English man in Font

My days in England were spent mainly being entirely gluttonous but I did managed to force myself into my board for a wonderful session. It was wonderful for many reasons, but the two most important ones are the fact that I remembered why I love training and the second was the rekindling of my desire to do hard moves. Route climbing is amazing, but hard moves still seem to have a special hold over me.

Getting back on my board was nice because it’s a great benchmark to find out where I’m at. However, trying to utilise a benchmark assumes ceteris paribus, but that wasn’t quite met since it was a rather hot and humid evening when I found myself in there. It didn’t help that I was using some chalk which I found in a chalkbag that I hadn’t used for over 5 years…

However, all variables aside, I found that I wasn’t too weak. There were some noticeable areas of weakness, like my small hold ability but that has been a long time weakness so it makes sense that it is the first thing to slide. I haven’t pulled on any small holds for a long time, and whilst I could still just about do the problems in my board, I was having to crimp and slap rather than stay open and float. I’m not too worried or concerned as I know the strength will flood back to my fingers as soon as the deadhanging and the bouldering starts up again.

The following few days were enjoyed in Fontainebleau as Neil and Chris of Maisonbleau were having their (somewhat delayed!) wedding party! I’d just spent 4 days in England doing nothing but eating and now I faced another 3 days of the same. Luckily I was also only a few km from the best bouldering in the world. I have some sort of deep love for Fontainebleau as it fills me with some odd feeling of belonging whenever I return. I don’t think it’s somewhere I’d necessarily choose to live, but it’s certainly got a very special place in my life. We all headed down to Buthiers and I did a couple of easier problems that I’d always wanted to do, but never tried.

That is the curse of spending only the colder months in Font. On a perfect winter day, with temps hovering around 0C and not a single wisp of a cloud, it’s difficult not to go to a harder problem. I always tried to make the most of any day with great conditions, and this inevitably means you miss out on what are arguably the best problems in font. I’ve long stated that I think the best problems in font are the 7^th grade ones (and this is perhaps the greatest drawback of Fontainebleau), so facing temps in the high twenties, it suddenly became easy to head out and do some wonderful 7’s. First up was La Ligne Blanche, 7B. I had a few goes, but it was only when James joined in that the beta was found, and he made it to the top with consummate ease. Whilst this is a great problem, it does have one sharp hold at the start, and my skin wasn’t liking it at all! I decided I needed one go to get to the top, so long as the pain in my left index tip could be overcome. Luckily pain is both transient and mental, so I got my ass to the top without consummate ease but with a big smile. This problem reminded me of why font contains some of the best moves around… it’s so much more than pulling on a ladder of holds. It’s been said a million times before, but Font is a perfect concoction of strength and skill which is why I think it’s so great.

Next up was a visit to Sablibum to finish off a problem I tried last year. Pierre, Feuille, Ciseaux is a highball 7B+ that I’d had to back off last year because the top had been too sandy to press on in any sort of safety. This time I had 2 advantages; a rope, and James. He abed down it to clean all the holds and then set off up it with a sequence seemingly figured out… He passed the crux and then all of a sudden forgot was he was doing and fluffed a relatively easy move (easy when you have the right beta that is!). I’d had 3 goes, but my knee scum method wasn’t working too well now that I was wearing shorts, so I had to change the beta. James had another go and despatched, using a heel hook instead of my knee scum. I’m not a fan of heelhooks at the best of times, but when you’re high enough to break something (in an uncontrolled fall) I like them even less.

Romain Hoqcuemiller putting in the heelhook

However, it was the only way to save my knee from bleeding so I simply committed to it, trusting that James would be able to catch me if I slipped (wishful thinking!). Luckily it went down without incident and I got through the crux. Once on the top section I suddenly got a left arm pump, my foot wouldn’t get on the foothold, and I began to fall apart. Fortunately for me I had James, as he stepped up and took control of my remote. If I can hear someone shouting specific beta, I will often be able to stop thinking and just climb by instruction. It’s happened in the past when I’ve been sure that a fall was inevitable, so this took place once again. I stopped being in control of my body and let James’ every shout be my instruction. I followed his shouts to the letter, although I was slapping between the holds rather than reaching! I guess it must have looked very sketchy from the ground, but I wasn’t really feeling the fear… until I reached the safety of the top and realised that I had come close to falling off. Good thing I’d been there with James as I not only trust him completely, but he knows my ability better than perhaps anyone else.

Coming down I remembered just why I love highballs. Doing good boulder problems results in a great feeling, but doing them high up adds so much to the experience. The feeling of success is much deeper and much more satisfying… I can’t recommend this problem enough, but if you want to go there then I suggest taking a rope so you can clean the top of it. It doesn’t receive too much traffic so there is often a coating of sand, leaves, and spiders on the holds. It’s high enough that you’ll want a double layer of pads… we had a big metolius pad on top of two normal size pads. That was plenty enough to make the descent comfortable… although not recommended. Follow this link to watch a video of Romain falling off lots, but then despatching it with slightly different beta to how we did it.

