Aye, Si takes a good pic.

This whole evidence issue will never go away, Si climbs away from the fleshpots, away from the crowds etc To him its not about fame, he seems to care little of what others say or think.

How does one grade a life? grade a way of living and a day spent climbing? By grin width? Satisfaction gained? memories? Peace attained?

Whatever Si does, he isnt sat at a desk all day.

Aye flashing a first ascent with bouldering can be an anomalous affair. In a sense, I totally agree with you, but my thinking on it is thus, simplistically:

As it is a boulder problem, you can generally see the majority of holds, how the line might go, ecetera, from the ground. Add that you may spend an amount of time cleaning the line & inadvertantly, like it or not, you gain some visual reference to draw upon when doing the f.a. For example, when I clean a crimper high up I'm not going to forget I've seen it there am I... If that's the case, I have, albiet involuntarily, absorbed some beta against the 'problem'...Personally I would go so far as to say in addition, if you pull on an edge to clean above, you gain a physical knowledge of lock-off, holdability & balance of attack, thus also forfeiting the right to claim 'onsight'. Since I did all or at least one of the above in preparing the lines, I wouldn't be comfortable recording them as such...How can it be onsight when you hold that kind of detailed knowledge before an ascent. Maybe beta flash would be a good option to have inside it's own definition. 8a doesn't give you that option though so I sided with the nearest available style. Saying 'onsight' would feel misleading. It would be like saying you completed Tomb-Raider using only your own brain & fingers when in reality, you occasionally used a walk-through on the hard bits, when nobody was looking.

'Beta Flash:
Leading a climb with no falling or dogging, but with a piece of previous knowledge hints on how to do those crux moves. Even seeing someone do the climb already classifies as 'previous knowledge'.
(d) Flash mit Ansage, (f) Flash'

Si

Bobby

Wasnt thinking you was stirring, sorry if you miss understood.

When J said I don't care what 'they say or think' I know what he meant but i care deeply. Climbing to me, is far more than about pulling on a hold & saying a number. Far more than a day out with 'the lads'. It is the last remaining mirror by which I can judge if I am still here, if there is still some worth in me. If I direct the reflection of my climbing outward, it is becuase you sometimes need the outside world to recognize your existance. When I see my reflection in this mirror, I know that I woke up that day, & slept tired that evening...I know there will be another day then, where I can hide all the jewels of the past, safely in the mountains, all the anger in the holds, all the hurt in the repetition...Where there is no home or family, I have found some memory of warmth in the grass around the stone; where the dead remain unhealed, I find a patch barely big enough to cover the wound, but I do at least, find one...The cloth is thin & ragged along the reeking lines of time, from Connemara, to my present tears. Below the mountains, a human river spews out litres of verbal ridicule, guesswork & abstract synopsis. In the mountains I do finger locks & ridicule nobody...I see the woman I would spend my days with, & my girl growing, nothing more than ghosts flickering in the high mountain grass & I smile, & the cloud lifts & the light comes through & I glimse home again, filled up...And when they fade, I scale stones & hard faces & bleed, to gain altitude above the shadows & find them again. Apparently you can 'grade' those paths & climates, but I am angrier than V15 & climbing is deeper. When I initially climbed E9, it was to die, to taunt life into some raging absurdity, to test my validity & karma, not for glory or some shallow accolade of technical mastery & prowess. I wanted to strangle my existance, the dimly lit acknowledgement of the yahweh & see if I could get close enough to him with a black steel blade.

But these dogs? Marching the towns & hillside, full of numbers, grades hatred & clutter. Evidence wailers who speak of trust yet have none. I hide becuase they carry into the peace, everything climbing is not, in search of everything it is. Primate troops of monkeys operate in such ways, sneering in hords at sculptured movement. The Klu-Klux-Klans idea of a fair fight is well documented also. They wonder why I slip away, in fear of it all, my self confidence absent with all the tearing at the only markers I have, to keep ahold of spirit. The last remaining device of any relevance to stand upright each day. And these markers, like sticks in the ground, cast shadows...& have form...unlike the lies & fantasies of the biased & fanatical, however subtle, who visit these places briefly...If I didnt grade my work in simple numbers - they would do it anyway; engineering vertical history, a crux reverie, to suit their own ends. When a hawk is to old & weak to fly it is easier to doubt the youthfulness of it's wings, it's skill as a hunter, it's keen sight. The demise of honesty in climbing is self-perpetuating. It is a trait of the coersive spoilt child it is growing up to be, trying to elbow its way to the front. I care deeply that it cannot hear the truck approaching through the sound of shouting about its own righteousness. Maybe I should mourn it equally, with a self-built high cairn, as I do build for her each year, for the girls, becuase I believe they still see me...becuase I hope there is still some reverence in life. This time of year is Zeds birthday & we are into decades, yet we are into days. I still look after her lemon scented geranium, & fastidiously pretend I am the re-invented bright new colour, I vowed I would be for her. When they take away the paths & stones, the dna scratched into each hold of a seething vertical moment, they must be prepared to demolish also, the graves & memories, the wake of the boat, & the depths & layers built on top, the mythology, the tales, the facts, carried through independant thinkers - or they do a task of convienience. A task of veneer. But I thnk they overrate their own importance, & effect. They are mostly lost inside the blowback of their own mis-information agenda, they simply believe the ies they created, look into it, the mindset, the patterns. If by chance, they severe the last thread & say 'you do not belong here'...If that happens, I will have had no life, & for the first time, I fear & feel I would not wake up for the day & I would close my eyes on the stars. I was an excellent technical climber before that cataclysm & rage took me further. I am better than they understand or care to support. I work quieter than they can bare, or whisper. The paths into Nirvana & the place of Nirvana itself, are alive in living through these things, not through living to intentionally circumnavigation them. Nor does peace come through brushing away the hurt of those you have saved or those you have killed. Ignoring your weakness or exhalting your strength, does not sit you at peace within storms. Acceptance breaks boundaries, setting the soul down in life, with usefulness. When you understand this, there is no theatre, no parade. You just get on with it. You carry your longing equally to all other things. This is Nirvana. This is our condition should we choose it. Why do I climb? Becuase the drop now, into the void without it, is far to great for me to survive...

Let the scheming nest write a wiki on that.