The Day I Didn't Fall on The Jackal

It's hard to believe I'm writing this. I knew this day would come, but in the same way you know one day you'll have a mortgage or grandchildren. It is probably due in good time, but I had found an identity in failing on this route. Just as a kid is defined by not being a parent, my identity as a climber was defined by not sending this route. But I loved it. I love it.

I first caught wind of the route 3 or so years ago. I'd adopted a Dixie Cragger's Atlas as the southern gumby's bible, and many of the guidebook's feature photos were by photographer Andrew Kornylak. I'd been climbing less than a year, which meant there was still novel climbing media for me to binge watch, and one day I stumbled upon his Vimeo channel.

https://vimeo.com/79442830

I watched every one, but when I saw Tyler Willcut making the first ascent of The Jackal, I  was mesmerized. Ironically, this obsession had nothing to do with the route. I mean, it was 5.14, and that's an imaginary number that ONLY exists in black diamond videos. No - I was mesmerized by Tyler's message and his roots. I related to him on some level and wanted to relate to him on others. He began climbing in the same area as I did. He spoke of an ethical obligation to maintain our cherished crags. And he had the same goofy curls I was burdened with myself!

Fast forward a year or so, and I had finally pushed through the 5.13 barrier. I was eager to challenge myself, and one particularly cold weekend I decided to go check out Laurel Falls for the first time. Of course, a 45-minute approach was basically alpine. We brought not just gear, but reserved backcountry permits and camped out at the falls. Our first day there, I flashed the two classic 12- routes, which are still 2 of the best I've been on. After some rest, I tied in for my first experience on the Jackal.

I knew there was a v6 sequence right off the ground. I fell 2 moves up. I tried again. Fell again. Due to where the bolt is placed and the steepness of the wall, it is difficult to work the v6 without just doing it. I wasn't super discouraged, because I knew what I was really excited for. And so I pulled past the v6, clipped the second bolt, and got ready to try one of the coolest moves I'd ever pull.

The V6 intro

Tyler said the dyno "is what it all comes down to", so in my mind I was staring at some v10 dyno. With no expectations, I hucked up and came 3 or 4 inches short! Super encouraged, I tried a couple more times, and the first time I decided to lose feet (aka actually dyno), I stuck it! That's when the dream cemented itself. In 4 years of climbing to this day, I still remember that feeling as one of the purest and happiest ever. As far as I knew, I'd just stuck the crux of a 5.14.

Dyno.

I then set my sights on the next boulder problem. Tyler called it v8, but after pulling up to feel the first hold, I swore it couldn't be harder than v6! Never mind that I was nowhere near doing this move, and it was only the first out of 3...I lowered and that was it for the day.

The following day, I set my sights on the v6. I realized I couldn't pull the moves the way Tyler did, and found a new sequence using some subtle heels and a higher right foot. By the skin of my teeth, I managed to fire the v6 from the ground and clip the second bolt, screaming for a celebratory TAKE!

Not only was I stoked to have done the sequence, but it was one of the coolest I'd ever done! Coupled with the dyno above, I didn't really care if the rest of the route was a combination of choss and bird shit, it was THE dream route.

I left it alone for a few months, but eventually returned. I found new beta for the dyno making it much higher percentage (v4/5), and stick clipped through the v8 to have my first taste of the upper section. This alone blew my mind. The best 12b I've ever done, and it's after 2 of the best boulder problems I've ever done. I'd done most of the moves, but linked very little - and the v8 still eluded me completely.

The world class 5.12 crux below the top.

As time passed, I started setting more appropriate goals. I linked the 12b for the first time, and many months later, I had stuck the dyno from the ground for the first time. I still hadn't done the final 3 moves of the v8 though.

I knew the sequence. So I trained for more or less the first time, hangboarding 30 minutes or so 2/3 times a week. I saw tremendous gains in my bouldering, and soon enough I was back with my friend John to try the Jackal. I STUCK THE MOVE on the v8 for the first time (off the hang of course), and was beside myself. It's nearly complete! I could finally get to making proper links! I did the 12b link that day, and also stuck the dyno from the ground! It was really boiling down to this crimp crux.

Sticking this left hand crimp is the crux

I set a simulator of the v8 back at school, and the next time I went out, I nearly stuck the first crux move from the ground. At this point, I'd caused quite a ruckus about this slice of sandstone perfection, and was getting messages from various folks who were getting stoked. I gladly took them out, and was inspired to watch them throw down this gem.

