What am I doing up here? I don't belong here. I haven't earned it and I haven't paid my dues. The exposure is awesome and the climbing over my head. Way over. I hang at the belay and crane my neck back to watch the Doctorb work the desperate traverse at the start of the pitch. The last pitch. The last pitch of the Naked Edge!

My first rock climb was the super classic Wind Ridge (5.6) on the Wind Tower in Eldorado Canyon. The weather was perfect and the climb was stimulating. Hard, challenging, a bit scary, but I made it. The sky had never seemed so blue and I knew I was hooked. I would be a rock climber. After the climb my more experienced partner pointed out the area classics. Finally he pointed up to a knife edge that cut the highest tower right to the very summit and said, "That's the Naked Edge. The most famous climb in Colorado." I was mesmerized; in awe of the scary line and I never thought I would climb it.

Through the years I learned more about the route. First climbed by the legendary Layton Kor and Bob Culp in 1962 (direct, normal finish added in 1964 by Kor also); first free climbed by Jim Erickson and Duncan Ferguson in 1971; first free soloed by Jim Collins after falling on four of the five times he had previously climbed the route!. What history! What a classic line! The biggest, most glaring, most inexcusable blunder of "50 Classic Climbs of North America" was not including this ultra-classic.

The Doctorb had called me and left a message: "Bill, I'm feeling stupid..." Immediately my palms began to sweat and my knees began to knock. Whenever the Doctorb is "feeling stupid" it means something long, scary, and hard. And hard for him is out of my league. So why me? Maybe me likes the looks of horror that appear on my face whenever I climb with him, or the hyperventilating I do when on the brink of puking. I don't know, but I wasn't turning down a chance of seeing the Edge up close. I didn't know how much freeclimbing I would be able to do, but it didn't matter that much. I wanted to see this baby up close.

By now the Doctorb was my therapist/doctor and the doctor recommended pain. He recommended fear. He recommended committment and exposure. He recommended the Edge. I was a shell of a climber seeking guidance through therapy and was powerless to abstain and obediantly submitted. This was to be our third climb together. The other two being the Northwest Corner of the Bastille and Grand Giraffe/Diving Board. I was getting a guided tour of the Eldo classics and a fast introduction to hardman climbing. Too fast. I didn't measure up, but I didn't care either.

We were trying to squeeze it in after work and met at the Mesa Trailhead at 4:00 p.m. Was it too late? Just the day before I was caught in darkness coming down off this wall. I decided to bring my headlamp. I ducked out of work, a new job, and wondered if I would have one tomorrow. No matter. Jump in the car; jam in a tape and the Alarm starts screaming out prophetic lyrics:

I pull into the parking lot and the Doctorb is already there. I leap out. "Naked Edge, Doctorb!" I say with false bravado, my stomach already churning with fear. "Let's go get spanked."

One rope, a couple of water bottles, a big rack, and we were off. Up the trail to the ramp, we were at the base of the wall by 4:30 p.m. . To save time we selected the Ramp Route (5.7) as our passage to the Lower Meadow. Bruce led off. I led through and up the overhang of the cave pitch (5.8) to the base of the Naked Edge. As Bruce prepared to launch into the first pitch, a 5.11a finger crack, I checked my watch: 5:11 p.m. I called out the time, not even noticing it significance. "That's appropriate," said Bruce and launched upwards.

Bruce is a large man. He told me this before I ever met him. He said, "I'm a big guy. I set the standard for bigness." At 6'3" and 200 pounds, Doctorb is larger than your average climber. His arms are huge, like an NBA power forward’s and I expected him to climb with burly power. Yet his footwork is equisite, precise, imaginative. It was quite a lesson watching him calmly work the stems on this pitch. Completely solid. He made it look so easy that I thought I had a chance at it...Wrong!

