On Community

Community is a nebulous term. It's a "thing" we all engage with, but each define in a way that is subjective to our own experience. For a new climber in the gym, community might mean the regulars that he/she sessions with every Tuesday night. For the climber living in their van the last decade, community likely has more to do with the network of friends/partners acquired by climbing over the years. For many of us that live on the road, community is subject to change according to the area we are presently in. There is a community for everything. A sport climbing community, a bouldering community, competition community, vanlife, vegan, southeast, northeast, front range, SoCal, blah blah blah. These communities change, grow, and fade. But our identities as climbers are tied to the communities we belong to, and our relationships with these communities are also subject to change, grow, and fade. 

Community is generally regarded with a positive connotation. How many times have we uttered or heard the words "sense of community", "the community really showed up", "community is everything". I've heard iterations of these for as long as I've been climbing, but rarely hear the flip side. And this begs the question - is EVERY community unanimously uplifting, welcoming, and/or generally supportive? 

Consider our perspective. I suspect most climbers log more hours scrolling social media than log time at the gym or crag. Whether we realize it or not, our sense of community is far more developed by media consumption than by firsthand engagement. The result is a distorion of what it means for the community to "show up". Reposts, double-taps, and hashtags are not signs of solidarity. I don't mean to deny the connections that can be made on social media, but we should consider the repercussions of platforms engineered to monopolize our attention. 

As far as climbing goes, the first community I was ever part of was "The Rock Room" community. It was a grungy gym characterized by short walls, polished holds, horrible hours, and match-hands-match-feet style setting. I knew nothing better, nor did I need anything better - I loved it so dearly. Climbing didn't define me at the time, nor did it define anyone that frequented The Rock Room (I'm fairly certain), but several of us have since gone on to center our lives around climbing. That's a hell of an influence for a facility that was open 9 hours a week and catered towards summer campers moreso than athletes.

The Rock Room

As I progressed, I visited more and more areas - Chattanooga, Sand Rock, and Little River Canyon most often. As I broke into 5.12 and began frequenting "harder" crags, I started noticing regulars. However, I was always the outsider. I was from Rome, GA, and by the time I was climbing 5.12 consistently and 5.13 here and there, I was a student at Young Harris College, nearly 3 hours from any of these areas. When I showed up at a crag, I was CRAZY psyched. I had a million questions in my head for all of the locals and especially the individuals that were climbing harder than me - it was from them that I figured I had the most to learn. I usually tried to eek out some small talk or ask a generic question about a route or crag. Most often, I was given a quick and dismissive answer. The classic "cold shoulder". I desperately wanted to lose the label of "outsider", but I didn't want to be a poser. There was always a "tryout" mentality lurking in my mind - how to I get on their team? I wanted to earn my stripes. I wanted to show my worth. 

And sure enough, after a couple of years, I was no longer getting the cold shoulder. What bothered me about this was that the only thing to change between these couple of years was my ticklist. The moment I was climbing as hard or harder than the "gatekeepers", I no longer received the cold shoulder. My questions were answered - I was told about "secret" crags, cruxes were described as more than just "soft", and people actually cared to answer "what have you been up to". 

A story comes to mind here: This fall I was living at Miguel's Pizza, and climbing full time in the Red River Gorge. I had been visiting this place for 7 years at this point, and one of the routes I was interested in checking out was a 14a called "The Tube". There's a great video of Adam Taylor doing the FA on YouTube, and I'd seen several pics of some pros repeating it. Point is - it wasn't a secret. One night as I was asking for directions, someone said, "oh so and so would know where it's at, let me find him". So I meet this blonde kid, and he says something like, "Yeah well the access is weird for The Tube, you probably shouldn't be going there if you're not actually gonna do it, ya know?" In that moment, all of the beef and sour vibes that peppered my upbringing as a SE climber rushed back, and I rolled my eyes. I was pretty irked. At this point, I was confident enough in both my climbing and in my place in the community to know I didn't need to prove myself in exchange for directions. 

Ultimately, me and this punk are great friends now, despite this first encounter. But I'll always give him a hard time about this exchange, even if he gives a mean bluepoint ;)

This was a pretty specific story, but here are a few common questions I found myself asking more experienced/stronger climbers when I was more novice at these "harder" crags. I've paired them with their respective answers, as I most commonly heard.