After eating too much and climbing too little, we decided it was time to get back to Innsbruck. The roads were fairly clear and we made it back in a surprising 7.5 hours which was a welcome relief. This morning the routine was recommenced and we hit the road for a run followed by a bathe in the river. The rest of the day was spent battling the editing with the good news that light is appearing at the end of the tunnel. Tomorrow we climb.

Whilst most days pan our perfectly, with amazing climbing in beautiful area’s, not every day follows this strict plan. Sometimes even the best laid plans can fall apart. The other day was frightfully hot in Innsbruck, with temps around in the mid 30′s, so instead of being sensible and driving to higher altitudes we decided to keep it local and go to Junglebook. It’s a crag we hadn’t visited nor had we heard anything about it beyond what the guidebook offered.

We waited until late afternoon before driving the 10 minutes to this limestone crag. It’s also south facing, so any sort of shade or respite from the sun seemed unlikely as we parked the car and tried to muster up enough energy in the heat to actually leave the car! We dragged ourselves up to the main crag, walking ever so slowly and without any climbing gear as I thought it was probably a good idea to check it out first.

We found the crag (always a good start), but we were at the right hand end and the routes we wanted to see were at the left hand end. We began the walk across, only to first come across a fence made of red/white tape. No problem stepping over it, so on we went. There may have also been a sign saying something or other, but such is the state of being when you don’t understand 99% of the language around you. We went further, until we came across this sign;

You don’t need to speak German to know what this sign was trying to convey. James was unperturbed, so we pressed on with caution. It was then that we realised why the sign was there. The forest to our left suddenly stopped and was replaced with rubble. Looking up revealed the fact that the quarry which we now found ourselves in was clearly being excavated on a higher level. The rubble, ranging in size from footballs to cars, must have been coming down for a fairly long time, as it was built up to a level which left us standing (foolishly!) about halfway up some of the routes. We did find the routes we wanted to find, but to say they were unclimbable was an understatement. This is no longer a climbing venue, which I’m sure would garnish an outraged reaction back in England, but when you have hundreds of crags so close to hand I doubt a tear was shed. It is perhaps a small shame as there is an 8c route from the early 90′s and these old school routes are always good benchmarks to remind yourself just how good people were “back in the day”. On that point, I’m always constantly impressed when I realise just how strong and fit certain climbers were in the 70/80′s…

Not having a crag to climb on, and the heat still punishing us, we decided to ditch the climbing and head down to the river for a swim. We spent about 15 minutes looking for somewhere that wasn’t too fast flowing, but it wasn’t looking very promising… until we noticed a whole fleet of cars parked just off the road, next to a small path leading through some trees to the river. We innocently followed the path, noticing that there was a somewhat disturbing collection of condoms on the floor. On we went, and popped out at a nice beach, which seemed nice until we noticed a couple of interesting facts. It was populated only by men, and all of these men were naked. Oh. James and I were stood there, tops off, and strangely enough we felt a bit out of place. After some naked guy came round the corner to find James in his undies about to go in the river, we made haste and left.

In the following days I tried to take a visiting friend to the Zillertal in order to answer his question of “Why Austria?”. Unfortunately the weather had other ideas so visibility was appalling and the rain poured down all day. I didn’t let this stop us from doing at least one part of the plan, so even during a lightning and thunderstorm we stripped off and went for a quick dip in the river. It was amusing to get so cold, then get out of the river bring stood in the pouring rain, and feel hot as all the blood rushed around my body! I think this river thing is getting addictive… but I don’t see anything wrong with that! It’s essentially good for me so I’m beginning to wonder how long it will continue to be a part of the daily schedule… I can’t imagine how cold it’s going to be in a month or two!

As for now, I’m back in England for a few days to see an old friend, then over to font for a little shindig at Maisonbleau (congrats to Neil and Chris!). Then it will be back to Innsbruck and back to editing. The film work is coming along and I hope to have something to share by the end of September. Keep your ear to the ground and you’ll begin to feel the distant rumble…

The last couple of days have been passed in the Zillertal, enjoying both the rocks and the river. One thing which I am still learning about is where to go on what days in order to have nice conditions. This is a long process, learning from others whilst also learning from my own mistakes. It was rather hot so I decided that James and I should head to Breitlahner as there are a couple of routes which are in the shade, just above a river, and between them they cater for both our abilities.

It’s a really nice spot, with an overhanging bloc perched above the river, only 10 metres from a rather nice little waterfall. We got there late in the afternoon and the temperature was tolerable but still warm. James set off on Horny Trout, 8a, as a warm up but didn’t quite make it all the way to the top. He came down and I took my warm up go, which ended in a similar position. However, he’d done the hard work and figured out the sequence so I worked through the moves and got to the top feeling nicely warmed up. The route is really cool, being overhanging and featuring compression moves with heelhooks followed by an outlandish undercut move to a fingerlock which only works when you have a heel-toe cam in a break.  It’s quite a committing move as it feels like your ankle might break if you fluff the move (which turned out not to be true!).

