Sunday, February 27, 2005
In reverse order of events:
Act 01] The Locum
Act 02] Smoke & Strong Whisky
Act 03] 16ft of Sit Start
Smoke & Strong Whisky [Act 02]
It seems an inescapable tradition, that when meeting up for a bouldering session, each participant in the future days events must first off, drink as much Stella as is humanly possible & wash it down with at least a bathfull of whisky. This then, renders each athlete unconscious & open to attack by the beer monkey. A Beer Monkey is a mythical symian creature that ruffles your hair, shits in your mouth & steals your wallet, before waking you up to go climb on steep stuff. I was first in the door of The Isles bar that day, having cunningly promoted it as an ideal meeting place, closely followed by Pete Murray, bounding into the sleepy village bar like Tom Bombadil. There we sat, locked in human chatter in the window seat, pints cold & golden, blue curls of smoke dancing through rays of sunlight, slots of the abode of God & the angels warming the wooden floors. John was on the island somewhere.
He's just behind me, he stopped off somewhere on the way up to cuddle some boulders...
Ah I replied with a grin, not at all suprised at Petes information.
& then he was here, 20 minutes later.
With the imminently alive John Watson on board...& a flurry of all of us trying to buy the starting round over, the scene was set for the heroics of debuachery & climbing tales. The rest of that evening was lost to a haze of laughter, incessant blethering the clanking of pint glasses & excited tales of rocks out in the hills...By about 11pm, all of us could climb Font 8b wearing rollerskates, all of us were wealthier than eachother, Ben Moon was a pussy; we were the best looking climbers in the bar [if not the universe] & everyone fancied us - but none of us had the sense to stop, becuase nobody could see us. At this point we had each mastered the art of invisiblity & added it to our growing list of improbabilities. At this point nobody is talking absolute pish, nothing has been exaggerated & everyone is right, except the barman...who is very very wrong.
Oh the joys of morning...The return of reality is no easy thing to bare upon a mortal soul. My reality returned, not as you might think, with a dull, drawn out thud, but more like a noisy morning child bouncing enthusiastically on my bed & all over my overhang. I lurched out of the cloying anesthesic state with the grace of an amnesiac arthritic & staggered around the flat looking for others who would hold sympathetic court to the state of my whole being...One of the sleeping bags ruffled sluggishly into life & the head that belongs to Watson peered out..
I now truly embody most of the characteristics I despise in other people. I don't normally drink. I do in company that asks me to, out of a polite regard almost, but in lifes quiet path, it doesn't enter my mind. If you must do something, do it to fullness though. I have awoken to find I am transformed into nothing more than a stinking poor sociopath, & my self respect has plummeted to a new low. If this is called beauty sleep...it hasn't worked, on any of us. I shamble on past the living room as Pete attempts to stand-up for the first time since we were attacked by the gang of covert beer monkeys, only to be confronted by a mean looking half drunk, bottle of Bowmore single malt, still singing at the top of its lungs, fighting kitchen utensils & diligently guarding my route to the kettle. Dilemma...I poke at it gingerly - nothing happens. I encourage it to back away gently towards a deeper corner of the unit & half-heartedly attempt to visually diminish its presence with a Rice Crispies box & the giant unwashed Wok. With the kettle chattering away on its pedestal, when that first brew goes in & people are shifting around, it isn't long before the pace picks up, almost like a contagious bug, an indivduals enthusiasm for the morning & the prospect of clear cold sunny bouldering, leaks over to the man he brushes past...Last nights crimes are fading..We were set to go. Hats on & chirpy. [shakily set, but set to go nonetheless]
Timeless old, the Gesherbrum