"How is that route? It looks sick!" 

>"Oh yeah it's really not too bad, felt more like *gives lower grade* than *gives consensus grade*." 

"Oh I've heard of that crag, what's it like?" 

>"Oh it's awesome, really great routes. Probably one of the best in the area. You should probably climb here though, people are picky about who gets to go there."

"You've climbed out west?! How is it?" 

>"I've climbed that western choss! It's funny, I think climbers out west avoid the south because our grades are too honest and they just bitch about the weather" 

"Isn't that crux so so cool?" 

>"It felt so chill, I actually didn't find it too hard."

These answers are twofold. They vaguely answer the question on the front end, and then digress to make some statement that qualifies the person rather than the answer they just gave. It took me a long time to recognize what was happening, and I'm really not sure if people know what they are doing when they make these remarks. In their digression, they are saying "I know things you don't/I've done things you can't". Essentially, they want you to know "I am smarter/better/stronger than you". 

Here's the thing, I know you are. That's why I asked the question, dude. Can you imagine if every time a student asked a teacher a question, they responded with, "oh that problem? I actually learned that when I was younger, and I didn't struggle very much." Obviously. That's why we are asking you...

Professional climbers rarely come to the deep south, and those that have don't often return. Locals like to speculate its because our climbing is sooooo sandbagged and they can't handle a little humidity. I'm not going to deny that our conditions are fickle at times (certainly would never encourage anyone to come in the summer), but are we really so naïve as to think a sandbagged 13d is stopping professionals from coming here? It's because they aren't welcomed. The sport's elite are treated with the same "outsider" treatment as I had as a novice. Not to mention a major reason we don't have routes worth their time is because they get chipped down to our level. Hence the 14- plateau.

Chris Sharma, Jonathan Siegrist, Alex Megos, Joe Kinder - they've been to our crags and boulders. Years ago, Sharma was at HP40 trying the classic V11, God Module. He tried for a bit with his pad, and a crowd of others watched from a distance as he struggled in the Alabama heat. They all watched, yet offered no encouragement, no pads, and no spot. Given the stale vibe, Chris left - and the conclusion these onlookers drew and passed on was that the legendary Chris Sharma couldn't do "their" boulder. Obviously he could, but who would want to put the time in given the scenario? Maybe if the holds had been half as cold as their shoulders...

Ok, gripe complete. I think. 

Despite these experiences, I consider this community family. Family isn't perfect, and neither am I. Much of what I've said may be a dramatization of what is most often casual conversation. And of course, to be complaining about climbing at all is quite a silly privilege. I much prefer expressing gratitude than voicing criticism. To this end, I must acknowledge that my deepest friendships, experiences, and climbs have resulted from my time there. My home is more or less on the road year round now, but I feel most at home waking up to some humidity, the sound of a train on Lookout Mountain, and that first glance down at my throbbing tips wondering how much skin I'm going to lose again today. 

❤️
wentzekphoto.com

Injective

 Anyone who has been climbing long enough experiences "full circle" moments - instances where nostalgia and achievement intersect. I can think of several such moments. They are often sends - Southern Comfort, Silence Between the Violence, The Jackal. These are some of my most treasured sends because they are the hardest routes at my dearest crags. Clipping each of their anchors felt like closing a chapter in my career as a southeastern climber. 

Finishing up the easy top section of Silence Between the Violence (13d)
Photo: Caleb Timmerman

In January of 2020, I went out to Laurel with visiting friends and crushers Jon and Solveig. They were fresh off a sending spree at the Red, and I was psyched to share the BEST crag in the Chatt area with them. The Jackal remains, to this day, the best route I've ever climbed. The only place I've ever seen host as good of rock is the New, and even still, the movement, holds, setting, and beauty of this line remain unmatched IMO. 

The brilliant headwall of The Jackal (13d)
Photo: John Heidbreder

With this in mind, I had always eyed the bolts that split left off the beginning of The Jackal. This visit was the first time I had seen draws and tick marks on this undone project. I was instantly curious. Something about the chalk and draws made it seem more possible - perhaps the mere implication that another person had done or at least tried the moves. If I remember correctly, I sent the 13a to the left that day, a nice line called Cyclops. Sub-par compared to others on the wall, but brilliant were it at any other crag on its own. Having wrapped up one of the last worthwhile pitches at the crag, I decided to check out the project. 

