Avoiding the herd

Idea for a game: Spanish bouldering bingo. To be played whenever and wherever you go bouldering. Each characteristic you observe is worth one point. The player with the most points at the end wins. Points are awarded for:

• Dreads, rat-tails or any other atrocious hairstyles. (mullets are worth two points)
• Incredibly badly-behaved dogs. (extra point if there are two, and they're constantly fighting/barking/fucking)
• Marijuana (one point if you only smell it, extra point if you're offered some) 
• Loudness (you'll definitely hear them before you see them)
• ENCOURAGEMENT. (more than you will ever, ever need)
• Littering (especially bits of finger-tape and cigarette ends, they aren't really litter right?) 
• Uncomfortably close spotting (you'll feel violated)
• If they all easily flash your project you get the BASQUE BONUS (three points)

Now, as I read that list I feel like a bit of a misanthrope. Who am I to criticise their eclectic hairstyles? It's a different culture and how dare I apply my repressive aesthetic standards to them. I've also left out another stereotype: Niceness. Spanish climbers are by and large, always nice people. I've been given food, I've been given beta, and yes, I've been offered a smoke. However, as an elitist who enjoys the delusion that climbing attracts a superior type of person, I find it harder to ignore the things that go beyond just mullets.   

Caligula stand 7C 

So firstly, the noise. There is nothing like the peace and tranquillity of an untarnished wilderness, and there is also nothing like having it broken by twenty or so shouting boulderers, dogs in tow, moving through a cloud of weed smoke and leaving a trail of litter. The equivalent noise at a crag in England would be silenced immediately by a combination of tutting and icy glares. 

I should throw out the #notall disclaimer now. Obviously there are some lovely Spaniards who sneak to and from the boulders, leaving no trace but meticulously edited Instagram photos. But as with all of these 'not all (insert group here)' conversations, it doesn't have to be all of them to have a negative impact. I'm sure not everybody who likes swimming in the river Manzanares during the summer months treats the area with disrespect, but it doesn't matter, it's banned now. 

I'm sure it's not just a Spanish thing either, but I definitely see a cultural divide in the amount of litter in Spain compared to England. And I don't even climb in the popular sport climbing areas where anecdotally, it's even worse. So I avoid the crowds, the dogs and the noise; although it has as much to do with my personality as theirs.

Topping out Caligula- ALONE, with nobody to constantly scream 'VENGA'  at me while I'm doing it

I always climb alone. Social interaction, particularly in a foreign language, can be draining, especially if it's with people you don't know that well. Not that I mind it at the climbing wall, where I'm a chatty little bastard. But the second I get in my car and head north, that mindset flips. It's also nice to be completely selfish with your objectives. I want to go to the boulder, warm up, try it for two hours and go home. That's not something you can do when everyone in your group has different objectives. Ultimately climbing is an individual sport, and bouldering is the ultimate expression of that.

Safety is another reason why many chose to boulder in groups, but for me, individual acceptance of risk is part of the experience. Climbing in Galicia was a big contribution to that. A small community and no really big sectors. You boulder in a different way when you're alone.You rehearse everything a lot more and learn exactly what you can do with the crashpads you have. I often walk away from stuff I can't try safely.     

Another thing: I'm self conscious about filming in front of people. Even saying it seems ridiculous in a time when everyone and their mum is constantly go-pro-ing and instagramming their entire lives. I'm not even one of those guys who film everything: I have a broken tripod and a camera from best buy. But it doesn't matter, I'm still worried that someone might mistake me for someone who is like that.

These are my justifications for solitude. Reading it back, some reasons are valid, but others read like stereotypical British neurosis. It's definitely not for everyone. To tie it up in a nice little bow: clean up your shit, control your dogs/hair and if I see you at the crag, you've probably just ruined my session.

