English man in Font

After a long, long sleep I awoke in the forest greeted by blue skies and what looked like perfect conditions. There was frost on the ground and the sun was resplendent. My first day was looking like it might be the perfect start to the trip! Psyched out of my mind I unpacked with unparalleled speed and jet off towards the crag. As I wrote previously, I’d kind of decided that if conditions really were amazing then I should make the most of it. With that in mind I decided to risk it all by heading back to Gecko. Going and failing on a hard boulder on the first day of any trip is disheartening, but going back and failing on something which I nearly did would be doubly disheartening! I thought the risk was worthwhile though as Gecko is very high on my priority list, and at worse I could try the sit start moves.

I arrived at the crag and saw no other cars parked there, which was a great relief. I quite fancied a quiet day to myself in the forest. I wanted to spend my first day just appreciating how amazing the forest is and I knew I could do that more easily if I was on my own. I walked in to the boulder listening to a new Mountain Rescue mix and feeling great. The ground was frozen and orange light was streaming through the trees. Dumping my pads at the Gecko block I headed over to some other boulders to warm up. I chalked up and immediately grabbed two slopers and my feet magically left the ground! Conditions were prime. I wasn’t even warmed up and I was holding on to horrific holds. Immediately a good feeling came over me and the reasons for coming back to font became instantly obvious. I continued to warm up, doing variations on a 7A, progressively gripping on worse holds until I felt good enough to head back to Gecko. When I did I met two guys there, who turned out to be the Ménégatti brothers, Nils and Lucas. Both of them are strong climbers and also nice guys. I set the camera up, turned it off to save the battery whilst I had my warm up goes, and then started to put my shoes on. I went in for a go and said something like “I’ll just see if I can do the first move (of the stand start)”. I pulled on then managed to do the first move. Immediately my body went into auto pilot and my heelhook ninja-changed to a toe, my right foot came up and started heelhooking. The next right hand move went down and my left foot was moving up a few inches to push me upwards towards the undercut. I reached up into the undercut and my left foot continued it’s rise, pushing me higher and higher into the undercut. Another left hand slap saw me at the jug! YEAH! I was, at this point, very dismayed. I think I might have even been talking, saying something along the lines of “what the hell is going on?”. Of course, I’d fallen off from here in my first session, and now I was up into the same place, but this time I knew what to do. I brought my right hand up, matched, and realised I was losing feeling in my tips. This was my warm up go after all and so my fingertips were now freezing cold but I was getting so close to doing it. I reached up and managed to get the next hold, but I couldn’t feel anything under my tips so I just crimped as hard as I could. My feet moved up, then my hand moved up to the next handhold which was better and even though I couldn’t feel anything in my tips I knew I wouldn’t fall off. My foot moved over the lip and I rocked over to glory. I don’t know who was dismayed, me or Lucas and Nils. I pulled on expecting a warm up go and Lucas/Nils probably expected me to have a half decent go but not to do it. I think we were all totally surprised, but I was made up, really made up in fact. As I came down from the boulder I was more dismayed than excited. It was only after it sunk in that I was psyched! My attention turned to the sit start and after a couple of goes I realised that there is one heelhook move which will be difficult for me. I tried to find a way around it, and did, but it involved a MUCH harder move. The heelhook move is hard because my hips don’t seem flexible enough, so if my right heel is on, my left foot can’t come out from underneath me to push me upwards towards the next hold. It’s only that move that stands in the way, and it’s not a hard move per se, it’s more of a tricky move. I feel confident that I can either do the move in a flukey moment, or do it the harder way. I also think that I proved to myself that Gecko stand is not so hard for me, so if I can do this one move then I can do the assis. It’s probably something I’m going to try and do before leaving. It’s certainly in the top 2 things I want to do, the other being Dune. Although, I don’t think I can do Dune, but I want to try it as it’s the hardest move around. Perhaps with enough tries I’ll manage to do the single move of Dune once. For me its allure is in its hardness. There are plenty of better looking and prouder lines in font, but none containing such a hard move. Hopefully I’ll get to climb the amazing lines and also the hardest moves. That would certainly be a good trip for me!

I suppose I should also use this opportunity to explain that I stopped updating my 8a.nu account some months ago. In theory, I think the concept of 8a.nu is amazing. From a statistical point of view it is of great value to the wider climbing community and so I think it’s a great tool. However, there is also a darker side to it. I don’t like how people who don’t know other people judge them on the basis of whether they took a certain grade for something. I’ve reached the point whereby I don’t care what grade people take for something, I care more about whether or not they’ve done it. Doing Gecko now also puts me in the (privileged) position of being able to have a comment on the grade. It’s also the perfect problem to illustrate some shortcomings of grading and of 8a.nu. Everyone seems to think Gecko stand is 8A+/8B and on 8a.nu everyone either takes 8B or takes 8A+ but then writes 8A+/B in the comments. I’m lucky, because now that I don’t choose to update my 8a.nu account I no longer have to decide on what grade it is. It also seems to me that it doesn’t matter whether or not it’s 8A+ or 8B. Perhaps it’s hard 8A+ or soft 8B, as there is obviously room for some overlap. It also serves as a affirmation of my belief in wider grade boundaries. To some people the slash grade would indicate that we need another in between grade, like 8A++ or 8B-, but to me it indicates a need to move in the other direction. Just make it a grade 8, like I’ve done on my board. Only at the very top end, like 8C or 8C+ does grading really matter. It matters whether or not someone is pushing things to another level of difficulty, but before that wider grades work equally as well as narrow grades. Anyway, this is all dealt with in my “Theory of Grading” that I’ve nearly finished writing. I’m just adding some diagrams and then it will be published on my website. Whilst it’s not going to be a life changing treaty, it does fully explain my thoughts on grading and I hope it makes for an interesting read.

This was the end of the first day… (sensor still needs cleaning – sorry!)

After returning from Switzerland I was determined to get out on the grit before leaving once again for France. I genuinely enjoy grit climbing but for certain things the conditions can be so fickle that it makes it a frustrating experience. After many days eating lots of festive food and a couple of fingerboard sessions (because I was too lazy to do any climbing) I decided to try and capitalise on what looked like great conditions so after a morning feast of American style pancakes I set off for Stanage. I’m not sure why, but I genuinely expected to have a quiet day in the peak district, just enjoying the climbing and the solitude. Only when I realised that everyone was off work and undertaking their sworn boxing day duty of walking dogs, that it made sense as to why it took me 1h30m to get to Stanage car park. But in the car park, like a saviour welcoming me in, there stood Lee. A lucky coincidence I thought, but perhaps it was fate that brought us together. His spotting CV and my climbing CV would hopefully coincide on this day. I really wanted to try The Ace and it was something I’d put off because I was fairly sure it was hard. I’d tried to campus the Joker in my trainers on a few occasions but I can’t recall ever having tried The Ace.

The freezing conditions that I expected were thrown out of the window as we arrived at the pebble sweating, with Lee seemingly more concerned about whether he’d brought the SPF 30. Nothing to do but sit around and wait, with the hope that it would cool down as the sun set. It did begin to cool and I began to warm, and when the earth turned away from the heat I started trying. Lee took a whole lot of weight off so I could try the first and second move. It didn’t feel too feasible, but I didn’t feel totally warmed up either. Within 30 minutes I’d managed to do the first move, into the second move, and was going for the top. I was genuinely surprised but pretty happy. I’d gotten the grasp of the body position fairly quickly, and in no small part thanks to seeing Stu try it as well. The move to the top seemed like the obvious crux and after some more goes I didn’t manage to link it all together, again falling going for the top. Having waited for it to cool down meant the window of opportunity was fairly narrow as darkness descended on the plantation rather rapidly. It was really beautiful though, with orange light bathing us, dark blue skies above us, and suddenly freezing temps numbing us. It reminded me why I love climbing on the grit quite so much. It was days like this that made it all worthwhile and keep me coming back for more. Had I succeeded, I probably wouldn’t have gone back for more, but perhaps that is why I failed, so I can return and enjoy another beautiful day! Lucky me! It’d been a long time since I’d been on the grit, certainly over 12 months, but I felt alright on the rock and certainly didn’t feel bad enough to warrant any feelings of mislaid magic grit skills. Whether or not I had any to start with is another matter, but I certainly didn’t feel like I’d lost much/any. I felt a bit annoyed that I was leaving for font the next day, as when I return from font it will likely be far too warm to have another go on The Ace, which means another 12 months without any grit climbing. I guess I can hold on to the hope of a cold spell at the end of March to welcome me back to Britain. It’s also comforting to know that I’m going to a magical forest full of the greatest boulders that I have a massive desire to climb! That certainly softened the blow of leaving!

Now I’m on the way and probably somewhere over international waters (if there are any between England and France?). I’m somewhat apprehensive about the next couple of months in font as I have my own standards set in my mind and I also have the standards of my previous trip. I have to, in my mind, exceed the potential of my ability that I utilised on my last trip. Last trip I pushed myself close to the limit of what I could have climbed but as we all know the limits are constantly changing. I have my huge lifelong wishlist and then I have my short term to do list. I want to maximise my time there and get the things done which are at the top of my priorities list. In fact, I’ll probably end up numbering the boulder problems I want to do and then ranking them in priority order. Very high on that list is Gecko as in my mind I have already done it, but I need to return and top the things out. Also Class 1 priority is the sit start. It’s a hard problem and without having tried the moves I can’t say whether it’s definitely on or not. I certainly think it’s a possibility and to do an 8B+ in the forest would be another dream come true. Dune is equal in it’s numerical allure but not equal in its potential climbability. Dune is 1 move that is at or perhaps beyond my limit. It’s been 9 months since I left font which means I am 9 months stronger and more skilled as a rock climber and I hope that I can transfer those skills on to this trip and onto the things I want to climb. I feel like going to try The Ace was the start of the trip because I’m now starting off with a good feeling. My mental state of my own comprehension of my current ability was not set, but The Ace was like an approximate marking zone and I now know roughly where I’m at. Had I gone there and puntered it up I would have known that I need a week of acclimatisation in font. Conversely, I know I can’t be climbing badly to feel so good on The Ace so I might not do the usual routine of a week or two of easy boulders in font. I might try to make the most of the current immaculate conditions and get on some of the harder things I aim to do. This is somewhat against the grain of what I think is best, but it could be the best risk-reward play.

