But i knew this. Yet i didn’t take what seemed then like a gigantic leap to change my situation. I can fairly say that my lack of transportation really limited my choices. There was BlocAge or BlocAge… I wasn’t close enough to the train without having to ask for a ride and I didn’t want to be a burden.

Millau left me feeling like all the training that i had been doing was in vain. After problem one which I was stupidly close to finishing but my nerves wouldn’t let me relax enough to think about what I was doing to make the final match, i started a downward spiral that i felt powerless to stop. At problem two a gigantic sloper that i had never meet before handed me my ass. It was like wrestling something which had nothing to grab, no hair to pull. I distinctively felt embarrassed to be out there and lived the feeling a kid in a play would feel when they forget their lines on stage. I wanted to disappear at that very moment. Besides feeling like a bit of a joke I also felt that old feeling return that comes ones way through failure and on top of that, public failure. Why should I care what over people think of me? I shouldn’t, but of course to an extent, I do.

Trying to gather an ounce of confidence and positive energy from deep down in the well that seemed dry I felt my legs shaking on problem 3. Problem 4 lead me into a tunnel that narrowed down to changing my footwork instead of my hand sequence. I thought of trying other methods but I wasn’t having it. Later i silently slapped myself as i watched people try the beta which i had shrugged off.

Before problem five as I was siting in isolation i almost broke down into tears. I really didn’t want to go out there. I realized how little mental preparation I had done to prepare my head for these testing and complex situations. I wondered what was I doing there? Why am I putting myself in this situation if failing makes me feel so shit? Why did i do so little to help what i call, ‘my gym comp thing’? Why didn’t I go to Munich where there are proper comp style problems in a plenty and a perfect campus board? I mean really! If I was going to train for these comps, that meant climbing in a suitable gym and preparing myself mentally and physically for them! That said, i don’t regret my winter stay in font. I had a great time, met some amazing people who I can call family and learnt some French. But I am beating myself up for not having prepared smarter. It’s the way i roll sometimes.

On top of that there was the nagging feeling that i was ruining my climbing career which was established on rocks, not plastic. But I am not here to prove something. i am here to learn and improve but i feel like such a rookie amidst the ‘pros’ in an aspect of a sport which still feels so new to me. I know I wanted to do this but I sure as hell didn’t want to suck this bad at it!!

With problem 5 around the corner and my thoughts way to deep into trying to understand the cause of my suffering, the buzzer went off. The advice from Sean McColl rang into my head. Look at the problem and think you CAN do it, not that you will. For the others I had looked at them and silently said WTF to myself. Not the best performance boosting thoughts. So, i looked at it and said, ok, I can do this one. That thought alone gave me some belief. I fell. But I got back up. I reevaluated my beta and boom bang I was through the bonus and at the second last hold. I was still shaking a little and surprised that I was where I was. I fumbled around mentally and physically trying to relax but feeling utterly rigid i slipped and bang, i was on the floor. I tried to get back to my high point but the static method I used for the lower big move I could not repeat. As I watched others on this move afterwards I saw girls easily jump through what I had done static. Jump? Wow. The thought of jumping did not even register into my brain. Jump. Incroyable. I have so much to learn…

Well I shouldn’t let my results or climbing abilities in competitions affect my self confidence but it is hard to separate from it sometimes. i put so much effort into it. Live and learn I spose. It was the first comp of the season and all those voices in my head that are trying to put me down are going out with todays garbage.

And then there was the Paris comp…

My friend Alberto had told me of a local comp in Paris which he wanted me to go to. He willing drove me there. On his own time, in his own car. How nice can people be?! I was psyched to go. New problems, a fun atmosphere, some comp style problems… it worked. I met princess Leah. I saw obi-wan kenobi. I hugged Yoda. There were a lot of strong climbers there some who I had seen around the comp circuit but the energy was lighter, less serious. I met some people and had one of the funniest comps that I have ever had. I left realizing a few things about myself and competitions. I like climbing. Simple. Competition mode can take that away from me if I let it. At this comp I found myself trying hard but I felt relaxed which obviously improved my climbing. I was focused on the climbing and not on anything else. I looked at all the problems with a wanting to try them. My motivation was so high that when the comp clock was done I ran around and tried to finish the problems that had really inspired me which I hadn’t finished. I felt slightly high and couldn’t stop smiling. It was then that I realized comps are fun. What isn’t fun is dealing with less than ideal results. I felt I climbed well. Sure there were problems I couldn’t do and some of the lines clearly shut me down because of reach as onlookers agreed but I did my best and enjoyed myself. It was then that i realized I wasn’t going to look at the results. I was there for myself and for the climbing. Nothing else mattered. And so when I left this comp I left feeling good. I didn’t have the sense of failure even though I had failed on some problems and in front of people. i didnt care who was watching me. I was there to just climb and that’s it.

The whole feeling, movement and energy involved with climbing is at its core why I climb. It is why I love circuiting in Font so much. So much movement; dancing with stone. Every move is different, every hold. Shifting weight from one foot to another can take all my focus. Stay, stay, stay i tell my foot. The black polished rock disagrees. I quickly slide back and land on my ass. I look up. Humbled again. Encore doucement it says, trust yourself, allez up. Ok. Encore enfois. I try again. And again and again and again, until there is a magic moment which transcends all inner dialogue and the body conforms with the stone, like water pouring over a mountain side. Somehow I am standing on top of a piece of rock that has taught me patience, perseverance, movement. Thank You for teaching me rock. I look forward to the next one.

Before the death of my van I can say yes, I did get to go outside when weather permitted which unfortunately wasn’t too often since it was the wettest and coldest winter since the 1960′s. I was restricted to what I could try with one pad and a six year old spotting so circuiting and one pad problems became my best friend.

One of the days when I was circuiting with cedar I was trying red number 25 at Roche Aux Sabots. This is problem one of the most technical prows that I had encountered requiring one to stand on the typical polished smears followed by equally polished slopers. After falling near the top numerous times I was near done but decided to give it one more go which resulted in me falling and hitting my heel very hard on the rock which was next to my pad. I cursed to myself and the world for not giving me a spotter and friend to climb with for what had at that point, seemed like an eternal situation. My heel hurt for the next 2 months and without travel insurance I vowed from that day on to keep what I try to a limit.