Wasting a night to alcohol is one thing, wasting a clear winters day full of boulders, because of the previous nights drinking, is just shamefull. There's no way on earth we were going to do that. It's an almost unwritten rule in climbing. Nobody ever adds doubt to the purpose of the day, mystery into the physical acsent, or questions to the art of belay in such an ordinary life... nobody says 'I know!Let's go bouldering'..We just all know, we are each connected by the internal unseen silk thread that ties us through the heart of this art, each of us seperately & quietly preparing our own gear like Zen monks on their daily duties, mumbling words of no real audible value. The task has the same matter-of-fact-ness wether it's kicking the stove into action in a tent on the Gesherbrum glacier or collecting up your bouldering tack in your house. You zip up the tent, letting hoar frost skitter off its slopes & your ice axes clank like a dull Tibetan bell. You close the front door to the flat, turn the key till the lock clunks, & the boulder mat creaks onto your shoulders. Everything is one smiling old mind...that is how my profoundly limited perception acknowledges it. Then you chatter & laugh - on the way - fired up. Then you have right & passage towards purpose. Then, & only at that time, you're a lean mean fighting machine, or, at the very worst, you're a punter with an epiphany. Either is frightening to a bimbling towny. Niether will frighten the Gabbro...
We opt for Kilta, the perfect morning starter, a fry-up of Sandstone & side-salad, in preperation for the main course of hard boiled Gabbro & chainsaws....more on Kilta later. I did say events in reverse order didn't I...
Once upon a time, when I lived a short while inland, I would lay in the field & imagine the winds in the tall trees, were the ghosts of ocean waves still spiriting on from their physical forms, left long ago, on the shorelines. Moments can pass through us like that, like spirits, almost any time, without warning, the ripples of passed events.
Petes expression is unexpected as he skips the deep burn drops down through the gap & contours the outlaying faces that lead to It's Over. Or at least my reaction to it is. I think Pete swore at first, then stood there staring at the complete problem in utter silence.I felt something oddly familiar course through my body. Doubt..doubt? Was he doubting the line was climbable? Or indeed, that it had been climbed? I since looked deeper into my reaction. Years of doubt seeping through on-line climbing forums, pages of mindless verbal coursing attacks drifting over the ethernet, personal pm attacks, utterly shameless in their construction, internet ID impersonations, mis-information, witlessly reversed contexts & malicious emails sent to important players within the world climbing community as an attempt to discredit every one of my climbs; does not have a positive effect on anyones confidence. I now know who was responsible for those emails & to you I would quote Napoleon: ' Never interrupt the enemy when he is busy making a mistake'. True to form I obeyed that wisdom & bided within the confines of time, reluctant to go in, oldskool like a door-kicker, but that's not to say, I havn't quietly rolled a flashbang, with a long-assed fuse under your chair. I'll be seeing you in a future day sonny.
Being accused of engineering photographs, engineering climbs, chipping holds, & any other crime in the wild mountains of home; does not have a positive effect on anyones confidence & is the utmost in idiotic derision. Packs of dribbling Hyenas lining up on old Lions are just an unfortunate itch alive under the skin of bouldering, although we prefer not to see it...& stand in the coires, or Karakorum, atop of a steep boulder in the shivering light, where reality burns glorious & fierce with clarity, far above the verbal pissings of climbers locked in supposed absent-minded scandal . The seed of all that assasination had unexpectedly swarmed all over my mind, standing there with Pete, cloying the moment of seeing this magnificently difficult problem once again. My reaction to his disbelief at the scale of the climbing involved, was to embark on 15 minutes of frantic blethering about insane holds, speedily executed movement, techniques, success rates, failure rates & tales of trying. With Pete still standing qiuetly staring,I felt deflated, implausable & childish. John had disappeared in search of other boulders & I turned quickly stuttering & explaining out the even more impluasable project link-up running directly from left to right through the crux of It's Over. Pete fingered a vague feature on the green project wall & explained that it had no holds.
That's just sick, sick climbing, A dinnea understand how it's possible..
