Isn’t it such a wonderful feeling when you can push yourself climbing without getting scared? Sometimes I feel like a bit of type 1 fun really is good for the soul.
This year during much of my trad climbing I’ve felt like Bambi skittering around on a slippery piece of ice. Its felt harder than ever to slip into that nirvana where I:
a) have the confidence to get on a route I know I will have to fight for
b) really fight once I’m on it.
Despite this, I was hoping a week of trad in the South pulling on jugs this September might give me one last chance of the year to properly relax into the trad. I was really looking forward to our trip until on Thursday Tim phoned me up at work and said the weather looked rubbish.
Two days later I found myself half asleep on a flight to Mallorca. Mallorca…hmmm. Somehow the thought of a week deep water soloing terrified me even more that trad does. I’d only ever tried it a couple times before but had found myself totally frozen up on easy routes, muscles stiff, begging me not to make a single move higher; and I certainly didn’t want to try anything I might actually fall in on.
With those memories in the back of my brain I told myself I’d be pretty psyched if I did a single f7a all week.
Anyway, perhaps the fact that it was sooo damn hot that it was actually enjoyable to fall in, or the fact that I was back in the land of a muerte, or that I realised as soon as I fell in once that you don’t know you’re off until you’ve hit the soup; that I was able to (almost) totally relax and have one of the funnest weeks climbing I’ve ever had.
Here are a few photos from the week: