We’ve entered one of the most dangerous stages of our pandemic. It’s about a month into our lockdown, and there is some evidence that social-distancing protocols are working. The curve is flattening. Of course, it could always be flatter … Still, we should welcome this news as good and evidence that we ought to continue listening to epidemiologists.

Yet all of the usual broken-brain loudmouths on the political right are paradoxically using the lower fatality numbers as evidence that thIS WUz aLl a LiBURal HoAx all along, and now they’re even coming out to gather publicly in protest by exposing themselves to potential contact with the virus. What they’re actually protesting is somewhat unclear to me. Are they trying to preserve their right to get as sick as they want and put others’ lives at risk as well? Only in America is the right to be as dumb and ignorant as you please seen as the highest value by at least half of the voting population.

These people are mad (we all are) but they don’t really seem to understand why. After all, these are the same people who protest Earth Day by letting diesel trucks idle and who burn sneakers they’ve already paid for because they don’t like it when their sports stars remind them that societal injustice exists. You get the sense they might stick their heads in ovens if it sufficiently annoyed liberals. The only consistent thread to their animus is a need to be deeply angry about something, and that something is whatever executives at Fox News have determined it should be.

The climbing world, fortunately, is a far happier place, though we are not immune to our own varieties of bad thinking. As if a microcosm of some of these larger societal divisions, the climbing world has broken into two groups: Those who have stopped climbing, and those who have pretended to stop climbing.

It seems as if many climbers are doing their part to help us get past this virus with as few fatalities as possible and without overwhelming our hospitals. Many climbers seem to be following the general wisdom that staying home is the best things we can all be doing right now, and the quickest way we can get past this.

But, at least for the Pretenders, it’s not immediately obvious that we shouldn’t be climbing at all. And because many of the reasons for why we shouldn’t be climbing right now are somewhat flimsy (as I will discuss below), I fear that much of the progress made over the past month is in danger of being lost as people, from Trump’s cult army of protesters to climbing’s pandemic Pretenders, decide that they’ve all had enough and want to keep living their normal lives and fuck everyone else.

First, a tangent on the Pretenders. To be clear, their charade is entirely an outgrowth of self-defeating patterns and habits relating to social media. For where else would one even feel the need to pretend but within a context in which you have trained yourself to adopt this pathological habit of making every detail about your life public, but are then afraid of the backlash that would ensue from admitting that you’ve continued to climb as much as you want all along. In other words, you can’t stop posting, but you don’t know what to post—so you pretend you’re not climbing by sharing archival photos or subject us all to IG Live training videos, which are more boring than actually hangboarding.

The people who are accustomed to sharing photos of their trips, whips, and sends daily and receive a smack of endorphins from the likes and comments piling in, now face a catch-22: They want to keep sharing their climbing lives on social media, only they can’t talk about it out of the fear they will be shamed by The Scolds, the climbers who have fallen into a role of policing the climbing internet and being extremely vocal about why everyone should be staying the fuck home. (And as much as I love the word fuck, for some reason the addition of it in this context has been one of the most grating developments of this pandemic.)

So now it’s the Pretenders vs. The Scolds. Hard to say who is winning, but one thing is for sure. It’s hilarious to see this internecine dynamic play out on the internet.

The Scolds are insufferable for obvious reasons. No one likes the hall monitor, especially the hall monitor who loves his job. But it’s not as though the Pretenders are immune from contempt either. They seem to embody the attitude of “rules apply to you, not me.” The Pretenders who are finding themselves standing at barren crags and empty boulderfields and correctly surmising that this can’t possibly be doing any harm are only correct because it is only they who have chosen to break the rules and not everyone else. There is a certain ugliness to people who don’t feel bad about this.

But … they have a point, too. After all, we can still go outside. People here in Colorado are hiking and skiing in the backcountry in limited, safe-ish capacities. Why not also climb?

It’s about time that someone said that most if not all of the arguments for a complete ban on climbing feel flimsy. Consider the argument for taking no needless risk (i.e., going climbing) because you may get hurt and have to go to the hospital thereby extracting resources that should otherwise go to covid-19 patients. At best this argument contains logic for exercising more prudence, but I don’t necessarily see it as the good argument for a total cessation of all climbing activities. Perhaps Evilution isn’t the smartest project currently…but you’re saying no one can chuck a lap on the Ironman Traverse, too?

Traveling to climb is clearly a bad idea because traveling is how the virus spreads. We shouldn’t be taking trips and making long-distance drives just to go climbing—no question.

But why can’t nearby cliffs remain open to locals who don’t have to travel long distances to reach them? Besides, if social distancing protocols can be adhered to in grocery stores, then certainly they can be adhered to at crags…

That said, successfully adhering to social distancing protocols at cliffs will require new norms of behavior and crag etiquette. Will climbers be willing to turn around and go home, or go to a different wall, if they arrive at a crag and X number of people are already there? And what is “X?” There’s a lot we still don’t know about the disease, which is a good argument for adhering to an abundance of prudence.

Everyone has been asking the question of “When will this be over?” but as The Atlantic recently stated, the better question is “How do we continue?” because this isn’t going to be over anytime soon.

For climbers, what would social distancing look like in practice? Are typically crowded crags to be avoided? Are the days of sessioning boulders with a dope-ass crew over? Should we just wear masks and sticky-rubber condoms on our fingers?

Or will the new norms be a continuation of the present: shaming enough people into never climbing such that it’s safe enough for the shameless Pretenders to get their pitches in without doing much harm?

The post Pretending Not to Climb appeared first on Evening Sends.

In the first installment of Seb Bouin’s Vintage Rock Tour in which he revisits test pieces from climbing’s past, he toured Buoux, sport climbing’s original “laboratory.” Now, the French bone crusher drops into the Verdon, the grand canyon of Europe.

The Verdon is one of the best climbing areas in the world, and should be on everyone’s bucket list. I wrote a feature on the Verdon several years ago for National Geographic, republished here.

This video has some great history from absolute icons and legends. I particularly enjoyed hearing Jibe Tribout riff on the backstory behind Le Sepcialistes, one of the world’s first routes rated 8b+ (5.14a), and a preface for what we consider modern sport climbing.

Excellent piece, and got the stoke high! Keep these coming, Seb!

The post Seb Bouin Pays Dues: Verdon appeared first on Evening Sends.

Climbing performance comes down to a bunch of factors but at the end of the day, the most important one of all is having strong fingers.

Having strong fingers is one thing. Keeping them going is another. This video from Kelly Starrett, author of Becoming a Supple Leopard, shows a technique for alleviating finger pain from swelling. I learned this technique from Kelly, and can personally attest to the fact that it works really well when your fingers are achy and swollen. Give me a band over a tub of Ibuprofen any day.

Hope this video helps. Be sure to check out this interview I did with Dr. Starrett a few years ago as well.

The post Finger Recovery for Climbers appeared first on Evening Sends.

Death smiles at all of us, as it watches and waits for us to be carried down the river of life toward its inevitable terminus. That we’re cursed to witness this ride end for some of the best people (the BEST) sooner rather than later makes death’s smiling face particularly salient and difficult to face.

Climbing is a sport that offers us plenty of opportunities to stare into this experience directly and contemplate what it means for our own existence and purpose. It’s unclear whether this opportunity, to be so closely connected to the potential consequences of our passion, is ultimately a good thing psychologically; whether it’s a “gift or a curse,” as a wise friend once mused.

Regardless, it’s a fact that “it” happens, and when it does, we should be open to seeking help so as not to mute all the future experience and joy of consciousness that awaits around the next river’s bend.

I’m so happy that the American Alpine Club Climbing Grief Fund exists, and is a source for support, conversation, and resources for climbers who have experienced the particularly fucked kind of pain that is grief. Thank you to Madaleine Sorkin for creating this organization. Thanks to Henna Taylor for her beautiful, poignant film “A Thousand Ways to Kiss the Ground.”

Right now, you can watch this film through a small >$15 donation to the Climbing Grief Fund. Please support this group so they can continue to support climbers who need help.

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A new Mellow Climbing banger features Jimmy Webb tearing his way through Rocklands’ biggest and hardest boulders like they’re child’s play. Great tunes, great climbing, great amount of stoke.

The post Jimmy Webb Has a Good Season appeared first on Evening Sends.

Arguably one of the most important innovations in our sport is the climbing shoe. I’ve always said that my favorite gear to review are climbing shoes because it’s the only piece of equipment that actually makes a difference in your performance.

