Smoothie

A nice, shouldery V5 on the Welcome Boulders in Blair.

Four F Words

I’m tired of walking into the gym and seeing new routes or problems that climb as if the setter put more effort into choosing the colors of tape than they did spending any time to be sure the climb was even worth attempting. There’s nothing worse than some egocentric climber bolting shit to the wall and touting it as some golden problem that everyone will love. As both a climber and a setter, I find it offensive. While most gyms that I’ve been to don’t seem to pay their setters, many of them at least get free memberships. The story might be different in other regions, but in the end, the setter is performing a service and their product is representing the gym. If you had to choose between two gyms, would you climb at the one with fun, challenging routes or the one with awkward, uninspired routes? Setters thus have a responsibility to both the gym and the climbers in the gym, so why not have a set of setting guidelines or laws? I know, blasphemy. What follows are principles that should help improve the quality of routes and problems, reduce the number of injuries in the gym, and result in some heavily chalked holds.
The Four F’s of Routesetting are Fun, Friendliness, Forerunning and Flow. This speaks nothing of the difficulty of the climb and pertains only to the quality of movement, the hold choices, and how that adds up to being an enjoyable experience. Let’s start with the second F – Friendliness. The friendliness of a route is all about what it does to your fingers and your body. Are the holds sharp or are they comfortable to grab? Are there pockets or unfamiliar holds that might destroy tendons or tweak a finger? Are the moves awkward or threatening to blow a knee or a shoulder or are the moves natural? If someone blows a move, where are they going to land? How are they going to land? Put simply, nobody wants to get hurt, and most climbing injuries happen in the gym. Is that a coincidence or is it due to unfriendly routesetting? Generally speaking, avoid sharp holds. Avoid holds that will tweak fingers. Pockets are fine, but realize that people that don’t climb on pockets are scared of them. Interesting holds only draw climbers to the route . They don’t necessarily make a route better because holds are only part of the equation. How the setter uses them is maybe even more important. It’s amazing how a poor routesetter can take the newest, most eye-catching holds and wind up with a climb that nobody wants to do while a good routesetter can take the oldest, most uninspiring holds and put up something that winds up being far more than the sum of it’s parts.
The last F – Flow is all about movement. How well does one move transition into the next? Is the climb choppy? Is it a bunch of starting and stopping or is it continuous? Is the intention to match hands repeatedly or is there a nice balance of single handholds and matches? Do the holds want the climber to do one thing while the setter wants you to do another? If you fight the flow, all you wind up with is an awkward aberration, so really, if you have a move in mind, set it so that the holds want that move to happen and don’t force it to happen unnaturally.
The first F – Fun is usually a product of Friendliness and Flow. If the holds are friendly and the moves flow together in interesting ways, then it shouldn’t be much of a surprise when you find that the route is fun to climb. The question is, how do you know that the holds are friendly and the moves flow? How do you know the climb functions the way you intended? The answer is another crucial F – Forerunning. Routesetting without forerunning is pretty much driving without checking the gas. Maybe you get somewhere or maybe the end result is disaster. Forerunning reveals the flaws of a route. Is it too easy? Too hard? Does the sequence work or will people be skipping holds? Maybe the setter will have to rethink something or reset part of a route, but if quality is the goal and not an ego boost, isn’t it worth it?

Two Weeks

The first lesson of this spring is that you should never climb a problem in the gym that was set by someone with constant finger troubles. Their fingers are swollen/hurting/torn/busted for a reason and it is far too easy to fuck up tendons in the gym. Come to think of it, all of my tendon/pulley problems originate in the gym. Of course, the second thing that I learned this spring is that my exhausting training over the winter has resulted in a few gains. I’m rather embarrassed at the fact that I failed to complete the regimen that I set out for myself, but between various flu symptoms and general exhaustion, I think it’s alright that I completed as much as I could. There are only so many nights that I can stand campusing or working lockoffs and passing on actual climbing.
Upon heading back to the rock, I noticed first that I had no calluses and couldn’t hold on to a damned thing simply due to lack of skin conditioning. There’s nothing like doing backflops off of Dopeman because you can’t stick to the sun-warmed sloper. After a few days out with Chris to help him get his sends of Maxim and Gadgetry, I felt a little more in tune with things, although it seems as though I’m not exactly in tune with myself. This past weekend I set out to Blair Woods thinking that maybe I’d jump on a few of my old projects and get schooled, which wouldn’t exactly be a confidence booster. My body felt stiff to start and despite warming up and sending Burt, Damn the Man, etc, with ease, I still felt off. First up on the list of projects was The Extra Ion. Some days I hate the problem, others it intrigues me. The crux deadpoint to a three-finger quarter-pad crimp is attrocious. I can’t count the number of times I’ve simply swung off and lost mass amounts of skin in the process. It seems that each time I work on the problem I change my beta, mostly because I snapped a crystal off of the arete, but also because I’ve been looking for something that works. As I sat in silence between failed attempts, I couldn’t help but notice how silent the woods were. The warm sun provided a nice juxtaposition to the cold air, and all I can say is that it was beautifully peaceful. Somewhere in there, everything came together. Shadows cooled the crimp. My mind shut off. From the starting edges, I pulled up to the mini-sloper on the arete, set my foot on the smear and twisted up to the crimp without problem. Surprised, I nearly punted myself off. Continuing up through the sidepulls, I snagged the lip and pulled over the top. I can only wonder why it took me so long.
After a few miserable attempts at Giving Up Skin, I packed up and walked over to Expanding Man. For years, the first move has stumped me. I’ve never seen anyone do it and therefore can only keep trying. In the past I’d only been able to put in a few burns on this problem, but that day for whatever reason, I kept pulling and kept falling. That’s when something clicked. My toe stuck to something and I pulled the move statically. In shock, I fell off, took a breather, and tried again. Pull up to the crimp. Bump up the arete. Smear on the face and dyno. I blew off the finishing jug twice before walking away.

