Vertical Life #15 by Adventure Entertainment

SUMMER 2015

#15 • AU/NZ

VERTICAL LIFE

I TRAIN h c it P t s a L e h T FOR Y O U ’ R E T R A I N I N G F O R M O R E T H A N A G A M E . P R E PA R E F O R Y O U R N E X T A D V E N T U R E W I T H A C T I V I T Y- S P E C I F I C W O R K O U T S A N D T R A I N I N G G E A R B U I LT T O D E L I V E R B I G G E R D AY S A N D L O N G E R R O U T E S . T H EN O R T H FAC E .C O M. A U/ M O U N TA I N AT H L E T I C S

EMILY HARRINGTON

JOE BUDD /

CORY RICHARDS

Ben Cossey, Ol’ Reacharound V11, Blue Mountains Photo: Lee Cossey

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VERTICAL LIFE SUMMER 2015 Vertical Life is published quarterly Winter / Spring / Summer / Autumn

Credits image Julian Goad on Inspector Gadget (24), The Tower, the Grampians. Simon Madden

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AU Editors

The North Face www.thenorthface.com.au

Simon Madden + Ross Taylor

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simon@adventuretypes.com ross@adventuretypes.com

NZ Editor Tom Hoyle

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Associate Editors Pat Kinsella + Chris Ord Design Jess van de Vlierd

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Senior contributors Duncan Brown, Andrea Hah, Michael Meadows, Kamil Sustiak, Denby Weller

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Contributing writers Mattias Braach-Maksvytis, Ben Buckland, Amanda Cossey, Lee Cossey, Mat Farrell, Dave Jones, Gemma Woldendorp

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Photography Simon Bischoff, Brisbane Bushwalkers collection Lee Cossey, Mat Farrell, Nick Fletcher, Mary Gabrieli, Kerrin Gale, Simon Madden, Cameron Maier, Heikki Toivanen, James O’Neil, John Palmer, Paul Caffin collection, Corey Rich/Red Bull Content Pool, Natasha Sebire, Ross Taylor, Ted Cais collection, Mark Watson, Gemma Woldendorp Cover Image Jorg Verhoeven on Ben Lomond’s hardest route, The Wizard (28), Tasmania. Simon Bischoff

Disclaimer

Rockclimbing and other activities described in this magazine can carry significant risk of injury or death. Undertake any rockclimbing or other outdoors activity only with proper instruction, supervision, equipment and training. The publisher and its servants and agents have taken all reasonable care to ensure the accuracy of the information contained in this publication and the expertise of its writers. Any reader attempting any of the activities described in this publication does so at their own risk. Neither the publisher nor any of its servants or agents will be held liable for any loss or injury or damage resulting from any attempt to perform any of the activities described in this publication. All descriptive and visual directions are a general guide only and not to be used as a sole source of information. Happy climbing.

CONTENTS 10. Oz Editorial

64. folio

The boom of climbing

Kamil Sustiak

12. Nz Editorial

68. feature

Adios Gomez

Ben Buckland on Fred Nicole

14. Folio

74. folio

Kerrin Gale

18. folio John Palmer

A rescue that wasn't

20. column

David Lama in Lebanon

78. column Denby Weller’s leap of faith

On the rocks in Siberia

80. history

Andrea Hah loses it

Michael Meadows’ Australian climbing history centre

22. feature

84. training

Mat Farrell on a rescue that wasn’t

Duncan Brown on pyramids

38. folio

88. New Gear

James O’Neil

Vertical Life worships the false God of Consumption

92. Obituary

40. column

Nutrition advice from Amanda Cossey

44. interview Vertical Life speaks to Nalle Hukkataival

52. feature

Nalle Hukkataival

Lucky Chance

98. Interview Dave Jones

102. Precious Object

Fred Nicole

Lee Cossey’s ‘HB’ cam

Gemma Woldendorp on the rocks in Siberia

EDITOR’S NOTE

The Boom

( B U T H O P E F U L LY N OT T H E B U S T )

of Climbing

Climbing is experiencing a powerful surge of growth in Australia. It’s not the first time. Something similar happened in the mid-1990s when a lot of new climbing gyms were built. Back then I worked in one of the biggest and busiest, the now defunct Mill in Collingwood. Climbing got so mainstream the Mill even appeared on that nadir of Oz TV, ; as part of the show I took a massive fall from the very top of the lead roof, pulling up a metre-and-half from the concrete floor on live TV.

probably the most popular bouldering area in the Grampians. I’ve been

Today the boom is less about climbing gyms – although there are

etiquette, but we need to share this knowledge, particularly with those

still some being built – instead, it’s all about bouldering gyms. Which

who are new to the sport.

makes sense: they require significantly less capital investment, staff

Where should this education come from? Well, it probably needs

and, presumably, insurance. And bouldering is also booming. Two new

to come from a range of sources – from the climbing media and

bouldering gyms have been announced for Brisbane, while Melbourne

guidebook authors; from gyms, who are the first point of contact for

and Sydney have brand-spanking new bouldering hubs. And these

many climbers; from clubs and CliffCare-like organisations; and from

gyms are not the grotty places of old, they are schmic, vibrant, enjoyable

more experienced climbers. We need to foster a culture of care and

spaces, spaces that are catering to a wider demographic that may

respect for the environment, and create permanent structures for

have been turned off by older-style gyms. They are part of climbing-

communicating these ideas.

as-mainstream-lifestyle, much in the same way that Adidas is now a

'WE NEED TO FOSTER A C U LT U R E O F C A R E A N D R E S P E C T F O R T H E E N V I R O N M E N T, A N D CREATE PERMANENT STRUCTURES FOR COMMUNICATING THESE IDEAS.'

bouldering at Andersens from almost the first days of its development and the place has changed dramatically in that time, with many paths running through it and large swathes of bush removed. While there’s little doubt that bouldering is more destructive than roped climbing, having bouldered for many years I also believe bouldering doesn’t have to be as impactful as the way many people practice it. There are a lot of practical measures we can take to minimise our impact on the bush, from sticking to paths to practicing good bouldering

Recently I ventured back into Andersens for the first time since it

climbing brand.

reopened post fires. It was wonderful to climb on that superb grey

Of course, there is a flow on effect as the more dedicated and

sandstone again, but it was also eye-opening to see the amazing

adventurous of these new gym rats sate the urge to try outdoor

regrowth. Parts of Andersons were like a jungle, thick with fruiting

climbing. This influx of new outdoor climbers is a double-edged sword.

kangaroo apples and tall, sticky triffid-like incense plants. While it was

On the one hand, it’s important for people to be exposed to the outdoors.

tricky wending my way through it with a massive boulder mat and a

Personally, I find enormous peace and happiness climbing outdoors,

four-year-old, it was also reassuring to see that given a break from

and I think it is something that should be shared. Just as importantly,

people vegetation can recover quickly. Nature is both amazingly fragile

I believe that if we are going to spur enough people to action to deal

and adaptable all at once. For the last year it has been remarkable how

with the environmental crises the planet is facing, then people must

many climbers have respected the closure that allowed this recovery.

have a connection to the outdoors in order to care. You don’t create this

Such powerful will on the part of the climbing community proves that we

connection in a gym.

already have a strong culture of respect for the environment, and that

On the flipside, the more people that venture outdoors the greater the

we can face up to the challenges of our growing sport.

potential impact on the environment. It is likely that bouldering gyms

Ross Taylor

will produce a preponderance of boulderers, who, with their large mats and more wandering ways, have a greater impact than rope climbers.

ross@adventuretypes.com simon@adventuretypes.com

This impact has been clearly evident at Andersens at Stapylton, 10

VL editor, Ross Taylor, making an early ascent of Into the Bleau (V5) at Andersens, the Grampians. This was back when the tree was still there and the author had hair on his head. Taylor collection 11

Adios Gomez Thoughtful, eloquent, opinionated and erudite, that is how we at Vertial Life characterise Tom ‘Gomez’ Hoyle, our – lamentably – outgoing New Zealand editor. Beginning in Issue Four, Gomez tethered VL both literally and conceptually to our sisters and brothers over the ditch in New Zealand. Across ten issues he has filed a diverse spread of pieces that stretched from the pragmatic and enabling, such as the perfect North Island roadtrip, to the provocative, like his recent declaration that climbing is dead. His meditations on competition and grading, and his exploration of bouldering in Aoraki and the sport routes of the Darrans stand as highlights of his VL oeuvre. From his work it is evident Gomez thinks deeply on matters, climbing included. He honours climbing’s past and its lore whilst his love of climbing in his home country shines through, mostly avoiding the descent into a parochial slanging match against Australia that is often at the heart of the trans-Tasman rivalry. We at Vertical Life are indebted to him for his contributions, his candour and his counsel. A very fine photographer and profound thinker, he will be missed. Adios Gomez, for now.

Right: Even Dwarfs Started Small is a classic Roland Foster 27 at Whanganui Bay (on the North Island of New Zealand) with a short crux off a tight two-finger pocket. Here Tom ‘Gomez’ Hoyle invents a new sequence for the ham-fisted. John Palmer

Doug McConnell and Simon Parsons on the approach to Yamnuska, Rocky Mountains, Canada. 14

Doug McConnell (belayed by Simon Parsons) making the fifth ascent of Yamnuska’s hardest route, Blue Jeans (29). Both images by Kerrin Gales/@Weebitwindy 15

TA R A D AV I D S O N

BD Athlete Tom O’Halloran on Tucker Time, Blue Mountains.

BlackDiamondEquipment.com

seatosummitdistribution.com.au enquiries@seatosummit.com.au

Mark Watson on Sine Wave, just another boulder that used to be up on the side of a mountain and now waits conveniently for an ascent in Mt. Cook National Park. John Palmer 19

ANDREA HAH I can’t control it. And I can’t explain why climbing sometimes elicits an uncontrollable surge of anger, fury and utter helplessness unlike any other aspect of my life. I would like to think I am a pretty level-headed person. Most of the time life is pretty easy. I don’t feel chronically stressed and I rarely have conflicts despite having been to a girls’ school or that I now live in a small town. And I rarely have emotional meltdowns (I say rarely, not never).

This recent trip down south created the perfect conditions for heat-induced temper tantrums – not only for me, but also for the usually cool Lee Cossey. Lee’s normal calm demeanour seems to have a boiling point. Just like what kryptonite is to Clark Kent, heat is to Lee Cossey.

However, for some uncontrollable reason the thing I love most in life is the thing I sometimes hate most. I love the continually evolving challenge of climbing. I love the process of searching for an inspiring goal and configuring a plan of attack, whether it be tactical, training or logistical. Do I implement a specific training schedule? Or do I research sun orientation, the seasonal impact on conditions, access and gear beta?

Add up 34°C heat, falling off the 'easy' section after the crux, epic pump, the lure of the first ascent of the long-term open project, Agent of Cool, complicated trad-gear logistics and you have a recipe for ultimate explosion.

There is a lot of fear in setting goals. There is a lot at risk to achieve an arbitrary 'accomplishment'. To believe in your ability to achieve a goal takes confidence. It takes an arrogant concept of self that you are, or at least can be, 'that good'.

Losing It WORDS: Andrea Hah IMAGE: Lee Cossey

I recently 'failed' to accomplish one of my main goals for the year. It was meant to be a two week 'holiday'. But it ended up being a fortnight of angst. I got unlucky with the weather and experienced ten-plus days of over 30°C heat. Despite the atrocious conditions – and all proper logic – I decided to stubbornly persist trying my project. Each and every time I fell I would feel an overwhelming surge of fiery pressure rise from deep within my stomach. I felt like a real-life cartoon character with red exploding eyeballs, grimaced jaw and clenched fists. I would sit on my rope, searching for something appropriately loud to smash and remember there was only ever a mere boar’s hair toothbrush attached to my chalk bag. I would exclaim the most self-hating, abusive, offensive and embarrassingly inappropriate things imaginable. Words I cannot repeat. Words I never say on level ground. My self-esteem would shatter into a million pieces, leaving less and less remaining for the next redpoint attempt. All too often I feel alone in my immature outbursts. And ashamed at behaving so irrationally and obscenely, but it seems I am not totally alone.

