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Day 0.481 – Squamish
22 July 2011, 6:29 pm

Before arriving in Vancouver, everyone who’d been there told me how amazing it was. How it was a place that they’d only visited once but could easily move there given the opportunity. Well, I have to say that I was thoroughly unimpressed. Vancouver is basically just another city, fairly large, with a low population density (or so it seems from roaming the streets) and a huge amount of apartment blocks penetrating 30 stories into the sky (the two of which don’t go together in any sensible way). I’m not a fan of apartment blocks.

Drive north from central London for 45 minutes and you’ll be lucky to have left the clutches of the m25. Drive north from Vancouver for the same amount of time and before you stands the mighty granite dome of the The Chief. Around you are dense forests, rolling hills, and outcrops of rock in almost every direction. It’s pretty incredible and it certainly makes me realise why living in Vancouver would be most acceptable.



I’ve never been to Canada before and thus I’ve never been to Squamish, but arriving here felt like coming home. Being amongst the rocks feels so natural to me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been climbing so long now that is genuinely feels natural to me (although those who witness me climbing might disagree) or perhaps it’s because I’m most comfortable in nature (once again – a surprise to some people who consider me a townie). Walking amongst the boulders, all memories of Maslow’s hierarchy or needs or derivatives pricing instantly vanishes. It’s as if I revert to some more basic human instant, that of running around a forest climbing rocks. It’s amazing how far away these two parts of my life are, climbing and business (school). Perhaps they’re not so distinct, but my social circles (in the sense of google+ circles) are absolutely mutually exclusive. I’ve just spent a year in London, in lectures, seminars, and the library, yet none of it felt as good as this. There were moments of which made me think “wow, that’s interesting” and moments which were exciting because I discovered the mechanism behind something previously mysterious, but none of it compares to feeling in control of your body as it glides over wonderful rock. The reason I went back to school was because I began to find climbing all the time somewhat unfulfilling. But having been away from climbing it now feels like the greatest thing ever. A case of the grass always being greener on the other side? I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. It’s about finding the balance and the correct ratio so that the grass is always greener as you flip flop between diametrically opposed parts of your life. Every flip (or flop) is better BECAUSE you’ve arrived from such a distant point on the scale.

The challenge of climbing is great again, and that is a very strong attraction for me. In fact, it’s greater than expected. I’m actually quite a punter now. Everything feels hard. It’s wonderful!

Some things don’t change though. Namely having woefully weak skin. Alex Savage was good enough to not only offer me a tour of the bouldering, but also loan Emily and I some pads, so on our first day we went out to find dry rock. We warmed up on a juggy roof (gibbs cave?) and then moved straight onto a v9 called Defenders of the Faith. 4 moves, crimps, power. I figured out the moves quickly, although this didn’t require a lot of brainpower, and then I tried to do it. I’d like to blame my old (but faithful) Anasazi velcro’s for not being precise or downturned enough, but I know this problem could probably be done in trainers. Five tries later I had my first split tip. My left index finger was bleeding and day 1 was over. Well, I thought it was over.

As we hung out at the campsite I saw a man bouncing impressively on the slack line. As soon as he jumped off, his unconscious hand movements gave him away. Toby Benham!!! Although now he is officially Lucky Chance, so I’ll stick with his new name from now. Lucky is the same as ever, all smiles, full of good energy, and keener than [insert the keenest thing you can thing of squared]. He immediately suggested that Emily and I go climbing with him and within 10 minutes we were hiking up to the base of the Apron. Lucky, Emily, and I arrived to find people on the route we wanted to do so we embraced the spirit of adventure and Lucky set off, meandering a way up the cliff taking in cool features and using no gear. 5 minutes and 50 metres later pitch 1 was done. Emily and I were seconding (and thirding?) up at the same time, half running and half climbing. I’d decided to do this easy first section in my trainers as they were soled in stealth anyway, but had my climbing shoes on my harness just in case. Pitches 2 and 3 went down in similar style, with lucky placing approximately 1 bit of gear per pitch. Still brave as ever. Soon enough we were at Memorial ledge, having done nothing harder than some 5.9 sections of slab climbing. I’d managed to stay in trainers the whole time, which was a relief as my feet are in huge amounts of pain at the moment. Not sure as to the cause but my arches are on fire, every step bringing quite a bit of pain. Anyway, the view from memorial ledge is absolutely amazing. I looked around, tried to soak it all up, closed my eyes and tried to etch it into my brain. Taking note of the Ocean coming in down below, the forested hills above, and the snow capped mountains above them. The valley unfurled northwards, with the highway meandering a path through it, and there is rock all around. Above us was more climbing, below us was climbing, and the same on both our left and right. It is an amazing vista. My cheeks probably got a little sore from the grin on my face.

From Memorial ledge toby led up Memorial Crack, a 5.9 or 5.10 single pitch layback crack. He placed a surprising 3 bits of gear and Emily and I both followed him up. It felt great to reach the top of the Apron, but looking up only made us all realise we were on the kids stuff. There were many more pitches to go towards the top of the chief. The sun was beginning to drop behind the mountains and so that adventure would have to wait for another day, but it felt absolutely amazing to be stood up there watching the world go by. I’d managed to stay in my trainers all afternoon, had a genuinely fun time, and stood looking out over the valley with jaw agape at not only how much there was to do but at how good it all was too.

Day 1 had offered me a 4 move boulder problem and 4 pitches of adventurous trad. Amazing. Very amazing. Squamish is an incredible place. After our first day here I am already feeling sad about our departure in 12 days time.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Metamorphose
20 January 2013, 11:10 am

After enough time still water becomes stagnant, and stagnant water stinks. I felt like this blog, indeed this whole website, had become stagnant. It was time for a redesign, a visual sign of the shift which I was hoping would follow in my life.

I haven’t posted anything on here since Squamish  in July 2011… since my pre-work life. My last post was a week before I started a new job in London and it’s perhaps fitting that my latest post comes after I have quit that same job. For almost 18 months I was in a different world and now I have emerged, but more on that later.

The Englishman in Font is dead.  I started my original blog when I had only one focus, crushing boulders in Fontainebleau. I only ever wrote about going climbing, about the tortuous and joyous process of discovering climbing, of failing, and of succeeding. It was a highly focused blog. It represented most of who I was and what I was doing. Now things are different. I’m different.

The blog, the site, indeed, Unclesomebody, is alive once again. New posts will begin to flow but they may be broader in scope when compared to the blog posts of old. The new site, it’s name, is a reflection that I am more than just a climber. I no longer what to represent only a sliver of who I am through my blog. I want to represent all of myself. That means I may write about something other than climbing… about things which I think are interesting, like how mathematically optimal route choice allowed fedex to reduce their costs by x%.

The new design should also work better on phones, tablets, and other weird and wonderful devices. Let me know what you think of the new layout in the comments. Indeed, if something is broken please let me know!

 

 

 

 

 

Source: Unclesomebody

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Setting Off
28 January 2013, 4:04 pm

On 15th January I set off with my beautiful wife on a 6 month climbing honeymoon adventure. The plan was to go East, and to keep on going until we arrived back in the UK… or perhaps not if we discover something great.

Below is an itinerary of the trip, so if you happen to live in one of the destinations and fancy going climbing then get in touch (dates are approximate)

• Hampi, India – January (blog post coming soon)
• Nepal – February
• Japan – February
• Australia – March
• New Zealand – April
• Chile – April
• USA – June

Once we arrive in Chile we’re going to head to San Francisco overland. I know very little about the climbing in Central and South America so if you happen to be from there, or know about the climbing there then please leave a comment. I’d really appreciate some beta.

So stay tuned, blog updates will be coming. Hopefully you’re all still out there and will enjoy the ramblings to come.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Hampi – Heaven and Hell
17 February 2013, 10:42 am

If ever there was a place which deserves the title of having too much boulder sized rock it is Hampi. There is an insane amount. Could it be too much? Is there such a thing as too many boulders? It sounds so daft, but maybe it’s possible. But whilst it is blessed with near endless boulders, it is also condemned. Hampi is condemned to a fiery naga like heat. Even in the chills of winter day time temperatures soar, forcing climbers to emerge at dawn, their headtorches tracing out a streak of light towards the boulder fields.

As the sun rises the urgency sets in, within hours the heat is intolerable, the rocks are subjected to a sinuisoidal life of hot/warm.



Even in the coldest hour the temperature never drops below 10C, so even at dawn the rock is barely what I would call cool. The window for climbing is a function of time and shade. By 9am climbing in the sun is madness and by 10am the shade offers little respite.

In these short windows of opportunity you are forced to warm up (remarkable given that you can’t cool down most of the time), climb, and enter crush mode before breakfast.

The emergant sun is like a giant egg timer, forcing you to try harder, to make the current go the final one, pressuring you to just slap for that next hold because maybe you’ll be able to retreat from the fiery boulder field and douse yourself in a cold shower. This mentality was probably the driving factor in my few successful ascents!

It’s difficult to describe boulder problems as king lines because I think they lack the height necessary for a king line, so in this context I’ll use champ line. It’s an arbitrary distinction, I know. Perhaps by sheer probability Hampi has a number of champ lines. Subjectivity may come into it but no one can argue against the fact that there are some striking lines.

Double Arete (7-) is a fantastic boulder. It’s difficulty is just right as it is accessible by most visiting climbers, and although the last move is easy it is at a height which makes you take a bit of extra care when laying down the bouldering pads. Another climber had hurt his ankle and there was no way I planned to either visit an Indian hospital or ruin my entire round the world trip! Luckily it went down without any sort of resistance. The lack of crimps also make it stand out from the usual tip assault of hampi boulders. 4 stars.

Goan Corner (7+) is most definitely a champ line. A striking arete, overhanging on one side, a steep slab on the other. The climbing is broken only by a crimp at the very start and a crimp at the end. Whilst it is one of the most striking lines I saw in Hampi it also suffers from being at an aspect that gives it the maximum amount of sunshine. The very first rays of sun that come over the horizon fall onto this boulder, heating the boulder from warm/hot to searing in a matter of minutes. Fortunately it’s only a 4 minute walk from our room, so being there before sunrise wasn’t too extreme. The classic warm up of a few pull ups must have done the trick. The sun had just cast its beautiful but hot orange light onto the boulder as I set off on my 3rd try. Perhaps the knowledge that this attempt at 7am was inevitably the last of the day spurred me on as I topped out into the orange glow.



Surf Traverse (7+) is altogether different yet similarly striking. I looked up the hillside at an over hanging black face with a rising right to left line of white holds starting very low and finishing at the very apex of the boulder. I didn’t know what it was but from 200m away I knew I had to climb it. Surely that’s qualification for a champ line. Upon inspection at 50cm I was still keen but less enamoured. Every hold was a crimp, all quite large, and some kind of sharp. There were 2 clear methods, a low and a high. The low seemed purer, but involved more moves and harder moves. The high involved a crimp gaston and a heelhook. I had a quick blast at the low method but with only 2 pads and Emily to spot the high and sketchy landing end, I didn’t top out the boulder. I decided to come back with more pads and a bigger spotter!