From the first day on the Jackal up to the send, I assumed the role of a "gatekeeper" for the route. Maybe this is selfish, or an illusion, but I felt as though I had the most intimate understanding of every subtlety the route had to offer. I knew more than just beta. I knew every hold, how to grab it, how to shift weight onto various feet, how to do sequences using different beta, how to shortcut the approach, everything. And between the moment I first touched the route to the moment I sent, I was there for every single send the route saw. Three people sent, and I gave every one of them the exact beta they used to do so. What's more, is I was on the other end of the rope for every ascent. Spray and belay - I guess I have a gift.

And suddenly it was my turn. I went through such a rollercoaster as it became feasible. I would cut out junk food from my diet for weeks at a time. I would hangboard religiously. Suddenly I would be back out there and still find myself hauling up the stick clip to get through the crux.

Don't mind stick clipping if it means I get to climb rock this good after it...

But this is the beautiful thing about trying something at or beyond your limit. Once everything is refined to perfection, it still isn't certain. It's largely luck. There is only one route that comes close to the level of total refinement I had with the Jackal, and that is Unshackled (an 8-month 8a project).

So here's the story of the day I sent.

I carpooled up to Dayton with a motivated crew. I played a mental game debating on what time to show up. If we arrived early, the crux would be shaded and temps would be good. But the humidity and moisture rids the rock of friction in the morning. We arrived later than usual, prioritizing drier air over cooler temps.

The rock is remarkably glassy, hence the need for good conditions

I warmed up on the classic Monkey Boy, a classic 12a with more crack climbing than sport climbing. The hanger on the second bolt was missing so I got the added mental warm up of "soloing" the first crux (I screwed the hanger and nut back on as I lowered). The rock was crispy cold, and my fingers were numb. I was so happy.

I walked around the corner to the Jackal and set up my rope. I was over feeling nervous. There were some expectations, but no real pressure. I'd been here so many times before that it was routine. I started up the v6 and didn't feel 100%. My feet sometimes cut on the last move of this boulder, as they did this time. Except today, my left hand (crimp) fired right off, and my right arm was suddenly holding my full weight. This tweaked my shoulder in a bad way, and a month later I'm still feeling this tweak.

I kept climbing though, and stuck the dyno a little less than perfect. As I moved right to the rest beneath the crux, I kept placing my hands on my neck to keep my fingers warm. I soon realized they were getting colder instead of warmer, and charged up. I peeled off on the bump to the left crimp, where I'd fallen dozens of times.

I wasn't discouraged yet. I pulled up, warmed my fingers, and tried again off the hang. I now fell on the last move to the ledge. I fell over and over and over.

Now I was a bit discouraged. I asked for the stick clip, and clipped the bolt above the crux. I tried the crux on TR and decided to try one small tweak - an awkward high right heel. Boom, crux was stuck. I climbed to the top from here, and brushed/ticked everything on my way down to set up Zander for a flash.

Zander styled it, but unfortunately peeled off a couple of times. His psych was high though, and I was getting ready to give my next burn. The crux had come into the sun now, but thankfully it was cold enough that it stayed prime rather than greasy. Everything lined up - cold, dry, psyched.

What happens next is one of my favorite memories, ever. I tied in and began delayering. Just as I wanted, Chris was on the other end of the rope. As I stood on the small boulder beneath the starting holds, I took a breath and took off my last layer - my long sleeve shirt. Chris looked at me and matched my stoke. Off went his jacket...off went his shirt. Never mind the 40-degree temps or the fact that Chris had not climbed yet. And with the almighty double-fist bump, I was off.


The bottom felt typical. Hard enough that I'm holding my breath, but rehearsed enough that it doesn't feel hard. On the last move (where I hurt my shoulder in the last attempt), everything sticks. 4 points on, and that's when I knew I was moving well. I barely rest before the dyno, and as I launch the right hand, I snag the jug absolutely perfect. No adjustments, no sliding, barely a swing - just utterly perfect. I move right, clip, and breathe.

There was nothing particularly different. The perfect execution of the previous two boulders didn't build my confidence. I was back in a very familiar stance, prepping to execute a very hard boulder. I never bother to think of anything more than the next six moves at this point. Just. Six. Moves. And only the last 3 are truly hard.

Setting up for the crux.

