Ponderings

So We Sailed on to the Sun

“A project is a route or boulder problem that’s at the cusp of your climbing limit. Professional climbers will have projects that they work on for years. They’ll have a route in say, France, that they’ll return to every year to try and send,” I explained to my brother on the phone on Friday. “So this route, The Sub, it’s our project. It’s a 5.12d. I don’t know how much you know about climbing ratings, but supposedly, if you can climb anything that’s 5.12, you’re in the top 10% of climbers. But if you can climb 5.13, you’re in the top 1% of climbers. I am trying to send 5.13a. But first, this 5.12d.”

I didn’t expect to become so fixated on a rock for 5 days straight, but it happened. On Wednesday, I had gone out climbing with my friends, Zach and Britt, in Castlewood Canyon. The state park is only a 45-minute drive, so it’s a nice local getaway. The rock is all conglomerate, meaning that within the face of the crag, there are lots of strange rocks jutting right out of the wall to use as hands and feet. It’s fun, funky, and exasperating all at the same time.

We spent most of the morning familiarizing ourselves with the rock type and the area. Zach put up a 5.10d with a burly start, called Nose Job, followed by a more straightforward, slabby 5.11a, Cobble Wobble. Now warmed up, Britt was jazzed on a 5.11c called The Beak. Immediately, it became apparent that The Beak was sketchy every way around — dangerous clips and potential falls, a spooky arete, and a seemingly impossible finish. Zach and I passed at even attempting it. Britt mercifully was able to complete it with a bit of cursing and lots of confusion.

Now what to do? Originally, Britt was interested in checking out a 5.13b called The Black Streak. He didn’t feel wedded to it, though, given the rising heat at the crag. That’s when I offered to check out The Sub. Queue a mini obsession.

I was the first to try The Sub, which meant I had the slightly-more-difficult task of hanging all of the quickdraws on the bolts, then clipping. I steadily made my way up the first few bolts on juggy holds but through pumpy moves. Then came a series of pockets to traverse, followed by a small fissure to pull down on with your left hand and a 3-finger pocket (stellar) for your right hand. At this point, you have to somewhat dynamically move out left, hips in, to a small knob that’s okay at best. It was this move that I fell the first time.

Pleased with my first go, I figured out the move, only to discover the real crux of the route: a dyno to a big, sloping rock sticking out of the wall. Classic conglomerate. Miraculously, I stuck this dyno on the first try, cutting feet (i.e. both feet came off the wall). It’s one of those moves that looks freaking sick, no matter who does it.

The ending of the route is doable, but exhausting. You grab an amazing in-cut crimp, basically do a split/drop-knee to clip, punch through a couple of weird-textured pockets, grab a small pinch-thing, and do a big right gaston before the finish. It is so cool. My imagination had been captured.


Zach gave the route a go with a few takes, followed by Britt, who fell just once. Hell, he could maybe send this thing today! Maybe I could, too.

I went back up but promptly blew the dyno. It still felt much easier than the first time, knowing the moves and having the draws hung. Britt went back up too, only to ALSO blow the dyno. Zach had to get back to the Springs to work, so Britt and I threw in the towel. But not before resolving to come back the following day.


Not even 24 hours later, Britt and I were back at The Sub and determined. We both went back up it to feel out all the moves again. I had written scrupulous notes about the route the day before and was accumulating more with both of our efforts. Still, the odds were not in our favor. The crag felt hotter and buggier than the previous day. Both of us had climbed multiple days in a row, our muscles fatigued. And the skin on our fingertips was withering. We both gave three valiant efforts, but neither of us could stick that dang dyno in sequence. We weren’t down, though — quite the opposite. We now had all the micro-beta to send this thing. We just needed better conditions.


Now it was Sunday. We would leave earlier this time to beat the heat. As I stepped out my door, I discovered it was raining. It’s not raining at Castlewood, I told myself. We’re going to send.

On my drive to Britt’s, a double rainbow crossed the sky. I decided it must be a sign from the climbing gods that today was our day. Anything that could be a sign, I took to be one.

We made our way to Castlewood Canyon for the 3rd time this week, which sounds like lunacy to me, but didn’t feel like lunacy. The sky cleared. The sun was out. When we arrived, the temperature was a perfect 60 degrees. Now we were anxious.

Back at the crag, we tried our best to warm up and get mentally locked in. Britt went up the route to hang the draws and remind himself of some moves. I then got on for send attempt #1.

The beginning, fine. The middle traverse, smooth-ish, though could’ve been executed better. When I got to the dyno, I told myself, go get it. And I did! The only problem was, I’d never gotten this far from the beginning — and was completely bewildered. I completely forgot what to do next, and after some flailing, fell. I wasn’t mad. I was already satisfied, just to have made this progress.

Britt got on again, and he too got mixed up. He nearly forgot about the three-finger pocket and actually laughed at himself on the wall. He flubbed the dyno in uncharacteristic fashion.

Take two for me: a similar start, a very wobbly push through the traverse, a dyno stick. I now knew what to do, but I had to stay calm and not lose energy. I couldn’t believe I was hanging onto the weird-textured pockets or the mini pinch, but I hit the gaston too low. I couldn’t recover and fell.

Britt’s try #3: flawless execution all the way to the dyno. He stuck the dyno for a half-second this time. But still, no.

We wanted this thing so badly and yet acknowledged how absurd it all was. We had no intentions of even trying this route on Wednesday, yet here we were, obsessed with all the minutiae of this face, so desperate to send it with no falls. We could both probably tell you every single foot and hand hold on this thing at this point, could visualize every movement. If not today, we would send this thing, dammit.


My third try. I had started to resent the tiring beginning moves, just wanting to cut to the chase. The traverse went the smoothest it ever has; I could feel this was it. Once I got the dyno, I forced my feet back on and grabbed the in-cut. I was trying to lock in the drop knee and my foot came off, but I recovered and willed myself onward. The last holds didn’t feel great, and I felt the pressure to nail the gaston this time. When my hand fell perfectly into place, I knew it was over. I had just climbed the hardest route of my life outdoors.


Britt sent it immediately after. When folks send something back to back like that, it’s called a send train (choo choo!). The limiting factor for him was always the dyno, whereas for me, it was those exhausting following moves. Needless to say, we were thrilled.


I’ve never had a project before. Ever. That may not seem significant, but for a climber of 18 years, it’s kind of odd. I’ve always just liked climbing outside. I prioritize trying lots of different routes, rather than sending every route cleanly. In the last year, motivated by strong friends like Britt, Zach, Eric, Maddie, Casey, and Ryan, I’ve been curious to see what I was really capable of. I determined that I’d try to send a 5.13a by the end of the year. But I still hadn’t sent a 5.12c or 5.12d — I had barely even tried either grade. Moreover, I hadn’t found a route that compelled me to keep coming back. I was searching for something that was just a touch out of reach but plausible. Something with variable style and technique, but also required you to be strong. Something like The Sub.

The Sub is named for a boulder at the crag face. When you look down from the top of the route, the boulder looks like the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine. Though I never saw this boulder from the top (I think I was too full of adrenaline), from the start, this felt like my route, in a way. The Yellow Submarine is tattooed to my foot. It holds a lot of symbolism for me. From the moment I tried The Sub, I vowed I’d come back until I sent it.


There is something to be said for obsessing over a route, or really anything as trivial, for that matter. Sure, a 5.12d at a state park crag doesn’t really mean anything — unless you make it so. What was so exciting to me about The Sub is that it wasn’t this detrimental, negative, toxic type of fixation. Instead, it was this truly compelling and thrilling fixation that reinvigorated my love to climb. I wasn’t beat up about not sending it all the previous tries. It just made me want to work harder — to be the best climber I could be.


Britt admitted that he’s got a bit of an obsessive personality, but he prefers to be that way. Because when it comes down to it, wouldn’t you rather care deeply about something — even something as silly as a route — than not care at all? I couldn’t agree more.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *