Gym Climbing

I went to Climb Fit in Kirrawee when I was in Sydney over the weekend. It has to be over a decade since I went to a climbing gym. Sydney and surrounding suburbs actually have really good (if short) outdoor rock climbing and bouldering areas so usually when I go up to visit my Mum I pack just two pieces of training gear – running shoes and my bouldering pad with climbing shoes. That way, I keep life and transit between the south coast and Sydney as uncomplicated as possible while still maintaining my training schedule.

But, it was raining, as it was the last time I was in Sydney so I did not get on my project at Jannali and instead used a “Gladdy” Discover coupon at Climb Fit in Kirrawee. I had a blast, apart from being the old lady in the parking lot who needed the young lady to help them back out of a too tight parking spot, it was super fun.

Climbing gyms sure have changed a lot since the old days. In the 1980's, if you were a member of the local section of the Alpine Club you could climb at the University of Calgary climbing wall for free on Wednesday nights between 9 and 11 pm. As I got up every day at 5 am, starting to climb at 9 pm was a hard road to walk, and I only went infrequently. Frugal as ever, paying to climb when there was a free alternative was simply not an option. In the summer months, when the days are long in North America, we would often drive out to Wasootch, one of the few quickly accessible climbing training areas in the Rockies at that time, and climb out there in the evenings. It was whole lot more pleasant than the UofC wall which stank of foetid rock shoes.

The UofC climbing gym was dank, dark and smelly. The walls were plywood except for the slab wall which was cement. All the holds were rudimentary, bolted on pieces of wood or river stones stuck in cement. There were no marked routes, no bouldering cave, no lead routes. In fact, to climb there you had to bring your own rope and climb up a ladder, walk along a ledge at the top of the wall and set your own top-ropes.

Climb Fit at Kirrawee is another world altogether, so many routes, a big bouldering area with spongy thick pads at the base, a Kilter wall (which came first the Kilter wall or the Moon board?), four auto belays, lead routes, dozens and dozens of top-rope routes, an infra-red sauna, gym, change rooms, combination lockers, and the building is light and airy. A bit sweaty when you are working hard, but a far cry from the basement of the UofC kinesiology building.

I thought the bouldering routes would have V grades ,and the climbing routes Ewbank grades but instead both climbing and bouldering routes simply start at one and go up. There are probably pros and cons to that. Gym climbing is notoriously not very much like climbing outdoors. I have climbed with dozens of climbers who can onsight in the 20's in the gym but are stymied on a 16 outdoors because “where are the holds?” On the other hand, it is hard to gauge how hard you are climbing with no reference point to what I, at least, still think of as an outdoor sport.

Maybe, however, that is the point. Gym climbing is a sport unto its own and no longer simply somewhere climbers go to train when the weather is inclement or they can't get out to the crag. Certainly, at least from my sampling of Climb Fit, the routes are about as unlike as climbing in Australia as you can get. Here on the east coast, most climbing is on sandstone, and the predominant hold is the crimp, often a down-sloping crimp, but a crimp nonetheless. Strangely, despite spending three hours at Climb Fit, mostly climbing, hardly resting, I did not encounter a single crimp that feels anything like the type of climbing common around NSW. Contrast this to my home wall where I have a lot of small crimpy holds and a few homemade jugs. Most of my outdoor climbing is on small crimps so I train small crimps.

Climb Fit was great and without a prior engagement I would have stayed longer. However, as the person who tries to always see the other side, I wondered about turning an outdoor sport which involves all kinds of other skills and abilities – walking to the crag or the mountain, placing gear, evaluating the safety of the climb, setting belays, being in nature, to mention only a few – into another form of living like a zoo animal. Talking with my young relatives at lunch the day before, all of whom had been to a climbing gym at least once, they did not seem to even realise that climbing is an outdoor sport – or at least climbing was an outdoor sport. I have some misgivings with sanitising the experience, removing most of the challenges and discomforts and turning what for outdoor climbers is akin to a spiritual experience into training like a hamster on a wheel.

My nephew, who was dabbling in outdoor climbing, no longer climbs outdoors because he says (I have no idea of the veracity of this statement or whether it is merely a handy excuse for a lack of motivation) he “cannot afford to get hurt.” I, however, feel a bit like Messner in The Alpinist, that the possibility of getting hurt is part of the adventure, and some of the appeal of outdoor sports – skiing, climbing, kayaking – is being skilled enough to manage the risk and NOT get hurt. Of course, anyone who has done any sport climbing knows that almost all modern sport climbs are bolted such that getting hurt is actually highly improbable. The risk to your health of smoking, drinking and existing on junk food (all of which my nephew does) is much greater than clipping bolts around the Sydney crags.

