Up and Free

Dancer in the dark

2012-01-27T22:45:00.002+01:00

Fanatics in Montserrat

2012-01-19T22:12:00.002+01:00

Fanaticism does not die at Montserrat during winter days - while waiting for the new guide for Montserrat Sur from Luichy, who himself is lurking around the conglomerate needles these days, the team is trying Lourdes - and I take pictures:

Pedro en Lourdes

Pedro en Lourdes 2

Uri en Lourdes

Uri en Lourdes 2

and finally myself, lost in the ocean of Sprint, picture by Pedro...

Escalade au feminin

2012-01-17T22:45:00.001+01:00

During these cold winter times, when the new Ondra movie is just out, it has been interesting for me to watch the old feature on Isabelle Patissier, a French climber, one of the first women to climb 8a, and then 8b, who became famous during her competition in WorldCups, especially when being a rival of the not less famous Lynn Hill.

Interesting old times, when French brought climbing and aesthetics as close together as they would ever come to date, reminding one of Patrick Edlinger and pink lycra, but - au feminin. Without further due, here is Isabelle, a little surreal, climbing bambou...and other media:

Not bad for a movie already 20 years old...More update on Isabelle's life for Spanish readers here and French ones here...

Climbing for life...

2012-01-15T22:35:00.001+01:00

Another Catalan artist, Marc Parrot, that reminds me of Da Silva with his appearance if not his optimism...

How to look for a yeti

2012-01-14T09:01:00.001+01:00

To Jacques Prevert

First find a mountain, so beautiful, so steep, so incredibly cold and full of morning sun, reflected by the glaze of the crust on the top of the serracs. Then choose the highest point you can see, as high as you can aim at, as rocky and inaccessible as any point on earth. Look at it for a long long while, until it becomes amorphous, deformed, jagged and unreal. Only then show it with a pointed finger to a friend. There, on the top, in an invisible cave, a yeti lies. Curled into a fetal position, his beard running all the way to the glassy door, dreaming one black and infinite dream. Only then can you imagine the yeti, can you help him in your mind to fight the loneliness, the sheer cold and emptiness of that cave, abandoned by the generations of cosmonauts and time travelers, forgotten by journalists and sleepy poets, forsaken by scared parents, and only glimpsed by a few unsocialized children. Only then can you start to draft a plan for a heavy weight expedition that will go and rescue the dreaming yeti, that will wake him up from his sweet slumber, that will remind him of his loneliness, of the infinite sadness of being, the infinite joy of dreaming. He will hate you forever, for the centuries to come, and the decades to go. And then he will turn his head and go back to sleep and dream of a real expedition coming to his rescue. Only then will you finally become a figment of his imagination, and happily dissolve in the morning sunshine of another day on the infinite blue mountain.

Photo shoot: Pedro on Lourdes

2012-01-10T23:01:00.000+01:00

Today was another inspirational day at Montserrat, spent figuring out more details on the project (Sprint Final), and shooting pictures of Pedro, oh so close to sending Lourdes, a mythical 50-meter monster 8b on Agulla Fina...Just a little bit more effort for Pedro, and maybe it will go on Thursday. To figure out where Pedro is, look for the shadow on the left wall, then look for the climber :)

Pedro starting the long journey up...

Almost there...

And done!...

By the way, anyone knows what route goes in the center of the Agulla - there are two long fixed draws, down low, and just below the prominent hole in the middle of the sunny face (Poco Loco is NOT it, as it is just to the right of Lourdes, and there are no fixed slings (or many bolts for that matter) on that one...)???

Climbing for the New Year

2012-01-06T14:33:00.002+01:00

Jenny enjoying a rest with incredible clouds all around the Raco

Mystic place, a bluish symphony sculpted in air and stone, to be enjoyed alone or in good company, once a year, or without moderation. Catalunya boasts many incredible places, more or less known, more or less visited by the hoards of freedom-seeking, nature-inspired, seldom-washed, and hairy warriors of the rock. It is still as incredible to be part of one of these places, to enjoy the solitude, to listen to the howling wind, to be burnt by the unrelenting sun, to savor the mad exposure, and to abandon the body to the pleasure of the movement on infinite lines of conglomerate towers, as the first time ever on the rocks.

The first time I heard this same call of the wild was around 2003, during that unforgettable hike in Zion, getting soaking wet on the descent of the Angels' Landing hike, and spotting a couple of aid climbers on the opposite wall. Hanging in the air, moving all their belongings along, like snails, but on a vertical terrain. Lizards of the infinite, escaping it all, them and the effort, them and the nature. Eye-opening experience for me, making me realize that yes, other things were possible, anything was doable for the life, opened like a wide door at the time, inviting exploration and curiosity. Some water has flown past since the day, maybe a lot, maybe not that much.

I was already here once, in this other sacred place, in 2010, what feels like infinitely long time ago, with Sergi, Monste, Pau, and company. Sergi snapped a picture of me, toproping what then seemed impossibly difficult 7b+, appropriately called Llarg. I kept this secret spot of Montsant in a corner of my memory, based on the image of a sea of rock, bathed by the evening sun. More water had to pass by, but here I was, two years later again, back to the place, with a very different company, but with as much motivation and inspiration. Having learnt a thing or two about climbing, now I was leading instead of top roping. Maybe not getting to the chains of them all, maybe still as scared in my intestines as ever. Maybe just a little bit more free. Definitely going up.

Myself leading Curt, 7b+, Raco de Missa, pictures by Jonas

May we all come back to old places, share warm memories, but also grow as climbers and humans in the new year, discovering more new places and creating new memories, following the sun along the sunflowers for centuries without end...Thanks for belays, pictures, and great company to share the climbing with to Uri, Jonas, Jenny, and Jaume.

My aging , more reflective self immortalized by Jonas...http://www.flickr.com/photos/wiklund/

Maybe not

2012-01-03T23:10:00.000+01:00

There's a dream that I see, I pray it can be

Look cross the land, shake this land
A wish or a command
Dream that I see, don't kill it, it's free
You're just a man, you get what you can

We all do what we can
So we can do just one more thing
We can all be free
Maybe not in words
Maybe not with a look
But with your mind

Listen to me, don't walk that street
There's always an end to it
Come and be free, you know who I am
We're just living people

We won't have a thing
So we got nothing to lose
We can all be free
Maybe not with words
Maybe not with a look
But with your mind

You've got to choose a wish or command
At the turn of the tide, is withering thee
Remember one thing, the dream you can see
Pray to be, shake this land

We all do what we can
So we can do just one more thing
We won't have a thing
So we've got nothing to lose
We can all be free
Maybe not with words
Maybe not with a look
But with your mind

But with your mind

Inspiration for the new year

2011-12-24T10:51:00.000+01:00

This week I had the pleasure to meet the cameraman (thanks, Silvi!!!), while following the 18-hour ascent of Mirall Impenetrable on Aeri wall of Montserrat by Pelut and Jordi, during one of the coldest days (and nights) of the year on the mountain. Big olé for the climbers - and the courageous family support at the base.

While we wait for the Mirall video, here is one of the older productions by Canyi:

Average life

2011-12-19T21:50:00.000+01:00

Science says humans usually over-estimate their capabilities compared to others - it is habitual to find 90% of people believing they are "above average", a fact defying the mathematical idea of an average itself. The problem with this kind of bias is that it becomes difficult to trust yourself. So how can we know if we are special, something everyone would probably want to be, or if we are simply average? From childhood onward, various classification mechanisms are out there to rank us - in school, in sports, at work. We like awards, but we like even more to be the first one on the podium, to be better, to be...above average.

Funny bias this, come to think of it, as it both ruins many pleasures of life and makes things change, innovation appear: over-estimated confidence pushing generals, managers, or scientists ahead with their crazy ideas. Accepting being average, consciously choosing to live an average life, has always been impossibly hard for me. It is not only hard, it is better to say I find the idea of it sad, boring, and not worthwhile to wake up in the morning for. I have been struggling against the average life for as long as I can remember. Always trying to be the best, or at least different, was easy in some fields, much harder in others. Until the day you meet someone better than you the adolescent hope in miracles remains.

But as life goes on its winding trail you repeatedly do meet the real stars - and I have in every field, in those where I thought I excelled, and in those where it was apparent from the beginning that arriving at perfection would be a big challenge to say the least. In those cases, my famed persistence usually took over from the rational me, attempting to make up for the lack of talent with the goat-like determination. Some call this problem the "cult of the light bulb", where the society overall believes in a discourse of a lucky inventor, but in reality most of us mortals have to work very hard and very long to be more than "average".

Where I am going with all of this? It's a kind of an abstruse personal manifesto - although doomed to be average, let's try for the stars. My message for the end of the year - and the beginning of a new one - even though this life of mine will probably turn out average in the end, even though it is full of mistakes, although I stumble and fall more often than not, ho tornaria a fer. I would do it again, all over, with the same passion, determination, and drive, always believing despite painful realities, cold nights, and lonely days, that above-average is attainable.

How to manage a new project?

2011-12-03T17:22:00.001+01:00

I have some experience in climbing what my friends call "long-term", it is not the first or the last (I hope) time I take up a hard project and try to motivate myself to live up to it. This post is part of this self-motivation to continue as so far the project feels somewhat beyond my current level of strength and training (but yes, this is the basic starting point for any project by default).

Starting up the project, Senglar, picture by Juanjo

As a preamble, I think in climbing, like in many other things of life, learning curve is very important. And it is actually living through this learning curve, which becomes transformed and embodied into the project journey, that makes up for all the suffering otherwise involved in projecting. Taking up a hard project is like throwing a dare to the world, and to yourself in particular, a dare, but also a commitment to learn, to improve your climbing skill, to live up to the requirements and the challenge of a rock line. And it is incredible how many challenges 30 meters of rock can conceivably hide.

There are a couple of pre-requisites for working projects: first of all, inspiration. A climb has to have this over-arching inspiring power, that might have to drive you for several weeks, months, or years. For me, the most important part of the project is the aesthetics of the line and the diversity and technicality of the moves. It certainly matters where the project is. If it is to be a long-term love-and-hate affair, it better be close to home, with relatively easy logistics and possible partner options to go there. Next, the route has to have an inspiring name, really! With a little bit of imagination we can make sense of numerous route names to relate some meaning to them. Rush, Discordia, Maugli, or Calladeta motivated me not only because of incredible moves and pure lines, but also because of the names. I had some trouble with Ben Petat, as I did not necessarily find the name mystic or fascinating enough to drool about at night, but the awesomeness of the moves compensated for the name in this particular case.

Second, to work a true long-term project, a lot of persistence is required. Either you have it to begin with, or if not you can work on developing character during a project siege, but it is definitely one of the key ingredients to accomplish a project. Sometimes, during low moments, it might be helpful to hear from your friends encouragements like "Yes, you can do it", but most of the time people will actually tell you that you should change objectives, go somewhere else, try other routes. It is good advice, but it does not help with the persistence part if you do not have enough of it to spill yourself. And only persistence will make you succeed if you are not genetically gifted but rather boast an average ability in sports.

Lastly, specific training for a project is part of what makes the whole formula work out for me in the end. My take on it is to spend 2 weeks training hard for the project in the gym and 2 weeks working the project, in cycles of several months. During the training (planned using tips and tricks from the best, Eva Lopez) I usually use the week-ends to get my frustrations out on different playgrounds and send some easy routes for the ego, and then use the remaining 2 weeks as project-specific training, trying if possible to be on the project every 2nd or 3d day. It is a lot of self-discipline and painful planning required, especially when your friends are keen on going to many other different places and you are stuck in one location for months in a row. But that is the part where inspiration and persistence should help keep you going back to one spot (and yes, sometimes, unfortunately, appear to prefer the "climb" to the people...).

Sticking the crux on the project for the first time, picture by Juanjo

After all this talk and reflection, for me this winter season starts at Senglar, with a new project (appropriately named Sprint Final), trying to break into a new grade (8a+), and becoming once more part of the Montserrat landscape for the months to come. Maybe I should add "announcing it to the world" as one of the mechanisms for project success, but anyway, there we go, same place, new project. Times will tell if I am strong enough to go through the process all over again, if my body can take another grade increase, and if fun can be had in the meantime to compensate at least a little for all the abuse on tendons, muscles, and mind. For the moment, thanks to the faithful belayers - Alex, Joan Maria, Joan, Juanjo, Jordi, Marcelo, and Laia. To be continued.

Bouldering moments at Targassonne

2011-11-21T11:37:00.001+01:00

A beautiful location, a wide valley between snowed-in mountains, sunshine and crisp temperatures - what better place to go to on a day full of rainy forecasts all over Catalunya? A short (but expensive) drive brings one just over the French border, in time to order a true "pain au chocolat" at the Llivia Boulangerie, and hit the warm orange granite running for the gold.

Beautiful scenery of late autumn...

More of the same - Targassonne boulder field with snow in the background

It's been a long while since I bouldered, my most fond memories going back to Fontainebleau. Frozen and cold, it kept us interested and happy for many days, escaping Belgian rock gyms and rainy season. Old times, with old friends, Taz showing off her ankle tatoo while pulling hard on some problem with Scappy in the background, Max and Paolo figuring out the footwork with Dolomite altitude of distinguished Italian mountaineers, Ren trying hard 6cs at Cul de Chien or Sabots, Tim running from one 7a to the next, dynoing up the heart problem, Marc sending 7bs while cheered by Olov. Me never managing to even do a 6a there, falling off many problems, sending a few. Meeting all in the evening to cellebrate with crepes and cidre at the awesome Breton restaurant in the center of the town. Old times, that from far away now seem good again.

I managed to try many boulders in Targassonne as well, falling off most of them, but at least with style:

Falling, all the way...

Trying (without success) one of the more inspiring lines that day...

While I boulder in France again, here is a little video of Ukrainian bouldering scene, in the only climbing location I have actually visited in Ukraine, Dovbushevy skalu sandstone:

Between seasons and worlds

2011-11-13T21:18:00.001+01:00

Miami Beach, Florida

My travels have continued lately, between seasons, among worlds, sadly lacking in one thing - climbing. Life is possible without it, for sure, although it does seem (much) more dull. From autumn, I went all the way back to a pleasant tropical summer in Florida, that reminded me of my high-school exchange times in Fort Pierce and Port St. Lucie there. Florida seemed as commercial and bound on entertaining its balding residents as ever, with poorer strata of population having as difficult a time as ever making a living there. It was somewhat funny for me to inadvertently say "hola" to the housekeeping services in hotels, and actually a pleasure to be able to understand Spanish and notice the Latin American accents. Only a couple of years ago, this language was strange to me, and there we go, the learning machine of human brain has proved its utility once again, and now in the airport I can understand another percentage of travel population, not mentioning my ongoing efforts at integrating Catalunya one way or another.

Robert Moses State Park, Long Island, New York

A quick change of climate brought me to another island, from Miami Beach to Long Island. Same ocean, different set-up. Two more relaxed days admiring the incredible autumn colors, reminding me of other autumns in New England, a different, but also past period of my life. Maybe nearing 30 forces more reflection, or simply a bigger collection of memories is available to draw upon during long solitary evenings.

Oh well, after this short North American break, time to jump back into the (rainy???) Barcelona again, and hopefully more time for climbing will emerge among the clouds when the humidity goes up, and the sunshine comes back down to us...

Beautiful Karpatu

2011-11-01T22:58:00.003+01:00

Empty, cold, or full and beautiful? There, forever, embodying the souls of those who are not anymore, to be embedded into the souls of those who will be. My first mountains, my mountains, always to be, always to stay, even when I leave, dissolve, and disappear without a trace. Beautiful Karpatu. Every tree there, every rock, every bend in the road has its own memory, but also mine, my mother's, my grandmother's, their grandmother's. First mountains, the most beautiful? Full of meaning, full of unbelievable lightness and sadness of being. Although far, your image stays with me, in all seasons, in all colors, in all gloomy details of memories to fade, of future not to be.

The song my mother used to sing so long ago, in another life, in an incredible voice of hers I could never dream to master, those happy days, rare memories of happy days not to last. Nostalgia rarely destroys my pragmatism and love of life anywhere on this beautiful and endless planet of ours. Only Karpatu make me tick, sometimes, stop, remember, wonder "what if", and shed a tear or two when listening to Gutsulka Ksenia in repeat mode. No "what ifs" anymore, fewer and fewer reasons to come back - although not that many to go forward either. Ja tobi na trembiti, lush odnij v tsilim sviti, rozkajy pro lybov...

First Desnivel article - ascent of Bongo Bar

2011-10-27T15:47:00.006+02:00

Here is a read for a rainy day for you: my first article ever, published in Desnivel of the next month, November 2011, pages 76-80. Yes, I am proud, the world has finally seen my name in print! Thanks to Eva and Jorge for the comments and revisions of my work, and to Desnivel for accepting and editing it. All the errors certainly remain my own. For those of you who do not want to invest into a copy of Desnivel, here goes the text, however you have to buy the magazine to check out the pictures of the team by Paul Diffley from Hot Arches Production! For more English-language information about the ascent, route description, and grading check my older post here and Dave's post here.

" Que nunca falte una montaña en tus sueños ".

Bájame una estrella (Miriam García Pascual)

Dave leading 2nd pitch, 7b+, picture by Paul

Un día en el mundo surgió una montaña, y la llamaron “Hombre Azul”,o Blåmann, en el idioma de la fría tierra del norte. La montaña, comosuelen ser las montañas, siguió un camino lento de evolución, o más bien dedescomposición…desde hace años, siglos, o milenios. Cada día, su sombrase volcaba hacia el valle, abajo, precipitándose sobre las rocas, siguiendo porel prado de hierba, el lago, la pedrera, el pequeño bosque, superando entoncesel fiordo, atravesándolo con ritmo, y al final, cada día, alcanzando lastierras del otro lado.

Un día, aparecieron pequeños puntitos negros abajo, siguiendo suscuestas con los ojos abiertos y sus almas llenas de sueños. Otro día, unbarco flotando en el azul impermeable del fiordo acarició su retrato y continuósu camino. Así, de siglo en siglo, la montaña permanecía, indiferente ymajestuosa, bautizada como “Hombre Azul” por los pequeños puntitos, sin nombrepara el universo, aunque llena de consciencia de sí misma, de su belleza y desu infinita tristeza.

Hasta el día que aparecieron los escaladores. Vinieron encordadas…dos, tres, cuatro… a pasear por su verticalidad, a intentar superar lagravedad que sus paredes albergaban, a recorrer cada rincón de la piel delHombre Azul. ¿Qué les motivaba? ¿Qué o quién les empujaba haciaallí? Sólo los cuervos y alguna ardilla merodeaban por estos lugaresfríos y húmedos, la mayoría del tiempo, cubiertos de oscuridad, nieveagotadora, o densa niebla, y casi siempre sin esperanza de mejora. Losescaladores persistían en su busca surrealista de retos, de superacionesutópicas, de logros sin importancia, de fotos borrosas, y de sonrisas cansadasen las cimas siempre nubladas.

