by Abram Herman

Cold-weather rock climbing and ice climbing have a bit of a reputation for unavoidable suffering, and while I can’t say they haven’t earned it in some ways, I can tell you a few methods for maximizing your warmth and enjoyment despite the cold. Beyond just the basics of proper layering, adequate clothing and exercise to keep warm, there are a few lessons I’ve learned from my own experiences that might help you get by in relative comfort.

As always, nothing I say replaces common sense, proper training and/or checking with your doctor if you have a condition that warrants it. I’m not in any way liable for anything that happens to you. Stay safe, have fun and live to climb another day!

1. The Windmill

For such a useful hand warming technique, I’m surprised at the number of climbers I encounter who don’t know about the simple windmill. This is perhaps the single most effective trick for keeping the screaming barfies at bay, and it’s also pretty useful for cold-weather rock climbing, skiing, or any other pursuit where your digits might be getting a bit chilled.

by Abram Herman

So, yeah... It's been a while since I wrote something on here. I'll admit, I'm more than a bit overdue.

Life happens sometimes, and you lose track of things, and I just kept telling myself I'd get to it, but I haven't, so here I am three and a half months later. I think part of the reason I didn't post is because I didn't feel like I knew what to write about. We had expectations in our head of our first big wall summit and first overnight, but events conspired against us. Don't get me wrong, we had an absolutely amazing trip to Yosemite, but in the context of this blog and climbing it felt a bit anticlimactic.

Yosemite is an awe-inspiring place. Our first glimpse of The Valley we knew from the photographs was at sunset, as we pulled into the park on the evening of May 1st. After passing a few towers that we couldn't identify without a guidebook, El Capitan suddenly loomed ahead of us. It's really just hard to believe. 

by Abram Herman

Whenever people find out I climb they usually assume that I'm just not afraid of heights, period. It's not that I'm not bothered by the heights involved in climbing, it's that I'm good at not letting the fear affect my performance. It's kind of the opposite of fearless, actually; I get really focused when I'm afraid and get a spike of adrenaline, and I perform better. I can't speak for every climber out there, but I think that basically all climbers are afraid of heights just like everyone else—we're just better at dealing with the anxiety, remaining rational and performing in those situations. Climbing has the appearance of danger in spades, but in all actuality it can be a pretty safe sport over all (depending on what you're doing, of course). While it can be terrifying to fall on a tiny piece of gear, you also know how strong and reliable all of that gear is—which is why it's so freakin' expensive. I just watched a fascinating video tour of the DMM factory; a piece of climbing gear like a carabiner is traceable in the production process from start to finish, and inspected and tested some 15 times before it makes its way to the shelves. 

by Abram Herman

Everybody's heard the saying, "Hindsight is 20/20." It means that, even though it's not always clear what you should do, it's always clear what you should have done. It can be easy to beat yourself up over the way you handled a situation, but the fact is that you made what seemed to be the best choice at the time, given the information you had to make the decision. There's no use in regretting something you wish you'd done differently—that energy is better spent thinking about how you can act better in the future.

by Abram Herman

Anne, Brad and I headed up to Country Club Crack on Saturday morning for some aid climbing and jumaring practice. We arrived at about 10:30, and the base of Castle Rock was freezing cold in the shade. My planning proved to be almost perfect, though, as the sun hit the rock no more than 20 minutes after we arrived. We hauled the gear a grueling 15 feet to the base of the climb and, after taking a few minutes to compose myself from the arduous hike, I geared up with every single piece of gear I have so far that we'll be taking up El Cap.

by Abram Herman

Unfortunately Anne's ankle is hurt and I couldn't find another partner to go with me, so yesterday I went out by myself to hang a toprope on an old practice aid climb in Boulder Canyon. It's called Dark Magic, and Mountain Project consensus rates it at a C2, which I think is fair—there are some good placements, and there are some... "other" placements.

I'd bought some new hooks on Saturday evening, so I was anxious to try them out. If you've never tried it before, using hooks can be terrifying. Mind you, I've taken quite a few falls on gear, some not so good, and countless falls on bolts both in the gym and outside, so committing to a fall is not something that I generally have a problem with. Aid climbing, however, presents a new challenge in this regard. The anticipation, the tension—I haven't perfected moving between aid placements yet, so I have a hard time feeling like I can bounce test a piece without just committing so much weight that I'm along for the ride, if and when something pops (NSFW language).

I place the first hook of my climbing career on what seems to be a decent little bulge on top of a miniature arete up above. I clip the aider and shift a bit of my weight onto the piece in a small bounce test, just to see if the hook wants to move at all. It doesn't, so I steel myself—noticing that it's taking a little longer than usual for me to commit—and I step off of my solid piece below, and into the unknown.

I hang on it for a second, hesitating, and get ready to climb up.

                                         *PING!*

This seems like the most horrible sound you can hear during that moment of tension; rock dust flies, and my knuckles scrape against the rough granite as I fall. Aid climbing lesson number one: Always wear gloves.