“Do you feel like you could die at any moment?” Chris asked at the start of pitch 4 of The Sydney Route. We had hiked 25km with 50lb packs to Frenchman’s Cap in remote Northwestern Tasmania to climb Australia’s tallest route. Now, belaying from inside a massive chimney, he was protected from most of the shrapnel I was tossing at him, but blind to the battle I was fighting 20 metres above. “ROOOCK!” I yelled towards Chris as I pulled out another bowling trophy sized shard of quartzite and let it go into the abyss. A second passed before I heard it explode below. I was on steep terrain, the overhanging rock coming out at me like an array of safety deposit boxes slipping from their lockers. As I tested my holds, each started to slide out from the cliff. Some I could desperately push back into their slots but most became missiles, launched towards my partner below. I was trying to ignore the fact that I hadn’t yet placed a piece of protection. I was far off-route, climbing loose rock at least a few notches above the route grade, and hoping I could find my way back on track. Chris leading the crux pitch, though we climbed harder pitches that day… After traversing the overhanging section and mantling a small lip, I found myself standing on a ledge. I looked around and found the route from which I had strayed about 10 metres to my left. Still without a piece between Chris