Horne Lake

Road-trip! OK: mini road-trip. Last week a complex array of parent/ child/ holiday schedules aligned so that my friend Todd and I could escape for a couple of days. Both of us were keen to check out the limestone at Horne Lake on Vancouver Island. Our mutual friend Travis also joined, helpfully sharing the ferry costs.

The climbing at Horne Lake is all located on one large wall about 200m high and a kilometre wide, rising above the north-west corner of the lake. Most of the rock is relatively uninteresting vertical face, but the centrepiece is a sensationally steep open cave, the Amphitheatre, which was the catalyst for the area's initial development in the late 1990s. Tufa features are abundant in the cave, so the climbing style is very similar to some of the famous limestone areas in Europe and Asia, like Kalymnos or Railay/ Tonsai (though Horne doesn't free-hanging stalactites). A great resource to have within reach of Squamish, as otherwise the nearest good tufa climbing is in Mexico! The ambience is pretty nice also. The lake beckons for an after-climb swim and there are beautiful arbutus trees mixed in with the usual firs and cedars. Fixed draws on most of the routes is a plus for me too.

The main cliffline. The Amphitheatre is just visible above the trees

Inside the Amphitheatre. Spot the anchor chains at the lip

Looking down at the lake through an arbutus tangle

That, unfortunately, is the end of the good news about Horne Lake. Tragically, though adjacent to a provincial park, the cliff is on private land. And the landowners, a strata co-op encompassing many lakeside homes, also draw water from a spring under the Amphitheatre. Climbing is not allowed, as far as I can figure out because of the water issue, unfounded liability fears and - I guess - the inevitable inertia of a decision-making entity with many individual members. In practise, the climbing ban does not seem to be enforced or even advertised on signboards, but consensus amongst local climbers seems to be to keep the place below the radar to discourage excessive attention. There is no guidebook.

During our two days there, we did encounter other climbers; sufficient to make the narrow ledges under the Amphitheatre feel crowded at times. All Canadians, I think, but definitely not limited to "locals". For example, there was a couple from Saskatchewan. It is hard to keep cliffs secret. Horne is well documented on the US website rockclimbing.com and sporadically appears in sponsored climbers' videos, oddly including one from Vancouver-based posh anorak purveyors, Arc'teryz, who you would think would know better, though that one is now offline. So it is difficult to imagine that the current status quo is sustainable in the long term.

In the spirit of the dodgy access situation, I am therefore not going to spray exuberantly how Horne Lake is a fantastic must-visit world-class venue. However, I will, er, definitely be heading back. In the context of the Squamish climbing season, it looks like Horne may be a good option once the winter rains start, as the umbrella-like Amphitheatre should stay climbable until the tufas start to seep. (Similarly, the word seems to be that Skaha, in the Okanagan, is climbable in the spring long before Squamish.) One route at Horne in particular has gone straight into my long term wishlist: Jesus Save the Pushers, a monstrous upside-down thing across a 20m (?) roof, that I am told has no bad holds. JSTP is graded 5.13a, but I feel may be doable for me with work. I onsighted a .12b - Moonraker - and flashed .12a - Quarter Century Girl - on this visit without too much trouble (*), which bodes well. For me, the climbing style is very familar.

Todd and Travis, who haven't squandered as much of their lives in dusty limestone holes as me, did struggle with the tufas. However Travis redpointed Quarter Century Girl and Todd onsighted a sparsely-bolted .11c horror: the Waterspout. For the success of our short trip we owe thanks to Fiona, who greeted us from a yoga mat in the parking lot on day one. I have various not-wholly-positive preconceptions about people on yoga mats, but Fiona, a strong Aussie expat, proved extremely helpful: orientating us at the cliff (we had little information apart from a magazine article from 1999), directing us toward good routes and never saying "namaste" once. My preconceptions need a rethink.

Travis warming up in the Amphitheatre

Todd warming up in the Amphitheatre

Todd almost sending Quarter Century Girl

Fiona actually sending Quarter Century Girl

Todd leading the Waterspout

(* confession time: I grabbed the anchor chain on Moonraker to clip after my "onsight". I initially felt this disqualified the ascent but after doing the route again an hour later, without the chain grab, I decided it made no real difference to the route. Or put another way, I definitely onsighted a .12b but arguably not the full route ...)

the road to Butt Face

It would be an understatement to say that my older son, Leo, 13, does not climb often. In the last five years, up to the start of this summer vacation, he has done: a couple of weekends bouldering outside in the UAE in 2009, when I was putting photos together for my guidebook; one afternoon bouldering on Squamish rock last summer; one easy climb this spring on a school camping trip ... and that's it. No indoor climbing at all, unless you count using the wifi at the Hive gym  a couple of times whilst I trained! I don't mind - generally I don't think kids should be pressured into specific sports - but sometimes I get wistful when I read amazing stories like this (Jim Herson and his 14 year old daughter sending the Nose in a day).  

