Source:http://fiveten.com/community/blog-detail/12309-the-ice-knife-david-graham
Submitter:David Graham Date:2011-11-18
Translator: tethys (To contact the translator: tethys2006++gmail.com, replace ++ with @)
I’m back on a plane again now—it’s November 15th, and I’m reading “The Fall of the Third Reich.” Since my last log update here, I’ve had so many thrilling experiences and way too many stories that I’m not even sure I can write them all down. Beyond climbing, there’s been an overwhelming amount of travel, reunions with old friends, music, parties, new people I’ve recently met—I really don’t know where to begin. Whenever I try to write something, I always say this, probably because it’s also how I start every log entry on 5.10. But enough rambling—let me tell you about my recent goings-on.
It was 27 days ago, before I left for China to attend the grand Petzl RocTrip. Somehow, I ended up back in Boulder, Colorado (my favorite place on Earth, haha, just kidding). I was desperately trying to shake off the jet lag from Australia, which also stemmed from the aftermath of various trips (new bouldering routes in Utah, a fun online gathering with family in Maine, the exciting Nor’easter Fest, and attending the CommRow grand opening in Reno with the Five Ten team). And then there was my obsession with climbing a route hidden in the woods of Guanella Pass.
(Notes on a few locations mentioned in this paragraph: Nor’easter Fest is a celebration themed around outdoor sports, music, and environmentalism. The 2011 Nor’easter took place in Burlington, Vermont from September 23rd to 25th, with about 7,000 attendees, and included the finals of the American Professional Climbing Tour.
CommRow is a comprehensive entertainment complex in Reno, Nevada, themed around extreme sports. It opened on October 1st, 2011, and besides dining and lodging facilities, it currently features a 164-foot (about 50-meter) tall climbing wall and an indoor bouldering gym.
Guanella Pass is a high mountain pass located in the central Rocky Mountains of Colorado. — Translator’s note)
(Photo of Dave attempting to complete the “Ice Blade” taken by Cameron Maier: http://wwwflickrcom/photos/cam ... -72157627347769907/
The following three images are from the original page of this log and show Dave attempting the “Ice Blade”: http://fivetencom/community/blo ... -knife-david-graham ---- Translator’s note)
I had already tried this route after discovering it last May. It sits on a massive boulder in a mountain gully, facing northwest, resembling the prow of a ship. It’s distinctly different from other new routes, which merely look futuristic and have a “new-school” style rather than ascending blank sections on competition walls to big finishing holds. The route I like is completely different in style. It has a sit-start and could possibly be done by breaking out left, but that would mean tackling the first crux: seven pressable bumps, before having to climb the actual arête of the boulder. This rock is very unique—classic Rocky Mountain National Park rock—hidden above Georgetown, seemingly on the other side of Bierstadt Peak near Evans Mountain, close to Wolverineland (in August 2010, Dave completed a V14 boulder problem in Wolverineland. — Translator’s note). Bright quartz veins streak the rock in orange hues, while the main body consists of dark gray-blue gneiss. The route climbs up three peculiar arête-like ridges, with the right one being relatively dull and the two on the left more pronounced. There aren’t any good holds between the ridges. Success depends on smoothly linking through these ridges; hitting individual moves isn’t the hard part, but connecting them is where the real challenge lies.
In the spring, I spent six days trying the route and was completely off my game—I decided it was too hard for me. The temperatures were between 40–60 degrees Fahrenheit (approximately 4–15°C; all temperatures mentioned below are in Fahrenheit. — Translator’s note), and even if I had the ability to do certain moves, I stopped attempting them. Generally, cool and breezy weather is better for projecting, but this route left me feeling futile no matter the conditions, so I looked forward to recharging during my trip to Australia, getting stronger, and returning in the fall to give it another shot.
After the CommRow opening, I had twelve days before leaving for China. I felt like the opportunity had come, but the weather started working against me again: the first five days were hot and rainy, and then a cold front brought snow for the following week. Aside from my usual impression of the route, I had countless postponed goals I was eager to complete to maintain some mental momentum. I felt like I was in the wrong place, desperate to get on those routes. But sleeping on the living room couch at my friend’s place on Marine Street gave me no comfort, and I became increasingly disoriented and distracted.
These thoughts swirled in my mind like a solar system in motion, evolving over millennia through ceaseless rotation and the evolution of time into their current form. If the route I was desperate to complete was a consolidating planet, it was hard to avoid interference—distant gas giants were hurling asteroids and cosmic boulders at it, with a constant stream of debris affecting its formation and trajectory, ultimately impacting everything. That gas giant was like my larger goals, constantly vying for position within their orbits around the sun while creating chaos within, but from a macro perspective, the workings of the universe indeed needed their existence.
That might sound a bit dramatic, but sometimes drawing such analogies is fun. I was pretty broken down and realized the weather gods were planning a counterattack against my impending “climbing offensive.” The flickering islands were like the giant spaceships from the movie ID4, sweeping past some major city on the horizon, causing mass panic.
Every move was a desperate lock-off, the air was damp, the rock was slippery, the heat was unbearable, and after five days of that, I had made almost no progress compared to the spring. Completing the route in such a short time seemed like a pipe dream. I even started to feel my attempt was somewhat foolish.
Mentally, I had already given up, though I knew it was the wrong attitude. Fortunately, however, due to Colorado’s fickle climate, the forecast promised a significant change. Temperatures would plummet by 30°F within three days—a stroke of luck. I geared up, convinced this was finally the chance, but to my dismay, the temperature drop came with a night of snowfall, dashing the hopes of this high-altitude boulderer eager to finish the route.