I guess my overwhelming impression of the new modern climbing gym (if Climb Fit is an representative sample) is that the gym could be a great place to train, but could just as easily become a place where you escape from actual performance and spend a whole bunch of time faffing around the edges and not actually addressing the issues that would increase your own performance.

Some of this is human nature, it's easy to get sucked in to hanging with friends at the gym, half trying a couple of boulder problems or routes and spending the rest of the time talking yourself up; but the other half is it's actually super fun to swing around, cutting feet on overhanging routes with big jugs feeling jacked, but if most of your climbing is techy slabs requiring delicate footwork and precise moves, getting to feel hero strong is not going to help much.

The Wrecking Ball

I like this article by Will Gadd on “helmet fires.” Written back in 2011, it's an oldie but a goodie. I frequently have helmet fires, mostly, however, in social situations. When the helmet fire ignites, the mouth runs off. Socially awkward does not really describe me. “I came in like a wrecking ball” to quote Miley Cyrus is way more appropriate than the tepid phrase “socially awkward.”

While I am happy to discuss issues in depth, I abhor small talk. Mindless chitter chatter, that essential social lubricant, seems to me like so much wasted time and energy. Because I have goals, and I can't spare the energy or the time to chat about the latest reality TV show or the next useless gizmo you plan to buy when I have training to do, plans to make, places to go.

I have a pathological inability to lie. If you ask me if this dress makes you look fat, and the dress does, indeed make you look like an oversized beach ball with limbs, I will absolutely say “yes.” I do not care that you spent $400 on the outfit and are just off to your only daughter's wedding, if the dress makes you look fat, it makes you look fat.

I rarely agree with mainstream opinions and have long since decided that the so-called “experts” lack any credibility. I really don't care if you have ten PhD's or are the leading expert in your field if what you say makes no sense to me, I will call bull-shit.

And, I call bull-shit often. Excuses never got anyone anywhere so we should all stop right now with making them. That way, at least one of my annoying character traits won't be so prominent.

The Alpinist

I don't go to the cinema. I have trouble sitting still for the length of a movie, and most movies are crap anyway, but I was stoked to find out that The Alpinist, the story of the extraordinarily talented Marc Andre LeClerc was screening in Sydney when I was up there for my Mum's birthday.

Sender Films, makers of Valley Uprising and The Dawn Wall, had a tough time making a movie about LeClerc who frequently disappeared to complete audacious solo climbs without informing the film crew. In his short but extremely full career Marc Andre completed a series of stunning first ascents of striking technical difficulty including solo climbing the Stanley Headwall, the Emperor Face on Mount Robson, and Torre Egger (solo in winter).

I think the sheer audacity of some of LeClerc's climbs might be lost on people with no alpine climbing experience, after all, he makes climbing technically difficult routes, like the Stanley Headwall, look easy and describes some of his most impressive solo climbs as having a “casual fun adventure, and cruise around.”

But, you don't have to be a climber to appreciate LeClerc's drive and determination, his ability to step out beyond the bounds of what society deems normal, to live with very few possessions yet many lifetimes worth of experiences, to pursue his passions without regard for financial success or recognition, and to love life so deeply that he was willing to let it go.

Budawang Time: Hidden Valley and Sturgiss Mountain

Everyone who walks into the heart of the Budawangs knows that time quickly becomes an irrelevance. A few kilometres might take an hour or a day and it is imperative that the journey becomes the experience, else you risk being disappointed by long hours of struggle broken by only the briefest of high points.

With only a short break in a rainy spring, we planned two days to walk into Hidden Valley and climb Mount Sturgiss. Just, but not quite, long enough, and if I could walk back in time I would take one more day for this trip.

Sassafras, which is merely a cluster of small holdings, is quickly passed as you travel between Nowra and Braidwood with no sign that to the south, the vast wilderness of the Budawang lies hidden in folds of the country. There is no real information on the NSW NPWS website and even the guidebook says nothing much about how to find the old Endrick River Fire Trail. However, the access road (which passes through private property) is exactly where shown on the topographic map, about 4 km east of Gretas Road (access to the Ettrema Tops fire trail). And, there is a sign on the gate diagramming access to the Endrick River fire trail but the gate seems to be always open and the sign hidden from view.