Shortly after that, my van died. Most of my climbing adventures were then spent behind closed doors among the psyched crew of blocAge which I will admit, have been some of the most memorable and fun. Not knowing much about training I put my energies towards writing myself a program with the help from a couple of people and reading lots of conflicting information on the internet. Writing a program proved easier said than done. My mentality was that of CS Fletcher who says that those who believe in overtraining are woosies who are afraid of a bit of work. But from last years experience of being plagued with injuries i knew better. All the same, I wanted to get stronger and stay injury free. I put together a 3 month program which followed the ideas of periodization. A good base, later some strength and then conversion. I thought I was set. With font as my backyard and Paris gyms not far with blocAge for when I couldn’t travel. The death of the van put an end to these ideals except for blocAge and random excursions into the forest.

I found myself lacking a lot of necessary training equipment: no campus board, no hangboard, and a mere 14 kg of free weights to work with. Working with what I had the first month and a half were spent getting better fitness and general conditioning.
In late February a campus board and a handmade hang board were put up and though both were not to standard, I worked with what I had. I got into the habit of recruiting training partners so I wasn’t always alone. Farid got psyched for stronger fingers and soon enough Fred made some rings. Maille a strong guy from the france team often joined me and though I pried, I tell you, the french don’t give out their secrets easily!

For me I discovered I loved training. The feeling afterwards of having pushed your fingers and body so hard made my whole being feel exhilarated. I had written down ‘Beginners mind’ on the Gullich when my campusing wasn’t improving and noted to remember to enjoy the process when things felt monotonous. Overall I felt I had a good thing going and I continued to learn more about training and adapted my program to the new information which may or may not have been a good idea. As comp season got closer I got some delayed responses to the questions I asked months ago. In a panic i changed the base of my program once again which was kind of a bad idea. I ended up hurting my shoulder from doing too much of a good thing with a bit too much psych and had to take a step back. So overall i didn’t optimize my training over the last few months with the right equipment or exercises but I did what i could with what i knew. On a positive note i gathered enough information from some solid individuals that for the next round, I will be set. Hopefully with a proper gym with the specific comp style problems.

Rocks. What about them?

Being carless in Font where the boulders are spread out in all directions isn’t as dreamy as it may sound. The typical day is spent waiting for friends to contact me or I contact them. If they climb at a place near to where i stay such as Bas cuvier or Isatis, a pick up is received with gratitude. Otherwise, if they go to a further area where a pick up is a detour (understandable), I sit in a festering slump of pity for a few minutes but then i close my eyes and remember… ahh, BlocAge… Ok. Not all is lost. Breath. Look up. You’re alive.

I will admit at moments it has been complete mental torture especially on the rare sunny crisp days when everything is ripe. Maybe I am an over emotional being but some days, especially the rare sunny days when conditions are crisp and people are trying things that sound like candy and I can’t join them, it feels like my world is falling apart right before my eyes. My freedom to go to A and B has been dismantled. It’s days like these that FORCE me to be positive or the festering slump will swallow me up and take me into its abyss under my own permission. And some days that abyss has succedded. Other days I pop out of it like a fully wound up jack-in-the-box. As Sandra would say: “You’re not dying…” Oh yeah, right…! Respire…!

Dealing with questions from people such as, ‘what are you sending’ or ‘why aren’t you outside’ require me to take a deep breath and resist the urge to lash out in a fury of vain excuses of why I haven’t done anything notable in so long yet I am meant to be some kind of climber who is.. What? Just fine. Trust me. I am serious.

Trail to the Damn Boulders

The spring season is winding down here in Utah, hinting at the hot summer to come, but yet again Joe’s Valley has provided new boulders. . . hell, a new area in fact.  We have dubbed this new area in left fork The Damn Boulders due to the fact that it has an irrigation dam crossing for access to the opposite side of the river.  The interactive map at the top of this site is marked with parking for access to the area, although parking on the road may be the better idea as this is also a single campsite. In Joe’s Valley boulders hide in plain site, blending into the crowd.  Park along the side of the road, stare at the 100′s of boulders on the hillside, and you’ll discover finding a great boulder problem is like playing Where’s Waldo.  The thing about Joe’s is that almost all the boulders have been looked at by a dozen people over the last decade and a half, and hell, some of the new problems have surely been climbed before. . . this just happens. . . but the difficulty of developing boulder problems in Joe’s is not in finding boulders but stopping to climb them instead of searching for more.  I mean what if, just over there, and over there, and across the canyon, and look at that hillside, holy shit do you see that giant boulder, oh man, that one boulder has to have a 4 star line on it. . . lets go check it out.  Wait, what was I saying, oh yeah, the problem I’ve encountered while developing in Joe’s Valley is that I have boulder A.D.D. . . always wanting to check for the next best thing.  Our whole game plan these last few seasons has been to just stop and climb what we find.

The Damn Boulders

The Damn Boulders were introduced to us last fall by Anthony Chertudi.  Anthony had a super project high on the hillside that he graciously wanted to show stong man boy Griffin Whiteside.  Anthony’s The Last Great One Project was a real beauty.  Steep, powerful enduro climbing out a long horizontal roof that climbs some of the best gym sandstone holds around.  Perfect rock has been left behind by years of melting water.  I watched the snow melt while G Biebs, Joe Meiners and Pete Lowe worked the project early on and as the water trickled down the rock it only touched the good black rock, leaving the white rock completely dry.  A few sessions later, in a snow storm I watched Griffyndor nearly slip from the wet lip of the boulder but somehow hold on to establish The Last Great One V13, keeping the project name in respect to Anthony, his vision, and all the work he and his wife did to build an amazing landing.  Great job on this one Griffin.  Paul Robinson got the second ascent a few weeks ago.  See video at bottom for footage of send.

