Andy Kirkpatrick | blog blog: 2010-07-10T14:03:14Z Copyright (c) 2010, psychovertical ExpressionEngine tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:07:11 Letter from America: Big Sur tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.669 2010-07-11T01:56:13Z 2010-07-10T14:03:14Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
After resting a few days I had time for one more go at my crazy plan of a one day solo of El Cap, and set off Thursday afternoon to try Lurking Fear. The day before I'd carried my gear up to the base so I could just walk up at 4pm and start climbing. Once there I found another team fixing pitches who asked about the weather forecast - with big clouds coming in over half dome. I'd asked earlier in the day at Yosemite Lodge and the answer was "sunny as always - it never changes". Unfortunately the forecast was wrong.

On the way back down I heard the first peals of thunder, then the first spits of rain - then the heavens opened up.

I've been going to Yosemite for quite a few years but never seen such a downpour. Getting back to the meadow soaked to the skin, my boots full of water, I watched the water falls poring down El Cap, knowing that anyone up on the wall was suddenly having some serious problems.

Standing on the bridge was a typical mum and dad armed with binoculars obviously panicking, their son on the Nose. I walked over (or swam) and told them not to worry, and that at least it was warm rain. They seemed really worried - scanning for their son - who'd disappeared below dolt tower. Probably the biggest danger on El Cap is that it's in California, and so people assume you can do it dressed like a surfer, were in fact when it storms you need to have an alpine approach (full waterproofs, plenty of insulation, a bivy bag, synthetic pit and a tarp or bothy bag). After a few minutes we spotted the team below bolt, hunkering down and the mum and dad relaxed. (in the end they bailed as they had down sleeping bags and cotton clothes).

Anyway more thunderstorms were forecast on Friday and Saturday, which put a bit of a spanner in the works. Never the less I kind of thought maybe I could do it between the bad weather, but slowly things were ganging up on my psych. The biggest was Lurking Fear is a real sun trap, and I stood a good chance of getting roasted up there. At least one soloist has died due to the sun (getting sunstroke seriously impairs your judgment) and the thought of being super high on the route and getting hit by the sun was scary. Also I only had a single 70 metre rope, so knew getting down would be hard - either due to the sun, or to a storm. Then there was the storm itself, which would make free climbing the slabs to exit the route pretty tricky (not to mention fear of being struck by lightning!

Sorting out my gear at the the bridge my mind kept flagging these things up, but I tried to remain stubborn and focused, imagining how glad I'd be that I didn't fold in a few days time - when I'd done it. I used the hand on the tiller to keep me moving towards this goal, and so eventually started walking up.

Getting to the bottom I saw the team that had been fixing's rope fixed up to pitch 3, and straight away I began wondering if I should just jug their ropes to get a head start. I knew that this would nullify my goal of a one day ascent, but I also knew the short cut would reduce the length of time I'd be in the sun tomorrow.

I geared up and still couldn't decided. I had zero motivation, feeling as if the moment had passed for doing such things and that I should be moving safely home by now. But then I imagined the hand and forced myself to move up, giving myself a break and allowing me to jug the ropes. Even if I was to fail at a pure ascent, at least | would climb another route on El Cap (I'd already climbed these 3 pitches before).

Up I jugged, my small haul bag attached to my harness russian style until I arrived at the top of the fixed ropes. I clipped into the bolts and looked up at the A1 pitches above. Then I looked down. I knew if I had a partner I'd be climbing by now, but self motivation on such escapades is just so tough - in fact it's the crux. I just didn't feel like going on.

Talking to some climbers at the bridge I'd said that when soloing you need to treat yourself like someone you love - rather than someone you hate - and in that moment, hanging there from those bolts, I gave myself some slack. I'd gone further and higher than I wanted to - after all I was still knackered from Zodiac - but now it seemed to cruel to ask my body to do it all again, and so I rapped down, packed my stuff out, got in my car, and drove out of the valley.

And so I'm sat in a motel in Monetery thinking about the last few weeks, going over what went wrong and what went right - and if I could have done things better. All I know is that everyday I gave it 100%, and that although I never nailed my dream of a one day el cap solo, I did climb El Cap in a day with two friends (this had been my dream climb the year before), and more importantly pushed my own physical and mental boundaries far further than I ever thought possible; to set off up El Cap with just one rope, a camelback and a skeleton rack was the boldest thing I've ever done.

I guess setting goals of time and distance is pointless, devalues the experience, and success based of such things is immaterial. Only you yourself know what you've won and lost - and what records you have really broken.

]]> Letter from America: Closer tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.668 2010-07-06T07:15:50Z 2010-07-06T11:42:51Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
On Friday at 7.30pm I started up Zodiac for my 5th time (2nd time that week), with just 3 litres of water, a single rope, two sets of batteries for my headtorch and a minimalist rack; I don't think I've ever felt so committed in my life.

The first two pitches where climbed, rappelled, and cleaned in 90 minutes, and as the valley draw dark I pressed on; climb as fast as I could, set up a belay, abseil back to my last belay, take the belay apart, grab my pack, jug up the rope cleaning gear and repeat.

When I got up that morning I felt tired, still recovering from climbing El Cap in 19 hours two days before, and compounded by a week of disturbed sleep before that, and so it was a bit of a surprise to me that I was trying to climb non stop. This was born out around 2am when I began to feel very tired, felt that agonizing desire to lay down and sleep. As was pitch six and decided I should try and sleep for two hours to recharge my batteries, so sat there and fell into a half sleep for 15 minutes then woke as the moon come up. Sat there in the dark on a tiny ledge I began to feel scared, like free diver who was was unsure if they had enough oxygen to make it to the surface. My mind was full of doubts, such as if I was going to slow, if I had enough water, the fact after this pitch I would find it almost impossible to get down with only one rope.

I imaged that hand on the tiller, and told myself to be calm and to get moving, as action would dispel my fears.



I arrived at the white circle at dawn and started up the crux pitches, which aren't too hard, but I felt as if I was slowing down. My mind seemed to be drifting, wasting precious seconds untangling slings or watching silver fish swarm on the wall. But again and again I would snap too and remind myself that I couldn't dawdle - I had to climb before my water ran out.

My first big problem came when I had to abseil back down my lead rope on several of the traversing pitches, necessitating scary back cleaning on the way up, and much jiggery pockery on the way down. Again and again I found myself spinning a long way of the deck trying to get to a piece of gear so that I could pass it. Each time I did this I felt time slipping through my fingers.



At 7.30pm I was still four pitches from the top. I had been climbing non stop for 24 hours, and awake for 36. I felt no surge of disappointment when I saw the time, as I'd known for the last 7 hours I couldn't make it. Now I just wanted out, and entered the terrible space of the failed speed climber, who is forced to confront the wall with little in the way of food, water or energy as night comes on - only without the dream of success to power them on. By now my harness was doing me grievous damage, and my feet felt sore and my hands ached from jumaring, but with no where to even stand I had to dig deep until I could reach peanut ledge (a surf board sized ledge for one) three pitches from the top.

It grew dark and my pace slowed to survival mode, focus, focus, focus.



I pulled onto the ledge around 10pm and sat there for an interminable time, knowing I had to rap down and get my pack, but seemingly not being able to move. I realized I was taking micro naps - a tiny bust of uncontrollable sleep. I knew I was in great danger if I didn't pay attention, but all I wanted to do was crawl up on the ledge and sleep, my mind trying to convince me to just have a sleep and recharge, then I could rap down and get my stuff - a trick that would only lead to to wake more hungry and thirsty and with lower energy. And yet still I just sat there, my legs over the edge, trying to move, but being unable to do so.



I knew my mind had space free of tiredness in which I could operate, and I visualized a citadel within it, an impregnable fortress in which my core function was safe from sleep - everything else; memory, desire and dreams was consumed by the darkness. This skeleton crew of still firing neurons got moving and down I went, got my stuff and jugged back, flaking out on the ledge as soon as I got there, my legs in my rope bag, a bothy bag my only insulation, so tired I slept still attached my my jumars to the rope.

The sleep was cold and heavy, my mind signaling every time I came close to waking that "I'm on a tiny ledge on El Cap" and "make sure you're still attached".

The moon came up and so did the cramps. I knew that the top was only 3 pitches away and there lay lots of bottles of water, but it might as well have been a million miles. I thought about my folly, and that something was deeply wrong with me: to be unsatisfied with climbing this route in a day with partners - as if that was easy - and so I was trying the impossible. If I'd done this then what would have been next?