Leave It To Beaver

After roughly a dozen tries spread out over two days, I finally got to stand atop this amazing boulder problem that I’m now realizing is probably the best V7 in all of Pawtuckaway. At the northern end of Devil’s Den alongside Dead Pond, this proud line rises up nearly 20 feet over a mostly flat landing. Starting from an obvious jug, you move up to a rail and hook your way up a powerful and technical bulge using a variety of friendly holds. Once you surmount the bulge and stand up on the face, a big last move will lead you into a delicate topout. In comparison to the other problems of the grade, this one beats them all.

The Pain of Fall

This season is nearly over and it’s only now that I’m finally getting into it. Between the rain, the warmth, and a random case of the flu, it’s been difficult to find a rhythm. Strength and psyche have been hard to find but I think perhaps I was trying too hard to find them. After a few weeks of hanging on a rope and intentionally not training, I feel more ready to try hard again. Admittedly, I’m frustrated over my lack of progress on three V9’s scattered around the park – Expanding Man (still can’t do the first move), Giving Up Skin (tried far too many times), and most recently Headz Aint Ready, the sit start to Boulder X. I’ve walked the sit start and can’t figure out the mantle, but I think this frustration has seeking other problems to try which brings me to the 22nd of November. It’s a beautiful autumn day. The air is crisp, friction is prime, and my expectations are non-existant. First up, the scary, unnamed face on the Smog boulder, probably first climbed by Rio. My pad slips through the hole between the boulders in such a way that we fear doing the same. I crimp my way up to two hollow sounding underclings, set my feet and make a big reach out right for the lip. A few moves on slopers gives way to the heady mantle and without much thought, I’m standing on top of a V4 that I’ve eyed for years and never had the courage to try. I begin to think that maybe I’ll run laps on some of my old projects or try to repeat some of my harder ticks, but I opt to head up to Devil’s Den to finally give a go on a problem by the pond. It’s an underground classic in the sense that it’s probably one of the best problems in the park and very few people know about it. With six pads leveling the rough landing, we start whittling away the beta until we can do the problem in two pieces and with that we walk away, too tired to send, unwilling to burn out on a single problem, and anxious to return. Taking advantage of the number of pads, we pad the rocks beneath Numb Thumb, the softest V8 I’ve ever tried, and proceed to take down the sloping arete in a handful of tries. Of course the highball finish had me shaking and the dirty downclimb left me covered in mud, but that’s the Den for you. Going solo for the rest of the day, I brutalize my tips on Blaow, V10, for exactly 3 tries. Each try I come closer to the lip, and each try, my fingers rip open a little more. With a bloody knuckle and two split tips, I retreat towards something a little more friendly, but just barely. Before Halcyon and Confident Man existed, the Split Boulder only had a couple of hard problems on crappy rock. Coin Toss, V10, and Heart of Darkness, V12 shared a common sit start before a few holds decided to crumple. I turn my attention to the remains of Coin Toss, still V9, simply because it is shorter. Scars on the rock show me where it used to start and I turn my efforts to chalking up what’s left. Small crimps, a sidepull, and small feet are my only clues to the short puzzle, but I think I have an idea. Pulling onto the rightmost crimps, I feel them flex and a piece of one crumples beneath my fingers. Rather than rip them off the wall, I decide to start with only one hand while using my left on something far worse but more stable. Within a few pulls, I’ve figured out the start and I begin to piece together the rest. A bump move followed by a lockoff enables use of a gaston that lets me reach the jug and from there it’s over. Daylight is fast fading, my skin is wearing thin, and yet I’m unable to walk away. I pull back onto the wall and bear down to the point where my index finger rips open and blood begins to flow. I toss up to the sidepull, stem out to a mediocre foot and bump to the small horizontal crimp. As I swing my feet left, I feel my hand slipping and I waste no time in dropping into the gaston. Instantly feeling better, I reach left to the jug and know that I’m done.