However, this summer Leo had the choice of being in Canada with me or in Japan with his mum. He chose Canada. Or more precisely - his parents suspected - he chose his PS3 in Canada. To offset that, it was agreed that the "price" of his choice should be significant time outside in some wholesome activity. I offered climbing or hiking: climbing got the nod. To put some structure on that, I suggested he trained toward a specific objective and recommended that be a full-length route up the Squamish Chief. After some more discussion we agreed an exact route: Rambles/ Banana Peel with 2nd pitch variant/ Boomstick Crack/ Squamish Buttress with the "Buttface" variation/ Talking Crack. This combination lets you rope you up a few metres from the 99 highway and coil the rope again on the summit, with 22 pitches in between. It's almost the easiest way between those points but not totally beginner-friendly. There is one 5.9 pitch near the top, three 5.8 pitches and more than half of the remainder is 5.7. And the vertical height gain is about 600m. The photo below (click for a larger version) gives some idea. Yes, there's a mini forest hike in the middle.

We had five weeks in which to prepare for the route and get it done. Because of some other calls on Leo's time and the importance of avoiding weekend crowds on the Chief, the actual ascent had to be on a Monday (but not on 5th August, BC Day) or a Wednesday. And obviously during a decent weather window. In practise everything got shoehorned into three weeks.

At risk of shedding most readers who have made it this far, I thought I would spell out the preparation we did, in case anyone finds themselves working through something similar.

10th July. We drove to Pemberton to play on the friendly Green Bastion boulders. I wanted to remind Leo how basic rock movement felt, without the distraction of a rope and equipment. He did about five V0 problems. His footwork was pretty awful. I realised he needed new shoes; a few days later we found a pair of Sportiva Mythos in a Squamish shop which fitted OK.

15th July. We did one short roped climb at Murrin Park, the steep and un-fun Beginners Luck, undergraded at 5.5 and inappropriately - I think -  included in the guidebook's Top 100 list. Reasonably enough, Leo struggled slightly but climbed it clean. He also lowered me successfully from the anchors using an ATC device - from my perspective an important test! Then we practised rappelling at the nearby Bog Wall. I was keen that he should experience doing this without a safety rope at an early stage, in case we needed to retreat from a multi-pitch climb. Some people might blanche at this for a beginner but in reality using a ATC XP on a doubled 10mm rope on slabby rock is close to risk-free. The friction is so high that it is almost impossible to develop any acceleration even with hands off.

17th July. Multi-pitch time. We visited the AMO Wall near Shannon Falls, which has some very easy-angled 3 or 4 pitch climbs. We chose Relish Route into the excellent Beaten Zone 5.7. There was a tiny frisson of excitement when it rained as we started the second pitch. It looked like a passing shower so we waited it out. This proved correct. Almost all the climbing was holdless friction, which Leo seemed to find trivial, scampering up the rock faster than I could take in. We rappelled back down.

Second pitch on Relish Route

Third pitch on Relish Route

The Beaten Zone

Rapping back down

20th July. I wanted to test Leo on some slightly steeper rock, as the crux pitch of Butt Face is vertical face climbing so we headed to the bolted routes at Chek. These did slow him down. His best effort was climbing Kingfishers Catch Fire on Conroy Castle, with one or two rests on the rope. I thought it was more 5.9 than the guidebook's 5.8. It's also rather reachy. A great route though, with big views to the Tantalus mountains from the top.

22nd July. We spent a few hours in the Smoke Bluffs learning some basics of crack climbing. At the end of the session Leo managed a clean top rope of Bilbo Baggins, a slabby 5.9 route with mandatory hand jamming.

24th July. To get a sense of the time needed for the full ascent of the Chief, we tried the start pitches on the Apron. I had hoped we might manage the initial route, Rambles, and Banana Peel above, but Leo developed a weird ankle pain on Rambles. Anyway, we got that done reasonably quickly - about 1.5 hours for 4 pitches - and it was obvious how we could do it faster on the day.

Second pitch of Rambles

Higher on the second pitch of Rambles (note the road behind)

28th July. We had our first attempt on the main objective scheduled for the next day but I was still worried Leo hadn't had spent enough time on steep face climbing. But I made the mistake of visiting a cliff I hadn't looked at before, The Lounge up Squamish Valley. The routes there were uninspiring, mossy and undergraded. Leo got shut down by a 5.8. Not auspicious!

