Ingrediente:
- un plan facut in graba cu parteneri care apar si dispar ca mustele. de regule 5 persoane ajung ca sa fii sigur ca pornesti cu unul…
- un obiectiv care arata bine in poze si e probabil un cosmar in realitate
- iarna
- tibet
- chinezi pe sosea
- mai multi chinezi pe sosea
- si mai multi chinezi pe sosea
- o tona de vise despre plaja
- doua zile de inghetat in masina
- nisip (cit incape)
- peste
- si mai mult peste
Cum se gateste:
Se porneste la intimplare spre Tibet cu incapatinata ignorare a faptului ca: partenerii se retrag, nu prea este un plan, o iarna ca-n povesti (de groaza) paralizeaza China, aeroporturile sint inchise, trenurile oprite si permisul care costa 30USD se scumpeste la 700USD. Se mizeaza pe faptul ca romanul e inventiv si se rezolva aspectele critice cu trei solutii geniale: se rapeste un partener care nu prea stie cam de ce sint in stare romanii, se rezolva problema transportului prin auto-locomotie (Jeep-up personal, 2500km one way si multa inconstienta) si se legalizeaza totul printr-un juramint de a ‘bracona’.
Zis si aproape facut: doua zile mai triziu ingredientele noastre sint inca in Jeep, la 1500km de casa si 1000km de destinatie, intepeniti pe un drum de tara cu multi km de drum si multi km de masini inainte si in urma. Se consuma copios mincarea liofilizata, se da jos gheata de pe parbriz cu noul model Cobra de la Black Diamond, se merge ‘la tufa’ cu coltarii si se mai face o cana de Tang fierbinte cu Jetboil-ul… Se decide intre hainele de puf sau consumul de benzina pentru incalzire si se cade de acord sa se implementeze solutia numarul trei: retragerea rusinoasa si relativ sanatoasa!
Nota despre cum se executa o retragere rusinoasa si relativ sanatoasa: se creeaza multa comotie! In general doi albi cu instrumente ascutite in mina si urlind din adincul plaminilor au acest efect in satele din China…. Cind comotia genereaza un pic de spatiu in jurul Jeep-ului se executa o intoarcere din trei puncte din cam 13 2456 manevre. Cind Jeep-ul pare intepenit intre masini, purcei si biciclete, dincolo de orice scapare se realizeaza imposibilul, se sare pirleazul (la propriu), se accelereaza in orezarie, se evita gainile inghetate, nu se evita barajul politiei, se evita a fi impuscat de politistii care zbiara sa te opresti, se accelereaza, se accelereaza si mai mult, (optional se pot inchide si ochii) si se evadeaza peste dealuri (la propriu) si in directia vaga: “cata’ casa!”
Bun - blatul e acum facut. Sa trecem la umplutura:
Ajuns acasa se executa intre 3 si 5 dusuri cu apa fierbinte in functie de jegul din dotare, se pune masina de tuns in freza si se cumpara cele mai ieftine bilete de avion disponibile spre o destinatie care prezinta cel putin 30 de grade Celsius la racoare. Daca cele mai de sus se executa corect ajungi in Thailanda; daca se taie maioneza - ajungi in Manila….
Odata ajuns in Manila se evita moartea subita prin inecare in canalizare in incercarea de a evita moartea subita prin trafic, se preseaza narile puternic intre aratator si degetul mare si se executa o iesire cit se poate de rapida in directia aeroportului. Optional se poate minca la MacDonalds insa doar daca nu te deranjeaza cei doi paznici cu AK45 de la intrare. Se cumpra o harta a Filipinelor de la un stand (echipat la rindul sau cu un paznic cu o carabina) si se decide in totala necunostinta de cauza o destinatie in functie de sonoritate. “Cebu”, de exemplu, pare sa sune ca un loc in care e posibil sa se gaseasca stinci asa ca se ia primul avion spre destinatie. Cebu se dovedeste a fi un oras in mijlocul unei insule - se decide intre nord si sud si se concluzioneaza, eronat, ca poate in nord sint stinci. Se ia expresul mortii - un autobus local care se deplaseaza timp de patru ore in picaj prin jungla pina cind da cu botul in mare in extremitatea nordica a insulei. Se coboara din autobus, se curata pantalonii in care se curatasera intestinele si se ia o barca relativ flotanta catre o insulita, si mai la nord, care, poate, are stinci. Numele de “Malapascua” pare sa indice astfel.
