The Breeching Whale

The famous photo. Bryce on The Breeching Whale Project

Long have rumors of a steep granite boulder in Northern Arizona circulated the web. The handful of pictures of its overhanging prow gained likes and shares and comments.

I’ve been seeing pictures of this one boulder for five years, since the original was posted to 0friction and even though I spent much of my free time wandering Prescott National Forest, I never found it. Not until yesterday.

When we all began building Beta, Chris Hahn and the owner of the gym, Bryce Snyder started to talk up The Breeching Whale. “It’s hard,” they said, and featured uniquely for granite, especially of the kind found around Prescott.

Matt Gentile and I wanted to go, but with winter in full swing and a probably wet top out, we couldn’t get anyone to draw up a map. Not until last week, when I brought my computer into work and got Bryce to point out the area. He wasn’t sure where The Breeching Whale was though. Matt and I were already planning on driving down on Wednesday and as soon as I mentioned the trip to Ethan Gia, he and Andrew Rothner were on board. Soon there were five of us planning to drive for two hours for a single problem whose exact location was still somewhat of a mystery.

Ethan scoping out the line

Then on Tuesday night, Andrew Sweeney came into Beta. Sweeney had the previous highpoint on The Breeching Whale and knew the road there a little better. I got out my phone, and pulled up the boulders. He pointed right to it. Bryce agreed and I dropped a pin.

Matt on the right hand crimp

The next day, phone in hand, I wandered through dense forest, stepping over fallen oaks and ponderosas. I walked right up to The Breeching Whale. The pin I’d dropped was right on it.

Matt setting up to hit the crimp

I threw a rope and cleaned and chalked the upper holds. It looked like it climbed immediately out to the angular arête where a few hard compression moves led to a good edge and a high but causal top out. It looked good. The rock was incredibly tacky. We all wanted to try.

High heel hooking
Photo: Danny Mauz

Soon the pads were organized and Andrew, Ethan, Matt and I all had out shoes on. The problem starts high on a right hand pinch and a crimp undercling and makes a couple of fun, technical moves up to a right hand crimp before moving out to the arête, up to a good crimp, a fin, and finally a jug and the top.

The crux of this problem is to hand-heel match and bump over to the good crimp below the fin. I took the fall with my heel up a few times, which at about 10 or 12 feet, was pretty scary. It’s not often that you fall flat on your back from that height.

Andrew, fresh off a season in Hueco, sent The Breeching Whale quickly. He named it Dose of Thunder and gave it a solid 10 points on the V-scale.

Andrew on The FA

Matt, Ethan, and I spent the rest of the day working on the problem but none of us managed the second ascent. With trips planned for Joe’s Valley in the next couple weeks and a nice fresh foot of snow on the ground, it looks like the second ascent won’t be for some time. Considering though, that this one, classic problem has stood unclimbed out there for so many years only to be taken down in a handful of tries is testimony to a new growing community of motivated climbers here in Northern Arizona. The rest of us will be back to Dose of Thunder sooner or later and are all more than willing to share. 

Hueco Tanks and Bangland

A week ago I was sleeping in my car, the windows fogged and dripping, the crashpads outside gathering frost as the sun slowly crept over West Mountain. I made eggs and coffee, ate the eggs quickly and drank the coffee while I packed up. I had camped on a small plot of land, whose caretaker-Gp-had allowed me to park my car for free. He called it Bangland, after its owner. Bangland is a place to remind you of the deserts strangeness, of Hueco’s sketchiness. Night after night, one neighbor or another—all like a mile away—had vicious techno parties with toothy beats bumping all night through the still air like the daily automatic gunfire echoing over from Fort Bliss.

            I packed lunch, bled the line for my stove and hurried over to the office to meet Gp for a volunteer tour. It was as, Gp kept saying, my tour. I could go anywhere I wanted. With all the backcountry boulders available to choose from, this was not an easy decision. Acme Roof? The Feather? or some other obscurity lost in West Mountain? I’ve never had to make the decision before; it’s usually made collectively. Democracy on tour in the Hueco Backcountry.

            Of all the places to go, of all the great climbs out there, I decided to go to Full Service. This problems name fits perfectly and is as good as people say as long as you can climb it. Full Service is almost endlessly frustrating. Its moves aren’t the hardest, but there are a lot of them, and it routinely spits climbers off the top, a difficult thing to recover from, both mentally and physically. This had happened to me last year, so I wanted to finish the thing off.

            I fell from the top twice, once taking a scary trajectory. But I waited around, talked to Gp. Rested. Then, once I had relearned all the moves and remembered all the beta, I cruised to the top, smooth as glass.

Then I decided to try another power endurance testpiece—Crouching on the Mahogany, only to pump out at the crux time after time. You always need something to return to.

I left Hueco at about Three PM to make the eight-hour drive home to Flagstaff. I stopped at El Pasito and bought some burritos for the road. Driving north, eating carnitas, the sun setting in that brilliant desert way, I thought about my trip.

I’ve never had such a successful trip in my life. I climbed four days and finished a classic double digit problem a day. I wanted to climb The Full Monty the most out of everything I’d drawn onto my ticklist and on my first day I did it in less than an hour with no spectators and one pad—my favorite time to climb hard. That same day I also flashed Bush League, a newer 8 on a boulder facing Windy Ass, and climbed Sex After Death first try.

On day two it started drizzling as soon as I got into the park so I took shelter under The Martini Cave. I worked on Left Martini and then crawled through the hole and worked out the moves on Tequila Sunrise, a newer problem that is surprising good with a sweet drive-by and a cool slam dunk jump. I was immediately more excited to climb Tequila Sunrise than Left Martini. I finished my second day working out the moves on Alma Blanca with Max Moore. This problem invaded my mind like a fever. All I could think of the next day, my only rest day, was Alma Blanca.

I woke at 5:45 on Sunday to get in line for north and waited until 10 to get in the park. As soon as I parked it started to drizzle, but no matter. I went up to Alma Blanca and the clouds parted and the rain stopped. I chased the shadows of the clouds to give send attempts without the sun glaring me in the eyes. After about an hour I sent Alma Blanca, packed up and went down to Tequila Sunrise, which took me about five tries. I was done. I’d climbed well, so I packed up and went back to Bangland where decided what to try the next day with Gp: Full Service.

It’s unusual for me to go someplace like Hueco with as much focus as I did on this trip. Normally I just climb whatever and I leave without any good new sends. This time around though, I was conservative, I knew what I wanted and I listed to my body. As soon as my fingers felt bruised, I packed my pad and went somewhere else. Before I even left Flagstaff I made extra effort to climb on some sharp rock to grow callous’s and climbed crimpy problems at Beta. But most of all, I thought of the problems I wanted to try knowing that all those hours daydreaming would pay off.

As I drove West on I-40 the snow began to fall in flurries. I ate another burrito and sat up in my seat imagining home, a hot shower, and bed through all that snow. There are projects to finish there too, up on Elden, and at The Draw and all over Flagstaff, for that matter. But I only thought of Home and the warm bed and Christina’s smooth skin as I turned on the wipers and slowed down to a safer speed.

Antimatter

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been projecting a problem at Priest Draw called Antimatter. I first started trying Antimatter last April but abandoned it once it got too warm and I began work at CREC. It’s been cold everywhere for the last couple of weeks. Here in Flagstaff temperatures didn’t even break freezing until yesterday.

On my first 2013 session on Antimatter I refined all of my beta, of which there is much. It took me about two hours to finally make up my mind on the crux section, which involves some strange pinches, a dropknee/toecam, a cross-under, and a bad gaston. The Draw is a wonderful place this time of year, if you were wondering. The parking lot is void of cars and covered in deep snow. Only the true die-hards make it out, so the whole place glistens with winter solitude. It’s quiet. Only the birds make noise, and during that cold snap they were elsewhere. Probably Sedona. Anyway, I climbed at The Beta every other day and once last week headed out to Antimatter with Danny and Matt. It was snowing and about 20 degrees. As soon as I booted up my feet lost all feeling and I made absolutely no progress on the probelm. It was beginning to seem as if Antimatter was impossible for me, that I’d never see it through to the end and hang from the double toe hooks on the lip where I finally, after like 15 moves, would get to relax my core.

            I made a point of not thinking about Antimatter for a couple of days and climbed up on Elden, where I found myself excited on a couple of other projects. I had to get Antimatter out of the way so I could move on. Climbers are often in a perpetual state of progression, and the feeling of stagnancy is disheartening. That was exactly where I was. I felt like the next level was just out of reach. I was getting frustrated.

             Yesterday I got off from work at four and took advantage of working in a bouldering gym and warmed up there. I drove quickly out to The Draw and raced the setting sun to Antimatter. The light was coppery while I set up the pads and camera. Conditions couldn’t have felt better. I did the crux once to remember the body positioning and cooled my hands off on a nearby rock. Hot hands and freezing rock equal condensation like on a cold drink during a hot summer day. I pulled onto Antimatter and walked it first try of the day. My feet even cut, which was the issue that had been keeping me from the top, but I held on and summoned energy I didn’t know I had and was soon topping out. My mouth tasted of metal and no matter how much I spit, there was more. It took me half an hour to catch my breath.

