Craig DeMartino, Rock Climber.

For about 30 seconds two years ago Craig DeMartino found himself in the middle of a classic anxiety dream with his eyes wide open. He had just completed a 50-foot transverse in southern Colorado's Black Canyon of the Gunnison when pebbles flew, and a 120-foot freefall seemed inevitable. But by some miracle, instead of reeling backward, he slid 10 feet down to the next

tiny ledge.

"I remember looking up and having a perfect view of the caroming device [an anchor placed in rock cracks that expands under pressure] and thinking, Wow. That really needs to hold," says the understated photographer with an audible exhale.

But after nine years of climbing, only that harrowing "near miss" and climbing-related elbow tendonitis sully his experience in the sport. Otherwise, the 33-year-old DeMartino considers this activity a tremendous high. And no wonder! Besides the panoramic views that expand over his shoulder with every hold, he says it provides an unsurpassed mental and physical challenge.

Some even call rock climbing "vertical chess," an endgame involving a series of carefully placed hands and feet. Indeed, it takes brains and brawn to sustain concentration as well as contractions in the torso, upper, and lower body.

Though lean and tan from plenty of practice, the soft-spoken DeMartino confesses with some feigned guilt that he's really just "a one-trick pony." He doesn't crosstrain much. However, before climbing, he warms up with stretches and "bouldering," which involves brief gear-free climbs as high as he feels comfortable (gulp) falling.

A Philadelphia native, he first gripped rocks in his early 20s at a bachelor party--of all places. And though a novice then, the naturally agile DeMartino really never let go. Ultimately, his enthusiasm for this sport drew him to Colorado, where he has lived in Loveland since the mid 1990s. But for all its intensity and risk, he comments that climbing always comes down to fun.

"As kids, we love to climb on things," he explains. "We love the physical act of moving upward, like in a jungle gym. And that's still a really playful thing to me." While the mechanics immediately clicked, he suspects mastery could take a lifetime. "But the rocks aren't going anywhere," DeMartino jokes, referring to routes he failed or has thus far shirked from attempting. Nonetheless, he tries to keep his five-foot-ten-inch, 148-pound body in shape by sleeping 10 hours a night and eating a balanced diet, albeit compromised with the occasional potato chip binge.

Regardless of his rest, diet, and exercise variables, a singular rock-climbing epiphany remains fixed. It happened in southern Utah's Zion National Park about 1,000 feet above a tourist tram ambling along the riverbank. From their ropes, he and his friend Travis heard the passengers chattering below and watched them occasionally double-taking at their Spiderman-like perches. And for DeMartino (hardly an exhibitionist) the perspective contrast transformed his precarious position into something strangely solid and precious.

"When I'm climbing, I'm pretty mono-focused," shares DeMartino, a Christian. "But when I get a chance to stop and reflect, that's when I understand how faith plays into climbing. You're where the birds fly and only the little rodents get around. I see beautiful settings that a lot of people don't get to see, and I feel thankful."

Pam Mellskog writes on health topics from St. Paul, Minnesota.