29th July. The big day. Amazingly I got Leo awake and out of the house by about 6:20am. (I had woken him up an hour or so earlier each morning for several preceding days!)

At the car park - about 6:45am

Optimistically we parked near of the base of the Chief descent then hiked down to the start of Rambles, which was empty, as I had hoped. I started leading the first pitch at 6:52am. Minutes later another team turned up at the base! We dispatched Rambles in three pitches but then ran into several teams already queued up on the ledges under the main Apron (the Rambles route can be bypassed by hiking). Thankfully they were all waiting for Diedre not Banana Peel. However one team were uncertain where to start and looked likely to cross ropes with us, so I had to be slightly assertive and point them to their right line. Despite this we were both at the top of the first pitch of Banana Peel at 8:00am. That route - 8 pitches - took us another couple of hours. Leo had no problems except at one short steep section on pitch 4, where I knew after leading it myself that he would struggle to reach key holds. Unfortunately the route was still in deep shade with an intermittent strong wind and we both got cold (we had one windproof between us, otherwise just t-shirts). Leo also suffered some recurrence of the ankle pain he had developed on the 24th (we realised later he was only developing this problem on low-angled rock). On the Broadway ledge, above Banana Peel, morale was definitely low and he was hinting that we should give up. I ignored this, found some shelter from the wind and suggested we ate our sandwiches; this proved just sufficient to get him interested in going "a little higher". The next section, Boomstick Crack, was no problem technically, but awkward with an intermediate semi-hanging belay (that I had been recommended to use). Leo again got cold and I think was slightly intimidated by the exposed position. At that point there's a big view down to the road 300m below.

The exposed position on Boomstick - at about 11:15am 

Thankfully, once above Boomstick, momentum improved. After stumbling upwards through the forest for a few minutes we hit sunshine on a nice bare granite area overlooking South Gully. From there the Second Summit is in view, the rock scenery is more striking and the end is in sight, if distant. Whilst resting there we were overtaken by a bubbly team of two sisters who were clearly enjoying their day. At the base of the next climbing section - Squamish Buttress original route - they waved us through, with the result that Leo shared belay ledges with them for several pitches. He had no problem with this section including the thin 5.8 moves at the start.

Around 2:00pm we were at the point where Squamish Buttress and the Butt Face variant diverge. I was apprehensive about the next section as it is graded 5.9 and Leo had only succeeded on one pitch at that grade before - and then only after multiple tries. The position is also exposed with big air down into South Gully once you step off the initial ledge. I belayed just after the crux of this pitch to be as close to him as possible. In fact my worries were overdone. He concentrated hard, hung on through the steep layback start and made it right through the crux traverse first try.

Following the 5.9 pitch on Butt Face - around 2:15pm

Higher on the 5.9 pitch

The remainder of the Butt Face did go quite slowly, though seemingly not as slow as for the team behind, so we were not responsible for any delays for others on the route overall (another worry of mine). The other crux of Butt Face is a 5.8 chimney with some non-intuitive moves. Leo did struggle there until he found the right way to face.

The cool ledge above Squamish Buttress / Butt Face - around 4:10pm

From there, the route was clearly in the bag. The last pitch, Talking Crack, is a few minutes hike southwards, directly under the First Summit. Leo's psyche was so high that he suggested he led that pitch - which would have been his first ever lead! I almost accepted but sense prevailed. After dispatching it I decided the decision was definitely correct, as the pitch has an awkward exit and gear is rattly at that point. Anyway, I was able to send Leo on to "lead" the scramble to the summit, to the surprise of a few tourists.

Last moves of the day: topping out Talking Crack

Leo on the summit - 5:15pm

Together on the summit

The descent was mellow, though as by then we had drunk all our water we didn't hang around, apart from cooling feet in Olesen Creek for a few minutes. We got back to the car at 6:40pm; just under 12 hours for the round trip.

POSTSCRIPT: I was asked what Leo thought of all this. Straight after the climb we headed home, via the McD's drive-thru, where I drank all the cold beer in the the fridge and Leo put in a couple of solid hours on Minecraft on his Mac (it turns out PS3 is so last month) ... before we both collapsed until about noon the next day. There was no post-match analysis during that period. However two weeks later one of Leo's soccer team mates came to stay with us in Squamish. Whilst we were driving past the Chief toward our house, Leo made some effort to point out the line we had ascended. Then he added that he was "quite proud" of climbing it. That will do for me.

thirteen, eh!

