The 10am departure turned out to be lazy. Lazy need not equal bad, but, in this case, it meant we arrived at the parking lot to see inventive parking. By see, I mean participate. Nothing too fancy on our part, we simply added onto the end of the established line of parking spots. As we geared up, people filled some nearby grassy areas. And then some more people did the same along another stretch obviously not meant for parking. One guy went all-out, in that he parked on a mound, the sedan nearly more vertical than horizontal. No idea if such a position harms a vehicle, though the owner of the car will know more on this topic than me come later in the day. Tomorrow, we shall aim at least an hour earlier. I suspect others will have learned a comparable lesson. An arms race recast into a quest for parking. That’s what our mountains have become, it seems, at least when they offer stellar climbing, multitudes of it, much of it varying in style.
New Hampshire has provided us ample people. For being the 41st state in terms of population, we’ve had our most up-and-personal experiences here. We stopped at a Qdoba, which technically was in Massachusetts, not too far from the border, but for the sake of the narrative let’s pretend we were in The Granite State rather than The Bay State. It was located in a strip mall. Or, maybe it was an outdoors mall. I don’t know where one classification morphs into the other one. There were many stores and restaurants. No music piped from speakers hidden in the bushes, though. but it did appear that there may have been more stores behind the initial ell-shape of commerce that held our destination. Like the Rumney lot, this place was afire. People everywhere. Cars everywhere. So many cars. It felt like another realm, where people had truly beat back COVID-19. Of course, everyone wore masks, so it’s not like they have a vaccine and have kept it on the downlow. Nothing to see up here, in NH, don’t mind the needle marks and our hale nature. No. Not at all.
We’re renting an Airbnb. The host saw us roll up and charged out to greet us. She then gave us a tour. Here’s the oven. This is the fridge. Important stuff. Insider baseball. No masks. I don’t know if I’ve been in any homes with people w/o a mask in months, until this trip. Going back to the crag, an abundance of cars equals lots of climbers. Some people work masks. Most didn’t. We’d didn’t. Souls everywhere. Hot breath spraying gobs of whatever. Everywhere. A whole new world. That is, life up here in New Hampshire is a whole new world, as in the old world. Before the plague. We’re in 0 AtP. Next year will be 1 AtP. Then 2 AtP. You get the idea.
We jumped on a 5.7. Jug haul. Fun for the grade. It starts with a large roof that you can pull with one jug and a high foot. Quite a roof. Looks pretty cool. Especially before you do it. From there you wander about grabbing jugs. I did clip from a crimp, though. I don’t think that I had to do so, but it felt right. Spicy. It’s almost—well, it probably already is—pumpkin spice latte season, so, yes, I clipped from a crimp. Spicy. Years ago, my first visit here found me on Armed and Dangerous, 10a or 10b or something. OMG. It was tough. I still could feel the trauma. I had top roped it last time. There are some smooth bands that you shimmy up to reach a small roof that was a desperate move for me last time. I can see it all so clearly. Then, at the top, you power into a roof and make multiple moves all while severely overhung. Panic struck, whenever I thought to get on the route again. Turns out that it’s soft. I was surprised. It went easily.
Cocky and redeemed, I jumped on a 10a. I almost peeled off when going to bolt 2 to 3. Nearly the whole climb was tough. Not many great holds. Positioning remained key, time and time again. Don’t-fall-here zones proliferated portions of the route. At one spot, I had to carry the rope with me to get it around a rock. We used this route as an entrance to second pitch 11b climb, which was tricky, quite tricky. It was hard and covered with spider webs. Kelly led this pitch. Spider webs clung to her hand for the remainder of our day. Only water, soap, and committed scrubbing could peel the webs from her flesh. After the thuggy 11b, we celebrated with a 10c that had one ridiculous move. By one, I mean that you did one powerful move and then discovered that the hold you struggled to reach actually sucked. As did the next hold, and then you had to keep going. There was no retreat. No downclimbing. It was wonderful, when it ended, that is. Seriously, though, it was a fun climb. Maybe not so enjoyable while you were thick in the crux. Looking back, the crux of this 10c may have been the hardest, most committing series of moves on any route during our trip.
Last, we got on an 11a. The guide calls it technical. By technical, I think they want you to feel good about trusting the glassy slab foot that you use to exit the dihedral. The dihedral isn’t too bad, for the crimp edges offer bite, but that foot. Ugh, that foot was something. I was not too happy about trusting it and then my foot slipped, but I held on and came back for more dicey, glassy love. Somehow it all worked out, and it serves as the first 11a that I’ve onsighted. Though, I see that people call it a 10d. Glamor achieved. Glamor downgraded.