Until this point, I had rarely tried anything undone. The bottom compression V6 is shared with The Jackal, but you clip a different bolt. This is the only shared section. From here, I quested into new holds. I was able to get to the 2nd bolt pretty easily, and then found myself at what was obviously the blankest, hardest section. This was the same shield of rock that hosts the dyno on The Jackal. Unlike the dyno, this section had a couple of features, albeit abysmal ones. Given the feet and the placement of the ticks, the obvious sequence revolved around a flat gaston for your left hand and a shit 2 finger pocket edge for your right hand. It was relatively doable to get matched on these two, but to bump your right hand into a slot under the next roof seemed both difficult and low percentage due to the precision required on such a large move.

Setting up for the dyno on The Jackal, where the project breaks left
(note the bolt down and left of my foot - this is the 1st bolt for Injective).
Photo: John Heidbreder

After some contemplation, I began experimenting with a finnicky left heel-toe, which allowed me to grab the gaston as a sidepull with my right hand. Miraculously, there was a tiny knob-like feature I could reach up to with my left hand, just at the apex of my lock off ability (it would be too shitty to go to dynamically, so it really was perfectly placed). From here, I tried bumping the left hand into the precise slot that was too difficult to get with the alternate sequence. 

That day, I didn't stick the bump, but I knew it was possible. I aided past this section and found the moves off of this slot to be just as hard! There was a slopey dish above a small roof, and it felt like a solid v8 sequence to throw from it into another jug above. Oof. I sussed one final hard section above this jug, but it was pretty reasonable. Again, the perfect feet appeared, and a gritty crimp at the apex of my reach allowed this section to go at maybe hard v5ish. Certainly a  hard enough sequence to make you nervous from the ground, yet easy enough to qualify as a "punt" if you biffed it here on point.

From here, you get your first rest, and a really good one at that. The route splits two ways from here, with one line of bolts angling slightly up and left, and the other angling slightly right. I tried both, and although both were roughly 12a/b in terms of difficulty, it was obvious that going right was both better quality and better movement. 

At the rest, above the crux, from here is roughly 12a/b.
Photo: Nathalie Dupree

I returned several times in the next couple of weeks. I struggle to remember how many visits, but I think perhaps 4 or 5 in total. The next visit I did the couple of moves in the crux that I hadn't been able to do previously, and from then on I was more or less in redpoint mode. I struggled with conditions despite it being winter, as I distinctly remember having a day on it where the crux sidepull was in the sun. I couldn't even hold onto the wall, much less do the moves, and redpointing was a pipedream.

However, I came back on a pretty cold day after some rain with Lu, Nik, and Nathalie. Nik was there to do Jackal, and to be honest I felt mixed emotions about him trying the project. I really wanted to see him on it, because he's so damn good and I draw a lot of motivation from watching others. Conversely, the selfish part of me wanted to be the one to send it first. I knew he would do it in a couple of goes, and I felt really close myself. 

That was a rollercoaster of a day, because the bulk of the 12- section through the top was running with water. Most problematic, however, was that the crimp in the v5 just after the crux was wet. That day, I climbed through the crux from the ground 3 times in a row, only to fall off of this wet crimp. I was a bit bummed, but Lu reminded me that had it been dry, I would've just sent the route 3 times in a row.

The left hand in this photo is the wet hold. I fell here 3 times in a row
from the ground, this photo is from one of those 3 attempts!
Photo: Nathalie Dupree

The next day back, the whole bottom was dry, and the only bit of water was at the final bolt in the12- section. I sent on my first try, and the entire second half of the route (from the rest after the crux until the chains) I was climbing with sheer joy, gratitude, and just a hint of nerves for the last wet bit. I stayed at the chains for a moment before getting lowered, taking in the whole of my surroundings. 

I originally had a long winded bit here explaining how this route's personal significance stretched beyond its FA status, but I have to consider what this route would have meant for me had I not been the first. Frankly, it would have meant less. For almost as long as I had been a climber, The Jackal had been my dream. It had tested me for years. To this day, I can still recite most of Tyler Willcut's words on the Vimeo short film about his first ascent. Climbing this undone project felt like walking the same path. In the days leading up to and including the send, I got the chance to hear from legends in the Southeast - Jerry Roberts, Tyler, Lu, JB. These guys have had my respect for a long time, and because Chattanooga is a community that demands you earn your stripes, I couldn't help but feel I'd proven myself to some degree. 

