When I started this blog, it began as a way to track my progress toward my goal of climbing 5.12 before 2017. Neither one of those things happened, but I did learn a lot throughout 2016. The blog devolved into more of a narrative sharing/ethical meditation on the sport rather than a training journal. And, let's be honest, training journals are booooring! Here's the only metric I'll share with you, and hopefully the only boring blog of 2017...
102 outdoor pitches in 2016 isn't bad, but I think I should quadruple that in 2017, a much better goal than trying to attain the illustrious 5.12 grade outside. Chasing this grade was the first reaction in the Rube Goldberg machine that lead to my failure to even come close to this goal and a sticky situation with a Denver gym. (That, you'll have to ask me about in person.)
It was too late for me to actually train and project to meet the goal, and by the time I started, 2016 was slipping away. I signed up with Training Beta for a little while. It is a pretty cool program that gives you excellent workouts to push you further in whatever discipline of climbing you enjoy. I highly recommend the program if you want to reach the next level and can't afford a real live coach to get you there. The problem was that I was looking to get better at route climbing and decided to join a bouldering only gym. They had a treadwall which enabled me to get the workouts done, but holy hell, treadwalls make me want to gouge my eyes out with a grapefruit spoon. Training began to suck in congruence with the weather, but I pushed on, I had to get better, had to meet the goal.
The weather didn't cooperate with "projecting" a dinky little route on North Table Mountain called "The Virus." It is a one move wonder of a 5.12a. The 12 move takes place right before you clip the second bolt, so if you dry fire or miss whatever hold is up there to grab, you better enjoy getting by on crutches. We went up there to look at it a couple times, but I never actually roped up.
The whole thing about this route is that I had zero drive to even try it. I believe there should be some mysterious intrinsic drive to complete a project route, or a route that is just above one's ability. This one was convenient and dry-ish in the winter, but didn't have the je ne sais quoi for me to go for it.
So this year I have a new philosophy: Climb it if it feels right. Also, climb a lot, climb hard, get scared, and have a good time. So here's to 400 pitches or more next year!
...a place where women can come to feel inspired by and connected to lady climbers. We share stories about our thoughts, experiences and adventures as badass women.
They are indeed badass women and you should probably stop reading here, go to their website, and never look back. This gender article initially rubbed me the wrong way because it confronted an issue I was blissfully ignorant to. It also twisted my panties because now I feel like I've been perceived as one who, "sprays you down with bad beta while staring at your sports bra." Please believe me when I say, that was not my intention, and also my beta is spot on so...
The more I thought about the article, the more validity I realized it had. Not only did Flash Foxy do a real statistical survey involving letters, numbers, and symbols more complex than 8C+, but I also listened to the struggles and frustrations of gym climbing my girlfriend has to deal with when she goes to the gym alone. Just the other day, she was sprayed with bad beta by some gym guys climbing below her level. While she was on the wall, she felt compelled to try their beta as they shouted it encouragingly from the pads, and ended up falling instead of thinking it through herself. Now it is important to note that I am not saying one shouldn't climb with or take advice from climbers at a lower level. Climbing isn't about that, hopefully. However, unwanted beta or suggestions are frustrating because they take away from the mental puzzle climbing offers. I can only imagine the frustration growing when you know the beta spray is directed at you because you have ovaries.
Shelma offered some basic tips on how to reign your manliness in at the gym, but her best advice was just to acknowledge that this problem exists. Her study was focused on gym climbing, however there is an even greater issue at hand: The First Female Ascent.
Almost a year ago Andrew Bisharat wrote what I thought was a fantastic article titled, "The Curse of the First Female Ascent." Please read it for yourself, but the main idea was that putting the FFA label (not to be confused with 'first free ascent') on a route both celebrates the accomplishments of women in the sport, but also holds them back. I tend to agree, but lean toward abolishing the designation in guidebooks altogether. As usual, @rawk_tawk pretty much nails it with another meme.
