Adapt your climbing to your lifestyle, or adapt your lifestyle to your climbing. Either way you choose, change isn't always bad it's just different.
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Nice pebbles in Europe. Europe 2013 from Shibidaang on Vimeo. Cascades. Cascade Country Club from tad mccrea on Vimeo. Jammin' in China. China Jam - Trailer from Evrard Wendenbaum on Vimeo. Geshido,
Mac 10 Questions With Access Fund Executive Director Brady Robinson. http://www.adventure-journal.com/2014/01/10-questions-with-access-fund-executive-director-brady-robinson/ Brady Robinson is not some stuffed shirt behind the executive director desk at The Access Fund. He came to climbing’s access advocate from a deep climbing background, a veteran of multiple expeditions to Patagonia and Pakistan. His resume includes many years at the International Mountain Climbing School, NOLS, and Outward Bound, where he started and ran the Patagonia mountaineering program. The Access Fund now has 10,000 members and since its inception in 1991 has represented millions of climbers of all disciplines, helping shape climbing management policy in the United States, as well as helping land owners and managers understand risks of climbing access, support local climbing advocacy organizations, help climbers become stewards of the land, and acquire land and rights-of-way to keep climbing areas from being closed. Robinson has been at the helm of the Access Fund since 2007. We caught up with him to ask him our 10 Questions. 1. You’ve climbed some big stuff around the world. What have been some of the highlights of your climbing life? Jimmy Chin and I did three expeditions to Pakistan together between 1999 and 2001. We did first ascents on granite towers in the Charakusa and Kondus valleys. Probably our (failed) attempt on the unclimbed SE face of K7 with Conrad Anker was the most memorable. Spending the night out on top of the north pillar of Fitz Roy in Patagonia with Ben Gilmore, under a full moon with no wind was another highlight. I remember thinking to myself as I went to sleep in my pack that night, “This will never happen again in my lifetime, I had better remember this moment!” 2. In May 2013, National Park Service director Jonathan Jarvis signed Director’s Order #41, a milestone in part due to the work of the Access Fund for the past two decades. What does it mean for climbers? This new policy ensures that climbers will not face a nationwide ban on fixed anchors in NPS managed wilderness. The Access Fund has been working on this issue for decades, since even before we officially incorporated in 1991. In 1998, the U.S. Forest Service issued a ban on fixed anchors in wilderness—at the time, it seemed that the tides were against us, that a complete ban on fixed anchors in all wilderness areas was imminent. And it could have gone that way, as it did for mountain bikers. But it didn’t, and it is incredibly gratifying to have some closure, at least on the NPS side, after all these years. We’re still waiting for the USFS to issue a final rule, though fixed anchor use remains legal on most USFS wilderness, with a few exceptions. 3. Some people could argue that climbing isn’t that big of a deal, that the world would be just fine if climbing areas closed. How do you relate the Access Fund’s mission to conservation in a larger sense? Public land belongs to all of us, and unless there is a compelling reason to restrict access, we should be free to recreate as we like on public lands. Isn’t that what we’re all about here in the Land of the Free? That doesn’t mean I think we should all be able to do whatever we want, but restrictions must be reasonable and justifiable. If climbing isn’t your cup of tea, that’s fine, but we should all be invested in protecting public access to public lands. When you climb or pursue other adventure sports outside, you are building deep connections to the land. We need people who are passionate about nature and the outdoors to build and maintain a durable base of support for conservation efforts. I think this notion is becoming less and less controversial in the conservation world. Strict preservationism doesn’t work. Last year I gave a TEDx talk on this very subject. 4. Climbing has changed a lot in the past 30 years—more people are learning to climb inside, instead of at a crag. More people are climbing. What does this mean for access? It is a blessing and a curse. We’re a bigger constituency now, which means we have more political power. And as the sport has become mainstream, I think climbers have become more willing to accept certain rules and don’t believe they have a constitutional right to do whatever they want wherever they want. However, with more people comes more impacts. A cliff or boulder field that was once visited a handful of times a week might get hundreds of visitors in a weekend now, and obviously that means trail systems, parking lots, and other infrastructure has to be built up to support that use. We can’t fly under the radar anymore. And as some have pointed out, people who learn to climb in a gym may not understand how to behave in a way that protects the land and access. I’m certainly not one of these old grumps who thinks gym climbers are ruining the planet – it’s great to see young people coming into the sport. We just have to give them the information and mentoring they need to be responsible users. And the Access Fund is working to develop programs to address this. 5. What’s your favorite place in Boulder, outside of the office? Eldorado Canyon State Park. It is close to the city, the approach is pretty easy, but once you are up off the ground the canyon feels wild and all you hear is the river. The colors are amazing and the climbing is engaging. I never get tired of it. 6. Do you think climbers in the East and Midwest understand access issues better than in the West, where there’s more public land? It is hard to make generalizations across such huge regions, but I do believe that climbers in many parts of the West are prone to taking access more for granted. It’s natural if you have never felt the fear or sting of the loss of somewhere you love. Rocks seem immutable, but they aren’t. And access certainly isn’t. 7. What are your interests outside of climbing? I’m a proud husband and father of two girls. As far as outdoor sports, I’m focusing more on cycling this year to mix it up a bit. I recently completed the Colorado Trail Race, which is a 540-mile mountain bike race from Durango to Denver. I had never done a bike packing race of this magnitude before, so it was really fun to be a beginner again. That said, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. 