Why Rock Climbing Should Not Be Taken So Seriously
Three stories to elucidate the absurd
A Brief Introduction
Sometimes I like to step back and look at this hobby and its practitioners from an objective point of view. What do the outsiders see? And when I step forward again I struggle to relate to, or even understand, what the hell is going on. So I step back again and again, each time further away, until I myself become an outsider. Like Camus’ Stranger everything feels absurd. Why is everyone wearing brightly colored puffy jackets? Why does this person have several industrial-grade fans pointed at that rock? That rock has a name? People argue about it on the internet? The fuck?
I like to consider myself a somewhat serious climber, but I cannot help but wonder if the climbing community has begun to take itself too seriously. Maybe it always did. Maybe I’m just bemused. I suppose I’ll stop this introduction and let the stories do what they do best.
Story #1 – The Pedantic & The Pure
So, I have this project. It was 50°F with 3% humidity. The condies were absolutely terrible. Thankfully I had a plethora of industrial sized fans to blow the hot humid air on to the holds.
With the fans on full blast, I cranked up the volume on my portable crag speaker so I could hear my dubstep playlist over the obnoxious blaring of the fans.
While I was letting the rock cool, I began to set up my four cameras at various angles. I used to only have three but some gumby once walked in front of one of them when I was filming and ruined my edit. I mean, I didn’t send that go, but my lats were really popping at that angle.
With the cameras perfectly placed I began to double check my massive foot-long tick marks. Five marks per hold for each finger. Each beautifully crafted and leading precisely to perfectly brushed holds. I needed every advantage in those horrendous conditions.
Unfortunately, I knew I had to get on the proj before the rock was properly dehumidified, otherwise I’d run the risk of someone approaching and touching the holds WITHOUT CHALK. I supposed I would have to forgo my hour-long ritual of sanding my tips while reviewing every single beta video posted on YouTube, Vimeo, and Mountain Project.
So, I pulled onto the large but terrifyingly oily starting jugs. I attempted the huge lunge to the next hold and fell. The holds were just too slimy. I brought one of the fans nearer. It would be getting dark soon, which would bring okay, but not the best conditions. It was only going to be 40°F and 1% humidity. Atrocious.
While I waited for the better conditions, I began to set up my lighting equipment. It was a delicate balance keeping the lights at the perfect distance so they wouldn’t end up heating the rock too much.
Unfortunately, I waited too long. A group of women came and started touching my holds. Of course they didn’t chalk up before or brush after. The problem was likely impossible to climb now, I thought.
They asked what I thought about the problem and why I was wearing a beanie with no shirt when it was so “cold” out. I knew then that they were into me.
“Yeah, it’s pretty soft. The conditions are just God awful,” I said, completely ignoring that stupid question.
“What?!” One of them screamed, apparently unable to hear anything through the industrial fans and dubstep.
“I took my shirt off, so I don’t dab!” I yelled.
Puzzled, they looked at me. They clearly didn’t understand the strict rules of 8a.nu or the delicate measures required to send V6.
It began to get dark, and I could feel the temps beginning to drop further.
“Might as well show them what V6 looks like,” I thought.
I told them I was about to climb, and they stood back ready to witness me. I chalked my hands with my $100 Mellow brand Daniel Woods-scented chalk.
With my hands pasted on the unctuous jugs, I fired to the distant edge. Despite the oil caked holds, I stuck it. I screeched in surprise like a young Adam Ondra clipping the chains of Silence.
I quickly searched for my next massive tick mark. I only had seconds to conserve enough energy for the final move. I couldn’t risk getting too pumped.
If I got the send, then I could finally get on 8a.nu and call it soft so all the other climbers would know how easy it felt for me. All I needed to do was stick this last move. One move to infinite glory. One move closer to an Asana sponsorship.
I could see it now. My mind began translating English to 8a.nu:
“V6??? hahah more like V3!! you’re a clown if you take V6 for this.”
Naturally, I would still tick it as “soft V6” because I needed the points.
I locked on to the carefully crafted subway sandwich sized tick marks.
“What if it’s too hot??” I thought to myself. “It’s just baking there in the heat of my lights!”
It didn’t matter. I was quickly becoming pumped. I lunged and stuck the edge that felt like it had been sprayed with PAM.
“This is how D Woods must have felt when he topped out Return To Sleepwanker,” I thought, smirking to myself. “Child’s play.”
I began to see my breath in the frosty air. Thankfully, I did the hard moves before my breath began moistening the holds.
I began the simple V0 mantle to eternal greatness until I felt it…. the brush of a small tree branch on my back. My spine went cold like I was touched by Hades himself. I died inside. I had dabbed.
I topped out, dropped to my knees, and screamed.
I thought I could hear the ladies cheer for me, but I wasn’t sure with the wubs of the dubstep blaring the soundtrack to my infinite disappointment.
Despite cutting feet and climbing with perfect technique, I couldn’t ask for their numbers. They had just witnessed a horrendous dab and there’s no coming back from that.
I pulled my beanie over my face in shame - also, my ears were quite cold.
“I guess I’ll just have to return with a chainsaw and some better condies,” I reassured myself as I down climbed and began collecting all my gear - too pumped to try those two moves again.
I took one last reluctant look at the boulder. A proud and earnest grin came to my face.
“So pure,” I whispered.
I then turned to my $80,000 conversion Sprinter van, which was parked 100 yards from eternal greatness and the highway.
