WHEN GOD TURNS AGAINST YOU, THERE'S NOT MUCH HOPE FOR SUCCESS

I should forewarn you that this post, and probably this blog in general will not be only about Epic Sends, big numbers, hard grades, first ascents, or other typical climbing blog spew. As a climber, I am interested not only in the numbers, the FA's, the hard sends, and so on and so forth, but also the PROCESS. Projecting something. Trying hard. Falling. Failing. Waking up early on a weekend with less-than-ideal weather conditions and little-to-no money for gas and going climbing anydamnways. Braving the swarms of spring time New England black flies and slipping all over a goddamn wet slab while trying to build a dry pedestal from little boulders so your climbing partner can reach the start holds of his project. Getting back on a climb you took a terrifying death-defying fall on last year just to prove that you are at least marginally badass. Free soloing the chossiest, sketchiest, wettest 5.5 in the world so you can get good shots of your friend on their first 12c. These are the things that make climbing so special and so consuming.

Today was one of those days. Rain forecasted. Humid, hot, flies so thick you had to belay with a hood cinched up around your face. But. It was a really excellent day. Regardless of the fact that Max, Alexa and I all had to retreat due to the fastest moving hellstorm of all time. The skies went from blue and sunny to apocalyptic in about 2 minutes flat, which then forced Max and I to have hurried final attempts on Parallel Universe (14a), and Dr. No (13d) respectively. But then we had the pleasure of hauling ass down to the car in Cambodian jungle rain. Which was fun. And I feel certain that both Parallel and Dr. No will go this week.

Alexa on Good Earth (12c)

Me staring down Dr. No (13d)

Crux move on Dr. No (13d)



Wetness the Fatness