So tomorrow the blog will arrive back in it’s spiritual home. Good days.

I’ve just made a short clip featuring 3 problems from Switzerland, with one from Brione, Cresciano, and Chironico. It’s only a short cut that shows the main meat, but not the surrounding vegetables and side dishes. You get a sample, but not the true flavour. In time I’ll put together something a bit longer with more amazing problems, but for now you can satiate your appetite by visiting moonclimbing.

Check it out and if you’re particularly daring, leave some feedback.

An HD version will be appearing on my Vimeo page in a short while, which means this is just a sample of a sample. Think of it as a tiny sliver of meat from the leg of the bird to test whether or not it’s ready. It is. Now Dine!

Edit; Something funny is going on with moonclimbing so if you can’t get to the video just chill out and eat some mince pies.

I woke up to leave Switzerland and found my car was snowed in. After 30 minutes of digging the car was free but the roads were horrific and I had zero chance of escaping the clutches of Bellinzona. I drank some tea, watched the snow continue to fall, and eventually at lunch time decided to launch my assault. It was uphill in every direction so I wasn’t confident but I reached the motorway and things weren’t too bad. Yes, it was covered in snow, no, I couldn’t drive more than 20mph, but at least it was progress! I drove on and conditions were consistently bad until the road started to go up hill, at which point things started to go down hill. I’m no expert when it comes to driving in the snow, but I do know the basics. I had to keep up my momentum, avoid slowing down, braking, or accelerating hard. This is easy on a flat, straight road, but much more difficult on an uphill and windy road. Conditions continued to worsen, but I knew I just had to keep going and I’d find salvation in the long tunnel at the top! A series of tunnels came at just the right time. I was beginning to lose grip on the road thanks to my summer sport tyres not adhering to the snow and ice, so each time I hit a tunnel with no snow I would accelerate as much as I dared to build speed up for the next open section. This worked rather well and there was only one point at which I thought it was over, when my wheels were spinning, the traction control was having a fit, and the brow of the hill still too far away. Thankfully I crept over and managed to reach the salvation of a long tunnel furrowing through the mountain. Unfortunately the other side greeted me with more snow and continuing bad conditions. I still wasn’t sure I’d make it out of Switzerland, but I had my sleeping bag and some food so how bad could things get? Slowly, slowly, I crawled to the border and into France. It snowed all the way into France and then changed to driving rain which caused a new set of cruising problems. Many hours later I reached the salvation of Brussels, which greeted me with dry weather but a ridiculously thick fog. Ten hours after leaving I’d arrived and could think of nothing except food and sleep.

The next week was spent catching up with things and climbing at City Lizard. It actually felt a bit weird to climb indoors and gave me food for thought. Whilst it’s a good gym, with well set problems on nice holds, friendly people, and good music, I wasn’t having all that much fun climbing. I felt like what I was doing was basically a non activity. I wasn’t rock climbing and I wasn’t training methodically. I was doing something in between. This is all well and good for a week, but it’s not something I want to end up doing for long periods. It also prompted me to rethink about the perfect balance of rock climbing and training. Some climbers seem to DO all their training on rock. They don’t spend many days in the gym doing pull ups, front levers, sit ups, deadhangs… they just go rock climbing. Others spend weeks, months, and even years training in their cellars or boards, emerging into the daylight to try and crush the hardest thing they can. If is it feasible to assume that both are aiming to do something on rock, then it is permissible to ask which is better. Personally, I’ve spent a good while training. In fact, at one point I was deemed an indoor beast and an outdoor punter. It was probably a fair appraisal since I clearly had some basic strength, but I couldn’t apply to it to the things I was trying to climb on rock. Over the past 18 months this has changed and it was a great compliment when a good friend of mine once defended me in a conversation saying that I was a rock climber and not a trainer. Climbing on rocks as much as I have done has been great and it’s not only reminded me of what I love, but it’s also pushed me further down the path. I fell in love with rock climbing, and then I became obsessed with training which led me full circle back to loving rock climbing. But I’m not living in cloud cuckoo land. I am also not a massively gifted rock climber. I certainly have a disposition for athleticism that is perhaps above average, but rock climbing is something I force my body into rather than something that fits like a pair of leather driving gloves. Some people have a gift for movement on the rock and some people have a gift for being able to analytically figure out how to move on rock. I’m definitely the latter of the two. I climb, or rather try to climb, and then I think long and hard about what I did badly or incorrectly. Then I try again, ad infinitum (well, not quite!). I’m also aware that climbing on rock for months on end doesn’t increase my base level of strength, it detracts from it. It certainly doesn’t decrease horrendously, but basic things like core tension slip away slowly. However, the months spent on rock add vastly to my climbing specific skill set. As one goes down, the other goes up. It’s not a one in – one out relationship either. Climbing on rock for long amounts of time is certainly the best way to get good at rock climbing. So what should someone like me do to maximise my ability? In my opinion it’s a mix of training and rock climbing, but cycled into longer periods. I think the most effective way is to climb on rock up until you find yourself at a point whereby you simply can’t do the moves on a boulder problem because they are just too hard. That’s what I think of as the wall. At this point it seems paramount that a return to the cellar is necessary. Then I think some months of specific training can increase the base level of strength, taking it to the next level. It stands to reason that my movement over rock will suffer during this period, but it’s a small tapering off. Upon returning to the rocks I think the movement will come back and armed with new strength nothing will stand in your way. That’s what I think anyway. I also think that a period of training may be due this year. There are still plenty of problems that I can do which are hard but in order to push things to the next level I could do with some training. In many ways, I’m looking forward to it. There’s something strangely alluring about the thought of hours of deadhanging and climbing on my board (which I’m eager to develop).