The fall was silent. But the aftermath was volcanic – an eruption of screaming every self-despising adjective imaginable. Lee landed on the ground frothing at the mouth with veins popping from his forehead and forearms. Skin covered in a film of dirt, sweat and black soot from brushing against burnt trees. Blood splatters on his chest from bleeding tips. With frantic, dilated pupils he desperately searched for water. After spotting his bottle, he unscrewed the lid and poured it over his body. The shock of the water seemed to transform Lee back from Hulk-form and he sat in silence and laughed, ‘I think I am hot.’ I peeped my head over from behind a boulder, to check if it were safe to come out. Why such great frustration? Why such uncontrollable anger doing what one loves? Because we have such high expectations for ourselves. There is also a social expectation to keep your cool. Dummy spits in sport are frowned upon and penalties are allocated in high profile sports. And I understand the sentiment. I sympathise with the crowd that it’s unpleasant to witness and I can understand why it is considered unsportsmanlike. But it’s naïve and ignorant to think the immense amount of energy and passion invested will not also sometimes come with expressions of disappointment. I believe life should be filled with the highs and lows of experience. Whether it be head-butting walls, throwing shoes and gear off cliffs or yelling verbal abuse at your belayer. Don’t suppress those feelings. I believe as long as you are willing to wear the possible shame, apologise to those deserving of it, and laugh at yourself in retrospect, live it and feel it to its fullest. Andrea is sponsored by Black Diamond, PrAna and Tenaya.

Left: Even a mellow Mountains-hipster-sponsored-crag-crusher like Ben Cossey can lose his temper from time to time, especially when his weak big brother climbs his project at the training wall. Lee Cossey 21

A Rescue that wasn’t Mat Farrell gets into trouble in the mountains of Pakistan WORDS & IMAGES Mat Farrell

Sergiu Jiduc navigating crevasses on the plateau above Camp One.

skill and route finding. I’ve been proud of entire routes that were less technical than this initial approach. The next few days were more straightforward, and the climbing became classically interesting.

I wake up in a bed. I haven’t slept in one in a month… two months? My fingertips are swollen, split and stiff. My feet a mass of blisters. My lips burnt and tender, but I’m otherwise fine. Sergiu is more or less the same. I still woke with the sun at 5.30am. I can’t be in bad condition then, although I feel that I ought to be. Two weeks earlier, Sergiu and I had set off to climb a new route on a rarely climbed 7500m peak in the Karakoram, Yukshin Gardan Sar. Sergiu and Ollie had been doing valuable glaciology fieldwork in the area, investigating the presence of glacial lakes, which risked rupturing and razing the villages and towns downstream. Tim and I were there to photograph their work and shoot a documentary about it, respectively. When the science was done, Tim, Serg and I planned to climb a new route on the mountain, partly for personal joy, partly to attract media attention for the trip. It felt good to be able to tell folk that we were a part of a useful climate change and natural disaster scientific investigation with climbing tacked on, rather than hedonism with token scientific justification. Days before the climb, Tim tore a ligament in his ankle ice climbing and had to cancel his membership. Serg and I set off for Yukshin. Serg had done a monumental job of putting the expedition together, contacting and convincing sponsors to back us, finding and vetting the team, and many other tireless jobs. He was used to leading and he had an impressive climbing resume, including the appropriate altitude experience, which I lacked. Our initial forays onto technical ground, however, soon showed him to be an under-confident, even under-equipped climber. I started wondering if this was a worrying combination. Fortunately, without resorting to confrontation, or even many words on the topic, Serg was happy enough to relinquish control of the climbing to me. The climbing went well, although it was way more arduous and tedious than I’d naively imagined a 7000m peak to be. Despite wanting to climb in pure alpine style, we did double trips to each higher camp – first to drop off food then returning the next day with equipment. This method helped us acclimatise and move the heavy loads. If anything, it left us more committed than a more self-contained ascent would have. The initial glacier approach was hellish. I’ve never entered such a fragmented, cut-up glacier. I didn’t like the look of the serac mazes we would climb on the first 1000m of vertical gain and 3km of horizontal, especially with full packs. The one concession was getting this crap out of the way early in the climb. If it was unacceptably difficult, we weren’t too committed to return. The glacier proved horrid but manageable with lots of technical 24

‘IT WAS WONDERFUL TO ENGAGE WITH THE MOUNTAIN, TO NAVIGATE, CLIMB & LIVE WITHIN PORTIONS OF IT THAT AT FIRST ARE MERE LINES TRACED BY FINGERTIPS UP STEEP LINES ON A PHOTOGRAPH, BUT WHICH THEN BECAME STREETS, AVENUES & SUBURBS TO US.’

It was wonderful to engage with the mountain, to navigate, climb and live within portions of it that at first are mere lines traced by fingertips on a photograph, but which then became streets, avenues and suburbs to us. We worked hard in the increasing altitude. It was never easy in the thinning air and decreasing temperature, but we moved well and earned our high camp at 6400m. Sergiu was content to be guided and looked after, and I was happy with the responsibility and extra work. We’d taken over a week to get here, though the time felt immaterial. Serg did what he did best and kept track of the numbers, knowing we had enough gas, food and meal supplements to keep us strong for as long as planned and a bit more. He eventually worked out my secret porridge recipe was a packet of sweet biscuits, a handful of milk powder and some sachets of Mountain Fuel supplement. Serg later proclaimed it a fantastic start to each day, although I’d never eat it back on flat ground the farts alone wouldn’t be worth it. Our summit day was the first pre-dawn start of the entire trip. Alpine starts are always filled with trepidation. You try to sleep much earlier than is natural, mind racing with the mingled fears of missing the 1am alarm, the horrid cold anticipated and the unknown climbing ahead. We needed enough daylight for our final 1100m of climbing over unseen ground, so had several hundred metres of 60 degree ice headwall to climb in the dark, followed by a long ridge. We slept fitfully, our minds caught in torturous dream loops that wouldn’t let go. At 1am my alarm went off. We melted snow for breakfast and bashed frozen boots onto our feet. We stamped into crampons, flaked ropes and I stepped off our serac-top campsite and onto the head wall. The bite of my axes matched the bite of the cold air in my lungs. Freezing nose hair and my bristling moustache told me it was at least -30ºC. Serg soon called up to me, though, that he had to turn back as his feet were freezing and wouldn’t warm up. We returned to the tent. I gave the miserable bugger a load of the day’s chocolate ration and made him hot drinks to return him to health. We spent that day dozing, listening to music and cutting up pieces of space blanket to line Serg’s boot-inners for a possible attempt the next day. All the while we mentally juggled the weather report my wife Kim had satellite-phoned in from Australia – ‘even more heavy snow’, though the previous ‘heavy snow’ days had made a Christmas shortbread tin scene look like Niflheim by comparison. We felt that conditions would be good. The next morning was noticeably less cold (though my altimeter

watch still gave up at -10ºC). We repeated the previous day’s procedure, but this time made it halfway up the headwall. Stellar ice slowly gave way to metre-deep snow. Not ideal for a 60 degree slope, especially with kilometres of exposure at our heels. I was also having grave thoughts about the avalanche risk. We’d seen many slides in recent days, and I had no desire to see one from the inside. With the end of Kim’s last text, ‘recommend you get down off that hill’ still echoing in my head, we once again started down. We rested at Camp Three again that day, with its precarious yet gorgeous view, half of the Karakoram open to view. It is a weird juxtaposition, feeling anchored to a tiny patch of safe ground while simultaneously part of a wide-open world. It snowed. Gently, but it snowed. The next morning we planned to retreat to Camp One, at the top of the horrid part of the glacier. Still it snowed. Serg’s still-cold feet and fear of down-climbing kept us slow, and we only made it to Camp Two, which was on one side of a wide corridor, with the bulk of the mountain’s steep flanks opposite us. We dug out our return-food stash and set up the tent. During that afternoon and night those steep flanks delivered many artillery-barrages of avalanches. We were out of range of the shrapnel, though the aftershocks would stove in the lee wall of the tent and ice crystals would puff in through the air vents. We were safe, but suitably respectful. It continued to snow. Conditions had been fine before now, but the mix of heavy snow, daily moving and living in a tiny single-skin tent meant we started mashing frozen condensation into our sleeping bags every time we packed them. The tent became bigger and heavier every time we scored and folded up its rimed walls. We ran out of gas. Serg didn’t really believe me when I refused to make him a hot water bottle at Camp Two. We might just have enough gas at breakfast time, I said – which was going to be freeze-dried meals, as the special porridge had run out too. The next day was once again arduous. We’d finished the descent of the mountain-proper and started across the upper glacier to roughly where Camp One should have been. We had no solid intentions of stopping, hoping to hit the valley floor if all went well. All wasn’t well. It continued snowing. It was desperately hard work. The snow was so deep that even downhill movement was very hard. Up-hill progress between undulations was horrific. We debated where to go. Serg was in favour of a new descent route – over a shoulder we’d seen days ago, then abseil down a steeper part of the mountain where it looked clean. It sounded nice, but I was wary of getting lost in uncharted territory when we were already out of gas and most food. I pulled rank, and attempted to retrace via Camp One. We didn’t find it, but pulled up exhausted in the rough vicinity. We mixed the last of our water 25

‘ P O E T I C A L LY, I ' D L I K E T O T H I N K T H AT ISHQ BANGING ON ALI’S GATE SET OFF AN INSTANTANEOUS CHAIN-REACTION OF ALI'S CALL TO NAIKNAM, WHO FAILED TO RELEASE HIS GRIP ON THE BRIEFCASE, WHILE TIM'S DAD SLUMPED BACK IN HIS OFFICE CHAIR AT THE INSTANT SERG AND I TOOK OUR FIRST G U L P S O F F R E S H WAT E R I N DAY S. ‘ Yukshin Gardan Sar; our route was behind the left skyline ridge.

with some meal supplement and slept, knowing that the last remaining chocolate block would be our fuel down the horror-glacier.

Meanwhile, Tim became our local centre of rescue coordination. Our other sat-phone was with our guide Ali Saltoro in Shimshal village, five hours walk away. Tim dispatched Ollie and Shar-Ali (one of our base camp staff) to Shimshal to get Ali to simultaneously try and launch a heli. More than guide, Ali was incredibly capable as our Pakistani fixer. He had contacts and influence everywhere in the abidingly corrupt and bureaucratic Pakistan. He was able to clear our baggage from freight during the nationstopping Eid holidays, he secured dinners with former army bashars, and now proved invaluable in launching a helicopter. For although my logic was that a level-headed European could liaise with the Austrian Alpine Club and swing enough international clout to arrange a heli-rescue in little ole’ Pakistan, this was not so. Apparently it takes a briefcase loaded with US$30,000 up-front to start the rotor blades turning, and that is precisely what Ali’s friend NaikNam had in hand, and something which the AAC was completely unprepared for and incapable of when Tim’s dad telephoned the nice lady in their British office.

Half a block of dark chocolate to share for breakfast, then score, fold and pack the tent, and we were off. Still it snowed. Still it was friggin’ hard. As we’d missed Camp One we were in uncharted territory. We knew generally where we needed to go, but there were so many micro-choices over crevasses and around seracs that had us lost. Every backtrack was disheartening, burning calories we couldn’t afford. By midday we hadn’t made it far at all. We still had to clear 1000m vertically over several horizontal kilometres covered in thick snow. Serg’s feet were still numb and he was relying on me to get him down. My thumbs were starting to cramp shut with alarming frequency, and my fingertips were continuing to split and get sore from the cold. We weren’t totally screwed, but I could foresee things going badly wrong. We’d been maintaining three daily radio schedules with Base Camp whenever our signal would get through. At the 1pm schedule, eating our last half block of chocolate – with Serg’s naked feet trying to warm themselves in my armpits – I called in a rescue.

Everything for

Climbers

For the rest of that day, Serg and I struggled around, up, and overall, downward, debating our rescue call and making pitiful progress. Serg was starting to worry about fallout from partial sponsors like the Royal Geographic Society, who didn’t necessarily know about the climbing portion of the expedition. Accurately, he reasoned, we weren’t actually injured or incapacitated yet. He begged me to call off the rescue until we were more certainly stuck. I was aware that we were out of all of nearly all resources. I stuck to my guns.

