Taking it easy and some thoughts on camp 4

No big routes have gone down since Dan and I had our NIAD adventure, certainly nothing of that calibre. Initially after this we were both content to take it very easy, until the final days of the trip when Dan managed to throw himself off a perfectly protected crack climb while clipping, hitting the starting ledge straight legged. The resulting diagnosis of a fractured heel didn't stop him from hobbling around San Francisco without the aid of his crutches, frustrated by being slowed down by them. It was amusing to see the sudden change in this attitude as he approached the check-in desk for his flight home. With his bags overweight, Dan played all his sympathy cards at once: crutches in full use, hobbling, wincing at each step. This facade, combined with his gentlemanly charm, had the desired effect, as he placed an extra bag in the hold without charge.

Following Dan's departure there was a change in my motivation, away from big routes and towards single pitching and bouldering. Dan and I had our ambitions, abilities and approach to climbing closely aligned. It was on the strength of this that we climbed a lot of our big objectives together. I guess its natural for this to be followed by a bit of a lull.
Fortuitously, the remainder of team UK were mostly happy to go at a steady pace too. Long mornings were spent drinking coffee in the lodge with Katy and Ryan, hazel and Spidey.

Around this time the valley emptied dramatically as autumn took hold. My days activities appeared to fall in line with these quieter and more serene surroundings.
We packed up and left for Joshua Tree early in November, a few hours ahead of a forecasted storm. After a total of six weeks in the valley I was ready for pastures new, but curiously I also felt a surprising degree of sadness at leaving a place that had begun to feel like home.

Camp 4 is a curious place. Materially, its a pretty awful campsite. No showers, grim toilets, rocky ground, and a thousand brazen critters all competing to steal your food. And if that's not enough, the greatest hazard comes from the park rangers, the unsympathetic enforcers of the national park's myriad rules and regulations.
Although I have some sympathy for the principles behind some of the rules, their enforcement by the rangers often feels over zealous. I agree, for instance, with the reasoning of having a maximum stay in the park per year, to ensure all potential visitors can visit while maintaining some semblance of wilderness without overcrowding. But enforcing this so stringently when the park is almost empty doesn't benefit anyone. I believe in operating within the spirit of the rules, rather than following them to the letter. For a ranger however, I can imagine that giving a dirtbag climber an inch frequently results in them taking a mile. Either way, the result of the current situation is a pain in the arse for everyone. Climbers inevitably find ways to cheat the system (I stayed in the park for two weeks longer than allowed, for example), and the rangers continue to have a harder job because of it. It would probably be nicer for both sides if some of the rules that inherently villify climbers were changed. The rangers could work on their sense of humour a little too.

Set against such a background, its amazing that camp 4 provides such a healthy scene for climbers. Perhaps its because of its place in American climbing history, or just the people who spend their time in the valley. The people I met in camp 4 created a kind of microcosm of what nurtures progress in climbing: encouragement, the passing on of knowledge, inspiration, and speaking to people with first hand experience of your dream route. That everyone contributes to this effect in others seems to create a sense of community.

Camp 4 also seems to act as a refuge for those who don't fit in anywhere else. While there, I met several lost souls, eccentrics, and at least one seriously deluded folk, all of whom seemed to find some temporary solace there. People who I cannot imagine being accepted in a big city were easily accommodated by the irreverent and liberal residents of camp 4.

I suppose its not a great surprise that I developed such an attachment to the place, given my lack of any other current home, the duration I was there, and the nature of the place. However there's a lot more climbing I want to see in California, and staying in my comfort zone isn't why I've come here.