However, whilst in the gym in Belgium I suddenly realised just how much I love being in the mountains, the forests, the deserts, the places that have more rocks than people. My comfort zone has now encompassed these sometimes lonely places and it has become a place where I feel good. I feel happy when I’m out there climbing on rocks. Walking up to Brione everyday on my own made me realise that I love it. I love the vista, I love the air, I love the whole process. To be at the rocks trying a great boulder problem is one of the best things in my life, which may sound desperately sad to some people. But, to love what you do is something that I think all people aspire to, and I definitely love rock climbing. Love what you do and do what you love. I’m doing both at the moment and so all my worries about falling behind in a real career slip away when I discover micro beta that pulls the curtain away from in front of my eyes and beckons me further in. My home is no longer just my house in Derby. Whenever I go to the rocks I feel like I’m also at home in some strange way. I know this won’t last forever and I don’t care, I just want to enjoy it while I can.

The plan is to return to font. The blog will go full circle. I want to try to do some hard problems there whilst also trying to do some of the classics. I’ve still got a huge ticklist and I know it won’t get significantly smaller even with another few months there. If anything it will probably end up getting longer! I’m looking forward to being back on the sandstone with frost under my feet, perfect blue skies above my head, and super dry, super fine grain sandstone under my finger tips. It doesn’t get any better.

Today was the last day. I’d admitted to myself that I would be driving to Brione for the last time, walking up there for the last time, and walking down with both my pads, which had begun to put roots down under Amber. I did feel good this morning as I made sure I was early to bed. Sleep is the greatest healer there is, and the more I get the better. With 9 hours in the sack I was ready to give it my last ditch effort. Leaving the house, the car told me it was -4C, the coldest I’ve seen it thus far. The sky was fairly clear, with the odd wispy cloud hovering on the horizon, but I’d seen the forecast and today was the last day before the snow/rain once again arrived. As I drove up to Brione I wasn’t in any particular mindset other than thinking how epic it was going to be trying to navigate the snow on the way down with 2 pads, a rucksack, a tripod, and a camera bag. I strolled up to Amber, along a single track path, which has been cut only by my 2 feet. My footsteps from 1 week ago are still there, and are joined each day by more dotty footprints. The exact same left-right-left-right lead me all the way to Amber, the small piece of rock that I’ve spent so many days getting intimate with. The same process happens upon every arrival. I remove my bag, my down jacket, my gloves, and my hat. I set up the tripod, frame the shot, and turn the camera off. I do some pull ups on the top holds. I swing my arms around. I put my climbing shoes on. I work down the moves. Then I’m warmed up. Every day, the same process. But today something felt different. The second sloper wasn’t exerting a great force on the third pad of my ring finger. Why? I was holding it differently for some reason. I pulled on again and I did the move again using this new grip. It felt good. It wasn’t a big difference, perhaps only 10mm different, but the butterfly effect was evident. The different grip position put my wrist at a different angle, which put my body in a different position, which enabled my left hand to remain in a pinch position (instead of a 5 finger crimp), which made the foot move easier, which then led to my whole body being higher in the move and this was all revealed by an accidental placement of the hand on one of my warm up moves. The result what that the move I’d been falling off felt much easier. Whilst the position felt initially more unstable, it’s outcome was positive and I was both pleased and surprised to have found it. I brushed off the old tickmark and drew on a new one, trying to fool myself into believing that this would make some sort of difference.

