Loving Bishop

I fondly remember becoming aware of Bishop bouldering by watching the first dosage film, sat in a scruffy student house in Nether Edge. Without access to terrestrial television, Jon, Geth and I would intensely devour any DVD we laid our hands on. Perhaps through a combination of the forced repeated viewing of Sharma, Graham and Rands, and the Zeitgheist that held true in our house (Sharma was the man, Bishop was the place!) a desire to climb in the buttermilks was imprinted in my climbing psyche. Ambition and enthusiasm was then left for several years to mature.

For the first few days the climbing felt very alien to me. Weeks of primarily climbing granite cracks had left me unprepared for overhanging crimpfests. It took me equal effort to maintain the discipline to persist through the unfamiliarity without becoming discouraged, yet also to have the self-restraint to avoid going mad and destroying my body on every 5 star line in sight.

My enjoyment of the climbing in the Buttermilks was enhanced immeasurably by the company I kept while there: Hazel, Katy and Ryan (it felt sad that Spidey had left for home a few days before we went to Bishop, as he had equally been a part of the same group vibe in Joshua Tree).

Despite us having been no more than acquaintances when I lived in Sheffield, I was now spending almost all of my time with the same three people. Bizarrely I became shy when climbing in front of strangers. Perhaps a measure of how comfortable I had become around my friends.
The development of close alliances is inevitable, in part because going climbing is dependent on being with other climbers, and given the amount of time we spent together there was bound to be some degree of bonding. But beyond the practical necessity of having climbing partners, I enjoyed their companionship in its own right. As with any relationship, my appreciation of their company grew as I came to know each of them better, as I grew accustomed to their traits, their habits, and their idiosyncrasies.
As the subtle process of tacitly finding my own place in the group unfolded, I was repeatedly heartened and entertained by their openness, camaraderie and banter.

Despite recent years of indifference, it only took a few short days until I began to love bouldering again. Engaged by the novel and fun climbing style, my motivation was increased further by the aesthetic of the large round boulders sat on the desert plain, being looked over by the snow capped mountains.
I became attuned to the spontaneity and the opportunity for experimentation. My appreciation of the subtleties of climbing movement were heightened by the contrast with thuggy Yosemitie jamming. Between the encouragement of my friends, and the perfect conditions for learning through trial and improvement, I slowly refined the skill with which I moved between features in the rock.
As great as the satisfaction of this improvement was, the process of learning became an enjoyable end in itself. Rather than solely being the means to improvement, playful experimentation was becoming the purpose as well.
Although this isn't a new thing it felt like a re-awakening of that aspect.

All of these threads seemed to intertwine late one day towards the end of my time in Bishop, trying Soul Slinger at dusk. After the sun had dipped behind Mount Tom I relinquished my hopes of doing it that day, and my thoughts wandered to how many more sessions I could afford on just one problem. Despite my negativity and the failing light, I struck upon a change in foothold, a shift of my hips, and I was slapping into the huge hueco finishing hold and whooping as I topped out.

Elated, I made my way down the back of the boulder. Rather than congratulations, I was met with a tirade of comedic abuse from Hazel. A funny and well judged inversion of the expected social niceties. Curiously, it was this perhaps more than anything else, that exemplifies the fun I had in Bishop.