Trip Report: Outdoor Rock Climbing is Awesome!

Caveat: my current take on rock climbing is bordering on obsessive; I will try to keep this post full of interesting stuff you actually want to read instead of details that only a few of you will care about!  If you find yourself saying, "Joy, you are still going into way too much detail that I don't care about," I understand.  Try skipping down to the "lessons learned" section and see if you like that part better. :)

A bit of intro: I've been getting into rock climbing during the last 3 months or so, and have been loving it a lot, but until this weekend, all my rock climbing had been indoors.  On Saturday, I went outdoor rock climbing for the first time (well, since a summer camp when I was 12).

Now, I am always fascinated by sports in which people do things that are really, really unnatural.  Like climbing up 8000-meter peaks, or diving 200 meters below the surface of the ocean without an external breathing apparatus (see: competitive apnea, blog post from a couple weeks ago).  Humans are just not built for that sort of thing!  Thus, naturally, I am fascinated by outdoor rock climbing.  Yesterday I climbed up a vertical cliff face!  How could that not be awesome??

Look at this.  Think about it. :)

 (from JIGGS IMAGES flickr photostream)

Saturday's trip was lead by an acquaintance named Angela, who made me get up at 5:30am so we could get an early start.  We went with four guys who found out about the trip through MIT's outdoors club.  We went to a secretive rock climbing location on private grounds, but I'm not allowed to post the name online or else word will get out and the location will be swarmed by Canadians!  Let us call the location X.

We parked our cars, took a short hike to a rock face, and started setting up.  A few people who knew how to "lead climb" (basically, the way you set up ropes that aren't already attached to the top of the wall) started setting up the ropes, so that when they were done there were ropes attached like this:

(from Puff's Daddy's flickr photostream)

Then I got to start climbing. 

I can't avoid talking about the difficulty rating system for vertical rock climbing at this point.  Vertical climbs are given ratings as a five followed by a number indicating difficulty.  5.3 and 5.4 are on the easiest side of things, and the absolute hardest stuff in the world is something like a 5.15, but pretty much no one can actually climb that.  After climbing for 3 months, I'm climbing 5.8s, and the more experienced people I climb with do 5.10s and 5.11s.  Outdoor 5.8s and indoor 5.8s can be kind of different though; many people find the outdoor climbs more difficult.

So, I started off by trying a 5.8 outside at Location X, and I failed miserably.  It didn't seem like there were good handholds anywhere, and I just couldn't get over this lip of rock.  So I hung around a bit, rested my arms, and went over to try a wimpy little 5.4.  5.4s are the climbs that pretty much everyone should be able to do: the wimpiest of the wimpy.

I got roped up and then spent about a minute just trying to figure out how to get onto the wall.  After that, the climbing was fairly smooth, but the handholds still felt bad, and I felt like the climb was still difficult enough to be pretty interesting.  And this was just a 5.4.

Thoroughly disheartened, I went back to my backpack and ate lunch.  I had failed at the 5.8 terribly, and the 5.4 hadn't been a breeze.  I thought I'd have to re-learn how to climb and spend months just learning how to climb 5.8s again outdoors.

After lunch and a period of contemplation, I decided to try climbing a "crack" or "chimney" (not technically the same thing, but both words applied to this climb).  A chimney is something like this, where you have some rock behind you as well as in front of you:

(from ralphbod's flickr photostream)

The chimney climb was rated a 5.7, three levels up from the previous climb, but I do like chimneys, so I gave it a go.  Amazingly, I got up it without trouble or hesitation, and got all the way to the top of an 80-foot cliff face!  It was maybe even easier than the 5.4 for me.  Awesome, I could still climb some stuff!  I was very excited.

At this point, my legs were also scratched and bruised up, and I was covered in dirt.  Dirt even managed to get down my shirt.  There was dirt everywhere, but I had managed to climb a 5.7 without trouble, so I was happy. 

Near the end of the day, I decided that I had gotten enough used to outdoor handholds (see the Lessons Learned section) that I would try that pesky 5.8 again.  I got Angela to belay me ("belay" roughly means "deal with the ropes so I don't die"), because she is amazing at belaying and definitely knows what she is doing.

This 5.8 climb involved so much effort and bruising and cursing that I will talk about my battle with the rock in a bit of detail.  If you already think I'm too obsessed and am rambling on...well, rock climbing is awesome.  You'll just have to try it and see for yourself.  Then you will sound like me!