I was warmed up, the holds were brushed, and I was ready to put it all on the line. I felt like my first go was going to be THE go, and I sat down I felt ready to ascend. Flowing through the moves it was all going well until a stupid hand slip saw me hurtling earthbound into the open hands of the snow. Unfortunately the landing wasn’t so soft as the snow has iced up a bit, but it wasn’t so hard that it caused any lasting damage (neither to the body or to the ego!). Today I was in redpoint mode. I didn’t need to try the moves, I didn’t need to rush. This was the final push, the final stab in the dark, so I took my time between attempts. I sat on the pad, looked at the mountains, watched the snow fall off delicate branches, and generally felt contented. I’d put down my water bottle when I’d arrived and now that I wanted a drink I looked down to see that 90% of the water had frozen. I was very shocked. It certainly didn’t feel that cold, but my eyes weren’t deceiving me! I couldn’t really ask for better conditions. After some undetermined rest period, my forearms stopwatch told me it was time to try again. It wasn’t a great effort and I fell off again. I did feel good though, which left me wondering as to why I was falling off. I think I simply wasn’t gripping the holds exactly how I wanted them. I was feeling lazy in my execution, probably a result of some unconscious thought that I don’t need to grab them all perfectly as this problem isn’t anywhere near my limit of physical difficulty. Sometime later I finally had a good go. I did the long move leftwards, set up for the blind slap… slapped… NO! My left hand hadn’t gone far enough and I’d completely missed the hold. Unbelievable. I’d quipped to Doylo that I wouldn’t fall at that move on the link and here I was falling off it. The usual mixture of being annoyed at having failed, but pleased to have gotten through the long leftwards move swirled round my head as I took another rest. I knew I could do it today. I really did. But knowing that and executing are two very different things. Then the magic happened. My left forearm was feeling a bit sore and I didn’t feel quite ready to have another go but I suddenly felt like it was time. I chalked up every last nook and cranny of my hands, took a deep breath and set off. The cutloose move felt easy, almost like I was floating. The holds felt grippier. I hit the first sloper, adjusted my left hand into a position that although didn’t feel secure, I knew it was the right position to begin AND finish the next move. I bumped to the second sloper and it didn’t feel right. I didn’t have it in that magic spot I’d ticked. I’d overshot it by a few mm and it felt completely different. Unfortunately it’s not a position you can adjust in. You get one chance. Fight or flight, and the answer was obvious. I proceeded to do the foot move even though my right hand felt bad, and then I was up into the nonexistent undercut. My body was high, I felt good. What?!?! I did the move leftwards and then bumped again to the better hold. This was it. I’d made it past the crux. Now all I had to do was make sure that my foot didn’t slip, that my heelhook was placed well, and that I did the final 2 right hand moves to the top. Bang. Bang. I was at the top. An ugly topout was performed thanks to the snow covering all the useful foot holds, but it didn’t matter. I was on top.

Then nothing. Just some heavy breathing, some head shaking, a little smile. I jumped down feeling good. I’d managed to do it. I’d undertaken this challenge and gone through the whole process. Now the final move was complete and the process was closed. It was finished. Amber isn’t the hardest thing I’ve climbed, but it was probably the most epic. General Disarray was similarly epic with days of brushing snow, but it didn’t feel as epic as this. I’d answered my question as to whether I could see this through to the end, and funnily enough I’d accepted the end before it came. I arrived at the boulder today knowing that I would be leaving with all my stuff when I walked back to the car. The process was going to get closed regardless of failure or success and I knew that both outcomes would leave me in different places. My ideal choice was to climb the thing so that the process was complete and the boulder was finished. Perhaps a flake of luck fell onto my shoulder as I walked there today, or perhaps I climbed better today, or perhaps conditions were better. Whatever it was, it closed the chapter and now I’m ready to leave for a few days. In the end it wasn’t really a case of fight or flight, it was a case of fight and flight (or should that be do and drive?)

Another day, another drive, another snow filled walk, and another failure. I really thought conditions would be primo today, and in fact, they were. The only problem was that one of the crucial holds had gotten wet since yesterday. I genuinely couldn’t believe it. Every day a different battle emerges and today it was the best conditions I’ve ever felt, but the battle was against a wet hold. The battle has not been against the actual boulder problem for a long time now! So the inevitable question is “Why am I still going there?” The penultimate sidepull that you do a blind slap to was sopping wet and I did my best to dry it and then to chalk it. It was making some difference, but it certainly wasn’t dry and this would be a problem (if I got there on the link). I warmed up doing the end moves and the grip was good. The moves felt easy and I worked my way down until I only had to add in the first move. I’d been avoiding the first move because the first two holds are kind of sharp and I know that I’ve got limited goes at pulling on. But now I was ready to do this problem and so I sat down on the ground, chalked up my hands, looked upwards, and set off. Bang! First move went down without a hitch, and I sped through the next few moves. I got the second sloper on the lip and couldn’t believe how grippy the rock was feeling. My skin was getting colder though as always seems to happen on the first serious go of the day. I moved my feet feeling great, even thinking in my mind that this is it, but before I could blink my ass was in the snow and I was off. My left hand had ripped off completely unexpectedly, due to the cold skin I guess. I was shocked and annoyed, but after those feelings had subsided I was happy because I knew the conditions were amazing. After a bit of arm shaking to get the blood into my tips, I was ready to go again. Again, I felt good, and before I knew I was at the crux and I was reaching leftwards. Boom. Only the blind slap, which isn’t a hard move, and I don’t fall off it in isolation. I’d done it. I had the sidepull and then it all got snatched away in a moment of dampness. My left hand ripped off, leaving me flailing on the pads. I couldn’t believe it. The battle against doing Amber seems to be getting more epic as each day passes. It was at this point that I took a long hard look at what the hell I was doing and had a long think about the reasons behind it.

