One Life Stand

We connect to walls that have seen millions of years. Photo: Anton Gietl 

The world changes, and it doesn’t.
However the stories are more important than they stage they happen on. 

Eons ago, our ancestors painted on cave walls and told their tales around the glowing embers.  

Today we take photographs and write blogs by the glow of our screens.

Back then you could see the expression of the listener, run your fingers over the art.

Now a stranger posts a comment and you zoom in on pixels.

In the Cederberg you can still find ancient rock paintings, gather around a campfire, snap away and type your adventures up.

We can act like our for-bearers, but I doubt they could imagine our digital circumstances.

The world changes, and it doesn’t.

Either way, it is all about the story, that is what counts. They are not bound to a time or place. They drift down through generations and the phases of civilization.  

These days we take pictures as reminders of those stories. Sometimes the picture itself speaks, sometimes you need the narrative. 

Here are two. Almost identical. Without the words they are just images of rock. 

First glance: No chalk

The first is from September 2013. I teamed up with a free spirited traveller, Anton Gietl, to explore the area near De Pakhuis. He had a great attitude to life, a positive exuberance and was up for any adventure. Even if it could turn out to be kak. Which it never did. After doing a route we still haven’t named, I saw this beautiful line. I vowed to come back. I am like a magpie in this regard – I have an affinity for pretty things – and some just say “climb me”. Unlike the feathered one, I prefer to collect sparkling tales for the memory bank rather than shiny shit for my nest.  

Two years later: just some chalk remains

The second is from August 2015. I met Alex Bester at the campsite. He was in the enviable phase of being a dirtbag, having lived out of a tent for the last 3 months. It’s a simple and satisfying way to not be stressed about the universe. We returned to the area I visited in 2013, and climbed the line that had been on my list for almost two years. We named it One Life Stand. The circle was complete.

The rock didn't change, but I did.
The stage remains, we move on. 

The next day while others were hiding in their tents, rain beading off the flysheets, we were abseiling down a steep cliff. You can learn technique, train for strength but you can’t coach desire. I suppose some would argue you can’t coach stupidity either, but we had a great day, despite our wet clothing and soggy gear. If that counts as stupid then I’ll wear it. We also have a project to come back to…. Another cycle begins.

Make time to do the things you enjoy, and do them with people who share your passion. Revisit special places, enjoy these cycles. 

Whether you paint it, write it or tell it across the flames; this is the story of you. 
It is all that will be left at the end.   

This is your one life stand.

The Other Fruit

It is easy to fall into habit. Beneficial or not, beware stagnation.

Last light across the Wolf. Photo: Julia Wakeling

Routine is comfortable. Those that we effortlessly slip into, generally offer little more that predictably. Half-hourly Facebook checking, scoffing the same breakfast, frequenting the regular bar, one milk, no sugar - it becomes ingrained, entrenched. Conversely, routines that offer a more positive impact, tend to be take more commitment. The pre-work workout, after dinner online courses, lunchtime yoga, Sunday meditation. These may be regular, but require input: they are not factory settings.

The alcoholic and the gym junkie are on distant health-sides of repetitive behaviour, but both spend a lot of time doing the same thing. Over and over.

Julia making the first pass of The Axe on Undertow. Photo: Marian Penso.

Breaking routine on Undertow. Photo: Marian Penso

A particular routine of mine has been regular seasonal trips to Tafelberg. A reliable formula with enjoyable and enriching outcomes. These new route forays, often in the company of Dr Steyn, have been enormously satisfying and productive, albeit reasonably predictable. They require dedication and energy, but have developed an air of familiarity. “Yes, we went up there, again.” While I view these numerous trips as a chapter of a life well spent, the opportunity to really explore can be stifled by recurrence, regardless of it’s inherit benefits.

To shake a habit can involve an introspective based decision, or an external factor. Like water. Despite our preferences, predilections and tendencies, sometimes we must succumb to essentials, such as liquid ice.

Looking down from below the crux of  The Hippo and the Zebra 

No avoiding the void on The Hippo and the Zebra. Photo: Tommy Bairstow

Yip, that wet substance, or lack thereof, can rattle even the most buried of tendencies. And so it came to pass that the summer of 2015/16 saw extensive time at the mountain of the Wolf rather than that of the Table. Be it El Nino, drought, climate change or just f*cking dry; the drip at Tafelberg was not doing what its name suggests. We could have carried water up, but that would have involved dripping sweat, which is exactly not the type of dripping we were after. Call it smart, or lazy, but I opted for something less camel like. The regular programme was replaced. I went to Wolfberg for the first time in years. And it was rad!

Familiarity is comforting. The mannerisms of your mates, the smell of your garden and music from your own collection. Yet it is not exciting in the way the unfamiliar is. New faces, aromas and sounds stimulate another part of the brain. At Tafelberg I know almost every ledge, corner and blank cul de sac. Not so for Wolfberg, and I spent an entire day soloing easy routes to gain a basic understanding of the place. I also got climb with Tommy (pronounced Tah-Me), a Yosemite local that I had not shared a rope with before. His middle name is also Hardman. It's not every day you get to pair up with a bona fide hardman of climbing! So, there was certainly new, but there was also old. 

Pioneering through the roof on The Last Hardman. Photo: Julia Wakeling.

Tommy on unfamiliar terrain.

Like Officer McClane, old habits die hard. The surrounds and people were different but the desire for virgin rock was as strong as ever. Aristotle postulated that nature abhors a vaccum, and similarly, I naturally want to fill empty spaces.    

I made the strange less so, I looked for the unknown in the less known. I fell back into a role. I went elsewhere just to act the same. It was a Russian doll of routine. This first layer was removed by changing location, the second by new adventure partners, but after that the pioneering doll remained.  

Marion enjoying some After Action Satisfaction

As my battered Thailand T-shirt says: “Same same, but different”. Yet even a subtle difference is important. It invigorates and stirs. It makes routine less routine.

I completely advocate jumping out of your comfort zone. Doing wild, crazy and completely new things. This is how we discover new passions. This is a way to grow.  However, we can’t do this all the time, and within those parts of our lives that we already identify with, there seems to be a lesson.

Avoiding stagnation is not necessarily about changing everything, but changing enough to feel the difference.

Thumbs up!

Most importantly - be silly, have fun. Photo: Julia Wakeling.

Lesser know sport of rock surfing. Photo: Julia Wakeling.