I set the familiar right heel. It's not good but I've learned to trust it. I make the blind deadpoint to a good flat edge. I stick, I close it. Muscle memory takes over. Switch right heel to a closer but smaller toe. Back flag left leg, left hand to left shit crimp on the intermediate. Left toe on the jug. Square in to reach sidepull. Suck in, lose the right toe, drop back slightly, then bump desperately to a crimp. I normally grab with my pointer, middle, and thumb, and then reel in the others. This time, I latch it with everything except my pinky. It takes about 3 seconds to get the pinky on, engage the fingers, and fully close. I backflag the right leg now, come into the left side of the intermediate with my right hand. This move is usually difficult, especially because you have to move your hand over and around the quickdraw. This time, it is totally controlled. I pick the right foot up and instantly decide to raise it to try the new high-heel beta. I thrutch to the ledge and snatch it PERFECTLY.

World's coolest V3 after the crux.

Now, we are in auto-pilot. Clip. V3. Rest. I rest way longer than shirtless Chris would have liked, and prepare myself mentally for the 5.12 sequence above. I'd always said "get to here and it's impossible to fall". I moved right, executed everything controlled static, and perfect. I don't think I screamed when I hit the jug. I think it was more of me repeating to myself "oh my god. oh my god. no way. that's a one hang right?"

The jug where you can finally celebrate!

I clipped the anchors, soaked up one hell of a setting, then lowered to embrace the perfect crew of friends.

I said the send go was everything I'd wanted it to be. But upon reflection, it wasn't. I thought this sort of project - a project so beyond me when I started, so hard that the go before the send I still needed a stick clip to get to the top - would mean when I sent, I felt what it meant to be at your absolute limit. But that small tweak in the foot beta, combined with my sticking everything perfectly, made it feel nearly autonomous! An incredible and unique feeling, but not 100% what I was after. I felt nearer my limit when I sent Unshackled, or Roughin' Up the Suspect.

Regardless, send frosties with a side of wifi and points were in order.

You Will Be Missed

"There is this dual nature of sublime meaning and utter absurdity in climbing mountains. Sending harder, bigger, more badass routes won’t make you a better, more humble, more gracious or happier human—yet we often approach those mountains like they can. There is no glory, no real answers, in sending and summits, yet we organize our entire lives around the myth that there are." -Hayden Kennedy

Grief is a strange thing. We've reduced the processing of hardships down to psychology, a science. And yet, this seems a mere justification for the sadness and confusion we experience as a result of some emotional trauma.

I didn't know Hayden well enough to call him HK. I didn't know Inge well enough to remember her eyes or smile. But the passing of these two has left our community in a tremendous sorrow. 

It is a shame that we are too often better at remembering someone once they've passed than at recognizing them while they are present. Is this human? To focus on ourselves until we've lost something - someone - at which point we grieve over it? Is this not just as selfish? 

Hayden seems an exception. He recognizes you in every moment you are together. I met him only once, at the Tennessee Wall this winter. He sought the good lines - not because they were respected but because they were good. Evidently the same can be said for him. He is loved because he was good. He is missed because he was the "better, more humble, more gracious or happier human", despite the fact that he also sent "harder, bigger, more badass routes".

My encounter with him on that day went like this. He was climbing a slew of the best routes at Twall. Some of the hardest, but not only the hardest. From 5.9 to 5.13, he dispatched them with more psych than strength. He spoke of other, lesser traveled crags I loved with genuine stoke. And when he asked what route I was trying, he responded with the simplest HK trademark: "That looks fuckin' sweet." His eyes lit up because of something I was trying. It was a raw, authentic capture of his passion for climbing and his compassion for others. 

As it turned out I fell a couple times up this route I had been working, as Hayden and Inge tried the route to our left. Once I lowered, I sort of nudged Hayden to try the route, and he shrugged it as a maybe. There wasn't too much light left, and he had spent the day climbing many climbers' lifetime list. Danny and I walked left around the corner to finish our day on a nice 5.11. As the sun set and we walked back to the car, we noticed Inge hanging halfway up the 13a crack, Tamper Proof. I wasn't experienced in "playing it cool", and instead scurried to ask Hayden, "Did you try it?!"

"Uh yeah man, it's fuckin' sweet!"

"...did it go?" I hastily replied, showing my jumbled priorities without thinking.

"Ha yeah! So much fun", he said, without looking over, his eyes intent on his partner, Inge.

I couldn't help myself, "...did it go...first go?"