I topped out at lunch time and sat under a tree and had to drink drank a big bottle of water before I could find the energy to rap and jug one final time. It seemed was cursed - never to just to sit and the shade, always something to do.

My rucksack up, I sat under the tree knowing I should get down, falling in and out of sleep, feeling dejected and foolish to have tried such a thing. I tried to find some satisfaction that I'd soloed a wall in 30 hours that usually took a party 4 or 5 days, but it was no good, I kew I'd simply deluded myself.

The walk down was tougher than usual, as all I wanted to do was lay down and sleep, but on I went until I reached my car and just sat there feeling empty (my emotions were primarily dictated by lack of sleep than anything). Then out of nowhere an old man appeared dressed like a scout leader. "Did you just climb El Cap young man?" he said "I think I recognize your rucksack, I watched you this morning with my binoculars". "Yes I did" I replied sheepishly. "Well well done young man" he said, holding out his hand "that's a mighty impressive thing you've done" he said smiling.

I sat back in my car and though it disingenuous to feel anything but pride for oneself for climbing El Cap, a rock with no bad routes, and no bad climbs.

So I'm sat recovering in the cafeteria - my eyes heavy. I know when I stop hurting I'll be stronger - and the lack of pain is just a sign that you're getting weak (wow I sound like Marlk Twight). I have enough time - and maybe enough energy - to try once again a sub 24 hour solo ascent of El Cap - probably Lurking Fear as I just can't bring myself to go on Zodiac again.

In the food queue a few minute ago I found myself behind two young black guys, one a minister the other a soldier on leave. The soldier told the minister that he was going Afghanistan in a weeks time and that he was worried about it. The minister just looked at him and said "I'm sure it will bring you closer to God".

Amen.
]]> Letter from America: A short fix tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.666 2010-07-02T00:28:44Z 2010-07-01T12:29:45Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
The story begins when I went back up to do a two day solo ascent of Zodiac, both to get reacquainted with the route, and also to calm my nerves about setting off up the route with just 3 litres of water, one rope and a small(ish) rack.

I set my alarm for 3am (continuing my vampire style) and settled down in my usual sweaty mozzie hell (it's so hot at night you could sleep naked - but if you did you'd end up looking like the elephant man once you woke). At about 10pm I heard something messing with my gear and let out a big shout - imagining that it was a bear, only to hear two voices asking "what was that?" Half asleep I thought it might be Leo Houlding messing with my gear as a joke (supergluing my krabs shut, sticking my lipsalve up his bum - you know - the usual). Then I realized someone was shining a torch in my face, probably thinking I was a dead body. "hello" I said (probably looking a bid odd, dressed in all my clothes and with T-shirt rapped around my head). "Oh sorry" came the reply and the torch disappeared.

At 3am I crept past the two climbers and set off up my fixed rope. They obviously had their sites on Zodiac as well, and seeing them laid there in their bags I felt jealous of their partnership, sharing the work, and the fun. When you spent a lot of time by yourself (climbing or touring) you realize that the value of most experiences comes from its sharing.

Arriving at the anchor I set about kitting up, then realized one of my aiders was missing. I must have left it on the ground. The thought of rapping back 50 metres, getting the aider and jugging back up felt like to much - when in fact it would take just ten minutes. I thought about this, and how my margin of psych for this task must be so thin that even this little set back was two much. All I wanted to do was bail and go back to sleep. There could be no forcing it, after all if it was tough now how tough would it be in twenty plus hours? To solo El Cap in a day would require by greatest level of psyche and energy I could muster, and right then I had either, so went down.

Waking in the morning I had a chat with Jordan and Adam - the climbers who'd slept at the base - and would it transpired where young enough to be my kids. They did indeed want to climb Zodiac and had already climbed the Shield earlier in the year, and exuded that amazing excitement in big wall climbing I'd had when I'd started. The problem was they where also having a lack of psyche, realizing that they would have to climb the wall in two days (Zodiac generally takes 3 or 4) because Jordan had to be at work on. Like me they had grabbed their opportunity to do something amazing, only to find that they were now feeling it was beyond them.

I could tell that their climb - like mine - was hanging by a thread, and tried to help it along by giving them some beta, then we had a long conversation about dry ice, with Adam telling me - like some proto terrorist - how you could use it to make things explode.

These guys had a very positive attitude, and easy manner, were intelligent and both had a good sense of humor. I'd only known them for 30 minutes when I put forward the idea: "Would you fancy teaming up and climbing it in a day?" Someone who isn't a climber would find the idea of climbing El Cap with two strangers as a bit odd, but I saw in these guys myself at their age and reckoned it would work. And it did.

Setting off at around 5am we sped up the route and working like a team would climbed many walls; everyone climbing fast and safe. The only worry was when I started to think that our two largest cams (new DMM 4's) where too small for pitch 15, which is a long off width that is climbed by leapfrogging two cams the whole way (if one ripped when moving the other you'd probably die). This doubt led first to trying to work out a strategy for getting to the top instead of waiting to be rescued - like climbing out on another route, if we could - then to ways we could make it work with what we had. In the end we decided that if the crack was two wide we'd saw our wooden belay seat and half and stack it against the cam and the rock giving it those extra inches. Luckily - and to our great relief - Jordan managed to climb the pitch with the cams we had.



I'm not sure hat time we reached the top, but it was dark and we were all very tired (and suffering from bicep cramps after jugging the free hanging haul line on many pithes).

Topping out on El Cap remains as one of the most savored moments in my life; a kind of growing excitement that soon it will be over, yet remains distant right until the last moves, and then their is nothing; only the relief of removing gear and dropping it without care on the floor.

It was dark by the time we got to the top, where we sat around for quite a while sort of disbelieving we'd just climbed the route in a day, and in such circumstances.

Eventually we laid in our bivy bags and belay jackets and tried to turn down the buzz in our heads - which came pretty soon, all being totally and utterly knackered. Then at midnight we had a unexpected visitor in the shape of Alex Harnold, who crept up on is without a headtorch looking as if we'd just come from a single pitch route.

"Hi Alex what you up too?" asked Adam.
"Oh - nothing much… just done the Nose, and heading down to do the Salathe and then Lurking Fear". And with that we said "well done" to the Zodiac crew and headed down.

Down in the valley again trying to rest and psych up again. Climbing Zodiac as a 3 in 19 hours made me realize - at the time - that trying to solo it in under 24 hours was crazy and impossible, but now I'm not so sure…..



]]> Letter from America: The Hand tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.665 2010-06-28T04:22:07Z 2010-06-27T16:26:08Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
After my last post I went back up to Lurking Fear and by 7.30am I was six pitches up. That may sound fast, but I felt I was climbing too slowly to make it in a day, as I'd set off around midnight. One thing I hadn't grasped was that to make a non on-sight one day ascent of an el cap route was a big undertaking; to do this onsite doubly so, and to go for a onsite one day solo - well it looked as if it was going to be beyond me. The problems comes with the hesitation and uncertainty when climbing new ground, both in gear placements and route finding - especially in the dark. In the spring or autum I'd be prepared to just go for a push ascent and suffer for 30 hours - but in the summer heat I feel live a scuba diver; once my water is used up I'd in big trouble.

The nearest I've come to a one day ascent was on Zodiac last year, but this was only possible because I'd climbed the route the year before. When you climb a route the climb shrinks, and only when it's been shrunk many times will it fit within such a crazy plan. Lurking Fear remained full scale in every sense.

Anyway at 7.30am the decision to go up or go down was made for me when my old and pretty tired red Alien broke (I had 2 of each sized cam). So down I went, staggering back to the trail head and my stinky car.

Having been up since around midnight I wondered around zombiefied all day - wanting to try and stay awake until nighttime, my sleep pattern being pretty vampiric so far. I must say my moral was also feeling a bit low - probably due primarily to a lack of sleep more than anything. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, a bit lonely (solo trips are pretty grim I've decided) and racked with indecision what to do next. These are always the toughest times - not the climbing.

I'll share a little secret with you. Over the past few months I've tried to feel as if I have more control over my life, due primarily to feeling as if I'm suffering from schizophrenia, my ambitions and motivations - not to mention life in general - switching from one pole to the other, positive to negative, with exhausting regularity. I guess many people feel like this.

