We've been at Joshua Tree for a week now, but unfortunately the team consensus isn't very kind towards the climbing here. I'd been warned that it isn't to everyone's liking here, that some find the style too old school, and others take umbrage at the stiff grades. If anything, these attributes attract me more than turn me off. However, our experience is that there is a lot of chaff to sort from the over-starred wheat. The best routes are good, but you're unlikely to do more than one each day as they're so spread out. The rock on the face routes is way below par, mostly consisting of snappy flakes. The more moderate routes look much better, on cleaner rock, and are more concentrated and numerous, which probably explains the popularity of the place. For sure though, Joshua Tree is a cool place to hang out. The desert always holds its own distinct appeal, and the five of us have had a great time together. We've spent long enough together now that we have shared stories and developed our own in-jokes, we know each other well enough for conversation to be natural, or for silence to be comfortable. It's also been great for me to climb with such talented climbers as Hazel, Katy and Ryan, and to try and absorb some of their style and skill.
In spite of the fun I was having with my friends, I also found the days pretty hard on my ego. I didn't feel like I was climbing well, and it was a long time since I climbed anything of personal significance. Also, climbing with my present company was, in my eyes at least (I'm sure they couldn't care less!), demonstrating so many holes in my ability.
Although this may seem both ridiculous and unimportant when read in the cold light of day, I had a hard time getting a perspective on this when all I did was spend each day climbing. I had nothing else to provide me with feelings of reward.
It was with this emotional baggage that I found myself roping up at the bottom of Equinox for my second attempt. Round one had involved much falling and sitting on gear, and so I didn't rate my chances of linking the several sections that I had found hard individually.
Drawing on some recent insights from having watched Katy and Ryan, and spoken with Hazel, I quickly formulated my strategy. I knew I would have to climb assertively, really making the most of marginal footholds instead of overgripping for security, which paradoxically, would make a fall more likely through running out of energy. That, and I was going to be like Jerry (obviously if I was really going to be like Jerry I would have flashed it already. Nonetheless, I scolded myself for my lack of self belief).
As I set my fingers in the first locks I was aware of the soreness caused by my first attempt. The initial part went easier and smoother than before. I restricted myself to placing pro only from the least strenuous positions, I reinvented sequences and set finger locks with more patience than before, resisting the pressure to rush.
I experienced a moment of clarity mid-route, when I became aware that not only was I embroiled in the midst of climbing Equinox, but I was engaged in this process as I had raised my game to do so. The fact that I was using my climbing resources as effectively as I ever have done should not belie the physical effort I was pouring into every moment spent on the rock. My attention had been so focussed that I only became aware of my friends' shouts of encouragement in a retrospective surge of sensory backlog, as I stepped onto the finishing footledge.
As usual, the times that success is grasped by the skin of your teeth are the most intense experiences, and so are memorable for that. But greater than that, my enjoyment of climbing Equinox was enhanced by learning more about rock climbing from my friends, which allowed me to make the most of my current ability.
The essence of my memory of climbing Equinox is more of the visceral feel of this climbing flow; the outcome, successful as it was, is a happy yet minor detail.
Sunday 20 November 2011
Friday 18 November 2011
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.
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.
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