The  Peace Corps Swaziland training camp was located by a small slow moving river and at the base of a small mountain, called Sibebe, which means in Zulu, We have Stolen, though there seemed to be nothing worth stealing there. It was the same age of uplift of exfoliating pink granite dome as Enchanted Rock in Texas, and Stone Mountain in Georgia. It sat steeply right behind the bunk house that I lived in for the 10 weeks of training. The base of it was covered with brush and small trees, and I had walked around in the shade exploring it in the morning before classes, and on the weekends, during the first couple weeks of training. I had gone maybe 50 yards up it, but after that, it went almost straight up, a smooth granite face so steep that I was uneasy climbing any higher. I looked up the bald face of it, and saw a few horizontalish crevices, with some sparse small bushes growing in the detritus that gathered in them.

I had climbed Enchanted  Rock many times back in Texas, and though it was not as steep as Sibebe, the 1.5 hour climb led to a spectacular 360 degree view of the fabled in song and story Texas Hill Country. Which, as I have mentioned before, is sort of pretty, but mostly just pretty because the rest of Texas is so ugly.

I wondered what the view from the top of Sibebe would be like. Of course, one of the rules of the training camp was Do Not Climb Sibebe. Dang.

About three weeks into training, Albert, one of my fellow trainees, put out the idea that we should climb Sibebe anyway, and just not tell anybody among the big cheeses in charge. He had seen a way to get up about a quarter of the way along a crevice. Then it looked like it might not be as steep. I was kinda scared, but he convinced me to go, along with 5 or 6 other people.

We set out one Saturday morning, when the training director was in town, and the camp was its usual weekend quiet. Albert was the leader and we followed him to the crevice, and started upward. It was steep, but not too bad at the beginning. When we got to the top of the crevice, there was nothing but smooth rock ahead of us. And it looked too steep to climb, even with my new Nike Air running shoes that I had brought with me from the states.

The group spread out, scampering with their bodies almost parallel to the rock face, following Albert toward the first horizontal crevice about 150 yards up the face. I was last, and I took a couple steps, and my feet slid backwards a little as I went, and I froze. Holy crap this was steep. I tried putting my hands down in front of me and using hands and feet to move upward, but when lifting one foot to move it ahead, my stationary foot slipped a little, and I would panic and freeze. Albert, who had already reached the first crevice, looked down and saw me being stuck. He leaped off the crevice and scampered like a mountain goat, zig zagging back down to where I was. He was wearing an old beat up pair of workboots that I was sure had a lot less grippyness than the rubber soles of my Nikes, but he showed no signs of slipping.

Albert: C’mon Sam, you can’t just stand there.

Me: my feet keep slipping, Albert, and it scares me.

Albert: Here is the key. Take a big breath, and jump forward and just start running. You won’t slip.

Me: Well I will try, but this scares the heck out of me.

Albert: Try, it works.

And just to prove his point, he scampered up and sideways, and stopped about 20 feet away.

Albert: See? You just have to start running. I will wait for you here until you pass me.

So I girded up my loins, took a breath, and jumped forward and started running, and amazingly, soon I was scampering, and he was right beside me. I kept my attention on the crevice above where the others were waiting. I was going pretty good until I paused for a second to catch my breath, and all of a sudden I was stuck again. I just could not make one foot take the first step to get going again. I looked behind me to see if I could just go back down and abandon this crazy venture.

BIG MISTAKE.  HUGE.  ENORMOUS MISTAKE.

Behind me was straight down, and at such an angle that I would not be able to see where I was putting my feet, should I foolishly decide to back down the face of the mountain. I had to stop looking down, it was making my heart speed up so much that I thought I was going to pass out. It was a good football field length back to the starting crevice.

Did I mention that I have a lifelong terrible fear of heights? Yes, Since I was a kid. If I am in a high place, and look down, I get swept by a huge wave of vertigo and dizziness. Now I was really stuck. Paralyzed. And fighting to ignore the vertigo.I wanted to cry.

Albert had scampered ahead, and the rest of the people were halfway up to the second crevice with bushes, spread out across the face in seeming disregard to the steep granite. I. Could. Not. Make. My. Foot. LIft. Off. The. Granite. I was well and truly stuck, and didn’t know what to do about it. I would try to lift one foot to go ahead, and my back foot would slide half an inch, and I would slam the foot back down. If I lost my footing, I would slide down a football field of seemingly smooth yet abrasive granite at an increasing rate of speed until all the skin on my body would be ground away, leaving a blood trail to my final resting place, way down there. Shit.

Albert again saw my plight, and came scampering effortlessly back down to me.

Albert: Sam, you can’t go back down. That would surely kill you. Here is what to do. Pretend you are a fullback on a football team, ready for the whistle. When I whistle, dig both feet in and both hands, scream as loud as you can, and force yourself to push off and start running forward. You can do it.

I was so scared. But again, I girded up my paralyzed loins, he whistled, and I pushed off, screaming “SHIIIIITTT!” at the top of my lungs, and started running. And it worked! Soon I was sort of scampering up the steep incline. I made it to the first crevice and stopped and grabbed on to a small bush with a death grip. While I rested, looking carefully up the slope, I marveled that the Albert Method had worked. When I caught my breath, I set up, screamed, and leaped into motion.

I wish I could say that it got easier, but it didn’t. At every rest at the next crevice along the way up, after catching my breath, I had to scream as I got started running. It was terrifying. I didn’t dare look back down until I got to the very last crevice before the slope mellowed out a little bit, and I had the death grip on a stout small tree growing there. Then I looked down, and scared the crap out of myself again. I couldn’t even see the bottom, a million miles below me. It was hidden by the curvature of the stone.

I screamed again, and launched myself forward and ran up the last 60 yards of slope until it sort of leveled off into a gradual slope where I could walk again. Arriving at the top, the others were sitting in the shade of a boulder, calmly rehydrating.

Others: What were you screaming about, Sam?

Me: I was just expressing my extreme terror.

My adrenaline was rushing through my body, and the relief of fear and the joy at having got to the top was overwhelming. So much so, that I had to purge myself of it, so I climbed atop the 8 foot boulder, took off all my clothes, and stood there with my arms uplifted, hands clenched into fists, and nakedly screamed a long scream of victory and release. And, of course, the view was magnificent.

There was a trail on the other side of the top, and we walked back down to the training camp more sedately along the debris on the side of the rock.  I had put my clothes back on by then. I don’t know why I took them off. It was something primal I guess.

I was pretty proud of me. I had conquered my fears, and succeeded in climbing the huge rock. Would I do it again? Hell no. My fear of heights remains with me 30 years later. But for that one day, I was able to vanquish it.

Rise above your fears when you are able.   <3

Screaming matters.  <3