I’d never come remotely close to calling in the cavalry before. I’d been in fearful, painful and dire situations in the mountains, but this was different. This was clinical – we were in a dire situation that I thought we may not survive, and I didn’t know when we’d next get a clean radio signal through. I chose to seek help, especially as it might take some time to materialise. We put in the call, finished our chocolate and kept trying to descend. After all, no-one had a precise fix on our location and we may yet need to get ourselves out anyway. It would be a damning report on our social expectations to simply give up now and 'wait for daddy to fetch us'. For the rest of our world, however, we’d started a shit-storm of activity and worry.

By day’s end I spotted a rocky outcrop on the side of the glacier we knew from the way up. It had free flowing water and was half a day’s climb to the valley floor if we found the same route again. We set camp within sight, perhaps 500m from the outcrop. We still didn’t have certainty of reaching it without incident the next morning, or of finding a smooth route down from there, but I was once again happy with our odds and radioed Tim to cancel the rescue. We stuffed our water bottles with snow, put them in our jackets to melt overnight (giving us each 100ml of water by morning), and wriggled into damp, thirsty, cold, hungry sleep.

After telling Tim at Base Camp to initiate a helicopter rescue, we also sat-phoned Tim’s dad in the UK. Our rescue insurance was with the Austrian Alpine Club, and Tim’s dad was our designated liaison. With the last minute of our sat-phone battery I got just enough time to tell the guy we needed a heli-rescue from 5000m on Yukshin glacier. I didn’t even get time to tell the poor bastard his son was safe, and not with us. I wasn’t at all sure how much of the message he got before the electrons stopped moving and the phone snapped off.

At first light the next morning Tim dispatched chef Moscow’s assistant Ishq to Shimshal to call off the dogs. Fleet footed Ishq raced down the moraine and river flat in three hours.

(Nothing for sailors) 29

Sergiu rounds the final hills en route to Camp One.

It bears saying that whilst Ali was able to call on his friend NaikNam, it was hardly a simple snap of his fingers to procure US$30k. Ollie had been on the phone to NaikNam, and hesitated at the point of becoming verbal guarantor for the cash. Tim’s dad was called, who by this point was convinced that it was Ollie and Tim in trouble on the mountain. Ollie’s girlfriend was alerted, and frantic. Tim’s dad bought a load of sat-phone credit for the coordinated effort, personally guaranteed the rescue funds and continued to work on getting our heli. Ali and his long-time Shimshali friend Hasil packed their own axes and crampons, ready to jump in a chopper and abseil from its open doors to our rescue. They not only took the welfare of their clients seriously, they also felt an obligation to their brother alpinists. Sitting on the sidelines was not an option for them. The ex-army-run rescue service had meanwhile leaked news of the pending disaster and the local media was spreading word fast. My last message to Kim had been that we were on our way down, but we were now overdue without sending word. My father had caught word and was trying to get a flight to Pakistan. While this truly international effort raged, Ishq ran to Shimshal, and Serg and I began another hungry, thirsty day. Poetically, I’d like to think that Ishq banging on Ali’s gate set off an instantaneous chain-reaction of Ali’s call to NaikNam, who failed to release his grip on the briefcase, while Tim’s dad slumped back in his office chair at the instant Serg and I took our first gulps of fresh water in days. The truth was drawn out of over half a day, with tears, sweat and shouting interspersed, but the imagery works for me. A pertinent fact, however, is that Ishq burst breathlessly into Shimshal and found Ali not 30 minutes before NaikNam would have handed over his briefcase, the point of financial no return. Oblivious to the chaos, Serg and I continued, somewhat fortified by the water and the knowledge of our position. We had the choice of finding something akin to our ascent route through the glacier, or risking abseils between the glacier and the rocky crag we were on. With even sounding odds, we went with the possibly quicker of the two and abseiled. Sure enough, rapid progress didn’t last and we hit another maze of crevasses and seracs.

Sergiu brewing up at Camp Three. 32

Tim limped to Advanced Base Camp with food and gas, hoping to meet us with hugs and hot drinks. By 3pm it was apparent we wouldn’t arrive by nightfall. Tim had travelled light and had no bivy gear, so he returned to Base Camp. Serg and I battled on. Every serac, every bizarre abseil/clamber we hoped to be the last. Eventually, well after dark we abseiled off a snow bollard into space, and landed in the final crevasse. We clambered out onto a debris cone which we knew led straight to the valley floor. Roped up, we almost ran down the cone to comparatively flat ground and safety. 33

Climbing above Camp Two; the altitude was really slowing us down by this point. 34

In the dark, with one good headlamp remaining between us, we stumbled through the night, slowing to a crawl up and tumbling down the undulations of the lower glacier. In our state, it took hours to find the remains of Advanced Base Camp. Locating the tent was hard. Finding and demolishing a packet of biscuits each before we’d even got crampons off was easy. In the course of time, we chipped off our frozen crampons and boots, harnesses and overpants and lit the stove. We jovially slipped into wet sleeping bags and started on soup and freeze-dried meals. My usual favourite chili-con-carne was murderous on my tender, burnt lips, sending me into fits of sweating and shivering. I woke at 6am, curled tight in my sleeping bag. Serg soon woke too, and we resumed eating. After a few hours of lounging we were joined by a pair of porters who carried the bulk of our gear back for us. In our home countries these chaps would have pulled an aged pension. Here they pulled 30kg backpacks whilst two broken young men limped behind.

Base Camp was no more, having been cleared by porters before we got back. We were met by Tim’s hugs and a teary, fretful Moscow. His hands shook as he tore open biscuit packets and filled mugs with soup. It was sobering to see how concerned he was for our well-being. We later learned that this normally taciturn man has on other occasions been left at base camp while his charges were lost in the hills, some of them never to return. After we’d eaten and rested a while, we strapped boots back on swollen feet and beat it back to Shimshal. As I’ve sat in the sun writing, I’ve met many villagers, all relieved, ‘alamdulillh’ that we are down safe. I’ve made phone calls to relieved parents and Kim, and have been hit anew by the gravity and breadth of the world’s awareness of our predicament. I’m jointly grateful for the speedy network of communications that spread across the planet, whilst simultaneously upset that so many were given cause to worry unnecessarily. This certainly impacts my interest in returning to hills much more than the events themselves. I hope my friends' and family’s emotions heal faster than my fingertips.

The author's hands after coming off the hill. 36

Summer means hot, hot days: Riccardo Totò Monetta night-sessioning Dead Can’t Dance (V11), Hollow Mountain Cave, Grampians. James O’Neil

NUTRITION

Weight Loss For

climbers Amanda Cossey on getting down to your fighting weight without compromising performance WORDS Amanda Cossey IMAGE Simon Madden

'A moment on the lips, a lifetime of no ticks'. Declan Turner channels temptation to fight forearm pump by using the old pastry-as-reward trick to send whilst staying lean as a whippet.

A wise nutritionist once said, ‘As you can only make money from selling a product, not common sense, it is no wonder that people are confused.’ The weight loss and diet industry is booming. From celebrity bloggers, mumma gurus and athlete experts to best-selling diet books, there is an absolute minefield of information to navigate on the path to weight loss. While it can be difficult to determine food fact from fiction, understanding the basic science behind weight loss is a good start. Most people know that our bodies derive energy from the things we eat and drink. This energy is measured in kilojoules (kJ) or calories (1 calorie = 4.2 kilojoules). The energy itself comes from four fundamental fuel sources: carbohydrate, protein, fat and alcohol. One gram of carbohydrate and protein gives you 16-17kJ, one gram of fat provides 37kJ and one gram of alcohol 27kJ. Our bodies use this energy for metabolism, heat production and movement. When the amount of energy we consume is equal to the amount of energy we use, we achieve energy balance and a stable weight. When you consume less energy than you use, you are in negative energy balance and you will generally lose weight. Equally, when you consume more energy than you use, you are in positive energy balance and will gain weight (usually as body fat). This sounds simple, but it is important to understand that your body is affected by your energy balance in more ways than just a change in body weight. Your hormonal balance, metabolism, mood and therefore your health are all affected by positive or negative energy balance. An extreme negative energy balance can reduce physical performance and concentration, and decrease metabolism, bone density and some key hormones. Your body doesn’t know the difference between an extreme juice fast and starvation in a Third World country. Your body just knows there is not enough energy coming in and it will begin to slow and shut down any functions that are unnecessary for survival.

On the flip side, consistent overeating and under-exercise can also have a massive impact on your body. If that impact were as obvious as sunburn, lifestyle diseases would be on the decline. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to feel or see plaque building up in your arteries, cholesterol or blood pressure increasing, your body becoming more resistant to insulin or your risk for certain cancers increasing. We all like to think we are bulletproof – until we aren’t. Preventable, life-changing illness is not fun. So does it matter where the kilojoules come from? When it comes to total weight loss, the answer is no. Nearly a century of research continues to find that negative energy balance, no matter what you decide to eat, is the most important thing for weight loss. A very large study (published in 2009), compared the weightloss diets of 811 overweight people. Each person was randomly allocated to one of four diet groups: 1. High fat, high protein, low carb

hard. There are a couple of good apps out there (www.calorieking. com.au) to help you learn about food and energy, but use them as food guides and learning tools only. Apps often overestimate the energy used when you exercise and people regularly make mistakes recording their food intake. Finally, here are a few general tips for weight conscious climbers: · Change the way you think about food. Ignore the social media food frenzy currently hailing or vilifying foods. Instead, imagine if there was no longer 'good' food and 'bad' food, there was just food. If you see all food as 'good' then you no longer give food the power to make you feel guilty or ashamed. 'Bad' foods are usually extremely yummy and avoiding them for the rest of your life will probably be hard and not fun! Take the power away from food. Instead, focus on foods that improve your health, then you can start to be objective about what you actually eat and drink each day, and have some space for the extra yummy stuff too.

· Know what you’re eating. Most people don’t realise how much energy some 'healthy' foods contain. For example, an avocado contains the same amount of energy as two Mars Bars, and half a cup of raw almonds has more energy than six Weet Bix and milk! Of course avocados and almonds are a terrific source of good fats, but it helps to understand just how many kilojoules a portion that size is giving you. · Beware of the sports foods and supplements. They usually pack heaps of energy into a small very convenient package without giving you the satisfaction of eating an actual meal. They serve a great purpose when you are multipitching, but are probably not the best option when you are training at the gym. · Be honest with yourself about how active and inactive you are. Sixty minutes of activity every day is needed for successful weight loss. Why? Because moderate activity dampens your appetite. Increased muscle mass in your body increases your metabolism, and the fitter you are the more efficient your body is at burning fat. It is also great for managing stress.

So how do you apply this to the food you eat? Despite the hype, there is no one-size fits-all solution. Different weight loss approaches work better for different people. Your exercise goals will also change your approach, while it’s often the psychological side that is the trickiest to master. That’s where an expert may come in handy.

· Reduce your fat and alcohol intake. Most adults gain weight drinking too much alcohol, eating too much fat (e.g. meat pies, sausage rolls, Wagu beef, pastries, biscuits, cakes) and not eating enough vegetables, fruit and whole-grain foods. Fat has a poor feedback mechanism on appetite, so most of us will eat too much fatty food before we feel satisfied. It’s really easy to accidentally and spontaneously eat a lot of extra energy from fat. Fat and alcohol also provide up to twice as much energy per gram than carbohydrate and protein. Fat is easily converted to and stored as fat in the body, so it makes sense to limit it. Carbohydrate and protein, on the other hand, are not as easy to over consume because they are more efficient at telling the body when we are full and our bodies want to use carbohydrate for energy.

If you want to forge ahead yourself, take out 2000kJ/day. Usually a reduction of 2000kJ/day results in 1kg weight loss per a month. Take more energy out each day and you lose more weight, but you may compromise your training and performance if you go too

· Eat foods with a higher water content. Research tells us that we get used to eating a certain volume of food each day. As you know, fat contains twice as many kilojoules per gram and usually high-fat foods have a lower water content. Foods with a high

Option 3 is a winner. It results in lower body fat levels and improves your health. Maintaining the weight loss is about making these changes sustainable and permanent. Eat a bit less, move a bit more and Bob’s your uncle – six packs all round.

