Margin of Profit

Many an aspiring gumby has eyed the Margin. Weary of winching their less-talented partners over the starting bulge of Golden Locks, they cast their gaze about, scarcely daring to imagine themselves capable of surmounting the intimidating runouts and fierce reputation guarding the Margin... and yet they dream. Tempting, that grade- 5.9+. So alluringly near, and yet, the lingering menace of that old-school plus...what does it mean?

If you must know, read on.

Having survived Crash Position, and eager for more, you have arrived at the base of its big brother. Ignoring the chatter from the queue on Razor Worm, the muttering and then the silence as you begin, you cinch down the strap on that helmet one last time, dip again your already-chalky hands into that bag of white courage, and launch upwards. Away from the lines, the dogs, the helmeted legions, the endless toproping. These are not for you. You dream of bigger things. A crack offers protection. Better take it up. Crispy, patinaed edges-do I trust them??- lead to the dying of the crack. Lace it. This is it, then. A last glance downwards to the belayer's somber, hopeless encouragement. Up, right, up, right, up. Don't look down. Eventually, you arrive at the arete. Protection is somewhat distant. The arete steepens. It's going to get pumpy up there. You know in your gut it will be one of those times-- all or nothing, do or die. Your money where your mouth is. You hate yourself. And yet there is no other way.

A blue alien saves many people's mental bacon, although no one I know has dared to test it. Don't skimp on the small stuff, and then perhaps one each above 1.5".