Climbing
Sometimes the heat is too much. Sometimes you have to jet out to maintain psych. Sometimes you find yourself where you wouldn't have expected to: Colorado.
Summer thunderstorms in Upper Chaos Canyon.
Jeremy Fullerton drying off Blood Money (V12) before sending in a slim weather window.
Jimmy checking out Daniel's new Anti-Panic.
Most of the time.
The first crux of Anti-Panic.
Post-storm glory.
A huge thanks to my hosts Jackie and Kevin for having me! Looking forward to next time...
Good old (gold) granite. Reunited at last. Big crystals, more texture, skin thrashed. Six years since Magic Wood, a lifetime before Brione... but Val Bavona. What even is this place? The supposed single boulder, all the problems are on it... such false tricks.
The reality of potential. Aneurysm-inducing blocs, more than could ever be touched or found, let alone climbed, within a single lifetime. Eyes opened wider than ever, as if the lids were pulled and glued back, wishing for some wider scope to take it in. Never enough time. Future trips planned, still assuredly inadequate but absolutely necessary.
Down the road from Maisonbleau.
Language barriers, break them down, increase the comfort with discomfort. Shed training sessions, waiting out the rain. Meteorology 101. Hoping for winds, cloudy days that could be colder. Boulders as apparitions amidst dense woods. Nothing there, nothing there, two steps further, a world of possibility. Seemingly infinite rests between attempts. Wine. Not enough wine, too much wine, joyous brimful evenings. Group dinners, chopping teams, piles of veggies. Late mornings, later nights. Rehearsed sequences, quell the insomnia. Off the coffee kick, FORGET THAT, fill it up. Minuscule approaches, extended sessions. A baguette a day, assuredly. Petite gite, safe zone. A testing ground, of pastry consumption, self-control, bouldering history that shall continue well into the future.