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. 

What if I Send?

Last spring I was optimistically laying siege to the hardest pitch I'd ever tried. For 4 months I entered the ring with an opponent who's reputation I knew, but had not yet experienced.

Southern Comfort is, by most accounts, a hard rock climb. By my account, it is a merciless pile of stone, glue, and bolts which first lures you with the promise of points and pride and self-fulfillment, but later traps you only to reveal your shortcomings, self-doubt, and dare I say self-pity. Let me explain.

By the end of last spring, I was falling at the 3rd to last move of SoCo consistently. Three redpoint goes each day on, and each time I fell at the 3rd to last move. I think I stuck this move from the ground twice that season, going on to fall at the last move. In hindsight, these attempts exemplified some of the best climbing I've ever done. I was in perfect form, well in tune with the route, but perhaps a little too optimistic. I was of the belief that "it's super wired, I'm falling at the top, any go now I'll just have that little extra and get lucky". Pity I can't have that fitness along with the knowledge I've gained in the last year.

Fast forward to this season. I've restarted the process on SoCo. I have drastically changed beta and tactics, and I feel much better about my approach. A couple of weeks ago, I began to think I was close. A very strict plateau ensued. I fell on the last move trying to link from the kneebar rest after the first boulder. And ever since then, I've continued to do so.

I'm a different climber this season. More experienced, but without a gym I am limited in the areas I can force progress. Due to a strict hangboard regime, I've gotten stronger fingers. Unfortunately, that's about it. The two glaring weaknesses are my CORE and my ability to recover, both rather critical for 50 ft of consistently steep climbing with strenuous rests.

My mental fortitude is much different than it was last season. Pessimistic? Realistic? I'm not sure what to call it, but it hasn't helped me with SoCo. A list of thoughts that cross my mind throughout each day:

• It's too hard, let it go.
• You've climbed harder, you should have done it.
• It's just another route. 
• Is this the hardest thing I've ever tried?
• Is trying to link from the kneebar even productive? 
• Should I just try from the ground?
• I'm never gonna do this.
• This is the hardest rock climb in the world.
• Is the right exit a cop out?
• Why can I do 48 moves but not 49?

I've wrapped up so much of myself in this climb. I trained specifically for it in the gym last season. I chose my rest days carefully so I would be at least one, if not two, days rested before redpoint attempts. I missed class. I rescheduled meetings. I swapped shifts. I changed my diet. I stopped drinking alcohol almost entirely. I tried cutting weight. I've changed shoes, ropes, chalk. I've tried switching the order I shake my hands before the last crux.

I've introduced myself to climbers and non-climbers as someone who dedicates their time to this route, Southern Comfort. I've motivated friends and others to come try the route. I've shared beta. I've witnessed sends. I've belayed sends. I've seen bolts get moved. Draws get added. New features get chalked. Heard wobblers. Thrown wobblers. 

I've gone over beta infinite times - at work, at dinner, in bed, in the shower, on the toilet. I've experienced huge personal successes since beginning this project, only to feel inadequate because I'd left this route undone. 

After a particularly disappointing session recently, a thought occurred - what if I send? 

What would that mean? How does everything I just explained factor into the 8 minutes or whatever it would take for me to send? Am I even prepared for that? 

I wonder what would be left of my identity. This route is not the best route I've climbed on. But it means more than any other climb in my life. Would the happiness of sending be proportional to the anguish I've experienced?

This sounds incredibly dramatic. Let's remember, Southern Comfort is, by most accounts, a hard rock climb. Nothing more. 

But to me, it is. 

So what if I send?

Well, I think in hindsight it will always be a significant ascent. However, I think that what this route means to me now is the most it will ever mean to me. If I send, I move on. Onto harder routes, bigger challenges, newer experiences. Perhaps I'll find a career. Perhaps I'll get drastically injured. Perhaps I'll fall in love. Any of these things would likely have a more significant impact on my life than these 49 moves. 

But just like sending, those are all "what if's". So for now, I will stick to what I have, and that is 49 moves to link, goddamnit.

3 Sick Ones from the Tennessee Wall

One of the signature characteristics of any blog is its author's sporadic absences, each accompanied with its own set of excuses and an insincere apology. I'll skip this step in hopes of keeping the Steep Potato "original".

