Thankful

In the last two weeks school work has started to ramp up, not really because of new work but because semester long projects are coming up. As happens every semester about this time I can feel an “oh shit” moment looming. You would think I’d have come up with a better name for it by now considering it’s predictable occurrence. The story and the feeling is the same every semester. I start irrationally thinking I’m failing my classes and get really stressed about the work I have left. Usually at the end of the semester I look back and wonder what all the fuss was about, but I can never seem to prevent the same stress-out the next semester. Oh well, given the relatively stress free semester I have had I can’t really complain.

           

It always bugs me when people miss class for dumb reasons. Sleeping in and hangovers don’t cut it. It’s not that I have a problem missing class, but I hate it when people don’t do something worthwhile with their time. Strategic slacking, that’s what I practice, and it’s a technique I learned from an early age. Friday afternoon was better spent driving to the mountains, and that last week of class in December was the perfect time for a sailing trip. And so, just like elementary school, I took Friday off and drove to the mountains for a long weekend.

           

I spent two days climbing at Montsant and a day in Siurana. Raco la Missa, the sector where we climbed in Montsant, is full of long beautiful routes. On Friday I climbed three routes and on Saturday I climbed two, yet both days I was exhausted. As a whole the climbing was great, but I’ll focus on my ascent of Akiri Bomboro 12d. Akiri Bomboro is 50 meters long. Read that last sentence again, 50 meters is 165 feet. To put that in perspective it’s about twice as long as a normal long route, and about 3-4 times as long as an average climb around Boulder. On Friday evening I tried it and after falling several times at the crux, about 10 meters up, I lowered off deeming the route impossible. Borja, having tried the route last year and arrived at the same conclusion, got to the same spot and fell. A few tries later, however, he switched his foot placement and casually climbed the crux. The sun was setting, so Borja lowered off and we decided to try again the next day. We headed back to camp ate, talked, and got some much needed rest.

           

Saturday we warmed up and went straight back to Akiri Bomboro. Borja went first and climbed bolt to bolt, placing the quickdraws (which connect the bolts in the rock to the climber’s rope) and figuring out the moves. After getting shut down the day before and being absolutely terrified by the prospect of climbing 50 meters of hard moves, I wasn’t sure I wanted to give it a go. However, after Borja told me it was one of the best routed he had tried I tied in and prepared for a fight. Feeling nervous, I climbed tensely until I reached the crux. Placing the opposite foot as last time, I committed to the move. With complete ease I reached the next hold, “facil!” I yelled down as I passed the moves that had spit me off the day before. My moment of relief was quickly crushed as I realized the weight of my situation: I faced 40 more meters of unknown climbing. Generally good pockets were split up by terrible holds and hard moves. At one point my foot popped off, and I barely held on as my body swung away from the rock. Bit by bit, my body became exhausted; fingers, forearms, back, and finally my feet, legs and core. I was past the hardest climbing, but the moves were committing. If I screwed up by giving any less that one hundred percent I would fell. After climbing well over 30 meters I was mentally spent and had a hard time going for moves that put my success at risk, but I did, and move after move the anchors crept closer. With 45 meters of rope beneath me, I carried extra weight through the easy-but tiring- final moves. Clipping the chains I yelled as loud as my parched throat would allow. I had to lower twice, since my rope is 70 meters and the route was 50, but I had extra time to appreciate the ascent. Without a doubt it was the hardest I have fought for a climb, and I easily spent 35 minutes on the rock. The following photo will give an idea of the size of the climb.

Akiri Bomboro 12d

A few things to note:

1: yes the tiny spec is me

2: my belayer, Borja, is a few meters below where the photo cuts off

3: the anchors are about 15 meters above where the photo cuts off

4: Montsant is beautiful!

On Sunday we went to Siurana. I was tired and I got spanked. I tried a 12c and lowered off the last bolt exhausted, sweaty, and scared. The climbing in Siurana is very technical, and very different from the style I had grown accustomed to over the last several weeks. It is also very common to have a huge runout (a long distance between bolts) between the final bolt and the anchors. It wasn’t my best day, but I still enjoyed myself. 

About to get shut down on the 12c

Enjoying a great, technical 11d in Siurana

I also had a great weekend in Margalef recently, I was tired from a week of training so I didn't accomplish a whole lot. I had a great time and I particularly enjoyed the cook-it-youself and all-you-can-eat meat buffet dinner on Sunday night. 5 euros have never bought so much food. Loved it!

This weekend I'm off to Montgrony for the Freebloc (my climbing gym) weekend where everyone from the gym heads out for a couple days of climbing and celebrating our shared passion with a big dinner saturday night. 

I'm thankful to be living

Two Months...