            Now though, I feel as if a weight has been lifted. I’m going to Hueco next week and I know that if I hadn’t done Antimatter it would loom over those desert rocks I hold so dear like a bulging thunderhead. But it’s not. I will go to Hueco with a clear mind and I will hopefully come back proud. There is always a feeling of change, of anticipation, and of fear on top of every project. With growth comes the great unknown, a place we generally avoid. The road to satisfaction is limitless and, for me at least, paved in crimps, slopers, pinches and pockets.

Oh, and here is a link to Antimatter.

New Year

I’ve tiptoed my way into the New Year, 2013 and it’s looking to be a good one. 2012 was an eventful year, for both climbing, and general life type things.  Christina and I bought a house in Flagstaff, AZ, a place I couldn’t be more pleased with. With a little more focus on climbing I managed to climb a few things I never imagined myself standing on top of. Both Bang On and The Mandala were problems I first saw in my fledgling months as a rock climber. They looked amazing then, but were veiled in a film of grandeur. Only really good climbers could climb those things. Climbers like Chris Sharma, Dave Graham, or Ben Moon. Eventually though, and faster since I started using boar’s hair brushes, that film has cleaned away leaving solid, climbable rock. And that’s what I’ve been busy doing.

A few weeks ago a true winter storm rolled through Northern Arizona. I took advantage of the falling snow and convinced Christina to walk part-way up Middle Elden with me. I packed champagne. At the warm-up boulders I uncovered a small box and got on one knee and asked Christina to marry me. She said yes, and we drank the champagne in a cave and watched snow fall for a while before the slog home. Christina and I have been together for five years. We met on a bouldering trip in Bishop in a “more dudes” kind of situation. It was her, the only one old enough to buy like 12 underage boys alcohol, and I, the only underage boy not drinking and able to carry in-depth discussions about Kate Chopin and Charlotte Perkins Gilman. We hit it off and now we are set to be married at the beginning of the summer. So it’s looking as if 2013, like its predecessor, will also be a year of good new things.

Cherry Canyon

Obviously fall has arrived and for a while at least, I have joined the ranks of the unemployed.  This is good though, at least for now. I have time to work on this house, to write, to climb. Working at CREC was a great experience, but the schedule of eight days on-six days off, didn’t work for me. I couldn’t even come close to balancing all those top-heavy aspects of life. Who ever does?

            Fall--apples, carved pumpkins, changing leaves. It’s time to get out last years leftover candy corn and put it in a bowl in the kitchen, time to start drinking tea instead of ice water, and time to boulder as much as possible while the conditions are good and the forest roads are open.

            Two Sundays in a row I’ve gone to Cherry canyon with Matt, Brian, and Spence. No one outside of Flagstaff seems to know the brilliance of this place. Even though Cherry Canyon houses what is arguably some of the best limestone bouldering in the country, I’ve never seen another group of people there. Right now it seems most are drawn to the various super-sized roofs to the west and Cherry has fallen to the wayside. Even though I have lived in Flagstaff for a year now, I still haven’t figured out how to climb those roofs. I’m getting better, but I feel at home at places like The Glorias, Middle Elden, West Elden, and of course on the towering bulges of Cherry.

            Since the first time I went to Cherry last spring and set eyes on The Bulge Wall, I have wanted to try Uptown Vandal. This is a boulder problem that could only happen here. A couple easy roof moves lead to a sloping pocket, heelhook, and a strenuous move to a flat, half-pad undercling. A bump off a bad crimp leads to a better one and the beginning of a highball V7.

            I’ve tried Uptown Vandal maybe a dozen times now. Yesterday was the first time I’d tried it early in the day and on my first solid effort from the bottom I got into the crux of the stand start. I surprised myself. I gave one more try, but the first try had drained most of my strength and I got to the same place. Still, I will climb Uptown Vandal the next time I try it. Until then it’s clouding my thoughts, as boulders often do.

The Mandala

It’s been a while and since I last wrote, and much has happened. Three weeks ago I packed up my Subaru and sped northwest through the infinite and wonderful desert to Bishop, CA. My trip to The Buttermilks would be a short one—only three climbing days—but what it lacked in time was made up with incredible intention. Never do I go someplace to climb with one problem in mind. Never, until recently have I driven eight hours to essentially climb one thing. All these big destinations are too overwhelming, daunting in the sheer number of brilliant problems to try. It’s easy to forget the project, leave it neglected in the dust of a bunch of fun V7’s.