“¿Es hoy el día?” Pensamos los dos, subiendo sin hablar, sin pronunciar nuestras dudasexistenciales, sin dar lugar a los miedos escondidos, a las traviesas jugadasde fisuras mojadas, de rocas afiladas, de bidedos húmedos y piedrassueltas. Seguimos callados, con la respiración controlada, laaproximación ya conocida: arriba está el bosque, el campo de arándanos, lapedrera, un poco de nieve, la cuerda fija…

Es una mañana ya fría, las primeras señales del otoño en el aireno nos dejan relajarnos. Decisiones. Siempre hay que tomar decisiones enescalada. Siempre con consecuencias, y siempre con resultado incierto debido alas pocas variables controlables que intentamos gestionar. ¿Empezar lavía o darse por superado? ¿Seguir hacia arriba o abandonar? ¿Atreverse a hacer el paso, aceptando la posibilidad de la caída, o dejar alcompañero probarlo, bajando con la derrota a tus espaldas? Ya que estamosaquí, la primera decisión es fácil : empezamos. Ya veremos cómo está lapared después de las últimas lluvias.

Habíamos perdido una semana de buen tiempo en fijar las cuerdas,en analizar los movimientos, en acarrear el material arriba y abajo, enplanificar la logística de la filmación en vídeo, de la cámara, de subir contres personas… Al cabo de la primera semana decidimos no continuar, erademasiado peligroso, la vía demasiado difícil y la logística demasiadocompleja. El largo clave, que parecía 8ª, tenía piedras sueltas y rocasafiladas que podrían cortar la cuerda del segundo en caso de caída. Además tenia una travesía, con muchodesplome y pocas posibilidades de rapelar si hubiera problemas o mal tiempo enla segunda parte de la vía.

Así que pasamos unos días haciendo escalada deportiva en la islacon la cabeza todavía puesta en nuestro sueño imposible. Pero después de las primeras lluvias, conlas condiciones ya bastante inestables, la vía, como una rata pequeña ydentona, sigue en mi imaginación… Hace ruido por la mañana, no deja dormir porla noche, mastica trocitos del alma o del estomago. Aún estamos aquí, nosquedan algunos días antes de marcharnos. “Si no este año... ¿será elsiguiente?” , “Si no ahora, ¿nunca?” Los humanos, esos pequeñospuntitos negros, somos así. Siempreintentando, siempre con una idea que inspira a la acción, que les saca de lacama, que les da fuerza para traspasar el infinito, para luchar contra elaburrimiento, la ansiedad, y la brevedad de la existencia, aunque sea una ideatan fugaz e inútil como subir una montaña.

¿Hacemos el intento nosotros dos, en estilo alpino, con doscuerdas finas, un juego de friends y una pequeña mochila? Se lo propongo a Dave. El pronóstico del tiempo es bueno ytenemos la suerte de estar aquí, de poder intentarlo. Si no llegamos a la cimano pasa nada, al menos sabremos algo más, habremos visto el límite, habremospasado unos momento más en la verticalidad, con la montaña, con nuestros miedosy soledades. Haremos las paces provisionales con la rata glotona dedentro. Al menos lo habremos intentado.

El primer largo se hace eterno. Dave se queja de lo mojada queestá la bavaresa clave, pero llega finalmente a la reunión. Es mi turno desubir. La mochila pesa. Díasatrás hice los dos primeros largos de segunda, a vista, y me gustaron mucho,hasta los encontré muy buenos, de los mejores que he hecho nunca en una víalarga, en una fría cara norte como ésta…. Hoy los primeros pasos me estáncostando ya demasiado, siento todo el peso de la mochila, de mis manos y de mispies llenos de gravedad, de miedo, de tristeza, cansados de tantos días de escalar, hacer metros y kilómetros debavaresas. De caminar, de caminar aún más. ¿Seguimos? Sí,adelante, ya que estamos aquí, implicados con esta ascensión, a ver qué tal eltercer largo, el verdadero crux de la vía.

Dave acaba rápido el segundo largo. Este largo también está unpoco mojado, pero aún es posible. Dave empieza el tercero, la clave, conmás dudas. Se queja de que no seacuerda ni de los pasos saliendo de la reunión. Pero rápidamente se meteen el juego y empieza a “apretar” (es una palabra divertida, que aprendí enrelación a la escalada cuando vine en España, y que me sigue gustando porquetransmite muy bien las emociones y gestos implicados). El primer diedronegro, llamado “lagrimas negras” porque está mojado la mayoría del año, sepresenta muy difícil. Es ya 7c,sostenido con una salida del techo en dinámico, y protegido con viejos pitones. Después viene un descanso en unos bloques enormes inestables de más de 100kilos, moviéndose pero empotrados allí, para algunos años más. Con decisión,Dave empieza el paso clave de la vía, una secuencia a bloque que sube el gradodel largo a 8a. Primero un techo que se pasa por la izquierda, después un bidedo malo para subir mucho lospies y llegar a un descanso improvisado debajo de otro techo. Y una última salida en bavaresa, subiendo ybajando los pies, con un friend rojo de Black Diamond clave para lograr superarel paso. Y ya está!!! Dave está gritando en la reunión. Lo hizo,¡increíble!, ¡ya no hay vuelta atrás! Dave lo ha dado todo. Aunque mecuesta mucho subir, al llegar a la reunión improviso una sonrisa enorme eintento transmitir todo mi entusiasmo a Dave. Sólo nos queda un largo de 7c con los primeros 10 metros complicados, yel resto de la vía es ya mucho más fácil.

Seguimos ascendiendo, siempre hacia arriba, buscando el camino,asustados por un “base jumper” que pasa volando en menos de un segundo porencima de nuestras cabezas y aterrizaabajo. Al final me atrevo a probar unlargo de primera. Sólo escalo 20 metros de 6c, y hago reunión en unarepisa intermedia, sin arriesgarme a hacer la travesía evidente sin ningunaprotección. El sol acogedor, que baña la cara norte a las ocho de latarde en el verano ártico, me dice que no pasa nada, que ya “apretaré” otrodía, haciendo deportiva en la roca caliente de mi nueva tierra natal, Cataluñala imprescindible, Cataluña la salvaje. Dave acaba rápido mi largo, conmovimientos acerca de 7ª, que ya casi apenas repito de lo cansada queestoy. Pero ya no queda nada, el último largo pasa rápido, y en la cimael equipo filma el final triunfante. No tengo fuerzas ni para construiruna sonrisa digna para la foto de la cima. Gasto los restos de mi energíaconcentrada en devorar la última barrita para recargar las pilas. Se hace denoche.

Nos espera la larga ymonótona bajada hacia el coche, la vuelta, y la comida festiva de pasta a medianoche. Cansados, nos tumbamos en las camas. Otra cima. Otravía. ¿Hemos llegado? ¿Qué hemos alcanzado? ¿Nada? ¿Todo? Los cuervos siguen dando vueltas arriba, la ardilla seprepara para otro invierno, la montaña ni se acuerda de nuestro paso, eterna ensu belleza y su infinita tristeza. Nosotros, tan humanos, llenos deorgullo, imágenes y vídeos, nos vamos a nuestras casas dispersas por el mundo,entre Escocia, Guernesey, Wales, y España.

Raco del Segre and other stories

2011-10-24T21:20:00.002+02:00

An interesting week-end for me, meeting old friends, making new ones. Saturday I finally accepted Albert's invitation to check out a new sector, called Raco del Segre, located between Alos de Balaguer and the Camarasa dam. Beautiful (although dusty) ride through the autumn colors brings one into this calm valley, away from the worries and struggles of the dull and nasty world outside.

Below myself attempting (without success) Risc de Cagades, supposedly 7b+ (hard), as seen in the late light by our talented local photograper, Pete O'Donovan. He is actually another British immigrant and lover of Catalan landscape, as well as one of the developers of the crag I had finally the pleasure of meeting in person (and with a camera in hand!). The name of the route is, selon Pete, "a play on words in reference to all the 'Risc de Caigudes' signposts the Medi-Ambient have been placing on the walking paths", and it was the best route I tried on the wall.

Sunday I spent with another old old friend, Alex, and his girlfriend Jenia, whom I showed around the cloudy and misty (and then rainy) Montserrat. Alex has basically taught me most things about climbing as well as mountaineering, and it was an interesting experience for me to climb with him again, showing off the newly gained strength on the warm Mediterranean rocks (this time without dire consequences). I still remember seeing his pictures of glacier travel in Alaska, with that incredible blue one gets only from high mountain lakes, the strange white and grey shapes of summer glacier, the tired but happy faces of the alpinists. What a long way since those days, when something made me tick, something made me know inside I wanted to be part of it all, I should try it out, be there, be that tired climber so close and simultaneously always so far away from that illusive summit.

There are people in one's life who stand out, who inspire, who leave a trace. Those are also the most dangerous people that have the ability to hurt you the most, to make you want to run for cover, disappear behind the radiator, and just spend the whole day crying. I have been fortunate to meet a couple of people like this, I have been inspired by them at several stages of my life, I have made my mistakes with them. Those people made me change, made me learn, take the next step, evolve on my own yellow winding road, and for that I remain grateful. With time and distance we attempt to make better sense of the events, we become our own characters of a novel, players of a game, actors of a play. Despite the circularity, the surrealism, the egoism, and unending failures, we keep learning something, a little tiny bit more. And with these small things, we change, and surprise ourselves, surprise the others as well, we build our own puzzle of a life.

Maybe without Alex I would never had engaged with climbing so deeply, so seriously, so personally. Maybe many things would not had happened the way they did since in my life. But they have, am I the wiser for it? Most probably not, but now climbing has been embedded into my soul, I have made it part of myself, I have made my choices consistent with it, I have left behind many other things, things I sometimes regret during sleepless nights, things I sometimes think I might not even care about were it not for the instinct and the genetic programming we all have been played the trick with...Let the construction of life continue for whatever time is left, let me be surprised again, let the circle turn.

Two videos, two lives...

2011-10-14T20:46:00.000+02:00

There are the stars, and there are other climbers, so many other climbers. And there are those "putos amos", the ones who inspire, who make us dream, who make us close our eyes and think again, imagine the impossible, believe in the unbelievable. Or not think, but relax, jump up, forget the fear, do the move, just try it for the hack of it. Experiment with the unbearable lightness of being, with the gravity or ingravity, with moments, with time, with life: maybe anything is possible? Maybe we just simply can?..

One of them, Novato, I do not have the pleasure to know personally, but I have seen him several times in Rodellar, have noticed his smile, his kind eyes. And have felt at home. Despite the hard moves, the intimidating overhangs and tufas, Novato made the place seem human, possible, kind. Thank you for being there, for making us come home sometimes, for inspiring us all.

Novato en Botanics - Rodellar 2010 from Christian Checa on Vimeo.

I have had the pleasure to climb with Txema several times, and it has always been that, pure pleasure of spending moments of this life, so precious sometimes, so interesting and useful. Seeing Txema climb makes one remember the origins of sport climbing here in Spain, and realize that style, rhythm, and flow matter as much as competence and pure power.

Two videos, two lives, two climbers. Let us all climb and get inspired, many years more.

Doctor, doctor, que em passa?

2011-10-13T16:30:00.004+02:00

View down the Terradets gorge from up high on the route

What is my problem, doctor? Maybe too much sport climbing for once? To change perspectives, get a little bit of air underneath my tired body, following Dani's push for long hard routes, I succumb again. This time to this wonder, called Doctor, doctor, que em passa? As some engagingly comment, one of the more beautiful routes in Terradets, although maybe not recommended at least before the end of October because of sun exposure and the high temperatures persisting around this year.

Dani starting the hardest, 4th pitch, 7b, in the baking sun

The route starts with bad rock and a not very memorable 6a pitch, maybe except for the dirt shower out of the uninspiring dihedral cracks at the top. It leads up to the real business of a slightly overhanging 6c to protect entirely with friends, another 6c+ that starts with a tricky thin dihedral straight after loose blocks, there specifically to de-concentrate a scared leader with too many friends on the harness and too many scared feelings behind the helmet-rim like myself. Thankfully, the following traverse is more impressive than difficult, despite more loose rock at the exit. Next, three shiny bolts through slightly overhanging terrain lead to the happy anchor. And there it goes, time for the crux: a bolted 7b that starts hard immediately off the belay. The first three clips are the hardest, with an easier 7aish terrain traversing to the next anchor.

And Dani not smiling anymore...

Neither of us was able to onsight the crux, and we happily put it off as the fault of high temperatures, our tiredness, and overall lack of motivation to pull hard anymore after too much sport climbing the day before. Despite this counter-time, I highly enjoyed the rest of the route, especially the 5th pitch, bolted with "allegria", and becoming pumpy towards the end. One of the best pitches in Terradets for me, indeed. The following 7a was very different, much more technical and complicated, I was about to fall off several times seconding, and Dani's ability shone through as he pushed on to onsight this one, now finally in the shade. The last pitch had an "ufff" moment to get to the first bolt, especially for shorties like myself, but after placing the red and yellow alliens into the same 10-cm crack, and producing several mini-Sharma-screams, I managed, and happily clipped my way up to the chains of this one as well.

And there goes another long route for me...fifth one this year after Bongo Bar, Alexis, Deja-Vu, and Anglada. Maybe also the last one? Let's see if the dark forces of the project times get to me again and push back out of sight this strange frugal come-back to long routes and the hairy-airy exposed trad climbing of mine...What is my problem, doctor? Maybe, simply too much climbing? No remedy for our insanity...let the comedy of life go on, let the climbing keep us sane.

Autumn in Sant Llorenç

2011-10-10T20:54:00.000+02:00

After spending the month going up and down the slopes of Sant Llorenç, the recompense has come - clipping the anchor on Calladeta fas més goig. A couple more belayers, more encouragement, and coming back - the apparent miracle repeats itself, the sky opens and lets one pass. Or, the effort pays off. Luck or skill, but there I am, making my truth on a cold Saturday with perfect friction, for once sticking the last hold, pushing it all the way to the top, adrenaline working its way up the muscles at the same time, the brain saying no, the body making the moves almost automatically. Feet moving with precision, hands sticking to the rock. And there it is.

A project done, not much more or less to say, we still move around the sun, everything else is irrelevant, or oh so relevant.

Here is the landscape, that became so familiar over time:

The landscape that preciously keeps the sighs, the cries, the laughs, the coming and going of its inhabitants, ardent worshipers, and simple passer-bys. Christian on Descanzo, Sergi on Fenaskistiskopi, Robert on Yo Claudio, Juan on Sexo, Salud, y Sant Llorenç, Fernando and Francesca on Emperatriz Esmeralda, Jose, Dani, Txema, Marc alongside me on Calladeta, Juanjo on Metzina, Marieta and Esteve on Sueños de Piedra, Ivan on Panxa del Bou, Oriol on No t'ho perdis o en Mision de dios despertando el ferro. Moments in time, flickering lights in the eternity of fireflies, ignored by all, remembered by a few. A landscape full of people. A landscape all by itself, lonely and transcendentally beautiful.

And as always, thanks to my belayers, that not only catch my falls, but also try to make me a better person. Asi vamos, uno sueño de menos...

Traveling light...

2011-09-29T22:02:00.000+02:00

Wall in Figueres

when god lets my body be
from each brave eye shall sprout a tree
fruit that dangles therefrom
the purpled world will dance upon
between my lips which did sing
a rose shall beget the spring
that maiden whom passion wastes
will lay between their little breasts
my strong fingers beneath the snow
into strenuous birds shall go
my love walking in the grass
their wings will touch with her face
and all the while shall my heart be
with the bulge and nuzzle of the sea

(e.e.cummings)

Calladeta fas mes goig...

2011-09-24T15:54:00.000+02:00

From long routes to short routes, from granite to conglomerate, from easy onsights to hard project work. The good line remains what attracts me to climbing steep and hard. Calladeta is one of them, an old friend by now. First tried with Juanjo last spring, I courageously put it up with clip stick and then fell in love with the second half, a technical slab that goes on relentlessly for 3 endless draws, and finishes with some psycho-time on the last roofs. I hated the first part though. I still do - first jump that people with just a couple of centimeters more do in static (mmm Dani, you ARE taller...) leading to the roof, where a physical 3-move wonder finishes with a mini-rest, and then another 4 moves finish with a real rest. So far I have fallen many (and I mean MANY) times on this sequence, although not more than 7b, but as hard as anything for me. Not sure what made me finally stick it - the pull-ups I've been relentlessly working on since July, the little contortionist rest after the clip I came up with lately, or just seeing all those other guys (Jose, Bernat, Pau, Dani) fly over the starting moves without even realizing any of it could be hard. But I did. Now the falling is happening higher up, first on the traverse, now on the final slopers at the last hard sequence.

******************

Today it rains across the beautiful Catalunya, the project stays lonely and untouched. With another glass of wine, I celebrate the half-way point, the usual state of climbers, of life, - half there, but not yet. Almost done it - but not quite. Looking straight at the arrival point - but always falling off at the last mile. Dreaming my dream and wishing upon a star, nothing changes, all changes, clouds go by, nights go by, projects stay.
Climbing stays there, the only tangible, grounded reality that keeps the (in)sanity going. As long as motivation stays, sending will come, - if not this month, then the next, if not now, later. If not in the real world, than only in my head.

In the meantime, thanks to all the people involved with my climbing lately, - Juan, Txema, Dani, Juanjo, - for their tireless belays and encouragement on the project during the many spring, summer, and autumn months, as well as to the prospective belayers to come, if ever I am to clip the anchor on this one...

Deja-Vu on Capucin

2011-09-13T12:35:00.001+02:00

Capucin South-West face, Deja-Vu line in the middle

What better could one do after four days of training?..Climb and climb once more. Full of excitement and expectations, I keep checking the weather forecast. It looks awesome, the summer is still with us. It's been a while since I first saw the picture of Deja-Vu, on top of another Pirineos guidebook by tireless Luichy, but since then that picture stuck in my mind with a persistence of true challenges and a smell of hard work. What a crack! For crack-lovers there is nothing like seeing such a picture. Any true aficionado will remember and start dreaming about lines such as Separate Reality, Supercrack, or Endurance Corner after a good picture or an awesome video. Deja-Vu is one of these crown jewel lines of the Pyrenees, maybe not that well-known, but oh how inspiring.

Dani jamming hard, 2nd pitch

Hidden in a seldom-visited cirque in the Eastern corner of Aiguestortes National Park, 1,5 hour away from the Amitges refuge, Capucin is one of several towers in the middle of the cirque, in front of Basssiero Towers. On the approach one is immediately struck by the polished, vertical face, interrupted by the crack. THE crack. After the easier and well-bolted first pitch, the business starts: jamming (or laybacking, up to you) for a sustained and what seems infinite 30 meters of pure granite crack climbing. It's been a while I haven't used my jamming gloves and technique, and this was it. Happily clipping a couple of bolts on the line, and putting in cams in between, my day was accomplished when clipping the anchor on this one. What a pitch! Dani effortlessly came up and led the next pitch, that seemed a bit easier than the supposed 7a+.

