Melbourne: Less Crappy Than Giardia

I don’t know if there is some sort of international city motto committee, but if there is, I should be appointed head chairman. “We gather strength as we go”, pffffft…  mine has a lot more zing.  No pun intended.

I didn’t get any pictures of Canberra last week, and it’s a shame because it’s quaint little artsy city.  So how about a few pics from Christchurch that I never posted up instead.

Punting down the river Avon:

Chess at Cathedral Square:

Little Asian dude was unstoppable.  Watching him try to move the king was rather funny though.

Cathedral Square at night:

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I spent my time in Canberra running from shop to shop trying to get supplies for my trip up to Blue Lake.  I learned at the last minute that we would be climbing in the foothills below Australia’s highest point, Mount Kosciusko.  I had three T-shirts and a fleece in my pack.

I got an invite to climb at Blue Lake from a random on the internet and jumped on it, not knowing anything about the area.  Nick was so kind to not only invite me along, but came all the way into town to pick me up at the hostel so I could crash at his house the night before.  After dinner we were hanging out in the backyard watching the storm roll in when a pair of ‘birds’ landed on the tree next to us.  He called them birds, in the states you’d find them in an exotic pet store being sold as parrots.  I commented on the uniqueness of Australian fauna, and my desire to see the kangaroos before I left the country.  “Wanna take a walk, there’s heaps of them just down the street.  Yeah, right on the side of the road.  Close enough you can kick one if you want”.  I assured Nick that I had no desire to kick a kangaroo, and off we went.  He wasn’t lying, they’re everywhere:

 

 

It’s funny that they wouldn’t move when you drove past them, but on foot they’re rather timid.  Well, all of them except for this guy:

 

Blue Lake

The blue lake trip was fantastic.  Met up with a great group of very experienced climbers, a lot of them helped develop the area.  The weather was pretty good, for an alpine setting.  It was still a bit wet from the storm that passed through on Friday night, but we found some dry granite to climb.  I partnered up with a  motivated climber name Ken, so I spent most my time climbing instead of taking shots.  I’m still waiting to see if I get some pics from the others that were there.  A couple that I shot:

 

The clouds to the left of Ken are literally to the left of him, not above:

Camping Saturday night as the weather moved in:

Ken just happened to be heading through to Arapiles from Blue Lake and invited me along.  He was a strong climber, with a rack of gear, knowledge of the area, and a car.  Things couldn’t have worked out better… until I woke up Sunday morning

I had been told by the locals that the creek water was the cleanest in the country.  It was against my better judgment to drink it straight from the stream, but they were doing it, so…  when in Rome.  One of the older guys chimed in “Aw mate, you don’t want to drink the water, there’s giardia in there”.  Great.  I had second thoughts about sitting in a car for 12 hours driving down to Arapiles so I headed back to Canberra to recoup.  The next morning I found the only hostel in town was booked, so I caught the night bus down to Melbourne.  Been here for a couple days healing up and getting plans set for Arapiles.  I’m glad to say I don’t have giardia, but I’ll leave out any further details of my trials and tribulations for the sake of my readers.  I’m taking off tomorrow for Arapiles with a local who’s heading up, and I’m going to float around with different partners I’m met online and see what happens. It’s prime season up there, the weather’s perfect, lots of people to climb with, and the Goatfest party is next week.  Should be good times.  There’s not much there except rock, so this will probably be it for awhile.  See you then…

Dogs on Lead

Lead \ˈlēd\

transitive verb ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Middle English leden, from Old English lǣdan; akin to Old High German leiten to lead, Old English līthan to go ------------------------------ 1a: to guide on a way especially by going in advance ------------------------ 1b: In Rockclimbing – the first person to climb, anchoring in the rope as he or she progresses upward. On lead.

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Kiwi’s are hardcore, eh? They even make their dogs lead.

I found a sport climbing Pomeranian that I wanted to to ship back to my friend Snupes so it could hang draws for him on his long-standing project Luscious (5.11-), but the kennel owner said I’d insult the breed. He said that sport climbing starts at 5.12, and recommended getting a less ethical bloodline, like a French Poodle. Sorry Snupes, maybe you’ll send next year.

