Adirondacks - Saturday: Beer Walls - Part Two: Still Getting There and Then the Climbing

Now, I'm not going to point fingers here, because really, it isn't any one person's fault. No one had been climbing at Beer Walls, not even "Jello", but because he lived in the area, albeit for only a couple of months, and because he had been reading the guidebook dutifully since we left the house that morning, the task of getting us to the crag, which ever one that may have been, was given to "Jello" and we followed him blindly into the woods. The guidebook said to follow an obvious path uphill from the right-hand side of the parking lot, and that this path would take us to the top of lower Beer Walls; presumably where we wanted to go, but we weren't really clear on that, so that indecision made things a little hazy in the details.

But the path "Jello" found was, in some regards, obvious. I mean, it was obvious that someone had actually walked this way at some point in the past month-and-a-half. The fallen, brown leaves that covered this so-called path were quickly assumed to have been due to the lack of traffic that would have cleared them from under our feet otherwise. "After all", one person noted, "it has only just begun to be summer in the 'Dacks." We all agreed even if that sounded a little bit silly.

In any case, "Jello" seemed to be vindicated as we came along an obvious path that led us to the top of something. What that was at the moment we didn't know, and how to get to wherever else we wanted to go we also didn't know. So no one complained, even in the face of imminent where-the-fuck-are-we-dom.

We did manage to find Upper Beer Walls, but there were people toying around there already. We then found what we thought was the top of Lower Beer Walls, but we weren't sure. There was no rappel station, and the nine of us that stood on the occupancy-seven ledge were a bit freaked out about just how much personal space Americans really need to lose before the shoving begins, even amongst friends.

But we never feared, because our leader did not. "Jello" recognized the lost-sheep look in our eyes, and he took it upon himself to find the way - bushwhack style, the only way he knows how to travel. To be fair, he did find a path for us to follow, the problem came when we got a little off course and ended up falling into soft patches of leaves whilst battling downed trees and branches. This was all going downhill too, which made the travelling that much more sketchy for those who had a brain freeze at the campground and decided to wear sandals. But in the mind of our fearless leader, downhill was exactly what we wanted, be damned how it happened. If we were initially at the top of the Lower Beer Walls then it made sense to go downhill to get to the bottom of Lower Beer Walls. Why we don't have more people like this I'll never know.

Well, "Jello" led us to the bottom of the hill alright, but there was no crag to be seen. We were standing in a ravine, a gully or something of similar description when, using his noddle, "Jello" narrowed down our options to climbing up the hill opposite the one we had just come down or climbing up a gully and into the thick brush that separated the two hills. The using his head part wasn't just figuring the options. The man is a politician waiting to be elected. Instead, he gave the group the options and let them decide. After all, if the group chose correct then he would be the hero. If the group chose incorrectly, well, then what the fuck was the group thinking? He's only in his mid-twenties, but I tell you, he's going places.

The group almost immediately and unanimously chose the thick gully. It turned out to be "Jello"'s day after that. While the gully was certainly no fun climbing up (I'm not sure how many times I got whipped by a branch thanks to the person in front of me), it turned out to be the miraculous decision. As we emerged, scraped faces, arms and all, from the thick of the forest, we saw before us the shimmering glow of sunshine heated rock; all of it waiting to be climbed. Sure enough, we had found the bottom of Lower Beer Walls.

From then on, the climbing was great. For one, there was hardly anyone there. It is almost an unimaginable concept for me. The Adirondacks have far more climbs than Rumney, Cathedral and Whitehorse combined, yet no one was there. In fact, I'd even bet there were more climbs in Keene Valley alone than in the 'Gunks. I know, it's a long drive and the crags are not all situated in one location (though they are kind of across the street from each other). But still, this was Memorial Day weekend and I was looking at some of the finest rock I had ever seen. It blew my mind that we never had to queue for a route, and that we, a group of nine, more than doubled all other groups in the area combined.

In any case, we split off into pairs and monopolized every moderate route we could find: from stiff, single pitch 5.8s to long, smooth, multi-pitch 5.7s and 5.6s. There was nothing we didn't climb, and it felt damn good to get all that climbing in after the adventures we'd had the past couple of days. The next few paragraphs will go through some of the climbs and experiences that I had while at Lower Beer Walls that day:

Equis (5.7) - This was my first route of the day and the most obvious line that we found as soon as we arrived at the crag. The bulk of the route was a flaring flake with a cedar tree in the middle that ended on an easier-than-it-looked overhanging section just below the bottom of the cliff. Even the start looked harder than it was, but with the proper body position, gaining the flake wasn't that difficult and walking the flake was nearly a category four scramble. It was the top part that had most people concerned. Not only did it look overhanging, which it really wasn't because the easiest moves were more face-climbing on the side of the overhang than in the overhang itself, but a new word was spread around that also incorporated with the steepness the possibility of water in the cracks: Manky. Manky apparently means "suspect" as in - Boy that six-day old jug of non-refrigerated milk looks manky. I think, however, I was the only one who wasn't concerned about the wetness. I did note that it was wet to "Red" (who belayed and seconded), but it was never an issue for me. It was never an issue for "Red" either, and she came up to the top with a look of satisfaction on her face. We agreed it was a good, first climb.

The funny part of getting to the top of this route was that we discovered a path down from the top to the bottom, without bushwhacking. In fact, much to my amusement, before bushwhacking, we actually stood at the top of that very climb no more than twenty minutes before. How we didn't see the obvious trail down, I will never know.

Rockaholic (5.8) - I had seen a couple of guys run this while I was scouting Equis and it intrigued me. To be honest, it intrigued most of us, but the protection seemed very sketchy and thin (except to "Jello", who turned out to be correct in the end when he believed the crack was deeper than it appeared from the bottom). The two guys, by the way, were actually MetroRock routesetters: one of who's name rhymed with "Mars" and the other's initials were "AJC" - small world.

Anyway, they said the crack was deep and while it did not take cams very well, it would certainly eat nuts. This to me was acceptable, and I decided to make it my second climb of the day. But it also looked difficult. For one, I am not a crack climber (though at one time I used to think that I was. Why this is so, I do not know), and this climb was a diagonal crack leading from about ten above a blank-face start to a large block where there were rap anchors waiting at the top. I watched "Mars" and "AJC" work the crack from the bottom, that is, with thier hands holding the bottom of the crack and their feet smearing below the crack. They climbed this with ease, and I felt that this must be the best way to approach this climb. Boy, was I wrong about that. "Mars" and "AJC" were the only climbers of the day whose feet did not slip on the smears below the crack. Everyone else, including myself, found this section to be particularly strenuous. When I got on the climb, I went up and down several times before I told myself that this approach was ridiculous.

Now, I understand that people had told me the 'Dacks were sandbagged (meaning the routes were harder than the grade), and as I was flailing on this climb, I really began to believe this was true. However, it was what I did next that completely changed my mind on this topic. Instead of climbing the bottom part of the crack with my hands, I laid back against the top part of the crack and walked my feet up the bottom part. Sure, it felt exposed and not at all like what the route wanted me to do, but it actually felt 5.8, whereas the other approach felt more like a sloppy 5.9+. From that moment on, I essentially ran up the crack (well, as much as one can run while trad leading) to the block and made it to the top with ease. It wasn't long after that "Jello" asked me if I felt the grades were, in fact, sandbagged. I told him a resounding "no". Maybe it is true that the harder grades are sandbagged, but the easier ones we did at Beer Walls were accurately graded. All one needed to do was to find the easiest way to get up the damn climb. This isn't the gym people - everything is on!

Pegasus (5.7 - two pitches) - This was the best climb of the day, although to call it two pitches is a bit on the farcical side. Certainly, there was a first pitch, but it was only forty feet high and could have been topped by walking up a category four scramble to the right of the climb itself. Instead, there was what looked like, again, a stiff, flaring crack with jugs on the face that looked perfect for laying back on. However, the guidebook said the climb required creative thinking, and that worried me a little bit. It couldn't be all that bad, I thought. After all, I had just come to the conclusion that these routes were not sandbagged. If the book said it was a 5.7, then it had to be a 5.7.

The only problem with this line of thinking was the ringing voice in my head that kept saying: "be creative, be creative". I didn't know what that meant until I got up into the flaring crack and tried to layback off the jugs I had seen from the ground. Well, guess what, those were jugs without feet, and, in my mind, jugs without feet aren't jugs at all. For a good, few minutes, I was actually kind of scared...on a 5.7. This couldn't be right. "It's a damn 5.7," I kept telling myself. Finally, being nearly pumped out from laying back, I needed a rest and I gave up on the worrying and laying back and jammed my shoulder into the flaring crack when, suddenly, I got the amazing sensation of...SECURITY!!!! That's right. Being creative didn't mean reading what seemed to be obvious; it meant doing what was easiest instead. From then on, I slithered my way up the crack with my right shoulder (and the whole of my right torso to be honest) firmly stuck between the opposing sides of the crack until I was able to use the jugs I tried using for hands before...for feet! What a concept!

