As he wrote about the 50th anniversary of the first ascent of the Diamond in early August, Camera climbing columnist Chris Weidner was working on his own new route on the 1,000-foot face of Longs Peak.

Last Thursday, Chris and partner Bruce Miller, both of Boulder, free climbed the new route (still unnamed, V 5.12a), which links two old aid routes via new climbing. (In aid climbing, one pulls on gear, not rock.)

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Jenn Fields writes about Boulder's great outdoors at fieldnotes.pmpblogs.com

Freeing the route took nine long days over nearly a month, many 12:30 a.m. starts from Boulder and eight text messages to me, an overly concerned friend, to say they were down safely.

Since Chris is a friend, I had a window into this feat in Boulder’s backyard that, as a very average climber, I doubt I’ll ever personally experience. I’ve never put up a new route nor climbed the Diamond, so I had no idea what kind of work they’d have to put in to accomplish such a thing. Only a handful of new routes have gone up on the Diamond in the last 10 years. Now I know why.

I thought the whole business was rather exciting. But also a little bit crazy.

The two headed up for the first time in late July, hauling 750 feet of rope and untold pounds of gear up Longs. When Chris said they'd hike to the summit and rappel down to seek out the line -- unusual method, but they'd searched for a line bottom-up five years ago and didn't find one -- I assumed they'd use the Keyhole Route, like other hikers.

"No, we take the north face. It's faster."

"You mean the Cables Route? That's not a hike, that's like 5.5."

"Yeah, it's easy, we solo it."

I shuddered.

Chris and Bruce started taking these trips up Longs Peak every three days, leaving Boulder at 12:30 a.m., usually returning around 8 p.m. (Average-climber perspective: I would pass out around 9 a.m. if I tried this.)

The first time they rappelled into the abyss, Chris told me it was scary. I was comforted to know that above-average climbers get scared, too.

After the second time up, Chris and Bruce celebrated upon their return to Boulder -- they'd found the way to climb it free.

They broke out the scotch. I helped a friend feed and water them.

The third day, while it was cold and rainy and no one else was on the Diamond, they knocked loose blocks off the new route, to make it safer for anyone who follows.

I gasped at the thought, knowing if I watched a block silently sail hundreds of feet and then explode below, I'd think: That could be me.

"How was the climbing?" I asked, to change the subject.

"We didn't climb," he said. They didn't climb five of the nine days -- they were too busy exploring, cleaning the route and placing a handful of bolts and pins.

"Jesus," I said, "I can't believe how much work this is." Then I went sport climbing, a few minute's walk from my car, on routes I'm grateful someone before me bolted. I wasn't cold or wet, and I didn't get blown off a mountain. (One trip up, Chris crawled the final feet up Longs into a gale.)

In mid-August, Chris came down after spending a few nights on Longs and told me they'd descended the north face on ice, soloing as usual.

"It was terrifying," he said.

I shuddered again. It was our routine: He reports in, I shudder at something he says.

Last week, they went up to climb, finally. This time, they hiked to the bottom of the Diamond, not the top. Twenty-one hours later, they returned to Boulder, dissatisfied. The crux pitch was wet, and they couldn't free it.

They worried the season would end before they got another shot -- summer is short on Longs. But the weather cooperated, and five days later (and 20 hours after leaving Boulder), Chris called to say they'd freed the route.

I congratulated him and after he'd told me about the day, I asked: "Does this mean we can go sport climbing again soon?"

Jenn Fields' "Field Notes" runs every Monday in the Colorado Daily.