He threw on an almost guilty smile, because for him it didn't seem to matter. "ha uh mmhmm..."

He continued to offer some beta to Inge as she hung at the crux, all while motioning through moves with mangled and bloodied hands, because he had not taped up for the roof crack he had just flashed.

And one more thing, he did the 2 kneebar cruxes without kneepads.


These few hours spent on neighboring routes are the only interaction I've had with Hayden and Inge. I think he embodies so much of what our community has convinced itself it cannot be. Accomplished and humble. Stoked and sincere. 

In regards to their tragic loss, I am overwhelmed by the depth of this pain in our community. A man with no social media presence has touched so many people. I sense a fog of guilt throughout our community. Could he have known how many of us he had touched? How was he to know if we weren't able to tag him in our throwback thursdays or man candy mondays? How could we wish him a happy birthday without facebook to remind us? 

While our feeds are flooded for the next few days with tragic and loving words on Hayden and Inge, keep in mind that they remembered each of us without social media. Let us do the same. They will leave our feeds but not our hearts.

Moving forward, I hope I can live a life a fraction as genuine as his. Know that if I have ever loved you, a part of me will always love you. And know that if you are in a dark time, you have more than a resume of redpoints to fall back on. Cheers.

The Greatest Show on Earth

I heard of this route long before I even knew what the New River Gorge was. I remember searching YouTube for climbing videos before I even knew what a cam was, and the video of David Sharatt styling his way through a horizontal roof and golden dihedral, all while clipping the oddest looking bolts.

I first tried the route in the fall of 2016, and it was a terrible experience. I was scared climbing the unprotected 5.10 start, the roof boulder problem felt v-impossible, and I spent 2 hours aid climbing through a maze of VERY active spider webs in the dihedral. However, despite a pretty miserable few hours, I walked away the slightest bit encouraged because I toproped the 12- dihedral (now spider free) clean - barely. Maybe one day...

Just below the horizontal where I can place my first piece after the intro 5.10.

Fast forward to Hurricane Irma sweeping through the southeast. Classes were cancelled and I found myself with a 4 day weekend. I headed to North Carolina to try out the crux 13a pitch on my mini-wall project, the Glass Eye. I made good links on it, and can't wait to go back for the full redpoint now that it's cooling off. Saturday night I drove to Charlottesville to visit the lady, and early Monday morning I was on my way to the Wild & Wonderful West Virgina.

I met some psyched friends - Grant and Forest - who I'd run into at both the Red and Yosemite earlier in the year. With psych for the New and an unparalleled appreciation for public libraries, we set off to Lower Meadow so I could go for round 2 on the Greatest Show.

Visualizing

I took at the roof, spent some time figuring out a good sequence, and quickly found myself campusing up the last couple of jugs and stemmed below the golden dihedral. The route was spider free, gear beta was dialed, and the redpoint crux felt about as reasonable as it was going to get. It was send o'clock!

I gave 3 solid redpoint burns that day, unfortunately falling on the same move in the roof each time. Conditions were cool, everything was dialed, and I wasn't that taxed. No excuses, I just didn't have it.

I spent the following day at Summersville, feeling good but unfortunately making a few mistakes (sloppy climbing on Tobacco Road, and a foot slip cost me the onsight on Mercy Seat). The Show was still on my mind, but unfortunately it was time for me to get back to school.

I arrived back in Georgia Wednesday morning, but my mind was still cycling through the roof of the Greatest Show. An unproductive 3 days of class later, I found myself headed back to Fayetteville on Friday evening. Many friends knew I was getting close on this route, and I did feel a certain pressure. Six hour drives and $30 campsites are not typical for our weekend trips - but this one was different. I had a dream route that might JUST be within reach.

Our warm-ups were a little sub-par, but regardless I gave my first burn on the Show and fell in the roof on the same move. I pulled through and worked the dihedral with a few takes to make sure I had these upper sequences wired.

Fueled by subs.

The next go, I asked my buddy Jordan if I could wear his freshly resoled mocs. I wear a right moc and left miura for this route, because I need a straight and narrow shoe to jam the right foot in the roof crack (crux), but an agressive left shoe to toe in on the edges in the roof. If there was one single "move" the route comes down to, it is the right toe jam. If it sticks, you're golden. If not, you're going for a ride.

