The next thirty feet of climbing involve a lot of disintegrating rock with a particularly large hanging flake. I move up slowly. When I look down, my eyes meet with Dave's helpless and pleading eyes. I know the look and the feeling that accompanies it.
Someone needs to make an umbrella sized helmet.
I wonder what the fate of my rope will be if the flake goes. I knock on the flake and it sounds a bit like a kettle drum. Dave and I are both very quiet. I snake through, teetering on the top step of my aiders and eventually move past the flake into better rock. I am happy.