This is a great, interesting deep dive into the shoe’s history and its progression to today’s modern version.

The post The History of Climbing Shoes appeared first on Evening Sends.

One of my favorite boulder problems in the world is the “Rebirthing Simulator” in Yosemite, in which a climber begins at the top of the boulder, climbs headfirst down an off-width crack, squirms through a pinch in the rock with your ass nearly dabbing on the ground, and then climbs up and out the other side. It’s a completely absurd exercise and an exercise in embracing the complete absurdity of climbing. You literally can’t do this boulder problem without laughing the entire way.

Come to think of it, some of my favorite pitches are also like this. I was in stitches the first time I did the Thank God Traverse on Half Dome. Anytime crawling is involved on a big multi-pitch, I’m so here for it.

Man, climbing can feel really fucking serious these days! The prigs have been holding court on their Instagram stories—which I’ve now taken to gleefully muting—and judiciously bowdlerizing any wrong-think from climbing’s discourse. Like everything else catalyzed by the internet and social media, this is nothing new—just more for it. The real cultural change that I’ve noticed, perhaps, is how few people are even capable of thinking for themselves, instead relying on their influencer demigods to tell them what to say and how to respond. Alas, I digress.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with taking something you love seriously, but seriously should never mean humorlessly. We gotta have fun too. And that was the real takeaway of this new video from the more boyishly faced Wide Boyz, Pete Whittaker, who gets a half-cocked idea to try to climb two meters of the hardest climb in the world, Adam Ondra’s “Silence” (9c), in Flatanger.

By his own admission, Pete has no chance of doing this route—maybe ever. All he has is his well-earned reputation as an ace crack climber. Why in god’s name would he ever bother fucking with Silence? Only a person either with extreme narcissism, or a wonderful sense of humor and a love of the absurd would consider entertaining a doomed mission such as this. And it’s quite clear that Pete falls into the latter category.

This is the most absurd video in climbing right now, and probably the most fun, which makes it arguably the most important thing you can watch this week if you’re a climber. There are many sincere and valuable takeaways worth underlining in this cheeky video, beginning with never being afraid to put ourselves on routes that seem patently above our heads. Just to see what they’re like. Will a 5.10 climber gain something by flying to Spain and stick-clipping up Dura Dura just to fondle the grips with residual patatas-bravas grease on their fingers? That’s not recommended, per se, but go for the 5.11+ that you think you’ll never be able to climb. Why not? You might surprise yourself—but more likely, you’ll just have fun.

And perhaps the even more salient point is that this kind of open-mindedness can only come from a place of humor and self-deprecation. A willingness to smile in the face of the righteous, especially your own righteous self. And just let go and embrace the absurdity of it all. And hopefully, laugh.

The post Why Climbing’s Most Absurd Film is Also Its Most Important appeared first on Evening Sends.

Only paradoxes can contain the power and magnitude of the universe and its truth. Ideologues and activists seek to advance their reductionist views of politics, life, art, and sport but all their attempts inevitably come up short. Ordinary ideas are easily contradicted, while profoundly true ideas are balanced by their opposites, which are often just as true as well. The preference for simplicity means sacrificing being open to mysterious complexity of it all.

In climbing, paradoxes abound. Wanting to do a route more than anything else is often the very thing that pushes you further from ever doing it. And failure can be more meaningful and valuable than reaching summits or sending.

The paradox of the “magnificent failure” was introduced to me by a wise old friend, younger than me but now gone, who defined it as a climber or climbing team, strung out and threadbare, gunning for some grand ambition that has long transfixed their spirit, fully committing to the process of achieving it though ultimately coming up short.

The concept of the magnificent failure has long fascinated me, and in many ways inspired me even more than the cutting-edge achievements of our time. T.S. Elliot famously once wrote, “Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.” But those manage to cross the threshold of goal and succeed have, by definition, not risked going too far. There’s further still to go. Harder routes to do and bigger risks to take. The magnificent failure, by contrast, is the experience of finding that exact limit, of reaching that agonizing precipice and fearlessly accepting the understanding that you can go no farther.

“Free as Can Be” is a new film documenting Mark Hudon’s yearlong effort to free climb El Capitan, an audacious concept that he essentially invented in the 1970s with Max Jones, a decade before it was realized by Paul Piana and Todd Skinner. Now in his 60s, Mark returns to El Cap with the help of an unlikely companion, a young Jordan Cannon, who spends a year training and climbing with Mark in advance his fateful ascent.

I don’t think I am giving much away in revealing that Mark comes up just shy of his goal, as the title of the film suggests, but I would be remiss not to underline what a magnificent failure his ascent is—one for the ages. This is a truly wonderful story and a film that brought tears, laughs, and lots of inspiration. How can it be that in Mark’s failure to achieve his goal that so much more is ultimately gained? It speaks only to the wondrous complexity of climbing and its community, as mysterious and profound as life itself.

Congrats to Sam Crossley, the director and filmmaker, for this feature, and hats off to the editor Mary Jeanes for her gifted storytelling sensibilities. This is really a wonderful story that captures the very best of our climbing community. Click this link to register for a live Q&A with the team on Friday August, 28 at 1 P.M. PST.

The post ”Free as Can Be” and the Power of Magnificent Failures appeared first on Evening Sends.

Dragon Alliance is a surf brand out of California that is making some eco-friendly sunglasses that, hell, even we climbers might love. In fact, I do. I test-drove a pair of the Renew LL Ion’s, which I chose because these frames are actually made out of recycled water bottles.

Recycling is one of those abstract things that we all do while standing athwart to any tangible evidence of its implications. I was psyched to own a piece of garbage that might otherwise end up in the ocean that has been transformed into a functional, comfortable, stylish item of gear.

What I love most about these sunglasses is just how light they are. These XL frames offer tons of protection from the sun for moonfaces like mine, while essentially weighing nothing at all.

At $139 these aren’t the cheapest shades, but they’re certainly competitively priced for what you might expect to pay for high-quality sunglasses. Still, at this price, I would’ve loved to see the addition of polarized lenses, which I find help reduce the glare on sun-blinded granite walls. Still, your purchase helps support the Surfrider Foundation’s clean-water initiative, so at least your shameless consumerism is supporting something worthy.

Dragon Alliance seems like a great company making stylish sunglasses, including some that actually float in the water, which I hadn’t heard of till this year, so check them out if you need some new shades.

The post Dragon Alliance Renew LL Ion appeared first on Evening Sends.

It’s hard to separate the art from the context in which it appears, and unfortunately just about everything I process these days passes through the filter of the outrageous culture war embroiling America weeks before the most consequential election of my lifetime. Even baking a loaf of naturally leavened bread, as I tend to do on odd days of the week, can land one the dreaded accusation of being privileged.

I can guess that this fraught predicament, of separating the art from the context, would at least elicit a sympathetic nod from Boone Speed, the artist whose portrait is rendered as the subject of a new film from filmmaker/director Mike Call.

Both Boone and Mike are dear friends of mine, and we’ve traveled together around the world on various trips and assignments. Being of the climbing generation just above mine, they are also figures of deep personal inspiration, adoration, and even heroic stature. To me, they’re climbing legends of lasting significance, though most younger crushers today will never understand just how punk it was to have a Pusher poster on your bedroom wall, let alone how spending your time grabbing plastic and hauling crash pads around a bleak desert landscape would elicit derision by most of your peers.

Our sociopolitical climate right now has little tolerance for nuance, which is only making things worse. Everything and everyone must be categorized into increasingly narrow terms for the sake of the moral grandstanders who lie on the extremes. These people seem to want to live in a world where you can only be “racist” or “socialist,” depending on whose social media accounts you’re following, and that our self-determined identities must now be central to everything in our lives, regardless of what kind of genetic smorgasbord comes back on your 23andme results.

In my mind, it’s far more interesting to be complicated—to have complicated views that defy easy categorization. The most righteous and loudest among us hate this, of course. But I say why can’t we be raging pro-capitalists who also fight for socialized health care? If you query average folks without using the all the usual loaded, baiting terms, you may find most already are.

“The Artist,” the name of this film, delves into the tension that arises from being a complicated person with complicated relationships. In other words, being a person who is real. Throughout this video, we are treated to a portrait of a guy who isn’t all that easy to nail down. Most of this tension arises between Boone and Mike, the self-referential auteur and narrator to Boone’s story, who hints at a lifelong friendship strained by young, brash egotism. The arrival at something resembling a repaired relationship is implied by the act of making of the film—or perhaps the making of the film was the catalyst of repair.