So, Jordan graciously lent me his right moc, and for added tightness, I tried taping down the shoe as tightly as I could around the middle of my foot. All of a sudden, I found the jam sticking, me on the jug, but my core giving out just enough that the toe jam ripped (after latching the jug). I spent too much time trying to readjust feet, when I should have just campused. And there I went, falling after what I had told everyone was the "it's in the bag" move. Regardless, I was astonished at how VASTLY easier the crux felt with a tighter shoe.

My right hand latching the "it's in the bag" hold, which I then proceeded to fall from after my right toe popped.

I took a little time alone to relax and visualize the redpoint, and soon enough I was tied in once more for battle. The mood was different. I felt more pressure because this was the last burn of the day, but I also felt more focused. I borrowed and taped Jordan's right moc once again, and the right toe jam stuck like glue! I latched the same "it's in the bag" hold, and this time I didn't blow it as I swung out and campused to the huge horn at the lip. A knee scrum, .75, and 2 lock-offs later, I was stemmed at the base of the dihedral. Strength returned to my arms while it drained from my calves.

The knee scum from which I placed the .75

The lock off before trending into the corner

The stem!!! Thinking to myself: Don't rush, rest well, don't blow it.

I knew as soon as I left the stem, it was a sprint to the top. No more rests. I collected myself, and then I was totally focused. My friend Slayton dangled from above with a camera, but I was totally alone as I climbed. Just me and a golden seam.

Start of the redpoint crux

I flowed through, placed gear quickly, and before I knew it, I was in the 5.10 layback. I was so focused on climbing I forget to place the last cam. A few more feet and I latched the jug. I screamed.

Sinking into the 5.10 crack, where the hard climbing is over and you know you've sent.

Mid scream as I latch the jug!

This pitch is among the best of my life. Certainly the greatest pitch of traditional climbing I've ever done, and oddly enough, the greatest pitch of sport climbing I've ever done is on the same wall just a few routes to the left (Fruity Pants). Can't wait to come back for more in this incredible area. I've got my eye on a few more traditional lines at the NRG, most of them harder, but none as beautiful. This one I'll never forget.

Here's the rack so all you guys can get out and crush it!

• long sling for first pin
• .4 C4 with long sling (in a horizontal)
• fixed pin (at base of roof, has a sling already)
• .4 C4 in roof crack (crux piece)
• .75 C4 with draw at lip of roof
• #1 C4 at base of dihedral
• Red C3 or Yellow X4 (place from jug horizontal halfway up dihedral)
• Small nut (a few options)
• .5 C4 (optional for the last 10 feet of 5.10-)

The only thing you may like to add is a grey C3 or an additional .5 if you need to aid through the roof or dihedral. Have fun!

NIAD Trip Report

My goal for this trip was simple: climb the Nose of El Cap. And yet, there's something very different about goal setting and goal execution. When dreaming up lofty goals, I'm often in the comfort of my own home, watching videos of rad people making rad things look fun and easy. When I'm in a position of "goal execution", I'm scampering around Camp 4 evading rangers, while the Valley's granite monoliths loom over me like that moment yesterday when I almost fell toproping 10a.

Sacherer Cracker - the 10a I barely sent on TR

But things loom over you. It's human nature, and it isn't always bad. The stress and risk involved in some of the more technical sections of the Nose caused us to rethink some of our tactics and make them both safer and more efficient.

So my partner Danny and I set out to climb the Nose of El Capitan over 3 days after about 10 days of practice.  Despite previously poor experiences and much hesitation beforehand, we styled a nearly flawless ascent, far exceeding our estimated pace and ditching water accordingly! We made it to our planned bivy - El Cap Tower - by noon, and charged on until being slowed by other parties. We settled in beneath Camp IV and blasted to the summit by 5pm the following day.

View from Camp IV - where we spent the night on our first run up the Nose.

In short, we climbed the Nose in 2 days, "wall style", hauling 3-4 days worth of supplies.

Valley locals were quick to scoff at our self doubt. "Hauling up the nose on a 2 day ascent? Why? WHY?  Just ditch the pig and do it in a day! It would be way easier!" We were repeatedly encouraged to try the NIAD.

And so the seed was planted. Still, we drove around the valley feeling as though we could retire from climbing for a while - just get tan and drink beer in the meadow for the remainder of the trip. Mission accomplished, right? But we quickly realized that we needed a new objective. We still had a little over a week left, and agreed we had two options: pick a hard free route to try and redpoint (such as Romulan Warbird or Final Frontier), or do what was really on our minds - NIAD.