James took his redpoint, made it look easy, and clipped the chains. I decided to follow suit and set off. I was making it look easy-ish, cruised up to the rest which utilises a heel above your head, then headed into the crux. I made it through and found myself only with the last couple of moves to do. These moves had seemed so easy on my first go, I’d thought nothing of them beyond having a sequence committed to memory. When I got there they felt steadyish but as I was about to reach up to the jug from which you clip the chains my right hand guppy came sliding off and since I’d decided to skip the last clip I started tumbling downwards head first. It was a little spicy, but my main concern was how I could have possibly fallen only 10cm from the end.

Why did it happen? Was I too pumped/tired? No, not really. Was I incompetent? Not exceptionally. So what happened? Why on earth was I spinning around in space instead of lowering off with the route in the bag? All I can put it down to is lack of skill. I simply didn’t concentrate enough. I wasn’t aware enough and I made a downright stupid mistake. I’d essentially done the route, but that isn’t the same as actually going 10cm further and clipping the chain. An imaginary boundary needed to be crossed and only clipping the chains was acceptable, not simply climbing the whole route, crushing the crux, and then borking the final few cm.

I figured it would go down fairly easily on the next attempt, but before I had my chance James set off on Dolby Surround, 8c+. It’s a fairly impressive route which breaks down to one very hard move and then a power endurance section to the top.  As I was belaying, I looked at the waterfall, felt the moisture coming down on the wind, then understood why all the holds felt exceptionally greasy. The wind was blowing down the valley, and the holds were picking up all the moisture in the air, which no amount of chalk or brushing seemed to aid.

I took my next redpoint and just slid straight off the holds on the lower section. The same thing happened a couple more times and I was beginning to get the slightest bit perturbed that I was having (interesting use of the verb have) to climb this route again for the sake of a final 10cm. But this is the game I’ve chosen to play and so I kept trying. Eventually I made it through the lower section, had a brief rest, then set off into the crux. I made it through, clipped the final quickdraw as I didn’t fancy taking another upside down fall, then set off on the final 4 moves. This time I wasn’t calm, I was ridiculously pumped. I felt like I couldn’t move, and actually shouted “take” to James but he was nice enough to shout “no, keep going!”. He was totally correct, I should just keep going, I’m on the redpoint!!! I bashed out another move, had 2 moves to go, my arms inflated like Popeye’s, and then hit a wall the size of the Chinese. I literally couldn’t pull my body upwards even though I was on decent enough holds. This was probably a 6a boulder problem, but I had nothing. I tried so hard to pull upwards but the tank was empty and I fell off with nothing left.

I felt a little ridiculous. I’d turned a 1^st RP route into a mini-epic and now I was going to leave without having done it! Well, there was only thing left to do. I stripped off, walked straight towards the waterfall and took a swim. It was cold, very cold in fact, but I felt so refreshed. This whole river ticket concept is losing it’s edge as James and I seem to be going in the river every single day regardless of success or failure. After James also took a dip for no apparent reason other than pure enjoyment, we walked back down to the car with the plan to return the following day.

When we arrived the following day everything felt different. My skin was hurting, I felt tired, I had a few cuts from hitting the mid height jug with too much force, but the winds of success were blowing. The wind was wafting up the valley, bringing with it a warm breeze. There was no moisture in the air and I knew the holds would be much gripper. After an amusing warm up go (in the sense that I made it to the last couple of moves before getting punched in the face by a flash pump!), I set off again. I can only describe what happened as finding my flow. Everything just came easily. Where I was previously using intermediates I was now feeling like I could easily pull straight through. Where I was using heelhooks to hold positions I was now able to just keep one toe on and be steady. It felt great actually. The rest was brief as I just felt so at ease, but I made sure I took a few good lungfulls for good measure then set off. When I reached the final few moves I felt fresh as a daisy. Why was this proving so different all of a sudden? I really felt like I could have done it all over again, and when I reached the final moves I asserted my freshness by not only chalking up, but actually locking it down and skipping the normal holds, reaching straight up for the final jug. I was really shocked. I still am. I don’t understand why it all of a sudden became easy. If I knew the answer and could apply the same effect at will then I’m sure I could do some hard routes, but unfortunately the answer remains elusive. Still, even without the answer I had a glimpse of what is possible and it was eye opening.

Following this we made some plans to go for a swim. Even without a river ticket we head into the cold water. In fact, I think we’ve been in a river every single day for at least 1 week. The coldness is still there but it’s getting easier and even enjoyable (until you realise it’s just as cold as it ever was). Tonight’s swimming adventure turned out to be much better than expected. Lisa was going to take us to a special spot, but we got there only to find the access impossible. Luckily she had a backup plan and after parking in a random location and walking, seemingly aimlessly, through a forest nowhere near a river we popped out at an amazing little beach, with a great swimming spot. Even better was that there was a Ray Mear’s type character already there, with a fire pit built and lots of wood (or rather, chopped down trees) ready to go. The sun was way over the mountains at this point so it was pretty chilly but with the promise of a fire there was nothing to hold us back. It was a really nice spot and it felt nice just to be there, thinking again about just how lucky I am to live this life. After a while there was nothing left to do but get the clothes off and run straight into the river. James seemed to think it felt warmer than normal, but I noticed no difference. The coldness feels so intense but when you remember how good you’ll feel 5 minutes later it becomes slightly easier.

Unfortunately the fire I expected to be roaring when I emerged from the water was but a tiny flame. It was providing no heat, but James and Ray got on the case, creating a raging fire about 30 minutes later. By now it was completely dark, but the fire was raging and the stars were out in full force. It was a really beautiful scene… lying on a sandy beach, warmed by the glowing fire, and soaking up all the stars… even counting a couple of shooting stars. I even made the same wish on both of them… which probably says something about how simple my wishes really are. I didn’t want to leave but eventually, at around midnight, we had to find some level of sustenance so we regretfully left. This night was one of the best nights I’ve had in Austria as it had everything. It was organic, we had a river, a sandy beach, a roaring fire, and the most stunning firmament to gaze upon. I think my wish has already come true…

Once again, I apologise for the lack of pictures. I promise to make up for it by at least getting some footage of something soon!

A few days ago my good companion James arrived for his first stint in Innsbruck. Whilst we both may have decided to move here, he hasn’t spent any time here until now. I feel like a new chapter has just opened, as I’ve never lived with a psyched climber in an area with limitless climbing possibilities. The potential is incredible and the psyche is abundant.

We’ve been out climbing a couple of times, but we’re taking it a little slow as going too hard, too soon might be a schoolboy error. I’ve been on a couple of routes, and cleaned up a few others. I feel like my onsight climbing is getting better as I’m seeing sequences more quickly, thus getting less pumped, and hence getting to the top of more routes more easily.

However, I’ve also started to see a somewhat worrying difference between performances on different days. Some days I seem to feel light, don’t get pumped too much, and feel smooth on the rocks. Other days I have to dig so deep, releasing Sharma esque screams to get to the top of a 7a+. I’m yet to understand why this fluctuation occurs, but I’m looking for any tell tale signs and putting the pieces together.

It also feels like I’ve moved up a gear with James’ arrival. Rest days are now a thing of the past, with every day now being utilised. After all, if you’re not doing something productive, you’re not getting ahead and thus you’re falling short of your potential. This is something I don’t want to be a victim of. For the last few days we’ve been climbing day on, day off, with the off days being running days. First thing we do is wake up, have a brew, and hit the road. I’ve got a nice little application for my phone that tracks how far I run, how fast, plots the route and graphs the speed. It’s a nice way to measure once performance against another, plus it gives me an idea about how fit/unfit I am. I think that I should be running 4 minute kilometres. I’d like to be able to do this for 10km eventually, but for now I haven’t broken through the 8km barrier at that pace. Running with James is great because neither of us wants to quit, and so we just keep pushing each other. When I’m tired, I vow that I won’t quit before James, and I’m sure he does the same. Today, the pace was good, the distance was good, and the run was cripplingly difficult. When we finished we semi stripped off and headed down into the river, probably to the slight amusement of the many other runners, walkers, rollerbladers, etc. However, it was like a god send to my burning legs and when I came out I felt like I could run it all over again!

So, the heat has been switched up a notch in terms of lust for performance, but it’s also taken a physical shift upwards. The temps have risen to a daily high in the 30’s, which is fairly oppressive when you’re trying to do something physical. However, this is not an excuse for failure but a reason to sweat off a little more weight!

Climbers are without a doubt some of the most weight obsessed people I’ve ever met and I can’t claim to be an exception. I weight myself regularly but not in the hope that i’m losing weight, only as another indicator of possible ways that my performance may be influenced. Doylo swears that he was on another level of strength when he was his lightest, yet others simply claimed they had no energy. Malc padlocked his fridge closed and when that didn’t work he superglued the screws too! Now I’m not into such extreme measures, because after all, life is more than just the next climbing goal, but knowing if my weight is on the way up or down is useful info. After doing the north face roadtrip my weight was at its zenith and now, after climbing lots, it’s at a nadir (thus far!). This isn’t magic, I’m simply doing a lot more walking, climbing, running etc. Personally, I think that weight won’t make a lot of difference when it comes to my route climbing because I’m basically puntering around on jugs all of the time, even if I’m trying something like an 8b or 8b+. I think when I return to bouldering in a couple of months my weight will come into play a whole lot more. I’m not going to try and stay light though, because it’s not possible to force your body to stay at a certain weight for very long. I’ll simply continue to weight myself and attempt to draw a correlation with any sort of climbing performance… however inconclusive such a link may be!!!

One other thing that I’ve introduced since James’ arrival is the concept of a river ticket. If I don’t do at least an 8a every time I go out then I have to take a dip in the river. This is supposed to be some sort of punishment as the rivers are generally very very cold, but in reality it’s actually going to do me some good in terms of recovery. For some reason James also accepted the punishment scheme but with a slight modification in terms of difficulty. Currently we’ve  both got a river ticket and my last one was cashed in when I went swimming in Achensee. For some reason, as soon as Lisa and I arrived at the lake the sun disappeared, the wind starting blowing, and going into a cold lake suddenly seemed an altogether more difficult proposition. However, that morning I’d watched Bear Grylls (love him or hate him) enter a frozen river in Alaska so I reminded myself just how easy this was in comparison… 10 seconds later I was swimming around, struggling to breathe, but nevertheless swimming around! River ticket cashed. Cha-Ching!

Running, swimming in rivers, and no doubt many other past times all share one amazing facet. During the process of doing, the pain is high, the pleasure is low, and the easy way out is to quit. But if you push on, break through, then you come out the other side and the reward is incredible. That must be why any of us do the things we do, because the pleasure is ultimately derived to the pain and turmoil we go through to get there. What a way to live…

Driving around Austria it’s abundantly clear that there are a lot of mountains. I’ve spent a few years now climbing very small pieces of rock and concentrating on difficulty over size, but when I look up at all the mountains I do find some sort of force that entices me to reach the summit. I’ll be totally honest, I have no real interest in Mountaineering, but walking to the top of a mountain around here strikes me as a potentially good/rewarding rest day activity.

But what is it about walking up a mountain that makes it so appealing? I often wonder this when I see the crowds of hikers, equipped with serious boots, poles, and gear heading up the trails. I don’t particularly enjoy the physical act of walking. If anything, it’s rather boring, and I see it as a tool for getting from A to B. So for me the walking is not what appeals. The summit. Is that what lures me upwards? Reaching the top and looking down, seeing incredible 360 degree panoramas, and feeling a little like “I made it”? Perhaps that is something to do with it, as I always feel better when looking at vast landscapes… perhaps something to do with my eyes relaxing when focusing on near infinity (who knows).

The mountains have often been associated with spiritual quests, and many religious/spiritual people have gone to the mountains to find their answers. When I was in Mongolia a number of years ago I met a Monk and his student walking around in the hills. They would walk, talk, ponder, reflect, and probably a whole lot of other deep/meaningful stuff which I wasn’t aware of. They’d been doing this for probably 40 years (or more) and still continued to do it, which clearly implies to me that the walking is a by-product rather than the goal. Perhaps in a way this allure is also part of the reason why I go the mountains.

Whilst walking ever upwards, step and monotonous step, the mind is free from thinking about what the body is doing. The external stimulation is not particularly invasive either as the view tends to change ever so slowly as you walk upwards, so the mind is free to do a bit of work on it’s own, about whatever falls into it’s path. However, on today’s journey I wasn’t alone. I was with Lisa, a girl I’d met whilst out climbing one day and a local of the Zillertal valley. She was leading the way up to the top of the Ahornspitze and provided some really insightful conversation. Meeting new people is always interesting for me as it can often open my mind to new ideas and new ways of thinking. Perhaps all of this came together on the mountain as we slogged up hill.

You can just see the hut in the middle of the picture, which is the half way rest point… which we duly ignored and kept on moving!

By the time we reached the top I think we were both a little physically tired, but I think I’d really tired out Lisa mentally as the most frequent word I’d used was “why?”. We sat at the summit and chilled out for quite a while, long enough to see people walk to the top, release a short but animalistic scream, and then walk back down. What struck me was the lack of time people spent at the top. They simply arrived, looked around, took a photo, and then trundled off back down from whence they came! We did quite the opposite, sitting up there for nearly 2 hours, but I couldn’t resist joining in the club and taking a photo. Unfortunately I’m camera less at the moment (which is a GREAT shame) so this awful camera phone picture is all I have to share (forgive me!). I need to stump up the cash and buy a decent camera again… easier said than done!

The summit, 2973m, the Nikes… they’ve not let me down yet…

The way down was just as amazing, that is, once I’d won a round of Shnick, Shnack, Shnuck! Lisa wanted to descend via the method we’d come up, and I wanted to descend via an amazing ridge line. Luckily (or perhaps fatefully), I won the rock, paper, scissors (although the Austrian’s seem to have invented a fourth element – the well) and we headed off down along the ridge. You can see it in this picture, it’s the one closest to the camera running down all the way to the Gondola;

The walk down was just as interesting as the way up, and I spent a lot of time thinking about what it is to be. Perhaps that was missing the point exactly, as “to be” is maybe the opposite of the thinking rational being that I think I am. Lisa had fed me much food for thought, and I want to thank her for the day out. It was a great rest day activity and another reason why I’m glad I made the move out here. I think I’ll probably head up another few mountains before the summer is over, as it beats sitting here in front of this monitor banging my head against the keyboard when my render crashes again and again…

The past few days have been spent under the stars in the Zillertal. My eyes were aching from video editing and the associated headaches that comes with it, so I thought a few days out in the mountains would be a nice break. This is one of the reasons why I feel so lucky to live in this area, because there is so much to see and do if you’re into the outdoors.