Its barely possible...I think if the sidepull disappeared..it would be impossible...for maself at least aye...
I let my statement hang there, in the cold shadowed air.
I moved the subject to knifing along Thunderhead & then back-peddling, tried to explain that the green project wall did have holds, when viewed from the climbers perpspective & not that of the observers, dutifully placing myself in the -ss- position of the green project wall & trying to show him a nipple of a hold was now possible 3 ft above. Minimalistic futuristic holds admittedly, but any feature on a blank face is a possibilty or a wild thrust at hope, for someone exhibiting a suitable amount of clinical insanity & strength on the day of the full ascent. I felt upset, hurt, a stuttering over excited moron, a shoddy actor in an old 1940s movie, fragmented & overzealous in his panic of trying to explain his innocence to the cops. Then I realized that it had stemmed, not from Petes doubt of the climbing involved, but becuase I had come into the Coire subconsciously armed to defend myself against the self-doubt that the so called forum truth seekers had planted within me. The irony is, in their [supposed] search for truth, they missed the goal-mouth completely & resorted to outright lies. And thats all it did, damage everyone, instead of bringing to bouldering, as it is for me & should be about for you, peaceful isolation or grouping of dedicated people. These attacks ultimately cost me my relationship with Hannah, not as indirectly as you might think, when she had to deal with a drunk, incommunicado climber sleeping at a computor desk, in doubt of his own integral honesty, a forum page whirring on the back screen of 4am. This is totally unacceptable & disgraceful behaviour from supposed grown adults, too eat away at another human being with complete disregard for the effects their actions may have. The collosal fuckwits even managed to sound magnanimous as they did it...What I find incredibly angering is, not one of these people ever quietly emailed me to ask a poignant question, genuinely in search of truth, through all those days, to which they would have recieved a truthfull answer. It makes you wonder aye, just what their motivation for public posting was, when it was clear I was not going to be drawn into a squabbling messy fight...I would ask, that they focus less on cruelty & more on compassion. Of cruelty & opaque cleverness in the world, there is enough. Take yourselves into the upper reaches of the Qomolangma, learn the petroglyphs & inscriptions of the soul, then ask yourelves about focus & truth of focus. Come & climb with me when you have grown & I will repeat every problem in the Coire of your own choosing, in front of your own eyes, each after each if need be, until my hands bleed.
Thus I'll never enter into the illusionary Scene fully, through my own choice, lest I would be guilty of being involved in tarring with the same brush of insensitve destruction, some other persons quiet climbing life. The passed through years have given me more reason to avoid the Scene than become part of it's decadant sneering proccesses, & remain, preferring as many do, to boulder & climb with those who prefer honesty, ordinariness & unfetteredness. Thanks must go to my assailants though, for they have shown the world, their own true colours, their own reactionary talents. The task is finished, the future expanse of active climbing however, is just begun & ventures warmly forward, with or without your benign whining approval. The legend made, the legend destroyed...either way it helped. Take your side, everything is healed. This is the result. My resolve to climb even harder than before has stiffened more than your Johnsons ever will. Onsight that...
Pete later explained, speeding down the Slig road between the mountains, Lamb beating out it's melodies on the cd player, that; it wasn't the powerfully technical line of It's Over that was the problem or my ascent. But the fact is, he is regularly bewildered by some lines & now It's Over is added to his list, It's Over V14, Venom Jag V12, the Dumbarton roof project V13?Smokescreen V12, Devastation Generation, our first F8c & various other feats of yogi levitation that seemingly steal time from gravity. He just laughs or stares quietly at the lines, & those subtle emotions in short, are the mechanics of how he deals with such improbable looking blanknesses & voids, in his own, individual way. I learned too trust a bit more that day. Pete got