We quickly settled on NIAD, and it was chaotic and exciting to learn all of the creative tactics that revolve around speed climbing (the cool kind, not the one with red holds). We practiced short fixing, running the Pakistani Death Loop (PDL), simul climbing, double pendulums, and more!

Danny "posing like Jesus" on our descent after doing the South Face of Washington Column IAD.

It was so thrilling! Never before had my beta essays said things like "5.8 to green c3, left crimp, clip pin, stem, purple c3, stand to bolt, call take, lower 12 feet, backclean c3 and pin, pendulum to gray c3". Placing and pulling on gear became moves on the route. This was all so new! Not quite sport or traditional, I didn't know what color box to check for this? I developed efficiency as a french free climber. Over the next 5 or 6 days, we did 1-2 laps to Sickle Ledge each day, which entails the first 4 pitches and the hardest aid climbing on the route. On our NIAD attempt I would lead in one block to Dolt Tower, so I lead every pitch on these laps to Sickle.

Our first run up took approximately 4.5 hours. By the end of that week I was climbing in about 1 hour and 10 minutes. Progress was shaping up well.

Another shot from the descent of Washington Column

We had one last benchmark test we wanted to pass, and that was a practice run up to Dolt Tower. We set out to do this a couple of times, but never even got on the wall, once due to the overwhelming number of slow-moving parties, and once due to poor weather. We were anxious now. My flight left Wednesday afternoon from LAX, and weather was not clearing up until Tuesday. We had one chance to pull this off, and if we didn't, then I'd need to find an alternative way back across the country.

On Monday, we lounged. We lounged HARD. The rack was ready (already on my harness in the correct order for placement), and we read and napped in El Cap Meadow as the skies cleared and brought in some nicer weather. The previous few days of rain had chased most climbers off of the wall. As we inched our way closer and closer to nightfall, nerves grew. Here was our plan:

Hike to base with gear around 9/10pm. Sleep until 11:30pm. Quick PB sandwich, chug as much water as we possibly could, rack up, chug again, blast off at exactly midnight.

And all of that happened - except the sleep part. Between the nerves and the passing hikers/climbers flashing their headlamps our way, there was no chance of sleep. But it was 11:30 now, and we had 31 pitches to climb.

We scrambled up the 4th class to the start of the first pitch. I shed my down jacket, leaving it there with a silent hope that I wouldn't regret it (it was 38 degrees and pitch black). We checked the time and it was exactly midnight. A mandatory fist bump and I was off! I cruised up a few feet of familiar jams, made unfamiliar by the darkness of the night. I placed my first piece (a green c3) and pulled up, quickly realizing the route was still seeping from the previous rains. I almost fell on a mandatory free move, which got in my head. This is the first pitch, your hesitation is making you slow. Danny's silence left me imagining wildly what he must be thinking: "uh oh, rough start. These are the only pitches we have practiced and we aren't even on schedule..."

Of course this was totally psychological, as I was in reality moving at a great pace. I ran a PDL to a stance on the second pitch, and right as I got to where I wanted a belay, Danny had arrived to put me on. I cranked out 15 feet of slippery 10+, pendulumed right, then raced up to the anchor. Here I self belayed for some finicky aid climbing, and made really quick time pausing only at the very end where I must mantle onto a small ledge. I pull up all the slack and run a huge 80-100 ft PDL to start the 4th pitch, because I know I can move SUPER fast here because of the abundance of fixed gear. I hold my breath as I trust an ancient fixed c3, and once I'm past I am feeling very well again! I've now arrived at the pendulum and Danny is just in time to put me on belay. He lowers me, I swing over, layback to Sickle Ledge, and fix the rope with over 100 ft of slack left for me to run up the 4th class.

THE FOLLOWING IS THE COOLEST PART OF THE ENTIRE NIAD EXPERIENCE.

Once Danny has finished following, I am well on my way into the 5.9+ section. I had never lead here before, so I was in onsight mode, by headlamp. Danny has me on belay at this point, and I clip the anchors and call for a take. From Danny's stance on Sickle Ledge, to where I am hanging at the anchor, is almost a full rope length. So we got creative!

I call for a take, and Danny reels in on the grigri. I am at a pendulum point now, and need to be lowered quite a ways. Danny then begins to free climb with an assisted toprope courtesy of my counterweighting him. As he climbs up, I am lowered down and begin swinging to the right. Once low enough, I yell for him to stop. I snatch the corner, climb 50 feet or so of no-fall 5.8 to another pendulum point. I clip a bolt and ask for another take, and Danny takes off free climbing on a power toprope again while I am being lowered and swinging into the stovelegs!

