Thursday, December 27, 2012

the right number of climbing shoes?

With age comes an increased likelihood that you will be buying your own Christmas present. Good thing or bad thing? I can argue it both ways. Whichever, on 25th December 2012 I "received" a pair of
La Sportiva Muiras; a generic-looking yellow and black climbing shoe. A dispassionate observer might question why I needed another pair, given that I already own several, and - like most people - only have two feet? 

For context, the image above shows my current collection. It includes the new Muiras but excludes several decaying pairs that I recently threw out. Even if the six pairs in kids sizes are ignored, plus the historic-interest-only 1980s Czech modified carpet slippers (a gift put to temporary use thanks to delayed luggage on a London-Prague flight), there remain eight pairs requiring justification.

Whilst pondering this, it struck me that I have always owned lots of climbing shoes, and that the main change has been increased diversity, not a profound shift in quantity. When I started climbing (I was very very young - really!) there was just one manufacturer making just one shoe - or more accurately - one boot: the "EB". Being canvas and a pretty basic construction they wore out fast but never quite expired ... so it was typical to accumulate several pairs, distinguished only by their position on the new-to-knackered spectrum.






Choice only became an issue in 1984 when the Boreal Firé appeared. For a climbing-fixated teenager this was impossibly exciting. Their practical advantage was greater stickiness, thanks to the Spanish maker's softer rubber, but the uppers were also not canvas but a funkier suede. As Firés were expensive and often out of stock, I has split loyalties for a while, but eventually became monogamous with Boreal. 






The number of climbing footwear manufacturers and models grew gently from then, but I didn't abandon Firés until Asolo introduced the Runout, in - I think - 1989 or 1990. The Runout was a genuinely radical design, being the first low-profile climbing shoe rather than climbing boot. Ankles could finally be flexed and toes pointed accurately, though at the expense of calf support and ankle protection. (Climbing "boots" didn't surface again for a couple of decades but are now a firmly re-invented niche. These "high-tops", for example). I bought a ton of Runouts, but clearly not enough to satisfy Asolo, who dropped out of the climbing shoe market after just a couple of years. 


The natural next purchase after Runouts disappeared, and the start of a love affair that has continued to this day, was the classic La Sportiva Mythos. The Mythos is a simple unlined suede shoe that relies only on a clever lacing system to maintain toes and heels in position. It fitted my feet really well and was superbly comfortable after a few sessions, even if bought very tight. To their credit La Sportiva have changed nothing but the colour - purple to beige - over twenty years.


A year or two after the Mythos was introduced La Sportiva introduced a radically "bent" version: the Mirage. I bought some but couldn't make them work for me. In fact I don't think I ever wore them on an outdoor climb. Retrospectively I realise that this was the moment when I lost pace with cutting-edge climbing shoe design. Worse, I stuck with the Mythos unquestioningly for more than a decade. The Mirage turned out to be the forerunner of asymmetry in climbing shoes - using sole shape to concentrate power in the toes. Other trends that passed me by included aggressive heel designs to hold the toes more firmly in place, low-stretch uppers, stiffened sole inserts for better edging and yet more innovation in sticky rubber.  

I am greatly puzzled by this phenomenon now, as I think it held back my climbing performance significantly. Though the start of this period was (just) pre-internet when information exchange wasn't as frenzied as it is now, I still spent plenty of time in climbing shops and at indoor walls, visited trendy "hard" crags (Rifle! Siurana! Ceuse!) and subscribed to climbing magazines full of shoe reviews, so definitely had exposure to the new shoes entering the market. And I wasn't short of money to experiment. Clearly the comfort of the Mythos was a factor. I think I also had a muddle-headed notion that the sensitivity and "feel" of a well broken-in soft shoe trumped everything else. Worryingly I think I might also have "given up" as a climber at some sub-conscious level. It is telling that my Mythos era coincided with the acquisition of steady employment, a spouse, a child and other conventional doings of adulthood. 

