Whether bouldering comps go the way of parkour or pull-up contest on crimpers, the format has deeper biases that ought to be considered. Start thinking A.I. …

It was a big weekend for sports action, and I’m not talking about the Super Bowl, which was actually a pretty good game if you could just push all of the ethically questionable aspects of football out of sight and mind—something that, I admit, is becoming harder and harder to do now that we live under an authoritarian regime that caters to a billionaire economy. Moral relativism by way of a blind support for tradition is keeping the American machine running for now, even if no one is sure where we’re ultimately headed. No one cares, either, so eff’ it. I will say this: aside from the Lindsay Vonn / Olympics plug, which was awesome, most of the commercials were utter shit. They were so devoid of creativity, if just basic linear storytelling, that they were generic to the point of parody. Perhaps I’ve just grown to hate all of these irrelevant baby boomer brands—whether it’s Bud Light or Ram Trucks, they can all eat a bucket of Tide pods, as far as I’m concerned.

Well, now that I got that out of the way … good morning, friends!

The highlight of the weekend, at least in terms of vicarious athleticism, was the USA Climbing Bouldering Nationals, live-streamed on Saturday night from the former home of the Trade Show, the Salt Palace in SL,UT. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the event and was amazed by how far these live streams have come over the years. The production value was objectively professional, not just “professional for climbers,” as I, for one, have come to expect after more than a decade of witnessing competition climbing struggle to find a voice. Hats off to all involved!

Also, congrats to the podium finishers! Alex Puccio won her 11th straight title, which is an absolutely incredible run especially considering all of her injuries over the years. Puccio is a real-world Terminator. Who can stop her?

Also congrats to Nathaniel Coleman, who dominated the men’s comp again for a third year in a row. He has also now apparently flashed every finals problem for the past three years, another kind of sick record. He made the problems look so easy that, I swear, on M2, he literally levitated to the finishing hold and placed both hands upon it as if to bestow a quiet blessing. He slowly descended to the mats, surrounded by a halo of serene omnipotence. Glory be unto Nathaniel Coleman!

USA Climbing also sported a new format using a multi-zone/hold point system. At least I think it’s new … to be honest, I have no idea. It’s hard to keep track of which format the comp organizers are testing now.

For organizers, I wonder if that is worrisome, considering that the Olympics are less than two years away. After more than two decades of this experiment in turning climbing into a made-for-TV sporting event, there are still no formal conventions regarding the very format of the game. To be fair, football also changes its rules every year, I suppose, though with comp climbing it really seems as if the changes from one bouldering comp to the next are as drastic as if the NFL decided that touchdowns are worth 8 points; no, never mind, they’re only 1 point each because that’s simpler to understand; no never mind, we’ve decided it’s in the audience’s interest if we award points not only for touchdowns but also for yards run and passes completed.

I just rely on the commentators to let me know who is winning

I’ve stopped trying to figure out the rules, and I just rely on the commentators to let me know who is winning. The true enjoyment of watching bouldering comps, in my opinion, isn’t doing hold-math but in seeing how each climber brings a slightly different style to the same problem; seeing which beta works and who can make it look easy or cool.

In a surprisingly lucid #MomentOfJens, our friend at 8a.nu suggested in his own Monday Morning commentary that a potentially more interesting format would involve setting problems with multiple sets of beta. His example was to envision a problem in which the beta could involve running/parkour-style movements on volumes, or a techy traverse solution on underclings. I actually agree with this idea in theory. It would be really cool to see a problem that lends itself to beta diversity, though in practice, I’m not sure how you could set a problem like this.

Still, any setting that produces different beta solutions and highlights different styles would improve upon the very aspects of comp climbing that I already love to watch.

On social media, I made a comment about how some of the finals problems seemed to be closer cousins to the world of parkour and Ninja Warrior rather than traditional expressions of bouldering difficulty that we tend to find outdoors. Some people interpreted my observation as a critique, which it wasn’t. Parkour-style problem setting is far more interesting to watch, which is the whole point of comp climbing, right? It’s about putting on a good show for spectators, not necessarily about determining who is the “best” climber in the world. Obviously, I think not every problem should be a parkour test piece, but as a style of problem-setting, it certainly has a valid place in the comp climbers’ repertoire. And I think it adds a lot for the spectators.

If I were to pick apart potential issues with the comp-climbing scene—and given the ever-changing format, this seems like a valid use of blog space—I would direct the conversation to the conundrum of “setting bias,” which is the degree to which setters must necessarily cater to the strengths and weakness of the field du jour.

There might not be a more difficult job in climbing than setting for a big bouldering comp.

The goal of route setters is to create problems so difficult that most can’t do them, but not so difficult that no one can do them. The idea is to set problems that only three or so climbers stand a chance of sending, with one of those climbers clearly making it to the top in the fewest tries so that there are no ties and there is a clear and decisive victor. Consider what an incredibly small, moving target this must be to hit! There might not be a more difficult job in climbing than setting for a big bouldering comp. And it’s only going to harder for setters to hit that target as gene pools expand as the sport’s participation rate grows; as training regimes become more standardized and sophisticated; and, subsequently, as with sprinting, the strength/skill difference between one climber and the next comes down to the proverbial tenths of a second.

Right now, setters study the field during semi-finals and make adjustments to the finals problems in response to the climbers’ performances. They adjust their finals problems to become either harder or easier based on what they’ve witnessed in semis. How is this not a major red flag for potential bias?

To be perfectly clear, I am in no way accusing this weekend’s setters of favoring one competitor over another. But the potential certainly exists.

The stakes in comp climbing are going up every year. Purses are getting bigger, and now climbing is in the Olympics. As the stakes are raised, will we begin to see more prevalence of setter bias?

The reason this is a potential conundrum is its catch-22 nature: Setters need to cater to the current field’s strengths/weaknesses in order to create a good, fun-to-watch competition. In other words, they can’t set “blind.” But because they can’t set blind, this opens them up to bias.

For example, if it’s known that a competitor has especially large hands, you could imagine a situation in which a setter might be able to provide that competitor a slight advantage by setting, say, only cruxes with wide-grip pinches.

Or perhaps there’s a situation in which a setter notices that one of the top competitors, during semis, is massaging her wrist, as if it’s injured, and subsequently changes a finals problem to include even slopier slopers, which ostensibly would be all the more difficult for the unfortunate fool with a bad wrist.

This is one of the reasons I’m not hopeful that climbing will have a long lifespan in the Olympics, where objective measures of performance are emphasized. Climbing difficulty by itself is just too subjective—and when you add in the fact that a human being with human emotions is designing these subjective challenges not only for competitors, but with exact competitors in mind, how does that not undermine our faith in the very promise of fair competition?

There’s only one solution. We must build robots with the artificial intelligence capable of setting boulder problems of certain grades of difficulty. Consider the idea of a setting robot designed to essentially play a game of “bingo” in which the robot selects from a random assortment of approved holds—never before seen or used by any competitor in the world—and pairs that hold to a random T-nut coordinate in a wall’s grid. I really wonder if this is necessarily the future of competition setting.

It sounds ridiculous … but is it really?

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The story behind the world’s first 9c is here

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What made the Dawn Wall the Dawn Wall? A new film by Sender Films and Red Bull Media House answers this question.

The Dawn Wall was such an unforeseen, earth-shattering event within our sport that climbing history ought to be divided thusly:

Before Dawn Wall and After Dawn Wall.

BDW time is an era in which one’s memory of climbing may be colored in such a way that it renders our sport humble and esoteric, as if climbing itself were a musician whom you loved seeing in some underground nightclub alongside scant likeminded souls.

All time ADW is an experience of finding yourself sharing that soulful music and its accompanying culture with a far larger group. Nothing about climbing ADW has really changed … but it’s also not the same and it never will be again.

Climbing is having its moment right now. And the Dawn Wall—by which I refer not specifically to the route on El Capitan but rather to the virality of global media that emanated from Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson’s 2015 redpoint, as if their epic ascent were some kind of second moon landing—is easily the most conspicuous example of this strange era.

Forces had been building to thrust climbing into a more mainstream stature for decades, but the Dawn Wall was the atomic cataclysm that ultimately pushed our once-niche sport over the line and into the public consciousness in a way that no Everest tragedy or nationalistic mountaineering conquest ever had before. People were paying attention to climbing not simply as a proxy for the hubristic or adrenalized ambitions of climbers, but rather they were trying to understand “free climbing,” “beta,” “pitches,” etc.—all within the context of witnessing a true adventure up a striking and well-known monolith of granite.

Since the Dawn Wall media storm, I’ve wondered about the lasting effect of this curious phenomenon. Was the Dawn Wall a freak event … or a harbinger of more to come?

In the Dawn Wall’s aftermath, several savvy climbers used their impressive marketing skills to ride the Dawn Wall’s coattails, so to speak, and managed to get the media’s obtuse spotlight to shine upon them for a minute. But these memetic attempts failed to recreate the buzz that made the Dawn Wall the Dawn Wall. There was no sense of astonished, genuine wonder that appeared to be so potent among followers of Tommy and Kevin’s drama. The Dawn Wall, it seems, was more freak event than precedent.

So, why did the Dawn Wall become the Dawn Wall? What did people actually find so uniquely interesting about it? These are questions that, in many ways, have eluded satisfactory answers.

Until, perhaps, now. Three years after the Dawn Wall, The Dawn Wall, the film, premiered last weekend at SXSW, which I was lucky enough to attend. The film surpassed my high expectations by an exponential degree. Not only was The Dawn Wall the best climbing film that I’ve seen, it was one of the best films that I’ve seen.

In the course of this 100-minute movie, the filmmakers managed, in such a beautiful and emotional way, to distill and capture exactly what made the Dawn Wall a story that transcends climbing without ever shying away from its abstruse, nuanced details. In doing so they, they captured precisely what core climbers already know and love about climbing, while dishing up a real-life story about the kind of real-life hero that, I’d argue, our society needs now more than ever.

Heroism and Masculinity in The Dawn Wall

Tommy Caldwell is the film’s star, and his story as a climber is woven throughout the story of the Dawn Wall’s climactic ascent. The film dives into the incredible moments of Tommy’s life thus far, from his experience surviving a kidnapping by terrorists in Kyrgyzstan, to sawing off his finger on a table saw and being told he’d never again climb, to his marriage to (and eventual divorce from) Beth Rodden. Having followed Tommy’s career since he was a teenager and being very much aware of the details of each of these events, I nevertheless found myself genuinely stunned by the retelling of these stories in only the way that seeing them presented on the big screen could have accomplished. What an incredible life!

Tommy’s growth as a character is framed—truthfully, I believe—by his inauspicious beginning as a weak and wimpy kid. His father, meanwhile, is a semi-pro bodybuilder and hardcore climber dude who promptly starts whipping his boy into shape by teaching him how to suffer and endure adversity in Colorado’s mountains. They take the kind of trips that, these days, might warrant child-protective services, as the film jokes with only a hint of sarcasm.

“My dad is, like, the symbol of a man.”

“My dad is, like, the symbol of a man,” Tommy says in the film as we see an image of Mike, his dad, wearing a banana hammock and flexing like a Schwarzenegger (eliciting the first of many audience laughs).

This theme of defining manhood is a subtle but consistent thread running through the narrative. We see Tommy come of age, discover first love, and ultimately have his heart broken—the impetus for launching his campaign to establish the Dawn Wall. We see him lose his childhood innocence in Kyrgyzstan when he is captured and ultimately does what no one else was willing to do and push the armed captor off a cliff, thereby committing what Tommy and everyone else believed to be murder. (Strangely, the guy lived, it was later learned.)

We see Tommy told by an authority figure, the hospital doctor, that he’d never climb again after losing his finger. He subsequently proves that guy wrong.

We see Tommy dive into a seven-year obsession with the Dawn Wall—and right when his own success is at his fingertips, he decides that his send would be diminished if his partner didn’t join him as an equal on the summit, too. These details, of course, aren’t spoiler alerts if you know anything about climbing, Tommy, and/or followed the Dawn Wall drama. Yet the film manages to recast and repackage these stories in a way that feels like you may as well be hearing and seeing them for the first time.

Ultimately, this film renders a definition of manhood through Tommy and his life  story. What’s so striking about this is it doesn’t end up looking anything like a superficial muscle-bound hulk or other depictions of super-heroism and manhood that we typically see depicted in Hollywood.

