We've been waiting for this day since last November when we stopped all outdoor activities and committed ourselves to the gym. That decision was a mistake, however, I say this because we almost jumped the gun. Earlier in the week the forecast said that Saturday would host 60-degree temps, and we committed ourselves to All that I can see on the forecast for Saturday is a big fat shining sun, so in my eyes, I can't see any problems with that. And 50 is more that than 40 or 30, as far as I know. Besides, I betcha Jello has already been doing at least 10 outdoor Those were the fighting words I needed to hear, and I'm glad I heard them. We As you can see from some of the pictures, the crowd was light, but strong enough so that every route had a rope. None of us had to to queue all day, Well, we stayed just about all day, and that was fine with me. I got a little burned today, but that's OK. I'm happy we made it outside for the first time in 2007. Here's hoping we get more in between now and next winter.
as we watched December and January temperatures soar into the 60's before plummeting sometime around January 15th. An extra two months of outdoor climbing went down the drain, much to our dismay. It was a mistake we yearned to make right by wishing, 
hoping and praying for spring to sprout up earlier than it has in past years. Our wishes were starting to come true as warm weather has been gaining ground the past few weeks. The only problem is that it has always fallen on a weekday, thus keeping us inside just that much longer. Finally, the weather gods blessed us with our first Saturday with sunshine and warm temps. We sensed the on-coming excitement boiling in our blood. We committed ourselves to climbing outside, and we never (almost) looked back.
going outside. But as the week drew on, the forecasts changed enough so that the warm 
weather was supposed to hit a day early on Friday, leaving Saturday with temps that might jump up to 50 degrees, but would probably stay in the high 40's. I admit it. I wavered. The thought of climbing in 40-degree weather made my fingers curl. My extremities have always been susceptible to cold weather, being the last body parts to warm up and stay warmed up. Grasping quarry edges with my hands while toeing over-polished footholds that could give out at any moment did not sound exciting to me. But then I received this e-mail to my climber's group -
climbs already this season, wherever he roams these days :D So I am in for Gloucester (or anywhere under the sun). But I know I might have to succumb to the gym-rat crowd.
decided on hitting Quincy Quarry at 11am, hoping that it wouldn't be overcrowded by then and hoping that enough people were there with ropes already set up so we could climb everything under the sun. And the sun was there to provide support. I love this place. It may have graffiti, I-93 and young, under-age, 
drunk punks hanging out after dark during the summer (seeing 15-16 year-olds walking across the field with a case of Pabst under each arm is not unusual), but the quarry walls cast all that aside. Noise travels horrendously within the confines of the quarry. It's almost as if one is out in the wilderness and not a single soul is there to keep the climber from going up peacefully.
and we all felt strong; getting to the top cleanly on most climbs. This is an amazing feat to consider. For one, few people climb better outside than inside, and that is especially true the first time outside (there's just too many obstacles - no more 
marked routes, the fear of falling, the element of wind and real rock, the notion that the gear may fail, etc). But also because Quincy Quarry is notoriously sandbagged. The routes are harder than graded, so much so that it wouldn't surprise me to see a 5.8 at QQ really be a 5.10 or harder. The reason
for this is because the rock has become overly polished over the years. There is one 5.6 that has a near 5.10b/c start, and right next to it is a 5.10 route with a 5.12 start - all created due to the constant flow of rubber on the granite. I personally think this is a testament to really working on technique inside over the winter. 
Speaking for myself, I was able to hold moves better than I was last fall when I just starting to climb well at QQ. I guess I've taken the leap forward. That makes me pretty darn happy.
Monday, April 02, 2007
The First Day Outside in 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Missing Out - Part II - Fiction from the MetroRock Newsletter
She turned back toward the route and John thought, Hey, not only does she climb, but we share something in common too. Everything seemed to be falling into place, even though he didn't plan anything. Cassandra dumped him three weeks ago and he was given a few weeks to compose himself and move on. He hadn't tried to talk to Angel at all, yet there she was preparing to climb above his belay. Even when they first locked eyes, John thought it was nothing more than an awkward moment. He wasn't looking for romance, but it seemed to have found him anyway. The fact that her name was "Angel" was starting to sit well with him too. Maybe it is divine intervention. Maybe this was meant to be after all. Before she jumped on the first hand holds, she began to sing the opening lyrics to the song:
"Go, go, go,
Go, go, go - Push him away!
No, no, no,
No, no, no - Don't let him stay!"
Start of Part II
Before John could even begin to enjoy watching her climb, he heard the clank of the top anchors clip shut and saw her hanging from the top waiting for him to take the rope. When her feet touched back down on the ground, he looked at her and said, "That was quick."
"Thanks," she said as she untied her rope. Her breath was heavier than before, and she seemed to be warmed up now, maybe even ready to jump on harder climbs. I guess I have to get on the same page now, he thought and nervously tied in. He scoped out the route with his hands, as Angel had before him, grasping the invisible holds above. Angel warned him about a sloper just above the roof. "It's OK from below, but it loses it's effectiveness once you get high on it. I think you'll have to get your feet up first to get past it."
"What's the one above it like?"
"Good," she said. "Not great, but good."
Just as John was about to start up the route, a loud “HELLO” shouted across the gym. He looked up and saw a tall, thin, tanned man walking toward Angel with his arms outstretched, apparently waiting for a hug. She smiled, turned to her friend and gave him a strong, longing squeeze followed by a peck on the cheek.
“How are ya babe?” he asked as he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Fine, and you?”
“Just jolly. You ready to climb?”
“I am, but I have a partner right now. Are you ready to climb?”
“Not yet, babe,” he said and turned to John. He extended his hand and asked with a huge smile, “And who is this?”
“John,” John said shaking his hand. “John Knowles, and you?”
“Phineas Costello,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
Phineas Costello? Interesting name. “Are you going to join us?” John asked. He hoped Angel and Phineas were just friends, close enough to share “European” kisses on the cheek but not much more.
“Join? This is my girl,” Phineas said, again walking up to Angel and hugging her. “You’re joining us.”
“Phineas,” Angel said, “stop. Be nice. We can climb together.”
“Yes we can my angel, but I need to stretch first, and drink some water, and use the bathroom, stink up the place –”
“OK,” Angel said as she pushed him away. “We got the point. Go get ready.”
Phineas walked away with a bounce in his step that suggested he enjoyed being provincial around Angel. He acted as if he knew she was his girlfriend, and that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. John was disappointed, however. Up until that moment he had harbored strong feelings that this was the right time to jump back into the game. Everything seemed to fit together so perfectly: her name, her timing, her mannerisms and ability to show believable, kind support, things that Cassandra rarely exhibited. Almost instantly, his nervousness was swept away by a fierce wave of competitiveness, but it wasn’t aimed at Angel at all. Instead, it was aimed at both Phineas and Cassandra at the same time. For Cassandra, he wanted to prove he could overcome setbacks such as this. He was foolish to have thought this would be easy, that someone would walk into his life and sweep him off his feet without him going through the lengthy pains of a breakup. He should have known better, but that only deepened his resolve to not give up. Angel was nice, pretty and desirable. She wasn’t unworthy of his wooing, and he wanted her to know that.
For Phineas, well, John had always had a chip on his shoulder regarding larger-than-life figures. He wanted to be the star himself, but at the same time he never had the capability of holding on to such high ground. There were times when he had everything going at a party, when he had all the great stories, good jokes and one-line zingers that sent crowds of people into fits of laughter. But he always felt lonely at the same time, as if everyone expected him to lead the way, offering no support or advice from below. And when he disappointed, when his jokes ran out, people typically shunned him. But for people like Phineas, they got away with failure all the time. There was something about them that made everyone want to give people like him a free pass. It was as if talent had no expectations, but expectations were high for the untalented like John. In short, he simply couldn’t handle being that guy, and he envied those who could. Not only was Phineas one of those guys, but he was also Angel’s boyfriend, and that generated a roar inside John more vicious than the one he had when he first saw Cassandra climbing with her new beau.
“You ready?” he asked as he grasped the first two holds.
“Belay is on,” she said. “Good luck.”