My first awareness that I needed to reconsider my shoes came as recently as summer 2005, when I first climbed at Squamish. My partner was Andy Donson, an old friend from university, man of accomplishment and "climber's climber". He observed me sliding off granite nubbins in my Mythos and noted authoritatively that he now only wore stiff shoes as they were "better on everything except slabs, but actually better on slabs too". By then I had moved to the UAE and was spending a lot of time struggling to stand on tiny edges on exfoliating desert limestone, so a lightbulb did go off in my head. At that time the most common performance shoe was the 5.10 Anasazi lace-ups or "Pinks". They incorporated almost all the design elements I had been ignoring for years: asymmetry (though not "downturn"), stiff sole insets and a very aggressive heel. I tried to convince myself to buy a pair but the fit to my feet seemed hopeless, with obvious bagginess in some places yet much pain where the heel bit the ankle.


A year or so later on another summer vacation I came across a pair of Pinks in the remainder bin in MEC in Vancouver. They were half a size tighter than seemed reasonable but so cheap that it seemed almost indecent not to take them home. Plus the model was being discontinued, so it was my last chance to get some. Though they stayed too painful to use often, I realised rapidly and with some embarrassment that they were a quantum leap superior to my usual shoes. The rational next purchase was a half-size larger pair of "Whites", 5.10's replacement for the Pinks. These have now been my go-to shoes for harder routes for several years. (I still use Mythos for multi-pitch routes, especially on granite, and some ultra-comfortable though - frankly - crap Red Chillis for warming up.)


On a whim I augmented my Whites with another 5.10 shoe, the 5X, which I also like very much though primarily use for indoor climbing. This took 5.10 to dominance in my shoe collection, at least in the "mine" (I also own a lot of kids shoes) and "actively-used" categories.

Approaching this Christmas I thought it might be time for another pair of Whites, but found myself considering another classic performance shoe, the Muira, instead. Over the last two years I have been climbing with several good climbers who swear by them, from gurus like Neil Gresham, who I crossed paths with in Oman and then Kalymnos in 2011, to my occasional local Squamish partner, Stewart. In March this year I also had the near-mystical experience of placing my feet briefly in a pair of the world's best climber's Muiras, that had found their way to a Czech guy in Dubai; the next day brought one of my best ever first-ascents (though back in the Whites!). Muiras have more of a downturn sole than the Whites, so may be better on steeper routes. Unquestionably they also fit me more accurately with no dead space. It seems generally I have a La Sportiva shaped foot. Another option from the cutting edge would have been the La Sportiva Solution, an ultra-downturned bouldering shoe with a gimmicky closure system, but my feet say firmly "no".


In summary then, I now have eight shoes in active use, as a legacy of these evolving decisions. The Whites and Miuras will be competing for my loyalty on harder sport routes - I will report back - the too-tight Pinks available on special occasions, Mythos of various sizes and exhaustion to be brought out for long granite, whilst the 5Xs and Red Chillis will live in my gym bag. All quite logical.

Except of course that it isn't and the obvious truth is that I just like to collect climbing shoes. But as compulsive disorders go, rock shoe accumulation is pretty harmless and not even especially expensive: I guess all my shoes could be bought for less than the price of a moderately good AT ski setup and a fraction of the price of a decent mountain bike. So I think I can be forgiven.


Friday, October 12, 2012

the last ascent of blackwater?

Blackwater, at Murrin Park's evocatively-named Petrifying ("Pet") Wall, is another entry in the new Squamish guidebook's Top 100 list. The route is renown for staying wet in all but the driest conditions as it follows a drainage line, but it has been dry recently. Stupidly I have been avoiding it, despite several frequent visits to Pet. This stems from deranged climber-logic: Blackwater's grade (5.12a/ 7a+) is a level that I consider too easy to be worth "projecting", but potentially too hard to "flash".

Jack Ziegler just visible working Blackwater, back in September

On Wednesday I visited Pet, where it struck me that the end of the Blackwater "season" was fast approaching and that if I wanted to do it this year I had better hurry up. The forecast was unequivocal that the winter rains would begin on Friday and an eery chilly mist was already hanging over the cliff.


