Drawing Pictures Inside Another Man's Brain

That's what it's like guiding a blind client

When I heard my client, Domenic, on the other end of the phone, he sounded straight out of The Sopranos. The New Jersey area code made sense.

He thanked me for calling. And went on to say, “Let me explain what I can and cannot see.”

I told him that sounded like a good place to start.

He responded, “I can’t see anything!” and started laughing.

I learned Dom’s a retired New York State attorney. He’s been blind for 62 years after he lost his vision to macular degeneration. In his free time, he enjoys hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He’s only got four peaks left before he's summited all 48 4,000-foot mountains. He's doing them all in the winter because trying them in the summer would be “too easy,” he said.

And, like most mountaineers, he occasionally rock climbs. He’s been coming out with my company for over a decade. This year, it was my turn to take him out.

The day turned out to be one of my more challenging and rewarding climbing days I’ve ever had.

Preparation Was Mandatory

I call all my clients before a climbing day. But when I heard I would be going out with a paraclimber, I knew a phone call would be mandatory. I was curious to learn about Domenic’s goals for the day. And how I could best support him in accomplishing them.

Over the phone, we agreed to start the day with some single-pitch top roping. That would allow me to assess his climbing abilities and for him to begin trusting my coaching, also known as calling.

We also talked about what equipment he would need. And he explained that he’d bring me a bell to attach to my backpack so he could monitor my whereabouts. I wanted to make a joke about being a sheep or a cow, but I held off until I had a better understanding of his sense of humor.

In addition to our phone call, I dove into my own research on climbing with blind climbers. Specifically, I wanted to learn how to communicate effectively. I found two videos from the National Ability Center to be super helpful.

• Blind Climbing Outdoors: Tips for Callers and Climbers

• Blind Climbing Indoors: Tips for Callers and Climbers

I also spoke with the guide who normally works with Dom. And tried to pick their brain about guide-specific nuances I needed to pay attention to. But even though I was prepped, I still managed to forget the rope at the car. I realized when we had our helmets and harnesses on, ready to climb. So I went for a cardio lap back to the parking lot as fast as I could.

Communication Was Everything

One of the tips I learned from the videos above was not to stop communicating. Looking back, I don’t think I stopped talking for 8 hours.

We chatted like a couple of normal dudes. And I delivered a lot of my normal guiding spiels. But in addition to all that, it was also my job to describe the world we were moving through, both for Dom’s safety and enjoyment.

On our hike in, I described the terrain we were moving over. And how far we’d be hiking. When it came to climbing, the first thing I did was describe the pitch of the climb from start to finish. I showed Dom the opening moves, guiding his hands over the stone, and I showed him that the system was secure by letting him check my belay device.

When it came to climbing, I communicated with Dom via clock positions. Clock positions provide a precise, 12-hour, 360-degree method for describing relative directions, where “12 o’clock” is directly ahead (forward or above), 6 o’clock is behind (or below), 3 o’clock is to the right, and 9 o’clock is to the left. This system is used in aviation, military, tactical, and navigation contexts. But it’s also a common method for callers and paraclimbers.

Every time one of his four limbs needed to go somewhere, I called the locations of rock features. It was up to him to locate the feature and decide how to use what was available to him to climb upward. It was incredible to watch Dom scan the wall for features with his hands and then piece the puzzle together to climb.

He was patient and had strong endurance. Dom was incredibly coachable. If there was a weak link, it was me. As a kid, I grew up “analog-clock-challenged”. Luckily, nowadays, I’m a well-adjusted adult and figured it out relatively quickly.

In time, the precision of my calling improved, and the sequences of Dom’s climbing got longer and more fluid. We were a team. My verbal commands suggested movements for his limbs, and when my advice was wrong or he was out of sight, he followed his instincts. And his instincts were good.

Tactics Needed To Be Adjusted

After our morning single-pitching, we discussed attempting a multi-pitch. Dom had climbed multi-pitch in the past. And this time, he had a route in mind. Since our teamwork seemed efficient enough, we both felt it was a challenge and a risk we were willing to accept.

The largest tactical adjustment I made to help us succeed was shortening pitches. I normally climb the route we selected in two, maybe three, pitches.

But with Dom, I broke the route up into five pitches.

Short pitches allowed me to maintain visual contact with Dom so I could call the route for him. On this particular day, the short pitches were even more helpful because halfway up, the wind began absolutely howling.

In addition to short pitches, I adjusted how I placed gear and built anchors.

I tried my best to make straightforward placements. While Dom is incredibly capable, I didn’t want him to have to deal with super nuanced placements that I keyed in behind a quartz crystal, or stopper placements that I rattled down like a plinko ball into the netherworld of a crack. Those are challenging enough to clean with eyesight. And I didn’t place any stoppers; I used cams only.

I also simplified my anchors. Each time I belayed Dom, I built a textbook, robust, and redundant three-piece anchor. The placements themselves were straightforward. But I also made the anchors modular.

Once Dom arrived and was ready to belay me up the next pitch, I could remove one of the three pieces without compromising the anchor's integrity. That way, when it was his turn to leave the station, there was one less piece he had to clean before climbing.

This might sound controversial, but the two-piece anchors were still plenty strong enough for our application. And his climbing experience was improved by mitigating faffing around with gear.

The View Is Better

By the time we were at the top, 20 MPH gusts vibrated through our bones. Knowing how the wind unsettles me as a seeing climber, I tried to imagine the effect of wind on a blind climber’s experience.

Dom confirmed it was wild. And then he let out a celebratory yell, confirming victory.

Sitting on the cliff’s edge, I actually looked out to enjoy the view. So many times, I just top out and go down. Dom wanted to see it too, so I described it for him.

A pitch pine wavered in the wind above his head, casting shade where he sat on a bench of cold, hard Gunks Rock. In the foreground, vibrant green buds burst from the oaks and birches. All of them swayed like waves in the ocean.

In the middle ground, there were houses tucked into the trees. Sitting low in the valley, they looked like geometric splashes of color on the green and brown grasslands. When the angle was just right, sunshine glimmered off tiny cars as they hovered over the highway's blacktop pavement.

Far off in the background, there were layers of hazy hilltops and mountainsides. The low spot on the horizon revealed the Hudson River's position. Storm King and Breakneck Ridge were the most obvious, lording over the riverbanks.

And somewhere, far off in the distance, to the south, I said I could see Dom’s house in New Jersey. I got a thumbs up, but he didn’t believe me.

We walked off the back instead of rappel. To help Dom get his bearings, I used his two hands. I formed the Gunk’s steep cliff face with his left hand and used the right to create the sloping ramp down the backside, like a tipped over capital “A”. I showed him we climbed up to his finertips, and now needed to hike down to the base of his knuckles on the far side.

Back in the woods, we were finally out of the wind. When you get off a route with that type of wind, and put your feet on the ground, you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

Eventually we got back to the carriage road. We packed up and started hiking toward the car. I was jingle-jangling next to Domenic with my bell. And Dom walked alongside me gently holding onto to my right elbow.

“You were a spectacular guide today, Teddy,” Dom said.

I really appreciated hearing that.

“You were drawing pictures in my brain. And 99% of the time you called a feature, you were correct.”

We joked that there was room for improvment.