What I've found works is to imagine an old wooden ships tiller - the handle that runs to the rudder. This tiller is on an open fishing boat, and in my mind I can see it's peeling blue paint. On that tiller is a gnarly old hand - the gnarly old hand of experience - a hand that is not swayed by trends of thoughts or fads of will. All I see is the hand and the tiller - not the see or the boat.

If you were a religious man you could say this was the hand of God - but me - I imagine it as belonging to some salty sea dog, dressed on a wooly jumper and rubber boots - probably smoking a pipe, his face almost black after a life time sailing the ocean. With this image I gain control of myself. The storms and waves that batter this boat - this rudder - and which this hand must fight against - are the storms inside my head. When they begin to grow I visualize that hand holding firm, steering the right course, never indulgent of greed or desire, or thrown off track by fear or doubt, or unsettled by indecision. When I wake up at home and think 'I should go for a run - if I go now I can work today and not feel like I've done nothing'. This thought would be counteracted by a 'Just stay in bed and go running tomorrow, after all your shoes are wet and you haven't had breakfast'. Then I visualize that hand - lets call it the Hand, and I know what is the right thing to do, and I do it.

The night I got down (night before last) I slept in the boulders above camp 4 (which was full as usual) and as I lay there I asked myself what I wanted. The answer: to solo El Cap in a day of course. Then I asked what was the best way to achieve this? I knewI had to focus on this and nothing else, and everything I do should be focused on this goal. So far this had been the case, and each day I was learning more things that would help me.

To do this I had to know I could do it - to build up my confidence that this wasn't just a mirage. If I imagined this as an olympic event (which it probably is climbing wise - sort of a climbing Iron Man) then I should practice it first (I've climbed it 3 times already), and aim to first solo it in two days. If I could do this - hauling my gear - then I should be able to do it in one day without hauling (just taking a bladder) with the beta I'd have. I would also knock down a major psychological hurdle - that of being alone on such a wall without a ton of water or a portaledge.

Looking up at the wall I can feel already the terrible feeling of commitment and exposure when you try and do such a thing in a single push; the harness digging in, your sore feet, your eyes heavy with fatigue - all with no end in sight. With a parter at the end of the rope you share this burden - but alone there is only you - and you cannot crumble.

So yesterday I walked up to Zodiac with all my gear - but no portaledge - the aim to set off this morning and make it to the only ledge in the middle of the wall (2 feet by 5 feet) toady. I slept on this ledge when I climb Zodiac with Phil Packer, so know it offers a little island of comfort... if only a norrow one. Above this are the 3 crux pitches of the route - leading through the white circle. On day two I'd have to climb these and finish up the super overhanging wall above, as the next ledge even big enough to stand one foot on is tree pitches from the top.

Last night a I lay beneath the wall I couldn't sleep, feeling as if I was having a mild panic attack, waking up the instant I fell asleep. In my tired state I felt as if I was waking up from drowning. That and the fucking mosquitoes meant it wasn't a great night.

Then this morning I found to my dismay - and also my relief - that the two brown bears I'd see only five feet away yesterday - had bitten into my two water bags and that I'd have to call it off (guess Ortolieb water bags are not immune to bear attack).

And so instead I led the first two pitches in one - taking a very slow 2 hours (I need to average 1 hour per pitch) than rapped back down. Looking up I went through the two pitches again in my head, working out were I could be faster - less indecisive - and cut my time in half (soloing a dodgy string of heads and rivets above the ground demands more care then speed as a fall into space high up would be a fall onto the ground here).

And so I'm down again getting more water and heading up again this evening, once the burning sun moves off the wall.

Like I said, it's been a week of ups and downs, and although it pains me to write the truth - the whole truth etc, this is probably what most trips like this are like, and through this posts I hope people gain some insight into what goes into any big climb.

But as for the downs, I like to visualize these things like a roller coasters hurdling downwards; not heading for failure, but simply gaining momentum for the climb to come.




]]> letter from America: Superman and the fuckwit tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.664 2010-06-25T04:29:11Z 2010-06-24T16:45:12Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
Every time I try and fail - I'll explain why later - I come down not feeling glum, but exited about going back. Every time I fail I see things I need to do better; little tweaks, better ways of doing things, new ways of thinking. Also every time I go back, the mountain before me is a little smaller.

Yesterday morning I was being attacked by my ring tail cat - but it seems a months ago already. Coming down at 5am I felt knackered but happy to have plenty of time to try again, and again, and again - if need be.

Sat in the cafeteria having breakfast (which feels like lunch when you get up at 5am) I bumped into Alex Honnold. When I say bumped, what I mean is he sat on the same table as me. For those who don't know, Alex is one of the best climbers in the world at the moment, with the term 'best climber' being based on more than just how hard he can pull. Alex's makes climbing exciting, and redefines what's possible. His ascents and solos are best categorized as the impossible kind, or 'I can't believe he did it".

When he sat down I wanted to tell him that I'd picked up his prize at the last Kendal mountain film festival for his film 'alone on the wall', but felt it would sound a bit sad, so kept quite. Then Alex said "Do I know you?" I guess he saw me pissing into my cup under a boulder in Winter Patagonia?

We spent a hour talking about soloing, as the previous day Alex had soloed the Nose and half dome in a day (6h for ElCap and 2 for half dome), smashing the record. Alex is a very unusual climber and seems devoid of ego. It would be unfair to call him a savant, but you get the impression that to Alex what he does is nothing special. Maybe it's like people thinking Superman's amazing because he can fly, but to superman it's just what he does.

After breakfast I trawled around and had a kip in my car - my sleep patterns being pretty irregular at the moment) and waiting for evening before walking back up again to the base of the route.

I met Leo Houlding, Jason Pickles and AL Lee in the car park getting ready to head up to finish Leo's project 'The Profit' (named after the dance track - not the amazing French prison film). They all looked on good form - even though Jason had lost most of his gear when he left his bag by the side of the road - and AL is filming the climb for Psyche 2. Anyone who's seen The Asgard project will know that Jason is both a great climber and a real star. A few years ago Leo complained that people were more interested in watching me pissing in a cup than him sending some hard climb, and I had to point out it was just because Leo was too good and Brits prefer crap people who fail. I think this comes across in The Asgard project, as Leo is such a star (he always reminds me of Alexander the great for some reason) anything he does seems like a forgone conclusion, were as a character like Jason stands out because although he's a very strong climber, you see him as one of us - plus he has wonky teeth (like all great british climbers). I'm sure successful or not - the Profit with prove great material for Al's next film (we're hatching a plan to do El Cap in a day togther as part of the film as well).

After hanging out for a while I made my way back up to Lurking fear (quite a hike), meeting two black bears on the trail (we both stood and waited to see what each other would do). I set my alarm for 12.30am and rapped myself up in my bothy bag and laid on two beer mat sized squares of foam.

I always find getting to sleep at such time pretty tough, but have hit on a great stratagy, basically listening to podcasts from Radio 4 ('In our time' 'From our own correspondent' and 'great lives'). It seems that no matter how awake I am, within 5 minutes I'm asleep.

As usual I woke up before the alarm and sorted out my gear, gobbling down the last of my power food (carrots and humus) then started up.

I'm leading on a 100 metres beal 10mm ropes, meaning I can link two or three pitches into one, reducing belay set ups, and the first two pitches went in under an hour.

At the start I was feeling a bit rusty and suddenly thought how crazy it was that I was trying to solo El Cap in a day, when I haven't done any aid climbing for a year, and the last wall I soloed was about eight years ago! I just thought I should keep going at a steady speed and I'd get there (Lurking fear is a warm up for trying the much harder Zodiac next week).

I reached the belay and quickly set it up to rap down and jug back up, but in my haste I unclipped the wrong krab and watched my Silent Partner (my solo belay device) fall from my harness into the darkness - followed by a load metallic crash.

Anyone who knows me will know that I have a lifel that's is full of fuck ups, and so I'm a master of taking it on the chin.

How could I get angry? It was dark, I was tired, I was rushing. Instead I thanked my stars that it was only on this pitch, and that I could still reach the ground with my ropes - and that now it had happened it wouldn't happen again.

Instead of defeating me it would make me better.

This didn't alter the fact that I was a clumsy fuckwit.

Down I went once more to my simple bed amongst the stones, to wait for another dawn, another day and another chance.

It was also my birthady.



]]> Letter from America: Ringtail tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.662 2010-06-23T22:53:57Z 2010-06-23T11:05:58Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
Sat sorting gear in the car park, trying to get my rack down to a weight I can move with. One question was wether to take 2 camalot 5's or just hope my DMM 4's would do, after all a camalot 5 is a heavy piece of kit. In the end I took just the one, and packed all my gear and headed up.