2. High fat, average protein, moderate carb 3. Low fat, high protein, moderate-high carb 4. Low fat, moderate protein, high carb. The weight loss for each group was compared at six months and two years. They found there was no difference in the amount of weight lost between the groups.

Amanda Cossey, from Blue Mountains Sport Nutrition Nutrition & Dietetics from the University of Wollongong.

water content and lower fat content are more satisfying and will make you feel fuller with less energy. As an example most fruits and vegetables are around 90% water compared with a slice of cheesecake, which is 39% water.

The bottom line is – to lose weight you need consistent negative energy balance. To create this negative energy balance you have three options: 1. burn more energy through exercise, 2. consume less kilojoules by eating less, or 3. a combination of one and two.

is a climber and Accredited Practising Dietitian (APD) with a Masters degree in

Nalle

an Aussie VL speaks to nearly-local Nalle Hukkataival about his latest trip to the blocs of the Grampians and doing hard boulders

Nalle making the first ascent of the amazing Wave Swoop (V14) at Mt Fox. Cameron Maier/Bear Cam Media

get their difficulty from a very short section of hard moves. The funny thing is, at first glance when I found it, I guessed it might end up being just an amazing V13 or so. Turns out it might just be the hardest thing I’ve climbed so far.

Every year Finnish climber Nalle Hukkataival travels more than 13,000km from the opposite side of the globe to spend his winters in the quiet south of the Grampians. Above an endless vista of paddocks scattered with red gums and suicidal kangaroos, he spends his days exploring and climbing the distinctive grey and red sandstone spread across craggy hillsides and valleys. Probably only a handful of people know the western edge of the Victoria Range as well as he does, for it is in here that Nalle has made his biggest contribution to Grampians – and global – bouldering, authoring hundreds of first ascents, many of them gobsmackingly hard or high, or both.

‘THE GRAMPIANS IS D E F I N I T E LY A P L AC E W H E R E I FEEL VERY AT HOME.’

We know that nearly all of your time is spent developing new areas and problems, apart from Stepping Stone, what were some of the other highlights of your trip? Just to name a few of my favourites from this season: • Survival of The Prettiest (V12) – an amazing highball with sculpted pockety holds at Double Points. • The Trillion Dollar Coin (V14) – very atypical climbing for the Gramps; burly Font-style compression on a steep barrel-prow. I found and tried this thing last year but couldn’t quite piece it together until now. • Counterforce (V12) – a rad all-points-off dyno! • Another one that I really enjoyed is a boulder that Jimmy [Webb] opened, an excellent V13 called X-Pinch. And the list goes on.

In person, Nalle is of medium height and build, not super-skinny like many of the best climbers these days, but with a strong body, powerful forearms and thick sausage-like fingers that latch onto small crimps like they will never let go. He has a forthrightness easily mistaken for arrogance – shared by many northern Europeans – but it’s a refreshing honesty, particularly when so many ‘athletes’ spend their time enthusing about everyone and anything. He is also interested in the world and how it operates, physically, socially and politically, which is unusual enough in athletes as to be remarkable – perhaps a result of the famed Finnish schooling system. Nalle’s time is almost entirely spent roaming the globe, searching for new hard boulders, new areas and good weather. His lifestyle allows him to operate in a different time zone to the rest of us, more like a teenager than an adult, sleeping in late and then climbing until dark, cooking dinner when most of us are going to bed, then finally sleeping in the early hours of the morning. This year Nalle had a particularly productive trip, climbing what is probably the hardest boulder problem in the Australia (if you consider that the Wheel of Life and its variants are more like routes), Stepping Stone (V15; although it sounds like it could be V16). We sent him some questions on his return to Finland to find out more about his latest visit and the life of a professional climber.

now, but we are guessing it’s at least three or four – what keeps bringing you back? This year was my fifth season in a row. Absolutely love it in the Gramps! Best rock on the planet, with such a variety of climbing styles. Finland has very different landscapes to the Grampians, as someone who spends a lot of time outdoors, do you find yourself becoming connected to different landscapes and have you made a connection with the Grampians landscape?

We imagine you must also be a connoisseur when it comes to the delights of the ‘Sham (Horsham). What are you top recommendations for budding Vic crushers on rest days? Food-wise, the Thai place [Thai Basil on Darlot St] is good and I like the pizzas at Bonnie & Clyde’s [Pynsent St]. Get the Exitwound pizza 10-spicy if you’re feeling adventurous. Apart from eating out or getting supplies, there’s not much to do in Horsham. That’s the downside of the Gramps, if you’re not climbing there’s not much else to do. Having now met you a few times, we know that you operate on a different timetable to the rest of us. How bad would it be if you had a project that was only in the shade in the very early morning and so required alpine starts? Well, for example, Stepping Stone is north-facing so it gets sun basically all day. But instead of getting up really early, I’d sleep even later and climb late with headlamps. In the morning it’s more humid and still, whereas in the evening it’s drier and there’s often wind. It’s a lot easier to adapt to operating on nature’s schedule rather than living by the clock and battling to get the good conditions.

Besides those from this season listed above, some of my favourites are: • Kate Upton (V12) – Incredible crimper boulder in Mt Fox. One of the top five boulders in the world if you ask me. • Birthday Dyno (V11/12) – On the Point Break boulder at Mt Fox. All-points-off triple-dyno at a stunning spot on top a hill.

The Grampians is definitely a place where I feel very at home. But then again, I’ve only been there in the winter when the snakes and spiders aren’t really out trying to kill you.

• The Golden Rule (V12/13) – Amazing bright-golden block with big moves of decent slopey crimps and a shouldery crux up high.

This season you spent most of your time on one problem, Stepping Stone (V15), can you tell us a bit about the problem and the process of climbing it?

• Road Sweet Home (V15) – A proud highball in the Amusement Park side of Buandik. Opening this was definitely what I call big wall bouldering; trying to find a way to navigate up a wall on one of the biggest blocs I’ve seen anywhere in the world.

I already had a couple specific projects in mind before coming to Australia this year, but they quickly got sidelined once I found this project on one of my hiking missions. Stepping Stone sits at a beautiful location on a point overlooking the northern part of the Victoria Range. I call the area Double Points. The rock is that absolutely bullet orange Grampians rock and the climbing is very physical – yet technical – and sustained from the bottom to the top, unlike most of the world’s hardest boulders, which generally

We’re not sure how many times you’ve been back to Australia

You’ve now climbed a lot of problems in the Grampians, yours and others, what are you top five favourite problems?

• On The Beach (V13) – A sweet boulder on slopey holds right below the Taipan wall.

• Massive Dynamic (V13) – One of the most striking lines at Buandik.

• Cherry Picking (V13) – Maybe the best known boulder in Buandik. It has pretty much reached classic status already. • Peter Parker (V5) – I always liked this boulder for its unique start where you jump from a rock across the gap onto the wall. I also opened the start from the ground a few years ago, which might still be unrepeated?

‘FOR A BOULDER TO B E P R EC I S E LY AT T H AT H A I R-T H I N L I N E BETWEEN POSSIBLE AND IMPOSSIBLE, SO MANY THINGS HAVE TO FALL IN PLACE AT ONCE, SO FINDING SOMETHING LIKE THAT IS LIKE WINNING THE LO T T E R Y. ’ 47

We also couldn’t help but notice you have excellent hair, better even that Australia’s own top athlete/model, Lee Cossey, do you have any hair tips for Lee to help him take it to the next level?

There are few climbers capable of bouldering as hard as you, when you find yourself in the same area as others in the Very Strong Club is it competitive or co-operative?

Haha, I could refer him to the barbershop I went to in Horsham.

That always depends on the individuals. Some people really thrive on the competition aspect; a trait you see more in the Americans since the cultural conditioning for this way of thinking is so strong in that part of the world. European climbers generally seem less concerned about the underlying social hierarchy. There’s nothing wrong with being competitive, but personally I’m very much put off by the whole competitive vibe, especially out in the nature, so I tend to climb with people who are driven by a different aspect of climbing.

You are now back in Finland attempting your long-term project, the Lappnor Project, can you tell Australian readers about the line and what it means to you? How hard do you think it will be when you complete it? One thing that people don’t realise is how incredibly rare it is to find something like the Lappnor Project. For a boulder to be precisely at that hair-thin line between possible and impossible, so many things have to fall in place at once, so finding something like that is like winning the lottery. As for the difficulty, the top of the grading scale for bouldering is so confusing and dysfunctional at the moment that it’s of little help. Now that it’s becoming more widely acknowledged that V16 in fact has existed for some time now, grading is starting to make some sense again. I think a better way to look at the difficulty is the time it takes to do the individual moves on a boulder. Name any of the hardest boulders in the world and almost without fail I’ve done all the moves in one session. On the Lappnor project it took me a couple seasons just to stick every individual move, although granted I have had to figure out beta as it is a project. Maybe an even better indicator is the amount of days it takes to complete a boulder. The longest it’s ever taken me to climb the hardest boulders is 14 days. In contrast, I’ve spent about 60+ days trying the Lappnor Project so far. Seems fair to say it will be good a step forward. You seem like someone who dispatches problems very quickly and a with a minimum of fuss, do you ever get mental blocks on problems and, if so, when has it happened and how to break through? Usually the biggest mental blocks happen when you’re faced with obstacles that are completely out of your control. Like weather. You’ve been working on a climb for a while and have finally reached the point where you know you’ve got what it takes do the climb, but then the weather or other circumstances stop you from getting a fighting chance. Knowing you can only maintain your maximum performance level so long, the clock is ticking. That’s when it starts getting to your head, because you’ve already invested so much time and effort into something, and all seemingly for nothing. The only way to cope with this, that I know, is to realise that stressing about it does nothing but harm. But that’s much easier said than done. 48

Wandering around the globe looking for new boulders sounds like a dream but there must also be negatives, what are they and how do you deal with them? It’s often a bit of a one-man operation since there simply aren’t many people in the world doing it on the same scale. Much of what I do involves flying somewhere far away and hiking an unthinkable amount of kilometres searching for rock and often coming away with nothing. But that just makes it that much more special when you do find something great! Travelling from one amazing place to the next of course comes with the price of not having many permanent things in your life, but that’s also one of the best parts about it.

What do you read to keep mentally engaged with the world beyond the blocs? Lately I’ve been interested in quantum physics, so I’ve been reading this pretty heavy science book called The Road To Reality. Travelling like I do, you get a pretty unique insight into how different cultures in different parts of the world have different political structures, economic systems and societal values and what those bring about. I just read Noam Chomsky’s book Understanding Power, which is a pretty eye-opening read about the inner workings of international politics and how unbelievably corrupt concepts are used to run the political machine behind the curtains. After I climbed the boulder L’Alchimiste in Fontainebleau, I read the book called The Alchemist from Paulo Coelho, which I really enjoyed.

Left: Nalle attempting the Lappnor project; he says about the line, ‘Name any of the hardest boulders in the world and almost without fail I’ve done all the moves in one session. On the Lappnor project it took me a couple seasons just to stick every individual move…’ Heikki Toivanen 49

Nalle on the first ascent of what is probably Australia’s hardest boulder problem – and one of the hardest in the world – Stepping Stone (V15). Hukkataival collection

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Vodka & Lemming on the Rocks A SIBERIAN CLIMBING ADVENTURE Gemma Woldendorp visits Bilibino, the new hot spot for climbing dissidents in northeast Siberia with comrades Natasha Sebire and Chris Fitzgerald WORDS Gemma Woldendorp IMAGES All uncredited images Natasha Sebire

Gemma excavates a gear placement on the second pitch of Vodka and Lemming (18).

