The Value of Dissent

The winter has been a strange one. In some ways it has been incredible productive with all kinds of projects realized and others underway. In other ways, a sense of frustration has set in, especially with an often brutal and erratic weather pattern that has been fundamentally incompatible with work and other demands. Part of the sense of frustration stems from figuring out where to go in my writing. Surrounded by an infinity of updates from Spain (or Catalunya) or Font or Hueco, I am frustrated by the lack of substance in any of this. Thank heaven for Stevie Haston for at least some sense of reality.

 Recently I have been looking at the viewer numbers for this blog in the hope of figuring out what people want to see based on what they actually read. The results are interesting to say the least. Head and shoulders above the rest was the "About that Citibank Ad...." post with views closer to what I would see with a climbing star interview. But the trend continues with #2 and #3 being the Matt Samet interview and "Can You Afford to be Sponsored?" All of these pieces have one thing in common; they question aspects of the climbing world that many take for granted as desirable or at least as acceptable. This aspect of writing seems to me a diminishing component of climbing media at this point. Serious questioning of destructive or ethically dubious ideas or practices seem to be limited primarily to competitive and symbolic ethics such as the bolts on Cerro Torre or other climbing-specific issues such as permadraws. Deeper questions, ones that go to the heart of the sport tend to be evaded or passed over altogether.

 This was the essence of the Citibank post. I was concerned about the way in which capital was framing the sport and even more concerned with the adulation and praise that the advertisement received from the climbing community. If there was any substantial critique of the ad, I somehow failed to see it, a situation I found disturbing, especially considering the heritage of the sport, a heritage that that has always had a complex and ambivalent relationship to financial and political power. So why did no-one else engage these questions? A quick survey of the literature of the 70s and 80s shows a wide range of responses to questions that remain vitally important, in fact that are even more important than ever. What has happened to the writers who are/were willing to seriously tackle these issues? Carping about babies at the crag or fretting about whether hold X was manufactured is not what I am talking about here. Minor local controversies are distractions from the bigger picture and the trends that threaten important aspects of the sport.

 In coming months I will be focusing more in-depth on issues that I think are at the center of the future of the sport. Primary among these are environmental issues but I also want to dig deeper into the questions raised by the mainstreaming and professionalization of the sport at the highest levels. I would not call this direction so much "muck-raking" but instead reflective and critical writing in the best senses of those terms. Climbing needs more independent voices, not fewer. From where I stand, there are very few indeed.

Back next week

I have been taking a hiatus from writing for a few weeks. Back on Monday.

Cerro Torre and the Mountain as a Work of Art

There has been a lot of debate swirling around Patagonia since the recent "fair means" and free ascents of Cerro Torre, the first by Hayden Kennedy and Jason Kruk, the second by David Lama. The ascent of the Southeast Ridge, commonly known as The Compressor Route, sparked the most controversy not so much because of what happened on the ascent but because the team removed hundreds of bolts on the way back down, causing considerable local uproar and even a visit with the local constabulary. Even more remarkable was the emerging consensus, seen most obviously in a 2007 Patagonian climbers' vote, against removing the bolts.

Outside Magazine does a decent summary here with lots of links.

Maestri's Compressor from http://www.climbmagazine.com/news/2012/01/rolando-garibotti-interview

The justification most often cited was that of preserving history, that is, the complex and even tragic history of Cesare Maestri's encounters with the mountain, first in 1959 and then in 1970, when the bolts were put in on the Southeast Ridge. For many, the bolt ladders and the compressor itself formed a kind of archive, I suppose, a tangible reminder of the Maestri controversy, a controversy marked by the classic essay, "Murder of the Impossible" written by Reinhold Messner and published in Mountain in, 1971.

Reinhold Messner at Outdoor Retailer learning from Michael Kennedy what Hayden did on Cerro Torre

I have been thinking of the relationship between the mountain, its history and the traces left by its climbers. These observations are strictly from the sidelines in terms of climbing Cerro Torre but I have some experience in thinking about culture and history and this situation presents a couple of fascinating problems.

The first of these is the paradoxical nature of adventure in climbing. I have already written about the demise of the impossible and I stand by the argument. While it is obtuse and destructive to install bolt ladders on just about anything these days, it is also getting harder and hard to envision any ascent as carrying genuine historical significance beyond a kind of closing of the frontier. That is to say that any piece of rock or ice that is climbable will be climbed sooner or later. It is inevitable. The murder of the impossible has been superseded by the obsolescence of the impossible. Conceptually speaking, everything is merely a project.