P.S. If you're reading this and you have dreads, I'm obviously not talking about your hair.

sketching up The Prawn 7B

The best climber: the fetishization of 'fun'

How many times have you heard someone say this or something similar? 'The best climber is the one having the most fun.' This quote is thrown around ad nauseam, often to make the rather bland assertion that it's nice to be nice and fun to have fun, regardless of performance, fulfilment and other concepts slightly too complex to be shared on a Facebook meme. This quote has always jarred with me personally, but I've never really tried to articulate why. Obviously it's trite, and casually dismissive of those who actually want to (God forbid) improve at their chosen sport. It takes for granted that a vague concept of 'fun' is a more laudable goal than climbing 9b+ after a lifetime dedicated to training and self sacrifice.

Fun, fun all around.

Another thing is that it's so demonstrably false. If it were even slightly true, climbing media would laden with heart-warming reports of people cruising up easy slabs instead of what it actually is: reports of dedicated people working really hard at difficult or dangerous objectives. In effect, the phrase functions as a get-out clause, a way that smug people can pat themselves on the back for not really achieving anything, and lawd knows we don't need any more of those.

And before you start screaming 'ELITIST!' at me, I'm talking about effort and dedication, not grades. If you vanquish a 6b+ after a protracted siege, I'll be psyched for you. One thing I wouldn't do however, is call you 'the best climber in the world.' Why? Because it would be just as meaningless and patronising as a participation trophy. It is possible to praise somebody's effort without abandoning all semblance of reality. This is why I feel uncomfortable when Spanish people call me 'máquina' or worse, 'titan'. As an Englishman I'm always listening for the inevitable sarcasm. This is a minor cultural quibble, but I find my English friends' endless shit-talking at the crag far more motivating than any comparison to a Greek god.

The fun-fanatics also rarely know the actual context in which this line was said. On his blog (which is pure motivation by the way), Stevie Haston says:

'Sometimes climbers get all aggressive with me, and say its not just about standards, it’s about enjoyment. Then they use the quote ‘the best climber is the one having most fun’, they don’t know where the quote comes from, and they didn't know the man who spoke it. The climber was Alex Lowe, the best all-rounder in the USA at that time, died in an avalanche. He was a 5.13a climber, a mixed M8 climber, and a grade 7 ice man. He had extremely solid standards, and do you know why? He trained like a Spartan, that’s why. He did his pull ups, he did his running, he did the lot, la total. And you know that quote, it was just to make the punters feel happy about themselves.'

This quote is great, and also hits the nail on the head regarding the people who use this line. It's usually either punters, looking for an excuse not to try hard or professionals, who have already made huge achievements and can afford to casually wave away the years of training, dieting and other very un-fun activities that have gotten them to this level.

My other gripe with the funsters is the insanity of abandoning the whole spectrum of human experience and focussing on the most middle of the road, basic and unremarkable one. Heaven forbid you come across some adversity which actually makes you grow as a person. In my climbing life I've experienced intense pain, frustration and anger. The slow realisation of loss as a project slips away. The sense of impossibility that slowly converts to hope. The confidence in executing a sequence perfectly. My recent send of Flor de Loto was an example, an eleven month investment of time and energy both emotional and physical. Not to mention the years of training before. It wasn't a universally positive experience. (and that's putting it mildly) I got angry, I swore and shouted, I dropped it from the last move, I abandoned it only to come back a week later. When I finally did it, I lay on the crashpad and laughed hysterically for five minutes, I still have a big smile on my face as I write this thinking about it. It seems obvious to say it, but the process of real achievement isn't all going to be sunshine and lollipops, sometimes it sucks. This is why the quote irritates me. If I'd given up when the fun stopped, I wouldn't have learned or achieved anything. What a rubbish message. 'The best climber is the one who fights hardest.' There. It's not even difficult to think of something better, because literally anything is better than fun.

In a similar vein, 'It's only climbing, it's not important' is another one I hear thrown around, as if the subjective opinion of that particular person can be applied to every climber. No. What you actually meant is that for you, climbing isn't important. You decide your own level of involvement. I personally train three days and climb outside two days a week, not to mention the hours I spend thinking about it, watching videos on the internet and reading about it. Clearly climbing is pretty central to my life. For your Ondras of this world, who train every day, travel and make a living off climbing, it's more important still. Also, imaginary guy, if climbing isn't important to you, why do it? Why even bother if it's so pointless in your estimation? Before anyone says it: yes, it's important to have perspective and yes there are other things beside climbing, but it's the hypocrisy that really gets me. It's very modern, very hipster, very nihilistic and above all very stupid, to shrug something off as inconsequential, while simultaneously participating in said activity. But then I like Taylor Swift ironically, so I can't really judge. 