Ingredientele se instaleaza in sat intr-un bungalow de bambus la mila tintzarilor si se concluzioneaza ca nu sint stinci, decit citeva formatiuni de coral undeva in Pacific. Doua zile mai tirziu se executa o rapire de caiace si se continua cu o sedinta de Shalow Water Soloing pe coral apoi se inoata cu disperare dupa caiacele pierdute in ocean. Ajuns la mal se citeste cu interes panoul publicitar care prezinta Malapascua drept destinatia no. 1 pentru vizionarea de rechini. Se recalibreaza definitia catararii ca sport extrem si drept consecinta a ranilor provocate de coral se renunta la viitoare escapade de SWS (care ca scuza nu e decit o gramada de BS)!
Dupa o rumenire intre soare si nisip se decide ca cea mai buna metoda de relaxare e de a completa un curs de scuba de 4 zile in 36 de ore. Se studiaza manualul, se executa scufundarile, se inghite multa apa cind regulatorul se defecteaza la 18m adincime, se promoveaza cursul cu nota maxima si cu asigurarea ca ‘Romanians are crazy M@#$r-F^%$@s!’
Cum se serveste:
Odata ajuns acasa, obosit, ars de soare, cu nisip in papuci si rucksac, cu miinile taiate de coral si cu 12 de ore inainte de a merge la servici.
My last two attempts at having fun in Qionglai shan didn’t bring about much fun… let alone a route… Last year I didn’t manage to at least touch the wall i was there for; this year i didn’t even make it into the range! Busy in London with piles of books in the Institute of Classical Studies I was more than happy to let the planning to be someone else’s task. I wanted to climb something but gladly let someone else to worry about the details. Bob (my partner on Transilvania avenue) was happy to do the worrying and he enlisted the Canadians Erik and Jen and i brought in my British friend Eben. With fairly loose plans (Bob and Erik and Jen were looking for some alpine style objectives while I was set on a big wall attempt of a face, most likely with Eben) we were planning to take off on the 26th of January and spend the next three weeks in the mountains.
Then - a mere ten days before departure - Bob injured himself and had to pull out, Erik and Jen were not sure and only Eben and I were still hoping. After lengthy deliberations we realised it was too late to post the gear and the flights were getting too expensive with the whole country on the move for the Chinese New Year. We decided that the only reasonable way to make it there with all our kit and with a reasonable expense was for me to drive our sorry a&%$s from Guangzhou as far as possible up the valley. In the end Erik decided to make this a trip of three and we were supposed to collect him on the way, from Chengdu.
With more than 2500km one way to cover in two days and being the only driver the task seemed a bit daunting but the prospects merry. We set off, Eben and I, on the 26th, as planned did really good progress, stopping at the border between Guangxi and Guizhou provinces, 1200km away from Guangzhou. What we did not expect was that China was to be hit by the freakiest winter in decades, sub-tropical areas being covered in snow and the whole country brought to a standstill with all major airports closed for days, most of the motor-ways and roads going north shut down and with trains derailed or stopped on the lines for days in a row. Somewhere in the passage mountains between Guangxi and Guizhou Eben, myself and my Jeep were caught up in the nightmare spending almost a whole day on a mere 50 km stretch of road just to be told that we will not be moving anytime soon and even if we did the roads between Guiyang and Chongqing will be blocked anyway. With a bit over 1000 km ahead of us we had to decide. The alternative to forcing our way up was a 2000 km extra detour through Yunnan but without any guarantee that the roads will be open. Reason prevailed and we turned tail in the last minute. We struggled to leave the area for the remaining part of the day weaving our way through more road-blocks and 1200 km and 18 hours later we pulled back into my parking lot. Just as well as we saw on the news that night that the worst was yet to come and we missed it by he skin of our teeth.
Taking this whole thing philosophically i am to conclude that it wasn’t meant to be this time either and that it could have been worst with us still trapped on a dirt road in snow, in a long queue of cars, for days and days… Taking it less philosophically all i can say is DAMN! B*^^%R! I’ll be looking for a different playground next time!
So what can I do? The only sane thing to do (and this is quite unlike me) is to shake away the cold and misery by staying away from it, thus I am taking off in two days to discover the limestone cliffs and sandy beaches of the Philippines…
Yes - just off the boat so to speak… Back after almost four years. Not much seems to have changed - maybe more Polish spoken in the streets, a wing here or there but essentially old London is still the same.