There is something just purely rad about simulclimbing on a big wall by headlamp after engineering some wild speed shenanigans.

One morning, I was woken by the voices of Alex and Tommy simulclimbing Freerider. A small step up from our 4th class simuling...

I was feeling much better mentally at this point, and we had agreed to rerack here. I turned off my headlamp and gazed at the valley below. It was a perfectly clear night, and I was just started to feel cold (still sub-40 degrees) as Danny arrived at the anchor. The next 400 feet or so flew by as I jammed and leapfrogged cams up perfect splitters. I knew if I made it to Dolt tower before dawn, I was on time.

I finished my block standing atop Dolt, and readied the gear for Danny as I would be following the next 9 pitches to Camp IV. I finally asked Danny what time it was: "Three thirty!" YESSSS! First 11 pitches in 3:30!

Danny hydrating on El Cap Tower during our 2-day ascent. We arrived here around 4-5 am during the NIAD.

Perfectly on schedule, we swapped leads efficiently and were at El Cap Tower in less than an hour. We passed some friends who were sleeping there and were atop the Texas Flake soon enough. Danny styled the one section of the route which had him nervous - a few moves transitioning from the bolt ladder into the boot flake. Soon enough he had landed the King Swing on Eagle Ledge and I was re-aiding to see what this King Swing was all about!

I had followed this pitch on our two day ascent so I didn't get to do the swing, but without haul bags it was quicker for me to also do the King Swing as I followed Danny. I'd largely underestimated this maneuver, and after a few failed swings, I tensioned over as Danny threw me a small tag line to help me cheat my way to Eagle Ledge. I handed him the rack and he also experienced a bit of hesitation here with some seeping and hollow flakes. All went safely and smoothly though, and by the time we were at Camp IV our headlamps had long been stowed away! Winds were calm and it was a gorgeous day.

At Camp IV, we had climbed 20 of the 31 pitches, but this is considered to be the "halfway mark". We swapped leads again, and I began my second block of the day - 5 pitches to Camp VI. The Great Roof was certainly the slowest I moved on the route. In fact, Danny worried the sleeping party from El Cap Tower (now awake and moving) was gaining quickly on us.

I was a bit embarrassed but the wear and tear was evident in my climbing. These pitches were so much easier on our previous ascent when they were the first pitches of the day after a full night of sleep. Now I was pulling out my aiders in sections I had previously french freed. I finished the great roof and ran a PDL up the glorious Pancake Flake. What I had casually sprinted up freely the previous time now felt strenuous and quite scary without a belay.

I slowly worked my way to Camp V, and awaited Danny here without short fixing. The aid climbing from here to the Glowering Spot is somewhat serious, so I eagerly rested until being properly on belay. I actually made pretty good work of this pitch, and it was now late enough in the morning for Tom Evans to have snapped this cool photo!

I'm in the green leading some tenuous aid, while Danny belays from Camp V.
Photo: Tom Evans

I was a bit rejuvenated at the thought of only having one more pitch to lead, so I quested up to Camp VI as fast as I could, wishing I could enjoy the perfect 11- corner instead of leapfrogging green, red, and yellow camalots up the pitch. Regardless, I pulled onto the luxurious Camp VI and my block was OVER! With one hell of a view, I awaited Danny beneath the changing corners pitch.

Danny resting on Camp VI during our 2-day ascent.

5 pitches from the summit! At this point we were both battered, but confident the summit was in the bag. I lagged quite a bit as I followed, as the pitches were steep and sometimes overhanging here. My biceps cramped as I jumared behind, but it was irrelevant now. We could take hours per pitch and still summit in time. However, perhaps the most important time constraint which we managed to succeed at is topping out in time for pizza at the pizza deck! Danny flew through the final bolt ladder and after I'd followed, he let me scamper up the last little bit of 3rd class to the El Cap Tree!

I can't say this is a dream realized, because I had not dreamed I would be able to pull off such a feat going into this trip. Standing on top of El Cap after 13 hours and 44 minutes of climbing was totally satisfying. I peacefully power napped and sunburned until starting the descent. I've never been more willing to spend $26 on a large pizza to myself. It had been well earned.

Swollen joints and a bloodied hand are small prices to pay, and they make you look tough.