First thought was "christ this gear weighs a ton!", with my rucksack weighing the same as if I was heading up for a week, not a day. The second thing that came to my attention was the mosquitoes, which swarmed around me in the twilight.

My plan was to just lay out the rope on the ground, and lay on my rucksack back panel, and instead of using a sleeping bag, just put on Patagonia micro puff jacket and rap myself in my bothy bag. This plan looked like it could unravel if I found myself in a cloud of mosquitoes, so off the bat I was imagining I'd have to bail from the plan.

After a very long and hot hike along the base of El Cap, including climbing up a short buttress on tatty fixed ropes, I made it to the base of the route. I'd hoped the mosquitoes would leave me alone once I got heigh, but no luck.

Not wanting to bail I decided to stick it out, and putting on my waterproof's, my micro puff and my capaline top over my face I laid down and tried to sleep.

And so began an uncomfortable night of half sleep until about 9.45 when I suddenly felt something brush my leg. For some reason I didn't move (or scream) and just laid there until I felt something brush my head - then I screamed.

I sat up and looked for my headtorch and flashed it around.

I know there's a bear that lurks in these parts, but guessed whatever it was was small.

I guessed that whatever it is was must be after a few biscuits I had, so I tucked them between my legs and tried to get back to sleep.

When I felt something wiggling away down there sometime later I really got freaked and sat up and shouted, and again flashed my headtorch.

Looking out I saw to my surprise the boldest ring tailed cat ever, first all I could see were its eyes, and then its whole body, as it walked up to me balled as brass.

I've never seen a ringed tailed cat before, but guessed that that was what it was, as it looked like a cat and had a big tail with rings on it (not real rings). As far as that I had no info, and was left wondering what damage this thing could do to me (breath fire, spurt shit out of it's bum, blead acid).

Not wanting to take any chances I just threw it my biscuits and tried to get back to mosquito hell.

By around 2am I was sick of just laying there, so got up and started racking up. Packing my stuff up I realized I'd left my spare batteries behind, and that my spare - back up -headtorch had a battery missing. It was also feeling totally fucked. It was not looking good. I pulled out my breakfast bagel and saw it had somehow been half eaten (even though it was hanging in a tree). I was also worrying about not having two camalot 5's.

It was time to do the right thing.

And so I'm sat in the Yosemite cafeteria having breakfast. Fingers crossed tonight will be better.
]]> Letter from America: Thinking like a fool tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.661 2010-06-23T00:31:11Z 2010-06-22T12:53:12Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
I don't mind flying, but hate traveling - which is pain when that's what I seem to do most of the time. I guess it's down to the fact that I just don't trust myself to get the myriad of tiny - but crucial - things right. It's as if I have to double check everything all the time. I can't be left or trusted. Its like having to wear one of those kids dog lead kind of straps to stop you wandering off - only you're both attached to it and are the one holding it.

My ex wife - being an expert on such things… by which I mean she is - tells me I'm not dyslexic (the imagined source of my super powers) but really a perfect example of someone with ADHD. I tell my son Ewen (who's been told has ADHD) that if he has it that it's just a name for the way some people are - like being Chinese or ginger (but not both - that would be scary). If he has ADHD then he shouldn't imagine that he "suffers from ADHD" as this would imply that it was a handicap, rather than a bonus (obsessive compulsives are more prone to be successful… if they don't end up in prison or dead). Fine words, but when you're looking for your passport at 2am - when you have to set off at 5am because you underestimated how long it would take to drive to London - you begin to wonder.

My mantra is passport, wallet, driving license (paper and card) and pen (just writing this small list makes me wonder if I've missed something). The pen is vital for coming through immigration in order to complete several hundred drafts of your visa waver form until you get it right. Added to that is airport parking, BMC insurance, car hire and lets not forget the all important detail that I'm going to the right airport on the right day. This last one has caused me no end of grief and expense; for example last year I mist my plain going out to Sweden and mist my plain coming home again, the first because I messed up what day I was flying, the second which airport.

Loosing my passport is also a big worry and the sooner we all get 'chipped' the better (no one cares about human rights when you're stood at check in with only your sons passport instead of your own). While were at it, how about we get 'chipped' with a combined driving license and credit card.

The famous Tim Ferris has a PA who works from india and I often wonder if I should do the same; after all the only way I seem to have any success if when I get bossed around by a woman (for bossed around read organized).

Things were looking good until Saturday when taking my kids to a party I ran over a giant rock in my car and found that I only had 3rd and 4th gear - not ideal when I had to drive to Heathrow on Monday morning. Luckily I found that reverse now gave me 1st and 2nd, meaning the only gear) I just had to go - hopping I wouldn't have to back tract, probably a great analogy for this trip (I have no reverse).

On this trip to the valley I feel a great weightlessness, as the last two trips carried with them a lot of stress (Karen Dark in 08 and Phil Packer in 09). This time it's just me.

I've spent the last few months getting to know some serous athletes, and taken a few notes from them on performance. I've come to realize that although it adds to the adventure - embarking on a hard climb in a half assed way is bound to lead to failure. My last two attempts at climbing El Cap in a day have been just that. Climbing off the couch, with rusty partners, jet lagged and in not ideal conditions was bound to lead to failure… even if those failures mean as much to me as the successes.

This time I've put in some effort and preparation for a one day ascent of El Cap, running 70 miles a week, losing 10kg, and using very focused visualization of what was to come. But me being me - I imaged that one day ascent as forgone conclusion with all that prep - so have fixed on a one day solo ascent (roped).

My first step has been to take it easier than normal, for example I would often arrive in San Francisco and drive to the valley - arriving at 4am - and get on a wall the next day. This time I spent the night in Merced to get over my jet lag (in the kind of seedy motel that you barricade the door once inside and check for hidden video cameras).

My plan is to go up to the base of Lurking Fear tonight, and set off up it at 3am, carrying 6 litres of water, some food and lots of headtorch batteries and see how I get on, aiming to get to the top in under 24 hours (LF generally takes 3 days). If that comes off I'll have a few days off (I'm still writing Cold Wars - one reason for speed climbing) and then try Zodiac in a day.

Climbing any route on El Cap in a day is a marathon effort, and only a handful have soloed it in a day, and by rights there's no way I can pull it off. But I guess just because I'm better prepared doesn't me I still can't dream like a fool!

Note: While I'm over here I'll try and update my blog most days, plus post some video and pictures, so stay tuned.
]]> 180 South Trailer tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.660 2010-06-16T13:42:26Z 2010-06-16T01:53:27Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
check out their website (has some great little film clips on i): http://www.180south.com ]]> The balloon tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.659 2010-06-15T03:27:52Z 2010-06-15T15:22:53Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
I'll keep the story short, as it's not my story, but I guess the person involved would never see it as anything special; which is a shame, because for the rest of us, it's something to hold onto when times are tough; one of those stories too good to be true (like most of mine - except this one is).

Anyone who's seen me talk over the last few years will well know my long suffering partner/girlfriend is the amazing Karen Darke. About sixteen years ago she fell ten metres off a sea cliff and ended up in a wheelchair. After a year of learning to live again, she decided the road to mental wellbeing was the road itself, but to travel it she'd need a bike. Sixteen years ago disabled people were still in the dark ages, and with no hand peddled bikes on the market she decided to get someone to make one. The bike in question - built by hand in scotland - is a sort of reclined seated three wheeler recumbent, with hand cranks rather then peddles. The thing looked pretty funny - you know the type of thing you'd expect a disabled person to peddle about on; not sexy, or cool or amazing.

But for Karen this was a revelation, and with it she escaped her weelchair and kickstarted many adventures (hand biking over the Himalayas being the high point).

Within a year Karen had completed the London marathon in a race chair (she bought a race chair before a wheelchair), but wondered if there were any bike races (biking is much more fun than wheelchair racing). Searching around she saw a race in Switzerland and entered it, traveling over by train to compete.

This is were the story gets a bit sad. With no team with her, and no money, instead of staying in some swish hotel, she slept on the train platform on her thermarest, and made her way to the start line the following morning.

It was here - a bit like a caveman meeting people from the future - that she realized she'd made a big mistake. Instead of fleece wearing, bobble hatted riders on home made bikes, she discovered a field of Oakley wearing athletes in lycra on speed machines. She realized this was sport - not fun. People began to laugh at Karen's primitive bike; being no Graeme Obree home made record breaker.