Griffin on The Last Great One V13

Bieber sighting! Sticking the last move on the Last Great One.

Last fall, when we first walked up to look at The Last Great One Project, I found a line of my own on a nearby boulder.  I immediately started cleaning holds and went at fixing the landing a bit.  I’ve found and established lines in Joe’s but nothing that has ever taken root in me.  This time I was hooked, unable to sleep for days, finally driving down in a snow storm to rap and clean the problem as snow flurried around.  Somewhere along the way the problem began to personify my efforts, or thats the way it seemed to feel . . . in reality it was just a rock.  Griffin and Joe recognized my renewed motivation and passion, leaving the first ascent for my taking.

Lonesome Animals Boulder

I will be 32 in a week so maybe they were just respecting their elder, but I truly appreciate it.   It is very difficult to get any first ascents climbing with those young bastards.  The experience grew even more personal thereafter, as I spent 4 sessions alone on that hillside unlocking a perception of movement that I was confined to move within.  When I finally escaped to the top of the boulder and stood alone with the FA behind and below me I was content. . . as always, the joy was fleeting. Happiness came from the process and experience and my excitement grew again only with the idea of sharing what I believe to be one of the best lines in Joe’s Valley. Video of problem at bottom of post.

Lonesome Animals

Close friend and childhood mentor, author Bruce Holbert, recently wrote a book titled Lonesome Animals (I’d reckon you ought to check it out, especially if you enjoy the styles of Cormac McCarthy, Check it out here: Amazon).  It is prefaced with the following John Steinbeck quote:

Quality Alone Time at Lonesome Animals

We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say — and to feel — ”Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought.”

As is typical with my light hearted personality, I had 3 or 4 funny(to me, stupid to you) names to choose from for naming the problem, but as I sat below the problem for one last time, the Steinbeck quote felt real and befitting.  The story was complete but I was alone. . . all that was left was to share it.

Scott Hall on Lonesome Animals V12

After establishing The Last Great One and Lonesome Animals we went to work filling in the gaps and to our surprise, hiding in those gaps were amazing problems of all grades and styles.

The Guppy V7

As you walk up the hillside the first boulder you will come to is The Guppy Boulder.  Here is a great little boulder with an obvious jug start and an anything you can do to get to the top V7 of the same name.  Griffin did this first on our way out one day but this is one of those problems that certainly could have been climbed back in the day.

Wax and Wane V4 Start Holds

The next boulder you will come to, after a steep hill climb, is the Nerf Wall (aka moon wall).  This boulder is tall and uniquely riddled with nerf ball impressions that give it a moonlike texture.

Max Paget climbs Wax or Wane V4

As of writing this there are 5 lines on the Nerf Wall.  I will list them from left to right. On the far left is a sit start problem that climbs up and right to a femur bone jug then to top.  This is Nerf or Nothing (V4).  Wax or Wane (V4) starts sitting on a little boulder with a Euro start of any holds you can reach.  Just to the right of this at standing height is Dark Side of the Moon (V5) (probable FA by Chad Parkinson a few years ago).  This is an amazing problem and possibly the best of the grade in Joe’s Valley.  Perfect holds lead to a sequential committing crux 3/4 the way up the wall.  Thankfully, this problem also has the easiest mantle of them all.

Start holds of Dark Side of the Moon V5 and First Impressions V7

To the right of Dark Side of the Moon is the start of First Impressions (V7).  After Kyle O’meara’s appetizer send of Dark Side of the Moon he had to have more of this wall, and who could blame him. . . and so, he added the beautiful First Impressions up the center of the wall that eventually shares the same top out as Dark Side of the Moon.

Chad Parkinson falls from Kyle O’meara’s First Impressions.

Chad Parkinson says “first impressions that” . . .

There is also a travers that starts on the far left line Nerf or Nothing and links into Dark Side of the Moon called Ballogy (V7) (O’Meara FA).  This problem is a great excuse to use more of the best hold set in Joe’s Valley.

Point Break V8 – Johnny Utah and Bodhi Approve

Point Break (V8) sits right next to the Nerf Wall and is a techy slab climb to a dyno? or big static reach? FA Griffin Whiteside, 2nd Paul Robinson.  Very cool climb.  Utah! Get me two!!!!

Directly above Point Break is a smaller boulder with a sit start V7 called Male Pattern Baldness (V7) (FA Chad Parkinson).  Looks like crap, climbs surprisingly well. . . wait, am I talking about me and my hairline or the boulder problem. . . you can decide.

Chad Parkinson on Pommel Horse V4

Continue up and to the right of MPB boulder to find the Wrecking Ball Dyno (V8) and Pommel Horse (V4) (FA Steven Jeffery).  Wow, these are two amazing boulder problems.  Pommel Horse is quite possibly my favorite V4 in J’s Valley.

CP30 on the airy top out of Pommel Horse

Wrecking Ball Dyno: Holding the swing with the death scream.

The best dyno in Joe’s Valley was found as a joke, by me.  Disclaimer: I dont dyno, in fact, I’ve never done a two hand dyno in my life, no kidding, my nickname has always been Fat Kid Dynos b/c I look like you’d imagine Chunk from the goonies would look if he tried to dyno.  Anyway, I jokingly showed this to Chad, Griffin, Joe, Kyle and Steven Jeffrey. . . b/c there was a jug and then nothing but the top of the boulder arching behind you.  It seemed improbable to them and impossible to me. . . but the team got to work on a landing and two hours later we were literally throwing ourselves at the finish hold.  The video below shows it best, this dyno is about absolute commitment or you could be a wrecking ball.

Adam Healy gets redemption after ripping the original finish jug off and impaling his head with it.

