Unplanned Climbing

I wasn’t supposed to climb that day. I needed to run to Walmart, CVS and buy pasta in bulk from BJ’s before picking up my sister from school. I needed to start packing to move back to UNH for my summer research internship that would start in a few days. I didn’t have time to drive an hour to Rumney, get on two routes and then drive an hour back. Also, it was forecast to rain.

“Shoot, I don’t think I can make it. Are you free tomorrow?” I texted Jared.

“No, tomorrow I have to be an adult and go to work,” he replied.

I told him I couldn’t go, and started to grab my wallet to run errands, immediately became anxious that I wouldn’t get to climb enough before starting my 40 hour a week job and texted Jared back: “I have three hours. Do you still want to climb?”

Jared, being ever-psyched, did.

An hour later I was in the small parking lot at Rumney. It was misting when Jared arrived seven minutes later.

“Got your rope?” he asked. “I don’t feel like carrying mine.”

“It’s already packed,” I answered, swinging my backpack onto my shoulders and setting off up the trail to Main Cliff.

Jared sent me up a weird 5.8 that I accidentally linked up to a 5.10d at the top to warm up and then hung the draws on 5.10a classic Underdog for me in his approach shoes. He’d forgotten his climbing shoes in his car.

The rain picked up, as did the wind, covering the normally dry-in-the-rain cliff with a fine layer of mist as I belayed Jared up another climb.

“You leading this?” Jared asked, untying after sending easily.

“Sure I answered,” unfamiliar with the climb but trusting that Jared wouldn’t put me on anything too difficult. I’d been sport climbing a few times before and knew there were a few 5.10s on Main Cliff, so I just assumed I was being sent up one of those.

A third of the way up, and just as Jared’s friend Mike walked up, I began flailing. My feet kept sliding off the wet face I was half-smearing on. After several falls I called down to the guys for some beta.

“Just use the good foot,” Jared said.

“What foot? I’d love to use that big thing way at the bottom but it looks pretty slopy,” I answered, pointing to the slanting rail.

“That’s the one,” said Jared. “You just have to trust it.”

Magically, my rubber stuck to the slimy rock, and I pulled my up to the anchors, falling several more times.

Back on the ground, I met Mike, a bit embarrassed to have him see me butcher a 5.10 so badly, even in the rain.

“What was the name of that route?” I asked Jared.

“Know Ethics. It’s a 5.11a,” he replied. I immediately felt a little better. I’d never tried an 11 before, though I'd watched my friends project 5.12s. “I didn’t tell you the grade because I wanted you to lead it,” Jared explained. I just smiled back. He was probably right.

Like me, Mike hadn’t planned on climbing that day either, but after hearing Jared was going out he decided to stop by. He ran up one route quickly before we all packed up to leave.

On our way out, Mike asked when I was thinking of climbing next. I told him I’d hoped to get out the next day, though I didn’t have plans with anyone yet.

“Want to try some multi-pitch?” he asked. “I have the day off.”

“Yes,” I said before thinking. I’d never tried trad, having climbed outside for less than a year, mostly bouldering and having gone sport climbing only a handful of times. I’d never even seen someone place a piece before, but I planned to meet Mike in Lincoln the next day.

* * *

Less than 24 hours later, I started up Cannon cliff, following Mike up Lakeview, a slabby 5.6 classic. I knew nothing. I didn’t bring a helmet; since, one I didn’t own one, and two I didn’t know I should be protecting my head from potential rock fall. I left a few nuts, unable to free them without the nut tool Mike had forgotten at home, but all in all everything went smoothly. It was sunny with a light breeze, the climbing was mostly easy slab with one hard, vertical move on the last pitch. The traverse was less spicy than Mike had predicted, and I made it off in time to speed two hours back home to again pick my sister up from school.

It wasn’t until the drive home that I realized how crazy the situation had been. I’d trusted my life in the hands and gear of someone who I’d known for less than an hour and a half. Even crazier, was the fact that Mike was nice enough to take me up Cannon, knowing I had no trad experience and having only seen me flail my way up part of one 5.11a—the first 5.11 I’d ever tried—the day before. “She seems to have a cool head,” was all Mike had said when Jared told him of my lack of experience.