Artist. Professional climber. Friend. Husband. Son. Prince or brat. Who is Boone Speed? It’s complicated, of course. I’m struck by how brash it feels to watch anything loaded with this much nuance in 2020, as if I stumbled upon an artifact of a more rational era. And yet this is precisely the medicine we all need right now. It’s far more interesting to be complicated. And yet this in itself elects a greater irony in that Boone holds a strident aesthetic preference for simplicity.

Again, it’s complicated.

The post Boone Speed and the Art of Being Complicated appeared first on Evening Sends.

Tasty black streaks of limestone make the heart sing. Jonathan Siegrist explores a hidden gem of a crag in Western Colorado–the aptly named God’s Crag.

Enjoy this flick from Epic TV, and enjoy an in-depth interview with J-star over at The RunOut.

The post Jonathan Siegrist Touches God appeared first on Evening Sends.

Alex Megos likes to wear yellow, but he’s no yellow-belly climber. Getting to the anchors on Bibliographie, his hardest redpoint to date, and a contender for the hardest route in the world.

Some nice footage of pretty spectacular route, following on the heels of another Patagonia film profiling Megos. Certainly got me psyched to climb!

The post Alex Megos Climbs Bibliographie, His Hardest Route appeared first on Evening Sends.

Jakob Schubert is one of the strongest climbers out there, and he absolutely floats up this Magic Woods test piece, La Force Tranquille (8C / V15), for its first ascent.

We’ve all experienced days where we feel weightless, but probably most of us don’t actually look this weightless. Wow.

The post Jakob Schubert: Force Tranquille direct FA appeared first on Evening Sends.

I’ll admit that I had never heard of French climber Julia Chanourdie until I saw her post on Instagram about climbing Adam Ondra’s Eagle 4 at Saint-Léger.

This was a big deal, of course. Only two other women have climbed 9b (5.15b): Angie Eiter with Planta de Shiva located at Villa Nueva del Rosario in southwestern Spain, and Laura Rogora with Ali Hulk Sit at Rodellar, Spain.

This new Epic TV joint stitches together some terrible ground footage with a nice interview with Julia Chanourdie, who seems chill AF. Great job to Julia, and great to see the levels rising!

The post Watch Julia Chanourdie climb 9b appeared first on Evening Sends.

It’s been a month since that mystifying metal shaft called the Monolith was discovered in the desert by some Utah wildlife officials, who were out counting sheep by helicopter.

The discovery went viral around the world and within hours Internet sleuths had discovered the coordinates of the Monolith’s location and posted them on Reddit.

A mad dash of selfie seekers congregated in this remote location to see the Monolith for themselves.

Over the next few days, the hordes trashed this previously pristine corner of Utah—eroding fragile soils with footprints and tires, and establishing a minefield of toilet paper and fire pits in the vicinity.

Four days later, a group of Moab locals including Sketchy Andy Lewis, Sylvan Christensen, Homer Manson, and another anonymous figure took it upon themselves to tear the Monolith down. Their justification was to protect wilderness, a charge that many pointed out was hypocritical since Sketchy Andy, in particular, is known for installing his own—albeit temporary—public art pieces such as his infamous Sky Net, which is a airy spider’s web of colorful high-lines and webbing from which BASE jumpers chill and jump.

The idea of what constitutes public art, and who gets to determine its fate, is an interesting question that has obvious parallels for us as climbers. The Monolith certainly isn’t the first piece of metal to be installed on public lands without any kind of official permission, and which subsequently brings hordes of people. As climbers, we feel totally entitled to install our own bolts in rocks on BLM lands across the West. It’s not a coincidence that many of us refer to the establishment of rock climbs as an “artistic” endeavor.

I’ve heard scold-happy traditionalists argue that bolts and chalk in a piece of rock are inherently unsightly and ugly. I disagree. A piece of rock covered in chalk and bolts can be a beautiful and mesmerizing sight—a large-format painting that fails to avert my attention as I try to decipher the sequence above. It should go without saying, of course, that not every painting is worthwhile or interesting, and likewise not all bolts and chalk are inherently or automatically good, let alone justifiable.

Beyond the obvious differences in size and scale of attention received by the Monolith, there is no meaningful ethical distinction between the installation of the Monolith and the installation of our bolts, thousands of them across Utah alone. In some strange way, this is our public art.

I find Sketchy Andy’s justification for chopping the Monolith to be, well, sketchy at best. If I went out and chopped Andy’s next Sky Net under the same pretense of environmental vigilantism, there’s no way that he and his crew wouldn’t receive that act as anything less than a declaration of war. This hypocrisy rubs me the wrong way. These are people who claim to stand for extreme freedom of expression and celebration of individuality, but by destroying something that wasn’t their’s to destroy, they’ve revealed the limits of their tolerance for those ideals.

Art is most compelling when it becomes a window or mirror into a cultural moment. Although the Monolith is gone, its fast and savage journey into the hands of BLM officials is now as intrinsic to the Monolith’s meaning and purpose as the Monolith was itself. I don’t know what the original artist or artists intended to say about our culture and society when they decided to drill this piece of metal into a backcountry rock in Utah. But what it now represents is a story of how selfish and disrespectful we all can be.

The lack of respect shown by the hordes of visitors leaving toilet paper all over the place. The selfishness of needing to be that influencer who gets that photo for your Instagram feed that will get you a few more likes and followers. The vigilante’s lack of respect for a vision of art that wasn’t their own.

I loved the Monolith because of its purity—the artist who created it without any fanfare, no big gallery opening filled with champagne sipping snobs with their checkbooks open. Is it ironic? Is it a joke? Maybe. Or maybe it was meant to bestow a bit of inspiration and wonder in the visitor who stumbled upon it during an acid-fueled vision question in the desert.

That this purity was corrupted so quickly, so viciously, an so completely, is the story of our time. And perhaps in a similar way, it’s the same story that’s unfolding at all of our crags.

This piece originally appeared as an audio recording in paywalled episode of The RunOut Podcast. You can become a Rope Gun and support our podcast on Patreon.

The post Considering the Monolith—and Bolting—as Public Art appeared first on Evening Sends.

This was some of the most atrocious beta I’d ever seen. Not only was this climber pointlessly not using kneepads, apparently he was also eschewing the techniques of “back step” and “drop knee.”

“What is he doing?” I muttered, a mix of horror and awe.

Hey, it was Daniel Woods! And he was on the Rifle-area classic Simply Read. With unrelenting arms and indefatigable fingers, Daniel was turning an otherwise technical rock climb into a genuine crimp ladder. Standing in the road beneath the Project Wall, I was so transfixed by Daniel’s feat of strength that I didn’t even realize there was an F-350 growling at me to get outta the way.

First climbed by Scott Franklin—also, apparently, without kneepads—Simply Read is a pretty solid 5.13d, a grade for which Rifle is renowned.

“That was kinda hard,” Daniel said after returning to the dirt. He massaged his swollen forearms, which looked like two hocks of prosciutto. “Could be .14a,” he mused casually.

“Maybe it’s .14a the way you climbed it,” I said. Daniel laughed, though I’m not sure he realized I was telling him his beta was junk.

Fifteen years later, Simply Read offers a menu of beta options for those who aren’t in possession of freak strength. It’s interesting to see the continuous evolution of beta and norms on some of these climbs, which are really a reflection of climbing’s widening demographic of body sizes and strengths. Even sequences can become trendy and sometimes become the new normal.

Because of this phenomenon, it is my belief that most climbs get easier with time, which is fine, I guess, and not just because it gives crusty climbers something to carp about on their podcasts. Yes, holds sometimes break and, yes, footholds get more polished, and of course these things can make routes harder. But over the long haul, the wellspring of hyper-refined beta and collective knowledge makes routes, on balance, easier than they first were. (This is just my theory and you’re welcome to disagree if you would like to be wrong.)

Curiously, what doesn’t change, or at least rarely, is the route’s grade after the so-called “consensus” establishes—even though earlier ascents relied on vastly worse beta. Once a grade is printed in a guidebook, that’s the grade people take. The end.

Let’s consider how Simply Read has evolved over the past few years.

Right off the deck, Simply Read begins with one of the best V8s you’ve ever done—compression moves on slopers, underclings, and crimps lead to a drop-knee dead point to a jug. A few years back, one of my friends discovered a kneebar smack in the middle of this crux, allowing you to ratchet all the way up to the jug without any of the compression or deadpointing. I’ve heard this sequence called V4, though it’s probably a touch harder.

