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.

  

Dyno Madness!

La Guillotina7A+ in the international capital of dynos: Albarracin.

A Parable: Two climbers, let's call them Dynamic Dave and Crimpy Chris, are working a problem: A sit start on tiny holds leads to a huge dyno to the lip. Dave pulls on at the dyno and easily sticks it. Chris has more trouble with the move, and after half an hour of trying, still hasn't stuck it.

After a while, they both start working the problem from the sit, and here, roles are reversed. Chris dials the crimpy moves and is quickly falling from the dyno again, this time from the sit. Meanwhile Dave, who did the dyno with relative ease, can barely pull off the ground. 

Chris goes back to working on the dyno and eventually sticks it with great difficulty. He then goes from the bottom and, after a few falls, eventually sticks it from the sit and tops out the boulder. Dave is still struggling with the sit. A new climber: Rounded Reginald arrives at the boulder and, after warming up, flashes the boulder, crushing the crimpy moves and effortlessly sticking the dyno.

The moral to the story: Non dynamic people can do dynos, it just takes them more time and effort. However, if you lack the crimp strength for a certain problem, no amount of dynamism, persistence or any other skill can substitute. 'Finger strength is king', but it's obviously better to be a Rounded Reginald with a broad range of skills.

You have to be a special kind of masochist to do a granite dyno. Ingravido 7B in Corme.

Dynos are a difficult beast to train compared to crimps, which are relatively straightforward. If you hang on a fingerboard, as I've been doing consistently for the last four years, you can't help but improve, but dynos don't lend themselves to systematic training in the same way. This is because every dyno is different: the quality of the feet, the distance travelled, the angle of the wall, the quality of the start and finish holds and the cut loose factor. With so many variables, the method of training has to be equally varied.

In my usual training sessions, I alternate between Woodsing: climbing on the smallest crimps possible, and Webbing: climbing on physically powerful slopey or compression problems.(guess which one I like most!) Also I make the effort to throw a few dynos into the mix. Variety is key with this, and I also try not to make them too hard. You'll ultimately learn more movement from twenty easy/moderate dynos than from just one insanely hard one. Also, if you suffer from terrible skin, dyno to slopers!

Gato con Botas 7A+

Take it outside: Dynos outside are really cool and I've always gone out of my way to do them even though they are a weakness of mine. Each one is unique in a way that inspires me to suffer the extra time and skin damage. 

Tolmojoncito 8A

 Here's how I measured my progress. Last autumn I tried Tolmojoncito (8A) the stand start to this monster by Nacho Sanchez. I was unable to stick the first move at all, I wasn't even close. I started to try it again a few weeks ago and now can actually stick the move. Of course the rest of the moves are nails too and it probably won't go until next year now the temperatures are in the mid-thirties. But even small progress is still progress!

On an unrelated note, this is the king of all dynos in Spain. Maybe in a few years I'll be brave enough to try it. It's HUGE!

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.