Deep Water Dreaming

A few hours into a 10 hour, cross-Atlantic flight to Croatia, my mild claustrophobia started kicking in. With a 25o plus pound man to my right, encroaching on my limited space, the man in front of me sleeping with is chair tilted all the way back in my lap, and both Kerry and the man to her left sleeping, I was trapped. My pulse quickened a bit, and I started taking shallow, desperate breaths. Anxious, and afraid I was going to freak out on the plane, I had to take control. I closed my eyes and took slow and deep breaths. Most importantly, I refocused, trying to ignore my pinned legs and inability to move, and imagining what was awaiting us at the end of the flight. I let my mind go, and it landed where it usually lands - at the base of a rock climb.

I pictured myself climbing out of the ocean, and starting up a gently overhanging wall of limestone. The idea of deep water soloing and everything it symbolizes for me - unencumbered movement, freedom, endless possibilities - seemed to be a perfect counterbalance for the my current situation, and my panicky state slowly subsided. Thoughts of perfect limestone, blue seas, and a new culture to absorb helped carry me through the rest of the flight (with a little help from some bad in-flight movies).

Deep water soloing has always been the form of climbing that has most captivated and amazed me. I grew upon the river of the Texas Hill Country, and spend a large chunk of my youth splashing, jumping and snorkeling in the Frio, Guadalupe and Medina Rivers. Being in the water is second nature to me, and I've always found being in a body of water liberating in much the same way I feel about climbing. So when - after having started climbing a couple years earlier - I first heard the term 'psicobloc', and saw video of Klem Loskot climbing 60 feet above the ocean in Mallorca, Spain, I was immediately floored. This was the purest, most exhilarating thing I could imagine. A whole new realm of possibilities opened, and I knew this was something I had to do.

And now, I was travelling across the globe to fulfill those fantasies. While the karstic coastline of Croatia offers almost limitless potential for DWS, there were two main spots I was hoping to check out. Sustipan - a smallish cliffband, but just a 10 minute walk from where we would be staying in the city of Split - and Cliffbase - a limestone paradise on the island of Hvar. Unfortunately we may have been a bit optimistic in our hopes for the weather, and planning this trip in November (the only time Kerry could get time off, though). The conditions weren't ideal this time of year, and we had a few days of rainy and windy weather severely limiting the amount of time we could climb, or even just swim in the stunning Adriatic Sea. Despite the chilly water, and cool temperatures, I was determined to get some climbing in. After our potential climbing days in Split were all rained out, my fingers were itchin' for some crimpin' by the time we took the ferry ride to Hvar Island.

Once on the island, we made a beeline for Cliffbase, which might be the most dream-like place I've ever visited. After a 15 minute hike in from the small village of Sveta Nedjelja, you arrive at a small house sitting below an endless band of limestone. This is the home of Miroslav, the owner of Cliffbase, and also a climbers hostel of sorts. Cliffbase is an ideal spot for adventurers of all kinds - there are over 100 sport routes here, fantastic snorkeling, slacklines can be rigged over the ocean, and maybe half a mile of DWS cliffs. It was time to have some fun.

We swam across the sheltered cove created by jumbled boulders rising from the ocean, and positioned ourselves on a nice large boulder near the base of some of the best looking limestone. Despite how the rock looks in pictures, it isn't sharp at all. It surprisingly had a slightly polished texture, but the abundant features, incuts and meaty slopers make up for the less than perfect friction (but with wet feet and hands, friction is never ideal while DWS). The climbing style was my absolute favorite, a style I tend to call 3-dimensional climbing: climbing big features, moving between different planes of undulating rock, using lots of push-pull opposition, heel hooks, knee bars and all varieties of interesting body positions and techniques.