*I elaborated much more on my leads for this ascent, because I never lead any of the pitches on Danny's blocks, and following is relatively straightforward/uninteresting. However, this was a 100% team effort and Danny was the perfect partner. He styled some of the more difficult pitches, such as the Texas Flake Chimney, the King Swing, Lynn Hill Traverse, and the Changing Corners. THANK YOU DANNY! We were psyched and safe, and somehow we ended up being relatively fast as well.

And there you have it!

As a Student

I'm in a funky spot, as I often get touted as that "kid" who is simply riding his talent through the grades, perhaps accused of not earning my progress. However, I am also empathetic with these individual's cries because I did not start climbing at x months old. I will never feel the satisfaction of flashing your project in my diaper, or using your crimp as a full, 3-pad jug. "Kids these days", they say. Sure, I'm young, but the only difference in how that crimp on your proj feels to me vs you is the difference in our finger strength, because my fingers are the same size as yours. And this finger strength - I might add - I've worked damn hard to cultivate.

What the majority of my days consist of - falling.

Let me start by saying what follows has been developing inside of my head for quite some time. I do recognize that I've made quick progress. I also realize there are others that have made quicker progress. I'm certainly not the best, but I'm not convinced that anyone is. However, I believe there is a fundamental difference between becoming a stronger climber and becoming a better climber.

I consider myself a student of climbing. I am helplessly yet gratefully in love with the act, the lifestyle, the "sport", whatever - climbing. And I believe this is the reason for my success or progression. I'm excited to learn. And the key, folks, is that your stoke to learn has to exceed your stoke to send.

Don't get me wrong, I'll tally my points, post my victory gram, and swear like a boulderer in bad conditions if I fall. I love to send, but as cliche as it may sound, the process is where the difference lies between strong climbers and good climbers.

An early learning experience in the realm of flaring offwidth. The Quest (10+)
"The hardest 20 feet of your life" said the guidebook.

I often catch myself doing exactly what I'm about to encourage you not to. My high school literature teacher once told me the difference between 2 authors (their names escape me...) is that one will say just what he needs to say in the bare minimum amount of words needed, and the other will spew on for 4 chapters just to describe the context of the point he is finally going to start making. I am the latter. If you give me the chance, I will drown you in beta - not because I have an impulsive need to share it or because I want to showboat. I do it because I genuinely want you to succeed. I want the odds stacked in your favor, and I feel privileged when I can help enable these successes and milestones for you.

Mid-betaspray!

But oftentimes, I'm hurting you more than I am helping. My best friend John recently tried a notoriously difficult 12b called Movie Star. He pulled the crux off the hang with my beta, but with some trouble and serious doubt about pulling it from the ground. He went back without me, and discovered a new sequence which, though unorthodox, worked substantially easier for him. Boom. He stuck it from the ground that session. Sorry John...

I'd say generally, when you sacrifice this learning process in exchange for friends' beta, video beta, easier routes, etc., you'll up the grades, you'll send my former projects in half the time. But you'll do it without learning. Why did you place your foot on that low smear instead of the huge ledge 4 inches higher? Why was your knee pointed in that way, and why was your heel hook placed at just that angle? Why did you shake your left arm last? 

This brings me to my final comparison: the student versus the fan. A student of climbing will understand, or try to understand, why all of these details matter. A fan of climbing - someone not devoted to learning but to performing - might have all of this beta from a video, a friend, a guidebook, but it will only work for this one route/problem. They may even understand why these details help them on their project/send, but that will be the extent of it.

As a student however, I will move on to the next unknown route, and apply my understanding of how to move well and read a sequence in order to make quick work of it independently, sans beta. Here lies part of the difference between being a good flash climber and being a good onsight climber. I enjoy both, but I certainly hold more respect for a good onsight climber.

A final note is that there is value in being a strong climber. If the "process" isn't your thing, I suppose you're learning a different art.  And if performing well is as fun as climbing well, then by all means - do your campus/hang/moonboard link-ups and whatever else is in style for beefing those digits. I respect it. If I had access, I'd do it all too.

An example: I'd watched a video of this route being done with an all-points-off left hand dyno. I finally was convinced to try going off of a different hold and throwing with my right hand - voila! Easy, and keeping one point of contact! Be open.

Keep in mind every sentence here could be started with "In my opinion". I'm not claiming facts, I'm expressing my thoughts. Hope you guys can connect with them!