Following pitch 4, the hardest and last one

The last pitch had us a bit more worried, and I was wondering where the crux would be, heading up for a short traverse, and then a diagonal undercling-layback off the fingertips test-piece. However, the problem came later, on the slab, when a move probably no more than 6c made my head crazy, my feet clumsy, and my fingers powerless. Downclimbing twice, I gave up, and Dani again faultlessly flashed the pitch to the top. Seconding the pitch, the moves revealed themselves to be more of a head game than physically hard.

Mountain tribe on the top

The day after, to rest a little, we explored the nice-looking South Face of Petita Agulla d'Amitges, first warming up on Dedos de Luz, good orange crack, and finishing the day up Anglada Guillamon, a dihedral-chimney fun up the Agulla. Several good lines remain to project on this sun-bathed wall, such as a possible 7c line to the right of the Anglada's first pitch, and an incredible crack, apparently freed this summer at around 7b, on the left of the rappel line between Agulla Petita and the Casco. Life goes on, full of climbs to be enjoyed, places to visit, and people to meet. Thanks Dani for encouragement, company, and finishing the hard pitches for me, ninja power!

Back to Spain

2011-09-05T11:46:00.000+02:00

After our memorable Gore-Tex Tour, thanks as well to the clothing from Mountain Equipment, the scratches from the big wall are slowly fading. In the meantime, maybe awaiting next summer, I am preciously guarding the memories of the fjord-filled country and its impeccable granite.

Dave, Helena, and myself at the base of Blaamann, picture by Paul Diffley

Now back to Spain, a new life, my old life, all over again. One year after first visits to Rodellar with Pau and company, and first painful struggles up the powerful routes there, I have come back with enthusiasm, determination, and new company: Dani and a couple from Cadiz. Just before Norway, on an impromptu visit with Sarah, I got back on a couple of lines I had in mind and figured I could start having projects in Rodellar too, especially now that I am concentrating on pull-ups and endurance as part of my training schedule. Unfortunately, one of them, the first pitch of Ironman, will probably be wet for some time now. However, seeing Carlos Llogroño float over the wet line made me think anything is possible. Anyway, the first objective has been the ever-bouldery, polished, and overhanging Pequeño Pablo. It had me rather scared and feeling incapable last year, however this time it went quickly, although in full sweat, with encouragement and inspiration from Dani. Thanks, bou!

Colorful Egocentrismo

I also left my quickdraws hanging for a day on Maria ponte el harnes, another classic and awesome line that might make me come back as quickly as next w-end. Seeing the almost-locals Rodri, Eli, Marieta, Esteve, and Xavi left me with the good feeling of coming back to a place I enjoy. Despite the tourists and the (already smaller) crowds, there is something there in Rodellar, the atmosphere, the canyon, the zen spirit, and so much peace of the place that keeps me a little enchanted and dreaming of more lines, more limestone, endurance, and pocket-pulling action. Thinking about moves, projects, and new friends. Maybe paradise does exist?

Discussing moves with Marc-bou, Rodellar 2010

Gore-Tex Videos from our Experience Tour

2011-08-28T14:25:00.002+02:00

Packing the bags, we are watching the rain pour over our colorful Mountain Equipment jackets. This is our last day in Norway, and as a dessert here are a couple of videos by Paul Diffley, from Hot Aches Production, immortalizing this short but memorable experience:

Dave going for a morning run:

Dave climbing a little after the morning run:

Helena taking the classic Tunga jump:

and Helena again, climbing in the beautiful Ersfjord:

Freeing Bongo Bar on Blamannen: Dave in Action

2011-08-26T22:46:00.000+02:00

Blamannen bathed in evening sunshine, picture by Dave McLeod

After the small big wall at Hollenderan, the next day became the V-day of the Gore-Tex Experience Tour of ours, when the weather stabilized just enough for Dave and myself to have a go at our main objective, the Bongo Bar route, on the impressive North face of Blamannen. We have scoped out the wall on our first day in Norway, and Dave has done a lot of work figuring out the moves on the crux, third pitch, graded at around 8a. He also rappelled from the top to check out the other pitches that did not seem very easy either, at around 7c, 7b, 7a, and the final 6ish one. We have been hezitating about getting on the route because of objective dangers seconding the hard pitch (plentiful of loose and sharp edges while traversing around the roofs), - basically meaning my ability to do it, the uncertain weather forecast, and the possible wet cracks after all the recent rain. However, in the end we decided to still give it a go, and see what we could do.

Approaching Blamannen for the third time from below for me, for the fourth time for Dave, just after the full-blown day of hiking up to Baugen, made me wonder about the realism of our objective already on the way up. However, with brilliant sunshine, some puffing, resting, and blueberry-powered snacking, I managed to drag myself and my backpack again to the base of the route. This time some kind souls have even set up a fixed rope up the last snow field, and the rimaye snow melted enough to make the scramble up the last ledge less dreary.

Blueberry-huntint on the approach, picture by Dave McLeod

Still in the sun, more approach action through the arctic jungle

When at the base of the route, both Dave and myself looked up with apprehension. The tension was palpable in the cold morning air. Although the bottom pitch looked rather dry, we could not tell how were the top pitches. The day before even the South-facing Baugen routes felt humid, will Bongo Bar be dry enough? Will Dave be able to free climb the crux third pitch? Will I be able to second it without falling off and cutting the ropes on the sharp edges of the climb?

When inspecting the crux pitch one week before, Donald and Dave pretty much concluded we should not go up. They brought down all the fixed ropes on a sad Wednesday evening, and we all just went happily sport climbing. Since, the wall has been itching in the imagination of Dave, and I have not really given up on the idea either, with the little mouse scrambling around my stomach and pushing for the big-wall dreams to take the center stage for just a little short while, just once more. If not as a team of three with Helena, maybe we can still try it as a team of two? It is safer to second on two ropes, while caring a jumar and a grigri to pull myself out of free hang trouble if I have to...Playing the big-wall game has always been intense, and this one is no different.

But UP! and we went, or rather Dave led off, and I grudgingly followed, feeling the weight of the backpack already starting off the ground. I complained about it to the friendly hamster finishing parts and pieces of my snack, remembered "Ukrainian Strength" nickname I was given in some far-away past in a different land, by different people, and pushed on. The first pitch did not leave us very optimistic - the crux layback roof was if not wettish, definitely humid, the dihedral above was drier, but still wet with moss retaining precious liquid. If the crux third pitch were to be wet, Dave would not be able to free climb it, and we would have to come back another day, another time, another year. At the top of the first pitch we decided to persevere - no other way to know except by checking out the "black tears" and the "diamond" sections. UP!

And so it went, feeling better during the second pitch, and quickly forgetting the horrors of the first 7b warm-up pitch, in no time we were already below the roofs of the third pitch. The hardest part of our undertaking, Dave went off leading the first 7c dihedral section, starting the sequence by a desperate "I don't remember any moves..." and then following up with perfect footwork, gentle swing around the corner, and what seemed effortlessly getting up to the rest in the middle of the pitch. And there he went, after a "Watch me!" and a couple of grunts, he was already above, although shaking a little for the first time in two weeks, pushing his helmet up into the second roof and making the best of the second rest before the final layback.

And so it went, time for me to second this monster. Helpfully, my experience from other past shady big-wall undertakings, with such names as Esfinge, Half Dome, Portalet, Eiger, Cima Grande, etc. kicked in - at least on the subconscious level - and I carefully went on, from peg to peg, from nut to nut, painfully pushing and hammering out the gear, gaining height one vertical foot after another. The grigri and the jumar stayed uselessly on my harness, and there I was, standing by Dave at the third belay. Now the only way was truly up, as retreating (back-aiding?) down the roofs promised to be rather unpleasant to say the least.

Dave high up on the route, leading the key traverse on pitch 6

So we went on, here's how it goes: Dave faultlessly freeclimbs the next, harsh 7c lay-back pitch, then the next, already easier 7b one. I pulled up much less gracefully, grinding my teeth, and remembering all the battling up the other routes and projects of my life. But the weather here looked good, we had friends and even a camera watching relentlessly our progress from the ledge close-by, and this wall was only 400 meters long, 800 meters high. Except for a wild base jumper, only crows disturbed our silent effort, and so it went, only up, the routine, taking out friends, banging out nuts, shaking, resting, feeling all the muscles and tendons in my body rebel agains the weight, the progression. Forcing the body to move up, peeing on the way, joking, filming, photographing, living. Up we went.

Myself lost up in the cracks

I finally decided to pick up the lead end of the rope at the start of pitch 6, however my leading stunt ended very quickly as I came to the blank slab, protected by two old copperheads, and promising a frightening, gear-less traverse. Bathed in the evening sun, from all bad options I chose one - building a belay with one more cam reinforcing the copperheads and bringing the hero of the day, Dave, up. Sure thing, he made short work of my problems, led the traverse and finished the pitch. I found the traverse rather hard, especially because of lack of gear and bold moves over a lot of air, and was satisfied that my self-preservation instincts made me stop before committing to those moves.

Those instincts did not stop me from wanting to lead again, supposedly the easy last 5+ pitch to the summit. But, not far off the belay, again came a conundrum - anther not so well protected traverse, to the right this time, would lead us to the ultimate easier crack climbing to the top. Again, I could not commit to the moves, I went down this time, and Dave the rope gun fired up the pitch brining us to the much-awaited top. Actually, I found this ultimate traverse move the hardest part of the whole route for me as I had to apply all my slab vocabulary to find a crimper to pull on to be able to move up and not off the wall into the overhanging wild swinging. Maybe because this was the last hard move after so much climbing, but I definitely would rate this pitch as harder than the original 5+.

Belaying while the evening sun gracefully touches our North Face

And so we were done, with another gruelling descent awaiting our wasted feet, another big wall, after a small wall. Two long days: one on Hollenderan and another on Blamannen, that turned into a 600-meter marathon of laybacking over vertical terrain, and an 8-hour hiking in and out of the Kvaloya's granite stomach. Up and free.

Route details (careful onsighers, stop reading here!):

Pitch 1 - start just to the left of the fixed rope leading to the ledge, up underclings and into a left-facing thin crack going up to a small roof. Undercling the roof (crux, thin gear), follow the cracks up, then traverse right on slopers, and up into the final dihedral. Go up the dihedral, either straight up to the belay ledge, or traverse right at the last big foothold on the right edge of the dihedral (easier). 50 meters, hard warm-up, 7b with difficult gear on the crux section.

Pitch 2 - follow the thin crack straight up from the belay to the black streak (next belay). Very good fingery layback sections, with climbing progressively getting easier. More gear placements and some good pegs. 40 meters, 7b+.

Pitch 3 - the crux pitch of the route, straight up the black polished water streak ("black tears"), harsh stemming on non-existent footholds (around 7c/+), then traverse right and launch for the first big blocky roofy formation. Easier section but very loose and hollow-sounding rock up to a good rest. Launch into the crux - stand up on the big loose rock, go above the roof clipping the arrowhead and pulling crazy on small sidepulls for left hand, feet up (crux). Uncomfortable rest below next roof (the exit from the "Diamond"), and final layback on the right, where dropping feet lower helps on occasion, leads to the comfortable belay on a ledge. 50 meters, 8a.

Pitch 4 - very hard climbing to start with, another thin lay-back with bouldery moves and bad protection, careful as possible fall over the belay (crux). After the first 10 meters climbing eases off to sustained physical crack and lay-back sequences, well-protectable, and finishing at the base of a prominent chimney on the left. 45 meters, 7c(+).

Pitch 5 - a difficult start after the first peg, to grab an undercling and go left in the direction of the chimney, exiting the chimney immediately on the left, a good crack system leads up to the next belay. Some strange moves with either layback or using chicken-wings/chimney technique help overcome a wider crack section (bigger cam might be useful to protect). 45 meters, 7b.

Pitch 6 - easier climbing off the belay up and slightly right leads to a comfortable ledge (possible belay, 20 meters) with two copperheads sticking out of the cracks straight ahead. The line actually traverses left (careful, loose flake above copperheads) on the slab and around the corner just below a prominent black-white streaked nose. Very thin moves on badly protected traverse (red C3 BD cam and a nut), and a final dyno (crux) lead into a good hand-jam crack (save yellow/red C4 BD cams). More crack climbing leads to a first ledge (possible belay), and then a second "double" ledge. 60 meters (can be done in two pitches), 7a+/7b.

Pitch 7 - up the crack system and right below a prominent roof, a short but difficult traverse from crimps in a disappearing crack to grab a hold on the right leads out into much easier...you guessed it...laybacking to the top. 50 meters, 6c (at least a grade harder and more exciting for the shorter people).

Scramble another 20 meters to reach the top.

And as a final bonus, here is a video of a Russian team doing a winter (=less free) ascent of the same route, same wall, but in very different colors:

Blamannen - "Bongo Bar" (Kvaloya, Norway). Part 2 from KRUKONOGI.COM on Vimeo.

Alexis on Baugen, Hollenderan

2011-08-26T16:55:00.006+02:00

Helena descending to the base of Baugen, Hollenderan

To change a little from our sport-climbing routine, we (part of the Gore-Tex team constituted by Helena, Donald, and myself) decided to start big-walling with a small big wall, that is Baugen, an inviting and well-advertised South face, mentioned both in the guidebook and by Par to me as "the most fabulous crack climbing around in Norway". It all started, as most climbing on Kvaloya, with a long approach. We took the steep trail up from Grotfjord, that started wet, but finished rather quickly up the col with a beautiful view down to the TKK hut and the range of mountains to the right of it (picture above).

Given that it rained heavily the day before, we opted for the proper South face of Baugen, and having hard time choosing the route out of all the three-star possibilities, decided on Alexis, described in the guidebook as "nice from the first meter" and proposing as desert the "wavy dihedral" as the crux lay-back pitch.

Donald following the second pitch on Alexis

The climbing reminded me a lot of cracks around Envers des Aiguilles in Chamonix, with numerous small and big cracks, well exposed to the sun, although still rather humid from the downpour the day before. As the rock kept drying, we kept progressing up the route, quickly dealing with the difficulties on the way up, the word of the day being "layback". I got rather pumped leading the "wavy dihedral", but it finished quickly and the cams seemed solid all the way. After another extraordinary crack pitch that kept Donald grunting for a short lay-backing while, and a last fun experience with a short hand-jam section that Helena led, we happily made it to the top.

Helena at the start of the last pitch

The unfortunate part about Hollenderan in a day is that you still have to go down afterwards. This time we walked out following the Blamannsvikdalen, pleasant and blueberry-filled walk, that still appeared much too long to our tired legs. Good warm-up for the future big big-walling plans though.

Myself on top of Alexis

In Deliri Flagrante

2011-08-23T19:14:00.001+02:00

Countering bad weather we have been climbing close to our fisherman's cabin the last days, while supposedly resting the fingertips and dreaming big-wall dreams. I spent my time figuring out a tough sequence up a beautiful crack line in Ersfjorden, In Deliri Flagrante. This was the first sport line to be bolted on the main Resekjerringa boulder by Leif Henning, sport-climbing son of another prominent first ascentionist on Kvaloya, Ben Johnsen. I first started by underestimating the route and confidently went for a flash attempt that ended fast and furious at the start of the crux sequence.

Fun laybacking before the crux on In Deliri Flagrante

I next spent what felt like a couple of hours, abusing of the goodwill of Donald belaying me below, figuring out a very strange sequence for the crux. First, after the pleasant laybacking and a decent rest, there is a nerve-breaking sequence to get up a small ledge. My Amazon-warrior shout and a knee-pull-in made short work of that. However, next comes the real crux - from standing on the ledge one has to grab a good-sized undercling, get the feet high, and go for the next hold, finishing the route laybacking again an awesome granite flake. Getting the key top undercling proved gruesome - although taller people just grab it from the ledge, making me feel totally foolish, powerless, and mainly short, I spent hours figuring out the foot sequence, despite having only three possible holds for the hands - a crack to layback, a right-hand sloper to crimp on, and a left-hand roof undercling to use. There were around 10 possibilities for footwork, half on the left, and half on the right blank greasy walls above the ledge, every one of them heinously small, and the right-wall ones eating through the last rubber of my shoe.

After an hour of stubborn kicking, pulling, pushing, and grinding the skin off my fingers, I though I had a winning sequence. That was before the next redpoint attempt, when pumped from the boulder move below, I realized the sequence was too hard, as I could not pull my right foot up the wall without a better rest. Off I went again, trying out other ideas, moves, and sequences, hanging desperate in the cool Nordic air, and whispering to the trolls hiding among the boulders to share their knowledge, to inspire my footwork with a handy spell. Just when I thought my technique on granite was good, just when I believed I could use my feet pretty well anywhere - came this problem, this mystery begging for a solution I was shamefully lacking. There I went, with another idea, another sequence: locking off the left hand, I could pull my feet up easier and get the undercling with my right hand. Then I would just have to bring my feet up once more, and be done with it.

My tries yesterday were thus spent trying out this new solution - which to my frustration and fingers' doubled pain did not work either. Bringing my left foot above my left hand in a lay-back position not only strained my neck out of control, but simply proved impossible after the stress of lower boulder move. Really, time for short resistance training this autumn!!! Thus, I stopped again, and preyed to the trolls, and female demons of the place, all those lonely-eyed and dirty-haired creatures of the forest, and blueberry-eating cave-hiding others, to give me ideas, to fertilise the barren soil, the tired skin of my hands, the stretched tendons of my fingers. Off again, diving deep into my "creativity" shop, I managed to come up with another solution again, so simple, yet so contrived. Instead of trying to pull my left foot so high up, why not simply leave it down, in an "inverted drop-knee" style, and dynamically grab the undercling with my left hand at that point? And...that just worked!!!! Too tired to redpoint, but confident now, I need another attempt at the route - that hopefully will happen on this trip. In the meantime, let the big-wall dreams continue!

Pumped but smiling for the camera on top of Turistklasse on the Tunga boulder

While I have been appealing for inspiration to trolls and other strange creatures of my own, Dave showed us all how it's done by brilliantly free climbing his new route on Tunga on the first go of the day, despite combined moisture, high temperatures, and lack of skin. He strategically left a Gore-Tex jacket on top to protect the exit hold from the rain, and Donald took it off just at the right moment before the final dyno. Good we have at least one efficient redpointer on the team, or did he manage a better deal with the trolls than myself?..

Dave starting the crux on Centre Court, at 8b+ one of the hardest lines in Northern Norway

In between my struggles with the Delirium route, I also managed to bolt my first line - a proud extension from the top of For Apen Scene to the anchor of Balshoiballetten, two already rather painful routes, but beautiful as only the slab lines know how to be, on the huge slab of Toppsvaet. I managed to put 3 bolts using a very nice Hilti drill and quick how-to insturctions from Dave, linking the two anchors with what I would like to call the Gore Extension, a heinous slab finish to the 25-meter For Apen Scene. Given that I was not able to figure out one of the moves, I'm not sure about the grade, but probably around 7b/+, with a gorgeous view on top, and ironically of all things pretty run-out because of my limited proficiency at bolting traversing routes while hanging with all the gear and shredded fingers from above...Sorry, future generations that will have to cuss at me, as I have cussed so many other times on other run-out routes....or they always can simply and happily ignore the extention. Anyway, I hope some learning has occurred and maybe my next bolting will be better!