It is incredible to me to read of the debates about bolts on a jagged ice-encrusted spire at the other end of the world. Is it possible, even likely, that wherever debates like this rage, the bluebird of adventure (or to quote Hegel, the owl of Athena) has long since flown away? Not to say that people can't have a really hard or scary time in Patagonia, or anywhere else, but isn't the adventure now merely personal, not historically significant.

So were/are the Maestri bolts historically significant? I think they were as they clearly sounded the deathknell of heroic siege-style alpinism. This was echoed in two other contemporary ascents, that of Warren Harding on the Dawn Wall and the Annapurna South Face British expedition. All were more or less successful (Maestri never gained the true "summit, the Annapurna expedition missed the 2nd ascent, and the Harding route earned the wrath of Royal Robbins) but they all seemed to point to a dead end. This dead end was not merely the application of massive amounts of time and material but that of the mega-climb in general. Ensuing decades have confirmed this with light fast ascents of the most remote and difficult routes all over the world. I think they mark the dead-end of an attitude toward climbing rooted in conquest and an old vision of history.

So if the bolts are historically significant should they remain in situ? I think this debate is perhaps a sign of the senescence (or to be more fair, the maturity) of the sport, that there is any discussion of the historical significance of fixed gear on any route beyond a strictly utilitarian purpose. Those in favor of the bolt removal regard the bolts as an act of vandalism, a kind of desecration that should never have happened in the first place. Those against argue that the bolts are as much part of the route as the geological feature that, for now, we call the Southeast Ridge of Cerro Torre. I have to admit that the vandalism argument has some merit but not all vandalism is created equal. The bolt ladders, fixed pitons and fixed cables, even huts, that adorn a significant number of important mountains and faces point to an impulse to leave substantial signs of human presence in otherwise remote and wild places. Yet no one is calling for the removal of huts and cables from say the Matterhorn, which is strikingly like Cerro Torre in its form and tragic events surrounding the first ascent.

So there is something different about the Cerro Torre bolts, something that creates a special case. I would suggest that their lack of utility, the seemingly random profusion of them, phenomena that many have commented on already, that arouses a particular ire. They have no utility, no clear sense of purpose. The purpose of alpinism seems to have been lost somewhere up there, the meaning of climbing warped or rendered null and void. Something very strange happened up there, something that has haunted the life of Cesare Maestri and the minds of anyone who has either climbed or thought about the mountain since.

The second problem is the idea of the climb as the work of art, a notion that many have appealed to over time. There are many ways to respond to the Cerro Torre situation using this analogy, that the mountain was a blank canvas, or a beautiful painting, that was defaced by an incompetent climber. I am not so sure this analogy holds up under investigation. I don't believe that Cerro Torre can be considered a work of art but if we did, we would want to remember the complex and flawed aspects of even world-renowned masterpieces, works which are often, unbeknownst to the average viewer, composed of re-assemblies and  restorations with complex and difficult histories of their own. There is no such thing as the pure work of art and holding up this ideal does a disservice to the reality of being human, our flaws and our irrational natures.

I don't have an easy answer to these questions. The ideals of pure alpinism and adventure climbing are, as I have argued above, are falling victim to their own success. The frontier is closed. The rules and objectives are understood. Though I ultimately think Maestri's hardware should not remain on the mountain, I do not consider the mountain somehow reconsecrated or purified. That is in the minds of true believers and I am an agnostic on the point of whether mountains or nature or climbing can ever be considered pure. What interests me is the story of how we sometimes succeed and all too often fail in our desires to make more of ourselves than what we are. Maestri's bolts and compressor are mute testimony to how far that irrational desire can take us until, halfway between heaven and earth, climbing on an idea as much as anything else,  reality and the ideal collide and we see that in the end, we are not gods but merely human.