The Dawn Wall is a portrait of an understated guy with an incredible gift not only for climbing but more importantly, for insisting on doing the right thing.

What made this theme stand out to me is the context in which we find ourselves in 2018, in which men are either the villains behind mass shootings or the predators behind #MeToo. These are important issues and necessary conversations that we need to be having—but as a corollary to this focus of late, it seems as if we are also left with few male role models worth honoring these days.

In a Twitter thread, the comedian/actor Michael Ian Black made some very astute comments on this topic in the wake of the latest school shooting. He wrote:

“The last 50 years redefined womanhood: women were taught they can be anything. No commensurate movement for men who are still generally locked into the same rigid, outdated model of masculinity and it’s killing us.”

Men are still generally locked into the same rigid, outdated model of masculinity and it’s killing us.

The Dawn Wall film, one might argue, presents a new model of masculinity and heroism through Tommy Caldwell that transcends muscle-bound facades of manhood and power in a way that no Hollywood production ever could. Time and time again, Tommy reveals himself to be a guy who is willing to commit the ultimate acts of sacrifice in the name of helping those around him. He is open to expressions of something resembling platonic love—as we see in one sweet moment in which he tells Kevin that he couldn’t imagine continuing forward without him by his side. Despite broken hearts and lost fingers (well, one finger), he seemingly avoids falling into the normal misogynistic and self-defeating traps. He rises above but stays humble. Ultimately, he’s rewarded—with love, with a family, with a lifelong friend, and with the route and adventure of a lifetime.

By proxy, these virtues percolate down through the sport of climbing. It’s what makes climbing and its lifestyle such a necessary story today—because climbing is so not what you see everywhere else. In climbing, we see a tribe that chooses minimalism over wealth. We see examples of how climbers can place the welfare and goals of our partners over the delusions of our own egoistic, self-made grandeur. Consider how many ways these virtues alone depart not just from Hollywood but from every other form of celebrity, in sports or otherwise. (Clearly, this isn’t going to be a movie Trump will like or Tweet about, which is precisely the point).

What makes The Dawn Wall film such a success is that this is a story that couldn’t have ever been scripted in Hollywood. This is the story of a remarkable real-life hero doing a remarkable real-world thing. Peel away all the media and fanfare that made the Dawn Wall the Dawn Wall, and what I see is a story about everything that’s great about climbing.

Congrats to all of my friends who worked so hard to make this film such a success. In particular, Josh Lowell, Brett Lowell, Peter Mortimer, and Corey Rich, whose photos were used in this piece. Check out The Dawn Wall website for information about how this film will be distributed and where you will be able to see it.

Read more:

Tommy Caldwell: “The Day I Sent Salathe Wall in a Day”

Daily Stoke: Come Prepared Like Tommy Caldwell

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It’s time for climbers to reconsider what will happen when things go wrong

Some things never change in climbing. Sadly, one of those aspects seems to be that a few climbers will be lost to the mountains each year.

One aspect that has changed recently, however, is the trend of the climbing community crowdfunding an often risky, expensive, and unlikely search/rescue mission to find those climbers.

In most instances, the rescues end without a life saved or a body found. The story of Elisabeth Revol’s rescue on Nanga Parbat earlier this year, however, stands out as an almost unbelievable instance in which a partially crowdsourced rescue succeeded.

On January 25, Elizabeth Revol of France and Tomasz Mackiewicz of Poland succeeded in reaching the summit of Nanga Parbat, the ninth highest mountain in the world, via the Diamir Face. This was a tremendous achievement and only the second time that Nanga Parbat has been climbed in winter.

On Tomasz and Elizabeth’s descent, however, the mountain inflicted its toll. Tomasz found himself in rapidly deteriorating shape. He had frostbite and, due to a decision to forego wearing an eye mask in hazy conditions, his eyes had become inflamed, causing snow-blindness. The two climbers huddled in a crevasse to assess Tomasz’s dire situation. Elizabeth used a sat phone to text for help.

She later described Tomasz as having trouble breathing. He took off his mask and his face froze. She said his nose turned ghostly white. All color drained from his hands and feet. Blood streamed from his mouth.

She realized she had no choice but to leave her partner. “It wasn’t a decision I made, it was imposed on me,” she said. Consider just how difficult this moment must have been.

Slowly, Elisabeth stumbled down the white slopes of Nanga Parbat. When the winds picked up, she’d duck and cover behind a rock and wait patiently. She had no idea if help was coming.

She continued downward, very much alone.

Funding a Rescue

Meanwhile, across Europe, word spread that Tomasz and Elisabeth were in trouble. In response, two harried crowdsourced campaigns were launched.

In Pakistan, any mountain helicopter search or rescue goes through a helicopter service called Askari Aviation, an agency managed by former military personnel and supported by the Pakistan Army Aviation. Flying a specialized high-altitude helicopter around some of the most rugged and dangerous mountains in the world for numerous hours is very expensive. Askari Aviation reportedly required an upfront payment of $100,000 prior to considering a rescue attempt on Nanga Parbat.

Within 24 hours, over $80,000 had been raised. Before either campaign was fully funded, however, the government of Poland stepped in and paid the full amount to Askari Aviation.

About a hundred miles away from Nanga Parbat, Denis Urubko, Adam Bielecki, Piotr Tommola, and Jarek Botor, a team of hardcore Polish climbers, were in K2 basecamp, acclimating for a hopeful first winter ascent of K2, arguably the last great prize left in 8,000-meter climbing. By sheer luck, it seems, four of the best high-altitude winter climbers in the world were not only within a stone’s throw of Nanga Parbat, but were also sufficiently acclimated to safely consider attempting a potential rescue.

The K2 climbers were asked if they’d be willing to help. They agreed to sacrifice their own goals and take a big risk in order to try to save Elisabeth. On January 28, Askari Aviation picked up the foursome and shuttled them 111 miles directly into the teeth of a storm on Nanga Parbat.

All in all, they would climb a superhuman 1,200 meters that night.

The helicopter dropped the Poles off at around 4,600 meters. Flying higher, though within the helicopter’s capabilities, was impossible simply due to winds and the fact that it was heavily snowing. Denis and Adam basically started sprinting up the mountain. They climbed at a blistering pace of 500 feet per hour on pretty technical terrain—in a storm, at altitude, in winter. All in all, they would climb a superhuman 1,400 meters that night.

They had no good idea where Elisabeth even was. Her beacon had died. Her sat phone had died. Now well after midnight, Denis just started blindly shouting into the dark. By yet another stroke of luck, he heard a faint response. It was Elisabeth.

They found her hallucinating and sitting with her boots off—ironically, a common reaction to severe hypothermia.

Meanwhile, the other Polish climbers, Piotr and Jarek, were tailing behind Denis and Adam with more gear. At some point, they all convened.

There was a question of continuing upward to search for Tomasz—perhaps he was still alive? However, by then that prospect seemed improbable. The weather had deteriorated. It was -80 degrees with a 50mph windchill. Based on Elisabeth’s description, the climbers presumed Tomasz dead. The mission turned to getting Elisabeth off the mountain alive.

And they did. They saved her life.

When Rescues Trend

As this tragedy unfolded before our eyes in real time, the climbing world proudly stepped up and raised a ton of money that would have gone toward the helicopter service had the government of Poland not jumped in to foot the bill. Instead, those crowdsourced funds will be given to Tomasz’s three young children.

Raising money to support the family that a climber has left behind is undeniably a good thing—but, to be clear, it’s an entirely separate issue from the one of whether rescues, in general, ought to be crowdsourced.

Though it might be tempting to point to this Nanga Parbat epic as an example of how crowdfunded rescue efforts can succeed, I think that would be a mistake.

Perhaps the most obvious problem with crowdfunded rescues is the time they waste. As impressive as it is that the climbing community has, on several occasions, raised well over six figures within 24 hours, that’s still 24 hours lost, a potentially crucial and lifesaving period of time.

Another hypothetical problem with crowdfunded rescues is that they might inherently favor climbers who are more popular or famous—which is ethically problematic for obvious reasons.

The more crucial point to acknowledge, however, is the fact that in 2018 it’s virtually impossible to be “alone” and “self-reliant” in the wilderness as we once understood these terms and their relevance to both climbing ethics and the age-old question of mountain rescue.

Twenty or more years ago, there were no cell phones. Tracking a climbing team’s whereabouts was virtually impossible. Climbers had the “freedom” to go climbing in the mountains with no expectation that a rescue would be launched should they not return on time.

“I don’t think we should be crowdfunding rescues in Pakistan,” says Swenson.

Today, technology and the speed of information has very much changed these calculations. Climbers may feel alone on rarified peaks hundreds of miles from the nearest Starbucks, but the fact that their locations can be tracked by friends and family back home via GPS, or that they can send sat-phone texts on DeLorme inReaches, or even post summit selfies on Instagram, has had the unintended side effect of bringing friends, family, and the climbing community at large into the ethical quagmire of determining when, if, and how a risky rescue is warranted or justified—not to mention, who will pay for it.

Based on what we’ve seen over the last two years, we can safely assume that any climber’s disappearance will now result in friends, family, and the climbing community scrambling to figure out what can be done, if anything, to find or rescue the missing climber(s). Given this new reality, it’s arguably irresponsible to take a trip to the big mountains without making serious arrangements in advance to secure your own potential rescue.

Not that this is very easy to figure out. Beyond the fact that everywhere is totally different, understanding what is and isn’t covered under your typical climbing-rescue insurance policies—assuming you’ve got one, which most climbers either don’t or is insufficient given the nature/location of the climbing objective—requires some fluency in legalese.

Pakistan presents a number of unique hurdles in that Askari Aviation is the only outfit permitted to perform rescues by the Pakistani government. They also require either a deposit or payment upfront.

I reached out to the CEO of Askari Aviation, Brigadier Muhammad Ehtasham Amir, to ask about what measures climbers could take to best prepare for the event that they go missing. He replied, “Govt of Pakistan has issued various advisories about climbers and their welfare while in Pakistan. All climbers must adhere to those. All climbers must contact Askari Aviation and get a briefing for emergency rescue procedures and process.”

I followed up and asked him if he could provide me with that briefing, but he never responded. I also searched for info on Pakistan’s advisories to climbers, but a cursory search turned up nothing.

Meanwhile, Steve Swenson, a seasoned alpine climber with numerous trips to Pakistan and the former president of the American Alpine Club, is attempting to strike a deal between Askari Aviation, the American Alpine Club, and Global Rescue that would help expedite rescues for those with full insurance through these respective programs.

“I don’t think we should be crowdfunding rescues in Pakistan,” says Swenson. “It’s irresponsible to be out asking the climbing community to pay for your rescue when you were too cheap to pay a few hundred dollars for a Global Rescue membership that would cover it. Having this coverage and paying your rescue deposit also speeds up rescue response which can also save lives.”

As of this writing, negotiations are still in the works, but Swenson says he sees the potential partnership as providing a much greater incentive for climbers (and trekkers) to pony up for a Global Rescue insurance policy.

“If this works out I hope to never see another one of the crowdfunded rescues again.”

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In Italy, a judge in a court in Turin has convicted Nicola Galizia, 36, of manslaughter in the death of 12-year-old Italian climbing prodigy Tito Traversa. Galizia, the unofficial climbing instructor who was on site the day Traversa’s fatal climbing accident occurred, has been sentenced to two years in prison and will be forced to pay judicial expenses amounting to over 21,000 euros.

However, a prison sentence of two years in Italy, if it’s the first offense, actually means no prison time will be served. Galizia, therefore, is likely not going to prison. Prosecutors had sought a mandatory four-year prison sentence.

Meanwhile, two other defendants named in this case—Luca Gianmarco, 50, the owner of the gym/climbing club frequented by Traversa, and Carlo Paglioli, 72, owner of Aludesign, the company that manufactures parts for the quickdraws that were improperly assembled and resulted in Traversa’s accident—have been acquitted of any wrongdoing.

This concludes the first of three stages of a multi-year trial. Next, the judge is given 30 days to fully explain his decision. After this, comes the “motivazioni della sentenza,” in which lawyers can decide whether to proceed to further stages.

On July 5, 2013, a group of 10 youth Italian climbers, two parents, and an instructor from their local gym in Ivrea, Italy, took a climbing trip to Orpierre, France. Here, a woman, who is not a climber but was a mother of one of the members of the group, accidentally assembled several quickdraws incorrectly—by attaching the rope-end carabiner to the full-strength sling with only the rubber band that is meant to hold the carabiner in place.