I climbed up to that troublesome part that had been giving me trouble earlier, and gave it a try.  I fell, but went to try it again.  On the second try, I got a bit closer, but fell again.  My arms and fingers felt tired, but Angela was giving me encouragement from below, so I went for it a third time.  I got so close that I could feel my next good handhold on the tips of my fingers -- I was so close!  I fell again, and my fingers were really giving out.  It was aggravating how close I had been.  I tried once more, and finally finally finally got my left hand around a great handhold and got myself up above the overhanging lip!  I was yelling in triumph at the rock and at Angela and at myself. 

I climbed on, through a section of the cliff that, while not easy, was still easier than getting over the lip.  Then, before I knew it, I was at the second hard part of the climb.  The next tough move involved jamming my left hand into a vertical crack, then getting the tips of my right fingers into an "undercling."  An undercling is a move where your fingers are below your palm, sort of like this person's right hand:

(from mariachily's flickr photostream)

Except the undercling I had to use was above my head, and just my fingertips.  I jammed my right fingertips into the undercling, worked my feet up as high as I could, and tried to fling my left hand over the ledge above me to find a handhold.  Predictably, I fell again.

At this point, I was so close to the top of the 80-foot cliff that I refused to let myself fail.  Following Angela's coaching and encouragement from 70 feet below me, I tried another time or two, and finally got myself into a semi-stable state in which I was hanging from a ledge.  There were some mediocre handholds up above the ledge, but nothing great.  Angela was yelling, "You just gotta swing one of your legs over!  I find that in times like this, yelling helps!"  

I spent a minute exploring my handhold options, chose one, and swung my right leg over the ledge.  I was, at this point, desperately clinging to the rock with my left hand and trying to get balanced over my right leg, which was up on the level of my chest.  I was heavily exerting myself, so I took Angela's advice: I started yelling.  I was yelling because sometimes, when you expend massive amounts of effort, you just gotta yell.  I was yelling and the rock was yelling back at me and I was yelling some more, and then I finally got up onto the ledge!

I was celebrating already.  I climbed the remaining 10 feet or so up to the top, tagged the carabiners holding my rope in place, told Angela to take in the slack, and then just sat back in the rope for a minute or two, basking in the view.  There were tree-covered hills above a few small houses, and a placid river.  Finally, I got lowered back down to the ground.  

I was really happy with the climb, and it was a great end to the day.  I could really say that I have climbed 5.8s both indoors and outdoors.  I also noticed that I have finally reached a point where I'm not the worst climber on the rock.  A couple of the guys with us didn't make it up that 5.8, so I must be improving.  Improvement is inspirational.

Well, the forecast called for dry weather until 4pm, and at 4pm on the dot, the skies opened up.  We packed up our gear, hiked back to the cars, and left the mysterious Location X.

Lessons Learned

Outdoor rock climbing is very different from indoor rock climbing!  In particular:

• Outdoor climbing is dirty!  Ledges get dirt accumulation, and when you use the ledges as handholds, the dirt spills down over your arms, into your hair, down your shirt, and everywhere.
• Outdoor climbing is full of bugs that taunt you and flaunt their superior climbing abilities.  Spiders can climb up that 5.8 like it's nothing.
• Outdoor handholds feel like crap until you get to know them.  They aren't nice, big pockets like you get in the gym.  However, they have more friction than indoor handholds, so handholds that initially feel terrible get better once you get used to them.  Trust the friction.
• Same goes for footholds: you can use very small footholds on natural rock because the whole cliff is generally covered in friction.
• Outdoor climbing gets you covered in many more scratches and bruises than indoor climbing, so you end up looking like you're an abuse victim who got in a fight with a cat with pointy claws.  But it's okay; adrenaline is a great thing.  When you're up on the wall, you don't feel anything.  Your mind asks you, "Are you going to pay attention to that scratch, or are you going to concentrate on not falling off the cliff?  Pay attention to the cliff!"
• Outdoor climbing is tough, but very rewarding and fun, not to mention surreal.  It's very strange to walk up to a cliff, think "wow, that's vertical," and then climb up it.

Thanks goes to Angela for being an amazing belayer and coach!  Photos of our actual climbs may be posted later.

boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing

A week and a half ago I was in St. Louis at a place called Sky Zone, and it was the most amazing trampoline experience I've ever had.  Sky Zone is a trampoline franchise, catering primarily to younger kids but super fun for energetic and fun-loving adult types. 

Sky Zone provides people with rooms full of end-to-end trampolines.  Even the walls are made of trampoline, so you can bounce off of anything you want to!  How easy is it to land on the metal part between the trampolines and hurt yourself?  Probably pretty easy.  My cousin broke the growth disc in her foot at Sky Zone (but don't worry, it healed and her feet are still the same size as each other).  But come on, be adventurous, sign a waiver, and risk it!  My cousin, even after the injury, was happy to come back and trampoline with me and our brothers --- that's how fun it is.