Last fall, when we first checked the Damn Boulders out, I put up a line adjacent the hillside from the Nerf Wall and just down canyon.  See map at top.  This line is Pleasant Valley V7(retro upgrade) and climbs a short powerful roof.  Video and information on this climb can be found in an early post I wrote:  http://climbingcollective.com/2012/12/31/tall/

Bareskin V10 and The Happy Spaniel V6 Starts

Griffin completed another old project in the area.  Just up canyon from the Lonesome Animals boulder was the Two Move Project which is now Bareskin (V10).  This sombitch is tough and a classic example of how strong stupid Griffin is, in fact, he originally called it V9 but I think that’s because he can’t count.  Someone that pretty can’t be good with numbers can they? What, he is an accounting major!? Balls, nevermind.  You’ve all been sandbagged.  Enjoy.  To the right of BareSkin is another Kyle O’meara FA called The Happy Spaniel (V6).  This is beauty of a line and a nice conciliation prize after getting your dick punched on BareSkin.

Kyle O’Meara feeling the grips of BareSkin

Portia Menlove gets a grip on Thintensity

Lets see whats a good segue away from BareSkin.  That’s a hard one.  How about on to the The Trojan Boulder.  Griffin cleaned a few really fun lines on a boulder named after condoms.  Grow up Griffin, oh wait, you are actually growing up right now. Nevermind.  The Trojan Boulder has 3 good sandstone climbs that think they are granite climbs.  All problems start on the same low jug in the middle of the wall.  For Her Pleasure (V5) climbs right on cool slopers and pinches. . . and that’s just the tip, same start and stright up is Thintensity (V5).    The most difficult problem to climax on is Ultra Ribbed (V10), same start then left to the arete and up through some crazy climbing.  FU Griffin, I don’t think I could ever do this one. . . you might be young, smart, strong, and good looking but are you old, balding and washed up?  That’s right, I didn’t think so.  I win.

Just the tip of the Trojan Boulder.

Portia readys herself for the mount as she reaches for the saddle horn.

Portia Menlove added a fun little problem that begs to be climbed simply because of how cool it looks. Rodeo Queen V2

Rodeo Queen V2

Well that’s about it for now. Although, there are still projects to be had up there.  Just around the corner from Lonesome Animals is an obvious project that starts on a jug.  There is also a short black wall straight uphill from Pleasant Valley that I already cleaned for you with a possible hard line on the left side.  This area stays cool on hot days and provides enough problems for a days worth of fun.  I’m headed to Leavenworth for a few weeks but will be back to play here for the rest of May.

Thanks to all those that have helped contribute to this area: matt pincus, steven jeffery, kyle o’meara, joe meiners, chad parkinson, adriana chimaras, serkan ercan, diana jenson, hayden jamieson, anthony chertudi, portia menlove and many more.

I will also be adding a WikiBoulder guide today that can be accessed at the link at the bottom of the post.

LonesomeAnimalGreatOne2nd from Climbing Collective on Vimeo.

The next day I went to drive to the only local Internet spot which I know of, a McDonald’s which is considerably different from the average Mc’d’s in the states. A little cleaner, more upscale but not enough to make me feel guilty for sitting freely in there poaching the internet. Claudia was going to get some good news! But, things didn’t go as planned. After being here for so long and having experienced so many epics, i have come accustomed to the way things work. I make a decision and sometimes, life decides otherwise. That’s OK. I mean, I don’t need the sun to survive. I don’t needddd dry rock. But friends… Hmm. Well yes, friends are nice.

My big red home on wheels decided to pee out of a spot which it shouldn’t be. A long trip to Spain was clearly not in our fortunes and mechanical talk replaced the awkward conversations gaps that are usually filled in by weather updates. Look out the window, it’s raining. Who cares. My van is raining. Again, who really cares. I am not quite sure if I cared. Besides, one never knows what is good or bad for them until later.

At the mechanics, the keeper who was a somewhat overweight man stared at me in his dirty overalls with the kind of stare that makes you feel 2 feet tall. I tried to brush it off and continued my one way conversation in broken french about my mechanical symptoms for what seemed like an eternity. He finally admitted after ten awkward minutes that he wasn’t the mechanic and the real mechanics wouldn’t be there until Wednesday. I wondered what was up with the dirty overalls and why he didn’t kick me out earlier. This started some kind of vicious cycle with other mechanics who I visited and I have concluded that french mechanics either don’t want to work, don’t like strange red vans littered with pine cones and lapis brushes or maybe, just maybe, they don’t understand British made vehicles that behold french engines. Eventually I gave up and fortunately, after a month, the leaking subsided to a mere dribble but I was not trusting the road worthiness of my van anymore and so we were to stay put in Font for the cold and wet winter.

December. I became accustomed to following random people around the boulders similar to how a cat chases a mouse. After some time I met some cool locals who became the sort of friends that you might actually hang out. Unfortunately it seemed as fast as they had entered my life, they disappeared just as quickly. Not remembering anything that I did that would be considered offensive I decided to not take this one personal. People come and go and then,well, we die.

Event after event stirred a mental struggle between wanting to stay and wanting the comforts of home and friends. At this point, spending the apocalypse and Christmas alone, seemed unbearable. This proved to be my hardest time in Europe. Ditching the van and the European dream seemed more inviting than all the sandstone boulders that Font could have offered. But somehow, barely, Font won. We stayed. And thankfully, things only got better.

It was now very cold, very wet and I was getting warnings from older french ladies about a killer that was nearby that had tied some poor girl to a tree and well, must i go on? That shit is bad for the soul to hear. I smiled politely as they spoke and watched them as they acted out the drama. I thanked them for caring and promised that I would not let any strange men into my van. I continued my day with a smile on my face, not because they gave me a huge bag of Kinder chocolate bars, but because they reminded me the kind of old ladies who say that type of thing that i have encountered throughout my whole life. Sure bad things happen but I am not about to start living with a mask of fear over me.