The race started and Karen was left in the dust, left to come in last after a lonely circuit.

It was probably at this point that Karen decided that this wasn't for her, and instead chose the easier options; like skiing across Greenland, climbing El Cap or kayaking from Canada to Alaska, stuff that just needed a stubborn attitude and the ability to not give up.

The years passed, then a decade. Karen is in her late thirties and watches the olympics on TV, watches Rachel Morris from the UK win a gold medal on a hand bike. Somewhere inside the question was asked "Could I get good enough to get to the Paralympics?"

For an athlete, Karen is over the hill, plus she's never rode in a real race, her bike - although not home made now - is a morris minor compared to the carbon fibre speed machines people race on now (12,000 euros each!). She was left behind once, now the field is fierce - pro teams that are well supported and funded with full times athletes.

But if she was to try, she would have four years to get better, to get good enough not to win medals, but just to compete.

In a lifetime of stupid ideas, this was the most stupid. After all who has the balls to even imagine themselves as being good enough to be an Olympian?

Never daring to admit this fact, or this goal, Karen began to train. She bought a better bike and she started hitting the streets doing long days and many miles. She began going to the gym and lifting weights. Did she get better? Well a bit, but she was training like anyone would with no background sport specific training ie badly; too much of the wrong thing (pig farmer training I call it).

The she entered some UK races and began to meet proper racers, mostly guys, who traveled wherever races were held. They're an intimidating bunch, the types of guys who would make good wheelchair bouncers, their bikes looking like something out of Mad Max, souped up hand bikes. You could even go as far to say it was sexy. Going to these races I could see that this was a serious sport with serious riders.

This is an important point, because no matter what people say, when it comes to the Paralympics, the majority of people - deep down - believe it's not the same. It's about being inclusive, not about showing the best in sport. Well when it comes to hand biking I guarantee Lance Armstrong would be eating dust against these guys, because it's just not natural to go that fast powered just by your arms. This was a sport that should be on the tv.

When Karen entered the series she was as novice as novice could be, and on the first race we had to ask a 12 year rider how much pressure we should put in her weels (or should that be tires?). The biggest problem was Karen had no competition in these races from other woman, as Rachel Morris wasn't competing at the time. Instead factoring was used to give Karen an advantage against the men, and she raced them instead.

In every race Karen came first, second or third, which was always a hollow victory, after all the factoring always seemed to give too big advantage, and although she pushed hard, she was always left wondering if she was in fact any good.

I think it was around now that Karen could probably have dropped that dream. Worse still was the next step was to race in europe. Here she would race against other female racers who were strong. She probably feared a repeat of her first race. To be humiliated once is bad, to go back and be humiliated a second time is really bad - and stupid.

It was time to either commit or to just step back.

Another problem was Karen had hoped she would get good enough for UK cycling to spot her and take her to the next level, giving her a more formal - and effective - way of training. The word was out that they were looking for talent for 2012. A few hand bikers - including Karen - were invited down to Lancaster to do some tests, but Karen found her performance was poor. She was asked to show her power by sitting in front of a hand crank with nothing for her back to push against, something that's almost impossible with no abbs. Very often able bodied people just don't get it. In my mind - anyone who can do 4000 pull ups in order to climb el cap, or push herself 500 miles accross the Greenland ice cap has more than enough strength. But no call came from UK cycling.

As is often the case fate played its part, and Karen met John Hampshire, a coach from Aberdeen who wanted to take her on as a project. All of a sudden, instead of just going for miles and miles, Karen's training became formalized. She got a heart rate monitor and a turbo. She learnt her max heart rate and her lactic threshold. Now nights where spent on the turbo giving her body hell - while watching crap tv on iplayer (basically anything with Andrew Lloyd webber).

She began to go faster at races. She was still a 'club runner' but could now see her potential opening up before her. All she had to do was put in the effort.

I think she began to believe that maybe if she kept getting stronger then UK cycling might change it's mind, and she might get to the olympics after all.

Then one night a few weeks ago, trawling hand bikes websites, looking at rules and regs, she spotted the fact that inorder to go to the olympics she would need to compete in europe and win, and the cut off point was the world cup in a few weeks time in Spain. If she missed it that would be it. No points; no entry. Her dream would be dead. She found the website and checked registration and saw that the cut off date was the following day, and that she could only be entered by her country.

Frantic ringing around and badgering saw UK cycling put her name forward as an independent rider, tickets were bought and so began a few weeks of real tension, I think Plato called it an "Oh fuck" moment.

It had been twelve years since Karen had competed in Europe. Now she had to race well if she was to have any chance of going to the Olympics, and she'd be up against the pro female riders of Europe.

I knew two things could happen, either her dreams would be shattered and she would realize that she had been fooling herself all along - or she would prove to be a contender. From the moment she bought the tickets for both of us to go to Spain, I knew the chances of the later where as slim as me soloing Everest without oxygen. I began working through what I would say, how I would try and make her feel better, when she would reach the finish line last, her eyes full of tears, trying to hide her utter disappointment.

I knew it was the type of blow you never get over.

I won't bore you with the details of the race, or how amateurish we looked just turning up (most teams were huge, with mechanics, masseurs, dietitians), but the lowlight was - having no turbo to warm up on - I ended up squatting down with Karen's front wheel braced against my thighs as the seconds ticked down to her start. Everything was against her doing well. Everything but who she was, what she had done, and how stubbornly she'd held onto her dream. My best analogy, as I watched her line up with a fearsome pack of woman, was it was as if she had held onto the string on a balloon, and now she was so high the fall would be unimaginable.

I said I'd keep this short - but guess I failed. Anyway Karen held on tight to that balloon and floated down with two bronze medals. Her dream is still alive, and I think the world is a better place because of that. She inspires me - and even thought I know she'll be mortified that I wrote this - I think she can inspire others.

I'm off to Yosemite this week. Twice I've tried to climb El Cap in 24 hours (via Zodiac and Tangerine trip) and failed both times (the reasons are many, but I just think of myself as too slow). With Karen's story in my mind this time I'm going to (not try to) climb it in a day solo; it's a big balloon I know, but you've got to dream big haven't you. ]]> Windows and bricks tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.657 2010-06-13T03:25:29Z 2010-06-12T15:37:30Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
It's not surprising, as this is the type of stuff that rolls off the brain easily, and rolls into the brain of the reader - kind of pre absorbed, as if the meaning is already embedded there.
You notice this a lot on the news, the same words used for the same types of event, just repeated again and again. I wonder if interviewers and editors just edit out anything beyond the ordinary, as that would just confuse us.

Writing is littered with this kind of thing, and it takes alot of hard work to spot it. Maybe it's the bricks and mortar that build a story, a framework that holds the windows that allow you see beyond these words. What you need is to aim for bigger windows and less bricks.

Below is an example of some writing I did for Patagonia that never got used, which I liked at first, but coming back to it I think its' full of stuff that's unnecessary, and other things that I think - could be - extraordinary, by which I think they are 'new things' that are ideas out of my ordinary writing (a nugget of gold). I think a good editor would read through this story and put lines through a great deal of it as being naff, but underline a few sections for expansion. Even if the result was a story of only two lines, if those two lines are unique, then that would be something worthwhile.

Anyway here it is.



December.  I pound down the trail away from my warm cosy car, following the beam of my torch as it beats a path around puddles of ice and ankle snapping stones; head bowed to the twisted frosted Caledonian pines all around.  

The dark comes early and stays late, drifting in before the sky turns to iron and coats the glens and corries white; here in the Highlands.  The cold has arrived from the north late and without it’s gift of snow, meaning it’s still dreamtime; hibernating, eating and sleeping, watching TV.  It’s not a time for training.  

And yet...

The first mile is the hardest, feet cold, lungs burning, legs asking to stop.  I imagine each whining part of me as one of my children, and like children I just have to stand firm because I know it’s good for them.  There are so many excuses why not, and even though I find the will to ignore them all, I still find myself wondering if my car will still be warm when I get back.

I tap on down the trail, watching for ice, listening to the same old morse of heart beats; signaling my intension to do better.  I wonder what the winter will bring, and of the old people who tell the young that the berries signify it’ll be a hard one; the old praying it won’t be so, while the young pray for it to be the hardest yet.

For some, winter is a season for dying.

I find my thoughts are as dark as the woods; I put it down to low blood sugar and promise myself a treat if I keep going. Now I’m the child, subconsciously bribing myself. 