To say this route was the best of the day is really an understatement. Once "Wrongway" and "Red" made it to the top of the first pitch, I was in heaven as I wound my way up what seemed to be a runout face climb all the way to the top. I say "seemed to be" because in the end, there were plenty of places to put gear, they just weren't obvious all the way up. The book said this was the most popular route in the 'Dacks, and I believe it. It had everything: route-finding skills, exposure, a small roof, a long flake and, best of all, mucho, mucho face climbing. Whoohoo!

On a side note, before we began climbing Pegasus, we heard "Jesus" and "Ankle" communicating on another 5.7, two-pitch route that was directly above us. From the start, it sounded as if they had some serious route-finding issues that ended up throwing them into a long traverse that maybe they didn't want to get into when they started. As "Wrongway" and I were scouting out the exact starting spot of Pegasus (because that damn flaring crack couldn't have been the start), we overheard a couple of points of the "Jesus" and "Ankle" climbing conversation -

"Ankle" - I can't get this piece of the crack?

"Jesus" - What piece? They're all cams.

"Ankle" - I'm going to need to rest to get this piece out. Take!

"Jesus" - Take what?

"Ankle" - Falling! Whooo! jingle, skid, jingle, bounce, bounce, jingle

I didn't see the fall, but I saw "Wrongway"'s expression when it happened, and it wasn't one of "wow, that was a nice, clean fall." I looked up at "Ankle" to see if he was OK. He had apparently fallen something like ten feet down (due to rope stretch) and fifteen feet across (due to the traverse). I didn't realize this until later, but he mildly sprained his ankle during this fall and didn't climb the rest of the day (though he made it to the top, and this, I think, was a good decision. This is mainly because if he couldn't walk on his ankle then he would be that much closer to the parking lot to be carried out. If "Jesus" had let him down all the way, then we would have had to carry him back up the cliff and down again the other side). I also learned later on that "Jesus" felt the cam placement should have been easy to pull out. He justified this by saying he himself had pulled it out before finally placing it. He also said that when "Ankle" asked for him to take the rope that the rope, as far as he could tell, was already as tight as he could take it. It is believed that when "Ankle" asked "Jesus" to take that he wasn't asked him to pull in slack but to ensure that "Jesus" had him tight instead. Still, to be injured on the first climb of the weekend, that sucks. Traverses are always dangerous for seconds, and we learned that lesson well.

Afternoon Delight (5.5) - Is there any better way to finish a day but on a 5.5 jug haul that has more potential gear placement opportunities than a foot-long ruler has quarter-inch markings? I vote no, there isn't a better way, and this is what "Wrongway" and I did to finish up. I let him take the lead since I had just led Pegasus for two pitches. To be honest, I don't think I've been up as juggy of a route before. I mean, there were these massive - three or four of them - diagonal cracks that could have been climbed separately themselves and still have been a 5.7 at the hardest. I think most of the time when I get on a climb this juggy it turns out to be more of a hard scramble than an actual climb. But not this route. "Afternoon Delight" was just that, an afternoon delight that was essentially a face climb that used the space in the cracks as a way to get the climber from the ground to the top safely. We both got up with broad smiles on our faces, and we knew our day had been completed (or so I thought).

"Red" then asked me to lead "Rockaholic" again so she could second it, but I was hoping that "Jesus" would lead it as he said he would after he finished with "Afternoon Delight". When he came down to lead the route, "Red" asked him again if he would and he, looking up and seeing "Sherpa" already on the route asked, "What? Right now? At the same time?" We all kind of laughed and suggested that "Jesus" could actually lead the climb as "Sherpa" was seconding. The only downside for "Sherpa" was that she would have to carry "Jesus"' gear on her rack so that all he had to do was stand up and pluck whatever nut suited his fancy off the back of her harness. It was going to be, in our minds anyway, just like going to a store and picking items off a hook or shelf in front of you, hence the nickname "Sherpa", because "Sherpa" was going to carry all of "Jesus"' gear for him.

That finished the day for everyone and we all took a much more direct route out than we had taken in. When we got back to the parking lot, we actually came out a different way than we had gone in - no surprise there. While "Jello" certainly chose the wrong, obvious path, it wasn't all his fault. He did choose a path at the right side of the parking lot, and that path did get us to the top. The book didn't say exactly how far away from the right side of the parking lot the trail actually was. It turns out it was about fifty feet further down from the path we took. Oh well.

I hinted above that I thought my day was over, but that it actually wasn't. I'll post my notes from later in the day tomorrow. Until then, Apropos of Nothing -

1) "Jello" had a hard time getting his nuts out of the crack all day, even the dirty cracks.

2) "Jesus" was the only person who fell on "Rockaholic" causing me to think, but not say because no one knew what I had given him for a nickname yet, "Jesus Hangs!"

3) Greg really did have snacks that he forgot to take out of the trunk of his car, and he still has one bag as proof!

4) "Wrongway" didn't get lost on the way back, at least I don't think he did.

5) Greg hates snakes, especially ones that hang around the belay area with a large object being digested in the middle of its body

6) Beer Walls will always be remembered as a great first day in the 'Dacks

Adirondacks - Saturday: Beer Walls - Part One: Getting There

I awoke to "Jello" knocking on my door - a knobless piece of wood on hinges that served better as a deterrent to light than sound - and the smell of cheap pancakes sizzling on the stove in the kitchen next door. It was seven in the morning and I was as hungry as surprisingly well-rested. I don't sleep well when I'm not in my own bed. That's why I prefer staying in an actual bed over camping. If I'm not going to be in my own bed, then at least I'm actually in one. So to say I was well-rested is not accurate without context. To be honest, the drive up the day before had taken its toll. I roll my eyes as I type this. I'm thirty-two years old and can't take the same punishment that I could ten years earlier, but what is it going to be like in another ten years? Seriously, will I be crawling? I doubt it, but then again, maybe I won't see forty-two - so why care?

I crawled out of bed and stuck my hand in the open window to feel the crisp air waken the nerves in my palm and fingers. When we left Boston, it was a stark ninety degrees. In Ray Brook, it felt closer to a mild eighty; complete with the smell of pine and long grass, what you don't get in the city. After breakfast, "Jello" asked "Unity" if she wanted to join us, and she did. Our plan was to hit Beer Walls in Keene Valley, hopefully with the rest of the crew who didn't travel to Rodgers Rock, which, by the way, are the only pictures I have from the damn trip. It would be nice if people picked up the slack and sent me some Beer Walls photos (HINT, HINT).

However, I was unsure if we'd meet up with "Jesus", "Naples", "Lucky" and "Bikeman". The area seemed large, as in "Rumney" large with several different sections of crags available for everyone to pick and chose. I also didn't know if people were simply pairing up and taking off into the woods, only to be seen again as dusk settled in over the mountains the crackle of the campfire roared to life in North Hudson. I was mostly concerned, however, that my pals from Friday would not have a ride to the crag. I tossed and turned in my head the thoughts of going straight to the crag and heading to the campground to see if they needed rides. In retrospect, this sounds selfish and I should not have second guessed going to pick them up. But my main problem was not knowing how far away they were during the day without traffic from "Jello"'s place, and how far away again they were from the climbing site. In fact, we passed the climbing site on the way back to the campground, so the thought of missing valuable climbing time was pressing whatever lobes in my brain make decisions such as this. In any case, I decided to head to the campground just in case someone needed a ride.

I was lucky in the sense that if I had not gone back to the campground then everything would have been as confusing as I had thought it would be - with many places for people to hide and possibly, as a result, missed opportunities. We we approached the "Sharp Bridge - 1000 Feet" sign - a sign, by the way, "Jello" took offense to because there was no way the entrance to the campground was more than five hundred feet down the road from the sign - I was completely expecting to drive all the way in to the back of the campground to see if anyone was stranded. As it sometimes turns out, timing is everything (Yogi Berra would be proud). Sitting at the Ranger's office were two cars full of excited campers ready to go climbing. There was "Bikeman", "Jesus", "Wrongway", "Red" (btw - in an earlier post I had given the nickname "Red" to a person already, but upon seeing this new "Red", I realized I needed a new nickname for the old "Red". The old "Red" will now be known as "Sherpa" - story to come later),"Sherpa", and "Ankle". We smiled. We shook hands. We greeted one another and kissed our fingers to the sky as a sign of respect to life as we knew it to be. In short, we were damn lucky we had met when we did, because if we didn't meet at that moment in time then we would have had a helluva time finding each other at the crag.

