Four Wheel Drive

After two more consecutive days of climbing, I've earned another rest day. On Friday, I'm going to sleep in, drink plenty of coffee, stretch and work. But first, I'm reporting on ass kicking. I kicked a few, but not to worry. I got mine whipped, too.

Wednesday morning's weather was the worst we've seen so far on my trip. Mike and I walked out to the car, his whippet Johnny Utah in tow, and all three of us looked up at the sky in disgust. The clouds, threatening rain, and chilly breeze gave us all pause. Mike wrapped Johnny in his faux-giraffe-pelt puppy snuggly (when's the last time you read those words in unison?) just as the hail started coming down.

(I guess it's called a Sunggy, not snuggly. How the hell am I supposed to know?)

We drove to the cliff, nervously sipping coffee and hoping for a change to come in the 20 or so minutes between "The Highlander" cabin and our destination climbing area, Sore Heel. When we parked the car and all hopped out to pee, the clouds shifted a bit and the sun broke through. But just as we started walking, the precip returned, along with some profanity.

The warmups at Bronaugh wall are good, steep, juggy 5.11's, but Mike and I both suffered from hand freeze at about mid height. We broke out the hand warmers and excuses, and I took things to an extreme when I stole the snuggly. I'll be damned if some mutt is gonna stay warm while my paws go numb.

But then, as though God were a feline and pleased with my treachery, a miracle occurred. The winds changed, the air temperature got much more comfortable, and the sun hit the wall. Mike and I both got excited, and figured we'd crush our projects. I wanted to do a 12c called Belly of the Beast, and he was still trying to polish off Dracula, a super stout 13b, at a cliff just around the corner.

We might have let the weather psyche us up a little too much, because each of our next two burns produced only punting. A foot slip here, a missed hold there, and we each spent our attempts dangling from the end of the rope, wondering just how Felix the CatGod could have forsaken us. After we had a little powwow and made a pact to "just finish these routes, already!", we sent on successive burns. It had taken the whole day, but at least we could check off the routes we wanted to do. We called it a little early and headed back to the car. There was talk of doing a couple of burns at Shady Grove, but we decided to save some juice for today.

When I woke up this morning, my left hamstring was throbbing. There was a rest on Belly that involved me cranking my leg up near my head and hooking my heel and toe behind some flakes. Though it took the weight off my hands, I felt like it also succeeded in nearly pulling my yoga-starved hammy. I stretched for a while, and it finally began to loosen up. After a leisurely morning, Mike and I loaded up and headed out to Shady Grove.

The air was much warmer, the sun was out, and it seemed like we were back on track for great weather all day. I warmed up on a cool route called Girls Gone Wild...Whoooo!, and then tried to do an 11c. Instead of waltzing right up to the chains, I fell a couple of times and assumed that my day would suck. No bother, as Mike wanted to do the second ascent of a brand new route at the crag. We walked down to this towering behemoth, a route Mike had been on once before. He figured that it checked in at around 13a/b. Mike had warmed up by hanging the draws on a steep, long 12b called Far From God, which doubled as my objective for the day.

Mike used this warm up to prep for his pending vision quest, and managed to pull off the send of the new route. It was only his third route of the day, but he decided to call it and conserve a little juice for the weekend. Watching Mike do the route, I couldn't help but think that he climbs in four wheel drive. He uses his feet perfectly; hooking and pulling his way up the wall with all four appendages instead of using his arms to excess. He looks so comfortable using his feet like hands, and it's a great lesson. I took it to heart, and after lowering him off after his send, booted up under Far From God.

I really wanted to flash this route. It looked like I could get plenty of rests along the way, and Mike had done it several times before. This let him guide me through the difficult sections while we were still on the ground, giving me all the beta (essentially step-by-step advice for how to do the moves) that I could ask for. All I had to do was climb the thing. I threw on the knee pads, assuming I'd find places to jam my knees and take the weight off my hands. Also, I told myself to "be like Mike" and use my feet. With that, I started climbing.

I managed to finagle two double knee bar, no hands rests, along with several other knee scums. The beta was perfect, and I found myself a bolt from the top, still on redpoint, listening to Mike yell up that if I could make it through the final crux, just above me, then there was no way I'd fall on the final run to the anchors. I was camped out at a ridiculously good rest, and when I felt 100% recovered and at full strength, I danced to the chains and claimed my first flash of a 12b. Thanks for all the help, Mikey P!

Getting a little big for my britches, I moved the rope under the next route over. False Idol is a 12c that Mike assured me was not much harder than Far From God. After I rested for a while, I loaded my harness with quickdraws and pulled onto the wall. Mike had only done this one once (hence, could provide only minimal beta), and since he was done for the day, I'd have to hang the draws on the bolts myself. I figured that I'd just crushed its neighbor...why worry?

I'll spare you many of the details, because this post is getting pretty long. False Idol is widely considered an inferior route, and sees much less traffic than the slightly easier model to the left. As such, there is way less chalk, and way more dirt, on all the holds. By bolt three, I had wandered only about 3 feet from the grips I was supposed to be pulling on, and quickly managed to rain gravel down into my gaping mouth. Shit. The plan was out the window. I shifted out of 4-high, and started straining on my arms. My heart started racing, my breathing fell apart. Hypoxia, my old friend, had returned. As had gravity's strong call. Airborn. Ass kicked. I yarded up the rope and then wallowed to the chains, seemingly 1,000 feet away. Tail between my legs, I lowered off and cleaned my draws off the route.

How about we just focus on the positive and move on? All in all, it was a great day and a lesson learned. You gotta keep rock climbing, and just 'cause you did one thing doesn't mean they're giving anything else away. By the way, Mike sent an email to the guy who bolted the route he did today. We're trying to get it called 4 wheel drive. And, from here on out, that's how I'm trying to climb.