Hi all. Hopefully by now you have finished reading the encyclopedia of European climbing as written by Pleb. Shit! It was like a weekender bender getting through that thing! Top read though, sounds like shes having a good time, all despite traveling with Tasmanians, hanging out with Frenchies and playing ninja games with the sun.
So, what's been happening for the team the last few weeks? More climbing of course! What else could there be going on? Life? Bah!
So 2 weeks ago Omar and I blasted our way out of the city for a weekend out on the rock. I'd just finished another 50hr week, and Omar had just got his beloved van back from the mechanics. To say we were happy to be "blowing this popsicle stand" was an understatement. Try "lets fuck this puppy and go climbing bitches!" An exciting ride was ahead of us, including tailgating trucks, poorly sealed doors, 60km winds blowing us from one side of the hwy to the other, and blowing a radiator hose just past the Big Koala!
Wake to a cloudy, wet morning, and a feeling of distrust towards the Bureau of Meterologies forcast of fine and 25 degrees. Sun however did become all too apparent soon enough, along with the dreaded Spurt Wall Spooge! Hot and humid was the flavour of the day. Despite the conditions, Omar knocked off his long time nemesis route Menstrual as Anything (25) with ease, and had a good crack on Weak Boy (26) doing all the moves easily. I ran a lap on Menstrual as well, being one of my favourite routes there, did Weak Boy and finally completed This Spurting Life (26) after falling off the last moves many years ago. By days end, we were all totally fucked, barely able to talk on the walk out or back at camp. We were all still in T shirts long after sunset.....whats up with that!? 24 hours prior it was downies and thermals weather!
So the next day we hit up Kindergarden, where Omar smashed his other project Flash Gordon (V8). This is one persistent Mexcian, having fallen off the last move many, many times. See the video below. I once again managed to fall off Gripmaster (V10), this time on
THE last move. Its staring to become a bit of a mind fuck, the amount of times I've fallen off this thing so close to the tick. But I did manage to do all the move on So You Think You Can Dance (V11) which was a bit of suprise. I wonder how many times I'll fall of that on the last move before I do it...... Other ticks for the day was an FA of Mexican Delight (V9) by Vince Day, a rad 3 move steep pocket problem, and the FA of Pebble Slab (V6) by myself. Both in Andersons. This place just keeps giving!
So come to last Saturday, just a few days ago. Josh and I head out for an epic day trip to Spurt Wall. Leaving at 6am, we were on the wall in good time. I warmed up by putting the draws on Tyranny (29), then pumped off 2 moves short of the chains before sending next shot, having had a couple of goes a few months back. Good fun route, nothing super hard, just big moves between big slopers and flatters. I had a lash on Lifestyling (30) later that day, and in the spoogey sunshine got as far as the crux.... HAHAHA! This route is soooo awesome, and I can wait to get a bit of fitness up and get back on this sucka!!
Poor old Josh though. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, its just not the right day to send. Quick update for those of you not in the know, Josh had been working Academia (31) before, over, and after Easter, having come so close to sticking the last move of the second crux section, which is at the second bolt, time and time again. After that, its about 23 to the top. Fastforward to this particular Saturday, and after bouts of swine flu, finger injuries, tendonitis and brain damage due to too much studying, mixed in with mass amounts of training, Joshy pulls the crux of the route, only to fall just 1 move shy of the jug and chains!!! Needless to say, expletives rained forth. On the upside though mate, you pulled the crux for the first time on link, and with a bit of witness the fitness, it'll go down!
So thats about it for us at the moment. I'm having next weekend off. I'm pretty exhausted after the pattern of working stupid hours during the week and climbing all weekend for the last couple of months. Its been great to get out climbing heaps, but I miss sleeping in on a Saturday!
Omar on Flash Gordon, V8
Like, um, yeah, whatever....
- TheBigAl
21 September 2009
18 September 2009
The second best cliff in the world.
It has been speculated that Ceuse is the best sport climbing cliff in the world. And you’re living under a rock (no pun intended) if you haven’t heard of it, or seen pictures of its stunning cliff line, or heard of that route-what is it called again? Biographie? No- Realisation. Done by that guy. Ah, yelling Americano. Sharma or something?
I was pretty psyched. Psyched to check it out and see what all the hype was about. Firstly however, on the way to Ceuse I thought it would be nice to have a shower in Gap, in case we didn’t want to pay for camping. The solution was to find a public swimming pool. To our confusement (that’s confusing and amazement in one), it was regulatory for males to swim in budgy smugglers. So that ruled Doug out, he only had boardies…odd huh? Anyway, so my French isn’t so good and we somehow, conveniently, got pointed in the direction of showers for free- much better than 10E. So I say to Doug, “meet you outside once I’m done” and walk off. Then we both walk in the direction of what we thought were our respective gender specific showers and stop; side by side. I found myself looking at everyone- males, females, toddlers, grandmas, teenagers, dogs (ok, no dogs, we’re not in Spain yet)- showering together. Omg. There were communal showers for everyone to shower together, as one happy family. To my relief, budgy smugglers and bikinis stayed on. Didn’t stop the men putting their hands down for a quick rinse though! Only in France.
The walk- the test of all sport climbers’ pin thin legs.
“The walk” was a common topic associated with Ceuse climbing conversations. Nearly every time there was talk of Ceuse, someone would proclaim, “that damned walk” and curse it for a couple moments or more. “It’s so hot walking up! It’s all uphill! My knees got so sore! My hips! My legs!” Et cetera. I was warned and warned. So naturally, I expected the worst. I expected the walk to The Gallery but for an hour and to do it almost every day for a month plus, not just a weekend. And I think that’s the best way to approach it. Know that it’s going to take 40min if you’re fit and wanting to listen to some pumpy music and go go go. If not, and you want to walk and talk, it is a standard 50min or so, depending on how far along the cliff you go. Accept that the walk and climbing go hand in hand. And if you don’t want to walk, then ultimately you don’t want to climb. But I did want to climb, so I walked. No one warned me about the walk down however. It was the walk down in the dark at 9pm that tested my limited patience after a 6am start. Fun in the ‘Dictionary of Andrea’ is not defined as stumbling along a rocky, narrow, tree rooted, and sometimes wet track with a headtorch in desperate need of new batteries. Conversely, fun can be described as running downhill while the track is dry and visible. Until you build up too much speed and don’t make it around the corner effectively- to find yourself having stabbed your chin into a tree and bleeding everywhere….
It also wasnt fun if, like on my last day, you walk along a steep gravel part of the direct route, about five mins from the base, and slip. Stupidly, I put my hand down and tore myself a sweet flapper. Good thing I was leaving that night, and heading to the city!
There was one day I almost went crazy walking up. It was my third last day and I didn’t want to walk. It was hot. And I was tired. And the psych had dwindled to a big trickle of sweat. I stood at the bottom, and said “I don’t want to walk up this hill today”. And as I embarked the direct route from the forest, words such as, “this is meant to get easier! I hate this damned direct route! Eh grumble grumble…” came about. And that was the biggest mistake I could have made, because it took over an hour that day to get to Demi Lune wall. I arrived grumpy and agitated. Sorry Doug! Luckily, I had a sweet day on the rock which made the last two days immensely easier.
Sun Vs. Shade.
I had never discussed climbing weather tactics so much in my life. Usually, I love the sun. But in Ceuse, I detested the sun with an unforgiving passion. It was like there were 4 microhabitats within each day. There was a whole different season in the sun versus the shade at camp, and sun versus shade at the crag.
I found myself waking up at 6am on mornings I wanted to climb at La Cascade, struggling to get out of bed because it was cold out. Thirty minutes later, I was sweating in shorts and singlet walking up the hill. One hour later, I would be wearing gloves and downjacket while belaying, in hope of keeping warm to climb. Then the sun would come out to play at about 12pm. And I would have sunglasses on, shorts and crop top struggling to see my climber on the cliff because it was so hot and shiny. I would then retreat to the shade, and eat some lunch with a jumper on. Then the walk of justice to the other side of the cliff (Berlin, Demi Lune, Biographie, etc). Walking from La Cascade can often be misconceived as a mere, ‘walk around the corner’. An Estonian friend of mine claimed it took five, maybe 10 minutes (he also claimed it took him 30 minutes to the crag each day). However, don’t be fooled by this ‘walk around the corner’ trap. This walk is below the cliffline, so it is like a suntrap. It has no shade from the trees, or cliff, and is usually done between one and four in the afternoon, so it’s prime skin cancer rays time. I still don’t know exactly how long it takes because I would embark without thinking it was far enough to validate timing. But as you walk, with all your gear, in the sun, looking at the heat rise from the yellow grass in the distance, you can’t help but feel like you are in the desert, as opposed to the Alps. Then, once the shade hits at about 4pm, the rock cools (eventually) and you prepare for microhabitat 10 of the day. Downjackets and pants back on till dark- 9pm. Then the walk/run/stumble down in t-shirt weather.
If you don’t do a morning session, just evening, you walk from base at 3pm and sweat like a feral farm pig (do pigs even sweat??). Meanwhile, you sit at camp twiddling your thumbs getting bored. Psyching yourself out of the climb that you fell at the last bolt on yesterday. Or getting frustrated that you will probably only tie in 4 times that day due to only having 5 hours of shade/daylight. One to warm up, maybe a moderate climb next, then two goes on a ‘hard’ route. Then stumble back in the dark.
Ethics of route sharing on the battle ground.
Of course the “best sport climbing crag in the world” is going to be packed to the brim right!? Peak season at Ceuse is Summer- July to August. The high altitude means this is the best time to climb at Ceuse, and everywhere else is too hot. So therefore, is apparently the only place to sport climb in all of Europe. Or at least that’s what it felt like- 12 months of usual traffic in 2 months. This is when every loud American, reserved Polish (yet tried to make friends with me, thinking I was Polish from my number plate), ‘Auf gitz!’ German, French (need I say more?), mulleted Spanish (and their dog), cheery Italian, and whoever else, were trying the same route as me.
I am from Melbourne- a place where my local crag is The Grampians, a four hour drive away. I am from Melbourne- a place where I really struggle to find a climbing partner for just two days mid week. A place where you often know most people at the campsite, if there is anyone else there in the first place. A place where everyone sits around camp at night, drinking wine and laughing away. It’s common to park your car and see maybe one more, a walker’s car. A place where while you walk to the crag, are surprised if you hear voices already there. Weekend or weekday. Irregardless of perfect weather. At The Gallery. Or Muiline. Or even the highly regarded, Taipan Wall. If you really wanted, you could try your project 10 times in one day (whether it’s productive or not, that’s not the point). Often your physical fatigue and skin are the limiting factors of attempts.
Ceuse is in a completely different library, let alone page of the same book. The campsite had up to maybe 100 people on the busiest nights. But you wouldn’t guess it if you had a blindfold on. There are tents, cars and vans everywhere and people- quietly lurking around. During the day, people at camp read and rest. Ultimate goal is to preserve energy. Occasionally there is a short slackline session, until the male campsite owner orders something in French, to the desired effect of the slackline being dismantled. At night, there is nobody around till 10pm. Prior to that, everyone is desperately trying to get a third attempt in before its dark. Soon after, there is the dull sizzle of food being cooked on stoves and silent whispers. Sport climbers are a serious bunch- especially Ceuse climbers. Once food is cooked and eaten, recovery begins for their next project attempt. Straight to bed.
Chris, a friend I made in the Frankenjura, turned “21” while we were in Ceuse. This girl made many friends over her two months plus visit. So, night of her birthday she invited everyone around to her trailer trash caravan. People sat and stood around, drinking, talking, laughing and eating birthday cake. Nothing outrageous. However, come 11pm nearby campers broke up the happiness. It wasn’t quite as abrupt as mallets or hammers to the head. But a polite, civilised ‘sport climbers- I need to rest’ complaint was sufficient. They weren’t from NSW.
I soon discovered if I wanted to climb anything at La Cascade I had to wake up at 6am. This allowed enough time to arrive at the crag at 8am, warm-up and have two attempts of a new route/project of my choice, in the shade. Otherwise, the only routes free would be above 8a+ (I’m not that turbo- yet) or something that didn’t appeal. Or climb in the scorching sun. It was an unbelievable site, to see 20 people stitched along the one wall at any one time just as the sun was settling in on the crag.
‘Around the corner’, Demi Lune, Berlin et cetera, tactics weren’t so easy. There were a lot more people to contend with than at La Cascade, meaning options were limited. And even if you were on your route of choice, Bloke One, Two and Three would ask if they can go after you. Which is fine, if it were an ideal world and I did everything in one shot. But I don’t live in an ideal world. Let’s give you a typical scenario:
Doug and I walked over from La Cascade to Berlin and were the first to sit under a route called Blocage Violent 7b+, and wait for the shade. This route had always had a party on it, and a party waiting, so we never bothered. But today we were early, and it was just us until Doug was ready for his first attempt. And as he climbed, the masses swooped in. Just like climbers swooping in for free booty left by bumblies at Araps over Easter. It was easy for me to say “I am climbing next”. That’s easy to accept. But what made things complicated was, Doug fell near the top. So obviously, would want to try again after me. But then, here are the questions I still need answered:
- When does Bloke One go?
- After me?
- After Doug’s second go?
- What if I fall?
- Do they go after me if they asked while Doug was climbing?
- What if they ask while I was climbing?
- Does it depend on if they are dogging? Or a redpoint attempt?
- What about Bloke Two?
- Do they go after Bloke One?
- Or after Doug and I try a second time?
- Or do they bugger off and try a different route?
So in this aforementioned situation, I fell. And Doug had tied in and was chalking up for his second attempt after me. No one had asked to go next, until now. A Frenchie, came over and the conversation went something like this:
Frenchie: Can I climb now?
Doug: Now? No. I am about to climb.
Frenchie: And after you?
Doug: Well, no. Maybe after her (me).
Frenchie: I will be quick, I just want to warm-up. I will only go halfway.
Doug: Well, after we go you can.
Frenchie: Usually, people take it in turns. I will be quick, just a warm-up for me. It is very busy, nothing is free and this route is very beautiful.
Doug: Yes we know it is busy. We have waited 2 weeks to get on this route. That’s why after I go, and her (me), then you can go. That is taking it in turns isn’t it? Or you can try something else. If it just a warm-up, you can try anything?
Frenchie: blah blah….walks away.
Hmm. So I am still confused as to whether we were being irrational? Or rude? Or that’s fair?
Usually, I like sharing. My parents brought me up well. You can share beta, get more rest, sit and relax, blah blah. But, as you may have picked up, climbing in Ceuse with good conditions is limited. It is limited by shade, sun, rock heat, darkness, fatigue and other people. If you let them go, your second attempt is in the sun. Or, you have waited so long your fingers are numb. Or it’s dark. I felt like a mere country girl in a big city- a mere Grampians climber in the big bad world of Ceuse.
WC- Toilette- Lavatory- Toilet- Footpath.
It’s a sensitive topic, but I am going to go there. In brief, Europe crags are feral. Never have I come across such inconsiderate, foul, hygiene habits. On numerous occasions I found myself walking along the main path to the crag, looking down at brown smeared toilet paper. Or puddles of piss. Or the worst bit, sanitary napkins! Why not take one step to the side to pee? Or sometimes I would accidently take what I thought was a path to another part of the cliff, to find myself at the “toilet”. There is no hole digging, hardly any distance from the crag, or discretion with amount of toilet paper used. My favourite was a pile of toilet paper sticking out from under one of those starting, height disadvantaged-cheating rocks, under a climb at La Cascade. Yummy.
To project or not to project?
I was torn on whether or not I should project something hard. In the previous month, the most I had tried anything was four goes in one day. Everything else, was usually within two, sometimes three attempts. But I thought seeing as I would be in Ceuse for a long period of time, I should ‘project.’ But I decided not for at least the first few days. First few days were dedicated to familiarizing myself with the cliff. No demoralizing- similar to Italy shut downs.
I must admit, I don’t know much about the outside climbing world- the kind of stuff you read in magazines, watch on dvds, talk on forums about, et cetera. I have no idea who the big names of climbing are or many famous routes. All I knew was that Realisation was at Ceuse, but I thought I might leave that for my next trip. Baby steps.
Helen Day briefly wrote me a list of things to try, which was inclusive of the routes ‘Mirage’ 7c+ and ‘Carte Blanche’ 8a. I also had a UK friend ‘oohh and ahh’ over Carte Blanche. So, as I arrived I thought I may as well try it. I made one goal- to do this one route. I had theoretically done two 8a’s before. So why not one in Ceuse too?
Second day there, a friend was trying Mirage. So despite Doug and I agreeing not to try anything hard for at least a few days, we caved in. This 25m beautifully long route, as the name suggests, is quite deceiving. It fools you into thinking you are close to sending, until you peel off at the very end. I saw half a dozen guys (never saw a female on it) fall at the last bolt. It starts as a roof, straightens up, and then gives you massive jugs to prepare for the finish, which is steeper, thinner and more sequency. This route took five attempts (three days), a lot more than I initially thought it would….
Two weeks later, Doug and I had our first attempts on Carte Blanche. The start of this route is really steep and bouldery and quite honestly, ugly. We had no beta- hadn’t watched anyone on it and were feeling less than fresh after climbing the day before. Doug went first and made it to the second bolt, cursed a bit then lowered off. I went next, got to the same spot, cursed a bit, then lowered off. Doug went next, dogged to the third bolt, cursed a bit more, then bailed. I went next, dogged to the fourth bolt, cursed more, then bailed. At sunset, we managed to get to the fourth bolt- the crux. Yet, the first 3 bolts felt utterly desperate. During the walk down there was a long philosophical talk on satisfaction of onsighting vs. projecting the hell out of something. It was over a week until we decided to get back on it. I had one go, got too frustrated, and cleaned my draws off. Again, you will not find fun in the ‘Dictionary of Andrea’ described as getting my arse absolutely wooped! This route felt utterly unattainable within a practical amount of time. I proclaimed it too hard to do within three fresh days and would prefer to do three new routes.
Over the next two weeks I ticked a couple of 7c’s and 7c+’s. There was another route that caught my interest however. Bourinator 8a- translation from French is meant to mean something to the effect of ugly, powerful and burly- perfect style for me! Hah! I saw a few people on it and heard a lot of talk about it. I think the trigger for me wanting to do this route was my friend, Jurgen. Jurgen jokes a lot, and I find him hilarious. But, I know there is a slight truth to his jokes. Eg. He idolizes Chris Sharma and anyone who climbs hard. He jokingly said he categorises everyone he meets into ‘grades’- 7a, 7b, 7c, 8a, 8b and anything more is praiseworthy. Don’t get me wrong, he has no discrimination towards ‘weaker’ climbers, just, more respect for those that crush 9a!
Anyway, one night over some wine, Jonas, a German friend who was trying Bourinator, mentioned he had only seen one girl try this route before. In result, Jurgen joked it was because women have less power, very obviously implying I wouldn’t be able to do it. Challenge accepted and dispatched in three days!
This route opened the dusty rotting cupboard of Carte Blanche again. It was a rest day, and I had three more days left in Ceuse. So Doug and I had another philosophical conversation deep into the night, over whether or not we should try Carte Blanche again, or a few easier routes. After much deliberation, I decided to risk the possibility of failure. Three days to send a route I had previously filed into the impossible folder…
This time, we had done our homework. Over the previous few weeks, we watched people on the route and asked anyone who had done it; how to do it. I had never passed the crux before, because I got too demoralized by the beginning to care. But word on the street was that after the crux, it’s sustained, pumpy, and cool. I could do sustained, pumpy and cool! So Doug came up with a brilliant idea; pull through the first two bolts, figure out the crux, and suss out the top. And that’s what I did. I figured out the crux move third go, and nailed a good sequence for the last bolt (because I saw two people fall there that very same day). Then second attempt, I did the route with one sit, linking from the crux to the top. Sweet! All hope was not lost. There was no way I was coming off at the top.
That night, there was more deliberation- rest tomorrow then crush the day I leave? But what if I don’t do it and have to leave? Or, just try it tomorrow and hope for the best. And if not, then I still have day three? But then, on day three, I will probably be too tired if I couldn’t even do it second day? Oh the stress!
Decision was made, and I walked up the next day. But my head was a mess and I fell at the crux twice, and then it got dark. I was a silent, angry, stressed ball ready to explode! I walked down in silence, mind racing as fast as a Tour Du France cyclists’ downhill wheels. That night I ate in silence, ate almost a block of chocolate then went to bed. And as I drew the crazy psychedelic Ikea curtains of my van, I remembered how much I loved life. I remembered how every night, as I close those curtains, I feel like a child in my very own cubby house, and the biggest grin is plastered on my face. So, poof! The stress was gone and I woke up feeling like a monk post meditation session.
