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.

Missing Out - Part II - Fiction from the MetroRock Newsletter

From the end of Part I (click here to read Part I first!)

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.

I'm Getting Anxious

The weather is cold, but the blood is boiling...

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.