The top of Simply Read gets pumpy and go-y. Those final 20 feet can vanquish even the strongest climbers, rendering them flailing punters whose frustrated little feet kick through the air as they fall. One friend pitched off the last move—the very last move—38 times before finally clipping the chains. Just recently, I saw a climber kneescum her way through this entire 20-foot section, methodically setting one kneebar after another as if she were some kind of Boston Robotics android repetitiously slow-crawling to the chains.

To be fair, most people redpoint Simply Read with the “normal” beta, taking the obvious kneebar rests, and avoiding too much additional trickery and tomfoolery. But it’s also true that there is a certain class of climber who loves tomfoolery, and will even go so far as to openly embrace shenanigans of the kneebar variety.

“It’s kind of a sleazy way to climb,” a friend once said, only half-jokingly. To be clear, he wasn’t railing against kneebars or kneepads in general; he was talking about the excessive kneebar style. Climbers make hazy and arbitrary distinctions between kneebars they consider “acceptable,” and those which run afoul of the established beta orthodoxy. Perhaps like obscenity, as the judge in the Larry Flynt case famously argued, you know it when you see it.

Consider the drastic beta differences I just described on Simply Read. When you compare the beta used by someone like Daniel Woods, who used almost no technique at all, to those who require a surfeit of sleazy-ass kneebars to crawl to the chains, it’s easy to conclude that Simply Read, depending on the beta used, could be anywhere from 5.13c to 5.14a.

So what does one make of this fact? Should we normalize giving routes, say, three different grades, depending on how it’s climbed? I’m not so sure that bad beta (Daniel) should be awarded with higher points any more than I’m convinced that sleazy kneebar beta should be penalized with fewer points.

But by flattening these disparate approaches into a single grade-trophy I fear as if we’re taking the youth-soccer-league approach to assessing achievement in climbing. And it is making no one happy.

The postmodern quality of difficulty in rock climbing has always left us climbers at a loss. We sort of half-heartedly pay lip service to how difficulty is just so subjective—and yet it’s also a thing we take seriously, maybe the most seriously. Grades are the thing by which we track our individual progress as well as distinguish and celebrate climbing achievements at large. Of course we want to know precisely how hard routes and boulders are.

Last week, Adam Ondra weighed in on the ethics of using kneepads on his website. Also wundercrushenkind Alex Megos recently riffed about kneepad beta on The Story of Two Worlds (8C) on Insta.

“There are various videos online from lots of different climbers, all theoretically climbing the same boulder and claiming the same grade: 8C,” wrote Megos. “It seems like the climbing community is not differentiating at all and rarely mentioning HOW things are climbed. … After watching all those videos of ‘The Story of two Worlds,’ I noticed there are huge differences. Some use a kneepad, although the FA was done without. Most sit down to start, some don’t. [Dai Koyamada] started lower than all the others and didn’t use a kneepad. And in the end they all climbed the same 8C? That thought seems very alienating to me.”

Another way to frame this discussion is to ask: are routes and boulders independent of beta, or does the beta make the route?

Ondra’s article tries to establish what he thinks is appropriate for the professional class of climbers who use kneepads and kneebars on elite climbs. After asserting the legitimacy of kneepads as legitimate climbing tools, Ondra acknowledges that they can “make the grading a little inconsistent” and often do make routes easier. As a result, he asserts that professional climbers should be more willing to award themselves a lower grade, i.e., a “personal grade.”

“I think [honesty] is important for professional climbers nowadays not only declaring an ascent, but also the way of sending the route,” he wrote. “I believe professional climbers should try to reflect these facts (kneepad when it wasn’t used for the FA, new beta and others) into the grading even though they only repeat the routes and should not just take the guidebook grade for granted.”

Ondra’s take seems targeted at climbing’s elite, where this kind of discourse is more encouraged if imperfectly. Grades of cutting-edge climbs are, by definition, lacking consensus. So it makes sense to encourage an open and honest conversation about new beta, new techniques, and new propositions of difficulty. And I think for the most part these conversations, when appropriate, take place.

But what about well-established routes that aren’t at the cutting edge? I would be interested in hearing Ondra’s analysis here. Routes like Simply Read (and many others in Rifle and elsewhere), which appear in guidebooks with definitive grades printed next to tick boxes, aren’t getting downgraded. For obvious reasons, the kind of critical thinking and honest analysis that Ondra encourages is largely absent for the well-established routes that most of us climb.

I’m skeptical that an average climber is even capable of recognizing that they are using 5.13c beta to do a 5.13d route, let alone willing to accept a lower grade just because they figured out “beta that works for me.” Nobody is taking a personal grade of 5.12d when they kneebar through the 5.13b crux on that one route.

That’s because personal grades are for pros, not schmos.

A few questions for us schmos: Why are we so reluctant to take personal grades, or suggest downgrades in general? As I understand the way grading generally works, grades for sport climbs and boulder problems are an assessment of the difficulty one experiences while executing more or less perfect beta. If one person finds a bunch of kneebar beta that turns really fun V8s into sleazy V4s, should that become the new beta norm—and therefore reflected in the grade—just because it’s easier?

I’m not so sure. The consequences of this approach would be to reward one style of climbing, which a lot of people don’t even like that much, and effectively sandbag everyone who doesn’t use every sleazy kneebar that’s been discovered over 20 years of projecting.

The other option might be to create a new norm in which we give relevant routes more than one grade to reflect the variety of beta preferences that people hold? For example, “Simply Read (5.14a / 5.13d / 5.13c ).” Think of all the opportunities for retro-grading crack climbs based on hand sizes, and how complicated/enjoyable that would be.

Thirty years ago, climbers were much more willing to downgrade routes. Today we’re all yasss queening ourselves to death. Today’s new norms keep us silent in observing that someone else’s method of climbing a route actually makes it way easier. This is partly because we’re taught to just accept the grade we get in our guidebooks, even if that grade was a reflection of just one person’s idea of difficulty, which was originally based on using unrefined beta, 30-year-old climbing shoe technology, and no kneepads.

There’s also the fact that downgrading could be considered a form of micro-aggression among climbing’s most cynical representatives. This is not to deny the many obvious examples in climbing’s history of fragile male egos downgrading routes only after women have climbed them, but if you see someone coping a no-hand kneebar rest in the middle of what was otherwise called “the crux,” it’s reasonable to suggest that this style warrants a lower grade without being assaulted by accusations of being intolerant and fragile.

Seeing anyone discover kneepad / kneebar beta to reduce the difficulty of your big, proud climb can bruise your ego a little bit, as Ondra acknowledges when he writes about Change, his own FA and the world’s first 9b+ (5.15c), which recently got a second ascent by Sefano Ghilsofi.

“Even for me, it was not easy to see Stefano Ghisolfi in Change, using the kneepads in places where it was not possible for me without kneepads, but it is evolution and in this case, fortunately I do not think it changes the grade.”

But what if it had changed the grade? Presumably Ondra would’ve had a tough pill to swallow, and I wonder if he would still be so charitable toward the use of kneepads and kneebars. (Ondra is a charitable guy, and my guess is that, yes, he would.)

There’s no easy answer to any of these questions, although I look forward to the comment bros who insist there are. But if I had to try to construct an argument for when and when not to use kneebars based on higher principles, I’d encourage climbers to consider two things beyond just being honest: aesthetics and their own self-improvement.

On self-improvement, one example for me comes to mind: Years ago, I was working toward my first 5.13c, Sprayathon. I’m selecting this route as an example in part because today I see most climbers using two kneepads to cop every little scrunched rest they can. The route, which is already soft in the grade, is a power-endurance special—meaning it’s hard because it’s pumpy.

Encouraged by my friend, I approached Sprayathon by trying to climb it with as few rests as possible. That meant no kneepads or kneebarring. Just shaking out, hanging on my arms, and steadily climbing through the pump. It took me a couple months, but I finally got it. And by the time I did, I had also leveled up my endurance. That, more than the tick, was the real reward. And it paid dividends: the next week I climbed my second 5.13c in just 4 tries.

There was also the aesthetic component. Avoiding kneebars on Sprayathon is just an inarguably more fun way to climb. It feels like sprinting, running, flying. I love that feeling of redlining up the wall. To invert the lesson of the famous fable, it makes you the proverbial hare to the tortoise. Yes, the slow and steady crawl may be smarter, and it may get you to the finish line more quickly. But sometimes winning isn’t the most important lesson you can learn from these routes.