As it turned out, Blackwater went down without too much of a fight. I failed on a flash attempt, but soothed my hurt ego with a plausible "cold hands" excuse. Then I succeeded on my first redpoint try. I hadn't rehearsed any of the moves in detail, but still managed to flow up it in a loose scrappy style. This felt good - and was a big contrast to my tightly-choreographed ascent of the Heifer a few days before. I wish I could conjure up that style of climbing on demand. For me it seems to only come after a lot of climbing volume - which has been the case recently - plus confidence boosted by a few successes - ditto. It didn't even last one day: on Thursday I got shut down on another (allegedly easier!) Pet Wall classic, Burning down the Couch, through a combination of hesitation at a not-that-hard section and getting scared on a not-that-bad runout.

If anyone is reading this with a specific interest in Blackwater, I recommend it very highly if you can catch it in dry condition. As a single pitch of vertical face climbing, it is as good as any I have done anywhere in the world. Almost every move is interesting. The climbing is sustained for 30m but has enough marginal rests to keep the effort reasonable. The final crux, at about 25m, ends with a big move to a definite jug, then above is a fabulous "glory road" of huge holds to follow before reaching the chains. Aside from a sketchy start - best subdued with a stick-clip - the bolts are all intelligently placed.

Friday has dawned exactly in line with the midweek forecast. This sequence of morning photos taken over the last three days spells it out.

View south from our deck, 7:30am Wednesday

and same view at the same time on Thursday

... and on Friday 

And here's the grim new forecast. With this much rain ahead, it looks very likely that my ascent of Blackwater was the last in 2012!


Anyway, I shouldn't complain. I have been very lucky to have six weeks of continuous good weather since I started this late season sport-climbing campaign. I have also been really lucky with reliable and knowledgeable local partners, almost all found through the Squamish climbing forum. Thanks especially to Todd and Kay, who have been supportive through my projects.

The next task is to figure out some way to stay sane through the winter ...

POSTSCRIPT: whilst writing this post I stumbled over this interesting account of the early days of Pet Wall climbing by Perry Beckham, one of Squamish's strongest climbers in the 1980s. And this article at Rock and Ice by guidebook writer, Marc Bourdon, is pretty interesting on the full history of sport climbing in Squamish.



Sunday, October 7, 2012

chasing the heifer

Luke ? demonstrating the crux move of The Fleeing Heifer

My goal before the start of winter here was to climb something that at least theoretically matches my lifetime peak ... with the hope of moving upwards from that next year. Today I achieved that with a redpoint (*) of The Fleeing Heifer, Squamish's rite-of-passage sport route at the 5.12c/ 7b+ grade. I tried it for the first time on Wednesday, getting most of the individual moves straight away was but unsure whether it could be put together in a single push. On Thursday I made three redpoint attempts, failing at the same place, a powerful pull off a layaway with bad feet to a marginal split-fingers hold. After the last burn, I worked this crux move multiple times then did sets of isometric hangs on the layaway for a while to try and strengthen/ recruit/ train the specific muscle combination (no, I don't really understand the science of this, or the terminology!). I then rested for two days. The ascent today went pretty smoothly and I felt materially stronger. Sometimes it is all about the rest-days!

The Heifer is the only sport route of its grade in the new guidebook's Top 100 list. After doing it, I wouldn't contest its quality. It's a nice length, somewhere between 15-20m. It overhangs gently and consistently, maybe 3m overall, with no really good rests, except a technical knee-bar low down, so it is properly strenuous. The crux move, around the fifth bolt, is subtle in terms of foothold choice but also very powerful. Straight after the crux there are two sideways moves on quite unique flat side holds that look hard to hold from below but in fact are relatively easy to pass. Then there is a long cruising section on spaced holds which is fun to yard through, though in the knowledge the clock is ticking. The last section has a second crux with various solutions, mostly very tenuous when pumped. I was fortunate to watch another climber tackle this with an un-obvious high-heel-hook approach, which though weird, proved doable even with flagging strength. Above this is a slightly run-out and reachy sprint for the chain, with potential for a big fall if you are tired - which I was, but I managed to stay on.