That day, Traversa, a promising climber who climbed his first 5.14a at age 10 and had sent at least four routes of that grade, warmed up on a 5.10 with the incorrectly assembled quickdraws. When he weighted the draws at the anchor, both draws failed as well as the draws below. (Eight of his 10 draws were incorrectly assembled). Ultimately, he sustained a 50-foot ground fall. He was airlifted to a hospital in Grenoble, France, for care. He died three days later.

Stay tuned for more updates but check the Italian climbing website Pareti for more info.

And please read an essay I wrote in 2013, “Tito’s Last Climb.”

The post Climbing Instructor Sentenced in Tito Traversa’s Death appeared first on Evening Sends.

Is cutting-edge climbing taking a back seat to celebrity, marketing, and social media?

I’m incredibly relieved. This has been an important process in my climbing career and clipping the anchor of “Perfecto Mundo”, my first 9b+ as well as getting the FA was an incredible experience. Thank you to @chris_sharma for bolting this thing and the good sessions over the last couple of weeks and big thanks to my good friend @steghiso for belaying me on the send, for being a big source of motivation and a great inspiration to me. And last but not least thank you @ken_etzel for being up there every day with me and capturing all this. @patagonia_climb @patagoniaeurope @patagonia @redbullgermany @goretexeu @tenayaclimbing @sterlingrope @dmm_wales @entreprisesclimbing @cafekraft_nuernberg @frictionlabs @fazabrushes @multicamper_adventure #stylefirst #carrotsforpower

A post shared by Alexander Megos (@alexandermegos) on May 9, 2018 at 11:30am PDT

Alex Megos recently freed Perfecto Mundo (5.15c) in Maragalef, Spain, for its first ascent.

Jonathan Siegrist just got the third ascent of Jumbo Love (5.15b), at Clark Mountain, California.

And Babsi Zangerl sent Speed Integrale (9a), at Voralpsee, Switzerland, her first of the grade.

You may have noticed these badass headlines in your Instagram feed. Maybe you stopped long enough to actually skim through the caption, though your eyes likely glazed over by the time you reach the inevitable graph of hashtags and @’s. You probably double-tapped the photo. Like. You probably learned little about the history of the route or gleaned anything of its significance. It was a pretty photo—one of the hundreds you likely saw that afternoon. By the next day, you probably forgot all about it.

Do you ever feel as though any of the really dope climbing that’s happening just kind of gets drowned out by the overabundance of bullshit on Instagram? Travel, training, selfies. Mind-numbing captions containing platitudes about “the process” and “journey.” Self-absorbed struggles with fear, doubt, and self-confidence. People speaking out. People speaking up. Everyone making token nods to the latest cause.

All of these common social-media narratives fall under the umbrella of providing our so-called fans/audience with something that’s supposed to resemble inspiration. With so much “inspiration” on climbing Insta, I’m often left wondering if anyone is actually inspired by anything anymore.

There are exponentially more strong climbers than ever before, but it seems as though far fewer of them—barring the obvious exceptions such as the aforementioned Megos, Siegrist, Zangerl, as well others such as Ondra, Honnold, Caldwell, Claassen, Sharma, Graham, Kinder, Kiersch, Davis, Rodden, Woods, Robinson, Hayes, Harrington, Hong, Hukkataival, etc.—are showing much interest in pushing aesthetics and difficulty in climbing.

The standard for being a professional climber once demanded pushing climbing progression in creative and interesting ways. Now, professional climbers are expected to be both visionaries and standard setters, as well as make time to create an endless supply of photo and video assets, attend events, and manage a constant and robust social media feed.

Why bother doing anything groundbreaking?

Question is, are these additional demands coming at the expense of top climbers’ abilities, if not desires, to push limits? If sponsors and the public are happy simply to see a new pretty photo once a day, with all of the appropriate hashtags and mentions, why bother doing anything groundbreaking?

The expectations that top climbers must be both world-class athletes and media machines ironically may be a self-defeating expectation in that all of that content just begins to feel … the same.

Perhaps this explains why the general climbing population seems to care more about the latest drama from Boulder, or about arguing who—among a community of people with seemingly all the free time in the world to travel and climb rocks—is the most privileged. People seem to be much more interested in following the climbers making mountains out of molehills than the climbers who are quietly sending mountains—not to mention, those who are doing it in such a way that reflects humility and respect for our sport’s history.

If top climbers are more incentivized to carve out their presence in climbing via social media than they are to actually pursue ground-breaking and visionary ascents, that is a problem the climbing world should recognize.

If this sounds the rantings of a washed-up old fart, that’s fair. But it’s not just I who rants gently into the good night.

“Getting recognized as a climber wasn’t as simple as being the only person to get to the top of the Women’s Finals Route in the gym,” says one longtime professional female climber, who would prefer to remain anonymous since our discourse is so toxic these days that expressing even a mildly controversial opinion opens one up to a headache that isn’t even worth it.

“The only way you used to get noticed by the public or by sponsors was if you were doing something to take the sport to a new level,” she continues. “A first ascent or a significant first female ascent of a route that was hard for the grade. You had to get in a climbing magazine, too, or appear on the cover to be recognized for that ascent. Now I hear people grumble because someone can make a pretty picture, write an inspirational caption, have enough followers, and perhaps that is good enough to make them a ‘prolific climber.’”

Being prolific in climbing is getting cheap

Indeed, being prolific in climbing is getting cheap. With a savvy understanding of how to pull the levers of social media, the right person, with the right image, and just enough climbing skills to lend one the necessary air of legitimacy, can be pretty darn successful without actually ever doing anything very significant.

At one point not so long ago, self-respecting climbers would be mortified, not to mention shunned by peers, to see an image of themselves in a magazine on a route they had not yet sent. Climbers today have no such concerns—perhaps because actual achievement is secondary to image, likes, spray.

With social media, the official record of climbing history has been snatched from the hands of magazine editors by the individual climbers, who act both as their own PR machines as well as the definitive news sources for their own ascents.

This has proven problematic insofar as inaccuracies are common, history is forgotten, and context is almost always omitted.

Magazines used to hold the keys to the castle when it came to making professional careers, which somehow helped prevent turning every climbing trip into another marketing campaign. Further, claims of groundbreaking ascents were researched by journalists, verified, and given appropriate context within the pages of the magazine.

Today there is virtually no such fact-checking or historical context. Reports of free big-walls, months later, through whispers and rumors, have been revealed to be less than what was stated: pitches either top roped or left undone by half the team; dubious belays or anchors points fabricated to break up the cruxes.

None of this seemingly matters anymore, though. The content was created—enough of it to fill a season’s worth of ads and social media. Climbing is becoming a game where it pays to spray.

Parts of the outdoor industry have tacitly encouraged this newfound self-glorification. Brands are less interested in supporting climbers who aren’t willing to turn their passions into daily ads and mini commercials on social media. Climbers who are truly passionate about route development and giving back to the community are less valuable than those who are “good ambassadors” for a brand—whatever that means. But what values are these ambassadors really representing?

Climbing hard is hard. This used to be the price of admission to being a professional climber. Social media lowered the bar by creating climbing celebrities who seem to be far more interested in being in front of cameras than on the sharp end of a difficult new route.

Does it matter? Maybe not. Perhaps most of us will just continue to double-tap, like, share, comment, and scroll on.

The post No Country for Pro Climbers appeared first on Evening Sends.

If there is one thing climbers could (and do) listen to for hours and hours, it’s beta spray. The blow by blow, whether it’s of a project you’re actively working on, a route you’ve never been on (or ever will get on), or even done in an entirely different language, is a melodious recapitulation that climbers find helplessly hypnotic. “Repetitive Sounds are Music to the Brain,” reports Scientific American. Such is the transfixing drone of a good beta recital, a chant heard at crags around the world.

One must be creative with their beta recitals, with plenty of abstract Dadaistic descriptions of hold shapes (“Kneebar in the ‘Toilet bowl'”). Bonus points for giving a blow-by-blow that incorporates different grading systems/scales. To wit: “The first two bolts are Font 8c, but the next three bolts are French 8a, and the final headwall is UIAA XI M5+ TD.”

This video of Lucien Martinez provides a symphonic blow-by-blow of Fight or Flight (9b), in Oliana, Spain. A Chris Sharma signature climb, Fight or Flight has seen a few repeats by some of the best climbers in the world. But the real reason to watch this video is it shows just how damn hard and damn dope this route is. Got me stoked, at least.

The post Fight or Flight (9b), Move by Move appeared first on Evening Sends.

In order to become a master, you must first learn how to suck (and kneebar) …

Having sent nearly every 5.14d in Rifle, Jonathan Siegrist turned his attention to a short, unassuming-looking route called Lung Fish.

“I knew Lung Fish would be a challenge because routes from the ’90s are simply harder,” says Siegrist. “That said, I didn’t necessarily expect to spend that many sessions trying it.”

Lung Fish, first climbed in 1994, is considered Colorado’s first consensus 5.14. The first ascent of the route, which was originally rated 5.14a/b and is now considered to be solid 5.14b, fell to Salt Lake City-based climber Jeff Webb, one of America’s foremost sport-climbing pioneers. Twenty-four years later, a lot has changed in climbing and 5.14 climbers are a dime a dozen. Today, an ascent of Lung Fish would hardly turn heads.

And yet … “Lung Fish was very hard for me,” says Siegrist. “Given the temps were never perfect and it’s a style that I struggle with in general … blah blah blah … All excuses aside, I tried my best and it took me days of effort. I don’t remember how many tries, but at one point I did count and determined that it was likely the longest project I’d ever had in the canyon.”

That suggests that Lung Fish took Siegrist more tries than The Crew (5.14c), Fat Camp (5.14d), Bad Girls Club (5.14c/d), Planet Garbage (5.14d), and even Shadowboxing (5.14d), Siegrist’s own FA and a contender for Rifle’s hardest rock climb.

This story isn’t to throw shade at Siegrist’s superlative climbing résumé. Rather, it highlights an inescapable and ubiquitous reality of climbing: that even the best climbers among us know the pain of being humbled by a piece of rock well below their limits.

This atavistic desolation is especially potent in Rifle. In fact, as far as I can tell, getting spanked by “easy” grades accounts for the main, underlying reason some naysayers don’t seem to like the climbing in Rifle, despite their insistence on blaming the usual suspects: crowds, dogs, parking, the “scene,” etc. (Really, they’re just getting their asses kicked!)

As Siegrist hinted, a surprising number of these ass-kicking rock climbs are the vestiges of an earlier era—a time in climbing when grades were kept stout in order to reign in the egos; when the fear of being downgraded by one’s peers outweighed the allure of making headlines in the mags.

Many of Rifle Mountain Park’s mega-routes from the 1990s have never looked worse for the wear. They’ve taken on the perma-sheen of residual chalk and glassy rubber scuff marks, making them greasier and arguably more difficult than they were as freshies. Yet … in another sense, these routes have also gotten easier, as surgically precise beta and a surfeit of kneebars have been discovered and recorded in that great, open-sourced compendium of oral climbing history—Beta—which gets passed on from generation to generation of Rifle junkies.

When in Rifle and stumped by a route, you only need to dial up the 1-800-Beta-ma-Phone to learn exactly how to do the crux of your proj. You can even press 3 to filter for climber size.

With global standards hovering around 5.15d, there’s nothing in Rifle that couldn’t theoretically be onsighted. Rifle isn’t a “hard” crag anymore. It’s a place for 5.13d-projecting gumbies who can’t figure out rather straightforward beta without being told exactly how to do it by others; who are unwilling to endeavor up a route they don’t know that isn’t already affixed with perma-draws and tick-marks.

Alas … perhaps pure difficulty isn’t the reason to go to Rifle anymore.

Rifle’s earliest and best routes may be beaten up, chalked to shit, and utterly dicked down … but they are still fucking brilliant. I’ve been to a lot of world-class sport crags around the world. Rifle remains my favorite, no question.

People tend to describe the climbing in Rifle as “full-body.” On routes of every grade, you may find yourself using parts of your core that you never knew existed as you twist your limbs into crazy positions trying to make sense of the sidepulls, pinches, and underclings—all of them invariably facing the “wrong” way.