A Response from Ben Moon to the Last Post

I got a lot of reaction to last week's post, reaction which was by no means expected. I felt I was making the simple point that sponsorships in climbing have to be earned and that depending on the effort put in, you may find yourself breaking even at best. A lot of people agreed but unfortunately Ben Moon at Moon Climbing took exception to my account of my experience as a sponsored climber. He wrote in a comment to my blog:

"Moon Climbing is not some big faceless corporation. It's a tiny company with only one full-time employee which is me. Every email that comes to the company comes directly to me and 95% of the product that comes in and out of my small warehouse passes through my hands. I have virtually no marketing budget and do almost zero advertising. Any budget I have goes towards supporting a team of climbers from around the world. In 2011 the team became too big and cost too much to finance so I had to make cuts for 2012. Since I do very little business in the US it was hard to justify sponsoring so many US climbers and I had to make a cut somewhere and unfortunately Peter lost out."

I want to thank Ben for reminding all of us that many of the manufacturers in climbing are very small operations, running on miniscule budgets. My purpose in writing the post was not to denigrate Moon Climbing, whose products and philosophy I respect greatly, even if I am no longer formally affiliated with them. It was instead to correct misconceptions about what "free" gear really means to both sponsor and athlete. Moon fulfilled their obligations toward me generously and I believe the same could have been said of me. I certainly have nothing negative to say about the company or Ben in any sense and would still encourage climbers in the US to seek out their gear.

Losing and gaining sponsorships is an uncertain part of the game at the higher levels of the sport of climbing. There is almost a trainspotting aspect to seeing which climber is wearing which brand shoes this year. Some find this fascinating. For me, not so much. I want to support companies which focus on simplicity, integrity, environmental awareness, independence and quality, whether through my purchases or promoting their products in this blog or in other media. These values reflect my own and are not for sale.

Can You Afford to be Sponsored?

January. It's that time when contracts are sent out by various climbing-related manufacturers. In what may be a first, Beal (the French climbing company and no relation to me) posted a photo of British climber James Pearson actually signing a contract, a move that will almost inevitably be replicated throughout the industry. This echoes the practice of professional sports teams and companies throughout the world displaying athletes with contracts, while surrounded by logos, wearing gear etc. and marks one more step in the mainstreaming of climbing.

James Pearson signing with Beal

The significant difference is that in climbing you will rarely actually receive real money, at least when compared to sports such as football or basketball. Even very highly regarded climbing athletes such as Chris Webb-Parsons are not getting that much support, at least if this interview  at 8a.nu reflects his actual situation.

"But there is no glamour, not even a shoe sponsor, just very hard work and absolutely no financial support from his Australian federation.

'I'm in debt on my credit card right now due to the last WC season costing me so much money. I'm slowly paying off my debt now although as soon as the 2012 WC season starts the credit card will come out again. I have to pay for everything including my uniform to compete in, my IFSC license, my climbing association membership, competition entry, hotel, travel etc.... So it all adds up.'

This aspect of being a "professional" climber is one that is rarely if ever discussed. Climbing is a pursuit a lot like yacht racing or showing purebred dogs in that a substantial amount of personal and social capital is assumed to be on hand to cover the expected day-to-day expenses of participation. In other words, to even initially obtain, let alone maintain sponsorship, it is expected that an athlete will maintain a high profile in the sport, usually through travel and extended sojourns at fashionable climbing areas, participate in competitions (very expensive for travel, accommodation, and fees) and be available for other promotional responsibilities such as video shoots, shoe demos or climbing festivals. Such requirements are generally incompatible with genuinely remunerative employment of any kind, meaning that someone or something else is ultimately footing the bill for most if not all the professionals below the very thinnest sliver at the top. This is the simple reality of climbing today.

In other words, for every hundred dollars worth of "free" product, a climber may have to invest 10 to 20 times as much hard cash, maybe more, maybe less, to maintain the lifestyle required to obtain and keep that sponsorship. This of course is not counting the staggering opportunity cost of missed educational opportunities or actual gainful employment, costs that will eventually be counted against many aspiring "pros" when they realize they can no longer maintain elite participation in the sport or in the outdoor industry. As mentioned above, this hard reality is passed over in the media and rarely discussed in public by the athletes themselves. Kudos to Webb-Parsons for mentioning it.

This theme was on my mind in particular when I recently received an email from Moon Climbing informing me that I was being dropped from their team. Now for me, sponsorship is not a matter of financial necessity, it is a matter of my desire to help promote companies that I respect and whose products I personally use and recommend. But on reflection, I realized that looking back, the efforts that I made to fulfill my responsibilities towards the company in the end cost me more out of pocket than the value of the products themselves. Not to say that it wasn't nice to get some "free" gear, but that in the end, at best, I estimate the net financial value to me cashed out in negative terms. Would I do it again? It really depends on the company and its vision for the future. There were certainly some concerns with Moon that I should have heeded.

