Second Place

Some would suggest that the one holding the silver medal was the first to fail. If the goal was competition specific, then the assertion may hold true. However, while life may be a game, the rules are not rigid. There is no single purpose where losing should prevent you from enjoying another one. If you disagree then, please stop reading this now and train harder. You clearly don’t have time for opportunistic fun. 

Disappointment when a plan crumbles is natural, but lingering on it is silly. Us climbing folk seem to fall easily into obsession, almost by default. The ‘send’ becomes all important, as if it were something more than a constructed gymnastic routine. The project or travel itineraries become paramount.  The objective is utmost. Sure, it can be monumentally satisfying, I don’t deny this in the slightest. This is a primary joy-component of our sport. It drives and motivates us. The trick is to revel in it, while not despising its absence. Besides, every now and then second place is just so damn good!

Plan B...

This last weekend I was like a puffer fish: distended with enthusiasm to open a route I had cleaned months ago, before my body fell into disrepair. Hopefully my odor was less piscine, and my appearance less absurd. The target climb is wild, steep, aesthetic and other adjectives that trigger goose bumps. It was also long overdue: the baboon over the shoulder than needs to be shaken off. Those familiar with Slaapstad will know that winter can be atmospherically inconvenient for scaling stone. Sunday was a prime example. Right on the cusp: no rain to wash the program away, but ominous enough to be particularly unpleasant high on the hill. After extensive vacillation, we opted for Plan B. A tiny granite outcrop close to the road, good for a hasty escape lest the trade winds threatened to export us away.

Enjoying the skinny splitter crack

I was not expecting much. A previous recce had left me rather ambivalent, and indeed the quantity was decidedly scant. Yet, a thin, and unexpectedly parallel crack yielded superior per meter satisfaction. We joked about being amateur Brits, going out in crap weather to play on miniature crags. Although to be honest, it was probably a stellar day in pommy terms. I giggled at perfect micro-cam placements. The mist swirled above, the ocean crashed below, and we were happy little piggies in the middle. A leafy green and granular grey oasis to be childish in. Maybe I was just in a good mood, but hot damn, second place was just so much fun! Or perhaps it was the consolation prize that made me happy. Or the great company. A backyard adventure-let sure beats remaining inside lamenting what could have been.

Crystal bliss

Now riddle this. Had we nabbed 'first place', I doubt I would ever have revisited these boulders. Since cliffs generally make a habit of staying put, I will soon be able to go back for my alpha allure. So, by ‘missing out’ this time, did I actually gain more in the long run?

Who knows? The imponderables of potential outcomes and hypothetical ‘what ifs’ just distract us from the present. I say aim high but enjoy whatever you get. Appreciate the sidelines.

)

The easy run-out to complete Grey Zone (19)

If climbing is rained out, I’ll often go for a post-precipitation stroll. The smell of damp earth, frog calls and dusk rays brings a smile. It may be second place, but certainly not second rate!

Thanks to Moritz Thilo and Marian Penso for the little mission, and to Marian for the pics.

Art and Tea

I am not an artist in the conventional sense, but then how many artists are conventional? 
Rather, the results of my efforts might not be considered art by a conventional audience...

Furthermore, I don’t drink real tea, at least not with the regularity required to be considered a tea drinker. Yet, here are words about both art, tea, and their mingling.

Photo: Laleh Akbarynoor

Sculptures. They may last through the ages of human evolution for generations to appreciate. From carvings barely noticeable at arm’s length to mega structures visible from the stratosphere.

The artist altering the medium. A physical and enduring offering. A work of art. 

Theatre. Each performance is transient. Minutes to hours, from soap box to the Royal Albert. Delivered in a style spectrum from reactive spontaneity to rehearsed reproducibility.  

The artist acting on a medium. A fleeting and experiential offering. A working of art. 

So what is it to climb a rock? Nature provides the sculptured stage, ours is merely an act there on. Art on art, if you will. Climbing art can’t exist without geological art*. And what of the first ascentionist? Simply the first to link a series of hand and foot movements across a stone painting. The vision may be theirs, or inspired by another. The execution may be practiced, or not: a smooth, fluid dance or a jolting, staggered fight. The birth of a route is just the initial rendition. Geological processes gave us the playground, we just find different ways to play. To be playwrights, actors or both.