Yet as much as I enjoy the full-body challenge of Rifle rock wrestling, that’s not what keeps me coming back. After all these years, Rifle holds my interest not because of how physical the climbing is, but how mental it is. Not mental in the sense that the climbing is scary—but mental in the sense that the movement is cerebral, varied, and perennially interesting. It’s hard to get bored of the climbing in Rifle, a place where 5.13d remains relevant, interesting, and, most important, humbling no matter how many 5.13d’s you’ve climbed.

Each route must be learned. One doesn’t become proficient at a grade in Rifle; one only becomes proficient at a single route, regardless of its grade. Each rock climb, therefore, is both a lesson in humility and a journey in excellence.

You have to put in the time to learn the moves on your route in order to make them feel easy enough to eventually do, and subsequently experience the joy of the send. And upon attaining that send, of course, you will no doubt begin to believe that pernicious lie: that you are strong, talented, confident, and worthy of self-respect and even peer admiration. Fortunately, that myth will be revealed painfully and sharply, as if tearing duct tape off your own hairy thigh, upon hopping onto the next route of the same grade, at which point you will realize that, indeed, you do still very much suck.

Of course you suck. Inevitably, you will suck at a route in Rifle—whatever the next one is. Even if you’re Jonathan Siegrist. Just remember that the opportunity to suck hard in Rifle, openly and for all to see, is precisely what makes Rifle a gift that continues to give.

Siegrist sums it up perfectly:

“Feeling like you deserve a certain grade or that something should feel easy for you is a dead end. In my climbing I go through a clear cycle of absolute confidence and stoke, but invariably I meet a challenge that knocks me down, crushes my ego, and reminds me to be a student of the rock. I’ve worked really hard to accept these moments as learning opportunities and not just run away.”

Feel free to go to other areas that don’t crush your egos; areas where you can get by as a B+ students of the rock. But I’d argue that you’d be missing out on the whole point.

Rifle is a good place to learn how to climb, a good place to pay your dues, but more important, it’s a good place learn how to learn—and potentially even break through the cycle of suffering to catch a glimpse of momentary enlightenment.

Here are some of the best learning experiences this little canyon has to offer.

The Eighth Day (5.13a)

FA: Mark Tarrant (1987), Richard Wright; Pete Zoeller

Mountain Project link

This is the first route that was ever bolted in Rifle, and for a good reason. It’s one of the tallest and most of the aesthetic single-pitch sport climbs in the country. A 180-foot plumb direttissima of long pulls between pockets and edges up a striking blue streak.

The story of the Eighth Day’s first ascent, however, is less direct.

The route was originally envisioned and bolted by Mark Tarrant, who grew up in the town Rifle but was living in Boulder at the time. Tarrant and his Boulder compatriot Richard Wright must be recognized as two of the primary visionaries to have gotten the ball rolling for Rifle sport climbing with their vision on the Eighth Day. (Another“blue streak,” Rumor Has It (5.11b), was also concurrently bolted by the duo, and subsequently became the first sport climb redpointed in the canyon).

Tarrant had placed anchor bolts atop the Eighth Day in the spring 1987, and endeavored to access the big, blue streak from the left-hand side of the route, as there was less choss to remove. Shortly after placing these bolts were placed, however, city park officials shut down climbing on a big section of the Project Wall as it was so close to the road.

Before the shut down, however, Tarrant and Wright had top-roped the route a number of times, but were ultimately kicked off their project while the Park officials figured out the access before they could send. Tarrant red-tagged the route—and it sat red-tagged for awhile … until around 1991. In the interim, Pete Zoller swooped in and added bolts to the arete to the right of Tarrant’s start—an “admittedly more aesthetic line,” wrote Tarrant on Mountain Project—and subsequently fired the entire rig.

Zoller called his version “MC 900 Foot Jesus” after the musician, as a joke, because the route was so long. Tarrant and Wright’s original name, the Eighth Day, however, has stuck out of respect for their vision (also, it’s also just a better name than MC 900 Foot Jesus).

“We didn’t get the FA because we were playing a different game, abiding by the Park’s rules so we wouldn’t jeopardize future climbing in the canyon,” writes Tarrant. “This route was exceptional to me, not for its difficulty, but because it is so stunning and rare—really, a fantastic line. Climbers feel attached to the routes they envision and work at—even sport climbs! This was the first line I spotted in Rifle and the first thing we got on. I haven’t seen anything quite like it since.”

Easy Skankin’ (5.12b)

FA: Sterling Keene, 1994

Mountain Project Link

This route was called “the best 5.12b sport climb in America” by the late Dave Pegg—a superlative that has stuck, regardless of its veracity. Whether it’s the best period, or it’s merely among the 50 best 5.12b’s in America, Easy Skankin’ is inarguably a fun, long 30-meter pitch directly up the Anti-Phil Wall. There’s a no-hands kneebar rest just before the cryptic, airy crux, but you’ll get more style points for eschewing the kneebar and just shaking out on the slopey jugs like a normal rock climber.

I Am Not a Philistine (5.12c)

Don Welsh, mid-1990s

Mountain Project Link

When the Anti-Phil wall was first being developed, trees and shrubs abutted the base of the cliff. Now there’s a wide dirt patch with bespoke custom log benches upon which to lay and spray.

I Am Not a Philistine is the hardest 5.12c in Rifle, I think. It’s certainly one of the most involved, with a crux at the fourth clip that, no matter how many hundreds of times I do it, never feels any easier. You have to place your left hand on the underside of a horrible pinch, high step the right foot, and somehow pull yourself up into a gaston—it always feels a bit like a magic trick.

This route is actually a collaboration between two now dormant climbs: I Am Not Worthy (5.13a, which was FA’d by Duane Raleigh, and Philistine (5.13c), by Don Welsh. A few people, who are totally bored, revisit Philistine every now and again. I’ve never heard of or seen anyone climb I Am Not Worthy, however.

Dialing in the crux of I Am Not A Philistine is a good way to set yourself up to accessing another brilliant link-up called Phil of All Evil (5.13a), which finishes on the Anti-Phil (5.13b) headwall. All together, this represents some of the best climbing in Rifle.

Pump-o-Rama (5.12+)

FA: Colin Lantz

Mountain Project Link

This is a route that everyone can and should do. It’s a fun rock climb on steep, massive jugs with a entry-level (for Rifle) kneebar crux in which you make four hand movements off of the same kneebar, all while rotating your body around your knee, taking it from above your head to below your waist. (You can also climb the route, as Colin Lantz did, without the kneebar and take a 5.13a credit—no one does this, though; however, they do still take 5.13a).

There are a lot of ways to have fun on Pump-O-Rama, and very few of them have anything to do with the challenge of climbing the actual route.

This route has been sent in sneakers. Hayden Kennedy climbed it while wearing wool mittens. People used to skip the last bolt and huck backflips from the anchors while drunk—though I don’t recommend this. You can also hold the chains, let your feet dangle in space, and see how many pull-ups you can do to blow yourself out. We’ve also hidden beers in the double-kneebar rest below the roof on Easter—how many beers you can drink from those kneebars?

No, the fun never ends on Pump-O-Rama—it even has a 50-foot swing for your kids.

Present Tense

FA: Don Welsh

Mountain Project Link

Don Welsh climbed the first ascent of Present Tense without kneepads or kneebars. The route was onsighted by Francois Legrand, and perhaps others. And yet most climbers will use upwards of 19 different kneebars and two kneepads, glued and duct-taped on, to complete this 35-meter route—and despite all that knee tech, they will still call this pitch stout.

Whether you use kneebars or not, Present Tense throws a little bit of everything at you over the course of one of Rifle’s most spectacular and sustained pitches. This is the definition of a “full body” route.

Bonus for continuing past the anchors, up the recently added “War and Peace” extension, which adds 45 feet of 5.12d and gets you to the summit of the Project Wall. Cumbre!

Lung Fish

FA: Jeff Webb, 1994

Mountain Project Link

Of course, I’d be remiss not to include this route after making it the story lede. There’s not much to add except an anecdote I once heard from Chris Sharma, who famously redpointed this route in a single day of effort when he was 15 years old.

Sharma was on a sport-climbing road trip with Tommy Caldwell and Tommy’s dad, who was chaperoning the up-and-coming rock stars. They spent only two days in Rifle on that trip. Sharma used the first day to send Lung Fish, which made Climbing Magazine’s “Hot Flashes” as a noteworthy ascent. On the second day, Sharma continued with a notable first free ascent of Zulu (see below.)

But of Sharma’s in-a-day Lung Fish ascent, one detail wasn’t reported: “I literally tried this route 30, 40, maybe even 50 times that day before I eventually did it,” recalls Sharma. “I’m not even kidding! I’d fall, come down, untie, and try again without even taking my shoes off. I kept doing that over and over. I was soooo worked!”

Zulu

FA: Chris Sharma, Equipped by Colin Lantz

Mountain Project Link

The day after Sharma’s impressive in-a-day campaign to send Lung Fish, he had apparently recovered enough to take down this open project, equipped by Colin Lantz, who is responsible for some of Rifle’s best routes, including many of those in the Arsenal.

Zulu is a classic endurance route on big jugs with a heartbreaking crimpy crux at the top. The route is also largely devoid of kneebars, which has helped keep the climb at its grade. Emily Harrington nabbed the first female ascent as a teenager and a number of women have returned to send this reachy, dyno-y route.

Tomfoolery (5.14b)

FA: Tommy Caldwell

I’ve never heard anyone say that this route is easy and the only people I know to have done it have seriously paid their dues in Rifle. It contains Rifle’s “single most advanced kneebar,” according to Dan Mirsky, who is the best knee-bar I’ve ever seen.

First sent by a teenage Tommy Caldwell, Tomfoolery is likely distinguished as one of the earliest/oldest routes in Rifle to have the fewest ascents.

Mirsky adds a little more flavor to this route, stating, “There are physically harder routes in Rifle than TomFoolery but perhaps none more technical. Anyone who wants to achieve Rifle master status must put their skills to the test on this classic. And when you find yourself hanging at the end of the rope completely baffled and pumped, just remember Tommy did it first like 20 year ago … probably with out knee pads.”

The post Pay Your Dues: Rifle appeared first on Evening Sends.

It’s been a year since our community lost two legends, Hayden Kennedy and Inge Perkins. We’ve all gone about honoring them in our own ways.

Hayden started coming in to learn about dough and the leavening process using a wild-yeast starter—the “soul of the bread.”

On the anniversary of their deaths, October 7, I had some friends over for a casual dinner. I made some naturally leavened baguettes using some of Hayden’s sourdough starter, which was really my starter since I turned him on to baking bread when he would come over and train with me in the garage. I’d duck out to turn dough in between Moon Board problems, and eventually, Hayden started coming in to learn about dough and the leavening process using a wild-yeast starter—the “soul of the bread.”

I gave him some of my starter, which he fed and used to bake bread in his van’s oven alongside Inge out in Rifle canyon between pitches. Ultimately, after he died, that starter made its way back to Colorado and into my pantry.

Anyway, it was nice to have some friends over for some chili and send them home with some of that bread. The soul lives on.

Here’s a nice video in which Josh Wharton pays tribute with a new route in Eldo.

The post Daily Stoke: Hayden’s Line appeared first on Evening Sends.

Tested and approved gear for the extended fall climbing season …

T here’s not much to be happy about in these dark and ominous days, but two things that do crack a smile for me are the availability of great new climbing gear, and the extended fall rock-climbing season in the West. The days may be growing shorter but each one is filled with glorious temps and tasty adventures on lonesome desert towers and sunny outcrops of rocks. Here are my picks for the best gear of fall 2018—stuff I use and love.

Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody and Patagonia Houdini

Backcountry Patagonia REI

From this day forth on multi-pitch climbs, I won’t leave the ground without these two outstanding jackets. Both the Micro Puff Hoody and the Houdini pack up into their own pockets and can be clipped via a single lightweight carabiner to my rear gear loop on my harness. In my view, these jackets are as essential to any trad adventure as bringing a nut tool. Both jackets can pack down into their pockets in less time than it’ll take you to coil a cordelette. Together, they weigh less than a pound and provide a pretty complete spectrum of protection against light winds, chilly/shady belays, unplanned bivys, and gale-force conditions that send you bailing.