Now what I say next might cue the pitchforks stick clips and angry smelly mobs, but luckily I don't have nearly as many followers as Bisharat, so deal with it. FFA's definitely hold back the progress of the sport as well as the women and men who choose to participate. A first ascent is so special because before a (hard) route or problem is climbed, it's kind of like Schrodinger's Cat. It may be climbable or it may not. We don't know until we open the box and find a dead cat or a stoked climber clipping the chains. Once we know the route is possible we know that other people can and will climb it. When a hard climb has seen a first ascent, that's it. The mystique is gone, someone else has grappled with the weird holds, trusted the negligible feet, and cranked it to the top. Putting an FFA in the books makes it seem as though a woman could not have taken the first ascent and needed a guy to show her the beta, to show her it's possible. Screw that.
Women are pushing the boundaries of the sport just as much as the men, and deserve the credit for it. Let's celebrate when a woman climbs a hard route that would turn the tendons of us mortals to dust! If it's the first ascent, then let's scroll her name in the guidebookmountain project to be hallowed for all eternity. Should there then be a First Male Ascent if a guy climbs the route next? If it's the first female ascent, but some dude nabbed the FA in the late 90's, can't we just celebrate that a talented climber repeated an insanely hard route?
In many sports there is a clear distinction between men and women. For instance, the world record time for running a mile is: 3:43.13 for men and 4:12.56 for women. In climbing, that line is no where near as vivid, or even there to begin with. Each route, especially at the top end, is suited to a particular style; power, finesse, balance, strength, and height all play a role in topping out clipping the anchors. So let's celebrate the individual for using their strengths and overcoming their weaknesses to get the send. Other than that, let's keep our beta spray in check and continue searching for whatever it is that hangs out at the crag and remains just out of reach.
"Is he really attempting to answer the ultimate question in a petty blog post?" Yes and no. What I will say before we get into it, is that the answer is my answer and you might not share it with me. That's fine. It might even change; even as my hands fail to keep up with my brain on the keyboard, my answer to this question is morphing into something it wasn't a moment ago. Here's a Jon Krakauer quote from Eiger Dreams to open the gates.
"In the interest of truth in packaging, I should state straightaway that nowhere does this book come right out and address the central question- Why would a normal person want to do this stuff?- head on; I circle the issue continually, poke at it from behind with a long stick now and then, but at no point do I jump right in the cage and wrestle with the beast directly, mano a mano."
Please don't imagine me standing in an octagonal cage, clad in spandex shorts, calling out Jon Krakauer for being a punk and not answering this question. After climbing several of the highest and most challenging mountains this earth has to offer, he probably thought it would be more worthwhile to share his experiences in an eloquent manner so that "normal people" might catch a glimpse of why we do what we do. As for me, I'm not as nuanced when it comes to expressing myself and (I hope) I've barely scratched the surface of what I will climb in the future. In other words, I will try my best to not type: climbing is fun a thousand times. (Let's be real though, if there is an underlying message here, it's that.)
Brittany Boyle leading 9999 at Smith Rock, OR
I wish I could say it's not about the adrenaline, brah, but I'd be lying. Shit yeah, climbing is all about being scared. That's probably the main reason I enjoy it, which sounds kind of, er, bad, but I assure you it's actually pretty cool. Gnarly might be appropriate nomenclature. Each movement to the topout, the chains, the summit, is a victory over that overarching fear. Each movement upward goes against every neuron screaming at me to GO DOWN, which is why climbing is the best teacher for learning inner strength. It is a meditation that lasts the second my feet leave the ground to the moment they touch the dirt again. The lessons learned along the ascent seem to be in the spirit of John Locke's tabula rasatheory. The main idea from his "Essay Concerning Human Understanding" was that babies aren't born with innate ideas, rather, they formulate ideas and understanding based on their experiences.
I thought he was full of shit until I started climbing and experienced the tabula rasa for myself. Human beings are very oddly shaped. We're not built for much other than walking upright and occasionally stabbing something with a pointy stick to eat. We do have these huge (incredibly vulnerable) brains though, with which we can learn all sorts of useful/less things. If you're Neil deGrasse Tyson, it's astrophysics. Now, Neil deGrasse Tyson did exit the womb with one of the world's most amazing minds, but had he not visited the Hayden Planetarium at nine years old, his name might have nothing to do with the cosmos. In other words, his ability to see the stars the way he does only grew because of his previous experience.
Climbing is just that. It's knowing I will be able to pull up on a sloping eighth inch of jagged rock because I came across something similar on a previous route. But that first time, man, that's what it's all about. It's that first time grabbing a bad hold and sticking to the wall, the first time sitting back on the rope and trusting the anchor for life, the first time popping a foot and hurdling towards the ground at nine point eight meters per second squared. And then it's going back up, knowing what to expect, and encountering more 'first time' circumstances along the way.
Lastly, climbing is meaningless, yet at the same time the most important thing on earth. Does it matter that I or anyone likes to climb cliffs and mountains? Nope. Do you care that a climber went this way up the face instead of that? Probably not. At the same time, go to Mountain Project and read John Long's and Thomas Byrnes' comments about the route 'Archangel.' A first ascent is (and should be) an everlasting piece of art. Even when repeating a route, I feel that I leave something inexplicable up there; it's not a tangible thing, and not quite an emotion, but I assure you it's real and lasts forever.
My initial intention was to write a piece about gym climbers going to your local crag and totally ruining your stoke. Though, I think Andrew Bisharat wrote an exceptional rant about it in his blog so I don't have to. It's called "Climbing Gyms aren't the Problem; Assholes Are." You should give it a read. Not only is this man not afraid to throw a semicolon into his title, but his self reflection is as honest as can be, and that's something I'm still working toward.
So last night during my endurance traverse, (I was trying to do two thirty minute sets of easy jugs) I admit I got pissed when the wall space shrank to five feet of overhanging crimps. The gym was filled with people in uncomfortable rental gear. Eventually there was barely even space to stand. You've probably experienced this disconcertment at your local crag. There were more than a few days at Black Corridor or Panty Wall in Red Rock when you'd have to stand in line to climb something easier than 5.11. But you know what? My climbing partner and I woke up early the next time and had the corridor to ourselves for as long as our fingers lasted.
There are like three other climbing parties here, time to leave. (Black Corridor)
As I sat pondering whether or not to go home, there was this super strong woman going for a funky V6. She fell off on the last move and her friends let out an audible, "Awwwww!" I saw her get back on a few minutes later, but this time the entire gym was behind her with all the "C'mon's" they could muster. There was this tension building in the gym as she moved to dyno and set her feet. There couldn't have been more than forty people in the space, but they sounded like a packed stadium. She missed the jug and fell to the mats. This time the, 'Awwww!' shook the floor. I may have been part of the screaming crowd too, and despite a shortened workout, I left with a smile.
I've been meaning to write about this since it happened. The circumstances that surrounded the whole situation were nothing short of magical. The story begins with me sitting behind my desk, eyes dried and tired from editing countless social media posts. A knight in shining armor, in the form of a text message buzzed on the glass desktop. It was from my friend asking something like, "Dude, you going to Red Rock Rendezvous?" I promptly googled Red Rock Rendezvous and registered immediately for two traditional climbing classes, some yoga, and community service.
Nuts. Wedge them in to cracks.
For those who may not be acquainted with the term "trad" climbing or "traditional" climbing, it means placing your anchors as you climb, with the goal of taking them with you when you have finished. In other words, these anchors are not bolted to the rock, they consist of cams and nuts that the climber wedges into cracks and constrictions. The guiding principal is to leave the rocks (and nature) as unblemished as possible, like the hiker's "Leave No Trace" mantra. What is so appealing to me about trad climbing is that the emphasis isn't about just getting to the top of the pitch, it's all about how one gets there. Google Yvon Chouinard if you want to read more about ethics.
Jon placing a cam on Soupy Sales 5.6 There may be a dog photoshopped into this picture.
Red Rock Rendezvous is an incredible experience for any level climber. Maybe I'll write another blog post specifically about it further down the road, but for now I'll focus on one class. This class was lead by an Outdoor Research Athlete, Nancy Jackson. It was titled "Trad for Beginners" or something similar. I went into the class having read the John Long and Bob Gaines Book Climbing Anchors, so I figured some of the same material would be taught. I knew it would be a hot one as we hiked down from the second pullout; I was already thirsty. We gathered in the shade beneath creosote bushes as Nancy went through every piece of climbing protection she owned and explained the details of how each worked. She had a story to go with each one, discussed using the gear in various scenarios, and explained how it could be misused. Climbers have an inexplicable bond with their gear. When Reinhold Messner solo climbed Everest, he wrote of having conversations with his backpack and ice axe. Even when I snap the gate of the carabiner on my car keys, I feel a fraction of what it's like to clip the rope a hundred feet up. Nancy's climbing gear was an extension of herself, and that came through in her stories and lessons.
Creosote Bush
I spoke with her about my experience and told her I was ready to lead, even though the thought of actually racking up and stepping off the ground was still unfathomable. She offered to let me use her gear on the left-leaning flake 5.4 ish route, but the buses were already waiting to cart us back to our campsites. On the dusty hike back, Nancy told me she was staying in Vegas for another day or two after the event. She offered to take me climbing so that I could give leading a try. The night was filled with hilarious shenanigans, just the right amount of beer, and the anticipation of a new door opening. After a lengthy approach in the desert heat, we rested in the shady corner of a crag called Romper Room and took our packs off. Nancy waved to a few climbers she knew who were several pitches up the adjacent wall. We started with the first crack named Guise and Gals 5.4. Nancy tied in and it crossed my mind that I had better be on point with my belay skills. She lead with impeccable technique, flow, and confidence. After she set up the rope, I climbed up on top rope and looked at where she placed her gear. The next lap, still on top rope, I mock lead, and placed the nuts and cams myself. Nancy climbed the route again, and critiqued the pieces. Some were good, a couple could have been better. Back on the ground she said she thought I was ready.
Guise and Gals from the belay. Photo Credit: Sherilyn Valencia
I could have climbed this route a hundred more times on top rope. I wanted to. Instead, I pulled the rope and racked up. My mind was swimming with advice, overanalyzing everything; I forgot which pieces of protection I would need to use. What size nut was that again? I stepped off the ground. None of that mattered. I climbed past wherever I had placed the first piece on the mock climb, and arrived at a better stance a few feet higher. I placed a cam, readjusted it, readjusted it again, and then clipped the rope. I felt safe, I felt excited, but I still didn't want to fall. The route follows a dihedral for about eighty feet. On the top rope laps, I laybacked the crack, but on this lead climb, I could not get enough of my body inside the crack. A few times, I picked the wrong cam, and had to comb through the rack for a different size. I was too focused to feel afraid. My focus was so laser like, I don't remember most of what happened between stepping off the ground and clipping the anchors. I was truly living in the moment. When Nancy lowered me back to the ground, she asked how I felt. I said something goofy like, "I want to feel like this all the time." I was trying to play it cool in front of her, but she saw through it and warmly congratulated me. She knew exactly how excited I was. That day I lead another route called Buzz Buzz 5.4 and experienced the same feeling as before. On the hike back to the car, I felt like a different person, mentally stronger, and much more confident. Each pitch I've climbed since has added to this feeling, and it's all due to Nancy. She could have spent that day climbing Red Rock classics with her friends, but instead ran laps on short easy routes with me. I'm forever grateful. I try to think about this day from time to time. The freedom I felt from climbing and Nancy's kindness remind me of what it means to be human, and a climber. I hope I can give someone the same experience some day, to pay it forward, and by doing so, say another 'thank you' to Nancy.
Looking at the second pitch of Physical Graffiti 5.6 Photo Credit: Greg Jackson
In the shoddy, unconventional way I've learned to research, (see: reading random shit on the internet and a couple books here and there) I've found that the climbing 'gods' successes become less and less about the routes or mountains, and more about devotion to the mind as they age. Could it be that we all just get crazy as we age? Have you ever not claimed your elders or parents to be crazy? Aren't they?