This pitch is hard right off the ledge and never lets up. A very tricky move gets you on top of a block and from here it is finger locks, liebacks and lots of tricky, tiring, precise stemming. I made it past the first 10c crux, barely, but was baffled at the 11a section. I tried to use the arete on the left remembering that Bruce had grabbed it, but couldn't get back to the crack and fell off. I attacked the corner directly and gained a few feet before falling off again. The top section of this pitch is rated 10c, but Bruce thinks it is the crux and I also found it to be very hard: falling off yet again. It was going to be a long climb.

Bruce had run the first two pitches together so I now faced the second pitch. It starts up with exposed face climbing right up the arete. Bruce didn't place any gear here and I shuddered at the thought of leading this pitch. I reached a bulge right on the arete and here I had to cross over to the other side. A tricky 5.9 move and I was around and facing the crux up the second pitch.

This move is rated 10b but I found it very insecure, hard, and scary with sketchy pro. I fall once here and set up for the move 7 or 8 times before I finally got it with a desperate reach for a finger lock from two slopers. Bruce was above me loving my dilemma. He kept muttering things like, "You have now entered the Sloping Zone." and "Sloper City, dude!" Shut up and drop me a loop of rope to grab, I thought, but he pressed me to work it out and stay with it. I got it the second try.

The third pitch was my lead. It is the longest pitch of the route and the crux is a tricky mantle. This is another classic pitch, as each are, with great exposure. You climb both side of the arete, weaving back and forth across it until you arrive at a nice, unexposed belay on sloping ramp. This pitch is unique in that it was the only one that I didn't fall on. And my only lead.

As I belayed Bruce up, I scoped out the next, fourth, pitch. It looked very hard, but not the horror I expected. Bruce powers up the initial moves, hangs from almost nothing and casually backs up the ancient pin that protects the crux moves into the start of the chimney. This is the first time I have ever seen Bruce work hard, though he was never close to coming off. He worked his way up to the roof, placed a couple of good pieces and swung out on a big flake. Then he powered up the final 10c moves to a three bolt hanging belay over a lot of nothing.

Pass or play? I'll play, Doctorb. The moves on this pitch are desperate for me, but I don't fall off the initial dihedral. I can't believe people can climb shit like this and place gear! As I near the entry moves to the chimney Bruce is giving me the running beta and lots of encouragment. I feel I can't fall off because I will disappoint him too much. With some ugly, thrashing, chimney moves I make it into the chimney and up to the roof. I freed the crux of this pitch (11a), but know I am light years away from leading it.

I bungle the next section in my truest form. Scared about the potential fall, I thought there was no gear from here to the belay - fifteen horizontal feet - and that a fall would send me screaming around the corner, I didn't clean the gear at the top of the roof until I swung out on the flake. Pulling the gear from here blew out what was left of my arms and I fell. Much to my surprise, I didn't go very far. Bruce had placed another cam along the traverse after he had already reached the belay - just for me. Thanks, Doctorb! Stupidity and fear had prevented me from my only chance at climbing one of these pitches clean. As Rosanne Rosanna-Danna used to say: "If it's not one thing, then it's the other."

I now know that I couldn't aid this route because, apparently there is mandatory free moves out of this chimney, unless you pound in a couple of pins. I guess I won't be running back to this route without someone like Bruce to do the leading.

Which brings me to where this story first started: belaying Bruce up the final pitch. The light is fading on us. It is past eight as he starts the pitch. The initial moves are all overhanging as you work out this ramp up and right to a move around the corner. Bruce stays bunched up a bit in order to keep his feet above the overhang and in the game. He moves very solidly, but I can tell it takes a great effort, even from Bruce. I had heard previously that this was the crux of the whole route. I knew I couldn't do it. And if I fell off this section I might not be able to get back on the rock. The ropes hung free below with with hundreds of feet of air below them.

