solo team

With the first leg of my Northern Ontario tour completed, I moved on to the cliffs along the Georgian Bay- eager to see what they had to offer. My friend Greg Williamson, whom I had met in Kentucky this past Spring, spoke highly of the area. After seeing an excerpt from the film "The Continuum Project," I was sold. I spent my first day with select members of the Toronto crew, and was given a proper tour of Lions Head (which was invaluable as the guidebook has been outdated for quite some time.)

Photo by Miguel Jette

Lions Head is, by far, the most unique climbing area I have visited in my climbing career. While the climbing itself is distinct from other limestone crags I've encountered, it's unique nature truly exists in its accessibility. Unlike most crags, many of the routes do not start at the base of the cliff. The quality of the limestone here tends to diminish in certain sectors, while in others the cliff vanishes entirely- leaving a significant amount of open air between the climbable surface and the ground. As a result, many of the climbs require a hanging belay. Early on I was told that most of the locals prefer to rope solo because it offers easy access in to and out of the cliff, unparalleled efficiency, and it saves everyone from the hassle of the dreaded hanging belay.

Unknown Climber, Maneline 5.10a

Many of the Toronto natives were only around for the long Canada Day weekend, and I was subsequently left to my own devices during the majority of my stay. Eager to get after it, I committed to the reality that if any climbing was going to get done it would have to be a solo mission.

Rope soloing is a double-edged sword. While it certainly is a great way to pack in volume during a session, and a great way to suss out potential projects, it makes it quite difficult to commit to particular moves on point. Generally I don't think about the consequences of failing to execute. That's why someone else is on the other end of the rope, right? Rope soloing essentially adds another variable to an already complex equation. Typically I focus on deciphering sequences, committing to a plan, detoxing, lowering my heart rate, and maintaining a cadence. Being in charge of my own safety is something I have never had to consider, so incorporating this variable into my climbing repertoire was incredibly challenging for me. But, as in most situations, we learn to adapt.

Zone of Extreme Beauty 5.12c/d
Photos by Miguel Jette

Earlier in the week I tried a route called Thor from the Floor (5.12d), an extension to Thor (5.12b). The extension adds two difficult boulder problems, and roughly doubles the length of the pitch. I assumed that because it took quite some time to unlock the sequences on my first attempt several days prior, it would be best to rope solo the route in order rehearse the moves. After quickly pushing through the bottom two cruxes I found myself at the more moderate section of the climb. Having a rough idea of what to do, I decided that it would be entirely possible to redpoint the route on rope solo. Unfortunately, after arriving at the fourth crux, I quickly realized that I had not taken up slack in quite some time. With the clock ticking and the holds shrinking, I knew stopping was not an option. Attempting to rectify my mistake midway through the crux would surely jeopardize my redpoint attempt. Rookie mistake!

The last crux involves paddling through several slopey holds and gastons in order to gain a right hand pinch/undercling. Once established on the undercling, I attempted to move my feet up on poor smears in order to stab for the last shallow two finger pocket. However, seeing the sizable amount of slack I had left for myself whipping in the wind did not inspire confidence. I would like to think that my level of commitment on point is one of the few things that I am good at as a climber, but in this scenario I was completely spooked and out of my element. I halfheartedly attempted the move, grabbed the break line, and took the plunge. Amateur hour!

Photo by Miguel Jette

Subsequent days proved to be a bit more productive. I was able to have two proper sport climbing sessions during which I was able to redpoint routes in every grade between 5.10a and 5.12d. Though I did try routes between 5.13a and 5.13d, I ultimately found that progressing quickly in such an environment would not have been possible for me. The climbing in Lions Head is incredibly specialized. As the climbs become more difficult, the holds begin to disappear, and a new climbing language must be applied. It would most likely take me an entire season to develop the technique necessary to climb at Lions Head. I suppose it was unreasonable to think that I could send at my limit in every destination without first taking the time to learn the local language. During my short visit, I was only able to catch a glimpse of the style that makes Lions Head both challenging and unique. Despite having my ego checked once again, I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to explore a new destination, and to finally find some peace in solitude.