I’ve been lucky to have friends and friends of friends who have been willing to take me climbing even though they send routes and problems several grades harder than me. They have taught me to keep my foot out from behind the rope, to avoid back-clipping and which direction I should clip draws while traversing. I’ve also learned that no matter how tired I am, what errands I have to run or whatever else I originally planned to do for a day, if I have the chance to climb and I can somehow work everything else I have to do around it, I will drop whatever I’m doing and get on some rocks. I’ve never regretted a day I went climbing.

The Art of Climbing Slowly

Like downclimbing, climbing slowly takes much skill and practice; however, once mastered, this art can enhance your climbing experience greatly. All genres of climbing can be slowed down, from taking as long as possible to set up for a one-move bouldering dyno to taking your time to place each piece on a multi-pitch trad route.

Why climbing slowly is awesome:

1. You get to enjoy each movement, sometimes setting up for it multiple times, making a few half-hearted efforts to get yourself psyched and then going for the move full-value when you’re ready.
2. Each climb can take up to 7½ times longer, which can mean up to 7½ times more enjoyment for those who think problems and routes are over too soon.
3. You have time to take advantage of every rest position on every hold available, which will prevent you from getting pumped. You can now shake out and reposition on the same hold several times, even resting each finger individually. 
4. You can complete lengthy conversations while sending.
5. You can find, try out and then reject every alternate hand and foothold before deciding with confidence that the most chalked holds are indeed the ones to use.
6. You have more time to complain to anyone who will listen about the trickiness of the climb, any and all loose rock you encounter, vegetation, and how sharp, slopy, sandy and/or non-existent each hold is.
7. You can make each movement as perfect as possible, decreasing your energy expenditure.
8. You will use the most amount of chalk possible.

Now that you understand the benefits of moving at a snail-like pace, here are some quick tips to help you slow down:

1. Take advantage of every rest you encounter, even if you rested the movement before. Try counting to ten each time you rest to really slow yourself down.
2. Shake out on every hold possible.
3. Always chalk up twice.
4. Talk to your belayer/spotter about how you feel or would like to change about the climb before you make each movement.
5. Try out every crystal that might be a hand or foothold before making difficult movements.
6. Try to sit down whenever possible. If you spot a good sitting ledge halfway up a route, put a juice box in your chalk bag to enjoy mid-climb.
7. Place twice the amount of gear you think you’ll need. Also test out multiple pieces each time you place.
8. Downclimb to rest below bulges several times before committing to pulling over them.
9. Pretend to move from good rests my chalking up, shuffling your feet, feeling the next holds and then returning to rest position to repeat the process at least once more before committing to continuing to the next rest.
10. Climb above the chains to “top out” routes and gain an extra two movements.

Remember: Sending is everything, and climbing slowly will allow you all the time you need for an onsight.

No Excuses: Go Climbing

There are many excuses for not climbing. Do not give in. Here are solutions for a few common "I can't climb today" excuses that will get you off the couch and onto some rocks:

12 Ways to Hate Climbing

1. Buy a gym membership and feel like you have to “get your money’s worth.” Set a schedule and climb five days a week on the same problems whether it’s pouring rain and 33 degrees or sunny, 55 and perfect in every way for sending your outdoor project. Even better, do this to yourself every day.
2. Hangboard for hours repeating the same two Metolius workouts the entire time. Don’t play music or watch crazy Adam Ondra videos to get you psyched. Bonus hate if you don’t use chalk.
3. Climb with people who onsight several grades above your hardest tick and convince yourself that you have to outclimb them.
4. Focus solely on grades.
5. Never take rest days: Climb in the gym every day, even on the days you go outside.
6. Make every day a workout. When you climb outside do sets of push-ups between burns, four-by-fours on granite razorblade crimps or continuously climb up and down the same route, five, ten or twenty-three times to “work on your endurance.”
7. Decide that you’re only going to work on your anti-style for the next year.
8. Punish yourself with push-ups, pull-ups, sets of five-minute planks or insert least favorite exercise here if you don’t send your project. Also make sure said project is several grades above what you normally climb.
9. Set unrealistic goals and hold yourself to them. Chris Sharma sent 5.15 b/c, so in six months you should be able to as well.  
10. Only eat energy gels, bars and protein shakes with a sandy consistency while climbing.
11. Expect to send harder routes/projects every day you climb.
12. Remind yourself that climbing is not a fun, relaxing activity involving the enjoyment of nature and figuring out beta with friends. It’s purely a workout.