But there is a bit of truth in everything and in the end part of me listened and of course, part of me didn’t.  I decided to change up my camping spot a bit more and one evening I stayed in a new spot. It could have been the heavy rainfall that made the atmosphere just plain spooky but something didn’t feel quite right. Sure enough, as I was delaying going to bed a random car pulled up: a man walking his dog. I immediately felt fear run through my veins for unknown reasons and i searched for all tools of defence that i had nearby. Knife, check. Heavy frying pan, check. Yes i am prepared..! Minutes later i hear the scuffling of feet outside my van and then a quiet knock. Shit… what did i get myself into…! He said hello and sitting as confidently as I could, i responded in the deepest voice possible, ‘hello’ followed by a rude, ‘what do you want?’ After staring at each other for a few minutes through a foggy window eventually he cowered away. I guess he couldn’t tell how tall I really was. Minutes later he drove off. Quickly after that, so did I, thankful to be OK.

January came around bringing with it more cold, snow and ice. It was freaking freezing. It felt like Montreal. It was so cold that the fuel in my stove, my main source of heat had turned to slush and failed to work. Days started late and ended early as the suns appearance was just that. We spent our days walking through the leaf covered forest and later huddled at the Fontainebleau library or at Bloc Age which became my place to go.

Bloc Age is a local co-op style gym which became my second home outside of my van. It had heat, water, dry holds. It is the kind of place where everyone knows your name and that brings a smile to my face the moment I enter. In the beginning I was known as the Canadian but now i am known as Thomasina which feels rather welcoming. There is a feeling of a second family. It’s small but packed with psyched and motivated climbers who support each other, something which I yearned. And it has Farid. Farid has a smile that reaches ear to ear and he climbs and plays a game of memory like a zen monk. He is surely one of my most favourite people of all existence. Sure playing favourites isn’t cool, but come on, its Farid. Magic Farid. “Do you know coffee?”…

And then there is Fred and Sandra. Fred is the El President du Bloc Age and a known legend in these parts. He’s cool enough to let a Canadian like myself buy a membership to their french co-op, looks pretty good for an old guy and wears some pretty dank dancing shoes. Sandra is owner of Gite Arbonne which is a gite beyond perfection nestled amidst trees, singing birds and has an aura of permanent love and acceptance within all of its pyramids. I don’t know how else to describe this place which has become a home away from home for more than just myself.

Sandra is a petite, beautiful woman with a wild array of dark curls that that alternate between being tightly braided alongside her head or propped up in a wild bun with random bits hanging out gently from the sides. When her dark smiling eyes look at you they bring with them a feeling of love free from all judgements. She is the one to blame for my still being here, otherwise a plane ride would of been mine long ago. We received a text from her on one of the coldest days in January that urged us to come to her house because it was too cold outside. That was the middle of January and currently it is March and we are… still here. The winter was long and my recurring questions of leaving were brushed off with ‘no, stay. if it isn’t you, it will be someone else and you are perfect.’ These are the kind of words that would make anyone feel welcomed. So the next few months our European lives improved drastically. The once dominating thoughts of leaving subsided to a mere whisper. Cedar has the 4 girls of Sandra to play with and is learning french. Christine, Sandra’s mom who the kids call Kiki, has since become my Kiki as well.

As it got warmer, thoughts of returning to van life entered. As much as I love living with my adoptive family, it is their house and surely it isn’t cool to stay here much longer. It was around this time that my big red van decided to take a final plunge towards eternal death. While blue, black and grey smoke sputtered through the exhaust, the motor decided to run in a sort of unreliable cutting out sort of fashion. Every attempt to drive it ended up in some sort of adventure that I was pretty tired of. To fix it would be the price of 2 plane tickets and so the dilemma to stay or go reentered my thoughts. The good weather was about to come here as were the World Cups which I had wanted to do. To leave without having had a chance to climb much outside seemed almost too sad a story to fulfil as did passing up the chances to do the World Cups, something which was drifting from my thoughts before they had even started. But reality was knocking at my shoulder. I hadn’t gotten permission to compete yet. I couldn’t go climb as I wanted because my van was dead. How was I to buy a new van when my bank account was in the negative. My feelings fluctuated between despair and a baseline of acceptance.

One morning I was having a bit of a hard day and was in a bit of a foul mood mainly because of the situation with van and not having the freedom to climb where and when I wanted. As i looked at Sandra I apologized for my crankiness and she looked at me with the deepest respect and said in her sexy french accent, “I know who you are” with a gentle smile that reassured all insecurities inside of me.

So the past few months, rather, my whole European stay has given to me many opportunities to be free of the chains of unhappiness, stress and self loathing when things don’t go my way. This freedom is more powerful than any send because it’s liberating and only becomes stronger with more and more practice. Some days accepting what comes is easier than not. I can shrug it off, breath and keep walking or I may drown in it. In the end it is up to only me.

So, despite my dead van and the inability to climb where and when I want, I am truly grateful for my stay here. Sandra and BlocAge have been my saving graces beyond imagine. I didn’t buy a plane ticket home yesterday nor did i buy one today. Even though some people have told me that I am the most unrealistic person they know, I don’t care. I may not have any money. I may not have a car. I may not have a way to get to the competitions that I signed up for. But… I am not ready to stop.  I got ideals. And in my back pocket there is a some kind of dream. And those dreams are powered by some sort of faith in something that I know nothing about but fully trust. And the more i distress from everyday events and random “reality” checks, my life improves. I breathe, I relax. I can look up and see the trees touching the sky. I hear the birds talking. And those birds sing a song to me that says keep on truckin’ and keep on trusting. I ain’t lookin’ for some gold medal but I am looking to strengthen that little ball inside that is OK with things just as they are, climbing or no climbing, friends, or no friends, car or no  car. I ain’t worried. In the reality that exist outside of the head, life is pretty dang good.

Getting pumped after a couple of swings

Hammer Time

When I discussed this goal of mine with some friends at work,  the response was positive.  I was instantly surrounded by three eager climbers, rubbing their sweating hands, rattling off names of climbs with sketchy anchors.  A couple of co-workers had already spent a bit of time replacing anchors and they promised to take me under their wing and show me how to safely reach my goal.  It was decided that over the next few months the four of us would go to several crags on our common goal of making Yosemite climbs a little bit safer.  John, the elder statesmen, was most familiar with the valley (after climbing there for multiple decades) and was most useful in picking good, but underused, climbs which were the most likely to not have the newest hardware on them.  We would all meet up in the morning (since we all work at night) and head out to the predetermined area.  After leading the target climb one of us would get to work while the others did some of the nearby climbs.  Sometimes we’d set up fixed lines in order to mini-traxion the better climbs over and over.  In this way we could rotate between bolting and climbing, making it a nice mix of work and play.