My first impression was how quiet and slow everything seems. I got serious laughter for saying this but, hey, that’s true. I guess its hard to compete with one o the most dynamic cities in the most populous country in the world.
Am parked on Mark’s couch (many many many thanks again) and easing back into being European. I came to lay the final blow to my Ph.D. dissertation, a book I so cruelly abandoned four years ago completed but not defended, and travelled to the other end of the world….
Last weekend we went to the Peak District - I forgot how beautiful it was, especially in the colours of autumn. I haven’t had an autumn for the last four years and seeing the splash of colours brought back memories of childhood, back in Transilvania.
Back to climbing after more than two months of paper shifting and planning was bliss - but a painful one. Climbing with Mark was a good exercise of just enjoying the rock rather than chasing silly grades. I was happy to see him pushing his limits, so artificially imposed on himself by his own modesty. For me, getting back on the gritstone took a while to get used to but by the end of the weekend we had a fun collection of routes:
Stanage: Wall Buttress HVS 5a; Dieppe S 4b; Curving Buttress E2 6a (free solo); Little Ernie S 4b; Trombosis VS 5a
Froggat: Terrace Crack HS 4b; Trapeze Direct HS 4c; Valkirie HVS 5a; Pinacle Face VS 5b (free solo).
My onsight solo of Curving Buttress E2 6a seemed like a good thing till a Pole (or Czech?) hoped onto and soloed an E3 6b. We packed our bags and left for home, Mark very psyched about his first VS lead.
Will be here till Christmas and besides the chill and ridiculous prices nothing seems to spoil my move back in time.
I didn’t know Liu Xi Nan for a long time and I didn’t know him as well as many of his other friends did. I thought, though, that I would have the time to catch up…
That will not happen anymore. Liu Xi Nan was killed on March 29th in a mountaineering accident when descending Danzen shan near Batang in Eastern Tibet.
I lost many friends to the mountains over the years but in no way this miserable exercise prepares me for any further tragic news nor that I want it to.
Last time we met was in a Tibetan house in Shuangqiao gou in Siguniang shan on the Chinese New Year night, only a bit over a month ago. We just stumbled upon each other there - he who just arrived to help run an ice climbing school, me after a day of climbing ice; we hugged and we were happy to meet again. Later that night, when the new year parties have quieted down and the fires all burned out, I came around to have a chat and, although language was as much a barrier as a helper, we weaved plans to hit some big walls in the near future and we parted with a hug and the determination: “we have to climb a big wall together soon!”
He was not only a good and strong rock climber but a visionary climber too. In a country where sport climbing and conquering the same 8000m peaks is held at high esteem, disciplines like big wall climbing and alpine technical routes are regarded as some esoteric endeavours, best reserved to visiting foreigners. Liu Xi Nan was the spearhead of a small band of Chinese climbers ready to experiment and embrace adventure climbing and take their prowess and skills honed on the sport crags to the bigger arena.
The place in our hearts that those who depart leave empty cannot be filled and should not be filled. It should be a reminder that life is precious and living it fully and filling it with the things we enjoy is the best way to spend this borrowed treasure.
Many will look at our chosen way of life and will ponder about its futility in the light of this tragedy. No mountain is worth a life and there is no debate about this, but a life without mountains to climb (whatever you chose your mountains to mean) is no life either. The same way an artist or a musician immerses himself into his art to find freedom and a more vibrant way of expressing himself, the alpinist is drawn to the perfect line on the perfect mountain. Our lives are a quest and our climbs are our drafts. Those more gifted open windows and cut trails for us, the others, to follow.
I will not say, as it is the custom with a fallen alpinist that he died doing what he loved. It would not be fair to those left behind – but I will say that he lived doing what he liked and that he was good at it! He cracked open a door that others will widen and I, for one, will carry his memory in my heart, anytime I will be hanging, hundreds of meters above the ground, wishing we’d be climbing that wall together, and in a way actually doing it.
Goodbye my friend and have a smooth journey. I will miss you and all those lost opportunities…
Much ink has been shed on this issue and many wise -and sometimes less so- opinions have been thrown into the arena. Many of the leading alpinists of our day have voiced an opinion about the place and meaning of this award. And here is something one might see as the root of all evil: ‘leading alpinists’. Most of us embrace the adage launched by Alex Lowe: “the best alpinist is the one who is having the most fun†but for too many the pressures of sponsorship and other outward benefits allow competition to sneak in, hence – the rankings.