Perhaps I’ve just been on the road too long, my sense of humor has turned from eccentric to just plain odd. The sign absolutely cracked me up. I can only imagine what the kiwi’s were thinking watching some Yank tourist taking pictures of sign. Well, I liked the pics so much I decided to change the name of my blog. Since this trip seems to be getting more centered around climbing I though it was apropos, and more original than AWOL. So there you go. In case you were wondering.

Canberra: Better Than Sydney

That's what their motto should be anyway. I hightailed it out of Sydney yesterday in the pouring rain, jumping on a bus for the national capital - Canberra. I arrived to find mild dry weather and a centralized, laidback little town with an artsy flair. Very nice.

Spent most the day running around town spending WAY too much money on stuff I have sitting in bins back home. I didn't realize when I linked up with some local climbers that I'd be heading up to do some Alpine climbing. It's suppose to be a high of 10 c.

http://www.canberraclimbing.org.au/news/blue-lake-weekend.aspx

Looks like some fantastic granite, a place called Blue Lake. Be back on Sunday.

Down Under

This morning I was walking through gardens and Gothic cathedrals set upon the river Avon; funny how quickly your environment can change when you travel. I miss New Zealand already.

The Kiwi customs officer I talked to upon leaving the country was hands down the nicest of his ilk I've ever dealt with. In Australia it was the first time I've ever been detained by customs and had them rifle through my stuff.

I got off the train at Central Station to find myself once again loaded down with far too much weight on my shoulders, standing in a city I've never been in, with no idea where I'm going. Since my arrival was so late I picked a hostel off the net that was close, so I knew I wasn't too far away. It was dark, muggy and raining, and judging by the homeless, drunks, and prostitutes I wasn't anywhere near the Sydney Opera House.

I find my hostel on a grungy off-street, just a staircase leading up into a cement wall. The "office", an aluminum roll-up, is closed with a note to call for late check-in. There's an arrow pointing up the street to a payphone. I swing into a bar to get change for the phone, but the bartender gruffly says I have to buy something. Fine. "How much for a pint?" As luck would have it the beer is $5 and I happen to have one five dollar bill and a couple of fifties in my pocket. "I can't break a fifty" the bartender informs me. He's rather slowing at comprehending that if I used the $5 bill to buy the beer I'm no closer to making a phone call than I was before; though perhaps my nerves would be a bit more placated.

I find the 7/11 in front of the payphone to have more options in changing my five. Then I find that the payphone is broke. My final discovery is that people here aren't very helpful; Apu has no idea where another phone is.

I finally get into my hostel to find it looks worse on the inside than out. The kitchen is filthy, the air is stale, and they put me in the wrong room. I give up for the day, a bed's a bed. Perhaps the town will treat me better after some sleep.

This is still better than work.

Climbing: Froggatt’s Edge

One last set of climbing pics from the tour up on the North Island. 

The Wharepapa area is full of secluded areas with fantastic rock and interesting climbs that are usually not more than a [rather peaceful] 20-minute stroll through the forest.  We sampled a good amount of these places and never once did we come across other climbers.  But if you head down the street just 5 minutes from Bryce’s you’ll come upon a heap of pocketed ignimbrite grid-bolted with hangers just a stone’s throw from the parking area.  Seems the Kiwi climbers aren’t any different from the American lot, as most of them come here out of laziness.  That said, there are a couple of fantastic lines at Froggatt; some of them the best single-pitch climbs I did in New Zealand.

I did my first ever professional climb on a fantastic  route called Terror Incognito (5.10b). Bryce was guiding a client that day and was too lazy to lead the climb so he asked me to do it.  You should have seen the look on the client’s face when he found his guide for that climb was some ‘random’ guy hanging out at the cliffside.  Try doing that in America.  Of course, I only got a couple of beers for it while Bryce got paid $400 for the day.

Danny pushing onto the final headwall of Terror Incognito

Me just past the overhanging layback crux on Mister Daddy Long Legs (5.11a)

Froggatt is full of overhanging routes with huge holds.  It’s like a gym. Hanging out at a nice rest on Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter (5.10b).

There was a Navy training course at the camp for a week so I snapped a couple shots of them on a rest day.

 

Here’s one of them learning the hard way that just because you climbed a route of a certain grade doesn’t mean you’ve mastered them all.  Some old school 5.8:

 

Took him awhile to commit to the slab topout, but he got it.