I had some stark realisations. Rewinding the tape back to my very first session on Amber… I’d nearly done it and knew I could do it. I decided at that point that I should get it done as it’s a cool problem and I could then move on to the other things I wanted to do. But that didn’t happen. The snow fell for many hours and days, coating what seems like the entire world in the white stuff. I was still in the mindset of wanting to do Amber, and I think this might have been the first mistake. I’ve walked up there so many days simply to clean off snow, and after some reflection, I’ve decided that maybe this was not the most optimum plan. Perhaps I should have left Amber and gone climbing on the many other things that I want to do. I’ve held back when other things are dry because I wanted to save my skin for Amber. I’ve walked up to Brione during premium climbing conditions only to brush off the snow. Why? Well, I’ve chosen this battle. I made a decision to keep on the offence, keep pushing, keep trying to do Amber. I chose this path because I didn’t want to walk away, to give up, to accept defeat. But after having some time to reflect on this, I’ve realised that maybe this isn’t what happened. I’m a bit of a freak when it comes to these things. Some mornings I won’t make a cup of tea until I manage to throw my teabag in from 10ft away, with my eyes closed. Some mornings I’ll try for 30 minutes, or more, before actually having a cup of tea. It’s ridiculous, I know that. Once I sat for hours throwing cards into a pint glass that was about 20ft away. I must have gone through the deck so many times but I didn’t give up until I got one in. What this goes to show is that I have issues. I’m obviously nuts. But there is method in my madness. The reason I do these things is not because the act I’m attempting really matters, it’s because I want to know that I can undertake a challenge and see it through to the end. This is what has happened with Amber, and, initially, I thought this was a good thing. But perhaps it’s not an optimum plan of attack when it comes to rock climbing. I’ve missed out on climbing other things, perhaps even DOING other things, all for the sake of keeping to my battle. A more optimum plan would have been to leave Amber and try the other things that were dry, and when Amber did eventually dry (because everything dries eventually), I could have gone back and done it. If it was simply me versus Amber, in controlled conditions, then I’m sure I would be the victor. But it’s not. This is like a street fight with no rules. Each day Amber presents a new adversity and I ask myself to keep on pushing, and I expect myself not to quit. This is why I go back each day. It’s because I don’t want to quit. I don’t even think climbing Amber remains the real challenge anymore. The boulder problem has become external to the process that I’m embroiled in. It’s bizarre. The process has overtaken the act. I don’t know if this is a good thing when it comes to rock climbing. Perhaps my battle should now be to let go of this process within rock climbing. Amber isn’t at my physical limit of difficulty, I simply need to go there and find dry holds, good conditions, and crush. I’ve wasted too many days now on something that isn’t hard enough to warrant so many days of effort. Whilst the number of climbing days on it aren’t all that great, the total number of days dedicated to Amber is ridiculous. I should have been trying Boogalagga, or Confessions, or La Prou, or something else that I desire to climb. I could have been making progress on another problem and then gone into crush mode when the weather turned primo. In fact, my process can’t be good within rock climbing, as I need to be going out climbing in order to improve at climbing. I don’t need to clean snow in order to become a better rock climber, I need to rock climb! The real battle is now learning to let go. I need to walk away from Amber, do some other rock climbing, and when it comes back into condition, when all the holds are dry, when I’m climbing well, I’ll walk up there and do it. I’m certain of that. That being said, I have left my pads up there again. This necessitates another trip to Brione and another session on Amber, and perhaps if it’s dry/clean/etc I’ll do it. If it’s not dry/clean/etc then I’ll take my pads, load my car up, and leave. I’ll return when conditions are good and I’ll finish the job then. It’s interesting that I’ve realised all this today. Was it simply a case of the straw that broke the camels back, or did I have a(nother) moment of clarity? Perhaps that’s not important. The most important thing is that I’ve realised something important within my climbing and I’m happy about it. At the end of the battle against Amber I expected to taste sweet success, but instead the battle is still on and I can taste a small slice of enlightenment, which is sweet, but is it sweet enough?

The view on the way down from Brione.

Today it clicked. I’m no longer battling against being able to climb Amber in terms of my rock climbing ability and the physical difficulty of that piece of rock. I’ve now walked up there to clean snow from Amber more times than I have been up there and climbed. I’ve trekked through nearly 1m of snow, I’ve watched my trousers freeze, and I’ve still got the resolve to keep going back.

Today the place was (once again) deserted. The snow covered meadow welcomed me back with open arms and once again pushed me further towards breaking point. Unfortunately for the meadow, it still doesn’t know that I’m never going to give up. That is what I realised today. My mental resolve is ridiculous. I’m even happy to just trek up there, clean the snow, and trek back down. It’s hugely frustrating because I ceased to battle the boulder problem after 2 sessions as I knew I could do it, but the mental battle against the weather and the conditions took over. If it’s not one battle, it’s another. Some are more fun than others, but at the end of every battle is the sweet taste of success.