A big day today. James swam unassisted for the first time and I climbed my first 5.13. Five year olds are not strong at self-analysis so I can't cast much light on the aquatic feat. But unsurprisingly I have quite a lot to say about the climb. Maybe I should kick off with the headline items and stats:

• the route is Just Can't Do It at the Forgotten Wall at Chek
• it was graded 5.13a/b in the previous "Squamish Select" guide but now gets 5.13a
• this is equivalent to french 7c+
• there are seventeen entries for the route on 8a.nu, of which none suggest the route is "soft for the grade" and one suggests french 8a
• length is about 25m with nine bolts
• the route overhangs about 10° for the first 18m
• the style is crimpy endurance

I am indebted to my frequent partner Kay for suggesting the route as a project and then continuing to support my attempts after she discovered it was too reach-dependent for her. It was the focus of eight days at the cliff, starting in early April. It seemed to be too physically-crushing to cover the whole length of the route more than twice in one day, so initial progress in working the moves was slow. I tried my first redpoint attempt on day five, but it took six further attempts to send. On day six I slipped on a low move but managed to hang on to fail higher. When I got down I realised I had pulled something in my upper left arm, perhaps the deltoid? All the subsequent attempts have involved naproxen taken the night before to numb the pain. Time will tell how foolish that was!

Anyone who has got involved in a multi-day siege at their limit will know that stress can become hard to manage. For whatever reason my brain often exaggerates the significance of success until it becomes visualised as an inflection point in life as a whole; correspondingly continued failure casts a big existential shadow. Currently that mindset does have some foundation: I did quit work and relocate halfway around the world to become better at climbing, so doing something at this level was really needed as justification. Thankfully I now have that!

I don't think I am in a hurry to try anything harder soon. Just Can't Do It is two grades beyond my previous best lead so there's plenty of backfilling in the 5.12 range to be done; easier trad classics to be enjoyed too.

Here are some rather crap photos. It is a tough route to capture without abseiling in from above (there were no volunteers ...) as there are trees blocking the view on most aspects. These photos are front on to the wall and so show none of the steepness.

Getting set for the technical crux, a boulder problem that is probably in the V4-V6 range. The next three hand holds are a three finger single-pad crimp, a three finger half-pad crimp and another three finger single-pad crimp best taken with back3, from which bolt 3 is clipped. 

I specifically trained front3 and back3 half-crimps on my fingerboard to do these moves. Not sure if it was really necessary but I think it probably sped up the process of getting the route done.

The next three moves centre upon the sidepull I have with my left hand: first gaining it with a long reach, then deadpointing twice in succession to single-pad side edges. The foot sequence is really critical here. 

The move shown is where a foot popped and I strained my upper left arm. 

Above this is the most aesthetic move on the route, a step through to the outside edge of the left foot whilst laybacking the upper side edge and reaching for a slopey dish. The dish can then only be held by a subtle additional shift of the body rightwards. Over time I got progressively more confident on this move and I think made some major unintended gains in core strength. 

The "rest" at bolt 5, on two slanting flat holds. Up to this point I couldn't find anywhere that I could take a hand off to shake for more than a second or so. I never fully decided whether this was really a rest or not; in fact on my first redpoint attempt I fell off whilst trying to hold it! On my successful attempt I only stopped here for about five breaths.

The moves through bolt 6 where I fell multiple times. The climbing here is not hard but fatigue was extreme for me. 

The last part of the route is a fun slab with some delicate moves. Fortunately it is possible to find hands-off rests throughout that section.

backcountry baby steps

The major highlight since I last wrote has been Leo and I's tentative snowboarding trips into the backcountry. Several people have helped us with advice, loans of equipment and company, especially BobJ and AndyR; for which we are very grateful. Nothing we did went beyond first baby steps nor merits a long description but here is a simple edit of Leo's GoPro footage of our best day, riding the gentle just-out-of-bounds Flute back bowl at Whistler.

James has meanwhile mastered a no-turns kamikaze variant of skiing with which he seems satisfied (or at least: he reckons he is done with lessons!). He says he wants to snowboard instead next winter, when he turns six. That seems to be regarded as about the earliest possible age for kids to learn. It will be interesting to see if he is up to it ...

There's no doubt that it would be tough to stay sane through a winter in Squamish without wanting to engage in snow sports. When it rains almost every day, being genuinely pleased that "if it's raining down here it must be snowing up there" is important. Unfortunately these sports are pricey! I have spent more on apparently-modest objects like transceivers, shovels and snow probes in a few purchases than on climbing gear for many years. And the marginal cost of using resort lifts - always Whistler in our case, 30 minutes north - is infinitely high relative to going climbing; in several decades I have only paid for access to rock a couple of times!

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.

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.

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.