 

I put the entire set, plus the ones from Whanganui Bay in my climbing album:

The Samson Hierarchy

Backpackers have made an art of frugality; filling a used medicine bottle with liquid soap at a restroom and swiping ketchup packets from Burger King are just a few of the tricks. Judging by some of the people I’ve met they haven’t all learned the soap trick yet, but most maintain at least a modicum of personal hygiene. Shaving however, is a bit of a nuisance and requires you to carry a razor and cream in addition to everything else on your back. Most male backpackers just took to growing a beard, and what started as a convenience turned into a rite of passage.

Much like how the size of the Silverback Gorilla’s stripe determines his position in the troop, or the class of the businessman’s BMW relates to how quickly he gets his Mocha Latte, the fullness of ones beard determines your pecking order at the hostels. It lets your fellow dirtbags know you’ve paid your dues – or rather, haven’t paid anyone anymore than you had to. The resident magnate at my hostel is a skinny twig of a Scotsman, but he has sizeable mane, dreaded and untamed with bits of Top Ramen caught in it; his authority is not contested.

Yesterday I almost had it out with Brit as we sized each other up over a small foot stool near the door of the lounge. He looked more traveled than I, but the poor 17-year-old couldn’t muster more than a feeble goatee. The Scotsman watched amused as he sat on his throne next to the fire while Hostel Nymphs fanned him with advertisement flyers and fed him peanuts they stole from the bar’s happy hour downstairs. It’s not all fun and games out here, it’s survival.

I’m currently taking refuge in the bathtub while writing this entry, it’s the least likely place I’d be discovered. If they found out I owned a laptop they’d probably hold me down, shave my beard, and dump me off at the nearest Starbucks. Gotta run, my internet time is almost up and I have to find a good deal on some Rogaine so I can fluff this beard up.

Three weeks in, the beard may not be much, but my Blue Steel is full tilt:

Climbing: Whanganui Bay

About 100km south of Wharepapa is Lake Taupo, a brilliant turquoise oasis lined in rocky peaks and sheer cliff-side. The peaks as they stand now are mere piles of dirt, broken remnants of a former solitary mountain that used line the horizon. The lake bed is actually a crater, a vestige of what is believed to be the largest volcanic eruption in Earth’s history. Unlike the rock at Wharepapa (which came from this volcano) the magma at the epicenter cooled slower, creating a denser, smoother rock than the ignimbrite you’ll find further north. Denser rock is more prone to fracture than crumbling, which creates cracks. And crack climbing is better than sporto pocket pulling. Clinical studies have proven this fact.

On the west side of the lake is Whanganui Bay, a piece of land owned by the Maori tribe Tuwharetoa. They were kind enough to let us climb on their land, which is a good thing, because there is an almost inexhaustible amount of climbing on the cliffs lining the waters edge. The views aren’t half bad either. A couple of pics from our visit there:

Bryce on his first climb of the day. He's laughing because 10 feet to the right I was cursing him after he had me warmup on a 5.12a, telling me it was 5.10b/c. Normally one would be able to tell such things, but after almost 100 climbs in 10 days I couldn't tell if the moves were hard or my arms and hands were just shot. It was probably a bit of both.

Steve on an arete climb.

Doug hanging out on Eternity Road (5.11b).

Tibia

Tibia is a two-pitch climb that goes up between a huge detached pillar and the main wall. It’s a striking line you can see from all the way up the road; it wasn’t more than a few seconds after tossing our packs down that Doug insists I have to climb it. “It’s a classic!”

Doug working up an arete that is much steeper than it looks. The second pitch of Tibia goes up behind the large pillar behind him.

I’m not sure which type of climbing I dislike more, chimneys or off-widths (a crack that is wider than your fist but narrower than a chimney), both can be equally nauseating. Literally. What happens when you put the two together? You get Tibia.

The first pitch is a 5.7 chimney, which is relatively easy, but the upper half of it is completely unprotected. “The climbing is pretty straightforward, it’s a good width so you can keep your legs in front of you and your back on the rear wall...” Bryce explained cheerfully before pulling a somber face “…but if you fall on the first pitch, you’ll die. Seriously.”. With a recommendation like that who wouldn’t be dying to give it a go. Pardon the pun.

I know it's a poor pic, but I had to put one in showing the chimney. Doug getting started on Pitch 1.