totally Tango'ed in the chops by the enormity of the project I will take on this year, & by the impossible looking face of It's Over , but then, it is arguably the 4th hardest boulder problem ever climbed in the Hebrides. Did he expect a ladder of thrutching jugs to take you silent into the sky from a dark pit?...non technical moves, grace & danger laughing idly on a sunlit banking? less steepness?....V14 afterall, is exactly what it says on the tin - V14. It isn't V14 for the effect of V14, it's what I would term real V14, if grades are logarithmic in their scale. There is to much grade-creep. In effect, a mindcrushing crux of F9a+ if it was hoisted skyward & added midway, to a steep clip-up. John still hadn't re-appeared from slinking off round the cornered deep arete of Morning Wings. What's that man up to...I had tried to verbally coerce him into having a fight with the knife edge sloper lip of Thunderhead, but his hands arn't Gabbro trained yet, his hands still do dishes, as the Coire boys would say; & even for those who have titanium tips from years fighting these stones, the Gabbro will find a way through & spike your brain & jump up & down on your knuckles. John declined for that reason only, to save skin. We'd stupidly forgotten the finger tape, a cardinal sin when facing the Coire. Maybe he's digging up new stuff out of sight? Stealing away boulders in carrier bags, hiding secluded favourites under piles of heather. Maybe looking for One we Made Earlier...
Recently on a night over at Uig, Harris, with James, he had remarked that he'd been up in Coire Lagan once & taken the track up to the Duck Boulder for a wee climb. Someone had chalked, in big letters under the V3 Right Arete, the words ' TOOO HARD!' The Coire grades are no sandbags but they are no soft touch.
'It was probably the English aye James...'
'Yeah that fits...'
All is good in the world again, I am amongst friends, & have merely momentarily forgotten it as the wild insecurity drifted by like the moon affecting the tides. Not friends that would lie for me if they saw me fall off It's Over, friends that would enjoy the honesty of seeing me crumple into an exploding chalk cloud on failure, which in reality, we all do from time to time, whatever our fighting grade. They would announce it to the world like it is, success or failure...that I trust. These are fellow hoodlums that would taunt me openly in the bar about peeling off a crux, until I got humpty about it, & then wash it all away with laughter. Dave MacLeod rates in this close group as well as James, ordinary sparkly people at their heart, talented boulderers in their outer limits. These people do not push & shove for answers like herded cattle, but, unbendingly follow as I do, each rumour of hand touching rock, wherever that rock or hand may be. There are many more who have not yet, arrived fully into the new church, of what hardcore bouldering means, into the new way of thinking. Many up & coming who will outclimb everything we shuddered on. That's the education, giving them an honest foundation, one of caring. Change the world, the perceptions of climbers?..Educate the youngsters with sound ethics, a peacfull stillness, with an empowered intellect & plenty of Brassica Oleracea [brocoli], light the touch-fuse, point them towards the high coires & stand well back.
Everything is good in the world again, except for my now very painful back, victim to stomping the torn & smashed Coire paths. I refrain as much as I can from moaning about this, I am the proud tour guide, reinstated with furver & enthusiasm, but I must attempt to climb something soon, more as a personal test to my vertigo, or is that vertebrae. It's frustrating to be in the Coire injured, when I normally come here to fight the good fight & wander back down twi-lit, totally depleted, totally together. The wind picks up, barging through our enclosure of boulders, bright sunlight streams through snow filled clouds & blizzards dust the towering dark precipitous shards that make up the Cullin ridge. From our stance a few 100ft above sea level, in the long mountain rye grass, 30 toes wet in the bog, the higher storms are a living oil painting, viewed in warm sunlight with safety & with awe as a backdrop to the proceedings. John is about to pick a fight with the Venom Boulder, more accurately, with Snake Attack [V5].....I'd better go & back him up, throw out the other boulder mat on the floor crux spike.....This will be an epic.
