I was at Kelso, in Milton, ON, rope-soloing. I had done a few routes and was having a nice pleasant day, with only one other couple at the crag. I barely had time for one more route, so I selected Royal Oak, a 5.8, starting at an "8" marker painted on the rock.The first thing I noticed was that the block with the "8" painted on it had ripped, and was sitting on the ground, along with tons of other pieces of the escarpment, fallen over the ages. The route has a bouldery start, and then darts left into a crack. The recently fallen block had provided the key foot-hold before moving left. There were alternatives, but they were a little to the right- no big problem, though.
I rigged my anchor, racked up, and set off. The first moves are past thin right facing flakes, that always feel like they are going to pull, although they are fairly solid. I moved up, stemmed right to an alternative foothold, then paused. I was on some higher flakes, with my feet about seven ft. high. I briefly considered that, with the original foothold in place, no one would ever have had to be this far right. I tested the flake (aggressivly), and nothing budged. I shifted my weight, and reached left towards the crack.
Suddenly, the block ripped. I think my feet hit the ground first, but I was at such an angle that my butt and back followed quickly, and hard. I lay on the ground stunned and scared for a few seconds, knowing that this was not a good turn of events. I was quite shaken, and quickly decided that it would be best if I tried to move. I raised my head, and checked to see that my feet were moving. As soon as this worked, I jumped to my feet. If I was injured at all, I didn't want to let shock set in, before I could find someone else.
Once on my feet, I became aware of a good deal of blood on my hand, and a dull throb from my left butt-cheek, but everything seemed in order. I could see that my chalk bag had spilled about 12feet out from the cliff- I'm still not sure how I flew so far. In the end, the only damage was abrasions and bruises.
Driving home, it felt like I was sitting on a squash ball, due to the swelling in my butt. With my shirt covered in blood, it was hard to convince my girlfriend that I really was OK. At the same time, when I think about the number of rocks and boulders skattered on the trail, I wonder if I really have any right to be OK. We talk about grades, and commitment, in relation to risk, but this was a real good reminder that risk can be found on any route (especially when climbing alone). I'm not a super-hard climber, but I have rope-soloed 5.10's before, and this was a 5.8 that I had alreay climnbed once or twice. I was barely off the ground, and I was one move away from my first piece of gear. This was not a situation which one would expect to involve a high degree of risk. But flying7 ft., back-first, onto a rocky trail, is really not a move I would recommend. It hasn't made me reconsider anything, but it has given me something to think about. Unfortunately, I can't really think of anything that I should have done differently- the ultimate point here is that sometimes, things just happen, and the only way to avoid them would have been to stay in bed.
-simon-