Upon returning from Europe, I was eager to return to my dear southern stone, but puzzled by how I could savor those iron bands and dig my digits into our home terrain's best crimps. I was struggling with an A4 strain on my left ring finger, which ended up plaguing me for more than 3 months.

My solution initially was volume, but I quickly realized two glaring obstacles: no one else was stoked to climb 5.10 with me all day, and frankly I don't have the same stoke for volume as I do for trying really fucking hard (so I couldn't blame anyone else for the first problem).

The better solution was to continue what I do best - hard projecting - but direct it towards routes which would get along with my finger. In other words, I needed to find some hard crack climbs. As a sport climber, perhaps I should rephrase this simply as "crack climbs".

I began by revisiting a route I'd tried two winters ago with my friend Danny Poceta. The route is Tamper Proof, a 13a that follows an overhanging crack and finishes with an 8ft horizontal roof crack. It begins by climbing 30 feet of easy choss, and then transforms into some of the highest quality stone in the country. When the rock gets good, you place your first piece (a perfect .75 horizontal pod), and climb a brief 5.10 section in a corner before pulling onto a slab. Here, you place some gear high where the crack begins to steepen, and recover before the business starts.

Where the rock goes from worst to best, and I place my first piece.

Things about to kick off. Look at that stone!!!!

Three fingerlocks later, you've arrived at a flared hand jam, from which you clip the first of 2 bolts which protect the next 15 feet or so. Some incredible trickery gets you through this section, and finishes with a calf pumping no hands kneebar!

Clipping from the flared hand jam

Engaging in the "trickery" through the crux

Once you leave the kneebar, you have perhaps the hardest moves on the route. A short 3 move v4 or so gets you to a big horizontal break at the base of the roof. You begin placing gear again, and then quest off into some great hand jams until arriving at the lip. A left heel hook helps you establish on the face, and then some very chill 5.7 or so face climbing takes you to the tree anchor!

I sessioned this once with my friends Chris and Billy, who were smashing the nearby sport climbs that my finger unfortunately couldn't touch. The roof at the end was seeping terribly, and so I only went through the bottom section.

I returned pretty soon having made a new friend - Jon Cabrera - who was passing through town. I had a warm up go with some takes, made sure the roof wasn't seeping too badly, and then had my redpoint go. It went about as perfectly as I could have asked for! One slight hiccup at the final lip turn where I had difficulty matching a hand jam made me nervous, but the rest was flawless!

Going for the jug break after the hardest moves of the route. Gorgeous fall day.

Next I set my sights on a line that inspired me due to its reputation rather than its aesthetic. Riddle on the Roof had been a prized project for years, due to its incredibly cryptic crux. In 2010, Nathaniel Walker made the first ascent, calling it 13-. The route climbs a 5.10 slab to the base of a ~10ft roof split by a strange seam, and then finishes with 60ft of 5.9 or so slab/crack. Though it was obvious where the crux would be, it was anything BUT obvious how to climb it. The only glimmer of hope I had was there seemed to be an opportunity for a kneebar turning the lip.

It took me 3 separate attempts to figure out my beta for this crux, but it was so sick once I'd solved it! If you're looking to try it and want this chance to go in with a clear mind, don't read the next paragraph.

From the base of the roof, I reach out with my left hand and get the MOST painful fingerlock I've ever used. It's the jug of fingerlocks, and your index finger's first knuckle takes ALL of your weight. From it, you lock off to a barely there pinky down fingerlock with your right hand (I slot the tips of my back 3 fingers) near the lip. Then, I swing my feet out in front of me and paste my right foot on a TERRIBLE smear, and sink a kneebar. Once the kneebar is in, a few more funky moves get me to a thank-god jug, from which I establish onto the face. I would guess this is roughly a v6 or so boulder. It feels harder, but when you do it, it doesn't...

I came back prepared to try and send several times, but most days I showed up it was soaking wet. This led me to try another route I was curious about - Grand Contusion. More on that in a bit.

Eventually, I found this route on a dry enough day. The last right hand lock was wet, and the jug at the lip was a big slimy puddle. But the important parts - the smear and the block for the knee - were dry. After a warm up go with some takes through the roof to try and dry some things, I sent first go with a fair bit of desperation turning the lip! The 60 ft of moderate terrain were a sweet sweet way to finish off what had been a fairly frustrating project, and my hardest traditional climb to date.