The rope is moving continuously through my device as Bruce labors on the overhanging crack around the corner. I am fiddling with the rope trying to make sure no snags hold Bruce up when I suddenly hear "Falling!" Down comes Bruce and up I go. From hanging a couple of feet below the bolt anchors, I get slammed upwards and into the rock drawing blood from my arm and shin. Bruce has taken at least a twenty footer and his 200 pound mass has free fallen the entire distance generating a non trivial force. He is unhurt as he hit nothing. More damage is done to me. Why did he fall so far? I must not have been attentive enough because he wasn't ten feet above his gear. Damn! The one job I can contribute to the ascent and I can't even do that right.

Bruce said he just greased out of the hand crack. It is very polished up here and the day was warm. Of course, a good healthy pump contributed to the fall also, he mentioned.

Bruce is pumped and needs a rest so I hold him. He is swinging at the end of his rope 600 feet above the ground. After a moment I ask him how he plans on getting back on the route. "I'm not sure," he says. By kicking he gets himself swinging and then grabs the rock and then finally the rope. Now he can winch himself up and back onto the rock with me locking him off.

A moment later he is back at the climbing, around the corner out of my site. All my concentration is upon the flow of the rope. Two quick pulls - he is clipping gear. Now slack on the line - he is moving past gear clipped above him. Now a steady draw on the rope - he is climbing above gear. I reposition myself in order to reduce the bodily damage should he take another fall. He doesn't. Soon his heads peers above the arete and a whoop of joy escapes his mouth. The hard part is over and it is an easy cruise to the belay.

Almost all the rope gets drawn up as Bruce moves over the summit slabs and down to an alcove with a tree. Of course I don't know this at the time and can't hear anything at all. We had rope signals setup but I can't distinguish them. Soon the rope is out and I assume he must be at the belay. A little while later the rope pulls tight. I must be on belay, but I don't want to take any chances. "Am...I...On...Belay?" I yell, but there is no answer. Yikes. I unclip from one belay anchor and the rope comes tight again - a sure sign that I am on belay. It's party time.

In waning light (this seems familiar) and totally psyched out, I start the pitch. If I fall, I might not be able to get back on this route because of the intense overhang. These moves are the hardest on the climb and I have been getting my ass kicked...consistently. I feel the initial holds...and make a quick judgement call. I start grabbing gear. Many of you will shake your heads in disgust...so be it. If I had jumars I might have used them also.

Up the tiny, overhanging ramp and around the corner. Even grabbing all the gear this is desperate for me and tiring. One glance at the overhanging crack around the corner and I know I am in trouble. This final crack is so steep it makes the Diving Board look like a slab. A 5.7 slab at that. This pitch is simply in another league than the earlier ones. A league many grades above where I should be. You're a long way from home now, I thought.

The jams here are tight hands in flaring constrictions spaced widely. The crack here is too wide to jam except for at these constrictions. I fall off once. Twice. Pull on the friend and climb way above it so that when I weight the rope I am level with it...except that I swing out into space and can barely reach it! This pitch is so steep that if the gear isn't placed closely enough you could fall off this pitch and never return to it.

Now the crack has turned into nice hands. Except for the angle that is. Very overhanging. I lieback up sections, something I would never do on lead, but I'm not leading this pitch anytime soon anyway. Probably not this lifetime. From here on up I don't have to hang anymore but it is all I can do finish it off. The hardest pitch I have seen in Eldo.

I come bumbling over the top with gear strewn all over me, water bottles clanking against the rock, thoroughly beaten. "YESSSSS!!!" my voice echoed off the deeply shadowed sandstone walls. A primal scream of victory? For what? you might ask. For aiding up the Naked Edge? Yes. Yes, yes, yes. For simply climbing the route. Am I a 5.11 climber? Hell, no! I'm not even much of a 5.10 climber. But I did find myself walking a little taller, holding my head a little higher. I was a virgin no longer.

I had hoped to better aquit myself on this route, but it was not be. I wouldn't feel comfortable leading any of the hard pitches. I am a low 5.10 climber being dragged into the world of real men. I don't belong. I can't even follow properly. A babe in the woods...