And to finish this inspirational post on a good note, here is another besutiful sunset over our home Ersfjord:

All pictures, as usual on this trip, courtesy of Paul Diffley.

Gullknausen, the Northern Jewel

2011-08-21T12:33:00.003+02:00

The island of Kvaloya was formed, the guidebook says, as part of Greenland, before it actually parted from Norway some 100 million years ago on a sail West. The island is incredible in its abundance of high-quality granite, tilted in all possible directions, and most of the time providing a stunning view to the neighbouring fjords below. It is both beautiful and remote, hanging on the edge among the rocky and harsh world as we know it, the still arctic waters, the never-ending skyline, and out-of-space light that colonises it in summer, as opposed to all-day night that settles comfortably throughout the winter.

Nothing represents Kvaloya in all its full-blown colours and mind-blowing airy, watery, and rocky atmosphere as the Gullknausen. Discovered accidentally by Svein Smelvaer from aboard a fishing boat called "Fidel", the name given to the first 8a bolted on the main wall, it is a white-orangy 70-meter wonder hanging off the rims of the fjord, that any climber would go to some length to get a belay on. It has been my immense pleasure to have a video shot by our talented cameraman Paul Diffley of my attempts, and final midnight redpoint of Golden Shower, an awesome line up the main wall, bathed in afternoon, and then night, sun, while the other members of the Gore-Tex team were busy with other projects: Helena and Donald multipitching on Flikkflak, and Dave working the yet unclimbed extension of "Fidel", supposedly a bouldery problem around 8b+:

Sports Climbing at Gullknausen, Norway from Hot Aches Productions on Vimeo.

Thanks Paul! Below are more pictures of this incredible crag, one of the more stunning locations I have sport climbed in:

Donald climbing Flikkflak, as the guidebook says: "best 6b+ around (in Norway, Europe, and even on...)

Incredible sunset over the unending ocean (picture by Paul Diffley)

Myself during the second attempt at Golden Shower (picture by Paul Diffley)

View from the ledge with the evening sun

Sportclimbing on Kvaloya, Ersfjorden

2011-08-19T19:01:00.004+02:00

Climbing up Granitveien, a very strange but photogenic 6- (French 5+)

After the first days of Gore-Tex Experience Tour spent trying out the big wall and its much smaller offspring boulders, we finally went sport climbing - my speciality! Just 30 minutes walking distance from our fisherman's cabin are the big boulders of Ersfjord. The main attraction is formed by two big boulders, over 20 meters high, called Resekjerringa and Resekallen, that as the guidebook mystically says, are "treasure objects" of Saami culture. The first name translates as the Troll, and the second as an evil female demon. Trolls are an interesting species by themselves - usually assumed to live in isolated places, rarely friendly, they form part of Norse mythology and have fascinated me for a while. I remember bringing back home a troll from my first trip to Oslo 10 years ago, although it has disappeared, mysteriously, since. Now I am on a mission to find a replacement troll that I promised as a Nordic token for Silvia's precious baby, Montse. I like trolls, partly because they appeal to the dark corners of my own character, and I do appreciate visiting their country very much lately.

Fisherman's boat parked near our cabin, picture by myself

A different take on the same theme of man and the boat by Paul, our official photographer on the Gore-Tex tour. You can see the difference in skills, I do find the below picture inspiring - taken while shooting into the sun, on the approach to Ersfjorden by Paul:

The actual climbing at Ersfjorden proved very good, with tilted bouldery granite problems. Very different from the slabby and cold Blamannen - most routes we tried were rather short and intense. After contemplating several crack lines and warming up on the backside in the welcome shadow, we started the exploration with Helena getting our eyes on Psilocin, an attractive 7a crackline, where I managed to fall off the last move onsighting. Using well the hanging draws, I next jumped on the near-by Sjamanen, and fell off this one quite low, at the bouldery crux off the second quickdraw. The onsight attempt finished with the same luck on its neighbour, another 7b called Moctezumas Hevn. Inspired by the boulder moves, I managed to redpoint Sjamanen, one of the more popular 7bs of the crag by the crowd wisdom of 8a.nu, on the next go. Moving down the line, I finished the day with a final well-earned onsight (almost falling off at the last moves near the anchor) of a beautiful diagonal crack called Buestrengen, 7a, and gave Ramadan a (quick and rather lame) try provided the strong appeal of the hanging quickdraws and the eye of the camera staring into the blue distance beyond this steep line:

Struggling up Ramadan, first bolted 8a of Northern Norway

All this action wetted my appetite for more, as I watched a girl climb up In Deliri Flagrante, another superb 7b+ crack line that I'd love to give a [corrected] flash attempt on another day weather permitting. Sport climbing is truly fun, and granite again made my day a good one. Cheers to granite and to more sport climbing in Norway. To be continued!

Most pictures above courtesy of Paul Diffley, Hot Aches Production.

Blamannen, First Days

2011-08-17T22:57:00.004+02:00

The North Face of Blamannen

My first thought upon landing in Tromso, Arctic Norway, has been about how insanely beautiful the place is. Flying in the midnight sun over Lofoten and the neighbouring islands, reflected in the water, with moon bathing their dark fins and snowy outcrops in a mellow light, I felt amazed, as in the old days, at the moment of birth, when discovering the Alps, when first driving through the Dolomites, when gazing up Cordiliera Blanca or contemplating El Cap from the bus: the sheer beauty, the simple and lasting presence of nature, masterpiece without need for the last touch of any human brush. This place where we can call "home" the Utah desert, the Sierra de Guarra canyons, the high peaks of Himalaya, or the Ersfjord waters. Come, stay, enjoy, and climb. What a fortune, to be alive and well, to see it all, to gather in the sounds, the smells, the sights, and to reverberate back.

Midnight light on the fjord, seen from the base of Blamannen

The first big objective of our expedition has by default become the Blamannen, a towering North Face crowning the island of Kvaloya, just outside Tromso. Already from the airport we could see the summit pointing outwards into the star-filled sky, the wall otherwise hidden by scenic hills. Not wasting time and using the incredibly good weather we have been having, we headed directly for the Blamannen approach on the first day to measure ourselves up against or with the mountain, to check out the worth of the human condition, to laugh at our smallness, to admire nature's prowess. It has been a while I have not been excited by a big rock face. Looking at this one from the car park I did not necessarily feel the kick of energy or the urgent need to get to the top either. Mountaineering ambition dead? Let's go see and check it out.

The promissed 45 minutes of approach turned out to be a good 2 hours of uphill walking, making me regret the missed training opportunities each time I have refused to join the Maladeta FA this summer with Ori, Xavi, and co'. But after some persistence and the help from the walking sticks, the first miracle was accomplished and we were standing at the base - having passed the forest, the slabs, and the final snow patch and the muddy fixed rope. Two other teams were going up Ultima Thule and Lost and Found, the first team ultimately abseiled, the other with Dave's friend Andreas on lead, continued to the top after we left for a due rest.

With difficulty getting used to the Northern light that never leaves, and recovering from the flight in, we slowly started exploring the face. First, a look at Icarus, that appeared very difficult and badly protected for a free attempt. Change of objectives, and standing below Bongo Bar we finally decide to give that a go as the lower cracks seemed more appealing and Andreas shouted down to us that the crux was apparently exceptionally dry during these last days.

Paul inspired by midnight light

Thus began the toil - almost Himalayan-like expedition style, fixing ropes up the first pitches. Dave bravely lead the way up, despite being short on gear, but inspired by the prospect of difficulties up above. Helena and myself seconded the incredible 50-meter monster endurance fest pitches with key lay-back moves on thin flaring cracks and pretty sketchy protection, especially on the first pitch. The whole second day was spent by the dedicated team of Dave and Don to aid up the key third pitch and leave another fixed rope up that. While the girls went bouldering and cooking dinner instead:

Bouldering at the base of Blamannen (picture by Paul Diffley)

The complete story of Blamannen remains to be written though, depending on so many outside as well as inside factors - will Dave be able to freeclimb the crux pitch? What difficulties will follow up above? Will the weather keep the face dry? Will we get a good day for a redpoint attempt? Will we be able to make it to the top? Logistics, planning, pure effort, and enthusiasm, those are the determinant things. Or is it all just about simple luck and courage to try things out, to take chances? Up and free!

Very late sunset as seen from Blamannen (picture by Paul Diffley)

And all this possible thanks to the Gore-Tex Experience Tour, Mountain Equipment, and the great company of Paul, Dave, Donald, and Helena. Let the adventure continue, wherever it might take us.

Heading up North

2011-08-13T14:20:00.001+02:00

Excited and packing to be going up North tomorrow, way North...

This is supposedly the cabin where we will be staying during our two weeks of the Gore-Tex Experience Tour in Norway:

Let the adventure begin!

Life in Kaos

2011-08-13T11:31:00.005+02:00

My life has been strange during the last...should I say three years? Life in Kaos sounds about right as a title for this mess I have been senselessly contributing to, day in and day out. A dry tree in the middle of a glamorous landscape, a flower in bloom on a satellite planet on a circuitous way around a beehive. Taking it easy, taking it hard. I left it all behind and took a four-day break in my favorite mountains, driving North again, full of motivation for the project, a need to forget, a want to remember. The project went quickly, on the first night I sent Cobra Canaria, using new beta for the last sequence and doing the mini-dyno with the right hand instead of a much longer traverse right and back left I used to do before. After the first lame try, I proudly listened to inspirational Sarah, no fear, only trust in the foot, an almost mechanical execution - put the foot, get up, dispara, there we go, what Holly named my "Levitation Project" has just been sent.

Taking it easy the next day, we visited Kaos and the top of Pared Inerte for some onsighting action. After not appreciating at all the loose rock on Ordesa, figuring out the moves but not having any motivation to repeat Unai's 7c, I finally had loads of fun onsighting Toulomni Meadows and Tsaranoro, my kind of climbing, my kind of fun, "boring" for Sarah - my newly found friend that effortlessly onsighted wet Los Congitos, after only one year of climbing and a lifetime of gymnastics. Below a shadowy Darth Vader of myself belaying the gifted Sarah on another test-piece, Massa Kumba:

Taking it easy again, we drove next to the hot Rodellar for a change in scenery and climbing style. I let Sarah enjoy the commercial side of climbing in Spain, and hopped myself on a couple of lines to check my newly gained strength or the illusion thereof. Conclusion: pull-ups are definitely working (had loads of fun leading the second half of Pequeno Pablo and Vis a vis, thanks Piju for the draws on that one), my long resistance ends at move # 13 (could not stick the beginning sequence of Pequeno Pablo, have to come back strong and just send this route once and for all), and I am definitely starting to enjoy Rodellar (a good project to get my self-esteem up: IronMan, first pitch, crux all figured out, although pretty hard moves for shorter people I believe). I will be back.

Last winter I used to climb with boys, making them discover the beauty of this land I have been trying to make in a little tiny way my own for a while now - Ville, Philip, Martin, Mark. In the reverse side of the model, this summer I climb with girls, also strangers here, like me, also thirsty to climb more and more, like me. Big thanks to my girl partners for living with my crazy character for a couple of days, belaying me on my projects, and enjoying the climbing as much as I do - Holly from Bishop, CA, and Sarah from Massachusetts:

Other girls I climbed with this year - Sharon and Delphine, while regretting for not climbing more with Silvia and Cathy. Girl climbing rules, and now off to Norway to climb with Helena...

All pictures courtesy of Sarah.

...

2011-08-08T19:56:00.000+02:00

"A path is only a path, and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you . . . Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself alone, one question . . . Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't it is of no use."
— Carlos Castaneda

Cobra Canaria, Cavallers

2011-08-05T09:47:00.002+02:00

Raspberries at the base of African

Despite the gift of berries and many a fond memory, Cavallers has been harsh to me this year. First week-end in April with Philip we both tried the wet and cold Smith Rock, and it spit us off without skin or desire. Philip got sick, Jaume took awesome pictures. Second week-end with Victor n Freeboc company in June, first the rope slipped off the gri gri and I almost went flying down to the lake from Pared Inerte, second we both tried la Foca Pirenaica but it was too wet to think about figuring out the crux moves at the crack, and I fumbled on Rigol Mortis, also wet and unruly. Third week-end in June, Martin, Vincenzo, and myself went up to Pared Inerte again, this time I fell off the last hard move when onsighting Dimension Rappel, and then it cost me another 2 tries to redpoint this awesome route. Smith Rock ate my skin and spit me off the move, again. Vincenzo and myself decided Foca Pirenaica was too hard to get it figured out this year.

Finally, this last week-end with Holly I changed objectives and went to pay a visit to an old acquaintance, Cobra Canaria on the African Wall. It is a short slabby wonder that some guidebooks have rated 7b, others 8a, and few people have been willing to waste nails and skin to figure out the way through the moves. I tried Cobra while working the incredible Chris last year, and could not figure out the moves either. I left it be, black and happy in the sun, and it slowly cooked, to become a worthy test-piece to check my slab technique again this year.

My butt starting up the traverse before getting to the base of the Cobra

After studying the moves out, Holly suggested i try a mantle with my foot to start the traverse. That became a crucial insight as it made me able to clip the next bolt, do an incredible one-finger undercling mantle, and start the traverse. However, the problem with this route is the sun - it is South-facing, and thus trying it in good conditions means waiting until at least 5 pm to be able to pull on the crimps. The other limiting condition is skin, as after a couple of tries nothing is basically left, skin or nails included. It took me 2 goes to get the undercling move wired on lead, however not enough time left to redpoint by finishing the crazy traverse after the move. Not expecting much, I still stayed one day longer, and had a morning try. But it was too hot already, only shade can save me on this route. Very close, but very far, home I drove again, speeding through Escales, Alfarras, Balaguer, and back down towards my home mountain. There is always a next time, to be continued...

On the bright side, the new bar Tropic kept us awake with the Columbian dancing during Barruera fiesta major, and Ana made us her wonderful tapas and maracuya juice - although at a much higher price this time. Good things get expensive, a sad rule from business.

Holly showing them how it's done

All pictures are courtesy of Holly, on a climbing visit from Bishop, CA.

S de Sorro, or learning to fly...

2011-07-28T18:40:00.000+02:00

After having redpointed the near-by Xilum this spring, I decided i should go for its neighbor, much less done, and supposedly easier line in Guilleumes, S de Sorro. After some inspiration here and here, i took up the combat and checked out the moves on toprope. Ville generously belayed me on the first meeting. Pretty impressed from the beginning, I tentatively went up. I solved the traverse doing a strange, hard pull from the key pocket to the two-finger right-hand wonder, getting the right foot as high as it would go on the red sandstone bend. Incredible move that I found rather tenuous. The second part of the route is really the business (despite a hard 2-move boulder problem at the second draw). You get to a small roof, first traverse left along red sandstone ledge, than come back right following classic Montserrat two-finger pockets, and than there is the final dyno to the big rescue pockets to the right. Overall, the first part of the famous "S" is formed by 14 moves from leaving the security of one bolt to reaching the next one. It is a long journey, that takes away one's breath, inspiration, self-composure, sleep, if not more. The last move is what makes this route a challenge for me - it is a dyno that I have to do with the right foot in the air, from a crappy sloping left foot, and a good 3-finger extension with my left hand. When i fail, it's a whipper. When I stick it, I do the route.

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As Eva Lopez says, dynoing is genetically not a girl's thing. I have been struggling with dynos for some time now - I encountered the first serious dyno for my little self on the Rush, my first 7c. The key move has to be done dynamically, going for a big hold from very small crimps for the left hand. Vianant, my first 7c+, also had a dyno on it - instead of launching for the big hold on the left, in the end of a tricky traverse, I was always going for the shitty hold below. Although a worse hold, I could stick the dyno much better as the distance was shortened by going for the smaller hold. Finally, the Ben Petat, this winter's struggle, did not have serious dynos, but I fell around 7 or 8 times before sending the route after the crux, incapable of going dynamically for the jug undercling after the pump below and the crux move on crimps. There has also been Calladeta - still not done - where the dyno came first, I had to jump to get past the first bolt, than dyno again to get out of the roof section. I failed many times on this route so far because I got too stressed and tired by these two dynos to be able to start the fun - slabby - part above. Dynos have always been my low point, my challenge, my pain.
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There we go, so why would one do this to oneself? Lo que no te mata te hace mas fuerte? O no? I don't know, but somehow, in this vicious circle of life, I got myself head over heals into trying the S de Sorro. Coming back to the route after a pause, I checked out the moves again, this time figuring an easier way for the traverse - going further left from the key pocket instead of doing the mortal dead-hang to the right-hand two-finger, and figuring a final traverse variant (doubling the S) to escape the mono that I could not hold on the exit moves. All set, no? No. The problem is the first S, the DYNO. I tried cheating around it - putting a long extension sling and clipping just before the dyno. Although strong enough to clip, I cannot stick the dyno after clipping. The last time i tried the trick, I had a perfect go, very strong, did everything perfectly - and certainly had strength to do the dyno...But the sling was there, i could not fight myself, i betrayed myself, i could not control my head. Survival instinct said clip. I clipped. I had strength enough to get my feet very high - but not enough to get the dyno. I fell. I fell less than i would without the sling - but i failed again. I could have done it, but i did not, i managed to convince myself i needed the extension, again. Not anymore. Playing games with oneself is the worst kind of a game one could play. I am strong. I will forgo the sling and send the route. It is just one dyno. I am not even that scared when on the route, I go for it with it all, but somehow I psyche myself out of it. I can do it, and i will. It is a struggle in my head, the worst kind of subconscious struggle. Let's play...!!!
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Project sent, 28/07. Thank you Ville, Uri, Victor, Txema for accompanying me in my learning, pain, fears, and flying time.

Getting back into shape

2011-07-17T20:18:00.004+02:00

After my 2-week hiatus, an almost enforced break from training and climbing, time mostly dedicated to my thesis (although with exceptions for Gore-Tex allowed :), now I am back into the routine of getting myself up to shape again. I started off the wrong foot already - warming up on Bauhaus on Wednesday, although going 2nd, somehow managed to pull my left hand finger on the first route of the day, to screw my tendon right from the start. Yes, it's been a while, they tendons took much damage, they took even campusing for 6 months without too much complaining and without Radiosalil for some time now. But it is that time of the year again, time to be motivated and stupid, stupid and motivated. So there we go again - ice, heat, Radiosalil, and no, no, no, I do not want to stop n rest...