The beat goes on and I  find my mind drifting to the same old horror film; The Blair Witch Project, and my pace quickens until I replace film with myth, and imagine instead the Grey Man, who it’s said haunts the hills above.  I press on harder still.  I just want to get this over with.

It’s hard not to be scared in a landscape so rich with history; and its ghosts.  

Then I lift my eyes for the first time that night and they are greated by a rainbow dazzle of light; everything is coasted in frost, unseen, unnoticed until now. I’m transported; an enchanted world, the wood turning to chandeliers in the LED beam of my torch. 

The darkness is gone, and instead I find I’m slipping through a glistening universe in every stride;  magnificent - before it fades as I step on to the next.  My feet warm, my lungs cool and my legs push harder.  I can’t imagine any place I’d rather be than here; traveling at the speed of light.

And then I see it and it sees me; the moon, raising up as I break into the open; a cyclops beam shining down on me from space; and only on me.  And I sparkle.






]]> ROPE SOLOING 101 PART 3 tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.656 2010-06-10T02:45:55Z 2010-06-09T15:13:56Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com WARNING: This blog is not meant as instructional text, and is simply a description of how I rope solo. Rope soloing is highly dangerous and demands a great deal of experience and good judgment and in many ways is more dangerous than free soloing, due to an increased reliance on ‘systems’. Anyone wishing to rope solo should already have an extensive knowledge of all the systems and equipment needed, as well as a sound knowledge of themselves, their limits, and the reality of making a mistake.

Bottom line: Don’t rope solo.

A rope solo - step by step


In part 3 of this series on rope soloing I'll run through a scenario of a typical day in the life and climbs of a big wall soloist. In this scenario I'll be using a standard rope soloing set up, and will cover a better system in the next installment.

Waking up half way up the PO wall on solo ascent I look up at the pitch above and wonder what the day will bring. In the past, and with a partner, I'd be aiming for 3 pitches a day, but now I'm focusing on one, two or one and a half a day.

A soloist's pitch, is one that's led, cleaned, and hauled, and so half a pitch is one that's just lead, meaning that you clean and haul the pitch the following morning. This approach works on many levels. First it's vital to set a pace that's sustainable and doesn't leave you exposed by exhaustion. Soloing requires sound judgment, and being strung out - especially in the dark - is a sure fire way to get into trouble. And so knowing your limits, and only climbing what you can comfortably do is the way to go. Keep a good safety margin by starting in the light and finishing before it gets dark. Darkness adds a whole knew set of problems for the soloist, and so is best avoided unless you plan on setting speed records.

Also having a rope fixed on the pitch above give an extra level of safety, as your belay is backed up by the belay above.

First thing I do is stack my ropes, which being tired the night before, I just left looped on the belay. I set both rope bags and carefully feed both the haul and lead lines into their bags (free end goes in first on lead line, free end goes in last on haul line). Once this is done I check that my lead rope is attached to the powerpoint of the belay correctly and backed up direct to a bolt. With my haul bag hanging from the powerpoint I know that a pull on the lead line will life up the bag, and help give a soft fall.


Next I get ready to climb, and sort out my rack. The big problem for me is that I don't know how to set up a tag rack (a remote cache of gear I can get while climbing), so do it the hard way this time and take all the gear I think I'll need. Luckily I have a supertopo guide, so know I can leave the big stuff behind. Never the less the double set of cams, pegs, hooks and krabs weighs a lot. I stick on my helmet, sun glasses (to protect my eyes fron sun, stone and steel), knee pads and gloves and I'm almost ready.

Now I tidy up the belay and put the ledge away (or secure it against the wall if I'm going to flag it) so that there is nothing that will snag my ropes.

I attach my Silent Partner to the line a few metres along from where it's attached to the belay, using two small screwgates (back to back). I stop and double check it's set correctly and give it a few tests.

I know take five metres of slack and tying a fig of eight attach it it another screwgate direct to my belay loop.

Now I attached the haul line to the back of my harness.

I'm almost ready to go.

Now I do another check:

Harness done up
Rope soloist on correctly, with screwgates attached.
Back up knot tied.
Haul line attached.
Both ropes feeding direct from rope bags to me.
Make sure the haul line is attached to the belay at the far end.
Check I have all my rack, and that the belay is tidy.
Check I have a belay device so I can rap down my haul line.
Check I have my jumars or mini ascenders in case I fall into space.
Check I have water in my water bladder on my back.

It's time to go.

I start by clipping a krab into my highest bolt and clip in my lead line so that if I fall it won't be straight onto the powerpoint, then clip my aiders in and crank up. I place my first piece and move off the belay.

Now I'm off the belay I check the ropes are leading straight to me, and that the haul line is not twisted behind the lead line. Everything looks good, and so I move on.

The pitch takes a three hours to lead, longer than with a partner - but I'm taking it easy, my mantra being "I can't afford to fall". I know that a broken ankle would be far more serious alone, and something like a broken femur, or to be knocked unconscious could be terminal.

Twenty metres up I look back and realize I made a mistake; my haul line - instead of hanging free down to the belay, is trapped under the lead line where I've clipped into a cam a few moves belay. At this moment it's easy to swear and get angry, but a soloist needs to except that YOU made the mistake - and no one else, and so you should forgive yourself. Being angry and frustrated is just a waist of energy. The piece is probably close enough that you can clip all your aiders together and climb down them and free the haul line, but if it wasn't then you could build and anchor from your last two pieces and rap down and sort it.

Problem solved you carry on. The weight of your rack makes your shoulders hurt, but you stay focused, drinking every 15 minutes so as to avoid heat stroke.

You try and stay nice and relaxed, again reminding yourself that you must not rush. In your bladder pack you have a headtorch and a survival blanket and a energy bar, but you know you've moving well enough not to need them.

Towards the end of the pitch you're almost out of cams and krabs, and again wonder how you could carry more gear, but make it to the belay at last, feeling a huge surge of satisfaction as your aider's krab snaps tight onto the belay bolt.

Now - slowly and methodically you build the belay. Using a cordellete you create a powerpoint from the three bolts and pulling up the free end of the lead line, attached it with a screwgate direct to a bolt, then with another krab direct to the powerpoint. Next you unclip your haul line and attach it direct to the belay bolt, then attach it to your hauler and fix this to the powerpoint. Now you tie a fig of eight knot in the haul line AFTER it leaves the hauler (so the ropes comes up through the haul from the last belay - and then has a knot tied) and clip this in to the powerpoint as a second back up in case the hauler failed.

You take off your rack and attach it too the belay, along with your silent partner and you're ready to go.

You attach your belay device to the haul line, and then one jumar (or prussic loop) as a back up; then before unclipping from the belay and descending you check one more time that everything is good. Also check you have your jumars and hammer, which you may need when cleaning.

Everything looks good so you rap down.

It takes only a few second until you're level with the belay - hanging in space. To reach it yo must pull out all the remaining slack from the rope bag, until the rope snaps tight to the bags, allowing you to pull yourself in.

You've done it.

Now it's time to clean and haul.

The first thing to do is make the hauline tight from the bag to the belay above, as lowering the bags out at the moment would mean they would drop twenty metre to the end of the haul line (the pitch above is only forty metres), meaning you have to haul an extra twenty metres. To do this you can ether simply tie a new knot in the haul line (alpine butterfly works well), or use a hauling device (minitraction) attached to the haul bags (remote hauling). With the bags tight and ready to go, you lower them out into space.

Now you clean the pitch, and arrive at the belay above, and set about hauling.

At on point the bag gets caught under a small overlap in the wall. You lower the bags back a metre and haul again, something that often works, but not this time. So you try pushing the haul line out from the wall with your body as you haul, but again it remains stuck.

You clip into the lead line, so you have enough slack to rap down the haul line (not the side under load) to the bags. Once there you get back on your jumars and haul while at the same time pulling the bags away from the wall. The bags move, and you jug back up the haul line to the belay (if the haul line broke, or the pulley failed, you'd be back up by the lead line). Another option - if you didn't have enough lead line - would be to rap down the lead line to the bags, and use the remote hauler (mini traction) to haul the bag over that section. If using a remote haul set up, make sure that the hauler is back up so that if it fails, the haul bag doesn't just shoot off the rope.

The bag arrives at the belay at last, and you secure it.

The afternoon winds are picking up, so you pull out the rope bags and stack both ropes - after all the best way to avoid a problem on a big wall, is to kill it before it becomes one.