Despite it's brief crux, I'd say this one felt harder than Tamper Proof and Greatest Show on Earth. I've heard people call this 12+, so maybe I just want to call it harder because of the nerve damage I think I sustained swinging on that fingerlock. Or maybe it's because I showed up so many times only to see water cascading off the lip of the roof. Regardless, this is one I am proud to have done.

Finally, there's the Grand Contusion. As I mentioned, I first tried it because ROTR was wet. The line follows bolts up a face and out a long ~15ft horizontal roof. The roof was obviously going to be the crux. I climbed up the face and pulled on my quickdraws to pass all the face crimps my finger couldn't touch. I arrived at the roof shortly and inspected everything. Good holds and a glaring lack of ANY feet sums it up. I couldn't even get to the anchor my first go. My second go I'd managed to get to the anchor but still hadn't done all of the moves. Finally, after 3 goes, I had done all of the moves.

Grand Contusion starts in the corner, traverses right in the roof, then climbs the
crack feature almost all the way left, until mantling above.

As it turns out, I learned that this route was put up by Rob Robinson as a traditional route. On his first ascent, he began in a corner left of the face and traversed under the roof to reach the crux, and depending on who you ask, may have used some preplaced gear in the roof. Subsequent to this ascent, a Chattanooga local bolted the entire line, adding the direct start on the face rather than the corner. Supposedly, this was intended to be a totally different route, since it starts differently and is meant to finish differently. Regardless of these muddled accounts, the line was undoubtedly redpointed with all gear placed on lead a few times since Rob's original ascent. It goes at 13b R (given that you aren't clipping the bolts...).

I knew going forward with the route I wanted to redpoint it as it was orignially envisioned - as a traditional climb, placing all gear on lead. I knew I had sacrificed some style points by first inspecting the route with the bolts. Oh well. It wasn't an onsight, and headpointing is so commonly accepted these days (toprope rehearsal), that my sussing on the bolts felt a bit like headpointing (clearly you couldn't toprope rehearse a 15 foot roof).

Over the course of several sessions, I found and improved my sequences. I sorted out gear beta, and eventually began giving it lead attempts. The breakdown for me, roughly, was a technical 10+ corner with small gear, leading to a great rest at the base of the roof crux where you alternate between a nice right hand fingerlock and a left hand jam.

The crux consists of a BIZARRE 13 move sequence following a crack/flake, which is probably hard v6. You begin the crux having nested 2 small c3's from your resting holds. 4 moves in you strenuously wiggle in another green c3, from which you have to run it out for the next 12ft or so until you've reached the lip. At the [very slopey] lip, you desperately place a .3 in a sloping horizontal you're right hand just came from. It's always a relief when you clip that one because you're nice and safe to the top from here.

A weird v3 mantle gets you established over the lip, and you can enjoy some quality 5.10 feature climbing for 20 more feet to the chains at the top of the wall!

When I finally sent this route, I thought it was going to be too wet. Chattanooga had had record rainfall the last 2 weeks, and most of Twall was soaked. As has been the case with any project here, I just needed the route to be dry enough. The latter half of the 10+ corner was sopping wet, and so were the handjam and fingerlock at the rest. Thankfully, the roof itself was dry. I was able to recover well at the rest despite wet holds, and I felt strong throughout the entire crux sequence. A considerable amount of rope drag slowed me on the easy 5.10 going to the chains, but that didn't deter from how psyched I was!

Some people have asked me why I'm climbing a sport climb on gear, and I don't think that's accurate. There are plenty of sport climbs I've done which would go safely on gear, and I don't really have the desire to do them in that style. Similarly, I think that if you climb the Grand Contusion on bolts, you're climbing a trad climb on bolts. That doesn't mean you didn't climb the route, but to me it begs the same question of why someone would climb a sport climb on gear.

FWIW, I have no experience putting up routes. Maybe that makes me unqualified to have such opinions.

The Day I Sent Odin's Eye

On Wednesday morning, Flatanger awoke to wind and cool temps for the first time in weeks. It's late in the season, so those of us remaining have been here for quite some time. We all have projects we aren't certain we will do, but we are all a bit more excited than normal, courtesy of the day's conditions.