Every day I come back to the gite and the people here ask me what I did today and then what I’m doing tomorrow. The inevitably reply hasn’t altered in far, far too long; I went and brushed off more snow. I’m going back to Brione. Today was slightly different as I didn’t have to brush off any snow (because I brushed it all off yesterday!) but I did have to retreat because of the conditions. I also solidified in my mind that Amber is nowhere near the limit of what I can climb. I warmed up on it because nothing else was dry, and I surprised myself by feeling good. I did all the moves easily, climbing from before the crux to the end, but then starting to fall off when trying to link more than 5/6 moves. My skin was good and I was good, so the only culprit could be the conditions. Sure enough, the holds were turning a combination of white, black, and green. Chalk, grease, and the small amount of living foliage on the rock. I was greasing off when trying it from the start and so I didn’t see the point in pursuing things much further, so within 30 minutes I was packed up and plodding through the snow. I realised the absurdity of what was going on as I was walking down. I can’t wait to climb this problem because I know that I will have battled something far greater than the physical difficulty of the problem. I’ll have proved to myself that I can push through any conditions and stick with something without breaking, without giving up, without making up an excuse and leaving. That is reason enough for me to push on with this ridiculous quest and continue to trek up there in the snow day after day and do whatever is necessary to get this goal completed.

In other news, I had a rare day of rock climbing which I spent at Cresciano. Having to park halfway down the road, walking for ages, and then seeing lots of melt water on the things we’d gone to try, psyche still wasn’t down. Tyler and I warmed up and took our chances with the 8A wall called La Vent Sombre. It’s only a 2 move affair; Jump to a small rail, then launch for a finger jug. The position you jump out of is very strange and after having an epic with the first move I managed to launch for the finger jug, but fumbled it and didn’t grab it. Tyler found a slightly different way, which was probably harder, but was less weird, and after a few jumps he latched the finger jug. The movement is excellent and if it wasn’t for the sharpness of the rail I would have continued to try, but I couldn’t afford to split a tip or wreck my skin. I’ll definitely have another few goes on it when I head back up there to try one of the other problems in that area, and hopefully latch the finger jug instead of just fondling it on the way up and down.

[written december 6th]

Yesterday approximately 12 inches (30cm) of snow fell outside our house which is in the village of Cresciano. I watched as it fell from the moment I woke up until nearly the moment I fell asleep. It took it’s toll around us, with my car getting snowed in, and the satellite TV not being able to cope and constantly returning “no signal”. Life without fashionTV was unbearable and late into the night the snow began pouring again, the flake that broke the camel’s back. Jeff needed to a ride back to the airport and I feared that by 7am the snow would be too deep to drive so we set off at 1am in worsening conditions. The drive wasn’t fun with full white out conditions all the way out of Switzerland, and the method of driving involved slow and steady cruising with absolute no variation in speed, otherwise I’m sure it would have been impossible to start moving again. We eventually arrived in Milan Malpensa and slept for a couple of hours. Once Jeff went to check in (after an impressive week here!), Tyler and I drove to Varazze, thinking we would be far more likely to be able to do some climbing down there. Heading south the weather got steadily worse, and 50km before the coast there was just as much snow as in Bellinzona. Sweet Bejesus. A feeling of being plagued by the weather wasn’t causing us to despair as we were coming up from rock bottom anyway. As we saw the Mediterranean emerge we also saw blue sky and we were psyched by the sight of sea on the left and mountains on the right. We found Christian Core who was going to give us a tour and then headed up to the boulders of Varazze. It’s a crazy area with small roads leading to small parking spaces, which lead to small paths which eventually lead to big boulders. There are some amazing looking boulder problems but unfortunately everything was wet. Some of the problems looked very, very hard indeed and Gioia was the best of the bunch. It’s obviously hard at the start, involving some small crimps, and then it seems to relent. The difficulty of something is always very difficult to assess with a really good attempt, so extrapolating on the difficulty by only touching wet holds is probably impossible and stupid, but I shall do so anyway. I’ve seen a few hard boulder problems in my travels and there are hardly any that I’ve thought impossible, some that looked hard, and some that I’m sure I could do in my current form (given enough sessions!). Gioia falls into the category of looking hard and being my antistyle (very small and with one sharp hold) I don’t know if I could do it. I think there is one move that is too crimpy at the start for my weak fingers, but it certainly doesn’t look impossible. I’m sure it’s very, very, hard as Christian told us how much energy and time he invested and it was FAR more than he’s had to do for anything else. His base level is already very high so it’s pretty easy to see how this could be 8C. I hope that it get’s the attention it deserves as it’s certainly a very cool line.