After our greetings, it was noted that the campers had to stop at a general store to pick up supplies for the day and that evening. We all got in a line and drove to what turned out to be the local "Jellystone Park" campground, complete with Ranger Smith, Yogi, Boo-boo and bags of ice, water and goody snacks to be munched on later. But this wasn't without some adventure.

I was driving the third and last car in line when the first car, presumably driven by "Red", banked a right turn toward I-87. Not knowing where we were going, I followed "Wrongway" up a small hill and around a quick corner where, oddly enough, I found him sitting on the right side of the road with his left blinker on. "OK," I said. "I guess we should have followed "Red"." We turned around and headed toward I-87 when I was looking at something (not the road in front of me, and definitely not the car in front of me) and heard "Jello" shout "They're...they're...STOPPING!" I slammed on my brakes and went into full skid mode. "Wrongway" leisurely turned into Jellystone, where "Red" had turned, and I flew right past him, happy that his car had turned when it did because my car had neither the distance to turn nor time to get out of the way. (btw - because he had gear in the rear window, he never saw this happen). After scaring the shit out of my passengers, I calmly backed up and took the only remaining parking spot left (the handicap spot) and waited for us to head off again. When we finally did, I was happy to see that, in fact, anti-lock brakes do not leave skid marks. This required me to recite the conservationist mantra of "leave no trace" with a grin on my face not shared by my passengers.

But this wasn't the end of our little adventure. Far from it in fact. Once on the interstate we were all aware that we needed to take exit thirty to get to Beer Walls. We drove for a few miles in tandem at about eighty miles-per-hour until I, the second car in line behind "Wrongway" noticed that exit thirty was approaching. I also noticed that "Wrongway" was not slowing down and was still in the left lane. Here is the conversation that transpired:

Greg - Is he going to pull into the right lane?

"Jello" - I don't know, maybe he doesn't think he can squeeze in front of you. Trying slowing down.

Greg slows down..."Wrongway" does not.

Greg - Do they see it?

"Jello" waves both hands through the sunroof. He points, waves, even shouts a bit - not sure why as it was an interstate and he was more than listening distance away. "Wrongway" does not slow down nor does he pull into the right lane.

Greg and "Red" take exit thirty. "Wrongway" keeps driving. "Jello" confirms that exit thirty-one is a long way down the road and does not intersect with Route 73, where Beer Walls is located

Greg and "Red" drive to the Beer Walls parking lot. Greg suggests everyone heads in because it is going to be a while before the others show up. "Red" notes that, other than "Jello" and myself, "Wrongway"'s car has not only all the other leaders, but also all the climbing gear. Greg is intrigued by the fact that "Red" has all the food...mmmmm

But then all was well. No more than five minutes later did "Wrongway" surprisingly show up coming from the same direction we came. It turns out that "Wrongway" has a set of nuts (pun intended). He didn't need no stinkin' exit thirty-one, not when there are more than enough of those handy "authorized vehicle only" turnaround spots to use. We laughed, collected our gear and followed "Jello" into the woods.

Adirondacks - Friday: The Drive Up

Wow. My first climbing trip in a few years. The last time I went was maybe in 2002 when I went with the now defunct Weclimbs climbing group to the Gunks (as an aside - the MassClimbers group has gobbled up two entire climbing groups: Weclimbs and the MetroRock Google group. The takeovers havent been entirely successful, as only a handful of of people from each group are active. But still, long live the MassClimbers group and health to all!). That trip was an odd trip for me. I was really at the mercy of those with whom I stayed with, and we hit the same climbs each day we were there (Near Trapps? = Keyhole?). It was nice, however, to catch the fireworks at a nearby town's Fourth of July celebration. Don't get me wrong, the climbing was fantastic, but I wish I had better known what to expect then. My outdoor experience at that point had consisted entirely of learning to climb in Scotland, expanding my experience on the bens and crags of Scotland, and a two-week trip with my original climbing partners: "MG" and "KP" in Switzerland. This time, I vowed to myself, would be different. I wanted to play a greater role in what I climbed, whom I climbed with, and when I climbed. In this period of my life when things have been turned upside-down, I finally wanted to begin to take charge of the things I wanted to do. I felt this was my first opportunity to do so.

Why did I think this? For one, I felt that I was going up with people who valued discussion and variety. Two, I have my own car now and, despite driving others up and being responsible for their desires (which I should note is my preference for long trips), this means I have considerably more freedom to move about on my own if I should make that decision. I also don't have the commitments that I've had in the past and, while that fact is not all puppies and candy canes, it is a little load-lightening.

So when "Jello" first called me from Ray Brook (where he lives now - in between Lake Placid and Saranac Lake) last week, I knew I wanted to get out of Boston and get a good, solid weekend of risking my life on my terms for once. It was an exciting thought, "Greg's first step out in a long, long time." It was time to learn to trust myself and stop worrying about...well, I'm not sure what I'd worry about exactly, but that is my nature. Learning to look out for my own interests first is a new concept for me, and something I need to seriously focus on. It is odd because I wish I could do this with somebody else as my partner in crime. I know, that's a bit a hypocritical, but is an accurate depiction of my current state of mind.

Anyway, upon reading "Jello"'s long-coming e-mail to the group, I figured I'd ask the group if anyone else was interested in going up with me to meet our former karate kicking mate who never seemed to drain of physical energy. As it turned out, "Bikeman" was leading a group to the same region over Memorial Day weekend as well, so I made connections with him and then called "Jello" to confirm that I could stay with him (for me, it's about the climbing, not the camping. I don't mind camping, per se, but I prefer to have a roof over my head and easy access to the nearest bathroom - especially when I later found out that the campground everyone else was staying at lost their water supply Monday morning). I left a message with two phone numbers for him to call back to. And then I waited. And waited. Days went by and the trip on "Bikeman"'s end slowly started to come together. I was offered a place to stay at the campsite, but didn't have a tent (and was concerned that the two-tent per site limit would force me out into the cold - a notion I was foolishly worried about because I don't think "Bikeman"'s group would have allowed that to happen: such good people as they are). So I called "Jello" again, and left another message. I reread his e-mail. He was definitely going to be free beginning that Friday and through the weekend, but no return call came. So then I called yet again. Nothing. I paced. I fretted. I pulled out what little hair I have left. I even drank a bit too much whiskey wondering what to do.

"Where the hell is he?" I wondered, and began to realize that he was probably out in the thick of the woods working with the kids in the camp he worked for. The thought that he didn't have cellphone access started to creep in, and I wondered if I would actually hear from him for the first time enroute to his place Friday afternoon.

Tuesday came and went, as did Wednesday. No word from "Jello". Alternative plans were made. I could stay at the campsite, but needed a tent. I managed to borrow a tent, but I also knew the sites were filling up. I hated to be like this, but I knew my staying at the campground was going to be a last-minute decision. I secretly hoped that after everything was said and done there would remain one, last campsite where I could pitch my tent without the fear of kicking someone else out, someone who had likely been promised the site. This hope, sadly, replaced the hope that I'd get to stay with "Jello". I mourned the missed bed and slowly began to accept my fate.

Thursday morning rolled in with me to work, and stomped out as I headed to lunch. I was getting desparate. Already, I was to take "Naples" and "Lucky" in my car, and they were to stay at the campsite properly (they made all their proper arraingements with "Bikeman", something I was still obscure out). My intentions, I felt, were becoming disingenuous. I needed to hear one way or the other that I could or not stay with "Jello" after all. All I could think about was leaving at three in the afternoon, getting to the campsite at nine at night, having to drop them off and somehow get in touch with "Jello" when in all likelihood my cellphone wouldn't have the reception to call. It was stressful, and I seriously came close to biting the bullet and committing myself to camping only.

But then he called, (thank God he called!) laughing at me as I picked up my phone at work. He apologized profusely and explained that, in fact, he did not have reception whilst in the woods during the week and over the weekend. I felt foolish, but was relieved that I would have a place to stay, under a roof, and with access to a bathroom at the very low cost of five dollars per night. I couldn't have been more relieved. For the first time, I was not stressed and looking forward to the trip, but was excited only. I actually felt my heart sigh, and a smile came across my face.

So now it was set. "Naples" and "Lucky" were to ride up with me, and I could safely drop them off before heading another forty-five minutes north to Ray Brook. "Jesus" called later that evening and asked if he, too, could catch a ride up. With me wanting to split the cost among as many people as possible, I said "sure" and we set up a time to meet at "Bikeman"'s the next afternoon. Finally, things were falling into place.