Sunlight abandoned us so we returned to the car to visit a grocery store. The store at which we landed is awesome. It’s like a lowkey Giant slash Whole Foods with reasonable prices across the board. Lots of gluten-free products and various upscale offerings without severe markup alongside the usual stuff you’d find at Giant. Lovely. We grabbed enough food to get us through breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for most days of the week.
Day two brought us to Kennel Crag and New Wave. We started on a 5.9. It was terrifying. No fall zones. Committing moves. Sketch factor. A theme we’d experience repeatedly during our trip is that a 5.9 at Rumney requires more than a sliver of mental fortitude. Falls tend to not be safe, a reality compounded by each of them containing a stretch that is surprisingly difficult for the grade. After warming up on one of these ugh-filled 5.9s, we switched to a 5.10c that has a fun exposed traverse that rides an arete before concluding with a thin finish. At New Wave we jumped on a 5.11c that kicked my ass. I couldn’t get past a bulge. No, it said. Smack. Down I’d go, again and again. I had to pull on the draw to skip the section. Fun climb, but that crux was something. I was wiped after having flailed multiple times. I sort of stared blankly for a while. There, but not really there.
We dropped down to a 5.9+. Bad move. It was another one of those smack-you-in the-face 5.9s. 5.9, the grade of fear. The description for this route made it clear that it’d be an experience. A trad climber’s route. Lots of pushing and pulling oneself through a maw of dihedral, using cracks, and generally muscling yourself along using what pivoting and fulcrum points you can establish. Higher up you face a run-out section, and, of course, you’re forced to commit to some holds before you can reach the bolt. It was quite a workout. At some point, somehow, I managed to pick up a fist-sized patch of blood on my knee. Its source, unclear. The route abraded my knee, but nothing that would have bled enough to produce the splotch. At the time, I assumed it had come from me. But, later, I began to doubt this source for my knee wasn’t too damaged and the stain looked to be darker on the exterior than the interior of the pants. Thus, I likely picked up the stain from the wall. Maybe it was ruddy dirt rather than blood. Not clear. But, I’m pretty certain that it did not originate from me. Very odd, and potentially quite gross. At least I looked like a bad ass, I guess. Or, maybe I resembled a klutz who leads his steps with his knees.
We closed by getting on an 11b. Fun route. Not too difficult, though you did need to fight through one section that required a bit of commitment and trust as you pull up and then push down on a sloping, questionable hold to top a ledge. Not a bad day. We headed down to the car feeling aglow.
Day 3 was a rest day. Full workday. Lowkey. I went for a run during lunch, finding a long, covered bridge. It was surprisingly fun to charge along this wooden expanse. Strangely unsettling too, as if I had been transported into a low-budget horror film. Something unknown and unknowable might lurch from the periphery to take me down. Robed cultists could manifest at each end of the expanse. Anything was possible, including a lovely midday jog. The night brought Gloomhaven via Zoom. We lost our current scenario, again, for the second time. I love that we lose occasionally. Makes me rethink my character and contemplate those of my friend’s. There’s a reason our society finds itself drawn to films like Groundhog Day.
Day 4 provided another full day of climbing at Orange Crush. We started on a 5.9 and then a 10c. Both were fun, nothing too dicey, with interesting moves and a bit of height, nothing too tall though. These were our warms up for the main affairs, a two-pitch 11a and an 11c, though, on the 11c, if you stopped at the mid-anchor then it’s probably more fairly characterized as an 11a, which is what I did. Kelly, however, did take the route to the top.
While warming up, a group climbed some of the routes below us. One guy pontificated, “Liberals want to preserve forests in some natural state as if they can be pristine.” On and on he went with his understandings of the world. People group demographics together and then ascribe particular viewpoints to them, as if they’re collective and unyielding. He describes what could be considered my preference for forest management in broad, inaccurate strokes. Through the broadest of strokes his statement aligns with my position, if grossly simplified. So much of how we as a nation discuss politics falls into this trap of simplification. It’s easier to understand and discuss varying ideas by compiling them yet it’s also disingenuous to the actual conversation that should be happening. Such is life, I suppose. I also remembered this baseball jock from high school who argued with a classmate about women not being smart or at least good at science. Name famous women scientists, he urged to support his position. At the time, his viewpoint had seemed wrong, but I lacked the means to explain the flaws in his logic. She floundered, he named like five famous males, if not more, for each female name she could come up with. So many systematic flaws exist in our biases.
Tropicana, the 11a, was my main goal this route. I needed to redeem myself. In July 2017 I first visited Rumney. The trip occurred not long following a hiatus. I had been resting my elbow and forearm due to a loss of strength that had arisen. I had taken like 6 weeks off and my strength and endurance had taken a hit. Thus, I did not perform well during this visit, as seen by my attempt on Tropicana where Sean had led the first pitch and then I had been unable to bypass the first crux. It wasn’t a high point in my climbing history… I led the first pitch. Not too bad. I did have to try hard. Relief was inspiring upon reaching the anchors at the ledge. I belayed Kelly to me.
