Dancer in the dark

Fanatics in Montserrat

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, 8b,  - 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

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...

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

How to look for a yeti

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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, como suelen ser las montañas, siguió un camino lento de evolución, o más bien de descomposición…desde hace años, siglos, o milenios.  Cada día, su sombra se volcaba hacia el valle, abajo, precipitándose sobre las rocas, siguiendo por el prado de hierba, el lago, la pedrera, el pequeño bosque, superando entonces el fiordo, atravesándolo con ritmo, y al final, cada día, alcanzando las tierras del otro lado. 

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

Hasta el día que aparecieron los escaladores.  Vinieron en cordadas…dos, tres, cuatro… a pasear por su verticalidad, a intentar superar la gravedad que sus paredes albergaban, a recorrer cada rincón de la piel del Hombre Azul.  ¿Qué les motivaba?  ¿Qué o quién les empujaba hacia allí?  Sólo los cuervos y alguna ardilla merodeaban por estos lugares fríos y húmedos, la mayoría del tiempo, cubiertos de oscuridad, nieve agotadora, o densa niebla, y casi siempre sin esperanza de mejora.  Los escaladores persistían en su busca surrealista de retos, de superaciones utópicas, de logros sin importancia, de fotos borrosas, y de sonrisas cansadas en las cimas siempre nubladas.

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

Es una mañana ya fría, las primeras señales del otoño en el aire no nos dejan relajarnos.  Decisiones. Siempre hay que tomar decisiones en escalada. Siempre con consecuencias, y siempre con resultado incierto debido a las pocas variables controlables que intentamos gestionar.  ¿Empezar la vía o darse por superado?  ¿Seguir hacia arriba o abandonar?  ¿Atreverse a hacer el paso, aceptando la posibilidad de la caída, o dejar al compañero probarlo, bajando con la derrota a tus espaldas? Ya que estamos aquí, la primera decisión es fácil : empezamos.  Ya veremos cómo está la pared 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, en planificar la logística de la filmación en vídeo, de la cámara, de subir con tres personas… Al cabo de la primera semana decidimos no continuar, era demasiado peligroso, la vía demasiado difícil y la logística demasiado compleja. El largo clave, que parecía 8ª, tenía piedras sueltas y rocas afiladas que podrían cortar la cuerda del segundo en caso de caída.  Además tenia una travesía, con mucho desplome y pocas posibilidades de rapelar si hubiera problemas o mal tiempo en la segunda parte de la vía. 

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

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

El primer largo se hace eterno. Dave se queja de lo mojada que está la bavaresa clave, pero llega finalmente a la reunión. Es mi turno de subir.  La mochila pesa.  Días atrás 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 vía larga, en una fría cara norte como ésta….  Hoy los primeros pasos me están costando ya demasiado, siento todo el peso de la mochila, de mis manos y de mis pies llenos de gravedad, de miedo, de tristeza,  cansados de tantos días de escalar, hacer metros y kilómetros de bavaresas. De caminar, de caminar aún más.  ¿Seguimos?  Sí, adelante, ya que estamos aquí, implicados con esta ascensión, a ver qué tal el tercer largo, el verdadero crux de la vía.

Dave acaba rápido el segundo largo. Este largo también está un poco mojado, pero aún es posible.  Dave empieza el tercero, la clave, con más dudas.  Se queja de que no se acuerda ni de los pasos saliendo de la reunión.  Pero rápidamente se mete en el juego y empieza a “apretar” (es una palabra divertida, que aprendí en relación a la escalada cuando vine en España, y que me sigue gustando porque transmite muy bien las emociones y gestos implicados). El primer diedro negro, llamado “lagrimas negras” porque está mojado la mayoría del año, se presenta 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 100 kilos, 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 grado del largo a 8a. Primero un techo que se pasa por la izquierda,  después un bidedo malo para subir mucho los pies y llegar a un descanso improvisado debajo de otro techo.  Y una última salida en bavaresa, subiendo y bajando los pies, con un friend rojo de Black Diamond clave para lograr superar el paso.  Y ya está!!! Dave está gritando en la reunión.  Lo hizo, ¡increíble!, ¡ya no hay vuelta atrás!  Dave lo ha dado todo. Aunque me cuesta mucho subir, al llegar a la reunión improviso una sonrisa enorme e intento transmitir todo mi entusiasmo a Dave.  Sólo nos queda un largo de 7c con los primeros 10 metros complicados, y el 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 por encima de nuestras cabezas  y aterriza abajo.  Al final me atrevo a probar un largo de primera.  Sólo escalo 20 metros de 6c, y hago reunión en una repisa intermedia, sin arriesgarme a hacer la travesía evidente sin ninguna protección.  El sol acogedor, que baña la cara norte a las ocho de la tarde en el verano ártico, me dice que no pasa nada, que ya “apretaré” otro día, haciendo deportiva en la roca caliente de mi nueva tierra natal, Cataluña la imprescindible, Cataluña la salvaje. Dave acaba rápido mi largo, con movimientos acerca de 7ª, que ya casi apenas repito de lo cansada que estoy.  Pero ya no queda nada, el último largo pasa rápido, y en la cima el equipo filma el final triunfante. No tengo fuerzas ni para construir una sonrisa digna para la foto de la cima. Gasto los restos de mi energía concentrada en devorar la última barrita para recargar las pilas. Se hace de noche.

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

Raco del Segre and other stories

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...

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?

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

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...

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)