As another aside, it should be noticed that I have a new car. I bought it a couple of weeks ago and when I did, I was generally impressed with the size of the trunk. In fact, I thought the trunk was too big and that the engineers who designed the interior could have saved some leg-room space for the rear passengers. Still, as I bought the car, I kept thinking about how great it was going to be to be able to stash my climbing gear in the car without the fear of not having enough room. Boy, was I wrong about that. To be honest, I knew there was going to be a problem as soon I put my sleeping bag, sleeping mat, suitcase and climbing bag in the trunk: it had taken up nearly half the space, and I still had three other people to squeeze into the car. When I got to "Naples" and "Lucky" I was certain "Jesus" was not going to be able to drive up with us. After loading thier stuff into the trunk, there was just no room whatsoever for any of "Jesus"'s things, and I knew from talking to him on the phone that he had a tent, trad gear, sleeping mat, sleeping bag and clothes. Knowing that the rear seats had little leg room to begin with, and that it was going to be a five-hour drive, I did not want to have to load bags onto people's laps just to make us all fit. In the end, however, that's exactly what we did. "Jesus" piled food between his legs in the front seat, "Naples" took the middle, rear seat with "Lucky" in one of the side, rear seats by her side. They had food sandwiched between their legs too (excuse the pun) and two bags stacked in the other side, rear seat beside them. We managed to squeeze two more bags in the trunk (how, I don't know) and we were off - straight into I-93 rush-hour traffic...all the way Concord from Somerville.

As you can imagine, the five-hour drive was pushed back to six, and that was just to the campground. After I dropped them off, I still had another forty-minutes to an hour to get to Ray Brook. I had told "Jello" that I'd be there by nine that evening. I didn't walk through the door until two minutes before eleven - seven hours after we left at four o'clock in the afternoon. I arrived, met his roommate and co-worker("Unity"), showered, and crashed. I was looking forward to seeing the crew and getting up some long, trad climbs the next day. It was a relief to finally settle down once I did.

Apropos of Nothing: 1) Vermont is very green with mountains that don't have a single bald spot to break the line of oaks, maples and pines (I'm sure there are other species, too, but that's all I'm going to write about); 2) It is really a pretty drive to Middlebury; 3)CR roads in New York are not well signed. I felt like I was driving in rural Boston; 4) Google Maps is not as reliable of a driving tool as you'd think it is; 5) Lake Placid is a long, long way away from the rest of the world to have an Olympic Training Center and; 6) the freaking ski jump tower at night is scary to discover if one doesn't know that it is there.

Tomorrow - Day One.

Climbed Hard Last Night

I am a bit sore today, and it isn't because I didn't stretch - because I did. Instead, it's more because I climbed hard last night. Well, hard for me anyway. I one-fell three straight hard 11s that were all either over-hanging or had a pumpy roof to navigate over. I'm more of a face climber who prefers crimps to jugs, so whenever I get on something steep I tend to get tired quickly. Still, my endurance is really improving and I think I'm on the verge of reaching a new plateau. Is it that I'm climbing more or pushing myself more? Is it because my confidence is improving? Or is it because I have a new sense of freedom falling upon me? It could be a combination of everything, but in general, things do seem to be a bit more uplifting than they have been the past few months. I feel better, stronger, slightly healthier (though I seriously need to hit the dentist and doctor for a checkup) and slightly more optimistic. Hmmm...

On another note, I promise to have my Adirondack posts up starting sometime Friday evening. It will not be one, long post for the entire weekend but four individual posts for each day of the trip instead. Believe it or not, I'm still writing the posts in my writing notebook...and I'm still on Saturday's events!

Adirondacks Prelude

Just got back from a three-day weekend in the 'Dacks. It was my first time there, and I have a lot to tell. But I am warning you, I've got board meetings Tuesday and Thursday and I'm climbing Wednesday, so it may be a few days before I get anything posted. When I d0 post, however, I will have one post for each day, including the drive up. One thing to consider too, my camera broke (a crappy one, so don't fret!) and I have no pictures from the weekend. If anyone has any, please send them my way and I will put what I can on the site. Otherwise, I had a great weekend and I hope you all did too.

Off To The 'Dacks

It's going to be a long, hot drive today. We're looking at record temps in the 90s. I'm not sure what the temps are going to be like in Up-state NY, but I hope it stays nice throughout the weekend.

I'm hearing rain on Sunday, however - thunderstorms to boot. But at least I was able to get in touch with "Jello". He lives in Ray Brook, about an hour north of North Hudson where the others are camping. While this is a bit of a distance, it is OK because I can drop them off on the way and pick them up on the way back. The only problem is them getting to the crags in between. I'm sure it will work out.

"BikeMan" (this could get difficult, trying to figure out and remember all the nicknames I'm using) has said that we can possibly meet Saturday at Keene Valley on Beer Walls (great name for a crag eh?), but I suspect they are all going to want to hit Rodgers Rock with the weather being good on Saturday and not Sunday. Rodgers Rock, by the way, is apparently a massive cliff right on the edge of a lake that is only accessible by an hour-long canoe paddle (about 3 miles). It sounds like a lot of fun, but I'm not interested in paddling for an hour to get there and then an hour to get back after I've been climbing all day. I guess if I could camp at the rock then that would be OK, but I'm not camping there and so I'm not going.

It'll be nice to see "Jello" again. He's an adventurous sort who's attitude toward like can be a bit intoxicating. I'm happy he found a good job that he likes, and I'm glad I'm getting the chance to drive up there to climb with him.

Just for shits and giggles, I'm going to give some nicknames in advance to people I'm very likely to be associating with this weekend. I'm driving up "Jesus", "Naples" and her boyfriend "Lucky". I've already mentioned "Bikeman", but there's also "CellPhone" and his fiancee...hmmm, have to come up with a nickname for her by the end of the weekend. There will also be "Red" and a few others whom I don't know yet, or at least don't know well enough to give nicknames to. This could be an interesting time. Wish me luck!

Comps, Climbing and the Adirondacks

Some weekends are such a blur of activity that one never really understands that activities were partaken in until well after the fact. This weekend was one of those weekends.

Saturday - Got up early and headed down to New Bedford with "Cody" to judge at the Regional Comps held at Carabiners Gym. It was an easy ride down and I was quite surprised at the gym itself: very tall walls with not a space in the place wasted. Nearly every inch, even in the middle where the only thing to attach a climbing wall to is the ceiling, seemed to have a climbing hold on it. It was an impressive site to see. One thing that this gym does too is use the same colored holds for one specific route. This is primarily what the European gyms do, while the American gyms tend to use tape to mark the routes. Granted, using tape is more cost efficient (one doesn't need to buy a million holds of one color to make one route, and one has greater flexibility in which holds to choose), but tape also falls off and, thus, makes the routes harder (and maybe more frustrating over time). One answer to this for "taped" gyms is continuously put up new routes, which my gym (MetroRock) does and Carabiners apparently does not (we talked to a couple of staffers and they said the comp routes would stay up because they really hadn't had new routes in a couple of years - unbelievable!!!). Still, I like both styles and see the benefit of each, but gyms have to continuously change the routes over. As one famous climber at MetroRock once told me (and I'm paraphrasing here), "the routes are the product. Without quality routes, you won't have a sustainable, dependable cash flow." Can't disagree there.

One thing I'd like to point out, however, is the ridiculous requirement that some gyms have regarding the need to use GriGris to belay and for the belayor to be tied in while belaying. First off, teaching climbers to use a GriGri to belay is akin to teaching a kid to do math using a calculater. The answer is going to be the same, but the kid never learns how the math is actually done (carrying the one, for example). This sets a poor precedent for these climbers who start at the gym and then move to climbing outside. Not only is it important for them to learn proper, basic belaying techniques, but it is also important that they learn that a GriGri is self-locking while other devices are not (In my opinion, it is always best to learn the most basic method first and then trade up to more "luxurious" practices). Going from a GriGri to an ATC is probably not as safe as going from an ATC to a GriGri.

Also, as I mentioned above, Carabiners requires the belayor to lock into an anchor, presumably to keep the belayor from going up in the air when the climber falls. This is the most bizarre practice of all. For one, by being anchored, the belayor has limited ability to shift the rope away from the climber. Sure, if the anchor is long enough then the belayor can move about more freely than if the rope is not long enough. But take that a step further and understand that no anchor means even more freedom. But I'm sure that the main concern is that if a lighter-weighing belayor catches a heavier climber then the belayor will go up in the air. This, however, is a good thing. Whenever the belayor goes up in the air, it means the climber has had a softer landing. I know, this isn't as much of a factor on toprope, but it is on lead. I think these types of requirements are clearly pushed by insurance companies to "limit" liability. But let's ask the question, unless the insurance adjuster is a climber, and the insurance company has climbing-specific policies in place, can the insurance company make the best decision with it's limited experience? My guess is no; they can't.