The post Crawl or Climb: When Kneebars Change Routes appeared first on Evening Sends.

Climbing shoes have the distinction of being the only piece of gear that can actually help you climb better. But what to get? There are around 200 climbing shoes on the market, billed for all different types of climbing, from gym to sport to trad to alpine rock, with lots of crossover. In some cases, the distinctions are appropriate, while in other cases it’s just marketing hype. In reality, shoes are to rock climbers what lenses are to photographers—no shoe will be appropriate for every situation, and most experienced climbers have at least three pairs of shoes to for the myriad vertical problems out there.

Here’s a quick guide of what to look for when choosing climbing shoes.

“Beginner shoes”

Putting this in scare quotes for a reason … Beginners are often told to buy “beginner” or “all-around” shoes—climbing footwear that’s typically flat, stiff and roomy in the toe box.

At best, “beginner” shoes are the cheapest; however, they are often stiff, too roomy and sized poorly. Right off the bat, consider getting a “high-precision” shoe—something that fits snugly and has a slight downturn to the toe—no matter what your abilities are. The benefit of wearing a high-performance shoe is that you will become more aware of how you place your toes on footholds.

Trad/Crack shoes

Trad climbing often involves crack climbing and multi-pitch routes. Therefore, a good trad-climbing shoe will be fairly stiff, and not cram the toes. There’s nothing more painful than crack climbing in a tight-fitting shoe, so if this is your jam (haha!) then make sure your shoes are sized on the “roomy” end of the spectrum (not painful, able to wiggle toes, but still snug enough to edge).

For strict desert crack climbing, however, many climbers opt for something soft, like a slipper, in order to better use your toes in the thin seams.

For climbing in colder alpine conditions, size your shoe so that you can wear them with a thin pair of socks. Some trad shoes are high-tops, which are almost mandatory for helping to protect ankles in wide cracks. Most good trad shoes with have laces.

Sport/bouldering shoes:

These shoes will be far less stiff (but still supportive) and will range from models with a flatter last, to those with a radically down-turned toe for steep climbing. Sport climbing shoes may come in laces, Velcro or be slippers. Laces aren’t ideal for bouldering, where you take your shoes on and off more frequently.

A Quiver of 2 or 3

I suggest owning a quiver of two or even three different pairs of climbing shoes—I sometimes bring two pairs to every crag or bouldering area I visit.

One pair should be down-turned, or “aggressive,” for use on steep routes.

The second pair should be a good “edging” shoe: flatter and more supportive for standing on edges.

I keep a third pair for use in the gym: usually a soft slipper that helps build toe strength. Sometimes when my primary performances shoes lose their edge, they get demoted to the pair I bring to the gym. This triad of footwear prolongs shoe life, and keeps toes from getting too worked or deformed by the repetitiveness of wearing one model for everything.

Getting sticky

Sticky-rubber hit the climbing market in the U.S. in the early 1980s when the late, great John Bachar began importing Fires from Spain, some of the first shoes to utilize the new technology. Sticky rubber was a breakthrough that instantly skyrocketed climbing standards. In fact, it worked so well that people had to wonder whether it was cheating to use it. While there are differences in rubber in terms of how long it lasts, and how hard or soft it is, in general all sticky rubber on the market tends to be more than sticky enough.

Velcro vs. Laces vs. Slippers

Climbing shoes come in these three different styles. Laces are the most adjustable—they can be loosened or tightened down for various fits. Velcro is a great compromise between security and convenience; they are easy to get on and off. Slippers are the easiest to get on, but they tend to be not as secure—if the slipper doesn’t fit perfectly, it may slide off on heel hooks.

Stiff vs. Soft

A shoe’s stiffness is relative to the person wearing them—a heavier person will need a stiffer model for more support. If a shoe is too stiff, its performance will be compromised. Too soft, and your toes will pump out on longer routes. However, soft shoes may be just the ticket for steep pockets, where you really need to pull and hook on a hold with your toes.

My favorite shoes in the past few years have all been on the soft side. For me, being able to feel what I’m standing on really helps performance.

Last

The “last,” essentially, refers the shape of the shoe. Shoes come in straight, toe-down and asymmetrical lasts, and depending on how your foot is shaped and what type of routes you want to climb, one of these lasts will work.

“Women’s Shoes”

Most companies make shoes billed as being for “women,” although this often just means a lower-volume version of another shoe in their line. If you have a narrow foot, even if you are identify as a dude, check out the women’s line. Some companies, however, are straying from the “shrink ’em and pink ’em” model of approaching women’s footwear, and instead producing models that are more thoughtfully crafted with female climbers in mind.

How to Find the Perfect Fit

Always try shoes on first—check out different models and different companies. Size them snugly: not too tight, but with no room to wiggle your toes. Most people don’t wear socks with their climbing shoes. How’s the heel? Dead space in the heel is an obvious red flag that the shoe doesn’t fit well. If you can remove the heel while the laces are tied, try going down a half size. Stand around in the pair for at least five minutes—if you’re in serious pain, go up a half size. Most shoes will break in. If you go up a half size and there’s now too much room in the heel, switch to a different brand or model.

When to Retire

Shoes lose their edge under the big toe—the edge becomes more rounded, and eventually a hole in the rubber appears. It’s most ideal to get your shoes resoled before that hole appears. Resoling can cost 1/3 of the original price tag, and a good cobbler can make your shoe like new.

If your climbing shoes just sit around in your garage for six months or more, the rubber will begin to oxidize—making it harder, less sticky, and leading to a drastic reduction in performance. If you only climb a few times a year, and you notice that you have trouble with your footwork, it may not just be that you’re out of practice; your shoes could be hosing you. Taking a file to the rubber and grinding down that outer, oxidized layer will give your shoes some more life. A good tip is to store your shoes in an airtight Ziploc bag, which will help with the oxidization.

The post The Evening Sends Guide to Choosing Climbing Shoes appeared first on Evening Sends.

In college, I took a road trip across the country with three buddies. My friend Jack’s parents lent us their 1980s-era Volvo, which didn’t even have power steering or AC. We set forth with weed in our lungs and Kerouac in our hearts, and hit up the usual iconic spots, with a giant Rand McNally map book as our guide.

As the most psyched (and really only) climber in the group, I only cared about reaching one place: Yosemite.

At long last, after many misadventures and near arrests, we arrived in the Valley, and of course my mind was sufficiently blown having never before seen anything like “this”—picture my hand gesturing dramatically toward El Cap.

I convinced my friends to join me on a multi-pitch 5.8, and being the only person who knew how to place gear or lead, I, who was also a full-on Gumby, nevertheless “guided” my three stoner friends up the wall.

At the second pitch anchor, I belayed Al who barely escaped falling several times on the slab. I happen to look down and see that his harness wasn’t double-backed. In fact it was barely even threaded once.

“Al, what the fuck! Your harness isn’t double-backed, you idiot!” I screeched, in my uptight northeastern way.

Al, a Nicaraguan from Chattanooga, responded with, “What’s the big deal, man? Just chill out!”

Al’s inability to take responsibility always infuriated me, and represented a consistent theme in our relationship. At some point before our four-year college tenure ended, I would punch Al right in the face, but that’s another story.

Of course this story would never have happened today because the concept of “double-backing” is obsolete now that harness manufacturers have “Al proofed” their designs. Now all harnesses come pre double-backed.

And thanks to other innovations, they’re all lighter, better, stronger, and more comfortable than ever before.

Here’s what what you really need to know about climbing harnesses.

Climbing Harness Categories

For the most part, it’s a safe bet to ignore most categories, which are false descriptions of how harnesses ought be used. There is no such thing as a “sport climbing harness” or a “trad climbing harness,” a “beginner harness” or an “expert harness.” Harnesses are largely just harnesses, regardless of how hard you climb or whether you’re clipping bolts or placing cams.

The exception are ice climbing and alpine climbing harnesses, which are distinct from rock climbing harnesses. Ice climbing harnesses feature a little slot to add an “ice clipper” (a special plastic carabiner used for easy racking of ice screws). Also there are alpine/glacier harnesses, which are super light and minimal webbing rigs that really aren’t meant for hang-dogging or normal rock climbing.

Adjustable leg loops

Are you an adjustable leg loop kind of person? I’m not, as my thigh size doesn’t change no matter how much corner stemming I do. There is also never a situation in which I think, “Hm, maybe today I’ll wear three pairs of pants.”