I've changed my barn warm up routine a bit. Instead of warming up on progressively harder boulders, I do some long circuits. After 30 min or so in the barn, we head up!

Stance after the first crux

I head up with Mina, who is nearing the end of her second trip here this season. She's persistently tried Nordic Plumber, ever since sending Nordic Flower to its first anchor. She sometimes seems conflicted balancing strategy with stoke, but it's refreshing to see that kind of stoke for climbing.

I let her tie in first, so she can dry the first 4 bolts of her project. Once she's done, I do my own warm-up/dry holds lap. I climb the first 3 bolts of Odin's a few times, and then carry on to the wet undercling crux with some takes. I brush everything, dry the undercling as best I can, and come down.

Definitely don't clip here on point...

Over the next hour, Mina floats to the sloper rail on Nordic Plumber. After a long rest, she sets off and passes her highpoint. With the whole cave psyched and screaming, she clips the anchors and kicks off what would become an incredible send train.

I warm up once more with the hangboard and some full body exercises, then take off on Odin's. I feel no better or worse than normal, but I can tell conditions are great. I get through the first and hardest crux pretty well, and settle into the rest. After a long shake, I set off on the traverse. The undercling crux goes well, and with a substantial amount of pump, I arrive at the kneebar in the eye.

Kneebar rest before the redpoint crux

Here, I shake for a really long time. Eventually I stop the leftarmrightarmleftarmrigharm pattern, and it becomes, left arm, right arm, left calf, repeat. After another very long shake, I set off on the leftward traverse into the crux. I arrive feeling fresher than ever. Fresher than if I'd just asked for a take. Feeling very relaxed and confident, I go to make the big move statically (as I have done off the hang), and come up short on the positive part of the dish. Despite not having the holds right, I'm fresh enough to continue, getting the next hold poorly as well, and then falling on the next move.

I was an odd mix of peeved and encouraged. I was encouraged to have gotten to the crux feeling 100%, but peeved that I'd wasted it by not climbing a bit more aggressively.

In my long break after this burn, Edu sends Odin's Eye as well - which he's done a number of times now as he tries the 9a/+ extension, Valhalla. He had linked the entire second pitch that morning, which is 8c/+ by itself. Our friend Esteban sent his project, Gusanito (8a+),  as well. The train was rolling and it was time for me to have my next attempt.

Halfway through the first (and hardest) crux

I climb the first crux quite well (or so I thought - Mina said I looked a bit tired compared to previously). I arrived at the kneebar rest feeling the usual amount of pump. Bizarrely, the pump drains in half the time it normally takes. I was hesitatant to leave the rest so much earlier than normal, but I'm typically more keen to take risks on my second try so I went for it.

Kneebar rest before the wet traverse

I climbed very well to the undercling crux, though by the time I arrived at the kneebar in the eye, I was as pumped as always. Yet again, I felt recovered in half the time it normally takes. I have no clue why this happened, but I told myself to make sure I still climb aggressively, no matter how fresh I feel.

This is sort of the deciding move. If I hit this hold perfectly, I had a good chance of sending.

The traverse felt solid, and I arrived at the right kneebar and two juggy underclings fresh enough to shake each hand before proceeding. I swapped to the higher left kneescum (in the photo above), and feeling totally fresh, threw to the dish. The positive indent on the right side caught my pointer finger perfectly. I sunk the left kneescum deeper, crossed right hand to the bone hold, and dropped my left hand to the undercling/sidepull. From here, every move is a highpoint. Raise the right toe hook, throw to the jug with confidence, and done.

After sticking the jug and swinging left.

Or am I?

I'd now stuck the hold from which I told everyone I wouldn't fall. And as I release the right to hook and swing sideways to the far left foot, I miss. On the second swing, I catch it but not quite right, and the drop into the sloper with my right hand feels strenuous. I swing again, to the right side now, and move up into the fingerlock. One last pogo-esque maneuver, and I'm at the kneebar rest.

Once in the rest, my mind starts racing. It's easier to focus when you're executing hard sequences, than when you're sitting in a kneebar above your highpoint, staring down a v5 and a v6 sequence above you. Once I'd collected myself, I floated through the v5 sequence and sunk into the last kneebar rest under the v6.

Cue nerves.