Earning my stripes on Injective. This is the last move of the crux v8 or so.
Photo: Nathalie Dupree

All that was left was to name and grade this route. For the first time in my life, my opinion on the grade would actually mean something! I knew this route was a bit harder than The Jackal, which had been my first 13d. The breakdown was essentially a mirror image - v6, v5,v8, 12a/b. The difference was that the new route didn't have the good rests between cruxes. Compared to a lot of 13ds in and around Chatt, such as Apes on Acid, Oracle, Man Show, and Prodigal - it seemed harder. However, it was certainly easier than the couple of 14as I had been on, such as Southern Comfort and Tears of Unfathomable Sadness. I decided to pay homage to the unspoken rule of Chattown - no route shall be graded greater than 13d! Haha (but really 13d in Chatt can range from 13c-14b).

As for the name, Sean Kearney had named it "Datura" when he bolted it, but gave permission for me to rename it as I saw fit. I almost named it "Secret Stuff", as a sort of double entendre to the fact that I had used the Friction Labs liquid chalk for the first time with this route, and as a slight to the Chattanooga community for being way too secretive about many of "their" crags.

Ultimately the nerd in me saw too perfect a chance when I described the breakdown. "Injective" is a math term for functions for which every element of the codomain is an image of exactly one element of its domain, and this route is like an injective mapping of The Jackal, if you consider the boulder problems as elements of the domain/codomain of each route/function. Basically they both have 3 crux boulders, and they are all v6, v5, and v8. 

As I publish this, the route has yet to see a second ascent! Too many people hike out to do The Jackal and never return. Every route on this cliffline is a gem, and I KNOW there are plenty of people stronger than me going out there. Sack up and try it guys, you won't be disappointed.

Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? (Part 1)

 The mark of any enduring blog is an apology or (at the least) acknowledgement for time away. In this one's case, an acknowledgement spanning a 2+ year gap. So, where am I going, where have I been? Well, this write up certainly won't collect the accolades of Joyce Carol Oates' short story, but I do hope it's a little easier to follow.

I have long believed that the single most influential change in my life was being gifted a car when I was 16. For years, my aspirations had far exceeded my means, because I was too young to work and too dependent to act on the whims of my psych. My tiny two door Scion tc changed everything. I got a job at a Panera Bread, and no one ever felt so rich making minimum wage as this young kid. The only thing that surpassed my sentiments of subjective wealth was the love I felt growing for climbing - a feeling that 7.5 years later has changed form, but never stopped growing.

The reason I bring this up is that 1.5 years ago, I sold the tc to a friend from high school (still running great with 299k miles and countless trips logged), and upgraded to a Ford E150 cargo van. Four days of hasty trial-and-error style converting later, I drove it from Georgia to Washington, marking the start of a new and profoundly more independent life for yours truly. 

That was September 2019, where I spent 4 weeks working long days on a wind farm near Ellensburg, WA, and drove my new home on wheels to new-to-me crags on the weekends. First up was Smith Rock and Trout Creek. Unfortunately, Smith was hot, my visit coincided with the AAC craggin classic, and (worst of all) I was climbing with a pretty horrible partner I'd linked up with via Mountain Project. These things aside, I was especially impressed with Trout Creek. I saw wild horses, bathed in a sweet cold stream, and climbed a TON of splitter basalt columns.

The real highlight of these 4 weeks, however, was spending the next 3 weekends at a very special crag called Equinox, where I was able to climb some total gems, as well as log my 100th route 13a or harder (173 as of today). From here, I joined my good friend Josh and we drove south to Yosemite for a couple of weeks. Josh had just spent a summer in Squamish, and I was excited to share one of my favorite places in the world with him. 

The Valley proved to be unfruitful, and I learned one of the most valuable lessons of vanlife - be careful who you share your van with. Our friendship was tested after spending every minute of the day with each other for 2 weeks. I ended up bailing to Vegas for a bit, while he went to SLC. 

I ended up working once again for a few weeks in Texas, and then migrated back home for the winter. Home was different without the comfort of indoor plumbing, Mom's fridge, and room to stand. Yet these were such minor luxuries to trade for the freedom that came with my life in the van. They still are. 