While I warmed up for my last day at Ceuse, I knew my body was tired, third day on. My usual warm-up, Lapinerie 7b, felt tough today. I knew I only had one good go in me to accomplish my one goal, any more attempts would be useless. So I gave it my absolute all. There were about five instances I thought I was peeling off along the way. But at each semi-rest I pretty much talked to myself, and psyched myself up for the next semi-rest. Section by section, I held on. Until I got to the sequence at the top which I supposedly had wired. I missed a footer in my exhaustion, cut loose on a crossover on small crimps, regained my feet then went for the jug for glory- and missed it. I lowered down, packed up my gear and carried it down to pack for Paris.
The first route to bring me to tears.
‘Ténéré’ 7c+ is a route at La Cascade, a steep cliff typically involving big moves on big holds. This route follows a beautiful orange streak just to the left of Mirage. It starts as a roof, straightens out on massive jugs then finishes over a small roof that then slabs out. I heard the crux was the roof at the top, a typical footless mantle type scenario on small holds. But on my first day, I found three more cruxes. Ape like moves to handle bars, bar one. One angled throw to the sharpest pocket I have held in all of Ceuse (exclusive of Frankenjura). I didn’t like my chances. I am not a big person. In fact, some people may go as far as to call me, short. I watched a tall guy on this route, and the moves were nothing. But as I tried it, in my head it was “one, two, three, LAUNCH!”, then this same process 2 more times, and then the crux to finish. But, I was determined to do. Because I found it hard (again, I hadn’t seen any girls on it) and it was the line of the crag. Second day/fifth go, I launched my way up. And that sharp pocket gave me a nasty blood blister, popping while topping out. That pocket almost made me cry.
One route did however, make me cry like a spoilt little child who wasn’t allowed a lollypop- “Le privilege du serpent” 7c+ . On my flash attempt, I got to the second last bolt. I then got to the very same spot on my second attempt. Then third. Then fourth. Sheer frustration! I pulled straight back on and tried to go to the top. Beta was, don’t clip the last bolt, just go straight to the anchors. But by my fourth go, my arms were….weak. I went for the jug, fell, grabbed the rope, then punched myself in the nose as the rope went tight. ARGH! I felt so dumb, inefficient and shit. And, my nose hurt! So, for the first time ever, I cried over climbing. Maybe I care more than I used to? Or maybe I expect more? Maybe both. Or, my nose just hurt?
Onsight of my career.
I don’t like slabs. In fact, on occasion I have claimed to hate slabs and believe I am terrible at them. But, as a dedicated triathlete of climbing, one must embrace all forms of each element mustn’t they? There was one blank face at Berlin Wall, which looked amazing from a distance, and from below. This route was ‘Cent Potates’ 7b+ (26 right?), and I onsighted it in one hour. And I puff my chest out to everyone over this claim!! It’s wicked- one of the best routes I did at Ceuse.
And on that note, á bientot! This Ceuse chapter has proven to be much longer than anticipated. Five weeks at Ceuse is the longest I have ever spent at any one crag. I suppose, in between all my whinging and whining, I secretly love this place. All except for the damn fox in the forest that stole my 1kg bag of pears! Naturally, no place is like home, but this place is pretty damn sweet.
Installment four shall come at a later date. Till then, hope you are all having fun adventures of your own!
Oh. And a ticklist of some sort. X means, I was essesntially too soft.
La Grande Face
- Inesperance 6a+/6b+/6c+/7a (third pitch is glory pitch!)
Demi Lune
- Carte Noir 6a
- Marylou 6b
- Harley Davidson 6b+
- Chant de Cristal 6b+
- Lapinerie 7b
- Minette a la plage 7c (extension of Marylou)
- X Carte Blanche 8a
La Cascade
- Des Trous (direct) 6c
- Medecine douche 6c+
- Ananda 7a
- Super mickey 7b (crux was getting through the masses to actually tie in)
- Corps estranger 7b+
- Vagabond d’occident 7c
- Blanches Fesses 7c
- Mirage 7c+
- Ténéré7c+
- Le privilege du serpent 7c+
Berlin
- Super Mario 6b
- Zagreb 6c
- X Casse- Noisette 7a+ (slab)
- X La petit illusion 7a+ (hint: not an ideal warm-up)
- X Galaxy 7b+ (worst route I tried on Berlin)
- Cent Potates 7b+
- Blocage Violent 7b+
- X Makach Walou 7c+ (tried it for one day, then realized I would rather try something else)
Un pont sur l’infini
- Gelati Dolomiti 7a
- Bourinator 8a
Les Maitres du Monde
- Bibendum 7b+
- Teuchipa 7c
Dre.
I was pretty psyched. Psyched to check it out and see what all the hype was about. Firstly however, on the way to Ceuse I thought it would be nice to have a shower in Gap, in case we didn’t want to pay for camping. The solution was to find a public swimming pool. To our confusement (that’s confusing and amazement in one), it was regulatory for males to swim in budgy smugglers. So that ruled Doug out, he only had boardies…odd huh? Anyway, so my French isn’t so good and we somehow, conveniently, got pointed in the direction of showers for free- much better than 10E. So I say to Doug, “meet you outside once I’m done” and walk off. Then we both walk in the direction of what we thought were our respective gender specific showers and stop; side by side. I found myself looking at everyone- males, females, toddlers, grandmas, teenagers, dogs (ok, no dogs, we’re not in Spain yet)- showering together. Omg. There were communal showers for everyone to shower together, as one happy family. To my relief, budgy smugglers and bikinis stayed on. Didn’t stop the men putting their hands down for a quick rinse though! Only in France.
The walk- the test of all sport climbers’ pin thin legs.
“The walk” was a common topic associated with Ceuse climbing conversations. Nearly every time there was talk of Ceuse, someone would proclaim, “that damned walk” and curse it for a couple moments or more. “It’s so hot walking up! It’s all uphill! My knees got so sore! My hips! My legs!” Et cetera. I was warned and warned. So naturally, I expected the worst. I expected the walk to The Gallery but for an hour and to do it almost every day for a month plus, not just a weekend. And I think that’s the best way to approach it. Know that it’s going to take 40min if you’re fit and wanting to listen to some pumpy music and go go go. If not, and you want to walk and talk, it is a standard 50min or so, depending on how far along the cliff you go. Accept that the walk and climbing go hand in hand. And if you don’t want to walk, then ultimately you don’t want to climb. But I did want to climb, so I walked. No one warned me about the walk down however. It was the walk down in the dark at 9pm that tested my limited patience after a 6am start. Fun in the ‘Dictionary of Andrea’ is not defined as stumbling along a rocky, narrow, tree rooted, and sometimes wet track with a headtorch in desperate need of new batteries. Conversely, fun can be described as running downhill while the track is dry and visible. Until you build up too much speed and don’t make it around the corner effectively- to find yourself having stabbed your chin into a tree and bleeding everywhere….
It also wasnt fun if, like on my last day, you walk along a steep gravel part of the direct route, about five mins from the base, and slip. Stupidly, I put my hand down and tore myself a sweet flapper. Good thing I was leaving that night, and heading to the city!
There was one day I almost went crazy walking up. It was my third last day and I didn’t want to walk. It was hot. And I was tired. And the psych had dwindled to a big trickle of sweat. I stood at the bottom, and said “I don’t want to walk up this hill today”. And as I embarked the direct route from the forest, words such as, “this is meant to get easier! I hate this damned direct route! Eh grumble grumble…” came about. And that was the biggest mistake I could have made, because it took over an hour that day to get to Demi Lune wall. I arrived grumpy and agitated. Sorry Doug! Luckily, I had a sweet day on the rock which made the last two days immensely easier.
Sun Vs. Shade.
I had never discussed climbing weather tactics so much in my life. Usually, I love the sun. But in Ceuse, I detested the sun with an unforgiving passion. It was like there were 4 microhabitats within each day. There was a whole different season in the sun versus the shade at camp, and sun versus shade at the crag.
I found myself waking up at 6am on mornings I wanted to climb at La Cascade, struggling to get out of bed because it was cold out. Thirty minutes later, I was sweating in shorts and singlet walking up the hill. One hour later, I would be wearing gloves and downjacket while belaying, in hope of keeping warm to climb. Then the sun would come out to play at about 12pm. And I would have sunglasses on, shorts and crop top struggling to see my climber on the cliff because it was so hot and shiny. I would then retreat to the shade, and eat some lunch with a jumper on. Then the walk of justice to the other side of the cliff (Berlin, Demi Lune, Biographie, etc). Walking from La Cascade can often be misconceived as a mere, ‘walk around the corner’. An Estonian friend of mine claimed it took five, maybe 10 minutes (he also claimed it took him 30 minutes to the crag each day). However, don’t be fooled by this ‘walk around the corner’ trap. This walk is below the cliffline, so it is like a suntrap. It has no shade from the trees, or cliff, and is usually done between one and four in the afternoon, so it’s prime skin cancer rays time. I still don’t know exactly how long it takes because I would embark without thinking it was far enough to validate timing. But as you walk, with all your gear, in the sun, looking at the heat rise from the yellow grass in the distance, you can’t help but feel like you are in the desert, as opposed to the Alps. Then, once the shade hits at about 4pm, the rock cools (eventually) and you prepare for microhabitat 10 of the day. Downjackets and pants back on till dark- 9pm. Then the walk/run/stumble down in t-shirt weather.
If you don’t do a morning session, just evening, you walk from base at 3pm and sweat like a feral farm pig (do pigs even sweat??). Meanwhile, you sit at camp twiddling your thumbs getting bored. Psyching yourself out of the climb that you fell at the last bolt on yesterday. Or getting frustrated that you will probably only tie in 4 times that day due to only having 5 hours of shade/daylight. One to warm up, maybe a moderate climb next, then two goes on a ‘hard’ route. Then stumble back in the dark.
Ethics of route sharing on the battle ground.
Of course the “best sport climbing crag in the world” is going to be packed to the brim right!? Peak season at Ceuse is Summer- July to August. The high altitude means this is the best time to climb at Ceuse, and everywhere else is too hot. So therefore, is apparently the only place to sport climb in all of Europe. Or at least that’s what it felt like- 12 months of usual traffic in 2 months. This is when every loud American, reserved Polish (yet tried to make friends with me, thinking I was Polish from my number plate), ‘Auf gitz!’ German, French (need I say more?), mulleted Spanish (and their dog), cheery Italian, and whoever else, were trying the same route as me.