An old bird nest of webbing serving as an anchor/rappel

Ryan taking a swing while John cleans out the bird nest

Who climbs with bottles of beer in their chalkbag?

Much better!

While we may never know if our efforts have made any difference at all, it was clear from the beginning that there were safety concerns with many of the anchors.  Our first endeavor lead us to a conglomerate of faded slings and tat that was deteriorating before our eyes.  The anchor was a fixed nut and a fixed hex backing up a slung chock stone.  When we cut away all of the old, worn webbing from the chock stone, we ended up pulling out the chock stone itself! The only thing holding the rock in place was the nest of webbing.

A couple of old button heads with webbing

Heavy metal

A broken chisel used to remove old bolts. Time for an upgrade in our equipment.

The tuning fork is a much easier way to remove old bolts.

Out with the old, in with the new

Shitty

The shit!

sketchball

so damn pretty!

The time between my last post seems so long ago as much as happened and yet nothing of great importance at the same time. I left Italy after Arco, went to Paris for the World Championships, went to Germany for a brief taste of the Frankenjura, saw a bit of Cresiano, embraced the American culture found scattered around Germany and eventually returned to Font. So since it has been so long since my last post… I decided to write something as brief as brief can be about the time between Arco and Christmas… Getting the ball rolling on these things is a bit of a chore sometimes but once it is going my thoughts seem to work like a spider web. Many writing ideas evolve out of the random events of my life and I realized in the middle of the night after stirring from a dream where I was drowning, that indeed, I do have some things that I could talk about. All the better since no one can talk back. And so, on with the post…

photo credit //  thomo

One sunny day, unlike any other fine sunny day (because really – each day is quite different from the next), I arrived in Fontainebleau after having driven a long 11 hours in terms of European standards. Originally I was on the way to Paris for the Climbing World Championships but there was a sign on the road which summoned a detour for me. An hour later, instead of climbing the coloured problems at some random Paris climbing gym, I was juggling my time between the orange, blue and red circuits in the forest of Fontainebleau.

photo credit //  thomo

There isn’t much to say about the Paris comp. I didn’t realize they were such a big deal until after the fact. People train years for this event. Years! I won’t say out of embarrassment how much I trained but it did teach me a few things. Some highlights to keep it simple: Tonde, Kelly and the Canadians, adventures through the city and watching some of the best climbers in action. As for my climbing, I made some errors to learn from but I also felt pretty focused thanks to Tondes advice: ‘Be decisive and listen to the right voices.’ Something which could be remembered any time of day really. Watching Cecile and Jain Kim climb throughout the event was motivating. They both inspire me for various reasons but one common thread is because they are so short yet they can still do these big moves that even stumped the taller girls. But anyway…enough about that.

In a blink of an eye Paris bercy is over. After a sweet day in Font with Kelly and Ajo i am left alone to ponder my next move. The most logical stop would be to just stop. And so i did. My shoulder was achy and the advice of many rang through my head and this time, I decided to take it. So Cedar and I headed to England for some time off climbing. A whole two weeks. I was going to do it no matter what. I considered it a project and i was going to send.

The time off in England was easy. Visiting friends, touring London. London is full of museums of all sorts and sizes, some which take up city blocks and days to explore. But the best thing? They are all free! Freaking free! Proudly sponsored by the freaking British Lottery. We rode the old cities buses and trams and lost ourselves over and over again. By the time my bus pass had expired we finally absorbed all we could that was British. The queen, the stand still guards, the hords of tourist and marmite. The sun was shining and the pull to return to France was strong. With one week left of rest I questioned if it was wise to return with such nice weather and such tempting rock but as I said, the pull was strong. Besides, I could run, spot Cedar, stretch…

Being in Font with the sun and not climbing was a taste of mental torture. But the thought of spending time in Paris was less than enticing. Besides, being surrounded by trees and fresh air was why I returned to France and so I decided to embrace this rest week instead of think about the climbing that I wasn’t doing. I mean, really, there is more to life than climbing. While Cedar climbed, I spotted and used the nearby trees to stretch my shoulders. I got to know the trails close to camp, the bakery that sold the worlds most delicious flan as well as spent some time doing nothing which is in itself a great healer. Some Spaniards were befriended along with some Germans. Before I knew it the week was over. I had spent the whole sunny week successfully resting in Font and my body thanked me.

Two days of climbing were in my fortune followed by many days of intense rain drops. The fall had quickly decided to set in. I found a small gym to climb at for two days which helped my efforts to wait it out but the rain continued and I was the last one standing at camp. The time came for us to leave. What we did between then and Christmas is a slight blur. What have i done? Some time spent here, other time spent there… A few scattered weeks in Germany, a small taste of the Frankenjura, some rain, some snow, a couple of US military base thrown in between. A long snowy drive to Tichino which became a lesson in never doubt your intuition. Perhaps the most unsuccessful ‘climbing’ trip ever which I was reluctant to go on but: a promise is a promise. It basically consisted of 3 or 4 warm ups, partners bailing, a touch of malaise and finally a good dose of heavy rain. Drop. Drop. Drop. The noise of rain on my tin roof was like pouring salt into an open wound. Always trust your intuition. Always…

But, to be optimistic, had i not gone, this lesson would not have been ingrained into my very being. And i would not be where I am today which is, back in Font…

I realized in the middle of the night after stirring from a dream where i was drowning that indeed, I do have somethings i could talk about. More to come, sooner than later. I got Sandra keeping an eye…

Is it a dream or reality?  It is unknown, but my pelvic area is convulsing and there is some rigor mortis thrown in as well.  Slowly I come out of my hypnagogic state and realize I have gone through another pair of underpants.   The day before I had tried very hard on a boulder which produced too much testosterone.  Trying hard has its price, and that price is paid in many loads of wash.

Hueco is full of females who stay the whole season from November to mid March and their faces are becoming very strange looking.   All of their trying hard is transferring the hair from the top of their head to their face.  As seen in this climber who just tried very hard and summoned a dangerous dose of testosterone on D esperanza.

Increased testosterone can lead to an increased sex drive and impulsiveness.  Satisfying this urge can be incredibly difficult with all the dirtbag climbers in Hueco.  Showers cost a pretty penny and with a large portion of your funds being spent at the laundry mat washing crusty underpants a shower may be put on the back burner.  The repulsive odor of climbers and increased impulsiveness can lead to dangerous substitutes as shown in the picture below.

            The final danger of too much testosterone is escalated aggression and irritation.  I was climbing on the famous Martini Roof all by myself.  As the day progressed people began to show up until there were around twenty people.  With each burn I summoned more testosterone and with each additional person entering martini roof my aggression grew as well.  This caused my body to rumble with rage.   A kid walked to the start of the boulder problem I was trying with his sweaty unchalked hands and slippers on his feet.  He grabbed the crux holds, placed his dirt-crusted slippers on the footholds and attempted the move.  I lashed out and said, “put some chalk on before you grab those holds!”  He was taken back and was obviously ignorant to common bouldering etiquette.   His friend replied, “can you ask nicely?”  I retorted “its common courtesy!”  I thought I was going to get into a fight over someone touching a rock.  If this progressed I would most likely end up with multiple black eyes and a few forced rest days in Hueco Tanks, which is hell on earth.

Trying hard is dangerous due to the side effect of excessive amounts of testosterone.  As a wannabe nurse with no medical knowledge or authority I would advise you to only try hard when necessary or if you would like to get into cactus fucking.

WARNING: All the content above may be misleading and written in false context. Except the part about how men are the superior race.

Arco was an epic; getting there and leaving… Google maps said it was a 4 hour drive from Munich. It should be noted on the site that this is tallied at driving euro speeds. Leaving Munich at 5 pm hoping to arrive before ten we ended up pulling into Arco at 2:30am wide eyed and  bushy tailed. After spending what seemed like hours circling around looking for the next “this way to arco” sign in a downpour our driving was slow and slower. With no idea if the comp was even going ahead due to the massive amounts of rain falling from the heavens I hoped it was cancelled so that I would at least have time to figure out where I was meant to be in 6 hours time.

After pushing the snooze button one to many times, I reluctantly awoke at 9 am which was 15 minutes after isolation closed. Wondering why the hell I even bothered coming I cursed my tardiness, the lack of road signs and my  seemingly chronic inability  to be organized a bit better. Meanwhile, I thanked the rain which hopefully put the comp off long enough so that I could get my ass to it.

Unfortunately  the comp was not cancelled yet fortunately it was delayed. Some sleep and time to mentally prepare would have been of great assistance. I arrived just in time to hear tim announce the new start time and to hear people tell me that they had been looking for me for the last 3 days. I guess my withdrawal from the rope event was not finalized…!

All the stress that I had created was pointless as always. I re-told myself, see? things usually work out and even if it didn’t, does it really matter? No of course not and getting worked up about it is about as pointless as trying to control them. Cedar and I headed back to the van, ate some quick breakfast and prepared for some groggy warm up.

The comp itself was rather relaxed even with many top European climbers on the same wall as I. My mental status was not prepared for this comp to say the least. The chaos from trying to get there and the morning rush had not given my head the chance to enter comp mode. I tried as best I could but my focus was a mile away.

Despite that, I did have fun. The format was 8 problems in 90 minutes with lots of paper towel near by to dry one shoes from the puddles forming on the mats. The problems were hard. Harder than the two world cups that I had been to but really well set. Technical, very powerful, dynamic, and  confusing. I was inspired but the strength of the other women there and wondered what the hell was with the Russians.  Was it the water? How do they train? The Russian girl Olga was the only one to have  done 7 of the 8 problems with very impressive style. The most sent after her was 4, then 3. To make it to next event one had to do 2 problems fast. I did one and a bonus which was a little disappointing. Though the problems were hard, they weren’t impossible and wishful thinking makes me wonder if i had summoned my grrr from the start well… perhaps that would of been most helpful. Maybe there are benefits to isolation format after all, at least for me as I feel I have more focus with that format.

And with that over and the continuing rain we made a small tour of the beautiful town while cedar ate a cone of gelato bigger than her head. Finally, we headed to paris.
Well, at least we tried. First I ran out of gas. As my van chugged and sputtered its last breaths over the narrow mountain road,  i drove very slowly hoping to make it to the next town while trying to piss off the already impatient  Italians who were honking their horns at a rate faster than I was driving.

Luck had me come to a rolling stop in front of a gas station which was just about to close. I pointed to my van which was at that point blocking traffic and he laughed at me and handed me a half full Jerry can. Thank you!

When in Italy, eat spaghetti. We stopped at a cute town just before entering Austria and ate the most delicious plate of pasta and tomato sauce. how do they make something so simple taste like a bit of heaven?

Returning to the van with full bellies prepared for a long drive I found a dead battery or so was thought. I waved down the right couple. They tried to jump start my van while telling me about their cousin who lived in Canada. Unfortunately, the boost was useless. Fortunately they happened to know the mechanic who’s house I had ironically broken down in front of and who just happened to walk by. The next morning, on his day off, Christian came to my van dressed in green overalls and diagnosed it’s illness as the starter. Then he said in broken english that it was the engine. Very bad. A few tests later he discovered it was just a loose connection. Handing over a sweet fifty euros I thanked him for his kindness and time and thanked the universe that I didn’t have to abandon my van for a tent and long bus rides. We happily waved good bye to him and the local fat orange cat and eagerly drove north.

Paris, here we come!

This little genius is saving mouth energy with a half smile in anticipation of the hours of deliciousness that are to ensue.  