The Micro Puff Hoody has all the characteristics of a down jacket—extremely light, comfortably cozy, and really warm—without actually being down. The synthetic insulation in the Micro Puff continues working even when it gets wet. The warmth generated by this featherweight jacket truly seems like magic, as if it defies the laws of nature. I happen to own one of those 5-pound canvas and fleece-lined Carhartt jackets, and I swear it is literally one-fourth as warm as this 9.3-ounce Micro Puff Hoody. And yet, the Micro Puff Hoody is not so warm that you can only wear it in freezing temps. Again, the way it works just seems like magic. I’ve never owned a more versatile jacket—ever.

I also picked up a Houdini, which is a thin 3.6-ounce nylon shell with a DWR coating. This windbreaker just adds an extra bit of protection against elements. I’ll sometimes wear it by itself if it’s not freezing and I just want some protection at a belay. Or I’ll wear it over my Micro Puffy Hoody for an additional bit of wind- and weather-blocking protection. (I ordered the Houdini one size larger in order to fit over my other layers.) At just $99, it’s a no brainer to have this jacket always clipped to your harness.

Number 4 Ultralight Camalot

Black Diamond Backcountry REI

How many times has it happened that you’ve decided not to bring the #4 because you like the idea of going light and fast, only to find yourself halfway up the wall really wishing you had it?

To bring the #4 or not to bring the #4, is no longer the question/argument you’ll be having with your partner at the base of the route. The Black Diamond Ultralight #4 sheds more than two ounces off its C4 twin, so there’s literally no excuse not to bring this potentially crucial piece. If you’re not willing to update your entire rack to Ultralight Camalots, do yourself a favor and at least get the #4 Ultralight since it boasts the most significant weight savings.

I’m also looking forward to testing out the updates to the C4 lineup next spring. The #4, #5, and #6 cams will all be getting a bit lighter, and they’ll also come with a trigger keeper that keeps the cams retracted while on racked on your harness for more compact racking. I played around with this feature at the trade show and it seems solid. Currently 25% off at Backcountry.

DMM Ceros Quicklock

DMM Amazon

DMM makes some of the highest-quality and best climbing hardware—period. I got to tour their factory this summer on a trip to northern Wales (stay tuned for my feature story on Wales), and I was extremely impressed with their entire operation, the company’s ingenuity, and the people’s passion for making useful things out of metal.

The Ceros gets my vote for the best locking carabiner to use with a GriGri.

The Ceros is virtually impossible to crossload, which adds a higher degree of security while belaying. An ingenious little protrusion on the carabiner’s spine prevents the GriGri from sliding down onto the spine, and the mini gate at the base of the carabiner keeps the Ceros from shifting once its clipped to your harness belay loop.

Getting it clipped to the belay loop is easier than other biners of this kind. Just clip the Ceros to the belay loop then pull it, and it’ll automatically clip itself to the belay loop.

Compared to other carabiners of this design, I find the Ceros the easiest to operate one-handed. There are three types of gates you can get with the Ceros—one is a manual screw-gate lock, and then there are two auto-locking gates, one requiring an additional action to open. I prefer the red QuickLock gate because it’s the easiest to open and shut one-handed.

Rhino Skin

Rhino Skin

Whether your skin is overly dry or baby soft, Rhino Skin has a solution for you. I’ve been a big fan of this core climbing brand since the beginning, and this fall, they’ve come out with some new packaging that makes their products last longer and easier to dispense/apply.

A few highlights from their line-up for me are Dry and Tip Juice, which I cycle judiciously in advance of a climbing stint. The stuff works pretty quickly, and I’ve noticed from one weekend to the next a difference in terms of how painful the crimps are on my project.

To keep the skin in good nick, I’ll apply the spray-on Spit just before I climb and apply Repair after climbing and before bed. This has kept me more or less free of nagging splits and flappers, which means I can keep climbing, bro.

HangTime Koala

Tommy Caldwell famously “dropped” his iPhone while fielding calls from zillions of reporters (including me) while up on the Dawn Wall of El Capitan—although there’s high a likelihood he didn’t drop his phone so much as huck it off the portaledge.

“I’m trying to have a fucking wilderness experience up here!” he might have screamed, side-arming his iPhone into the ether.

Fact is, smart phones are great companions for long routes. A phone is a camera and guidebook all in one. But dropping these slippery little bastards is always a real concern. At a hanging belay, I will get pumped anytime I take my precious phone out of my pocket in order to check the topo—because I’m literally death-gripping it.

The  HangTime Koala is a pretty nifty little accessory that removes this concern entirely. This leash system works with just about any device, providing a clip point to a harness/pocket/jacket, and a rubber gasket that grips the phone without interfering with rear cameras, etc. Bottom line, the Koala provides some peace of mind that you’re not gonna drop what’s probably one of the most expensive and useful things you own. The Koala leash isn’t officially out yet (I was fortunate enough to be an early tester), but it’s coming, so get on the launch list here.

But where to store your phone? I once accidentally smashed an iPhone screen after scumming up a 5.11a corner pitch on the south face of the Aguille du Midi because I’d placed my phone in my pants’ thigh pocket. Keeping my phone in the normal hand pockets, with a harness on, is getting harder as phones get bigger. Since then I’ve been searching for other solutions and I’ve been experimenting with using the Lightweight Travel Mini Hip Pack, which is Patagonia’s fancy name for a fanny pack. I like this set-up ok. It’s low-profile and I can easily shift the pouch around my waist to keep it away from the rock. I clip the HangTime leash to the waist belt on the fanny pack and this results in a secure, functional, easy way to access my phone while on a big route.

Helinox Chair One

Backcountry 

I grew up sitting in $5 fold-up camping chairs from WalMart, which are so cheap it’s inevitable that you end up just buying another one when you forget the one that’s already back home in your garage. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated dozens of camping chairs and all of a sudden you realize that your life has now become a Semi-Rad joke.

The Helinox Chair One is the best camping chair out. It’s sturdy, lightweight, comfortable, and packs up into a sack that’s smaller and lighter than a wine bottle. I’ve been bringing this chair out to go bouldering. It’s easy enough to throw in my pack, it sets up in a minute, and it gives me a place to sit to put my shoes on or take them off.

Helinox seems to always be teaming up with other brands to produce new designs, and this fall they teamed up with the blanket-company Rumpl to create an eye-catching design.

Scarpa Furia S

Backcountry Scarpa

The new Furia S is a softer iteration of the Furia, with some other great improvements as well. Whereas the original Furia had two bulky Velcro Straps, the Furia S has slimmed down to a single, thin Z-pull strap. I really like this change; it just makes the shoe feel even more high-performing and it’s easier to get on. The other big change is the addition of more toe rubber, which makes the Furia S one of the best toe-hookers I’ve worn. The idea that one “toe-hooks” becomes an outdated term since you can actually hook with the entire top-side of your foot.

To compare the Furia S to the sock-like Drago, both are equally soft—or, if there is a difference here, I can’t really tell. The Furia S is a narrower and much more asymmetric shoe, which will make lower-volume feet happier. The toe is also pointier than the Drago, which isn’t necessarily good or bad from a performance standpoint, but just requires getting used to if you’re coming from a different last.

Where the Furia S does seem to have an edge over the Drago, at least in terms of performance, is in heel-hooking. I’ve had some trouble heel-hooking with the Drago. The Furia S offers slight improvement, perhaps due to a better-fitting heel.

All in all, another outstanding offering from Scarpa, who is currently making the highest-performing shoes on the market, in my humble opinion. The Furia S is currently 25% off at Backcountry too.

Edelweiss Performance 9.2mm EverDry Unicore Rope

Backcountry

This rope is one to rule them all. The Performance 9.2mm from Edelweiss is a solid piece of string that you can use as a single, half, or twin rope. I picked up an 80-meter version of the 9.2mm, and it’s been my go-to sport-climbing cord for the past year. The 80m length weighs as much as some 60m 9.5mm ropes, and the extra length has come in handy on long pitches and rappels.

This rope has sustained some real abuse, and it’s held up remarkably well. It also saved my wife, who took a whipper on a pretty sharp biner and core-shot the rope. After a year of abuse, this is the only time we’ve had to trim the rope down, which might be a record for such a thin rope. This is likely the effect of Edelweiss’ UniCore construction, which bonds the sheath of the rope to the core, for added durability.

This article contains affiliate links that help support the site. Some of the gear in this review was provided by the companies. Neither of these factors have influenced the editorial content here.

The post Best Climbing Gear: Fall 2018 appeared first on Evening Sends.

Back in Sharma’s dreadlock phase, he ferreted out a pretty sick line through a rando cave in stumblemook Arkansas: Witness the Fitness. This was also an era when Sharma wasn’t grading the shit he did, so there was only the usual media-generated speculation about its difficulty.

Over the years, it was rarely repeated, first by Fred Nicole t later by Daniel Woods. With each ascent, new reports of holds breaking bumped up the difficulty all the way to V15.

Ultimately, Jimmy Webb broke the crux hold and effectively put an end to any future efforts on this roof proj for the ages.

View this post on Instagram

This is the crux hold on #witnessthefitness. Jimmy Webb was close to sending until this happened. The most spectacular roof problem on the planet, but unfortunately not built to last. Video of @dawoods89 on his recent and final ascent coming soon. #RIP #heartbreak @chris_sharma

A post shared by Big UP Productions (@bigupclimbing) on Feb 6, 2013 at 12:53pm PST

Fortunately, we still have this gem of a video from Dosage Vol. 3, capturing the first ascent. Love the track by the British artist Roots Manuva, especially the first two lines:

Taskmaster burst the bionic zit-splitter
Breakneck speed we drown ten pints of bitter

SO GOOD!

Enjoy:

The post Daily Stoke: Chris Sharma Climbs Witness the Fitness appeared first on Evening Sends.

The best onsight climber in the world breaks down one of his best onsights of 2018.

On a cold snowy day last fall in the Red River Gorge, while climbing with my friend “Strong Ron,” our conversation turned to Adam Ondra. We discussed, with the sort of bewildered astonishment that one inevitably expresses when discussing Ondra, his recent spate of hard ascents on American turf.

“I think he be might an ‘event,’” Strong Ron declared mystically. I asked for clarification. “I think there might not be another climber like him for a hundred years,” he said more definitively. “It seems like there’s nothing he can’t do really well.”

It’s hard to disagree. Last fall, he came to tour the United States to do some fun, casual climbing before diving into full-on training mode in advance of the 2020 Olympics. During his tour, he damn near onsighted the Salathé Wall, then went to Smith Rock where he actually did onsight one of his goals with Just Do It, America’s first 5.14c. Then he checked out Indian Creek and onsighted one of the longest and most sustained splitters in the area: Conception (5.13b).

Perhaps one of Ondra’s most important contributions to climbing—beyond his superlative strength and skill—is his ability to transcribe the climbing experience and articulate, in a dispassionate, almost clinical way, what it is that makes a climb hard, a move difficult, movement efficient … etc.

Ondra IS an event. And his YouTube channel is giving us climbers front-row tickets. Here is some uncut, handheld video footage of Ondra onsighting Just Do It. This video, from a filmmaker’s perspective, would be barely sufficient for B-Roll in any of today’s top climbing films. And yet … this grainy, shaky footage shot from afar has to be one of the best climbing films of 2018 insofar as core climbers will find it inspiring and useful.

What makes this one unique is that Ondra annotates his 20-minute ascent, dishing up useful bits of wisdom and tips for how to onsight a route at your limit. What’s so interesting is that much of this wisdom is actually useful information that could help anyone at any level.

There’s a universality to what it means to onsight a route at your limit. Whereas redpointing can feel more like an engineering project, onsighting is an art in which your unconscious mind does much of the work.

What Ondra gets at in this video is the tenuous tug and pull of when how to be calculated and when to give in to your intuition, trust it, and go for it. That battle unfolds on this video in a really interesting way. This is a master class in how to onsight.

Hope you find it as inspiring as I did!

The post Adam Ondra Offers a Master Class in Onsighting appeared first on Evening Sends.

A dishwasher repairman showed up to my house around noon. This wasn’t weird; I was expecting him. I closed my laptop, having just finished a few hours of deep work. I went out to greet him dressed in my usual outfit of sweatpants and a tank top.

This guy was a real character. In the ensuing hour he spent at my house installing a new dishwasher, he told me hilarious stories about his upbringing in Mexico, hinted at how good he was at partying as a younger man while not-so-subtly tapping his finger to the side of his nose, and openly bashed Trump—all of which was completely welcome in my home.

However, the thing that caught me off guard was the very first thing he said to me as soon as he took one look at me in my sweatpants.

“You working or lounging?”

No Hey. No Hello. No Is this the right address? Just “Working or Lounging?”