At best, I would adjust my leg loops once to dial in the fit, and then figure out a way to live with the indignity of having superfluous metal and nylon bits on my thighs every time I go climbing. Wouldn’t it be better to just find a harness whose fixed leg loops fit?

Sadly I’m in the minority on this point, and adjustable leg loop harnesses are super popular and sell far better than fixed leg loops.

I suppose if you’re an ice climber and want the ability to take a harness off before, say, removing your crampons or something like that, perhaps having adjustable leg loops could come in handy. Or you could just take your crampons off first.

Gear Loops

Some designers like to remove gear loops to make their harnesses fit into a category of “sport climbing” or “competition” harness, but I wouldn’t ever buy a harness with fewer than four gear loops.

If you like to rack trad gear on your harness as opposed to using a gear sling, consider things like the placement of the gear loops (if they are more toward the front or back) as well as how stiff/rigid they are (stiffer can be easier to clip gear to).

That said, the position of gear loops can also depend on whether you have the right size harness.

Haul loops

The haul loop is piece of sewn webbing on the back of your harness that beginners assume is the spot meant for a chalk bag to be clipped via locking carabiner.

What is the haul loop? What would one “haul” with this loop? There is literally no good answer to this question. Listen to me: you don’t need a haul loop; I don’t know why companies continue to make harnesses with haul loops; don’t try to haul anything with this so called “haul loop.” Ignore the haul loop.

Belay loop

The belay loop is standard. Some are made of nylon, while some are made from spectra. Each material has slightly different properties that could be argued about in online forums, but the bottom line is that they’re all safe, and rated to catch thousands of pounds of force that you’ll almost certainly never have to experience in your day-to-day belaying duties.

Some people like to back up their belay loops with a secondary piece of cord tied to their harness. Why are they doing this? It’s unclear. If you’re really concerned about your belay loop potentially failing, you’re probably not using your harness properly, or your harness is old enough that it needs to be replaced. (See below.) Metolius makes a harness with two belay loops for those folks who like this sense of redundancy, but it’s honestly not necessary and just adds more clutter to an already cluttered-up spot on your harness.

Other considerations

Mammut harnesses feature a molded piece of plastic guarding the lower tie-in point from the friction and abrasion sustained by the rope and also the belay loops rubbing against this tie-in point. This is actually a great idea, and does offer protection at a spot where a harness can fail—and has failed in one very notable and infamous accident. It can give your harness a bit more life and longevity, but honestly, my opinion is it’s a good idea to replace your harness frequently anyway. In other words, ideally you wouldn’t have a harness so long as to even reach the point where this kind of wear and tear is a concern.

Padding is another thing to consider. I would say that more padding doesn’t automatically mean more comfort, and in fact so of the more minimal designs I find to be just as if not more comfortable than the padded out harnesses. If you like to climb without a shirt in hot weather, the padding/material can make a difference and be less abrasive on your skin.

Women’s specific harnesses have a longer “rise”—the distance between the leg loops and belt—to account for women’s hip shapes.

Also, think about colors, which aren’t just aesthetic. Some companies make their belay loops a different color so that they’re easier to identify.

When to replace

I suggest replacing your harness every year to every two years at most, depending on how much you climb. There are terrible stories of climbers pushing their harnesses to far and paying the ultimate price. They’re just not that expensive, and there is no reason not to have a harness that’s in good if not great condition.

And one final safety point: don’t ever keep a daisy chain or PAS perma girth hitched to your belay loop.

The post The Evening Sends Guide to Choosing Climbing Harnesses appeared first on Evening Sends.

Running on a treadmill at a local rec center, I noticed two young teenagers set up beneath the gym’s little 25-foot climbing wall.

They had no climbing equipment, and clearly no understanding of safety but they were gung-ho. One of the kids looped the top-rope around his waist a few times, tied an overhand knot, and launched up the wall. His friend, meanwhile, “belayed” the other side by wrapping consecutive coils of rope around his own waist, spinning in circles as slack came to him. When he ran out of room on his waist, he started wrapping the rope around his right arm.

Horrified but also very amused by this spectacle—writers love it when idiots recklessly endanger their own lives; it’s like a gift!—I ran over to stop this slow-motion tragedy from progressing any further. Upon reaching the “belayer,” however, I suddenly found myself at such a loss of words that I didn’t know where to begin. They weren’t climbers, after all. They weren’t even wearing harnesses. Was I really going to try to explain to them the concept of using a “GriGri”?

Instead, all I could come up with was:

“No, no, no, you’re doing it all wrong,” I said. “You want to belay like this.” And I proceeded to show this kid how to hip belay.

“Ah!” he said, a lightbulb going off. He thanked me and carried on, and I ran outta there before I could be held liable.

Although the hip belay is indeed the original tried and true technique, there are thankfully far better belay devices out there that will help you keep your partners safe—and alive.

Here’s what you really need to know about belay devices.

Belay Devices and Skills

Before diving into the kind of belay devices you need and why, I want to say a few words about how your choice of device informs the technique you will use.

I think many new climbers get the impression that there is only a single “right” way to belay. They probably get this idea from gyms, where draconian belay tests mandate everyone demonstrate the gym’s one and only approved hand sequence / technique.

There are some correct principles for safe and effective belaying, which are universal, but it’s not true to say there is only a single proper way to belay. There are a few ways to do it right, and nuances to each method that depend on which device you are using.

What is an “ATC”?

ATC refers to the Black Diamond Air Traffic Controller belay device, the first device of this kind, which subsequently became the proprietary eponym for any kind “tubular-style” belay device.

Easy as ATC

ATC-style belay devices are the most basic, cheapest, and generic belay / rappel devices on the market, and I believe all climbers should really spend time learning how to use these devices first before learning how to belay on any other device.

The reason why is because these devices help you really understand how belay devices work—as well as universal principles such as how to keep your brake hand on the rope, and why that’s so important.

Start by learning how to belay top-roping climbers. Learn how to rappel on ATC-style devices. And learn how to lead belay with them. It shouldn’t take all that long to learn these skills, but they are nevertheless essential to master first.

Which ATC should I get?

For all intents and purposes, all ATC-style devices, across all the brands, are all great and they’re all basically the same. Note: this characterization does not include ATCs with “guide mode” capabilities such as the Petzl Reverso (more on this category later.) Devices like, of course, the Black Diamond ATC or the CAMP Shell are both equally capable beginner ATC devices.

Some ATCs have notched grooves that give you better lowering / rappelling control. If you haven’t bought a belay device yet, I’d recommend getting one with these grooves—the Black Diamond ATC-XP, the Mammut Crag Light, or the Petzl Verso are all great options.

All ATCs demand being paired with an “HMS” locking carabiner, which is an acronym for the German word “halbmastwurfsicherung,” which of course and obviously translates to “half clove hitch belay” (i.e., Munter hitch). If that’s confusing, don’t worry about it. Just know that most climbers will know what you mean if you ask for an HMS carabiner.

There are a million of these fat puppies on the market, but I think the DMM Big Boa HMS is the best, as I think that DMM makes the highest quality carabiners in general.

It’s important to note that not just any locking carabiner will do here. Little lightweight D-shaped or even small pear-shaped locking carabiners aren’t going to cut it. You want a big fat fucker with a wide-enough radius to give you the control you need—the control your daddy never gave you as a child. The control you deserve. Now say the safe word again: halbmastwurfsicherung!

Graduating to the Petzl GriGri

After you’ve mastered the basics of the ATC, you’ll want to graduate to a Petzl GriGri for most of the belaying you do, especially single-pitch sport climbing, single-pitch trad cragging, top-roping, and gym climbing. (Note you’ll still need an ATC-style device for multi-pitch and rappelling.)

The GriGri is categorized as an “assisted braking” belay device for single ropes. This means that the device gives you a little bit of assistance in holding the weight of your climbing partner as they hang on the other end of the rope.

With the GriGri, when a climber falls or hangs on the other end of the rope, a cam inside the device engages and pinches down on the rope automatically. That cam can only be released by unweighting it via the lever on the device.

What about other Assisted-Braking Devices?

Sorry, but just no.

The Petzl GriGri is the only device you should consider in this category. Yes, there are a few other assisted-braking devices on the market now, but none of them are even close to be as good as the GriGri. Don’t listen to what “crushboi92” says on the Mountain Project forum about the Trango Vergo. Just get a GriGri.