Drowning

Somewhere between the rain, the bugs, fatigue and the lack of friction and a (reliable) climbing partner, my psyche, my desire, my motivation to climb has simply disappeared. I’m sick of people that are full of shit, I’m sick of stress. I’m tired of depression and tired of being tired. Two of my fingers ache for reasons unknown and all of my tension is collecting in the muscles of my back. Week after week, I watch the decent weekend weather pass me by as I seek out something else to occupy my time due to the lack of a belayer. My projects at Rumney aren’t going anywhere, but the endurance that I had built up by the end of spring is long gone. My strength has ebbed away and all I’m left with is frustration. I realize that I’m primarily a boulderer because I’m an outcast, but there’s only so much energy I can give before I’m in need of someone else’s excitement. After all, I can only push myself so far in isolation. I try so hard to look forward to fall and the cooler weather, but in a way, Pawtuckaway feels stale. There are only so many problems left to try that are in the realm of the possible and I can’t help but feel a diminishing return. Part of the enjoyment comes from the sessioning with friends, the shared psyche, the swapping of beta, and most days I can’t even find a spotter. I almost feel like a failure as a human being. Is there something I’m missing?

An Evening in the Ewok Forest

It’s a Tuesday night. The air is cool for July but it’s humid and there’s hardly a breeze. I’d love to climb hard but neither my body nor the conditions are up to it. Why do I feel so much weaker in the warmth? As I wander into Boulder Natural with only a small circuit pad, I don’t plan on running into anyone, but I won’t object to sharing the rock. Mosquitos are out in force, the friction is crap. I can barely keep chalk on my hands long enough to finish a problem. Such is bouldering in July, but I’m not alone. It’s a Tuesday in Pawtuckaway after all. After sending 15 problems, I settle in to play tour guide and share some hidden gems. An unnamed problem that I’ve dubbed “NRA” gives everyone a little trouble despite its unassuming appearance and lowly V3 rating. Jugs give way to a balancy and slopey crux mantle that I wish led to more climbing, but it’s fun for what it is and certainly not a gym climb. Kalbro scares the shit out of everyone, including me as I decide to slip on my shoes once more and climb the striking fin of rock. It’s been years since I’ve even touched it, and while it may feel easier, it’s still terrifying. Chalkless slopers and a less-than-pleasant landing have a way of making the topout extremely thrilling. With the light slipping away, I lead the way to the embarrassing Monkey Press and realize that I’ve sandbagged everyone as I slip off the horrible crimp seam. On any given day, it’s harder than the topout of Ride the Lightning and all I can do is shake my head and try again. We all look forward to Autumn, but for now, this is the Tuesday we’re given.

Back on the Sharp End

I stare up at the knife edge of the climbs Jolt and Dolt, count the quickdraws in my hands, and wonder, where are my other 5 draws? How many bolts am I going to have to skip? As I slowly work my way up Jolt, I leave two bolts bare and have a difficult time committing to the exposure. I haven’t been outside in nearly a month, and now that the rain has stopped, my forearms are bloated with lactic, I don’t trust the climbing shoe with the blown toe, and I’m feeling around for a hold hidden by the rays of the sun. How much confidence do I have in my route finding skills as I’m being blinded, or better yet, how much am I willing to trust a hungover belayer that isn’t even wearing his own clothes? I suppose it comes as a crash course in getting back on the sharp end of things.

Twelve Pack, tucked away on Triple Corners, then proceeds to scare the shit out of us. It isn’t until I’m back on the ground after blowing the 45 minute onsight attempt that I realize how drained I actually am. A lack of chalk on certain holds and an overabundance on others lead me into one dead end after another until I finally took a hang before I figured out the crux moves. Faced with the runout above and the possibility of falling into a tree, I hesitated before finally committing. For whatever reason, we’ve struggled on nearly every climb at Triple Corners over the years and this one is no different. Strange features give way to deceptive and hidden holds that force technique and creative rests, and like its neighbor, the style changes as you go. There’s a reason I have a climbing partner that won’t come back to these climbs – they screwed with his head so much that he was reduced to a whimpering, shaking mess, and again, as I belay, I watch them reduce a competent boulderer nearly to tears. He’s shaking, whimpering, scared out of his mind, and convinced he’s about to die as he makes the last clip before heading for the anchors. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him here, but at least he doesn’t give up. With him back on the ground, I set off again, through the wet start to the ledge, past the tree and up the blocky face flawlessly to the crux. I climb up to clip then downclimb for a moment to center myself. Should I be afraid of falling when my arms still feel fresh and the beta is ingrained in my mind? Am I willing to commit to this on lead as gravity and my lactic enemy try to pull me down? I close my eyes momentarily, breath deeply to clear my head of everything but purpose and set off… There’s no failure, only lessons learned.

The Rose

A quick vid of Ian working & sending the Rose.  It only took him 3 seasons and a little blood.

Get Sent!

 

Mike & Art bouldering in Smuggs.

Years ago I filmed and edited a short movie about bouldering that has probably only been seen by a handful of people.  It was frustrating in a way when I was filming because Mike and Art were both in the habit of figuring out the moves and NEVER sending the problem, but really, the ascent isn’t the point, is it?  Their experiences were more of a journey, and now for the first time, you can watch them pebble wrestle online.  Enjoy!