Swansong Part 2: The Final Countdown

The transformation from van-bound climbing bum
to "respectable" Telstra-employee is almost complete...

On the previous episode of The Climbing Obscurist we cut to commercial right as I was nearing my final few days of freedom before I was due to commence a new job at Telstra... After 2 years and 1 month as a professional climbing bum(bly). The race was on to pack in as much climbing as possible before rejoining the workforce as a contributing member of society, and my time-intensive pursuit of the truly obscure had to take a backseat to training and convenience climbing.

Part of the reason why this felt like a "countdown to the apocalypse" was because my new job, a new Uni Course, and necessary downtime to heal from two problematic injuries I'd been enduring for a while (one of which was a damaged bone in my finger) were all coalescing to keep me from my passion for a fairly hefty chunk of time. I knew I'd come back weaker, with less time, and without the good headspace for runouts and dangerous climbing... I might never be as "good" a climber as I was at this time. The clock was ticking...

If any of you were following the Chockstone thread pertaining to my ascent of Alive in a Bitter Sea (covered in the last episode of The Climbing Obscurist), it created something of a furore over the fact that I had headpointed the route, and that in reality (unless you're a proper strong climber) the nature of the route lends itself solely to headpointing, thereby making it inaccessible to 99.9% of climbers. For me personally, it was also great to see the original First Ascensionist -Warwick Baird, one of my local heroes- make a rare appearance to congratulate me on the ascent, and to add his opinion to the "lively debate".

I bring this up because, fundamentally, the foundation of the argument was that going Ground-Up Onsight is stylistically the "highest ideal" in climbing, and routes that are designed to be headpointed very seldom lend themselves to that ideal (unless you're such a strong climber that it almost negates headpoint aspect of the route entirely)...

Well, in stark contrast to last weeks' efforts, this final update of The Climbing Obscurist (for now) is all about the ground-up epic, which -despite the fact that I DO enjoy headpointing- is still my preferred style. I like climbing boldly into uncertain territory, and have often forgone what would be straightforward "pre-inspected flash-ascents" for the sake of a pure ground-up Onsight (which I've subsequently failed).

So, strap yourself in to your manky, "should've been replaced years ago" seatbelt-webbing harness, and enjoy the ride!

SPOILER ALERT: The descriptions contained within this blog update are detailed enough that they might ruin your potential onsight... Read at your own risk!

Day 1 (Wednesday): Piddo Free-Soloing and Texas Tea (50m Sport 24)

With the clock ticking until my scheduled execution, and feelings of mortality descending upon me as I was drawn back into the "real world" from this phantasmagorical dream I've been spellbound by for over 2 years, naturally I needed something to bring me back down to earth... Hence I went out to Mount Piddington to do some free soloing.

In lieu of any photos of this, here's one of
me during my mighty dreadlock years.

Crack climbing is about the only time when I'm climbing where I truly know how I feel... That's not to say that I won't fall off, but I can assess with 99% accuracy how solid I am, how slippery things are feeling, or how confident I am with a jam at any given time. I find that there are less external/environmental factors which will determine whether or not I fall off (an unexpected slip off a crimp, or breaking a hold, or committing to a point where I can't reverse a sequence), and as such, cracks are usually the only thing I'm comfortable free-soloing.

First up was Hocus Pocus (8), which I'd never actually done before, but turned out to be a spectacular 45m sustained slab with varied and interesting moves, and great quality rock. It's a bit of a laugh to call this Grade 8, as it would probably be grade 16 at Shipley, but with no rope to keep me safe I stayed engaged the entire way, and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Classic.

Next was an Alzheimer's Onsight Free Solo of The Cartheginian (15), which I'd done on my first trip to Piddo many years before, but never again since. Once again, it was a beautiful route to free solo, although the slightly wide middle-section gave me pause (due to the insecurity of the crack) before I found my fortitude and continued. Enjoyable.

With no photos of this either, here's another one of me during
my... ummm... leopard-print sport-shorts years.

The entry-level quintessential jam crack Psychopath (18) was the next objective. Very straightforward stylistically, and with solid jams throughout, only its slightly strenuous nature (relatively speaking) earns it the grade. I probably felt more secure on this than on The Cartheginian, and it was so nice that I free solo'd it twice. Beautiful.

At this point in time I really wanted to free solo Flake Crack (18), but as the summer sun had reached the cliff, I figured that I'd do a lap on Top Rope Solo first to decide how it felt in the heat. As it was, it felt fine, and I cruised my way up it... but I decided that it wasn't worth the risk of a spoogy slip free-soloing this in the sun, and decided to forgo another lap today. Varied and of consistently great quality climbing, Flake Crack is a true staple at the grade. Delightful.

Finally, I did a TRS inspection of Tombstone Wall (15), and decided that it didn't feel too bad despite the baking sun. The bouldery start, followed by an engagingly thin traverse and a juggy steep finale was made more captivating by deviating into the slightly harder adjacent slab middle-section of Rogue Cop (18). Feeling solid, I also free solo'd this one. Then decided to call it a day. Memorable.

For my next serving I detoured to Renitz Pass in the afternoon shade to have a crack at Texas Tea (50m 24), a proud arete on the Buttress west of I Was a Teenager for the CIA (2-pitch 50m 24), which I'd eyed eagerly from several other climbs, but never gotten around to having a crack at. Reportedly extremely hard to onsight, it starts in the middle of the buttress, traverses airily left below a small roof to gain the arete, then doggedly climbs the arete all the way to the top. Written up as a giant singlepitch (which is how I climbed it), it's worth noting that it actually has a half-height belay on a good stance, so it can very easily be broken up into 2 pitches.

The line of Texas Tea (50m 24)

As it was, I approached it by deliberately not investigating the route at all (not pre-placing, chalking or cleaning any of the bolt plates/quickdraws), and trying to make it as "ground-up" as possible (all things considered). The traverse under the roof looks intimidating, but it's not actually very hard, merely airy. After gaining the arete you have a brief 6m section of very intense and very pure insecure arete climbing, which is gripping and totally rad. After that, however, it's about 25m of fairly predictable (though not unpleasant) grade 22 arete and face-climbing on inferior rock, making it a very cruxy route.

As it was, I kind of cruised the whole route, and -despite the brief intense section- didn't find it too hard for an old-school gr24 arete. I'd definitely call I Was a Teenager for the CIA harder, though Texas Tea is probably more cruxy, and more intimidating (in part due to the quality of the bolts, no two of which are facing the same direction in the rock, and most of which are in varying states of decomposition... however I will attest that all of the bolt are positioned so that the plates are fairly easy to place on lead).

Perhaps not as good a route as I'd hoped, and certainly not as good as it looks (being an obvious and proud arete), but still fairly enjoyable.

An arvo doing some Sporty Sport climbing at Boronia with Jenga, Dave Hoyle, Ro Latimer and others, and Day 1 was done and dusted... But already a plan was forming for day 2:

Day 2 (Thursday): Blue Ruin (200m 6-pitch Sport 25) - feat. Ro-Boat!

Ro was after something "long, rather than hard" (keep your filthy, filthy mind out of the gutter, people!), and I was more psyched for a multi than more sporty sport redpointing, so we agreed upon Blue Ruin (200m 6-pitch Sport 25) at Pierces Pass. This was one of the few sport multis I hadn't climbed at The Pass, and I was looking forward to it. Another Mikl special, the lower half of Blue Ruin's 200m length tackles an obvious crack-cum-seam weakness (which makes it an obvious line from the ground) before breaking free and launching up the imposing face above for the top 3 pitches.

Being Masters of The Pass, Ro and I were at the base of the route before we could blink (though thoroughly saturated from the overnight rain still lurking on the plentiful vegetation), and Young Ro set about Pitch 1 (gr22).

After an inauspicious start (the rock isn't particularly great), you gain the corner crack, which gets progressively steeper as you journey up it for 40m. Negotiated via laybacking, stemming, jamming, and the odd bit of face climbing, the crux comes at the steepest part of the crack, where all the footers mysteriously vanish and you have to get physical for a few moves. Sure, it's a bit sandy, but generally it's an enjoyable pitch. After briefly stalling out on one of the easier moves, he ended up cruising it and I managed it clean on Second.

Low down on P5 of Blue Ruin, with
terrific exposure below.

The real money of Blue Ruin is P2, which follows the now-fused seam for 45m of sustained technicality (and much thinness), with a particularly nails crux through (and past) a roof at about 8m height. Originally graded 24, this pitch is every bit a 25, and is bloody great climbing, which would readily stand on its own as a single-pitch route off the ground at pretty much any major crag in the Blueys. I blew the Onsight on the moves past the roof (trying to figure out the holds/sequence), and then proceeded to fall off the last move of this sequence about a million more times as I struggled to get the draw on the next bolt. When the draw was on it was fine to clip and the sequence was totally doable (though still challenging), but I got rather pissed off trying to get it on in the first place, and the Grose Valley was graced by all manner of politically incorrect vitriol. Truth be told, this particular bolt position proved to be my only criticism of this spectacular pitch, and it was disappointing not to get it clean. Well, that is to say, that I didn't get it clean, Ro, however, channeled his inner Joe Frasier to bear and attacked this pitch like a brawler, managing to score it clean on second!