I would like to once again thank my friend Migüel Jetté for providing the photos that accompanied this and the previous post. A link to his blog can be found in the list of blogs I follow (located in the right hand margin of the page).

the scoop

I arrived in Toronto early this morning after spending two weeks in Lions Head, ON. I would have liked to update the blog during my stay, but I was unable to secure a reliable internet connection. Despite not having access to certain modern amenities, my stay in Lions Head was a welcomed change from the typical climbing scene.

Lions Head is a small, unassuming port town on the Bruce Peninsula located near the Georgian Bay. There are several climbing areas in the many escarpments along the bay (Whites Bluff, TV Tower, Disneyland, etc.), but I was encouraged by the locals to divide my time between the Halfway Log Dump and Lions Head.

Halfway Log Dump

"The Dump," as many of the locals refer to it as, is a misleading moniker. The Dump is easily the most aesthetic bouldering area I have ever visited. While some of the boulders themselves are quite spectacular, it was primarily their location near the water that made this area stand out. These amazing black and white limestone boulders are scattered along the striking Georgian Bay. Many of the boulders are accented with a brilliant orange moss, and others are home to the Lakeside Daisy (an endangered yellow flower). I found the juxtaposition of such vibrant colors against the muted boulders incredibly appealing. It seemed improbable that such a tropical setting could exist in North America.

The Whale Boulder

In addition to the stunning visuals, I was also impressed by the variety of styles, and the quality of the climbing that these wind worn boulders had to offer. Though the problems were short, the movement that was dictated by their forms was incredibly satisfying to unlock. In the four days that I spent climbing at the Dump I was able to dispatch some amazing problems ranging from V1 to V8.

Bonnie De Brujin, Cedar Arete V7

Because the Dump is a recent Ontario Access Coalition acquisition (spearheaded by local developer Adam Reeve), there are still some boulders that have not seen first ascents. The majority of the established boulder problems are moderate (V5 and below), but climbers are still finding potential in some of the most improbable looking boulders.

Beyond the main sector is an area known as Cave Point which harbors The Dump's tallest lines. Poor landings, committing moves, and big air have kept most people away from these boulders. Despite these technicalities, a few members of the Toronto crew were eager to check out the potential, and I myself had been looking at these boulders from a distance.

Led by local Dave Voltan, we made our way to the main event- a steep, overhanging prow precariously perched over a devastating landing 20+ feet off the deck. From the ground it was evident that just enough positive holds existed to climb this impressive feature. With the pads arranged we went to work, attempting to decipher the moves that would gain the top of the boulder. However, after a short period of time it was clear that without more pads and more spotters that this particular climb would be a bad idea. Amateur hour! Dejected, we moved on.

Behind the project we found another stunning black and white striated bloc dimpled with pale pockets. Not only was this sheer face beautiful, it was also one of the few problems that had a relatively safe landing. After some inspecting and postulating we agreed that this would be an amazing climb. The crux of the climb requires an accurate right hand cross into a Spock-grip set of pockets, a precarious right foot placement partnered with a back flag, and standing into and rolling out of a left hand, half-pad sidepull with a thumb catch located directly above the previous right hand. From this point the difficulty of the climb relents, but it remains quite committing. Two horizontal seams split the upper third of the boulder and while both seams are positive, they are quite far apart, the feet are non existent, accuracy is crucial, and a considerable amount of air separates you from the ground. Once established in the higher seam, a few moderate moves yield the top of the boulder.


I found the process of finding a new boulder, discovering its weakness with a motivated crew, and ultimately topping out high off the deck incredibly satisfying. Even though the problem was moderate (V5), I have never been so adrenalized. I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a proper highball, but this problem seemed relatively tall (perhaps 20 ft). Regardless of the grade or the classification, it was without a doubt one of the highlights of my visit. Luckily, Adam Reeve was able to film the process. I'll be sure to post the footage once it becomes available.

The remainder of my stay was spent at the cliff, but perhaps it would be best to discuss that in another post. While the time line may be off, I will continue to post about my visit throughout the week.