Two months into my adventure in Spain and I feel like I’m inching into the deep end, living the life I had dreamed of. As the weeks pass I feel like I am moving away from my weekday friends (school buddies) and growing closer with my weekend friends (climbing buddies). Many of my fellow students spend their weekends traveling, experiencing Italy, Amsterdam, Oktoberfest. I spend my weekends sleeping under tables, speaking Spanish, drinking expensive wine for cheap, being inspired by incredible cliffs and climber camaraderie, living simply and enjoying the quiet Spanish countryside. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Two months in and I’m not getting lost, well at least not regularly. I have a favorite kebab place where they know me (not sure that’s a good sign). They kindly shake my hand and offer me a free beer every time I show up at their door tired, hungry, and covered in chalk after the climbing gym. I know the metro short-cuts to get to class “on-time” by Spanish standards, which is ten minutes later than the rest of the world. Everyday life has become an exciting routine.

I had a great weekend in Margalef. I felt weak and surprisingly unmotivated, and with no anticipation or expectation I onsighted my first 12c. It was Sunday and I was tired from a long, but not particularly difficult Saturday. I was going to take it easy, maybe do a 12a or two, but my friend Hans wanted to try a long 12c. “Is that ok for your easy day?” he asked, it wasn’t what I had in mind but “sure” I said, “I’ll give it a go.” Not caring about the onsight, I simply climbed. Perhaps because I was tired, at least I thought I was, I climbed efficiently, resting at every opportunity, climbing the line of least resistance. After about 60 feet I hit the steep overhang, and with a relaxing breath I flowed through the moves effortlessly. A few clips later and I was at the anchors, wondering where the crux was. After several dedicated efforts to onsight a 12c, focusing on every move, climbing conservatively, I finally succeeded by breathing, moving, and not caring. I suppose the lesson is to hang on by letting go. Immediately afterward, I proceeded to onsight my 3^rd 12b, which earned me my hardest day of onsight climbing to date. Not bad for feeling tired and unmotivated.

Clouds and Sector Cabernet. The dark figure at the top is Ela, finishing the 12c I onsighted. She is belayed by Toni, far below at the ledge.  

Cold day!

Thanks for the jacket mom and dad!

In other and unrelated news, the democrats suffered a bit in the recent elections in the USA. After studying political science for the last couple years, the elections have given me a few things to think about. I remember in my American Political System class discussing reasons for party change over the years. It was clear that more than any other factor economic performance was the indicator of party change. When the economy is bad and unemployment is high, the discontentment is seen in the ballot box at the expense of the party in power. I can’t help but feel that the recent elections are further evidence of that tendency. That is why I think Boehner and party might be over-assuming their mandate when, speaking of the health care bill, he says something like “we need to begin the process of repealing that monstrosity” (not a direct quote, I had to re-translate the translated quote). I’m not sure unhappy, unemployed Americans are in favor of a private health care system that is usually tied to employment. Anyway, the other curiosity of the elections was the emergence of the Tea Party. After writing a final paper in my Political Parties and Interest Groups class on why the Tea Party would never emerge as a legitimate party, and exacerbated by an implicit attitude of “of course not, what are you stupid?” I seem to have been proven wrong. Perhaps my B+ in the class suggests my professor was incredibly prescient, but I’ll maintain that it was because our TA (he graded our papers) was a jerk and a hard-ass. I will say that I think that the recent Tea Party candidates are more “tea party certified” Republicans than they are new blood. More than anything, I would argue that the Tea Party is an expression of discontentment than it is a legitimate endorsement of new ideas, probably by people that are unhappy with recent democratic performance but who have enough of a short-term memory to remember a time when republicans screwed up. Recently in my Spanish society and politics class we discussed the differences between the parliamentary system of government and the presidential system, and, thinking about the elections, I am finally grateful to have a presidential system. Usually I am a proponent of parliamentary systems, which unify the executive and legislative branches, and I admire their efficacy in implementing change (provided an electoral system that produces few or two parties, but that’s a whole other discussion). However with the new Republican house majority and the stated goals of the presumed next Speaker of the House, I am happy to have the stubborn and deliberative presidential system. Change is hard won and slow, but equally hard to undo. I’m hoping I’ll be wrong in my prediction that the next few years will bring nothing but stagnation. We’ll see.

“Shit happens, cough it up”

-Captain Ron (or maybe Boehner?)