The next 5 moves would dictate whether I clip chains and collect 1250 points, or alert the whole of Flatanger with a nordic wobbler.

While shaking in the right kneebar, I felt my right kneepad had slid down over my knee. There is no left kneebar here, and the holds aren't really good enough for me to hang and adjust my kneepad, so I decided not to shake my right calf at all. If I did, then the pad would slide down further each time I sunk into the kneebar again. After some very stressful minutes, I said "Ok, Mina!"

The potential heartbreaker at the top.

I brought my right hand into an undercling by the kneebar to release it, and was overwhelmed by nerves. "No, I'm resting more."

Awaiting my own performance on the next five moves was agony. Would I have enough juice? Would my left foot stay on the polished smear?

Some time passed and I decided to go. I released the kneebar and now I couldn't turn back. I quickly realized how far I'd redlined my right calf. I could barely stand on my right leg. It felt like I had just run a marathon hopping on one leg. I was executing moves quickly and precisely, but my mind was distracted by the feeling in my right leg.

Moving along the jug rail after the last crux

With a lot of effort and a bit of screaming, I made it through the final crux. I got to the left kneebar at the last bolt, shook for a bit, then climbed the easy terrain to the anchors. I paused on the hand jam before pulling up my rope to clip. A smile - unrestricted and genuine - crept onto my face. I pulled rope and clipped the anchors on the end of a project, the end of a chapter in Norway, and a sliver of an answer to a question I have always wondered - what could I do if I committed all of my time to climbing?

Here's to continuing to find out.

I Won't Say I'm Homesick

We celebrated a smashing birthday dinner last night for one of the friendliest faces in Flatanger - James Riley! He's been here about as long as I have, and he's been a tremendous help around the house and crag. He's a gifted chef, and his birthday presented an opportunity for the whole campsite to come together and not think about climbing for an evening.

After delicious mackerel appetizers, a dinner of moosesteaks as tender and soft as our projects, and an entire bottle of cheap American whiskey (thanks John), I awoke to a beta map of Odin's Eye drawn across my chest with everyone having signed their respective highpoints along my torso. And with that, we are back into project mode.

One of my bigger successes here has been embracing bigger challenges (i.e. harder routes). In the states, I tend to try as hard as I think is reasonable given my present level. Here, I tend to try as hard as others think is reasonable for me. What a subtle, substantial contrast. It's actually been relieving to attempt routes I thought were beyond me, because I feel little pressure to perform. But optimism, at least for me, is impermanent.

I won't say I'm homesick. I don't miss my bed, my house, CERTAINLY not my school. I love my family but I stay in touch well enough to not long for them either.

Here's what I miss: Adventure.

And it seems silly. I'm across an ocean, living with people from every nook of the world, surrounded by a language I can't understand (except for "take", "fuck", and "mayonnaise"), climbing on a rock type and style I've never experienced, without cell service or a laptop, and I'm alone. Yet I struggle to find adventure.

Frankly, it's all been so easy. The novelty of the experience is an equivalent rush to the uncertainty of adventure, but novelty is a temporary feeling. As humans, and especially as climbers, we are creatures of efficiency. Do something long enough, and a routine inevitably develops, and routine is boring.

The last month or so I've felt Yosemite creeping into my thoughts. This week, I've had several dreams taking place in the valley. I long for early starts, aching toes, raw cuticles, and the world's most inspiring playground.

I think I've come to terms with leaving Flatanger. I need change. I'm not giving up on Odin's Eye, despite coming close to quitting a few days ago, after falling on the same move one too many times. I have 12 days left, and if I leave without sending, it will still have been a more successful trip than I would have dared to imagine. Besides, there's not much else I can climb here with 4 quickdraws (my entire rack of draws was stolen a few weeks ago, but I had/have 4 on Odin's).

I've booked my flight to leave Flatanger the 22nd. I'll fly to Belgium for a week or so to visit family and collect my Belgian passport (aka my ticket to staying as long as I want in the EU). Tentative plans are to take the train to Austria at the start of October. I'll climb with my friend Peter for the month, with a focus on time spent in the mountains, with perhaps a quick trip into the Frankenjura to keep the mono's cranking!

Until then, I'm trying to keep the faith for Odin's.