I was secretly hopeful that it would dry out and we’d be able to climb within 24 hours, but old Mother Nature had different plans. We continued the tour as the rain began to fall and then the thunder began to boom, at which point we sprinted back up the hill to the car (nearly killing us in the process). Christian took us back to his place and fed us in preparation for a session at the local climbing wall. I was happy because I’d spent 4 days off and needed to move otherwise I felt like I would begin to resemble a varnished eel. Whilst not an amazing wall, and a ridiculous rule about no chalk except liquid chalk, we made the best of the situation and made up some problems. Christian is a crimp machine. He crimps, crimps hard, then crimps some more. He loves it. All the problems he showed us involved crimps and Tyler and I aren’t big into crimps which resulted in us finding pinches, slopers, and undercuts. It’s always good to see world class beasts climbing and Core is certainly that (recently cleaning up in Brione), so I enjoyed seeing him move, whilst trying to digest whatever I could learn from him. Post climbing we ate some more pasta, waded through many unknown Italian climbing DVD’s, and then got a few hours sleep.

Arising to more snow and rain (which is now verging on ridiculous) we decided not to bother waiting for the good conditions that were supposed to arrive in 5 days and so we jumped aboard the Passat to cruise back to Cresciano. Switzerland welcomed us with snowstorms which didn’t surprise me and my thoughts turned to the fellow inhabitants of the house of (once) big numbers. The group has begun to disband with people leaving early, either back home or to sunnier scenes in Spain. There isn’t too much hope in the next week or two of amazing conditions which leaves us all in a predicament. I’ve invested a bunch of sessions in Amber and I know I can do it. I’m certain of that but I’m also certain that I actually want to get to the top of it instead of leaving knowing that I could/should have done it. I’m also somewhat stuck because my pads are up at Amber, so I need to go up there at least once, but I’m hoping it’s going to be at most once. I don’t know the state of play with all the snow but I’m sure there will be 1m or more up there, turning a nice day out into an epic of Everest proportions. However, I’m pretty much committed to this pot, so I’m prepared to push in the rest of my stack and hope my hand holds up. I’ll know in the next week, making this the longest poker hand I’ve ever played.

This is something I wrote whilst sitting at my laptop trying to write about something else. It’s also spurred me on to write down some other thoughts I have on the theory of grading and once it’s finished I’ll post it up on here. This is just preamble, but I hope to present a thorough and perhaps even mathematically accurate explanation of grading theory. Keep your eyes peeled as it’s sure to be a riveting read!

Being in a house of climbers there is a lot of talk (and a whole lot of BS) and very (very) occasionally there is something that sparks a genuinely interesting discussion. As everyone who reads this blog knows, it’s inevitable that a group of climbers will eventually (sooner rather than later) turn the conversation to the topic of grades. Usually it’s about how a certain grade is wrong or how something is overgraded, and rarely about how something is undergraded, but more often than not it’s about grades. As some of you know, I started a simpler grading system on my board when I built it. Instead of having 7A, 7A+, 7B, 7B+, 7C, 7C+, I simply replaced them with 7-, 7, 7+. What this did is widen the grade boundary so that more problems fit into one grade. I did this because I don’t care if something is 7B or 7B+. I only care that it’s around that grade. That is enough for me and for my board (as it’s only a solitary training board). The other important thing is that the system is open ended, linear and that a 7+ is harder than a 7 (but that’s obvious and true of every grading system). This idea of a simpler and wider grading theory was spawned with my board, but it was representative of my general opinion on grades. A grade is a numerical description of the difficulty of a route according to the first ascentionist, which is given because other people who have never tried that piece of rock would like to know how hard it is. However, the true difficulty is a meta concept. The only person who really knows the true difficulty is the person who has climbed it, and the grade is a numerical approximation which can not be as accurate as the real knowledge of having climbed it. I use grades as an approximation of the difficulty of something up until the point I have gone to the boulder and tried the problem. At that point, my own system of thinking and knowledge overtakes the simplistic numerical approximation. I can then place the particular boulder problem into my own ranking of difficulty, which is based on all the things I have ever tried or done. That internal grading system is perfectly accurate for me and that’s all that matters. So if I try an 8A that feels easy I place it below a 7C that might have taken me 2 or 3 sessions. Obviously I take into account my personal progression and advancement in climbing, in terms of strength, power, and particular climbing skills. The number that happens to correlate to the thing I place highest isn’t all that important to me, it only matters that it is hard. The joy I get is definitely in my struggle. This is, in my opinion, an ideal personal grading scale because it takes into account personal strength’s and weaknesses. The 7A wall I climbed was slightly more difficult than the 7A overhang and so it get’s rated that way (in my internal system). This also has the bi-product of highlighting personal weaknesses and allows me to then work on them. Doing an 8B isn’t explicitly meaningful for me. The joy is that I found it hard to start with but managed to get it done in the end. Most people who know me (or read this blog) will know that I desire to climb Radja and perhaps some of them think it’s largely motivated by the fact that it’s 8B+. That isn’t strictly true. It certainly had an allure because of the grade, as the grade indicated it would be harder than anything else I’ve tried to do. My experience with the boulder indicated to me that it is indeed hard for me to do, and it is most definitely in the top 3 of most difficult things I have ever tried. That is the real allure, the real motivation that keeps my desire high. It’s testing me and I am enjoying being tested. If/When I do manage to do it, it will certainly be the hardest thing I’ve done and that in itself will mean more to me than any grade could indicate or any number could convey.