expect to be in form for a 16-move granite power-endurance testpiece. Somehow, I was climbing better than ever and had my best try on my first day back.
As the sessions went on, conditions got worse, and my progress came to a standstill. Soon, the doubts began to grow, and I decided to take a step back and focus on Dreamcatcher. An early season start with a freeness of spirit made it much easier to enjoy my time on the route. For the rest of the spring, I’d split my days between them, climbing on the boulder when it was cold, and the route when it was warmer. It felt a bit bizarre to be trying to climb my hardest pitch and boulder at the same time, but I ignored all logic this spring and followed my heart, something I learned best in my winter travels this year.
On May 23rd, I finally got to the last moves of Event Horizon and fell short of the end “jug” by a finger's length. It was clear it was possible this season, but that day was also the last cold spring day of the year. If I wanted to do it this season, I’d have to resort to climbing in “bad” conditions, and so I let go of trying to get it done. I resolved to session it only when it felt right to maintain muscle memory.
Dreamcatcher was getting close, so close that I kind of knew it was going to happen once good conditions and skin lined up on the same day. June 10 didn’t seem like that day. It was warm and the wind was low. Regardless, I tied in for my usual warm up: skipping the slab and one hanging the steep route. This time I felt so fresh that I didn’t need to one-hang, I kept climbing out of curiosity and accidentally sent the pitch without climbing the slab. I felt a bit dumb for doing that, but knew a send was going to happen soon. On my next try, I was too focused on getting it done. I climbed poorly and stressed, shaking with the fear of falling as I moved further up the pitch. Eventually, I fell a few moves from the end. I was wrecked and decided to rest for 90min before deciding if I’d try again. I sat on the starting ledge of Dreamcatcher and looked around The Room, marvelling in the beauty of its complexities; smooth walls with striking lines all falling in on itself to create this space, and reflecting on how unlikely it is that I exist in the same place and time as this space. This routine of recognizing where I was became a consistent pre-send ritual, helping to ground myself and remember to enjoy every second—a stark contrast from my mindset of the previous tries and season.
I hit play on Spotify giving my mind something other than evening highway traffic to listen to. I sang along to “Row Jimmy” as it played from my phone while I started up the slab, relaxed, focused on the next move, enjoying the route. I flowed up the wall executing each section perfectly. I climbed at a playful pace and came to the rest fresh. It was fun. More fun than I’d ever had on the route. I stayed focused yet relaxed at the beginning of the crux, and then the try-hard took over me. Feeling like I was about to fall in the same spot as the last try, I fought with everything to stay on and hucked my body towards the final jug. With the final latch a dream was caught and another memory created. I topped out, untied and yelled “off belay.” To this day when I say those words, I can feel that same huge smile creeping up on my face as I took it all in.
In the weeks since falling off the last move of Event Horizon I had regressed a lot, often falling six moves away from my highpoint. The prior week I was about ready to call it off for the season, but Friday looked good. On June 13, two rest days after sending Dreamcatcher I returned to The Room to session one last time. It was like any other day, no real indication that it would be the day it would end. Four hours and many tries into my session, I got ready to give my last try of the day. As I cooled my hands on the fan, I relaxed and pushed out any thoughts that took me out of the present moment. In that moment my mind became still, it was just me and the stone bonded by years of effort.
I pulled on and let go, mind calming to allow my body to move. My fingers landed on each crystal of the holds perfectly, my hips shifted into the body positions effortlessly, a coordinated dance that could not be stopped, a force of nature created by the conditions that surrounded it over these 100 days. I arrived at the last hold, looked down and around me trying to process what had just happened before topping out. I laid on the Room boulder for a long time, looking up at Dreamcatcher, and down at Event Horizon, still unsure how I managed to pull off the week I did.
It feels weird to walk through the tunnel into The Room now and no longer see lines I wish to climb, but rather sections of stone that hold the memories, lessons, and secrets of my early adulthood. No matter what was happening in life over these years, I’d still return to The Room to try my projects. It became something like a childhood bedroom I could run away to when I needed a place to hide, either from myself or from the world. It became the place I’d bring my friends to play and have fun together. On rest days, it was the place I could go to feel at peace. Yet, just like our real childhood bedrooms, we eventually grow up and move on. It's beautiful and painful to say goodbye to such a special part of my life, but to have these pivotal years and experiences unfold in a space as special as The Room will be something I’ll cherish forever.
After seven weeks, it still doesn’t feel right to be done climbing in there. My body keeps returning to it out of habit, yet there is nothing else to do and no more closure to be found. It’s over. One day more rock will fall from above, The Room will become another pile of talus buried below a forest, and I too will be six feet under. There is comfort to be found in accepting the impermanence of these fleeting moments. It’s a lesson I am constantly taught season after season in Squamish, but these stones and their lines are so much more than a number, name, or achievement. If you open yourself up to it, they can become great teachers that will shape and enrich your life more than you could ever imagine.
To my family and friends, thank you for supporting me in whatever I want to do with my life. To the sponsors I’ve had over these years, thank you for believing in me. To the ones that came before me, thank you for paving the way. To the ones that have mentored me over these years, thank you for your patience and showing me what climbing can be. To the ones that will follow in my footsteps, remember that you only get to try and climb your dream lines once, so you better have a damn good time while doing it.