Sending Muy Verdes and What's Next

Since I last posted, I was fortunate enough to redpoint one of the best, and certainly the hardest, routes I've done. A few of the things key in making this send possible were

• Warming up in the barn instead of the crag
• Changing micro beta in the crimp traverse
• Some perfectly crisp conditions

The proudest part of this ascent for me is that it went exactly as I always dream of a project redpoint going. I climbed every sequence flawlessly, with confidence and efficiency. And yet, it demanded all that I had to send. I was so desperately close to falling despite climbing well. This is the mark of a limit route! 

The following day, I decided I wanted to try a very long Adam Ondra 8b, called The Doorkeeper. As I walked to the crag, British Matt was sending the route! So, he cleaned his draws off and I was thus discouraged from getting on the route (I don't have enough draws nor a long enough rope).

Matt sending The Doorkeeper 8b

Instead, I was tempted to try Odin's Eye again. And after a couple of times on it, it felt easier than I remembered (still hard!). I decided to invest a few days into the route, and if it felt possible to do the route by the end of my trip, I would commit to it as my mega project. 

Fast forward a few days into the route. Yep. This line is the ONE. Absolutely incredible boulder problems throughout, each separated by rests/kneebars. Talk. About. A. Dream. I can't say whether it's possible for me within the time I have left, but I can say it's worth trying, as well as worth coming back for if not. 

Here's a brief breakdown. 

After the first 3 bolts (V4/5 in their own right), you have the hardest boulder on the route - a steep V8 on terrible crimps. From here, easy traversing on a slightly overhanging face leads you to an undercling crux, where you have to precisely lunge to a pretty small crimp as you rock onto a right foot smear. Impossible to grade. Hard. 

After this, you've arrived at the eye. Here you get a decent kneebar rest. From here, the most muscly traverse in flatanger awaits. Big slopey underclings on a 50 degree wall with bad smears for feet. This is a section I need to spend a lot of time refining...

This takes you straight into the redpoint crux. Incredible moves on every type of hold. Undercling, crimp, pinch, jug, sloper. A very powerful sequence, about V7 in isolation? Harder when you add in the super strenuous traverse into it.

After this you arrive at a kneebar rest, but a very pumpy one for the left calf. I imagine it will be difficult to stay in this kneebar for long. 

The last crux

Next, a really cool v5 sequence awaits, requiring static strength on slopers. You get one more awkward kneebar and then face the last crux, a v6 sequence on terrible feet that requires every bit of reach I have. I have nightmares about punting here...

>>I wrote the above a while ago, and now am a few weeks into Odin's. I am in redpoint mode, having one hung the route and climbed it in overlapping sections several times. It's been a battle with conditions more than anything, and the second crux (under the eye) seems to be the hardest for me. 3 more weeks, stoked to see what happens!

Muy Verdes

Since I arrived here, Muy Verdes has been a line which caught my eye. The features it follows are bizarre for flatanger, a combination of geometric angles and crimps. It certainly is no king line - Odin's Eye begins just to the right and is a more impressive line. But I was drawn by the route's bouldery appearance and quantity of holds I could actually close on (rather than lots of underclings and open hand grips). In other words, I was keen to spend less than an hour on redpoint and avoid sloper rails at all costs (see nordic plumber).

Me in the crux of Muy Verdes 

I didn't have the confidence to try a route at this level when I arrived, but after 3 weeks and a lot of inspiring exchanges with more experienced climbers, I realized these routes we deem too hard for ourselves are often within physical reach, but not mental. 

Think about your experiences on past projects. Once you were in redpoint mode, remember how the sequences, even the crux, felt easy in isolation? How you "swear it's jugs" and "it's like v2". 

Well, what if instead, you couldn't do certain moves. What if in isolation, you can't do the sequences or they feel impossibly hard to link. 

V6 before the rest. Rad crescent sloper rail that reminds me of the left hand on spyro gyro (but worse)

That's the difference I'm experiencing climbing here in Europe. A limit project probably isn't something where all of the moves are done on your first try. If the moves are all done first try, then you are likely capable of sending and just need the requisite route-specific muscle memory and fitness. 

A project that will challenge you to your absolute potential will demand that you discover it's subtleties. Think of the route as a limit boulder problem. To begin with, it has nothing to do with efficiency or resting. It's about solving the sequences. 

And this is where I stood with Muy Verdes last week. 