Before we even committed to climbing Tibia Doug made it clear that he refused to lead the second pitch - seems he hates off-widths more than I. As eager as I was to lead the death chimney, I had to be a good partner and give the first lead to Doug since I was taking the second. I’m just considerate like that.

I caught an air of mischief between Doug and Bryce, and having already been sandbagged by Bryce earlier that morning I was suspicious. I was following the first pitch, so that couldn’t be it… must be the off-width. I stocked up on gear just in case. Doug cruised the first pitch and soon I was following my way up into the damp, dark, endless looking chimney. I moved further into the depths to a small ledge when Doug called out “You to the ledge yet?”. “Yeah” my voice echoed back to wherever he was in the darkness above. “Look left!” I’m not sure what I was expecting to see, perhaps an elevator to the top. Instead, I see a human skeleton staring back at me not more than two feet away.


Ahhh, ‘Tibia’ – got it. Thanks Doug, I probably would have climbed right past it without noticing if you hadn’t said something. At least I had a rope above me, I couldn’t imagine climbing a run-out chimney knowing the last victim is still laying at the bottom.

The rest of climb was uneventful, and I got some payback watching Doug struggle up the off-width. I found I had far too much gear for the short off-width section, and the gear for such cracks are big and heavy, so I put them all in the crack for Doug to haul up the rest of the way and on the hike off.

Doug following up the second pitch off-width section. Note the copious amounts of gear.

The view from the top made it all worth it:

Climbing: Waipapa

I picked up a New Zealand climbing magazine for the bus ride down and I was immediately captivated by a picture of a guy climbing a finger crack running up the middle of a beautiful looking dihedral set in some sort of rainforest. The caption said it was called Millenium Madness, it was rated 18 - which I had no idea how it related to the US grading system - and it was at a place called Waipapa. I had no idea where this place was but entertained the idea of Waipapa being close to Wherepapa simply because they sounded similar. Not that it mattered, it's a traditional climb and I didn't bring my gear for that style of climbing. Still, I daydreamed.

The first morning after arriving at camp Bryce and Sean come and tell me to grab my harness, we're going climbing. I was too excited to ask where, not that it mattered. It was only after sitting in the car for a bit that I realized we can't be headed to one of the crags in walking distance. No, Bryce doesn't care for those places so much, he informs me, we're going to a place with a bit more interesting climbing: Waipapa.

I was happy enough just to be able to use Bryce's gear to lead the climb, so I try not to be dissappointed that I couldn't get a shot of me climbing it from this perspective:



The usual butt-shot angle of climbing photos. Me on Millenium Madness (5.10a traditional):



A couple shots of Sean following a fantastic route called The Arch (5.10a-ish sport). Starts in a dihedral with nothing put a finger-tips crack and glass smooth rock for your feet, but they have similar ethics to places like Joshua Tree - the first 15 feet don't count for the rating.



Doug deep in the forest following Time Passages (5.10b traditional)



We came back a week and a half later and I ticked off Finger of Fate (old school 5.8 Off-width and Chimney) for my 100th route in New Zealand. Me getting Started on the OW section:



And my final climb in New Zealand - at least in the North Island - a wandering fingercrack with an overhanging finish; Don't Get Even, Get Mad (5.10c traditional):


This blogging program really isn't the most user friendly, they make putting a lot of pictures in quite difficult actually. I'll put all the pictures up in my Picasa account:

http://picasaweb.google.com/rkelly0137

Wharepapa South: Redux

Bryce picked me up at the market 40 minutes later or so, and after a lengthy quiet ride (seems I interrupted his dinner) we arrived at Bryce’s Outdoor Centre. He points to one of the rooms in the back and mumbles something before disappearing.

Daylight brings new light to my situation; I find myself on a rather quaint plot of land with clean hostel rooms in the back, a lawn area and patio for relaxing, a fully equipped kitchen and communal area, and a room converted to a bouldering cave for nights or rainy days. In the front is Bryce’s café, the only place in “town” to get a meat pie or something to drink. He also boasts the largest selection of rock climbing gear in the country. The town consists of Bryce’s place, a school next door, a random mechanic shop across the street, and that’s about it aside from the farms. Down the road a bit is a street light. Not quite sure why it’s there.