More on the GriGri …

Lead belaying on a GriGri demands a certain nuanced technique. If you’ve ever heard of stories of people getting “dropped on a GriGri” it’s because people are doing it wrong.

Petzl has a great video series that show how to use the GriGri. I have my own technique which I actually think is even better, and one of these days I’ll write it up.

Unlike with ATC devices, you don’t need an HMS locking carabiner. In fact, many HMS carabiners are too fat to use with the GriGri. I recommend pairing your GriGri with the DMM Rhino carabiner, which has a little horn on its spine to prevent the GriGri from cross loading. (Get the red gate, which automatically locks.)

”Guide-mode” ATCs

If you’re going to be leading multi-pitch climbs, you’ll want to get an ATC that allows you to belay your second directly off the anchor. Rigging the belay device off the anchor in guide-mode has many advantages. The first is that in this configuration the belay device becomes an assisted-braking device by pinching the rope down upon itself in the event that your second falls. This gives you the freedom to be looser with what your hands are doing, so you can be more attentive to stacking the rope and preventing clusterfucks, hence allowing you to move faster on multi-pitches. Finally, these devices can really speed up anchor transitions if you’re swinging leads.

I’m fairly sure that the Petzl Reverso was the first device to market with this design, and it remains one of the best. The others are equally great, too, and I can highly recommend both the Black Diamond ATC-Guide and the Mammut Bionic Alpine Belay Device.

One thing you need to know is that it can be hard to lower the second climber if they are weighting the rope. The DMM Pivot Belay Device makes it significantly easier to lower climbers than other devices, which is why I’d recommend getting this one out of the three aforementioned devices.

Note that guide-mode requires two locking carabiners. You can almost certainly get away with one big fat HMS-style carabiner, and then one smaller, lighter D-shaped or pear-shaped locker.

Other Options

Are there other belay options out there? Yes, of course. There are the classic figure-8 style devices, such as the Edelrid Hannibal and the Sterling ATS, which may be better for speed-rapping out of a Black Hawk chopper … but why would you get one of these devices over the above recommendations?

There are also niche assisted braking devices like the Black Diamond ATC-Pilot and the Mammut Smart 2.0, but why would you get one of these when the GriGri is just so much better?

Don’t make belaying more complicated than it needs to be.

To review:

• Get a basic ATC if you are a rank beginner so you can learn how to top-rope belay, lead belay, and rappel.
• After you learn these skills, get one Petzl GriGri and one guide-mode ATC of your choice. These are the only two kinds of belay devices you need.

Happy belaying.

The post The Evening Sends Guide to Choosing Belay Devices appeared first on Evening Sends.

Everyone should climb trad—or at least know how. Proficient trad climbing skills are like having an all-access pass to some of the most badass and iconic cliffs in the world, from El Capitan to Howser Tower to all the many amazing smaller but equally challenging, exposed, and inspiring trad crags around the world.

I started climbing trad at the Gunks in New York when I was in high school. Even though I’ve risen through the sport climbing ranks and don’t bat an eye at projecting a 5.13 sport route, part of me will always be afraid of any “5.9+” at Gunks.

No matter how strong you get, 5.10 trad is always going to be challenging. Doing it well is a mark of proficiency.

Trad climbing is all about the gear. From cams to carabiners, nuts to nut tools, there are so many options out there that it’s hard to know where to even begin.

There’s also the question of how much gear you actually need to get started. It’s common to see beginners racked to the teats with “kit,” as they call trad pro in the U.K. It’s also funny to see top-end climbers like Tommy Caldwell or Emily Harrington 25 pitches up El Capitan free climbing with nothing more than a quickdraw and a #8 nut on their harness. As you start out, you’ll probably want a bit more gear than that!

This guide will help navigate the decision-making process of putting together a basic “single rack” for trad climbing. With this kit, you should be able to show up at most trad crags and have enough gear to get up most routes.

Building the Rack

A “single rack” is a generic, blanket term that you’ll often read in guidebook/topo descriptions. Generally, a “single rack” refers to a single set of cams, nuts, carabiners, quickdraws and slings, as well as a number of other relevant items. A “double rack,” as you might surmise, means that you will have two of each cam / nut size—as well as all the other kit.

When you’re starting out, you don’t need to splurge on double rack, as cams are expensive, and especially if you’re climbing with other people who also have their own single racks.

Expect to shell out at least $1,500 to get going. Fortunately, this gear lasts a really long time.

Of course, every trad crag is different. For most routes in the Gunks, you’d almost never need a piece larger than a #3 Black Diamond C4, while if you’re climbing in Yosemite you’d probably want a few #3s.

Below are some straightforward recommendations for what you need—and probably don’t need. Like all things Evening Sends, I’m trying to not be too coy and give you the quick, direct, straightforward purchasing advice based on my own experiences. Lots of people will have different opinions, so if you don’t like what I have to say here, find another blog that confirms your world view.

Passive Pro:

Passive pro refers to a piece of gear that doesn’t have moving parts. Nuts, “Stoppers,” hexes, RPs, and other “chocks” are all categorized as passive pro. Essentially, these pieces of gear are all chunks of metal of various sizes, shapes, and materials, which are placed and “set” in constricting cracks with a simple tug on the cable.

The pros of passive pro include that it’s cheap, light, and easy to learn how to place. Personally, I love nuts. They can fit where nothing else will, and because they’re so cheap, it’s no big deal if you have to leave a few behind to bail.

One downside to passive pro is that it can be difficult for the second climber to remove. This is why a nut tool is important. A nut tool helps you remove stuck gear. Each climber should carry their own nut tool, as opposed to sharing one with your partner, because otherwise you’ll never remember to give it to the second at the belay. The Black Diamond Wiregate Nut Tool comes with a built-in carabiner for easy racking on your harness.

Nuts

The “standard” nut is made of aluminum alloy and has a curved surface and slightly tapered shape that helps the nut maximize contact with the sides of the crack. Every trad rack begins with a single set of standard nuts—usually around 10 to 14 pieces that cover a variety of small sizes. I recommend either Black Diamond Stoppers or DMM Wallnuts.

Black Diamond Stoppers

• This is a pretty standard set of nuts—in the right range of sizes.
• Colored pieces help you choose the right piece quickly.
• Unlike in this photograph, nuts should always be racked on a carabiner with a “key lock” carabiner design.

Where to buy: Backcountry.com, Black Diamond, REI.

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DMM Wallnuts

• Larger sizes are slightly softer to better bite in placements
• Tapered face and sides place better in cracks
• Color-coordinated sizing for finding the right piece faster

Where to Buy: Backcountry, REI.

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RPs / Micronuts / Offsets

Micro-nuts, as you might expect, are smaller nuts. They aren’t quite as strong as standard nuts, but they’re certainly strong enough to hold some if not most climbing falls. Think of micro-nuts as a last resort—you need a piece of gear and the only option is the tiniest crack where only a micro-nut fits.

Certain rock types / crags lend themselves to micro-nuts more than others. If you’re only interested in moderate crack climbing in the desert or Yosemite, you probably don’t need a set of micro-nuts. Places such as the Gunks, Seneca, Arapiles, and most places in the U.K. If you climb in one of these places, you certainly will want one or even two sets of these little guys.

The first brand of commercially available micro-nuts were called RPs after their inventor Roland Pauligk. “RP” remains a nominal name for any kind of small nut, usually made out of a softer metal, such as brass, which deforms under a shock load and “bites” into the rock better.

Offset nuts are tapered both from top to bottom and front to back. Offset nuts work really well in any kind of flaring crack, especially the pin scarred granite of Yosemite.

Here are two recommendations in this category.

DMM Peenuts

• Set of five micro-sized stoppers for trad climbing
• Offset shape fits flared and irregular-shaped cracks
• Large surface area dissipates forces in fragile rock better
• Color-coded for ease of use

Where to buy: Backcountry, REI.

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DMM I.M.P. Nut Set

• Immaculate Marginal Protection Nut Set, aka I.M.P., boasts full strength ratings at low weights thanks to larger cables.
• The smallest #1, for example, comes in at a 4kN rating, while most nuts of this size are only 2kN.
• Color-coded wires.
• Brass

Where to buy: Backcountry,

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Hexes

I’m convinced that the only people who buy hexes are rank beginners who read internet forums that convince them that hexes are a budget alternative to throwing down for a full rack of cams. For the cost one cam, you can get a whole rack of these six-sided “cow bells.”