As a result, "Cody" and I decided to use our own belaying methods to belay each other on the comps routes during our downtime. Not only was this more comfortable for us, but we think it was safer because it allowed us to do what we know best. In climbing, in my opinion, you don't take risks that you don't have to take (it may be why I'm stuck at 5.11 in the gym and 5.9 outside, but whatever). When one can climb safely and have fun, then that is better than climbing just for fun.

The comp itself was pretty fun. The routes were long and pumpy and I think the route setting was outstanding. Only one kid flashed the hardest route on the wall (maybe 5.12d) and there wasn't a crux section where a bunch of kids got stuck. Everyone came off at the point where their ability took them. It was really quite impressive. Anyway, at one point "Cody" looked at me and said that she had to be back in Boston by 630pm. I looked at my watch at it was 637pm. Oops. We rushed back and I think she made it to where she needed to be later that evening.

Sunday - I went to the gym and met up "Philly" and, as it turned out, "Geneva", who was flying out that night to visit family back home in Switzerland (oh how I wish I were going with him. I'd love to go back and climb again in Switzerland, even if to climb "Le Miroir" in memory of my friend Mat). I wasn't feeling overly strong, but these guys pushed me. There is a 5.11b/c (I think that's the grade, it may be 11d) that I've been struggling on, but I got up it with one fall at the crux at the top (both "Philly" and "Geneva" climbed it clean for the first time - "Geneva" flashed it on TR). That was the first time with only one fall, so I was pleased with that effort. Right after that we jumped on a 5.12a that "Philly got about half-way up before coming down. "Geneva" finished the route, but not without a few falls. It's too bad because I think he could have climbed it clean had he not gone to Switzerland. The route will surely be gone by the time he gets back (there is a divisional comp at MetroRock - divisional is the round after regional - in June and the 12a is a comp route from a few weeks ago that will need to be stripped to make way for new comp routes). I managed to get about two-third of the way up before coming down. I was truly toast at that point. My next climb I couldn't even get on a route that I normally do well on until the crux near the top. I didn't climb much, but I was pushed and climbed relatively well. I was pleased with the effort.

Adirondacks - I'm supposed to be heading to the Adirondacks with a large group this weekend. It will be my first time visiting the "Dacks", let alone climb there. I've been to the "Gunks" before, and that was fun, but I've heard that while the "Gunks" are sandbagged, the "Dacks" are even worse. Looks like I'll be climbing 5.7s for the weekend. Still, I'm looking forward to it. It will be nice to get away (I seriously need to - my mental health is straining at the moment) and finally go on a climbing trip with friends where I have little or no responsibility. My only concern is that I'm supposed to stay with "Jello" and I haven't been able to get in touch with him. "TD" has offered a tent, but I'm not sure I can get my car onto the campsite (there may be too many people). I don't need this extra stress, but it's OK. In the end, it's all for a good cause.

Hopefully, I'll have some great pics to post next week when I get back. Until then, have fun...

I Have To Stop Chasing Grades At The Gym

If you have read my entire blog, you will have noticed that I have spent a lot of time talking about getting better and climbing harder grades. I've linked the topic of grades to such things as weight, practice, technique and strength. Certainly skill and talent either would have or should have been factored in as well, but the truth of the matter is that, as I learned last night, grades are very, very subjective.

Of course, I've known this for a long time. I mean, the topic is practically sprayed across the pages of Climbing and Rock and Ice. One elite climber does such-and-such route and sets the grade. Then another comes along, gets the second ascent and downgrades it. Of course, at the elite level, which I am clearly not at, the difference between grades is substantial (e.g. - the difference between 14a and 14b is probably greater than the difference between 10a and 10c, maybe even 11a), and it is often not coincidental that one climber finds a route at that level to be easier because of the particular talents or climbing style that climber possesses.

But this isn't the entire point. The point is that even between locations, grades are notoriously different. A 5.9 at Rumney is probably a 5.8- in the Gunks and a 5.10- at Red River Gorge. Now, a lot of this has to do with who put up the routes at these locations. Some of the grading, I'm sure, is similar to a housing assessor's job: a house is assessed based on what condition it is in versus the condition of the houses that immediately surround it, thus making different neighborhoods within the same city priced differently for what can seem to be the same apartment. I'm sure the folks who set the grades at Rumney were influenced by the grades put up in North Conway twenty years before. And I'm not saying the grades aren't honest (because who can tell in all honesty). What I am saying is that people have graded over time according what they honestly feel is the grade. Sure, there are sandbaggers out there trying to feed their ego, but they will almost always be taken care of by better climbers who will come around and call them out if the grade is unrealistic.

But not at the gym. Simply put, ego reigns supreme at the gym. One person's 5.11 is another's 5.10b and vice-versa. My case in point was I almost flashed my first 5.11 last night on a great, pink route at my local gym. Every move was so smooth, so easy to read and get through; I really should have done it clean. I didn't because I couldn't see a key foot hold. Had I remembered it from when I could see it from below, I would have sent the route pretty easily. Two climbs later, however, I flailed and flailed on a stiff, green 5.10c/d. In my mind, there was now way the green route was easier than the pink route. Now, to be fair, the green route was bouldery in nature and I'm not a particularly strong boulderer. So that is a factor, but to come as close to climbing a 5.11 cleanly the first time and then really struggling on a route two grades lower is foolish. The grades really should be switched, and I can only believe the reason why the grades are so different is that one of route setters (I don't know which one) is wrong - either they are sandbagging routes or calling them soft.

Why is this a problem? Well, I had a discussion with a couple of prominent route setters / volunteers at the gym recently and I disagreed with their assessment that the grades at the gym are harder than the grades outside, in general. They were appropriate in saying the mental factor outside is probably more prominent in me than I'm giving it credit for, but if their assessment is true then I should be able to climb 5.11 easily outside, and I don't. In fact, I don't even climb 5.10 easily outside and I can get on 5.12s in the gym (albeit, not gracefully). This is important to me because I think it poses an issue while climbing outside. Firstly, I think it's a safety issue - if I get on a 5.11 outside and it turns out to be much harder than realized then I could be putting myself or other in a difficult position. Knowing that, I tend to stay well below my indoor grade while outside. This is mainly out of the fear that I don't really know what constitutes a 5.11 anywhere, especially if I can't figure out what a 5.11 is in my own, damn gym where I'm a route setter.

I know this is sort of a hot topic for some folks, but I'm wondering if I am taking the right approach by being cautious or if I should just go for it. Thoughts?

A Climber's Taunt - The Legend of Tiara Girl

One day; a day when the crowds were thin at the famed Metro Rock climbing gym in Everett, Massachusetts; a lazy Sunday when the clouds were low over the sky and the wind chill dipped below thirty degrees in January; a day when no member of the MassClimbers climbing group felt the need to risk life and limb by scaling the most difficult routes in the gym, a birthday was held. And who could the honor of such an annual event be bestowed upon but a little girl, no older than five or six, sporting a chest harness, tiny climbing shoes that would make anyone swoon at the thought of once being young, a pink tutu and a fake diamond-encrusted tiara.

In a climbing gym she was, but climb she did not. Having tested herself on many of the challenging and, due to her appropriate size for her age, low-hanging bouldering problems, she found the only way to truly challenge and exhaust herself was to run around in circles being chased, nay followed, by her gang of squealing admirers. They found in thier excitement the joy of leaping face-first onto the soft, blue mats and the pleasure of swinging freely on the ropes that were not being used to challenge lesser people; those whom she laughed at as they attempted, ungracefully, to layback on a hold that was clearly meant to be used as a mantle.

The passive-aggressive little bitch that she was, she snidely ignored the climbers' grunts, pants and screams by brushing past the belayor's legs, letting him or her know that, despite her indifference, they were still in her presence and should not forget her due dominance of the air that we breathed and the playful voices that we heard. And somewhere, somewhere in the cruel state of denial, where the holds were as valuable as foreign letters and the steepness of the slope that she would walk up (without a rope) pulled back with all of Einstein's theories of gravity in full use, was a ghostly voice emenating from both Hell below and Heaven above taunting, "COME ON YOU PUSS! I DID THAT IN LESS THAN TEN SECONDS, WITH MY EYES CLOSED, ONE HAND TIED TO THE OPPOSITE ANKLE, A BUCKET OF HOT TAR BEING DUMPED OVER ME FROM THE TOP AND AN ARMY OF SPEARMEN HURLING THIER LONG, SHARP WEAPONS AT MY HEEL." We'd look around and see nothing; not a single sign of a humanly presence that could have possibly said such things. We'd look again, our belayor's wondering what was wrong with us, why our fright-stricken, white faces looked so perplexed. And just as we'd get ready to turn our focus back on the climb, off in the distance, a sound would be heard, a sound of a giggling girl in a pink tutu and a tiara taunting us every move therefore after.