On our very last day in Hampi I went back up to Surf Traverse. My purity of line choice relented to a desire to just get it done so I switched the must faster and easier high method, and was pleased to get to the top in 3 tries. It should have been 1 try, but I made a bad shoe choice. The switch to Anasazi Velcro’s sealed the deal and I remembered why I love them so much. A modern classic!

Surf Traverse is only let down by a hold in the middle which is most definitely going to break in the (near future). I could actually see it moving as I did the moves and even heard it crack a couple of times. However, given that I don’t like crimps, Surf Traverse must be good if I’m singing it’s praises!



Climbing in Hampi, or even just being in Hampi, represents the first time I’ve been climbing outdoors since Squamish. You can see how long ago that was by looking at the previous posts; June 2011. I didn’t know what it would feel like to be a climber again, or indeed if I could be a climber again. How would my body adapt? How would I feel? How would I climb? Many questions plagued my mind as we made our way from London to Hampi. I’d been in a very different world for quite some time. Would I simply have moved on from climbing, physically and mentally? There was even doubt in my mind, something which felt very alien and not very welcome. There is even a quote in my notebook which reads

“Doubt has begun to creep in to my life and I hate it. I wonder if I can do a 7B. I don’t want to feel that. I don’t want to entertain doubt, to have it as a guest at my table. I want to rekindle the unrelenting self confidence that once surged through my veins”

Upon arrival in Hampi things felt a bit foreign. The whole scene felt a bit distant. Emily has been working so hard in a professional environment for the past few years and the first couple of days in Hampi were weird. The whole “traveller” scene seemed alien. Overhearing conversations about cosmic energy (seperate post to come) and seeing middle class white kids from America walk around barefoot in some bizzarre effort to either go native or just cut their feet; it just didn’t feel like home. I’m sort of glad to report that that feeling didn:t change in our time there. Maybe I have moved on… but only partially.I did encounter that feeling of home when I was pulling on, when I was analysing my body position, when I was focused solely on getting my hand to move to exactly where I knew my index finger would adhere to a granite crystal; that felt like home again.

It’s possible that I’m confusing the notion of home with the one of familiarity. I don’t know how to seperate them entirely, but I do know that climbing felt good and it felt right. If I’m really honest I know that climbing isnt my everything. When I have 5.10′s on my feet and I’m chalking up my hands then my whole world is climbing. I’m focused, I’m hungry, and nothing else exists or matters. But once the pad is packed up and I’m away from the boulders I don’t want to talk about climbing (not exclusively anyway). I want to talk about India putting a 6% input tax on Gold and what this has done to it’s current account deficit. I do want to talk to interesting people from other fields who inspire me with talk of how small scale solar will be a real solution for millions of Indians. I generally want a fuller life than only climbing. I get the feeling that most people realised this ages ago, so apologies for the obvious epiphany. What it doesn’ change is my desire to climb (relatively) hard. I want to climb 8B again. In fact, there is little more I want in climbing that to go back and do Gecko Assis. Well, perhaps Vecchia Leone too. The point is, I long to climb hard again. I just want to do it alongside a balanced life.

Climbing is a selfish sport. It devours us. I know I’m a selfish person and it’s perhaps one of the reasons I ever managed to get any good at climbing. But I can’t live so selfishly forever. I have a beautiful wife, I want a family, and I want to do something like start a business. But can that leave any room for trying to climb hard? I don’t know. I do know that I find it very hard to compromise, so how I will ever balance all of these things I don’t know. This diatribe can probably be summed up by 1 sentence; I’m growing up.

Hampi has been a great start to the trip. It’s allowed me to warm up for a climbing trip (literally and metaphorically). It reminded me how good climbing is, it served as a benchmark to how I’m climbing, and it showed me that I have grown up. I’m really happy that I’ve been to Hampi, it is an amazing place and if you want a climbing HOLIDAY then I really can recommend it. The emphasis on holiday is important because to me Hampi is not about climbing hard. It’s about climbing in an amazing place, relaxing in hammocks, eating delicious Indian food everyday, swimming in lakes, meeting many different people and generally chilling out. If it was 20C cooler then maybe it would be a climbing TRIP destination, but that’s never going to happen. I think the best way to view Hampi is as one of the coolest places I’ve been to on a climbing holiday. Font, Ticino, Yosemite, Bishop, Squamish; they are all climbing trip destinations. Hampi is not a climbing destination; it is a holiday destination with a lot of climbing. Hampi island is a little slice of paradise in India .

Would I go back? It’s doubtful. Apparently November is a better time to go for climbing, but maybe you’d gain 10% on the climbing front and lose 30% on the holiday front… hardly pareto optimal.

Hampi Info

Hampi - The KnowledgeEssential Info To be updated with some basic info on how to get there, where to stay, expected costs, other activities, etc. 



Source: Unclesomebody

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Cuckoo
25 February 2013, 11:36 am

Hampi Island is full of westerners. It’s like a shabby but chic holiday resort for gaaap year travellers (and those who’ve been going a lot longer). I don’t mean to take anything away from it, travelling is a great thing to do, but I’m just calling a spade a spade.

One day Emily and I were having lunch in town when we overheard a conversation on an adjacent table which went just like this (and I’m not making this up).

Person 1: So, where are you from?

Person 2: Hmmm…. (5 sec pause). I guess I don’t really know. I mean, what does it really mean to be from somewhere? We’re all where we are now in the present. Where we’ve come from and where we’re going doesn’t really matter. We’re just now.

Person 1: Yeah, I guess

Person 3: I know man

Person 2: Cause we’re all just part of this cosmic energy. We’re all the same man. Quantum dimension neutrino energy. Yeah. It’s like all around us and in us.



As Emily and I exchanged glances, the creases around our eyes gave away what we were both thinking. We were both instantly reminded of Cuckoo, the brilliant BBC comedy series. Here’s a short snippet but it’s well worth checking out out the whole series as the writers and actors hit the nail on the head.

 

 

 

Source: Unclesomebody

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Nepal – The Plan
1 March 2013, 1:29 am



The Plan 1. Fly to Kathmandu

2. Get to Pokhara

3. Get a guide and permits to enter Upper Mustang

4. Get to Lo Manthang

5. Get back to Kathmandu and fly to Japan

Bish. Bash. Bosh.

The Reality We did manage to tick through our plan and get all 5 done, but those simple 5 actions turned out to be quite the adventure. The first part of the journey was defined by many hours of uncomfortable bus/jeep journeys. The second part by many/days hours of walking. I’ll post some of the random thoughts I had along the way, because it turns out that there isn’t much to do in the evening in upper mustang apart from endeavor to stay warm and think/write.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Irrational Fear
7 March 2013, 2:12 am

Arriving in Nepal and getting a taxi from KTM airport to Thamel one thing became abundantly clear. The concept of a motorway is many miles away. Paved roads are barely paved, and the rest are dirt roads. Still, I have no problem with dirt roads, I’ve travelled many miles on them and they can actually be very good. The ones in Kathmandu weren’t very good but it was more amusing than anything else. Most things are in small doses.

From Kathmandu we were going to head west to the second largest city, Pokhara. The bus journey can take up to 8 hours on the tourist bus but we opted for what the locals call a micro: an 11 seater toyota minivan. With 16 of us bundled in we set off with an expected journey time of 5 hours. The road was ok, mainly paved, with some sections having potholes I’m sure we might not have emerged from. Overall, it was ok.

The main highway from KTM to Pokhara is a single carriageway road mainly used by goods lorries, brightly decorated affairs with even more flamboyant horns. The chorus of horns is quite an aural surprise when you first here it, which changes to amusing, then to slightly annoying after several hours of on the minute beeping.



Does it look crowded? Only another few people to get in!

From Pokhara the road situation gets a little worse. In fact, it gets a lot worse. 5 years ago there wasn’t a road and what currently passes for a road is simply a dirt track on a mountainside which appears to have been driven by a bulldozer. It’s rarely wide enough for 2 vehicles, and the valley side of the road falls away without anything resembling foundations, supports, or a barrier. Again, this is kind of fun for the first hour, but 5, 6, 7 hours later it begins to play on the mind. It gets psychologically worse when the bus stops and you’re all told to disembark because the road ahead is blocked by yet another fresh landslide. Oh, great, so what do we do? Pick up our bags, walk across this 10m wide landslide, where rocks are continuing to fall and then get on another bus on the other side. No big deal.



That’s where the road used to be

All this preamble about the roads and their somewhat less than reliable construction is to give a sense of where I was when I started thinking about fear, both rational and irrational. As we drove along I wondered what the actual probability of us falling hundreds of metres down into the worlds deepest gorge actually were. Was it 10%? Was it 1%? Was it really much smaller at 0.0001%? I hadn’t actually seen any trucks down there, so I didn’t have any data to suggest buses and trucks actually did roll over. I’d asked some locals but been told conflicting stories, so that source of data was unreliable. I knew the drivers did this route everyday, back and forth, so surely they had to have some confidence? Surely they were a better measure of likelihood to survive, although again, I had no idea how many drivers there had been originally!

So whilst driving along this windy road, not sure if I was allowed to be scared or not I wrote down a couple of questions

• How to determine if fear is rational?
• Given an X% chance of death how scared should I be?

My very quick answer to these questions was in the form of a graph. I hypothesized that in general human instinct is too far geared towards being irrational, and as such the relationship between fear of death and % chance of death wasn’t linear. I guessed it looked something like this



My hastily drawn graph of f(fear)

After looking at this I went back to my data, I realised I had nothing hard, and so I concluded that I shouldn’t and wouldn’t be irrationally scared.

Looking at the graph now, I wonder if the relationship between fear and % chance of death should be linear. I would guess that evolutionary it would be much more advantageous to have a relationship which was as depicted above. More chance of survival that way. I’m just not a big fan of being irrational, or perhaps I just needed a way to get my system 2 to dominate my system 1.

The road between Pokhara and Jomsom has only existed since 2008. It’s been a game changer to the people who live in this valley. It’s transformed a 7-10 day walk to a single long day of jeeps and buses. That’s huge, especially when you consider families were walking with their young children to see a doctor in Pokhara when things got serious. The road has provided an easier way to move goods up and down the valley and perhaps it’s even helped with the tourism trade. But for every pro there’s a con, and in this case it’s environmental. This road is simply a very wide dirt path on an often very steep hillside. Erosion is a big problem, and each year some of the road is washed away and more of the mountain is claimed. It’s a negative feedback loop as more mountain is claimed the more it will erode. These roads don’t have concrete supports, they aren’t built to last, it is literally a 5m wide dirt track. That’s a big problem. It’s an odd thing to say, but perhaps a Swiss style mountain highway would be the best solution, although that will never happen. As always, it’s a complicated trade-off.

Some locals even said they didn’t like the road, they preferred the life they had before. I had to wonder if they were simply stuck in their ways, but the more I explored Mustang the more I began to realise that perhaps these people were fine without the road, that their relatively modest and simple lives were enough, that change wasn’t always for the better. The more I explored the more respect I found for them. Whilst the people here are monetarily poor they are most certainly not poor people. This is an absolutely massive contrast to the poverty I saw in India, where the slums in Mumbai were less upsetting than completely mind boggling. The remote people of Mustang don’t know such poverty. They have hard lives, no doubt, but they are self subsistent, happy, and the more I saw the more I slowly began to understand why the locals didn’t like the road so much.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Day 5 – The Snow Leopard
15 March 2013, 1:09 am

We’re in Tsarang. The snow started falling around 2am and continues to fall. We are at 3650m and there is about 5-10cm of settled snow. It’s 7.15am and here are no signs of life from the folk at Maya’s Inn. Our 7am breakfast seems to have been forgotten or postponed, perhaps due to the snow.