This trip had been seeded the last time I was in Bishop, over the winter and finally bloomed in spring. The Mandala, whose crux section I had figured out that last trip, was looming larger and larger, its rounded prow like a ships bow in the fog.

            The Mandala, I think, is one of the most famous boulders in the world and most definitely the U.S. Dreamtime, Midnight Lightning, Esperenza, The Mandala, problems that everyone knows, that over the years from their desperate inceptions have, in some way defined what it is to climb a good, hard boulder problem, are a true accomplishment to finish. I remember watching young Chris Sharma climbing The Mandala in Dosage 1 and famously joking about its grade. Soon after I went to The Buttermilks for the first time and saw that same boulder shining in the light of a full moon. I thought it looked impossible, or at least like something I’d never be able to climb. I’ve tried The Mandala half-heartedly almost every time I’ve been near it, but never been able to make anything work. It’s sharp, sharp enough that after five or six tries my fingers would be too bruised to climb anymore, and it’s massively dependant on weather conditions. I never got very far and usually spent the rest of my time climbing easier things and dreaming of the day that everything would align for those few seconds to let me stand atop that one boulder. God, bouldering is silly.

            Considering the fame of The Mandala, the rock is really not the best in Bishop. Something like A Maze of Death or Evilution have far more brilliant patina. This year alone The Mandala has broken twice. Once right before my winter trip and once right before my spring trip. The second break was more significant; a fingerjug large enough to match and rest on evolved to nothing more than another crimp. I heard of this break two days before I left and was sure that I’d leave defeated once again. All winter I’d been saying, “The Mandala is not going anywhere,” but its permanence seemed suddenly less than geologic.

            My first day in Bishop I only looked at The Mandala.  The broken hold didn’t look as bad as I’d heard—I was expecting it to be almost entirely gone. I wanted to give the problem a try, but instead wandered the Buttermilks, climbed easier things in hopes of some callous growth for those sharp holds. After a day off I went straight to The Mandala after my warm up, where I met a guy named Jon who asked to film me. On my first burn I climbed through my old highpoint to a new one three moves below the final jug and mantle. It felt like I could climb the entirety of the boulder on any go. However, as it happens, I had to figure out how to do the top section with the smaller, broken hold and after six or seven tries I was tired, the wind picked up to a gale and I couldn’t do the first move any more.

            Jon, living alone in his truck, invited me over to drink wine. By nine my cheeks were warm, we’d each had a whole bottle and a hilariously philosophic conversation about how living a nomadic lifestyle encourages the same deep-rooted comfort as staring at a campfire.

            The next night Jon made me a delicious dinner of pork tenderloin and assorted vegetables. “ You need sending fuel,” he kept saying. We were just two lonely climbers living in dirt and passing time with each other’s fine company.

            That night, just as I was settling into my sleeping bag, it began to snow. I imagined The Mandala, not far away, slowly vanishing beneath a thin layer of ice. I wondered if I’d be able to climb the next day, the last day of the trip, or if I’d have to leave Bishop again with only the satisfaction of progress and worries of erosion.

            It only dusted that night and maybe half an inch of snow clung to the sage and pea gravel in the morning. By ten the snow was gone and the stone dry. I warmed up and went over to The Mandala, which I cleaned tediously and took care to chalk every hold.

            The Mandala is of the breed of problems that draw spectators. People walking by stop and watch for a few minutes. It’s disconcerting though, having a crowd of unknown onlookers, pure judgment in their eyes, see you struggle on the first move. On this day though, it was only Jon and I, a clear sky, and ice-cold rock.

            I sent The Mandala first try that morning and though standing atop that boulder was as fantastic as Beethoven’s 9^th, and the drive home filled with desert mountains capped with snow like I’d never seen before, my return seems imminent.  There are too many blocks of stone to climb and too many to find.

            As I drove home to Flagstaff that afternoon I thought about what to project next, what odd wall would consume me and leave my fingers sore after every session. Uptown Vandal, a powerful bulge in Cherry Canyon came to mind, so did Black Mountain’s classic oddity, Bang-On. None came close to The Mandala, though. Their draw is strong but not magnetic. When I do find it, that coveted next project that is always just over the next hill, on the other side of the boulder, or hiding deep in the blocks of a jumbled talus field, I’ll have something new to work towards whose achievement will feel just like watching another sunrise. 

Here is Jon's Video:

http://www.dpmclimbing.com/climbing-videos/watch/luminance-ground-updowngrade-post-breakage-ascent-mandala