It was the perfect comment.

I was momentarily taken aback by this bold greeting, and even felt a brief twinge of shame for wearing an outfit society associates with Doritos and video games and not the creation of bold, leading-edge climbing literature.

I stumbled but managed to counter with, “Well, my friend—I guess it’s a little bit of both.”

Which was true. In fact, it’s a little bit of both most days. Because as a freelancer, one of the few perks of my job is the ability to work and lounge in tandem. To chip away at a piece of writing while wearing the exact outfit that, given all the possible options, is the one most conducive to productivity, creativity, and success. Let all the fashion norms about what’s considered acceptable or even polite be damned—I’m looking at you, blue jeans, with your sadistic fetish for chafing nuts and swamping ass.

For the past year, my sweatpants of choice are the Vuori Balboa, which I bought on a whim from Backcountry as I’d never heard of the brand before. Since then, I’ve become totally obsessed with this brand, which produces high-end athletic clothing that doesn’t make you look like the last time you went shopping was at Sport’s Authority.

Vuori makes high-quality clothing out of really nice fabrics. The line is, above all, comfortable. It’s hip, yet understated with dark, subtle tones and no big, ugly logos.

Vuori’s crossover from one activity to another is huge. Vuori is not perfect for everything I do, but it’s more perfect for most of what I do than any other brand I’ve tried. If the Venn diagram of my life includes lounging, writing, climbing, training, and traveling, then Vuori has become my go-to apparel.

One of my favorite pieces is the Ripstop Climber pants, which I brought to Fontainebleau last fall. With a stretchy waist and the signature drawstrings that are on all Vuori pants and shorts, the Ripstop Climber pants are made of durable ripstop cotton. They feature a slim (but not too skinny) fit that’s perfect for travel, training, and climbing. I chose to wear the Ripstop Climber pants on our overnight flight to France. They were the pants I rocked while touring Paris and eating out at nice cafes. And they were what I used for my days of bouldering in the forest.

Being cotton, the Ripstop Climber pants do tend to get chalk caked into the fabric, which is my only complaint of one of the most versatile and comfortable pairs of pants I’ve ever worn. Fortunately, a quick rinse, whether in the sink or in the machine, does the trick.

Another item I really like is the Kore Short, an all-purpose short that has a comfy Coolmax liner. I used to think the Patagonia Baggies were pretty sweet, comfy shorts. That was until I wore the Kore Short. These shorts are truly Baggies killers. The Kore Short is now my go-to short for summertime sending. I can go on morning runs or lift some weights in them or do some Moon Boarding in my garage, then work/write comfortably in them all afternoon. I’ve worn the Kore Short sport climbing, and while they’re still comfy under a harness, they’re a little too short with the bunch-up effect created by harness leg loops.

For tops, Vuori makes a bunch of great tank tops that are perfect for rock climbing. Most of their shirts and tank tops seem to be slightly longer than other brands, which is great if you’re wearing a harness. The Tuvalu Tee is my go-to for cooler climbing temps or for traveling overseas. Made of a material called Sea Cell, a super soft and high-performing Pima cotton with various anti-odor properties, this tee doesn’t get stinky and it keeps you feeling fresh after a long day of climbing, or an overnight journey to Europe. I wore one of these Tees on my trip to Norway last summer, and after 36 hours of travel, I didn’t feel that normal itching need to immediately change clothing upon arrival at my destination. This tee also comes in a tank top version, which is also recommended.

A lot of Vuori’s offerings are pieces that you can climb in, but they aren’t necessarily designed for the rigors of climbing. That’s one of the things that I like, though—this clothing doesn’t necessarily look like it’s trying to be climbing clothing. This is what gives it so much crossover, in my opinion.

I still own a few pairs of jeans, and I even wear them every now and then. But only because society wrongly says this is the polite thing to do—with time and open minds, insh’allah, that will change. But if I had it my way, I’d be working, climbing, training and, yes, even lounging in something made by Vuori. I hope they take their distinct, understated style and knack for producing brilliantly comfortable, soft clothing and add in some pieces that are specifically made for rock climbers because I’ll be the first in line to wear them.

The post Comfortable Performance: Vuori Clothing appeared first on Evening Sends.

If there is one thing climbers could (and do) listen to for hours and hours, it’s beta spray. The blow by blow, whether it’s of a project you’re actively working on, a route you’ve never been on (or ever will get on), or even done in an entirely different language, is a melodious recapitulation that climbers find helplessly hypnotic. “Repetitive Sounds are Music to the Brain,” reports Scientific American. Such is the transfixing drone of a good beta recital, a chant heard at crags around the world.

One must be creative with their beta recitals, with plenty of abstract Dadaistic descriptions of hold shapes (“Kneebar in the ‘Toilet bowl'”). Bonus points for giving a blow-by-blow that incorporates different grading systems/scales. To wit: “The first two bolts are Font 8c, but the next three bolts are French 8a, and the final headwall is UIAA XI M5+ TD.”

This video of Lucien Martinez provides a symphonic blow-by-blow of Fight or Flight (9b), in Oliana, Spain. A Chris Sharma signature climb, Fight or Flight has seen a few repeats by some of the best climbers in the world. But the real reason to watch this video is it shows just how damn hard and damn dope this route is. Got me stoked, at least.

The post Fight or Flight (9b), Move by Move appeared first on Evening Sends.

Steroid Power, a 5.11d in Rifle, is a favorite warmup that I’ve done a million times. Last year, on an early season lap, I unexpectedly ripped a hold off the wall as I neared the top of the climb. This sent me into a 35-foot upside-down headfirst gainer. As I watched the wall whizz by, inches from my skull, I instinctively tried to right my body but was unable to overcome the forces at work—I actually tore my diaphragm in the process of trying to get myself upright.

I slammed into the wall. Aside from a few bruises and a strained/torn diaphragm that healed up a few weeks later, I was fortunately OK. The most difficult part was accepting that I was just utterly and completely lucky not to have gone headfirst into a ledge.

Breaking goddamn holds. This is why I don’t free solo. It’s also why I should always wear a helmet when I climb. You should too.

The Petzl Boreo is a recent addition to climbing-helmet market that caught my eye in part because it’s one of the few helmets out there that is rated to protect against both top and true side impacts.

I can’t tell you how many accident reports I edited over my years at Rock and Ice magazine in which someone would fall, usually upside down, and sustain a horrible head injury despite the fact that he was wearing a helmet. Side impacts are just as common in climbing falls, which is why we should be paying more attention to climbing headwear that protects against such situations.

Top and Side Protection

All climbing helmets have UIAA and EN certifications that set safety requirements for what kind of forces a helmet needs to sustain. To achieve this certification, the helmet is tested in the “10 o’clock to 2 o’clock” range of the helmet. Petzl has developed its own in-house testing protocol that extends these tests to the side edges and back edge of its helmets—from “9 to 3 o’clock,” so to speak.

Those helmets that pass Petzl’s in-house test are given the “Top and Side Protection” product label, which you can see on Petzl’s website.

To get the Top and Side Protection badge, Petzl drops a 5-kilogram (11 pound) mass on the lower front, rear, and side parts of the helmet from a height of 19.6 inches. To pass the test, the helmet must not transmit a force greater than 10 kN to your dome-piece.

This honestly isn’t all that dissimilar from the requirements already enforced by the normal EN and UIAA certifications; just an extension of it to all points of the helmet. It is nice to know that all parts of your helmet are tested, rated, and strong enough to sustain an impact like my near miss described above.

This video from Petzl explains more about the Top and Side Protection certification.

Hard Shell, Long Life

I brought the Boreo with me on a recent trad-climbing trip to Wales and was happy to have it on the sea cliffs of Gogarth, which ihc sn’t known for its particularly solid rock. Helmets are mandatory here.

With climbing helmets, there are basically two styles available: ones with a hard polycarbonate shell encasing hard foam, and those that are just bare hard foam and no shell.

The Boreo has an ABS shell encasing two types of hard heavy-duty foam. The shell adds a lot of weight to the Boreo when compared to the bare-foam helmets—still, the Boreo is only 11 ounces. At under a pound, it’s truly hard even to notice the Boreo is on your head.

Having now tried to use bare-foam style helmets, even though they are now coming in at around 6 ounces, a shockingly light weight, I have to say that I prefer climbing helmets with a hard polycarbonate shell. They just stand up much better to all the hard knocks of being carried on the outside of your back, thrown around at the base of crags/walls, and being scuffed up over the course of a climbing day.

Other Features

The Boreo is easy to adjust and comfortable to wear. Just open up the helmet to its wider size, put it on your head, and push the two ratchets at the back of the head together to achieve a nice, snug fit. It also has clips that make donning a headlamp easy to do without even taking the helmet off. I also like the simple and understated/timeless colors, which buck the latest trends of goofy graphics and audacious colors.

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At some point, I suspect I will run out of good things to say about Scarpa climbing shoes, but that day hasn’t arrived yet. Over the past few months, I’ve put the new Scarpa Maestro to the test, and have determined that the Maestro is, as its name suggests, a polymath of rock types, grades, styles, and angles.

The Maestro is a flat-ish all-around shoe that’s probably best suited for trad climbing applications, but could really be used as a “quiver of one” shoe that will perform at a high level in other genres of climbing as well.

This lace-up has a straight and slightly downturned shape with a medium-to-low angled toe box. For all-day edging, the Maestro competes head-to-head with another favorite of mine, the La Sportiva “Air Tommys” (aka TC Pros). Indeed, the Maestro comes in a Mid version that boasts a bit of ankle protection—which I didn’t test—but this fact seems to suggest that Scarpa had the TC Pros in mind when releasing this competitor. The two shoes’ high performances are quite similar, actually, though I would describe the Maestro as a slightly softer, slightly narrower, and perhaps even slightly more comfortable version of the TC Pros.

Where it Excels

The Maestro is really built for all-day edging. With the right sizing, the Maestro can be worn all day without being removed. I brought these shoes on a recent trad-climbing trip to Wales, where I climbed one- to three-pitch limestone sea cliff routes. I really couldn’t have selected a more appropriate shoe for this trip, which involved lots of scrambling around, rapping down, and climbing vertical face routes all day long.

As someone who primarily sport climbs, the Maestro felt familiar, like a modern, high-end sport climbing shoe, only it was comfortable enough to wear all day—even while belaying. I never had to take it off and felt perfectly comfortable with my footwork on routes up to 5.11/5.12.

Where it Comes Up Short

The Maestro isn’t the best crack-climbing shoe, so I wouldn’t recommend it for destinations with a high concentration of crack climbing, places like Yosemite or Indian Creek. This shoe would be more at home in the Gunks, Eldo, City of Rocks, Black Canyon, etc.

The toe box is simply a bit too narrow to make it a true crack-climbing shoe. When climbing cracks, I’m looking for shoes that give my toes room to be stretched flat. With the Maestro, although my big toe had ample room, the narrow/truncated toe box scrunched the rest of my toes a bit too much, making crack climbing even more painful than usual.

I have a medium-sized foot width, so if you have really narrow feet, this shoe could potentially work well for crack climbing. I would love to see Scarpa (or whomever) come up with a true high-performance crack slipper. The Maestro is definitely on the right track here, but the narrow toe box limits it to primarily face routes.

Sizing

I wear 42 or 42.5 in other Scarpa sport-climbing shoes such as the Drago/Furia, etc. I sized up to a 43 in the Maestro, which is my street shoe size. With a little break-in period, this was a perfect size for me and I probably wouldn’t want to go much bigger than this.

The post Scarpa Maestro appeared first on Evening Sends.

Having sent nearly every 5.14d in Rifle, Jonathan Siegrist turned his attention to a short, unassuming-looking route called Lung Fish.

“I knew Lung Fish would be a challenge because routes from the ’90s are simply harder,” says Siegrist. “That said, I didn’t necessarily expect to spend that many sessions trying it.”

Lung Fish, first climbed in 1994, is considered Colorado’s first consensus 5.14. The first ascent of the route, which was originally rated 5.14a/b and is now considered to be solid 5.14b, fell to Salt Lake City-based climber Jeff Webb, one of America’s foremost sport-climbing pioneers. Twenty-four years later, a lot has changed in climbing and 5.14 climbers are a dime a dozen. Today, an ascent of Lung Fish would hardly turn heads.