Our goal for the day is Lo Manthang, but with a 4000m pass to cross there is some doubt. I am 100% committed to going. If there is waist deep snow then so be it. My lack of waterproofs won’t stop me. I’m not willing to turn around. My fear is that our guide Hari will think the going is too extreme and tell us that we need to wait it out. Last night I feared the snow may come and I seeded some determination into Hari, to make sure he knew he wasn’t guiding the usual tourists. I’d told him that regarless of the weather we should go to Lo Manthang, finishing it with a grin. As ever, he agreed jovially, but I wasn’t sure if he was serious. I’m hoping that when we do meet for breakfast it’s all gun’s ablazing. The funny thing is that to go forward we have one 4000m peak to pass, but to go backwards we have three of them. If the snow is falling hard up above then I’m not sure what the plan will be. I can’t remember if our insurance covers us for this… but if we come across any alligators it’s all good.



Visibility was still ok at this point – the 40% marker in the background

During the silent plodding I began to get a sort of spidey sense, although in this case it was more of the feline variety. Throughout our days trekking I’d been desperately hoping that we’d spot the elusive snow leopard. I knew we were in it’s domain and something about the scarcity of sightings only made it more appealing. They are incredible creatures as the BBC so wonderfully showed in one episode of . Today my hopes had changed into something stronger, something more tangible. I could almost feel that the mysterious cat was out there somewhere.

As we walked up a valley the visibility improved somewhat and up on top of the snow covered cliffs were a group of blue sheep. This was exciting in itself, but it wasn’t the first time I’d spotted some. Blue sheep are themselves quite interesting creatures, being some sort of goat/sheep hybrid and fairly rare themselves. But it was where they came in the food chain that made them really interesting. Snow Leopards love to dine on these beasts, and this group were perched in the perfect place from a predatory point of view. They were enclosed on a cliff top, with a view point above them from where a snow leopard could silently watch before launching a rapid and brutal attack.

At this point I knew we were so close to spotting a snow leopard. I thought of Peter Matthiessen’s book, how he had so desperately wanted to see one and yet failed. But I was here and I had a gut feeling. However, I’m a rationalist and so I had to counter this (ridiculous) gut feeling with some rational thinking. How many snow leopards are there in Upper Mustang? How many square kilometres is the Upper Mustang? Dividing one by the other gives… errrr… it gives me a rational based number which says that I’m not going to see a snow leopard. But I have a FEELING!

The weather was too bad to just hunker down and watch this flock of blue sheep, awaiting the imminent strike, so we had to keep moving. The pace was fairly slow however due to the perfect powder snow and so I spent the next 30 mins scanning all around whilst walking blindly forward. The landscape was constructed in such a way that we had a good, although limited, sight of the mountains around us and so if there was a snow leopard then surely we would see it. As time passed and the sight of the blue sheep faded I realised the sighting may not come.



We pressed on, my rational mind telling me it was near impossibly unlikely and my gut telling me that there was a snow leopard just 100m away… veiled in the snow storm that was limiting our visibility to less than 50m. Eventually my gut feeling relinquished, my rational mind won out, and we arrived in Lo Manthang without a sighting of the elusive beast. Perhaps I wasn’t ready like Peter Matthiessen, or perhaps it’s just a very low probability event to randomly see a snow leopard whilst walking the main trail between Churang and Lo Manthang.



 

You can just about see Lo Manthang in the background – that’s the walled city!

Before us stood the ancient walled city of Lo Manthang. I had expected some sort of grand gate under which we would symbolically walk, signifying our arrival and the achievement of our goal, but we got nothing of the sort. Instead we walked around, completely drenched and cold, trying to find a guesthouse that was open and that had some sort of heating. The entire town’s water supply was frozen, so not only no hot water, but no cold water. The locals had been getting water from the streams, but then they froze too. So now, in order to get water, someone had to go to the frozen stream, smash the ice, use a small 1 litre bucket to pour water into a 20 litre drum, and then carry that drum back to their houses where they could heat it on a dung fuelled stove. An entire town were doing this.

Eventually we found a guesthouse that was open and that could provide a bucket of hot water. The air temperature in our room must have been around -5 degrees, so whilst the hot water provided a few seconds of beautiful warmth the sub zero conditions would attack our bodies immediately afterwards. Lots and lots of shivering later we were dry and just about warm in our sleeping bags. I can’t tell you how good it felt. Our nth meal of dal bhat was the best thing in the world. Funny how perspectives change.



Our host in traditional Tibetan dress cooking up something delicious



Drying all the clothes I had – at this point I was wearing only thermals

 

Source: Unclesomebody

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Upper Mustang – Out of Season
16 March 2013, 5:00 am

Being here out of season definitely has pro’s and con’s. Prior to arrival I knew we were coming early in the season but I didn’t know the distribution of visitors to upper mustang so I didn’t really know what to expect. I knew that Hampi had been chock full of tourists, but we were at the end of the peak season so it wasn’t really a comparable. Plus it was a completely different type of tourist destination.

Fortunately, the tourist information office in Lo Manthang provided the data I needed. Hidden amongst information about the local culture, the history, the people, the religion, the weather, the animals, the flora, the fauna, and the conservation work were a few pieces of A4 with visitor number tables printed on them. Looking at them I realised just how out of season we were:



In 2009, only 0.28% of visitors came in February!

The Pro’s

• Lack of People – perhaps that’s so obvious it doesn’t need stating. On the entire 12 day trek we met only 2 other tourists, 1 of the a mighty fit looking Swiss guy and the other an overweight British guy (with porters) who appeared to be on some sort of official business.
• Peaceful – probably due to the lack of people.
• Incredible snow covered landscapes – Being up in the mountains with so much snow was something quite special. The snow continued from under my feet all the way up to the top of the 8000m peaks that dominated us. The whiteness was quite incredile.
• Great walking temperature – In the sunshine a t-shirt was all that was needed to be both warm and cool enough at the same time.

The Con’s

• Very very few guesthouses open – We would turn up in a village and basically start knocking on doors. Most of the time someone would open up, but sometimes they would turn us away due to lack of food/power/water and sometimes no one would answer at all. This wasn’t really a problem for us, because any roof over our heads is enough but if you are expecting the guesthouses to be catering for tourists you’ll be shocked. We were the only people staying at every guesthouse we encountered. Most of the guesthouses hadn’t seen anyone come through for weeks.
• Variety of Food – Well, the lack of it. Since Tatapani we have eaten Dal Bhat every single day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Some people may not be familiar with the culinary dish of choice in Upper Mustang, so the following diagram will help

 

Not to scale!

It’s essentially a huge amount of rice, with a large amount of lentils, with a small portion of potato, and very occassionally with an exceptionally rare and always slim portion of meat. Our lunch and dinner diet consisted of 1 of 2 meals, with a heavy bias towards one of them. Dal Bhat.



What a rare joy it was to find some meat in our dal bhat

Whilst I may be writing about dal bhat as a con, it is actually delicious. It is intrinsically delicious, but it’s also gratefully received after a long day walking when you’re cold, hungry, and just want to stuff your face. In fact, it has the added advantage of being the only meal which comes with free refills. You can’t imagine my elation when during the first dal bhat the cook came over with more rice, more lentils, and more potato. I felt like I’d struck gold! Free refills meant I truly could stuff my face.

Breakfast was the exception to the food monotony where we had the choice of porridge, tibetan bread and curried potatoes, or omelette and chapati. All of them were truly delicious.

• Unpredictable Weather – This didn’t really occur to me until the weather suddenly changed and the snow poured out the skies for 48 hours. Previous to that it had been glorious blue skies. I was really caught out by this as I hadn’t taken any waterproofs, which left me hiking in a blizzard with 5.10 trainers, dunderdons, and a very non waterproof lightweight down jacket. Suffice to say I got thoroughly soaked.
• Cold at night – The only source of warmth in the evenings is either a small dung burner (imagine a wood burner made from sheet metal) or a small clay oven on which they cook (also fuelled by dung). It’s generally more smoky than warm. The cold isn’t a real problem, you just need a good sleeping. I would suggest something that’s comfortable to -10C.

Although the pro’s list looks much shorter than the con’s list, it easily outweights it. The solitude, the incredible landscape, and even the dal bhat all combined to create something truly special. I think that being in Upper Mustang with hundreds of other tourists in June would be a bit soul destroying. Having to make small talk with random tourists isn’t my idea of a good time. Being alone in the mountains is.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Not as it Seems
2 April 2013, 5:48 am

Waking up on Day 7 in Lo Manthang the clouds had finally finished their business and gone elsewhere. The sky was an incredibly saturated hue of blue and there was snow everywhere. It looked incredible to see snow capped peaks all around and then allow my gaze to slowly follow the snow down until I was gazing at my slippers (yes, I brought slippers – wise move). The plan for the day was completely weather dependent



This is what business school does…

Thanks to the good weather we decided the only thing to do was visit the rather remote village/caves of Chhoser. Hari said it would take about an hour and a half each way on horseback so the plan was to be back at our guesthouse for another lunch of dal bhat.

The horses arrived and we set off. First surprise of the day was that our horses were going to be led by a man who was walking. Clearly this has the inevitable consequence of limiting our top speed to (human) walking pace. I was a bit annoyed and Emily was clearly frustrated. I can only imagine what it’s like to have a walking man dictate your pace when you’re an accomplished horse rider. Still, being on horseback meant we didn’t have to walk through 2-3ft of perfect powder and that meant dry shoes! Winner!



Virgin Powder Pony Trekking

The horses were fairly adept at breaking new trails through the powder… until Hari’s horse tripped, throwing him off and leaving him on his back in the snow with one foot still in the stirrups. Emily was extremely quick to react and had jumped off and freed him before I’d even managed to calm my horse down.

My legs were beginning to get sore when we were all ordered to stop. The virgin powder we’d been travelling across suddenly became too deep and the path too thin. We were told we’d have to turn back, which wasn’t an option in my mind. I told Hari that if the horses wouldn’t continue then we would push on on foot. I could just about see the caves in the sitance and there was no way I was about to leave empty handed. We dismounted, instantly saturating my shoes, and then the horseman said the horses would try to continue and we would remount when possible. So now I has paid 1500 rupees for a horse which could only go walking pace, and then I had to walk through champagne powder getting wet in the process. Hardly optimal. After a couple of hundred metres we remounted and continued our slow plod though the snow.



Now you walk!

The caves gradually grew closer and we only had to dismount once more so the horses could be forced to cross a very narrow and rickety looking bridge, the snow hiding some of the holes and missing bits of wood. My feet were saturated, I was saddle sore, a little annoyed at the slowness, but about 2.5 hours later we arrived in Chhoser.