8. Best pitch of climbing, anywhere in the world? Pancake Flake on the Nose of El Cap. I’ve only done that pitch twice but each time it was absolutely dreamy. That’s the point where the exposure on the Nose is at the maximum and the laybacking is perfect. You’ve just gotten out from under the Great Roof and suddenly there are perfect holds. 9. You’ve been the executive director of the Access Fund since 2007. What are the two (or three) biggest AF accomplishments during your tenure? We raised $1.6 million and created the Land Conservation Campaign, a revolving loan program to buy and protect privately held climbing areas. We’ve completed 12 projects so far and we’ve got many more in the pipeline. The program has been a huge success. In 2011, we launched the Access Fund—Jeep Conservation Team. We’ve got two trail builders traveling the country full-time, building out trails and infrastructure and training and motivating people to take care of their local areas. We’ve done a lot of other things too—put a dedicated staffer in the southeast, started a joint membership program with local climbing organizations, have had several major policy victories, bought and opened a number of climbing areas. It has been a great ride and I feel really fortunate to have been a part of it all. 10. Climbers will pay $15 for a day of climbing at an indoor gym, but lots of folks avoid spending $35 for an Access Fund membership. What do you say to those people? I ask them if they have any rich friends who like to climb. Okay, seriously, I tell them a little bit about what we do and connect that back to their own experience. It is a noisy world, with so many non-profits clamoring for dollars and attention. I understand that. I think if climbers took a moment to learn more about what we do, how much we accomplish, and how small of an organization we actually are, a lot more people would join and see their $35 membership as a bargain. Fact is, the majority of our funding comes from individual climbers. If climbers didn’t support us, we wouldn’t be here, period. One of my favorite things is when a climber who has known about us for a long time, and thinks we’re big and powerful, comes to visit our office. There is often a look of surprise and slight disappointment on their face – they can’t believe how small we actually are but they don’t want to offend me by saying so. So funny. We definitely punch way above our weight, which I’m really proud of. We are doing a lot with a little, so climbers should be confident that their money is being used wisely. Bonus: How do you define adventure? Adventure involves risk and an uncertain outcome. To me those are the two key elements. It doesn’t have to be death-defying, but there has to be some potential downside that you’re trying to avoid. By that definition, going to college, trying a highball boulder problem, and raising a family would qualify. I think the need for adventure is a deep, fundamentally human urge. I think we need adventure to be happy, at least I know that I do. And that is one of the reasons it IS a big deal that we keep climbing areas open. As our civilization continues to expand and develop the world, we need to protect some places where we can get outside and reconnect with our fundamental human needs to be physical, adventure and make connections with other people and the outdoors. Climbing isn’t frivolous; it is an expression of our humanity. AAJ - 2011 - Season Finale
A few different styles for this week to get you out! Geshido, Mac PREMORTEM from Shaperideshoot on Vimeo. Enjoy your weekend!
Geshido, Mac Some shorts for the mid-week. Geshido, Mac Psicobloc Competion Reel. Paige on slab climbing. http://eveningsends.com/climbing/2014/01/day-sent-art-attack-5-14b/ Talking about how you enjoy slab climbing is like talking about your middle school spelling bee victory. Those aren’t things you want the “cool kids” to hear. It stings a little, but I must confess to both. Since graduating from university in December of 2012, I’ve spent my time traveling around the world to climb and learn as much as I can about different cultures. In each place I visit, someone inevitably suggests I try the local blank piece of rock, the neglected slab shunned by the world. I find it comical that my slab-loving reputation precedes me. In reality, I haven’t really climbed that many slabs. To Bolt or Not to Be, disparaged by most sport climbers today as just a slab from 1980s, is actually vertical. The truth is I would rather smear my way up a face than climb on the trendy tufa routes topping today’s ticklists. Blasphemy? Perhaps, but I wouldn’t shed a tear if you told me I’d never have to throw in another kneebar, climb feet first out a roof, or victory whip off the chains. Those things aren’t fun; they make your biceps sore and your knees bruised. And they will never happen on a slab. The only true slab I’ve climbed is Art Attack, a nice hunk of granite in the Italian Alps, established by Simone Pedeferri in 2004 at 8c (5.14b). I spent a month working this gem while visiting Val Masino in the fall of 2013, but not before cleaning a nice six-foot stripe of thick, stubborn lichen off the 30-meter face. Nine years later, the route still hadn’t seen a second ascent, let alone any apparent efforts to try. Working Art Attack was one of the more miserable climbing experiences I’ve encountered in my 14 years. For 30 days, an unusual autumn heat, thick layer of moisture clouds and consistent 80% humidity levels plagued the Alps and dampened my spirits. Historically, when I decide I want to do something, I don’t give up in the middle. I’m also