Be a light unto yourself, betake yourselves to no external refuge. Hold fast to the Truth. Look not for refuge to anyone but yourselves - Buddha
The Locum [Act 01]
The Locum looked at me over his reading goggles like a man about to tell me I had an incurable dose of Giraffe lurgy. I hate that look so I smiled at him to hide my feeling of impending doom. My mouth took me by suprise & spoke without permission.
'I don't really want an operation...'
Arse!, why did I say that? I realized that I still beleive that when you step through the doors of a hospital, lurking surgeons jump on you, scalpels at the ready..& dig yer body parts out for fun. You know the one, you go in for a nose operation & leave with no testicals.
He ignored my words & flicked through some more paperwork
....waiting for the diagnosis....
'Well Si O' young rock Jedi...', he breathed, tapping his notes into a neat square on the desk.
'The EMG, magnetic resonance imaging & computed tomography as well as my doctorly skills [he smiles] show you have a prolapsed musculoskeletal something-or-other & you need some rice'. At this point he grins broadly.
'I can cure it by eating rice?....' I ask even more confused than before. Im checking how quickly I can block him behind his desk & head for the door at this point.
'RICE - Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation'. he says spinning in his creaky wooden chair towards a closed cupboard.
'Oh...' I say, lining up my right foot on the blind side of his desk.
'I'm going to give you some of these, take 1 daily, & I'll book you into see Meridith who is good at crunching back vertibrae.' He says this as he swings back round with a wee book in his hand. I quickly realize this is hardly a weapon, jag device or doctorly implement of intrusion & remove my foot from it's ready position.
Meridith instantly frightens me but I accept the challenge somewhat foolishly to go 10 rounds with his own personal bare knuckle fighter, & the Locum slides a prescription across the desk, for what turns out to be big pink suppository sized pills & a card with dates to meet my executioner [Merideth] on.
'So it's physio & rest?' I inquire. [Just to make certain there's no surgery ploy about to be sprung.]
'Indeed it is young sir!' he exclaims as he springs to his feet. His brown pastie shoes remind me of when you purposfully put your wellies on the wrong way round as a kid. His beard has grown & to cheer myself up as I'm shown the door I fancy he could smuggle a moose over the border [Skye bridge] inside it.
'And no climbing! how many times do I have to say this, by rights you shouldn't have even been on the Coire path...you should take on like my wife for a while!'
'Eh..?'
'Stick to shopping'.
I take his meaning & reply.
'Hand over the VISA card then...'
We laugh & shake on our departure of paths... he isn't so bad.
I accept my verbal punishment with grace, thank him, & close the door behind me. As I'm leaving I glance back up the clinically squeeky corridor to hear him shouting 'Merediiiiiith...' & I scarper at quick walking speed towards the auto doors & freedom, [they can't get you in the sunlight] flaunting the seriousness of what I did to my back at Kilta 3/4 weeks ago. I bet she has a beard as well & a fuckin swastika on her arm...
I let my fart come free outside like a squeezed balloon neck & wander off, my mind for no logical reason, immediately returning to a visual recital of the moves on my F9a bolt project back on Lewis. I had basically compressed 3 vertibrea & nearly knocked one out of it's proper place. The wee bone mending bugs had cuased it all to fuse together & added big cerebal pressure on my spinal nerve, or something along those lines... I was better off not knowing this in some ways, with the Locum talking in millimetres being the difference between why I'm walking today & why I might not have been..The revelation was a sobering eye opener. Things are on the mend though & the rocks are not as safe as they like to think. I'll be chasing them sooner rather than later. I need a second opinion. Where is Dr.Patey when you need him...I now have a new lesson &; humility to learn, & one of considerable difficulty. The art of not climbing up steep precipitations. At least for a moment in time, I must enjoy watching repeats, new climbs, without being able to retort.
John 'the machine' Watson cranking out a new V3 at Kilta
© S K Y E B L O C
James Sutton about to shit himself on a new highball @ Europaidh
© S K Y E B L O C
 