 One side of the village… the old caves can be seen above the houses

 



A monastery attached to the cliffs

It was quite a sight. A village in the most remote part of Nepal, only a few hours from the Chinese border, without roads, where people were still living in caves. It’s hard to really take that in when you’re sat in a first world country but try to imagine it. The history of Chossa is fascinating. The present is also pretty amazing. Houses are built so their front facade resembles any other Tibetan or Nepali house, butt the rooms at the rear are excavated into the hillside. The people living in this village are descendants of even more committed troglodytes.

The plan was to visit Jhonga Cave, where we would actually be able to go inside some of the old caves and have a look around. We walked through the village, huge caves intermingled with houses, continuing past them and then up into another powder field. I was a bit dehydrated by this point and a litte bit eggy, so when we eventually arrived at Jhonga cave I had a small “What the f***?” moment. Before us stood a rather small cliff, interspersed across it were some very small holes. Why had we walked past all those huge cave and house structures to trek even further to this scrappy looking thing? Oh how looks can be deceiving!



 

Walking up to Jhonga Cave… You can see the stairs leading to the entrance, a sign of the erosion

Ascending a stone set of stairs I was faced with a 7 rung ladder going up into the cliff. It was akin to the reverse of traditional caving. In fact, Jhonga cave was the mirror opposite of a traditional caving experience. At the top of the ladder were a series of room. They went left to right as well as deeper into the cliff. It was incredible. The small holes I’d seen on the outside were merely small windows which now fed an incredible amount of light into the numerous chambers. Clearly people were a lot shorter 2,500 years ago when this cave had started life as I had to stoop quite a lot to avoid hitting my head.

Wandering through the rooms I thought how it must have been quite a nice place to live. The floors were extremely level, the walls very vertical, it was actually more like a stone built house. Some chambers/rooms had small sections built into them, presumably for storage or cooking.



 

Some relics from the past and our guide Hari

As I wandered further I saw another ladder going upwards! Woah! Going up revealed another complete level, this one providing even more rooms deep into the hillside. After a little explore I found another ladder. This cave was vast. The walls on the very outside (where the windows were) were somewhat thin, probably being less than a foot. Internal walls were thicker and the floor between levels was about 2ft thick. I presume the external walls were once much thicker as the outside of the cliff was rather chossy. It was chossy to the point where I think it would be impossible to climb. The internal rock was bullet hard, undoubtedly worn by many many generations, and then a trickle of awe struck tourists.



The view from one of the windows looking down over the new town

In total, the cave comprised 44 rooms over 5 levels. We couldn’t research every room but we did find some narrow passages only 2ft tall that ended at a thin external wall with a small window to the outside world. Construction began approximately 2,500 years ago and people were resident of this place until only 150 years ago. The descendants of that final generation of Jhonga cave dwellers now live within 1km, just slightly down the valley, in houses which are mostly attached to the hillside. In many ways it makes a great deal of sense, and if there’s one thing these people do well is use the natural world around them. Even now, the life of the people here involves herding animals, growing wheat and vegetables, building houses, and raising children. This is living at a very apparent hand to mouth existence. It’s an incredible thing to behold.

 

 



 

Good to see our entrance fee is going to a good cause

The horse trek back was similarly boring, slow, and wet. The caves were worth the powder pony trek and made the day well worth it. This region has an incredible history, it’s people are so far removed from life as we know it in the west. It’s perhaps the most untouched place I have been. Some of the nomads I met in Mongolia were perhaps more hand to mouth, but they were constantly moving, following the weather, the food, or some other sensible commodity. The residents of upper mustang endure an incredibly hard life. I know I keep saying it but there are no roads here, people carry goods on their backs. There is often no meat to eat, and people will eat rice and lentils every day. There is often no running water. There is no heating. There is very little. It’s generally epic and I’m ultra impressed by the history and the present of both the landscape and the people here.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Hades Road
5 April 2013, 4:32 am

Things aren’t always easy to plan in Nepal, especially when the most basic commodities (by western standards) like telephones regularly fail to function. For this reason we were up at 7am having breakfast whilst Hari tried to call the drivers of the trucks which would be coming up the Kali Gandaki valley. We didn’t know when the truck would arrive nor if it would have room for passengers, but Hari (ever confident) assured us it would be fine and that we would get a truck at some point during the morning. By 11am we hadn’t spoken to any truck drivers and the decision was made to just make the 30 minute walk down to the riverside pick up/drop off point.

The Kali Gandaki is the lifeline for most, if not all, of the people in the Upper Mustang. It provides the only way for goods to be brought up from Jomsom, and it only allows trucks to drive it’s riverbed during the winter months when it isn’t swelled by melt-water  This goes some of the way to explaining why some guesthouses we stayed at had bottles of Coke promoting the 2010 world cup.

The pick up point was more of a goods base station. A single tent/building loaded with canned goods both inside and out. From here they were transported on back or on pony up to Charang and beyond to Lo Manthang. The price, freshness, and availability of goods are directly proportional (inversely) to the distance from Jomsom (as measured by hours traveled  not distance). The base station was only 3.5 hours from Jomsom so it contained Coke promoting Euro 2012!



Base station for goods going further up the valley

Hari spoke to the bossman who explained that the truck wouldn’t be leaving until 5pm. They were only driving up and down the river very early or very late in the day due to melting snow causing landslides and rockfalls. Looking out across the 200-300m wide riverbed of the Kali Gandaki I didn’t entirely understand this, but I assumed there were sections where the truck had to navigate the cliffs above the river. So we had a whole day to kill, which wasn’t so bad as for the first time in days we were warm! The base station was a suntrap, free of wind, and we sprawled out on some palettes and soaked up the sun, only moving for a lunch of dal bhat and goat! Result!



A warm wife is a happy wife!

Eventually the sun dipped behind the mountains at 4.30pm and we began loading the truck ready to leave. Now, it’s important to remember that these are goods trucks. They aren’t designed to carry passengers. Looking in the cab there was a drivers seat, a copilots seat, and then then a bench which looked like it would accommodate 3 people at a push. No problem. But then as we started to get in more and more people suddenly appeared. Eventually there were 9 of us, squished in, legs on top of legs, arms around strangers, and knees against backs. It would have been uncomfortable on the M1, but that was nothing compared to driving down a rocky but mostly dry riverbed.



The journey started off with a short river crossing, providing a bit of excitement for us newbies. The dry sections were horribly undulated, ranging from fist size pebbles (which provided smooth going) to torso sized rocks that threw us around like basketballs – bouncing off each other, the ceiling, the walls, and the seats. It was during one of these bounces that I was thrown against a window and ripped my favourite down jacket on the frame. Feathers everywhere, but at least it was only feathers. Soon after another bounce smashed my head into the ceiling and I was offered a seat swap which meant I was at least sat next to Emily. However, right above my head was a sharp looking corner and my abs got a very hard workout as I stayed permanently hunched over, my left hand gripping Emily’s leg and my right hand wedged between the the drivers seat and a strangers rib cage. My right foot was on top of said strangers foot and my left foot was on top of my right. You get the idea.

We zig zagged down the might riverbed, making many river crossings, each seemingly deeper and longer than the last. The vast width of the river began to shrink in tandem with the sides growing ever more vertical.



The least blurry picture I have!

As this process evolved, the walls getting ever steeper, their tops disappearing into the firmament, the last drops of sunlight ceased their journey into the depths of the gorge. The vertical walls were now so tall that even at noon the sun barely penetrated the valley floor, meaning the dry riverbed sections were now actually 2ft of snow and ice. The gigantic truck would fishtail around, the driver spinning his huge steering wheel frantically left and then right, somehow managing to stay upright and on track. The dark plunges into the icy river afforded me a sense of relief from the manic snow driving… until the water became very deep and the exit points invisible in the weak (and submerged) headlight of the truck.

At one point we ground to a halt in the river, forward momentum ceasing with the exit bank in sight. The driver rammed every gear stick in sight (a grand total of 3!) and the engine revved hard, the smell of gas poured into the cabin, and the truck lurched forward, slowly pulling us out of the freezing water and onto the icy snow. No water had entered the cab but Emily had felt the river gripping our rear end and slowly beginning to push us downstream. Tension was a little high at this point, but the locals seemed relatively calm, and I reassured myself that the driver made this journey twice a day, every day. I even began to think that this would make a great Top Gear episode. I started to draft a letter in my head explaining how the riverbed drive would prove a massive challenge and the area in which it weaves down would provide a real cultural narrative. My letter abruptly ended as we drove around the next corner.

Now we were driving in total darkness, the headlights dimly showing our trajectory, the might Kali Gandaki having shrunk all the way down to a puny 10m wide. Huge caves were just visible to our left and right, a sign of the latent power this river contained. One cave appeared to be a couple of stories high, with a flat roof and room to park at least several trucks. I joked that maybe it was the bus depot… thankfully it wasn’t. The narrowness of the river had one clear consequence;  we were spending less time on the dry riverbed and more time in the water. We would be hugging one gigantic wall, the wing mirror inches from the chossy conglomerate, then suddenly we would be doing a hard right across the river to pick up the opposite side.

Soon after this I couldn’t barely believe my eyes. The gorge narrowed even further, down to around 5m, and the left wall became an overhanging arch as the right wall provided an almost perfect mirror image. It was dark, we were at the bottom of a very deep gorge, driving down a riverbed with no sign of a track above water, and now we were about to enter what looked like a tunnel. I think I might have uttered “Is this really happening?”. On we pressed, the driver carefully navigating the hidden riverbed below us. He seemingly knew the river floor as well as the back of his hand, but the back of his hand doesn’t change as regularly… I did have confidence in his driving ability but at the back of my mind a very real fear resided.

As the walls had grown steeper I knew the snowmelt would be causing rocks to plummet down into the riverbed. Having seen the local landscape in the daytime I knew these huge cliffs were made from a very soft conglomerate. Sand holding together pebbles and rocks, ranging from 0.5m wide to car sized rocks. I’d seen the landslides on other days of our walks. I’d watched rocks tumble down only hours earlier as we had walked down to the river in a chossy valley. From a purely geological perspective it was actually fascinating, how these seemingly impossible structures were created from sand, rocks, and time. Some featured car sized boulders perched on a narrower tower of fist sized rocks and pebbles. With the relative safety of light and distance they were interesting. Now they were providing fuel for a nightmare scenario. I was a little gripped, but though back to my fear graph. Was I being irrationally fearful? What was the actual probability of a rock falling at the exact time we were driving down the riverbed? Then what’s the probability that it hits the small cab at the front of the truck? I reassured myself that the probability must be tiny. I told myself not to be irrational.

Then it happened. Less than 5m in front of us I saw a cubic foot sized boulder smash into the river. Immediately afterwards a loud bang emanated from the rear of the truck, a boulder of unknown size deflecting off in the darkness. My irrational fear became a whole lot more rational. The driver, perhaps frozen with shock, stopped and put his head out of the window, his neck craning upwards trying to see what was going on. At this point I couldn’t believe my eyes and I instinctively shouted “Just keep moving, FAST!”. Perhaps in a moment of panic humans are able to understand all languages, or maybe the tone of my voice made it abundantly clear, because the driver hit the accelerator hard and started tearing down the river. I knew that any falling rock hitting the roof of the cab would come straight through the thin sheet metal roof and cause untold damage. We sped down the riverbed and picked up a dry section. My fear hadn’t subsided but I could see the gorge walls were relenting slightly. Then the electrics started going funny, light flashing on and off on the dashboards as the headlights began to blink. As the gorge widened again we found a place to stop and the driver jumped out – mainly for a cigarette but also to check the damage. I got out, 10% to stretch my legs and 90% to just get on solid ground and out of the truck. It was hard to see where the rock had hit but there was a dent in the rear side of the truck, where it had perhaps glancing off, causing more panic than damage.