Montgrony and Montserrat

I have now spent nine days climbing in Cataluña and I am fully convinced that it is THE sport climbing paradise. This last weekend I climbed for two days at Montgrony and one day at Montserrat. Without a doubt Montgrony is the most spectacular place I have ever climbed. Sitting high above the valley town of Gombren, Montgrony boasts long, powerful climbs on perfectly sculpted tufas and pockets. Nature truly is the best route setter. The setting is as impressive as the climbing. Montgrony overlooks green meadows far below and steep mountains splotched with orange and red, hinting at the changing season. Inspired, I allowed myself to be talked into warming up on a long and overhanging 12a, which is several grades harder than my usual warm-up. However, to my great delight, I climbed well and clipped the chains with a slight pump. Physically and mentally I felt strong and light. After the success I had a couple weeks ago in Margalef, I made sure to be well rested for this weekend with the hope of climbing as hard as possible. With another warm-up, I decided I was ready to jump on my goal climb for the day “canyes i marro” 12c. I have consistently been trying to get my first 12c onsight, and on nearly every 12c I have completed I have come extremely close to succeeding.

Quick terminology lesson:

Onsight - climbing a route on the first try on lead from the bottom to the top without falling. The challenge lies in figuring out the moves on the fly, and it is significantly more difficult than redpointing.

Redpoint – climbing from the bottom to the top of a climb without falling, but having previously rehearsed the moves.

Nice view

Personally, I find onsighting the most fun, and getting the next grade onsight is a big deal for me. It’s funny, sometimes I am quiet about my number goals because within the climbing community (more so in the states) climbing with the goal of getting the next grade is often frowned upon. I guess for some paying attention to grades strips climbing of meaning and turns it into a superficial sport. I’ve never really understood that perspective, perhaps because I have always been motivated by goals, but also because pursuing a higher grade usually means I am challenging myself. Rising to meet a challenge is one of the most important parts of the climbing experience, and it’s why I spend many hours training and as much time possible out on the rock. I relish the unique challenges climbing presents, particularly sport climbing, and I like the fact that success and failure are clear-cut. There is no fudging success, 99% isn’t good enough. A climb is completed or it is not. I find the strict definition of success refreshing. Because of this, success on a hard climb is incredibly fulfilling, and failure can be harsh, demoralizing, and frustrating. My failure to onsight “canyes i marro” was the latter.

The climb was intimidating, overhanging at least 30 degrees for the full 80 feet. The movement was perfect, long moves between tufas, intricate and powerful. I climbed through the lower cruxes and rested below the last bolt. Slightly pumped, I pulled into the final moves. A small edge, two small two finger pockets, a high step, another bad edge and I was staring down the final move to the last big hold. I lunged for the chalked jug only to find a flat sloping edge. My fingers tried to catch the small incut at the bottom, but I was off. With the anchors in my face I slowly fell backwards and watched my season long goal slip from my grasp. I had failed. Though on the bright side I did swear in Spanish on my way down, so at least my Spanish is improving. I rested and walked the route second try.

 Best 11d ever!

Tufa pinch

After finishing the day our group went to the nearby bar for a beer. I feel fortunate to have found such a great group of friends and climbers. Our group is very diverse, and even though I’m the youngest by several years, climbing and castellano connect us. When it comes to climbing we’re all fanatics, and I have enjoyed getting to know every person. Usually we camp out at night. I bivy outside and others sleep in their camper vans (which completely put my truck to shame). This time we were going to camp in an abandoned refuge so that we would be safe from the forecasted rain. Arriving at the refuge, we cooked dinner, chatted, drank some local wine (very alcoholic!), and enjoyed each other’s company until nearly 1 AM. We decided to call it a night. At this exact moment a group of about ten Spaniards, a large family, arrived and took over the refuge. With cases of beer for the “adults” and cases of coke for the kids, it was obvious they were there to party. Knowing it would be impossible to sleep in the refuge I opted to sleep under a picnic table to hopefully be sheltered from the rain. It was a bit misty and I thought the table would be fine. Despite the fact that my legs barely fit underneath the crossbar I slept quite well... at first. At 2 AM it started raining. At 3AM it started pouring. At 4 AM my table started leaking. By 4:45 AM I was soaked and the dripping was intolerable so I decided to move to the refuge. Yelling, screaming, and drunken singing were the only refuge I found. Curling up in a corner, I tried to sleep. At 6 AM the family passed out and comfortable sleep was finally achieved.

The nest day the weather was terrible, but surprisingly the rock was dry. I put down a great 12d second try. After fantastic day we drove back to Barcelona with sore shoulders and forearms and planned on going to Montserrat to climb technical, vertical routes the next day. The next morning we met in plaza Espanya, drove to El Bruc for some Moroccan mint tea and to meet with the others, and then we went climbing. Montserrat is very similar to my Colorado favorite Shelf Road. Clipping the chains requires precise footwork, correct sequencing, and pocket pulling strength. Feeling tired I still managed to climb “En boca cerrada no entran moscas” 12c on my second try, but it was a fight from the ground to the chains. All in all, it was a great weekend, and I continue to be grateful for the experiences and opportunities presented to me in Spain.

“Live whatever life you choose honestly... When you live honestly, you cannot separate your mind from your body, or your thoughts from your actions.”

-Mark Twight