Bryce turns out to be a great guy once he warms up to you a bit. There is a bit of prejudice against Americans, but that goes away as soon as people find out you’re not the pompous, lazy, self-absorbed stereotype that the rest of the world sees us as. Bryce is a climber, first and foremost – and probably second and third – coming in a distant fourth is a businessman trying to make an honest buck. His name appears on just about every page of every guidebook for the area for putting up new routes. Pushing 60 now, he still can crank out some 5.12s when he gets competitive – which is just about always. You can also count on him for a well-delivered sandbag; he got me good, more on that when I get to the climbing.



I took a risk coming out to Wharepapa, as climbing is a sport that requires two [experienced] people to do safely. Bryce assured me that there’s always people coming through, but picking up a decent partner can be a painful process. My backup plan was to just continue through to the sightseeing town of Rotorua if I couldn’t pick up a partner in a couple days. As a stroke of luck, a Canadian from Vancouver island showed up the same day I did, looking to do some climbing. Sean was out here a month earlier taking a course from Bryce on introductory climbing and returned to do some woofing (working in turn for free stay) and further his learning the art of climbing. Outside the gym he’d only been through Bryce’s intro course and a few trips with Bryce, but by the time I finished with him he’d got copious experience on belay, grunted up chimneys, climbed multi-pitch, fell off 5.11s, caught some whippers, removed trad gear, and suffered his first overuse injury of the hands. Sorry bout that Sean. He even came out just to belay as he was resting his hand injury.


Some 300,000+ years ago what scientists believe to be one of the largest volcanic eruptions in earth’s history took place 100 km south of Wharepapa, covering the land in a type of rock known as ignimbrite. The rock is very climbable, and absolutely littered about the central region. Depending on the proximity to the epicenter the rock changes qualities, leaving us with an assortment of climbing styles, from overhanging pocket-pulling, to long splitter cracks solid enough to take traditional gear. I went on a frenzy over my 12 days in Wharepapa and climbed six areas, ticking off over a 100 routes in total. More on that once I get through some pics…

A Recap

Back to Civilization, and the bustling city life in Auckland - lattes, business suits, and internet connections. I think I miss the country already. I was under the impression I was going to be able to access the internet down south and provide periodic updates, but it seems I was mistaken. So I apologize for the data dump, and I’ll try to be as terse as possible, but this may get a bit lengthy. So… a “summary”:

I left Auckland (which I have since been informed is not the capital of NZ, I’m not sure where I got that idea in my head) two weeks ago to head for the center of the north island where there is suppose to be a little hostel setup for climbers in the midst of infinite country farmland. This involved catching a bus down to the city of Hamilton, the last real city until you get all the way down to Wellington (the real capital) at the south tip. Nearly half the country’s population lives in Auckland, and close to three-quarters lives in Hamilton or north. A city bus got me south another 60 km or so to the sleepy town of Te Awamutu. Such sleepy towns close shop at around 5:00 or so in the evening, so I soon found myself wandering the lone street through town looking for life in the last hints of remaining daylight as the sun waved goodbye in the northeast. The plan, as explained to me by the lady on the phone, is to hitchhike from town into camp, which sits some 30 km away and involves several direction changes identified by landmarks with traditional Maori names that I can’t pronounce. It’s easy, people do it all the time, she tells me. Oh, and there are no markets out there, so get some groceries before coming in.

I stand on the side of a road less developed than most driveways back home, loaded with 70lbs of climbing gear, photography equipment, groceries and the three t-shirts I will be wearing for the next six-months, sticking my thumb out hoping that is the local signal for a need for a ride and not telling someone to f-off. Two tractors and a grain cart in 25 minutes makes me question the viability of this pursuit. A man with a thick Kiwi accent finally stops and I try my best despite the language gap to convey that I am trying to get to a place called Wharepapa (“Where-papa”) South. He’s never heard of it. It’s dark now, there are no street lights, there are no motels back in town, and last of my optimism has faded with the last rays of sunlight in the sky. I eventually tuck my tail between my legs and hoof it back into town to call up for pick-up. So much for being the adventurous traveler. It is later explained to me that ‘Wh’ in Maori tongue is pronounced as a soft f, and a syllable will never have more than one vowel. The Kiwis also add ‘R’s onto words ending in ‘A’ and butcher vowels in general. Unfortunately this wasn’t explained to me until I got to Fah-rey Pa-Per Sooth.