We had some distance to go, the truck didn’t seem like it was in good shape, but way up above I could see the stars and that provided some relief. We resumed the journey and the driver navigated the river, picking the entry/exit points remarkably accurately in the dim headlights. We were close to the mustang gate, the bridge across the river at Chelle. Once we passed this point the Kali Gandaki opened up to it’s grand width one again and our journey would only be uncomfortable, not dangerous. Only one section of unbelievably rocky terrain remained, with the driver sliding the truck through gaps which couldn’t have been more than 50cm wider than the truck itself as the left/right roll of the truck would cause the wing mirrors to alternatively tease but not quite kiss the sides.

I was ready for this journey to be over. I felt so bad that I’d put Emily’s life in this position. So whilst my probability calculation had told me the risk was minimal, it wasn’t one that I was comfortable with. I would have rather walked for 3 days through snow. Then all of a sudden, up ahead, I saw it. The mustang gate. Thank fuck.

All the way down I’d been looking at the incredible landscape in awe of it’s features. Witnessing the shrink from it’s mighty width down to a minuscule 5m and then open back up again was astounding. It’s unlike anything I have ever seen. I want to tell everyone to do the journey , to witness the landscape, but I’m not sure I can do that responsibly. Perhaps if there was no snow to melt the danger of rockfalls and landslides would be eradicated. I don’t know. I do know that these trucks drive up and down the river every single day, but I have no stats on how many break down, crash, or get crushed by falling rocks. I think that rationally I would have to say it’s probably quite safe, but hearing and seeing those falling rocks was quite scary. The height of the river must change dramatically with the season and melt-water  Trucks stop running in early April when the water must get too deep, so perhaps the safest time to take this incredible journey would be in December. It might also be sensible to do it at daytime. It might be possible to do it via kayak or canoe, which I imagine would be infinitely more comfortable.

Arriving in Chussang, sitting on solid ground, and not being jolted around felt wonderful. A sugary cup of Nepalese tea soothed the nerves and I was looking forward to a good nights sleep. The next day was our final day on the trail and signified our departure from Upper Mustang and, ultimately, from Nepal.



The beginning/end of Upper Mustang



This is how we came out looking at the end – not too bad right?



Next stop Japan!



Source: Unclesomebody

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Japan – a whirlwind tour
12 April 2013, 8:30 am

The transition from Lo Manthang to Tokyo was epic. In 48 hours we’d gone from a town in which the entire water supply was frozen to a city where every toilet seat was heated. The contrast is hard to fathom and seeing the two polar opposites of humanity in such a short space of time was difficult to comprehend. It’s still hard to comprehend that 2 members of humanity could live such vastly different lives. I wondered what a cave dwelling resident of Chhosa would make of the never ending flashing lights of downtown Tokyo.

But arriving in a first world country certainly had advantages. Being able to bathe in an onsen was great and the first couple of days were spent in a Ryokan which had very hot natural hot spring water flowing directly into a private bath. It felt very luxurious even though it was one of the cheapest we could find.



These little guys were on our pillows – attention to detail!

That was the second big shock: price. From $4 a night for both of us to a minimum of $80 a night was a hard thing to swallow. Japan isn’t a cheap place to visit. We’d known that, but facing it when your benchmark is Nepal/India made it even more painful. We ate a lot of instant noodles!

Tokyo is sort of like any big city. It has the quiet suburban streets and then it has the louder than life I’m going to shout until my throat bleeds central area of Shiobara and Shinjuku. It’s a real melee of the old and the new. Between extremely narrow houses built 3 or 4 stories high there are huge open spaces with ancient temples. The number of temples is astounding, probably a higher density of temples than pubs in Norwich. It’s a real novelty to see the intermingling of the ancient and the modern, especially where the contrast is as obvious as it is in Japan.



Downtown Tokyo isn’t all flashing lights

One of the first things we noticed after arriving in Japan was just how clean it is. It is perhaps the cleanest place I’ve ever seen. The next thing I noticed was the signs. There are signs everywhere. For everything. Walking through the airport terminal everything was signposted in extreme detail. I can’t remember when it first dawned on us, but it appeared as if Japan was a nation of OCD sufferers. It’s as if every single function, product, or service has it’s own supremely proud product manager, who wants nothing more in the world than to make sure his/her function is as best as it can possible be. This might be a little hard to understand so here are a few examples:

1. Walking along a residential street in Tokyo on our first day I looked up to a balcony and saw some washing hanging on a line. There was several shirts on hangers on a line. But every shirt was exactly the same distance from every other shirt. It was definitely no coincidence  just an insight into the mentality of the Japanese. (I thoroughly endorsed it by the way)

2. Driving in a foreign country can sometimes be hard. I’d never had a problem and Japan was only mildly more difficult because there aren’t many signs in English once you leave the main cities. But it was whilst driving that I noticed some little things which reaffirmed the OCD psyche.

a. I kept seeing signs that had a corner symbol on them along with a number. I saw several of these signs at which point it dawned on me what they were. They weren’t speed limit signs! The number on each sign was the radius of the corner you were approaching. Imagine. It’s genius. You’re driving along an unknown road and up ahead is an unknown corner. How fast can you go around it? Well, if you know it’s radius you’re quids in. Once you know you can drive 100km/h around a 65m radius corner you know that (ceteris paribas) you can drive round every 65m radius corner at the same speed! Amazing.



Does it encourage speeding or safe driving? Photo not mine.

 b. All drivers know what tends to happen when they round a corner… they come a little closer to either the inside or outside line. Well, when you’re roads are narrow and you’re going into a blind corner you don’t want to come around it to find you’re a bit too close to the centre line and so is the person coming the other way. So the Japanese have a solution! Of course they do. When the road starts to bend they put chevrons on the edges of the line, so visually it forces you to stay centres between the lines. I mean, who thought of that? And then who implemented it? It’s a great idea in my opinion.

3. Navigating the Tokyo subway can be confusing. I think if you come from a subway serviced city then you have some familiarity with the whole thing and it’s a bit easier, but the Tokyo subway has taken it to another level to help people find their way AND make their journeys more efficient. When you change lines there are signs telling you how many metres it is to the next platform. Most Londoners know that the change at Green Park between Piccadilly and Jubilee is a LONG walk, and that you can often skip it depending on your journey by going to Westminster. Well, I only learned this through experience, by measuring how long the changes take and then optimising my journey to account for any extra stops. But that’s me and I’m a bit OCD myself. So you can only imagine my excitement when I realised they do this for everyone in Japan! What this means is that when you are debating which station to change at, you can look at the distance between stations as well as the time it takes to get between stations (also signposted on every line!) and make an informed decision. Yeah, I was really into it.



Everything you could possibly need to know

Furthermore, for lovers of next level efficiency, it’s always important to board a train in the carriage which will result in you being close to the exit point at your destination. Londoners do this through experience. But the Japanese have handy charts in every singe underground station showing which carriages to board so that you can ensure you are at the optimal place for either an exit or for a line change. Again, I was so into it.There are many examples like this which we came across and they all hinted at a very special mentality, one which I hadn’t come across in my previous travels.



You don’t need to speak Japanese to understand this!

After not climbing for 2 weeks in Nepal I was getting rather desperate so Em and I planned to head out to some of the more famous bouldering and climbing areas to try and get in shape for our arrival in Australia. All we needed was transport and some guidebooks. Transport was fairly easy to remedy, although horrifically expensive but we justified it by sleeping in the car and telling ourselves the budget then covered accommodation AND transport. The guidebooks proved less easy to find. Well, that’s not entirely true. We found them in a climbing gym, but we didn’t understand a single word of them. This was quite a shock, although perhaps in hindsight it shouldn’t have been. Searching for information on the internet was similarly difficult because it was all in Japanese. The only resource which had some decent info was the blog of Jonas Wiklund. On there we found some general directions and figured if we could find crags then we could find routes, especially if they were bolted.

Upon arrival we got news that the classic bouldering areas of Ogawayama was under snow and going there would be a silly idea. We knew this was a risk of being in Japan so early in the season but this was how the trip planned out. Mizugake was a possible contender depending on weather, but the only area info online was for a sector that we couldn’t go to for access reasons. The other sectors either didn’t have topo’s or were in Japanese only guidebooks. Being somewhat desperate to get out on the rocks we headed out to Mitake. We knew how to get to the rocks (thanks to thousand cranes) and we also knew that pad hire was possible. A recipe for success.

Mitake Mitake has never been sold as the most amazing bouldering. It’s very convenient, being close to Tokyo, and it’s only a short walk down to the riverbed where the boulders lay. We arrived on a Friday afternoon and the pad hire shop was closed so we pushed on padless. We came across one other climber who didn’t speak a word of English but was happy to share his pad. We did a bit of climbing but it was nothing special. I was climbing like a sack of rice drenched in saki and my skin was similarly soppy. Nepal really had taken away any semblance of form I had picked up after 2 weeks in Hampi.



Good morning world! We camped down near the boulders, probably illegally.

Mitake is a very small bouldering area, with several mostly small boulders spread in a 1km stretch of a riverbed. The boulders are above the water most of the time, but the combination of water washed boulder and a massive overuse of the crags have rendered a lot of problems very polished. The one large boulder in Mitake is the ninja boulder and the easiest way up is the classic V5, supposedly the most climbed v5 in Japan. It shows. The other problems on the boulder start at v9 and go up to v11/12, but they are made of up only 3 or 4 straight up lines and then traverses into those lines.

As a bouldering destination Mitake is great to have nearby. It’s not a destination worth travelling to, but I’d been under no impression that it was. It was simply good to be able to climb a little and move on rock. So our fleeting session on Friday afternoon hadn’t excited us greatly but I was keen to get back out on Saturday with some pads and try to do as much as possible.

Saturday morning was a completely different story. Never have I seen such a density of climbers around single boulders. Even the small 2.5m high boulders had crowds swarmed around them, as people flailed around on the ultra smooth rock. If there was one thing we definitely hadn’t needed that morning was bouldering pads, every boulder had an indoor level of foam all around it. Oh well, live and learn. We waited our turns and started warming up, but the combination of slick rock, cold temps, and bad skin made it hard. We sampled several of the smaller boulders and there were good moves to be found, but eventually we made the inevitable journey to the Ninja block.



Early morning – before it got too busy

The previous day I’d done the V5 without a pad and today there were about 20 pads under the boulder. There were even more people! The scene was unlike anything I have ever seen. The issue was that every line crossed over every single other line, so the waiting time per go was unbelievable. Four individual problems were being attempted, Kani (a left to right traverse finishing in the V5), Mushi, a straight up V11 that started in the middle of the boulder, the V5, and another V9 ish thing.

