Half empty or Half full?

It is the first week of the year, and I feel obliged to attempt to fulfil my duties as the Captainette of Crush to complete a summary of the last three months. I have let a lot of time pass, and the difficult process of telling the story of my travels has had the snowball effect. My laziness has been largely exacerbated by the negative celcius temperatures I have been enduring living in my car. So please, show mercy.

I find myself trying to gather my thoughts on all that has happened since the last blog entry, and have been completely overwhelmed because as you may have noticed by my last entry- I don’t do ‘brief overview’ very well. But, I think this time, I have to try and compress my last three months, as much as it pains me, for the benefit of any sucker readers.

According to my withering two years out of university brain- I ended my last thesis at Ceuse, typing away in a hotel in Zurich with Mum-Hah. After ten days of eating, sleeping, reading, sightseeing and photo-snapping, I got a train back to my car in France. From there, I was on a mission to get to sunny Spain.
As Doug and I were driving towards the France/Spain border in the Alps, it was going dark, hilly and too much for our little Kangoo. Kangoo’s engine got too hot so in result we pulled over and slept among the Alps and woke to priceless views in the morning. Very “Mastercard Ad”-esk. As we started driving, it was gloomy, rainy, misty and damn cold. But Doug remained high spirited- “it’s always sunny in Spain!” he proclaimed. And as we entered the tunnel with our windscreen wipers on, and saw the “Espana” sign on the other side, straight ahead was a blue sky and shining sun! A few kms further I attempted to get a breakfast tan.

Further down the road we crossed a bridge, and I pointed and laughed in amazement. A man in uniform was standing on the bridge we had just crossed, holding a very large automatic weapon! Not much further down the road, we came to a halt by 10 police cars. After some translation problems, we were asked “where go you?” As calmly as I could with a gun a metre away from me I quavered a “Rodellar- escalar?” The police man then searched the car for possible Bask refugees we were trying to smuggle in among the sleeping bags. After failing to find anything but dirty clothes, we were waved on to escalar at Rodellar!

Rodellar is a climbing paradise- a valley of limestone caves and cliffs about an hour from Huesca. After walking around on the first day, I decided I needed a month there. I found myself standing under routes, back to the wall, looking at routes that ventured out as far horizontally as they did vertically. “Wake up abs!” was to be a common statement I would proclaim in the proceding month. After consulting some local friends and given tips from friends back home, I had a little ticklist.

Acravita (8a) was one of the first routes I wanted to ‘project’ in Las Ventanas. It’s about 45 deg overhanging and involves skipping a clip during the crux; which is a power endurance sequence finalised with a dyno. This is then topped out with some small crimpy holds that veer left, away from the anchor to the right. On the first day I got shut down, I couldn’t do all the moves. I felt so weak, sitting at every bolt. However, somehow, second go on the second day, it all came together. Woohoo.

What’s next? I had a few projects going at the same time during my month in Rodellar. My tactics were dependent on weather, time, how tired I felt, how inspired I was and belay options. In hindsight, I don’t advise this approach.

My main goal of Rodellar was to do Kings of Metal. Some have been so bold as to claim it’s the best sport route in the world. It is graded 8a+, about 35m long in length, and gets steeper as you get higher, maybe? So much so, that after lowering off, I needed a tea break to walk back to the base of the cliff. The first half is very three dimensional, following a combination of tufas. It gets a separate grade of 7c+ and ends at a bomber knee bar, which is essentially a no hands rest below a small roof. The second half of the route involves large moves on holds that aren’t that small, but just far apart. And steep. This route took me 10 goes over five climbing days. It doesn’t sound like much on reflection, but during the process it felt epic. This route is very hard and physical for me. I could only go up it twice a day, and initially I woke up sore the day after. I was tempted to give up after the first two days, but then decided- if I do just this one route this month, I would be happy. I fell very close to the top twice on the third and fourth day. Then on the fifth, came uncomfortably close to falling again, but fought my way through the pump that I am still recovering from today. The combination of ‘allez allez, venga! Come on! A muerte!” cheering from all around Ventanas, and the dread of having to climb this route again, kept me fighting.

So remember when I said I would be happy if I only did Kings of Metal? Well I lied. I tried a few more routes concurrently and following. Two main routes stand out- Gracias Fina and Espirit Rebelle.

I tried Gracias fina from my second week all the way through to my last day. It is an 8a at Pince Sans Rire, not quite as steep as Las Ventanas, but still steep and pumpy. I lost count of how many attempts I had over how many days. I have come to the conclusion that I didn’t take this route seriously enough. I came really close on my second day, so then decided I didn’t need to be ultra fresh to do this route. I left it for days where I was too tired to try Kings of Metal or my new project, Espirit Rebelle. Alas, in hindsight, I needed to be fresh. The closest I came was one hot, humid evening, third go, where I pushed through the crux, made it to the saviour undercut jug before the easy to the top bit. As I set off, my footer blew, my undercut jugs were deemed useless and I took a massive whipper from skipping clips.

Espirit Rebelle broke my heart. It is a (concensus is, soft) 8b in Las Ventanas. It follows tufas all the way through the cave, to finish up an easier cornery section to the top. It’s fun and really powerful for me. The moves are big and it’s damn steep. Initially, I tried it as a ‘training route’ because Doug was projecting it. I thought I would just get some power up and see if I could do the moves. Anyway, I could do the moves. On the third day I linked through the crux, and was doing the final moves to the no hands rest when I blew it. Damn. Then the rain came. And it brought friends. Damn again. So much rain! I was meant to leave Rodellar in two days. So I rested the next day, and walked up on my final climbing day to find it soaking wet, and dripping from at least every third hold. I had a teary, like an immature child.

As a consolation prize, I thought I could do Gracias Fina after doing El Delfin. I tried El Delfin (7c+) in my first week but at the end of the day. So on this final doom day, I went up El Delfin twice, and couldn’t work through the boulder crux at the end. Oh well. I went off to Gracias Fina, and couldn’t even do the crux. The heart wasn’t there; I had it set on Esprit Rebelle. I felt cheated and disappointed. I got so angry, and so sad, and cursed at myself a lot. My time at Rodellar felt utterly wasted. So much energy spent on routes I never completed, but should have. A cup half empty feeling. And yet, maybe it’s not so bad? In this one month I climbed my hardest route ever, a grade I could have never comprehended ever doing. I climbed some of the world’s best sport routes and onsighted some classics. I acquired some really good kneebar techniques and fitness. I met some beautifully friendly people. Was reunited with friends from Ceuse. Laughed till my stomach hurt around massive risotto cook ups. I got to watch world class climbers all around me every day, making me realise I am just a kid in a playground, still on the bottom rungs of the ladder, struggling my way to the top of a massive roller coaster ride.

The next day I woke up in my Kangoo to pouring rain. I ran to the refuge, ordered a cappuccino and a freshly baked chocolate croissant. I then sat in contentment while everyone around me ummed and ahhed over where to go, while I myself knew I would be in Kalymnos in 48 hours. Doug drove the car away from Rodellar while I sat in the passenger seat awfully close to hurling from car sickness. Thanks Rodellar!

After a day city touring around Barcelona and drinking hot chocolates, I slowly made my way to the so called ‘climbers paradise’- Kalymnos. I got a lot to say about that little island so I will begin my next entry there. I got a feeling I’ve failed at “compressing”, but if I “categorise” maybe that will do?

Till next time...
Dre.