Luck will have nothing to do with it, he thought as he powered his way through the start move into a tiny crimp hold that nearly sapped all of John’s forearm strength. He held on, however, and swung his feet up to the original starting hand-holds before standing up in a no-hands rest.
“Nice move,” Angel said from below. “I could never do that.”
Maybe I’ve got something to show her after all. The next section was short but steep, as a small roof protruded from the flat wall over his head. A series of underclings awaited him, and then there was the sloper she warned him about prior to his starting the climb. He grasped the first undercling with his left hand and shifted his feet higher to better utilize the angle of the hold. It was a stiff move, but he shot through it feeling strong for the first time that day. The second undercling was not as difficult because the feet were better, but the third and final one, the one leading to the sloper, required a shift in balance that John was not expecting. He stood up and grabbed the third undercling with his left hand, felt around for the best angle and decided it was too difficult for him to continue without scouting it first. He wanted to be able to switch hands on the second undercling because he felt the third one would work better with his right hand.
“Take,” he said as he began to lower his body off the hold.
“Uh, John,” Angel said, “you didn’t clip the first clip. Sorry, I thought you were going to before you went into the next hold.”
What?!?!? Jesus! His feet were now a solid seven feet above the floor, and his head and back were angled in such a way that if he fell he was certain to land on his back if he couldn’t get his feet under him first. Sweat formed again on his right palm, which was still holding the second undercling, the one he was going to have to retreat to if he wanted to clip.
“If you want to bail,” Angel said, “I’ll spot you.”
There was no way he was going to bail. Not when he heard Phineas walk back up to Angel and ask, “What’s his problem?”
John slowly lowered himself from the third undercling to the second where he shook out his hands, switched a couple of times to chalk up and then clipped the first clip. He was tired, his arms were pumped and he could feel his leg begin to shake underneath him.
“I’ve got you now,” Angel said as she pulled the rope tight. John nearly let go to rest until he heard Phineas say to Angel, “Is he really going to rest on the first clip of a 5.10?”
All at once, his rage ignited a fire in his chest and he threw himself into the third undercling, let his body barn-door and slapped his hand on the sloper above the roof. After clipping the second clip, he remembered Angel’s warning about having to get his feet up before moving past the sloper, but he ignored her. He was going to do this his way, to show Phineas, at the very least, he was his own man, capable of climbing a stiff route and being a threat to his relationship with Angel at the same time. It was a powerful move that required him to turn a two-handed mantle with solid feet into a one-handed mantle with no feet below him. The next hold was another crimp, similar to the one at the start, and he tucked his fingertips behind the tiny edge as he matched his right foot to his hand on the sloper. He stood up and clipped the third clip.
“Wow,” Angel said from below. “That was a really nice move.”
“Wasted some energy there,” Phineas said, “but you did it.”
“I had to get my feet up,” Angel said to Phineas.
“I can see that being the right move,” Phineas said.
It was amazing to John how tired and energized he felt at the same time. He wasn’t sure how long he would last if he held the crimp forever, but it seemed as if he could hold it for a long time. His fingers, shoulders and legs were tired and he had broken out into a sweat. But his heart was calm now, not racing as it was earlier. His head was clear of distractions, and his only goal was to show up Phineas and make him feel inadequate. The next five moves to through the fourth clip and to the top were slow and easy, and John crept up them without any annoying comments from below. When he was finally back on the ground, Angel congratulated him yet again on another solid climb. This time, however, there was a level of excitement in her voice, and her face suggested she was truly excited to see him succeed so well. Gone were the polite pick-me-ups from before, and John felt as if he had finally broken through to her. Phineas seemed less thrilled, and offered to belay Angel before John even had a chance to untie the rope.
“I have to wait for the rope,” she said with a half-giggle in her voice. It was clear she was amused by his territorialism, but was also telling him to be kind at the same time.
“Top rope something,” he said. “Over here, there’s a new eleven just put up last night. I’ll lead it after you top it.”
“Don’t you want to climb something?” she asked.
“Nope, I’ll belay you,” he said. “He can belay me on lead when you’re done.” She looked at John and he said he’d bring the rope over once he finished untying. Angel and Phineas then walked around the corner, out of sight from where John was resting, and John flopped down on his back, letting his arms fall out to his side as he tried to catch his breath. It was clear to John that Phineas wanted John to watch him climb a difficult route, more difficult that the one John had just come off of. There was no other reason why Phineas would be so adamant about wanting John to belay to him. John smiled. He figured Phineas also wanted to belay Angel so he could hold her and be her protector. It made John wonder if women saw these games that men played, if it was obvious to her what Phineas was saying.
Despite not being able to see them, he could hear Phineas’ deep voice teasing Angel, and her responsive shrieks of laughter. It was going to take a lot more than a stiff 5.10 to win her over. Phineas clearly had her heart entrapped, and John knew he was going to have to find a way to get him out of the picture. As he untied, he realized he had stopped thinking about Cassandra and had moved on to Angel. It might have been the adrenaline, but he also felt there was a separate peace inside of him. He wasn’t sure if it was acceptable to have moved on so quickly, or even if he had moved on. Certainly, Angel had captured his heart, but he also knew Cassandra could come stabbing back at any moment, making him feel lost and guilty at the same time. In one direction there was pain and in another there was hope. It was as if he was driving east at daybreak. It was still dark in his rearview mirror, but the sun was rising in front and he looked forward to the new day.
When he finally made it over to where Phineas and Angel were climbing, she was just coming down and was noticeably tired. She explained it was a tough route, but was happy she had done it cleanly the first time. Phineas was up and, without a word, grabbed one end of the rope and tied in. John looped his end through his belay device and nodded to Phineas to suggest he was ready. Phineas turned to scope out the route. His back was to John and he seemed to be muttering something John could not hear.
“What’s that?” he asked Phineas.
Without turning around, Phineas pointed to midway up the route and said, “Don’t short rope me there. I’ll need the slack to get up.” He then placed his body into the start move and began to climb the first section. John noticed he wasn’t as graceful as Angel was, but he was strong and powered through a series of laybacks and mantles with ease. He clipped the first clip with some difficulty, as he had a hard time staying in a locked, dead-arm position, but that moment was short-lived. The next three moves were completed with refined power; no grunts or heavy breathing but it was clear his core was stiff as he squeezed each crimp on his way up. He clipped the second clip from a jug and rested in a solid, dead-arm position.
John looked above Phineas at the area where he pointed to before climbing. There was the jug he was holding on to, then what looked like a half-moon off to his right. Above that there was nothing for several feet until John’s rested his eyes on a tiny foothold below a much larger jug of some sort. He couldn’t tell how positive the jug was, but he figured the move from the half-moon to the jug was going to be a big one, and if Phineas didn’t make it, there was a chance he could deck out if John had too much rope out.
“How did you get through this?” John asked Angel.
“I had to dyno through it,” she said. “But I’m shorter and I wasn’t on lead. This would be scary for me.”
Phineas breathed out three quick, heavy breaths before he grabbed ahold of the half-moon. It was obvious he was in a spot that was more stringent than any of the other areas at the start of the climb. John gave him slack, not knowing if Phineas was going to dyno from the start. Instead, Phineas started to power his way through the half-moon slowly. He wasn’t going to dyno at first, instead he was going to try to mantle up to the jug. But that didn’t work out, so he retreated to below the half-moon and chalked up. He went for the same move a second time, this time getting a little higher than before. But it still wasn’t enough and he retreated again. The third time he went up, he was able to just get his fingertip on the foothold below the jug. Phineas was now in a position where down climbing was not going to be as easy as it was the first two times. His entire body weight was leveraged on his right hand, which was in a stiff-arm mantle, and his balance depended on him holding himself by the fingertip on the foothold. His right arm started to shake under the weight of his body and John took in a little bit of rope just to make sure Phineas didn’t deck out if he fell. Slowly, Phineas’ finger wrapped itself higher up the foothold. He was getting a better grip each time he repositioned his finger, but at the same time, John thought his core was giving out and that he was going to fall at any moment. It was a tense situation for John. One the one hand, he didn’t want to drop the guy, but on the other hand, he desperately wanted him to fall. Seeing the difference in Angel’s facial expressions between when he successfully climbed his 5.10 and Phineas falling on this 5.11 was going to be worth it. It didn’t matter that Phineas was on a harder route. There was no doubt he was a better athlete than John was. But joy and happiness rarely come from failure, regardless of difficulty, and John understood he’d have the leg up on Angel’s admiration if Phineas fell. Seeing Phineas was about to fall, John took in more rope, but just as he did so, Phineas gained enough grip on the foothold to propel himself up toward the jug.