And yet … “Lung Fish was very hard for me,” says Siegrist. “Given the temps were never perfect and it’s a style that I struggle with in general … blah blah blah … All excuses aside, I tried my best and it took me days of effort. I don’t remember how many tries, but at one point I did count and determined that it was likely the longest project I’d ever had in the canyon.”

That suggests that Lung Fish took Siegrist more tries than The Crew (5.14c), Fat Camp (5.14d), Bad Girls Club (5.14c/d), Planet Garbage (5.14d), and even Shadowboxing (5.14d), Siegrist’s own FA and a contender for Rifle’s hardest rock climb.

This story isn’t to throw shade at Siegrist’s superlative climbing résumé. Rather, it highlights an inescapable and ubiquitous reality of climbing: that even the best climbers among us know the pain of being humbled by a piece of rock well below their limits.

This atavistic desolation is especially potent in Rifle. In fact, as far as I can tell, getting spanked by “easy” grades accounts for the main, underlying reason some naysayers don’t seem to like the climbing in Rifle, despite their insistence on blaming the usual suspects: crowds, dogs, parking, the “scene,” etc. (Really, they’re just getting their asses kicked!)

As Siegrist hinted, a surprising number of these ass-kicking rock climbs are the vestiges of an earlier era—a time in climbing when grades were kept stout in order to reign in the egos; when the fear of being downgraded by one’s peers outweighed the allure of making headlines in the mags.

Many of Rifle Mountain Park’s mega-routes from the 1990s have never looked worse for the wear. They’ve taken on the perma-sheen of residual chalk and glassy rubber scuff marks, making them greasier and arguably more difficult than they were as freshies. Yet … in another sense, these routes have also gotten easier, as surgically precise beta and a surfeit of kneebars have been discovered and recorded in that great, open-sourced compendium of oral climbing history—Beta—which gets passed on from generation to generation of Rifle junkies.

When in Rifle and stumped by a route, you only need to dial up the 1-800-Beta-ma-Phone to learn exactly how to do the crux of your proj. You can even press 3 to filter for climber size.

With global standards hovering around 5.15d, there’s nothing in Rifle that couldn’t theoretically be onsighted. Rifle isn’t a “hard” crag anymore. It’s a place for 5.13d-projecting gumbies who can’t figure out rather straightforward beta without being told exactly how to do it by others; who are unwilling to endeavor up a route they don’t know that isn’t already affixed with perma-draws and tick-marks.

Alas … perhaps pure difficulty isn’t the reason to go to Rifle anymore.

Rifle’s earliest and best routes may be beaten up, chalked to shit, and utterly dicked down … but they are still fucking brilliant. I’ve been to a lot of world-class sport crags around the world. Rifle remains my favorite, no question.

People tend to describe the climbing in Rifle as “full-body.” On routes of every grade, you may find yourself using parts of your core that you never knew existed as you twist your limbs into crazy positions trying to make sense of the sidepulls, pinches, and underclings—all of them invariably facing the “wrong” way.

Yet as much as I enjoy the full-body challenge of Rifle rock wrestling, that’s not what keeps me coming back. After all these years, Rifle holds my interest not because of how physical the climbing is, but how mental it is. Not mental in the sense that the climbing is scary—but mental in the sense that the movement is cerebral, varied, and perennially interesting. It’s hard to get bored of the climbing in Rifle, a place where 5.13d remains relevant, interesting, and, most important, humbling no matter how many 5.13d’s you’ve climbed.

Each route must be learned. One doesn’t become proficient at a grade in Rifle; one only becomes proficient at a single route, regardless of its grade. Each rock climb, therefore, is both a lesson in humility and a journey in excellence.

You have to put in the time to learn the moves on your route in order to make them feel easy enough to eventually do, and subsequently experience the joy of the send. And upon attaining that send, of course, you will no doubt begin to believe that pernicious lie: that you are strong, talented, confident, and worthy of self-respect and even peer admiration. Fortunately, that myth will be revealed painfully and sharply, as if tearing duct tape off your own hairy thigh, upon hopping onto the next route of the same grade, at which point you will realize that, indeed, you do still very much suck.

Of course you suck. Inevitably, you will suck at a route in Rifle—whatever the next one is. Even if you’re Jonathan Siegrist. Just remember that the opportunity to suck hard in Rifle, openly and for all to see, is precisely what makes Rifle a gift that continues to give.

Siegrist sums it up perfectly:

“Feeling like you deserve a certain grade or that something should feel easy for you is a dead end. In my climbing I go through a clear cycle of absolute confidence and stoke, but invariably I meet a challenge that knocks me down, crushes my ego, and reminds me to be a student of the rock. I’ve worked really hard to accept these moments as learning opportunities and not just run away.”

Feel free to go to other areas that don’t crush your egos; areas where you can get by as a B+ students of the rock. But I’d argue that you’d be missing out on the whole point.

Rifle is a good place to learn how to climb, a good place to pay your dues, but more important, it’s a good place learn how to learn—and potentially even break through the cycle of suffering to catch a glimpse of momentary enlightenment.

Here are some of the best learning experiences this little canyon has to offer.

The Eighth Day (5.13a)

FA: Mark Tarrant (1987), Richard Wright; Pete Zoeller

Mountain Project link

This is the first route that was ever bolted in Rifle, and for a good reason. It’s one of the tallest and most of the aesthetic single-pitch sport climbs in the country. A 180-foot plumb direttissima of long pulls between pockets and edges up a striking blue streak.

The story of the Eighth Day’s first ascent, however, is less direct.

The route was originally envisioned and bolted by Mark Tarrant, who grew up in the town Rifle but was living in Boulder at the time. Tarrant and his Boulder compatriot Richard Wright must be recognized as two of the primary visionaries to have gotten the ball rolling for Rifle sport climbing with their vision on the Eighth Day. (Another“blue streak,” Rumor Has It (5.11b), was also concurrently bolted by the duo, and subsequently became the first sport climb redpointed in the canyon).

Tarrant had placed anchor bolts atop the Eighth Day in the spring 1987, and endeavored to access the big, blue streak from the left-hand side of the route, as there was less choss to remove. Shortly after placing these bolts were placed, however, city park officials shut down climbing on a big section of the Project Wall as it was so close to the road.

Before the shut down, however, Tarrant and Wright had top-roped the route a number of times, but were ultimately kicked off their project while the Park officials figured out the access before they could send. Tarrant red-tagged the route—and it sat red-tagged for awhile … until around 1991. In the interim, Pete Zoller swooped in and added bolts to the arete to the right of Tarrant’s start—an “admittedly more aesthetic line,” wrote Tarrant on Mountain Project—and subsequently fired the entire rig.

Zoller called his version “MC 900 Foot Jesus” after the musician, as a joke, because the route was so long. Tarrant and Wright’s original name, the Eighth Day, however, has stuck out of respect for their vision (also, it’s also just a better name than MC 900 Foot Jesus).

“We didn’t get the FA because we were playing a different game, abiding by the Park’s rules so we wouldn’t jeopardize future climbing in the canyon,” writes Tarrant. “This route was exceptional to me, not for its difficulty, but because it is so stunning and rare—really, a fantastic line. Climbers feel attached to the routes they envision and work at—even sport climbs! This was the first line I spotted in Rifle and the first thing we got on. I haven’t seen anything quite like it since.”

Easy Skankin’ (5.12b)

FA: Sterling Keene, 1994

Mountain Project Link

This route was called “the best 5.12b sport climb in America” by the late Dave Pegg—a superlative that has stuck, regardless of its veracity. Whether it’s the best period, or it’s merely among the 50 best 5.12b’s in America, Easy Skankin’ is inarguably a fun, long 30-meter pitch directly up the Anti-Phil Wall. There’s a no-hands kneebar rest just before the cryptic, airy crux, but you’ll get more style points for eschewing the kneebar and just shaking out on the slopey jugs like a normal rock climber.

I Am Not a Philistine (5.12c)

Don Welsh, mid-1990s

Mountain Project Link

When the Anti-Phil wall was first being developed, trees and shrubs abutted the base of the cliff. Now there’s a wide dirt patch with bespoke custom log benches upon which to lay and spray.

I Am Not a Philistine is the hardest 5.12c in Rifle, I think. It’s certainly one of the most involved, with a crux at the fourth clip that, no matter how many hundreds of times I do it, never feels any easier. You have to place your left hand on the underside of a horrible pinch, high step the right foot, and somehow pull yourself up into a gaston—it always feels a bit like a magic trick.

This route is actually a collaboration between two now dormant climbs: I Am Not Worthy (5.13a, which was FA’d by Duane Raleigh, and Philistine (5.13c), by Don Welsh. A few people, who are totally bored, revisit Philistine every now and again. I’ve never heard of or seen anyone climb I Am Not Worthy, however.

Dialing in the crux of I Am Not A Philistine is a good way to set yourself up to accessing another brilliant link-up called Phil of All Evil (5.13a), which finishes on the Anti-Phil (5.13b) headwall. All together, this represents some of the best climbing in Rifle.

Pump-o-Rama (5.12+)

FA: Colin Lantz

Mountain Project Link

This is a route that everyone can and should do. It’s a fun rock climb on steep, massive jugs with a entry-level (for Rifle) kneebar crux in which you make four hand movements off of the same kneebar, all while rotating your body around your knee, taking it from above your head to below your waist. (You can also climb the route, as Colin Lantz did, without the kneebar and take a 5.13a credit—no one does this, though; however, they do still take 5.13a).

There are a lot of ways to have fun on Pump-O-Rama, and very few of them have anything to do with the challenge of climbing the actual route.

This route has been sent in sneakers. Hayden Kennedy climbed it while wearing wool mittens. People used to skip the last bolt and huck backflips from the anchors while drunk—though I don’t recommend this. You can also hold the chains, let your feet dangle in space, and see how many pull-ups you can do to blow yourself out. We’ve also hidden beers in the double-kneebar rest below the roof on Easter—how many beers you can drink from those kneebars?

No, the fun never ends on Pump-O-Rama—it even has a 50-foot swing for your kids.

Present Tense

FA: Don Welsh

Mountain Project Link

Don Welsh climbed the first ascent of Present Tense without kneepads or kneebars. The route was onsighted by Francois Legrand, and perhaps others. And yet most climbers will use upwards of 19 different kneebars and two kneepads, glued and duct-taped on, to complete this 35-meter route—and despite all that knee tech, they will still call this pitch stout.

Whether you use kneebars or not, Present Tense throws a little bit of everything at you over the course of one of Rifle’s most spectacular and sustained pitches. This is the definition of a “full body” route.

Bonus for continuing past the anchors, up the recently added “War and Peace” extension, which adds 45 feet of 5.12d and gets you to the summit of the Project Wall. Cumbre!

Lung Fish

FA: Jeff Webb, 1994

Mountain Project Link

Of course, I’d be remiss not to include this route after making it the story lede. There’s not much to add except an anecdote I once heard from Chris Sharma, who famously redpointed this route in a single day of effort when he was 15 years old.

Sharma was on a sport-climbing road trip with Tommy Caldwell and Tommy’s dad, who was chaperoning the up-and-coming rock stars. They spent only two days in Rifle on that trip. Sharma used the first day to send Lung Fish, which made Climbing Magazine’s “Hot Flashes” as a noteworthy ascent. On the second day, Sharma continued with a notable first free ascent of Zulu (see below.)

But of Sharma’s in-a-day Lung Fish ascent, one detail wasn’t reported: “I literally tried this route 30, 40, maybe even 50 times that day before I eventually did it,” recalls Sharma. “I’m not even kidding! I’d fall, come down, untie, and try again without even taking my shoes off. I kept doing that over and over. I was soooo worked!”

Zulu

FA: Chris Sharma, Equipped by Colin Lantz

Mountain Project Link

The day after Sharma’s impressive in-a-day campaign to send Lung Fish, he had apparently recovered enough to take down this open project, equipped by Colin Lantz, who is responsible for some of Rifle’s best routes, including many of those in the Arsenal.

Zulu is a classic endurance route on big jugs with a heartbreaking crimpy crux at the top. The route is also largely devoid of kneebars, which has helped keep the climb at its grade. Emily Harrington nabbed the first female ascent as a teenager and a number of women have returned to send this reachy, dyno-y route.

Tomfoolery (5.14b)

FA: Tommy Caldwell

I’ve never heard anyone say that this route is easy and the only people I know to have done it have seriously paid their dues in Rifle. It contains Rifle’s “single most advanced kneebar,” according to Dan Mirsky, who is the best knee-bar I’ve ever seen.