Where does tea fit in? A mug. Or anything that holds hot liquid. Obviously.   

The drinking of tea, however, represents a particular way to be an artist on the rock: the send.

For the actor, this is the performance. This is not the space for working and fiddling. The components have steeped, and from the first sip, it flows until empty. You do not repeatedly spit it out and re-drink. This is not the rehearsal room. You do not knock the cup over and pour another one. You do not have half and then give up. You may cough or splutter, but you continue. The show goes on, from anticipation to fulfillment, with an upward progression in between. As you place the vessel down, you have done the route, the curtain closes, and you have drunk your tea.       

Primal Art follows the steep prow. 

Primal Art (26)*****       

Hard. Aesthetic. Intimidating. Bold. Orgasmic. HAIBO! 

Indeed, “No!” is what I thought for a while, until the draw got too strong. It usually does. Top down inspection revealed the Holy Grail: just enough holds! Three hours of practice, re-practice and for good measure, guess what? Yes, some cursing. Despite the toil and preparation, my performance was awkward and desperate. An exhausting illustration that it was indeed possible. A juggling act, were every catch was marginal and seemingly a ball would drop at any moment, yet didn’t.

Primal Art, first crux. Photo: Warren Gans

Happily, scrappy counts, and the satisfaction was sipped from completing a new, difficult and beautiful piece, despite the inelegance. 

You could say there was tea in the art. 

Fighting time. Photo: Warren Gans

My-T-Chai heads straight up the Rooibosch Wall. Photo: Douw Steyn.

My-T-Chai (24)*****

Now we are talking. The coveted FA onsight. The idea had brewed, but this time the satisfaction was derived mainly from the style. Drank it in. Ground up improvisation; street theatre off the cuff. Writing the script en route. The skill in navigating the unknown gained through experience.  

You could say there was art in the tea. 

Parallel cords. Photo: Douw Steyn. 

Douw following pitch 1 before adding pitch 2.

Opening these two excellent pitches involved intrinsically different experiences, but my personal outcome was similar. 

A satisfied, unconventional artist. Who does sometimes drink tea, figuratively. 

How do you like your art and tea? Photo: Laleh Akbarynoor

Thanks to Laleh, Douw and Warren for photographs, and again to Douw for a rad Tafelberg season and all the cool routes we did together!

*The exception being a gym, where plastic and resin replace geology, but this is a different cauldron of tea-loving-artsy pisces altogether. 

The Heartbeat Hurdle

How I ended up at the Cape Town Carnival and not climbing in the Tradathon at Wolfberg..

Some truths are universal. Some are inevitable. Some are painful. They all just are.

Life is full of surprises. Sure it is a cliché. It is also true. To the point of redundancy. Show me a real fortune teller and there is a person with no surprises. We are all on a journey into focus, one second at a time. What will you find? How will you take it?

Beauty is often in the small. Happiness in the detail. Satisfaction in the nuance. The giggles and tickles. A kind word, a smile, sun kisses and the smell after rain. A hug when you need it. The pleasant surprises we relish, without really calling them such. We just enjoy. 

Despair is often in the large, the shocking and the consequential. If you let it in. The seemingly unfair. The blindside. The “why me” and “this sucks”. These are also just surprises, but our reaction can cripple us, if we wallow.  

It was Monday. I had no idea what would happen, as always. 

Beach and cool new friends. Bar and beer, a dance floor of swirling arms and flashing teeth. Dawn approaching, I was tired. Time to cover my pupils, recharge, relive the night in REM. 

But the cage was rattling, my heart was more than racing. Rampant. No Rest. This. Is. Weird. W.T.F.?

I went to work blurry, left even more so. Tried to sleep again. 

Impossible. The thrashing inside visible between my ribs. Some.thing. is. Not. rig.ht. 

I cycled to the doctor. She was puzzled. I was both alive and able to ride a bike. “You better contact some people”. Ambulances are cramped places. Big needles and clear fluids. 176 bpm: and not the music from last night. Drugs in. No change. “That’s interesting”. More drugs. Still 176. “You better drive faster”. 

For the medically inclined: Atrioventricular Nodal Reentrant Tachycardia. Essentially a neural short circuit sends the ticker into overdrive. It isn't rare, but normally it stops after a while, or with physical techniques/drugs. Sometimes, however, it gets locked in and can potentially continue until the suitably unambiguous 'cardiac death'. 