Unfortunately, John had taken in too much rope, and as the rope went tight Phineas’ hand went searching for the jug that was now just out of his reach. He hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to John, his suspension framed by the chimney-shaped walls below him. John prepared to jump in the air to give Phineas a soft landing, but as he did the rope fell slack again, confusing John as he slipped to the ground. He looked up, first seeing Angel’s hurt eyes and then blood dripping down from Phineas’ head. He had apparently hit his head on a nearby hold on the way down, and there was blood all over the wall. John quickly lowered him, and Angel rushed to see if he was OK. Phineas was dazed, but responsive. He didn’t look at John, only at Angel who was pushing apart his hair to see how bad the cut was. Other people ran to Phineas’ aid, including one of the gym’s managers, Gene Snively. Gene asked Phineas a series of questions to see if he was alright and then helped him to walk to the door. John stood below the route with the rope still in his belay device. He watched Angel place a towel over Phineas’ bloody head before they walked out the door. He wondered if he would see either of them again.
Gene then walked over to John, shaking his head as he approached. When he did, he asked if the rope belonged to him or Angel. John said it was Angel’s, and as Gene took the rope from John and started to walk outside to return it, he looked back at John and asked, “Was he short-roped or did you pull him?”
Note from the Author - Partial credit deserves to go to a favorite author of mine who wrote one of the most influential books I ever read. Kudos to the the first reader to guess the book and author that inspired this story.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
I'm Getting Anxious
Spring is here in spirit.
A tamed groan rises inside.
It's a rumbling cradled with love.
And as the breath dries up from sight,
A feral rage ignites.
Tis sweaty palms and chalk and balls
That dominate the fight.
I'll feel you soon of glacial might,
And lava crusted jewels.
Tw'ar my guide of sense and light.
My sanity rests with you.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Missing Out - PART I - Fiction From the MetroRock Newsletter
Tucking the bottom of his left foot against his straightened right knee, he leaned forward and pulled the toes on his right foot backward. He was tight, and was sure that had more to do with being stressed and tense than it did with a lack of stretching. Since he found out that Cassandra had been cheating on him, he felt like he had been sleepwalking. Everything around him became a slow blur; unfocused when he tried to concentrate. His boss noted his lack of attention and twice he exploded in meetings where he felt as if he was being attacked. A scream erupted from within his chest as he stretched. Thankfully, It was held back by a combination of the lump in his throat, a hardened chin, and his gritted teeth. What am I doing here? he wondered. Despite wanting to be alone, actually climbing alone was something he never considered. There were several friends of his who often climbed alone and enjoyed the solitude, but John preferred the company, the help he could get from his belayor below him and the camaraderie. He and his friends were constantly tossing barbs and cheers at each other. Cassandra was both his biggest supporter and toughest critic. While he understood that climbing was ultimately a solitary sport - his own courage against nature's impossibilities, all played out in his mind and no one else's - there was also safety in numbers. Without Cassandra, John felt that his climbing grades would fall precipitously until he found someone to catch him, and hoist him back up again.
He took a long time to stretch: twenty minutes beyond his normal five to ten minutes. He wanted to make sure that he was ready, completely flexible to take on whatever the world was about to throw at him. He had quite a shock when Cassandra told him it wasn't just a fling -
"It's pretty serious now," she said.
"How long?" John asked.
"Three months, or so. I like him, and I think I'm going to go with him from this point on. I'm sorry."
What if she shows up? What am I going to do? How am I going to react? he asked himself over and over again. These were questions he should have answered before showing up, but he came to the gym that day partially to find the answers at the same time. It’s sink or swim time now. He figured that climbing the past three weeks had been easy on Cassandra without him at the gym to bother her. All she had to do was show up, look around, be relieved that he wasn’t there and enjoy herself. His absence gave her all the room that she would need to completely move on, or at least that is what he hoped. I don't need drama when I'm trying to move on myself. Still, tightness had formed in his throat when he left his apartment to come to the gym. He desperately wanted to see her, but only as his flame, not someone else's.
Finally, he took a deep breath and sighed, slowly, anticipating the worst, before looking up and around him. There was no sign of Cassandra just yet, and that made him feel a little better. At least she's extending me the same courtesy of not showing up, he thought and breathed a sigh of relief this time. She wasn't there when he wanted to climb and he wasn't there when she wanted to climb. Not only was it convenient, but it was typical of their relationship. There was no question they cared deeply for each other, maybe even loved each other, but they were always too wrapped up in their own worlds to make accommodations when the other needed support. When he didn't see her at the gym, it was more than a matter of consequence to him; it was about respect, breathing room, trust, courage – Argghh!!! Keeping his emotions in was proving difficult. Every little thought triggered another thought, and then another. After a while, he resigned to believing that he couldn't single out one element. It's was about everything. The problem was figuring out which thoughts were priorities that had to be dealt with, and which ones were born from pettiness and anger.
“Wow,” he said to himself, “the hurt never changes. It's just as confusing today as it was ten years ago.”
No matter how many times he’d been through this, from his first high school crush, to the various college encounters, workplace romances and his recently finished five-year relationship with Cassandra, he always felt the same, as if he wanted to scream, shout, run around with his arms flailing, punch walls, hit people – whatever it took to take away the pain. He felt his chest tighten, even as he stretched it, and his eyes bounced around from one object to the next, never staying focused long enough to make out who or what he was looking at out fear that, when he did rest his eyes, he'd be staring at Cassandra, maybe even longingly, to her discomfort. Eventually, however, he did lock eyes with a blue-eyed, blond girl who was also stretching nearby in a long-sleeved, dark, green shirt and a yellow headband. John had seen her before and thought she was attractive, but he had never spoken to her let alone lock eyes. There was never any need to because he was always firmly attached to Cassandra and his or her friends. She smiled, and he returned the smile thinking that it was just an awkward moment that she diplomatically diffused by not being rude.
"OK," he said to himself as he stood up. "What am I going to do?" He honestly had never climbed alone before, but that didn't mean there weren't opportunities to do so. There was always bouldering. If he did that, all he needed to do was stand up and start climbing. If he fell, there were always plenty of mats to fall on. That's what bouldering is, he thought, climbing for people who don't like heights, don't have gear, prefer power to grace, or don't have many friends. It sounded like the perfect activity for him until he saw that he was wrong on the last point. To his surprise, few boulderers were actually climbing alone. Most were spotting other climbers or, at the very least, cheering them on as they grunted their way up the short, powerful routes. While he knew there was a strong likelihood that no one would ask him where Cassandra was, he didn't feel like talking about it to anyone. All he wanted to do was get the lump out of his throat and the pain off his chest. He never really liked bouldering anyway, mainly because it required a combination of strength and dynamic moves that caused his joints to snap back painfully. He had tried it several times before, and each time ended up hurt, straining a muscle or aggravating a nerve, usually in his elbow or just below his neck. His friends who bouldered called him weak, but his head didn’t work like theirs did. He needed to conquer the fear of falling to make him feel like a man. Strength was never his strong suit.
He browsed over the bouldering routes in front of him anyway, studying the various grades and he gritted his teeth. The easiest bouldering grades were usually the equivalent of moderate roped grades. He never even started his days on the moderate grades; preferring instead to ease into his sessions by warming up on the easiest routes in the gym. Because of this, he ruled bouldering out, at least for the time being. I might have to come back if nothing else works out, he thought. He shrugged his shoulders and looked toward the roped climbs.
"Excuse me," a voice said to John. He turned around and saw the girl with the yellow headband trying to squeeze past him toward one of the easy bouldering routes. He apologized and stepped aside to let her through, watching her as she sat down on the ground and grasped the two starting holds with each hand. She placed her feet solidly on the jibs and, in one single motion, she stood up and reached across her body with her right hand to the next hold above her. She then brought her left foot across her knees and gracefully turned a barn-door into a move up to the next hold. Four more moves of similar elegance brought her to the finish, where she brought her feet up into a squat and walked off the top.
When she disappeared over the railing above the boulder, John took a closer look at the roped area, this time paying attention to what he saw. Still no Cassandra. He was feeling better now; more confident that maybe she wasn't going to show up after all. He knew that there was still a chance that she could be climbing around the corner where he couldn't see her, but he was OK with that. I can always climb where she can't see me. He smiled until he realized he still didn’t have a climbing partner. Seeing the girl in the yellow headband gracefully work her way up the bouldering route made him think about traversing instead of bouldering. Traversing, to him, was different than bouldering because there was significantly less impact on the joints. Sure, it was pumpy and required strength, but the required-strength was more based on a sustained diligence, an ability to maintain a hold, cross over, lay back and shift one’s weight to better work with the angle of the holds and the wall. Sustained climbing sounded good to him, but if Cassandra was climbing in the gym then he’d certainly come across her as he made his way past every single route. It would be lame to be traversing and, all of a sudden, see her, get off the wall and walk away to another part of the gym to finish his workout. I have to be my own man at some point, he thought. Because he wasn’t sure about his emotional stability, he passed on traversing and turned toward the cork board behind him.
Attached to the cork was a whiteboard with a dry-erase marker dangling by a piece of black tape. There were three names already written there, but John figured that, because most of the time people from the previous day didn’t erase their names when they found a partner, the names on the board wouldn't be relevant to him. He paid no attention to the names already on the board, and wrote his own (John), the time he showed up (3pm) and his identifiable clothes (long-sleeved, navy fleece). After he wrote his name, he read the others names for kicks, and looked around to see if anyone fitting the descriptions was climbing.
Name one: Barry – six o’clock – black shirt. Obviously yesterday considering it’s only three o’clock now. Besides, who writes “six o’clock” on a dry-erase-board? He erased the name, not caring if Barry’s watch was wrong and he was sitting in a corner somewhere lonely, waiting for a partner or wondering why no one was talking to him.
Name two: Jackson – 10am – brown shirt, black pants, orange harness, green chalk bag, yellow shoes. Whatever. Either he’s already found a partner or he lied about what he was wearing. That name disappeared with one swipe of his forearm across the board.
Name three: Angel – 2:45 – long, green shirt, yellow headband.
"Do you need someone to climb with?" someone asked from behind. Great, he thought, I'm going to be saved by an angel today. Whoopee! He turned around, and was immediately taken aback when he saw the girl in the headband standing next to him.
"Uh, sure," he said. "Do you?"
"I'm Angel," she said as she extended her hand, apparently saying "yes" to his question.
"John," he replied as he shook her hand in return.
"Do you have a rope?" she asked.
"No, sorry."
"That's OK," she said, "I'll get mine. You can lead belay right?" He could, and nodded to her to suggest that as she walked off.
Huh, he thought. What do you know? He wondered if this was some sort of divine intervention, as if he was being told to forget about Cassandra and focus on Angel instead. Her name certainly lent itself to that ideal, but he shook head thinking that it was too soon. I can't be expected to jump back on the horse after only three weeks. My head is just playing games with me. Forget about it.
When she returned with her rope, they ventured over to a warm-up route that she picked out, a 5.7, and he belayed her as she led her way up the wall. He was impressed with her movements, each transition was so smooth, so carefully thought out just as she was on the bouldering route earlier. She clipped each draw with poise too, almost without looking, and scouted each move above her without stopping to think through the sequence. She just moved up the wall. There was no wasted energy. He felt that he was watching someone with real talent, and couldn’t wait to watch her climb the harder routes later on.
When she came down, it was his turn. He complimented her on a nice climb and tied in. But as he grabbed the first hold, an odd nervousness came over him that reminded him of the first time he had climbed with Cassandra. Despite the fact that he and Cassandra had already been together for two years, John felt as if he needed to impress her that day, to show her that he could do this despite everyone's general fears of heights and unfamiliarity with climbing in general. While John and Cassandra enjoyed climbing with each other, it became a source of competition between the two, with each trying to out-climb the other. It was always a race to see who could flash the first 5.10, then cleanly lead the first 5.11, and so on. They encouraged each other, and hoped that each would succeed. But deep down inside, John always wanted to get there first, to be one step ahead of her. He cringed as he remembered that, and realized that it was she who was one step ahead of him now. Proving himself to Angel at that moment was just as important as keeping up with Cassandra. It was the same thing in his mind. If he was going get back at Cassandra by moving on before the hurt should have subsided, he needed to impress Angel that day, and he needed to start by climbing as well.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Belayor is ready," she said.
"Climbing," he said as he pulled himself up onto the first set of holds. Easy enough, he thought as he positioned himself to make the first clip. When he grabbed the rope with his right hand, however, he felt his left palm moisten from sweat and begin to slip off the hold. As a result, he rushed the rope up to the clip and dropped it in unsteadily, trying three times to get the rope through the gate before it fell in. That was weird. He never broke out into a sweat until after his third or fourth climb of the day, - after he was well-warmed up - and he had never fallen on the first clip of a 5.7.
"Belay is on," she said from below. Great, he thought. He was convinced that she had sensed his nervousness. What a way to start out. The rest of the route went much the same: hand holds that he should have felt relaxed on were slippery under his fingers; foot holds that he should have been confident on were too slopey, small or in the wrong place. Three times he nearly dropped the rope while trying to clip. He simply could not get into a rhythm. When he finally came down, she said "nice job" to him and added that she thought he looked smooth and strong throughout. OK, he thought. What was she looking at exactly?
"Not bad for the first climb of the day," she said. "What's next, 5.8?"
"Sure," he said. She picked out the second route and it felt much the same as the first; her advancing through each move with the grace of a cat, and John struggling to find his hands and feet. Thank God I haven't needed to rest, he thought as she lowered him off the 5.8. She complimented him again, which made John feel odd. What is she seeing up there? I'm barely holding on and she thinks I'm flying up this stuff.
"How long have you been climbing?" she asked.
John was breathing heavily, so he used the fact that the knot was tight to not answer her right away. No need to let her think that I'm wasted this soon, he thought. When he finally got the knot loose enough to untie himself, he looked up and said, "Three years. That's it."
"You do well for only three years," she said. "I liked watching you climb this last route. You seem like you are really in control. Real strong."
"Thanks. So do you, by the way. Real graceful."
She blushed, and John looked away to give her a moment to regain her composure. He didn't want to embarrass her the first day they met, so he asked her if she had another route in mind just to get the embarrassment out her head.
"Sure," she said, "over here." She walked over to what John thought was a 5.10 and dropped the rope.
"I need a drink," he said. She acknowledged him by nodding her head, and turned to map out the route with her hands by grasping into the air every time she felt she had read the sequence properly. It was so casual to him, the way she moved about. Even in moments of uncertainty, she held her arms above her head in the position she imagined herself being in until she knew what to do next, and then she moved on to the next set of holds. John became nervous again. This was going to be a test for him. He knew he couldn't compete with Angel. She was simply too good. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to prove to her that he was worthy, that he was confident enough to take on challenges without letting on that something was, in fact, a challenge. It was the same when he first met Cassandra. They sat across from each other at a rapid-fire dating event, where each person sat with another for one minute, asking and answering as many questions as possible in a short period of time before moving on to the next person. He wanted her to ask all the questions so he could show her that he had all the answers. It somehow worked, albeit for only five years.
When he returned from taking his drink, a song ("Push" - by The Cure) came over the speakers that made her smile. "I love this song so much," she said as she fixed her hair into a ponytail.
"Yeah, so do I," John said. "I saw them live a couple of years ago. I never realized how talented Robert Smith is."
"I know what you mean," she said. "I never fell into that crowd when I was growing up, the "Cure" crowd; you know, the crowd who always wore black clothes with black eyeliner, white faces?"
"Oh yeah," John said. "I'm the same way. It took me years to discover them just because of that. It's funny how one holds on to stereotypes from high school. I wish I had been exposed to them earlier."
"And you know what? Before I got into them," she said, "I thought they were all about depression and suicide, but that isn't it at all. All their songs are about love. Kind of weird isn't it?"