Luke ? on the second crux

One reason climbing this grade is interesting to me is that it casts some light on grades of some new/ new'ish routes I have done in the UAE/ Oman over the last few years. If length of time required before redpointing is a good indicator, The Heifer needed about the same amount of work as Duct-tape and Jellyfish (not my name ...) at The Blindspot which I sent earlier this year. It took less work than Echo Beach at Tawiyan, which I sent in 2009. So I would stick by 7b+ for both those. I also made the fourth ascent this spring of a DWS route, Generation X, on the Musandam coast that also gets 7b+, and was graded by a very experienced climber. For me, that route required attempts on four days spread over a year or so, but I think as a pure physical feat is easier than The Heifer. But it is hard to compare sport with DWS. An obvious problem with attempting DWS routes is that you have no bolts to cheat on and use to acquire knowledge of moves above your "real" highpoint - instead you are in the sea!

* apologies to non-climbers for an excessively jargon-rich post.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

twelve B but not ten B

I have been climbing "full-time" for two weeks now. In practise this has structured as about 4 days on and 3 days off per week, probably the right frequency for me. A small milestone was passed on Friday when I redpointed my first Squamish 5.12b: the gently-overhanging Flingus Cling at Pet Wall. I have done several established routes at that grade (it is equivalent to sport 7b) in Europe and given the grade to several of my new routes in the UAE and Oman, so this isn't a breakthrough achievement, but it is reassuring to confirm the same level here. I got the route on my first redpoint attempt, having worked it briefly on Wednesday, making my pedantically recorded beta redundant. This suggests I should really be projecting something harder. Some say Flingus is rather soft for the grade, for example my new friend Stewart who dismissed my ascent with "yeah, it's only 12a" ... before falling off. Ha!

The weather has been incredibly stable recently. This is not especially normal for Squamish, so I thought I should really exploit it by doing something in the alpine. Bob tried to lure me into an attempt on the famous NE Ridge of Mt Slesse, whose "pocket glacier" has recently "slid", making the approach safer. Some research suggested that this might involve 25km of walking on the descent and/or a decent chance of getting badly lost in the forest; not my idea of fun. So I countered by suggesting Life on Earth on Mt Habrich, a route closer to home (Habrich is visible from our deck, indeed from our kitchen sink). It's a good-looking route, especially seen from the neighbouring Sky Pilot, a proper alpine peak with a permanent glacier that is a few km away. There are five 50m pitches of real climbing, all given 5.10b or 5.10c. Not exactly full-blown mountaineering but not quite roadside cragging either.

Habrich from Sky Pilot. Life on Earth is the line between light and shadow © Bob Jasperson, 2012

For me the most off-putting aspect of this route has been a lengthy approach walk on gated forest roads from a point distressing close to sea level (Habrich's summit is around 1700m). However the gate was opened fairly recently, allowing a drive to a decent altitude if equipped with a 4WD with decent clearance. And such a vehicle I now possess ...

Consequently we set off at 6am on Saturday morning. Bob had been shut down before at an obstacle a few km before the ultimate end of the road. We had a brief pause there to drink some coffee and scope the best trajectory for the Forerunner past an axle-eating boulder - then passed on with no drama.



The end of the driveable road has a substantial blockade that says firmly "no further" though it is rumoured that determined ATV guys can get through. We shouldered packs and continued on foot.


From here the hike is roughly horizontal for 5-6km. There is a left fork just before crossing Shannon Creek (the source of water for Shannon Falls) beyond which the trail has become overgrown; tunnel-like in places. Eventually the trail opens up slightly, and Habrich becomes visible up to the left.  A camp spot right on the trail marks the next stage: a heinously steep and poorly-marked forest trail, with a 300-400m height gain, up to the cliff. 


This section severely eroded my enthusiasm but seemed utterly casual for Bob, a man who Grinds the Grouse most days before breakfast (*). Anyone reading this blog post for beta will want to know that there's a right fork from the poorly-marked trail onto an almost invisible trail that leads to the base of LoE. Unfortunately it's too subtle to describe where: good luck!


