Ravenswood - Gloucester, MA

Alex sends an Unknown V6/7 on an obscure boulder out in Gloucester, MA. Sick send by both him and the post-credits FA by Baby Logan (check it out).

Two From Lincoln

This is our first official climbing video released as Less Than Sponsored Productions. Super psyched about this! Even though it's only a short, two-climb video, it was a great experience to work with RAW footage and especially the 3D Text for the title in the beginning. I already know some things that I want to work on so that it's not as choppy but nonetheless we're excited to release it to the world. This is the beginning of what we hope to be a great year full of LTS videos. Hope you enjoy!

No Big Deal

Who's got the funk?? I'VE GOT THE FUNK!!! No, I am not referring to my awe inspiring dance moves. Seriously America, I've got talent. I am also not referring to the terrible odor which sometimes emanates due to my abundance of testosterone. These pits can get FUNKY! I'm not even talking about how I used to be able to rock out on a Clarinet...what a lady killer I was. What I AM talking about is the Greater than Great Depression I have been cast into after ripping off my damn toe in dodgeball and missing out on a trip to Hueco Tanks. No Big Deal right? FUNK THAT NOISE! HUECO TANKS! THE GOD DAMN QUINTESSENCE OF ALL THAT IS BOULDERING!!! HUECO TANKS!!! HIGHBALLS TO BOGGLE THE EYEBALLS! HUECO GOD DAMN TANKS!!! THE CHUCK NORRIS OF THIS WHOLE CLIMBING GAME!!!! oh funk it all....

(paradise lost)

"So Boof, what happened? I mean you just ripped off your toe?"

YUP.

While playing dodgeball, yes dodgeball, I was surging forward for a ball and it seems my big toe folded under my foot. We play in socks if you are having trouble with the visualization. Keep in mind this was the semifinals on tournament night and I may have had a couple swigs of JD to help keep me focused. At the time I felt like I stubbed my toe and tore my sock (hint, it wasn't my sock). I shrug it off because its finals night and I had some mofos to slaughter with my dodgeball skills. Just swallow the pain and play on.

I then proceeded to play dodgeball being the only player left against four. I had a surge of the most insane energy and began hurling balls like Dragonball Z and catching like Randy Moss. I was even screaming bloody murder every time I threw. The tide turned and we were moments from victory. Then, a loud whistle blow rose above the ruckus of the action. Turns out I was running on a bit of an adrenaline rush.

The Ref, "DUDE! You can't keep playing like that!"

"WHAT! WHY!" I yell back,  like a speed head crashing to reality.

"Look at the ground" he says.

I look at the ground and there is blood EVERYWHERE. We are talking some NC 17 type of gore. That's weird right? So I remove my green skeleton sock (which is now RUINED! DAMMIT!) and it appears that I have ripped my toe off. Whoops. There's even these white blobs of fat hanging out. I know, I know, too much information. But seriously, WHITE FAT BLOBS! hanging out of my toe. Who'd a thunk.

(bringing sexy back)

So, 9 stitches later the prognosis is that I ripped my toe open from the force and there seems to be no bone or tendon damage. Gosh o Golly, what a lucky duck right?

WRONG!

DON'T YOU REMEMBER! I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO TO HUECO GOD DAMMIT!

no big deal, no big deal, no big deal....

Nothing to worry about, I mean its great in New England in the winter and I love the cold, yum yum cocoa and chicken soup and big hugs. No big DEAL! I love it when during February break i get to stay at Metrorock and help all the screaming chittlins who for some damn reason have the whole week off from school!!! No BIG DEAL! I love donating money to the airlines, they are really in need of some charity. NO BIG DEAL!!! I HATE WARMTH AND SUNSHINE AND GOING TO A WORLD CLASS CLIMBING PARADISE!

If you are like me, and many a climber is, than you have found yourself stuck in this funk. You get psyched on an upcoming climbing trip and train your ass off, trying to become a climbing machine with a single purpose mission to seek and destroy all things climbable at your planned destination. Than, SMASH, your body pulls an "et tu Brute" and stabs you in the back, or in my case, rips off your toe. You are now left with no hope but to careen into an emotional well of suffering and anguish.

So what do we do with all this damn funk? James Brown might say we should "Get up off that thang." Personally I would rather grab on tight and crash into this sadness meteor style.

So here's my solution.

Step 1 - Self medicate: Perhaps a slow steady ride down Knob Creek is just what I need...smooooth.

Step 2 - Eat, Santa, eat: Use pity points. "Honey I could really go for some chinese....." (Insert pouty face and point to foot) Soon you will introducing your good friend General Gau will be visiting you on the Creek.

Step 3 - Vegetate:  It is high time I Hop aboard the Hogwarts express and watch all 8 Harry Potter movies in a row and than for a hand workout I can murder me some zombies on the Wii.

(Do you feel lucky?)

Step 4 - Recharge: Now time to sleep, A LOT. This immobility is taxing. It's high time I recuperate.

Step 5 - Rinse and Repeat.

Climbers need to take breaks and sometimes getting forced to take one is a fantastic prescription. Right?
Time to smash the lego puzzle that is my body to pieces and rebuild. Yeah! and Hueco, who needs Hueco right? I can just head to local Lincoln Woods, climb to the top of the pond boulder, and plummet into the welcoming watery abyss. No Big Deal. Right?

(Well, do you...punk?)

Fee Fie Foe Fum

          Perched in the crow's nest, looming over the sea of spectators, I cranked the volume dial and brought the bass booming to trembling zenith. Notorious Dark Horse MC Bryan Rafferty was bedecked in a blue tuxedo and top hat that could earn him an invitation to join the Mad Hatter for tea. As the beats blared MC Raff announced as climbings smartest young lady, Adrianna Jacobsen, promptly dispatched problem #1.  Amidst the growing excitement I thought to myself, "Are you not entertained?" These modern gladiators are going to make us climbing mortals realize the true breadth of their power. Hell, they may even earn their freedom, or perhaps just a fat stack of crispy cash.

          As the women's finals continued the excitement of the room grew to a bubbling boil. Each contender establishing new high points. As the three heavyweights of the evening duked it out it was clear we had ourselves a rumble. Each of these ladies had won a Dark Horse earlier in the season and all were hungering for their second course. Isabelle Faus was on a clear mission to mutilate, while Angie Payne's cool calm demeanor was hard not to root for. The Floridian jaguar, Megan Martin, got off to a bumpy start on problem #2 but the fire in her stare was proof of her determination to make up for it with the final two problems.

          Turning the big fat music dial a few notches to the right the crowd and I were now ready for problem #4. With MC Raff amping up the crowd, Isabelle Faus took to the wall. Wasting no time, Faus effortlessly blazed through the section that had thwarted the previous attempts of others. Battling on she quickly established a new high point and a comfortable lead. Damn! She is strong. Megan Martin, needing a flash, shed her shirt in proper problem 4 fashion. She quickly rotated through the complex and powerful opening sequence but in the end her unparalleled power was a lemon drops squeeze short of pulling her through the sloper pinch crux. This left veteran Angie Payne to tackle Faus from her saddle atop the Black Stallion of climbing prestige. 

          Until this point both Faus' and Paynes' finals outcomes were identical, flashing problem #1 and #2 and crushing their way to the penultimate sloper on the evasive #3. If Payne wanted the win she needed to hit a new high point. Breezing though the start Payne creeped into the crux section. With new ankle breaking heel hook beta, Payne threw herself at the crux section time after time, reaching Faus' high point. As I watched her twisted foot I waited for it snap off as she contorted it into positions that made my foot blush. Dirty. Still no go. Giving the universal MAKE SOME NOISE arm wave Payne beckoned for the crowds support on her las effort. Not wanting to let this climbing goddess down the crowds cheering boomed like a Kansas City thunderstorm. Try as she may, the veteran could not break new ground on problem #4.   As the countdown clock ticked its way to zero, it was Faus who remained triumphantly perched atop the demon eyed steed.

          Intermission came to a close as the changeover blasted up the Men's finals at lightening speed. The men all made mince meat of the cat dyno finish for Men's #1. As the finalist burned through the first few problems, Paul Robinson seemed poised to take the crown with 2 flashes and a top. However the pure power of #4 proved to be this superman's Cryptonite, leaving the crown available for the taking.

        Coming just short of the finish on #3 Nick Picarella zoned out for problem #4. As he approached the powerfest before him Nick's eyes were a blazing inferno. This man needed a flash. Perched feet away from the finishing jug I watched as Nick attacked this problem as a legendary warrior would charge headfirst into a wave of adversity.  A few move's in it became clear where this was going. With an Aura of determination pulsating through him and hyper charging the crowd Picarella went Chuck Norris on this problem. As Norris would slam a revolving door, Picarella slammed his hands down on the jug finish, Unleashing a guttural below that would scare a Gorilla. I half expected him to backflip off the finishing jug. He was now the man to beat.