Three days of bouldering in Hueco is great, and, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful but it’s like craving a footlong hotdog and getting a lil’ smokie.  It’s still delicious but you would prefer more girth and 11 more inches.  Wait, what?

Where was I, oh yeah, like eating a lil’ smokie there are no regrets, only an insatiable desire for more.  More, more, more.  More time, more chances to send.  If only, if only.  I totally would have sent that if I had more time.

Someday I hope to spend a few weeks to a month in Hueco. . . but I doubt that will happen.  So, I’ll continue quick trips every winter and continue to slowly tick off my life list 1 or 2 problems at a time.

Waiting to get on North Mtn can suck but sometimes the down time is productive.  The following video shows amazing Beta for El Techo de los Tres that I got from Mike Personick while waiting to get on North Mountain one day.  Thanks Mike!

El Techo de los tres B, V11 Hueco Tanks from Scott Hall on Vimeo.

I traveled with Portia Menlove and Serkan “Seko” Ercan.  Seko is a talented climber and a recent tansplant to SLC from Turkey.  A great guy and a better climber/setter, Seko was full of positive energy and stoked at the idea of climbing problems he has dreamt about since his youth.  Below is a video of the Turkish Tickler quickly crushing Loaded Direct.

Serkan Ercan, Loaded Direct. Hueco Tanks from Scott Hall on Vimeo.

The gallery below highlights our trip, while browsing through the pics just imagine Green Day’s Time of Your Life playing like it is a high school graduation slide show. One other note, new Collective contributor Nik Berry crushed Diaphanous Sea.  As a very accomplished trad climber it was impressive to see him put his energy into such a powerful boulder problem and realize his potential.  See what a try hard (not to shit your pants) face looks like in the photos of him, take notes, apply through practice then crush boulders while not shitting.

Portia Menlove climbs C#

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Nik Berry climbing Diaphanous Sea

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Seko with the quick crush of Power of Silence

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Nik Berry climbing Diaphanous Sea. Also Not Pooping

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Nik Berry, Diaphanous Sea

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Seko sending Power of Silence

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Nik Berry, Diaphanous Sea

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Nik Berry, Diaphanous Sea

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Crapping or Sending?

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Seko climbing Loaded Direct

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Portia Menlove

photo credit //  Scott Hall

Seko sending Power of Silence

photo credit //  Scott Hall

My spirit was in need of the type of revival that only fresh air, rock and good people could quench. The slovenians had invited us to join them in silvretta, an irresistible invite. As we drove between mountain and sky, thoughts of friends and boulders ran through my mind. 

Our greeting was a Spanish couple with smiles that extended from one ear to the other. They were as puzzled as i was as for knowing if we were at the right parking spot for silvretta but the near by vans littered with climbing pornography confirmed that for us.

Real Rock!

My soul felt immediately rejuvenated. i was outside facing a view of mountains which were swimming in wild flowers.  Someone had not only talked to me; the first time in a while but they even invited us to climb with them… Sounds rather a normal situation  in the climbing scene in america but given where i was and my last 2 months,  i was rather taken back.  Part of me felt at home and so relaxed that my skin felt as though it were hanging off me. For the next day we hiked and climbed to our hearts delight. Surrounded by  blue skies, fresh air, boulders and finally a nice, welcoming and supportive crew of climbers: well, it had been a while…!

Picking wild flowers

The history and reputation of the germans is something that they do not live up to. On the contrary, Germans proved to be the more outgoing of the Europeans that I had been around. I felt as if I had left Europe somehow. Not only had i finally found a good gym to climb at but the people there had actually talked to me and made me feel really welcome. Don’t take me wrong; it isn’t that euros aren’t nice or friendly. To quote a European on the topic: ” we just aren’t that social or open as the climbers in America”. The gist of the culture is weaving its way through me though I am rare to admit that it is an easy process.

Not so random germans floating down the river…

The next two weeks in Munich provided me with a motivated and supportive crew to be around.  Canadians seb and zombie came a couple days early and we touristed the town, danced down cobbled streets lined with golden bricks and experienced the best ice cream in the world lather our mouths with pure goodness. I met a wonderful couple at the local park who left their mark as well as an unwelcome visiter who robbed me of all valuables that my van sheltered. Letting go of certain material goods is usually not a problem for me as I say, certain. But the disappearance of my camera was a hard lesson in letting go of what was mine and what it represented for me: a creative outlet, an expression of what i see and a source of income. At this point getting another camera seems next to impossible,  but its loss was a good lesson. Letting go of ‘things’ can make room for other ideas, outlets and efforts.  

Finally, a great gym!

The comp itself was interesting. Being the last climber out, I endured and survived a very long 7 hours in iso which gave me more time to pick the lint off the couch and warm up several times. Knowing the crowd would shrink by the time i was out, there was plenty of time left to sooth out any nervousness. That said, not being nervous didn’t prevent me from making a lot of mistakes to learn from but overall I enjoyed it and left feeling that the problems were doable…I just needed to be more prepared and climb smarter… aaahhhh!

The French coach whom I had met years ago in Hueco told me with his French accent, ‘oh yes, many mistakes. You climb too static, not aggressive enough, you know- it’s from climbing so much outside.’ One thing I find hard with the transit is changing my style to suit the plastic world. It slowly creeks through me, unwilling to move or adapt despite all my efforts. It is not like I want to change it. I just see it as a mold that I would like to add to, shape and configure into what is needed for the given moment.Watching semis was exciting as I cheered on doro a friend I had met in hueco 3 years ago and who has thankfully appeared in my life again. It is nice to have some nice people in my life especially in these situations. i had not watched myself climb in a comp before likely because i haven’t yet mastered outer body experiences, which come to think of it, would be quite handy as one could see what errs are being made as well as remove the over thinking head from the equation and let the knowing body do the work. Watching some of the taped qualifiers to see how I really did despite all hopeful beliefs was the next best option. It was interesting to see that i didn’t do as bad as imagination and memory recalls and even nicer to see that everyone makes mistakes… even the top guns.  : )

A reason to return..!