Considering the Swift comparison, it becomes all too obvious that this dismissal is often a rationalisation. The truth is, (how could it not be), that I love a bit of Taylor Swift. Her songs are catchy and really connect with my inner angsty teen. Unfortunately, we live in an intolerant world, where society looks harshly upon twenty-six year-old male Swift fans. It is therefore easier to cloak my genuine enthusiasm in ironic appreciation. 

Similarly, our example climber is either dissatisfied with his own abilities or worried about the way his peers will perceive him. It is psychologically easier to dismiss the importance of climbing entirely that to honestly confront this. How often have you heard someone admit defeat by saying something along the lines of 'ahh, it doesn't matter anyway' It seems rude at this point to say:

'it obviously does matter to you, you just chose to spend an hour in a wood trying the same move over and over again, and this is your third session!'  

We don't say it, but that doesn't make it less true. Rather than tying yourself in knots trying to show that you never really cared anyway, wouldn't it be more liberating to say: 'I cared about this objective and I'm frustrated that I didn't achieve it.' Then you would be free to pour that energy into actually taking steps to accomplish it.  

The same goes for people who say that grades aren't important. Once again, it's important to differentiate between people who express a personal preference and those who make the blanket assertion that: 'grades aren't important.' These people complain about what they see as an obsession with the numbers, and often fail entirely to understand that it is not the numbers but what they represent that matters. The numerical grade is merely a signifier, a representation of the difficulty and effort required to complete a climb. When you hear someone psyched about sending their first 7A, the default response should not be to dismiss that person for chasing grades. Why? Because they're probably not, they're chasing the achievement that the grade represents. Behind the number is a real rock, real holds and a real challenge which should be celebrated rather that belittled. It's the presumption of superiority, of being somehow above it all that is the most irritating. Imagine a footballer saying: 'scoring a goal isn't important.' 

These attitudes come both from climbing's origins as an alternative sport and from the modern 'everybody gets a prize' mentality. The one thing that unifies them is an unwillingness to commit, whether to temporary pain, or to the goal of a specific grade, or even to climbing as a whole. Now, if somebody genuinely wants to live in a climbing 'safe space' that is free of grades, challenge and universally 'fun', that is absolutely fine. But a space that is free of challenge is also free of achievement. A space that rejects anything remotely negative in favour of fun, is also rejecting the personal growth that comes with adversity. If you want to limit yourself to fun, feel free, but most climbers want something a wee bit more complicated than that.

And Taylor Swift is awesome by the way.

  

Hostile Environment

what 99% completion looks like

 After falling off the lip of Flor de Loto (8B) I was mentally exhausted. I'd spent nearly three months
trying and the cold weeks were rapidly running out. The rising temps, the waiting between sessions and the knowing that every single try could be THE try were killing me. Then the mini-heatwave came. I'm almost grateful it did as it gave me a concrete excuse to stop trying something that was officially Not-Fun-Any-More. I'm haunted by how close I came. Literally the last move. Not figuratively. Hold the swing and a 6A mantle leads to glory. Oh well.

The twenty degree heat killed the bouldering season dead for a while. I decided what I really wanted to do with my life was get good at sport climbing. Sector Stradivarius in Patones is the Frankenjura of Madrid. Short steep routes and painful tweaky pockets abound. I did a 7b+ called Turco, which was apparently flashed by Gullich back in the day. Nice to find a bit of history. Also had a play on an 8a which will give me something to fall off the last move of forever.

With the hot weather showing no signs of abating in Madrid, I decided it was time to hit Albarracin. Normally I'd have already been several times by now, but I guess the negative news that the area has been getting had made me wary. New restrictions? No chalk? No sleeping in cars in the upper car park?