So all 4 problems overlap in some way, meaning that only 1 person in the mob could climb at any one time. With 30+ climbers this means that it could be nearly an hour between attempts if everyone was quick. During the whole afternoon I saw a guy have only 2 goes on the traverse line. I just couldn’t get my head around it. It meant working moves was almost impossible, but after getting far too cold I decided I couldn’t deal with the take a ticket climbing system and just nipped in to try some moves as soon as one person fell off and the next person was chalking up. It wasn’t really my scene to be honest. In addition to the many climbers flailing around there was an entourage sat in camp chairs with portable heaters. It’s hard to imagine that these people had all commuted from Tokyo for an afternoon’s bouldering. They had enough kit to be on an expedition to Greenland.



I’m the ignorant green hoody walking on the pads!

I’ve been bouldering for about 12 years now and I’ve seen many things, but I’ve never seen a scene where a sea of crash pads are effectively kept vacant at all times. All the people who were queuing didn’t stand waiting, ticket in hands, on the pads. No, they stood either on bits of carpets just off the pads or on the ground (sand – slightly wet) itself. I don’t know if it was politeness gone crazy, or some other cultural thing that I completely missed, but I always thought bouldering pads were for keeping your shoes clean. Fair play if you have dirty feet or there’s 10 people and 1 pad, but that wasn’t the case. I hope I didn’t offend anyone by standing on the edge of their pad whilst waiting my turn.

Eventually my turn did come and I had a burn on the v10 traverse. I made it through the slick slopers by a combination of luck and complete overuse of power reserves. My feet slipped off, my sequence was basically non existent, and by the time I reached the v5 end section I was feeling both embarrassed  a little pumped, and my fingers were cold. Still, it was none of these things that caused me to fall off. It was the fact that the rock texture is close to glass (think raven tor – but worse), and even my supposedly sticky anasazi’s can’t do all the work. As I reached up at the final semi tricky move, the applause of a 30+ crowd already ringing in my ears, I slipped off and with that slip I was done for the day. I wasn’t particularly exhausted, I just couldn’t be bothered to wait another hour to have a go.

Mitake was an interesting experience. It was great to actually go climbing on rock, but it’s not an international destination. Every one knows this, so I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s not very good or particularly vast. It is what it is. Bouldering on rock within an easy commute of Tokyo. That’s pretty great in itself. International visitors probably don’t go there because they go to the good areas like Ogawayama, Mizugake, and Horai. But that wasn’t an option for us due to the weather, so simply being able to climb was satisfaction enough.

Fortunately, Mitake wasn’t the only rock we managed to climb on in Japan. We were battling the weather, both at a macro and a micro level, so certain areas were under snow and other areas were simply doused in rain. We thought we’d take a drive over to Horai, albeit without a guidebook, to do a bit of sport climbing. Thousand Cranes described the parking lot and I figured if we got there we’d follow our noses to the crag and then I could simply pick lines based on what looked reasonable. It’s worked in the past!

Horai We didn’t know anything about Horai other than there was lots of climbing and we’d seen some cool pictures online. We drove to the location of the campsite and arrived very late in the night. It was raining heavily, the ground was sodden, and we weren’t sure if we were pitching the tent in someones garden. When we woke up we still weren’t sure, and it continued to drizzle. We packed up the tent, readied ourselves to leave, and then we suddenly saw a guy come out of the house/shack in whose garden we were sure we’d camped. It turns out that we were at a campsite and the campsite owner not only knew what climbing was, he knew what bouldering was! Winner! In very, very, very broken English (mainly hand gestures) he described how we could get to one of Dai Koyamada’s crags. We paid our dues and furtively set off.

Horai is a pretty spectacular place. A reservoir encircled by thick forest and rock rising up out of the forests gave us hope we were in the right place. There is only one tiny road that traverses the edge of the reservoir and when you reach the end of it you have to turn around. As far as we could tell the old chief who lives at the campsite is the only person up there. He’s got quite a spectacular view.

As we slowly tried to reassemble the hand gestures we’d been given, all of a sudden a tiny van appeared behind us, at quite some pace. We moved over to let it pass and then we realised it was the old chief. He gestured for us to follow him and off we went. He led us up to a bouldering area, parked up, got out, and then pointed out all the boulders. What a legend. That’s the way to find rock. And what rock it was. Again, my geology let’s me down, but it was steep, insanely pocketed limestone. It was quite unique. The pockets were vastly different in size and the boulders ranged from steep to roof. I’m pretty sure we came across one of Koyamada’s hard problems, but I’m not 100%. Unfortunately for us, the rock was wet. The rain had been too heavy and the forest was holding all of the moisture in the air. So whilst we’d managed to find some cool looking boulders, in a very random location, no climbing was to be had. If someone reading this knows where we were and what the problems were then I’d love to find out more. Google maps shows us as being , and the bouldering was in the riverbed, just below the road where there was 1 parking space in the forest.



Another random boulder we found in a different area. Hard to see but there is a stunning line on the prow.

We were quite psyched to find some rock and so we pushed forward in search of the sport climbing. Thousand Cranes led us to the car park with only a minor error, and from here I was confident we’d find the crags. How wrong I was. The car park is nestled deep in a lush valley, and the path away from it forms a hike up to a temple. I wasn’t totally despondent, but I didn’t set out with a rucsac. We headed off on a recce mission into the unknown. We came across some pretty amazing features, including a very cool riverbed that was formed out of near horizontal sheets of rock. I guess it must be a lava trail because of the way it looked, but it was very cool and unlike anything I’ve seen before. Pressing on we eventually found the temple, which was more of a rock cave with lots of small statues in it. I have no idea what we were looking at, but it was a fun adventure none the less. The path had taken us up some very steep and very rusty ladders, eventually leading us to a big arch of rock. I half expected to see bolts but nothing, perhaps because of it’s proximity to the holy site. We were having an interesting time, seeing new things in a lush forest environment, but where was the rock? Visibility was poor in the forest due to all the trees (ha!) and we kept walking along the trail, taking a random guess when faced with crossroads. Eventually, after seeing nothing crag like we gave up. We’d been defeated by a lack of English information and with no real way of getting any we boarded the car and headed to Kyoto to do some sightseeing.

 

 

 

In the cave/temple we stumbled upon

Jogasaki The next mission to find rock was way down near Mount Fuji. We’d done Kyoto and we’d gotten some pretty solid info on a place called Jogasaki which we could visit on our way back to Tokyo. This time we knew where to park AND where to walk to find the crag. We didn’t have a topo but I was still fine with that. Climbing anything would be amazing!



Perhaps the most famous mountain in the world?

We arrived at dusk and lacking the funds to check in to a Ryokan we decided to wild camp. In the fading light and then by headtorch we found a place to pitch the tent in the forest at the top of the cliffs. Jogasaki is a seaside crag and we listened to the water crashing into the rocks below as we bedded down for the night. The next morning I woke up feeling a little unwell. About half an hour later I’d deteriorated into “I can’t move. Just leave me”. Soon after I began unloading from both ends. The rest of the day was spent trying not to move a single muscle and hoping the pain would end. We’d finally found a crag and I couldn’t manage the 100m walk to even see it. It’s funny now, but at the time I felt really bad as Emily had no one to climb with and she was desperate to pull on. Fortunately she found some random climbers at the crag and did some routes with them so it wasn’t a total write off.

The next morning I woke up feeling slightly better but Emily had come down just as hard, a delayed start by about 12 hours. The 1km walk to the car was too difficult to consider and we just lay around feeling rather awful. By mid afternoon I was able to slowly walk around and with our departure from Japan looming we decided we should push on and try to get to the crag to do some routes. Even a single easy route would be a victory. In fact, just getting out once we’d abseiled in would have been a solid result for the day. I was huffing and puffing, sitting down to try and not vomit in front of a very packed crag, and eventually mustered up enough energy to do a warm up. It felt hard, but I had made it to the chains. Even in my subdued state I could appreciate a great hand-less rockover move across a slab of wonderful rock. Following this huge success I decided to do one of the easier crag classics, Blowin in the Wind. A short wall into a roof and then some more climbing up what I hoped were jugs. At 5.10+ it should have been ok but I hadn’t eaten anything in 2 days, and everything I’d drunk had come out the wrong way. In the middle of the roof I encountered a stiff pull on a genuinely small hold, thought I could fall off, but fumbled my way to the next break and followed the jugs all the way to the chains. Remarkably I’d made it up! WOO!

At this point I was ready to just call the medal shop and order myself everything they had. I didn’t think I’d be able to do a single route and I’d managed 2, including a small roof! The adrenalin must have been flowing hard as I then decided to have a bash at the harder crag classic Pumping Iron 2, 5.12b. It looked quite short, kind of bouldery, and I figured this would be my only chance to have a go so why not? The worst outcome would be to fall at the second bolt, hit the ground, and then puke up some water onto a poor climber.



The climber on the right in the yellow t-shirt is on Pumping Iron 2. 

I set off with no beta other than a largely one sided conversation

me: “Is this pumping iron 2?”

random: “ahhhhhh???”

me: “puuuuummmmmmppppppiiiiiinnnnnnng iiiiiiirrrrrrrooooooonnnn 2?” pointing at the line

random: “ok, hai!!” and a big smile.

It’s quite a bouldery route with no real crux, just sustained semi-crimpy climbing. I made it to the upper third and looked down to realise I’d backclipped one of the quick draws. One of the bolts had a long extender on it and by the time I’d reached the next bolt I hadn’t been paying enough attention, so now I was basically stuck. Emily shouted up, half laughing, half embarrassed  and I looked at the rope and then my wilting arms. I reversed slightly, unclipped one of the draws (I can’t remember which) and then made a last ditch dash for the top. Amazingly I made it to the chains and lowered down feeling exhausted, pleased, embarrassed, and slightly sick.

Waking up that morning I wouldn’t have imagined I’d even be able to ab down to the crag. As the sun now set I’d managed to do 3 routes and I was feeling so much better. Perhaps I’d squeezed the bugs out of my system by trying so hard on the warm up route! That night I managed to hold down some solids and I reflected on what a great crag Jogosaki is. There’s nothing really hard there, there’s not really a lot of routes there, but it’s amazing rock in a really wonderful location. It’s close enough to Tokyo to make a weekend trip a reality and if you’re in that part of the world then it’s definitely worth a visit.



Great seaside climbing at Jogasaki

Jogosaki Info - click to expand

To be added – access, links to online topo, accommodation, etc. Note: camping at the top of the cliff is illegal so don’t make the same mistake we did.

Part of the topo:



 

The final days of illness had made me crave some familiar foods. Enough sushi, sashimi, and other fishy delights. I wanted burgers and pizza. Luckily we were flying out to Australia and I’d already sent the message saying I needed to smash a burger as soon as we touched down…

Source: Unclesomebody

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Goodbye Lo Manthang
3 April 2013, 12:48 pm

[Ed: For some reason this post never got published. So it might now appear out of order. Sorry]

After what seemed like a very long and very cold stay in Lo Manthang (one objective, one subjective) it was time for us to begin retracing our steps southwards. There are actually 2 options for departing the walled city, but due to the heavy snowfall the western route via Ghar Gumba wasn’t an option at all. I would have preferred the western route so as to take in some new scenery and reach a new high of 4210m but I knew it would be longer, wetter, and potentially riskier. Along with the fact that we were on a strict 10 day schedule (only having paid for the 10 day permit) the eastern route which carried us in would also be carrying us out.