Anyway, whining aside, after not being able to solve the last move on Rescate Emocional, awesome, well-named 7b+ on Paret Gran, I lowered the objectives again, and went to the church. The sacred place, St Benet. Nothing like it, you might travel, you might roam. Nothing like it, it is a honor to live just below, for a while, a very transient while, but I feel I somehow participate in the mystery of the place, in my own little and insignificant way. I tried talking about it to Shantala, to Delphine, during both days, trying to transfer the sacredness, the beauty of the place. Not sure I succeeded, but I continue believing, I continue worshiping, saying my little prayer to the Mother Mountain. Coming back, again and again. It is beautiful, it is mysterious, and it is not only about the mist, the clouds that take possession naturally and quickly of the Gorro tops. It is not only about the landscape, about the absence of civilization - or its flagrant presence with tourist kleenex everywhere over the trails. It is not only about the refuge, about Angel trying to fit into Ferran's role, about Santi giving us laurel leaves and tea flowers, sharing recipes for olive oil with rosemary. It is not only about the routes, the moves, the flying feeling of weightlessness up above. It is not only about flying off the wall and soaking into the scenery, mingling with the Elephant trunk, the Mummy, the old dead French soldiers, and the burros caring food for the monks up the endless stairs into the galaxy. It is all of it, the whole, that is both smaller and bigger than the parts. It is St Benet, one and only, the unique one.

I remember, I do not go for grades here - I go to climb a route, and this time the route was K Monos Somos, a piece of art in the pleasurable windy and shady Panxa del Bisbe. After painfully getting to the anchor for the first time, I realized this was it, a route i needed to get my motivation going, to get my inspiration in, to feel the air below me, to use the newly gained strength, to try out my pull-up training I've been doing for a while now, to get the resistance back. After the first run-out scary (supposedly 5+ the guidebook says) pitch, two bolts of warm-up on slightly overhanging ground, the business starts with the next two bolts. First boulder sequence going for a left-hand stone, get the feet up and a dynamic move to the right-hand open-mouthed hold. Short rest, then left-hand crimp, get feet very very high, drop-knee, and go for the white marble stone, the crux. If you get it, it is not time to celebrate yet - after a painful clip, there are still a couple of tense moves with ballerina feet to get to the next rest. Then another clip, and the final batman flight to the last jug. Despite careful inspection, I fail the technical sequence with the undercling after grabbing the white marble on my second go. I do not even manage to catch the marble on my next go.

Motivation is back. This route inspires me, it makes me think of Unicorni, of Ben Petat, of Calladeta, past or future projects, beautiful moves, precise footwork, reading the rock, only the right approach, the right mind will get you there. I call Delphine, we change plans, and here I am back again, second day. This time I put the draws in confidently, the moves are just soooo good. I need this bouldering strength, it is so good to have air underneath, to go, to fight the fear again, to have the adrenaline rush. I do a stupid mistake of feet on the next go - it was too good to be true, i was too strong. Down we go, woooosh. I rethink the strategy, recheck the feet. Next one is the good one, despite the usual self-doubt, the wishful thinking, the partner-trusting, I go up. I am weightless. This is the right go. Let's do it! What a route!!! Can't shut up about it on the way down, try to convince Par to come out and try it too, what a route! Maybe I will come back as well, another day, another year, a minute from now, a century away, for the neighbors on the left, they do look gooood too, although I like the names already less. I got my motivation back, St Benet, thank you, one and only, no hay nadie como tu!
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To continue the training, despite rain forecast and tired forearms, training continues in Gelida. The sun is inescapable, it is sauna time, big contrast to St Benet. Warm and dusty. While Delphine struggles on the vertical terrain of the 6as that are pretty bouldery for the grade, I go for the old favorite, No HoSe. Been a while I came back to this one. Long-standing project. This time I am able to put up the draws all the way. But the rain is coming, we are the last ones left on the crag, JuanAn leaves along with others, only black clouds and swooshing wind remain with us. Pull the rope or second? I remember the storm in Collegats, the epic to get the draws down there a month ago. Let's second. With a quick rhythm and straight arms, I manage to reach the chain, get down the draws, and be done with another project. Although only on top rope, but i feel my strength slowly flowing back into the veins, the muscles starting to respond, the arms getting back into action, hardly-won endurance flowing along the blood-work of my body. I am ready, it is time for the projects again.
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Four weeks left for projecting, in the meantime getting inspired by Nordic dreams - a picture from Jonas Wiklund, friends and cams waiting in the distance...:

Maybe will get to use them before going to Norway, say on some Southern face of a Mala mountain from Deta one day?..

Gore-Tex Experience Tour, part 1

2011-07-14T23:36:00.004+02:00

Life has its strange ways, and in another circle-like fashion, after not so long ago reminiscing about El Cap glory days, I have come back to trad climbing this summer. Rather unexpectedly, I have been chosen to participate in the Gore-Tex sponsored "Experience Tour", after a preliminary selection contest on Facebook, and a final selection day in Scotland. The tour itself involves an expedition to the Northern Norway, complete with the filming crew, specifically exploring the region around Tromso in search of new lines on the Nordic granite of Kvaloya and Lofoten. Gore-Tex brings together distinguished athletes (that is Dave) and enthusiast weekend-warriors (that is Helena and myself) on a fun event to promote their brand, reach the younger audiences, and allow us to have some fun in an incredible company and a breathtaking setting.

Gore-Tex is an interesting company in its own right. Similar to Patagonia in the past, it is one of the 100 best companies to work for as declared by Fortune Magazine in the US. Its employees do not have titles, are all called "associates", and all have a power to veto any decision the company comes up with. Best known for the Gore-Tex fabric of impermeable fame, guaranteed for a lifetime (!), the company is active in various domains, from outdoor wear to industrial and military supplies. But that is another story.

Back to my own Experience-Tour story: Dave, (the climber), Paul (the camera-man), Donald (the sherpa), Helena, and myself (the girl-power support team) will take Norway by force next month. In anticipation, a lot of enthusiasm, research, and training to be had while dreaming of big walls, granite touch, and cam placements. All below pictures are courtesy of Paul Diffley and Dave McLeod.

Getting used to the trad craze again, the famous yellow Gore-Tex helmet borrowed from Dave McLeod himself (a landmark to look for in his movies by Hot Arches Production)

Below are some beautiful colors of the Ratho quarry, reminding me of Ettringen in some insolite ways, where our last selection happened over last w/end. Not only were we treated to a glamorous stay at the Country Club hotel near-by, but we also got to experience the full-blown Scottish weather with rain turning on and off throughout the day. Climbing damp rock with unfamiliar people and a camera looking straight at your face from above became a funny exercise in oblivion, timidity, and trying to avoid any kind of a mighty challenge for me. In the end I enjoyed a couple of interesting cracks and even ripped a couple of nuts on the last route. This game still holds a lot of interest and challenge for me, despite my cowardly betrayal to the warm sport-climbing gods on the Iberic peninsula of late. Maybe a long-due reconciliation is possible, who knows?..

Myself getting with difficulty off the ground in the Ratho quarry

Helena, my rope-mate, happily gunning up

And here is a little music to go with the story...long story short...to be continued in a couple of weeks in direct from Norway!!! Now time to go see Par, get the guidebook, talk to Jonas, get the beta, and climb with Oriol, get my trad rack back. My first summer in a while that it looks like I'm not going to Chamonix, but adventure will come my way one way or another.

Edinburgh the gloomy

2011-07-12T10:22:00.001+02:00

Continuing my travels up North, I also visited Edinburgh, the Scottish capital where I have not set my feet yet. During the visit itself I started to dimly recollect talking about the city, its history, and sights, in our English classes in high school, long time ago. A very interesting city indeed that generously provided for a surprisingly rich visit despite the unpredictable uncontrollably rainy weather and limited time available for sightseeing. One has to be warned directly and honestly - visiting Edinburgh without rain is possibly impossible in summer. But it has some ways to keep the tourist happy - such as numerous museums, shops, or coffee houses (such as this one, the Elephant House, where for instance Harry Porter was born among other novels, scribblings, and journal entries by the tea, coffee, and elephant lovers). At the first sight, it appears a gloomy city indeed:

Greyfriars Churchyard

One of the sights I did have a chance to visit was the Holyroodhouse, the Edinburgh residence of the Queen. Rich in history, it was home to many Kings and Queens, most memorable probably being Mary Stuart, that saw her lover killed in one of the rooms here by her husband (yes, many gloomy stories in Edinburgh)...

Inside court of the Holyroodhouse

Outside the palace, actually alongside behind it, lie the ruins of the abandoned abbey that inspired Mendelssohn's Scottish symphony among others. Roofless and open to the sky, defenseless in Scottish weather, the walls still proudly stand, a symbol to both the permanence, and impermanence of things. It also made me think of the speech by Deirdre McCloskey I heard just a couple of days before about the Victorian travel writer and skeptic Alexander Kinglake, who suggested that every church should bear on its front door a large sign, "Important If True..."

Romantic remains of Holyrood Abbey

Although the rain managed to spoil several of the walks in the city during the two days I spent there, the compensation came in the most ephemeral form - the clouds. Incredible clouds, almost as if painted by Constable himself kept changing, moving in, moving out, all day long. Although often bringing the rain with them, they kept the sky so beautiful, so curiously different at every moment, that it became a delight for me trying to spot the blue quadrant somewhere in the middle of the stormy surroundings.

Clouds over Edinburgh

Oh, and not to forget Bobby. As Copenhagen has its Little Mermaid as a symbol, Edinburgh has Bobby. He is the celebrated dog that spent 14 years mourning on the tomb of his master, John Gray, in the 19th century. I heard that story in some context before, it was funny to come across the statue of the hero in Edinburgh:

To finish with art, the National Gallery impressed me with this portrait of Lady Agnew of Lochnar, by the talented American John Sargent that kept me standing there, apparently it made his fame in the UK, and I am not surprised. It left more impression on me than Rafael (he could not paint hands, could he?), Titian, or Gainsborough downstairs (maybe Botticelli's Virgin adoring the child also left an impression).

Copenhagen, the bike city

2011-07-05T08:05:00.002+02:00

Nyhavn, where Hans Andersen used to live for many years

Lately I have been, among other things, visiting Copenhagen, a city that has been on my travel list for at least 10 years now. Before, I have only been to Oslo, of all Scandinavian cities, although closely acquainted with Sweden during my early days, while learning to read with a book about Karlsson and his travels on the roofs of Stockholm through the incredible imagination of Astrid Lindgren and my father's efforts.

First impression - a city very similar to Belgium, especially the Flemish part, as well as to Amsterdam. Another strong impression - bikes. They are everywhere! There are more bicycles in this city than I have ever seen before, probably more than cars, impressive. It looks interesting, although maybe not exactly always beautiful to see loads of bikes left unattended in all possible places and positions.

Otherwise the city has more space than other European capitals - big streets, unexciting food, and a lot of Anglo-Saxon influence, for the good or for the bad. Sure, they all speak perfect English here, 7-11 shops litter every street corner, and eating a steak or a burger is the most usual thing. Maybe Copenhagen is not architecturally very appealing, but one comes to appreciate the harbour, the small houses, and especially the museums. Danish culture is carefully presented in the National Museum, with expositions including mummies from 1300 BC, originally buried in oak trunks. Strange to see so much interest in home culture - I am more used to French, English, or Spanish museums proudly exposing things stolen from other parts of the world. Here Danish have done a great work to expose details of their own, warrior Viking roots. As interesting as Egyptian culture, a good learning moment, especially given that Vikings were also my own forefathers, engendering Ukrainians together with the Mongols that came all the way from the East.

So much available water also afforded us a pleasant boat tour, visiting the city symbol, Andersen's unhappy little mermaid. Despite the happy-end interpretation by Disney, the original fable is rather depressing. The statue has not been very lucky either. It is actually famous in Denmark because it has lost its head several times since its installation in 1913 by the Carlsberg brewer, Jacobssen, in fame of his lover. First, the mermaid was decapitated in 1964, and again in 1998, as a protest against consumerism, and as an act by feminists to show that women are valued mainly in the society without heads, body alone. The statue is still there, with a copy to replace the head that was never found.

To stay with the mood, we also visited the freetown of Cristiania, ideallist town or dirty squat in the middle of Copenhagen. The sad free town, declared independent in the 1970s, remains just that...sad but supposedly free...

We finished with a visit to National Gallery and happened to see a very nice exposition of "French" art 1900-1930, especially fauvists such as this Anita by Kees van Dongen:

And Derrain's Woman in Chemise

Travels to be continued...

Mercedes Sosa, la Negra

2011-06-24T22:27:00.003+02:00

time to go to cavallers again

MacLeod on Longhope

2011-06-23T22:33:00.003+02:00

(picture from Hot Arches Production)

Incredible climbing and images from Dave completing one of the hardest trad lines free, in a day, 500 meters of Scottish sea cliffs at Orkney. Amazing, looking forward to climbing with Dave in 2 weeks as part of the Gore-Tex Experience tour, can't believe I'm going to meet the guy...remember watching his E11 movie in 2006 and thinking crazy, just crazy...maybe this could be a definite treatment for my lead head issues? Live and see.

Be water, my friend...

2011-06-20T22:25:00.001+02:00

Waiting for the season to come...impatiently waiting...always waiting...

While old good (?) friends refuse to speak to me, new friends are not taking much more care, dropping me on belay, going on with their lives, while me, I'm waiting, wondering at the world, wet and cold, waiting for Godo...

Pictures by Delphine...

Hole in the chest

2011-06-17T12:48:00.001+02:00

Thanks Kostia for the pointer

Mysterious Montserrat

2011-06-08T14:51:00.004+02:00

The mysterious Montserrat, the misty, rainy, and full-blown mountain. It has given me a lot, it probably still has a lot to give. One just has to be willing to come, to listen, to quietly wait. Following the Guilleumes descent down, once again, totally wet, slipping with each step, creating friction with my sandals, with my hands, with my hips, feeling intensely the wet vegetation slapping on my face, wet and cold hair getting into my eyes, not thinking, just going down, calculating each step, taking my time and going down.

In the bottomless pit there is a wall. The one and only dry wall of the day. Although rain is pouring steadily around us, one white imposing wall is dry. Obsessed, going up, trying another line, solving another puzzle. This one is different, this one is the same. This time it´s a boulder problem that resists me with all its will. Only 4 moves: first a long reach with the right hand, that is hard, needs some dynamism and decision, but possible. Then a VERY long reach straight up with the left hand, to a small two-finger pocket, incredibly far away. The hardest move for me - from down below it just looks impossible, i never reach, i slip with my feet, i struggle with my equilibrium, i change shoes, the new Miuras do not help - the wall pushes me away, the partner somewhere far down below in the mist rushes me to go quickly, we only have a few hours of daylight left, he wants to have his try too. That reach looks impossible. I try again. I figure out the footwork, but the reach is still too far. Maybe next time. Then cross with the right hand a couple of centimeters above to another, even smaller, two-finger pocket, if i try hard i fit three fingers there, close the crimp, and pull. Equilibrium, footwork, believe it, position, and go left again. Only four moves, but what moves. The key to the route, the magic key to start dealing with the second part, the remaining hard slabby traverse, again far-away moves, but already more understandable, closer, things i can deal with, slapping on small but definite holds, already having the anchor in sight.

Is this the one? Could i do this one too? Maybe, maybe not. It depends if the mountain is still with me, if it lets me taste further its deep secrets, if it gives me the right of way for another line, for another moment of hormones, of achievement, or if it leaves me be, lets me fail and stare blankly at an impossible wall. The mountain does not care, it is concentrated on its trees, its rocks, its mosquitoes and birds, its eternal soul. Now it is busy overflowing with water, with life. The humans dangling powerlessly on its walls leave it indifferent, they are insects in the mirror of time. Let them struggle in their search, in their dire attempts at making sense of their lives, at finding the treasure, at sharing the mystery with another.

when the clouds turn immobile
when the air stands still
when the storm does not appear
and no expectations remain
with spoiled taste in the mouth
time to forget time to remember
time to give up time to smile
time
is
nothing
without you
in the corridors of my mind
wrapped in cushions of red
hanging heels over head
on one rope
swinging in crazy rhythm
another circle
colored in gray
disappearing forever
in the misty night

Cathy on Climbing

2011-06-07T09:00:00.001+02:00

Another look on the climbing life from Cathy, in a way similar to what Eva Lopez kept talking about this w/end in Panxa del Bou - at some point you have to answer that why question for yourself.

Poetry minute

2011-05-27T20:39:00.002+02:00

By the master, Mr. Prévert

Le chat et l'oiseau

un village écoute désolé
le chant d'un oiseau blessé
c'est le seul oiseau du village
et c'est le seul chat du village
qui l'a à moitié dévoré
et l'oiseau cesse de chanter
le chat cesse de ronronner
et de se lécher le museau
et le village fait à l'oiseau
de merveilleuses funérailles
et le chat qui est invité
marche derrière le petit cercueil de paille
où l'oiseau mort est allongé
porté par une petite fille
qui n'arrête pas de pleurer
si j'avais su que cela te fasse tant de peine
lui dit le chat
je l'aurais mangé tout entier
et puis je t'aurais raconté
que je l'avais vu s'envoler
s'envoler jusqu'au bout du monde
là-bas où c'est tellement loin
que jamais on n'en revient
tu aurais eu moins de chagrin
simplement de la tristesse et des regrets
il ne faut jamais faire les choses à moitié

The fall

2011-05-22T21:57:00.001+02:00

Picture by Jaume Clua

So many reflections lately. But as Weick says clearly in his Sense-making book: "People discover what they think by looking at what they say, how they feel, and where they walked. The talk makes sense of walking, which means those best able to walk the talk are the ones who actually talk the walking they find themselves doing most often, with most intensity, and with most satisfaction. How can I know what I value until I see where I walk?" I do the talk through writing, the walk through climbing, hoping that both substitute quite well. And if not, oh well, I will remain my only faithful reader, with the added benefit of first-hand understanding.

The fall is a big part of climbing, maybe also of life. A strong symbol, not only physical, it is also part of such English expressions as "fall from grace", "fall in love", "fall flat on your face", or "fall on deaf ears". It is also a mythological word, deeply part of Christian, Jewish, but also Muslim and Hindu stories, told and retold to generations of bewildered, open-mouthed children or much more bored and indifferent adults. In climbing at least, one prepares for it, one faces it, one screams, one bites one's lip, one falls. The fall can be short, abrupt, and surprising, - like falling in love. It can be long, painful, even infinite, - like falling from grace.

Falling is a pretty intriguing concept, action-based but oh so mental as well. When i started climbing, i was unconscious enough for the fall not to matter much. It was not a possibility deeply considered or analyzed, it was just a consequence, a price to pay for a mistake, something i knew was objectively there, but not close enough to evaluate, to experiment with, to make up my mind about. Climbing long routes, high up in the mountains, the fall became a far-away reality, a myth, a symbol of something climbers do, but not something i assumed or struggled with personally. It took some time, but falling came to me, and stayed with a vengeance, waging a total war against my established climbing personality, my self-esteem, my most dearest, - the desire to climb and surpass myself.