Scared of being scared

Fear is a frequent topic among climbers. It’s natural. Your instincts are telling you that you’ve greatly increased your chances of dying by hanging yourself hundreds of feet above the ground, relying on a few nuts and cams, a rope, a belay device and another person to keep you from hitting the ground. It no longer seems that irrational for your calf muscles to be shaking uncontrollably or that you chalk up four extra times before going for the crux. Even if you’re topping out a highball and likely won’t die from the 20-foot fall, you probably aren’t psyched at the great likelihood of breaking an ankle. I even get nervous on single pitch sport routes, hesitating before attempting challenging moves even when I know I won’t ground out but don’t want to slam into the cliff below me either.

There are many books written on how to strengthen your mental climbing game and Steph Davis writes about the topic frequently in her blog High Infatuation. There are many things to fear while climbing including, but not limited to: heights, hitting the ground from several stories up, hitting a ledge, missing the pad, having your gear pop, having the rope break, back-clipping, failing at your project, failing to onsight, failing to send a climb below your grade, breaking a hold, getting hit with a broken hold, and regretting having previously consumed four Red Bulls and six Taco Bell burritos half-way up Cannon.

However, none of these plague me as much of the fear of being afraid. Much like worrying, this fear is completely irrational. Being afraid of being afraid does not help me climb harder or safer. It has never made me double check my knot or fueled my sending a project. It just makes me anxious.

I’d only been climbing outside for a few months the first time I saw Cream, a 20-foot V0+ highball classic at Pawtuckaway. Brandon jokingly said I should climb it and then immediately retracted the statement, saying he wouldn’t make me do that. If he thought it was too high, hard, and scary for me then I wouldn’t protest. I kept waking by.

Beta photo of Cream V0+ courtesy of Mountain Project and Travis Dustin

Later that spring, I traded an everything bagel with cream cheese for a ride to Pawtuckaway with Alec. I didn’t have any project plans for the day, and Alec was kind enough to show Sarah, another beginner climber, and me the easy classics of Pawtuckaway. Cream was on the list.

“Have you climbed Cream?” Alec asked. I said I hadn’t, and we walked over. Alec threw down a pad, pointed out the starting jugs, and reassured me that the downclimb was the hardest part. I grabbed the jugs, finding better and better holds as I went up. The feet were good, and I never felt insecure. I had no sense of how high off the ground I was until I topped out. I was never nervous. I don’t even remember whether or not Alec was spotting me, though he probably was. Alec thought I could climb Cream and left me with no time to be afraid before I’d sent. And he was right, the downclimb was the trickiest part, or maybe that’s just what I was expecting.

I’ve never done Cream since. To be honest: I’m scared to. I’m not scared of falling, though I remember none of my beta; I’m afraid that I’ll be afraid. I was so focused and emotionless the first time I climbed it that now I’m scared that I won’t have that same comfort the next time attempt to send.

Now, you might suggest that I go out to Pawtuckaway right now and conquer that fear immediately. But, being a wimp, I’m going to suggest another solution: climbing sauce. Sauce is a V3 traverse with a funky undercling that leads into Cream. To send Sauce, you have to send Cream. So, I think I’ll choose the route of surprising myself, resending Cream when I finally work out my short-person beta on Sauce. Then I’ll have less time to be scared, and hopefully I’ll be focused like my first send.

For now,  I’m going to work on not being afraid of being afraid. Between breaking my ankle last fall and the long, cold, snowy winter, it’s been a while since I lead sport or trad, so naturally I’m anticipating being a bit nervous for the first few clips/placements/whips. However, I won’t let my fear of feeling fear keep me from getting on hard routes again. And the only sleep I plan to lose over it will be out of pure excitement.

The Ultimate Guide to Dry Climbing Snacks

There are many benefits to packing extremely dry snacks for a day of climbing, hiking, and any other type of adventuring that involves cramming food in the bottom of a backpack. First, they won’t get your backpack incredibly sticky or damp when they are crushed against the rest of your gear like the bananas I attempt to pack. Dry snacks generally take up very little room and usually force you to hydrate in order to swallow each bite.

But with so many dry snacks out there, it’s sometimes hard to decide what to pack. You can only eat so many carrot cake Clif bars before you’d rather starve than open another package. Here’s the ultimate guide to picking the best thirst-inducing, real-food snacks for any adventure.