The third pitch is short and punchy at 22, but thoroughly enjoyable as you continue to meander up the fused seam, cranking on some strange vertical shale-features. Amidst the funky climbing were some of the funkiest sculptured-rock formations I've encountered in the Blueys, and after an appropriate amount of time pondering the artistic value of our discovery, Ro-Boat took control of the pitch, and I followed in style.

By this point we'd reached the halfway ledge, where it's possible to traverse back to Lunch Ledge (via the Traverse of Shame) if you need to. In typical Choss-Seeker style, I ended up with the rather loose and manky P4, which involves wandering around atop teetering blocks of sand and avoiding the most undercut section of the roof. With only 6 bolts to protect 25m (18), the first of which was about 5m up, I felt a bit undergunned in the protection department. Sure, the climbing was easy, but the disintegrating cheese that I was gingerly pulling on meant that a fall was both possible, and likely going to end on one of the many ledges on this pitch.

Nearing the top of P5 (23/24) right as the sun nears us.

In typical climbing connoisseur style, Ro ended up with the last of the crux pitches, and the next best pitch on the route after the 2nd Pitch. Officially graded 24, it's probably more in the "sustained, but not particularly cruxy" grade 23 range. It consists of 45m of impossibly blank-looking face-climbing on ironstone micro-edges, with derivatives of the same moves coming again and again as you meander your way upwards. It's intense because you rarely get a decent handhold to "chill out on", and pumpy only because you're basically holding the same tiny holds again and again for the duration of the pitch. Ro did a spectacular job working the tic-tacs as he sought to find congealed air molecules masquerading as holds in order to progress, successfully onsighting the pitch and leaving enough chalk on the holds to make my own route-finding on second a bit easier...

...or so I thought. I still managed the pitch clean, but totally stalled out for about 20min on a single sequence that seemed grade 1 million. Fighting to piece it together, I only just managing to sort it out before I got too pumped. Regardless, it was an enjoyable -if repetitive- pitch, with some of the little holds feeling potentially friable, but in reality neither of us broke anything of consequence off.

The final pitch, also mine (why do I keep ending up with these junk pitches?), was a fairly predictable (and quite rubbish) Blueys exit pitch, which was so uninspiring that I can't even remember what grade it is, only that it is 15m long, extremely easy, hosts terrible rock, and is protected by only 2 bolts. The exit from the top of the climb involves some shrub-bashing across the top of the Mirrorball Face, and down a series of rocky gullies to regain the usual Lunch Ledge access track.

With the route done, we were back at the car by 1430hrs, for a 6.5 hour round-trip (car to car). Time for some drinking!

As to the route: I'd give it 2 stars and call it "one of the better hard-ish Blueys Sport Multis", but not as good as Regular Route, Weaselburger or Smegadeth. It essentially consists of 2 Great pitches, 2 Good pitches, and 2 utterly hideous pitches... a pretty standard breakdown for a Blueys multi, really.

Day 3 (Friday): Change Planets (40m 25) - feat. Ro-Boat, Macca, Kamil & Kerrin!

I'd previously been asked by the indomitable Macciza if I'd be willing to climb Change Planets (40m 25) on Dogface for a part of a film he was making with Kamil Sustiak about the history of Dogface, and -in particular- his and Zac Vertrees' own goal to free-climb Colossus. I'd said yes at the time, and upon realising that my days were numbered, I arranged with Macca to head out on Friday afternoon to have a crack at it, and get the filming done.

The Mighty Dogface. Change Planets (40m 25) climbs
approximately where the red line is.

There probably aren't many serious Australian climbers who don't know about The Dogface at Katoomba. Formed by a series of major landslides throughout 1931, and several smaller collapses throughout the decades, the stunningly sheer face that remains has more in common with a day at the beach than with conventional rock climbing, yet harbours a peculiar charm (especially for the choss connoisseur). Most detest the "climbing" (and I use that term very "loosely"... Pun also intended) up teetering prehistoric sand, but a select few rave ad naueseum about it and hold the place as the spiritual centre of Australian climbing, if not the entire universe. Regardless of where you stand, you'd have to be blind not to be inspired by it, and foolhardy not to respect its looming, malevolent, cyclopean prominence.

Yet another Mikl "classic", Change Planets tackles an upper 40m section of the terrifying Dogface, on ancient carrot-bolts in varying stages of returning to their natural elements. Held in by wadding (because the rock is so sandy, the normal hand-drill bash-in method leaves holes that are too "loose" to hold the bash-in bolts in, meaning that every bolt looks like it has a cloth "ruff" around it), this is a far cry from a sport climb. The location, protection and nature of the route is anything but a "consumer sport route", though its obscurity, outrageous position, and a pretty funky write-up in the guidebook have always made it a route I've been "meaning to have a crack at". In fact, it's so obscure, that I'd previously made 2 unsuccessful trips to try and find the top of the route (so I could have a look at it for a prospective lead in the future), but never managed to work out exactly where the route went.

Ro cops a sandblasting.
Photo By: Kamil Sustiak
( http://www.kamilsustiak.com/ )

Aiming for a late afternoon start (in the hideous summer sun) to "get the best light for the filming" (and apparently maximise suffering for all participants), Ro (seemingly a chronic masochist on the basis that he was up for another consecutive day of climbing for me (!), and on another adventurous route to boot(!!)) and I rapped in at about 4:30pm, after Kamil, Macca and Kerrin got their cameras and sound apparatus into position. The belay was almost fully-hanging, off an assortment of dubious bolts, pins, some random brackets, and faith in a higher deity to keep you safe. From this stance, there is a good 100m of empty air below you (including the the fall-away of the steep scree/rubble slope below Dogface).

A part of the purpose of filming Change Planets was to capture the "epic" of a "ground-up" attempt on a route like this one, so the fact that I was "willing to have a go" and hadn't tried the route before made me an ideal candidate... But I figured that if I was going to go for a ground-up effort, I'd go for the Pure Onsight attempt, by not pre-placing draws or bolt plates (meaning I would be lugging 17 plates with me!), not even looking at the route on the rap in, nor scrubbing or ticking anything. As it would turn out, this made it particularly exciting due to the nature of the bolts: 2 were missing entirely, 1 was a corroded lump of unusable tetanus, and 2 were rocking a classic "hourglass" shape, whereby the section the bolt plates would be resting on were 1/4 the width that they should be (due to corrosion)... fortunately, I wouldn't discover this until I arrived at the bolts in question (ignorance is bliss), and my knowledge of metallurgical tensile strengths is non-existent.

Before I forget, here's a top tip for young players: when climbing with this many bolt plates on a route where being able to actually get to the chalk in your chalk bag is crucial, bring a second smaller "dipper" chalk bag solely for the plates! You won't regret it.

Will this tic-tac explode?
Photo By: Kamil Sustiak ( http://www.kamilsustiak.com/ )

With Ro watching carefully (though not actually looking at me, since I'd forgotten to arrange safety goggles for him, and sandblasting-induced blindness was a very real concern) I threw myself headfirst at the route, which -in typical Blueys fashion- is hard right off the belay. Tough, thin and sandy, I was sketched my way past the first two bolts. Struggling to put the bolt plates on, my feet pasted insecurely on scarily small and fragile nubbins, the intensity was high as I made it a grand total of 4-bolts up before flash-pump (it wasn't such a good warmup), terrified overgripping, and poor technique (due to not trusting my feet) got the better of me, and I was "off". Taking my first lob onto a hideously corroded bash-in carrot bolt held-in by wadding was a decidedly spiritual experience. Remarkably it held, and with my faith in these bolts restored, I was back in the fight.

I won't describe the whole route, because -to be honest- I don't really remember it all. In the heat of the moment -the fear, the desperation-, much of it kind of became a blur of movement, pump, despair (at my imprudence), and a veritable waterfall of sand. The missing bolts meant that there were a few exciting runouts between some of the tougher moves (including above one of the cruxes), and the seriously dubious nature of other bolts (and the generally dubious nature of all of the bolts) made any and every fall one of hideous anticipation. Having said that, though, not a single one of the bolts came out (and I had probably 6 falls on my ground-up attempt of the route)... That fact alone didn't stop me from shrieking on some of the falls, and images of taking a monster whip manifested before my eyes.

"Aaaaand pounce!"
Photo By: Kamil Sustiak ( http://www.kamilsustiak.com/ )

The route is rather sandy (would you believe?), and a constant cascade of granules rained down upon Ro as I climbed. Yet once I resigned myself to the fact that every hold would be sandy, suddenly it didn't feel so intolerable. A lot of the footers you have to trust are tiny and not really attached by much, yet once I resigned myself to the fact that I had to use them, they were fine to use (and I never actually broke any of them). In fact, I only broke off one proper big block, which bounced off the wall and exploded into a meteor shower of debris (fortunately missing Ro, who was lashed into the belay and unable to avoid any accidental missiles lobbed in his direction). Weirdly, as the journey progressed, all of these factors seemed only to add to the epic of it, and I found a strange kind of enjoyment.