When we arrived though, it was business as usual. A lot of climbers, a lot of chalk and a ton of camper-vans in the upper car park. I was amazed how exactly the same things were after all the fuss made on climbing media a few months ago. The most damage to the natural beauty of the area is (ironically) being caused by the local council, who are midway through 'renovating' the paths which access the cave paintings. Previously a normal woodland path led both to the cave paintings and to the main sector. Apparently this unobtrusive path just wasn't pathy enough so now the council is in the process of installing gravel paths bordered by wooden logs. I say installing because they definitely hadn't finished. There were piles of metal and logs everywhere, tracks from mini-diggers, even tools abandoned by the side of the path. Even if/when the work is finished, the path is a bit of an eyesore and completely unnecessary. Last time I checked, Spain wasn't rich enough to be chucking money at such pointlessness. It seems funny that the council responsible for this is presumably the same one that criticises climbers over their perceived impact.

A wee analogy for you. The internet is born. People all over the world use it to communicate and share information. A small minority of trolls use the internet to attack and insult people.

A climbing area is discovered in Teruel. People come from all over the world to climb some sick boulders. A small minority of uninformed bellends (for want of a better word) treat the area badly: littering and tickmarking.

If a politician lobbied to ban the internet due to the actions of trolls, he/she would (rightly) be laughed out of the room. In the second case, councils and some climbers see banning climbing as the logical step to take. The law exists to punish those responsible (the trolls/bellends) and if it cannot do that, no law is preferable to one that punishes innocent people (responsible internet users/climbers).  Yes, as climbers we should be tidy and respectful and blah blah blah, but we've also got to confront this faulty 'we deserve what we get' logic when we hear it.

Just eyeing up that third hold...

After getting shut down on some of the harder stuff, I headed over to try one of my eterna-projects. La Fuente (7C). It's a 4 move problem on a fifteen degree overhang: really short. Hands are all positive crimps but the feet are terrible. It feels...real technical. I'd tried it every trip since I first started coming to Albarracin three years ago, and never stuck the third hold.

I arrived already warmed up and due to the magic of multiple stacked pads I pulled on at the crux, used some flexy madness to snag a far right foothold and landed on that most magical of all places: the third hold!

After a quick rest, I pulled on at the start and fired it off first go. The weird thing was how easy it felt. Especially considering the trips and trips I'd never even been close to sticking that third move. Bouldering is weird like that. Fortunately I have my own grading system based on how long you've tried a problem for. In this system, Origami is 8B+ and L'Helecoptere in Font is probably the hardest boulder in the world.

I am not a happy bunny right now...

Day Two: and I was determined to get some hard climbing done and I wasn't going to let some light snow put me off. We headed to Orejas de las Regletas (8A), another eterna-project. As I warmed up the snow intensified. I tried the crux move: a huge deadpoint to a sloper, and had to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. As soon as my head pulled round the lip to line up the move, flurries of snow started hitting me right in the face. I couldn't keep my eyes open! Pretty soon even climbing with my eyes shut was impossible as everything got wet. Game over, until next time.

Sunny Spain

Projects and megaprojects

After my Christmas illness, which saw me throwing up between tries on boulders all over Spain. It was time to get to work on some serious ascending of small rocks. Here's what I've been breaking myself against this month...

Five seconds before I hit the crashpad... again.

1. Incognito Sit (8A) I got onto this thing in Tamajon at the very end of the session I did Encantador. I did the jump crux move pretty fast and actually felt confident. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was the belief that a limestone boulder would be a nice treat for my skin. 

Yesterday I had my second full session of falling off the jump move. Initially progress was fast, I linked from the jump to the top, which was quite psychological (it's a highball) and was falling off the jump move by the end of that session. I didn't think I'd still be there two sessions later falling off the same move. 

I've managed to stick it from the bottom three times in total. Every time I get there I get a bit over psyched and fall of the next move which is also powerful. The moves don't really ease off until a glory jug right at the top, so maybe I'm also a bit afraid of 'pinging off the top and looking like a tit.'

The hold that you have to jump to trashes your skin. In yesterday's session of eight tries my hands were bleeding all over the place. Skin: my genetic ceiling, making sure that every boulder I do takes me about three sessions and half a pint of blood longer. Somewhere there's a southern European clone of me crushing crushing everything in sight because of his magical regenerating skin.