Gorgeous Day - And Some Good Climbing To Boot

I can't say we haven't been lucky this year, because the sun has shone brilliantly several times the past few weeks to give us what I think has been the best climbing spring in three or four years. Every other year we've found nice weather during the week or on weekend days the day after it rains (e.g - it pours on Friday making a beautiful Saturday irrelevant). Not this year. This year we've already hit Rumney twice and QQ twice. I predict a Gunks and NoCo trip in the coming weeks as well. I'd even like to get to Quebec City at some point later in the summer.

But that's all beside the point - it was supposed to stay in the low sixties yesterday and it probably did stay there, but QQ, where we saddled up to give "Ashmont" a final, outdoor wave-off before he heads out west for good (he was so bad-ass yesterday. I wish we had a camera. With those tattoos, the 1970s porn star / motorcycle cop sunglasses, the thick beard and the bright orange helmet - I swear, it was as if I was watching some cult leader scare away all the nice kids just by showing up. It was totally cool), is well protected from the wind because the quarry settles into a bowl with cliffs all around. It can get really warm there during the summer, so cool days in the spring and fall (even the occasional warm, winter day) are quite enjoyable.

We also had a good day climbing; knocking off routes that had previously haunted us and kept us from believing we are as strong outside as we are inside. "Chuck" managed her first two 5.10s outside and it is probably only a matter of time before she gets them cleanly. It'll take some work and diligence, but she'll get them. "Gammie" jumped on everything I climbed and felt stronger on some routes than others. Still, he also jumped on a tough 5.10 that I was hoping to work throughout this summer (and I nailed it first go-around. I couldn't believe it. I seriously thought I was going to get it sometime in August or September, and I only got on it yesterday to "work it". But I climbed it clean and it felt so easy. I guess it's time to find another project - I think I did too, to the right there is a 5.11 with a massive blank section. I'm going to need to tape my fingertips to get through the slight, sharp pockets that are there, but it's going this summer, if I can help it), and he also tried a couple of other variations on other routes just to add flavor to the day.

We got off to a good start too. "GGF" taught us all how to swear on her first route. It turns out that repetition is the key - saying the words over and over again, even if you use them in different combinations, helps tremendously. Though the other climbers may now get confused - apparently "GGF" felt the need to both re-grade and re-name the routes. I'm not convinced the QQ guidebook will take into account the new beta. Despite her sailor imitations, however, she's getting stronger, as it was noticeable that she was able to get up the 5.8 and 5.9 routes that I think were tough for her last time. It's all a matter of climbing; just getting out there and practicing different moves for different ocassions. Once the arsenal gets built up, climbing harder grades becomes easier. I think both "GGF" and "Chuck" are discovering this. "Gammie" still relies on raw power, but he's strong enough to climb hard grades without much technique, so it works for him in the end.

Just to make everyone feel a little better, the QQ grades probably weren't sandbagged when they were graded thirty years ago, but because the rock has become slick and polished over time, they are sandbagged now. I'd say 5.9 at QQ is really 5.10. Maybe 5.10- or a hard 5.9+, but definitely not 5.9 anymore.

We didn't escape without some adventures, however. QQ had its share of loonies. There was new graffiti at the bottom of a fantastic 5.8 I was hoping to do another variation on, so that kept us off that route out of fear of getting paint on the ropes. A kid showed up with one of those gas-motor scooters (not the kind you sit on like a moped, but the kind that you stand on instead). He was loud and obnoxious, but he left soon after he sprayed the place with dirt from doing doughnuts. "Gammie" was on the hard 5.10 I spoke about earlier when someone dropped a rope on him, twice. They yelled "rope" once, but didn't actually look to see where they were throwing it. He wasn't particularly happy about it, and I don't blame him. And then there was the poet who was at the quarry when we arrived. He entertained "Chuck" and "GGF" while "Gammie" and I set up the topropes above.

In all, I can't complain about the weather or the quality of climbing we've been getting in. It's been great thus far. I can't wait to get out and do more. On a sad note, good-bye "Ashmont". We'll see you Wednesday, but you can't get out of saying good-bye by not having a going-away party (unless of course you are having one and you're not inviting me (then you're just and asshole). I encourage anyone to post either a good story or a good-bye to one of our most popular members in the comments section of this story. Maybe we'll get some good embarrassnig moments that will never be taken down!

Another Great Day At Rumney

I just can't get over how much fun I've had climbing at Rumney this spring. In years' past, climbing there has been difficult, not because the climbing is hard, but because getting on routes is a challenge on nice days. Rumney has many, many crags spread across Rattlesnake Mountain, but each of the crags are so enjoyable that they all attract crowds when the sun is high and warm. Cloudless days usually mean long lines and posturing for routes. Uncomfortable silence tends to dominate the scene when one group has been queuing for a specific route and another group, one that sees the current group cleaning, starts smacking its lips at a potential open climb. Thankfully climbers tend to possess good communication skills, and the hungry beasts can be pushed back with a witty comment about how they want to stay away from the climb because they heard the guy who just came down farted at the top. It may be a lie, but it works.

Anyway, for the most part, I haven't had to tell tall tales in order to save my next route. For instance, two weeks ago, everyone must have thought Rumney was going to be too wet to climb. I think many people chose the four-hour route to the Gunks instead(which I hear were busy). As I mentioned before, I was definitely OK with that. I know, we did primarily stay in the New Wave area (with quick jaunts to the Meadows and 5.8 Crag), so we didn't exactly venture out to see how crowded the other areas were. But even at New Wave, where the approach is light, we had few groups come our way. We pretty much had the crag to ourselves.

I really thought yesterday was going to be the opposite. When we arrived, I thought we were toast because the main parking lot was as full as I had seen it. But it turned out to be not as bad as it seemed. Somehow, the crowds ventured high up on the mountain first, leaving the lower crags not as busy as expected. I'm sure a lot of people figured that most would stay low and so maybe they overcompensated, leaving good, quality routes for the beginners to play around on.

In any case, We started in the Meadows and hit a nice 5.7, 5.9 and 5.8 as warm ups before the crowds arrived (and by the way, we started climbing at around 10:30am, which, in my estimation is late and definitely peak arrival time for anyone coming from Boston). To get three good, easy climbs in at the Meadows during peak hours is an accomplishment. I didn't get on my project 5.10, but that's OK. It'll be there next time. I saw a few people run it and have an idea as to what to do next time. I have done it on toprope, but leading is tough (if I didn't mention this before, I took a really wussy fall two weeks ago when I asked "Chuck" to pull me off. She did, and I fell. Damn that was scary).

After warming up, we then went to Main Cliff. We knew it was going to be open because the falcons have relocated to Summit Cliff (early for that). We also figured most people did not know this fact, thus, creating an opportunity to get a few runs in on some of the moderate climbs there. As it turned out, most of the easy climbs were trad routes, and we didn't feel as if we wanted to place our own gear. I was OK with it, but I wanted to make sure that there were bolted anchors at each belay point. Bolted anchors on trad climbs makes life significantly easier and allows for faster turnaround time. We couldn't confirm there were bolted anchors all the way to the top, so we passed and instead sought out a hybrid, bolted climb that was supposed to take us to the top.

I led the first pitch of what was supposed to be a 5.9 that probably ended up at 5.7, dropped the rope down for "Geneva" to lead (we didn't want to use two, full ropes to simul-climb the two seconds), and then "Chuck" cleaned. The point was then
to make an easy traverse down and across to the top of a trad pitch and climb the last pitch on bolts. However, it turned out that the traverse was neither easy nor obvious and, despite "Geneva's" attempts to locate the route (see pic), we chose to rap down and eat lunch. The view was fantastic though, and we were all glad that we were outside climbing. After all, it isn't always the grades one climbs. Just being outside in good company is good enough.

After Main, our next goal was to hit Jimmy Cliff, one of the uppermost crags on the mountain. We were prepared to do the full hike, but as we got up to Lower Vader, we decided to stop at Upper Vader just to catch our breath from the warm, steep climb. Upper Vader, as it turns out, is where we met one of our most eccentric climbing-group members ("Jello")last year, and I remembered there were some very nice moderate routes there for us to do. All three had nice moves that were different from the other climbs, making our time there interesting and not monotonous. All three of us managed the fun, and blind, mantle move on the 5.8 while "Geneva" and I had fun practicing our stems on a short 5.6. "Chuck" took a big fall before the first clip on one route, but she got back up on the route after that. I've always said courage doesn't necessarily come in good climbers. I'm a better climber than her, but I made her pull me off a route two weeks ago. She fell without protection (she was spotted well, but hadn't made a clip yet), and still had the nerve to jump back up. You see the difference don't you? I do.

