Date: 2012-02-04 Translator: tethys (Contact translator: tethys2006++gmail.com, replace ++ with @)
Time: February 6, 2012
Author: Dave Graham
Translation: tethys (Little t)
For a month in the southeastern part of the country, I was thoroughly annoyed by the harsh weather and constant rainy days, feeling lifeless overall. To end that depressed state, I bought a plane ticket, packed my gear, and flew back to Colorado full of anticipation. The lousy weather earlier had left me emotionally down, feeling like everything around me was dull and intangible, and that life itself was but a fleeting moment. Carrying my belongings, I settled in Nederland (a secluded canyon), where I used to go rock climbing in Estes Park before heading to China, and this time I planned to make a strong comeback.
Elkland.
But going back there hastily turned out to be pretty pointless, as I realized later. I didn’t complete any of the routes I had hoped to do, and often spent whole days holed up in my room, bored, listening to the rain, freezing cold, having to chop wood and start a fire to keep warm, and passing the time by binge-watching the TV series “The Wire.” After the internet at our place got cut off, many people headed west in search of WiFi signals. I hesitated a bit, not quite ready to believe that WiFi was really that essential in my life. I stayed behind, but ironically, things only got worse from there. My good buddy Emily Harrington got obsessed with shopping, and then she left for Mexico, too, something about TNF athlete-related work... I bet she was having a blast in the pool, sipping expensive champagne, cruising around in the legendary TNF Ferrari... Meanwhile, Joe and Colette were probably having some random epiphanies, stopping their work to chat. Everything seemed so random, and I started thinking maybe this was just God’s doing, and to understand their seemingly inexplicable migration southward, I forced myself to think about the value of existence, to explore who the real master is, and what all this really means. Joe was fascinated by birds, maybe he saw a flock flying by and just wanted to spread his wings and fly with them... Time ticked on... and one by one, they all left...
In my own view, I was kind of like that “what the hell” person... but at least I had Andy Mann and Sheyna Button by my side, which was a huge comfort. I could climb with Nick Duttle and Ben Spannuth, who are both fun guys, but I couldn’t control my own nagging habit; I felt weird and indifferent, started checking the Elkland weather forecast, and found myself thinking about the big rocks in the mountains...
Indeed, while climbing at Red, I onsighted about 45 routes (difficulty ranging from 5.10 to 5.13d), and felt like I’d somewhat regained my form. But when climbing Golden Ticket, I fell just before the top — missing the send by just one move — and never managed to complete it again after that. Something was wrong.
I didn’t really want to stay at Red. Over the next few days, I kept trying to sort out my thoughts until I realized I wanted to go back to Elkland to try “Nickis” again. I wasn’t going to climb Golden Ticket anymore because my heart wasn’t in it. Colorado was what I truly wanted. Really, over the past few days, I’d secretly cursed myself, confused by my lack of inspiration for one route, yet feeling an obvious longing for another. I was forced to follow my gut, some plans born from mere hints, and then — goodbye. Trying not to look back.
Like a child whose toy had been snatched away, I grew furious, eager to lash out at something else. Reflecting on my failures, I didn’t want to blame my strength. I wanted answers, but I’d already found them — that’s life. Life is the balance of yin and yang; misfortune may be a blessing in disguise. I began to feel relieved, like that kid who lost the toy but then spotted a new one and burst into laughter. This was the “toy” I truly desired. Go with the flow. Embrace freedom.
Somehow, the weather in Colorado was flawless, especially in the small mountain town of Estes Park. My new castle in Nederland was only a 45-minute drive from here, and this was the best weather I’d seen according to the “Weather Channel.” I’d been stuck indoors for five days in the south, guessing whether the reports of sun and dryness in Colorado were true, constantly doubting — until I got here and just froze. It was like divine favor showered upon me.
It reminded me of the magical beam of sunlight shooting through the big arch of Torgue Dong in Getu, China. At that moment, I seemed to see a column of light piercing through the gloom, and I rallied my hopes, charging toward the gateway of opportunity.
I packed bolt cutters, a shovel, put on winter clothes, and set off driving with my friends Cameron Maier (the one who first pointed out that bouldering problem to me) and Chad Greedy (a genius route-setter). Everything was exciting — the temperature at 35°F (about -1°C), snow-covered ground, gusty winds — we shoveled our way up in a line. I’m from Maine, Cameron’s from Delaware, and Chad is Native American. We were practically born for harsh environments, with the blood of warriors running through us, raised by ninjas, forced to sleep in ice and snow since childhood. Needless to say, the current weather was pretty darn comfortable. The wind speed held steady at 30–50 mph (converted to m/s, roughly 13.4–22.4 m/s, equivalent to force 6–9 winds, considered strong to gale-force. — Translator’s note), and the snow on the ground quickly scattered, making the ground beneath our feet feel more like a frozen planet.
But what really worried me was the cumbersome process of shifting from two months of outdoor climbing back to bouldering. I still felt pretty good, at least physically. But on the first day back on the rocks, I felt weak, unable to muster strength. Even though I’d been climbing fast at Red, now I felt sluggish and lazy, and injured my fingers after just a few moves. Well, great, can’t climb — yay, how unfortunate. But I could also blame jet lag, the high altitude here, the unfamiliar feel of the sandstone, lack of rest, and the fact that every fall ended in crunk and sketch. Excuses flashed by, but I still held onto some confidence: “Next time will be better.” And sure enough, a turnaround happened.