The climbing itself is extremely thin, slightly steep face climbing, with sustained bad feet. Often I would end up extremely strung-out, with high feet and a big pounce being necessary to progress. There are perhaps 8 drilled pockets on the route, which are extremely hard to see from below. Several times I would be questing around desperately for a hold, about to pump off, when I would suddenly spot the crucial chipped pocket and lunge for it... sometimes successfully, sometimes not. I felt like I threw myself at the climb boldly, and never shouted "take" or just gave up. I climbed until I fell (usually because I was terminally pumped), often launching for some "okay" looking hold in the distance in the faint hope that it was an improbable jug. But despite my efforts, I still had 6 falls. I think that I could probably tick the route in another shot or two, but by the time Ro and I had topped out it was getting late, and we were out of time.

Wild gesticulations and mosquitos by moonlight.
Ro Latimer, Macca, and myself.
Photo By: Kamil Sustiak ( http://www.kamilsustiak.com/ )

Ro followed me up, having a similar experience as myself: some epic flash pump, some tricky route finding, a few exciting falls, and a weird sort of masochistic enjoyment. It's one of those things that's hard to describe in writing, yet it happened nevertheless: we had fun! As Ro topped out, the sun vanished for the day, and amidst an onslaught of mosquitos and wild gesticulations of excitement, we packed up our extensive gear and made a bee-line for the Leura pub for some "hooray, we survived!" drinks. Funny how many of my climbing days seem to end up like that.

So, what of the route? I have no idea. I enjoyed it, but found it quite intense. The rock is rubbish, but not as terrible as I was expecting; the bolts are atrocious, yet none of them fell out on me; everything is sandy and scary, but I learned to live with it and eventually stopped noticing these attributes; the climbing is tricky, intimidating and hard to read (especially with the chipped holds), but harboured some really engaging moves and was genuinely good. It's got bolts, but it sure as hell isn't a sport climb, and the position is mind-blowing. Is the route any good? I have no bloody idea... but I had a laugh, and I believe that Ro did too.

Day 4 (Saturday): New World Order Crag - feat. Monty!

The Neil Monteith and Frothy Thomson combo teamed up again, for one last RADventure, at our favourite haunt: Sublime Point.

Abseiling in to the New World Order crag.

We warmed up by smashing out Saccharine Nightmare (4-pitch 110m 22) car-to-car in under 2 hours, which I climbed as two giant pitches (a great way to do this climb provided it's not at your limit). Taking a super-direct line up the face starting on the beautiful orange rock 20m right of Sweet Dreams, it is a thoroughly enjoyable experience with lots of funky and varied moves, easy access and well bolted... I'd readily recommend it to anyone.

The afternoon, however, was about facilitating the FA of Neil's new multipitches at his SuperSecret™ new Sublime Point East crag, named "New World Order" to commemorate certain... umm... momentous world events occurring as he initially developed the crag. Like the Main East Face (wow, that naming convention is getting confusing) the access is a short walk, followed by a long abseil in, and a multipitch climb-out. The rock quality is generally very good (superior to most of the popular Blueys destinations) though not quite as good as the Classic East Face. At any rate, Neil was psyched about the new routes, and had ambitiously decided to finish equipping one of routes on the same day as we were going to climb them. Good thing Ramset 101 sets in an hour!

On the final tricky arete moves of the
exposed and powerful Wrath of
Froth (25m 24)

After the gluing session was done, I rapped the full 60m rope-length to the fairly cosy belay right on the lip of the face, scarcely a metre above the undercut void, equitably shared by us with a batallion of mosquitos and sauna of humidity.

Monty's first route commences with a hard boulder problem (a deadpoint to a disappointingly bad hold, to another deadpoint), after which it’s intense face-and-arete climbing up a slightly overhanging wall, followed by a much easier upper third. The rock is great, and the position on the beautiful clean-cut arete is stunning. Neil managed the First Ascent of Wrath of Froth (25m 24) on his 2nd attempt of the day, and I was lucky enough to score the "lots of beta" flash of the route, despite Neil sliming it up with sweat. This route actually continues to the top of the cliff (via 2 more pitches) but since we were already on the belay stance for the neighbouring route, we figured that we'd tackle that first, before climbing out via the upper pitches.

The trick kneebar at the end of the hard climbing
on Trumpeter (25m 24). "Almost, but not
quite, 25".

Next up was the much tougher Trumpeter (25m 24), which Monty made look about grade 1000 on his first attempt of the day (it was actually quite entertaining to watch), but somehow pieced it together on the second lap to score the FA of this one as well. My favourite of the two new routes, and described by the intrepid First Ascensionist as: "almost, but not quite 25", it commences with a mantle which looks easy, turns out to be quite hard, and can be done hideously (as I did on my lap) or gracefully. From there it's slick, bullet-hard technical thin-face climbing with holds and feet that face all the wrong directions, and aren't where you want them. Featuring several cruxes on water-polished rock, this pitch just keeps coming at you until you clip the anchor, with countless slippery slimpers to spit you off if you relax for a moment. Once again, I was lucky enough to score the flash (this time with minimal Beta, since Monty's "improvise as you go" approach hadn't left me with much confidence in his technique).

Looking down at me on Pitch 2 (19) of Wrath
of Froth.

With the money pitches of the day done, we climbed out via the upper 2 pitches of Wrath of Froth (grades 19 and 23 respectively). P2 wasn't terrible, but wasn't anything special. P3, however, had some amazing steep climbing with an improbable (and gripping) roof-turn part way up the pitch, and a pretty gnarly boulder-problem finale to the top out, marred only by some dubious rock. Fortunately, both pitches went down first-go for Monty, though the day very nearly concluded with what might've been one of the most hilariously unexpected falls of all time:

Neil looking down at me (about to go into
the final gr23 crux) from the top of the cliff.

The top-out to the cliff is -unfortunately- vegetated, so the plan was to use a length of rope -tied off to a tree at the top- to pull past the final moves back to terra firma. Neil had asked me to set up the rope while he finished his bolting, and left the rope wrapped around a shrub (so it wouldn't slide off the cliff edge). When I rapped in to join him, I'd seen the rope "tied off" (though not really looked too closely at what it was tied off on) and assumed that Neil had ended up doing the work for me. As it was, Neil was on his way into the final (crux) boulder problem, which culminates with a grab for the rope in question, when I revealed to him that I hadn't done anything to the rope, and it was only "tied off" on a shrub. In hindsight, it could've been pretty funny to see Neil lunge for the rope, have it pull free, and go tumbling off into the void... but as it was, with my "11th Hour" warning, he traversed left to the rap rope and climbed out via that. Entry for Rock & Ice Whipper of the Week averted, I joined Monty on the summit above the New World Order wall, with 4 pitches of new climbing done and dusted below us.

Oodles of bolting and First-Ascent
related junk being hauled out of the crag.

Neil has since added 1 upper pitch to Trumpeter (which joins Wrath of Froth for its final pitch) and another Project on the face to the left side of the arete (left of Wrath of Froth P1), with more climbing likely coming soon (knowing Monty).

While this little slice of rock has nothing on the Main East Face (and none of these pitches compare to Subliminal or Sabbatical, though I'm obviously biased), the routes at New World Order stand out in the Blueys for their quality and moderate grade accessibility. They are totally worth a day of psuedo-cragging in a multipitch environment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 5 (Sunday): It Came from Outer Space (70m 3-pitch Mixed 25) - feat. Hugh Sutherland!

Looking up at the line of It Came from
Outer Space (25)... It doesn't look that hard...

Wow... my final day of climbing freedom before I was to adorn my business shirt and pants once again, and step off the barely-navigable footpad (meandering irrationally through overgrown scrub) of the past 2 years (and one month) of my life and back onto the road most-travelled. Needless to say, I was pretty anxious about starting my new job the following day, but I sure as hell wasn't going to forfeit this one last day of climbing. This time I was joined by Hugh Sutherland (with whom I climbed The Candlestick in Tassie), and we headed out to the Corroboree Walls at Mount Victoria for a bit more old-school ground-up epic.

The only name on our list this time was It Came from Outer Space (70m 3-pitch Mixed 25), which resides on the right-hand side of the buttress shared with Big Red (60m Sport 27). While climbing Big Red I'd observed ICfOS from the ground, but I'd never rapped the route, and had very little idea about what exactly it consisted of. I did, however, have a distant memory of Zac Vertrees telling me once that it was a brilliant route, and (quote) "not too bad", with a sly look on his face. In hindsight, I really should've asked him to elaborate on what exactly about it was "not too bad", cause it sure as hell wasn't the grade!

The hideous, hideous, mantle from hell!!!

Deciding to go light for the onsight attempt, I brought a single light rack of cams and medium wires, and about 10 bolt plates, along with the usual suspects. Inevitably, this meant that I basically used all the wrong gear in all the wrong places, and spent 90% of the first gr25 pitch climbing above sub-optimally-sized cams in less than ideal placements. Still, it made an already exciting climb more exciting, and undeniably more memorable.

ICfOS starts up a fairly unassuming finger crack, past some bad gear and a mantle to a bolt. From there it gets all "classic gritstone" as you pull some thin face moves, stitch up a fused seam with dubious wires, and quest boldly leftwards across the slab to gain the arete (and a bolt) 5m to the left. I can only describe what follows as a "hellish mantle"... Indeed, the sort of mantle to end all mantles, in a vein (and of a particularly disgusting old-school desperate) that only our climbing fore-bearers can actually do. My onsight ended here. I probably didn't need to tell you that, though, I'm pretty sure you guessed it from the previous sentence. Indeed, I can't actually count high enough to convey the number of attempts it took to piece this mantle sequence together, but it was a lot. Thin, slopey, steep, with bad feet and no real way to get purchase on the face in front of you. It was hard... yet also deliciously masochistic. Weird, huh?