First, you need to find a dry carbohydrate base to build off of (or simply eat alone):

• Graham Crackers: One of my personal favorites. Their neat rectangular packages take up very little room, and they remind me of kindergarten snack time. Graham crackers are good alone, but for even more sticky, parching enjoyment, and higher calorie content to fuel long days, add peanut butter.
• Trail mix: The saltier the better (and drier). You can go on the cheap with “GORP”—good old raisins and peanuts—or you can add additional dry carbohydrates such as goldfish or granola and nuts for variety and M&Ms or yogurt covered fruits for a sweet twist.
• Day-Old Bagels: They’re cheaper and three times drier than fresh bagels. Add any nut butter to ensure that they stick to the roof of your mouth.
• Crackers: The cracker aisle can be a bit overwhelming. Go for rice crackers if you’re gluten free (or if you’re me and just like them), Triscuits for whole grains with random flavors, or wheat thins ranch for funzies. If you’re opposed to packaged foods you can also make your own pumpkin and flax seed kale crackers; I’m sure those are quite dry too (and just sound healthy). As always, add nut butters for gluey variety or cheese if you’re new to dry snacks and are having trouble eating things akin to the desert.

Now, if you’re just looking for a solo dry snack go for any of the following:

• Goldfish, preferably flavor-blasted and not artificial pizza flavor
• Pretzels
• Homemade granola (the Honeybunches of Oats kind from the store is good too)
• Plain dry cereal, the more it resembles small twigs and the larger the word fiber is written on the box the better
• Rice cakes if you’re into eating 50 percent air with each bite

Other favorites:

For a dry high protein alternatives try salted, dried edamame. You’ll need at least 8 ounches of water per handful to wash them down.

FOR ULTIMATE SENDING FUEL: Stale donuts, preferably from Dunkin and covered in coconut. The sugar provides fast energy for the approach and the high fat content will keep you full and sending throughout the day. The benefits increase exponentially the more you eat until 7.43 donuts, and then a food coma ensues.

Now, what do you do for hydration to allow for the swallowing of all of these goodies? According to Matt Birkebak, all one needs is half a gallon of chocolate milk, half a gallon of lemonade and 32 ounches of green goodness smoothie.

A Letter to Spring

Dear Spring,

According to my very colorful assignment book, it is April, and it has been for almost a week.  This means that we should be solidly in spring. Easter has come and past, and I’m ready for sunshine, no snow, and more sunshine.

So Spring, I’m wondering where you are. I’ve seen a few hints, some Canada geese in the cornfields on the way to Pawtuckaway and cardinals in several trees, but I can't say I’m seeing the springtime results I’m hoping for.  However, between you and me, I think we can work something out.

First off, let's discuss the snow. Postholing to above my knees while walking between boulder problems increases sock dampness and decreases psych significantly. Also, it makes my crash pad wet, missing the crash pad a damp, chilly mishap, and keeping my shoes dry nearly impossible. I’d like the snow to leave. Please pick Pawtuckaway as your first destination for this to happen.

Now can we please discuss the weather in general? It does not need to ever go below 40 degrees Fahrenheit in April, 50 degrees in May, or 60 degrees in June. And then there is the rain. I know that “April showers bring May flowers.” I like flowers. Even more than that, I like that the rain helps melt the snow. However, could we pick a better time than every weekend to have it rain? Sunday nights are perfect along with Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights. If you have to schedule rain during the day, please make it one of those three weekdays as well. Then, if it’s not too much to ask, please make Thursday and Friday morning sunny and windy to dry off all the rocks for climbing Friday afternoon through Sunday evening.

Now, about the sun: I’ve missed it. Please make climbing sunny on the weekends—and on the days already discussed above—and any other day you feel like banning clouds. Collectively, New England has the winter blues, and you, dear Spring, have the power to stop the current “SAD” epidemic. I'd love to think of March and April as more than just mud season and dirty snow covered in microscopic black bugs.

Overall, I’m psyched. I’m ready for winter and all the cold and white that goes along with it to be gone. Even more than that, I’m ready to climb. Real rocks. Outside. Sure I’ll be outside whether its cloudy and 35 degrees or sunny and 55, but there is a 746.89 percent chance that I’ll climb 356 percent harder for 673 percent longer and put my climbing shoes on 4.37 times as often if it’s the latter.  So Spring, I’ve missed you, and I’ve missed feeling my feet while climbing outside. Please pay New England a visit.

Yours,

Liz