I was once that person who opted to get hexes because I didn’t have enough money to buy cams. And technically they work. They’re kind of like large nuts, with many different options for placements. Unless you’re a cutting-edge light-and-fast alpinist weight-weenie, I can’t recommend anyone actually buy hexes in the lord’s year of 2021. Just put your money toward cams.

But if you must, I recommend these hexes over the others.

DMM Torque Nuts

• Unique shape can be placed multiple ways
• Extendible slings save weight and reduce rope drag
• Color coded to make it easy to know what size you’re grabbing

Where to buy: Backcountry, Amazon.

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TriCams

I’d love to disparage TriCams with the same disdain that I just reserved for hexes. And there is some truth to the idea that you just shouldn’t bother with these weird, niche pieces and just get yourself some cams. But as a former Gunks climber, I have a special place in my heart for TriCams, especially the pink TriCam. These odd-shaped nuts that can be placed in cracks in either “passive” or “active” configurations are pretty impressive feats of engineering and simplicity. Will TriCams replace the need for a rack of cams? No. But I won’t look down on anyone who has a couple of these on their harness, especially the pink one.

CAMP TriCams

• Gear that “fits where nothing else seems to fit.”
• Passive and active placements.
• Dyneema slings provide higher strength than nylon in wet conditions and reduce weight

Where to buy: Backcountry, REI.

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Camming Devices

Camming devices, aka “cams,” aka “spring-loaded camming devices” (SLCD), are the meat-and-potatoes of every trad-climbing rack. Cams are easy to place, easy to clean, and when placed properly in good rock are as bomber as it gets.

The companies that make cams are: Black Diamond, DMM, Fixe, Metolius, Totem, Trango, and Wild Country. I prefer Black Diamond cams above all the others, with Metolius and Totem also getting a solid recommendation. The only brand of camming devices that I would not recommend is Trango.

Aside from the obvious fact that cams come in many different sizes, there are other features that distinguish one kind of cam from another.

Number of lobes: Cams have either four or three cam lobes. Four-lobe cams are much more stable, and in general I prefer this design. Three-cam units (aka “TCUs”) are made to reduce the width of the cam—one less lobe means it can fit into narrower / tighter placements. However, there are small four-cam unit single-stem designs that are just as narrow as TCUs, if not narrower. Although I’ve placed TCUs many times, I don’t carry them on my rack anymore.

Stem design: Cams have either a single-stem or U-stem design. (Totem cams have their own weird stem design going on that defies categorization.) Old Wild Country Friends used to have rigid stems, meaning the stem couldn’t bend and flex, but nowadays all cams have flexible stems. There are pros and cons to each stem design. I prefer single-stem cams but a lot of people love U-stem cams because they like the ergonomics.

Number of axles: The axel is the metal rod that runs through the cam lobes, around which the cam lobes pivot. For decades, Black Diamond had the patent on the dual axel design, but now it’s open source and many other companies have leveraged the dual axel design to make their own cams. A dual axel cam has far more range than single axel designs, meaning that one cam can fit into a wider range of sizes. It also makes it less likely to get stuck.

Offset cams: Offsets cams feature two cam lobes of a different size than the other two lobes. Like offset nuts, this creates a taper from front to back of the cam head that allows the unit to be placed in cracks that aren’t uniform in size. People seem to think off-sets are “just for pin scars,” but this isn’t really true. Offsets don’t make a ton of sense in places like Indian Creek where the cracks are freakishly uniform in size, but just about everywhere else, where rock isn’t uniform, offsets are an under-appreciated and over-looked piece of gear that is really useful in securing safer placements than you might otherwise get with normal cams.

Below I’m going to give specific recommendations for which cams I think you should purchase. All of these recommendations are Black Diamond cams. Again, this is just my preference—but it’s also what most people use, too, which makes rack sharing and climbing with new people go smoother.

Black Diamond Ultralights

Start with a full set of BD Ultralight cams, from .4 to 4. The Ultralights are superior to the corresponding BD C4s because they are 25% lighter and work just as well. Yes, they’re more expensive than the C4s. A full rack of Ultralights will run you around $760, while the same rack of C4s only costs around $500. The weight savings, though, is worth the extra investment, in my opinion, especially as you expand your rack to a double or triple set. You really feel it when you climb, and it’s better to be lighter when you climb!

Another option is to get C4s in the smaller sizes, and then purchase Ultralights in the larger sizes (2 and up), as this is where you’ll really notice the weight savings.

Regardless of whether you choose C4s or Ultralights, this range of sizes is going to be the real backbone of your trad rack.

Where to buy: Backcountry, Black Diamond, REI.

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Black Diamond Z4 and Z4 offsets

I’d suggest supplementing your rack of Ultralights with one .3 Z4 cam, and a rack of the Z4 offsets—the four largest sizes and not the smallest one, which you probably don’t need. These offset pieces are really handy and give you the option of achieving a secure placement in irregular cracks, which is especially important in the smallest sizes.

Just a word about the Z4s in general. I love how rigid (yet still flexible) these stems are. Sometimes small cams can get kind of floppy, which makes them hard to place, especially when you’re pumped. The Z4s are solid. I also appreciate the engineering that went into making their head sizes so narrow.

Where to buy: Backcountry, Black Diamond, REI.

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Racking Carabiners

All of this gear will need to be clipped to carabiners. You could write another 15,000 words on racking advice and techniques, but to try to keep it simple, I suggest the following: Each cam gets its own lightweight wiregate carabiner—in other words, don’t even think of putting more than one cam on a single carabiner.

Each “set” of nuts can be racked on a single carabiner. I wouldn’t rack more than 12 nuts on a carabiner. If I’m bringing more than 12, I’d divide them up—larger nuts on one carabiner, smaller nuts on another. With racking nuts, just make sure you use a “key lock” style carabiner—such as the DMM Shadow—so that the nut’s wire doesn’t get caught on the carabiner nose.

I like how Black Diamond anodized a set of racking carabiners to be the same color as cams. So red cams get red carabiners. You don’t have to be this coordinated, but if you’re starting out from scratch, why not?

Quickdraws, Slings, and Free Carabiners

In addition to the rock protection above, of course you’ll also need around 6 to 8 quickdraws, a bunch of shoulder length slings, and a bunch of single carabiners.

For trad climbing, I prefer to bring the lightest possible gear in these categories—so long as it’s not so light that it’s hard to use (think: tiny, “toy”-sized carabiners that are just pointlessly hard to clip and can’t even take a clove hitch).

While I love big, heavy, durable quickdraws with nylon slings and key-lock carabiners for sport climbing, for trad climbing I only use super light quickdraws. I also look for quickdraws with longer slings since, generally, that additional length is nice for managing rope drag.

Again, I always defer to DMM for my carabiners, since I think they make the best ones. But there are a lot of options in this category so shop around to find what looks best to you.

DMM Chimera Set

• Lightweight ‘draws strike the ideal balance between strength and weight
• Dynatech slings are lightweight yet durable for long-term use
• I-beam construction trims weight from each carabiner
• Chimera carabiners with smooth nose to reduce snagging on rope and gear

Where to buy: Backcountry

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For slings, aka sewn runners, your options come down to material and size. Slings are either made of nylon or Dyneema/Dynex. There are some geeky, technical difference between the two materials that eventually you’ll want to understand, but for right now, I suggest five or so “shoulder-length” (60cm) slings, and two or three “double-length” (120cm) slings. I suggest Mammut Contact slings, which are super light and reliably strong. When you rack these, sling them across your chest and clip one carabiner to each sling, as well as a few free carabiners that stay on the back of your harness.

I’ll have to write a separate article on what you’ll need for your anchor-building kit, as there are pros and cons to cordelettes and all the other goofy single-purpose items you can purchase for building anchors. My personal philosophy on anchors is that you can use everything described in this article—as well as two extra locking carabiners, and the rope—to build solid anchors without the hassle of cordelettes. But that’s a separate article.

Summary Checklist

• 1 nut tool
• 1 set of large nuts
• 1 set of micro / offset nuts
• 1 set of Black Diamond Ultralight Cams .4-4
• 1 .3 Z4
• 4 Z4 offsets (minus the smallest one)
• Racking carabiners — one per cam (11 total) as well as some 2 key-lock carabiners for racking nuts
• 6 lightweight quickdraws
• 5 or 6 60cm sewn slings, 2 or 3 120cm sewn slings
• 2 Locking Carabiners for anchors

The post The Evening Sends Guide to Building Your First Trad Rack appeared first on Evening Sends.