The Resuscitation Room: lots of people, worried faces. “12 hours like this, seriously?” Electrodes everywhere. Oxygen. The paper tongue of the ECG machine telling my story. Cardioversion. The last trick.    

“Is it like jump starting a car?”

“A bit more complicated”.          

Another chemical cocktail: The Michael Jackson. Drowsy. Out.

^-^-^-^-^ ZAP! .. ^---^---^---^

92 bpm has never felt so slow, and frikken awesome! 

A long night in ICU. Observation on their part. Contemplation on mine. 

52 bpm. The bliss of normality.    

So what next: Visits to specialists. Money. Probably an operation. More expense. No alcohol, no caffeine, minimal exercise. Don’t leave the city. Hence the photo of the dancing jelly fish first up. 

     

My being is intertwined with an active lifestyle. So I could wrestle with the perceived kakness of this series of surprises. I could bitch and whine. I could drown in melancholy. But I won’t.

If this were 100 years ago, I would have only had to wait and see what failed first.   

Last Tuesday could also have ended far worse: evidently I am both a hardy and lucky critter. 

Technology has the potential to restore health. 

Family, friends and even strangers care.

This is just a hurdle, and I have people to help me.

I have a lot to be happy about.

The beat goes on.    

Well wishes from up North. You guys rock!

Big thanks to the ambulance crew, everyone at Kingsbury Hospital ER, family and friends.

The Bek Affair

This article originally appeared in issue 51 of South African Mountain Magazine, with some different photos.

Tick lists. Boy do climbers love them. Whether it be the weekend warrior’s fodder or a catalyst for the Best-Euro-Roadtrip-Ever, tick lists and climbers are pretty tight. Tallying the must-do’s and mega-classics, they get the palms sweating and induce nostalgia in those passing the suggestions on. Although these sacred inventories are most readily associated with the gems in the route department, on a sub-dermal level they apply to areas and crags too. While often not explicitly stated, we have an intuitive knowledge of what makes certain spots cool, and we tend to gravitate to those which have more locational stars. A tiny, crumbling cliff hacked into a quarry alongside a freeway through an industrial zone is unlikely to be popular, unless of course it is in the UK. Here at the Antarctic end of Africa we have a geological heritage that affords us the luxury of being somewhat snobbish about our crags, and this is the story of one such mistress*.

The mistress sometimes plays hard to get...
Pic: Melinda Griffiths

Houdenbek is a farm of Môrester Estate in the Koue Bokkeveld. From Ceres you travel North on the R303, through the Gydo Pass, turn right at Op die Berg and after 15km ‘the Bek’ will be on your left, waiting to tempt you. The owners, Charl and Johalet van der Merwe have been superbly welcoming and encouraging of climbers on their property, with the Fisant and Tarentaal cottages providing a most pleasant base for a getaway.    

Here are the vital statistics:

Sport climbing	√	Bouldering potential	√	Short walk-ins	√
Trad climbing	√	Tar road all the way	√	Great hiking	√
Stunning surrounds	√	Easy access (no permits)	√	Mountain biking trails	√
Further climbing potential	√√	Magnificent accommodation	√	Dam for swimming	√

This pleasure zone does not have enormous assets like those of the Trango Towers, it is not excessively remote like Mt. Asgard, nor is it intimidating like our own Klein Winterhoek amphitheatre. However, one is not always looking for a huge mistress, miles away who is ultimately just going to give you a hard time. 

Exploring what she has to offer

By contrast, the Bek is easy, satisfying and most refreshing – qualities that seem well suited for an affair, or so I am told. The Bek is also really beautiful, but not in an imposing way like Ama Dablam or a catwalk model - which just seem out of most of our leagues. No, the Bek is inviting and subtle, and after the first date, a jumble of rocks from afar reveals tranquil riverine pools, intriguing gulleys and delectable 15-45m high cliff faces. While the rock quality is not always on par with Tafelberg or Krakadouw (few places in our galaxy are), it is certainly good enough to put a smile on your face.

