TL;DR After two
years of climbing, I went to Hueco Tanks where I began to learn how to be a
rock climber…
My
first trip to Hueco Tanks State Park was unlike most climbers’ introduction to the
world renowned crag. It was early June in 2011. I was moving from North
Carolina to Arizona and thought, “What the hell.” I camped for two nights in
the back of my car to get two days on the rock. It was 105° F both days and
I’ll never forget just how empty the park was. There wasn’t even another car
there besides mine. I picked up one of the vague ‘Dr. Topo’ maps at the check-in
station and began to trudge my way around the park. After a day of chasing
shade and losing myself at every turn, I finally called it quits. Having only
finished a half dozen V0-V2 climbs, I was beat. Even my midday nap couldn’t
offset what seemed like a defeated day. One climb in particular stuck out in my
head as I crawled back into my car. A painful taste was left in my mouth as I
recalled how much I had flailed on it. Frustrated, I simply resorted to
stuffing Clif Bars and fell asleep as the desert air quickly cooled off. The
next day rang out the same tunes: scorching heat, emptiness and unforgiving
boulders. But I was determined to climb something. This was Hueco Tanks. I had
heard stories of this place for years. I was not going to be defeated.
Late
the next morning, I found myself back underneath the same short, sharp climb
that Dr. Topo threw a V4 on. It wasn’t my style; it was crimpy on a steep
overhang (typical of Hueco). But as I drew blood on the first moves, my
motivation skyrocketed. I was nothing short of manic to finish this problem, this
V4 that scoffed at my previous outdoor experience. Which, to be honest, was not
much experience anyway.
Growing
up in North Carolina, I got into climbing when I was 17 and had enjoyed a
handful of weekend trips to Boone for some outdoor bouldering. A few months
before moving to Arizona, I spent a week at Rocktown, in northwest Georgia. There I finally managed to grab some sends closer to what the gym rat in me
“thought I should be climbing.” Yet here I was, lying under a V4 in the middle
of a sweltering day. I was alone with my thoughts, alone with my own abilities,
my own limitations. My mind soured at the thought of the permanent sting the
rock would leave on my fingers. I was not about to be dwarfed by this climb.
But,
doubt still clouded under the rock. I struggled with the lack of inspiration
this climb yielded. I wasn’t even impressed with the problem. An average V4, it
deterred my psych and pelted my motivation with embarrassment. This climb would
hold no mantel place on my tick list if I finished it. I didn’t even like the
movement. The thought of it poisoned my mind for hours that day. I was thrown
off the wall, chewed up and spit out, as if the problem could taste my ego and
detested the rancid flavor. But as I kept at the problem, my determination
grew. Movement, progression, each connection was drawing the poison from my
veins. I visualized myself sinking the mini jug on the lip. I had never fought
this hard for a climb that I would have claimed meant nothing to my tick list.
I was one attempt away. I took a deep breath, pulled off the start holds and
connected the moves. Suddenly, I was on the last holds and made a clean move
for the finish. An easy press and moments later, I was done. It was all over. I
sat on top of the rock, took a deep breath and looked around me. I was alone. There
was no spotter to cheer me on. There was no teammate to high-five. There certainly
wasn’t another plastic pusher to fist bump. An unwatched send felt weird. It
was not a glorious fanfare, not a monumental epiphany but rather a simple
question that formulated in my head: Why did I just work so hard for that climb?
I
don’t mean to say “its not about the grade.” Shut up. Of course the grade matters,
to a large amount of people. It’s a measurement of progress. I set expectations
and I measure that success by a number of factors, with one of the easiest to
quickly identify being grades. But do I let grades rule my life? Not anymore.
And this was the first time I truly began to believe that. When I first started
climbing outside I was four, count it, four grades below my indoor climbing
ability. I was a pissed off, whiney, gym rat. I craved to be outside to get the
next send. Eventually, I found myself sending within three grades. Over time, two
grades. Then one. I was almost humble enough to let it go at that point. But I
wasn’t quite there yet. Everything my ego had learned in the gym told me the
number makes the climber. I might even argue that one of my biggest motivations
to be outside was to reach my indoor grade.
But
not everyone is a grade chaser. Throughout your climbing you meet these people,
the ones that tell you to forget grades. I have met several of these climbers
but one of them stood out in particular to me. A good friend and, naturally, an
avid outdoor climber, he took me on trips that shaped my attitude when climbing
at the crag. He watched me and told me to ignore the numbers, to climb what I
wanted and never ask what the grade was. His advice worked for a bit; I found
myself more relaxed under the boulders. I could shut out the idea of failure
and focus on completing movement that still felt so new to me. But it left me
hungry. I felt like I put my psych on a diet, I just couldn’t fill up my
appetite. I still yearned for bigger numbers. It wasn’t to say I didn’t try
hard things nor did I become aware of the grades. Of course I did. But there
was something different to the approach of no grades versus grades. It was a
different way to climb and I just don’t think it sustained me. Everyone has his
or her own method, and everyone tries to tell you how you should approach it.
So here I am, no different than them, about to tell you how to approach it.
Climbing
is not a fast food meal. It’s not Six Minute Abs. It’s not something that just
works for people. It’s a tough piece of wood and you have to carve it out one
layer at a time. You start with a block. Some people throw the block away. Some
people are so excited that they jump up and down and buy a pair of shoes after
their first day.
For
the long-term climber, we shape this block. We find our own methods at first, but
we begin to rely on tools we have thrown at us from the community. Rocks and
Rocks magazine interviews pro climber Rocky Hard who tells you how to train for
the hardest sends. At the gym, a gear
slinger tells you pulling plastic is only to prepare for the outdoors, while
they top rope with half of a trad rack on their waist. A local damn-bro grunts
so loudly on his project that he doesn’t even have to say what it means: I rock
more than you. Everyone is effectively telling you how to carve your block. But
the fact is, climbing just isn’t the kind of activity where one approach suits
everyone.
I
was an indoor climber for over a year. It shaped the base of my climbing. Everything
I knew was based on what I adopted from indoors, but my lessons didn’t have to
stop there. My ungraded friend taught me a valuable lesson; a completely new
approach to climbing but his style couldn’t be mine. It didn’t fit me. However,
I adopted tools from him. He helped shape the climber I am today. Then Hueco
taught me something about myself, the feeling that I can find strength in many
styles of approaching my climbing. I can chase grades. I can ignore them. I can
hate the movement. I can beat my anti-styles. I found success that day in
Hueco, not just in a climb, but also in myself as I walked away feeling truly
accomplished with a climbing goal like I never had before. It was enlightening.
A new feeling of capability overcame me as I continued to adapt my approach to
climbing.
It takes time to shape your block, to craft it into
something we never would have imagined. This carving cannot be done for
everyone by any one method. Outdoor monogamy is not for everyone. Training to
get double-digits is not for everyone. And thankfully, being a damn-bro is not
for everyone. Go start shaping your block. You might surprise yourself.