I am from Melbourne- a place where my local crag is The Grampians, a four hour drive away. I am from Melbourne- a place where I really struggle to find a climbing partner for just two days mid week. A place where you often know most people at the campsite, if there is anyone else there in the first place. A place where everyone sits around camp at night, drinking wine and laughing away. It’s common to park your car and see maybe one more, a walker’s car. A place where while you walk to the crag, are surprised if you hear voices already there. Weekend or weekday. Irregardless of perfect weather. At The Gallery. Or Muiline. Or even the highly regarded, Taipan Wall. If you really wanted, you could try your project 10 times in one day (whether it’s productive or not, that’s not the point). Often your physical fatigue and skin are the limiting factors of attempts.
Ceuse is in a completely different library, let alone page of the same book. The campsite had up to maybe 100 people on the busiest nights. But you wouldn’t guess it if you had a blindfold on. There are tents, cars and vans everywhere and people- quietly lurking around. During the day, people at camp read and rest. Ultimate goal is to preserve energy. Occasionally there is a short slackline session, until the male campsite owner orders something in French, to the desired effect of the slackline being dismantled. At night, there is nobody around till 10pm. Prior to that, everyone is desperately trying to get a third attempt in before its dark. Soon after, there is the dull sizzle of food being cooked on stoves and silent whispers. Sport climbers are a serious bunch- especially Ceuse climbers. Once food is cooked and eaten, recovery begins for their next project attempt. Straight to bed.
Chris, a friend I made in the Frankenjura, turned “21” while we were in Ceuse. This girl made many friends over her two months plus visit. So, night of her birthday she invited everyone around to her trailer trash caravan. People sat and stood around, drinking, talking, laughing and eating birthday cake. Nothing outrageous. However, come 11pm nearby campers broke up the happiness. It wasn’t quite as abrupt as mallets or hammers to the head. But a polite, civilised ‘sport climbers- I need to rest’ complaint was sufficient. They weren’t from NSW.
I soon discovered if I wanted to climb anything at La Cascade I had to wake up at 6am. This allowed enough time to arrive at the crag at 8am, warm-up and have two attempts of a new route/project of my choice, in the shade. Otherwise, the only routes free would be above 8a+ (I’m not that turbo- yet) or something that didn’t appeal. Or climb in the scorching sun. It was an unbelievable site, to see 20 people stitched along the one wall at any one time just as the sun was settling in on the crag.
‘Around the corner’, Demi Lune, Berlin et cetera, tactics weren’t so easy. There were a lot more people to contend with than at La Cascade, meaning options were limited. And even if you were on your route of choice, Bloke One, Two and Three would ask if they can go after you. Which is fine, if it were an ideal world and I did everything in one shot. But I don’t live in an ideal world. Let’s give you a typical scenario:
Doug and I walked over from La Cascade to Berlin and were the first to sit under a route called Blocage Violent 7b+, and wait for the shade. This route had always had a party on it, and a party waiting, so we never bothered. But today we were early, and it was just us until Doug was ready for his first attempt. And as he climbed, the masses swooped in. Just like climbers swooping in for free booty left by bumblies at Araps over Easter. It was easy for me to say “I am climbing next”. That’s easy to accept. But what made things complicated was, Doug fell near the top. So obviously, would want to try again after me. But then, here are the questions I still need answered:
- When does Bloke One go?
- After me?
- After Doug’s second go?
- What if I fall?
- Do they go after me if they asked while Doug was climbing?
- What if they ask while I was climbing?
- Does it depend on if they are dogging? Or a redpoint attempt?
- What about Bloke Two?
- Do they go after Bloke One?
- Or after Doug and I try a second time?
- Or do they bugger off and try a different route?
So in this aforementioned situation, I fell. And Doug had tied in and was chalking up for his second attempt after me. No one had asked to go next, until now. A Frenchie, came over and the conversation went something like this:
Frenchie: Can I climb now?
Doug: Now? No. I am about to climb.
Frenchie: And after you?
Doug: Well, no. Maybe after her (me).
Frenchie: I will be quick, I just want to warm-up. I will only go halfway.
Doug: Well, after we go you can.
Frenchie: Usually, people take it in turns. I will be quick, just a warm-up for me. It is very busy, nothing is free and this route is very beautiful.
Doug: Yes we know it is busy. We have waited 2 weeks to get on this route. That’s why after I go, and her (me), then you can go. That is taking it in turns isn’t it? Or you can try something else. If it just a warm-up, you can try anything?
Frenchie: blah blah….walks away.
Hmm. So I am still confused as to whether we were being irrational? Or rude? Or that’s fair?
Usually, I like sharing. My parents brought me up well. You can share beta, get more rest, sit and relax, blah blah. But, as you may have picked up, climbing in Ceuse with good conditions is limited. It is limited by shade, sun, rock heat, darkness, fatigue and other people. If you let them go, your second attempt is in the sun. Or, you have waited so long your fingers are numb. Or it’s dark. I felt like a mere country girl in a big city- a mere Grampians climber in the big bad world of Ceuse.
WC- Toilette- Lavatory- Toilet- Footpath.
It’s a sensitive topic, but I am going to go there. In brief, Europe crags are feral. Never have I come across such inconsiderate, foul, hygiene habits. On numerous occasions I found myself walking along the main path to the crag, looking down at brown smeared toilet paper. Or puddles of piss. Or the worst bit, sanitary napkins! Why not take one step to the side to pee? Or sometimes I would accidently take what I thought was a path to another part of the cliff, to find myself at the “toilet”. There is no hole digging, hardly any distance from the crag, or discretion with amount of toilet paper used. My favourite was a pile of toilet paper sticking out from under one of those starting, height disadvantaged-cheating rocks, under a climb at La Cascade. Yummy.
To project or not to project?
I was torn on whether or not I should project something hard. In the previous month, the most I had tried anything was four goes in one day. Everything else, was usually within two, sometimes three attempts. But I thought seeing as I would be in Ceuse for a long period of time, I should ‘project.’ But I decided not for at least the first few days. First few days were dedicated to familiarizing myself with the cliff. No demoralizing- similar to Italy shut downs.
I must admit, I don’t know much about the outside climbing world- the kind of stuff you read in magazines, watch on dvds, talk on forums about, et cetera. I have no idea who the big names of climbing are or many famous routes. All I knew was that Realisation was at Ceuse, but I thought I might leave that for my next trip. Baby steps.
Helen Day briefly wrote me a list of things to try, which was inclusive of the routes ‘Mirage’ 7c+ and ‘Carte Blanche’ 8a. I also had a UK friend ‘oohh and ahh’ over Carte Blanche. So, as I arrived I thought I may as well try it. I made one goal- to do this one route. I had theoretically done two 8a’s before. So why not one in Ceuse too?
Second day there, a friend was trying Mirage. So despite Doug and I agreeing not to try anything hard for at least a few days, we caved in. This 25m beautifully long route, as the name suggests, is quite deceiving. It fools you into thinking you are close to sending, until you peel off at the very end. I saw half a dozen guys (never saw a female on it) fall at the last bolt. It starts as a roof, straightens up, and then gives you massive jugs to prepare for the finish, which is steeper, thinner and more sequency. This route took five attempts (three days), a lot more than I initially thought it would….
Two weeks later, Doug and I had our first attempts on Carte Blanche. The start of this route is really steep and bouldery and quite honestly, ugly. We had no beta- hadn’t watched anyone on it and were feeling less than fresh after climbing the day before. Doug went first and made it to the second bolt, cursed a bit then lowered off. I went next, got to the same spot, cursed a bit, then lowered off. Doug went next, dogged to the third bolt, cursed a bit more, then bailed. I went next, dogged to the fourth bolt, cursed more, then bailed. At sunset, we managed to get to the fourth bolt- the crux. Yet, the first 3 bolts felt utterly desperate. During the walk down there was a long philosophical talk on satisfaction of onsighting vs. projecting the hell out of something. It was over a week until we decided to get back on it. I had one go, got too frustrated, and cleaned my draws off. Again, you will not find fun in the ‘Dictionary of Andrea’ described as getting my arse absolutely wooped! This route felt utterly unattainable within a practical amount of time. I proclaimed it too hard to do within three fresh days and would prefer to do three new routes.
Over the next two weeks I ticked a couple of 7c’s and 7c+’s. There was another route that caught my interest however. Bourinator 8a- translation from French is meant to mean something to the effect of ugly, powerful and burly- perfect style for me! Hah! I saw a few people on it and heard a lot of talk about it. I think the trigger for me wanting to do this route was my friend, Jurgen. Jurgen jokes a lot, and I find him hilarious. But, I know there is a slight truth to his jokes. Eg. He idolizes Chris Sharma and anyone who climbs hard. He jokingly said he categorises everyone he meets into ‘grades’- 7a, 7b, 7c, 8a, 8b and anything more is praiseworthy. Don’t get me wrong, he has no discrimination towards ‘weaker’ climbers, just, more respect for those that crush 9a!
Anyway, one night over some wine, Jonas, a German friend who was trying Bourinator, mentioned he had only seen one girl try this route before. In result, Jurgen joked it was because women have less power, very obviously implying I wouldn’t be able to do it. Challenge accepted and dispatched in three days!
This route opened the dusty rotting cupboard of Carte Blanche again. It was a rest day, and I had three more days left in Ceuse. So Doug and I had another philosophical conversation deep into the night, over whether or not we should try Carte Blanche again, or a few easier routes. After much deliberation, I decided to risk the possibility of failure. Three days to send a route I had previously filed into the impossible folder…
This time, we had done our homework. Over the previous few weeks, we watched people on the route and asked anyone who had done it; how to do it. I had never passed the crux before, because I got too demoralized by the beginning to care. But word on the street was that after the crux, it’s sustained, pumpy, and cool. I could do sustained, pumpy and cool! So Doug came up with a brilliant idea; pull through the first two bolts, figure out the crux, and suss out the top. And that’s what I did. I figured out the crux move third go, and nailed a good sequence for the last bolt (because I saw two people fall there that very same day). Then second attempt, I did the route with one sit, linking from the crux to the top. Sweet! All hope was not lost. There was no way I was coming off at the top.