Climalogical history

The topological evidence indicates that the first climbers ventured out of the farmland and onto the rocky outcrops between 150 and 120 million seconds ago (MSA)**. It is thought that another climbing species, physically strong but never venturing far above the ground, may have frequented the region prior to this. We know their diet typically consisted primarily of boulders, but their presence has not been confirmed in the ascent record. As with other evolutionary events, the first routes appeared near water – in this case a carabiner’s throw from the farm dam. The Warreniferous period was characterised primarily by activity from Russell and Catharina Warren along with Gareth Meder. In an unusual act of developmentary altruism, R. Warren even bolted a line specifically for the endemic Charl Van Der Merwe to open. All these pioneering efforts have names relating to apples, since they were an important food source in the surrounding valley.

Early morning, the sport crag from across the dam. 

Approximately 108 MSA, a tall, skinny creature appeared on the scene and due to the further generosity of R. Warren, first crawled up a few of the remaining bolted lines. While on a perambulation to the Heiveld arch, this lanky critter (who happens to the author of this article) noticed some delectable opportunities for trad climbing. In particular, a striking wall with an arête sticking right out of the centre, which would later become the highly aesthetic Pythagoras Dilemma (22). This marked the start of the Halseocene period, with the initial routes arriving around 102 MSA on a subsequent migration with Douw Steyn and Julia Wakeling. The vertical playground was further expanded later in the same season with Sam Jack, Melinda Griffiths and Rolfe van Breda.  Between 75 and 45 MSA the skinny guy had adaptive issues with one of his clambering appendages and coincidently the proliferation of trad routes remained dormant until 30 MSA. During this hiatus, the next wave of sport climbing (the Millbredourens period) got underway around 21 MSA with Scott Miller, Rolfe Van Breda and Tony Lourens filling the dam crag with more bolts.

Pythagoras Dilemma (22) - where it all started.
Pic: Douw Steyn

Most recently, at only 5 MSA, a herd 10 strong invaded the farm and were most impressed, all vowing to return.  Based on this it seems fairly certain that further route development will continue into the next climalogical epoch, as rumours of this fertile haven spread. In a fitting tribute to the excellence of the place, regular Bekkonites R. van Breda and M. Griffiths got engaged at the farm.  

The Virtual Tour      

At the time of scribbling, the sport crag had 21 routes (from grade 15 to 24) and some projects. Receiving morning shade, it is ideal for the hot summers, and a more convenient crag is tricky to find. By contrast the established trad crags all receive sun until mid-afternoon, making them more suitable for the cooler months. 

On the trail that leads from the dam to the Heiveld arch (which is well worth the walk), the first crag on your left is the Boardroom. This takes its name from the improbable natural shelter that Charl mused was where the bushmen could have held their indabas. Imagine a giant stone Rubik’s cube, where a block from a bottom corner is slid out just enough to form a protected room inside the boulder. While most of the lines here are relatively easy, there is also the seductive Ripple Effect (24); with its red curves leading up to a climactic finish requiring unusual body positions.

Riding the Ripple Effect.
Pic: Melinda Griffiths

A little further on, now taking one of the mountain bike trails, you pass underneath Môrester Square, which is surprisingly geometric for something not designed by an architect. At 45m in height (and width), this is a good place for those with tantric tendencies. This cliff band terminates in the Stolen Salami sector, which was christened after we learnt what happens when tasty meat products and a farm dog are both left unattended. The obvious feature here is the overhanging arête taken by Big Green Coconuts (23). A combination of nuts are recommended: tiny metal ones and large anatomical ones. Alternatively, if you dig crack, then Boa Lime (20) should get you high.

Bring a large pair for Big Green Coconuts (23).
Pic: Douw Steyn

Back on the main arch trail, and only 30 minutes stroll from the dam, is a valley-let littered with rock formations including the Choice crag. This was not inspired by the brand of Government issue condoms, although some of the routes are indeed quite orgasmic. With the prime lines, flat lunch spot and great views – it was quite simply the choice place to go. Both the climbing style and the grades are varied, and although the bottom 2m of rock is sometimes a bit sub-optimal, just think of it as foreplay. On our maiden voyage, Julia proclaimed that “My Jugs are Bigger than your Jugs”. The name stuck, and indeed the inaugural trad route at the Bek was covered in holds so big that you would need several more hands to fondle them adequately enough. By contrast, only 10m away and 10 grades harder is the seemingly blank face of Angular Momentum (24). If you are not in for bold, thin and technical, then the neighbouring Bokkeveld Boogie (22) is the ticket, with everything after the first move going at about grade 19. For the good olde full Monty, and more fun that should probably be legal, head to The Joy Axis (17).

