Climbing Outside the System

Sound the alarms and ring the bells! Alert the peasants! Climbing is losing its soul!

Peter Beal has responded to the growing commercialization of rock climbing with a post (and online article at Alpinist's site) suggesting we progress climbing not by legitimizing it commercially--the progression so often espoused by the young pros today--but by finding some new direction or point of growth--"a new vision of climbing"--outside the system.

While I'm sympathetic to any dislike of commercially inflected climbing, I am at the same time utterly dubious of positing some imaginary opposite: non-commercial climbing, climbing as art, soul-climbing, whatever. There is nothing in this world close to such a thing. It doesn't exist outside of a vague romantic longing from us privileged few rock climbers. And it only becomes a problem when this longing is couched and articulated in fancy enough terms to endear it to enough other climber-romantics.

The journey inwards isn't the prescription climbing needs. That journey to the "inner frontier" has long-since been co-opted by market interests anyway. Take the prototype of that narrative, the R/X-rated inward adventure, in both person and as corporate entity: Steve House and Patagonia. Their drivel is sickening, and yet their drivel sells Asian-made products like the newest snake oil never before seen.

Yet here I sit wearing Patagonia jeans. But that's the point: there's no way out, and there is not good excuse for climbing (no authentic foundation in other words, whether commercial, artistic, ascetic, etc.). I'll use the teenager concept reluctantly, but there's nothing outside of the oh-so dreaded "SYSTEM." We are the system.

Climbers should spend less time worrying about the soul of their sport/art/leisure pursuit and more time worrying about people who actually have problems. People with real problems don't get to choose whether to describe their climbing in more elevated terms. They don't even get to choose when they eat, or even if they'll eat. Now that's a problem.

Sharma on Red-tagging Routes

Chris Sharma has weighed in on the subject of red-tagging, route development, and first ascentionist ownership. Though his argument isn't new, he presents his view thoughtfully and humbly, which I find makes it all the more convincing. For its humility, it really is a fantastic essay. His contribution is a very positive and hopefully lasting contribution to this recurring discussion.

Route Ownership and Style

Over at splitterchoss.com (a great name), I made a long-winded response to what I think is a misguided editorial on route development, and the issue of ownership of routes or crags by first ascentionists. Here's what I wrote:

Ultimately it comes down to the end product versus the style? Like the super-duper bottom-line? Like this is the end of the discussion? Thank God then for this contribution. The issue is settled.

Nah, I’m kidding.

This essay’s topic is relevant and interesting, but the essay is pitifully argued and, for the future of climbing culture, extremely unimaginative.

Pitting 'style’ versus ‘end product’ is a lame distinction when you don’t clarify what these terms really mean to you. Not that it’s not obvious where you stand, and what your preferences are.

Since you’ve conflated the questions of route authorship and ownership with questions of style and community rules I’m going in the direction of questions of style and rules.

It’s not that I have a problem with one style or the other. In fact, I climb and establish well-bolted, well-planned sport routes, and I climb and establish ground-up, protected-on-the-fly traditional routes. I enjoy both! On one day I’ll be thankful for a well-placed crux clip that saves my redpoint and gets me to the chains. On another day I’ll relish the fear, inefficiency, and spontaneity it takes me to grovel to the tree anchor on a traditional climb.

On no day however will I enjoy or agree with the view that all climbs must be established one way.

What befuddles me is the strong, righteous feeling people have that it must be one way or the other. I take as a starting point that there are some people who like to climb one way, and other people who want to climb another way; since that’s the case both have to be okay with me because who am I to decide which style is better?

So show more of your cards before you use a weak distinction to dump on a style that you just don’t like. You’ve loaded your essay ahead of time with a bias which seems to be for one area and one region’s route development preferences. Will you just dismiss others’ preferences to do it a different way, or will you make an genuine attempt to allow for other methods?

(Of course, this is all besides the direct question of ownership. My brief reply would be to start by saying, when climbers talk about ownership they don’t mean it legally. So it doesn’t really help to remind us that such-and-such public entity is the real land owner and therefore route development and ownership is really decided for and by the public, not the individual who created the route. This take on the matter doesn’t even really hold up or settle anything anyway since in the case of privately owned climbing areas the question of ownership still remains a hot topic.)