Looking down the line of Pitch 1... Purdy.

After complaining my way through that sequence, the route turns all "psuedo-sport", with really powerful moves between crimps and pockets above pretty gnarly gear (at one point I whipped sideways onto a #2 C3 Microcam). It then trucks left to gain the arete, and promptly combo-punches you with insecure, tenuous pure-arete climbing (with 2 bolts inbetween the various gear placements), none of which goes easily. The final kick in the pants comes in the form of an incredibly awkward hanging belay on carrots. About 1.5 hours after I set off on this pitch, I finished building the belay and collapsed exhaustedly onto it. If it weren't for the grade 2-million mantle, I'd call this an old school tough 25, but I have no idea how to grade a mantle of that level of intensity. It's the sort of pitch I could do 2nd shot (and the quality of the climbing and the rock certainly inspire another lap) if it weren't for the mantle, which is a totally unknown variable for me.

After Hugh joined me on the belay (vindicating the difficulty of the pitch, as -despite a valiant effort- he too got rather schooled by the old-skool on this pitch), I set about P2 and P3, which I decided to link into a 35m pitch. Officially grade 23, it's pretty full-on at the grade (the theme of this climb), with some steep, pouncy (but fairly juggy) moves up the arete, to another hellish mantle on the arete itself.  As you might've guessed, I fell off here as well (did I mention that I suck at mantling?), but pulled back on and went to the top without any further falls. The rest of the pitch is thin, slabby face-and-arete climbing on rock quality which deteriorates into humdrum grey-rock and a few more mantles (what IS it with this route and mantles?). Continuing past the belay, I climbed the third pitch up the grey slab above (gr18) past 1 bolt and 2 cam placements, for an excitingly runout (but extremely easy) finale, topping out atop a big detached block perched on the summit of the buttress.

Looking down the line of P1 & P2 from the belay below
P3.

Once again Hugh had a similar experience to myself (with respect to difficulty and falls), and joined me at the top just as the torturous summer sun arrived to set the wall ablaze. Needless to say, we beat a tactical retreat to the pub, to debate the quality of the route.

It's always hard to judge an old-school route with a new-school eye. I like to think that I'm somewhat capable of bridging that gap, due to a certain penchant for the old-school routes, but a similar passion for new routing and new-school routes. Mixed climbing is my all-time favourite style of climbing, and this route epitomises the best of Mixed climbing in the Blueys, being bold yet never dangerous. The climbing is tough, the rock is (generally) good, and the experience is great... But that mantle is just a bit too old-school even for me, and probably a large chunk of you guys as well. That's not to say that you shouldn't do this route - you totally should, it's awesome!-, but rather that I think you should approach this route knowing that the mantle is something special, even my mantle standards, and not let one shut-down old-school sequence catch you unprepared and influence your experience of the route.

With my Delica still out of action (you might recall that the gearbox exploded on the day I sent Alive in a Bitter Sea), I caught the train home on my own.

And as inauspiciously as that, the sabbatical was over, and this chapter of my life came to a close.

Intermission:

CUE SOUND: People coughing on overcrowded trains, relaxing elevator music, and various quotes from The IT Crowd.

Working hard, or hardly working?

So here I am, back at work at Telstra. Currently I'm mostly based in Parramatta, but in the future 2/3rds of my time will be working in the underground tunnel network in Sydney. The job is engaging, the team is good, and the future prospects are intriguing, so I'm not really in a position to complain (and it is awesome to actually have money again, and be able to buy stuff... like a beanie that ISN'T more holes than material!), but it's definitely been a challenge. Getting used to sitting down again for much of the day, staring at a computer screen ad infanitum, reconfiguring my vocabulary to "office speak" and my mannerisms to "normal human-being" are all hurdles in themselves, but the lack of climbing -due to my injuries- has the biggest psychological hurdle to surmount.

As I write this, it's been 6 weeks since that last day of climbing, and despite sticking doggedly to my "no-climbing" agenda, and attending physio and applying the correct recovery techniques, both my busted finger bone and my mangled elbow don't really feel any better. It's hard to think of the possibility that I'm taking this time off and rapidly becoming a weakling, if it's not actually making any beneficial difference. I still go out and belay my friends on their climbs, and spend as much time outdoors as possible (I did a 58.4km trail-ride on my mountain bike the other day), but it just doesn't satisfy that addictive demand for climbing-induced endorphins that I crave!

But I do feel that, to some extent, I can rest on my laurels: to have concluded my climbing journey with a particularly radical onsight of a soaring line feels like the appropriate bookend to this stage of my life. Oh, I'm not talking about It Came from Outer Space, though that was a pretty rad climbing (but I sure as hell didn't Onsight it), I'm talking about:

The Swansong: Echo Crack (190m 4-Pitch Trad 25) - feat. The 'Stair

 

Alastair: he's achieved some recognition
 for his abilities... bloody sell out!

Alright, so I didn't quit climbing immediately after I started work. Having spent so much time looking across from Alive in a Bitter Sea (90m 4-pitch Mixed 25 R/X) at this beauty, and knowing that it was drier than normal from our recent spate of rain-free weather, coupled with my fitness (at the time), I felt like I could afford to digress just once. And so it was that at the end of my first week of full-time employment, I joined forces with the kiwi Alastair McDowell (the 'Stair!) to launch up Echo Crack (190m 4-Pitch Trad 25), on an extremely tourist-ridden Saturday. Alastair is an experienced adventure climber, particularly skilled in alpine and ice monstrosities, and at least as frothing mad as I am, so there was never any doubt that we'd make a good team.

Echo crack is an eye-catching line up a soaring corner directly below Echo Point, visible from Honeymoon Point (the Three Sisters). It's one of the more well-known "hard trad” routes in the Blueys, and features as the end cap on many a trad aspirants long list of goals. It has a tendency to be quite wet, and is infamous for some unpleasant "access pitches" to gain the major corner. But as a feature it looms like an imposing monolith, being almost always in the shade and featuring dark grey rock surrounded by a contrasting sea of vibrant orange. Like the North Face of the Eiger, its bleakness gives it majesty, and all crack connoisseurs who gaze upon it are both intimidated and motivated by it.

"Thar she blows!"

Having previous climbed Genghis Khan, I knew the route we would need to take to get to the climb (which is handy, as there is no defined track to the base). However, unlike with Genghis Khan, rather than having to bush bash below the cliff for another 1000 kilometres to get to the start of the route, Echo Crack P1 emerges as a sandy, chossy, low-angled corner at a convenient point in the bush-bashing approach. Since I was to be climbing the crux pitch, I also scored the "awesome" first pitch, and thus, flanked by all manner of historical garbage lobbed from lookout above (washing machine? Check! Street sign? Check! Beer keg? Check! Guardrails? Check!), I set about it.

The top of Pitch 1... "How did this get here? Also, are we
trespassing?"

As far as "access pitches" go, it wasn't too terrible. Only moderately so. Actually, to be honest, considering the scathing criticism levelled at the first 2 pitches of Echo Crack, I was surprised to find that it really wasn't particularly bad at all on the scale of "Blueys Access Pitches". It consisted of moderately chossy/sandy juggy corner-crack climbing, in which I opted to use a grand total of 3 pieces of pro in 30m. It wasn't offensively bad, nor even vaguely hard, and -most importantly- climbing it didn't give me Syphilis (which, considering the criticism levelled at it, I could only deduce that other ascensionists can't have had the same fortune when tackling this pitch), so that's always a bonus. In reality, I was far more likely to contract Syphilis from the amount of rubbish at the base of the cliff, than from a slightly loose opening pitch (pun intended).

The 'Stair stemming and laybacking his
way up Pitch 2 (18)... About to
embrace The Choss!

Alastair launched up the next pitch, graded 18 by the guidebooks' reckoning, commencing with a shallow corner split by a fingercrack, which soon expands into a fully-fledged stemming corner. It's also worth pointing out that there are several ways you could choose to do the start of this pitch, but The 'Stair -naturally- decided to tackle The Line™ up the incipient fingercrack, and in doing so created the crux of the pitch. After some initial sketchiness (a broken footer as he approached groundfall territory), he gained the corner proper and cruised his way to the top. The upper section of this pitch crosses some scarily loose shale-territory, with no supplemental gear after you leave the corner and embrace the choss, but as far as loose-climbing in the Blueys goes, it wasn't too bad, and Alastair made it to the belay fairly quickly... which was good, because I was being eaten alive by mosquitos, and was mere moments away from becoming anaemic by this point. Following him clean on second, I was reminded that -as with the first pitch- this pitch wasn't really all that bad for a moderate pitch of Blueys trad, and if it weren't for the 5m of shale at the top it would probably be regarded as a reasonably good pitch. Don't let the naysayers influence your opinion, friends, the access pitches for Echo Crack really aren't all that bad. And best of all, no Syphilis (yet)!

Mantling out some shale at the end of P2.

