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Stories, Trip Reports and Udder Chaos:

Friction Dandy
by Dingus Milktoast

Smooth granite shines in the bright sunshine. Heat waves dance and shimmer
inches off the stone. I squint at my partner. He squints back. There are
some other people just down the slab from us. They're squinting too.

"Dingus, I'll flake the rope out while you get ready for your lead."

My lead? Funny, I don't remember voting on leads. Part of the great game of
course, this maneuvering. OK, it's my lead. Right on. If it doesn't kill me,
it'll make me stronger. (whimper...)

"Look like I just need draws eh? Don't need any of those cams I reckon"

"I reckon not."

I look at him just then. He's still squinting, only now it's the gunfighter.
We spot check each other's harness. I chalk liberally, using the deflated
bison ball sack to smear the white stuff almost to my elbows. Yes I'm a
dork. Yes it will sweat off in minutes. Yes it helps.

I start climbing, clip the first bolt and take stock. Hmm. Interesting.
Above me stretches a hundred feet of smooth and wrinkle free slab. There are
very few features. The expanse of rock is devoid of a single crack or hold
of any size. A line of chalk marks the dimples and indentations that suffice
for holds on this route.

"Slabby."

"Oh yah."

I swim upward, taking my time, carefully selecting and testing before
committing to the delicate and tenuous friction moves. It is hot. The rock
doesn't actually burn my fingers, but it softens the rubber on my shoes
considerably. I'm slip sliding all over the place. A cruxy section at the
forth bolt stymies me for a bit as I work it out, climbing up, climbing
down, resting, repeating. Eventually I see what I'm doing wrong and solve
the first puzzle of the route.

Stepping through the delicate cross over, I hear a faint,

"Right on Dingus!"

Now I'm into the next hard section. The rest of the route from here on up
appears to be almost pure friction. There aren't even any more micro edges
to use. I take another long time figuring out what is required and this time
I choose wrong. I high step a couple of feet above the bolt, thinking there
is no way that shoe is going to hold. But it does, at least for a second. So
I stand up.

I try to high step my other foot to a better dimple but as I lean in to make
the step my lower foot slides off the rock. And just like that I'm airborne,
or as airborne as I'm going to get on a slab. I basically run down the rock
till my partner catches me. My calves are burned out and I have sweat in my
eye, so I elect to hang and rest.

Eventually I batman back to my highpoint, feeling all the while very proud
for my scurvy dog sport climbing tactics. I quickly try to force the same
moves and just as quickly slide off, this time laughing at the silliness of
it all. And then it clicks and I see a wrinkle out right I'd previously
ignored. One more false start and then I commit to the moves, going out
right, up and then back left.

I encounter one more trial up higher, where my path has taken me slightly
wide of a pretty nice stance. I'm level with a dish in the rock where I
could actually stand on my heels and take some of the strain off my
screaming calves. I don't do much slab climbing anymore and this is sort of
a rude awakening. I just can't get there from here. Agonizing seconds pass
as I fritter and waste the few remaining watts in my leg muscles.

Finally I just forget about it. I stay right and commit to the purest
friction moves I've done in recent memory, back to back, one after another.
It's a house of cards, this sort of climbing, like aid in a very strange
way. You get strung out on increasingly thin and improbable moves, trusting
yourself entirely to technology, facing a monstrous fall should that trust
prove a waste.

Except this is a friction sport climb, a rarity in my experience. In the
Meadows this thing would have 2 or 3 bolts on it and people like me wouldn't
be so cavalier about going for the on-sight. I swim past the next two bolts
and finally get to an edge where I can rest. I'm only ten feet from the
anchors but I take a short breather till the tingling in my calves fades to
a dull ache. Then I'm setting up a top rope for my partner.

He floats the thing of course. Smiles up at me a few times, remarking on
this move or that slide. His shoes are slipping too, but you wouldn't know
it looking down at him. Impeccable technique coupled with a fluid style has
him flowing up the route like water. It's a pleasure to watch.

"Ya wanna do another one Dingus?"

"I don't know man. It's pretty hot. I was sliding all over the place. Let's
bag it."

"Cool, this place is sort of a zoo. I'm done if you are."

"Right on. Let's hit it."

And we drove away into the afternoon. A short stop by the side of the road,
a quick hit of some intense slab climbing and the invigorating slap in the
side of the head that goes along with it. That was pretty cool. There are a
few other routes there too, so I take a quick look at the guidebook.

Hah! My partner put me on the hardest climb at the cliff! I can't help but
laugh. Course he did. And of course I've been at this game a while too. I
knew what I was starting up all along. But that's part of the great game
too...

DMT

 

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