"It is," John said. "And to think when I saw them in concert, not only was I surprised that it wasn't all about depression and suicide, but I was shocked to see Robert Smith smiling throughout the whole show. 'I'm happy!' he seemed to be saying. It was an education, I'll say that much."
She turned back toward the route and John thought, Hey, not only does she climb, but we share something in common too. Everything seemed to be falling into place, even though he didn't plan anything. Cassandra dumped him three weeks ago and he was given a few weeks to compose himself and move on. He hadn't tried to talk to Angel at all, yet there she was preparing to climb above his belay. Even when they first locked eyes, John thought it was nothing more than an awkward moment. He wasn't looking for romance, but it seemed to have found him anyway. The fact that her name was "Angel" was starting to sit well with him too. Maybe it is divine intervention. Maybe this was meant to be after all. Before she jumped on the first hand holds, she began to sing the opening lyrics to the song:
"Go, go, go,
Go, go, go - Push him away!
No, no, no,
No, no, no - Don't let him stay!"
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Mat Goodyear - Oct 28, 1969 - July 19, 2006
In any case, when I settled into my dorm room in Edinburgh, I looked out of my window, saw the majestic Edinburgh Castle before me, rising up above the Prince's Street Gardens to the top of the Royal Mile and coughed. I looked below me and felt the fumes from the traffic on Nicolson Street burn my eyes and the back of my throat. Two days later, I moved across the hall and had a new view, that of Arthur's Seat, the legendary hill where King Arthur supposedly went in search of guidance before his defeat, and death, at the battle of Camlann (I later found the bouldering just below Arthur's Seat at Salisbury Crags to be quite enjoyable). This was partially what I had come for: to experience Scotland at it's core, to study new perspectives, to meet people from around the world, and to find myself. I didn't want to do any of this in a familiar environment, so went out and started making friends.
Unfortunately, most of the people I gravitated to were Americans. This isn't to say I was seeking to avoid Americans. I certainly wasn't. But I was seeking to avoid Americans who were not integrating themselves into their new surroundings. In order to keep myself from falling into a group of friends too early in the school-year, I sought out people from my program, European and International Politics, and found making friends difficult. As it turned out, I was the only American in my group. Some of the people I studied with were friendly, but most treated me either as a novelty (as in, do Americans really exist?) or an enemy (as in, take you and your CNN perspective back where you came from and leave us to discuss real wordly matters). It was difficult to make this adjustment. Not only did I have prove my worth intellectually, but socially as well. While we have our stereotypes, Europeans are far more nationalistic than Americans are. Racism exists in the U.S. only because we recognize it. In Europe, segregation is segregation, and people are expected to accept who they are. The Germans in my group, for instance, despite personally being left of center, were engaged in debates as though they were right-wing nationalists. Italian opinions were passed off because they came from "inefficient" experiences. Americans (i.e. - me) were dismissed for being, well, American. Even though I was neither fat nor stupid, clearly, in thier minds, I was.
Socially, things were not much better at first either. At parties, many of the Americans complained that no one would let them into conversations. Imagine a horseshoe of people talking and then closing into a tight circle as an American approached the group. "Don't let him in, don't let her in." You could see this attitude in their eyes. Canadians were also complaining about the Americans because the Europeans were doing the same thing to them, even though they weren't American. It took time, but a month into my stay there, I met three very close friends: Eric (Quebec), Kevin (Kensington, London) and Mat (Essex).
Eric became my friend in the politics department, as well as my chick-chasing companion (he got it WAY more than I did). We quickly became friends because he was originally from the next town over from an good friend of mine, just south of Quebec City. He helped to close the distance between Edinburgh and home because of our familiarity of the same city (I went to school at the University of Laval in Laval, Quebec - next city over from Quebec city - for a brief period) and, oddly the same person (we shared a mutual friend despite us not knowing each other before arriving in Edinburgh). Kevin, on the other hand, was a thin, lanky, young, smart kid who had just finished his undergrad at Cambridge University and was now working on his PhD in what he happily called, "sex and drugs." He lived next door me, moved in to his room in late December and accepted a "polite" invitation to grab a beer later in the day after he finished unpacking (I didn't ask because I wanted to grab a pint. I was doing it to be nice, but the bastard threw me a curveball and accepted anyway). Mat moved into the room that I was originally assigned to and didn't seem to have any problems with the fumes, or the view of the castle. A tall, thin Englishman, who couldn't out run his Essex accent, had quiet demeanor and apparent good looks drove the women crazy.
Anyway, a month after Kevin arrived at Churchill House, he popped into my room (and by "pop" I mean "without knocking") and interrupted Eric and I from playing a baseball game on my computer. I remember that day well. It was early January and Edinburgh was getting one of it's normal, afternoon rain fronts. The temperature was a solid 50-degrees and the pigeons wouldn't stop hanging around my windowsill.
"Don't you guys have reading that needs to be done in between semesters?" Kevin asked.
"Finished that last week," Eric said.
"Starting that tomorrow," I said.
"What are you playing? Baseball?" Kevin asked. "How lame is a game when you actually wear gloves? I guess I shoudn't be surprised considering your rugby players wear helmets and pads."
"Yap, yap, yap," Eric said using his hand as a way to illustrate what Kevin's mouth looked like when he spoke.
Kevin sighed, shook his head and frowned. "It must be great to be Americans," he said. "You can play games all day while the rest of the world has to get up and go to work."
"Hey," Eric said in his thick, Quebecois accent, "I'm Canadian."
"What's the difference," I asked Eric with a grin on my face. Not only was he Canadian, but, as I mentioned, he was from Quebec. The whole notion of identity was a confusing topic for him. That's why he was studying Nationalism.
"Not much," he replied, "except that we're nicer, people like us, we have health care, and Tim Hortons. Oh yeah, we can drink when we grow up too."
"Not sure why any of that is important," Kevin said. "No one likes the British, we're quite happy accepting that, we have health care as well...I have no idea what Tim Hortons is."
"You don't need to know," I said. I sensed that this conversation was going to go down a path I didn't want go down. Whenever American-bashing became the center of conversation, I always felt the need to shout out with a raised, clenched fist, "Economic SUPERPOWER!" This, however, was getting old and I was lately being accused of having a lack of creativity whenever I invoked my "painful truth" clause. I changed the conversation to something we all understood. "What's up? You thinking of dinner?"
"I could do dinner," Kevin said. "Come to think of it, I could do dinner just about any time," (It should be noted here that Kevin was 5'11" and 145 lbs. His metabolism could shift more food through his body than a macaroni and cheese machine at a Kraft factory) "but that's not why I came in here. I was talking with Mat last night and he said that he'd be willing to take us climbing somewhere if we wanted to go."
"Climbing?" I asked. "You mean, rock climbing?"
"I wasn't thinking of social climbing," he said.
"Huh," I said. I looked at Eric to see what he thought, and he looked back at me as if to say that he thought I was crazy to even consider going (I did get Eric to go climbing when he returned to Edinburgh for a conference a year later). I thought for a moment about what Kevin had suggested. Growing up in Bar Harbor, it was always a novelty to take a ride on the Park Loop Road to see the idiots going up the face of the Precipice on Mount Champlain. I remember hearing about people who had fallen and died in the 1980s. My uncle worked for the fire department, and was often one of the ambulance drivers who had to respond to the accidents in that section of the park. What he described to me wasn't pretty. Besides, my other uncle was a lobsterman, my grandfather was a lobsterman before he became an electrician, and sailing was my father's passion. Not to mention I'm a Pisces, I thought to myself. I was born on the water, not in the mountains.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to go, so I delayed having to make a decision by speaking of my last climbing experience. "I went climbing once," I said, "when I was eight years old, thereabouts. The YMCA summer camp took us to an area near Otter Cliffs, where the rock faces weren't too tall for young kids who had never been before. The guide set up a rope on what seemed to be a monstrous cliff (I've later realized that it was only about 10 feet tall), and I bragged to all the other kids and counselors that I had climbed Diamondhead in Hawaii when I was six. I had such a crush on one of the counselors, too. I think she thought I was a sweet kid until I started whining my head off when I actually tied in and started climbing. I didn't finish the route. I was so scared."