We felt like criminals as we waited in a dingy little immigration office in the town of Bilibino, northeast Siberia. A fat official, not looking terribly official in shirt and pants, called me into an even smaller room. Through an interpreter he told me what we already knew – we didn’t have permits for entering the Chukokta Autonomous Region, and that furthermore we each had to pay a fine. I was finger-printed, hand-printed and then made to sign multiple pages of a document written in incomprehensible Russian. Natasha and Chris were made to do the same. Just two weeks before we’d left for Russia we’d found out that visitors to the region required this permit – a propusk – and that because the application process usually takes three months we’d have to cancel the trip. Luckily, Evgeny, our contact in Bilibino, smoothed things out with the authorities, and we were allowed to enter. We were fined A$60 each, but it was a far better prospect than cancelling and losing all the money we’d invested in the trip. A seven-man team of climbers from Europe – including the Basque brothers Iker and Eneko Pou – had arrived a few weeks before us. Considering that Bilibino had only received three visitors in the previous ten years, the locals must have wondered what the attraction was. It certainly wasn’t the antiquated nuclear power station, which was due to be decommissioned in 2004, but which (in typical Russian style) they’d decided to just keep going (a bit like the rattly old 1970s Antonov plane we’d flown in on). Apart from the nuclear power station, whose waste-water heats the town (and yes, apparently it is radioactive), the only other reason people live in Bilibino is to mine gold. With no real environmental obligations or protections, there are relics and signs of gold mining everywhere. What we came for – as did the European team and, later, a two-man team from Scotland – were the big granite walls. Just the year before Chris Fitzgerald and Chris Warner had been the first to climb these walls after Evgeny had shown them photos exciting enough to entice them 12,000km north from the SoHem – all without knowledge of the propusk, or with authorities being

'WHAT WE CAME FOR – AS DID THE EUROPEAN TEAM AND, LATER, A TWO-MAN TEAM FROM SCOTLAND – WERE THE BIG GRANITE WALLS.'

Right: Gemma on The Propusk (18), the first route climbed on the Finger Crack Cirque’s virginal wall.

any the wiser. The Chris’ had climbed in a valley where the highest and only named peak, Komandnaya (Commander) Peak, is located. They’d made first ascents on the Commander and on an adjacent peak they dubbed the General. While climbing a short route some 8km east of this area, they’d spied another valley with a huge granite wall that they didn’t have time to climb. Due to all the splitter cracks in the wall they’d dubbed it the Finger Crack Cirque. As soon as Natasha and I saw their photos we knew we wanted to go, and Chris Fitzgerald was keen to return. After stocking up on expensive and often out of date food in Bilibino, we were taken by 4WD to a point about 6km west of the Commander and General peaks. The European team were being picked up after their successful trip climbing at the Commander area, and they told us about the vast, black clouds of mosquitoes they’d had to endure (we went a few weeks later to avoid them, although we still thought the mozzies were bad!). Several days of load carrying later, we’d cached some food near the Commander, and set up a base camp next to a lake in the Finger Crack Cirque. Hiking along the ridge near the head of the cirque, we got great views of valleys at the eastern extremity of the area, which had more unclimbed walls and peaks. All the hiking helped us get an idea of the layout of the entire area. The granite walls and peaks (all under 1500m in elevation) are an anomaly in the vast Siberian tundra, a concentrated area of granite walls roughly circular in shape and extending 12km across. Most of the walls are steep on one side and easy-angled down the back, making descents from routes a walk-off, while the approaches to the base of walls are usually even easier. The Finger Crack Cirque is no exception. The wall is 500m at its highest and extends for over a kilometre in length, slabby at the bottom, generally steepening through the middle, and easing off again at the top. Cracks abound on the wall, from tight fingers, to hands, to off-widths, with a smattering of flakes, corners and face climbing. There are so many lines to choose from, we had trouble deciding. And to think, any line we chose would be a first ascent! To get the feel of the wall, our first route was at the shorter end, and we alternated leads on a fairly continuous crack system. It was an amazing feeling to be the first to climb on this wall. The rock was excellent – cracks varied from clean and dry, to damp sections with a bit of moss or grass, with the odd loose rock to be trundled. After six pitches we reached a diagonal ledge of loose rock that we scrambled along for a couple of hundred metres to reach the top, resulting in The Propusk (18, 290m of roped climbing). We often had a couple of days of good weather followed by some rainy days, during which we constructed a shelter out of rocks topped with a tarp to create a nicely protected space in which to

The team is greeted by unappealing conditions the morning before climbing Weasel Tower, which looms in the background.

cook and eat. It also made a great hide to observe pikas, lemmings and weasels that would dart between the rocks and fluffy lichens. We didn’t see bears, although they were around and the Brits saw one, but we did see deer. Hunting is popular with the locals, and deer meat is readily available in Bilibino. On a cold, windy day waiting for seepage from cracks to dry from the previous day’s rain, we scoped out the wall near the head of the valley. There were plenty of continuous hand cracks on a sweeping wall below a big ledge, and although it was cold I couldn’t resist a splitter crack that was mostly dry. The crack went from fingers to hands for two ropestretching pitches of grade 16 and, followed by Tash, we climbed to the ledge and abseiled off. The next day the three of us climbed another of these splitter cracks, but continued above the ledge following cracks and flakes for seven pitches of climbing up to grade 18, with some easy scrambling to reach the top. Vodka and Lemming (18, 500m) tops out at the highest part of the wall, and we scrambled around looking

for the highest rock to stand on to enjoy the great views. At 10pm the sun was casting an orange glow on only this highest part of the wall. With 24hr daylight there’s no need to start early, but with another two hours to hike down we only rushed because we were hungry. After our two first climbs we moved our attention to a very impressive and steep part of the wall in the Finger Crack Cirque, where it looks as though a giant orbital sander has scoured its way up the wall leaving great arcing curves. We chose an obvious crack that was unbroken from bottom to top. This route required a bit more effort, and so we climbed it over three days leaving fixed ropes in place to reascend each day. Chris led most of this route, which had some tricky spots where the crack fused, requiring some use of peckers and bolts. All other routes we’d climbed using only natural protection, but Chris got to use his power drill and placed four bolts on lead, while all the belays from pitch two were bolted. Although Tash and I had placed bolts on new routes for rappelling using a hand drill, the power drill was

Gemma seconding the second pitch of Orbital Sander.

something we were in two minds about, as the ease of placing a bolt makes it tempting to use. Chris showed restraint as best he could, and the resulting eight pitches of Orbital Sander (22, 440m) were some of the nicest climbing we did, on some excellent rock, from bomber finger locks, to hand jams, and some delicate face climbing on chunky crystals and edges where the crack fused. We had planned to spend the last couple of weeks climbing on the Commander and General peaks, but it was difficult to leave the Finger Crack Cirque with so many stunning lines waiting to be climbed. Our decision to stay where we were was made when the snow came early. Usually it comes in early September, but this time the first snow fell mid-August and the temperature plummeted. Cloud would often roll in from the direction of the Commander, and the ridges would sometimes hold it there, so that we generally received more sunshine in the Finger Crack Cirque than the Commander area. Along with the nice rock shelter we’d built, we figured if there was any more climbing to be done, the Finger Crack Cirque was the best place to be. We hiked the 8km back to the Commander base camp to pick up our food cache, as well as some vodka that had been dropped off by a local Russian guys who had hiked into the base camp for something to do. Unbeknown to us, one of the unmarked plastic bottles was not vodka, but medical grade ethanol – 95% alcohol! Russians drink this stuff diluted with water because you don’t need to carry much of it when hiking into the wilderness to shoot animals and tin cans (when there’s no animals to shoot). After our first undiluted shot we thought it was nasty-tasting vodka, but the burning sensation in our throats didn’t dissipate. After the second shot, we decided it couldn’t be vodka, and realised it must be ethanol. By then it was too late (we’d also each had a shot of real vodka before that ran out), and we all found ourselves feeling a rather peculiar sort of drunk, laughing stupidly for no reason. With throats burning all night, followed by weird dreams, we decided not to drink anymore of this toxic stuff and gave it to the two climbers from Scotland who had arrived the day before the snow came. Although we warned them about it, with all the unclimbable days due to bad weather they dealt with their frustration by drinking it with boiled-down Haribo jubes.

Looking very insignificant, Chris and Natasha at the top of pitch one on Orbital Sander (22). The route follows the obvious crack above with the crux on pitch three around the obvious scour marks on the upper quarter of the photo. Gemma Woldendor

We had our collective eye on a rock tower located in a valley behind Finger Crack Cirque. The Weasel Tower, as we named it, lay perched enticingly on a ridge. On a snowy afternoon we hiked around into the adjacent valley and crossed the col into the valley behind to bivvy and climb it the next day. There were

more impressive walls, all unclimbed, but now encrusted in ice and snow. We found a big flat rock amongst the boulders to pitch our tent on. In the morning we woke to more snowfall. Despite this, we thought we’d hike up to the base of Weasel Tower and check it out anyway. As we were doing this, the snow stopped and it began to melt. Although Chris had trouble embracing climbing in the cold, Tash and I were keen – we were here to climb, and knowing our climbing options were running out, this pointy summit had appeal. Tash took the first lead on a line going straight up the face from the valley. Chris and I followed in downies, gloves and approach shoes to stay warm. But when I took the next three leads to the top, I was in rock shoes and my feet soon turned to wood. At two points I had to pull on gear as my numb fingers just couldn’t pull the steep moves. What looked easy from the ground often turned out to be hard. With Chris and Tash following by any means to get up the route and stay warm, it was a test of willpower for me to try and free climb each pitch. By the time we’d reached the small summit, the sky had cleared and the sun cast a shadow of our pointed peak on the hillside opposite. It was still bitterly cold with a chilly wind and we’d been climbing on the shady side. We drilled some abseil bolts and made two rappels to the ground – glad of the power drill and its speed! Because of the unseasonal early onset of winter, we named the climb Siberian Summer (20/A1, 160m). With regular snowfalls, the walls were plastered in snow, and any water seepage became ice. As disappointing as it was to see the possibilities of climbing diminish day by day, it was spectacular seeing the change of the seasons happen so quick: From green alpine heath and sunny rock walls, to warm autumn colours and snow dusted peaks, all in a matter of weeks. Each day we’d see the sun cutting a tighter arc above the peaks, leaving less sunshine and darker nights. The season for climbing in Siberia is very short, and if you come too early you must endure infuriating mosquitoes, while if you come late you risk the cold and snow. It was a lovely sunny day as we hiked for the last time down the broad valley to the road for our pick-up. It looked like shades of red and yellow oil paints had been splashed down the hillsides as the tundra went through its autumnal change. Back in Bilibino with the Brits, we enjoyed warm Russian hospitality with liberal amounts of alcohol, and finished off with a bunya – a backyard Russian sauna, which got up to a searing 120°C, and included a good thrashing with dried oak leaves and a dousing of cold water. It was a memorable finish to a memorable trip.

With the moon ascendant and the Milky Way silent above, Crazy Chris Coppard cuts loose on Gateway (28) at the Gateway, Blue Mountains. Kamil Sustiak 65

‘Man on Wire’ Stepan Novikov making the first ascent of From Russia with Love – a 55m line high above the Grose Valley, Hanging Rock, Blue Mountains. Kamil Sustiak 66

D e l i b e r at e l y

S low Ben Buckland speaks to bouldering legend Fred Nicole about the past and the present WORDS Ben Buckland IMAGES Mary Gabrieli

Right: Arzak (V15), Murg, Chironico, Switzerland.