2. Flor de Loto (8B) A great new classic that got put up last year in La Pedriza. Here's a video of the FA. I started to try it by accident last year when I was working on El Belen, which is also in the cave. The weather came in and soaked everything that wasn't a roof and pretty soon a giant group of Basques including this guy came to join me in my little cave. Once I'd gotten over my sense of inadequacy I joined in, flailing around on the problem and actually doing a few of the easier moves.

From the footage of my big link!

I didn't start properly working it till January as I was getting close on other things. Now I've been on it every week for the last month and I'm actually daring to believe that it's possible for me. This week's breakthrough was a link from three moves in which means that it's probably time to go from the bottom. Even the link was so hard I power screamed on every move. Oh and it ends in a GIANT SWING move which is really cool! What more could you want from a project? 

Grab the slopers, drop the toehook and hold oooon!

The 5 boulders YOU fail on

Things have been going quite well for me recently. In the last three weeks I've managed to do three of my projects in La Pedriza. El Belén (7C) was the first to go. The following week I managed to grunt and shake my way to the top of Far West (8A). It was nice to have Jack there as well to move pads around and confirm that it was proper 'ard. I also did El Viajero (7C+) this weekend despite throwing up from mild food poisoning just before the send. It's true that weight is really important factor!

What follows is an attempt at the Buzzfeed style 'listicle' about a subject I know a lot about: failure. Before my sending spree, I hadn't climbed a single boulder since October, despite being on rock at least twice a week. We fail for a variety of reasons, but an article wouldn't hold anyone's attention, so here's a nice list...  

1. You want it too much.

You've spent multiple sessions, you have all the moves absolutely dialled, you're well rested, the stage is set, and then.... nothing. Unlike the type five boulder, who graciously allows itself to be climbed once a certain amount of effort has been spent, the type one stubbornly refuses. My example of this is Origami (8A+): my own personal nemesis. I have done all the moves and made every conceivable link on this boulder, except for the only one that counts. At this point, I feel capable of climbing it and that I have learned everything it has to teach me. My sessions on Origami stopped being fun months ago, but I can't bring myself to walk away after having invested so much time and effort.

My only recourse is to just keep plugging away, hoping for that one perfect try that would put it to rest.  

My heartbreaker on Origami this October

2. Pain. 

OUCH! You get the general idea. Some boulders are just out to hurt you. Take El Belén, whose crux revolves around a kneebar between a spiky rock and a glassy foothold. The knee takes most of your weight for multiple moves. You can't just slide it in there because the foothold is so bad that you have to maintain pressure or it pops off. By pushing on the foot, you are actively contributing to your own pain.

There are three solutions to this: 

1. Deal with the pain.
2. Get a fabric kneepad or wrap a t-shirt round your leg. A bit less pain but it doesn't help with friction. 
3. Buy a big rubber kneepad and climb it as a 7B.

In the end I opted for option two. I quite like not walking with a limp but a real kneepad seems a step too far. Where will the madness end? elbow pads for offwidths?? Full body pads for thrutching!? And also I can't afford one.    

You can't quite see the tears of pain from this angle...

3 Weirdness.

That's just what bouldering is: weird moves. We train for this, we get the beta sorted and send. Every now and then you meet a move that completely disagrees with you. No amount of practice seems to yield consistency. Moves in this category tend to be body-position based or anything dynamic. My example was the crux move of El Viajero. I could never do it twice in a row and when I did do it, it seemed like pure luck. Falling and not knowing why can be incredibly frustrating.

 In the end, I just had to go from the sit every time and roll the dice. Complicating things was the fact that the crux crimp (left hand in the photo) is a type four skin shredder. You do it in a few goes or not at all.

Getting ready to pounce on El Viajero

4. Skin.

Some boulders, easy or hard, just have a hold that completely shreds your skin within a few goes. This in turn means less tries, more sessions and more rest days. As my skin is made of wafer thin parchment that disintegrates at the mere mention of rock, I am intimately familiar with these boulders. Massive Attack (8A+) is a recent example. After warming up on the moves, I probably get two to three tries before doing unspeakable damage to my skin. To this date, I have never left the boulder without bleeding all over it first. Because my my skin restricts the amount of times I can try, I can't properly dial the first move, which (of course) is a type three dynamic throw to a razor crimp.