I remember clearly my first serious fall - leading the hardest pitch on Whitney-Gilman route on Cannon mountain in New Hampshire, after having done it already at least twice (once in February during a memorable winter ascent with my Russian friends), I clipped the piton, and started traversing. I got pumped. I tried to go back to the piton, tried to go directly up. My arms started to give up. My partner was too far to hear me. At some point i just could not hold on anymore and let go. I have no memory of the fall itself, only of the soft landing on top of my backpack, the surprise at being whole and not aching much anywhere, of the piton still sticking up there its ugly head and holding all my weight, proudly showing off its strength despite the years of corrosion and withstanding all possible weather affronts. I did not get overly scared - but I haven't done many falls on gear since either.

I remember my other fall, THE FALL, in Callanques, same partner, different route. Bolted all the way, how much better could it be? I was too confident, I was that young bold alpinist from the joke, I urgently needed a lesson. After an epic on the Eiger, an epic in Cham, the third w/end was to be in Callanques, it was time for me to really learn my lesson - not even in my beloved high mountains, but on warm white limestone that first lulled me back to confidence, just to strike better at the right target. Strong as i felt, i did not manage to clip the bolt from the ledge. I went for the move anyway, without clipping. I failed, i fell. Only a couple of meters, but a nasty, side-ways, painful affair, slashing my foot open and disabling me for the season. Again, i do not remember the fall, only the strange amazement from looking at my bleeding foot slowly growing in size to a small pumpkin, the adrenaline going down, and the pain kicking in. The long way up the remaining pitches with one foot and Alex pulling me up the rope, already in the dark, the light of the headlamp so far away, the painful last meters of the supposedly gorgeous ultimate 6a pitch, sitting and waiting for the rescue on top of Devenson in the cigales-filled night.

I thought this one did not matter either - but when i went back on the rock afterward, my brain switched. It switched automatically and for real. The switch was on for self-preservation. The brain does not forget, that switch was genetically programmed and sealed for the years to come. There was no more risk-taking. Any fall with any kind of unhappy potential made me give up. I gave up on 6bs, on 6cs, on 6as, I followed. I cried. I raged. I dreamed of leading and could only go second. I went higher, on harder routes, but I went second. I subconsciously blamed my climbing partners, blamed Alex, blamed the world, those were some unhappy years of my climbing. The reconstruction took some time. It took a rather long time indeed. Two years following, a year leading easy multipitch, another year of projecting with slings as long as one could tie together short of toproping.

Now I can almost face the fall - I still use many slings, but i can face the fall, i can count to three, close my eyes, do a stupid Sharma-cry, and let go. Whatever happens - take it, assume it, believe in your partner, in the rope, the gri-gri. And fall. That is an integral part of sport climbing. Falling is possible, falling can be accepted, never completely controlled. Time, and a lot of effort. Maybe, one day, my dream would be to do one of my projects without the slings, opening myself to the fall, taking the risk, enjoying only the move, the freedom, the air below, accepting the possibility of a fall, and moving on with it. Maybe that is a good next step. Maybe not.

I do not have recipes, but with a lot of effort, practice, and pushing your body, one can find the gift, the freedom, the courage to look the fall into its scary eyes and let go. Some people will be able to do it much easier, some will go solo, and not care about gravity or anything else at all. Most humans will be scared - scared as we are in so many moments of life, scared of failing, scared of climbing pumped, climbing at the limit, scared of giving it all, all the best there is in us, all the best we can give. The good thing about adrenaline though is that while on the project, when knowing all the moves, the fear is transformed, it changes its colors, it switches its crazy face to a tone of white, not grey anymore. It is about putting one foot in front of the other, of fighting the pump, of doing the mechanics of the moves - it is not only about the fall anymore. Coming full circle, the fall becomes secondary, just a consequence of messing up, but not an ultimate punishment, not the scarecrow it used to be, not the unknown grey shadow, but a normal possibility that is accepted, faced, and assumed.

Klaas making Geyık bayıri rock

2011-05-17T23:30:00.002+02:00

Latest awesome video by Klaas about the season in Turkey. You have it all, girls, a Western, a highline, snowboarding, hamam, a Sportiva commercial, drilling, and even a cause. Check it out...!

Raki on the rocks - Climbing in Turkey from klaas willems on Vimeo.

Go Klaas, you're the best, go Ruben (boys are growing up)!!! I wonder how Ruth is doing...

The climbing life

2011-05-16T14:17:00.000+02:00

Climbing life is a choice - not an easy choice, but a clear choice it is. Some might call it an irresponsible life, a selfish life, a wasted life. All of that might be true. But it is also a life, and as life goes, it has its own ups and downs, its evolution and learning, maturing, illnesses, fears, depressions, sorrows, and joys. You talk about it, you do it, you plan it, you regret it, you assume it. Like any life, better or worse - I am none to judge. I think a life dedicated to something is already a more interesting life than just passing the hours, working, partying, sleeping, eating, and defecating.

I have tried to live my life setting goals, striving for something, at least giving myself the illusion of moving in a direction. Although less clear in my professional life, it has always been like that with my climbing. Longer routes, harder grades, more engagement, more exposure. When I first started climbing, leading what seemed to me then the "free" climbing life, passing months in Yosemite, in Squamish, going on expeditions to big mountains, appeared like a good goal, like something very hard but achievable. When looking at photos of treks in Nepas, when listening to stories every good old mountaineer is so good at telling the youngsters, I not only listened - i believed, i ruminated. It took me some years, some effort, a lot of convincing and family compromises, but I took the step towards my dream, I spent my time in Squamish, in Yosemite, in Cordiliera Blanca. I looked death into the eyes. Those eyes were not scary, they were cold and indifferent. That place was uncomfortable, humid, and inhumanly sad. There was nothing beyond, it just all ended, even without a scream. I did not like the image i saw in that mirror. I did not want to be that person - I was not fit enough, i was not strong enough, i was not ready to give it all up. I wanted down, I wanted to live, I had so much more to see and to do, I had enough energy to step by step go up, set up the tent another time, rub the feet against each other, spend 2 hours warming up the hands, suck on the snow, cooperate, and go down. I could move forever, for hours, i was going to survive.

Since, my climbing life changed. It took me a long time to realize the impact, the weight of the experience, the pain of the encounter, the fear of this lonely encounter I did not want to make again soon. Pressured to stop climbing by family, I decided against it, i took it easy, i moved again on the rock, in the sun, in warm rock shoes over easy vertical terrain. I took up the lead rope, i decided i wanted to climb, point. I did not want to be a super-hero, i did not want to be that mountain woman that died young, i did not even care about long routes anymore, i could live without snow-covered bell-shaped peaks that helped one look god into the eye. But not without a goal. I learned all i needed could be had in just 20 or 30 meters of a vertical playground. The same challenge, the same need for metal will, for grinding teeth, for faith, planning, and determination.

Setting goals is an interesting challenge and it uses up our consciousness to the fullest, the capacity of the brain to focus, to understand, and to coordinate the body for the purpose at hand. In climbing this is enhanced because you set goals about your own body, your mental power, you control (or not) your fear, and you build your strength, step by step. Only you can do it, only you might fail.

After a year and a half of hard training I am consuming the fruits, floating up the old projects, figuring out the moves on the new ones. Climbing is a tough maiden - she requires months of dedication, years of prayer and offerings, and decades of practice. She gives little in return: a vague smile here, a sparkle of an eye there. She spirits away the imprudent soul, the inattentive by-stander; the fleeting relationships, the weak do not withstand her continuous test. Always mysterious, always on the verge of escaping, of letting go your confidence, of betraying your faith.

But then there is the whole process of learning - and i think this is something that surprised me and made me so addicted to sport climbing. Starting a project with hardly being able to move bolt to bolt, looking at the life-line, the rope, and wondering how ever will i be able to lead this - to not only doing all the moves free, but to also getting to the top unaided, floating into the sky unstopped by gravity, by the heavy body, by the obtuse mind. And then, with time, with study, with careful examination, with a lot of self-persuasion, some daring and confidence, moving up, progressing, from doggying the route to starting to make progress, to climbing with a couple of falls, to redpointing.

The process is always the same, the routes are different. Moves change, names differ, weather becomes capricious, belayers come and go. But the rock stays - the pleasure of moving up, of not fearing the draws, of weightlessly moving up and away, the total concentration of being here and now, of living the present moment. Of having invested time, committed oneself to this, and the body responding, doing incredible things one thought impossible, one believed made for gods, not mortals. The magic continues, the magic persists. Maybe it is a stupid magic, a surreal magic that will evaporate one day with the mist of Montserrat, that will leave me be, leave me empty and exhausted, unfulfilled and remorseful, that - one day, staring death into the eyes again. Or maybe I will continue enjoying every day, every moment of the movement, staying young in spirit if not body, motivated as ever, the head above water.

People come, people go, they hurt you, they are unreliable, they are selfish, they are boring, they are cowards and liars. The rock stays. People come, people go, they surprise you, they teach you, they inspire you. The rock does not change, does not speak, but it does not betray you either. It shows you who you are immediately, it makes you tell the truth quickly and honestly, sticks your nose into the mud of your reality, but also makes your day happy and worthwhile. Let the people go, let them choose other lives, let them give up climbing, cheat on the mistress or the wife, leave the goddess in tears, let them give up their dreams and ambitions. Let them believe in prophets, duties, and other mirages. Me - I will go for a climb, I will go search for the mirror to look myself again into the eyes and see my worth, see my courage, see my fear, keeping balance on the edge of the void.

For Maluta

2011-05-06T12:11:00.001+02:00

We all wish you a lot of courage, Maluta...

Have no fear
For when I'm alone
I'll be better off than I was before

I've got this light
I'll be around to grow
Who I was before
I cannot recall

Long nights allow me to feel...
I'm falling...I am falling
The lights go out
Let me feel
I'm falling
I am falling safely to the ground
Ah...

I'll take this soul that's inside me now
Like a brand new friend
I'll forever know

I've got this light
And the will to show
I will always be better than before

Long nights allow me to feel...
I'm falling...I am falling
The lights go out
Let me feel
I'm falling
I am falling safely to the ground

Da Silva

2011-04-24T09:40:00.003+02:00

Da Silva "Le Carnaval" por totoutard

Another new guidebook

2011-04-22T22:13:00.002+02:00

After the fabulously picturesque Lleida Climbs, the new Siurana, San Benet, and Rodellar guidebooks last year, 2011 seems to start as another promising year for Catalunya guidebooks - this time it is Joan Miquel Dalmau, the owner of Balco de la Luna shop in my home town of Monistrol de Montserrat, that has finished this superb 450-page guide, complete with photos and a very good map of the Agulles. Even if you are used to navigating this complicated terrain, the guidebook is a gem to add to one's collection. Moreover, it also includes the latest updated version of the sport climbing at Vermell de Xincarro and Desdentegada - so far no errors noticed during a quick inspection - Vianant remains at 7c+, Busca Brega at 7b+, Ultravox at 7c, Canela and Vox Populi lack their names, but proudly stand at 7b. The Vermell part also includes (all?) the latest new routes opened by Piju n co' this winter-spring, such as Kurt Albert. To be enjoyed and climbed without moderation!

It is also rumored that the latest Luichi guidebook, the new version of Cavallers happiness, is to be found in the shops very soon....!!! Let's see if the projects and routes climbed will keep their grades intact there - now that Smith Rock is downgraded to 7c+ in Lleida guidebook, I need some comforting or simply more training, protein, and campus-pills...

Cavallers my love

2011-04-21T16:27:00.002+02:00

Opening the season, cold and wet

Philip and myself on The project...

Jaume the photographer getting fit

Miro, painter poet

2011-04-17T22:38:00.000+02:00

"For me, a picture should be like sparks. It must dazzle like the beauty of a woman or a poem. It must have radiance; it must be like those stones which Pyrenean shepherds use to light their pipes." Miró

Moon Bird at Smithsonian Hirshhorn Museum, Washington DC

Visiting another exhibition on Miró, I am always enchanted to find his works more surprising, less simple than it might seem at the first sight, always more inspiring, but also more fleeting. Miró, with his farmer or factory-worker face, looks almost as surreal as Magritte on the old black-and-white pictures. Is he making fun of us, his audience, painting and talking about these images that find meaning as he paints them, that find their names when he is done throwing paint on the canvass, concentrated, hard-working, all day long? Or does he know more than us, does he have a different sight, does he talk with Plato's shadows of the ideal? It is always the woman and the bird that come back in his paintings - not ants like in Dali's nightmares, but constant inspirations for Miro's more poetic and mystic work. Even during the dark years of WWII he paints women - in black this time.

One of the discoveries for me during this exhibition in Brussels (where ING is copying Fundacion Caixa in Barcelona with a dedicated space for art in the city center) was a book Miro illustrated for Paul Eluard's poetry. The illustrations reminded me of Shagal's more spiritual work for the Bible, where here Miro remained Miro - light, easy, un-understandable, full of himself - and full of meaning for the ones willing to accept him as he comes. Sure, as he and Eluard come together.

Une prison découronnée
En plein ciel
Une fenêtre enflammée
Où la foudre montre ses seins
Une nuit toute verte
Nul ne sourit dans cette solitude
Ici le feu dort tout debout
À travers moi.

Mais ce sinistre est inutile
Je sais sourire
Tête absurbe
Dont la mort ne veut pas dessécher les désirs
Tête absolument libre
Qui gardera toujours et son regard et son sourire.

Si je vis aujourd’hui
Si je ne suis pas seul
Si quelqu’un vient à la fenêtre
Et si je suis cette fenêtre
Si quelqu’un vient
Ces yeux nouveaux ne me voient pas
Ne savent pas ce que je pense
Refusent d’être mes complices

Et pour aimer séparent.

(P. Eluard)

The last impression from the exhibition - this other quote from the artist: "Pour moi, conquérir ma liberté, c'est conquérir la simplicité. À la limite, une ligne, une couleur suffisent à faire le tableau". This made me think more of my thesis - I would wish so much for it to be simple, for me to finally see the light and make it simple, conquer liberty through simplicity...

Inspiration

2011-04-13T22:45:00.002+02:00

I don't usually post videos, but this one left me drooling, over and over again. Death to gravity, everything is possible. Maybe one day, in the next 10 years? Or maybe not, I will go dream my dream anyway! Quizas, live and see...

KALÉA BORROKA 8B+ SIURANA Alizée Dufraisse from phil on Vimeo.

Strange times

2011-04-12T20:51:00.000+02:00

Strange times between projects, looking for motivation, for color, finding reasons to suffer more, working, sleeping, not much more going on - so much more going on. Moving on, from the South face to the North face, or going in circles. Pushing people away, trying to keep them in, life goes on, in its own inexplicable way. Dreams of granite keep me awake at night, nightmares put me to sleep. Let the strange times roll...

Melancolia

2011-04-02T22:22:00.004+02:00

Hermano, tu que tienes la luz, dime la mía.
Soy como un ciego. Voy sin rumbo y ando a tientas.
Voy bajo tempestades y tormentas,
ciego de ensueño y loco de armonía.
Ese es mi mal. Soñar. La poesía
es la camisa férrea de mil puntas cruentas
que llevo sobre el alma. Las espinas sangrientas
dejan caer las gotas de mi melancolía.
Y así voy, ciego y loco, por este mundo amargo;
a veces me parece que el camino es muy largo,
y a veces que es muy corto...
Y en este titubeo de aliento y agonía,
cargo lleno de penas lo que apenas soporto.
¿ No oyes caer las gotas de mi melancolía ?

Ruben Dario, a leer escuchando Game Over, by Marcel Cranc

...Ben Petat!!!

2011-03-29T23:19:00.003+02:00

"Encadenar una vía no es encadenar una vía...

Es una promesa hecha a ti misma,

es desayunar ilusión y cenar esperanza,

es el recuerdo de tu futuro..." - Eva Lopez

Thanks to all who have participated in my endless walks up and down to Senglar during the last three months, belayed, cheered, found a word of encouragement, or a friendly tap on the shoulder that kept me going. Oriol, Mark, Ville, Philip, Bernat, Ernest, Pau, Marieta, JuanAn, Carlos, Juanjo, Ruget, Esther - to all of you and others I forget - thank you.

Picture by Ville

Santa Anna - els Exploradors

2011-03-27T15:38:00.003+02:00

One of the main walls in Sta Anna, sector Exploradors on the far right.

After Santa Linya - another Santa, Santa Anna this time. A new sector is always very interesting to visit, especially in good company. Although already rather hot, Santa Anna proved to be a good choice - a couple of warm-ups on the left, (especially Classic Climbing, 6b+ and el Rei del tonga, 6c+), very good 7as (especially Laia, Scotty, and a bit harder Trinity), and incredible 7c+/8a Esfinx, with a crux move of one-finger undercling to big jug. 7bs were strange though - both Livingstone and Fills de Buda resisted the efforts of many, and made some unhappy on our team. Updated topo here and in Lleida guidebook.

Ville and Victor discussing the 7c, Magnifica in welcome shade...

Overall, a great week-end where all four of us redpointed the first pitch of Esfinx (flash for Marc, first 7c for Ville), and Ville and Victor finished the w-end also sending the Magnifica, another 7c that looked pretty good through the camera lens...:

Ville sending his second 7c of the week-end and of his life, Magnifica, way to go!!

Mark enjoying the evening sun on the same, Magnifica, 7c

Overall, a good relaxation for my body and mind before attacking again the project of this year, that has to be spelled in capital letters from now on, if ever to be done. But whatever it takes - I am not giving up, i wish i were stronger - i wish i were different, but let's just keep at this one...

Santa Linya

2011-03-15T10:31:00.004+01:00

A little strange, surreal w/end full of rain, caves, mud, flowers, and spring sun. Despite torrential rains, we were able to find a safe harbor on Saturday inside the Santa Linya cave - an impressive formation reminding one of Grande Grota in Kalymnos or Surgencias sector in Rodellar.

Mark belaying infatiguable Ville on his (9th?) try of the day

The climbing itself is very powerful, bouldery, and basically hard. Not my style at all, and bearing all the training in mind, I kept happily to the camera and took pictures rather than trash myself on the routes. This place is definitely for another generation, but worth at least one visit for curiosity's sake.

The incredible cave of Santa Linya

Second day finally brought the sunshine back to the thirsty, and we enjoyed it fully at Futbolin, more likeable sector with humane routes, orange coloring, and much less steepness. Mark impressed us all almost flashing Opium, 7c, and I followed by redpointing, feeling strong and weightless on the slab despite days of intense training.

Myself on crux of Opium, picture by Philip

Thanks to Albert Cortes for equipping the route we all enjoyed, and many more in the area :)

The boys having fun on nearby 7a

Let my people go surfing

2011-03-11T19:08:00.004+01:00

"With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world." - Desiderata, by Max Ehermann

I have been preparing to teach a case on Patagonia company recently, for once intersecting my professional and climbing life. Yvon Chouinard has founded Patagonia in the 60ies, as a result of his experimentation with climbing equipment and blacksmithry. From company history website:

"Chouinard, after meeting John Salathé, a Swiss climber and Swedenborgian mystic who had once made hard-iron pitons out of Model A axles, decided to make his own reusable hardware. In 1957, he went to a junkyard and bought a used coal-fired forge, a 138-pound anvil, some tongs and hammers, and started teaching himself how to blacksmith. Chouinard made his first pitons from an old harvester blade and tried them out with T.M. Herbert on early ascents of the Lost Arrow Chimney and the North Face of Sentinel Rock in Yosemite. The word spread and soon friends had to have Chouinard's chrome-molybdenum steel pitons. Before he knew it he was in business. He could forge two of his in an hour, and sold them for $1.50 each.

