(Science? Math? Rationality? Behold the coldness and be skeptical.) Boys wear coats and ties, closed-toed shoes, belts. Students are drenched in values like hard work, competitive athletics, humility, community, God, and the liberal arts. Imagine a brick-walled boarding school under crisp white pines and youвЂ™ve got it right. Photo: scottie alexanderДЇounded in 1879 and nestled in the southern hem of the White Mountains, Holderness School is an anachronistic place.

Steve Potter with his Honda Element and the infamous roof rack, Mount Evans, Colorado, in 2007. The universe was huge and pointless, and I but an insubstantial speck who barely climbed 5.10. By the time I finally sent-after four or five loud goes-I couldnвЂ™t feel satisfied. Between attempts, I rent my hair, drop-kicked my chalkbag, threw my shoes, quit climbing, and moped by the stream. Scottie and my mother looked on, flinching and covering their heads, as try after try I yarded through the choss and fumbled the clips, pssat-ing like Sharma, only to pump out again near the chains. Each mirror-bright smear felt similarly untenable. Located in the weedy talus right of the Ruckman Cave, Pellet Gun (5.10d) was one of the very few sub-5.11 climbs in the canyon back in 2006, and its rock was a rare combo of chossy and polished, varnished to marble by climbing shoes grinding silt onto the holds.Д®ach X-marked loose block looked the same. Topo printout and found a climb he thought I could send. While I crammed my gear angrily into my backpack, he leafed through our Dr. On our last day in Rifle, after IвЂ™d punted yet again off my warm-up, Eighty Feet of Meat (5.11b), and my project, Pinchfest (5.12b), and my sub-project, Choss Family Robinson (5.11c), Scottie somehow sensed that if I was going to remain a climber and therefore a viable friend, I needed to leave having finished something. We stayed at the La Quinta down by the highway in town, chaperoned by my mother. For those five days in Rifle Mountain Park, I watched him climb more and better than heвЂ™d ever climbed, while I-his short, plump foil-whipped off everything.

Scottie was one of those preternaturally developed high-schoolers, big shouldered, red-bearded, an Ivy-bound acer of the SAT whoвЂ™d just been elected student-body president of our rheumy New Hampshire boarding school. In July 2006, the summer before our senior year in high school, my friend Scottie and I spent five days climbing-or, in my case, falling off-Rifle, ColoradoвЂ™s easiest climbs.

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