Mentally Fit for the Send

By Katie McKinstry Stylos

I once heard that excitement and nervousness are the same emotions, differentiated only by how we frame them. I tried telling myself that these nerves were excitement, but deep down, I knew it was anxiety. 

The Scepter, a WI5 classic in Hyalite Canyon, had been living rent-free in my head for years — long before I even moved to Bozeman. Its iconic beauty captivated me the first time I saw a picture of it: steep, sculptural, and intimidating; a rite of passage.

The Scepter wasn’t just a climb, it became a symbol 

I obsessed over someday leading it, imagining what it would feel like to stand at the base and take those first swings. But the closer I got to making it a reality, the more doubt crept in. Was I truly ready? Would I fail? Would the experience live up to the years of anticipation — or worse, would I let fear paralyze me before I even started?

The day came in March 2021, with its perfect blend of sunshine and sticky late-season ice. I’d spent years developing as an ice climber, following the idea of “top rope a hundred pitches before you lead one.” Logically, I knew I was prepared. But that morning, fear filled me like a bolus of lead in my stomach, corroding my courage and leaking out every possible reason I might fall short. 

Still, I racked up, approached the base, and breathed through the tension. Each movement felt deliberate and focused. The ice was solid, and my placements were trustworthy. And before I knew it, I clipped the anchors. I had sent my first WI5.

You’d think that moment would have marked a turning point — a victory over doubt. 

But, as I’ve learned, managing fear isn’t a linear process. The Scepter – and every hard and intimidating project since – have taught me that success isn’t about erasing fear, but navigating it. I climbed The Scepter not because the fear vanished, but because I leaned into it, trusted my preparation, and stayed present.

That climb also marked a subtle shift in my goals. After that season, I found myself drawn to mixed climbing and drytooling, disciplines that demanded a new mental approach.

In ice climbing, solid technique and good placements will carry you far. Even if conditions can vary, with experience you tend to know – and are able to trust – what you’re working with. On the other hand, mixed and dry routes can feel chaotic: holds are measured in millimeters, picks balance precariously on edges that seem ready to crumble (and sometimes do). It’s an exercise in precision, patience, and faith that a hold won’t blow or your pick won’t skate out. 

Climbing in the face of comparison

If ice climbing was a test of my time on tools and experience, transitioning to mixed and drytooling was about redefining how I approached fear. The goals felt bigger and held more weight, falls became inevitable, and the moves infinitely more technical. The mental game that I thought I’d conquered on The Scepter now felt like child’s play. Turns out that one great day doesn’t take away the feeling of anxiety. 

Social media complicates this. It’s easy to believe that everyone else is fearless, breezing through WI5s and leading freestanding pillars before their afternoon business classes. The curated “send” stories, triumphant and unflinching, leave little room for vulnerability. In contrast, I’ve found myself in secluded patches of woods, grappling with pre-climb anxiety, wondering why I couldn’t be more like those climbers who seem immune to self-doubt.

For me, the uncertainty manifests physically — I fall silent, replaying every possible outcome in my head. It’s isolating, yet I’ve learned it’s a shared reality for many climbers — outside the social media bubble, of course. 

Fear: The companion

Managing nerves has become an art form: staying grounded, finding focus amid uncertainty, and quieting the spiral of “what-ifs.”

Visualization helps, but it’s a fine line — I have to imagine the climb without letting my thoughts spiral into worst-case scenarios. I focus on each move, each breath, and each swing of the tools. Slowing down, in the moment, helps too: the snowflake that lands on my glove; the hum of a bee in the cave where I’m climbing. These small, grounding details pull me out of my head and into the present. Positive affirmations have become another essential tool: I remind myself that I am capable, prepared, and resilient. 

The fear hasn’t disappeared, but with practice, I’ve learned to coexist with it. 

Now, before every big climb, whether it’s a towering ice route or a drytooling project on the other side of the world, I remind myself of all the moments that have brought me here. Some days, I reach the top. Other days, I don’t. But I’ve come to embrace the uncertainty, the nerves, the triumphs, and the setbacks. They’re all part of what makes this sport so deeply rewarding.

Ice, mixed, and drytooling have taught me that fear is a companion, not an enemy. The joy of challenging myself, of growing through fear, is what keeps me coming back — sharp tools in hand, ready for whatever comes next.

About the Author

Katie McKinstry Stylos is an artist and ice climber/drytooler from Bozeman, Montana. With a deep love for time spent on tools, you can find her either in the beautiful Hyalite Canyon or hanging upside down in caves on the other side of the world. When she isn't climbing, she is working hard as an artist and designer through her business, Hyalite Designs.

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