"That's something I'd expect from you," Kevin said. That didn't mean anything specific. He was just busting my balls for sake of doing so.
I had come to Edinburgh to expand my horizons, but that didn't mean that I wanted to see horizons from a different vantage point. "I don't have any gear. I can't go without gear."
"Mat's got it all."
Shit, I thought. Should've seen that coming. "I don't know what to do. As I said, I went once, I wimped out, I'm older now -"
"Mat will show us. He's getting his master's in outdoor recreation. He's studying to run camps and stuff like that. He's been climbing for years. I think he's even made a few first ascents in Greenland, though he said they were nothing spectacular."
"Huh," I said again. Should have thought of that too. I sighed, "When does he want to go?" I secretly hoped Mat could take us only on a specific day, a day that I had plans for, whatever day that was and whatever plans those were.
"Saturday."
"Oh, Saturday," I said. "Can't go. I'm going to a Rugby World Cup match tomorrow. Scotland versus Uruguay. Sorry."
"No," Kevin said, "You're going to a World Cup match next week. And how do I know that? Because you got the tickets from me and we're going to together."
Fuck, I thought. I was committed. Kevin knew I was too much of a pushover to not go. "Ok," I said. "If he's got everything we need and will show us what to do, then I guess I'm there." I looked at Eric to see if he was still reluctant to go.
"You're actually going?" he said. "Wow, you are stupid."
I let Kevin set up the details and proceeded to kick the crap out of Eric at baseball, several times in a row, just to prove a point - whatever point that was.
That Saturday morning, Mat, knocked on my door and asked if I was ready to go.
"Where are we going again?" I asked, rubbing my eyes open.
"Rosyth Quarry," he said. "It's just on the other side of the Firth of Forth from here, about an hour if traffic is OK."
I looked at the clock and saw that it was eight-thirty. Because we were in Scotland in January, it was still dark out. The sun wouldn't rise for another hour anyway. I guess he wants to get there at sun-up, I thought and crawled out of bed. I checked the temperature and saw that it was a balmy 45-degrees F. Normal for southern Scotland, cold for climbing. There wasn't a cloud in the sky from what I could see. I hoped it would warm up soon, and that the rain would stay away.
We drove in Mat's small, utility-type van (we don't really have these here in the U.S. - they are like cars, but instead of a back seat or trunk, they have work benches where tools are hung and a floor that one can walk on if one needs to stand inside. The rear is covered with the same roof as the cab, and there is no separation barrier between the rear and the front cab of the car, making it all one, long vehicle). Kevin and I drew straws to see who would get the front seat and who would have to sit in the back. Kevin won, and I got to lie on Mat's cot in the middle of the rear of the car. How awkward was it lying on the cot? Let's just say that if Mat found the need to slam on the brakes then I would have flown like a rocket straight through his windshield.
The darkness over the Firth of Forth Bridge was just letting up. The sun was barely creeping up at this point, a sign that clouds would stay away for at least a few hours, giving us time to set up and climb without getting wet.
Walking up into Rosyth Quarry was interesting. The path leading up from the street is not particularly well-worn, and it winds it's way through over-grown hay-grass up a steep hill that slopes back down toward the highway (or the A90 for you Brits out there). One slip on the loose, and often wet, earth meant a tumble down into the fast moving traffic below. I was already nervous, and we hadn't even roped up yet.
When we stepped up into the field where the quarry sat, I recognized it's beauty instantly. The quarry was an awe-inspiring, U-shaped graffiti canvas with glittering broken glass illuminating the spots where one should not set down his rope. Mat, oblivious to the surrounding conditions, carefully scanned the wall, and looked for the perfect spot to set up before pointing at the shortest end of the wall.
"That's a 5-minus (5.4 in the U.S.), I think," he said as he walked to our left. The route itself was boxy, with two large platforms that one could easily stand on the climb up. Above the route was an old tree (I can't remember the species), that he wanted to set up he toprope with. He tossed his bag over his shoulder and scrambled up the route to the top, leaving me to wonder just how hard this was going to be. If he can run up that without a rope in less than a few seconds, then this shouldn't be so bad after all, I thought. He stayed at the top for about fifteen minutes while Kevin and I stretched and scoped the place out. Neither one of us felt the need to criticize the beauty of the place because neither had the wherewithal to realize if graffiti and glass were commonplace at climbing sites.
"Kind of hard to knock a place if you don't know how good it gets," I said.
"Must be a rough crowd," Kevin said.
Mat finally made his way down, but the rope was not set up from the top as he had said it would be. We asked him what was wrong, and he said that he wasn't confident in the tree's health to hold a fall. "I'm going to set up a few anchors in the crack and we can lead it instead. We'll walk off from the top. It's an easy enough climb. Besides, it will give you the incentive to climb the route rather than hang. What do you guys say?"
"Sounds fine to me," Kevin said. "As long as you show me what to do, I'm fine with that."
Kevin was always fine with everything. As long as he knew what to do, he was confident that he could do it. I was having a more difficult time with what Mat had said, so I asked, "What's lead mean?"
Mat laughed, though not very heartily (I think he was being polite), and explained that it meant clipping the rope as the climber goes up. "It's all good," he said. "You should be able to climb to any of these platforms and stand without the rope anyway. This is a pretty easy climb, and I'll place a lot of gear for you to clip. I really don't think you'll have a problem."
"Uh-huh," I said. What-ever.
As it turned out, neither he nor Kevin had a problem sending the route. Mat climbed it a second time with ease, showing us how to clip the rope as we went up. Kevin struggled a little bit more, but he mastered the art of laybacking (liebacking in the U.S., laybacking in the U.K. - Stemming in the U.S., bridging in the U.K. - Rappeling in the U.S., Abseiling in the U.K.) and that made it phenomenally easier for him to make it to the top. It was then my turn.
"Alright there Greg," Mat said as he pulled the rope once Kevin untied, "it looks like you're up." I gulped, but didn't show it. I had, after all, decided to do this and was committed to giving it a try. I tied into the rope and hauled myself up to the first platform. That was easy, I thought and clipped the first piece.
"Belay is on," Mat said. I had no idea what that meant, but I assumed that it was a good thing. The next section was where Kevin did his "layback" move that got him to the next platform. I grabbed the rock in several places, feeling for a hand hold, something that I could wrap my fingers around, but there was nothing.
"Take you time," Kevin said. "We've got all day."
"Don't listen to him, Greg," Mat said. "Just lay back like Kevin did and you'll find it pretty easy to get up there." I tried. I honestly tried, but I just couldn't find a way to make it work. I stood on that first platform for twenty minutes trying to figure it out, but nothing came to me. Mat encouraged me while Kevin chided me, but nothing was going to get me up that route, not that day anyway.
Finally, Mat described what he wanted me to do in detail, with great patience, and I followed his advice to the letter. Before I knew it, I was laying back and moving up the wall. I wasn't as graceful as Mat or Kevin, but I was doing it and that was all I needed. Mat was shouting encouragements each time I slid my hands up the flake.
"Go on, Greg" he said. "That's it. That's the way to do it. Move your next hand up, now your left foot out to the left. Good. Good. OK, take a rest. That's fine. You make this next move and I'll buy you a beer - NICE! Wow, that was almost worth two beers. I said almost, but I'll think about it. Way to go. OK, now put your right hand over your left, that's it. I said I'd think about it. Stop asking about beer, Greg. Pay attention. Just think of that girl you've got a crush on from the sixth floor. You're doing this for her. She's waiting for you at the top."
And she was, not literally of course, but in my mind I was working on a thing of beauty, something I could be proud of. It was a badge of honor to tackle my fears. Mat was great. I sat on that route for thirty minutes in total, and he patiently belayed me the entire 20 feet, never giving me crap for taking so much time (and, now that I think about it, never giving Kevin any crap for Kevin giving me crap). Anyway, I was basking in the glory of the sunshine. I was happy. The sun was shining down on me...and then it rained. The rain came out of nowhere, a cloud formed to the west opposite the sun in the east, and it poured down on top of us with such ferocity that I wondered if it was punishing us for assuming the sun would stay out all day.
