Failure is often a better teacher, and maybe even a better motivator, than success.
For me, Big Iron On His Hip is a problem at Hueco Tanks that I ‘ve never been able to do. No, not never!— the one I haven’t done yet but am totally convinced that I still can! The one that hovers in the back of my mind like a ghost and motivates me to keep working hard to stay strong even as the years go by and I accrue gray hairs and watch the backs of my arms grow more and more floppy. Or flappy. I mean, there are a lot of climbs at Hueco and elsewhere I’ve tried and haven’t sent that haunt me like this. There are a couple I’ve given up on ever doing. But I haven’t reached that point with Big Iron yet. The trouble with Big Iron, a climb that is, IMHO, well within my ability, is that it’s over 1500 miles away. And it requires some body positions that are hard to train for offsite. At this point in my life, for me to get good at climbing Big Iron, requires me to climb Big Iron. Damn.
But back in 2015, I almost did the thing.
Big Iron is one of the original lines in the cave known as Martini Roof at Hueco Tanks. It has a clear start and a somewhat flakey finish— the one problem of the problem. There are good feet the whole way too— that is, if you consider handholds good footholds and you don’t mind being completely horizontal at points. However, being horizontal in varying degrees is one of the draws of climbing at Hueco.
The start hold is a wide, shallow hueco (well, duh) and you grab it, one hand on each side, knuckles facing each other— at least, that’s how I establish on the hold. Maybe other people do something else. Get your feet on and make a move with your right hand out of the hueco to a tiny crimp, but then put your left heel into the hueco and bump your left hand to the opposite side of the same hueco. Make another move way out with your right hand, switch your left heel to a toe pressing down and then get your right toes in the hueco too. So many moves in the hueco! Now, with your feet at the same level as your hands, you are horizontal, especially if you are using your core and not letting your butt sag way down low.
For the non-climbers out there, when your feet are using a hold like this— toe hooking one part, pressing down with a toe or a heel on another part— it’s called a bicycle. It allows you to keep your body in close while you move your upper extremities around. Some people are really good at bicycling. I’m not some people. For me, this move is not at all comparable to riding a bike. It’s a skill that I must practice regularly or I lose it, and since I can’t do it, I don’t like practicing it, and around and around we go. It requires certain muscle awareness and strength beyond the typical. I have never been much of a toe-hooker or bicycler, but in 2015, I could do this bicycle-thingy, make the next huge move, crossing my left hand over my right, which was already pretty far out there, and even take a second in that position to breathe (see photo). In later years, my ability to do this move has left me, but I think it’s because I neglected my core for several years in deference to my shoulder, which, now that I put that in writing, sounds really dumb.
Why would I neglect my core??
Anyway this move is the spectacular part of Big Iron and the reason that I want to send the thing.
So, the bicycle holds you on, but at some point— when both hands are stretched out to one side of your body and the only thing keeping you on the rock are your fingertips and your toes magically staying in the hueco all the way on the other side— you have to let your feet go. You have to just drop them and let them swing down and all around, and in that second defy the laws of gravity and velocity from ripping your finger tips from the holds too. Thankfully this move isn’t high off the ground, but there is a pointy little tree behind you which you’d rather not catch your fall. Often though, if you fall, your feet come out and hit the crashpad, leaving you standing there with your hands still holding onto the rock, looking silly, and your spotter with his hands up your shirt.
In defense against looking silly, you might say, “Ah! I almost had it!” Or, “I was going to do it that time!” But did you? Were you really?
For some reason in 2015, multiple times, I’d let my feet go and hold the swing like a total badass, IMHO, and quickly steady myself on new footholds in front of me. It’s a wild, jubilant move, that looks more haphazard than I ever want to feel on a climb. But when it works, it’s so fun and makes you want to laugh. I’ve seen video of people not doing the move this way, but instead, daintily tip-toeing their feet across. That way is very graceful and beautiful even, and I’m sure takes much more strength than letting go, but IMHO, it also looks very serious. I doubt the climber who does the moves slowly and gracefully, instead, wants to giggle at the end of it. I could be wrong.
The rest of the climb doesn’t require such fancy footwork and isn’t quite as remarkable. There is one other heel hook, this time in a huge jug above your head, and it’s hard to let it go too, but it’s not as dramatic or as fun. The end half of Big Iron requires more of a pure determination not to let go of the few tiny holds you have to crimp hard and make the last big moves to the scary, flakey top out that gets an exclamation in the guidebook because it’s so scary and flakey, though not because it’s tall.
In 2015, this unremarkable ending is where I would fall, and did fall on the last go of the last day. What a disappointment.
This past trip in 2023, I was able to do the unremarkable ending (yay me!) but could not do the wild and spectacular move from the bicycle successfully. I’m not done with Big Iron though. It continues to leave me craving more rather than wanting to give up. We’ll return to Hueco as long as we remain healthy and hale, and next time, I’ll be better prepared and do the dang thing.
“Do or do not, there is no try.”
Photo rights: A. Rawluszki, Morgan Productions, 2015