Douw prepearing his next dance move on Bokkeveld Boogie (22)

In conclusion, a trip to the Bek is not epic. If you want missioning and suffering, then go elsewhere. It is not the next Ceuse of sport climbing, nor an Arapiles of trad. However, should you be in the mood for a good time, exploration and comfort, where you can relax around a fire with mates and cold beer after a satisfying day, then you would need to try pretty hard to fail here. If you are geographically distant to the Bek then may I suggest you find your own mistress, and once you start feeling guilty about the amount of fun you are having, you could always write about her in a magazine so that others may come and share in the fruits of pleasure, so to speak.

Another choice route at the choive crag: Axes of Weevil (17)
Pic: Tony Lourens

Richard’s Six-pack of Satisfaction***

Rhombus Romp (15)

The Joy Axis (17)

Flying Saucer (18)

Read the Lightening (19)

Bokkeveld Boogie (22)

Ripple Effect (24)

* : Believe it or not, in the interests of gender equality, I even consulted with a member of the Women and Gender Studies Department at the University of the Western Cape, who did not find it offensive for me to use it in this metaphorical context. However, should it bother you, then please view it in the notional sense as an entity with which you would like to have an affair. If the association of sexual and climbing activities does not resonate with you, then perhaps you are selling yourself short in one or both of these fields.

** This is based on a reading time approximated to early November 2014. A correction of approximately 2.6 MSA can be applied for each month thereafter.

*** Definitely subjective, probably biased, but certainly not kak.

The Exclusive Everything

Pubs are awesome. They serve cold beer, hot food and are places of stories from start to finish. This tale originated in Forries and ended at Bardellis. While the latter is generally considered a restaurant, it is a building wherein the public can get their hydroxyl fix, so it certainly fulfills the chief requirements of a pub.   

Let’s start at the beginning. The very beginning. Grey beards with many letters behind their names suggest that everything started with a big bang. Given the utterly incomprehensible size of the result, this seems to be selling the genesis event a tad short. Surely MMEFBE would be better? Most Monumentally Enormous Fucking Bang Ever. Letting one rip after a few too many beans could be ‘big’. What Guy Falwkes planned was ‘huge’. Hiroshima was decidedly ‘gargantuan’... You see where this is going?

Alternatively we can dispense with adjectives, since it was an explosion so totally out of our cognitive grasp. All others are but degrees of microscopic imitation.

THE Bang.

If ear plugs had been invented you would have wanted them, for sure.

Anyway, for a ridiculously long time after the MMFEBE, atoms assed about slowly forming themselves into planets with stones and gravity, which are a prerequisites for good rock climbing. Throw in another few billion years of erosion and you end up with places like Slanghoek Amphitheatre. A grand place to live a story. Evolution came to the party and though millions of changing, breathing critters, left three humans named Hilton, David and Matthew to establish a route called A Private Universe (22 A1). 

The route followed by A Private Universe. Topo: Douw Steyn.

This was our objective. Well, actually our objective was to have a darn good time, and this was the conduit. I met Uwe and Douw at Forries to plot. Fortuitously, Warren and Gosia joined for dinner and quickly our posse had grown to five. A week later, in scenes mirroring those in Little Miss Sunshine, we repeatedly push-started the aged Cortina and eventually got to the trees where our wheeled stallions would wait for us.

The Cortina, stationary, again.

 Now, had our quintet consulted the ‘approach’ section in the re-written topo by Jonathan Hajos, they would have known to stay in the river. As in pretty much swim upstream. Enter the K-Index. Ice skating is a zero. Solid Hakea thicket is five. Our heroes found themselves negotiating K3/3+ bush on the slopes above the stream, and eventually, needing some feeding, they ducked into the river bed and realised what they had been missing. Spirits lifted, they forged on to the base of the wall. All 550m of it. Like the Mexican, MSG covered maize munchies, it is Beeg….very Beeg! Similarly, like a large packet of chips, they would tackle it one bite at a time.

