I stood behind the boulder, behind the two climbers puzzling over the boulder. Their puzzlement was interspersed with suddenly leaps into action, attempts to make a seemingly impossible leap from one not-so-generous hold about 10 feet an overhang to another modest hold perhaps 10 feet away. Interspersed with those unsuccessful attempts was the occasional bad word muttered under their breath. After each unsuccessful leap — known as a “dyno” in climbing circles — after they’d picked themselves up off the crash pad they would sidle up to a guy in a full black beard, jeans and a black jacket with a USA Climbing patch on the back.