          Unfortunately for him the Dark Horse attracts super humans from all across North America, and returning champion Daniel Woods had no plans of giving away his title. With 2 flashes and a top nothing short of a miracle would stop Woods from using the competitors bones to make his bread. Fee, Fie, Foe, Fum, Woods came to Boston to get it done. As Jack easily climbed up the Magic Beanstalk, Woods trounced his way up problem 4. Damn it must feel good to be a gangstah. There was no toppling this giant.

          In the coming minutes the three champions of the earlier comps tried in vain to knock 2 time Dark Horse champion Woods from his elevated mount. Young Gun Josh Levin couldn't pull of the insane deadpoint on #3 and even invented some of the gnarliest beta of the night in the process. Jimmy Webb and Vasya Vorotnikov both came at it like the beasts they are known to be but in the end Woods was left to gallup off into the sunset, and home to Colorado with prize money. 

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Angie Payne just coming short on women's 3

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Nick Picarella almost topping #3

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Adrianna Jacobsen peeking her way through #3

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Paul Robinson making short work of Men's 3

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Woods topping #3

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Daniel Woods with static beta on Men's 3

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The champ closing in on the kill

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The champ is here

     

          

A Very Boofy Christmas

A Very Boofy Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all cross the walls

Not a climber was crimping, or taking lead falls.

The ropes were all hung from the tippity top.

To save the top ropers from a big scary drop.

The boulderers were nestled all snug on their mats,

Wearing tiny ass shoes and tiny ass hats.

And I in a onesie, with white padded feet,

Put on some Jay-Z, and danced to the beat.  

When out in the alley there arose such a clatter,

I shrieked and eeked as I ran down the ladder.

Away to the exit I flew like a flash,

Fearing some hoodlum to be after my cash.

The moon abreast on the trash all around,

Made it all still look gross and dirty and brown.

When what to my wondering eyes did I see,

But Raff dressed as Santa sipping Hennessy.

I thought to myself “this is pretty damn weird”

Then slinked away as the jolly drunk neared.

More rapid then whippers the setting crew emerged, 

and Raff called them out as the scary men surged.

Now Davey, now Grodzki, now Haggs, and Yozzie.

On Joshy, on Veazie, on Thom and the Aussie.

To the top of the boulders to the top of the cave,

they came at the walls like teens to a rave.

As dry leaves and fire do make conflagration,

The setters they sprang to each climbing station.

Up to the rope tops they all quickly rose,

Shouting out curses, and the lowest of blows.

And then, on the boulders, I heard someone stumbling,

The imposter of Santa appeared to be bumbling. 

Raff swigged from his bottle and gazed all around

Then, at the stairs, tumbled strait to the ground.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his toes,

But his clothes were now bloodied by a leak from his nose.

With a bundle of holds flung over his shoulder,

He created some mischief at every boulder.

His eyes how the wandered, his breath how it stank,

His suit all covered by the drinks that he drank.

His droll little mouth was stuck in a smirk,

Seemed that any second he might go berserk.

The stump of a cigar he held tight in his jaw,

You could tell he feared not for breaking the law.

He had broad shoulders and arms like a tree,

And i smelled his BO as he came closer to me.

I think he had a chubby, tucked in his sweat pants,

Of this i became certain when he started to dance.

A wink of an eye and a twist of his head, 

soon gave me to know there was plenty to dread.

He spoke not a word, sticking solely to his work,

Creating the climbs of the cleverest jerk.

He was done within minutes, he really did cruise, 

Which worked out for him and his bottle of booze.

.

Then he sprang out the door, to his team he did yell,

and I was excited to finally be rid of their smell.

But i heard him exclaim, ‘ere he departed,

“I sandbagged them all, and I also just farted.”