Masters of the Universe: Richard, Douw, Gosia, Uwe, Warren.

The duo planned to go up and down in one shot. Warren, Uwe and I opted for a night on a cosy ledge at about the 300m mark. The first few rope lengths of climbing are nothing to write home (or anywhere) about, but they do get you to where things improve dramatically. It’s steep, airy, and the trees below keep shrinking. This is why we do these things: to get high. Without an MPR (magical piggy re-locator), we got to revel in some hauling. We only had the ‘essentials’, so it was not an overly technical task with this weight. However, a frustrating truth of this post-MMFEBE existence is that no matter what, whether you have done your 10 000 hrs or if your name is Tommy Caldwell; at some point your pig* will get stuck, and you will be the one squealing. Fortunately, our two little porcines got the misbehaving done on pitch 2, and then elevated elegantly all the way to their last stop. We binged on our pre-cooked dinner, downed copious amounts of sweet liquid and slept hard under a half sky.

Pigs pretending not to get wedged. 

     

Why we do these things..

Dawn brought stretching, appreciation of a beautiful awakening space, and some precarious off-loading. We didn’t need to tie in, as we had done that the previous morning. Minor consolation given the harness imprints on our hips. Cruising to the top pig-less was most welcome, but maybe less exciting than cruising to the pig top-less, whatever that means. Below the final stem-fest, I will admit to sending numerous rocks on a flight to the bottom. How often do you have a 500m drop to toss off? My research made the grounding breaking (literally) discovery that the bigger they are, the louder they fall.

Just after having a good toss. Photo: Warren Gans.

Now, some poor bastards have done this route, hauled all their baggage right to the top and then walked 15km to Bainskloof. Where one would have to arrange a lift, probably by moonlight. No offense to those concerned, but this sounds Kak! Maybe around K4. We opted to abseil, which probably scored K1 for ease, but still took about 5 hours since it is frikken steep. After passing our sleeping ledge, we also had pigs between our legs, which was not compatible with epic speed. We didn’t want to scare them.

Warren taking his pig for a ride.

Terra firma bought the fastest harness removal this side of a climbing strip joint, quickly followed by more unashamed binging. The still under the trees, the height above us more familiar, muscles worked and our place in the cosmos very calm. These are the adventures we live through. They contain the snippets recanted at Bardellis, with grins and giggles. On a galactic scale, our lives may be vanishingly small and of undetectable consequence, but to us they are everything. 

We each have a private universe, and its up to us how many bright, shining memories are packed into it.  

Memories, tick. Stud photo, tick. 

Scientific observation: our one pig was 95% water and 5% plastic. The other has mainly feathers. Wierd critters indeed. 

   

K1 path. The K3+ fynbos around the corner waiting to ambush us. 

 

Big Wall Team plus groupies going up. Speedy duo heading down. Lots of ropes! 

Unclimbed wall in the distance.... Photo: Warren Gans.

* If you don’t know that a pig refers to a haul bag, then you may be reading the wrong blog.      

Kraking the Code

Some may consider it rude. Or even arrogant. As if a rite of passage was circumvented, an unwritten yet known climbing etiquette breached. I would disagree, so let me elaborate.

Groot Krakadouw is a wild, convoluted place. I have made two attempts to climb at this magical haven, but the purveyors of wet and icy meteorological phenomena scuppered these plans. Finally, in December 2014, I returned to blue skies and reclusive wind. Now, the expected norm when popping the venue cherry is to first despatch the super-uber classics. It wears the robes of both an ethical code and a ritual. While encouraging the highest return on investment, it also appears to pay some kind of homage to those who forged the great lines. The routes themselves may well have been the catalyst for the pilgrimage. Fair enough. However, I do contest that there is not merit in alternatives.

Douw, Nadia, the Author and Caroline: ready to rock. Photo: Douw Steyn.

In our context, The List whispered down through the Ceder grooves, spreading to camp fires and stitched into the fabric of cyber space would certainly include Coming of Age (21), King Kong (21) and Icthyosaurus (21). These being the prime journeys at each of the three main sectors: Southern-, Main- and Subsidiary Amphitheatres. The monopoly of the twenty first grade could be disrupted by replacing the colossal gorilla with Australopithecus (23). By comparison, the first 3 routes I climbed were Velociraptor (25), Ammonite (23) and Staggersaurus (24). You are unlikely to find route descriptions for these, as I haven’t typed them up yet. On the off chance you could decipher my hand scrawled hieroglyphics, then I would ask how the hell you came across my notebook. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find it for a week…

Eyeing out the Staggersaurus arete. Photo: Douw Steyn

Douw on the first pitch of the steep Velociraptor.