Fred Nicole wants to be faster. ‘Faster! Faster would be nice. I am kind of slow, I am a slow climber, I need time to place my feet.’ He even says it slowly, his body very still, as if he is sitting for a portrait. All the expression is in his eyes. Watching, I can’t imagine him ever moving quickly. But slow is the wrong word. Deliberate is better. Listening back to the tape, it is my voice that hesitates. When he speaks it is precise. Taking care, despite his accent, to pronounce things exactly. Pausing to think. A convenient metaphor for the climbing style of a man who has pushed the limits now for more than two decades. Bouldering in Switzerland came from England, when Thierry Lardet travelled there and brought the style home, linking up with local climbers Martin Scheel and Richi Signer, who were just beginning to explore this new style. ‘[Lardet] was trying some small traverses, really close to the ground and when I first saw that, I was: Oh! Great, I want to try that as well.’ Patrick Edlinger had introduced them to the concept of free climbing with his Calanques free solos in the early film, La Vie au Bout des Doigts, but it was the UK influence, plus some early articles about the Fontainebleau exploits of Jacky Godoffe, Jo Montchaussé, Alain Ghersen and Marc Le Ménestrèle that really opened their eyes. ‘It was a great inspiration’ meeting Jacky the first time. ‘The influence of Graham Livingston, Jerry Moffatt and Ben Moon, what he calls “le style Brit”, came later… Jerry was like mid-80s… They were bouldering a lot for sure but it was really restricted to Font and the Grit.’ He realised early on that this style would suit him. ‘I was okay in sport climbing but I was a bit afraid, I was always choosing the shortest routes every time. The first time I went to Font we were already bouldering quite a bit in Switzerland. There was already some stuff in Branson… it came quite naturally.’ That first trip, just two days with Godoffe, was ‘the perfect introduction’ and the first real confirmation that he was climbing at a high level. ‘It’s not the way I like to talk about myself,’ he says, ‘but I did a few things.’ What he calls their ‘primitive way of training’ was paying off. ‘We had no climbing walls so it was a lot about power: hanging, pullups and stuff like that.’ But also the idea of movement, something they got from Edlinger, ‘discover[ing] all these new motions…

that after we learned to use on real problems. At this time there were just eliminates but after we discovered some great lines… In Branson [where he later established the world’s first 8B and 8B+] when I saw the big face there, the big roof… There was nothing there… Now it seems small. At this time it seemed huge.’ Creating something from nothing is a theme for a man who thought about becoming an artist and who has long been at the forefront of climbing exploration and development. In no place is this more apparent than in Rocklands, where his name seems to be on every page of the guidebook. ‘I can remember the first time we took the road up. At this time it was a dirt road, a red, dirt road. It was incredible. We were really amazed by everything, landscape, nature, rock, everything. It was really an exceptional time.’ We talk about the first hours there. ‘We stopped at the campground… just before Teapot… but it was just before the sunset so we didn’t spend much time. And the day after we went to Roadside and I opened Question of Balance.’ Twenty years later it is still one of the best and most-tried problems in the world. Are these kinds of discoveries still possible, I wonder? He gives a very Gallic shrug before replying, ‘something like Rocklands, who knows but yeah… there is still plenty to open, places to be discovered… in Africa you’ve got great potential. In Europe it’s a bit difficult but it seems like people are finding new stuff everywhere… I’m still looking for new things.’ Maybe it is because we’re a few beers in by now, but here the discussion turns from history to philosophy, to where the sport is going and what it means. He shifts from enthusiasm about

Right: Escapiste (V14), Rocklands, South Africa. 70

the early days in Rocklands, finding and exploring new lines, to a more worried tone, ‘looking for new stuff, it’s great,’ he says, ‘but it’s not just about consuming and finding new places every time… We should be able to appreciate… and respect what we have, not just opening new, new, new and having more, more, more. I’m against this idea… [it’s] too fast and too big.’ It is a problem in society and ‘climbing is a microcosm of society… We are constantly speaking about growth and I think it’s a mistake… we are so many people and taking so much space on this earth. Constant growth can’t go [on] forever. If the sport grows it’s good, but we have to educate people to be respectful with nature. [In] a place like Rocklands, [or the] Grampians, these places, they are great, wild places and all these urban people coming… can be quite disturbing. Their impact is not minimal. It’s there.’

The organisation of climbers is linked to the growth and the professionalisation of climbing, something that Fred has been a part of less than one might expect, given his status in the sport. ‘I made this choice in a way… I need to work. I’m not rich enough to not work. I am not rich at all [but] I think it’s good. This way my feet are still on earth.’ In part this is because, unlike many top climbers, he pushes back against the imperative to promote achievements, waiting months, for example, before announcing that he’d climbed Le Boa, an 8C (V15) in Ziegelbrücke. ‘I think it is important to speak about our passion and our activity but I don’t think too much ego in life is really good for your personal balance. I think it’s maybe not too bad [to] work’ he laughs, ‘even if it would be nice to win the lottery.’ He has similarly distanced himself from the trend to capture everything on film, joking that ‘you spend the day with yourself outdoors and after you spend all evening with yourself as well, looking at you.’ I ask about the trend towards demanding footage as proof of new hard ascents. ‘I can understand the point,’ he says, ‘[but] I think climbing is something free and it is still free… trust and confidence is something human. If you go too far into this… what he did, didn’t he do it? You can… I don’t know.’ He trails off.

What is the responsibility of climbers and the outdoor industry, I ask, and he jumps in immediately, as if it is a question that he has thought about often. ‘I think we have a responsibility, I think all human beings have a responsibility and climbers especially, since they are a part of the population which is privileged enough to visit some of these incredible places. Maybe it would be good to not just focus on grades and on one problem but to see the big picture, to be able to appreciate just being in a place.’

Maybe he doesn’t need to have an opinion on this. His record speaks for itself. Though the question is relevant because it is clear that pushing the limits is still very much on his mind. He still wants to take it to another level, to climb even harder than he has in the past. Although it seems that the power to climb the next level is less of a problem than finding the place to apply it. ‘The thing is always… the line… where does it start being possible or impossible. We have to find the right line… this part is really hard... But it’s coming of course. It’s coming. It’s coming. No worries,’ he smiles.

Maybe this appreciation is part of getting older as a climber. ‘You learn to open yourself with time… it is personal growth and evolution,’ he says, ‘to appreciate these places… Australia, a few countries in Africa, the Himalayas, the South West United States, Patagonia… I’ve really learned to see that as an incredible playground… we should be really thankful and really respectful of what we’ve got… I want to push my own personal limits but [also to] place them in perspective.’

Progression itself is constant, even if there is maybe less pressure to perform these days. ‘I am still learning every day out, it’s maybe why it’s not boring yet, that after all these years I’m still discovering something I can improve in climbing. And at the same time I still just enjoy being outside. Not even thinking about the day after, the next project, the next try in the project, just to be able to have a nice day, just trying, just having fun, not especially sending.’

We talk about refugees, closing borders, the privilege of being able to travel when others cannot. ‘It is crazy’, he shakes his head. ‘We are the first generation of humans who are able to do that [and] maybe we are also the last.’ This is true in this biggest, geopolitical sense but also at the small-bore level of access and the ability to visit wild places freely and easily. ‘Most of these… really wild places… there [is] no infrastructure… Cresciano it’s a small village, you go there, every weekend there are a lot of cars. The Access Fund in the US is good for that. It would be good to have this type of organisation worldwide… working really for climbers.’

He finishes his beer, pulling on a scarf against the bitter Zurich night. What’s next, I ask. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, ‘I try to find my own inspiration.’

Left: Elephunk (V13), Fontainebleau, France. 72

David Lama climbs Avaatara (9a/35) in the amazing Bataara Gorge, Lebanon. Corey Rich/Red Bull Content Pool

Lama again bearing down on Avaatara. Corey Rich/Red Bull Content Pool

DENBY WELLER

Leap of faith Denby Weller gets dynamic and loves it WORDS Denby Weller IMAGE Nick Fletcher

I can fly! I can fly! These were the only coherent thoughts rushing through my brain as I glided upwards toward the target hold, astonished to see that I was going to make it. It was my first ever fourpoints-off dyno, and for a static climber, it was a moment of sheer glory. Albeit the glory of the world’s easiest dyno in the humble bouldering area of my local gym, but it still filled me with joy. So much so that I only briefly hesitated before trying the flying sideways dyno that made up the second move of the problem. Leaping leftward, I easily got my left hand on the huge jug. But then something odd happened. My legs, unaware that my hand had reached its objective, opted to continue travelling leftwards at high speed. With only my left hand attached to the wall, this created a midair barn-door that pivoted my body around a horizontal axis. With a poetic symmetry, at the exact moment my hand twisted off the hold, my face was pointing earthwards. I’m not sure what happened to my right hand in the ensuing plummet, but its failure to even attempt to break my fall was so monumental that I’m still not speaking to it. This left the gimp hand to do all the work of keeping my face off the mat, a task to which it applied itself by assuming a slightly mangled position between my body and the ground, from which it was entirely unable to do anything useful other than wrench my shoulder momentarily out of its socket. I hit the deck like a sack of potatoes – bespectacled potatoes – and completed my graceful dismount by smashing my face into the crashpad. ‘Oooh, faceplant,’ my climbing partner observed helpfully. ‘Are you okay?’ To hide my embarrassment, I pulled off my glasses

and inspected the mangled arm that had absorbed the momentum of my face. Not beyond repair. When I felt my face burning a bit less, I looked up and lied about being completely fine. In reality, it would be a week before I could get dressed again without hopping around my bedroom in pain. The problem is, this is not my first run-in with gravity. I have a long and illustrious history of nearly-disastrous falls, and thus I think it might be time to take a moment to acknowledge that there can be no flying without a commensurate amount of plummeting. Having been an excessively clumsy child, I’ve always viewed dynamic movement with scepticism. It’s fine for those unbespectacled kids who effortlessly survive skateboarding, ballet, BMX-riding and playing chasey. For me, the mere thought of fun often led to hospitalisation. When I began climbing – the first sport I ever showed aptitude for – the three-points-of-contact rule suited me just fine. As the ‘90s progressed and I scoured the pages of Rock, dynamic movement grew in popularity, but I remained glued to the wall by my fear of flight. So it was that I have learned to treat bolt-holes as monos, to use caked-up chalk deposits as intermediate holds, to pinch and crimp on the tiniest nubbins and divots, all in an effort to avoid making that leap of faith. But even as I lay spread-eagled on the mat hoping like hell I’d made an appropriate underwear choice today, I knew I had been wrong not to embrace dynos sooner. And with that, I clambered to my feet and decided to have another shot. Right: a leaping Shay Binegas in the 2014 National Bouldering titles. Nick Fletcher

The Dynamics of Flight THE MASTER OF THE DYNO, MATTIAS BRAACH-MAKSVYTIS, HAS FIVE TIPS FOR FRESHMAN FLIERS

Hang/swing on the hold you're jumping to before you attempt the dyno. If you understand what the hold feels like, and where your body will be once you've made contact, you're more likely to stick it.

Commit. This includes letting go of the starting hand hold(s) if necessary, and actually jumping so that your feet come off the starting foot holds.

Try and keep the movement as fluid as possible – your arms direct the jump, but your legs drive it. Pulling in with your arms whilst pushing with your legs will deliver the best result.

If you can touch the hold you're jumping for, you can catch it (mostly). Keep trying until you succeed. Try using different footholds or catching the hold with your other hand, or both hands.

Create your own. Don't be dictated to by setters, instead pick a problem you like and eliminate holds, or just pick some random holds and attempt to dyno between them. 79

Towards an Australian climbing history centre

HISTORY

WORDS Michael Meadows IMAGES: As credited

When I first started researching my book on Australian climbing history, ,I had no idea what I would uncover. It began as a simple exercise to fill in a few gaps in local knowledge about climbing in Queensland, and I thought might result in an article or two for magazines like or . But a chance meeting with researcher-climber Robert Thomson at the State Library of Queensland in early 1999 changed all that. Robert’s passion for exploring microfiche, microfilm, and following up the smallest clue meant that the volume of material concerning the first Europeans to explore mountain landscapes in Australia grew exponentially. A year or so into the project and it was clear that we had unearthed something extraordinary. The ordinary thing about it was that all of the material was there – we just had to locate it. It took almost two decades, although admittedly the book was on the back burner for long periods. The task of writing a history of postwar climbing in Australia, I decided, was massive and probably beyond a single person if it was to accurately capture the nuances, culture and stories of local climbing communities. My deliberate decision to focus on Queensland will, I hope, encourage others across the country to document their own stories. There’s no doubt that there are many tales, tall and true, that need to be told – but by local climbers who have lived and breathed those experiences. Every journey must start with a first step. I feel that in many ways the task of documenting Australian climbing history has only just begun. So it’s arguably an opportune time to consider how best this unique set of stories might be gathered, preserved and presented for future generations. Writing is one way of recording history, but perhaps we need something more concrete? I spent a wonderful week in Natimuk in early November with some longtime friends, Ian ‘Humzoo’ Thomas, Greg Sheard and now local climber, Ray Lassman. The climbing was superb as was the camaraderie. And it was during the many conversations we had there that the question of setting up an Australian climbing museum or something similar arose. Initiated by locals, Keith ‘Noddy’ Lockwood and Louise Shepherd, the suggestion was to have a place where Australian climbing might be remembered and celebrated. Without preempting any local discussions underway at the time of writing, Natimuk – in the shadow of Mt Arapiles – would seem to be an ideal location. This might seem like heresy coming from a Queenslander and someone who has given breathing space to stories of the interstate rivalry that defined much of the 1970s in Australian climbing. But it makes perfect sense, given Natimuk’s location near the Grampians and Arapiles, between them sites for the vast majority of the many thousands of climbing routes in Victoria.