My most recent climbing trip improved my skills. I felt like I wouldn’t get stiff so quickly, nor would I tire out as fast. I fell off six times in a row on the last move, the wind swallowed my shouts, my fingers bled, I chewed on dry food in the cave like it was wax, but none of that got me down. Those routes didn’t get me down. The only surprise was the upcoming holiday season. Were we really forced to celebrate holidays for the next six days? Sounded awful — Christmas, then Gomez’s birthday at Blackhawk, and then the grandest New Year’s of all.
Friends around me said goodbye, heading home to celebrate the holidays with family. I started working on a new route. This one was quite dangerous, located on the backside of a huge boulder, facing a vertical wall, with a slope beneath it. I rearranged the crash pads several times, or else it would’ve been an ice chute. But you needed a spotter, and no one — I mean no one — wanted to come here with me. I was furious, but told myself, whatever, Dave, enjoy the holidays, do something else. So I went skiing with my buddies at Eldora. It was awesome — I even did two flips in the air, and jumped off the chairlift (sweat)... Then I tried my luck at the casino too. I always thought I’d be terrible, but guess what? I really sucked. Playing blackjack, my gut told me, “Dave, this is it!” and then I lost $40. And those guys Chad and Gomez? Total money pits. By December 27th, all the holiday festivities seemed to have quieted down (except for the upcoming New Year’s party, of course), people started coming back, and new hopes began to build. Maybe this was my chance, my last chance, to leave some exciting memories for December...
New Year’s Eve was a magical day. We started climbing on some rocks we’d found earlier — the routes didn’t feel great, close to 8c in difficulty (goodness, where did that aggression come from!), and weren’t particularly challenging. My left index finger was a bit strained, making me think even taping it wouldn’t help me finish the last few moves. The weather mattered — wind, snow, biting air — that’s the kind of weather I liked, so I decided to try again. After going back and forth, I told myself not to give up, not to fall off the rock again, not to quit, not to slip, not to get hurt. The light was decent, and I felt some inner strength awakening, as if everything had returned to normal...
The climb started with a crack — you have to move fast, like Dean Potter on El Cap, or Alex Honnold... you know... just flying up, cursing the crack non-stop, just moving forward and upward... That’s it, after completing two similar moves, the real fun began. You’re faced with a tricky crack, fingers popping in and out at specific spots, footholds needing precision. The next crimp will be a bit dangerous — don’t hurt your fingers — but make sure you grip those tiny holds firmly enough to get through the next section, which is basically nerve-wracking. Once you nail those moves, you can pull up into a traverse, reach the next section, which I call “dream material.” To escape hell, you have to execute a series of risky moves: find the perfect tiny foothold, pull off a twist with hands and feet on the same side, add a few knee drops, and finally you can approach the edge of the rock. This is the final sequence before the send — lots of options — and then it gets much easier, basically sealing the deal once you finish these.
(Daniel Woods climbs this differently from Dave — check out the short video below for comparison. — Translator’s note)
Daniel Woods on Memory is Parallax V14
Ready to get on the wall, I fell in the middle, but sent it on the next try.
So sick. On the last day of 2011... more than enough to make up for all the previous failures and the flaws I’d admitted to. No more finger injuries, no more eating junk food in caves. It might not have been the hardest route I’d done recently, but this experience carried a unique power, some realization I’d been trying to define or articulate. Let me try to describe it:
This beautiful route held an extraordinary place in my climbing experiences of 2011. It was a reattempt to regain strength and confidence. I’d been here before, returning to the same spot, the same route, doing what I needed to do. I was with friends there, part of the group, no one shunning me, wild turkeys and elk roaming around. There, I could let loose, break out, escape the gym, get away from downtown Boulder, all that incomprehensible madness pushing me to the outskirts, ostracized by the popular kids and ending up here, sitting at my own table, racking my brain on how to get everyone to accept me...
Year after year, life leaves deeper imprints on me. I continued my professional climbing career — 13 years, 30 years old, hair still intact, limbs all there, might need some new clothes. Sending this route marked another milestone since I fell in love with climbing in 1996 and became a pro — now climbing means more to me than ever, and I’m truly grateful for that. I’m not talking about climbing harder grades or faster now, I’m talking about the wall itself — what it looks like, who I’m climbing with, why it’s so captivating, how it was discovered, who cleaned it. It’s a process of self-reinvention, unrelated to anyone or anything else.
Sometimes, a first ascent is a greater mental challenge than people usually assume. Whether it’s a route on a wall, a bouldering problem on a boulder, or a summit — different outwardly, unified inwardly — meaning and value gradually forge a solid desire, urging one to live by free will. People argue that bouldering is meaningless, just a game, utterly pointless. They say bouldering is an activity forcibly imbued with meaning.
But a meaningful experience is exactly like this. And it does happen during bouldering. In my world, it holds such dominance — warming up, completing some hard problems — sometimes these are reflections of the self, sometimes trivial, no different from walking or running, but sometimes they bring genuine joy, make me laugh from the heart. This makes me believe that bouldering isn’t a stupid thing, no matter what others say.
These days, people talk about every bouldering problem as having diminishing meaning (not as hard, not as cool, not as high, nothing like you said, no one goes there, etc., etc.), but I’ve realized what truly matters is sharing something valuable. When I finish a route, it’s meaningful. I benefit immensely from it personally, even if I just climbed a big rock, it’s still a major milestone, a genuine personal achievement — but all of that stems from its weight in my life, where I was, when I did it, and where I’d been before attempting it.
I’m in El Paso right now, climbing at Hueco Tanks. A lot has happened since I sent “Memory Has Its Own Parallax,” and it reminded me why I chose that name. Over the next week, I’ll try to sort through the jumble of thoughts in my head and put them into words to share with you all, so you can continue to follow the shifts in time and space, the ebb and flow, in the world I’m inhabiting.
Keep it up, everyone！
DG