Now we were at the start of the corner-proper, and the infamous crux pitch. The start of Alive in a Bitter Sea resided 5m to our right, so there was a distinct feeling of homeliness as I racked up for the 40m gr25 pitch in front of me. I was carrying a fair bit of gear (a single rack of 0.4 - 4, with double #1 and #2, and 7 x #3 Cams), but most of it was geared towards the marathon crack after the initial crux, meaning that if I wanted the Onsight, a runout was on the cards.

Reaching a good jam at the end of the crux,
and breathing a sigh of relief. You can
see my last cam hanging out of the crack
near the lower-left side of the picture.

With no protection off the belay (by choice, I didn't want to waste any of my smaller cams on the easier pre-crux moves) I bouldered out the initial steep, juggy, sandy and damp face moves to gain the main part of the crux, and wacked in a small cam and wire about 3m off the ledge. A mixture of extremely tight (overcammed #1) jams and face climbing (heels are very useful!) and I scored an okay #1 cam in wet and sandy rock, and a dubious big wire just above. The hardest moves of the crux followed, utilising wet, tight jams and small face holds to get established in the crack proper. From there, a spot of laybacking off the incipient crack, and some funky gymnastics to gain a stemming stance, and the climbing eases off. Ideally, you would place another cam (probably another #1) to protect this sequence (and back up the other placements with more adjacent gear), but as I was Onsighting (and rapidly burning energy due to the steepness and the wet nature of the crack) I knew that I didn't have time to place any more pro. I just had to gun for it! I committed fully to the sequence, burling my way up it and stemming like a madman, and right as I was at the point where I was back into ledgefall territory (or past it, if any of the gear in the wet/sandy rock blew) the crux was over. In my opinion, it's not too hard a sequence for gr25, and if you pre-placed the gear it would be very doable at reasonable 24. Furthermore, despite my decision to rely on minimal gear, there are lots of gear options (if you can hang around to place them).


The rest of the pitch was enjoyable stemming and wide-hands crack climbing (with a little bit of off-width thrown in for good measure) on pleasant rock and with spectacular exposure. At about grade 21, the moves were classic trad, and due to its very stance-friendly nature, it wasn't particularly intense. As it was I only used 5 of the 7 #3 cams, and ran it out quite a bit, but I felt totally solid. The belay was on carrots in a reasonably comfortable alcove at a logical point to break up the marathon corner. And thus, with a victory cheer, the crux pitch was done and dusted, and another big goal was achieved.

Alastair followed me up, managing to make it to the final section of the crux (transitioning into the crack proper) before struggling with the tight hands and wet rock, and slipping off amidst a valiant struggle. After that, as with me, the rest of the pitch suited him, and he dispatched it with relative ease. This was good, because the last of the hard pitches was his, and it was a doozy.

This is the true "marathon crack" pitch of the route, and due to its sustained, burly nature, is something of an enigma in the Blueys. At 40m of gr22, it really is 40m of gr22, and you're earning that tick all the way to the anchors. Stylistically, the pitch is slightly steep tight fist-jams (too wide even for the most tipped-out wide-hands for me, but terribly uncomfortable as fists), in an awkward open V-groove, and with surprisingly few features outside of the crack proper. After about 35m of climbing, you leave the crack and follow a line of weirdly positioned carrots in a rising traverse to the left (to avoid the muck and vegetation above), and through some tough face-moves to gain the belay ledge and the safety of terra firma.

The final face moves of P4 (22).
"These moves are kinda... hard dude!"

The 'Stair, with his tape gloves, could definitely make better use of the wide-hands approach than me (in my untaped-state), but with less experience at steep brute-strength jamming he went for the crafty approach: using tic-tac micro-footers for the odd stemming stance, and -at one point- ending up with both hands on one wall and both feet on the other. All in all, it was a technically beautiful Quarryman-esque effort, and amidst much grunting, puffing, and cam-shuffling, he managed to Onsight the Pitch (mere moments after following me up the crux pitch!) for not only his first ever gr22 Trad Onsight, but his first Gr22 Trad tick (and I will readily attest that this is a proper tough pitch at the grade). Nice one Alastair!

For me, despite the jams being about the worst size jams there are, I knew that my brute strength at steep jamming would hold me in good stead, so I ingloriously burled my way up the pitch in classic "Swimming technique", working up quite the pump in the process. The final moves were a bit of a surprise (being very much in a crack-climbing headspace by this point in time), but they were the appropriate icing on the cake for this stellar pitch, as you work some very thin and balancy body positions to rock over a high heel and reach the top-out mantle. Managing this pitch clean as well, and thus the Send of Echo Crack, Alastair and I beat the retreat back up to Echo Point lookout where we emerged from Wall of Tree to confront Wall of Tourist.

Victory pose in front of the hordes at Echo Point!

Unlike myself, Alastair had actually achieved some degree of recognition within the greater climbing community, and was more than happy to embrace the dumbfounded admiration that the tourists rabidly poured upon him, whereas I simply used Alastair as a distraction to slowly back away from the ravenous horde, being careful not to make eye contact. The tourists took photos of themselves posing in front of the three sisters, and I -feeling all meta- snapped a victory photo of Alastair posing in front of the tourists taking photos of themselves posing in front of the three sisters. Some beers to cap a bloody great day, and it was all over. Thanks for the day, Alastair!

It's hard to compare Echo Crack to the other "hard trad” routes I've done in the Blueys, as most of them aren't really very pure crack climbing at the grade. I guess that I would compare it to Samarkand (200m Trad 25), by saying that it's almost as good as Samarkand (which is my favourite trad multi in the Blueys) but not quite. The access pitches to gain the money pitches aren't all that bad (despite their reputation), and the main corner of Echo Crack is spectacular. It's easy to aid past the crux moves at the start of P3, or to pre-place adequate gear to make it safe and climb it pink-point style at about grade 24. If you're a fairly solid trad 22 climber but perhaps not up for the full gr25 experience, I'd definitely recommend the effort of aiding the initial crux and freeing the rest. Outside of the cruxy start to P3, the 80m above is stunning sustained crack climbing in a breathtaking location. At any rate, despite some feedback from other sources to the contrary, I genuinely believe Echo Crack earns its 3 out of 3 stars, and its reputation as an iconic mega classic.

Epilogue:

As you might expect of a Frothmaster like me, I'd barely made it back home from Echo Crack before my obsession got the better of me and I started looking for a climbing partner for a ground-up attempt at Iron Lady (4-pitch Mixed 22 R). Iron Lady starts about 5m further right from Alive in a Bitter Sea at Katoomba Cliffs below Echo Point, and is a very similar route, though 2 grades easier (so it’s probably hard 23, in reality).  Having headpointed the shit out of Alive in a Bitter Sea, I really wanted to go for the ground-up Onsight of Iron Lady, being in physically good shape, and in a great headspace for pushing through bold runouts. But try as I might, I couldn't arrange a partner who was both psyched and in whose hands I would feel confident enough to wholeheartedly commit to the attempt, and so it never manifested. Perhaps I'll never be fit enough to undertake such an audacious goal. Who knows?

But perhaps it was for the best. My one digression to launch up Echo Crack was -at some level- justified, but if I lower my boundaries to add Iron Lady into the equation, where does it stop? I've been wanting to get back on Pit Fighter (trad 28) for a while, so why not have a go at that as well? What about Orange Jam (trad 27), Self Portrait (28)? No, I needed the appropriate bookend to stop my obsessed, frothy self from tumbling into self-destruction, and like a meaty roadblock at the end of a washed-out bridge, the Onsight of Echo Crack had done just that. It was time to let it go.

And so I did.

Swansong Part 1: Journey to a Bitter Sea

Abbey Road gets a lot more dirtbag! 
Matt Springall, Lloyd Wishart, Pommy (Front), Jenga (Back), and me. Photo by: Julian Hurrell

Jenga crushes Eye of the Tiger (29) at Muline.
Photo by: Julian Hurrell

When last I signed off I was down in the Grampians, battling record-breaking floods and struggling to extricate my Delica from where I'd gotten it bogged to the axles on a muddy road. Suffice to say, we got it free (after 3 hours of efforts, and a bit of help from an NRMA guy with a snatch-strap), so you don't need to send out a search party to look for us.

Me: about to get spat off Desert Rose (27)... again.
Photo by: Julian Hurrell

Despite the most rubbish weather of all time, we soldiered on and even managed to score a few fairly respectable ticks. Jenga, of course, crushed everything he set about: cruising Tyranny (29), Eye of the Tiger (29), Tunnel to Caracas (28) and Spurt Girl (28) (to name just a few) in short order. With the abysmal weather writing-off the more majestic faces for the duration of our trip, I was forced to climb out of my comfort zone and confront the steep stuff. I managed to continue my streak of falling off the crux of Desert Rose (27) (though I did score some excellent Drone-pictures, thanks to Julian Hurrell), but had a few small successes at Spurt Wall. My only real accolade was ticking Shattering Reflections of Climbers Ability (25), a traddy variant to the infamous Shattering Reflections of Narcissism (29) which pikes out at about half way on trad for a rad trad mini-adventure.

All things considered, the fact that we managed to climb every day of the trip, coupled with the lunacy brought about by our shared suffering (misery loves company!) made it a fun venture, so it was worth the time (and money) to get there.

