I think I'll never climb 11. You might
be forgiven for thinking I'm talking about climbing 5.11 (YDS), but
I'm actually talking about climbing Ewbank 11. This sad truth has
probably been slowly worming its way into my brain, much like one of
those nasty African worms that enter through people's feet and make
them dreadfully ill. My first experience with 11 was at a small crag
in bushland in the Sutherland Shire where I grunted my way up a
hugely overhanging route on tiny slopes. After that, came the Frog
Buttress affair when I whipped off a steep 11 that I was stemming and
slammed into the wall with such force that Doug was nearly ripped
from his feet. At Ormiston Gorge in the West MacDonnell Range, I
thrutched my way up an 8, but cruised a 16. I know that 8 is not 11,
but, you are probably beginning to get a sense of things. Just a
couple of days ago, I only got up an 11 at a small crag near Alice
Springs on the second try. Today, I managed to lead a 14 and a 15,
but clearly, neither of these is 11.
Doug, not on an 11
At first glance, the Ewbank system of
grading seems like a frightfully good idea. Start at one, make the
scale open ended and just keep going up. Up the grade if the
protection is poor, tricky, or non-existent. Somewhere in the
implementation the whole thing seems to fall apart. During our two
years in Australia we have climbed 8's that are harder by a few
grades than 18's. 16's that are easier than 10's, 17's that are
indistinguishable from 13's and pretty much every combination in
between. We've retreated from "trad" routes with zero gear
for the entire climb, and, after swearing we would never climb on
those retard bolts (aka carrots) climbed on them dozens of times (I'd
still prefer a ring bolt). But, one thing I'll never, ever do is
climb 11.
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