Robin

Climbing "Robin" (grade 8-/8) in Šervůd had been a dream of mine for a long time. This route, a true testpiece in the beautiful sandstone crag, whispers tales of delicate precision and raw power. The conditions on the day were perfect: crisp air, dry rock, and a palpable sense of focused determination.

As I warmed up, my gaze instinctively tracked the line, deciphering the sequence of miniscule crimps and precarious foot placements that led into its notorious bouldery crux. Once on the rope, the initial moves flowed, a delicate dance of balance and reach. I ascended the lower half with a steady rhythm, my breathing even. Then came the crux: a tricky traverse followed by a powerful, static lock-off to a distant, shallow pocket. My fingers screamed on the sharp edges, lactic acid burning through my forearms. I dug deep, battling the pump, my entire being focused on the next microscopic hold, the subtle shift of weight. A fleeting moment of doubt, a whisper of letting go, was swiftly overridden by the desire to send. I committed, lunged, and clipped the quickdraw, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The upper section, though technically easier, still demanded absolute concentration, my exhausted muscles protesting with every move. Reaching the anchors, the triumphant clink of the chain was pure music. As I lowered, I looked back at the impressive line, a wave of exhilarating exhaustion washing over me. "Robin" had delivered a fierce fight, and the send felt profoundly earned, a testament to pushing my limits in a truly special climbing area. It's a route that etches itself into your memory, a perfect struggle, perfectly overcome.

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