The Journey

After returning home, it was time to knuckle down in my search for a job. I updated my resume, bookmarked a few careers sites, shaved off my dirtbag beard (!!!), bought a business shirt, pants and a tie, and starting submitting applications. But like all things in this world, finding a job takes time, so in the interim I set about trying to send my existing bolted route on the superb Sublime Point East Face... and add a few more Projects next to it.

Will Monks on Subliminal P2 (65m 23).
Photo by: Neil Monteith

If you haven't climbed on this face, Neil Monteith's original line there -Subliminal (3-pitch 90m 23)- is a rap-in climb-out mind-blowing journey, with sustained, technical climbing on the most perfect "psuedo-limestone" rock in the Blueys. It features oodles of empty air and gnarly arete climbing for added exposure. It's one of the most inspiring (in terms of quality and location) chunks of rock I've found during my time in the Blueys, and from the first time I went out there to investigate a prospective route that I'd observed (while climbing Subliminal, years before) I was addicted.

Knowing that it would be hard to find belayers for the route I bolted a year ago (which I estimated at 40m 26/27), I investigated another adjacent line which appeared to be somewhat easier, and might make for good "belayer bait" while I went after my harder line. About a month later, I would end up also bolting the last "independent" line on the face, leaving me with 3 tough-ish projects in an adventurous environment to get through.

The original routes on the East Face:
BLUE: Subliminal (90m 3-pitch 23)***
PURPLE: Subliminated (80m 2-pitch 24)**
RED: Castaway (90m 4-pitch 21)*
GREEN: Unconscious Corner (4-pitch 20)

Once again, I managed to convince my Old Man to belay me on the first ascent of the "new and easier" line on the left. Considering he always seems to forget about how unpleasant these rap-in climb-out adventures often are for him, I can only assume that he really IS going Senile. Hooray for senility (and my ability to exploit it to score a belay)!

At any rate, after warming up at home, the Golden Oldie and I headed out to Sublime Point East right as the sun departed the wall for the day (about midday) and rapped the 80m to the semi-hanging (but surprisingly cosy) belay at the very bottom of the wall, scarcely a foot above the void. This belay is shared by all 3 of my new routes, and also one of the original multipitches on the face: Castaway (4-pitch 21). Jumping straight in the deep end, I had 2 shots at the Project and fell off about 2/3rds of the way up the first (40m) pitch, both times on the same sequence. Starting to doubt that I'd be able to send this "easier" line, I was trying to work out how I'd lure another belayer out there even as I set off for one last lap of the day.

The pitch climbs about 12m of 21/22 thin face, then heads into a radical 6m leftwards traverse on super-funky (and very improbable) natural pockets and crimps. From here you launch up a powerful V3 boulder-problem with some seriously tricky footwork. Cruising through this, you enter the red-point crux of the route: a power-endurance test as the wall steepens, and the holds become extremely slippery and slopey. The overall theme of this climb is "resistance test", and previously I'd failed the test on this section both times. Surprisingly, on my 3rd shot of the day, I stuck the sequence (in part because I didn't stop to clip any of the bolts through this section), with only a single hard move remaining between success and failure.

My Old Man abseiling in to the
Castaway belay stance.

The final crux (affectionately known as the "snakebite move", due to the fang-like way you hold the crux holds) isn't particularly hard in isolation, but it's tenuous and unpredictable when you're trashed, and I was nervous as I went into the sequence. With my heart in my throat, I stuck the move and endured the easier climbing to the end of the first "pitch", 40m above the belay. I could've rested on my laurels here (since I'd included an interim belay out to the right to facilitate working the route, and to avoid the potentially catastrophic rope drag of climbing the entire 65m route as a continuous pitch), but for the full-tick I opted to continue all the way to the top (past one more gr23 sequence and lots of pleasant gr20) in one mega pitch. Even with strategically placed long runners, I will admit that the rope drag WAS bad.

Carlos, mid-way through the super-rad traverse crux, on
what would ultimately be his Send lap.

And so, New Route #1 went down, named Sabbatical (65m 26) in honour of reaching the 2 year mark of my extended "vacation" from the world of full-time employment. Unfortunately it had ended up being a bit harder than I was hoping (so much for my "grade 24 belayer-bait route"), but it IS utterly spectacular, and along with The Obvious Elbow (of Aristocrat Arthur Decanter) (58m 26) at Pierces Pass, it is a contender for the best thing I've ever bolted. This route has since had successful repeats by Carlos (who climbed with me in Tassie) and Ben Jenga, and a mighty Onsight effort by Ro Latimer, and all were very psyched with the quality of the route.

1 down, 2 to go...

A photo of the mind-blowing traverse.
Yes, I'm pretty psyched about it... Can you tell?

The next on my list was the direct line up the guts of the face, which was the route I'd bolted a year earlier, just before my trip to America. Unfortunately, after the Send of Sabbatical, my Old Man and I had tried "walking out" from the bottom of the cliff (on advice from Neil "I have the memory of a Goldfish" Monteith that it was possible and (quote): "wasn't too bad"). As it turned out, this involved another 30m abseil to a loose shale ledge, 30min of extremely loose and sketchy bush-bashing, and eventually a roped climb up a scarily loose, vegetated, death-fall slope to reach "The Shady Lady Wall" and the main Sublime Point walking track. The whole journey was so epic (and dodgy) that my Old Man decreed that he would never belay me at Sublime Point East again (I have to hope that his Senility overwhelms his vehemence about this over time), and I was now without a reliable belayer.

Carlos about to enter the final "snakebite" crux,
and seconds away from Sending the route!

Enter Ro Latimer, my climbing partner from a previous trip to France and Switzerland, whom I'd also encountered during my time in Spain. Young Ro was also a fellow full-time climbing bum (steadily achieving 3 years of Professional Unemployment, with only the odd brief break for some casual work to bolster his coffers). Despite once-upon-a-time identifying as a boulderer (at least he did when I FIRST met him), Ro had progressed to Sport Climber, globe-trotter, and eventually "full-on adventurous nutjob (he's actually been enthusiastic about Trad climbing lately, which inevitably means that his next stop is either the Old Folks Home or a foray into Mountaineering). Ro was psyched to try and repeat Sabbatical (and chuck a lap on Subliminal), and was willing to come and belay me on my Project... Nice one, Ro!

By this time I'd gotten adept at rigging the East Face with numerous fixed ropes to facilitate ease-of-access (according to Neil Monteith: I'd turned his adventurous climbing environment into Consumer-equipped Multipitch Cragging), so the trek from car to belay could now be achieved in about 15min. Again we rap in, do a bit of a warmup, and I'm off up the new route. This line shares the 12m face-climbing start with Sabbatical, but breaks off after the easy start and heads almost directly up the wall. It kicks off the independent section with a bang, serving you a V4 shallow, slopey, pocketed boulder problem (including some 1-pad monos to keep it interesting) to a good hold. Originally I thought that this would be the crux, but apparently training at the ShredShed really DOES have benefits, as I'd managed to totally dial this sequence during my 2 previous days of Top Rope-Soloing the route before Ro's arrival.

Looking at the Sublime Point East main face.
This beautiful slice of rock hosts my 3 new routes.

Generally speaking, this route is more sustained than Sabbatical, but it doesn't really have the intense "resistance" red-point crux that makes Sabbatical a tough tick. This route never gets easier than gr22, but inbetween each of the 4 cruxes it drops BACK to gr22, which gives you time to recover. At no point are you falling off because you've got nothing left in the fuel tank, you're falling off because the sequences are hard. As it turned out, the 4th and final crux is 32m up the route (right as the pressure and weariness are reaching an apex), and amounts to a thin and reachy solid V4 sequence that I only managed to solve -during my time working the route on TRS- by using 3 different heel-toe-cam placements in a horizontal break out to the right, which I change as my body shifts through the sequence. On my first shot of the day, for whatever reason (a low gravity day, perhaps?), I latched the crucial hold (a 1/2 pad sloper-crimp) with my fingertips and stuck the sequence. And suddenly I was through the hard climbing, with only 6m of gr22 face climbing to the top! When I bolted this route a year ago, I hadn't deemed to add another bolt to protect this final 6m, which turned out to be a bad idea considering the context of the rest of the climb (and I've since returned and added that extra bolt), but when I did the First Ascent I placed an interim #2 cam on the Send lap, which I'd carried up the entire climb for just that purpose. And as inauspiciously as it began, New Route #2 -Sojourn (40m 26/27), named in honour of my 8 months spent down in Tassie- was done and dusted.

2 down, 1 to go...

The line of Sojourn (40m 26/27), a year ago
(when I bolted it).

With these routes finished, my attention turned to the one remaining "independent" line up the face: the rightmost weakness with its own start from the same belay stance as my other two routes. Though it was immediately obvious that it wasn't as good as Sabbatical or Sojourn -unlike the other routes here it didn't go right to the top of the cliff; the rock quality wasn't as high (though it's still very good by Blueys standards); and it's extremely cruxy), it was still a 2-star route by the standards of this particular cliff (and would be a classic at most of the consumer crags in the Blueys). Out of a sense of completeness (to be "finished" with this crag), as well as a desire to see the last line of the face developed "tastefully" (with a view to the ethic and adventurousness of the area, as well as to ensure that the entire climb was kept "natural" (with no "enhancements" to make the line go to the top of the cliff, or to make the crux less cruxy)), I bolted this line, and dragged out the original developer of the area (and my usual partner in crime), Neil Monteith to help me complete this Journey.