Another pitch is in the bag, and although you have time to lead half the next pitch you decide the break out the ledge and just chillax, after all whats the rush?

In the next installment I'll go through tagging your rack and the fantastic continuous loop method of roped soloing.



]]> Driven to madness tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.655 2010-06-08T20:24:19Z 2010-06-11T03:08:20Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com Driven through the post. Opening it made me feel a bit ill, probably as seeing what I'd seen a million times before on my screen - but now in print - made it all seem like a bad dream come true. For those who don't know this is the first of many - maybe - in-depth (sounds better than anal or nerdy) technical climbing manuals, the sort of thing far too long for a mag to print (15,000 words +) and no publisher would publish. It's also too much work to give away for free, and I'm guessing that my total world market is about 500 people!

First impression are at A4 (well 8inch x 11.5inch) it's much bigger than I thought, and also thinner, but if I'd made it the same size as say John Midderndorf's Big Wall climbing it would probably be thicker, and it looks the same kind of quality. Due to the low interest expected in this it's been printed on demand by Lulu.com, which is the only commercial way to do a short run like this.

My plan has always been to use this one as test bed for more mainstream topics (like hauling!), both to work out the format and pricing as well as develop a style I liked, and I think this is spot on (at the moment), but look forward to feedback.

Price was a tough one, and I originally worked on a full colour version, then found to my dismay that it bumped up the price, so switched to B&W (out went nice colour images and illustrations). Then I said 'fuck it' and just did it in colour anyway. We're talking £'s here, not the national debt, so why compromise?

Price is £20 for a print copy or £10 for a download version, and although is maybe more than is normal for climbing media, but is cheaper than equivalent techie manuals for say web design. Due to the economy of scale, any less and it's not worth even bothering (Dave Macload's print on demand book is £15 and has no pics - so lets say pics and illustrations cost £5 extra). Anyway why am I defending myself!

If you're a tight arsed climber then don't buy it!

You get will be able to buy copies in climbing shops (guess most won't stock it though), or via amazon, but the best option is just to go here and get it from Lulu (takes about 3 or 4 days).

Anyway sorry for the wait - number two (Down - a book about descending) will be faster (I hope!!!) ]]> ROPE SOLOING 101 PART 2 tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.654 2010-06-04T03:46:37Z 2010-06-04T02:53:38Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com WARNING: This blog is not meant as instructional text, and is simply a description of how I rope solo. Rope soloing is highly dangerous and demands a great deal of experience and good judgment and in many ways is more dangerous than free soloing, due to an increased reliance on ‘systems’. Anyone wishing to rope solo should already have an extensive knowledge of all the systems and equipment needed, as well as a sound knowledge of themselves, their limits, and the reality of making a mistake.

Bottom line: Don’t rope solo.

The Fundamental Principles of rope soloing


There are a couple of ways to rope solo, but first lets begin with the basics.

1.The climber arrives at the bottom of the climb and creates an anchor for both up and down forces.

2.They attach the rope to themselves close to the anchor using either a knot (fig8 or clove hitch) or a mechanical auto locking belay device (silent partner, soloist), and begin to climb, placing gear as they go and clipping in.

3.If they fall they will be caught by either their knot or mechanical device. If they are using a knot they must adjust the knot to give themselves slack.

4.On reaching the top, they create an anchor that is strong for both an upward and downward force.

5.They now abseil back down the rope taking out their gear, or if the route is traversing, abseil down a second free hanging rope (or haul line) attached to the belay.

6.On reaching the ground, they strip the belay and climb back up the rope (via jumars or reclimbing) and begin again.

Using this system the climber is safeguarded in case of a fall, with the drawbacks being they must climb the pitch twice, and also abseil down the pitch, so in effect moving over the same ground 3 times. On a single pitch route this is fine, but on a very long route this requires a great deal of organization, stamina and the ability to be self aware (there is no one to check you but you).

Lets look at more detail at the components of the system.

The Anchor


The foundation of any rope soloing system is the anchor, as without a bomber anchor - good for both forces up and down - you don't have a system. When rope soloing, the rope is attached direct to the belay and acts as your belayers body (but not their breaking hand on the belay plate). Big walls with fixed anchors make soloing easy, as you have two or three bolts at each stance makes building anchors a no brainer. On trad routes things get a bit harder, especially one hard to protect ground, as finding simply a good anchor for a downward force is tough enough, let alone an upward pulling one. On my aborted shot at soloing the eiger, one of the toughest things was finding such belays, and each one probably took an average time of an hour to find (lots of searching around and digging). Another tough place is the Ben (I tried rope soloing Pointless once!), were having just a peg and a nut isn't inspiring enough to move on.

When building anchors cams and pegs tend to come into their own, as they tend to be multi directional, and as in normal anchors I will always go for an anchor that has 3 solid pieces in both directions (example 1: 3 pegs solid in both directions. Example 2: 2 cams good both ways, 1 nut good for a downward pull, 1 nut good for an upward pull, hence 3 pieces working in each direction).

Due to the fact you have nobody attached to the end of the rope, only a static belay, you can have a larger impact force. On bleak aid routes this is reduced by having the rope go from the belay to the haul bags, hence they are lifted up in fall, giving a softer catch. Some people also attach a ripper sling to their powerpoint, and I've also played around with using the shock absorber of a Petzl Zyper, threading the metal part onto my rope.

Stacking


One of the most important lesson of rope soloing is good - well immaculate - rope management, namely stacking. This is vital as your ropes will be fed to you remotely, and if they snag or jam you'll be unable to sort out the mess - something that can either be a mighty pain in the ass, or worse, highly dangerous. On a big wall both the lead and haul line are fed into rope bags carefully, with the end from the belay going in last, and the end of the haul line (attached to the haul bags) going in first. Once your ropes are set you can get ready to climb.

The Back-up


The one component of your soloing system you should never skip is your back up knot. This acts as your last line of defense if your primary belay system fails (and it does). Secondly without it you will find that mechanical belay devices will not work smoothly and jam up. The reason is a back up knot holds the weight of the dead rope, which can be considerable once you're a way from the belay.
The back up knot can be any of your choosing (fig 8, clove hitch or alpine butterfly) and is clipped into a screwgate attached to your belay loop. Generally one tied then clipped, then the previous knot is untied. The amount of slack needed varies depending on rope diameter and device, and it's good to tie a new knot well before it goes tight.


Potential problems



Avoiding slip back


Once you get to a certain height the weight of the live rope below (the rope you're clipping gear into) will cause the rope to slip back through the device, leading to slack building up on the live rope (not good). To avoid this you can tie figure of eights into the live rope and clip this into gear - thereby taking the weight off the rope above, or using prussic knots (see part 2).

Avoiding cross over


If using a haul line it's vital that your haul line always remains on top of the lead line. Crossing ropes, or twisting will mean you will have to rap under your lead line (could be a problem on very steep routes), but worse still when you release your haul bags the haul line will be under the lead line. Again this can either be a might pain in the arse - or worse highly dangerous if on a big traverse.

Clipping the live rope - not the dead rope


When clipping gear, it's quite easy to clip in the wrong rope, and so it's vital to double check each time that the rope you are using goes through all the gear.

In the next installment I'll go through the standard big wall system step by step.

]]> Alex and Uli speed climbing The Nose on 5.20.10 tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.653 2010-05-26T15:30:47Z 2010-05-26T03:40:48Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com
www.ukclimbing.com ]]> ROPE SOLOING 101 Part 1 tag:andy-kirkpatrick.com,2010:/7.652 2010-05-19T18:07:11Z 2010-05-24T04:10:13Z psychovertical andy@psychovertical.com WARNING:  This blog is not meant as instructional text, and is simply a description of how I rope solo.  Rope soloing is highly dangerous and demands a great deal of experience and good judgment and in many ways is more dangerous than free soloing, due to an increased reliance on ‘systems’.  Anyone wishing to rope solo should already have an extensive knowledge of all the systems and equipment needed, as well as a sound knowledge of themselves, their limits, and the reality of making a mistake. 

Bottom line: Don’t rope solo.

What is rope soloing?

Free soloing is the truest expression of a climber’s freedom, cruising up the rock, alone and unnumbered by safety gadgets.  But even the best free soloer, pushing their limit, may find a section of the climb where success is uncertain - where a fall would mean death.  In this situation they will either back off, fall off, just go for it, or employ some kind of safe guard until they pass this section.  There are many examples of this in alpine solos (Ueli Steck rope solos short sections of many of his alpine climbs), and I covered this type of soloing a while back in my “winter soloing” piece.  But what about climbs where the majority of the pitches are too hard to consider free soloing?  In this situation you need to employ systems that allow you to move as if you had a partner, and one that can progress up the climb with you. 