That night, there was more deliberation- rest tomorrow then crush the day I leave? But what if I don’t do it and have to leave? Or, just try it tomorrow and hope for the best. And if not, then I still have day three? But then, on day three, I will probably be too tired if I couldn’t even do it second day? Oh the stress!
Decision was made, and I walked up the next day. But my head was a mess and I fell at the crux twice, and then it got dark. I was a silent, angry, stressed ball ready to explode! I walked down in silence, mind racing as fast as a Tour Du France cyclists’ downhill wheels. That night I ate in silence, ate almost a block of chocolate then went to bed. And as I drew the crazy psychedelic Ikea curtains of my van, I remembered how much I loved life. I remembered how every night, as I close those curtains, I feel like a child in my very own cubby house, and the biggest grin is plastered on my face. So, poof! The stress was gone and I woke up feeling like a monk post meditation session.
While I warmed up for my last day at Ceuse, I knew my body was tired, third day on. My usual warm-up, Lapinerie 7b, felt tough today. I knew I only had one good go in me to accomplish my one goal, any more attempts would be useless. So I gave it my absolute all. There were about five instances I thought I was peeling off along the way. But at each semi-rest I pretty much talked to myself, and psyched myself up for the next semi-rest. Section by section, I held on. Until I got to the sequence at the top which I supposedly had wired. I missed a footer in my exhaustion, cut loose on a crossover on small crimps, regained my feet then went for the jug for glory- and missed it. I lowered down, packed up my gear and carried it down to pack for Paris.
The first route to bring me to tears.
‘Ténéré’ 7c+ is a route at La Cascade, a steep cliff typically involving big moves on big holds. This route follows a beautiful orange streak just to the left of Mirage. It starts as a roof, straightens out on massive jugs then finishes over a small roof that then slabs out. I heard the crux was the roof at the top, a typical footless mantle type scenario on small holds. But on my first day, I found three more cruxes. Ape like moves to handle bars, bar one. One angled throw to the sharpest pocket I have held in all of Ceuse (exclusive of Frankenjura). I didn’t like my chances. I am not a big person. In fact, some people may go as far as to call me, short. I watched a tall guy on this route, and the moves were nothing. But as I tried it, in my head it was “one, two, three, LAUNCH!”, then this same process 2 more times, and then the crux to finish. But, I was determined to do. Because I found it hard (again, I hadn’t seen any girls on it) and it was the line of the crag. Second day/fifth go, I launched my way up. And that sharp pocket gave me a nasty blood blister, popping while topping out. That pocket almost made me cry.
One route did however, make me cry like a spoilt little child who wasn’t allowed a lollypop- “Le privilege du serpent” 7c+ . On my flash attempt, I got to the second last bolt. I then got to the very same spot on my second attempt. Then third. Then fourth. Sheer frustration! I pulled straight back on and tried to go to the top. Beta was, don’t clip the last bolt, just go straight to the anchors. But by my fourth go, my arms were….weak. I went for the jug, fell, grabbed the rope, then punched myself in the nose as the rope went tight. ARGH! I felt so dumb, inefficient and shit. And, my nose hurt! So, for the first time ever, I cried over climbing. Maybe I care more than I used to? Or maybe I expect more? Maybe both. Or, my nose just hurt?
Onsight of my career.
I don’t like slabs. In fact, on occasion I have claimed to hate slabs and believe I am terrible at them. But, as a dedicated triathlete of climbing, one must embrace all forms of each element mustn’t they? There was one blank face at Berlin Wall, which looked amazing from a distance, and from below. This route was ‘Cent Potates’ 7b+ (26 right?), and I onsighted it in one hour. And I puff my chest out to everyone over this claim!! It’s wicked- one of the best routes I did at Ceuse.
And on that note, á bientot! This Ceuse chapter has proven to be much longer than anticipated. Five weeks at Ceuse is the longest I have ever spent at any one crag. I suppose, in between all my whinging and whining, I secretly love this place. All except for the damn fox in the forest that stole my 1kg bag of pears! Naturally, no place is like home, but this place is pretty damn sweet.
Installment four shall come at a later date. Till then, hope you are all having fun adventures of your own!
Oh. And a ticklist of some sort. X means, I was essesntially too soft.
La Grande Face
- Inesperance 6a+/6b+/6c+/7a (third pitch is glory pitch!)
Demi Lune
- Carte Noir 6a
- Marylou 6b
- Harley Davidson 6b+
- Chant de Cristal 6b+
- Lapinerie 7b
- Minette a la plage 7c (extension of Marylou)
- X Carte Blanche 8a
La Cascade
- Des Trous (direct) 6c
- Medecine douche 6c+
- Ananda 7a
- Super mickey 7b (crux was getting through the masses to actually tie in)
- Corps estranger 7b+
- Vagabond d’occident 7c
- Blanches Fesses 7c
- Mirage 7c+
- Ténéré7c+
- Le privilege du serpent 7c+
Berlin
- Super Mario 6b
- Zagreb 6c
- X Casse- Noisette 7a+ (slab)
- X La petit illusion 7a+ (hint: not an ideal warm-up)
- X Galaxy 7b+ (worst route I tried on Berlin)
- Cent Potates 7b+
- Blocage Violent 7b+
- X Makach Walou 7c+ (tried it for one day, then realized I would rather try something else)
Un pont sur l’infini
- Gelati Dolomiti 7a
- Bourinator 8a
Les Maitres du Monde
- Bibendum 7b+
- Teuchipa 7c
Dre.
16 September 2009
Sprechen Sie Englisch? Parla inglese? Parlez-vous anglais?
Four months in, and I am sitting in a fancy hotel in Zurich, typing up my second blog entry. I started about a month ago, but there has been alot to say. I'm still not finished but I will post what I have so far. Next installment will come soon! But, just to let people know I am still alive and still pretty lazy huh?! Or maybe I’ve just been extremely busy..
UK.
So, if you scroll back a few pages or more, I think it says I was somewhere in the country of pubs after climbing. Where they have pints of tea as much as possible and chips on the side of everything- Curry with rice and chips? How about some chips with your baked beans and cheese? And with those chips, salt and vinegar and neon mushy peas?
I ended up spending one month in the UK. And despite prior misconceptions, I loved it. The less than optimal conditions (sunny days) in the Peak District meant all those death E9’s I had in mind seemed less and less feasible by each degree above freezing. So I ended up settling for star collecting. I filled my days with classics, with 13 stars in one day at The Roaches my record. When I return to Oz, I am going to work on my new website. It’s like 8a.nu. But better. It’s based on quality of routes (stars), not the grade. So in keeping with that system, some favourites were:
- Quietus -an awful bulging roof crack at Stanage (a crag I wouldn’t drive 5 hrs to climb at)
- Fern Hill, Five finger exercise, Requiem- Classic routes at a crag called Cratcliffe.
After Sheffield, I headed to North Wales- Llanberis Pass. Here, I discovered my inner desire to become the triathlete of rockclimbing. Why should I have to discriminate between the three elements of climbing? The argument of Trad vs. Sport vs. Bouldering is old. On Sunday 7 June 2009, I trad climbed Comes the Dervish (a slate E3 slab) in the rain, bouldered my second V7/8- Cleaver Beaver, and clipped some bolts at Lower Pen Trywn. Why specialise in one, when you can be Average Joe at all three in one day!?
Noteworthy occurences in North Wales:
- Did my first V9- Jerry’s Roof (a classic roof problem on the roadside)
- Drank pints of tea at ‘possibly the best café in the world’ followed by a multipitch in the evening sun, ‘where there is no finer place to be’, resulting in having to stop mid pitch and find facilities to cope with the diuretic effects of 1L of tea.
- Saw Andy Jennings lead a trad pitch
- Belayed an impressive lead by Simon Wilson- Pretty Pink (death slate slab)
Pembroke was next. My favourite place in the UK. Amazing traditional seacliff climbing in the beautiful summer sun. A must do is ‘Bloody Sunday’. E4 6A in Huntsman’s Leap. Then, I was lucky enough to be taken to a new area being established, Gun Cliff, to play on some new routes.
Frankenjura.
The land of manky dark forests and tweaky pockets. And first bolts up to 8m off the deck. Where ‘classic’ could mean ‘alpine, potentially dangerous, special’ routes... but to make up for all of this, there were some very enjoyable routes. And even more enjoyable homemade cheesecake.
Just less than three weeks in the Frankenjura and I left feeling like a 70 yr old woman with achey fingers. The Germans are strong and hard. And my fingers and body proved to be too soft. I tweaked a finger on some lame warm up. Got scared by too many spiders in too many pockets. Got put off by too much moss covered rock. And had less than enough rest days in the preceding 2 months.
However, I like the Frankenjura. It was a challenge, and I like to think I did ok. Once you accept the place isn’t a holiday crag and are prepared to get shut down, then it’s a humbling experience. I laughed at outrageous anchors, which were single bolts I mistook for any other bolt on route. And each time I had to clip off a tiny pocket instead of a jug 10cm below, I just exclaimed “damn tall German” and thought, “at least they are bolting”. I can’t complain, because I’m not.
Funny conversation I had with a local before doing Schleimspur 9-.
Before doing this route, a typical nerd looking German with his shorts up to his chin rapped down and put draws in for a top rope. This guy had it all calculated. He had his belaying girlfriend, who seemed shocked and insulted when I asked if she were going to try it next. He had all the ‘tips’. And he had his top rope. After he went, I asked if I could try the route, and pull his rope through. He looked confused. I thought he didn’t Sprechen Sie Englisch. But he did. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Can I have a go?
Nerdy German: On my toprope?
Me: No. I can use my own rope, then thread yours back through.
Nerdy German: ahh….ok. Have you top roped it yet?
Me: No.
Nerdy German: You want to….onsight it?
Me: ahh…I suppose so.
Nerdy German: Ahhh…have you tried it before?
Me: No. So I suppose, if I do it, that would be an onsight?
Nerdy German: Ahh…do you want tips?
Me: No. It wouldn’t be an onsight then would it?
Nerdy German: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
Nerdy German: ahhh…ok.
So I tried to onsight it. And fell. And when I got down, German had the nerve to say “Do you think, if I told you ze tips, you would have done it?” I replied with, “I don’t know”. And did it second go. No onsight, but oh well!
I must explain why this German was so concerned however. The crux was about 10m up (so about halfway). While doing the crux, the last bolt is about a metre below your feet to the right. Then, you make a few easy moves on jugs….maybe 3 more metres? Then you clip another bolt. So, if you fall at the crux it’s fine. If you fall at the next bolt, it’s not fine. This German top toped it clean 3 more times while I was there.