After that, we decided that Jimmy Cliff was just too far to go at the end of the day. All three of us had to be at work the next day (me in particular), and so we packed it in and headed home. There was a beautiful sunset in my rear view mirror that made me smile. I'll be back there again this summer for certain.

Two Days In A Row

Over the past couple years I have stayed away from two things: bouldering and climbing on consecutive days. This is because whenever I did either of these, I got hurt. And these weren't good injuries either. I'm not talking about the easy-to-accept psychologically leg breaks or crushed skulls. I'm talking those lingering my-elbow-feels-fine-today-but-really-isn't kind of injuries that kept me out for weeks at a time. And when I'd come back, it was always too early. But that was when I weighed a whopping 187lbs.

A year later, I'm sitting at 164lbs and feel much more as if I can do static moves without stressing my joints and tendons. A year ago, I was barely able to hold myself on a hard 5.10. Now, I can get my way up the route using technique most of the way. Granted, I've lost a lot of strength from the weight loss, but I've gained a lot more (including harder grades under my belt).

Anyway, I climbed on Sunday and climbed hard and moderately well (knocking off a couple of stiff 10s that I hadn't been able to do clean). I had no intention of climbing before at least Wednesday this week(turns out to be Thursday). But I was convinced to show up Monday and climb anyway - but to boulder, not to rope up - the feared double whammy.

To be clear, I was hesitant. Not only because the suggested climbing style was one that I've always struggled with (both proficiently and health wise), but also because I've been making steady strides both in terms of weight loss and climbing ability. I have to say that both of these improvements are because I've climbed a lot, but also taken care to ensure that I'm not doing too much. A year ago, I was a physical wreck: had constant pain and soreness; various, lingering injuries that kept me from participating in my favorite activity; sleepless nights; no consistent rest and generally feeling ill. I don't feel those symptoms these days (well, I'm still tired sometimes, but not as a general rule anymore - now, I can tell when I'm tired and it is usually related to a specific event). But now, I'm happy with the results and I did not want to set myself back. I want to keep climbing, not prevent myself from doing so.

As I said, I was convinced to go and, in the end, I felt OK. I was nervous about all the big, dynamic moves you usually see boulderers do, but I kept it simple by sticking to V4 at the hardest and V2 at the most frequent. I was tired, but that was mostly from climbing on Sunday. Anyway, I thought I felt a twinge in my thigh and by the night's end my biceps were hurting pretty badly, but it was a good hurt, as if I had done a solid amount of exercise and my body was finding a way to thank me later.

We roped up at the end of the night and I still felt strong enough to get up a hard 10 and easy 11 to finish off. I still felt more graceful on the roped climbs, a little more in control than on the boulders, but I can't complain with the results. I guess you can learn from jumping with both feet - so long as you're willing to jump into the fire and believe it's not that hot.

Gym Time Yet Again

This past weekend we were blessed with just the right amount of sunshine. It blasted through the early-morning clouds and dispersed in between the empty tree branches, leaving us warm when we've been so depressingly cold and wet. The rock was wet in some places, but it was dry enough to bring smiles to our faces and rigid shapes to our fingertips. We winced as we pulled against the jagged crimps because we felt we had to; to keep the weather gods from raining on our parade, and in some circumstances we felt the fear of absent light creeping in, so we had to get a few more climbs in as the sun set and the Meadows at Rumney grew dark.

And then there was Wednesday - a return of the rain that we have been trying to avoid all spring. It rained Wednesday, was nice Thursday and poured again today, Friday, so that any notion of hope that the walls would be dry by sunup were destroyed by the noon-time downpour.

I climbed at the gym Wednesday with an old partner who is becoming more committed than he has in the past. We were joined by a newcomer to the group. He will be a good addition. We all felt strong.

I'm not convinced the 5.11s at the gym are harder than 5.11s outside. I ran another one clean, and climbed the first half of an 11c very well my first time on it. Yes, the second half was full of falls and dynamic stabs in the dark at slopers I had no business snagging, but I felt strong throughout most of the night. I feel I have surpassed yet another plateau. Here's hoping my next ceiling doesn't hit until the winter.

Another gym day tomorrow. Maybe I'll set a route, maybe I'll get a needed good-night's sleep and write. That is what I will do. Yes, I'll write and rest. Sunday is another day. I will see you all at Quincy Quarry...if it is dry.

The First Rumney Assault of the Year - YEAAAH!

OK, so we were so excited after hitting Qunicy Quarry a few weeks ago that we got ahead of ourselves in thinking we'd be able to get out every weekend from that point thereafter (maybe until the end of time). I know. I know. It was a foolish thing to think, but I'm not convinced it's entirely abnormal; especially after living inside for the winter. When it gets cold at the start of the winter, you pretty much know that you're inside for the duration of the season. So it stands to reason that when it gets nice in spring that you'd think you'll be outside for the season. But alas, this is not summer, as I just noted; it is spring instead, and that means transition. From the time we spent clawing our way up the cliffs in Quincy until this past Thursday, it's been rain, rain, rain and a little bit of snow mixed in with cold temperatures and a dysfuntional jet stream that wouldn't fight back against that bullying artic cold front. That is, as I said, until this weekend.

It took a while to figure things out. You see, a few of us have been planning to stay at the MIT cabin in North Conway for the entire weekend. We were looking at heading up Friday night and Saturday morning collectivelly to hook up with some people who knew what they were climbing (we're all sort of noobs to the cool climbing areas, we need help and direction, we need leaders to become leaders ourselves).

But instead of enjoying what turned out to be a glorious weekend at the crag in North Conway, we were hit with a mother of a nor'easter Sunday evening into Monday that dropped about 5 inches of rain and snow in the NoCo area (the storm lagged until early Thursday morning, even though the worst was over by 8am Monday). Throughout the week there were talks of whether or not it would dry by Saturday and if the snow packs at the top would be dangerous - a topic that also came up suddenly at Rumney too... twice. By Friday afternoon it was evident that everyone who was heading up to NoCo was bailing. It was pretty much over except for the waiting for the guy who rented the cabin to officially call it off. Four of us were still willing to go, but then the guy in charge said he wasn't going. Alas, we were stuck in a void of ascension, and something needed to be done.

That left us scrambling to find out what we were doing for the the weekend. First it was the Gunks, but some people didn't want to go all weekend and some people have a hard time jumping out of their comfort zone (ahem) at the last minute. Then we decided on Rumney, but would that mean all weekend or just one day? Back and forth we went. Do we go to Quincy again? That wasn't ideal, and neither were Crow Hill or Red Rocks in Gloucester (it's funny because I feel I have to justify "Gloucester" every time I mention that place). By late Friday afternoon, just as word was coming in that the NoCo raid was officially off, it was decided through a hodgepodge of patchy e-mails and voice messages that there would be an all-out assualt on Rumney at least on Saturday. Then the lines went dead.

Four o'clock passed and no decision on time or length of stay was determined. Then five o'clock. Then six o'clock. More calls and e-mails went out. A few hits came back, but none were decision-worthy comments - just "I'm in!" or "count me in for whatever!". Decisions had to be made, and they had to be made quick so that decisions could be broadcast to the world, and I failed, miserably.

Not knowing what people could do or what our options were for accommodations, I called off the weekend overnight (admittingly, I did this after hearing that one of the two main groups could not stay overnight, so it wasn't as if I was pulling the evil cord from the socket - I had help and direction). But we still didn't have a time. There were meeting places to set, time to keep, pickups to make, logistics to get around and it was nearing seven o'clock (where, by the way, I was still sitting at work grumbling as I played with a spreadsheet I hope to get rid of in the next month).

What time do we leave?

Eight o'clock?

But we have to pick up so-and-so?

Seven-forty five?

What about the others?

Call them.

Do cellphones work up there?

Yes.

Slowly, things came together and by the time I finally put my head on a pillow Friday night, at around midnight, we had a plan, a little excitment rumbling in our belly and a full-day of sunshine and warm, dry crags in front of us. It was to become the first 2007 Rumney Rumble!!!!!

OK, so I'm being dramatic, but we all met up as planned. My group arrived first and we headed straight for the 5.8 Crag to get a couple of warm-ups in before we hit the harder crags. I was a little worried we'd see a lot of water on the routes, but a few were dry and the crag was empty. We were off to a good start.

As we finished up there, the second group showed up and decided to head to New Wave where there was a nice combination of moderate routes and steep, stiff and fun harder routes. By the time we showed up, the second group had set up some nice top ropes for our moderate climbers and were nice enough to leave the lead gear for the really hard guys (tongue-in-cheek - if you're a new subscriber to my blog, it may be best if I disclose my sense of humor now - it's a bit off). The routes were all over the map in terms of moves - high steps, mantles, high-step mantles, underclings, knee bars, sticking-both-feet-into-a-really-cool-and-wide-crack (not sure what to call that one, and I don't think the acronym "SBFIARCAWC" works - suggestions can be made in the comments section below). Everyone led, even those who were a little nervous about it, and everyone felt as if a perfectly good day of climbing and workout had been had. We had a lot of fun, a lot of laughs, more fun hearing the laughs from below when the second group headed to the crag above the first group, and pleny of sweet smelling suntan lotion (hint to person who brought that - get more! The chicks like it!)