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 4:29 PM | 1 comments
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Oh aye...nearly forgot. The Europaidh, Lewis topo & booklet for 2005's complete problem listings is close to completion, so it should be available in the near future either from a live-link on this blog, through the backdoor of the still unfinished SKYEBLOC site lazy me, or/& downloadable in it's complete glory from Scottish Climbs.
Righty, a 4am rusty jolly through the dark & windy rain swept islands for the Harris ferry back to Skye awaits tomorrow morning, so time to nod off in front of the fire a while, if the dog hasn't claimed all the sofa...For such a wee man, he sure takes up alot of room some nights aye; & I'm not even gonna go into his incessant farting regime. What's that shit about? Get a hold of yerself man...& while we're at it...Do I lick my nuts in the high street? No.

D.J on a fine arete, helping to create the front cover

 
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 7:30 PM | 0 comments
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Pipedreams - Davy Spillane

SHIFTING SANDS------------------UNDERTOW------------------SHORELINES-------------------CALL ACROSS THE CANYON ----------------MIDNIGHT WALKER----MISTRAL-----RAINMAKER-----STEPPING IN SILENCE-----------------MORNING WINGS---------------------CORCOMROE
 
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 9:11 PM | 0 comments
Saturday, February 05, 2005
I've made it onto the far Northern reaches of Lewis once again via a slightly loopy bouncing ride in the Calmac ferry from home on Skye. It's good to see the community is still here amongst a wild remnant of the storms that played havoc in the islands the other week. Instead of being able to work, local crofters even had to resort too leaning on one another in the bar until help arrived [!] Despite roofs being torn from their mountings, chimneys falling through houses & sheds deciding to migrate to Barvas; the most frighteningly worrying event in the middle of the chaos, & by far the most serious, seems to have been old Donald losing his hat...I can't stress enough though: it's merely a rumour at this stage. Nobody should panic unnecessarily.

I'll take the dog along the vast expanse of sand that is Europaidh beach later today & throw driftwood into the surf. There is a scent of snow in the air, rain squalls moving through with haste, over miles of flattened shivering moorland & there are white tops out in the ocean. Everything is pierced by the cold sun giving a living 360 degree oil painting feel to the day.
Still sporting an unpleasant lower back injury, I know I'll clamber through the freestanding seaward boulders & check on them. Make sure they havn't changed angle or indeed, been swallowed up forever by the recent tidal ferocity & hurricanes, although it's highly unlikely.

Some of the cataclismic black shards of rock that have been crushed & fused together too form freehanging roofs by tide & time, are not of an equal power to the forces that originally placed them there. When the wild ocean & these imposing cathedrals of stone are locked in such ferocious battles, the fragile human spirit has no earthly business being inbetween the argument...These formidable clashes of geology & erosion, which form as the Butt of Lewis comes under the direct wrath of a deepening winter Icelandic sea, are the instruments of the planets epic symphony...a hyperballad, beyond all our recorded existance.

Ichkeria Shadow, a hideous V10 in the black hanging caves of Lewis
I've brought James's bouldering mat for the forage, just incase, which is an odd & strangly dedicated decision, to battle my way down the alloy ferry ramp, trying to restrain an oversized muddy sandwich whos sole intention seems to be to wrestle with me on every gusty street in Tarbet; since I'm still not healed & not realistically expecting to climb anything vaugely steep...I'm told such a way of thinking comes somewhere between optimism & clinical delusion...


A stormy Hebridean light over Europaidh
[Donals hat, far left, 3 miles down]
 
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 3:22 PM | 0 comments
Friday, February 04, 2005
John Watson flew out to Italy the other week to bath in asses milk, eat grapes & top-up his tan. With guile & cunning, he also managed to fit in overseeing the publication, by Cordee, of the much awaited Stone Country book.

Theres no human reply to the ideas for some things... I'm left speechless at Pete Murrays latest plans for a new type of Scottish bouldering film. I won't divulge his ideas on here but I will say, that Scottish bouldering has a bright future when people such as Pete, Cubby & Jo, John Watson & Dave MacLeod are guardian to it's path & course. So next time you're getting depressed by the aimless squabbling that forums so often seem to bring to our wild & adventurous lifestyles, when you're feeling beaten down by the chaos, when mistrust has fogged your goggles & you can't see the rock through the wind; remember that, quietly, passionately & often doggedly, some very good guys [& girls] are out their asking us to be part of a natural, historic & unfettered proccess of development.
Thoughtful climbers with an uprising of intellect...scary aye...