Back on track, it is undeniable that I have an overt attraction to the virgin spaces of any cliff. The unknown excites me. Menu items in a seductive, foreign tongue. However, it must look like it will of good, preferably outstanding quality. To purposefully start up something unclimbed, that has the clear markings of choss, is plain silly. Well, I think so, and this is my article, so it has been decreed silly. This foolishness escalates if there are great outings nearby that you have not yet done. Fortunately for us Saffers, we have MFTs* of outstanding stone that has never been chalked. So now the scale tips doesn’t it? When the quality is comparable, the uncharted wins for me. Afterwards, it just feels better. It’s the mysterious gift rather than a cheque for an equivalent amount. The satisfaction balloon is that much more voluminous. Where homemade- and restaurant pizza are not discernible by taste, the one from your own kitchen is just more pleasing. Besides, the classics aren’t going anywhere and I will certainly be back.

Quality control 1: Staggersaurus top pitch

Quality Control 2: Velociraptor crux pitch. Photo: Douw Steyn. 

Should you not be convinced, chivalry also comes somewhat serendipitously to our defence. The night before, Douw and I had actually planned to climb Coming of Age, and then check out something he had spied years ago. Visitors Caroline and Nadia joined as, and being the fine gentlemen we are, we insisted they cast off ahead of us. To obey the mantra of “mega-classics first” we could have sat and shot the breeze until the first pitch was availed of the enthusiast foreigners, but that would have meant resisting the pull of the awesome steep crack line that become Velociraptor. And really, you must ask, why resist? If a hypothetical God of climbing decreed that one should not fall into temptation, it would be a disastrous business model. Any followers would have missed a principle joy in playing on rocks. Our choices at the crag are highly dependent on temptation, and that is bloody marvellous. It is what creates desire, and the subsequent pleasure we get from this frivolous pastime. Why did you plan your last trip? Surely you were tempted? It is our daily bread. Revel in it. Be tempted.

Yes, be tempted.

To follow the gospel of classics first is perfect if that is what draws you most. Win. If the magnetism of an excellent route-to-be is stronger, then for heaven’s sake do it. If the unclimbed is clearly worthless junk, and yet you are still pulled its way in preference to known awesomeness; well you get points for being true to yourself but you may want to consult a psychologist. Next you will be trading experience for ego in a strange game of worse is better. It’s not illegal to be a crackpot, but I wouldn’t highlight on your CV.

On day three we did finally climb Icthyosaurus and it was grand. Fortuitously, our position bought a marvellously seductive arête, perched on the edge of the gendarme, into view. Later that day, this became Megalodon (24), and was probably the climbing highlight of the trip for me. Evidently, the explorer is always most happy exploring. That’s just how it is.  

Icthyosaurus, at last some may say. Photo: Caro North.

The edge on the edge. If you listen carefully you will hear it call: "Climb me"

Quality Control 3: Megalodon.

To end, let’s be blunt. These ramblings about the merit of your climbing choices are blatantly superficial to what is most important. Getting out there and having a blast with wonderful folks is where it’s at. We have such amazing natural places. Enjoy them in whatever way makes you wanna shout: “Yeeeehhhhaaaaaa”.  

Post-tempation celebration

Thanks to Malcolm, Amrei, Douw, Nadia, Caroline, Javier, Kike, Elsa, Bryant, Nikki, Eric, Wendy, Willem, Moritz for a trip of vast excellence.

And Douw, Nadia and Caro for the photos

The Krak Crew. Photo: Nadia Royo

* Metric F#$k Tonnes

# u

$ c

Bryant and Malcolm soaking it up.

Err, a rabbit with a growth defect? Photo: Douw Steyn.

Krakadouw skill #1: Grass swimming.

Going for a 'walk' down Long Street.

Cairn Lizard. Photo: Douw Steyn.

Just what is the Slug staring at? Photo: Douw Steyn.