Muy Verdes is a route bolted by Dani Andrada, and first ascended by Erik Grandelius, who proposed 8c+. The day after its first ascent, Adam Ondra onsighted the route. After several more ascents, the consensus seems to have settled at 8c.

Arriving at the rest. Perhaps 8a+ to here?

On Sunday, after sending the last of the short bouldery 8a+ routes in the cave (my last one being Elden Inuti), I was deciding between hanging my draws on another 8a/b, or Muy Verdes. I had told my partners I'd try another 8a or 8a+ next, but I had a bit of confidence from my recent send of Nordic Plumber, and a LOT of stoke for something bouldery and hard. So, I decided to hang my draws on Muy Verdes. 

I didn't do more than maybe 5% max of the moves, because I was quickly french freeing by pulling on draws as I went. I knew the next day would be my first real inspection of the route.

First real attempt at Muy Verdes, I had a tough time. I did a lot of "ok climbing", followed by me holding a position for 1 second, followed by "TAKE, I'm gonna pull through for now". The productive thing about this first run wasn't doing as many moves as I could, but rather to envision the sequences.  I had examined most of the holds when I hung draws. They were, for the most part, small but good. This time, I needed to examine the sequences. 

After a few attempted sequences and some aiding, I lowered down from the end of the hard climbing (there's 4 or 5 bolts of 7cish terrain after this I'm told).

A while later, I tied back in for my 3rd attempt and first semi-serious attempt at doing moves. The progress was evident. I linked sequences as I'd envisioned, and refined what wasn't working. If something was really stopper, I envisioned what I could change but pulled through. I found proper clipping stances rather than grabbing dogbones. 

Ultimately, once I lowered, I had managed to do all but one (could be two) moves. Many of these moves I didn't do more than 2 at a time, but I was thrilled. 

After several more days invested in Muy Verdes, progress is encouraging! A slew of people sent in 2-4 tries, including Jim Pope and Stefano Carnati. I was able to glean some beta from them, and thus I was able to finish off every move! Kilian Fischhuber tried for a couple of days as well after sending Odin's Eye, but tore a muscle in his abdomen. All of these guys were great to share the route with.

Here is the breakdown in my opinion:

• 3 campus moves lead into a physical V5/6 with a kneescum and a hard clip.
• Poor kneebar rest
• V7 requiring a lot of body tension and a blind triple bump. 
• No rest, straight into a V6 with a worse-than-it-looks sloper rail 
• Jug rest with a left heel (much like Man Show back home)
• Blind and low percentage deadpoint to a pocket jug over a roof. V5?
• No rest, into the redpoint crux: a v7/8 crimp traverse, with a terribly glassy pinch and bad heel hooks! This traverse is SO COOL. Loads of static strength required, which is hard to have from the bottom, and finishes on a pocket jug. 
• Here you get an ok rest in a corner, alternating between a fingerlock and a good sidepull. Unfortunately this crack is often wet :/
• From here, a pumpy, techy 7b+(ish) awaits. 

More or less my highpoint (I got one foot move further). 

After a couple of weeks invested in this route, I feel close. Sometimes I need a break from the frustration of regression, but I consistently make it to the rest. I have a deep hatred for the deadpoint off of the rest. It's the easiest of the boulder problems, but it's where I've fallen the most.  Even when completely fresh, sometimes I just miss the hold. The move is truly blind! 

I have made it through this move maybe 1/3 attempts, and fallen on the following crimp traverse. In the meantime, I did take a day to try some other routes and regain some confidence (or was it for the 30 day ranking...). I gave a flash attempt on Gusanito, an 8a+ traverse above the Illusionist. I'd seen lots of people trying it, but didn't ask for beta. Unfortunately this cost me, and I took a bad fall at the crux on my flash go, because I'd skipped two draws (which made me hesitate) and came close to decking. However, Jim Pope (who flashed the route earlier) offered a bit of beta and I took it down next try. 

I also tried a route on the far left side that day, Steiny L1. This is a classic 8a which starts with a crux compression problem right off the ground, which leads into a big rest and then a 7a+ or so to the top?

I found the compression crux a bit reachy for me, but with some high smears and a heel, I ticked it third go. To be honest, this was one of my least favorite routes I've done here...

Back to Muy Verdes!