Who knows how to resolve this one?

5. The holy grail: consistent progress. 

This is the perfect boulder for people who work hard, but lack the freaky ability to pull an improbable send out of the bag. Far West was like that for me. It was still hard, but consistent effort yielded consistent results. Every session I did a little more, building up from doing the moves to making progressively bigger links. Every single session without fail I would find a new piece of beta, or link another two moves. Unlike some boulders I could mention (Origami!) the send happened exactly when it was supposed to. I linked it from a move in, took some rest days and did it on my next session.

Celebrating at the top of Far West (from the original footage, which was way too dark to use)

Why Madrid is the best climbing city ever

I've just moved back to Madrid, so naturally I'm a little bit biased on the subject, but the city really does have a lot to offer climbers. So never mind Innsbruck or Sheffield, Madrid is the new black: here's why.

Yeah, it's a dolphin...

Climbing Walls. Don't know why, don't know how, but Madrid has an impressive array of free climbing walls in parks all over the city. Bits of rock concreted to walls or holds bolted onto the underside of bridges to the more traditional bendcrete walls. Some have en-situ crashpads, some don't, the variety keeps things fresh and there are always a bunch of locals making up problems. I used to be a snob about climbing walls and still think that in terms of pure fun, nothing can beat a big expensive London climbing wall. However, purely for training purposes, I'd rather have an overhang with glued on bits of rock. Most of the footholds are small and slippery in a way that forces good technique and body tension. (honestly when was the last time your foot honestly slipped off a resin blob?)  Also, the range of  glued on rocks as hand holds makes for interesting climbing rather than the same plastic holds as always. Having watched the prices for indoor climbing walls double in the last six years, it's nice to see something that opens up the sport to everybody. I often see complete beginners scrambling around in trainers. Check out  http://www.escalamadrid.com/rocodromos/ for more walls in Madrid.

Far West 8A in La Pedriza.
 pretty much perfect boulder problem

As far as real rock is concerned, there's plenty too. El Escorial and Zarzalejo have plenty of granite boulders but La Pedriza is ridiculous. The bouldering guide has 1864 boulder problems and if you see the area, that's only the tip of the iceberg. The bouldering is a relatively recent addition: there's also lots of trad and sport including some pretty impressive multipitches. Further to the east the granite gives way to the limestone sport crags of Patones and el Vellon, even further is Tamajon, a relatively new hard bouldering spot. And those are just the ones I know about! There are definitely more crags out there.

Connections. Look at any road map of Spain and you'll notice that it looks like a giant spider's web. Madrid is right at the centre. This is incredibly frustrating if you want to go across the country because you have to zig-zag, But if you live in Madrid you can go directly to Albarracín (three and a half hours), Hoya Moros (two and a half), Santa Gadea (sub four hours) or Cuenca (under two hours). So not only do you have plenty within day tripping distance, your weekends will be looking pretty full as well.

Madrid's airport is a hub airport, which mean that you can get anywhere in the world, from a direct flight to Rocklands to a cheeky weekend in Fontainebleau. Also, domestic flights are dirt cheap so you could go deep water soloing in Mallorca for the weekend if you keep an eye on last minute discounts.

All this climbing but with the advantages of being in a big city. There are plenty of huge climbing shops which stock pretty much every imaginable product. There's also a climbing book shop which has everything from autobiographies to (surprisingly) every single gritstone guidebook out there! I also recently resoled my solutions in Madrid. It took less than a week, cost a mere thirty euros and was the best resole that I've ever seen.

Projects, so many projects! Madrid is the biggest city in Spain so it figures that they've been developing here for the longest. In other regions you'd get to the boulders by downloading a scanned pdf of a shaky drawing on the back of a napkin. In Madrid most areas have comprehensive guidebooks. So there's loads of climbing and it's relatively easy to find. On top of this, it only rains sixty-three days a year. I have a few projects on the go at the moment, all of them are five stars and I'm slowly hammering them into submission. Watch this space!

Tamajon- angry limestone cave bouldering at its best.