Rock climbing. It definitely has elements of risk. What if you fall? What about uncontrollable variables like rockfall or unexpected thunderstorms? Yet none of these things worry me or my climbing friends overly much.

Falling? Climb within your skill level, have adequate pro, know how to fall safe. The risk for injury is small and manageable. Rockfall? Stay on route, don't climb sedimentary rock after a rain, wait until the season is solid, wear a helmet. Thunderstorms? Keep up to date on the weather report and watch the sky. Know your options for retreat.

Just about all of the risks associated with climbing can be mitigated and the information is out there. But there is one risk climbers may not be up to date on:

The Soloist.

Who are these rare creatures that suddenly appear without rope or partner? I'd always thought the soloist was an unwaveringly confident soul. Part of me has always been fascinated and bit envious of their ability to move unencumbered by ropes or gear up the rock. If only I could be so bold...

Recent events have knocked those rose colored glasses from my face and my romanticized notions have been shattered. Soloists are people. And people can be more volatile and unpredictable than, well -- pretty much anything out there.

It was a perfect late summer day. I was heading up Sahara Terror, which in spite of the name is a moderate 5.7 route on Tahquitz rock in Idyll wild. About halfway up the second pitch, I hear my partner shout, "P! You've got a soloist coming through."

I wasn't concerned, figuring he'd be past me and out of sight in moments. Still I decided to pop in a piece of gear and wait until he was well past me. We even spoke a bit as he climbed through. Just small talk, but I do remember him telling me that he couldn't find a partner that day and had decided to dial it back and solo something easy. At this point I'm still impressed.

He stops about 40 feet directly above me at a slight overhang. I'm thinking it best to wait until he moves over it before continuing up. He's hanging out for a while and I'm getting a bit impatient.

Not sure what the etiquette is here, but let's face it, we all know what I'm thinking, "F*#k. This guy might actually fall on me. But I'm surely over reacting. He's a soloist...on an easy climb. He knows what he's doing." Hoping to ease my worries, I call out in a lighthearted tone, "You're not gonna fall on me right?"

Wrong! Well, the wrong thing to say apparently. He turns around and says with a voice just seething with hate, "What did you say to me?!". Trying to diffuse the situation I respond, "Oops sorry. Is that bad luck or something? I didn't mean anything by it." Again, apparently the wrong thing to say.

I spent the next few minutes (though it seemed infinitely longer) being bombarded by a maelstrom of hate. As it was coming at me I was mostly hearing, "RAWRRR! " There were actual words though, "RAWRRR you stupid bitch, RAWRRR you f*#king as#@&%e f*#king with my headspace RAWRRR!!!" It was then punctuated with the mysterious question, "HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT!?!

I realize the guy was scared, little kid scared. He wasn't a free spirit at one with the rock, but a frightened man-child with what was proving to be a very fragile headspace. He was channeling his fear into hate and instead of hating himself for being such a pussy, he unloaded it on me.

Sweet and loving saint that I am, I respond, "Well if that's what it takes to make you feel better, it's okay with me." Again, somehow not the response he was perhaps hoping for.

He gets quiet for a bit. Then he remembers something . He forgot to break out the c word, "You f*#king CUNT! RAWRRR! goddamn stupid f*#king CUNT!" etcetera

At this point my partner decides to say something. "I think that's enough." Angry Soloist is appalled, "Did you hear what she said to me?!?" I add, "Look man, I did say that I was sorry so I'm not sure what else you need me to do." The climbers on the next route over join in, "Do you mind dude, we're trying to climb here."

Angry soloist mutters to himself and FINALLY makes the move. I look down at my partner and say, "I'm going to wait a bit. I want plenty of space between me and him." Climbers on the next route agree, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

Thankfully Mr. There Are Reasons Why I Don't Have A Partner has headed through my route and up to the left. I continue climbing, glad to be free of this bizarre and unexpected threat.

After it's all over, I'm struck by how calm I was throughout the situation. I knew I had to be nice since he was above me. I didn't want him to fall on me and was feeling like he was super capable of throwing loose rock at me if the opportunity arose.

Moments later, there was a huge rockfall on Wong/Long. No one was hurt, but it was just surreal. I had such a strange feeling that it was somehow connected. A couple of pitches later, the clouds rolled in. Thunder and pouring rain for the last two pitches. WTF oh well. None of that was even one tenth as disturbing as Mr Happy.

At the top, my partner and I were recounting the events of the day. I realized in that moment that maybe I am an actual grown up. I kept my cool. In fact, it wouldn't be exaggerating to say that I was basically unflappable. It's probably because I teach first grade...