Some other sweet pockets pullers were:
Stromlinie 9
Sautanz 9-
Bondage 8+/9- Onsight
Bella Additione 8+. This was a very dramatic experience with almost coming off at the crux, with a bolt 2m below and to the right. After clipping in, the blue sky turned grey with dark clouds. And the rain started coming down on the cliff, coinciding with loud thunder. And as I approached the chains, the sky cleared and there was a cheer from the crowds….well. No crowd. Just me. Happy with the onsight.
City Living.
Next chapter of the trip, I went to Munich. I was feeling tired and I needed to get away from the climbing to let my body heal and recover. I got off the train in the city centre with an American (Chris, who hated the Jura). She booked a train to Ceuse and I decided to try and find a bed for the night. So I wondered the streets of Munich in the rain with all my climbing gear and found a Youth Hostel. After all, that’s what everyone my age does when they travel Europe isn’t it? Stay in Youth Hostels and party? Well. I found one, for 24 euro a night. I walked into my 6 bed dorm and took off my rainjacket and approach shoes. I put down my bags filled with draws/stove/70m rope/sleeping bag etc and said hi to my roomie. A 25yr old med student from Fitzroy. She was annoyed. She had just cut her fringe herself and it wasn’t right! Exactly what her hairdresser told her not to do. It was poking her eyes. And her eye makeup was all smudged. And all hell had broken loose. Her dress and shoes were fine though…sigh.
Travel bliss had come to a halt. I felt injured and needed to rest. But I hated the city hostel life. I thought I would stay in Munich for a week but I lasted 2 days. Randomly, I ended up going with an Americano climber to Salzburg and Vienna. These places are beautiful. We walked the streets as photo taking tourists and shared a bottle of wine on our first night in Salzburg. Then went to our dorm, and fell asleep at 9pm in our respective bunk beds. I was in the wrong frame of mind. I felt exhausted, and wanted to be climbing. But knew I shouldn’t. So instead, I was drinking every night, spending too much money on hostels and eating the cheapest shittiest food available, which are kebabs. This lifestyle is not sustainable- definately not if I wanted to be a serious triathlete of climbing.
Polski.
A country I had never placed high on my priority list of important places to spend my euro trip. But, that country name would become a common conversation topic for many months to come, and contain the most memorable moments of my trip. I needed a car. And a van was the dream. But there were issues. How do I buy a car? Who’s name would I put it under? I only speak English. And I don’t have a lot of money. There were a lot of limiting factors. But, the perfect solution (what seemed perfect at the time) was to buy a van with Tassie Doug in Poland. And put it under his broski’s name. Doug’s bro; Andy, spoke Polish and had a visa. And his girlfriend, Ania, was the missing link between me and driving to Ceuse in my mobile home.
I got a night couchette from Vienna to Krakow on the 8th July. Then on the 9th July, I met Doug, Andy and his gf, Ania. And we celebrated my birthday in one of Krakow’s finest hospitals. Andy had the pleasure of slipping off one of the world’s most polished (Pol-ished: haha! Get it?) foot holds and hit the deck. After 4 hours in the hospital for an x ray, we found out Andy had a foot. And it was sprained. We then went out for dinner at an Indian/Italian cuisine restaurant. I didn’t realise how multi cultural Poland was till then. Following this, I had a taste of what would be my favourite drink in Poland- Tatanka. Apple juice, special vodka and cinnamon. 23 and loving life.
I spent just over 2 weeks in Krakow, and saw a lot more in this country than the standard tourist or climber. Time in Poland was spent doing the following:
- Sleeping on Andy’s futon, in his room. In Poland, a standard apartment has a kitchen, bathroom and bedrooms. No living area or dining area. Just larger bedrooms, with beds that usually fold away.
- First Sunday I walked around a gravel car yard looking for a van amongst about 1000 random rusty vehicles. Meanwhile I was clutching my bag, scared of it being stolen after being warned by Ania and wandering how many of those cars were stolen.
- Climbed at the two most polished crags I have ever been to while it was 30+ degrees.
- Made up wicked boulder problems at the two local climbing gyms.
- Drank beer that was cheaper than water or non-alcoholic drinks.
- Ate amazing ice cream at least once a day, sometimes twice.
- Saw a classical pianist (who looked like he was 15) play Choppin pieces.
- Bought a blue Renault Kangoo from a fat Polish man wearing pink crocs, shorts and yellow singlet that didn’t cover much.
- Ate a 60cm diameter pizza (not by myself, but there is always next time).
- Built a bed and storage space in Castorama (massive hardware store) carpark in 30+ deg heat. We used a borrowed (shitty) drill and communal tools from within the store, or utilised their excellent return policy.
- Got curtains made at Ikea- a shop that is taking over the world and makes Andy’s favourite meatballs.
- Was invited to Ania’s family home out in the country to eat homegrown, local cuisine. Had a BBQ on the balcony in the rain. And left with homemade jam and a warm fuzzy feeling over how lovely Ania’s family is.
- Drove to about 6 mechanics to get a “MOT”; Roadworthy equivalent.
Drive out of Poland to Italy was…long. It took 6 hours due to roadworks and traffic jams, for what should have been about one hour according to Google Maps. A large proportion of the drive was at 0km/hr. This was partly due to traffic, but also the temperamental speedometer that would occasionally decide to stop working. This would all be a lot more bearable if we had the ability to choose good music, but, no. We bought the cheapest possible car stereo we could find, from a nice, but dodgy Polish guy, Konrad. So all we could do was put Doug’s ipod on random. And it would, randomly work, and not work…
Arco.
The next destination was Arco. Rumour was, there was good climbing, and the cheapest climbing gear in all of Europe. Doug and I arrived in Arco feeling like we hadn’t slept in two days and sitting in a car for even longer. So we decided not to climb that day. Just buy me a new harness (my belay loop stitching was coming apart, much to my partners dismay) and whatever other goodies I “needed”. But, we soon found out Italy is a bit like Spain in that, the streets turn to a ghost town between 12.30 and 3.30pm. All shops close, meaning no harness for me.
We decided to get the bodies moving and work our fatigue away by climbing. We didn’t have a guide, let alone an English one. But I had prior tips from Jurgen (Esther’s partner) that Laghel was good. So we went there, and it was barricaded like an army station. Well, at least an intense construction site. With “PRIVATO” and other signs to the effect of, “Keep out or else” all over. So, we waited till a shop was open, took some pics of a guide and headed to Nago. We found the cliff, but couldn’t find the track. It was amazingly frustrating seeing it and being 200m from it, but having houses and fences all around. A successful failed climbing and shopping day.
Alas, in the next few days we found some climbing at Belvedere and Nago. Okay cliffs but nothing I would fly to the other side of the world for. I would however, fly to the other side of the world for Italy itself. I love this country! The people are so joyous and friendly. The streets are small, cobbled and beautiful. This whole area is postcard worthy (or even opening scene of the new James Bond movie worthy!). The ice-cream is the best in the world. The four cheese pizza, the best in the world! Well, it’s the only four cheese pizza I have ever had, but, I can make that claim on principle of Italy being the pizza castle of the world. So, I was torn. At the end of a climbing day I was on the verge of tears after struggling on 6C+ routes and wanted to leave, yet wanted to stay for the celebratory atmosphere and vibe I got from the locals. It was a love-hate relationship.
Next was Lecco- home of a hotel that charged 10 Euros for a shower. Guess how desperate I was feeling? Anyway, on the upside, it was also the home of the best crag I went to in Italy, Nibbio. Long, nice, technical 20m plus routes in the shade all day- so perfect for the hot summer days I was getting! I did a route “McKinley”, my first 7C (third 27) second go which was a pleasant surprise. Sustained, pumpy face route and brilliant. It was relieving to leave Italy on a good note, because it was time for Ceuse....
Next Chapter coming soon- Ceuse/Paris (including Moulin Rouge with my mum) and Zurich. Stay tuned! Till then, hope you enjoyed the reading...whoever you creepy stalkers are!
Dre.
UK.
So, if you scroll back a few pages or more, I think it says I was somewhere in the country of pubs after climbing. Where they have pints of tea as much as possible and chips on the side of everything- Curry with rice and chips? How about some chips with your baked beans and cheese? And with those chips, salt and vinegar and neon mushy peas?
I ended up spending one month in the UK. And despite prior misconceptions, I loved it. The less than optimal conditions (sunny days) in the Peak District meant all those death E9’s I had in mind seemed less and less feasible by each degree above freezing. So I ended up settling for star collecting. I filled my days with classics, with 13 stars in one day at The Roaches my record. When I return to Oz, I am going to work on my new website. It’s like 8a.nu. But better. It’s based on quality of routes (stars), not the grade. So in keeping with that system, some favourites were:
- Quietus -an awful bulging roof crack at Stanage (a crag I wouldn’t drive 5 hrs to climb at)
- Fern Hill, Five finger exercise, Requiem- Classic routes at a crag called Cratcliffe.
After Sheffield, I headed to North Wales- Llanberis Pass. Here, I discovered my inner desire to become the triathlete of rockclimbing. Why should I have to discriminate between the three elements of climbing? The argument of Trad vs. Sport vs. Bouldering is old. On Sunday 7 June 2009, I trad climbed Comes the Dervish (a slate E3 slab) in the rain, bouldered my second V7/8- Cleaver Beaver, and clipped some bolts at Lower Pen Trywn. Why specialise in one, when you can be Average Joe at all three in one day!?
Noteworthy occurences in North Wales:
- Did my first V9- Jerry’s Roof (a classic roof problem on the roadside)
- Drank pints of tea at ‘possibly the best café in the world’ followed by a multipitch in the evening sun, ‘where there is no finer place to be’, resulting in having to stop mid pitch and find facilities to cope with the diuretic effects of 1L of tea.
- Saw Andy Jennings lead a trad pitch
- Belayed an impressive lead by Simon Wilson- Pretty Pink (death slate slab)
Pembroke was next. My favourite place in the UK. Amazing traditional seacliff climbing in the beautiful summer sun. A must do is ‘Bloody Sunday’. E4 6A in Huntsman’s Leap. Then, I was lucky enough to be taken to a new area being established, Gun Cliff, to play on some new routes.
Frankenjura.