It’s surreal to see a person come over the lip into a balcony for a multi-pitch climb. The person appears naked and alone in a sea of sky. To reach the ledge, you perform a mantel move with the body thrusting backward to make room to bring up a high foot to leverage against while pushing and twisting to leverage over the edge onto the ledge. The dramatics of this motion add to the incongruity of the scene. This sight does not feel right. It feels bizarre, like seeing a human in flight. The world recedes so that the person appears foremost in the foreground, everything else shrinks away except for the rock immediately surrounding the person and the limitless blue around her as if the air has become transformed into an unyielding halo. I cannot explain how odd this visage is to me. I don’t know if it’ll ever become normal or expected. Each time it happens, even many pitches up on a multi-pitch climb it strikes me as wild during each of its iterations.
Kelly ended up lowering to the ground from the top of the second pitch. I wasn’t excited about leading with her that far below me, especially since you start by moving up a ledge, so I top roped the route. Something had happened when we lowered, causing the rope to curl up on itself. I’ve never seen a rope so twisted. This top rope climb was the scariest part of the day. Kelly was 60’ below me, so there was already a lot of dynamic slack in the system. The curls of the rope stretched for many feet ahead of me, tightly spun upon itself it became a battle to remove the rope from the quickdraw carabiners. I saw many feet of rope caught up in these twists. I envisioned a crazy catch where I’d be violently spun by the kinked rope as it worked itself out as my weigh pulled on it. I wasn’t sure how weakened its integrity might be due to the twists. This pitch was several overhung so I wasn’t sure how easily I’d get back on the wall. So much uncertainty. I climbed hard and remained anxious, but got to the top and lowered and we sorted out the rope.
I was also excited to get onto Black Mamba. During my second trip to Rumney, I had top roped the climb, and watched friends send it. I was not there, physically or mentally at the time. On this day, however, I felt good. I managed to reach the anchors with one take. Maybe a take and a fall. I now forget. The route yielded to me on the second attempt, and I got a video of the attempt as well. The crux is a bit cryptic. There are chalked bits of rock everywhere, including a massive, positive flake out left. I do not use this mega-hold, though. It’s a trap. Rather, there are two crimps that you can use to bring up your feet to then reach a mildly ok thumb-like hold that lets you move your feet up again so that you can reach a flat, sloping section of rock on which you can press to get a high foot that lets you reach, or lunge for as I did during my send burn, a mega hold from which you clip. The remainder of the route isn’t easy, but it’s also not terribly difficult and you can rest before performing the more trying movements. I did not have the mental fortitude to do the traverse left to reach the first bolt of the extension. The rest of the route looks beautiful, though, so I’ll have to return another day. Kelly did each pitch clean, in sections, having rested at the anchor. So, perhaps, she’ll enjoy another romp up it some day in our future.
Day four of climbing was a half day. We visited The Meadows, getting on a sketchy 5.8 and a sketchy 5.9 before doing a rather fun 10b, an ok 10a that was harder than the 10b, and then closing out on a 10d that was excellent. The 10s were all long routes, like ~100’. Thus, we got in a good chunk of mileage. I’d like to return to this area to try out the 11d and 12a as well as a long 5.9 that looked like a lot of fun. The 10d was only that grade for a couple of bolts, whereas the long 5.9 appears to be consistently 5.9, which might make it a more fun climb overall. Time shall inform me whether my suspicion accords with my appreciation of reality.
There’s something to be said for a day of cruising easy routes. Feeling that fluid movement without the attendant drama of struggle. To enjoy what you can do without pushing to discover the boundaries of what can be done. Most days of life for most people align with taking it easy or at least moderate. Why must we perpetually push at the boundaries while enjoying a past time?
The next day, we worked all day.
Day five of climbing would be our last day at Rumney, encountering an omen on our way there. Each time we drove to the crag, we passed a pottery with a sign outside declaring that the potter is working today. We envisioned the potter as having been enslaved, always forced to be on display. A zoo. However, today, the sign was not out. Did the wind blow it down? What happened? Inauspicious, surely. From the lot, we hoofed it to Jimmy Cliff to get on a decent 5.8 and a wonderful 5.10a, another route that had scared me during my initial visit to Rumney. Both went fine, and I much enjoyed feeling vastly more comfortable on the 5.10a. We then visited Waimea, the climb as well as the area, and climbed it without problem. Then we jumped on a 5.12a that was difficult, but I could see getting, at least except for the last move which I ended up cheating. We then both aborted on Flying Hawaiian. This was another route that had stymied in the past. And, it did so again this trip. Some routes simply aren’t for all people.
The next day, we headed home. A fun, glorious trip. We shall return, one day.