Here's what splitterchoss.com said in a thoughtful reply:

@climbingislove Thanks for such a well thought out comment. I do have to say you wrongly assume I have a problem with other styles, or believe that every area should adhere to the same set of “rules”. This discussion was started based on the comments of old route developers who regretted having put up these runout routes in the South Platte because no one climbs them anymore. So my point was that if these routes were not being climbed, is it ok to upgrade them in a way that kept them adventurous but made them more accessible to the masses, like a bolt every 15 feet instead of 30 or 40? And who decides that, the FA or the community?

I also enjoy a variety of routes, from safely bolted local choss to the adventure climbs of the Black Canyon, and I’m fortunate to live in a place with so many different styles of climbing close by.

Perhaps I should have been more clear about the end product being most important. In that regard, I am referring to routes that are currently being established, not climbs that were opened up in the 70’s. I can think of several major climbing areas out there with “sport” routes that are really lame because they were put up ground up, to adhere to some “climbing ethic”, and the end result is a crappy route with poor bolt placements, bad falls, etc. For those climbs, yes, I would say if they were put up instead with the end product in mind, they could have been much better routes. I’m not saying don’t put up more adventurous climbs, I’m saying when a route is established, it should be done in such a manner that it offers the finest experience it can. So if it’s a sport route, that means good clipping stances, safe falls, etc. If it’s a runout trad route, that might mean that where you need it the gear is good, and the rest is thoughtful and committing.

And as for your last comment, here in the West there are VERY few private climbing areas, so it really is the community who should be deciding what is and isn’t ok at a local area, not a couple lone wolf first ascentionists. This hasn’t been a major issue so far in the history of climbing, but as more and more restrictions are placed on bolting (and they will be), the community will have to come together more so than ever to present a unified stance to land managers, and show that we can indeed police ourselves.

Respect to Kinder

Joe Kinder made a statement on his blog about some shoddy bolts he placed in the Red River Gorge, owning up to some bolting mistakes in an admirably responsible way. I made some critical comments about Joe marketing his new-routing, but that's besides the point here. I think Joe's public acknowledgment of what he's learned from his own poor bolting is a rare and highly commendable gesture.

Bolting for Humanity

It try not to be bothered by Joey Kinder's unrepentant self-promotion. It is his job after all. Yet, his recent "I bolt routes for future generations!" campaign is too much to bear. Now, DeadPoint Magazine has fallen for his schtick, posting a laudatory interview with Joe that makes it seem like every sport route in the U.S. was his selfless work.

There are two problems with this crap-ass subterfuge.

For one, pitching route development as humanitarian work is a notion more shoddy than a Rifle clip-up. Mother Teresa never recommended sport climbing development as a way to give back to humanity. Why? Do we even have to answer? Okay, because climbing and all the efforts we go to to perpetuate it amount to nothing more than the perpetuation of possibly the most selfish leisure-time pursuit ever conceived. Bolting for future generations? Pah.

The second problem is that for all his shout-outs to Andrada and Sharma, Joey doesn't give proper due to the massive amount of work expended by the real route developers who came way, way before his tiny efforts. How about Ward Smith, bolter of climbs that made Joe Kinder the climber he is today? How about Randy Leavitt? How about Porter Jarrad, Doug Reed, and a zillion other people who've paid far greater dues and are much more deserving of the attention Joey manages to stir up for himself for bolting, what, maybe 15 climbs? Pitiful.

Make Grades Solid From Top to Bottom

The recent discussion over bouldering grades focuses only on the higher-end of the scale, which makes sense because that's where "fresher" grades reside, and thus less consolidation.

A critical point not to get lost here though is how the recent (past ten years or so) top-end action and grade proposing is affecting the grades all the way down the scale--all the way down to the bottom of the V-scale.

Unfortunately, the grades of newer "moderate" problems, from V0 to V8 let's say, are going completely soft. Instability at the top-end creates instability at the bottom. The atmospheric rise at the scale's top-end creates a perception that the bottom rungs of the V-ladder should be "easy."

Besides consolidating to the top-end of the scale, the bigger point then is to make sure every level is--and remains--solid. A solid grade at EVERY level, not just the top-end, is the only way to keep V-grades meaningful, whatever the level.