...

By 1970, Chouinard Equipment had become the largest supplier of climbing hardware in the U.S. It had also become an environmental villain because its gear was damaging the rock. Climbing had become more popular, but remained concentrated on the same well-tried routes in areas like El Dorado Canyon, the Shawangunks, and Yosemite Valley. The same fragile cracks had to endure repeated hammering of pitons, during both placement and removal and the disfiguring was severe. After an ascent of the degraded Nose route on El Capitan, which had been pristine a few summers earlier, Chouinard and Frost decided to phase out of the piton business. This was to be the first big environmental step we would take over the years. It was a huge business risk – pitons were then still the mainstay of the business – but it had to be done. "

"I've been a businessman for almost fifty years. It's as difficult for me to say those words as it is for someone to admit being an alcoholic or a lawyer. I've never respected the profession. It's business that hast to take the majority of the blame for being the enemy of nature, for destroying native cultures, for taking from the ppor and giving to the rich, and for poisoning the Earth with the effluent from its factories. Yet business can also produce food, cure diseases, control population, employ people, and generally enrich our lives. And it can do those things and make a profit without losing its soul." Yvon on business...

What if business was also about ... letting the people go surfing? Maybe productivity achieved would be lower, maybe more people would be able to find their passion in life - in surfing or otherwise. Or maybe this is all a utopia, and Patagonia is happily screwing its customers by making them pay important premiums on Patagonia products to cover Chouinard and his team's "surfing" times and environmental dreams...?

Early spring

2011-03-06T18:12:00.002+01:00

Early spring in Finland....

Early Spring 2011 in Finland from Anssi Laatikainen on Vimeo.
(thanks to Ville for sharing)

....

Early spring in Catalunya...

(no comment needed)

Philip working on Trenquem el Bloqueig, 8b

Myself on the unending project, Ben Petat 7c+/8a, picture by Ville

Berbere in France, or rock’n’roll du bled

2011-03-05T22:18:00.006+01:00

True or not, the rhetoric has it that North Africa is rising above the water lately, is there hope amidst of centuries of humiliation? As for me, I have been impressed by Hindi Zahra's music lately - reminding of Jewel, Lhasa, of Norah Jones, - but with a spark of her own. Awesome, sensitive, simple. I like...!!

Good feelings no more

2011-02-27T19:36:00.000+01:00

Good feelings

2011-02-25T22:19:00.004+01:00

Redpointing Vox Populi, 7b, Vermell, photo by Martin

Montserrat in spring is amazing. Maybe I am too emotional and naively romantic, but it is incredible - these last days I have been coming back often and each time enjoying it more, in detail, in bloom. Seeing the tail of a goat this day, breathing in the Mediterranean smell of plants the other, touching the smooth rock and following the flight of a huge and hairy bumble bee the third. It is my type of climbing, it is my type of place. No, I don't feel like going to other places, why bother with crowded and over-trashed Margalef, popular and too-orange-for-its-own-good Siurana, or the tufa-enchanted Montgrony - when Montserrat has it all, 15 minutes drive away. I do not want to escape anymore, I want to stay. I have done my part of escaping the last twelve years of my life - and somehow the spirit has left me, the move is no more. I do not need to go far to be free anymore. I want to stay and come back, live into the habit, enjoy the feeling of touching the same rock again and again, of walking the same rocky road, uphill first, and then downhill. Of seeing the seasons change, and trees wake up from a sleep in bloom, and olives getting fat and plumply in Catalan sun.

Walking towards Vermell, picture by Martin

Then there are the people - and climbing is so much about the people as it is about the nature. Montserrat is a royal place, a wonderful island in the sea of our civilization, an igloo in the middle of polar circle. But it still would be nothing without people. Climbing is a fulfilling sport in this sense - it is so incredibly good to share it with outstanding surroundings, but especially with others that enjoy it, that are obsessed with it, whom you can stop in the middle of a walk up or downhill, and tell them "oh, look, how gorgeous", "how incredibly beautiful is the view", "what a scenery". Or simply smile and receive a smile in return, filled with the atmosphere, with the fresh air, flowers more abundant with each visit. The pink of almonds below, the blues of rosemary higher up, and other small beauties I don't even know how to name that pop out here and there, just when you think you've seen it all. It is fulfilling, it is like a prayer to me - a day out, in the sun, feeling every cell of my body vibrate to the music, to the tune of the place.

Redpointing Vox Populi, 7b, Vermell, photo by Martin

And then there is my project - feeling my body adapt to the rock, take its shape, my fingers identifying with the crimps, my tendons becoming one with the holes, my fear ebbing away. It is again and again such a surprise, such an incredible surprise to see oneself progress on a route that seemed unbelievably difficult just a couple of weeks, even days before. Doing another move, flying off despite the instinct to hold on, listening to myself making little Sharma-cries, pushing on. From having only 1 good try a day to having 2 good tries, from suffering like crazy and having 50% chance of getting the start right to figuring it out, to breathing through the moves. From not being able to relax, to getting to the first rest in a respectable shape. To rest 2 minutes at the tufa, to rest another minute 4 moves above, to rest 1 minute before the move. To doing 1 move more. To doing 3 moves more. Only 2 moves more to go - and I might be able to clip the next draw. And then - the rock is my limit. The route is the masterpiece.

And it is same old Senglar again, again and again. I feel like home - like I have been climbing here forever and will climb more. There to the left is Ernest and Carlos trying Trenquem el Bloqueig, Pedro joining the bottom of Viatgi, the top and traverse to the right of Discordia and the ultra-hard exit to the right of Viatgi (8a+?), there is to the right Manolo and JuanAn working on Sprint Final, there is Ester, Fredrik, myself trying Ben Petat, and all the others, Bernat, Marieta, Oriol redpointing the route and showing me how it is done. There is Martin on Vox, Ville trying out Rush, there is Philip flying up my project. And there are those that came before, and that will come after.

A move before falling off Sincronisity, 7a at the Totxos, picture by Victor

And then there are other places in Montserrat, so many remaining, and calling to be explored. Such names as Xulum, Spok, or Unicorni keep me dreaming just a little more, just a little further into the wild. To see how much one can train one's body, how much one can train one's mind. How much is possible - and what is the limit. This year I managed to climb my 6b project at Sant Benet - maybe one day I will do a harder route - but oh, how good the climbing is there.

Why travel? Maybe I have arrived...maybe I just travel light lately...

Books of the year - 2010

2011-02-21T13:30:00.002+01:00

Given that my last post about the books of the year was pretty meager, i decided to update my reading list (note to self). Thus, my favorite books from 2010 were:

- Steinbeck, "The log from the "Sea of Cortez" (1)
- Weick, "Social Psychology of Organizing" (2)
- Hofstadter, "Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid" (3)
- Polanyi, "The great transformation"
- Kornberger "Brand society"

A very diverse bunch, but all very interesting indeed - from anthills to Mexican sierra, from English peasants to imagining organizations and brands as an interface between production and consumption. One has to read them to give them justice - but some good quotations go like this:

"This is not mysticism, but identification; man, building this greatest and most personal of all tools, has in turn received a boat-shaped mind, and the boat, a man-shaped soul. His spirit and the tendrils of his feeling are so deep in a boat that the identification is complete. It is very easy to see why the Viking wished his body to sail away in an unmanned ship, for neither could exist without the other. (1, p. 14)"

"No one is ever free to do something he can’t think of. (2, p.193)"

"The resolution [of Epimenides paradox] involves abandoning the notion that a brain could ever provide a fully accurate representation for the notion of truth. The novelty of this resolution lies in its suggestion that a total modeling of truth is impossible for quite physical reasons: namely, such a modeling would require physically incompatible events to occur in a brain. (3, p. 585)"

Project times (in pictures)

2011-02-06T20:39:00.001+01:00

Dancing up the rock, so light, so weightless, so incredibly good...

Those sweet and sour project times...

- still there, still falling off the move, but getting stronger. Above, one move before falling off... I have faith, it will come. But for the moment - back to the training board. Pictures by Marieta - thanks, boua, girl power :)!!!

Project times

2011-01-30T15:31:00.000+01:00

These strange times, between eying a line for the first time, figuring out you like it, figuring out it is challenging enough - just enough to keep your interest - to saying oh, it's sooo good, to coming back, trying the moves, again and again. And the positive feelings of the first serious attempts - starting to believe in the possibility of a send. Overcoming the fear, from doing the separate moves, to leading up. From leading to clipping all draws instead of grabbing them, from clipping to doing a couple of draws at a time, up. Forcing yourself - cold days, tired days, standing below with no energy left - and coming down full of excitement. To serious tries, where you surprise yourself, you get over another move, and another move. You set goals, and get there - maybe not today, but tomorrow. Another miraculous foot appears, another climber sends the route. You watch, you think, you analyze, you try to optimize. When your brain says "I can't", but at the same time your will power pushes you on. Project times.

Then the slope gets steeper - excitement is replaced by days of no progress, of cold, of "why am I here", "i can't", of grabbing the draw, of self-humiliation in your head, of fear. Black humor days, watching people send, always feeling inferior, not having boulder power, lacking resistance, pumping up, the miraculous foot slipping just when you thought you were really going for it. The days when you feel like quarreling with the whole world over, when nothing goes well, when even climbing gives up on you, when you wonder about caves and dark places, when justifying, rationalizing, and waiting simply do not make it worthwhile anymore. The clutches close, you slumber, you go down.

Then sun comes out again, the circle turns. They come, they go, they repeat themselves over. The dark times. The bright times. Project times.

Oh, Margalef!

2011-01-19T23:03:00.000+01:00

New year, new worries, but also more climbing. To start it right, I have been campusing at the gym, or rather simulating, as well as pulling myself up on two fingers. Otherwise, life is complicated, as usual, and as usual, climbing is there when there is not much else left.

Into thin air, below, redpointing Conxoirxa with the Gresca finish, 7b+ in Cabernet, one of the exceptional sectors at Margalef. It bathed us in the sunshine the whole last w-end, offering incredible blue skies and summer temperatures. These long routes take you on a journey into the air, into the rock-land, where only endurance and power gets things done. Maybe this is a good enough preparation for the project? Maybe not, but it is definitely an awesome way to spend a week-end after hard training.

Picture courtesy by Manu Velasquez

Beautiful Provence

2011-01-03T09:25:00.000+01:00

By JE Turquin.

Year-end

2010-12-21T15:59:00.002+01:00

This year will be remembered as the tipping point, consolidating my conversion from alpine to sport climbing. From struggling to lead 6as the year before to onsighting 7as and redpointing 7cs. From lame socializing at the climbing gym to serious training three days a week. From not being able to pull myself off the ground with both hands to doing 3 decent pull-ups on jugs and 2 pull-ups with 3 fingers on slopers. That's as much progress as my mind can fathom in a year - and i am still struggling with the consequences (tendonitis, triumphalism, and hubris at the rocks). I have also worked a little bit on my head skills - although long way remains to decrease the gap between onsight and redpoint grade, or to increase the amount of accumulated flying miles. The psychological aspect of climbing is the most fascinating and the hardest to challenge through direct action. I have tried - and hopefully will keep trying, although I do not believe fear could - or should - ever go away.

Otherwise I'm afraid I have not progressed as much in other domains - .i remained stubborn, self-centered, closed as a marmot, and alone as ever. Oh, I did get a Masters' degree, too, so that is another accomplishment I tend to forget. I also started giving classes and improved my presentation skills to the point of feeling comfortable presenting my own work to the audience of serious professors in front of me. Maybe climbing helps me in a way in this not that related field - i started to tell myself that if i can deal with the stress and panic of a hard climb, if i can assume the risk of flying and still give it my best, if i can try that hard - and survive - i can also master the critical eye of the other. I can expose myself - maybe just a little bit - take the cloth off and share my world - invite people in, or at least move the curtain a little aback. Having a blog is also my way of sharing. Let's hope next year i will have more things to share, more motivation to improve, and more dreams to look up to and possibilities to imagine. Or not. The black hole is always there, ready to swallow the elephant, the giraffe, or any other prey walking with their head high and spirits low. Hit me, may the new year begin.

And last but not least - my first try at editing a video, cameraworks by Pau, myself redpointing Viatgi Imaginari...Happy holidays and loads of inspiration to you all.

Imaginary Journey from Uasunflower on Vimeo.

(sorry for writing Spain in the title, the "error" was pointed to me after the editing had been closed...)

I find it hard to say

2010-12-12T22:41:00.000+01:00

Rest after the storm

2010-12-09T08:25:00.001+01:00

After redpoint day and super-cold, at least for Catalunya's standards, weather, the rest of the climbing days were spent South - first under the rain in Siurana, trying out the hard moves on Crema, and checking out the new - and it has to be said awesome - guidebook of the area by David Brasco, and then in Margalef.

2010 will be remembered as the year of new guidebooks for sport-climbing in Catalunya. The Siurana guidebook is not a photo album, as the Lleida climbs one, but still a very good and informative, not to say comprehensive, guide to more than 1200 routes in this incredible spot. Not only mentioning the length of climbs, the number of draws, the orientation and interest of the area, it has very good (and time-consuming) drawings of all walls and good approach descriptions (tried out the one to Siuranella South - perfect). Nevertheless, as usual, there are some problems with grades - several climbs have been downgraded (i.e. Dema les inocents, 7a+, Papagora, 7b+, Crema 7c+), maybe to keep up the mythology of the area and show how hard the + routes could be. Anyway, it is not the place to rant again and again about the grading, kudoos for the guidebook, David - long in coming, but very good indeed. Thanks!

Finally as for the climbing - with the returning warm temperatures we enjoyed 2 incredible days in one of the most scenic spots in Margalef - Cabernet. The two pictures taken by Pau, with Ville's camera don't make it justice, but here goes again, myself finally redpointing Califato Coach, a 10-star 7b there.

Viatgi, imagining the end to another journey

2010-12-06T22:15:00.001+01:00

(picture by kind Pau)

An old good song by DC Talk used to go like this:

What if I stumble, what if I fall?

What if I lose my step and I make fools of us all?
Will the love continue when my walk becomes a crawl?
What if I stumble, and what if I fall?

I still don't know, and I'm as scared as always. We fall, we get up, we reach the chain, and life continues. Getting to the chain is good though, oh so good!

Polyphony and disappearing cultures

2010-12-03T15:58:00.002+01:00

This composition by young Corse singers (more here) made me think of Pikardijska Tertsia, a group that used to be popular during my time in Ukraine. Similarly disappearing culture and language. It made me think of Lviv, our old yellow-red trams, meetings at Mitskevich monument, old bookshops, coffee houses, dark churches, and basement beer joints. Looking for a video I was not able to find anything too decent - the best one is this one from a Polish TV, with young Tertsia singing their best song...Memories, I am almost ready to read up on Proust...

Aporia or the Imaginary Journey

2010-11-29T20:46:00.001+01:00

I have traveled wide and long, over many years no place felt like home. Now, since a couple of years, I have stopped. In this place, Catalunya, that I now call home. Other climbers make me feel a little more justified in my choice - here is Sharma talking about his choice of home, friends, and family. Imaginary or not, the journey goes on, we choose where we want to be, and we go. Or we don't. For me one of the benefits of this new age of freedom of movement is the possibility of choosing - I want to live near the rocks, so i do. I want to define my identity through climbing, so i do. Have i finally reached port? I don't know, but sedentary life is not necessarily an unimaginative one. The journey can be real or virtual, dreamed through or real to the core.

Identity is so fluid, so good - and so wrong. It is not there, or it is. You would die for it, and than it is all empty. A journey is an escape, escape from self that never gets it right, always looking for the zen - the stone master who wanted to be the sun, the wind, the mountain - and then the stone master all over again. More years means just more circles - there is no more first time, only a deja-vu, an again and another retaliation of the same tune. Purification, authenticity - or all lies, all pretending, all artificial intelligence, artificial flavor. Only color, only smell, only concentration, only way is up. Another route, another project, another repetition of same old routine. Even climbing succumbs to it, gets dragged into the mud - the cold, the body, the head, all the same, all over again. Imaginary journey, a different setting - or all the same, all over again. Making sense of it, finding meaning, giving meaning. Lines, rock, relationships, conversations - needs and necessities, nothing real, all imagined, all of it in the head. Images - the boy with lama, the dying girl, all of it sensemaking, making sense, giving meaning to the world, in search of an innocence, the forgotten island of the past, the never-ending journey to the future. Why would it matter? There are no more rats, only ravens - crowing on the tombstones, tombstones of the dreams, the ones we've never been free to dream.

Viatgi Imaginari is a 40-meter feet of imagination indeed, orange, grey, bouldery, slopery, holdy. It has a roof, it has a pillar, it has a slab. It has a run-out, it has a hidden save-me bolt. It even has three key heel hooks to get the pressure down and give your arms back the needed strength. A route to imagine, a route to climb.

Not exactly related, but an example of another parallel imaginary journey, Oksana started to make Lyalkas, or dolls in Ukrainin, when she broke her leg and did not know what to do with herself for several months. Now her dolls are a success and a pleasure to look at. There is always more to be imagined, the journey that goes on...

Bruixes

2010-11-15T10:38:00.000+01:00

A discovery for me - the Bruixes crag, well-known by the hard-climbing Catalan girls, inspired me this w-end despite the cold, tiredness from training, and aching ear n' throat. After redpointing Jam Session on the second go and onsighting Pasta sin Agua following good advice and quickdraws in the right places by Pau and Lluis, I spent the rest of the w/end trying out Occident, a good, well-overhanging line for me - polished jug haul with the tufa ending for the strong. I think we'll be back...

Moreover, now with the new Lleida Climbs guidebook the menu of North-bound climbs from Barcelona has been increased substantially. Good work, Pete, Dani, & Albert, and nice picture album. Although some errors in the guidebook have already popped up - i.e. Cobra Canaries on African Wall in Cavallers is rated 7b+ instead of 8a, a stretch even for the strong guys!

And More

2010-11-10T18:05:00.001+01:00

Some tell me I should stop being obsessed, that climbing that much slab is not good for me. Some tell me to go pull on jugs. But then, how can one give up coming back? Montserrat, the one and only...

Picture by Luichy, myself climbing a 7a called Santaquemoia at La Miranda de la Vinya Nova...

Montserrat, always

2010-11-07T14:47:00.004+01:00

Montserrat has always been a source of inspiration for me and my projects. Starting with Rush, BuscaBrega, and Vianant, I keep coming back there for more challenge and flow, for more moves, intricate sequences, and incredible scenery. Zen of the place, its flowers, its bugs, its smells and sounds absorb and replenish, inspire and keep surprised. Now, as i see conglomerate from my window, i am closer than ever to the mountain. I do not need snow and high peaks anymore, it is enough to play on a short wall, 30 meters high, with some gear, but mainly my technique and my mental qualities as a resource. It takes time, patience, and always more self-knowledge.