Story #2 – Destroying V6 Bro’s Dreams Is My New Project
With Tarantulaces and socks on foot, a climbing harness and a cheap ATC on my waist, I silently stalk my prey. I “warm up” with bent arms and an Elvis leg that would make a sewing machine jealous. After a quick double dyno to the top I look around for my first victim, my camouflage perfected.
A young man of 20, spraying beyond reason about his V6 project, with dreams of the Olympics and being best friends with Alex Honnold clouding his mind. Once my target is locked I jump to the ground below, narrowly avoiding my keys and phone at the base of the wall. I inhale and focus.
The thrill of destroying dreams has long ago overtaken any desire to climb above V10. Traveling gym to gym and feasting on the broken dreams of disillusioned V6 bros is a thrill stronger than any Dawn Wall. I collect my items and approach as he biffs a dyno to the top of his project.
“Hello! That sure looks hard! What does V6 mean?”, I ask.
He smiles, I can see the thrill of the spray glimmer in his eyes. He flexes his feeble lats and begins the ritual of spray.
“It’s pretty damn hard,” he says curtly. Trying to appear elite. “All the holds are super small and there is this huge dyno to the top. It’s quite hard for the grade.”
“Can Alex O’ Honnold climb V6”? , I ask.
He scoffs like Adam Ondra on pitch 14 of the Dawn Wall.
“He doesn’t even really boulder that hard. He’s more of an endurance climber. Like I probably boulder harder than him, he just does it better thousands of feet in the air.”
“Damn that sounds pretty hard. Do you mind if I try for fun?”
He laughs and motions ahead.
My trap is set. The thrill in my black soul is tangible.
I remove my large ring of keys, phone, and wallet from my Nike basketball shorts like Piccolo or Goku dropping their massive weight bearing clothes at the base of the climb.
I paste my oversized Tarantulaces and exhale. The ATC at my side is stifling but nothing serious.
In a flash the deed is done. The dead look in this young man’s eyes is all I needed to see.
Skipping the dyno for an elegant static reach to the top was enough for me to feel this young man’s soul leave his body.
I collect my things at the base as he pretends to be psyched for me.
“Yeah, it’s probably a little soft. I’ve only been climbing for a couple months and definitely can’t do V6,” I say before disappearing out the gym doors, still wearing my climbing shoes. The final fragments of his hopes and dreams leave with me.
With my socks a little moist and the hunger in my soul satiated, I smile and begin my journey to the next gym.
Story #3 – Just Stand Up
I had the unfortunate duty of working open climb at my gym one evening. It was the typical routine of belaying gumbies and gym bros.
This particular evening was slow. The woman I was belaying was having trouble doing one of the 5.9s I had set. For some reason she couldn’t understand “just stand up” whenever I tried to yell beta at her from the ground.
Thankfully she gave up and wanted to come down before the upper portion. Who knows how long it would’ve taken for her to figure out the double-knee-bar figure 4 crux.
Anyways, as I began to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment from inspiring a new generation of climbers, I noticed a dude bro staring at me from the corner of the gym. He approached and asked:
“So….uhhh…what’s the hardest route in the gym?” as he slowly put on his rental shoes and harness.
It was difficult for me to suppress a scoff.
“Oh I wouldn’t recommend that. It’s definitely too hard for a beginner,” I said.
I could notice a small facial twitch, almost like he too was suppressing a scoff.
“Nah bro, I bench 205. I bet I can easily do the hardest route,” he said, as he took out his carabiner key chain from his cargo shorts and clipped it to the outside of his rental harness.
I laughed and told him that I had set the hardest route there and guaranteed him that he really wouldn’t have a good time on it because the route was so hard that I actually hadn’t even sent it myself (I had just slapped a 5.12 sticker on it and called it good).
He began to sweat profusely and stare at me stoically like Patrick Bateman showing off his business card. I could see goosebumps begin to form down to his over-the-calf Nike socks. It’s almost like he was getting off on something.
In hindsight I should have seen the signs…but I was ignorant and not ready. How could anyone have been ready?
He took off his large aviator sunglasses. “Show me the route,” he said curtly, placing his glasses into the collar of his obscenely thin cutoff T-shirt, acting like he had just watched Top Gun for the 43rd time. His snapback hat, somehow defying gravity, remained on his head.
I scoffed and led him to the pink one in the corner. The route that would forever ruin climbing for me.
He raised his arms like an even cockier Randy Orton and asked if I could tie his knot for him. Unfortunately, I obliged. If only I had known.
I put him on belay, ready to see another gym bro struggle to get off the ground, and further confirm my existence as a rock climber.
However, before I knew it, he was already at the top, making sure to utilize every pretentious climbing move in existence on the way. My soul had long left my body even before he managed to make the V6 crux look like 5.8.
When he got to the ground, I looked upon him. My world view and self-esteem were utterly broken - perhaps even destroyed.
“Hard crux sequence,” he said while untying his knot.
A glimmer of hope appeared somewhere in the hollow shell that once contained my soul.
“…Well at least it seemed hard at first. I just had to stand up and then it felt super easy,” he said.
I could feel the life quickly draining from my body.
However, it was one last deed that put the proverbial nail in the coffin of my climbing career and self-worth.
As one final fuck you, he looked into my sad eyes and said:
“Oh man I just realized I forgot my chalk bag.”
A Brief Conclusion
Climbing, much like life, is absurd. Recognize the absurdity of it all, climb for fun, live for fun, and most importantly wear socks with your climbing shoes because you fucking can.
This is undoubtedly one of the wittiest, wettest and wildest climbing articles I've ever read. What an absolute masterpiece of an article. God it feels good to read something that isn't boring.