There’s no doubt that other climbing communities have coalesced around places such as Katoomba and Blackheath in the Blue Mountains (I’d add in there the growing climbing population in Boonah on the doorstep of Frog Buttress), but Natimuk seems to be a place where all roads meet. That’s a discussion that will evolve, most likely depending on access to a space that might be used to set up a permanent Australian climbing centre. Whatever it’s called and wherever it’s located, it seems a perfect moment in our climbing history to think about establishing such a facility. Reinhold Messner has set up museums in six locations throughout the Alps with climbing history a major feature of each. While Australian settler climbing history may pale in comparison, regardless we have our own stories of fascination with the heights. And, of course, Indigenous people had doubtless reached the vast majority of our own summits, perhaps tens of thousands of years before the first Europeans – anywhere. Australian climbing has a history and it deserves to be acknowledged in a way that makes it accessible to climbers and nonclimbers alike. I recently experienced an exhibition of surfing photographs from the 1950s and 1970s in the Tweed Regional Gallery at Murwillumbah, sponsored by the National Portrait Gallery. Why couldn’t we do the same to celebrate the early pioneers of climbing in Australia? Admittedly, many more people have grabbed a surfboard than a climbing rope, but both are undeniably significant elements of our culture. The significant economic impact of the climbing industry on small and large businesses, local towns, schools and universities is a study waiting to be done. And although increasingly bizarre Himalayan exploits seem to be the catalyst for popular media coverage today, climbing in all its forms has become a major Australian recreation. An Australian climbing centre could include a wide range of equipment, visual, audiovisual and online resources to underline

Left: Rick White with a typical laid nylon rope and Paul Caffyn (right) with a selection of slings and his extremely uncomfortable PA climbing boots. The summit of Crookneck in 1968. Paul Caffyn collection 80

Brisbane Bushwalkers president Julie Henry and a dodgy hemp rope belay at Kangaroo Point cliffs in Brisbane in 1955. Brisbane Bushwalkers collection

the diversity and appeal of Australian-style climbing. It would not be difficult to call for donations of old equipment gathering dust and cobwebs in cupboards around the country, to collect mild steel Stubai pitons and carabiners, the earliest alloy versions by Cassin, a set of Ewbank crackers and the first Friends. Then there’s the old rope and seat-belt webbing waistbands, and the ropes themselves: from the sweet-smelling Italian hemp, through Viking laid-nylon to the earliest kernmantel. My colleagues and 82

I were able to track down thousands of images of early climbing exploits in Queensland – there are untold numbers of them out there, waiting to be indexed; waiting for a catalyst. Moving images abound: home movies (I am aware of half a dozen shot in Queensland from the late 1960s) and several in the National Film and Sound Archive in Canberra. An online presence for an Australian climbing centre would be crucial, enabling anyone, anywhere, to explore the climbing culture that we have created.

Ted Cais sorting contemporary gear for Frog Buttress in 1972: Ewbank “crackers”, Chouinard chrome-moly pins, a CMI hammer, nylon tape runners and a new kern mantel rope. Ted Cais collection

Careful curation will be needed to create a manageable collection of material in whatever form. But we need to start this project while we still have access to the pioneers of Australian climbing. Starting small is always the best approach – particularly when there is no money to support such an initiative – to allow time for the idea to develop and be refined. A deluge of well-meaning donations could become overwhelming and kill off the idea before it has started. Drawing from the experiences of similar activityorientated centres, it should be possible to attract funds from

various sources: local, regional and national heritage grants, tourism development, partnerships with industry and donations. I started researching my book in 1998, publishing it in August 2015. In the intervening 17 years, seven of my interviewees passed away. Each passing represented the loss of another link with the past. Our history is disappearing before our very eyes and we need to act to capture it for posterity. Small beginnings at Natimuk could prove to be the catalyst we need. 83

The ancient Egyptians were on to something when they built the great pyramids at Giza. They have stood there, defiantly refusing to topple in the face of the elements and enemies, for around 4500 years. The secret to their strength and longevity lies in their broad, solid base upon which each subsequent higher level is made smaller until you reach a narrow pinnacle.

TRAINING

There is a pretty strong argument to make that climbers should adopt the pyramid as their spirit shape because the logic of the pyramid’s strength can be applied to climbing in a bunch of ways.

Climb Like an

Egyptian Duncan Brown cuts shapes on the dancefloor of training, all of them pyramids WORDS Duncan Brown IMAGE Simon Bischoff

So often we climbers snag our first route of a grade and then before the slap of the high five has faded we are looking in the guidebook for a new project at the next grade. This might take some up the grade ladder for a while, but their foundation will be so weak and their experience so narrow that they can often only climb at their limit in their preferred style and flail on anything else. The tower of their performance is flimsy. Building a solid base of experience in routes (or boulders) across varying styles that tapers to a fine point as you reach your hardest grade will make you a more capable and confident climber. One who is able to tackle different challenges with the benefit of heaps of experience in a wide range of techniques and skills. It means you you will be able to attack a more diverse range of routes, not be stuck only on slabs or typecast as the ‘roof thug’. You will develop the confidence and mental strength to deal with stressful, difficult or dangerous situations and you will cement the strength and engrams that will reduce your risk of injury from flying too close to the sun too early. Take the grade pyramid of sport climbing wunderkind, Adam Ondra; 3 x 38s, 10 x 37s, 22 x 36s, 74 x 35s, 119 x 34s, etc See the shape the trend makes? It’s like the the Pharaoh Khufu was reincarnated as a ballistically-strong, insanely-motivated Czech man. A very solid base helps Ondra to perform more consistently and closer to his personal best. Look closely at the pyramids of almost any top-end climber and you will see something similar – a broad and solid base of experience strongly supporting the pinnacle of their athletic achievements. When you bring the sacred geometry to the front of your mind you can see it all over the climbing place.

AT THE GYM When you’re training adopt a pyramidal structure. Spend longer than you normally would warming up and cooling down with an incremental shifts in difficulty before and after the main bulk of your session. This could look like say six easy climbs, four easy/ moderate climbs, two moderate climbs and then try-hard-time. Then reverse that to cool down. That adds 24 climbs to your session, broadening your foundations by simply improving the way you warm up and cool down at the wall.

AT THE CRAG When at a crag that allows for it, try incrementally warming up by onsighting at least three or four easy routes that you might otherwise overlook before stepping it up. At the end of the day do the same again, getting easier as you cool down. Another pyramid-inspired tactic is to take on ‘mini projects’ in between bigger ones. Once you’ve completed a big project pick three or four slightly easier routes that you should be able to do in a handful of shots each and do them before moving to your next serious project.

‘SO OFTEN WE CLIMBERS SNAG OUR FIRST ROUTE OF A GRADE AND THEN BEFORE THE SLAP OF THE HIGH FIVE HAS FADED WE ARE LOOKING IN THE GUIDEBOOK FOR A NEW PROJECT AT THE NEXT GRADE.’

And what if the crags you frequent don’t really have routes for you to broaden your pyramid with? Go to a different one! Instead of projecting every time you go to the crag, take one out of every four climbing days to go to a crag with a lot of routes that you will be able to onsight (or do quickly), then the following week go back to your project. This has the added bonus of keeping your psych high and preventing stagnation, as well as building the broad pyramid that all the best climbers stand upon. Loads of societies have flourished without pyramids, so you don’t have to worship the fat-bottomed, thin-topped marvel of ancient engineering, but you already love to climb like an Egyptian (aka the drop knee), so why not build a broad, strong pyramid of performance upon which to stack the next grade? You will end up climbing harder, while your body and skills will be stronger for it.

Right: Duncan drawing on the stability of a big base as he works on Poosticks (29), Mt Arapiles.

NEW NEWGEAR GEAR

BUTORA ACRO

‘Venga!’ ‘Allez!’ ‘Butora!’ Butora... WTF? ‘Butora’ (boo-tore-ah) is the Korean version of ‘go for it, ya mongrel’. It is also the name of a new climbing shoe company from Korea. Butora was started by Mr Nam He Do, apparently the man who helped The Sharma design the Evolv Shaman, so that’s some form. Butora’s flagship shoe is the Acro, an agro down-turned velcro toe-crusher designed for steep sport climbing and cranktastic bouldering. It comes standard with lots of Butora’s F5 rubber compound, from the tensioned heel rand to the oodles of rubber across the top of the shoe for max toe-hooking power. It has a moisture-wicking footbed made from German split-leather, which is twice as efficient as Greek split-leather (although you can’t be certain of any of the claims of those lying Germans), as well as 3D injected midsole ‘for the perfect fit’. The shoes are only available in men’s sizes, from US 5 to US 13. Butora Acro RRP $229.95 www.climbinganchors.com.au Visit for more information

8BPLUS CHALK BAGS

BLACK DIAMOND ULTRALIGHT CAMALOTS

Do you need a chalk bag that expresses your personality? Or a chalk bag that suggests you have a personality? Either way, 8BPlus chalk bags are for you – they have personality in spades, particularly if you are a hairy-faced hipster who needs a hairy little chalk bag with buttons for eyes. Our personal favourite is the Floyd, which is said to be modeled on Steve from Climbing Anchors, although Floyd is nowhere near as handsome as Marley, who has beautiful long dreads and a relaxed disposition.

When we heard about the new Ultralight Camalots from Black Diamond such was our excitement we nearly Camalot in our pants . So how ultralight are the Ultralights? Twenty-five-massive-per-cents less. In terms of your overall personal mass-gravity-factor upgrading to a rack of these yields a better result than a month on the Biggest Loser. Better still, you don’t have to be surrounded by idiots. Those clever bods from BD have lost the weight by replacing the steel stem with dyneema, using a lighter sling and putting more cut-outs into the cam lobes – at the same time, the cams range and profile are unchanged, although the Ultralight size range is limited from 0.4 to 4. With a quarter less weight on a full rack of cams, it means you either a. carry even more gear or, b. eat more pud. The only drawback? They’re more expensive. Black Diamond Ultralight Camalots RRP to come

8BPlus Chalk Bags RRP $39.95

Distributed by Sea to Summit 1800 787 677 www.blackdiamondequipment.com

www.climbinganchors.com.au Visit for more information

GRIVEL CLEPSYDRA TWIN-GATE KARABINER

The Italians always do things a little differently, whether it’s repeatedly voting in a bunga bunga–loving prime minister or inventing the world’s worst artform, opera. And it’s the same with gates. Grivel just loves its twin-gates. After releasing the twin-gated Mega, Grivel has now brought out the Clepsydra Twin-gate. Where the Mega is your trad-style ‘biner the Clepsydra is the perfect belay ‘biner, with a hot-forged figure-8 shape and little keeper gate to stop the ‘biner cross-loading. To fully understand the versatility of the 22kN-rated Clepsydra, we suggest you watch this short video featuring the world’s angriest climbing dwarf, Stevie Haston Grivel Clepsydra Twin-gate karabiner RRP $34.95 Expedition Equipment (02) 9417 5755 or sales@expeditionequipment.com.au

EDELRID TAIPAN 10MM

Surely there is nothing more wonderful than a long, peaceful day of multipitching – making your way up a vast face, scaring yourself silly, route-finding, watching the swallows swoop at belays. Petzl has found a way to make the wonderful even better with a new rendition of its multipitching day pack, the Bug. It’s a sweet 18L in size, sits high on your back above your harness, fits snugly against your back for max climbing efficiency, has a foldaway waistbelt, space for a hydration bladder and an easily accessible topo pocket on the outside. Carry your lunch it, a spare jacket and, if your partner really bugs you, a knife. It’s available in two colours: grey or orange.