Many people cycle the Endrick River fire trail, at least to the junction with the Folly Point trail or down to the Vines, but we opted to walk. The starting elevation is about 700 metres and the junction with the Styles Valley trail is about 700 metres so the fire trail is pretty flat with only a few undulations. Again, if I could walk back in time I might also ride my mountain bike in, but that can be pretty awkward with an overnight pack. In any event, I enjoy walking and, as all the scrub is burnt, the walk is fairly scenic. We detoured to the top of Bhundoo Hill on the way in, an extra 10 metres of elevation gain and had a distant view of Point Perpendicular with the lighthouse shining bright white. The view also encompasses the Clyde River Gorge and the Tianjara Plateau to the east.

Just south of Newhaven Gap, the track passes close to the western escarpment of the Clyde River gorge and there are tantalising views of the escarpment cliffs and the Clyde River 400 metres below. As the trail descends gently down Strang Gully the scenery becomes typical Budawangs, grassy plains, short pagoda cliffs, creeks running clear over sandstone slabs and wildflowers everywhere. Suddenly the trail descends slightly to the Vines, a deep rainforest pocket, once the place of a sawmill, now a dappled mix of sun filtering through tall trees, moss covered ground and tree ferns.

A cairn marks the foot-pad that descends southeast through the valley defined by Quilty and Sturgiss Mountains. This is where the real Budawangs experience starts, clambering over and under fallen trees, pushing through thick acacia and other fire regrowth, travel slows, time becomes meaningless.

Once past the Quilty turn-off, also marked by a small cairn, the trail descends to parallel the head of Kilpatrick Creek for a couple of kilometers. There is an old road bed which is likely the only thing that has kept this route navigable by walkers, but the road bed is gradually falling away or being overgrown by dense regrowth. In one place we had to push through tall thickets of Incense Plants (Calomeria amarnthoides) which had grown in an explosion of size and density making us think of the John Wyndham classic, Day Of The Triffids.

After the track gains about 30 metres of elevation and continues south on a 700 metre plateau it is very easy to lose any sign of human passage altogether. In late 2021 the only thing we noted was some faint evidence of passage through robust and springy acacia regrowth that had disappeared by the next day. Acacia is like that, wiry and tenacious. We followed the track well enough until we crossed the head of Kirkpatrick Creek and then we lost it completely. We did, however, find a small clearing of low grass perfect for a campsite and within thrashing distance of water down a small creek.

After setting up camp and brewing some tea, Doug and I both set off on different reconnaissance trips. I headed off on an ESE bearing hoping to find, if not the Hidden Valley track, at least an easy bushwack route – no on both counts. Doug arduously retraced our steps, or tried to, hoping to locate the track we had previously lost which would take us back out the next day. He had some moderate success but only modest as by the time we came to follow the track out the next day we had again lost it entirely. He did, however, stumble upon the tall tree fern with HV carved in the trunk that marks the Hidden Valley-Styles Creek junction; the old campsite at this spot now shrunk to only accommodate one tent and surrounded by vigorous regrowth.

Thanks to an amazingly comfortable tent site, I slept so well that I bounded out of bed around 5.30 am the next morning; but, then again, I am one of those people who almost always bounds out of bed early anyway. After jugs of coffee, we started by trying to follow the foot pad that Doug had found the previous night to the tree fern marker but lost it within minutes and then spent the next 10 to 15 minutes trying to find the tree fern in the vain hope that a distinctive track would materialise to lead us up to Hidden Valley.

We did find the tree fern again; I looked up from our latest compass bearing to see it perfectly in-line with the direction of travel arrow on the compass and we did find a bit of a pad that descended perhaps 10 metres to a dry creekbed where we tried, poorly it turns out, to mark the faint pad we had just followed. Fortuitously, walking uphill from the flats, the vegetation thinned and became quite manageable, and on a vague shoulder on the ridge we found a faint foot pad that led north past short cliffs, seeps and a camping cave to the pass that grants access to Hidden Valley.

Hidden Valley is a magical place. A small enclave, perhaps a kilometre in length surrounded by the escarpment of the sprawling Sturgiss Mountain. Impossibly green along the valley bottom where a swampy stream runs, fringed by eucalypts, and framed all around by terraced cliffs. We had some information that the “trail” was on the west side of the valley although there was scant evidence of anything, travel was relatively easy, however and we were soon near the height of land and looking east across the valley to a distinct cave, likely Dark Brothers Cave (marked incorrectly on the topographic map).

The information I had gleaned from the guidebook and various other trip reports indicated that the scramble route up Sturgiss Mountain was 100 metres or so north of Dark Brothers Cave and we initially looked that way. Doug, however, had studied the satellite imagery and thought the likely route was to the south, so we made the classic mistake of turning back too soon and spent a deal of time thrashing along the cliff line to the south. When no scramble route was found, we again went north, and, tangled in undergrowth and overgrowth we found a lone cairn, which with more scratching through the bush led upwards to a series of ledges and eventually a rusty chain hanging down a seepy chimney section. Another thrutch up this and more ledge traversing and climbing and we popped out on top of the large plateau that makes up Sturgiss Mountain.