The V-Grade Debate: "We've got to be sensible about these things"

Daniel Woods' latest cutting edge bouldering ascents seemed to have stirred the pot. Once again, the V-grade debate recommences!

Before I got into a more recent response, we shouldn't forget what Malcolm Smith said after finishing his boulder problem Monk Life 8b+ in 2004: "I see Monk life as a bottom end 8b+, only just scraping into the grade. It's a bit harder than some things I've done like The Ace which get 8b. I think in Britain we have a harsher scale than in Europe and there's loads of room in 8b+ for absolutely sick things which are harder than Monk Life. I can't see any reason to give anything 8c. That grade is unbelievable and I struggle to believe anyone around can climb it. We've got to be sensible about these things."

In some ways, that sensibility has been echoed by Nalle Hukkataival. He's weighed in with the most sensible thoughts I've heard on the matter in a long time. His rhetorical wonderment at the probably accurate statistic that "99% of the time" climbers' grading mistakes come in the form of over-grading points implies the answer obviously enough: eager to reap the higher value and reward of a higher grade, climbers are getting the best of themselves.

Nalle asks too, "Why do people always choose the egotistical approach to these things instead of "playing it safe"?" It's the vulgar, ugly truth, but the egotistical drive to be the best leads climbers to overestimate their ability and thus, over-grade.

Mind you, encouraging down-grading can serve this same purpose in reverse. If I down-grade lots of the climbs I repeat, it sure could serve to make me look good, and my own climbs even harder.

So we have to be nuanced in our interpretation of people's intentions. But if we can take someone's intentions to be pretty good, like Nalle's, then we've got a good conversation going.

Just the other day, I listened to my own friend patently lie about his ability. Under a popular test-piece, another climber he knew from his old gym turned to him and asked, "So, what are you climbing these days?" My friends responded, "Sevens and eights." It was embarrassing, and yet another instance of a climbers' ambition getting the best of them.

Don't think I'm some hippie who doesn't want to improve. I'm not. I want to climb as hard as I possibly can, and I am always inspired by the ability of the highest level climbers. But if we're truly concerned with measuring progress, at each level we need to pack down the grade and make it solid and tight. Otherwise, we won't be able to say we've improved without telling ourselves a sad little lie. Without solid grades, our achievements are like Enron's books.

Stand-start vs. Sit-start: It's Not the Size of the Wave, It's the Motion of the Ocean

If there's a sit-start to do, and you don't do it, have you done the full boulder? Is the "proper" start from an ass-on-the-ground position, or at least from the lowest possible starting holds? If you do a sit-start to a previously established problem, is it appropriate to give an entirely different name?

A notable example of this issue has come up recently with Vincent Pochon's ascent of a Fontainebleau line he dubbed "The Big Island." About two years earlier, Dave Graham claimed the first ascent of the same boulder problem, minus two or three beginning moves, and dubbed the line "The Island."

Following Pochon's ascent, some suggested that the difference between the two boulder problem versions was moot because the "proper start", from a sit, remained to be done. That version, from the ground, would amount to the fullest, most mature, complete version of the line.

For myself, I liked what I presume to be Pochon's aesthetic. Walk up to a boulder. With your feet on the ground, find the starting holds. Pull off the ground and climb to the top. Both ascents are admirable, but Pochon's vision of the line appeals to me more than Graham's.

I don't take sit-starts as "logical." Where a boulder starts is not written in stone. Where a boulder problem starts is determined by bouldering's history and cultural aesthetics, the things which shape our decisions as climbers. In short, we decide. And what I'm saying is, aesthetically, stand starts are more valuable than sit-starts. They are better!

Don't get me wrong. I love a good sit-start. But I like them the most when they're obvious, and, more importantly, when they complement the rest of the movement to follow. Too many first ascent hungry gym toads have developed the horrible habit of adding one single, powerful, finger-tweaker move into otherwise classic lines. Not only is this dubious criteria for a first ascent, it diminishes a former classic forever--particularly with the new ground-assisted sit-start is filmed and distributed willynilly over the internet. People watch the video and assume the shitty version is the only version.

Tweaker sit-start add-ons to otherwise classic lines should be explicitly devalued. Sure, they make the problem longer and harder. But as the saying goes, "It's not the size of the wave, it's the motion of ocean." Just because it got harder doesn't mean it got better.

Gym-bred climbers would do well to experiment with the now-nearly defunct practice of a stand-start. Just walk up to a rock, grab what's available, and climb. It is easier and more intuitive than scrunching into "boulder toad" position on the ground.

Moving over stone from a standing start just feels good.

What is a boulder?

"What is that?"

That's how the question is always put when you're standing next to a problem, ready for a go, and someone unfamiliar with the area walks up.

"What is that? It looks fun."

"Well, it's a fucking rock you idiot."

Nah, I don't really say that. But I admit, I've thought it before. Why? Because of what the question means, superficially and kind of more generally, culturally if you will, for climbing.

Of course, as we all know, "What is that?", means, "What is the grade of that climb?" And, you know, what's wrong with that question? I mean, you're in a new area, you're interested in maximizing your time, getting on stuff that suits your ability, having fun and not wasting your time or bruising your ego the color of purple.

Well, I'll tell you what might be wrong with that question, or if not "wrong," then at least consequential in a way that I think sucks for everyone, most significantly, for the asker. It turns rocks and rock climbs and boulder problems into a bunch of numbers. And it turns climbers into a bunch of cock-thumping chumps whose single pitiful appreciation for a rock climb or boulder problem is the possible higher social rank doing that climb will put you in. That's it. That's what climbing is reduced to: the size of the patch of silver hair on your back and the length of your monkey dong dragging over the topouts.

So the question, "What is that?", drives me crazy because it's a sad signal that the existence of the boulder is its grade, and the climber asking me is a cock-thumping chump with no capacity to see a beautiful line, an interesting and pleasurable series of movements, curious geology, unique handholds, or even just be interested in the climb's name.

Which is actually how I usually evade the reduction of rocks and rock climbing to Vgrade penis measurement metaphors and answer the query with the climb's name.

"What is that?"

"I think it's called My Passive Aggressive Deflection. It's a beautiful line isn't it?"

Sit-Start Scavengers

The other day I went out to the boulderfield and ran into a posse of local bouldering glitterati. Shiny, young and muscled, they roved like a pack of sit-start scavengers, tearing at the boulders, desperate to make their mark. Cameramen in tow, the strongest among them lead the jackal pack to the nearest overhang. He lifted a leg and pissed on a bush they all backed away. He sat to work on a few hard moves and eventually the problem went. A quick shoulder massage from his friend of lesser size, and off those jackals went.

Green Climbing: Polishing a Turd

Sorry, but to all the climbers aspiring to be green out there, you won't get kudos from me. My respect for you does not increase, particularly when your preaching pays lip service to the cleverly marketed moral pretenses of your new sponsor. That Patagonia patch on your chest ain't a Sheriff's badge, and self-benefiting subterfuge ain't a way to be respectable.

Which is why, once and for all, let's drop the grand moral pretense from climbing. All together, let's jettison the quest for ethically justifying what we like to do. Read this five times over: there is absolutely nothing ethically or morally redeeming in climbing (that's good, now four more times). Climbing is a nasty habit, and all the grousing about ethics and morals in climbing amounts simply to the lies we tell ourselves to keep on doing what we like doing.

We'd do better to take climbing off its lofty mantel and think of it as the equivalent, morally and practically speaking, of golf. That way, when we ask "What is ethical climbing?" or "What is green climbing?" it's just like asking "What is ethical golf?" or "What is green golf?": totally absurd.

In the same way most folks think of golf, let's take climbing for what it is: leisure, pure and simple. It's nothing more than a pleasurable replacement for work, a luxurious freedom from duty or obligation.

Climbing "green" is just the latest symptom of our uneasy moral relationship with climbing. We know it's a good-for-nothing leisure activity, but we don't want to admit it. So we inoculate ourselves against a guilty verdict with crumby little admissions of guilt, and cute articles about how to carpool to the crag, or how to work a route on bolts then lead it on gear.

These inoculations won't work. The idea of morally good climbing retains all the integrity of a chossy crag held together with glue, bolts, and the competitive angst of questionable humans from Colorado.

If we really considered the full environmental and social price of our frivolous leisure, the good moral response would be to quit climbing.

But since no one's going to quit, can we just get on with it, guilty as charged, without the fucking pretense?