Real Time Status Update

(warning this post contains more swearing than usual)

As I was sitting in the car on Saturday evening looking at the blood stains on my pants and studying the effects of missing skin on iphone techology I read a message from earlier in the day, "Fuck Rock Climbing."  The hilarity of this was not lost on me as I remembered the vehment rage in which I scratched out this eloquent text message in hopes of illiciting support and compassion from a climbing friend.  I scrolled up and read the next climbing related message, "So excited to be out here, sorry you can't make it..."  It was a matter of two hours from when my mood had gone from optimistic and excited to a hulk like rage.   The emotional roller coaster that is my mood when climbing varies greatly from happy child at Christmas to depressed divorce at a singles night.  I am an emotional climber, "fuck" spews forth from my lips in times of triumph and defeat in equal volumes.  I've always known my mood varies greatly on a climbing day, I just never realized how much until there was documented proof to show my Jekyll/Hyde transformation.

This text exchange got me thinking about communication in our digital age.  I was in the middle of the woods in New Hampshire lamenting about my misfortunes of falling off a problem a few times via electronic signals, voodoo and magents (I don't know how text messages work).  Friends upload pictures and videos of sends instanteously from the crags via smart phones.  My newsfeed on saturday morning is filled with people heading out to the crag and then that evening it's filled with news of the day's triumphs.  We live in a digital age where our thoughts, emotions and desires are communicated to the world in a matter of seconds.  This abundance of information is both a curse and a blessing, but that debate asside I wondered what my facebook wall would look like if I took the time to update it with the rise and falls of a climbing day.  I'd imagine it'd look something like this...

FA Gets the Name and the Girl

The Fly, Realization, Apollo Reed, Have Guns will Travel, Left Arete, Right Arete, Harry Butthole Pussy Potter.  These are route names, some are good, some are creative, some are shitty.  Spend time pouring through any guide book and route/problem names will fly off of in a frenzied manner, most with no pattern or reason to them.  Climb at the Obed and one can tick off “Pet Cemetery” and “Maximum Overdrive”, which plays with the crags name of Stephen King’s Library.  Climb at the Mighty Mouse Boulder in Boone and crush classics like Mighty Mouse, Klamper, and The Nipple, and it will leave a person wondering where all the varying names come from. 

            Route names are a funny gem of the climbing community, paying homage to our favorite classic rock songs, “Highway to Hell”, describing the first ascent, “Fuzzy Undercling” or evoking mythological beasts, “Halcyon.”  The list goes on, but the only consistency to route names is that the first ascensionist gets to name it.  I learned this first hand sitting in the crowds of the Hound Ears competition before it was the Triple Crown, when a classic hard man was awarded a cash prize for nailing an FA.  As he stumbled up on the stage with a bottle of Jaeger in his hand to collect his winnings, he was asked, “what are you gonna name it?”  “Jaegermeister” he replied looking at his bottle and to the crowd as if this was the most obvious answer ever.  Now when a person climbs this problem and marks it on their score sheet, they write down Jaegermeister.  To think how easily the name could have been; chocolate milk, bud light, PBR or four loko.  Watching this old crusher assign a name to a climb inspired me to secure an FA and name a route something epic and classic.  Something that would bring my family honor and cause people to sing me praises.  It took me eight years to bag an FA and when I finally had the chance to immortalize my self, my family or my friends, I instead settled upon “Five du Monde.”  The problem was a v5, it sat on the Fin du Monde boulder at Stack Rock, AR and my first attempt of naming it “moss mouth” was shot down by the guide book writer.

            As a route setter, naming routes at the gym is the bane of my existence, no one really refers to the climbs by the name instead they are the red route on rope 7, or the 12d in the back.  All the creativity of “horcruxed” is lost after the route comes down in a month.  Still I strain my brain, scratch out the name in sharpie and giggle when I tape it to the wall.  If you are not a route setter, nor do you get paid by Five-Ten to travel the world and put up FA’s the chances that you will get to name a rock climb are pretty small.  There are two ways to bag an FA, climb v15 or find some place so fucking remote that no one has climbed the moderates.  I chose the latter, this is my story of my first and only FA.

            Stack Rock, AR is the most remote climbing location I have ever been to.  It sits in the Ozarks, which are pretty remote by themselves, but to get to Stack Rock the directions are as follows, drive from the small city of Little Rock, to the small barely a city of Harrison, drive fifteen miles outside of that through winding mountain roads, until you get to a dirt road, drive fourteen more miles down the dirt road and you are at the parking lot.  Walk a mile from there and you will be at Stack Rock.  I found myself out there with Daniel and Cole.  Daniel is the Arkansas strong man, he has put down or up most of the hard climbs in the state.  He is a great guy and one of the most positive climbing partners I’ve ever had.  Cole is the author of the Arkansas guide book that has brought such national prominence to Horseshoe Canyon Ranch and Cowell.  We went out there to get some photos, draw a topo of the area, and bag a second ascent of a Fred Nicole project, sent by D. Woods.