I would like to thank my friend Migüel Jetté for providing these spectacular photographs. I have included a link to his blog on my page and I would encourage you to visit.

rifle

After spending a week in the gym I was finally able to make it out for a few days. My first session at Clear Creek Canyon was relatively successful. After warming up on some of the longer moderate pitches, I made my way over to a route that I had tried years ago when I first began my sport climbing career. Ten Digit Dialing (5.12c) is a nearly vertical route whose popularity can be attributed to its incredibly specific crux sequence. Years ago when I first tried the route I was unable to do the majority of the crux (roughly a third of the climb) which involves navigating through quarter-pad, side-pull crimps and underclings that lead into a compression section on slopers. Things went much better this time around. I came incredibly close to sending the route while hanging the draws, but I fell short going to the positive holds that lead to the exit. After refining the sequence I was able to send the route on my second attempt. I was pleased to have made quick work of such an impressive climb. Ten Digit Dialing, while not the most demanding route, was a benchmark that allowed me to see how things have progressed over my four and a half year climbing career. I enjoy the challenge of making something that at first appears to be impossible seem effortless. I think that successfully making this transition is proof that when you stop making excuses and start working harder you will be rewarded.

With most of the day left, I turned my attention to another route that I had tried once last summer. Interstellar Overdrive (5.13c/d) is a Tommy Caldwell route that is situated on a beautiful, gently overhung bloc at the edge of the 90's Wall. As I recall, the majority of the route clocks in at 5.13a. A marginal rest from the three-quarter mark leads to a V8 boulder problem that tackles relatively small crimps that are quite far apart. Unfortunately, the sun began to move in and forced us to retreat to a shadier crag before I had the chance to tie in. Despite the failure to launch, I plan to make this a priority when I get back to Denver. The day finished with onsights of Slammer (5.12b) and The Great Escape (5.12c) at the Wall of Justice. Neither route was remarkable, but it was certainly nice to see that my fitness had not diminished entirely after a four week absence from the sport.


After a rest day, I got back on the road and headed to Rifle. Considered by most to be America's premiere sport climbing area, Rifle houses a high concentration of difficult routes within a one mile-long stretch of the canyon. I've often heard that Rifle requires a very specialized set of techniques to unlock many of the routes. After sampling routes between 5.10 and 5.13, I would have to concur.

Typically when I visit a new area I make it a point to try as many routes as possible in order to adapt to the environment quickly. This means that every attempt is generally an onsight attempt. I've often thought that I excel at onsighting, but it quickly became clear that onsighting at Rifle is a completely different game. The climbing is much more about manipulating angles, shapes, and body positions than it is about deciphering hand sequences and pulling on holds. I found that the moves in and of themselves were quite rudimentary, but learning how to make use of the blocky terrain took some time to figure out. Further complicating things is the fact that the limestone at Rifle has been so heavily trafficked that most holds are polished. I found it difficult to fully relax my grip as I would on sandstone, and as a result was plagued with a nagging pump that rarely relented.

Climbing in Rifle was humbling to say the least. At the end of my visit I managed to only onsight several routes between 5.11a and 5.11d. I can typically onsight 5.12+ and I even came close to onsighting 5.13a this past fall, so suffering on 5.12 was remarkably frustrating. I certainly don't think that Rifle is sandbagged. It just has a very particular style, and the approach to projecting here requires a different lens. Most climbers in the local scene, including Lynn Hill, reassured me that the learning curve at Rifle is steep. Ultimately I was forced to scale back my expectations in order to refine my technique. Despite not putting things on the board, I truly enjoyed learning a new climbing language. Coming home empty handed is never fun, but that's the great thing about climbing- you always get a second chance.


The bottom line: believe the hype. Rifle is amazing. I look forward to climbing here again when I return to the States.

Until then, I will be spending some time in Canada. Currently I am at 35,000 feet en route to Toronto, Ontario. It's been a chaotic week jumping between planes, trains, and automobiles, but I'm psyched to see my friends and to sample some of the climbing that Canada has to offer. I've been told that Lions Head is home to brilliant limestone and breath-taking views. In addition to the sport climbing scene, I'll have the opportunity to check out some of the recently reopened bouldering spots in the area. From what little I've seen from my friend's blog, the boulders look absolutely brilliant. I don't consider myself to be talented in this particular discipline, but I look forward to trying hard.

drops in a bucket

I have spent the last week acclimating to the scene here in Denver. While the climbing community is certainly larger than that of the Red River Gorge, it has been remarkably difficult to make it out to the crag. Conditions and full-time jobs are preventing most people from going out. After speaking with several individuals it seems that these conditions (80 degrees and no humidity) are not ideal...wait. What? Clearly they have never been to the Midwest or the Southeast.

