I daydream. I wouldn't say I'm a dreamer, but my mind wonders. While ice climbing and freezing in Colorado this winter I decided that enough is enough. While suffering is fun in a puritanical sort of way, I needed to be warm for a change. Deepwater soloing—climbing rock cliffs directly over warm ocean water without ropes— sounded like it would make the frost in my goggles disappear.
The journey began: Denver to San Fransisco to Taiwan to Bangkok. From there I caught a small plane to Phuket, then took a boat to Ko Phi Phi. And then, finally, after my sixth layover, a final boat to Railay Beach— my destination.
I arrived tired and hot; very, very hot; 90 degree's with 90 percent humidity hot; trying to get stuff done in a hot yoga room hot. Did I mention it was hot?
I suck down some Thai whisky for a nightcap and pass out, thanking God for AC, my priceless American comfort. I’m up again at 4:30am, jet lagged and wired, and realize that the moderate coolness of early morning, is perfect for climbing. Tonsai beach, Diamond Cave, the Oyster blade, and the ever impressive 200 meter tall Thaiwand all await. I'm the kind of guy that is so psyched it irritates people, and patience is a virtue that I don't have. So after cutting my morning teeth on some chill beach side climbing I head to rent a boat. Haggling with the boatman I note the boat’s large car motor precariously mounted at one end and assume the long propeller protruding from its backside is the boat’s namesake, the Longtail.
Nervous.
Deep water soloing is, oddly enough, terrifying. It had sounded like a good ol’ time— cliff jumping mixed with climbing. But I’d failed to consider the ocean. A medium i am not very familiar with, not to mention falling into it ,intentionally, or even worse, by mistake, from sixty feet into dark, tumultuous water. My boatman stopped about fifty feet from a sheer cliff of a tiny, entirely rock island. If a comic super-villain needed a place to build his fortress I assume this would be it. The water is choppy as its now afternoon and the sun has abandoned me in this ever hot land. Normally the water looks inviting, sparkling turquoise and reminding me of a playground where children are comforted and safe. In the sun’s absence and rocking in my rickety boat over murky waters the world feels much less secure. And I’m already afraid of water. When I ask for a life jacket and for the boatman to take me closer, he just stares blankly at me. He doesn’t understand. I balk at the edge of the boat and he begins to make the sign language gesture for diving. If this is a game of charades it sucks. The waves are still big, and for a moment I wonder about just going back to the harsh mountains with the cold but familiar snow.
Somehow I put on my climbing shoes and jump in without a life vest. I tell myself I don’t have a life vest because I have a shred of my ego left. I swim to the base of the cliff, moving my long pale legs quickly at the thought of sea creatures swimming below. I am a child of the jaws generation, the sound track still plays in my head every time i get in the water. Just below the surface of the ocean the rock turns to razor sharp coral and the waves rise and fall five or six feet from peak to trough, crashing against the rock’s edge. I have to grab the rock above the water line just as the wave swells so as to get a good enough grip that I can hang on when the water rushes away leaving me with no option but to climb. That was the hard part.
Climbing is the easy part. I dry my hands and start moving up a few feet, then ten, before I know it forty. I can now see what appears to be the whole dark ocean below me. I head up to fifty, then sixty feet and I'm done. This is it. Sixty feet is the highest height I'm willing to fall, at least for today.
I jump.
When I hit the water I actually feel relieved, the ocean's menace is gone and I suddenly want to climb some more. My apprehension is gone. This is what I came five thousand miles to do.