Choosing one's battles carefully definitely helps the process to stay fun and sane. Maybe my last choice was not exactly following well the above guidelines - Mireia, a long route in Can Jorba's Soga de Satan sector, proved to be a much harder undertaking than initially estimated. Pau was the first to go up the incredible wall, getting the rope on Mireia through Oriol, its 7c+ neighbor on the right. We tried the moves together, and it did not all seem too hard, a 7c to the first anchor, and than a hard but rather short boulder problem that took one after another 5 meters of climbing to the second anchor. A hard 8a, others warned me.

After several days spent figuring out all the moves, we started trying the route seriously - and realized we could not even lead it to the first 7c anchor. Despite the route being totally my style, thin traverse from the final rest to clip the anchor kept throwing off any attempts at the redpoint. All possible mistakes made me fall more than five times at the last move - badly changed hands, bad friction, wrong shoes, wrong foot, no confidence - all possible excuses, to the point that there were no more. Oh, yes, there was one more - last day I came to the route with my finn friend Ville, and while toproping the route he managed to kick off a key stone that made the first long reach to the right a bit more manageable after the big ledge rest. This cost me another try - but i was ready, luck had its place no more. The route went, after many tries. I underestimated Montserrat again, and managed only to climb to the first anchor. Maybe i will come back, when stronger, to finish the route to the second anchor, or try its nice-looking sister, Martina.

(figuring moves on Rush, photo by Tranki)

For now next destination is Agulla de Senglar, with longer approach, but a wall as good as any in this orange conglomerate kingdom. Another line - this time a long stamina-fest - Viatgi Imaginari, awaits new effort, new tricks, hopefully less long slings, and more fly miles. Montserrat, always.

(toproping Viatgi Imaginari, photo by Nora)

Russia and its fate

2010-11-07T14:16:00.000+01:00

I was reading today Khodorkovski's pronouncement and wondering why Russia, or rather many of its people, have had this unfortunate fate of misery and demise in their own homeland. Whereas Americans, a little naively for sure, are usually seen in the bright light of the American dream and positive, if simple, emotions, Russia has earned the stereotype of suffering and never-ending maze associated with its intellectuals. Or, maybe, Khodorkovski is just aiming at the long run, playing his best response in the game, and all this should be dismissed as more rhetoric of another ambitious 'future Mr. President'? Yes, institutions in the country do not help, as Khodorkovski's case so well illustrates. However, there are also others, such as Perelman, who have refused their talent and participation in the world altogether. With each mention of Perelman, Dostoyevski comes to my mind. He somehow managed to epitomize in his work the country and the Russian soul, or did he? Yes, it would be scary and a little hopeless if so.

Ahthough Khodorkovski's story is the one in the limelight today, many other entrepreneurs and talented people have given up hope, taken up their belongings, and moved out. Or maybe this is my unconscious self trying to justify why me too, i have left my own country and not been willing to recognize it for some time now as part of my identity. Shattered hopes, my parents' absence of a vision of me in that country, all this contributed certainly to the exhaudus - of me in particular, and many, millions of others, in general. The consequences cannot be evaluated, usual in social sciences, - as we will never know what a world with a successful Soviet Union would have looked like. But it certainly would have been very different.

Siurana Invasion

2010-11-03T21:36:00.001+01:00

So many events in the last month, I lacked any inspiration to write even a short note. To start well, two full backpacks of climbing gear got stolen from my car, my camera included. This means less pictures, but not less climbing. The afternoon of the event we were already pulling up the Mireia project. Mireia project was another bad idea of mine - after abandoning ambitions of climbing the 8a extension, i realized i could not even do the 7c bottom part. Despite several days and patient belays from Pau, to Ville, to Luichi, and the slabby crux, the story remains to be continued.

Next, i changed living arrangements, now to live closer to the Mother Mountain, with all the stress implied in the moving, buying new stuff, and realizing just how much crap i actually have. Let all possessions die! The whole idea of things is so oh so overrated. With internet access, a bottle of whine and a good cheese, i could care less.

And next, the short and well-deserved vacation to Siurana. Despite it being so close to Barcelona, i had little feeling for this world-renown school. A winter's day hike after wet climbing at Can Marges with Bienve led me to Campi qui Pugui sector some two years ago. I remembered a prominent arete there and an impressive wall, climbing which i could not fathom at the time. I've walked below la Rambla and suffered bouldery routes of la Olla. I spent a day putting draws on Mandragora and failing on Remena Nena. Much more remains in store though. Although the definite guide by David Brasco is still lost somewhere in the print process, Siurana is full of good and bad surprises.

The first good surprise was the quality of the first project we tried, la Papagora. A major line running in the center of the pic above, somehow overlooked by the English-speaking Costa Brava guidebook, it has been spared the Mandragora fate of total polish. The crux is up high, and the route is gorgeous. It was well-suited to my style, and after a quick toprope, I almost got to the anchor on the 2nd try, i mean almost. Yes, i fell at the last possible move, after 35 meters of intense effort. But what a route!

Coming back the next day, the force was with me this time, and the send was over in the cool morning temperatures. My favorite line in Siurana so far, and not hard for the original 7c grade (especially if compared to its sisters, such as Cleptomania). The less pleasant surprises continued afterwards, mainly due to the poor bolting of the routes - at least in my opinion. Falling at the anchor was not over for this trip - first, i could not finish the onsight of Rauxa, doing it on the 2nd try, next i lowered off Gamba Gamba, and finally fell twice at the anchor of Muerte de un Sponsor, another major line. My head is definitely not ready to take it all as it comes in Siurana (and probably many other places). Oh well, everything just costs a big effort, that's the way. Below myself, thinking about flying, taping up, and coming back to old gear, Ikea bags, and Trango Squid power...

And the evil olive trash wonderer, never to stop, with feet that start acking, with hands that stop feeling, with heart that keeps beating, and dreams that keep dreaming.

Autumn in Catalunya

2010-11-03T15:01:00.002+01:00

Days go by, years go by, we grow up, learn, and forget. Meanwhile, seasons change, but remain the same, bringing us each time the expected colors, the beautiful skies, sun to look up to, and to smile at.

********
Красива осінь вишиває клени
Червоним, жовтим, срібним, золотим.
А листя просить: – Виший нас зеленим!
Ми ще побудем, ще не облетим.
А листя просить: – Дай нам тої втіхи!
Сади прекрасні, роси – як вино.
Ворони п'ють надкльовані горіхи.
А що їм, чорним? Чорним все одно.
Ліна КОСТЕНКО

Fading memories

2010-10-12T19:15:00.001+02:00

While listening to the sound of rain and Dylan's cup of coffee, alone as usual at my place, a thought to the past, that already seems so strange and incredible. While the haulbag lies dying in my closet. One day, I have to come back to at least free the Astroman...one day, back to the vertical realities, lots of air below, the only way being up. Dirtbagging used to be fun, and bears the only constraint on the mind flow.

Your breath is sweet

Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky

Your back is straight your hair is smooth

On the pillow where you lie

But I don't sense affection

No gratitude or love

Your loyalty is not to me

But to the stars above

One more cup of coffee for the road

One more cup of coffee 'fore I go.

To the valley below.

Fistful of Mercy

2010-10-07T16:43:00.003+02:00

New band by Ben Harper, not bad...

Riugreixer

2010-10-03T22:24:00.001+02:00

Another w-end, another sector. This time it was time for Riugreixer, a small sector above Baga, in the region of Berga. The best routes are in the welcome shadow in the afternoon, on the East face. Below Pau on Rinovirus, a very long, good 7a that already makes the trip worthwhilie:

Again, I had to confront my fears of overhang climbing - and again, the fears have not gone away. Flying and falling is as scary as before despite all the hard work and fly miles in Mowgli, Vianant, Alt Urgell...Climbing life is long and hard, at least for my little head. Thus, I failed to even toprope Magic Boulevard, and decided to go for easier objectives, the Violencia couple on the left. Violencia Domestica is a very good (and again long) 7a+, with crux in the second part. Violencia de Genere is more serious, hard 7b. I failed on that one too, below trying to confront the fears to fly:

The Medusa-woman, with all vertical works contraptions of long slings that do not substitute ever for a good head...May the red be the color of my shame...

And after the move...one day maybe I will learn to climb and fly...but it has not come yet.

Tres Ponts

2010-09-20T14:55:00.005+02:00

After a productive summer I faced a low period that gloriously finished with 3 weeks of training and finger injury at the end of August. The (short) time off from climbing gave me another chance to delve into myself and look for the sources of energy and enthusiasm for life. After a gulp of clear water from the endless lake of Cavallers, I am back again to the game - climbing a little more every week, and trying to keep up the good resolutions from the mountains. A gecko chose to migrate into my appartment during these rest days, and for me it is the sign that i can and will climb strong again, whatever the poor green thing jumping and crawling around my kitchen might think for itself while secretly laughing at stupid humans.

To start again, again anew, I first baught a car, and then climbed, and climbed again. Although some of my resolutions pleaded for a life with more to it than climbing, for the moment climbing took its biggest share unabashed, again.

*****

I finally visited for the first time the very interesting and little known climbing crag of Tres Ponts, situated south of la Seu d´Urgell, and north of Oliana, a village known itself for the very hard routes put up there by Sharma and co´. The crag is very good especially if you are into the harder 7th grade, with long routes of pulling on jugs intermingled with some technical limestone slab moves. It is unfortunately starting to get polished, following the fate of Siurana or Rodellar on a smaller scale, but the crowds are still pretty low - and hopefully will stay that way. It is in the shade in the afternoon and thus is one of the perfect summer destinations in the pre-Pyrenees at 2 hours from Barcelona.

I indulged myself with 3 almost consecutive days at Tres Ponts, sampling several good routes there. It is again one of the places where it is better to bring a strong team member to get the draws up as there is some airmiles to be done in the distances between bolts. Thus, for instance, I was unable to get to the anchors of the topo´s #36, and my project - Alt Urgell - also has an exciting run-out just before reaching the anchor and on the steepest section of the wall. Sometimes I wish so hard I had a drill and could just put a couple of extra bolts on these crazy routes - it always seems like the FAscencionists - all respects due - never think about the poor frightened chicken of the rest of us, especially the shorties like myself, that have to struggle mentally and physically in the limit to clip those bolts. And there was a time i thought sport climbing was easy!.. sorry, end of the rant...

Below is Edu on his hardest project - Instincte Salvatge, very good - but also very loooooong endurance 7b+ that I would rate closer to 7c, one of the classics and to be recommended in Tres Ponts:

The company had a good time all around - here is the newcomer to Catalunya, the Austrian Martin, showcasing his heel-hooking on his first redpoint in Spain, an easy 7b that is erroneously rated a whole 7c in the topo, the first pitch of an 8a to the right of Alt Urgell:

And here Pau starting that same Alt Urgell, a good long 7c, belayed by Josep, and showing off his now muscular back:

I took up the challenge of Alt Urgell too, finally enjoying a hard slab workout and facing my fears on the top overhanging finish. Below, working the moves, pictures by airborne Pau:

and again

and more

Happiness is a warm gun

2010-09-15T19:10:00.000+02:00

This incredible interpretation of Beatles' song Happiness is a warm gun by Marc Ribot took me by surprise. The song itself was in its time censored by BBC because of its sexual symbolism, although others have said the warm gun might have been a reference to heroin instead of Yoko Ono. Melody's lingering beauty captured with only a guitar and gentle finger strokes by Marc resonates stronger than words though.

Better late then never

2010-09-03T23:16:00.000+02:00

For Alex. Pictures from his website...

Мне нравится, что Вы больны не мной,
Мне нравится, что я больна не Вами,
Что никогда тяжелый шар земной
Не уплывет под нашими ногами.
Мне нравится, что можно быть смешной
Распущенной-и не играть словами,
И не краснеть удушливой волной,
Слегка соприкоснувшись рукавами.
Мне нравится еще, что Вы при мне
Спокойно обнимаете другую,
Не прочите мне в адовом огне
Гореть за то, что я не Вас целую.
Что имя нежное мое, мой нежный, не У
поминаете ни днем ни ночью — всуе...
Что никогда в церковной тишине
Не пропоют над нами: аллилуйя!
Спасибо Вам и сердцем и рукой
За то, что Вы меня — не зная сами! —
Так любите: за мой ночной покой,
За редкость встреч закатными часами,
За наши не-гулянья под луной,
За солнце не у нас на головами,
За то, что Вы больны — увы! — не мной,
За то, что я больна — увы! — не Вами.

Smith Rock?

2010-08-25T18:33:00.002+02:00

Again, climbing, this complicated game. The summer is almost over, I have started training, and it is time to think new projects, look deeper for motivation - and try not to get injured...Hard times, reading Eva Lopez and trying to forget another finger that hurts...

Collage by scovophoto

and a tiny thought goes out into the wild to Chloe Graftiaux, too quickly, too soon...

Caravan Palace

2010-08-16T12:53:00.001+02:00

This little piece made my day today, thanks to Rafa for the pointer, and with dedication to Wall, who finally sent his 8a in Freyr, the GsTQ:

African Wall

2010-08-16T10:36:00.001+02:00

This w-end was some slab therapy time. After recognizing my gone endurance flailing at St Llorenc, i focused on what i like most - granite, in my favorite sport climbing spot, Cavallers. The time was well spent with friends assaulting African Wall, the jewel of the crown. Best topo available - still not completely right as there are actually 2 7bs after "Somos los congitos", 7a, Flipin Palan, and then Black Mamba. Topo by Tranki.

More homework was thus done at African Wall this summer - the day started with inspiration: an onsight of Black Mamba. It seemed easy and good, was over too quickly as i went weightless from granite mushroom to mushroom. Then to continue with the serpents, i tried Cobra Canaries, first 8a off the 6b traverse (el mejor 6b del mundo), but it was too hard for this time (NEED NEW SHOES!!!!). So to get the spirits up, I finished by onsighting another slab reptile, the Flipin Palan after Pau generously left me many a draw on it. Thus, work left to do: Smith Rock, Cobra Canaries, la Frambuesa, and a little closer to my actual strength on slab right now - redpointing Cris.

Pau had his best w-end ever, redpointing first Massa Kumba, and then Los Illegales the second day:

Xavi decided on alpinism and la Traversia de Agujas de Traversani on the first day, and sport climbed with us on the second, here below on the 7a+ joining Massa Kumba:

And myself working hard the CRIS, an incredible futurist line, dedicated to Cristina Gomez Garcia.the Cris:

And again:

I left the route with 2 falls, it seemed pretty hard for 7c, I would upgrade it to 7c+ - incredible feat of imagination required to bridge the available holds on this one...

Afternoon Sessions at Sant Llorenc

2010-08-11T16:49:00.002+02:00

To know people is wisdom, but to know yourself is enlightenment

To master people takes force, but to master yourself takes strength (Lao Tzu)

This summer the time has finally arrived to visit the famed Sant Llorenc, an interesting climbing area situated on top of the Matadepera town, known for having the highest per-capita income in Spain. It is probably the best-managed online area with a pretty comprehensive topo available here. St Llor is also an area with a high concentration of difficult climbs - starting with 7s at Gruyere or Paret Gran, and moving to the Siberia for the hardcore 8s. Here one can meet on hot summer days such stars as Ramonet, onsighting most 8s of the Siber, or Helena Aleman training for her next send. There is also some place for the mere mortals, to work, sweat, and cuss the bouldery routes.

Climbing at St Llor is special in its own way. Although it is conglomerate like the near-by Montserrat, it is different in many ways. It requires much more endurance, dynamic moves, and pure explosive force the boulderers are so good at harnessing. It is basically at the antipodes of my climbing style - but I thought it still might be good to work out here a little, especially given the 'chuchuflu', or the heat wave that makes climbing anything at this time of the year a rather painful exercise.

Thus, we have been going up the dirt road for many days in a row with Pau, picking up lines and cussing at the challenges. Pau did well, sending his first 7b+, and onsighting 7as. I did not do much, falling off most projects here and there - although it is all good, all training for some invisible fuzzy future and mastering Lao Tzu's advice. Pau eternalized one of those moments with his first full-blown 1-minute video of the afternoon sessions, proudly presented below, with Par climbing Performance in the background (another proud send!!):

S'hi ha d'anar from Pau Freixes on Vimeo.

The Three Worlds

2010-08-06T21:38:00.000+02:00

by one and only Mr. Escher.

Rambles around Chamonix II

2010-08-04T16:50:00.001+02:00

Rambles in pictures.

Leading away, Bienvenue au George V, 1ere Pointe de Nantillon, awesome picture by Xavi:

Trio on the summit, Marcal, Xavi, and myself:

Marc the mountaineer on the ridge (not looking down!!!):

Crux traverse of Fin du Babylone, Brevent, Marc daring the rain:

Some objectives remaining - Rognon du Plan Inferier, head-on view on American Beauty (or time to train hard again...):

Rambles around Chamonix I

2010-08-03T12:15:00.001+02:00

It has been already 5 years I have been coming to Cham on and off, for skiing, ice climbing, rock climbing, or what is generally known as mountaineering or alpinism. This year is no exception, although it has been an anti-climax of a trip, making me wonder if i really want to be in this expensive, posh, and tourist-jammed town over and over, again and again. Some long-due realizations:

* risk-taking in mountains is a habit; only by doing it over and over does one manage to shut up the instinct and become blind to the dangers of avalanches, crevasse crossings, ridge walkings etc.
* sport climbing does make you stronger in the mountains: after many years of trying i finally feel good and compfy trad climbing 6as...
* mountaineering is very inefficient, and my patience is rather limited, especially given the realization that i could be working on a project somewhere warmer and enjoying the process much more
* partner is the key word, as always, and oh, hard, how hard it is to find someone who could both inspire me to give it my best, and make me feel warm and fuzzy in my own skin
* taking the latter two propositions together, my motivation seems finally to be waning, maybe it is high time to stop wondering and looking always higher to such routes as Digital Crack or American Beauty, and just stay at the sea-level? Maybe Jonathan the Seagull was completely crazed and wrong?

With all of these wonderful and deep realizations so clear, i hope i will not forget them next year and not rush off again to the old dear mountains just because they are there. This post is just a self-reminder, that maybe, just maybe, a vacation in Kalymnos or Rodellar could be a much better option given my current priorities, capabilities, and interests...speaking to the deaf, i know. All this makes me think of Escher's dragon, tirelessly biting at its own tail, while hopelessly trying to become three-dimmentional, in a Sysiphe kind of way:

In Escher's own words:

However much this dragon tries to be spatial, he remains completely flat. Two incisions are made in the paper on which he is printed. Then it is folded in such a way as to leave two square openings. But this dragon is an obstinate beast, and in spite of his two dimensions he persists in assuming that he has three; so he sticks his head through one of the holes and his tail through the other.