            We made the two(ish) hour drive to Harrison from Little Rock, where we played too much Call of Duty the night before.  With a late start we drove the hour and half from the small town to the deep recess of nowheresville.  Side note: at about mile 8 of this 14 mile trek down the dirt road, there sits a house, it is the scariest house I have ever seen and is basically the setting for every back woods Hollywood slasher film.  We parked at the pull off, grabbed our pads and set off.  The beauty of the day was the absence of cell phone service, any noise of civilization, and a boulder field to ourselves.  The frightening part was the absence of cell phone service, any noise of civilization and the suffocating feeling that hill people could descend on us at any moment and I’d have to maim Cole and Daniel in order to save myself in the impending foot race to safety. 

            The first half of the day was spent walking around the woods looking at all of the lines to be climbed, inspecting the few that had been climbed and clearing away moss from some that could be “projects of the future.”  The area was spread out but each boulder had 3-5 climbs on it.  The rock was southern sandstone with grey hues mixed with orange swirls and rust iron veins.  The biggest find of the morning was the “warm up” boulder.  It was basically a 20 by 20 boulder where every six inches was the biggest jug you’ve ever grabbed in your life.  From there we went to the the Fin du Monde boulder and flailed on the “v8 project.”  On the left side there was a tree that had fallen during a winter storm and it opened up a new line.  This new line was yet to be cleaned, climbed or named.  The race was one to bag the FA and name the climb. 

We stacked the pads and set to the task of cleaning the problem.  Cleaning a problem is the worst experience ever.  It involves scraping moss formed over thousands of years from it’s happy home.  The moss ends up in your mouth, hair, eyes, and teeth.  It is not pleasant.  To get a better reach on the holds I climbed a tree nearby.  This tree was about six inches around and began swaying from my weight with one foot still on the ground.  I managed to get about three or four feet up on this wobbely little bastard and could scrape at upper holds when the tree swayed with in reach.  Cole and Daniel remained on the ground scrubbing feet and the starting holds.  There was a beautiful seem on the left hand side of the arête and that looked like it would provide a beautiful lay back to the mantle.  I asked for a stick to clean the cobwebs and other goop out of the crack.  Cole was walking around looking for a way to clean the top out and Daniel went looking for another long stick to clean upper holds.  Still swaying on the tree I jammed a tiny stick into the seam.  “crack.” “FFFFFFFFucck, ROOOOOOck” I shrieked as the seam completely separated from the boulder sending a tv size portion of rock to the ground.  Picture a forty inch flat screen tv and that was the size of rock that came crashing to the ground exactly where Cole and Daniel had been maybe 15 seconds prior.  I stood swearing on the tree staring at the rock laying on the crash pads and the now new problem in front us.  I jammed the stick around, not trusting that the rock was sturdy.  With no new pops or cracks we queued up for the FA. 

I went first and came crashing to the ground after a foot broke.  Daniel tried next and slapped to a dirty “hold” that was really just dirt.  Cole tried some silly beta and failed as well.  I got back on and tried again.  Grabbing dirty jugs to dirty crimps, to a lay back and then a mossy top out, I successfully pressed out the climb.  In so doing, I ended up with a huge chunk of moss in my mouth.  I coughed and smiled, I had an FA, I was going to name a problem!  I said, “moss mouth” because that was what stuck out to me, the moss in my mouth.  I was vetoed.  Apparently, Moss Mouth is not a good climbing name, so I settled on Five du Monde, as previously explained.  I have yet to bag another FA nor have I had the pleasure of naming a route other than on plastic.  But if you read the soon to be released Arkansas Bouldering Guide, there in shiny letters will be “Five du Monde” FA: Nicholas Hall. 

That’s how easy it is to bag an FA.  Drive thirty miles outside of any civilization in one of the most remote areas of the country.  Hike for a while, break off spare holds in an attempt to injure your FA competitors and then climb a dirty choss pile to the top!  Then with moss in your mouth and glory in your eyes you can say whatever dumb name you want and people will have to adhere to it!  Although don’t use the title, “Nicholas Hall the greatest man ever alive, who’s sexual prowess and understanding of fine wines will be told about for generations” because that is what I’m going to name my next FA.