Top Left: Jumaaring out from the belay of The Face Race (35m 24)
Top Right: About to abseil in to the Sublime Point East Face.
Bottom Left: Rapping the East Face.
Bottom Right: On the Send Lap of Swansong (30m 25).

Unlike my other 2 -harder- routes at Sublime Point East, I hadn't practiced this route on Top Rope Solo (other than a quick lap to "piece it together" before bolting it), so I wasn't particularly confident that I could Send it. Neil and I spent the morning freeing one of his new routes -The Face Race (35m 24)- in the rap-in climb-out upper section of Bentrovato Wall (also at Sublime Point, and also one of my favourite faces in the Blueys), which Neil did 2nd shot, and I was lucky enough to flash. After that I returned to the East Face one last time.

The NEW routes on the East Face:
RED: Sabbatical (2-pitch 80m 26)***
BLUE: Sojourn (2-pitch 80m 26/27)***
GREEN: Swansong (30m 25)**
PURPLE: The original routes on the face.

NOTE: I bolted Swansong so it's possible to
finish up Castaway (as a 5-pitch climb) to top
out.

New Route #3 has some hard moves immediately off the belay, but by the 2nd bolt it eases back to about grade 22 climbing, slowly building in intensity over the next 15m as the holds get smaller and smaller. Though the entire route is a slab, it's a very awkward style of slabbing (with extreme body positions being necessary to utilise the sparse hand and footholds), and requires good friction to stay in contact with the miniscule edges. A micro-crimp sequence guards the first crux, which involves more tiny edges and high feet as you gain the height to shoulder-press into a flake-feature and achieve the main crux: an extremely complex sequence of small slimpers, and shallow mono-pockets and gastons, culminating in a dead-point move to a sloper-pocket. This sequence felt utterly impossible initially, but with some very improbable footwork it became achievable, and despite the grossly slippery-slimy humidity I managed to stick it on link on my 3rd shot of the day, thus sending the last Project packing. If I had to grade this sequence, I'd call it "tricky V4 slab", but -without spouting specific beta- my advice to anyone attempting it would be: if you're crimping extremely hard, you're doing it wrong.

And so it was that the last of the independent lines on the Sublime Point East Face was done and dusted, with: Swansong (30m 25), marking the impending end to my 2 year odyssey as a climbing bum(bly), and the end of this journey on the East Face. Sabbatical (65m 26) -> Sojourn (40m 26+) -> Swansong (30m 25).

Embracing a Bitter Sea

As I hinted at above, by this point in time I was coming extremely close to acquiring a new job (being in the final round of interviews for 2 different roles, and having just had very successful behavioural interviews, I was only awaiting the official date of my execution), so I had really come to feel that the clock was ticking. I used my remaining time to push myself a bit with some classic Blueys hard-ish Sporty Sport climbing, and was rewarded with a few sends that I'm proud of (particularly because they didn't entirely suit me stylistically), foremost of which was finally getting around to ticking Superweak (20m 26) at Diamond Falls.

And then, the (ultimately) inevitable happened: I got a job! Somewhat surprisingly, it was back with Telstra. This wasn't a bad thing, as I'd had a good journey during my (almost) 10 years with Telstra, and I was more than happy to go back to work for them. My commencement date was in 2 weeks time, which meant that now I really WAS on the clock... what to achieve in my remaining 2 weeks?

Looking at the line of Alive in a
Bitter Sea (from the belay at the
top of Echo Crack). It climbs the
vague blunt arete in the center-
right of the photo.

The reality is that despite having a long list of things that I'd "like to achieve", I really only had 1 primary objective left on the list I'd assembled since returning from Tassie: a clean repeat (placing the gear on lead) of Alive in a Bitter Sea (4-pitch 90m 25 R/X) at Katoomba Cliffs, directly below Echo Point lookout. From when I first looked over at Echo Crack and the adjacent blank face immediately to the right of it (which Alive in a Bitter Sea boldy tackles) while climbing Genghis Khan (200m Trad 22/23), I knew that I had to climb it one day. But like Archimedes Principle, or Samarkand, or Echo Crack, or I Have a Dream, it was one of those "one day I'll climb it... (but that day will never come)" sorts of impulses. And just like Archimedes Principle, Samarkand, Echo Crack and I Have a Dream, that day -improbably- had arrived.

Warwick Baird on the first ascent of Alive
in a Bitter Sea (4-pitch 25 R/X)

First climbed in 1986 by Warwick Baird (one of my local heroes) and David Grey, the route harkens back to that terrifying era of Australian climbing when the sporty blank faces were being tackled in traditional style (before the advent of true sport climbing, or more conventionally equipped mixed routes), resulting in headpointed routes with minimal carrot bolt protection (usually only to mitigate a proper X-rated fall potential), surrounded by extremely spaced trad placements. It's a route which probably has no real place to exist with a view to modern styles of climbing, yet stands as a testament to just how ballsy (and possibly insane) our forebearers were. The wall that it tackles is immense in size, in blankness, and in aesthetic beauty. Residing next to the immortal Echo Crack, Alive in a Bitter Sea starts 100m off the deck (from the "half-height shale band" that runs most of the length of the Katoomba cliffs), and assaults the inspiring blankness via a linked pair or shallow corners, and a proud line of very blunt aretes that run the length of the wall. Visible from Honeymoon Point (the bridge over to the Three Sisters), and from drone-operating tourists on the Echo Point Viewing platform, climbing any of the routes in this area is tantamount to performing at a Circue Du Soleil show, with the onlookers "oo-ing" and "aah-ing" at your every move, and a series of angry bees (Drones) buzzing around your head. In short, it's a complete package, guaranteed to lead you through the full gamut of physical and emotional experiences.

Halfway along my fixed-rope traverse to
gain the belay above Pitch 3 (on top of the
teetering blocks a few meters further right).

Now, before we begin, I just want to say that I've had mixed feedback regarding various aspects of my "interaction" with this route. In particular, my decision to replace the original mild-steel bash-in carrot bolts like for like (with stainless glue-in carrots, rather than replacing them with rings, or retro-bolting the entire route), as well as my advocacy of this as a headpoint route (the style in which I approached it, considering that it's potentially dangerous -and at the very least, it's extremely BOLD-, and also relatively close to my climbing limit) which, obviously, is considered "unfashionable" these days. Feel free to leave your scathing criticism on my blog, I'm always interested in what people have to say (I just can't gaurentee I'll take any of it to heart).

Deciding to commit my remaining freedom to trying to repeat this route, the first challenge is getting to the top of it, which involves climbing over a fence near the Echo Point lower viewing platform (and scaring the shit out of the tourists, all of whom inevitably assume that you're off to commit suicide) and a short scramble down through a forested section to arrive at the belay at the top of Echo Crack. From here you do an exciting 10m grade 15 traverse across the top of the Echo crack corner (with a spectacular 200m of exposure), past a few gear placements, some original bash-in carrots, and a few newer bolts to arrive at the belay at the top of Pitch 3 of Alive in a Bitter Sea (pitch 4 being the traverse back to the mainland). I wasn't willing to lead-solo across this traverse (its rather intimidating on first inspection), and recruited Rene for belay duties. I fixed a rope across the traverse line for the duration of my time on the route (and probably went back and forth at least 10 times across it before I took it down), and set up 80m of fixed ropes down the route.

"We're gonna die!!!" Neil Monteith and I on the belay below P1.

I spent the first day inspecting the route and trying to work out exactly where it went (it's not immediately obvious at some points), roughly what the climbing would consist of, what gear I would need and how sketchy it was. I didn't really try and climb any of it seriously. I also discovered that if any of the original bash-in carrots failed (there are 3 on the First Pitch, 3 on the Second Pitch, and 2 on the Third Pitch) the length of the fall could be potentially catastrophic (especially for sheering subsequent carrots or ripping gear). Now I've taken some big whippers on ancient rusty carrots and have generally found them to be surprisingly reliable, but my concern here was caused by the enormous streaks of rust beneath MOST of the bolts, meaning that water was getting in behind them somehow, and causing accelerated corrosion below the surface of the rock. Obviously I couldn't visibly determine what their sheering strength would be in their current state (it might have been okay), and so I made the decision that I would replace the carrots like for like (though with glue-in Stainless carrots I'd made a few years earlier) IF I decided that the route was worth my time and effort.

Running it out above "average" gear on
P1 (24 R/X). Good thing I like stemming!

The second day I had 2 laps on Top Rope Solo working each of the 4 pitches, and quickly determining that the climbing was amazing, it was bloody hard, the gear was consistently EXTREMELY run-out, and one all-gear section on the First Pitch probably warranted an R/X rating (not quite being a true X-rated section). In short, you would need to climb a 10m gr23 section with several clusters of "okay" gear, which couldn't be positioned optimally for the direction of fall based on where you would be climbing (a rising traverse across the line of the gear). Additionally, one of the crucial bits of gear (a large wire) would be behind a mostly-detached moving flake. Though that in itself mightn't have warranted an R/X rating (and I was feeling fairly confident about jumping on the sharp end), a swinging fall that I took while Top Rope soloing succeeded in ripping out all of the pieces of pro above me, reminding me that the limited positioning of the gear made this one section particularly risky.