Exhilarated to finally be here, living this dream, I started climbing. The thrill of new stone, intriguing movements, taking on the postcard-perfect scenery, gaining elevation above the calm, blue sea, reaching that one last jug and then....the splash. I climbed several outstanding lines, the easiest being about 5.10ish, the hardest being 11ish, but all would be good climbs regardless of their setting. I was psyched, and ready to climb until my fingers bled and my skin was pickled from the salt water, but I knew this day wouldn't last too long. Kerry was already sitting atop the boulder, shivering, and I could feel my body temperature quickly dropping. I tried to generate some body heat by doing long traverses at the base of the climb before climbing up, but that didn't seem to help. After squeezing in a about 12 climbs, I was violently trembling as if I had Parkinson's disease. We swam back to the land, dried off, bundled up and hiked out.

A few days later we took advantage of off-season rates and rented a tiny little boat and took it out for a cruise. We puttered along a few islands within sight of Hvar City, but then made our way to the coastline west of the city, where there were some obvious cliffs jutting out of the water.

The rock on these cliffs was a bit different, a few tufas and features, but in general a little sharper and crimpier. Unfortunately I hadn't brought my shoes, which would have helped a lot for these balancy face climbs. Still, I jumped off the boat and had some fun.

Our last day in Hvar I was determined to make it back to Cliffbase, but the weather didn't seem to want to cooperate. It was overcast and gusty, with an afternoon forecast for rain. As usual though, Kerry obliged my compulsions, and we drove to Sveta Nedjelja hoping for the best. Along the coast, we ate a picnic of fresh fruit, cheese and salami purchased from the farmers market, watching to see what the weather would do. It obviously wasn't going to get any better, but I was stubborn and desperate to squeeze in a few more climbs. We stepped out from our sheltered picnic spot and were greeted by powerful winds and ominous clouds rolling in from the south. A bad idea just got exponentially worse. I had to concede this one, and we packed up the car and drove off.

All told, I didn't to climb nearly as much as I had hope this trip, maybe 20-25 climbs in the two days I was able to climb. Each climb I did, though, was a true experience and something to keep me inspired for a long time. This trip will keep my imagination fired up, and keep alive that spark that drives us to chase after crazy ideas and seek out adventure. I've already got some ideas on how to make my next trip a little more successful, and even if I never do make it back here, I will never stop planning my return.

To see non-climbing pictures from Croatia, check out my pictures on facebook: Croatia pics.

A video of a few climbs from Cliffbase:

I Found Cochise, Finally

Photos by Andy, Clay and Dustin. 

I've been living in Tucson for two years now and have to say I've been missing out. In all that time I never once climbed at Cochise Stronghold. In my own defense, most of the climbs are mixed and I've only recently started placing gear, but that's no excuse. The rock is so good, and there is so, so much of it. 

                                                Day One                                          

Wednesday the 10th of November saw Clay, Andy and I leaving tucson in the wee dark hours of the morning. Headed for the west side of the Stronghold, we had our sights set on the Sheepshead - a 700 foot hunk of a rock with around 20 routes on it, most of them mixed, and all of them scary. The bolting ethic of Cochise has always been one of discretion; bolts are placed only where removable gear cannot be. Add to that the fact that many of the routes were put up in a ground-up fashion on-stance by very hard men, and you end up with some scary, fun, and rather run-out climbing, usually on slab. 

 

The first day we decided to hop on Absinthe of Mallet (5.10- mixed) which is apparently the longest climb on the Sheepshead and one with some history.

From the Mountain Project description:

"This Cochise classic had a reputation as a death route because of the sparse bolting on the long stretches of face. It was recently retrobolted (by Scott Ayers, the FA, so don't you dare chop anything..) so it no longer deserves an 'R' rating. The climbing is still a bit spicy is you are used to indian creek or Urioste red rocks pro, but it's standard fare for Cochise. The rating is on for Cochise 9+, but it can feel stiff if you're used to softer areas. The route is much more serious feeling than Peacemaker (6p 10a) just to its right.