Jon Gill is one example. He was doing one arm front levers before he could even get likes for that kind of shit on Instagram. Krakauer quoted Gill in his book Eiger Dreams:
"I don't know how much of this I should talk about, because I don't want people to think I've wigged out, but I believe that all the years of mental and physical preparation that I went through in developing both my climbing and mathematical skills- concentrating for long periods of time on a single crystal of rock or getting very deeply into a difficult mathematical problem- made it very easy for me to have certain kinds of mystical experiences."
According to Krakauer, Gill was always focused on these mystical experiences, but only brought them to the public later in life. Should we climbers who aspire to be great go in search of such experiences or do they present themselves when we just fucking let go of fear and try hard?
As I sit in my car in front of my apartment while it airs out from a flea-bomb, (thanks, dog) I think about how enlightenment, or mysticism will never reach me from here. Then again a Buddhist monk could probably sit in this very seat and generate alpha waves faster than fleas reproduce. I climb so that I can meditate, albeit involuntarily. Occasionally, I think I've been close to whatever Gill felt or what numerous other climbers and mountaineers have described, but never close enough.
The art of making mistakes is what rock climbing is all about. I'm not talking about 'death' mistakes, like not tying a stopper knot at the end of the rope, but the more subtle mental and physiological mistakes we often overlook because of the 'send.' Tonight was one of the worst of my short lived climbing... career is the wrong word. Infatuation. Here's a bit of background: I'm in my late twenties, floundering through life, enjoying the legality of certain accoutrements too often, and completely convinced I must climb 5.12 by 2017. To keep things honest, I have roughly a year of outdoor experience on the sandstone at Red Rock in Vegas. My crowning achievement as a climber has been falling after the crux on a soft 5.11d because I was too scared to make a big move.
Since then, I've moved to a small city in the Pacific Northwest that lacks access to great outdoor climbing. Also there's rain. Forever. So I've been holed up in a tiny gym, trying to 'get strong.' Tonight, I just wanted to have fun, and that's what I said to my girlfriend as we slid our shoes on. It was way more crowded than usual, especially on the bouldering walls, so I spent not even close to enough time warming up on a juggy circuit. With my forearms pumped and fingers feeling like they'd been caught in the garbage disposal, I asked my girlfriend for a belay on a 5.12- route. She obliged, harnessed up, and I tied in. I told her something like, "You might have to catch me on the second bolt." That was mistake #1. I was ready for failure, already going against the advice Eric Horst offers on pretty much the first page of his book How to Climb 5.12. To her that meant, keep it tight so he doesn't hit the ground. That's what I hoped it meant. So I climb to the first draw, clip it, and take. I'm way too pumped already. My breath is heavy and I overgripped the pinch. At this point I'm so pissed at myself because I cruised through this section the other day. My mind goes back to the V5 I worked for a few moves before getting on this stupid route, how I should have flashed it- but I'm climbing again, and decide to clip from a hold far below the second bolt. So I say, "clipping," and yank on the rope. There's not even enough slack to get me half way there. I pull again. There's a bit more. Again. More, but not all the way yet. At this point I yell, "C'mon dude!" in anger before putting the rope in my mouth and finally clipping the draw.
My right forearm is toast. Forget the rest of the route, it's over, and the person I taught to belay, infected with the climbing bug, lowers me and says, "I don't want to belay you anymore."
"Good," I said, "I don't want your belay anyway."
We talked about it and I apologized for being such an asshole, but I don't think she's as upset about it as I am. When did I become this climbing douche so concerned with sending a three bolt route at a rinky-dink gym? Mistake #2 was multifaceted. First, being mean to the person holding your life in their hands is pretty stupid, especially when you love that person and hope that he/she wants to climb more often. Blaming my own shortcomings on her was the other aspect of this mistake. I was so frustrated with my lack of progress, and still am, but must look for another way to channel the frustration into success. This mistake has forced me to examine the question, why climb at all?
A certain Messner quote comes to mind: "Thereby I sought a goal which not even climbers understood. When would I finally be able to live without goals? Why did I stand in my own way with my ambition and fanaticism?" Did Reinhold get there? Will I?