I understand that for a teenage climber with adequate familial financial resources and no particular obligation in the immediate future towards a career or other responsibilities, climbing sponsorships are great. And there are actual professional climbers out there, not many, but some. But it seems to me that a more public discussion of the actual costs involved in elite-level participation, especially with the increased media presence of sponsorship, as with Beal mentioned above, in concurrence with the rise in numbers of competitive youth teams, might be enlightening to aspiring athletes, their families, and the climbing community in general.

Back to the Future: Evaluating the Breakthroughs of Climbing

A fascinating interview showed up at Planet Mountain recently which created some buzz in the climbing Interwebs. It consisted of Adam Ondra's thoughts about routes he hadn't done yet. It is a comment on the voracious manner with which Ondra has dispatched many of the marquee testpieces of European sportclimbing (not to mention bouldering) that a story on the climbs he has NOT done would garner so much interest. But a sub-theme was his inability to complete the 1990 Ben Moon route Hubble, located at Raven Tor in the heart of England's Peak District. Ondra put it like this: "The world's first 8c+, which could be easily even 9a in my opinion. It is not the most inspiring line, it seems more like a boulder problem with a rope and easier topout, but one must admit that it is of revolutionary difficulty for its time and I believe that it isn't by any means easier than Action Directe, the world's first 9a established a year later." This generated some reaction at sites like UKClimbing.

Ben Moon on Hubble

To me what was interesting was not the merit of the specific case of Hubble, which is probably valid, but the tendency for these kinds of ascents to emerge over time as breakthrough grades. There has been a fair amount of this recently. I begin by citing the case of Dan Goodwin, whose 1984 route Maniac was just recently repeated after over two decades and confirmed at 5.13c/d. This would have made it the hardest route in the country by far at the time and one of the hardest in the world.

Story from Climbing last year

Then there was the likely first 9a+ (5.15a) of Alexander Huber in 1996 with Open Air, a real beast of a pitch with a likely V11 finishing crux. The ClimbingNarc discussed this one pretty thoroughly but read also the interview with Alexander Huber where he sets his own routes in perspective against the "9as" of the present. It is worth mentioning that Huber's 1992 route Om was repeated only in 2009, also by Ondra. For even deeper perspective, check out this image from Climbing 47, from the spring of 1978 showing Ray Jardine on the iconic Valley route, The Phoenix. The caption describes it as one of the current 5.12's in Yosemite."

Does this look like "5.12" to you?

Now what do these routes have in common? I suggest there a few factors that lead to this, the primary one being the people involved. With the exception of Ben Moon, the climbers of these routes were relatively unknown or outside the circle of elite climbers for their time. Ray Jardine for example was regarded as a renegade in Yosemite for his method of working routes and even the use of Friends was seen by some as "cheating." Both Dan Goodwin's reputation and the location of his route ensured it would not be taken seriously at the time. It is hard to believe it now but in an article in On The Edge a now defunct British magazine, the author had to introduce his readers to Huber by pointing out that the British stars had done very few routes 8c and up compared to Huber. He was certainly unknown in the States prior to his free ascent of the Salathe Wall.

The issue with Hubble, in my view, was that the route was completely out of step with the vision of sport climbing that dominated the continent of Europe at the time. Long, stamina-oriented pitches were typical, occasionally with chipped holds to even out the difficulty. The likelihood of someone from abroad investing the time and energy in building up the power to do V13/14 on a rope and then finding the right conditions for a tiny route on a notoriously finicky crag was slim. Nevertheless Hubble was given an 8c+ grade, still regarded as a breakthrough but only by a letter grade. Only now is the record being rethought as hard bouldering has been maturing and a climber like Ondra has proven to be the equal of someone like Moon and Moffatt in bouldering hard and climbing on a rope hard.

Are we dealing here with the blinding effects of whatever is/was the current paradigm, a mode of seeing the world that hinders the understanding and inhibits knowledge? I think the question takes on importance with the rise of "professional" climbing. In other words, does professionalism imply subscribing to the dominant present paradigm and by implication, stifling innovation and creativity? A deeper exploration of that specific question belongs to another post but as I notice the recent crop of reevaluations of the historical record of sport climbing and bouldering, I am struck by the inconsistency of that record and the ways in which it has denied or delayed recognition of the real pioneers