The land of manky dark forests and tweaky pockets. And first bolts up to 8m off the deck. Where ‘classic’ could mean ‘alpine, potentially dangerous, special’ routes... but to make up for all of this, there were some very enjoyable routes. And even more enjoyable homemade cheesecake.
Just less than three weeks in the Frankenjura and I left feeling like a 70 yr old woman with achey fingers. The Germans are strong and hard. And my fingers and body proved to be too soft. I tweaked a finger on some lame warm up. Got scared by too many spiders in too many pockets. Got put off by too much moss covered rock. And had less than enough rest days in the preceding 2 months.
However, I like the Frankenjura. It was a challenge, and I like to think I did ok. Once you accept the place isn’t a holiday crag and are prepared to get shut down, then it’s a humbling experience. I laughed at outrageous anchors, which were single bolts I mistook for any other bolt on route. And each time I had to clip off a tiny pocket instead of a jug 10cm below, I just exclaimed “damn tall German” and thought, “at least they are bolting”. I can’t complain, because I’m not.
Funny conversation I had with a local before doing Schleimspur 9-.
Before doing this route, a typical nerd looking German with his shorts up to his chin rapped down and put draws in for a top rope. This guy had it all calculated. He had his belaying girlfriend, who seemed shocked and insulted when I asked if she were going to try it next. He had all the ‘tips’. And he had his top rope. After he went, I asked if I could try the route, and pull his rope through. He looked confused. I thought he didn’t Sprechen Sie Englisch. But he did. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Can I have a go?
Nerdy German: On my toprope?
Me: No. I can use my own rope, then thread yours back through.
Nerdy German: ahh….ok. Have you top roped it yet?
Me: No.
Nerdy German: You want to….onsight it?
Me: ahh…I suppose so.
Nerdy German: Ahhh…have you tried it before?
Me: No. So I suppose, if I do it, that would be an onsight?
Nerdy German: Ahh…do you want tips?
Me: No. It wouldn’t be an onsight then would it?
Nerdy German: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
Nerdy German: ahhh…ok.
So I tried to onsight it. And fell. And when I got down, German had the nerve to say “Do you think, if I told you ze tips, you would have done it?” I replied with, “I don’t know”. And did it second go. No onsight, but oh well!
I must explain why this German was so concerned however. The crux was about 10m up (so about halfway). While doing the crux, the last bolt is about a metre below your feet to the right. Then, you make a few easy moves on jugs….maybe 3 more metres? Then you clip another bolt. So, if you fall at the crux it’s fine. If you fall at the next bolt, it’s not fine. This German top toped it clean 3 more times while I was there.
Some other sweet pockets pullers were:
Stromlinie 9
Sautanz 9-
Bondage 8+/9- Onsight
Bella Additione 8+. This was a very dramatic experience with almost coming off at the crux, with a bolt 2m below and to the right. After clipping in, the blue sky turned grey with dark clouds. And the rain started coming down on the cliff, coinciding with loud thunder. And as I approached the chains, the sky cleared and there was a cheer from the crowds….well. No crowd. Just me. Happy with the onsight.
City Living.
Next chapter of the trip, I went to Munich. I was feeling tired and I needed to get away from the climbing to let my body heal and recover. I got off the train in the city centre with an American (Chris, who hated the Jura). She booked a train to Ceuse and I decided to try and find a bed for the night. So I wondered the streets of Munich in the rain with all my climbing gear and found a Youth Hostel. After all, that’s what everyone my age does when they travel Europe isn’t it? Stay in Youth Hostels and party? Well. I found one, for 24 euro a night. I walked into my 6 bed dorm and took off my rainjacket and approach shoes. I put down my bags filled with draws/stove/70m rope/sleeping bag etc and said hi to my roomie. A 25yr old med student from Fitzroy. She was annoyed. She had just cut her fringe herself and it wasn’t right! Exactly what her hairdresser told her not to do. It was poking her eyes. And her eye makeup was all smudged. And all hell had broken loose. Her dress and shoes were fine though…sigh.
Travel bliss had come to a halt. I felt injured and needed to rest. But I hated the city hostel life. I thought I would stay in Munich for a week but I lasted 2 days. Randomly, I ended up going with an Americano climber to Salzburg and Vienna. These places are beautiful. We walked the streets as photo taking tourists and shared a bottle of wine on our first night in Salzburg. Then went to our dorm, and fell asleep at 9pm in our respective bunk beds. I was in the wrong frame of mind. I felt exhausted, and wanted to be climbing. But knew I shouldn’t. So instead, I was drinking every night, spending too much money on hostels and eating the cheapest shittiest food available, which are kebabs. This lifestyle is not sustainable- definately not if I wanted to be a serious triathlete of climbing.
Polski.
A country I had never placed high on my priority list of important places to spend my euro trip. But, that country name would become a common conversation topic for many months to come, and contain the most memorable moments of my trip. I needed a car. And a van was the dream. But there were issues. How do I buy a car? Who’s name would I put it under? I only speak English. And I don’t have a lot of money. There were a lot of limiting factors. But, the perfect solution (what seemed perfect at the time) was to buy a van with Tassie Doug in Poland. And put it under his broski’s name. Doug’s bro; Andy, spoke Polish and had a visa. And his girlfriend, Ania, was the missing link between me and driving to Ceuse in my mobile home.
I got a night couchette from Vienna to Krakow on the 8th July. Then on the 9th July, I met Doug, Andy and his gf, Ania. And we celebrated my birthday in one of Krakow’s finest hospitals. Andy had the pleasure of slipping off one of the world’s most polished (Pol-ished: haha! Get it?) foot holds and hit the deck. After 4 hours in the hospital for an x ray, we found out Andy had a foot. And it was sprained. We then went out for dinner at an Indian/Italian cuisine restaurant. I didn’t realise how multi cultural Poland was till then. Following this, I had a taste of what would be my favourite drink in Poland- Tatanka. Apple juice, special vodka and cinnamon. 23 and loving life.
I spent just over 2 weeks in Krakow, and saw a lot more in this country than the standard tourist or climber. Time in Poland was spent doing the following:
- Sleeping on Andy’s futon, in his room. In Poland, a standard apartment has a kitchen, bathroom and bedrooms. No living area or dining area. Just larger bedrooms, with beds that usually fold away.
- First Sunday I walked around a gravel car yard looking for a van amongst about 1000 random rusty vehicles. Meanwhile I was clutching my bag, scared of it being stolen after being warned by Ania and wandering how many of those cars were stolen.
- Climbed at the two most polished crags I have ever been to while it was 30+ degrees.
- Made up wicked boulder problems at the two local climbing gyms.
- Drank beer that was cheaper than water or non-alcoholic drinks.
- Ate amazing ice cream at least once a day, sometimes twice.
- Saw a classical pianist (who looked like he was 15) play Choppin pieces.
- Bought a blue Renault Kangoo from a fat Polish man wearing pink crocs, shorts and yellow singlet that didn’t cover much.
- Ate a 60cm diameter pizza (not by myself, but there is always next time).
- Built a bed and storage space in Castorama (massive hardware store) carpark in 30+ deg heat. We used a borrowed (shitty) drill and communal tools from within the store, or utilised their excellent return policy.
- Got curtains made at Ikea- a shop that is taking over the world and makes Andy’s favourite meatballs.
- Was invited to Ania’s family home out in the country to eat homegrown, local cuisine. Had a BBQ on the balcony in the rain. And left with homemade jam and a warm fuzzy feeling over how lovely Ania’s family is.
- Drove to about 6 mechanics to get a “MOT”; Roadworthy equivalent.
Drive out of Poland to Italy was…long. It took 6 hours due to roadworks and traffic jams, for what should have been about one hour according to Google Maps. A large proportion of the drive was at 0km/hr. This was partly due to traffic, but also the temperamental speedometer that would occasionally decide to stop working. This would all be a lot more bearable if we had the ability to choose good music, but, no. We bought the cheapest possible car stereo we could find, from a nice, but dodgy Polish guy, Konrad. So all we could do was put Doug’s ipod on random. And it would, randomly work, and not work…
Arco.
The next destination was Arco. Rumour was, there was good climbing, and the cheapest climbing gear in all of Europe. Doug and I arrived in Arco feeling like we hadn’t slept in two days and sitting in a car for even longer. So we decided not to climb that day. Just buy me a new harness (my belay loop stitching was coming apart, much to my partners dismay) and whatever other goodies I “needed”. But, we soon found out Italy is a bit like Spain in that, the streets turn to a ghost town between 12.30 and 3.30pm. All shops close, meaning no harness for me.
We decided to get the bodies moving and work our fatigue away by climbing. We didn’t have a guide, let alone an English one. But I had prior tips from Jurgen (Esther’s partner) that Laghel was good. So we went there, and it was barricaded like an army station. Well, at least an intense construction site. With “PRIVATO” and other signs to the effect of, “Keep out or else” all over. So, we waited till a shop was open, took some pics of a guide and headed to Nago. We found the cliff, but couldn’t find the track. It was amazingly frustrating seeing it and being 200m from it, but having houses and fences all around. A successful failed climbing and shopping day.
Alas, in the next few days we found some climbing at Belvedere and Nago. Okay cliffs but nothing I would fly to the other side of the world for. I would however, fly to the other side of the world for Italy itself. I love this country! The people are so joyous and friendly. The streets are small, cobbled and beautiful. This whole area is postcard worthy (or even opening scene of the new James Bond movie worthy!). The ice-cream is the best in the world. The four cheese pizza, the best in the world! Well, it’s the only four cheese pizza I have ever had, but, I can make that claim on principle of Italy being the pizza castle of the world. So, I was torn. At the end of a climbing day I was on the verge of tears after struggling on 6C+ routes and wanted to leave, yet wanted to stay for the celebratory atmosphere and vibe I got from the locals. It was a love-hate relationship.
Next was Lecco- home of a hotel that charged 10 Euros for a shower. Guess how desperate I was feeling? Anyway, on the upside, it was also the home of the best crag I went to in Italy, Nibbio. Long, nice, technical 20m plus routes in the shade all day- so perfect for the hot summer days I was getting! I did a route “McKinley”, my first 7C (third 27) second go which was a pleasant surprise. Sustained, pumpy face route and brilliant. It was relieving to leave Italy on a good note, because it was time for Ceuse....
Next Chapter coming soon- Ceuse/Paris (including Moulin Rouge with my mum) and Zurich. Stay tuned! Till then, hope you enjoyed the reading...whoever you creepy stalkers are!
