I almost messed up the mono.
I got it a little bit too low and started feeling that sensation of injustice one feels when one is about to fall. The mono requires a high level of precision to get it right, and obviously I didn’t have it.
But I didn’t give up.
Somehow, I was able to connect with some inner willpower, overcoming the injustice. And it worked. I pulled again, readjusted the mono, and was able to hang on. I placed a piece of gear off the mono, reached for the next finger lock and turned my brain off.
I knew I could send it, but I also knew that my inner dialogue—composed of excitement, impatience, and countless of connections my brain was going to make in case of success— could destroy this in less than a second. With my brain switched off, I focused one hundred percent on my climbing and did the last technical movements in a state of high concentration.
I did not climb well, but the pressure was so high that any considerations other than “not falling here” had no place in my mind.
And here I was, standing atop of the Cobra Crack. A truly magical moment. One of rare improbability, which had every chance of never happening. Indeed, my journey with the Cobra had been marked by failure and fear for no less than 19 years.
The main memory of my first season attempting what was then still a project, was the rain. I had spent two months in Squamish, and it seemed to me that the word Squamish was synonymous with rain, and therefore, wet cracks. My attempts were promising, but my spirit grew weary in the face of this unfavorable weather, and I left emptyhanded. The following year, I returned. Three days after my arrival, an old knee injury resurfaced, forcing me to leave with crutches and return to Switzerland for surgery. During the same period, several events led me to not touch rock for over 13 years. In my mind, the Cobra transitioned from being a climbing project to a distant memory.
As life would have it, I eventually resumed climbing in 2019. In 2022, for matters of the heart, I moved to Squamish. The Cobra then became part of my backyard, and my climbing progress allowed me to consider embarking on the adventure again. The following year, I decided to tackle it. I had just completed a new difficult crack, the Crack of Destiny, so my level should have allowed me to succeed in what I then called “You-Know-Who.”
The truth is, Cobra frightened me. I feared failure, but more importantly, I feared the judgment of others if I were to fail again. Climbing it, however, proved relatively easy thanks to the new heel hook method and my training for Crack of Destiny. But on my third day of attempts, I fell while reaching for the last hold, took a huge whipper, and broke my wrist into three pieces. My climbing season ended abruptly, and my relationship with the Cobra, far from leading to the desired happy ending, took another dramatic turn. It was scarcely believable. Fate seemed to be against me, and the concept of a curse hovered around my mind like a vulture over its carrion.
Life continued, nonetheless. I resumed training toward the end of autumn and regained my form by the end of winter. The idea of climbing the Cobra never left me, but the temptation to bail was strong. First, I wanted to leave open the possibility of pursuing my passion without necessarily succeeding. After all, it was just one route among many, and I was not obligated to climb it. Squamish offered several new crack projects that I had spotted the previous year, and I was much more motivated to wear my fingers out on these new lines than on the Cobra.
There was also the question of learning from my past …
Did all these failures around the Cobra not indicate that I needed to move on, abandon, let go? And then, of course, there was that lingering fear mentioned earlier. Fear of failing, but more importantly, fear of experiencing that form of humiliation potentially felt by anyone who commits and exposes themselves to a goal that may be beyond their reach. This fear was compounded by the fact that I no longer belonged to the category of those called the young— that group of humans who have the freedom to lose their time to the useless.
But something else also lingered inside of me. That whisper of the heart, that desire to see it through, a determination to cross the finish line. Climbing the Cobra had been the dream of my youth, and in a sense, it remained so. Besides being one of the hardest cracks in the world, it is one of the most beautiful.
I also knew that I could place a new piece of gear in the headwall, avoiding another potential wrist breaking whipper. Finally, on top of all that, a certain sense of responsibility was growing inside me. I had been given what is given to few: firstly, a certain talent for climbing, and crack climbing in particular. Secondly, the possibility of a second chance. Even after 13 years of hiatus, it hadn't been too difficult for me to regain a relatively high level of climbing. And now, here I am living in Squamish where the Cobra is located. And how could I not mention all the climbers and friends who believe in me and encourage me to not give up. Wasn't it then my responsibility to see it through and make use of my talent and all these chances that had been given to me?
So, I decided to commit again. But this time, my commitment would be deeper than ever. I decided like never before to face my fears. To take control of my destiny and repel the spell. As the poet said: “You can do anything you set your mind to, man”. And that started by calling You-Know-Who by its real name: Cobra Crack. I would also openly share with my friends that my project was the Cobra Crack, thus radically exposing myself to the potential judgment described earlier. I eventually gave up all my other projects, for however long it would take, to realize the Cobra. I embraced the fact that I could be seen as the new doomed Sisyphus, rolling my stone up the hill over and over again. The time had come, perhaps not for success, but for courage and determination. The time to just go climbing, even if failure or gossip was to be the result. It was time not only to free climb, but to free live.
What was the key to success? Was it the spiritual undertaking required to cast out what could be called my curse? Facing one’s fear, committing deeper than ever, embracing failure and gossip as a possible outcome, and choosing to just go climbing without any other motivation than having fun, trying hard, living and sharing the passion, and spending privileged time with amazing people? Who knows … But odds are good that it was.
In any case, if sending the Cobra would have not led me to commit at this level, it seems like I would have missed one of the richest teachings climbing could ever offer me.
--Didier Berthod, BD Ambassador
“The Cobra and the Heart” is a feature in Reel Rock 19, and follows Didier’s 20-year saga, from a religious epiphany, family betrayal, a single mom’s struggle, and a rare second chance. For screenings and more info, visit: ReelRockTour.com.