Kevin grabbed Mat's rain fly, the one he had for his pack, and threw it over him for cover. Mat asked if I could finish the climb, grab the last two pieces of gear and walk down to the car from the top. It's fucking raining, I thought. But he had been nice enough to take us out, lend his gear, and wait while we pissed and moaned (mostly me) our way up the wall. I thought that this was the least I could do. Unlike Kevin, who had repeatedly berated me for not being quick enough, Mat understood what I was going through.
"Fear is in every climber," he said. "If it isn't then you're probably not taking the route seriously enough. Don't worry, everyone is like this at first. In fact, you've gone higher than most people who try climbing the first time. Most people never make it up to the top and quit, either out of fear of frustration." I learned later on that Mat was lying to me (I heard it from Mat, in fact). It was important to him that I feel comfortable and confident, relaxed and secure. I appreciated his tact, and always remembered to do the same with new climbers whom I introduced to the sport.
I reached up to the top of the ledge, felt around for a good hand-hold and, upon finding one, grabbed ahold and started to lift myself up when, unfortunately, so dearly unfortunately, I felt a rush of rainwater cascade over the side of the cliff, down my sleeve, down the top of my shirt and into my pants. I was soaked. I was pissed. I was dirty and I felt bad about not being able to get the rest of Mat's gear.
"Don't worry about it," he laughed from below. "Why don't you come down, we'll wait for the rain to pass and I'll go up and get it afterward." He lowered me and we joined Kevin under the rain fly until the rain stopped. Kevin wondered why I needed to take up so much room under the rain fly because I was already wet. I told him to fuck off. Mat just laughed. Our day was over. When the rain stopped, we picked up our stuff and headed back to the car. To make matters worse, because Kevin had won the front seat on the way up, I expected to have the front seat on the way back. Kevin had other ideas, however.
"You're all wet, Greg," he said. "Maybe I ought to ride in front just to keep his car dry." I didn't argue and climbed in the back, on the floor this time so that Mat's cot didn't get wet, too. We rode in silence until we hit the Forth Bridge again when Mat suggested that we go to a gym instead (Alien Rock - a FANTASTIC gym). He said that sometimes climbing inside made it easier to learn, and that it would be drier than outside.
"It's always a risk climbing outside in Scotland isn't it?" he asked. I grumpily agreed. I learned later that Mat didn't believe for a moment that I'd say "yes". He had been tossing the question around in his head for about ten minutes, wondering if I'd be too ticked off to even consider such an option. But that was Mat's demeanor. He was kind, he knew how treat people, he knew how to get the most out of people, and most importantly, his optimism and sheer joy of life rubbed off on other people. I don't know if he ever realized it, but it was incredibly difficult to decline an invitation of his. This isn't because he did fun things. Instead, it was more because he made a person feel welcome, regardless of the situation (and I can say this with all confidence because of an embarrassing incident that I had while climbing with he and Kevin in Switzerland. No, I won't be posting that story).
I was deflated, but Kevin was all for it and thus, I felt I should give climbing another chance. I had one stipulation -
"I need to shower first." They laughed. I didn't, but I showered, we grabbed lunch and went to the gym for the rest of the afternoon and evening. To say this quickly, I was hooked. From that day on, I climbed two to three days per week, both inside and out. Mat graduated a year ahead of me and took a job as an outdoor leader (he took rich kids on skiing and climbing trips) at Aiglon College in Chesiers, Switzerland. Kevin and I visited him for two weeks, eighteen months later in June, and he took us to several crags in the area and on our first multi-pitch climb. Then I graduated, and moved back to the United States. Kevin visited that September and we climbed in Acadia for about three weeks before he went back to finish his PhD. I moved to New Hampshire, and climbed there. I moved to Boston, and climbed there. I started a climbing group that soon become my core supply of partners. I've judged at the National Championships, I've become a route setter at the local gym and have been asked to be a reference on more than one occasion for climbing related job applications. Climbing not only became an important element in my life, it was the activity that I now predominantly participated in. Gone were the days of baseball, basketball, and journalism. I considered myself a climber, and I had Kevin and Mat to thank for that. Kevin for encouraging me to climb (and for being my main partner once Mat left for Switzerland), and Mat for opening my eyes.
A few years had passed and Kevin was now living in Australia, running one of the top science labs in his field. I envied his brain for a while, but I was really happy that he was making a name for himself. I hadn't seen him since he left Bar Harbor, just after I graduated from school. He was going to be in the U.S. for a couple of conferences, and needed a place to stay. It was nice to hang out with him again when he flew over. While we didn't go climbing, we shared plenty of good stories and got caught up with each other. I really wished that Mat was there so that the three of us could go out climbing somewhere, and Kevin and I could return the favor he had lent to us seven years earlier, by taking him climbing instead of the other way around.
While Kevin was in Boston, he had a job interview with a company who he hoped would hire him and send he, his wife, and his young son back to the U.K. to be closer to family. When I said good-bye to him at the airport, I joked that I'd be bribing the company he interviewed with to make him an offer to work in Boston instead.
"Then we can get Mat to come over and do whatever the hell it is he does these days," I said, "and go climbing."
"Let's work on getting you back to Scotland," he said with a smile. "Mat always wanted to take us to Glen Coe."
"OK," I said. "If you get the job in the U.K. then I'll come out there. If you get the job in Boston, then we've got to get him to come here."
"It's a deal," he said, and then he waved and turned around. I didn't watch him go through the airport doors because I wasn't sure I wanted to let the image of the three of us climbing together go. I smiled all the way home. I loved my new climbing group, but Kevin and Mat were my first partners, the ones who introduced me to climbing, and I wanted to return to those times. He hopped on his plane, took off, and a few days later I hopped on my own plane to Greece for vacation.
I came back from Greece late on a Friday and saw that there was a message on my machine from Kevin. I figured that there was only one reason why he'd be calling, to tell me that he had landed the job, and that it was, in fact, in Boston. I assumed this because if he had simply been offered the job, and was moving back to the U.K., that he'd e-mail me instead. No need for him to waste an international phone call unless it is important enough to call.
Because it was too late to call Australia, I called him the next day and jokingly said when he answered, "So you're coming back to Boston then? They made you an offer after all. It only cost me a couple of hundred bucks and two strippers. I guess they really are cash-strapped in the science world." There was a silence and I waited for him to say something, thinking that the silence was the lag time between Boston and Perth.
"I'm afraid that's not it," he said. "It's Mat."
"Is he coming to the U.S.?" I asked. Why wouldn't he call me instead? I wondered.
"No. He died, in Switzerland last weekend. He was apparently abseiling off a route when the boulder his rope was wrapped around dislodged. I don't know the details, but I think he fell about 250 feet. His partner came down after him and found him still breathing at the bottom, but he never recovered."
There wasn't much said between Kevin and I after that. I thanked him for calling me and thanked God for letting Kevin make that call. I took the rest of the week off from climbing, returning to the gym the following weekend. I wasn't afraid. I was sad, but I wasn't afraid. I climbed, took falls, and wished that the three of us had had that moment back in Rosyth Quarry. Just once, so I could thank him.
Mat Goodyear died on July, 19, 2006. He was born October 28, 1969 and was 36 years old.
You had a lot of friends, Mat. I hope you realize that you changed a lot of lives, always for the better. They few the flag at Old College in Edinburgh at half-mast in your memory. That's how many lives you touched.
They've come here to die.
Morbid? Maybe.
Concealed Contentment is what I see.
Frozen inside.
Their tall pride
Shines from shadows
of grace.
by Mat Goodyear
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Adult National Open Championships
This year I will have the privalege of judging the Adults. I don't know where the adult World Cup competition is, but the national open is in Boston this year.
Metro Rock has only been around for a couple of years, but already it has hosted both the Adult and Junior National Championships plus numerous bouldering and difficulty regional comps. They have really come a long way in a very short period of time.
Damn Injuries
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Back Spasm
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Ideas for Improving
Well, I decided to put two practices into place; one is a test to let me know I am ready to move up and the other is a technique.
Firstly, the test revolved around me going backward with regards to climbing grades. I decided that I was not going to climb anything about 5.9 for two months (at twice per week, this was a lot of climbing).
Then, after two months, I decided that I was not going to climb a single 5.10's until one of my partners randomly selected a 5.9 for me to climb in two consecutive runs. This annoyed my partners by the way because they wanted to jump up grades and preferred that I find 5.9's that I could do. But the point was that in order for me to climb 5.10, I should be able to climb any 5.9 twice without a rest, regardless if I have actually climbed the route before.
This worked out great, because it really gave me time to practice the technique I used to get better at route finding and reading. It is a game that my boss and I play. Once you put your hand or foot in a position (on a hold or on the wall) then you cannot move it (even to pivot or readjust) until you make the next move. This makes the climbing very deliberate.
Now why should this work? Sounds rather static doesn't it? Well, that is the point. Dynamic climbing is great, but you lose focus sometimes on the route itself. By studying a hold, how you want to use it for the next move and what position that puts you in for the move after that, you learn a lot about how to climb a route. It also saves from making desperate lunges to holds that may be easier to gain by making an intermediate move first.
So if you want to improve your climbing, go backward onto easier routes for a long time and learn how to climb them, not just get up them. Learn to use your body position in such a way that your move puts you in a favorable position for the next move. Be deliberate. Be slow and each time you shift your hand or foot to gain better balance or a better hold, take off a point. The fewer mistakes you make, the easier you will find the harder climbs.
Good luck...
New Shoes and a Sore Shoulder
Monday, August 22, 2005
Cathedral Ledge
Greg - Did that thing just move?
Friend - hold on a sec while I adjust my hands.
Cam - POP!
Greg - It popped! It popped!
Friend - Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What is going on? Fuck!
I fell back about five feet toward a slight incline where my friend was belaying from and slid backward toward the edge. There was nothing to grab as the incline was one big sloper. I knew that there was a sharp ledge just before the edge coming up and I braced myself to grab the ledge as I went over. But just as I go to the edge, my friend caught me. He had a real bad rope burn on his finger because in the initial confusion, his hand was off the bottom rope completely and he grabbed the bottom rope from ABOVE the belay device (as opposed to below where the brake hand goes). If he hadn't caught me then I would have tumbled about 150 feet until the rope ran out of length. I don't think that I would have decked out because we were about 200 feet off the ground. But you never know what the impact of that fall could have done to either my insides or to the pro he was secured to in the rock. Anyway, it was a bit of a tense moment. It was only a 15 foot fall, but one that could have been disastrous.
I don't blame him for the accident either. I mean, he should have had control of both ropes at all times, but I could have placed the cam better and clipped both ropes into both pieces of gear because there was no threat of rope drag at that point. Still, it was a lesson to be learned.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Red Rocks - Gloucester
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Crappy Climbing Day
National Junior Climbing Championships
When - July 1-4, 2005
Where - MetroRock Climbing Gym in Everett, MA
Who - Ages 9-19 years old qualifiers. The winners represent the USA at the World Cup in China in August.
My Role - Judge - my name is actually on there twice!
Check out the results and follow the kids as they go on to the World Cup Competition In Beijing!
Here are just a few photos of the event -
Monday, June 06, 2005
Fitness
I have been reading this book called - Climbing: Training for Peak Performance by Clyde Soles. This book is fantastic. Not only does he talk about the body, mind, spirit and soul, but also he goes into practical detail by giving examples of the kind of foods you can or should not eat for several cuisines. Very nice. I recommend this book highly. He bases so much on real science and gives options to work out the best approach to each individual's needs and desires. Very well done.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
National Climbing Competition
When I offered, the guy who was helping to set up this weekend's regional competition asked if I had ever judged before. When I told him that I had not he recommended that I come by Saturday to learn how to judge and help belay. That is precisely what I did and really had a good time doing it.
This competition was for all ages up to age 19 and the 14-15 year-olds dominated the routes. I was surprised to learn that the easiest route, the first of three with the second two being leads, began at least at 5.10c or above. That killed any ambition I have for competing. But to watch these kids flash these routes (all were onsited) was simply amazing. I was thoroughly impressed.
I was really surprised, however, by the fact that I felt I was at a Little League game. I mean, except for a few of us, most of the volunteers were the parents of the competitors. I don't know why this surprised me, but I guess it was because the image I have always had in my mind of the climbing community was not one that represented supportive parents. Climbing to me has always seemed to be a bit of a loner sport, where you are really challenging yourself even if you are working with a team or partner. I guess maybe that was so early on in climbing history, though I am sure that many kids become involved through their parents' introduction of the sport, and even those who were not introduced probably had some support. But with the growth of climbing gyms, the safety of climbing and access has allowed for the sport to become more family oriented. I don't think it is unfair to say that there are now "climber" moms out there driving their minivans to and from the gym during the middle of the week. The whole idea is truly bizarre considering the dangerous nature of climbing and the subculture that exists within it (a subculture, by the way, that dominates the image of climbing, at least in my opinion).
Anyway, I had a pretty fun time and met some people that I would like to see and talk to again. I enjoyed this aspect of the climbing community and will likely continue to volunteer at such events. God love life's little surprises.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
This Spring
Went to Austin Texas recently for a conference and ended up flying in a day early to do some climbing in the Greenbelt. Jonathan and I scaled a couple of 5.9's and he really struggled up an 11 but was able to piece together the moves. It was a real treat to get outside after such a winter of discontent.
The weather is finally turning here. We have been talking about hitting Hammond Pond, Quincy Quarries or even bouldering at Longwood in the coming weeks. Gotta love the spring time...because it means the warm summer rock is just smooth layback away...
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Frustrating Past Couple of Weeks
Friday, December 24, 2004
The Quest Continues to 5.11
Jonathan - He is my boss and a talented climber. He is also the brother of the first female to climb 5.14 on American soil. She was the fourth woman in the world to climb that grade at the time (the other three had apparently climbed at that level before her but in Europe?).
Tyler - A neighbor and Matt's roommate. Tyler is a very strong 5.10 climber who taking his increase in grades very slowly. I think that he will become a strong 5.11 climber by spring.
Matt - Tyler's roommate. He started climbing just a few months ago and is already progressing to 5.8s. Quiet kid, but fun to be around.
Anyway, I have been going about twice a week right now, splitting my time between Tyler and Matt and then with Jonathan. I am finding that my strength is not improving that much, but maybe my technique is. I say this because I am finding that I am getting higher up certain climbs but I am still tiring and need rest to complete them. Instead of increasing my strength, I think that I am subconsciously finding ways to save energy on the way up. I don't know, maybe it is a combination of things, but still, I don't feel any stronger.
Anyway, as I learn certain routes, I am able to finally say that I can climb 5.10 pretty well. Most of them I have to rest a couple of times the first time climbing them, but once I get to know them, there is no rest needed. I am slowly learning to moves to a 5.11 minus and can put together the three separate segments of the run without resting on each one now (unless I don't rest between the second and third and then I need to rest on the third), and that tells me that I should be able to conquer this route within a month.
Still, the trip to California is not going help any. I can only hope that it takes me very little time to get back up to speed after taking more than a week off.
Friday, December 10, 2004
New Partner
Well, he kicked my ass. I now have somone to look up to when I go climbing, and I think that his skills are solid enough to aspire to. For one, he said that he had not climbed in over two years, and only three times in the past seven years. To me, this meant he would be sticking to 5.8's and 5.9's the entire night, especially since he wanted to take it easy so as to not pull anything. That lasted long. Three climbs in and he was running up 5.10's that I was struggling to get over on. He then topped it off on a 5.11. Damn!
If I can get him to go more often, I should be able to climb my first 5.11 by spring. I am now totally motivated to get my weight down to 165 lbs and to get up to 5.11 by spring. I do not want to get my butt kicked like that again. Of course, I am not trying to compete, but you know what, I feel like I owe it whomever I am climbing with to climb somewhat at their level. I get only mild satisfaction when consistently climbing with someone with weaker skills than I have. I love introducing people to the sport, but want to challenge myself with people who can push me.
From now on, I have a plan to get better and stronger. If I am to climb alone, then I will boulder specific moves so that I can learn them. One of them is a lunging move. I do not know what it is called. It is not a dyno but it does require a fully committed lunge and grab. If you don't grab it, then you fall. I may even give the feet-free wall a go. That should help improve my strength.