Editor's Note
2018: SIX OF US GROUPED UP IN A SUNNY BOWL one pitch up the south face of the Maiden in the Flatirons, Colorado. A buddy, Nate Mankovich, and I had come on a calm autumn day to try a 40-meter sport pitch up a leaning headwall directly above the belay, while the other party—four climbers—geared up to move rightward on the crux traverse of a meandering 5.8 first freed in 1958. Nate, as it happened, knew the leader of the group, and they chatted about past trips, mutual friends, beta—the usual climber-talk. At some point someone, getting organized at our cramped stance, said, “Hey, pass me that biner,” and one of the climbers joked, “I’m right here, man. And there’s no need for that kind of language.” “Of course,” he added, “I’m…