Dre.
13 September 2009
Ultra Sounds Good Right?
Right...well....its been a couple of weeks since I've posted anything so thought I'd just fill you in about what's been going on.
First up. Al's 24th Birthday Weekend. We headed up to The Mount, looking for sun, good trad-routes and girls....we found most of what we were looking for. It had been more than a year since I had climbed at Arapiles. The time before that being cut short due to a silly mistake at the anchors resulting in fall 15-18 meters to the deck in June '08. This time turned out to be more fun, although it was still a in the face. Araps can be unforgiving when you've been climbing in a gym or the Grampians for the past 6 months. Technique - well its hard to avoid the need for it, although I did manage to find a sequence for the top of The Great Escape 28 that completely avoids all kneebars! Hahahaha. This particular weekend was also the final round of the local football season, and like all finales it required a dress up party in Natimuk. As random as it was, it tuned out to be a rather fun night catching up with old mates, and making new ones. Of course, no night at Nati can be complete without some fat, ugly blokes dressing in drag. Here are some of Omar's (Slowpoke Rodridquez) photos of the night.
Fast-Forward a couple of weeks. Ol' Phil has done it again, crippled himself attempting some crazy sorta drop knee in the gym. Hopefully not too bad or too long on the side lines, cause he was looking strong and keen. Come to think of it, he does seem to get cut down in his prime like some sort of pine tree destined for Ikea a lot....maybe its all a ruse to avoid actually doing something.
Alby, Slowpoke and I headed out for some bouldering last weekend. It was fun, like climbing should be. Saturday was spent up at Iskra wall, where after pulling off a hold the size of Arnie's ego and destroying Philby's classic Compression Session - V7, I had a play on my new project. This is a direct up an orange streak in the middle of Iskra face, and its going to be wicked. After a couple of shots, both Al and I managed to do all but one move in the crux sequence - from there on should be straight forward pumping up some wicked flakes. It is the epitome of a 'technically burly' route, requiring flexible hips and minging fingers. Saturday night called for a session at campground boulders. Lit up by the Landcruisers headlights, Slowpoke got his mexican arse up Race-Eater V8, while Alby ran a quick lap on Happy Camper Traverse V9. I also got my heavy frame of the ground for an acsent of HCT in just a few shot. Sunday however was a different story. Bit of Anderson's action followed by some lame attempts at Gripmaster, all over shadowed by an increasing pain in my lateral epicondyles (tennis elbow), and flu like symptoms. Needless to say I needed to rest.
This would have to be one of the only times I can remember actually being active about taking a rest when the initial stages of fatigue and injury are setting in. The past has seen my take on a typical bogan attitude, often making things worse (see post re. pulley 2 months ago). Anyway, I didn't train all week, stretched, did some exercise for my elbows. I also borrowed an ultra sound therapy machine from Slowpoke. I have always been sceptical about this sorta thing and I am yet to be fully convinced. I had a quick session at the Lactic Factory yesterday without a flare up, so fingers crossed I can work up to full training again in the next 2 weeks.
I guess thats all until Al gets back tonight with some updates from this weekend.
Oh wait.....this is supposed to be Barry the Board's job.....but anthonyk has been awarded the 'Douchebag of the Month' Award for September.
This guy used the Chockstone forum to bag out a retailer for giving him advice about climbing shoes. Dude, you stuffed up, you took advice (completely optional) that was in my experience correct - Katanas stretch to the point of blowing out - and just because you ain't happy with YOUR decision you bitch and moan about. Get over it, sell the shoes and move on.....or start your own blog like us, cause then only the people who care about what you have to say will read about it.
For those who missed it....
http://www.chockstone.org/Forum/Forum.asp?ForumID=1&Action=Display&MessageID=75818&PagePos=&Sort=
Peace Out
- Grosey
First up. Al's 24th Birthday Weekend. We headed up to The Mount, looking for sun, good trad-routes and girls....we found most of what we were looking for. It had been more than a year since I had climbed at Arapiles. The time before that being cut short due to a silly mistake at the anchors resulting in fall 15-18 meters to the deck in June '08. This time turned out to be more fun, although it was still a in the face. Araps can be unforgiving when you've been climbing in a gym or the Grampians for the past 6 months. Technique - well its hard to avoid the need for it, although I did manage to find a sequence for the top of The Great Escape 28 that completely avoids all kneebars! Hahahaha. This particular weekend was also the final round of the local football season, and like all finales it required a dress up party in Natimuk. As random as it was, it tuned out to be a rather fun night catching up with old mates, and making new ones. Of course, no night at Nati can be complete without some fat, ugly blokes dressing in drag. Here are some of Omar's (Slowpoke Rodridquez) photos of the night.
Fast-Forward a couple of weeks. Ol' Phil has done it again, crippled himself attempting some crazy sorta drop knee in the gym. Hopefully not too bad or too long on the side lines, cause he was looking strong and keen. Come to think of it, he does seem to get cut down in his prime like some sort of pine tree destined for Ikea a lot....maybe its all a ruse to avoid actually doing something.
Alby, Slowpoke and I headed out for some bouldering last weekend. It was fun, like climbing should be. Saturday was spent up at Iskra wall, where after pulling off a hold the size of Arnie's ego and destroying Philby's classic Compression Session - V7, I had a play on my new project. This is a direct up an orange streak in the middle of Iskra face, and its going to be wicked. After a couple of shots, both Al and I managed to do all but one move in the crux sequence - from there on should be straight forward pumping up some wicked flakes. It is the epitome of a 'technically burly' route, requiring flexible hips and minging fingers. Saturday night called for a session at campground boulders. Lit up by the Landcruisers headlights, Slowpoke got his mexican arse up Race-Eater V8, while Alby ran a quick lap on Happy Camper Traverse V9. I also got my heavy frame of the ground for an acsent of HCT in just a few shot. Sunday however was a different story. Bit of Anderson's action followed by some lame attempts at Gripmaster, all over shadowed by an increasing pain in my lateral epicondyles (tennis elbow), and flu like symptoms. Needless to say I needed to rest.
This would have to be one of the only times I can remember actually being active about taking a rest when the initial stages of fatigue and injury are setting in. The past has seen my take on a typical bogan attitude, often making things worse (see post re. pulley 2 months ago). Anyway, I didn't train all week, stretched, did some exercise for my elbows. I also borrowed an ultra sound therapy machine from Slowpoke. I have always been sceptical about this sorta thing and I am yet to be fully convinced. I had a quick session at the Lactic Factory yesterday without a flare up, so fingers crossed I can work up to full training again in the next 2 weeks.I guess thats all until Al gets back tonight with some updates from this weekend.
Oh wait.....this is supposed to be Barry the Board's job.....but anthonyk has been awarded the 'Douchebag of the Month' Award for September.
This guy used the Chockstone forum to bag out a retailer for giving him advice about climbing shoes. Dude, you stuffed up, you took advice (completely optional) that was in my experience correct - Katanas stretch to the point of blowing out - and just because you ain't happy with YOUR decision you bitch and moan about. Get over it, sell the shoes and move on.....or start your own blog like us, cause then only the people who care about what you have to say will read about it.
For those who missed it....
http://www.chockstone.org/Forum/Forum.asp?ForumID=1&Action=Display&MessageID=75818&PagePos=&Sort=
Peace Out
- Grosey
03 September 2009
Thursday Throwdown
I fucking hate off-the-couch climbers. You know the type. They are the ones that 12-18 months ago, you were solid training partners. Nothing could break the shackles of bond between the crew. That is, until one decides to get married, or have a baby, or get bogged down in the daily grind of "workin' for da man". All of a sudden, your group of regular dudes dwindles down to a few strong willed, dedicated soldiers. Now, I'm not saying that these are particularly BAD this to occur in ones life. Personally though, the thought of marriage and children seems like a bit of an over-commitment. One not easily backpedaled from. BUT that's just my opinion for my circumstances.....
Back to the rant. So come present day. Over the last 18 months, you have been living the monks life, abstaining from all evil, training your guts out, feeling stronger then ever. Then low and behold, said over-committers stroll back into the ring.
"Not a problem" you say to yourself. "I've been training and feel great. Time to show these chumps how we's roll now!"
But wait a minute.....whats this??
Did he just hike your project in the gym???? He's not trained properly for what.....? a year? WHAT THE FUCK!!
Low and behold, you've just been slapped by an off-the-coucher. They are easily identified by the following signs:
- They only come out into the public once a week
- Short and sharp appearances
- Always asking what you've been up to, because they haven't really seen you in 12 months
- Looks like this
- But climbs like this
May have the following effects on you:
- Crying
- Anger
- Sulking/have a sook
- Total dedication to the art of wizardry.
YES! Through this adversity, we are driven to the edge of sanity, where we find pure enlightenment through the art of wizardry. Yes, these off-the-couchers may be stronger then you in the make believe relm of plastic, but when it comes to the rock, you know the bizzel. Kneebars, heel-toes, bicycles, sneaky thumb catches, all skills learnt through the dedicated practice of a rock wizard. And it is with these skills my followers, that a rock warrior is born, While the frustration in plastic land is evident, the mad skillz in the real world will prevail....
TheBigAl
Back to the rant. So come present day. Over the last 18 months, you have been living the monks life, abstaining from all evil, training your guts out, feeling stronger then ever. Then low and behold, said over-committers stroll back into the ring.
"Not a problem" you say to yourself. "I've been training and feel great. Time to show these chumps how we's roll now!"
But wait a minute.....whats this??
Did he just hike your project in the gym???? He's not trained properly for what.....? a year? WHAT THE FUCK!!
Low and behold, you've just been slapped by an off-the-coucher. They are easily identified by the following signs:
- They only come out into the public once a week
- Short and sharp appearances
- Always asking what you've been up to, because they haven't really seen you in 12 months
- Looks like this
- But climbs like this
May have the following effects on you:
- Crying
- Anger
- Sulking/have a sook
- Total dedication to the art of wizardry.
YES! Through this adversity, we are driven to the edge of sanity, where we find pure enlightenment through the art of wizardry. Yes, these off-the-couchers may be stronger then you in the make believe relm of plastic, but when it comes to the rock, you know the bizzel. Kneebars, heel-toes, bicycles, sneaky thumb catches, all skills learnt through the dedicated practice of a rock wizard. And it is with these skills my followers, that a rock warrior is born, While the frustration in plastic land is evident, the mad skillz in the real world will prevail....
TheBigAl
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