To be fair, it did rain for three days. I have been reassured that I am not missing out on much. Local venues like Clear Creek, Boulder Canyon, Estes Park and RMNP would most likely be saturated and unclimbable. I suppose their regional acumen is more refined than my own, so I will trust their judgment.

As a result, I have been doing most of my climbing at Movement Climbing + Fitness in Boulder, CO. Normally I wouldn't condone such behavior, but the transition to pulling on plastic has not been difficult under the circumstances. Exceptional route setting in conjunction with the gym's layout and resources make it the obvious place to train. I typically spend the summer preparing for the fall season anyway, so I am excited to take advantage of such an impressive indoor facility.



It's nice to have a consistent climbing routine again. I am a firm believer that consistency over time determines the difference between an average rock climber and an exceptional athlete. Progressing in this sport is similar to filling a bucket with water one drop at a time. A few dedicated workouts a week certainly won't allow you to break through the glass ceiling next month. A few dedicated workouts every week for 52 weeks, however, will have an impact on your performance the following year. Patience and perspective are indispensable allies. Given enough time, the water level in the bucket will rise.

While it is certainly true that some individuals possess the genetic potential to advance quickly, the reality is that most of us are not as fortunate. Comparing yourself to other climbers is a dangerous trap that we have all fallen into at some point during our climbing careers. I think it's important to remember that once you've compared your abilities to another individual's, the only thing that you have succeeded in doing is making an elementary observation. Clearly there are stronger, more talented climbers out there. I think our time is better spent isolating personal weaknesses, developing effective strategies to target those weaknesses, and committing to a routine.

Over the years I've heard many people express a dissatisfaction with their performance or a desire to hit that new grade. The only thing I can offer is that it's time to stop talking and time to start working. The only way to get things done is to start.

reset

The clarity I began to discover during my stay in Kentucky has once again escaped me. I am struggling to articulate the very nature of my conflict, but perhaps it is best that I refrain from doing so. I would hate to subject anyone to such a raw, disjointed narrative.

I have been trapped in my head for so long that it has been difficult for me to communicate effectively. While I continue to write, my thoughts materialize in fragments. Much like being armed with a waning candle in a dark room, I can only catch glimpses of the objects that occupy the space. And, when the light inevitably goes out, I am left with a faint, incomplete image.


While solitude can liberate the intellect, it can surely torment the heart. Guilt, despair, and isolation have ravaged me for some time now. I continue to search for answers, but the process is exhausting and has yet to yield a single result. Even the reason for my voluntary incarceration is unknown. Amidst this graveyard of unanswered questions one thing is certain: I cannot do this any more.

It's time to hit reset. The trajectory of my life has changed dramatically and I have to accept that. This year has tested my resiliency, and it will undoubtedly continue to do so. People have reminded me that when it rains, it pours. I suppose I'll just have to play in the rain.


After a two week detour, I am resuming my search for clarity. To say that I am running away would be inaccurate. I am now in pursuit of something far more complex than mere self-preservation. While I am certainly not whole again, I hope to one day be.

I leave for Denver in the morning.

the game changer

I have, for the last two days, been suffering from an odd, inexplicable illness. Being that the symptoms were vague at best (fatigue, nausea, and loss of appetite), I concluded that a combination of rest and sufficient hydration would be the most appropriate and effective form of treatment.

I awoke late last night to find a message from my sister concerning my mother's health. While the message was cryptic, I feared that I already knew the nature of my mother's condition.

I emerged from my makeshift home, attempting to prolong the normalcy I had created for myself. I wandered between familiar spaces searching for the comfort inherent in such a routine. It was clear soon after it began that the search would bear no fruit.

I stood paralyzed, distanced from the community of which I had become a part. To be alone, surrounded by people is a paradox that only proves to intensify isolation. The life I had carefully cultivated to bring me back to center was being pulled away from me. I closed my eyes, hoping that if I kept them closed long enough that things would somehow change. But such tactics no longer work at my age. I knew this to be an exercise in futility, but putting things in perspective when one's emotions are involved is not an easy task.

Despite my trepidation, I packed the car and drove through the night to be with my family.

After driving 400 miles, my fears were confirmed.