Check out their home page for an idea of what this is all like, with bouncy video footage! http://www.skyzonesports.com/

My housemates sitting next to me as I write this think that the sport looks like a fabulous way to break things, but if you're careful I think it's...well, safer than it looks.

Here's the best part: there is a location coming soon to Boston, or so their website claims!  I will be following this closely, and when it opens (if it does, in this economy), I will form up a giant bouncing mob and we will take the place by storm!  Probably only one in ten of us will get a serious injury.

boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing boing

Extreme Sport of the Week: Freediving (Competitive Apnea)

First, watch this.  Be as inspired as I was:

Freediving Video   (Link courtesy of Ken)

This serene, beautiful sport is freediving, also known as "competitive apnea."  Apnea means "lack of breathing," a term you most often hear in reference to "sleep apnea."  Freediving refers to underwater diving without an external breathing apparatus.  It sounds crazy, and dangerous, but that may also be what makes it so great. :)

(from saspotato's flickr photostream)

The sport is fairly new.  AIDA International, the record- and rule-keeping organization for Freediving, was founded in 1992.  There are a variety of types of freediving, depending on whether you're trying to swim a long distance underwater, dive a long distance underwater, use fins and weights, or just hold your breath for as long as possible.

Not all dives are directly downward, as in the movie.  Freediving is often practiced "recreationally" for underwater photography or spear-fishing.  Also, the freedives that don't focus on diving distance frequently occur in a pool.

 © 2007 Jean-Marc Kuffer / CC BY 2.0

When I was a kid, I heard somewhere that after a minute or two without air, you pass out.  After four minutes, you die.  It was probably a guess that the nearest adult made up when I asked, but it seemed credible enough, and it's a rule I've held in the back of my head since then.  Turns out, the world record for breath-holding ("static apnea") is currently 11 minutes, 35 seconds.  11:35.  The record-holder (for about one year now) is a French guy named Stéphane Mifsud.  His lung capacity is apparently 10.5 liters, compared with the standard 6 liters.  And if you let someone hyperventilate on pure oxygen for up to 30 minutes beforehand, the record shoots up to 20:10, a record set this last April by a Danish man named Stig Åvall Severinsen.

(from jayhem's flickr photostream)

As with many extreme sports, freediving walks the ambiguous line between "safe enough that I'm tempted to try it" and "too dangerous; wait 10 years and check back."  There is a certain peace achieved just by sitting on the bottom of a pool for a few seconds; surely this would be amplified at the bottom of the ocean... but I'll take a rain check for now.  Frankly, freediving in an ocean seems like it'd take a lot more training, endurance, and pain than certain other extreme sports (like, oh, speed flying).

Still, I am fascinated.  If you are also fascinated and like stats, check out the AIDA International website, particularly the "Records" section!

(from jayhem's flickr photostream)

Portland Weather Thwarts My Plans and I Kill a Clam

I had all these great plans for Portland -- climbing Mount St. Helens, climbing Mt. Hood, going kayaking.  But it rained the entire time.  It rained so much that The Oregonian used the headline "Dear rain, you win.  Sincerely, Portland."  It takes a lot of rain to get Oregon's newspaper to say that.

Throughout my trip, it seemed that my plans were thwarted left and right.  We decided we couldn't climb Mount St. Helens because there was so much snow and fog that we might get lost.  Sure enough, this week we found out that a couple of climbers got lost in a storm on the mountain and had to spend the night up there.

Then I wanted to climb Mt. Hood, something I've wanted to do for years, but the weather up there has been so consistently stormy that I had to give up until next year.

In place of my Mt. Hood climb, I wanted to do something fun, so I set up a kayaking trip.  But there was so much rain that the water levels of the river were too high.  In fact, three people died that week by drowning in rivers and waterways in Oregon and Southwest Washington.  One of the deaths was right in my neighborhood.

I got to go for a couple of hikes in the Columbia Gorge, at least, but the weather basically laughed at me and thwarted my plans for the rest of my trip.  Here are some pictures of typical views on my Gorge hikes:

(from orinjus's flickr photostream)

(from frankenstoen's flickr photostream)

(from dalylab's flickr photostream)

I did get to try out clamming, though!  Actually, someone even managed to die while clamming during my stay -- another attempt to thwart all my plans, I'm sure -- but at least I got this small victory.  Below, I detail my experience clamming.

Clamming

I spent Memorial Day weekend (Saturday-Tuesday) at an oceanfront house at Seaside, OR.  (The town, Seaside, isn't great.  One part of the town is full of fast food and cheap car dealerships and stuff.  The other part of town has a surreal and creepy vibe, looking like a carnival that hasn't evolved since the 70's.  Perfect setting for a Stephen King novel, one where people keep disappearing...)

On Sunday morning, we noticed that hundreds of people were down on the beach, going clamming.  Dad and I decided to take a walk along the beach and try our hand at clamming.  We learned that you can find clams under clam holes that look like this:

(from atonal's flickr photostream)

However, Dad and I didn't find any clam holes that day.  The beach had been all clammed out, so we decided to come back the next day.  After all, Mom had promised that if we caught a clam, she'd eat it.

Note: I'm now going to start indicating emotions in underlined bold for your convenience so you may track my emotional state throughout this adventure!

The next day, Dad, Cole, Albyn, and I went out on the beach a bit earlier with the goal of catching a clam.  We were determined to get one.  Most people had special clamming equipment -- shovels, mesh bags for clam storage, and big clam-digging tubes:

(from laurelfan's flickr photostream)

But we just had our hands.  Yep, it was us vs. nature out there -- human vs. clam.  My brother Cole and I found a few clam holes, and then started digging frantically with our hands.  On the fourth hole, Cole started digging a deep hole.  Cole said he felt something down there!  We were excited!  He was getting tired, so I tagged in and kept digging.  Sure enough, there was something down there, and eventually we got one!  It was a razor clam, which looked sort of like this:

(from meaduva's flickr photostream)

We cracked the shell a bit during our digging, though.  Apparently this is sometimes a problem when clam-digging with your hands; you can crack the shell and then cut up your hands.  However, we emerged from the battle of man versus nature unscathed.

We marched back to the house, feeling triumphant!  We proudly displayed our conquest to the rest of our beach party friends!

Unfortunately, looking at the clam caused some sadness.  Its neck was hanging limply out of the shell.  I don't like killing things.  However, the shell was cracked, so we had to cook it up or waste its sandy little life.  At some point, Cole asked about the expression "happy as a clam..." these clams were not happy. :(

So, uh.  Next up: cutting up the clam into little steaks.

At this point, perhaps I should take a moment to discuss my motivation in this clamming adventure.  I sort of wanted to see if I could catch something with my bare hands and turn it into a food.  If I were the last person alive, could I live on clams?  You know, it's something you wonder about.  It was therefore important to me to be involved in the entire clam-to-stomach process.  With that said, let's progress onto the next emotion...

...horror.  Well, for lack of a better word.  Dismay and shock might have also be mixed in there.  I had a website open about how to cut up a razor clam, which walked me through detaching the clam from the shell and chopping it into "steaks."  The problem was that the clam was very clearly still alive during this process, pushing its foot back and forth in an effort to get away.  Once the clam was completely detached from the shell, I think it stopped moving for good.

(I did some googling later, and it turns out that there is evidence that suggests that invertebrates don't feel pain.  Non-scientists will probably feel uneasy about this claim, but it makes me feel a bit better about the whole thing.  Onwards!)

Following the instructions on the website, I cut the clams into a bunch of little steaks.  Pretty much everything that wasn't guts became a steak.  Mmm, steak:

Next up: make people eat the steaks.  Since Mom promised she would eat the clam, and she can't eat wheat, I ground up a rice patty while we heated up a pan with oil in it.  I then breaded the steaks with the ground rice patty, and fried them for about a minute and a half.  They actually started smelling like food!  A feeling of cautious relief started to emerge, because there was a good chance that the clam's life would at least be sacrificed for tasty food, not for icky food.

Clam steaks!

A feeling of complete relief filled me when Heidi tried a piece of clam and said it was delicious!  Indeed, it was very fresh -- just an hour earlier, it had been hiding in the sand.  Everyone else who tried some also assured me that it was a tasty food.

Now, since I felt compelled to partake in the entire hunting-to-eating experience, I tried a piece.  I'm not generally a seafood fan, especially when it comes to seafood that I've cut up while it writhed in my hands.  As I chewed, I could tell that the food was definitely something that others would find delicious.  I just kept thinking of the whole process and struggled to get it down.  It was me vs. nature, stomach vs. clam.  I emerged the victor.  I had caught, killed, cooked, and eaten a clam.

The next hour or so was filled with surreal confusion at what had just occurred.  I guess it was my first time killing something in the role as a hunter.

Conclusion: when 2012 comes around, meet me at the Oregon coast and I'll provide for all.  Me human, me kill meat!