[Me on "Still Crazy After All These Years"]
It started simmering again.
I was approaching the upper crux on a flash attempt of Fat City Direct (10d) at the Nears, and the temptation to start cursing the rock was getting the best of me. I'd used up my .2s and under already, and as I wrestled for a rest with a right forearm on a shelf, I could see that the only potential gear in the final horizontal was - you guessed it - .2 and under.
For better or worse, at some point years ago I adopted a fear-suppression "technique" of carrying on a verbal argument with the rock and nobody in particular within earshot of the climb. It's not an approach I'm proud of, but it's what has quieted my mind enough to keep trying hard when I'm redlining but don't want to quit. These days, I think I do a better job limiting the frequency of irrational outbursts or at least leaving them on the climb once my feet hit the ground. To all of those who've had to endure me, I can only sincerely apologize and keep trying to do better with age. Bad habits are hard to break. I promise to belay you all as long as you'd like with all the love and support I can muster in return.
[Cari on "Feast of Fools"]
After what seemed like an eternity on the "stance", I did some quick calculus and surmised that even without the final gear, a very long fall on the upper crux should still be clean. I pressed ahead, probing over the roof for a supposed right-hand crimp, not finding it, and downclimbing back to the "stance". On the umpteenth probing iteration, I reached up at what seemed like the full extent of my arm span (it wasn't) and finally felt a thin (at least for my sausage fingers) edge. I full-crimped with vigor, leaned out to a left-hand gaston, and began thrutching upward. Feeling like I was definitely about to pitch off, I spotted a potential downward-pulling edge, blindly crept up my smear feet under the roof, and tossed for it. Thankfully, it was legitimate, and I pulled over for the flash. Later that day, I didn't decode what felt like a cryptic sequence on another 10d, and bailed. A classic "you win some, you lose some" scenario.
The next few weeks of the trip, I made my peace with the frequent runouts I was unwilling to try on our last trip in 2020. I racked up bigger than I needed to for short climbs (hey - if you can't do the climb with a bit of extra weight on your harness, it's probably worth climbing again until you can). I read and tried to reconcile frequently-conflicting Mountain Project, Gunks App, and direct friend accounts of gear quality and crux difficulty. I sent two routes a number grade harder than anything I even tried here in 2020. I bailed again on routes a number grade lower than other routes I sent. I went to battle over and over with my Achilles' heel - scrunchy boxes and "crab crawl" traverses.
[The fall color mix in full glory]
You might not have guessed it on certain days, but overall, I'm ecstatic with the results. We enjoyed the full cycle of apparently one of the most vivid fall color changes in recent history. The rainouts were limited to under ~7 across 3.5 weeks. I reconfirmed that my trad leader head is indeed in great shape (after a major lull in 2020-early 2021). So many intricacies of roof movement setup and very particular gear placement nuances (behind conglomerate crystals in fiddly horizontals) were stored away for future reference.
Plus, returning to well-bolted sport climbs after this sort of trip feels like a mental cakewalk.
Thanks to our local hosts - Matt & Tanya. Just another major highlight in a long climbing career full of them.
[Trip mascots - Sonya & Hugo]
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