Then there was the actual climbing. Life on Earth starts with a short grovel up to a belay stance on top of an apparently wholly-detached flake. If I did the route again, I'd belay from the ground and string pitches 1 and 2 together to avoid it. Pitches 2 and 3 are both about 5.10b (the topo we had was vague on the grades) and disappointingly contrived. The route keeps wandering on and off the actual arete of the buttress as there are good cracks nearby. Gear is a mix of eccentrically-spaced bolts and natural protection. I had added a 4" cam to our rack just before leaving home, which proved prescient; it was used on three pitches. I had a brief "moment" high on pitch 3 when I couldn't comprehend where to go and the next bolt appeared unclippable. So I hung briefly on a lower bolt. This felt ironic in light of the previous day's performance (ie I am supposed to be a studly 5.12 man not 5.10 failure!) but was soon forgotten when Bob announced he had dropped his belay device! Or more correctly he claims it "detached itself". This made me slightly anxious as improvising alternatives would have time consequences both for our ascent and descent (normally multiple rappels down the line). We did though reach the top without further trouble. Pitches 5 and 6 were better quality with a more logical line and some cool exposed positions. 

Bob finishing pitch 5 © Bob Jasperson, 2012

From the ledges above the route we dumped gear and scrambled to Habrich's nice bare granite summit, getting there around 5pm. The views are stunning in all directions. 

Tantalus to the west

 Howe Sound to the south-west

Sky Pilot to the south

Garibaldi to the north-east

"Squampton" to the north

I fiddled with my camera's delay setting briefly to obtain a team photo, with this mildly camp result:


The team uniform is a coincidence!

After an abandoned consideration of descending Habrich's easier North West ridge, we opted for the full rappel down LoE, sharing my belay device by passing it between us. This mostly worked OK but was slow and stressful. The ropes never got hung up though it looked likely at times. Bob commented that a slabby arete like LoE isn't a good rappel route and I concur. Perhaps one day someone will bolt a better set of rappels elsewhere on the face?

The sun was setting as we landed at the cliff base ...


... and the descent back down the steep trail was gloomy and unpleasant. We (OK, I especially) slid often on loose hemlock needles. At least the frequent F-bombs must have scared off any nearby bears.

From here was "just" the reversal of the approach hike: interminable! We got to the vehicle at 10pm. Tough day!

I am unsure whether to recommend Life on Earth. Positives are the cool summit and positions on some of the pitches. Negatives are the contrived line low down on the route and the high ratio of hike time to climb time, but I may be more sensitive to those issues than most people? Anyway, I am glad to have had a taste of Squamish alpine and will do some more next summer. 

Now back to the redpoints ...


* this may be a slight exaggeration


Friday, August 24, 2012

in which we finally talk about climbing

James watching me on Coat and Tails  © Read Macadam, 2012

So three weeks after arriving in Squamish I finally got out climbing.

Actually this is not true, but it feels like it. Friends like Bob and Andy have dragged me out on the rock on several occasions. But today was the first time that I have climbed without feeling hurried or stressed and really been focused on what I was doing.

Today's objective was completing Coat and Tails, a problem at the obscure Powerline Boulders. I took an interest in this area as it is close to home and is advertised as having flat landings. I first visited with Read Macadam a few days ago. I know Read from the UAE/ Oman climbing scene, where he has unarguably held the title of strongest "local" for some years, and has done an excellent job of burning off visiting superstars. He is originally from Vancouver - hence over here on vacation - and was in the Canadian bouldering team in his youth. Unfortunately he has an arm fracture from an MTB accident (reaffirmation for me of my general principle of avoiding all other sports apart from climbing ...) so nobly looked after James and took photos. Coat and Tails didn't yield then, but looked possible for me as it is a rare instance of a Squamish problem entirely on real holds rather than slopey nothings.

Since then I have done a few finger-strengthening sessions on my Wedge, a clever portable training tool invented by my UK business partner Simon. He had handed me a prototype when in England. At less than one kg it was just about smuggle'able into our Canada baggage and then easily installed from a beam in the space under our garage.

The Wedge in Simon's Sheffield training laboratory, sorry, "office"

Climbing is of course all about grades (*). Coat and Tails is graded V5, a level which tiny Japanese girls in New York would barely bother with as a warm-up, but one that I have never managed at Squamish. (It is actually given V6 in some sources.) It took about an hour of work today and some significant bouts of trying-hard. Fingers were definitely working better than on the previous visit. All climbing is ridiculous but sit-start boulder problems especially so. Non-climbers may be baffled as to why anyone would bother with all of the following when you can reach the finishing hold on tip-toes from the ground:

- sit on arse in the mud under a two metre wide flat ceiling
- yard outwards from a big loose undercut flake to a decent hold at the lip
- hold a faux-front-lever whilst finger traversing half a metre leftwards to painful crimps
- heel hook right foot in ungainly fashion on that decent hold
- pull in hard on the heel whilst slapping up with right hand to a diagonal edge [fall off here multiple times]
- slap again with right hand to semi-pinch/ semi-side-pull a few cm higher [fall off here multiple times too]
- subtly modify right foot from heel hooking to pushing on small knob one cm to left
- throw heroically for giant finishing jug with left hand
- make a pointless half-move higher into the moss then declare victory
- boldly jump two metres back to the ground

Read suggested that all this nonsense could be reduced down to two dynamic moves and I have no reason to doubt him. But I am old and unbouncy.

Psyched! What's next?


* obviously I am joking: climbing is about good company, the joy of being outdoors and, er, stuff like that.




Thursday, June 28, 2012

cars

Having spent a small fortune on car rental in BC over the last few summers, it seemed like a good idea to buy a car on arrival this time. I am a buy-it-new-run-it-into-the-ground man, so I realised I would have to make an order soon. But order what?

My perfect vehicle would have all these attributes:
  • able to go anywhere in any conditions
  • proper seats for four people
  • fold flat in the back, with enough space to sleep two people
  • built by Japanese workers in Japan (= reliability)
  • 40 mpg or better in highway driving
Actually no vehicle ticks all these boxes. The closest I have found is the Toyota Highlander Hybrid, a mid-size SUV with a hybrid engine built in Kyushu, capable of more than 30 mpg on the highway. Unfortunately, like several Toyota SUVs, the back doesn't fold properly flat. Worse, Toyota themselves warn that "Note: the Highlander Hybrid is not designed to be driven off-road." And though it shouldn't matter, the thing looks like the bastard child of a Range Rover and a walrus.

Also built in Japan - at Toyota's legendary Tahara plant, in fact - are the two proper off-roaders Toyota sell in Canada: the 4Runner and the FJCruiser. The latter looks cool (though possibly with a hint of hair-dresser) but fails the fold-flat and proper-seats-for-four tests. Both have hopeless fuel consumption.

Many north american climbers have pickup trucks pimped out with camper shells of various kinds. This is an option I have given serious thought. A couple of things put me off: the apparent need for a lot of carpentry and other DIY and (more seriously) the risk of ending up with a discarded and rotting camper shell in our garden, sorry, "yard", a classic symbol of redneck life that I am not nearly ready for.

So, I am getting a 4Runner. It ticks four out of five boxes. And, helpfully for we middle-aged men with self-esteem issues, looks nicely macho in its Trail edition. Psyched! Let's not discuss the price.







Tuesday, June 19, 2012

T-50

In fifty days I start a lifestyle experiment. The key elements of it: relocating 11 timezones west to a scruffy coastal town in British Columbia, Canada; abandoning a lucrative office job for living from savings and a couple of tenuous business ventures; dragging my family (wife and two sons) with me; fully committing to the "sport" - rock climbing - that has been the constant strand through all my adult life and most of my childhood too. The experiment is open-ended though I can envisage several issues that may cut things short. Injury is one. Family dissatisfaction another. And finances, of course.

I plan to write about two main things: the evolution of my rock climbing during this period and observations about Squamish, which is an interesting place grappling uncertainly with its post-industrial condition. 

That will do for now!

Squamish waterfront and the Chief