Cancer is a penetrating, disfiguring word. It has the power to level even the most resilient personalities. I had been anticipating this news for quite some time, but I remained blinded by my own selfish pursuits. While I phoned home often, my mother's condition was never discussed explicitly. In my attempt to escape reality, I only managed to curb my sensibilities. Denial is a powerful force whose reach is intensified once it has had the chance to mature into something tangible.

The details of my mother's treatment have yet to be determined, and while my family remains strong, I am finding it difficult to follow suit. At my core, I believe that I possess a weak heart for such things.

Life has a cruel way of reminding us that you can only run away from reality for so long. And so, much like this story began, I am uncertain where these new events will lead me. While my transmission may lack consistency for the time being, it is by no means over. I will certainly do my best to keep interested parties aware of what has become our story. Until then, I hope this communication finds you well.

motherlode

Significant rain fall seems to be a recurring theme on the blog. Unfortunately, this post is no different. I suppose this is the rainy season here in Kentucky; it should no longer surprise me that the forecast calls for rain almost every day of the week.

Oddly enough, the rain has just recently caused a spike in humidity. The malefactor responsible for poor conditions this Spring is the fluctuating temperature. The temperature has been dropping quite low at night and rises quickly in the morning. This fluctuation rapidly condenses the moisture in the air, leaving many of the routes in the gorge unclimbable.

The Undertow
Photo by Gary Siu

The capricious nature of this climate certainly adds a different dimension to the hustle of redpointing projects. The pressure to perform is slowly creeping in simply because we don't have many opportunities to climb in sterling conditions. Even going to the crag is a gamble. It's not uncommon to wait all day for conditions that may never develop. Nevertheless, good vibes continue to prevail.

Even though we have nearly fifteen hours of sunlight, it's mostly spent waiting for what has been dubbed "the golden hour." The golden hour is the time of day during which a breeze moves in, the humidity dissipates, and the sun fades behind the clouds. We spend our downtime talking shop, rehashing beta, and discussing summer destinations until this brief window of opportunity presents itself.

While this approach doesn't allow for high mileage days, it does allow for a few successes. This past week I was able to check a few things off the list including Leave it to Beavis (5.12d), Convicted (5.13a), Forty Ounces of Justice (5.13a), and BOHICA (5.13b).

Convicted 5.13a
Photo by Gary Siu

Though I was quite happy to send Convicted (easily the best of the grade at the Red), I was pysched to have redpointed BOHICA. BOHICA tackles the savage steepness of the Madness Cave and clocks in at 100 ft. Fitness routes like BOHICA and Forty Ounces (110 ft.) are mentally taxing and physically punishing. It can be quite daunting to look up halfway through the pitch only to realize how much marathon climbing is left. I also found it quite challenging to cover so much ground knowing the consequences of punting late in the game. So much rock climbing to recall on point! Not only that, but the routes in the Madness Cave are so relentless that it is difficult to regain the physical stamina and mental fortitude necessary to redpoint. Often times, two attempts in a day are enough to cash you out for the rest of your session. Climbing in the cave is taxing, for sure.

The Madness Cave
Photo by Gary Siu

I generally dislike devoting multiple sessions to a single pitch, so I am glad that I was able to send BOHICA on my third overall redpoint attempt. I've lined up several projects since and it's a race against the clock to make them happen. The humidity that is characteristic of the summer season is oppressive and certainly makes it challenging to perform.

I've spent the last week climbing exclusively at the Motherlode, so I recently decided that a change of venue was in order. Yesterday I visited Drive-By Crag where I was able to give Kaleidoscope (5.13c) a reconnaissance burn. Conclusion: Kaleidoscope is without question the best sport route I have ever climbed. It is the quintessential line. The route ascends a beautiful prow and features powerful, committing moves from start to finish with only one rest at the halfway mark. Unabated, continuous, relentless! Hopefully I will have good news in our next correspondence.

On an unrelated note, in a previous post I accused a route called Swahili Slang of being the most sand bagged 5.12c at the Red. It was later brought to my attention that the route I attempted that day was not Swahili Slang. As it It turns out, the route I attempted was Take That Katie Brown (5.13 b/c) which has a reputation for being height dependent. Nevertheless, it is still a brilliant climb that I fully intend to return to.