What could be better than climbing on Taipan Wall? Climbing Taipan tied into a Taipan. Those fiendishly clever Germans have branded their new 10mm rope with the perfect name for any aspiring Ozzie hard-person, but there’s more to this rope than just a wonderful name. Edelrid’s dubbed the Taipan an ‘eco rope’ – it’s greener than a mung-bean eating Bob Brown. The Taipan is made from the discarded yarn created in the production of Edelrid’s ropes – apparently there is a lot of waste. This upcycling process uses up to 95 per cent of the discarded yarn. So not only can you feel good climbing on a green rope, but because each Taipan is formed from shorter sections of leftover yarn, the colour and pattern of each rope is a one of a kind. The ropes still pass all the usual safety tests (they’re rated for seven falls). The Taipan weighs 62g/m and comes in a range of lengths: 50m, 60m and 70m.

Petzl Bug RRP $109

Edelrid Taipan 10mm RRP from $199.95

For more information contact Spelean (02) 9966 9800 or visit www.petzl.com.au

Expedition Equipment (02) 9417 5755 or

PETZL BUG

sales@expeditionequipment.com.au

Toby on Psychic Tea Lady (V8), Flock Hill, New Zealand.

OBITUARY

Lucky Chance

Tom Hoyle reflects on the bold life of Toby Benham aka Lucky Chance WORDS Tom Hoyle IMAGES Mark Watson

I don’t think anyone that knew Toby – or Lucky, as he was in later years – would have been surprised when they heard of his death. To know him was to know that he pushed the boundaries and that at some point he was going to push too hard. For that reason I accepted the news of his death immediately, there was no shock or disbelief. Over the course of the day though, as it sunk in, I found it harder and harder to cope with. I had mistakenly thought that a lack of surprise at the news would equate to a lack of grief, but this was not the case. It is one thing to know that someone will die one day, it is another thing to accept that you will never see them again. Toby was a one-of-a-kind character. I’ve never met anyone else like him and I don’t expect to in the future. I will always cherish the memories I have of spending time with him because I know that it’s never quite going to be the same with anybody else.

Toby: The gap between those boulders isn’t that big, I reckon you could jump it.

I’m not going to recite all the stories here – they could fill a book. Nor will I list his many achievements, which cross many disciplines and international borders and are seared into the memories of people all over the world. Instead, I’d like to offer my personal thoughts on how Toby lived his life, at least in the months I spent with him, and why I think he was such a remarkable person.

Of course, it was my and many others’ instinct to find out where the line was and challenge Toby to riskier and riskier feats. But this was the game Toby was actually playing: he would take them on until you backed down, not daring to challenge him to anything riskier lest you have his demise on your hands. You got to a point where he had proved he was up for it and you had to back down because you couldn’t bear to watch. I’m happy to say that Toby beat me at this game. But playing it was where he was pushed to take the greatest risks; sometimes you wished people would just keep their mouths shut.

For people who didn’t know Toby it is easy to dismiss his achievements and attribute them to a total lack of fear or a failure to assess risk accurately. But I think it is a mistake to do so. Toby felt fear, I saw him scared more than once. He just taught himself to control his fear and not let it retard his athletic performance. This enabled him to do amazing things under pressure. For many people his risks were unreasonable, but they were rarely uncalculated. Toby saw where other people drew the line and was prepared to draw it in a different place. When it comes to climbing in particular – where he was both very skilfull and an excellent judge of his own ability – Toby knew he could do things that not only other people couldn’t do, but that they weren’t prepared to try. But it wasn’t blind belief that lead him to this realisation, rather it was a refined assessment of the probabilities involved. As a climber, Toby’s most lauded ascents were in the UK’s Peak District. He made bold ascents of many famously dangerous climbs by calculating the chance of success versus the consequence of failure. As he said to me, many of the so called ‘death routes’ with high E numbers that he did were more like ‘broken leg routes’. They just weren’t that high, and a fall from where the hard climbing was wouldn’t necessarily be that serious. Of course, observing that and then having the gumption to go through with it are two very different things. But Toby always followed through, and that trait was perhaps the most impressive and most terrifying aspect of his character. Once he observed a mismatch between people’s perceptions of a danger and what he considered the objective danger, he would always take it on to prove what was possible. This would typically play out in the following way. 94

Gumby bystander (such as myself): It sure is a long way down though, you wouldn’t want to mess it up. Toby: Doesn’t really matter if you can make the jump though does it? Gumby: Go on then, let’s see you do it! At which point Toby would run and jump between the boulders as if it was nothing. Other people would stand around and scrape their feet, looking at the gap, but generally there would be no other takers for the challenge.

It made me sad reading comments from people in response to online news reports of his death. People wrote things like, ‘He clearly didn’t have the proper respect for life.’ Maybe the risks were too great, and maybe he did fly a little too close to the sun, but to say Toby didn’t respect life is a mistake. He made the most of every opportunity he had to get something out of life. He knew that you only had one life and that death was inevitable and the timing not necessarily of your own choosing, so he sure as heck wasn’t going to sit around playing tiddlywinks waiting for the sun to go down. If you know that you’ll die and it could come as soon as the next time you try and cross the street, or laugh and eat a pretzel at the same time, how much fun should you be having right now? To respect life is to live it, and I can’t think of anybody I’ve met who did it better than Toby. Toby was inspirational in life because of the way he tackled it head on, and in death he remains an inspiration to me for that very reason. In the time shortly after his death many people observed just how many crazy stories they knew about Toby, even though they had often only met him briefly. Every day that I go on living in this world without Toby in it I am challenged to live as fully as he did, and when my life ends if there are half as many memorable stories about me as there are about Toby, then I would have lived a very good life indeed.

Toby on the spicy James' Slab (21), Castle Hill.

Thanks for making my life better, I miss you friend. 95

'ONCE [TOBY] OBSERVED A MISMATCH BETWEEN PEOPLE’S PERCEPTIONS OF A DANGER AND WHAT HE CONSIDERED THE OBJECTIVE DANGER, HE WO U L D A LWAY S TA K E I T ON TO PROVE WHAT WAS POSSIBLE.'

Toby on the Flock Hill classic, Sunset Arete (V8), Castle Hill, New Zealand.

Agent oF

Cool Vertical Life recently filmed Lee Cossey making the first ascent of Agent of Cool (31), one the Grampians’ last great trad lines. To find out more about the history of this long-time open project, VL spoke to Oz legend Dave Jones, who first found and tried the line.

Lee Cossey on the first ascent of one of Oz’s hardest all-trad routes, Agent of Cool (31), Wall of Cool, the Grampians. Ross Taylor

How did you discover Agent of Cool?

How close did you get?

As Taipan baked in the afternoon sun I always used to look across to the wall on the opposite side of the amphitheatre deep in perma-shade and fantasise about it. You could see the big sickle feature and crack up the otherwise blank bit of wall, this amazing line that picked its way up the whole thing.

I spent a good few days on it and managed to do it in a few sections, but the crux in the middle always felt really hard for me and I was always too frazzled by the time I got there to give it a really good shot. I sacked it off in the end as it was too much hard work trying to lure belayers up there as there was really not much else to do. Gordy [Poultney] belayed me a couple of times while he was putting up routes around at Clické Wall and Tim Marsh was generous enough to come in a couple of times as well (he established some routes through the caves to the left).

How did the route get its name? It was dubbed the Wall of Cool before I was sure there was even a route on it. The name fitted in with the Wall of Fools, Wall of Fuels, etc. As far as the name of the route itself, an animator friend I was working with at the time was bringing out a new album and Agent of Cool was one of the front runners for an album name. It seemed an obvious choice. What do you think makes a line like this so special? Being the only line up a pretty impressive and smooth sweep of wall is always a good start. It’s not a single feature that runs the whole way either, it’s three separate features that just hang together to make a route and I really liked that about it. The wall is otherwise impossibly smooth – except for the sickle flake that starts up the middle but carves off left at half height. Off to the right a crack line drops down from the top but closes out about two-thirds of the way down. The further you head up the sickle the further it takes you from the crack that will get you to the top. However, amazingly, there is a horizontal band of pockets starting from just one arm-span above the sickle flake that links it all the way across into the bottom of the crack. It was so close to not being a line at all. The fact it all goes on natural gear just makes it even more exceptional. There really aren't many routes above about 26 that don't have any bolts in them (>1%?). And the harder the climbing gets the less and less common it becomes. I guess Journey Through Nicaragua (30) or Mother of God (30) are the next easiest things (in Victoria anyway). But I think Agent of Cool is in a different league to any of them. Hats off to Lee. Between them the Cossey brothers have done a pretty good job of cleaning up the ‘last great lines’ of the Grampians. When were you trying the route? I was trying it around the time I did Somoza (32), so maybe the following summer – around 2000ish.

Lee bearing down on the crux pinch of Agent of Cool. Taylor

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There are two cruxes on the route – one getting from the sickle crack to the midway jugs, another on the headwall – which one was hard for you ? Definitely the first section shuffling out of the underclings at the top of the sickle flake and throwing up to the first of the pockets. I remember thinking that the route was maybe 28ish apart from that section. I could do the crux off the rope but never got through it from the ground. There was a long, blind dyno rightwards to rejoined the crack that worried me too. It felt okay when you did it, but was totally blind and a bit low percentage. Why do you think the line has gotten so little attention until recently? It’s hard and it’s a bit out of the way. It’s much more of a logistical undertaking to go and do a line of that difficulty when it’s the only thing there or a couple of pitches off the deck. You've got to have enough margin on the route that you can get it done before you burn up the goodwill of all your friends and climbing partners. I’m sure if it have been at Arapiles, Taipan or the Gallery, it would have had dozens of ascents by now. You were pretty excited when you heard Lee had done it; you are still climbing really strong these days, do you think it might inspire you to have another crack? Maybe. It’s at the top of my list of ghosts really. The whole logistics things is probably even more challenging for me now than it was back then (most of my climbing needs to happen between school hours of 9am to 3.30pm). But then there are a lot more people these days who might be up for having a lash at it (CJ [Fischer] was making noises). I’d definitely be keen to have another dabble though, and if it felt like it was on I could imagine getting pretty inspired again.

YOU CAN WATCH A VIDEO OF LEE COSSEY DOING THE FIRST ASCENT OF AGENT OF COOL (31) HERE 101

PRECIOUS OBJECT

LEE COSSEY

'HB' Titanium Cam Agent of Cool, an old trad project, was easy to identify with all the random pieces of mangy gear scattered up its length. From the ground it looked like the sort of gear you didn’t mind leaving behind: a couple of mangled wires that had long since lost their plastic shrink-wrap and a clunky-looking old fixed-stem Wild Country Friend. As I made my way up the line piece-by-piece, the fixed stem cam appeared to be in an impossibly narrow placement given its vintage. I curled my fingers around the uncannily ergonomic trigger bar and placed my thumb on the precisely textured stem end. With a little wriggle, the old, once-loved and well-used Friend slid easily out of the finger-width placement. All but one lobe was still moving smoothly. It was then that I realised this was no Friend – the unit was too small and the stem was made of titanium. Wild Country didn’t use titanium. On closer inspection, the stem had a modest and inconspicuous stamped insignia, two letters: ‘H B’. It clicked. This was one of the famous tiny cams that Malcolm ‘HB’ Matheson made back in the early ‘80s when Wild Country’s range stopped below one inch. It was one of the cams that he would sell out of his tent vestibule in Yosemite’s Camp 4, funding months of life on the road. Rumour has it that Kim Carrigan once commissioned an entire set of them, spending the equivalent of today’s $10,000. They were highly sought after little units because nothing could compete with them at quickly and easily protecting small cracks. Malcolm had taken the best technology of the day and refined it, and in doing so he redefined the approach to climbing finger cracks. It was a small and inevitable step in the progress of climbing gear, but so, so rad that it happened Downunder in a backyard shed in the Wimmera. Lee Cossey

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