Yes, this flake actually moves... And yes
I'm relying on a big wire placed behind
it to stop a rather large fall. The next move
is a heel-hook rockover to gain the bolt.

Regardless, I was extremely psyched on having a crack at this route, and so I made the judgement call at this point in time to replace the original mild steel bash-in carrots with glue-in stainless steel carrots like-for-like. I returned after dark that night with drill in hand (I chose to wait until the masses of enthusiastic tourists were gone before I set about disturbing the peace with the sound of my hammer drill. I also didn't want to upset the authorities with my antics) and set about the task. As you might imagine, swinging around next to Echo Crack in the dark, with the Three Sisters lit up by floodlights behind me was a strangely eerie experience. But despite my apprehension, I got the midnight rebolting session completed, and returned later that week for one last day of Top Rope Soloing.

The physical crux of P1: a gr24 arete-
sequence. Pure Arete-y awesomeness...
Thankfully, it's bolt protected.

After 2 MORE laps I'd managed to climb the 1st pitch (25m 24 R/X) clean several times on TRS, and could do MOST of the 2nd Pitch (40m 25 R), but I never managed to link past an awkward dyno at about 15m height, and a move immediately after it tended to spit me off quite often. Fortunately, as the dyno was bolt-protected, I had no reason to hold back out of fear for my safety, and so -even though I'd never managed to get the crux pitch clean on TRS- I locked in a date with the Rabid Hamster (Neil Monteith) to make my attempt on the route.

Neil on the final (crux) moves of P1.
Styling!

We attacked it on a Sunday -while swarms of tourists climbed all over one another to get the best selfie in front of the Three Sisters-, and were joined by Jason McCarthy -who was to be our acting photographer for the day. It might seem strange to organise photos for a route like this, but for some obscure reason Alive in a Bitter Sea had come to mean a lot to me over the years, and to even be there ATTEMPTING it was something special. Success or failure, I really wanted to capture a few key moments of the day forevermore, and Jason was kind enough to forfeit a day of climbing in order to facilitate it. I still had my fixed rope across the exit pitch, and had left 3 other ropes fixed to each of the belays to allow easy access to the start of the climb. Soon enough, Neil and I were at the shale-band belay below the 1st Pitch, and I set about my business (full disclosure: I extended the 2nd bolt with a 2m runner so I could clip from lower down and avoid decking back to the ledge on the opening boulder problem).

Traversing off the belay in the lower section of Pitch 2 (25 R).
Check out the wheelie bin in the bottom-right of the photo!

As it was, the "potentially dangerous" first pitch was dispatched with clinical precision, and I felt solid the whole way, ticking it placing all the gear on lead. Of particular note is the final crux of this pitch: a bolt protected classic arete-sequence up a slightly steep blunt arete, made possible by heel-hooking the other side of the arete to counter the barn-door. A few more thin moves and you're at the anchor... all-in-all, it's a very cool sequence, and it felt spectacular to tackle it on lead. Naturally, Neil seconded me on it, and ALMOST climbed it clean, with just a single rest at the 2nd bolt (after sticking the opening boulder problem sequence off the belay) solely to suss the tenuous and runout traverse section (equally scary on lead as on second, but I'd had the advantage of pre-inspection, whereas Neil was committing to it with no rehearsal whatsoever), before tackling it. With shouted beta from me he pieced together the rest of it beautifully.

The shoulder-buster move... well above
the gear, this move is gripping!

The belay at the end of this pitch semi-hanging is off a Piton, a carrot bolt, and a #4 cam. The moves off the belay are also protected by a #4 (and proceeded with an extremely runout and airy traverse) and another #4 is needed for higher up on this pitch. Top Gear Top Tip: bring at least 3 x #4 cams if you're going to repeat this route!

Any questions?

  

Coiling-up for the crux dyno! "It's now or never!"

Anyway, I cruised off the belay, not even considering the exposure, and up through the initial easy-ish moves. Past some initial early excitement (a shoulder-busting double-gaston crimp sequence several metres above the last piece of pro) to a bolt. Powered past a weird heel-hook section to another bolt, and now I was staring down the guts of the infamous dyno and its gnarly companion move. As I said before, I'd never linked through the extremely awkward cross-body dyno on my TRS laps (and often fell off the next move as well), so I had absolutely no expectations of success. I allowed a brief moment to compose myself, and launched myself at it with gusto. I didn't really expect to stick it, and was lost for a moment when I realised that I was through the move. Even then, I doubted I'd survive the following powerful precision-orientated move, yet somehow, impossibly, I was beyond that as well.

Dan Honeyman and Paul Thomson go Head to Head on the Crux Dyno!

(with a vastly different approach to the sequence) 

Dan Honeyman takes the Lefthand Sequence.
Photo by: Simon Carter (a scan of the photo
from the 2007 edition of Blue Mountains
Climbing).

Paul Thomson takes the Direct Sequence.

One of the upper-cruxes. The move to
gain the pocket I have with my left
hand is rather gnarly.

The theme of this crux pitch is runout, thin, technical arete/face climbing. It's never easier than gr21, but above the hard moves around the dyno-sequence, it's probably never harder than 23/24. Having made it through the crux for the first time, all I had to do was keep it all together for another 30m of climbing. The upper section is extremely runout, with a single bolt and 4 bits of pro in 30m of climbing (check out the photo of me on the penultimate hard moves if you don't believe me), but any falls from this section would be safe enough (though bloody exciting). It was perhaps this "fear of a monstrous fall" that allowed me to stay engaged and push through 2 more particularly tough sequences, the upper of which was the last sequence on this pitch that I was worried about. It was thin, insecure, awkward, and relied entirely on a smear-footer that is slippery, slopey and scary. When you commit to it you're at least 5m above your last bit of gear (a #2 cam) and I was ecstatic about getting through all of this clean for more than just the impending Send of the pitch. Sucking it up for the final (easy-ish) runouts, I charged ahead and was soon clipping the anchor. Crux pitch done. Alive in a Bitter sea was going down today!!!

Running it out above a #2 cam, through
the final (gr23) crux. This runout
continues for another 5 more meters!

The third pitch is characterised by a desperate bouldery-thin crux right off the belay, making getting to the first bolt rather scary (full disclosure: I pre-clipped the high first bolt from the belay to avoid decking back to the ledge). By this point in time I had the sequence pretty dialled and micro-crimped my way through it, past the first bolt to a "thank god" piece of gear just as you enter into ledgefall territory. The rest of the pitch continues technically past another bolt and up via extremely spaced (but bomber) pro, getting progressively easier all the way to the belay. I clipped into the belay, and brought up the Rabid Hamster (who also got the pitch clean) to join me.

Jason (our Cameraman) poses for
a selfie with a buggered (but
victorious) climbing Obscurist.
On the belay below P3.

After this, the traverse off (P4) was inconsequential (aside from needing to haul out about 200m of rope, and a beard-strokers' hoard of large cams), but soon enough we were all back on the mainland, and the last of the major objectives on my "professional climbing bum(bly)" tick list was completed. To me, it felt especially powerful to score a rare clean repeat (placing gear) of this particularly obscure and committing route, but with this goal accomplished, I unexpectedly found myself feeling empty and directionless. I'd been frothing like a madman 6 days a week about anything and everything climbing-related for over 2 years, and suddenly I had no clear objectives in front of me. Furthermore, I had an unavoidable timeframe before all of this would come to an end.

Change can be intimidating.

With all this in mind, it seemed strangely ironic (perhaps even predestined, though I don't believe in fate), that my beloved Delica's automatic gearbox EXPLODED into a cataclysm of shrapnel like a Claymore mine during the course of the very day I ticked Alive in a Bitter Sea, leaving me without the home I'd lived in for much of my sabbatical. Coincidence?





Anyway, since Alive in a Bitter Sea is rarely climbed, here's my gear list for any prospective repeat ascensionists (spoiler alert!):

Initial Belay = 2 x Carrots.
P1 (25m 24 R/X) - Bolt, Bolt, Medium Wires + #0.5 Cam, #1 + #2 Cam, #0.5 Cam, Medium Wire, Bolt. Belay = Piton + Carrot + #4 Cam.
P2 (40m 25 R) - #4 Cam, #3/#4 Cam, #3 Cam, Bolt, Bolt, #1 Cam, #4/#5 Cam, Bolt, #2 Cam (Consider a 2nd #2 cam here), #0.4 Cam. Belay = 3 x Carrots.
P3 (15m 23 R) - Bolt, #0.3/#0.4 Cam, Bolt, #0.50, #0.50, other optional gear possible: #0.75 - #3. Belay = 3 x Carrots.
P4 (10m 15) - #1 Cam, Bolt, Bolt, Bolt, #0.75 Cam. Belay = 3 x Carrots + 1 Fixed Hanger.

By this point in time I had just a single week of freedom left, and so it was that I committed wholeheartedly to accomplish as much as I could during this final week, in a full-contact onslaught of blitzkrieg proportions...

But that's a story for another day.

A victory cheer after Sending Big Red (60m 27) (see previous blog update).
Photo by: Simon Carter.