Anyway, as I noted, before we finished all the routes on Lower New Wave, the second group headed up to Upper New Wave to get a few more runs in before leaving. We joined them, but found a limited number of routes available due to water runoff and growling stomachs in the secound group that wanted to go home. So we waved good-bye, noted our desire to climb with everyone again, and headed down to the Meadows to get a few more climbs in at the end of the day. One person found her "new love" on a 5.7 while I nearly crapped myself taking a lead fall I really didn't want to take (it was wet, overhanging and I was damn tired - leave me alone!). We packed up and left for the long ride home, and, despite being overwhelmingly exhausted, are probably ready to head back again next week for more punishment.

On a side note, these are some of the things we learned yesterday, in no particular order: The techno star (and former hardcore punk bad boy) Moby named himself after his great-grandfather; his great-grandfather wrote "Moby Dick"; "Moby Dick" was written by Herman Melville (NO! It's MILLER!!!!); some people have crushes; some people fart; some people have farts that echo; some people don't hide properly; others use the rope on overhangs; dogs like sticks on precipitous edges; John Ritter was not in WKRP in Cinncinatti; Manchester is known as ManchVegas for a reason; melting ice on a steep hill has only one place to go when it breaks off in dangerous chunks; guys who look like a rag-tag crew as they come into a restaurant aren't always the same people we saw climbing earlier; people in Sweden live alone; women in Sweden are the ones who pick up guys in bars; Greg wants to move to Sweden; people in Sweden are poor, but all own bikes and eats lots of sour cream while the royal family can afford mayononaise (tartar sauce on holidays); Thailand has way sharper edges than Rumney; the video game "Guitar Hero" is still annoying after two weeks of being removed from the apartment (he's going through "Deep Purple" withdrawals - it'll be over soon - I hope); some people like putting big, thick sausages in thier mouths, others prefer coconuts and hotdog buns; some people have courage despite not being able to climb harder routes; and everyone was happy that Rumney was pretty much empty of crowds and waterfalls.

Till, next time...

Santa Fe

I made it in to Santa Fe alive, although barely. The flight from Denver into Santa Fe was on a two-prop plane that couldn't resist its blaring alarms every time we hit a patch of turbulence, and we hit those a lot. Anyway, I was in Santa Fe for a health care conference and was hoping to get a few hours of climbing in before coming home. I tried, I honestly did, but Santa Fe is an odd town that seems to tell you what to do instead of the other way around.

I landed at the tiny airport (about the size of my apartment, I swear!) at about 4pm on Tuesday, rented a car and headed to the Eldorado Hotel to check in. My plan was to check in, change and head out to White Rock to get an hour of climbing in before checking in for the night. Before I left, I checked to see how far White Rock was from Santa Fe, and it looked like it was only twenty miles away. Piece of cake right? Apparently not. When I arrived at the hotel I asked the valet how long it took to get to White Rock, and he told me it was about an hour's drive.

"An hour?" I asked. "But it's only twenty miles away."

"As the crow flies," he said, which, as I think about it, that expression sounded so appropriately mid western for the first time in my life. "It's up in the mountains. The roads to get there are winding. It'll take a while."

Odd, I thought, considering the sign at the airport said "Santa Fe, Altitude - 6532 feet". I thought about this and did some math. "Four-thirty now, ten minutes to check in, ten minutes to crap a day's worth of airport food...nope, make that twenty minutes, five minutes to change and get my car out of the garage. That left me a little after five o'clock. Then we're talking an hour to White Rock. So that's six o'clock. Probably getting dark. Twenty minutes to find the damn crag. Now we're talking six-thirty. Ten minutes at least to find a way to keep from getting freaked out by evil, hiding-in-bushes snakes. That's a bit before seven. Nope, not happening tonight."

That was disappointing, but OK. I ended up walking around town in search of some decent food (found some at Del Charro - a must if you're in town. It's cheap and good). The city is much smaller than I thought it was; only sixty-thousand people. I swear one can walk from one end of town to the other in less than an hour.

Oh yeah, and the Santa Fe River is a puddle in the city. I wish I had a picture (no batteries for my camera and didn't buy any - too lazy, sorry), but this one will have to do. It's not much different than where this guy was standing. Forget about what's behind him.

There are art galleries everywhere. They make Dunkin Donuts in Boston look like hidden treasures. I did spend a little time at the Georgia Okeeffe Museum and bought a couple of prints. I don't like her flowery stuff, but her landscapes and building paintings are eye-catching. It's interesting because I think of her in the same way I think of Jack Vettriano, as a great artist who makes paintings that may not be considered art. It's pretty and nice to look at, but is it provocative and conceptual? I think it's art, but not everyone does.

Anyway, you didn't come here to read about art (though I should start an art blog and maybe put some of my own work on it). You came to read about climbing and I decided to head out to White Rock after the conference on Wednesday. In fact, I planned on leaving after lunch to get some good old crimping in before the snow set in that evening.

Well, as it turned out, the conference was pretty damn good and I came back with good information for the first time in a couple of years. The conference also ran a bit late, getting out at 4pm, too late once again to get to White Rock (that and Dice K's Fenway debut was a 5pm local time - I know, I'm a sham. Go ahead and tell me so, just make it painless and I swear I'll behave better). Instead, I hiked a couple of the hills in the area and browsed some more galleries before I headed back to watch the game. Two hours later I was downing my second Jack Sour at the conference dinner.

That left Thursday morning. I was to fly out at noon and, considering the size of the this airport, there was no need whatsoever to get there two hours before take-off. I asked for directions to the ski resort and hoped there'd be an outcrop or two that I could scurry up on the way. Guess what I found. Nothing. Nada. Rien. There was a lot of snow on the ground (I'm glad I'm from Maine and can handle driving in the pretty, white stuff), but that was it. Even the views were disappointing. Bummed, I drove back down to the airport and realized I was going to make it to the airport two hours before takeoff anyway. I should have gotten up early and headed to White Rock, despite the threat of heavy snow in the area. At least I would have seen the Rio Grande.

But I didn't go down without a fight. I was committed to not arrive at the airport early, so I spotted an Arby's at 10am on the way there. But a stop at a fast-food restaurant that I haven't seen since driving through Augusta, Maine on the way home to Bar Harbor isn't enough to kill an hour, so I missed the driveway and had to turn around. You'd think that would piss off someone who drives in Boston, but again, no one lives in Santa Fe. So turning around took all of two minutes. I didn't even bother to go in the damn restaurant. Five bucks for a frigging roast beef sandwhich with extra horsey sauce and I was at the airport fifteen minutes later.

Two hours, three national guard fighter jet take-offs and two conversations between locals that would make anyone kill themselves later, I was on another bumpy plane ride to Denver, then to be delayed in Charlotte before landing without my luggage at Logan. Good conference, bad everything else. And now it looks as if my North Conway trip next weekend is going to flop (nor'easter coming through tomorrow that's sure to dump snow up there, making the cliffs unclimbable for folks like me).

Oh well. There'll be better days. Stay tuned.

No Climbing This Weekend - But This Week in Santa Fe? Maybe

I didn't get outside this weekend, though I probably could have. The temps hovered in the low 40s yesterday (Saturday) and that seemed a bit cold. Still, the temps were only in the high 40s at QQ last weekend and it felt like the mid-50s in the bowl. I bet QQ would have been fine.

Instead, I ended up going to the gym to set a route. It was hard work, and it took me nearly six hours to set it and get people to run it. I was shooting for 5.8, but it ended up being 5.8 to 5.9+ progressive. I just didn't have the time or energy to finish the top. I think it's a nice route, but hard.

I think I'm going to the gym on Monday instead of the middle of the week, when I usually go. That's because I'm off to a conference in Santa Fe on Tuesday for three days. I think I'm going to bring my shoes to go bouldering, if time permits. There won't be any pictures (kind of hard to take pictures of myself), but I'll bring my camera anyway, just in case. It looks like there is an area called Whiterock just outside of Santa Fe. I may give that a go. I'll keep you posted.

Check back next week for another update. I hope to get outside next weekend too. Not sure where, but I bet I have a story to tell. Until then...

The First Day Outside in 2007

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, 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.

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 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 -

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 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.

Those were the fighting words I needed to hear, and I'm glad I heard them. We 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.

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, 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.

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.