There are several full bore rope soloing systems around, designed primarily for big wall climbing, and have been tried and tested over the decades, from Bonatti on the Dru right through to futuristic solos on Baffin and Antarctica. 

Why bother?

Soloing a big alpine face without a rope in a few hours - rather than days - is a real buzz, but in many ways it’s not a patch on spending time on that face; experiencing more deeply what it is that drew you there in the first place, the views, the bivys, the moods of the mountain.  The legendary soloist Ivano Ghirardini (first winter solo of the Eiger, Matterhorn and Jorasses) was a man who would probably find todays need for speed quite odd, believing that the bivy was a vital ingredient of any climb (but maybe that’s just because he was slow, and felt under pressure by hot shots like Profit?).  Rope soloing gives you the ability to spend days, weeks… or longer, all alone with the mountain, every inch gained, gained by your toil alone.  Having rope soloed a few things, I think that maybe it’s the highest test of a climber, requiring everything you have (physical, emotional, mental as well as skill wise), and also the most rewarding.

Rope soloing: The gear

Rope soling ‘breaks’

When rope soloing instead of being belayed, you belay yourself, and so a ‘break’ is a device or technique used in place of your belayers hand.  You have two main types of ‘break’ one mechanical and one using knots.

Knot breaks

Clove Hitch

By far the best, safest and most foolproof belay belay break for rope soloing on big walls with a lot of aid is the clove hitch.  This is because the knot is always tied, and even when being loosened, will still catch you in a fall.  A clove hitch can be adjusted one handed, but it’s best not to dwell on what would happen if you fell with your fingers in the knot! The downside of the clove hitch is that on anything but a snails pace it’s a pain in the arse (you can clip a biner through a strand of the clove hitch to aid pulling slack through, but if this was to clip into something in a fall then the knot would fail).  Never the less knowing how to rope solo with a clove hitch should be in the tool kit of all climbers, as it’s a fantastic tool both for self rescue, and when faced with immovable rope drag (I’ll let you work that one out).

When soloing with a clove hitch I would use either a large steel Maillon, a twistlock forged HMS or two HMS krabs back to back (a single HMS is admissible due to the fact when rope soloing you always have a back up knot - otherwise your whole life would depend on one krab - not good).

Figure 8

The figure of eight can be used when on easier ground, and tends to be tied with plenty of slack, allowing you to make a few moves, then tie another one, and you could even pre tied a number of knots.  Downside is a figure 8 is a tough one to tie one handed, and you have to be careful switching between one knot and the other. One way to do this is to use two screwgates back to back, clipping the new knot into one, then the other, then unclipping the old knot in the same style (this means you always have a knot through both krabs).

Super Prussic

Although many climbers in the early days used the a super prussic loop, it’s more a testament to their lack of falls, rather then the prussics holding power, that they are still alive!  Bottom line is a prussic will slip and melt in a fall - not good.

Mechanical

There are several mechanical devices people use for soloing, but only 3 which are designed for the job, plus when it comes to such devices nothing is assured!!!!

The Pretenders

Grigri

Although it’s not meant for rope soloing, the Petzl Grigri is by far the most popular rope soloing device, probably due as much to its low price as well as peoples experience with it, rather then its safety record.  Some climbers modify their grigri to allow the rope to feed more smoothly, or attach a loop of cord or wire so they can fix it to a chest harness, but both involve drilling or filing, both of which compound the feeling that you’re doing something wrong.  Beyond the fact that most climbers are comfortable using a grigri, its main drawback is the fact that it’s very easy for the handle to become tangled or snagged, and so stop the unit from locking off.  I’ve used the grigri a few times and have taken two falls, one that it caught, the other that it didn’t (I was saved by an aider clipping into a piece of gear on the way down!).  Another problem is the device can only be attached by one karabiner and unlike a knot, has a good chance of loading the karabiner badly (a brit soloist took a monster lob off el Cap a few years ago when his DMM Belay Master attached to his grigri snapped - being saved by his back up knot) .  When using a grigri I would use a steel mailon to attach it to my harness, and make sure to always have a back up knot, as well as reduce any clutter that could fowl the handle.

Jumer

Charles Cole had an interesting system where he fed the rope through a belay device as normal, but then used a jumar as a break hand, attaching it to his harness via a sling.  I’ve never used this system, but guess if you get the length right of the sling, and a non toothed jumar (Rock exotica rescue), it could work, allowing rope to be fed out.  Beyond this system, you should avoid using any kind of jumer (including Petzl tractions), as in a fall you will do a great deal of damage to the rope, plus such forces are way beyond their design spec.

The Bonifide

Rock Exotica Soloaid

The soloaid is best describes as a mechanical clove hitch, allowing a climber to more easily grab slack as they climb.  It’s also small and compact and relatively cheap, and proves a great degree of security.  I used one of these when trying to solo a new winter route on the Troll Wall and although it was great for aid, when it came to free climbing (I switched to the Rimond route) it was a non starter.  Bottom line is probably best to stick with a clove hitch.

Rock Exotica Soloist

The soloist has probably the best pedigree of any soloing device, and has been use on many of the big solo climbs of the past two decades, including all Catherine Destivel’s solos (Eiger, Dru and Matterhorn).  This device, unlike the Soloiad, allows free movement with no self feeding required, a boon for free climbers. 

The device is tied (hence no problem with karabiner breaking) to your harness (I use a loop of 7mm rope), and then clipped to a chest harness.  If you get the set up right it’s not too bad, but if you get it wrong you can feel pretty restricted.  The rope feeds into the device, and locks against a cam in a fall (unlike the grigri the cam is safe from tangles or snags).  The big problem with the unit is that it don’t work in an upside down fall - which I guess is a pretty big problem.  The chest harness is designed to reduce this problem, but never the less this drawback is always in the back of ones mind when using it.  It’s worth noting, that although the Grigri has many drawbacks, it should lock in a head first fall.  Luckily the Soloist has all been superseded by the following device, and really only has a place (along with the grigri) for winter soloing, where it has the advantage of having less moving parts, and therefore less prone to freezing up.

The silent parter

The pinnacle of mechanical soloing devices, perfect for aid or free, safe in any kind of fall, and used on such solos as Hans Florines solo ascent of the Nose and Half dome in a day!
The silent partner is best described as being like the locking mechanism in a seat belt; it will run smoothly until you pull too fast, at which point it locks.  This mechanism is inside a steel polished barrel, around which a clove hitch is tied.  What happens is the barrel rotates, allowing the knot to run, then locks down as soon as you pull too fast.  The strength of the unit, both in the way its designed to be used (it’s attached by two karabiners) and it’s simplicity (there’s nothing to snag and foul it) making it the best soloing device by miles.

Other Gear

The Rope

A rope for rope soloing needs to be pretty robust, especially for very long climbs, as you may be giving it’s a lot more hammer than normal: climbing with it, absieling down it, then climbing it with jumars.  The good thing about rope soloing is that there is no drag at all, and if you do it right, also very little weight, so on tough climbs for for 10.5 or 11mm ropes.  If you’re on a big wall you will probably need a second haul line/ rap line, and I tend to go for a 10mm dynamic, so I’ve got a spair rope in case the lead line gets trashed.

Rope Bags

Rope bags are a vital tool for anything that’s longer than one pitch, allowing the rope to feed out without snags (a tangle forty metres below you on a run out pitch is not good!).  It often seems that most of your time on a big rope solo is spent stacking ropes into bags, and so you soon become intimate with the variations in good design.  I use a wide range of bags, including ones made by A5, Fish, BD and Aiguille, but you can easily make your own, just make sure it’s nice and big and has some system of keeping it open.

Bungee Prussic loops

This small prussic loops made from thin bungee cord are vital for smooth rope soloing (as you will find in the next article), allowing the rope below you to be held, rather than hanging from your waist (and probably locking up your belay device - or worse still, sucking a ton of slack through the system).  Bungee is used rather than thin cord, as in a fall this cord will break (as the rope is pulled through the system as it stretches), and bitter experience has flagged up the fact that 2mm or 3mm cord breaking under load can cut like a knife - not good when it’s next to your rope.

Next part: systems

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