My usual naive optimism made me believe things wouldn’t be that bad, and I drove toward the valley full of hope, only to be shocked by the damage overnight’s snowfall had caused. Snow blanketed the ground, streets were slippery, the wind was biting, and snow dust swirled everywhere. Going from summer to winter in one night left me speechless.
The heavens must have been furious.
I had been here yesterday, and the change was astonishing. Though it was completely wrecked, as if all hope was lost, I still tried to make a plan for the remaining eight days. I felt good. If the weather stayed cool and dry, I thought I could give it a try, and with that thought, I decided to head into the mountains to the rock to clear the snow, no matter how tough it would be.
But the plan quickly fell apart. I tried hiking into the snowy woods, and even with winter gear, I realized I needed crampons or something similar, because my regular street shoes couldn’t handle the slick, steep talus surfaces, and my sticky 5.10 rubber soles couldn’t find any real footholds. Full of worry, I eventually had to give up and returned, drinking cup after cup of hot chocolate instead of eating.
Back to the present—I’m sitting at my computer, but I’m now in the Red River Valley. Two days have passed since I began writing this. I’m planning to go climbing on the Gold Coast, and there’s a bright, chilly sun outside. Yesterday at Motherlode, Jonathan Siegrist and I shivered through the pouring rain, climbing the wall, and incredibly, we managed to complete five pitches because the wall basically turned into a giant waterfall. I’ll be staying here for a month, weather permitting. I’ll be staying with Andy Mann and Sheyna Button along with everyone else, including Joe, Collette, Scott Milton, Jonathan, and Emily Harrington. I can’t wait to try “Golden Ticket” and “Pure Imagination,” but first, I need to get used to the environment, climbing routes like “24 Karat” or that uncomfortable one on the Dark Side.
Let’s get back to the Ice Knife. The day after the terrible weather, I returned to Guanella. I spent a day trying the infamous Bridge, hoping the snow would melt a bit in the meantime, and the next day, I went back to this alpine paradise to clear all the snow and start climbing. From a certain angle, the route was dry enough to climb. The temperature was 35°F, and I finally reached the second crux (which I consider the hardest part), and regained my confidence. The crisp air changed everything, and with five days left here, I could properly plan my expenses.
Nathan Bancroft arrived two days later. We planned to shoot part of the Island movie here, and the weather for the next few days seemed perfect. This is the typical time-crunched situation I experience as a professional climber, and I could feel the subconscious hunger to complete the route, as fierce as a tiger hunting for food.
On the next go, I fell off on the final move six times. The wind didn’t let up, the temperature was around 40°F, and the friction was just right, but I still had issues. The sixth move wasn’t about strength. It required a toe hook, so the issue was the angle of my foot placement and how I positioned my body to stick to the wall, so I could let go of my right hand from the bad rock edge, followed by a gaston (a locking move with the hands pulling sideways in front of the body)—the first real hold I could weight on the entire route. I felt a bit frantic, struggling to move upward, slipping off, and landing flat on my back. I truly felt like all my attempts were futile. By the end of the day, I knew I had one day left, and the route was much harder and more confusing than I’d originally estimated. Could I do it? In general? How on earth do I get my toes to stick to the wall???
I took a rest day, dragging a crane and tripod through the frozen ground with Nate and Cameron Maier, setting up a tent in the bone-chilling shade beneath the rock. Some more snow fell, but the wall stayed dry. I touched the rock, felt it—as if hearing music makes you want to dance—you could say I was in the zone, ready to start my dance on the wall.
Of course, I still fell off at that damn toe-hook just before completing the route, over and over again. After another five attempts, the people around me stared at me with skeptical expressions, as if to say, “Are you even capable?” or “It’s just not possible, man.” I felt the pressure again and tried to light a fire. I was cold, and later that day, the biting wind whipped snow everywhere. I kept fighting until the very last second, but even then, I couldn’t accept the reality.
So I faced the “last day, best day, last try, best try” scenario. I put on my Team shoes, which are perfect for climbing this kind of wall, strapped on leg protection from top to bottom, let out a Dani-Andrada-style battle cry, pulled myself up, and believed with all my heart that victory was within reach.
I slipped off lower down and felt a wave of panic.
I tried again to pull myself up, but slipped off on the very first move and felt furious.
I tried to relax, realizing I might have to come back next year, forcing myself to let go of the desire to grab that final hold and all the glory that came with it. I just sat there in the cold, trying to find a sliver of Zen, to achieve some kind of samurai-like state of mind.
Without any warning, I suddenly sprang up and lunged for the wall. My footwork was more deliberate than ever, my heel hooked perfectly, and finally, I barely managed to toe-hook the edge of the right-hand hold. My entire body trembled with exhaustion, and I reluctantly thought I’d slip off on the next toe-hook—but I felt my foot in the right place and began to tell myself that anything was possible. Time seemed to stand still. I stuck to the wall, somehow launched myself onto the rock ledge, and let out a roar as if I’d just defeated a giant monster. I climbed through the snow and finally stood on top of the rock.
That night, I completely let go. I had exhausted all my energy, both mental and physical, and was in a strange state of exhilaration—something only adventurous climbers can truly understand. I had finally completed the route. I needed to give it a name, and then I could head to China and complete my autumn climbing tour plan with zero pressure. I remembered why I climb, why I boulder—it’s what I’m passionate about, and it’s who I’ve always wanted to be.
Just one person, deep in snowy terrain, conquering an ancient force of nature, reaching that place, simply to do it. To be there.
Pure existentialism.