If you would like a copy of Stone Country [& if not why not?] you can go to Johno's Stone Country site by following the link below, have a wee scoot to your local bookstore & pre-order it, or go for contacting the fella directly. Either option, along with a more in-depth insight into the book is available @:
http://www.stonecountry.co.uk/
Word is, the book will be on the shelves from March 1st 2005. Whatever your level, Font 8c or Font 5c, this pictorial history & exploration of our art, is for everyone. A celebration for every ability involved in Scottish Bouldering, Stone Country will hit you between the eyes, ruffle your hair & run away leaving you inspired to pull down harder & travel beyond Dumbarton in your quest for gnarly slopers. All that & more, & not a sketchy hand-drawn topo in sight!...Whatever next...Stone Country II ?
 
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 6:51 PM | 0 comments
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Training in Aikido is complex. Training in climbing & bouldering is also complex. At least, a complex thing to answer when I get emails asking: how do you get so strong?...how do I train to climb harder?. There are a great many skills, techniques, principles, & attitudes to be studied & synthesized into a single understanding when it comes to physiology. I'm no expert on sport science like Dave MacLeod, but I am an expert within the understanding of what my own body physics are upto, & yet, I'm a beginner & a child. For this explanation I've tried to bring a comparison between Aikido & climbing. I am, in the proof of time, a better boulderer than Akidoka but bare with me. The example still has a meaning within the context I've provided...
Call it Aikido, call it yoga, call it bouldering, call it by it's name, it's all movement. Traditionally, there exists a step-by-step methodology that will guide a student steadily from the early stages of training to more advanced levels in budo. Traditionally the same happens in climbing. The comparison is extremely similar in both arts.
At its source, Aikido is a budo, a martial way. At it's source bouldering is a way of out manoevering a foe that confronts you. If you attack a move in bouldering head on, you quickly find out the rock is imovable, hence the we call it a problem. A person who climbs in this way is most likely also expecting to physically walk through walls in his time off. The same person also expects that he can walk on water rather than take the bridge like everyone else. So it stands that, a problem is a solution you havn't found yet, a move you can't describe & now you are a student of the rock, master of nothing, even if you just climbed V15. As a budo, [an art of war] Aikido is more than a group of practical combat techniques, though it is a very effective self-defense form. Aikido works in the realm of human & spiritual development. It's not just a martial art that has a philosophical base or a spiritual side attached. Nor is it a spiritual creed with a physical form attached. The techniques & philosophy of Aikido & bouldering can no more be separated than two sides of a coin. A £1 can be cut in two halves, heads from tails, but it isn’t worth two 50ps any more. Separate the form from the spirit of aikido, and you end up with neither. Seperate the physics of climbing & bouldering & you are left on the ground frustrated, a child. The techniques and the philosophy of movement are one. Iv'e seen hundreds of boulderers at work in my time. I've seen the joy they have between eachother in failure or succeeding, but Iv'e seen equally the wee glance back at the rock their mates didn't see...& I know what's on their minds. Some players also are too mindful of how they appear to climb. To them I would say explore. Do the silly thing your mind says will work, even if it doesn't look cool it might just work.
OPEN UP YOUR HIPS FOR CHRISTS SAKE!!
Some people just want to watch Bruce Lee movies & smash bricks over their heads & make a big noise doing it. There are climbers out there who still believe that shouting louder at passers by about their acheivements will improve their art...wrong. Evidence of acheivement is self-evident in the persons whole being, not in the words they'd like you to be swept away with...not in a movie, not in a static photograph. Spend less time being strong for climbing & more time climbing strongly, confidently, at whatever level you have. A roundabout in a kids playground spins extremely on it's outer edges, yet the central position still moves relative to it's fierce perimetre. If you are centered in movement you have a clearer focus of the overall task at hand. This isn't a hippy fact. it's a plain fact of physiology over points of contact divided by the intention of the movement you have executed. If you have lied to yourself about your ability to juggle, you will drop the balls, even before anyone else is aware of the fact. Be pure, don't grip like you have no intention of moving until the next ice age. Use the grip as a propellent. Strike at the heart of the move, don't draw the sword unless you mean to use it, be calm in your execution, love it fully as you drive it home. One perfectly executed move in Aikido is equivilent to one perfect move executed on the rock. When you've done this perfect move, stop. Go home, revel in it, but don't presume to believe you are master of the high seas or you'll be on your ass in the second show. In bouldering, on occasion, your own outer edges [arms & legs] will be put unexpectedly into a wild place, but they are the reaction to your own central intention. Find your centre. Go with it, see what happens.


Conceptualizing about bouldering or aikido out of the context of training is a practice wrought with pitfalls, which only increases the possibility of misunderstanding some of movements fundamental principles. A description of an object & the real object are not the same thing.
The concept of aiki principles is like a picture of a bowl of rice. You wouldn't be satisfied eating a picture of a bowl of rice, nor will you be satisfied just having the idea of aikido in your head. A real bowl of rice is nourishing & so is the real aiki when it is alive in your body and spirit. The concept that is aikido is learned & expressed through the techniques of Aikido. The philosophy of aikido comes to life only when you practice it & live it.
Mastery of each art is a journey, not a destination. Any Aikido master will tell you that:
To attain that condition of being in which philosophy, technique, attitude, and spirit merge requires consistent, sincere training. There are no shortcuts.
The first step in learning anything is to say the words - I don’t know. The first step to doing a new hard problem carries an equal philosophy. If you take the sequences of Grip Crisis -rh- & try to use them to complete Trace Element it's an impossible situation. It's logically stupid for most of us to even think that that would have a remote chance of working, so why do we not address it on a more subtle level. When you say the words I don't know as a climber, you learn, & you are open to learning by your own inner need to be improved by the experiences that await you. When I approach a new problem, I am a novice & I try to take pride in the humilty that being a novice in that sense brings me.
When you consider yourself an expert, your beer glass is filled with old knowledge, your own incoherent amnesiac ramblings of days in Jacksonville & there's little room for anything more. The purpose of training in a dojo is for discovery, for growth, not for performance of what you already know. The reality of bouldering is to step beyond what limitations beset the mortality learned in movement, but bring none of the old baggage, except say, for engram reference. There is a natural process involved in learning & growing in wether you're an Aikidoka or boulderer. You begin by practicing small parts of techniques & principles, then you put some of the parts together and try to make them work smoothly as a whole movement. Often the parts work well but fall apart when the whole technique is attempted. Gradually, your understanding of the parts and of the whole will merge. Trying to get it all now – is equivalent to learning to juggle starting with seven balls. You end up dropping them all. Start with one, then two, then three and soon you will be able to pay attention to the overall motion instead of trying to catch each one. When Neil Morrison recently attacked me on the climbing forum for having sand on the edge of one shoe whilst performing a fluid & apparently bizarre move up the V11 overhang of I Think I'm Going Bald, I just thought, what a silly little man...to think all that energy would be focused in one foot...to think that it's so conclusive of success or failure.

Don't look at the number, look at the task that's presenting itself to you, right there, but see it as a whole...talking about it afterwards is not the art of performing it. Don't wave the gun in the air, take direct aim & carry out your intention. You can't be slightly pregnant. If we went to a circus & the clowns came out & just talked us through their act, we'd leave...& that's the difference...Throw throw, catch catch, throw throw, catch catch....thats it, now pick up the third ball but don't throw it, get used to it's presence in yer hand...soon you'll be juggling....just don't get squashed crossing the tracks.


Morihei Ueshiba [1883-1969], the founder of Aikido
 
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 1:56 PM | 0 comments