In Order from Video: Ian Dory, Angie Payne, Alex Johnson, Nadya Vorotnikov, Courtney Sanders, Carlo Traversi, Rod D’Anastasio, Andrew Kim, Kasia Pietras, Andy Lamb, Katie Lamb, Daniel Woods, Shane Messer, Francesca Metcalf, Amelia Metcalf, Grady Bagwell, Sebastian Lesure, Natasha Barnes, Nick Hall, and Nick Picarella.

All of us at MetroRock are PSYCHED for FEB. 4th! The Citizen’s comp is going to be baller–and the Finals round–well, come on, look at the lineup! See you in there!

The RED ONE is a $25,000 digital camera that has inarguably started a revolution in digital cinema–a machine noted as one of the most significant American inventions of the 21st century. That’s why my title is funny.

Consequently, I must apologize for the send footage; it’s not exactly up to LT11 production value standards, but if Lukas Cassick wasn’t such a stud on his iPhone (THANKS), these moments–pretty hysterical looking back–would quickly fade away like another silver string of forgotten memories in Dumbledore’s Pensieve.

Anyway, after four days of work this season and a few other random “touch-and-feels” last year, I climbed Roses and Blue Jays out in Great Barrington, MA, over the weekend–a boulder problem that I pretty much never thought I would do. I realize that this kind of send for the typical full-time, pro-elite-extra-alluminum-alloyed-finger-tinkers is no big deal; yet another pop-corn cornel in the old butter bucket.

But for me, as a once or twice a month weekend warrior, this boulder problem is one to be remembered. I wanted it bad. I needed it–even more than Ondra needs a Big Mac. SO. MUCH. FUN. I ended up falling on the top-out four times in one hour before sending. It stung real deep like. Hence, the frustrations verbalized in this video. Thanks STONELICK for the brand new pads–a massive BOOM ROYALE and convenient FLIP.

Neil Mushaweh. You’re the best. LATAH.

What can I say? The conditions in New England right now are absolutely prime. Each time we can escape work to sneak outside for a day or two here and there–well–it’s a Goddamn blessing. My buddy Rob drove all the way up from New Jersey just for this boulder after working it out for a day one week prior. This guy never fails to impress me with his work-ethic, ability to send under pressure, and overall great attitude. Nice one!

Oh, and I can’t wait to get back on this thing. SO CLOSE.

And Yosemite in 3 days?! Yes please.

Last Friday, around 7:00am, I peeked out through the oddly colored, dusty curtains of our rustic cottage to see what looked like a scene from Steven King’s The Mist: a milky white, heavy-set mist and dark, rolling clouds suffocating the mountains and blotching out the horizon. Not good.

Despite less-than-ideal bouldering conditions, we headed up to the Fortress to try our project because we had nothing better to do—aside from eating chocolate cake and drinking Ginger Beer all day (my favorite South African soda). The parking lot, usually packed to the absolute brim with small, shit-box rental cars just like our own, was completely empty—not a soul in all of the Rocklands came out that morning. We laughed to ourselves while hiking up as if to bring some brevity to a situation that already seemed unmistakably flawed.

After warming up like usual in the Duck Cave, we headed over to The Vice (V13) to start playing; a boulder problem known as one of the most classic test pieces around—one of those climbs that keeps you up at night as it permeates through the very fabric of your soul. It was our 4th day of projecting on it. I had no expectations: ‘Not a thread of hope in all of Hell would get me up this thing today’ I thought.

The rain began to pick up as the clouds sifted eerily through the notch. Every boulder was soaking wet—dripping from the rain that slowly, but inevitably drenched every nook and cranny. The only thing that remained dry was the cave we were huddled in. Fortunately, that’s where The Vice is located. But since the condensation from the clouds (we were literally inside of them due to our altitude) was so thick and dense, every hold began to soak up moisture. I looked at the skin on my palms to get a read on the air quality. Within seconds, I could see hundreds of little dots blotting out the chalk—water droplets from the air making a visual imprint on my skin. The air was wet. Consequently, our pads were drenched within minutes.

Climbing was a bitch because as soon as you stepped on the pads, your shoes would get wet and subsequently the foot holds. After falling on moves that should have been easy (many of the crucial smears were wet), I decided that starting from the bottom of the problem would be the easiest solution. You could walk over to the start, take your boots off, quickly put on your climbing shoes (after generously chalking up the rubber tips to soak up the dew), and climb before your shoes and hands got too wet.

On my first try from the start, I fell at the last move utterly surprised; a grotesque understatement for the shock that enveloped my brain and body.

The rain was picking up as the clouds grew thicker. It was like climbing with a massive clock hanging over head. If you listened hard enough you might have heard the razor-sharp clinking of time echoing in the distance—Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock. The magic window of opportunity was quickly vanishing as the weather deteriorated, so I pulled on from the start once more. My mind was blank, like a chalk-board that had just been erased. There was no thought of ‘maybe I’ll do it, maybe I won’t—there was just climbing. Brian later told me that he looked at Rob right before I pulled on and gave him a quick, furtive smirk as if to say, ‘Look at this crazy numb-nut climbing in the rain.’

While I climbed, Brian (thank you so much by the way) tapped every hold on the arête with chalk a few seconds before I grabbed them to soak up some of the dankness aggressively invading our cave. Within a minute I was holding the dripping victory jug—fully dumb-founded. I blacked out for the majority of the boulder and woke up at the finish beside myself. The guys told me later that I turned around with a look on my face like I had just seen a ghost and muttered, “I can’t believe this is happening right now,” before climbing the last 30-feet of slab in the rain.

I’ll always remember that rainy day up at the Fortress with my good friends as one of the best climbing hours of my life.

A wise man once said, “If all you have to worry about is waking up in the morning, cooking breakfast, and going climbing—then you’ve got nothing to worry about at all.” After spending a good chunk of time here in the Rocklands; living, eating, and breathing climbing, I couldn’t agree more.

Since this is my first real extended bouldering trip, a full on two month commitment, there is a certain novelty to everything. It feels amazing to wake up in the morning, fry some eggs, pack a lunch (usually an apple and banana or an avocado with tuna and chips), and head out the door to play for the entire day without the slightest hint of obligation or lingering consequence. There’s no time line or schedule. In fact, I hardly ever know what day it is. There’s no need for a watch because wherever the sun hangs in the sky is how much time you have left in the day. We eat when we want. Climb when we want. And sleep when we want. To me, someone who works a full-time job at home and waits for the weekend to climb outside, this is absolute paradise.

Every day I become infatuated with yet another boulder problem and just when I think I’ve found the best looking line I’ve ever seen, something else pops up around the corner. Since the amount of world-class bouldering here is seemingly infinite, our strategy over the first few weeks has been to run around to as many areas as possible; not spending much more than a day at any one location. This way we can sample many climbs before deciding what projects deserve the most time and effort. It’s like being a 6-year-old in a massive toy store and wanting to buy everything all at once, but since you don’t have enough time or money (read: skin) to purchase everything, you get your hands on as much as you can before you take the plunge and go for the gold.

Here are my most notable sends so far:

Black Shadow (V12)

Gliding Through Waves with Dolphins (V11)

Golden Virginia (V11)

Witness the Sickness (V11)

Royksopp (V11)

Caroline (V10)

Pinotage (V10)

Hole in One (V10)

Paula Abdul (V10)

Aside from the climbing and obvious magic that this place possesses, the best part of the trip so far has been the crew. I’ve never climbed with a more talented, fun, and easy-going group of people: Brian Antheunisse (a ferocious power house with fathomless depths of climbing knowledge), Scott Cory (the alleged Oakland gangster who is just as quick to laugh as he is to send), Rob D’ Anastasio (a guy whose got more character and passion for life than a dude from Jack Karouc’s On the Road), and Rob Guinn (he’s hysterical; a rare, but very amicable breed of human being who is about as easy to read as brail). Fortunately, Joe Kinder and Colette McInerney just rolled in last week, which means a promising addition to the crew since they are a blast to hang out with. I love climbing with those two. They are some of the positive, psyched, and upbeat human beings on the planet. It is impossible to NOT have fun while climbing when they’re around. And you’d be surprised how much easier it is to make progress when the mood is light-hearted; full of crazy talk and nonsense. It helps a ton!

Recently, our running around has subsided. Less volume and more singular goals–it’s time to start focusing on projects. I like it like that anyway. Right now it’s The Vice (V13)–we all (Joe, Rob, Brian, and myself) have all got it in two overlapping pieces as of yesterday after two days of effort. This is the best boulder I have ever climbed on hands down and will be the hardest if I have any luck and do it. Beautiful. Compression and biceps. And it stays on you until the very last move. The other one on the top of my list right now is Moisty Mazy (V13)–also one of the best boulder problems I have ever climbed on. The movement is like none other on holds that are all exactly the same; straight down sloper-pinches with tiny thumb catches and toe hooks on what feels like a 45 degree wall. Max? Earth to Max? Ya, this one has your name written all over it Mr. San Fran. Must complete!

Lots of video and pics to edit when I get home. The internet here is too slow for that here, so it’ll have to wait–mega video/photo blog in September!

Side note: Sometimes it’s strange–this whole rock climbing thing. You spend a lot of time these trips doing nothing; either hanging out in a cabin or tent while it pours, hiking around aimlessly, sitting on a rock, walking for no reason, resting, or just doing nothing at all. That’s when you get to thinking–thinking A LOT. Sometimes I don’t know why I go through all this trouble just to climb rocks (travel across the planet, leave friends and family, my job, sleeping in the dirt, this and that), but then when I’m actually climbing it all makes perfect sense. I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I guess it’s only natural for motivation to ebb and flow and right now it’s certainly flowing.

Mike Helt: Chief Setter

SCS Nationals 2011: Atlanta, GA

First and foremost, congratulations to all the competitors and coaches at Nationals this year. You rocked our socks off. Without you and everyone else involved in USA Climbing, we wouldn’t have a comp. Thank you for being super strong and climbing like professionals.

­Setting for the past seven days on the 2011 SCS National Crew has redefined my understanding of what it means to be a national level­ route setter: an exceptional climber devoid of an overwhelming ego that is able to quickly set creative, aesthetic, and functional routes while working effectively and efficiently with others. It’s about working hard. Listening. Removing your feelings and natural inclination to be possessive of your work. Being fast. Respectful. Eating shrimp and chocolate milk on the sidewalk outside of Kroger’s at 2:30am. Wrestling to the death in and outside of the pool. Not smashing the lull into any walls. Being a team player and having fun.

Outside of these essential qualities, I learned that you should be able to comfortably work an average of 14 to 18-hour days for close to a week while battling the inevitable onset of fatigue-induced mental fog. It rolls in during the late hours of your the third day while swaying 60-feet off the deck in a 15,000 pound lull. Side note: Being in a lull for your first time high off the ground is creepy. I was looking for Kyle to give me confidence one night and his response was, “Yup, these booms just work on hydraulics; so they could let go and crash at any time. Just hold onto the cage if we go down.” Thanks pal.

Despite the apparent challenges of a heavy work load and all the stresses and anxieties that are naturally associated with route setting responsibility and personal accountability, I can say without a doubt that this event has been the most rewarding roped competition I’ve ever had the opportunity to set for so far. Thanks to Mike Helt and the rest of his crew, I’ve learned more in a week than I have in the past year about setting for youth rope climbing events.

The Team:

Assistants:
Remi Samyn
Mark Mercer
Kyle McCabe
Big Rig
Luke Bertelsen
Scott Leeper

Apprentices:
Ian MacIntosh
Ryan Sewell
Bret Johnston

Interns:
Dave Wetmore
Ross Halverson a.k.a “Stone Cold Steve Ross-tin”
Chris LaCrasto

Ok. Let’s get into the nitty-gritty. I’ve broken up my random thoughts throughout the week in sub-categories to make for easier reading. Many of you may already know this stuff, but I didn’t, so go suck on a loli-pop.

Percentages: Every route is set with a percentage in mind. The pragmatic question is: How many climbers do you want to proceed from one day to the next? For the most part, qualifiers this year were far too easy. On average, there was an 85-95% send rate. It turns out that most competitors, as well as spectators, don’t appreciate this. In fact, some of them take it as an insult. Their logic is that they’ve come all this way to Nationals to be tested, not given an ego-boosting jug haul. Perhaps qualifiers next year will only see a 40% success rate. What then butter cup? This percentage evolution will call for much more aggressive competition rounds, separating the strong from the weak much quicker.

Grades: When setting routes for each category, a grade is a faint guideline to set with. Depending on the category and terrain–and how the two interact with one another–the grade is in a constant state of flux, only useful to the genesis of the route. All tweaks and cruxes are specifically designed for the climbers within the category, so most of the time finite grades become obsolete.

Off-Ramp Crux: I had never heard this term,”Off-Ramp Crux,” until Mike Helt busted it out when analyzing my Female B Semi-Final. I had a gaston move after the roof that dropped around 5 girls in the same exact spot. This is not good. A five move off-ramp crux is preferred over a one move off-ramp crux since the whole point of the route is to create multiple fall points for an increased range of separation. We eventually tweaked this shoulder move by flattening out the gaston and adding a drive foot so that the next group of Female A girls had a better shot at advancing a bit further. I think I’m going to start using this term as much as possible, even when it makes no sense, to increase my coolness. Like, “Hey man, don’t off-ramp crux it tonight on your date,” or “Dude, that gaster-cling totally off-ramp cruxed me.”

Gaston: Turns out this word used to describe a shoulder move is not used in France at all. For real? They say épaule (a – pull), which means shoulder. Hm. Rem-dog, Mr. Frenchy Pants, enlightened us on this one.

American Competition Theory versus European Competition Theory (Remi Samyn, the French exchange setter and all around bad-ass, had a lot of insight to offer here):

Route Construction: In America, routes are extremely progressive. You can think of a route here like a wave in the ocean. It slowly gains momentum and intensity before reaching its apex and crashing. In the same way, we set routes to slowly intensify before the final punch that theoretically isolates the top one or two climbers. In Europe, the fluff-ah-nutter and jelly is cut out. Routes start off hard and stay hard. Which is better? Depending on the competitor field, terrain, and age category, there may not necessarily be a black and white answer.

Technique:  Remi noticed that our youth competitors climb very square with a quick pace and rhythm in the beginning of routes, using heel-hooks often, but straying away from drop-knees and twisting. He also noticed that American climbers tend to use too much power in certain moves when they could relax more. For example, he noticed some climbers at Nationals were crimping hard when they could have been holding on with a three-fingered open hand. Big woop. In Europe, competitors generally climb with more feeling and a feathered touch, not using 100% of their power unless absolutely necessary. Technique is no substitute for power Remi. But since he absolutely crushed all of us forerunning, maybe we should listen up.

Coaching Style: In America, if a climber falls, coaches are generally very supportive (maybe when they shouldn’t be); saying things like “Good job” or “Nice Try,” when really they just made a number of fatal mistakes and climbed poorly because of it. In France, coaches are much harsher. If you fall, the coach is not happy and will tell you exactly what you did wrong straight away. Remi said he has unintentionally made his kids cry in the past for their mistakes, but this is not out of the ordinary in Europe. I would like to be much more strict as a coach, but many of the kids on the team are often just there for fun. What? Climbing for fun? Recreational climbing represents a different cultural perspective because in Europe I feel like climbing is generally treated more as a professional endeavor as opposed to a club sport.

French Federation vs. USA Climbing: There are 80,000 members under the French Climbing Federation; 5,000 of which are competitors. The climbing federation has 40 people that work under salary. While the French Federation has seven sanctioned sports within it, 80% of its sanctions are for climbing.  Basically, all climbers pay a club fee to use whatever gym they choose and that fee goes to the Federation. As far as I understand from my conversation with Remi, it seems like Europe has established a kind of sport climbing communism within the Federation. While in America, each gym is a private business making its own money (capitalism), which is beneficial to the individual, but not for the whole sport, as so aptly demonstrated by the extremely advanced progression of climbing in France and other European countries. Hence, the 12 continental championships in Europe per year for both sport and bouldering, while we have only one national event per year for each category. We’re catching up though. Right?

Overall, I think the event finished pretty smoothly, with the exception of a few hiccups. There were a few ties to worry about from Semi-Finals, but they were nicely broken in Finals. Finals were a bit stiff, with only a few tops between all the categories, which means they could have been a touch easier. And since the qualies were intentionally set easier than normal, we won’t count an overwhelming amount of tops as a minus.

After it’s all said and done, what I will remember most is the shenanigans: Battle Rouge and Blood Ball. Unfortunately, for the sake of my job, I can’t describe these events in detail, but I can say that I am thankful Bret survived Battle Rouge and that Team 20′s took the championship round in Blood Ball. Until next year!

Thanks for an awesome week guys.

(Oh, and all the photos were taken by the one and only Bret Johnston. Yah buddy.)