New Routing

The thing about being a multi-sport athlete is that you can't get fixated on one thing. The Tour, and the challenge, are still going. My first big race is just a week away and cycling has been taking up all of my free time lately. Yet fall is just around the corner. Climbing challenges await and it’s time to start training with those goals in mind as well. And with that, the Friday Psyche presents a vid about new routing in the Canyonlands.

My fall challenge (perhaps this year’s birthday challenge) is going to feature some new routes. I’ve scoped it out but before it gets announced I need to gain a lot more fitness to know that it’s at least feasible. So with Butte training nearly in the barn it’s time to taper, which is a good time to begin some foundation work for my upper body. This morning I’m heading out with Ben to jump on a couple of our fall climbing objectives to assess their feasibility and re-in vigor our psyche. Then we can tailor our training to what we know for certain we’re lacking.

This vid reminds me of my old climbing days when I had ample free time to roam around and look for cool new stuff. I especially like the part when he talks about finding things not only to do now, but for the future—-perhaps even future generations. Quite a few of my old endeavors had this in mind and, in fact, many of my old projects still have not been finished. Doing first ascents is a bit more like an art project than just a personal challenge. You’re looking for the latter, of course, but also always keeping in mind the canvas that is the history of the sport and your place in adding to something that is mainly for others. To me, that was the main driving force about the years I spent exploring for new routes.

Work

I made a little video of the type of things that go into a first ascent. Generally you do all of your cleaning hanging from a rope. This presents its own set of challenges but at least you don’t have to dig stuff out of the ground.

The work you do on first ascents can be grueling. We generally never climb on work days because we're completely exhausted. In fact, we used to schedule work phases into our training. Nothing burns calories like building new lines on an overhanging wall. It’s like combining aerialist training with construction work. It can also be a little dangerous as you’re often wielding heavy machinery. We used to lament that we should be paid for public service. Climbing activists generally have little in the way of funds but spend countless hours doing what is considered highly skilled labor for free.

My friend Micah was in town this week so it became a transitional block as I showed him around the local crags. This worked out well as my tendonitis has really calmed down. I think I’m ready for the next phase of hard training. This I’m going to need. Badly. The above little work session added about 10 reasonably hard moves to my project. And it’s not like it wasn’t going to push my boundaries already.

Video Of My Project

Here's a video showing most of my project. Before I left for my trip I had a goal of linking at least one of the two halves of the low traverse, then finishing the upper traverse to cap it off.

The first crux was just getting up there. A series of warm storms made the approach a bit of a post-holing nightmare. Once there, conditions were also fickle as the spring freeze-thaw was keeping things pretty soppy. I only found climbable conditions once, during the late-afternoon of my last day before we left.

The vid requires some interpretation. On the first angle a snow bank obscures my feet, but you'll get the idea. I don't have a tripod so I'm limited to where the camera gets set up. The low and high traverse I'm referring to are very close together. An obvious break forms the higher, which goes at V4. For the low traverse, everything below this break is on, meaning that your hands are often inches from a jug that you can't touch. A large boulder also sits in the way of linking the first few moves. I'll dig it out at some point. There are a few moves to link the two low sections I'm trying in this video. I move up after the first section at a natural transition, which leads into the upper traverse beyond its rest and straight into its crux section, making it a better boulder problem in itself.

For reference, every single move of the low traverse took numerous attempts to work out. Most of the holds are quite small, requiring me to have my body in just the right position to hold on. Some look easy as I've wired them, but I've fallen off every single move at least once. This means that I must fully concentrate on every move. Currently, when I reach the first move of the second half I can no longer hang on the holds--which are the best on the route--much less make a fairly difficult move. Linking this is miles away in terms of fitness needed. At least I have some new boots on the way that will hopefully solve one dilemma.

Priorities

After failing on the last move of my project--twice--last week I opted out of the 50 mile race in Fruita in order to give my project one more go. On one hand, it meant that I didn't have to suffer for hours on end in a race I wasn't prepared for. On the other, I had the mental anguish of dealing with another project. If I failed, it had the potential of becoming a major epic for my psyche. And it's not like I was failing because I was letting go; it's a route right at my current physical limit. But Bob pretty much summed it up for me when he said, "If you go to Colorado, you're an idiot. This is a first ascent. At the Tor!" Ben echoed this, telling me that my priorities were clearly in the right place.

"Sure, for an FA at the Tor, I guess," I said.

"Or ANY ascent at the Tor," he countered. "When you have the fitness to finish a route at the Tor, you've got to try. Because you never know when you'll be at the level again.

He has a point. As a climber who relies on experience and footwork, the Tor isn't exactly a place where I pad my resume. It's brutally physical. Every route requires a maximal physical effort. In short, it's a place where I usually get killed.

My friend Paul Dusatko summed this up pretty well when he did the second ascent of Hell Of The Upside Down Sinners. Rated a pedestrian 12b, Paul's comment upon clipping the chains (after weeks of work) was "now I'm climbing the same grade I was 10 years ago."

When you have a project, the difference between success and failure is miniscule. One mistake and you're off. At the Tor, it's so physical that you're limited--very much so--as to how many decent attempts you'll get in a day. I was pretty nervous on Saturday because I knew if it didn't go quickly, my window of opportunity would quickly slam shut. And I just couldn't extend my stay in California any longer.

First go:



Now it was really beginning to become mental. My only solace was that it had rained the day before and the holds I'd fallen from had been dirty. Also, my tick mark for a key foothold that you can't see had washed away (notice my failing with my feet prior to the fall). So I felt I had a chance. But I very much felt that if I didn't get it second go or I was in trouble. This added to the pressure as I tied in for round two. If I failed, it was going to be a long arduous drive home...