Sorry about the wait fella's but the past two weeks I've been exploring the strange, alien world of sport climbing.
On July 24th I began a two week excursion to maine, then Quebec, then Maine again and finally Rumney. No, not to boulder, but to sport climb. I know, shocking.
I had made the trip last year to an amazing crag in Kamouraska, Quebec, but I felt with my new set of climbing skills it would be a valuable experiences to go once more to those beautiful white granite cliffs on the edge of the St. Lawerence.
And so with my neglected harness (which I found to be too small) and helmet I suited up to climb an "easy" 5.10. 2 clips later I was hanging on the rope shaking my forearms out for some futile escape from the rediculous pump that had poisened my climbing. For a moment I cursed my dang rope and harness and considered scouting for some boulders around the cliff. However, as I sat there staring at that blank face dotted with rain pockets and ledges, all I wanted to do was go a little higher. I got back on and found the further I went the further I wanted to go. Before I knew it I was sitting 70 feet up clipped into the anchor and savouring the exhaustion my forearms were feeling. I looked behind me at the unreal landscape of Kamouraska and I knew exactly why I climbed.
I think, and this is just what I think, the reason that I climb is to show myself that maybe I don't have to do everything for a reason. I mean sure, you can say you're trying to get to the top, trying to better yourself, get stronger, climb harder, blah blah blah. But whether you're bouldering, in the gym, on the wall or 1000 feet off the deck, hell, you're still just a kid on a jumbo-sized jungle gym. You're still just a kid playing in the woods. And do you think that little kid on the playground is going across the monkeybars for some greater purpose? No. When you think about it, climbing is silly. At some point that kid is going to think to himself: Why go across those monkeybars when I could just as easily walk to the other side?
Hanging there on that rope, cursing the pump, the rock, myself, I thought: Why am I doing this? I could just come down from this climb, walk away from this rock, throw away my shoes, pad and harness and go back to living a climbing-free life. And then it clicked. I guess I don't ever need to know why I climb, just that I do. As long as I get that sweet feeling of satisfaction mixed with What the fuck did I just do? at the top of every climb, who cares. So, why do I climb? ...Why not?
As for the rest of the trip, the pictures say it all.
John Whitworth on Moby Dick - 5.11b
John on Tache Noire - 5.9+
JP on Bonzai - 5.8
Matthew Lim on Tache Noire - 5.9+
The view.
Doug K. being a ball of burl on Moby Dick - 5.11bIf any of you ever get the chance to head to Kamouraska, go. Don't think, go. Litterally I have never been anywhere near as beautiful as this magical place. And its plethoura of moderates make it an incredible place to learn to sport climb. Just. Go.
After Kamou I spent another week in Rumney and had some killer sends, including an onsight of Flying Hawaiian - 5.11b. No pics though.
So after two weeks of non-stop sport climbing I came home to rest. And what did I do the following morning? That's right. Gathered up the crew and went out to climb. I wouldn't want it any other way.
-WB
After Kamou I spent another week in Rumney and had some killer sends, including an onsight of Flying Hawaiian - 5.11b. No pics though.
So after two weeks of non-stop sport climbing I came home to rest. And what did I do the following morning? That's right. Gathered up the crew and went out to climb. I wouldn't want it any other way.
-WB