And that is when we really wished we had an extra day as the plateau of Sturgiss Mountain revealed the most amazing views of the Budawangs and it would have been ideal to have the time to walk right to the south end of the plateau. As it was, we had to be content with scrambling up to a high point with a big cairn and a sizeable dead eucalypt and, despite the somewhat grizzly, grey weather, amazing views in all directions.

The rest, of course, is the denouement, but includes its own adventures. After a too short stay on the plateau, we descended back to camp in less than half the time, but, could not find the track past the tree fern so endured the obligatory acacia thrash to camp. After some lunch and tea, we packed up and with dispiriting rapidity lost the track we had followed from Kilpatrick Creek and expended too much time, energy and clothing (ripped) pushing through entangled regrowth. Near the point of despair that we would ever find the trail again, I stumbled out onto the track just where it descends down into Kilpatrick Creek. After that sojourn, the overgrown track felt like a highway.

At Camping Rock Creek we sat in the sun by a small cascade on the creek among wildflowers and reflected on another Budawang trip. “Did you enjoy it?” Doug asked, and, strangely enough, despite the frustration of watching as trails in the Budawangs deteriorate to the point of complete annihilation, I realised that Budawang time is a good time. “Yes,” I said quietly, “I really did.”

That Keto Video

Dave Macleod's new, long video – does anyone call these vlogs anymore? - about keto diets for climbing came out a few days ago. I don't think it is much of a stretch to say that, among performance oriented rock climbers (climbing grade irrelevant), this was a highly anticipated video.  The video is four hours long and while training I watched it all (not in one session, four hours would be a mammoth and likely fairly useless gym session). Me, the person with the attention span of a gnat was fully engaged by a four hour video which is mostly Macleod talking with the odd climbing shot spliced in!

If you are interested in sports performance and your head won't explode if you have to confront ideas that challenge the status quo of sports nutrition, I recommend watching the entire four hours. People without a background in exercise physiology and nutritional science, might find the video a bit challenging. Around hour three I realised that Macleod was throwing around terms like mitochondrial density, which I understand, but which might be unfamiliar to many athletes. If “polarized training” makes you say “what?” you might need to take notes and look things up afterwards. There is no shame in that; one of the greatest free gifts of life is the ability to learn something new.

Meatza Pizza

Well, I wrote that a surf capsize was coming right along and so it was. If you are going to capsize in surf, the only way to do it is by pitch-poling the kayak down a wave and flipping pointy end over pointy end. This is much more spectacular for random observers on the beach and you finish keel up, head down and ready to roll.

Today we finally got a day without rain so I dashed out bouldering. Broke a few holds, fell on my butt a few times, and generally got a decent session in before it started raining again. I've almost forgotten what our latest project looks like... maybe next week.

On the subject of weeks, last week when I was in Sydney, one of the youth commented on my vegetarian phase. I think of this period as a dark and low place in my history. It lasted two or three years from when I was maybe 25 or 26 to about 28 years old. Remaining a vegetarian - or even more hellish vegan - requires that you either lose your mind or get used to functioning at a low level of capacity. As I was happy with neither, I quit being a vegetarian, started eating meat and immediately trained harder, recovered better and improved my performance. I kept my brain functioning as well. Anthropologists and evolutionary biologists now think that a diet of meat is what led humans to develop such large and energy expensive brains. Think about that next time you consider giving up animal protein.

It always cracks me up that my sister in law (SIL) tells the story of me talking about being vegetarian while eating a ham sandwich. Now I don't actually remember the event, but I have heard the story so many times that it has become part of my personal lore, and, to give my SIL due credit, the story has a ring of truth. But, what really tickles me about this story is that it happened 30 years ago. Yes, as I said just last week “It was 30 years ago!” Emphasis very much intended.

In a twist of irony that is impossible to invent, I have been on a whole food diet – no sugar, no grains, no industrial seed oils – for at least five times as long as I was vegetarian and no one ever mentions that. I will let the reader ponder why that might possibly be.

Find What You Love

This is a bit of a stream of consciousness post because it has been so long since I published anything on the blog. I have had ideas – most notably the concept that, to paraphrase Steve Bechtel, “being average gives average results.” Bechtel fans will recognise this as a bastardisation of “random training produces random results.” But that is a topic worthy, at least in my mind, of fleshing out a bit more completely than this post has room for.