I ended up meeting Marius (the in situ Romanian in Mayrhofen – and one of the nicest people I’ve met) at Ewige for a climb, and after doing a few warm up routes I got stuck in to an 8a called Alarm. It wasn’t what I wanted to try, but the crag was busy, the draws were in it, and it’s a 3 star route, so it’s hardly as if I needed pushing! I’d kind of seen a guy on it, but I’d only seen him fall off rather low down and then missed him climbing the rest of it, so I was climbing more onsight than anything else. These definitions of onsight/flash are woefully inadequate in my opinion, and come from a result of valuing succinctness over clarity. I think that onsight should mean onsight, with no information about the route, no quickdraws, and perhaps even no chalk on the holds. This is the purest way to do an ascent, and in many ways this is a bit of a platonic ideal. I’m not too concerned about achieving this ideal, because the art of climbing is more fun to me than the act of chasing the platonic ideal of onsight in order to stand on some lofty ground. Anyway, I set off, and made it to what I guessed would be the crux, turning a small roof and getting established on the slab.

There was what I thought would be a good kneebar just before the roof and I wasted a heap of energy trying to get it to fit, but in the end I had to give up as I couldn’t get it to stick. Quite opposite to my intentions, all I’d done was manage to increase the pump factor. Turning the roof I was slapping somewhat desperately, and my final slap landed my hand on a decentish hold, but I was too pumped to pull up and get my foot around the roof. I fell off, pulled back up the rope, and then spent 10 minutes faffing about trying to find the easiest possible method.

Big G taught me many secrets in the art of sport climbing, but his most important lesson was one of using a minimum level of exertion to get through moves. This is perhaps the ideal situation, but there are situations whereby it might not be totally necessary. I found a bunch of different sequences for getting around the roof and eventually settled on one which wasn’t the easiest, but felt the most solid. I would have to use more energy, but I knew I wouldn’t fall off, and at the end of the day that’s the most important thing.

After the roof comes a rather technical but steady slab, which featured a secondary mini crux. As I stood there brushing the footholds I suddenly thought back to Johnny Dawes brushing footholds as he went, perhaps achieving the platonic ideal of a true onsight. I don’t know why I suddenly thought back to JD, but something must have worked as I smeared my way to the top and clipped the chains.

Unfortunately, when I came to have a redpoint go the route had been stripped! My onsight go was with the draws in, and now I was having a redpoint whilst putting them in. Something felt a little odd. I had to skip a bolt as I couldn’t reach it, but apart from that the redpoint went fairly smoothly. Before reaching the crux I reached a rest position whilst being a little pumped, and for the first time ever I think my forearms actually began to recover. The pump actually decreased as I stood there shaking left/right/left/right, which came as a bit of a shock! I don’t think I’ll be doing realisation any time soon, but it’s all about baby steps! I reached the crux, used an over powerful but secure sequence, and pulled around on to the slab, smearing my way to the top and getting the job done. There was definitely a little bit of extra spice as a result of putting in the quickdraws as I found I couldn’t reach the bolts from where I had previously clipped!

Whilst pondering the route, I thought about what it would have been like to come here in the early 80’s and bolt/climb these routes. Strangely, about 20 mins after I did the route Gerhard arrived at the crag, and I got my answer! I think he’s probably done every single route at the crag, but he still comes to potter about which is a testament to the high quality of both the rock and the routes. We were having a chat and he mentioned that he wanted to go to a newish crag up in the mountains but had no one to go with, so I obviously leapt at the opportunity. A team was assembled, which included 2 Austrians, 2 Romanians, and a half Englishman. The Austrian team was a strong one, including Gerhard and Alfons. Alfons is only 15 years old, but has already climbed a couple of 8b+ routes, and will no doubt go on to crush much harder in the next few years. This is the standard at which kids are climbing, and I think it’s worth pointing this out as people in the UK seem to be amazed when a 15 year old Brit does an 8a. I don’t wish to discourage the kids in the UK, quite the opposite. I want people to realise what is possible and to set the bar ever higher in their rock climbing. Achieving the possible is so much easier (mentally) than aiming for the impossible.

The following day the team reassembled and after taking the Rofanseilbahn up the mountain we walked for about 1.5 hours away from the crowds, and towards an impressive limestone cliff. As we got closer the cliff only got bigger and when we did eventually reach the base I looked up only to feel my arms getting as pumped as my legs already were. Gerhard showed us around and it became apparent that not all the routes are super long, so Alfons and I decided to try a short and crimpy 8a+. Alfons made the moves look so easy, so much so that I decided I should try and flash it. When I did try to flash it my world came crumbling down. It most definitely wasn’t easy, and working out a sequence destroyed my tips. That’s the price you pay for pulling on small limestone holds with already thin skin. I was glad to have tried it and done all the moves/sections, but knew I wouldn’t be able to have a redpoint attempt. Alfons wasted a few redpoints attempts with a duff sequence, but once he had that sorted the route was in the bag!

Meanwhile, Gerhard cleaned what looked to be a super meaty project which he’d recently bolted. As he was doing this I became acutely aware of the effort that goes into bolting, cleaning, and preparing a route. It’s something I’ve never done and so I have no real understanding of the time/energy that it takes, but watching him on it for hours gave me a small indication of just how much psyche the guy has. He’s been doing this since the early 80’s, at a consistently high level, and when I asked him at what point he’d been in the best shape of his life, he replied “now”. This is pure inspiration in my opinion.

Since my skin was trashed I decided to go big, and headed off up a line of bolts without a name or a grade. I figured it would be at least a couple of pitches to the top so it would provide some adventure. Limestone slab climbing doesn’t sound all that appealing, but here the limestone is exceptionally grippy and you can actually smear on rather poor footholds. The climbing was really interesting and as the quickdraws ran out, so did the holds. With only a few metres to go I could see no holds, but I was stood in a semi rest position, utilising a thumb undercut rest on a vertical wall. I was good for a minute or two, but if I didn’t move after that I was surely off. I thought back to all the times I’d nearly onsighted something, and how I’d spent too long umming and arring before committed to a sequence, so this time I focused my mind, found a possible hold and committed. My entire sequence revolved around doing what looked like a hard move to a hold which I couldn’t see, but figured must be ok as this route couldn’t be that hard. I committed, reached up, and found a very bad, very slopey hold. Oh no. After 40m of climbing I was going to fall off 1 metre from the top! I suddenly entered the desperation zone and my body sunk as low as possible in order to try and milk everything from this non hold. I matched it, already beginning to slip off it, moved my foot upwards slowly as I slid off some more, and then lunged for another unknown hold. It was better, but still not good enough. One more move, I could see the jug. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall. That’s all that was in my mind on a subconscious level. On a conscious level there was nothing. My mind was empty. I reached up, my hand crawling spider like along the rock, easing out every last bit of friction. My index finger just reached the jug, then my middle, and then I knew I’d made it. I crimped down way too hard with only 2 fingers, and hauled my body over on to the ledge.

It was a real deep sense of satisfaction that washed over me. I hadn’t done anything particularly spectacular, but I had done something new to me. I’d entered a zone where I thought I was definitely going to fall off, but then fought as if my life depended on it in order to get to the top. My life didn’t depend on it of course, but I was no within the moment that it really felt like my entire world, my entire being, depended only on doing the next move. That’s a somewhat new feeling for me, and one that brings a whole heap of thinking material. It was a really interesting experience. The top pitched turned out to be trivial but delightful climbing, and afterwards we sat at the top looking out over a truly magnificent landscape.

As I’d been belaying at the half height ledge I’d been looking out and seen gliders, paragliders, and birds sharing the airspace. I could see the turquoise lake down below with speed boats zipping around. I could see the mountains rising up in every direction and in the distance the huge glacier above Hintertux. It was really special and so amazing.

To get an inkling of what I’m talking about have a look at this, which shows the view from near where the Gondola deposits you. Click the picture for an interactive panorama!

The first time I ever went climbing outdoors was with my friend James Dear. He took me to the Slate quarries of North Wales and I literally spent 2 days saying “amazing” over and over again. Perhaps I need to buy a thesaurus, but nearly 7.5 years later I still find myself muttering “amazing” to myself when I’m out climbing…

Last week I was on a high with love for route climbing, but then I took a dabble back to the root thanks to a visit from Neil. He has no love for anything much beyond 3 metres so I decided a day out bouldering wouldn’t do any harm.

We headed up to Silvretta as I was keen to show him a problem I’d told him about and also so I could finish off a couple of things that I left undone. Unfortunately the plan didn’t unfurl quite as expected. Neil wasn’t overwhelmed and I struggled with my skin. I had some good goes on British Airways, 8A, but the pain from the small crimp on it was too much to bear. I climbed the meat of the problem, but had to add in 4 moves at the start which are about font 6C. They make no difference to the grade, but all the difference to the line. I wanted to do it so badly that I pushed a little too hard on the crimp front. The problem revolves around one hard (read; painful) move from a small crimp which is just under a small overlap of rock. This sharp hold becomes doubly painful because as you try to crimp it you find the tops of your fingers being wedged into the rock. This tweaked something on my middle finger and so eventually I had to give up, which was a welcome relief as it was more sunbathing weather than anything else. I’d kind of hoped to get back on Anam Cara but by this point lying on a pad in the sunshine was pretty much about all I could muster up…

Too Young to Die – A warm up at Silvretta (thanks to Dominik for the pic)

The following day I rested in preparation for a couple of days climbing at unknown places with unknown people. It sounds awfully mysterious but in reality it’s simply down to a lack of organisation on my part. There were plenty of options and I covered all my bases when I set off on Friday morning. I had a bouldering pad, a rope, 2 harnesses, a sleeping bag, and plenty of drive.

