Disciple (The Spanish Adventure Pt.2)
Personal goals are strange, slightly unnerving things. Let me clarify; for me, at least a personal goal is not something I would 'like' to do, a general sense of desire without specific intent - a goal is something that, usually after some consideration, I have decided I will achieve.
There is usually a definitive, notable point at which this happens. A moment when the thing in question goes from something I want, something I'd like to have, to something that I have to do. However, a goal is also oddly embarrassing, being that it relates to something that you are not currently capable of. When you tell others your goal, there is always a tense moment when they consider it, a fragile second in which you are weighed up, your realism evaluated.
Last year, around late October, I took a measured look into the coming year and decided that I wanted to climb 7c by the end of the summer. Continuing from this, I thought I should reasonably on-sight 7b in a similar period of time. At that point, this thought seemed wildly outlandish - looking at my logbook from the time, I had climbed one 7a outdoors, and nothing harder. However, once the idea had taken hold, it was difficult to let go. The desire, such as it was, had been implanted, and there was no turning back.
Fast forward a year, and the outlandish had somehow become the acceptable. I redpointed 'Cry of Despair' in late September and clipped the chains on my first 7c on real rock. However, the other half of my goal remained unfulfilled; climbing 7b on-sight, without any beta or preplaced gear.
Skip to October and I was in Spain, settling in after a couple of days adjusting to the Spanish climbing. Blessed with a particularly warm day, we drove along the twisting roads to Desplomilandia, to seek shelter in the constant shade of the overbearing cliffs.
After swiftly dispatching a few warm up routes, I glanced along the crag and spotted a steep bulge with a dribble of grey, flowing tufa and decided I had to try it - a quick glance at the guidebook told me that the route was 'Judas', a 38m 7b. Feeling impulsive, I racked up my quickdraws and pulled onto the route, expecting to work it for a future redpoint attempt.
Resting on a hold in the shadow of the bulge, I was feeling ill at ease. At this point, having climbed half the route, the idea of onsighting it was setting firmly into my mind, and with that came nerves. I squashed them down and grabbed the first of the grey pinches, twisting my body into the steepness.
Any thoughts I had vanished into the flow of movement, latching the steep rock features and making powerful movements toward the top of the bulge. Suddenly, big positive holds turned to sloping edges, and then a final, heart stopping moment of powerful crimping; I pulled through by the skin of my teeth and slapped gratefully for a wide rail.
I was exhausted, but it wasn't over yet. The next ten metres followed with delicate, balancy moves on crimps, before a powerful finishing sequence into the jugs at the top.
There it was; 7b, about as onsight as it gets.
It is an odd feeling, having completed a personal goal. Accomplishment? Yes, certainly - at first. But after the elation comes the contemplation, and the inevitable question; what next?
This wasn't, if I'm honest, something I thought I would achieve - well, let me rephrase that - it wasn't something I knew I could achieve. There was, like all the best things that can be dreamed of, uncertainty. There was doubt. That was, in all likelihood, what made me decide to do it in the first place - the allure of the unlikely.
So as for the future, I don't know. But it'll be something big. Something unlikely. Something that can be dreamed about.
Stay tuned!
Mischa.
There is usually a definitive, notable point at which this happens. A moment when the thing in question goes from something I want, something I'd like to have, to something that I have to do. However, a goal is also oddly embarrassing, being that it relates to something that you are not currently capable of. When you tell others your goal, there is always a tense moment when they consider it, a fragile second in which you are weighed up, your realism evaluated.
 |
| Taking the fall on ISIS, 7c+ |
Fast forward a year, and the outlandish had somehow become the acceptable. I redpointed 'Cry of Despair' in late September and clipped the chains on my first 7c on real rock. However, the other half of my goal remained unfulfilled; climbing 7b on-sight, without any beta or preplaced gear.
Skip to October and I was in Spain, settling in after a couple of days adjusting to the Spanish climbing. Blessed with a particularly warm day, we drove along the twisting roads to Desplomilandia, to seek shelter in the constant shade of the overbearing cliffs.
After swiftly dispatching a few warm up routes, I glanced along the crag and spotted a steep bulge with a dribble of grey, flowing tufa and decided I had to try it - a quick glance at the guidebook told me that the route was 'Judas', a 38m 7b. Feeling impulsive, I racked up my quickdraws and pulled onto the route, expecting to work it for a future redpoint attempt.
Resting on a hold in the shadow of the bulge, I was feeling ill at ease. At this point, having climbed half the route, the idea of onsighting it was setting firmly into my mind, and with that came nerves. I squashed them down and grabbed the first of the grey pinches, twisting my body into the steepness.
Any thoughts I had vanished into the flow of movement, latching the steep rock features and making powerful movements toward the top of the bulge. Suddenly, big positive holds turned to sloping edges, and then a final, heart stopping moment of powerful crimping; I pulled through by the skin of my teeth and slapped gratefully for a wide rail.
I was exhausted, but it wasn't over yet. The next ten metres followed with delicate, balancy moves on crimps, before a powerful finishing sequence into the jugs at the top.
There it was; 7b, about as onsight as it gets.
 |
It is an odd feeling, having completed a personal goal. Accomplishment? Yes, certainly - at first. But after the elation comes the contemplation, and the inevitable question; what next?
This wasn't, if I'm honest, something I thought I would achieve - well, let me rephrase that - it wasn't something I knew I could achieve. There was, like all the best things that can be dreamed of, uncertainty. There was doubt. That was, in all likelihood, what made me decide to do it in the first place - the allure of the unlikely.
So as for the future, I don't know. But it'll be something big. Something unlikely. Something that can be dreamed about.
Stay tuned!
Mischa.
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