Finally, be forewarned that Scott is a straight-bolter. Just because the bolt line is railroad-straight, it doesnt mean that you won't be traversing back and forth and all over the place to find the path of least resistance. You can't fall asleep and follow his routes like a sport climb, and in return you'll get little or no rope drag through the face pitches.

Props to Scott for putting up this Cochise classic, and for adding impeccable bolts to allow mere mortals safe passage."

Props indeed. I led the second pitch: 160 feet, two-parts bolted face climbing on rounded edges and one-part 5.10 crack climbing. Absolutely amazing. 

Clay starting up the fourth pitch dihedral.

The last pitch, the one recently added to the route by Scott Ayers, was an exposed rounded arete devoid of holds to speak of. Climbing it involved the use of your palms as much as your feet, doing what I can only describe as a kind of stemming motion. Props to clay for the windy lead. 

Atop the Sheepshead we each drank a Schlitz and signed the summit register. With sausage Jambalaya and pepper jack quesadillas on the mind we made our decent down the gully between the Sheepshead and the Muttonhead. Stella, my dog, who we'd last seen chasing and playing with another crag dog, met us about halfway down the trail, foreshadowing what was to happen the next day. 

                                                Day Two                                          

You know its going to be a great day when breakfast includes a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs. After wolfing down breakfast we sorted gear and decided to attempt another 5.10 mixed route at the Sheepshead, Climb Too Tough To Die. 

At the base of the cliff we left Stella with tons of water and in the company of another Australian Shepherd mutt. The wind thus far had been pretty calm, and the temperature couldn't have been lower than 75 degrees. Clay and Andy felt comfortable enough to leave behind their jackets. I however, being the scrawny excuse for a man that I am, brought my windbreaker and was even wearing long underwear under my jeans.

Clay on the first pitch.

Pitch 3

Andy on Pitch 5

Prepping for the summit push, wishing it wasn't windy.

As I started heading up the ramp of the last pitch, in between the roaring gusts of howling wind, I heard the faint jingle of Stella's collar, which sounds amazingly like the sound of hexes dangling from a harness. I tell myself this fact, and keep climbing. About 10 seconds later I am staring at my dog atop a 700 foot cliff, her hair blowing in the wind, her body crouched against the rock but head raised in an attempt to get a better view of us. She had followed the descent trail back up to the summit and had followed our scent back to the anchors of Absinthe of Mallet.  

Stella on top of Absinthe 

I kept climbing, maybe a little bit faster than before, but not much. Even thought the pitch is bolted, I was petrified. The raging wind wasn't easing my mind at all, and as I pulled the lip of the blocky roof pictured above I discovered that the last 35 feet of climbing was just like the last pitch of Absinthe, bare and exposed. The next bolt was about 5 feet above my head, and the last was out-of-sight below the lip and my feet. I lay my chest and cheek against the rock for a few minutes looking at the half-moon rising above my dog and the summit, just waiting for a break in the wind. When it came I made the open-hip baby steps up to the next bolt and clipped it using my whole left hand in a smearing fashion against the rock. I repeated this sequence three more times before finding my dogs paws inches away from the anchors of the climb. She was shaking, both cold and scared, just like me. I comforted her for a bit before repeatedly sending her back from the edge and setting up belay. 

As the Sheepshead turned its famous salmon/purple color with the setting sun, I belayed Andy up to the summit while looking at the this:

Psicobloc!

A few quick pics from the limestone heaven that is the island of Hvar, Croatia....

More (including video) to come! We are heading back to this area, called Cliffbase, today for more fun. The tricky part this time of year is managing to stay warm enough to climb for more than an hour. With the air temperature and water temperature both hovering around 65 degrees, our bodies get cold fast, severely limiting our time in the water. Totally worth it though!

Batch of Fresh Baked Boulders

ahhhh yeah!

There is a little chalk on this nice face:

Short, wierd roof:
Two views of a huge roof! Over a body length long, and about 9 feet off the ground:

Leaving for Croatia on Friday. When I get back, we need to round up a bunch of pads and climb that roof!