There was a third option to add to the list of bouldering or climbing which I was entertaining. Over the last couple of weeks, whilst driving up to the Zillertal, I’d noticed a poster advertising some local bouldering competition in Mayrhofen and it just so happened that it was on Friday. I was keen to go climbing, but the routes would be there in 2 days and the comp wouldn’t. This would be a good chance to accrue a bit of experience in the world of competition climbing and so I figured I’d stop by and see what the score was. If it looked good I would take part and if not I would press onwards to the delights of the rock.

After bumping into some guys I knew, I found out it was possible to register for the competition and so I did just that. The qualification was on Friday afternoon, then the semi’s on Saturday morning followed by finals in the afternoon. Qualification consisted of 8 problems and I ended up doing 7 of them, before deciding to leave the 8^th as I was fairly sure I’d done enough to qualify. Comp tactics… something I’m beginning to learn much about. Friday night should have been an early one, preferably spent in a comfy bed, but instead I took James advice. Earlier he’d text me some very important advice, which he seemed to think would help me get by in the competition. It read “Do the exact opposite of whatever you normally do and you’ll be fine”. Wise words. With those words in minds I ended up staying in Mayrhofen until quite late and then drove up the valley and slept in the car on what turned out to be less then even ground.

Saturday morning my body was as fresh as a wilting rose, but my mind was as sharp as a razor, so I was feeling ok. The semi’s began and it was run in the same style as World Cup’s, with 4 problems and 6 minutes to do each one. I went out 6^th and was feeling pretty good at that point. The first problem looked basic with only 2 possible sequences. I went up it, committed to the sequence which my body automatically chose, and ended up flashing it. A great start. James advice was coming to fruition! I then had a good long rest before the next problem. Even though I haven’t mentioned it, it should come as no surprise that my skin was rather awful coming into the semi’s, but chalking up every 30 seconds seemed to be doing just enough to keep the grease at bay. Problem number 2 looked ok too, and revolved around a single hard move from a sloper. I envisioned crushing it, but the reality of the situation was rather different. It was as if my skin suddenly took a nosedive and I could get zero purchase on the crush sloper. It was a little frustrating, but I only had myself to blame. If I’d been more efficient in qualification (like the top guys) I wouldn’t have these skin issues. Six minutes elapsed and I’d not managed it, so I prepared for the next one. The 3^rd problem was a slab/wall with one hard move from a fat pinch… one again something that did suit my strengths. Unfortunately the super high foot position didn’t, but the real problem by now was more a combination of my weeping skin and the blazing sun. Problem 3 – negative. So on to number 4. In every competition it seems there is a problem revolving a double dyno and this was number 4. It took me a few tries to nail the jump and then I was soon at the top. After I’d finished I stuck around to watch the rest of the competitors and I was really impressed by what I saw, especially by Lukas Skywalker Ennemoser. It turns out the 1^st and 2^nd were the hardest, with the 3^rd and 4^th being easier. I really should have done the 3^rd problem but it turned out that I read it somewhat wrong and I’d dropknee’d the wrong way, which was why I couldn’t generate enough distance for the long reach. Live and learn! To make the final you had to do 3 problems and perhaps on a different day it would have been possible, but in the end I finished in 12^th place. The top 6 went on to the final and what a final it was. Well set problems, great music, and the top guys were separated by a gnat’s whisker. In the end a very strong guy from Innsbruck, Mario, took the title, with Lukas coming second and Stu coming third (still representing The Queen!). Stu climbed really well and I thought he was a little unlucky not to do better, so I’m looking forward to hopefully going out climbing with him a bit as it’s clear I have much to learn.

What struck me was the difference between comps in the UK and this one. The problems here were set with nice holds, featured good moves, and didn’t assume that having power was a bad thing. I didn’t much enjoy the BBC competition in the UK as power was something that took a backseat to either being super flexible, holding horrific volumes, or using nasty holds! This comp was much more my kind of thing, with a good combination between finesse and power… much like the style of climbing which I love so much.

Overall it was a great experience and I’m glad I ended up doing it. The rocks are still there and my desire to get out on them is still the same. One amazing thing that has surely come from my route climbing is the fact that I didn’t get pumped during the competition. It was quite amazing actually, as I was able to try a problem and not have an intense pump when it came to the next one. Route climbing is having so many benefits for me right now and I really do think that when I return to bouldering I’ll have moved up a notch. I hope the future confirms my thoughts…

Oh yeah, one more thing. I later found out that this bouldering competition wasn’t exactly a local comp that just happened to be taking place in the Zillertal, it was the Austrian Nationals. Probably best that I didn’t know beforehand…

Photos to follow when I find them…