Highlights that winter were the following:

Trad: 

Banshee (13a R) https://youtu.be/qIMav_VAlno

Sport:

Silence Between the Violence (13d) https://youtu.be/UHVOICw68Ns

Injective (13d FA)

Back in the Day (13d/14a)

Prodigal (13d)

Trebuchet (14a)

Mon Pote Assis (14a)

Reverse Polarity (14b) https://youtu.be/JQ59-Pb29SE

Boulders:

I Think I Can (V9) https://youtu.be/ODvHlU4KgIY

Gross's Roof (V10) https://youtu.be/3vosAI5qE4Y

The Womb (V10) https://youtu.be/x8eT0c68eKU

Honey Child (V10) https://youtu.be/xOntOwYEZLs

JH (V10) 

Buddy (V10)

Fred's Roof (V10)

My proudest sends that season were certainly the FA of Injective and the send of Reverse Polarity. Perhaps expect some write-ups on these later. I also would like to think my sends of Back in the Day and Prodigal spurred the several repeats they got the following season. They deserve every bit of traffic - they are hard, quality, and must-do's if you climb the grade IMO.

Following that, I spent an entire summer working on the Raider's stadium in Las Vegas. It was an incredible job, with good people, good work, and good money. By the end of July, I had a fair bit saved, and needed more than anything to get outside of the city/desert. I spent a week in the Wind River Range, mostly simulclimbing a few classics with my friend Brandon, which was tremendous when we climbed, but I felt a bit dismayed at how crowded the Cirque of the Towers was, given that we had driven 2 hours on dirt roads, hiked 10 miles, and were based at 10000 ft elevation or so.

After this, I spent 7 weeks in Boulder, CO. I had the objective of trying China Doll, a 14a trad climb in Upper Dream Canyon. More on that to come, but (spoiler) I didn't send and although I was quite motivated and close on the route, pretty much everything else about Boulder was unpleasant. 

Following a summer of work, very little climbing, an alpine trip, and 7 weeks of stemming/crack climbing, I wasn't feeling my strongest. I was, however, a little worn down from partner searching and learning new areas. So I drove to the Red and posted up for almost 2 months. I had never climbed 5.14 in the red, and was really hoping a 2 month stint would be enough to whittle one or two big rigs down to submission.

These "soft jug hauls" proved quite formiddable. I was most psyched on Southern Pump - a Dani Andrada link-up of the classic Southern Smoke and 50 Words for Pump. About 3 weeks of effort later, I was still at a mere 2-hang, and temps hovered high. I had to leave this one undone, and left the red with my tail between my legs.

Thanksgiving rolled around and marked the "true" start to my season. Temps dropped and I went to the New to join some very stoked friends for the week. This proved to be the best week of sport climbing I've likely ever had, doing a new Cirque route second go every day. That week, I climbed Proper Soul, Lord Voldemort, Freedom Tree, and Ride the Lightning. Some of the best rock climbing in the country packed into 4 brilliant days with some equally brilliant people. Wild and wonderful indeed.

With my self worth restored, I came back to Chatt for some time. A successful season ensued, with these as the highlights:

Little Tokyo (13d 4 tries)

Oracle (13d 4 tries; would've been 2 if I had a second kneepad!)

La Bomba (13c 2nd try)

Washed in Blood (13c 3rd try)

To the Bone (13d 2nd try)

Lucid Dream (13d 3rd)

Biggie Shorty (V10)

Adactyl (V10)

White Face (V10)

Certainly my greatest efforts this season were spent trying Tears of Unfathomable Sadness, but that rig is just SO. GOD. DAMN. HARD. A similar number of days were spent trying Hit Strips, an incredible V10 crimp/roof boulder. These two are top priority next winter. But there's a lot of work to do until then. Stay tuned.

One final note - I always drew a lot of inspiration and psych from blogs, especially anything that spoke to routes in our precious southeastern corner. Chattanooga doesn't have a reputation for being the most welcoming, and when I began frequenting as a novice climber from out of town, I got no warm welcome. So instead of people, it was these dated blogs that fueled, and in some cases formed, my desires to climb these special routes. My hope is that some of yall can find a similar purpose in my writings here, whenever it is you read this.