This past week has been as about as good as it gets. Before I get going rambling about a few of this weeks "eventful events" (is that even possible, could it mean the most eventful or is that like a double negative and it means it was uneventful, Im going to assume the former), I want to talk a little about what drives me, about inspiration and not climbing aimlessly. Climbing aimlessly to me means climbing without being aware of everything else that it entails: the people, the process, the setting. The boulders here are enormous, and climbing them seems like David vs. Goliath. Sometimes, I boulder and it seems like a David vs. David fight. I dont necessarily think this is because of the difficulty, physical or technical, of the boulder problem, but the mental aspect of the climbing here. The rocks, as I said, are enormous, and the lines (the certain way up the rock) are obvious and proud. The Sierra Nevada mountains abruptly begin at the boulders here. There are no foothills to gradually introduce you to the harsh terrain. Storms constantly roll through unexpectedly, hidden by the peaks to our west. These boulders seem like they were designed to be climbed, but at the same time it seems as if they were not. The vast open space and enormous mountains all seem to downsize the boulders that we aspire to climb daily. It is as if the landscape brings the boulders down to our level, so we climb them. We are David and they all are Goliath.
The Buttermilks are the most inspiring boulders I have climbed on. Climbing these big lines requires not only the physical capabilities, but a certain mindset, a confidence in yourself, your pads, spotter(s). The end result is a complete satisfaction. I pull over the last hold and I feel utterly drained, in every way possible and I know that that moment is why I climb, to test my physical and mental capacities, to initially have doubt and channel it into confidence, to initially feel fear and use the inspiration all around me to change it to courage. The end result is nearly as good as it gets, atleast in the realm of bouldering.
As for eventful events, I just decided to put pictures up since a picture is worth a thousand words and I would rather put 10 pictures up at this point then type 10,000 words. Also here is my last memory of my Bishop, CA trip from two years ago with 4 friends from Athens. That trip was the first time in my life that I realized that I wanted to, and could, travel the country and climb. It was a major factor in molding me into who and where I am today which seems to be near perfect.
It was the last day of our nine day bouldering trip from our home in Athens, GA, an adventure by every definition, and we had already climbed 8 of the days. Our stories were piling up as we practiced telling these adventures nightly in anticipation of rehashing them later on to those who did not make the pilgrimage. We arrived at the starting hold at dusk. End of day sends sent screams across the road from the more accessible boulders across the road. The sun was setting over the Sierra Nevadas, something our clan always managed to pause and watch, being as different as we could ever imagine from the older and seemingly wiser Appalachians. These mountains seemed as if they were young and fearless, like a 16 year old on a joyride the night after they received their license. Being so different, something still felt incredibly comfortable, being so far from home.
We began deciphering the beta, and placing pads haphazardly. Our fingertips screamed for a hiatus from the relentless granite, and begged for the southern sandstone and foliage padded ground they were accustomed to. We were as full of fatigue as we thought possible, but this line was the one from our dreams, and I had to try. After one unsuccessful attempt, and one successful break, I clenched the starting hold of my last problem in Bishop. We would leave later tonight, meeting the now setting sun farther east the next morning, and the next. My feet left the earth, and began to dance across the rock in unison with my hands. I passed my high point three moves in and continued to negotiate a checkerboard of patina. It seemed as the beauty of the moment fueled my desire to extend it. For a brief moment on this linear timeline we call life, I could redefine what gravity is. I was at my limit on a not so well-rested, but well-fed day. I was one move from the final hold, 15 feet from the ground. I harnessed all the energy I had left and placed my fingertips just over the edge of the final, just far enough away jug. Then, I fell. I tried one more time and the same result occurred in the same spot. Any other outcome would have been just another send, but this failure created a memory, a story. This is why I climb, for the possibility to limit what is impossible while constantly searching for the unlimited possibilities.
Cricket pondering the meaning of life
