Written by: Grant Velbis
The radio blared as I cruised along Kentucky highways, my excitement building with each passing mile. In May of 2022, my friend Zach and I had planned a week-long rock-climbing trip to the famous Red River Gorge, located about an hour from Lexington. The Red, as it’s commonly called, is unmatched in the Southeast for its quantity and quality of sport climbing.
As I drove, my mind whirled with the routes I hoped to conquer, and my imagination raised my climbing prowess to laughable heights ( I had only joined the sport a year prior). I could see it all: the celebration at reaching the top of a near-impossible climb and Zach’s admiration of my strength and skill.
With these daydreams dancing in my head, I found myself pulling into the parking lot of Miguel’s Pizza, a quirky little restaurant well-known amongst climbers for its cheap camping on the property behind.
Once I found Zach, we immediately jumped into discussing our plans for the following days. As we talked, we set up our meager campsite: a tarp on the ground next to a picnic table. Neither of us had brought a tent, and at that time I didn’t even own a sleeping bag. So, after a camp stove supper, I wrapped myself up in blankets and lay on our tarp beneath a canopy of stars, eagerly awaiting the dawn.
“Take!” I yelled to Zach, who promptly tightened the rope. There I dangled, sickeningly high off the ground, my arms and legs shaking from fear.
Zach and I had woken early, eaten bowls of hurried oatmeal and set off in search of rocks to climb. But my daydreams of grandeur were quickly shattered. Climber though I was, my fear of heights and of falling had yet to be resolved. After a few more feeble attempts, I gave up for the morning, and we returned to Miguel’s for lunch. I hunched over our picnic table, nursing my wounded pride.
“Hey, Grant!” Zach broke into my thoughts. “I have somebody I want you to meet.” I looked up as he introduced me to an unkempt man with long hair, maybe in his mid-30s, who was wearing a T-shirt that hadn’t been washed for a long time. “This is Dave. I met him last time I climbed here; he’s a cool guy. He and his friends are going to hang out with us.”
“Sounds good!” I said, but inside I felt as if my climbing trip had just been hijacked. Dave and his ragtag group of four other friends joined us for the rest of the day, and, to my initial dismay, the rest of the week. But over time, in between wrestling with my climbing fears, I got to know some of them. Dave was a doctor taking time off from work to pursue climbing. Vance was happily married. Zane lived and worked at Miguel’s, and Mitchell was secretly the best climber of us all.
It didn’t take long for the group to vote Zach as our fearless leader. The six of them decided we should end our trip with a bang by ascending a multi-pitch rock tower. Standing at the base of the wall, I was terrified. If a normal route scared me, could I climb something even taller? And with strangers?
But my fears quickly vanished as, one by one like a line of ants, we climbed under Zach’s skillful guidance. I laughed harder than I had in a long time as we crammed onto narrow ledges only just wide enough to fit us all. As we teased and joked with each other, I realized I was among friends — joined by our mutual love for the sport of rock climbing. I fit right in, having become as unkempt as they were during my week of living a climber’s life.
Over a post-climb pizza back at Miguel’s, Vance asked Zach and me something that had been on his mind. “You guys don’t drink, and you don’t smoke. You don’t even put pepperoni on your pizza! What’s up with that?” In a moment I won’t soon forget, Zach explained our faith to our new friends.
“I have to say,” Vance admitted later, “I think you guys are the coolest Christians I’ve ever met.”
Since then, I’ve tried to carry the spirit of my Red River Gorge trip into other climbing adventures. This past fall I was at Foster Falls (45 minutes west of Chattanooga) when I ran into some climbers visiting from Puerto Rico. “You’re a local,” they said. “You should come climbing with us!”
I did and, with their encouragement and support, climbed my hardest route to date. Another time, over the summer, I happened to meet a Baptist guy at the climbing gym. We became fast friends and met up many times, even outside the gym, to connect over our faith.
Recently, I reflected with Zach about these various experiences. That motley bunch at the Red had reminded me that people are always more important than achievements and that Christianity is something to be lived, not just talked about. I love the way Zach put it:, “You can still do cool stuff without leaving your faith behind.” So, I would encourage you: Whatever it is you like to do, be it rock climbing or something else, use it to connect with people. And bring your faith with you.