unwilling to stray from the goal to try other things. Some may call it a sin to travel to new climbing destinations only to try one route. I call it projecting. We all enjoy overcoming defeat. The longer that defeat lasts, the more attached we become to the goal. On Art Attack, the defeat was long and painful and I was deeply entrenched. I also had no hope of finishing the route. After a few weeks of effort, I still fell below the crux on each attempt. I hadn’t one hung the route. And I’d only done the crux move once. In poor slab form, my hips frequently found themselves too far from the wall, my feet trembled on the insecure smears, and I tried to take all my body weight on my fingers. My time in Italy was coming to a close, and the weather forecast looked the same as every other day: 70 degrees, 80% chance of rain, no wind. A forecast of 80% chance of rain and no wind meant for me a 100% of not doing the route, yet my stubbornness kept me returning for more beatings. I knew that if conditions were different, this route would fall within my realm of ability. But conditions weren’t different, and I was determined to board that plane in a few days with no regrets. I was going to give it all I had, even if that meant leaving empty-handed. On the second to last day of my trip, I sat belowArt Attack after yet another failed attempt. A serene moment of reflection sounds like the lead-in to a nice story, except my chosen project sat 3 meters from the road. I looked across the asphalt and saw a young tourist couple in sweatpants sitting on the guardrail, camera in position, waiting to see if this mopey girl would provide any entertainment scrambling this rock. I looked up valley and saw the angry-looking front of dark clouds, laughing as they blew mist in my eyes. I hated those clouds. I hated this road. I hated driving up it every day just to fall on my project. I hated the fake, packaged cookies I had survived on for a month, the ones that made my mouth dry when I was trying to be slabtastic. I hated myself for never even making it to the crux, let alone through it. But I did not hate this route. I felt discouraged, unmotivated, and unconfident, but I didn’t hate this slab. I had given up. There was no hope. The only thing left to do was try once more and then go on my merry way. The day I sent Art Attack, some sort of miracle occurred. The clouds didn’t part, nor did a beam of light shine down upon me. The mist falling from the sky didn’t mysteriously pause for the 20 minutes I spent star-fishing up the wall. Maybe God just finally gave in and said, “Enough, this is getting boring, you can have it”. I’ve always thought that experience, strength, and technique made up the base of a climber’s ability, and motivation took them to that next level. I wouldn’t throw that theory to the dogs, but it didn’t apply on that dreary day in Italy. I had no motivation. I had no confidence. I did not believe in myself. My mind didn’t line up with my muscles that day, but somehow my body knew what to do. It didn’t need moral support. It just needed to climb. Raw effort saw me to the top of Art Attack, and a flood of relief followed as I sat on the top, stunned. In climbing, as in other areas of my life, I put immense pressure on myself to perform. As a result, I’m often disappointed in my efforts when they take longer than I expect. But on this day, I wasn’t disappointed. Determination and persistence won, even without the support of enthusiasm and confidence. Our best results as climbers often occur when body and mind align perfectly. I just needed to isolate the two. I didn’t enjoy the experience of projecting Art Attack. I’m not currently seeking the one project that will make me miserable, even when there are plenty of other fun things to climb. Even still, I’d choose the intricacies and frustration of slab climbing over steep, powerful prows any day. Standing on something that barely exists and making upward movement through a sea of microscopic imperfections in the rock gives a sort of heroic sensation. When the fear of that slab fall creeps into my mind, I just repeat “I am Tommy Caldwell, I am Tommy Caldwell”, and I find myself floating through the sea with a little more faith and feeling a little more like I deserve the honor of climbing that slab. I’m not Tommy Caldwell. But I am a spelling bee champion. I do love slabs. And I think all the blank rocks around the world deserve a little more love. Look closely, they aren’t really all that blank. About The AuthorPaige Claassen, 23, is from Boulder, Colorado, and has been climbing for 15 years—a majority of which has been dedicated to competition on the National and World Cup circuits. She is revered among her peers for possessing impeccable technique. She seems to have a rare preternatural confidence in herself that comes across as poise and grace. Her impressive sport-climbing resume spans such routes as Grand Ole Opry (5.14c), To Bolt or Not to Be (5.14a),and Zulu (5.14a). Paige is the face and star of Marmot’s Lead Now Tour—a year-long global adventure to inspire people through rock climbing, and give back in the form of fund-raising for various women- and children-specific charities and causes. Through the CrowdRise website, Lead Now has raised thousands of dollars for such charities as Room to Read—Supporting Children’s Literacy in South Africa, and APNE AAP—Combating Sexual Exploitation in India. AAJ - 2011 - Dodo's Delight
Downhill isn't personally my thing, but these guys are f-ing nuts and pull off some amazing stuff. A series of shorts to start off the week. Geshido, Mac Chromag Family Album Vol. 1 from Chromag on Vimeo. The late Johnny Copp and Micah Dash in the Alpine. (Extended film from the excerpt in The Sharp End.) Geshido, Mac Sew it up. Red Rock Rendezvous is March 28th-30th, 2014! Cedar Wright and Alex Honnold Interview/Q&A Geshido,
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AuthorThis is for the ones that try their hardest for no apparent reason, except for the reason they only know. The ones that provide the inspiration. You. Archives
March 2016
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