First sent by a teenage Tommy Caldwell, Tomfoolery is likely distinguished as one of the earliest/oldest routes in Rifle to have the fewest ascents.

Mirsky adds a little more flavor to this route, stating, “There are physically harder routes in Rifle than TomFoolery but perhaps none more technical. Anyone who wants to achieve Rifle master status must put their skills to the test on this classic. And when you find yourself hanging at the end of the rope completely baffled and pumped, just remember Tommy did it first like 20 year ago … probably with out knee pads.”

The post PYD: Rifle appeared first on Evening Sends.

It’s been a year since our community lost two legends, Hayden Kennedy and Inge Perkins. We’ve all gone about honoring them in our own ways.

Hayden started coming in to learn about dough and the leavening process using a wild-yeast starter—the “soul of the bread.”

On the anniversary of their deaths, October 7, I had some friends over for a casual dinner. I made some naturally leavened baguettes using some of Hayden’s sourdough starter, which was really my starter since I turned him on to baking bread when he would come over and train with me in the garage. I’d duck out to turn dough in between Moon Board problems, and eventually, Hayden started coming in to learn about dough and the leavening process using a wild-yeast starter—the “soul of the bread.”

I gave him some of my starter, which he fed and used to bake bread in his van’s oven alongside Inge out in Rifle canyon between pitches. Ultimately, after he died, that starter made its way back to Colorado and into my pantry.

Anyway, it was nice to have some friends over for some chili and send them home with some of that bread. The soul lives on.

Here’s a nice video in which Josh Wharton pays tribute with a new route in Eldo.

The post Daily Stoke: Hayden’s Line appeared first on Evening Sends.

There’s not much to be happy about in these dark and ominous days, but two things that do crack a smile for me are the availability of great new climbing gear, and the extended fall rock-climbing season in the West. The days may be growing shorter but each one is filled with glorious temps and tasty adventures on lonesome desert towers and sunny outcrops of rocks. Here are my picks for the best gear of fall 2018—stuff I use and love.

Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody and Patagonia Houdini

Backcountry Patagonia REI

From this day forth on multi-pitch climbs, I won’t leave the ground without these two outstanding jackets. Both the Micro Puff Hoody and the Houdini pack up into their own pockets and can be clipped via a single lightweight carabiner to my rear gear loop on my harness. In my view, these jackets are as essential to any trad adventure as bringing a nut tool. Both jackets can pack down into their pockets in less time than it’ll take you to coil a cordelette. Together, they weigh less than a pound and provide a pretty complete spectrum of protection against light winds, chilly/shady belays, unplanned bivys, and gale-force conditions that send you bailing. The Micro Puff Hoody has all the characteristics of a down jacket—extremely light, comfortably cozy, and really warm—without actually being down. The synthetic insulation in the Micro Puff continues working even when it gets wet. The warmth generated by this featherweight jacket truly seems like magic, as if it defies the laws of nature. I happen to own one of those 5-pound canvas and fleece-lined Carhartt jackets, and I swear it is literally one-fourth as warm as this 9.3-ounce Micro Puff Hoody. And yet, the Micro Puff Hoody is not so warm that you can only wear it in freezing temps. Again, the way it works just seems like magic. I’ve never owned a more versatile jacket—ever. I also picked up a Houdini, which is a thin 3.6-ounce nylon shell with a DWR coating. This windbreaker just adds an extra bit of protection against elements. I’ll sometimes wear it by itself if it’s not freezing and I just want some protection at a belay. Or I’ll wear it over my Micro Puffy Hoody for an additional bit of wind- and weather-blocking protection. (I ordered the Houdini one size larger in order to fit over my other layers.) At just $99, it’s a no brainer to have this jacket always clipped to your harness

Number 4 Ultralight Camalot

Black Diamond Backcountry REI

How many times has it happened that you’ve decided not to bring the #4 because you like the idea of going light and fast, only to find yourself halfway up the wall really wishing you had it?

To bring the #4 or not to bring the #4, is no longer the question/argument you’ll be having with your partner at the base of the route. The Black Diamond Ultralight #4 sheds more than two ounces off its C4 twin, so there’s literally no excuse not to bring this potentially crucial piece. If you’re not willing to update your entire rack to Ultralight Camalots, do yourself a favor and at least get the #4 Ultralight since it boasts the most significant weight savings.

I’m also looking forward to testing out the updates to the C4 lineup next spring. The #4, #5, and #6 cams will all be getting a bit lighter, and they’ll also come with a trigger keeper that keeps the cams retracted while on racked on your harness for more compact racking. I played around with this feature at the trade show and it seems solid. Currently 25% off at Backcountry.

DMM Ceros Quicklock

DMM Amazon

DMM makes some of the highest-quality and best climbing hardware—period. I got to tour their factory this summer on a trip to northern Wales (stay tuned for my feature story on Wales), and I was extremely impressed with their entire operation, the company’s ingenuity, and the people’s passion for making useful things out of metal.

The Ceros gets my vote for the best locking carabiner to use with a GriGri.

The Ceros is virtually impossible to crossload, which adds a higher degree of security while belaying. An ingenious little protrusion on the carabiner’s spine prevents the GriGri from sliding down onto the spine, and the mini gate at the base of the carabiner keeps the Ceros from shifting once its clipped to your harness belay loop.

Getting it clipped to the belay loop is easier than other biners of this kind. Just clip the Ceros to the belay loop then pull it, and it’ll automatically clip itself to the belay loop.

Compared to other carabiners of this design, I find the Ceros the easiest to operate one-handed. There are three types of gates you can get with the Ceros—one is a manual screw-gate lock, and then there are two auto-locking gates, one requiring an additional action to open. I prefer the red QuickLock gate because it’s the easiest to open and shut one-handed.

Rhino Skin

Rhino Skin

Whether your skin is overly dry or baby soft, Rhino Skin has a solution for you. I’ve been a big fan of this core climbing brand since the beginning, and this fall, they’ve come out with some new packaging that makes their products last longer and easier to dispense/apply.

A few highlights from their line-up for me are Dry and Tip Juice, which I cycle judiciously in advance of a climbing stint. The stuff works pretty quickly, and I’ve noticed from one weekend to the next a difference in terms of how painful the crimps are on my project.

To keep the skin in good nick, I’ll apply the spray-on Spit just before I climb and apply Repair after climbing and before bed. This has kept me more or less free of nagging splits and flappers, which means I can keep climbing, bro.

HangTime Koala

Tommy Caldwell famously “dropped” his iPhone while fielding calls from zillions of reporters (including me) while up on the Dawn Wall of El Capitan—although there’s high a likelihood he didn’t drop his phone so much as huck it off the portaledge.

“I’m trying to have a fucking wilderness experience up here!” he might have screamed, side-arming his iPhone into the ether.

Fact is, smart phones are great companions for long routes. A phone is a camera and guidebook all in one. But dropping these slippery little bastards is always a real concern. At a hanging belay, I will get pumped anytime I take my precious phone out of my pocket in order to check the topo—because I’m literally death-gripping it.

The  HangTime Koala is a pretty nifty little accessory that removes this concern entirely. This leash system works with just about any device, providing a clip point to a harness/pocket/jacket, and a rubber gasket that grips the phone without interfering with rear cameras, etc. Bottom line, the Koala provides some peace of mind that you’re not gonna drop what’s probably one of the most expensive and useful things you own. The Koala leash isn’t officially out yet (I was fortunate enough to be an early tester), but it’s coming, so get on the launch list here.

But where to store your phone? I once accidentally smashed an iPhone screen after scumming up a 5.11a corner pitch on the south face of the Aguille du Midi because I’d placed my phone in my pants’ thigh pocket. Keeping my phone in the normal hand pockets, with a harness on, is getting harder as phones get bigger. Since then I’ve been searching for other solutions and I’ve been experimenting with using the Lightweight Travel Mini Hip Pack, which is Patagonia’s fancy name for a fanny pack. I like this set-up ok. It’s low-profile and I can easily shift the pouch around my waist to keep it away from the rock. I clip the HangTime leash to the waist belt on the fanny pack and this results in a secure, functional, easy way to access my phone while on a big route.

Helinox Chair One

Backcountry 

I grew up sitting in $5 fold-up camping chairs from WalMart, which are so cheap it’s inevitable that you end up just buying another one when you forget the one that’s already back home in your garage. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated dozens of camping chairs and all of a sudden you realize that your life has now become a Semi-Rad joke.

The Helinox Chair One is the best camping chair out. It’s sturdy, lightweight, comfortable, and packs up into a sack that’s smaller and lighter than a wine bottle. I’ve been bringing this chair out to go bouldering. It’s easy enough to throw in my pack, it sets up in a minute, and it gives me a place to sit to put my shoes on or take them off.

Helinox seems to always be teaming up with other brands to produce new designs, and this fall they teamed up with the blanket-company Rumpl to create an eye-catching design.

Scarpa Furia S

Backcountry Scarpa

The new Furia S is a softer iteration of the Furia, with some other great improvements as well. Whereas the original Furia had two bulky Velcro Straps, the Furia S has slimmed down to a single, thin Z-pull strap. I really like this change; it just makes the shoe feel even more high-performing and it’s easier to get on. The other big change is the addition of more toe rubber, which makes the Furia S one of the best toe-hookers I’ve worn. The idea that one “toe-hooks” becomes an outdated term since you can actually hook with the entire top-side of your foot.

To compare the Furia S to the sock-like Drago, both are equally soft—or, if there is a difference here, I can’t really tell. The Furia S is a narrower and much more asymmetric shoe, which will make lower-volume feet happier. The toe is also pointier than the Drago, which isn’t necessarily good or bad from a performance standpoint, but just requires getting used to if you’re coming from a different last.

Where the Furia S does seem to have an edge over the Drago, at least in terms of performance, is in heel-hooking. I’ve had some trouble heel-hooking with the Drago. The Furia S offers slight improvement, perhaps due to a better-fitting heel.

All in all, another outstanding offering from Scarpa, who is currently making the highest-performing shoes on the market, in my humble opinion. The Furia S is currently 25% off at Backcountry too.

Edelweiss Performance 9.2mm EverDry Unicore Rope

Backcountry

This rope is one to rule them all. The Performance 9.2mm from Edelweiss is a solid piece of string that you can use as a single, half, or twin rope. I picked up an 80-meter version of the 9.2mm, and it’s been my go-to sport-climbing cord for the past year. The 80m length weighs as much as some 60m 9.5mm ropes, and the extra length has come in handy on long pitches and rappels.

This rope has sustained some real abuse, and it’s held up remarkably well. It also saved my wife, who took a whipper on a pretty sharp biner and core-shot the rope. After a year of abuse, this is the only time we’ve had to trim the rope down, which might be a record for such a thin rope. This is likely the effect of Edelweiss’ UniCore construction, which bonds the sheath of the rope to the core, for added durability.

This article contains affiliate links that help support the site. Some of the gear in this review was provided by the companies. Neither of these factors have influenced the editorial content here.

The post Best Climbing Gear: Fall 2018 appeared first on Evening Sends.

Back in Sharma’s dreadlock phase, he ferreted out a pretty sick line through a rando cave in stumblemook Arkansas: Witness the Fitness. This was also an era when Sharma wasn’t grading the shit he did, so there was only the usual media-generated speculation about its difficulty.

Over the years, it was rarely repeated, first by Fred Nicole t later by Daniel Woods. With each ascent, new reports of holds breaking bumped up the difficulty all the way to V15.

Ultimately, Jimmy Webb broke the crux hold and effectively put an end to any future efforts on this roof proj for the ages.

View this post on Instagram

This is the crux hold on #witnessthefitness. Jimmy Webb was close to sending until this happened. The most spectacular roof problem on the planet, but unfortunately not built to last. Video of @dawoods89 on his recent and final ascent coming soon. #RIP #heartbreak @chris_sharma

A post shared by Big UP Productions (@bigupclimbing) on Feb 6, 2013 at 12:53pm PST

Fortunately, we still have this gem of a video from Dosage Vol. 3, capturing the first ascent. Love the track by the British artist Roots Manuva, especially the first two lines:

Taskmaster burst the bionic zit-splitter
Breakneck speed we drown ten pints of bitter

SO GOOD!

Enjoy:

The post Daily Stoke: Chris Sharma Climbs Witness the Fitness appeared first on Evening Sends.