We left in VERY different conditions to the ones under which we arrived. Being able to see more than 50m, much further thanks to the crystal clear blue sky, made this already trodden route feel entirely new. The viewpoint above Lo Manthang provided a spectacular view of the walled city.



Lo Manthang in the distance

It was an easy day of walking, being mainly downhill and only where the snow had drifted and become deeper did it approach hard work. For the most part we were following a set of footprints through the snow, either from people or ponies carrying good.



Carrying goods up to Lo Manthang

Although my feet quickly became sodden I was feeling good. The views down the valley were spectacular, punctuated by animal prints through the snow and perfectly framed by the towering peaks on each side as well as on the horizon. I managed to get a little bit of footage and hopefully it will provide some a nice visual perspective of our trip.



The amazing views are unrelenting



It didn’t work…

The difference between arrival and departure days is best exemplified by these two pictures of the same stupa en route.



The way up…



The way down…

We arrived back in Charang just after lunch time, ate yet another dal bhat, then started the process of trying to stay warm and entertained (usually involving a dung fueled fire, lots of blankets, and a deck of cards). Because of our decision to visit Chhoser we would have to take a truck the next day to get us back on schedule. Hari had told us that we could cover 3 days walking with 1 days truck ride and that would get us back to the check out point on our 10th day. The 3 to 1 ratio should have set off the alarm bells…

 

Source: Unclesomebody

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Oz – Desperate To Climb
27 April 2013, 5:05 pm

After the debacle that was trying to find rock in Japan, touching down in Australia brought great relief. We knew exactly where we were going, we knew exactly what was there, and the sense of excitement was further heightened by the fact it was formed of orange sandstone. No prizes for guessing: The Grampians.

But we were really desperate, so after 30 hours of travelling we touched down in Sydney at 6pm and at 7am we were awake and making plans for climbing. I was desperate to get out on the rocks and fortunately Sydney is home to many inner city crags. Without a car, a pad, or even a guidebook I was fortunate to get a crag recommendation from Stu Ellis. We boarded a bus, rode across town feeling a bit disorientated, and then proceeded to walk from Bondi Junction to what looked like your bog standard park. Psyche was high. So was the temperature. By the time we reached Queen’s Park I was sweating like a man ten times my size.



 

It may look like a normal park but at the back lurks a crag!

The rock wasn’t quite what I expected, but it was sandstone. That was enough. The fact that it was in the sun and had a tarmac walkway underneath it couldn’t really hold back the psyche.Without a pad we did the sensible thing and started traversing around on something of unknown name and grade. Then I made up some eliminates. Then I climbed it backwards. It was just great to be able to do some climbing, although having to run into the shade to try and cool down every minute or two was rather bothersome.



 

Piesker Child Problem – V4 (but old school grades when V4 was hard)

In addition to traversing a couple of inches above terra firma I did manage to do some upwards moves, in the form of a great V4 called The Piesker Child Overhang. Some juggy moves and then a throw for a lip high above the tarmac path that runs along the base. It didn’t make for a great landing and Emily warned me not to ruin my entire trip on my first day. She was right, and fortunately a bunch of punters from Sydney climbing club turned up. I borrowed a small pad and slapped the lip, grovelled over using the classic worm mantel technique and so it was; my first boulder problem in Australia. It turns out that this was Greg Child’s problem, and immediately after doing it he went and did the first ascent of Gasherbrum IV’s Northwest Ridge. It wasn’t quite the goal I had in mind but it was a start.

The climbing wasn’t amazing but it did provide an opportunity to climb, which was priceless, and it also gave us the opportunity to begin acclimatizing to the heat. Climbing in 35C was a whole new world which I was about to start exploring in some depth.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Oz – Starting Again
1 May 2013, 10:41 am

Arriving in the Grampians was a dream come true. Whilst the dream of being able to pull on perfect orange sandstone was manifesting itself, some other factors were doing their best to turn the dream into a nightmare. In an ideal world I would have been training hard for this trip for a solid 6 months, arriving in peak shape and ready to tear down everything in sight. The reality was that I had started climbing in December 2012 after 18 months of little to nothing. I hesitate to call it training because all I was doing was simply going to the wall. That’s not training. But for me it was a start. I tried to make sure I went to the wall a minimum of 2 or 3 times a week. It was a decent start but then we left the UK. 2 weeks climbing in Hampi then a month of near enough zero climbing in Nepal and Japan. Now I was here in the Grampians and my mind was screaming at me to pull down like a beast whilst my body cowered in the corner sobbing, begging my mind to stop shouting, just hoping the nightmare would come to an end. In tandem with the war of my mind/body a second factor was simmering away. Literally. We’d arrived in the Grampians during a heatwave. It’s hard to imagine, but the cool days of autumn were missing. Instead a record was being set for the most consecutive days above 30c. It’s almost hilarious that these two factors would manifest themselves at the same time, but it was a reality. So whilst the dream of being in the Grampians was a reality, the dream was an island in an ocean of nightmare.



Pre dawn starts did have one advantage – beautiful morning views

The first days were spent wondering where all my climbing skills had gone. And sweating. Forget the record of most consecutive days over 30c, we were enduring days over 40c. Waking up at dawn it was already 25c and by 11am we were retreating to the campsite to have cold showers. It was VERY hard work, mentally and physically. One night as we lay in the tent as still as corpses and trying to regulate our breathing I began to wonder if I could do this. The sweat wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t cool down enough. I wasn’t sure I could cope with this heat even in the dead of night. I told Emily we might need to move to somewhere with air conditioning and she did what she always does, she tells it like it is. Her response “Stop whinging”.



On the way back from the crag one day…

Our early days on the rocks were characterised by lots of sweating and lots of flailing. On day 1 I had managed to flash a v5, Bleausard, at Andersens, but I put it down to fluke and I was panting very hard as I topped out. Then again, how could the supposed Englishman in Font fall off a v5 called Bleausard. The problem could have been straight from the forest itself, an overhanging arete with rippled slopers and a difficult mantle top out. Day 1 also saw me taking several tries to do some other classic V4′s such as JS Memorial Slab. Not a dream scenario but I’d learned my lesson about how to approach new areas from past mistakes.

In the past I would arrive at a new area, go to something hard like a V11 and get shut down. This isn’t good physically as it doesn’t allow you to begin to learn the ways of a new rock type and style of climbing, but it’s even worse mentally. I’m a huge believer in success breeding success. It’s something I’ve seen not only in climbing but in business and entrepreneurship. Being defeated mentally on the first day is the first spiral into a disastrous climbing trip. This is why our first days of climbing were spent on easy problems.

  Emily on the classic V4 JS Memorial Slab and me on a very font esque v6

Day 2 we went up to Hollow Mountain Cave. What a sight. It really is very impressive at a micro and macro level. It’s amazing that it has so many bullet hard sandstone holds and it’s amazing that they all link up. It’s less amazing when you realise that it’s very lowball and most of the problems are less than 5ft from the ground, but this doesn’t detract much. Warming up at Loopey’s (just above HMC) was a good start and it meant Emily could try the classic V3 Fashion. It’s pretty hard for a v3 in my opinion, but I later realised that many of the easier classics have been subject to a rather unfair (in my opinion) downgrading. Moving back to HMC I decided to warm up on Wimmel Friedhoff, the ultra classic and 4 star (in a 3 star system) problem. I set the camera up to record the flash and set off. I finished the problem on the pad, not on the top. Hmm. No bother, I’d just figure out the easiest way to do the crux move and then do it. I did the crux a few ways, but they all felt like v9, and then I just decided I needed to man up and do it. Camera’s on. Again, I finished on the pad. On my back this time. I simply couldn’t hold on to the crux sloper.



The crux of Wimmel Friedhoff, V5

At this point I did the classic idiotic thing to do; I stopped trying a paltry v5 and moved on to a v9. I’m sure we all know climbers like this, and quite honestly I think it’s a very bad tactic. But just to prove I’m an idiot sometimes I moved on to Cave Man, the mega classic v9. Cave Man is HMC’s version of the Parisella’s ultra classic v9 Rock Attrocity. In fact, HMC is very much like Parisellas. Both are caves with a high density of hard problems. Both feature “classic” problems which start and end in the middle of nowhere. Both have a big link which starts at the back and finishes at the top. Both are somewhat lowball. They really are very similar.

Can you really see a difference?

Anyway, I carried my form over from Wimmel Friedhoff and applied it in equal style to Cave Man. The crux is about the 3rd move, a long reach from an undercut into a decent shoulder hold in a flakeline. There is a different sequence (supposedly slightly easier?), but I wasn’t interested as I wanted to do it the original way. I tried this move several times and to say I wasn’t close would be an understatement. I think my exact words were “this move is impossible. This can’t be the sequence”. So I did what any person in my situation would do; I turned to YouTube . This is the first climbing trip where having youtube on tap has meant it’s easy to get beta for many problems. This is a pretty huge deal in my opinion and it definitely makes for a different experience but I’ll post something about it separately.

I found a video of James Kassay doing a much harder problem in the cave which climbed through Cave Man. I watched him do cave man in disbelief. Not only did he use the exact sequence I was using, but he chalked up in the middle of the move and effectively used it as a rest. I literally could not believe my eyes. I pulled on again with the image of Kassay in my mind and tried with all my might. I got closer, but I didn’t do it. The appalling level of my current ability was becoming very apparent. I was seriously out of shape. I was even further away from my dream form than I realised. Mentally this was a hard thing to accept. I tried the move again, my fingers fondling the flake. Ok, it wasn’t impossible. But by this point I was thrashed and the fumes that were present in the tank when I started had burned away leaving me with only the dregs of any once present power.

Day 4 we went to Kindergarten and the assault from the heat continued. In addition to this the flies were out in droves. The warm up was a trivial looking V0. I fell off. Twice. I needed to get out of this rut. After managing a few more V2 and 3′s we went over to the Nevin Rule, V7. This is a truly incredible piece of rock. It’s no coincidence that it’s on the front cover of the Grampians bouldering guide. It’s stunning, only marred by the fact it doesn’t top out and drops off a jug. Still, the line, the holds, the actual formation of the rock is truly astounding. I fell off on my flash by trying to use clever beta and proceeded to crush it on my 2nd try. It’s a really great piece of climbing and it was a good achievement for my mental state.

[url=http://www.unclesomebody.com/blog/?attachment_id=1237]

The incredible piece of rock containing The Nevin Rule, V7

Up next was a V8 called Spanking the Monkeybars. Burly roof climbing on slopers and jugs. Easy. I found the moves really hard which was a bad start, but I had a go from the start. I fell on the very last move. The flies were all over me, I was sweating like a pig in blanket, and falling off there momentarily broke me. I went off on an out of character rant about how shit everything was, how the heat was ruining this trip, and ended it by banging on that I was a failure in climbing. It was a ridiculous rant, totally unjustified, completely out of character, and really wasn’t fair on Emily. I felt bad afterwards, but more than that I was surprised at myself. I was actually here in the Grampians, the world class sandstone bouldering mecca and I was getting eggy. But I couldn’t climb, and worse than that I’d convinced myself I wouldn’t manage anything on the entire trip. I’d arrived with so many expectations for this trip, and the weight of them had crushed me like a black hole. I spat out my dummy like an impetulant child. It wasn’t on.