It is not that I have been doing too little to have anything to write about, more that I have been doing too much and have not had sufficient spare time to sit down and pen a long essay. Crazily, at almost 60, I still have the psych of a 26 year old when it comes to rock climbing so I have been exploring new bouldering areas and last Monday we ticked off another new climbing project and started the next one. That was also the day I looked down while I was belaying Doug and saw a one metre long snake on the rope bag about 4 centimetres from my bare foot. I am pretty sure humans have “snake recognition” wired into our evolutionary genes because I leapt up and back in under a second. Doug, who was working a hard sequence at the time, kept his cool remarkably well; reason number 76 for using a Gri-Gri or similar device to belay when your buddy is projecting.

Paddling is back on too. We've done a couple of surf days, during which I have surprised myself by NOT capsizing. I am almost starting to think I am improving but that might just be hubris. I'm sure another surf capsize is coming right along. I went out yesterday to do some surfing at one of our local beaches and within not very long broke a foot pedal which left me with a tedious paddle back home with no foot pegs to brace on and no rudder. It turns out that without foot pegs, you lose all torque (drive) and you end up “arm paddling.” It was tiring, inefficient and ineffective and gave me a good deal of insight into the speed and fatigue level of many of the people I paddle with who “arm paddle.”

Talking about broken gear, I finally got to Sydney last week to see my Mum who, thanks to Covid restrictions I have not seen since June. While there I managed to replace my worn out approach shoes and pick up a couple of other climbing items not available locally. “Not available locally” actually covers a lot of ground down here.

I am a shop assistants dream – I knew exactly what I wanted before I went in the store, so, apart from fetching the shoes from the back, I served myself and was in and out in a short time. There was an older guy there trying on every climbing helmet in the store for a canyoning trip he was going on. It was one of those situations where I thought, “yeah, you'll do this once, maybe twice.” Those sorts of things aren't hard to guess because the reality is most people do things a few times and then quit. I would love to have a single Bitcoin for the number of people I know who started rock climbing and gave it up within a year. I'd be as rich as Elon Musk, on the proviso that I could actually use Bitcoin for anything.

There was a bouldering route I really wanted to try in Jannali while I was in Sydney. I had been on it a few years ago but felt stronger and thought I might do way better, but the rain moved in on the afternoon I had set aside for bouldering and so I drove home instead.

Before heading up to Sydney I was getting pretty fatigued from another heavy training cycle combined with a lot of climbing and too many sprint kayak days. Sydney is always a good time to reset and take a deload week. I find being in the city, staying at other people's houses, living in a food desert, stressful enough without layering on heavy training. The noise, congestion, pollution are all a bit much when you are happiest deep in the bush.

But, the day after we got back, we were off paddling with Sprint A Lot (aka Splash A Lot or Speed A Lot) on a 25 kilometre paddle day. Sure, that does not sound like much but it was 12 or so kilometres into a 14 knot wind and building sea and then a serious sprint session to catch runners on the way back. Even Sprint A Lot was tired at the end. It was a super fun day out, with “interesting conditions” and we had a close encounter with a calf and mother Humpback Whale; but, when we pulled into the beach at the end I thought “so much for the deload week.”

One of my young relatives (by marriage) has signed up for another 70.3 (aka Half Ironman) with some mates. I asked if they were “competitive.” A reasonable question as for many people just finishing a race is the goal not placing in any sort of time category. Apparently, the youth are all competitive but as we were chatting about that I thought that we all assume that a concept such as “competitive” has a fixed definition. However, like most words, this is fallacy. The classic example of this is, of course, moderation.

What is competitive? To me, competitive means you will do lots of difficult and uncomfortable things to achieve your goal. More than just run, bike, swim training, I mean things like giving up alcohol and packaged food, eating more protein, cooking all your own meals, strength training, getting to bed early, correcting movement abnormalities, missing parties and social events to get your training in and on the list goes. Some of these are “add-ins” and some are “take aways.” Both are of equal difficulty and without a plan to succeed (that focuses on habit change), failure is more likely than success. As Dan John likes to point out, the root origin of passion is “to suffer.” If you are passionate about being competitive you will have to do things you don't want to do and stop doing things you do want to do.

As a fairly useless athlete, I've never really had the cojones to be competitive. Goal oriented absolutely, often to the exclusion of almost anything else, but not competitive. Strangely enough some of the people I know who are competitive perform strikingly worse than the people who aren't because although they want to compete, they don't seem to want to lose at competition and failure is the ultimate teacher.

Winston Churchill said “Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm” which brings me full circle back to being stoked about every climbing session even though I have been pursuing the sport for decades. 

Find what you love and let it kill you. Charles Bukowski