But thankfully the trip didn’t end there. We kept waking up at dawn, kept going out to the rocks, kept trying to climb and on day 10 the weather finally turned…

 

Source: Unclesomebody

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Hopes vs Expectations
2 May 2013, 9:21 am

In Between The Trees Ty said he had hopes but not expectations. The guy is wise beyond his years. I came to Grampians with a truck load of both, although the truck of expectation was much larger. Expectation in this case was the pressure I put on myself to perform at a certain level. I can’t really remember feeling this too much back when I was climbing regularly. I remember the feeling of knowing I could do something and putting pressure on myself to actually do it, but I don’t remember the unbelievable burden of expectation to perform at a certain level.

Perhaps I had nothing to live up to then, I simply went climbing and tried as hard as I could. But now I feel like I have to live up to my own legacy. It’s a truly terrible curse and one which shouldn’t even exist. At the back of my mind my ego is trying to break through and it’s telling me that I shouldn’t fail on a v9, that a v9 should be easy, that I should simply go to it and do it. What that does is remove all sense of joy from climbing and that’s awful. The weight of the expectation I had on myself acted as a burden and it took the joy out of some otherwise great climbing.

Expectation is the root of all heartache - Shakespeare I wasn’t climbing for the sake of climbing, I was climbing to prove to myself that I could. On easy problems it didn’t seem to matter too much. If I fell off a v4 or 5 a few times I didn’t really care, but if I fell off a V9 or 10 then I would feel like a failure. I needed to meet my expectations otherwise it felt like a failure. The hilarious thing in all of this is that even back when I was climbing lots I would go and fail on a v9 and not be upset. I’d have a great session failing on a v9. But now, my ego is telling me that I’ve climbed 8B, and because of that v9 should be E-A-S-Y. This is such a bad attitude to have, one which is mentally debilitating and physically draining. It’s hugely unhealthy, yet I was able to see it happen and remain a victim of it.

Several times I persisted on boulder problems not because I enjoyed climbing them, but because I had to do them to try and prove that I could. I would top out without a smile, without a whoop, and with no sense of joy. A mild sense of relief would sometimes furnish me with it’s presence, but most of the time there was only a sense of failure that I hadn’t done it more easily. The true insanity and sadness of this situation should be readily apparent.

But it’s not all despondency, there was some hope. The ray of hope punching through the very dark clouds of expectation was my dream of doing Ammagamma. It was a ridiculous dream. It was V13, as hard as I’d ever climbed, but I told myself it was possible. I forced myself to believe it was possible even through rationally I maybe knew it wasn’t. Ammagamma. The incredible problem first climbed by Klem Loskot and now resident on every boulderers dream tick list. It’s beautiful. It’s hard. It’s powerful. It doesn’t have any small holds. I never let go of the hope that I could do this problem. Maybe it was my life jacket.

Source: Unclesomebody

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Oz – Over the Cliff (a discrete jump)
3 May 2013, 9:23 am

When the weather did turn it didn’t just cool down a little, it fell off a cliff. We went to sleep after another day in the high 30′s and the forecast was still telling me that the following day it would max out in the mid 20′s. I genuinely couldn’t believe it would happen overnight, but when we awoke the next morning it was actually cold. In one fell swoop summer had ended and autumn had arrived.

On day 10 I decided it was time to venture to the furthest crag in the Grampians and so we headed to the Ground Control caves. These caves are high above Taipan wall and to get to them you have to walk a very long way around. It took us about an hour to reach them, which was a little longer than expected due to the obligatory confusion regarding their location. When we did find them I was blown away. Nestled high in the cliff are these perfect ice cream scoop caves. The rock is amongst the best in the gramps, the holds almost too good to be true. The view out to the horizon is the perfect backdrop. The wind was blowing and in conjunction with the cool temps it was apparent that everything had changed. The precipice over which the temperature had plummeted seemed to release me from a mentally tough place. I looked at Dead Heat, V11, and thought it actually looked easy. It did play to my strengths, a crux slap from an undercut to a sloper, so I excitedly warmed up on the problems in the vicinity. Whilst there may not be many problems at ground control, they are all excellent.



The incredible view from Ground Control – Emily is making her way down into the top cave

Once warm I began to try Dead Heat and I’d soon done all the moves. I was climbing with a hoody on. The last time I’d worn a hoody was in Japan. The wind continued to howl and friction felt amazing. It’s hard to explain the difference a single night had made to the climbing conditions. Only days before I couldn’t do a v5 and now I was here loudly declaring how easy Dead Heat felt. The physical wind was in my mental sails and it was blowing me far, far away from the bay of despair. I was on.



The first few moves of Dead Heat

I started my efforts from the start on Dead Heat and it took a few goes before I held the crux slap and I was on my way. I didn’t climb it perfectly, my sequence was perhaps a little odd, but I’d made it. There was no despondency now, I screamed, I felt exhilarated  I was actually happy. No, I was delighted. This was a milestone physically and mentally. I hadn’t climbed an 8A for probably 4 or 5 years. To come and do this one in a session felt amazing. This single ascent was the turning point and I knew I was on. I felt powerful, my skin felt grippy, and I was again on the hunt.



The crux slap on Dead Heat – note this may be bad beta

Success breeds success. I know this. So after Dead Heat we took the precarious path down to middle cave. It’s a somewhat exposed walk above a fairly large drop and with the wonderful wind blasting up the valley it made for an exciting journey. But climbing around the corner and seeing another incredible cave only amplified the psyche. Up next was Killer Dwarf, V11. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to do the first long move, but I managed it first try. I fell off the next move and immediately declared that I could do the problem and proceeded to set up the camera. The crushing expectation of previous days was gone, now replaced by pure excitement. Killer Dwarf is essentially a 3 move problem, after which there are some easier moves on good holds. But the 3 moves down below are amongst the best I’ve ever done. A combination of power, pinch strength, and perfect movement.

     

The moves leading into the crux swing of Killer Dwarf – wait for the video to see the rest!

The way I did it hearkened back to days of fooling around with James at the abandoned church on Cemetery Road in Sheffield. It was as much climbing as it was dancing. Following the first long move to a pinch, a quick foot move up, then a panther like pounce. I jumped up, crossing right hand over to a sloper pinch and as my body began to swing, it’s trajectory still upwards towards the deadpoint, I released my left hand from it’s vice like grip and swung through on one arm until my left hand landed on the slopey jug rail. A perfect 1-2 jump, with strength coming third in priority behind timing and movement. Another V11, this time in under 5 minutes. What was happening? I was having a lot of fun, that was for sure. Wonderful movement on the best rock around. That’s what climbing should be about.

All it took for me to rekindle the love, to breakthrough from my negative state, was a drop in the temperature. It might sound ridiculous, but I witnessed it with my own eyes. Everything had changed. From Day 10 onwards my mind was in a different place and my body simply followed. It wasn’t to say that the ugly head of expectation didn’t rear it’s head at times, but each day of climbing was a stepping stone which allowed me to get slightly stronger, slightly fitter, and slightly closer to the dream.

Source: Unclesomebody

[SA Chris]

Good blogging - get in Keith.

[finbarrr]

great reads!
really enjoyed those, after such a long absence
THANKS

[Fiend]

Beast is back! That last problem sounds ace.

[ben]

great Friday afternoon psyche!

[Falling Down]

Great stuff. Loved the tales from the mountains too.

[Doylo]

Looking forward to the Ammagamma blog

[comPiler]

Ammagamma – Session 1
4 May 2013, 8:34 am

[Warning - The next several posts are going to be highly granular when it comes to climbing. I doubt many people have ever written so much waffle about a single bloc. You have been warned.]

The first session on Ammagamma came on Day 5 of our trip. I went there knowing I was about to face the goal of my trip. In fact, I was about to try the very purpose of my trip to the Grampians. Walking up there I remembered the videos that I’d seen on youtube and vimeo. The moves were etched into my mind. But I wasn’t walking up there chest puffed out and full of confidence. At best, I was a v7 climber. I’d managed to do a single v7 prior to Day 5 and failed on another V8 and 9.

We arrived not too long after sunrise and it was already hot. The first thing I did was to strip down to my undies to try and cool off before trying the moves. It didn’t take many goes to do the stand start, although Emily had given me a little power spot so that I could adjust the high left hand pocket to avoid it tearing my skin as it had done on my first try. But the mantleshelf at the top was ok. I hadn’t fallen off it or backed off it. That was a good start. The stand start gets v8 by itself so I was happy to have done it with only a minor power spot.



It was hot…

However, those few moves were only the final easy moves of the main meat. There were 5 moves to do before that and those were the moves which really made Ammagamma. Of these 5 moves, only 1 is really hard, but during my first session they all felt impossible. The heat was making it hard to really gain an understanding of the difficulty as I was very sweaty and the friction was poor. The crux move is a powerful lunge up and right off a 2 finger pocket that you have to 3 finger stack. I tried the move and came up well short of the intended target.

I think the best way to describe the motion through a move is as a vector. On Ammagamma you have to power upwards whilst keeping your hips and body close to the rock, so that when you do hit the intended hold your body is high, your bum tucked under, and your feet away from the floor. My attempt was so poor that the vector my bum took was directly outwards from the rock and my hand desperately lunged upwards as my body simultaneously flew outwards. I was very, very, very far away from doing THE MOVE. I’d expected the move to be hard so I wasn’t too crushed, but the other moves seemed just as hard. The first move, a reach up to the left hand pocket didn’t seem easy and from there I couldn’t get my foot up next to my hand in order to do the second move. I know I’m inflexible but I think it was a combination of weakness and inflexibility that meant I couldn’t do that move. The next move is a short right hand move into an undercut which sets you up for THE MOVE. Following the move there was one small right hand bump, a mere 10cm movement upwards, but I was falling on that move too. Overall, I found every move hard and linking them together was so far away that I didn’t even begin to think about it. My only focus was simply to do some of the moves.

Ammagamma is a very steep problem. I measured the first section at 70 degrees overhanging and the second section at 50 degrees. From there it kicks into a slab onto which you mantle to glory. I even mapped out the problem in my book;



That’s it…

I gave up when my skin became too bad, my power levels went from low to appalling, and the heat caused permanent dry mouth. Session 1 wasn’t a success, but at least I’d faced my fear. I’d gone to Ammagamma and I’d had a go. At least now I knew where I stood: on the ground. Everyone has to start somewhere and I was starting as a v7 climber trying a v13 boulder.

 

Source: Unclesomebody

[tesla]

I gave up when my skin became too bad, my power levels went from low to appalling, and the heat caused permanent dry mouth. Session 1 wasn’t a success, but at least I’d faced my fear. I’d gone to Ammagamma and I’d had a go. At least now I knew where I stood: on the ground. Everyone has to start somewhere and I was starting as a v7 climber trying a v13 boulder.

 

Source: Unclesomebody

Great post! Keep at it, I love tales of such obsession and aspiration! Also, I'll be sure to pack a protractor next time I get out, heh.