It would seem natural that those who are likely to get the award to decide what this one is given for and who deserves it, but what if the whole ‘award thing’ as understood here goes against the very idea of what alpinism is really for? Is it about who snatches a golden clad tilling tool every year for leaving behind one biner and a pair of socks or for nailing up the most improbable line? Fun and inspiration are their own awards and I, for one, while not being by far a ‘leading alpinist’ am a great one, for I have tremendous fun anytime am out on the hills.
We all see and recognize those who push the limits of what it is possible, and we also notice the ridicule they are subjected to when set against each-other to win the ‘best of’, when there is, really not such need at all.
If ‘Piolet d’Or’ is to contribute to something, besides egos and image, it should be a festival, a celebration of visionary climbs and inspiring ascents. It should be a place where people would share experiences through the medium of film or pictures and then through climbing together outside.
I probably share most in the view expressed by Rolo Garibotti in his letter a while ago and somehow cannot bring myself to wish to see a new Pd’O rewritten on the same template like the old one – and am afraid this is more or less how it transpires from Steve House’s letter. One cannot complain about bad competitive spirit and media setting climbers against climbers while maintain, in the same sentence, the need of an award meant to recognize, undiluted, “the bestâ€. There is little doubt that maybe only 50 people in the world truly understand the feat of climbing the Rupal face as Steve House and Vince Anderson did but then again, pitching climbers against climbers and having 50 people vote for each other’s ascents year after year is anything but inspirational.
What would be, in my view, inspirational would be a meeting where people can share the dreams and climbs, experience them and celebrate vision. That can be done around a fire, tied on a rope and watching slides, films and exchanging stories and lessons. Alpinism is about inspiration and has to give such inspiration – then let people decide for themselves, each in their own inner forum, who’s the best and for what reasons!
Media? Media unites people around the globe and being the medium through which such celebrations are diffused is a worthy task for such a loud voice. To let people who cannot, for various reasons be there SEE and HEAR, and maybe TRULY UNDERSTAND and then FEEL INSPIRED.
I am back from Siguniang. Unfortunately without a route in the bag this time and without much climbing done either… The trip was less than a personal success for various reasons but you can read more about it here
Nevertheless the boys managed to put up a new route (Nusu and my departure) so not quite all was lost in the end. For my part I learned some valuable lessons and I hope my next trips will be somewhat more successful. Before my departure I managed to get in some interesting WI 5+ climbing in Shuangqiao gou with Zhao Kai and on a subsequent day with Nusu.
Pictures 1-5 (c) Liviu Neagoe and picture 6 (c) Ion Neagoe.
Well, I hope it will be happy…. The closure wasn’t. December took away Charlie Fowler, Christine Boskoff and, as a cruel and bad joke, Hari Berger. People were asking - what next? Few more minutes left - now what?
Been busy. Kind of… Spent Christmas through New Year driving from Guangzhou to the Tibetan plateau in NW Yunnan and back - some more than 5000km. Nothing eventful but a worthy trip. Then back to school and in the fever of preparing the Chinese New year trip: http://www.siguniang4nw.blogspot.com
Primesc un mesaj, cam acum doua saptamini de la rep-ul BD din China ca este o competitie de escalada pe gheata la Beijing si daca sint interesat. Cam tot pe atunci ma suna si un amic de la clubul local din care fac parte cum ca, fiind in Beijing, officially China Mountaineering Association incercau sa recruteze straini care sa participe la campionat. Am marturisit, rusinat, ca nu catarasem gheata de anul trecut si ca nu cred ca sint in forma de un concurs, mai ales de asa anvergura, insa daca nu sint pretentii mari in ce priveste performanta mea, m-as duce cu placere.
Cu o zi inainte sa pornesc spre Beijing, pe cind incercam sa descurc itele cargoului cu echipament pe care urma s ail trimit spre Sichuan, aflu ca nu voi participa la competitie impotriva chinezilor ci in cadrul unei “divizii internationaleâ€. La intrebarea citi straini sint, raspunsul a fost: sapte. Cam dezumflat am pornit spre Beijing unde am ajuns vineri noaptea la 1:30. Am fost cazat la sediul CMA. Simbata dimineata micul dejun la ora 7. I-am cunoscut pe trei din ceilalti 6 internationali: Goran (Suedia), Steve (USA) si Ken (UK) toti locuind in Beijing. Mai erau si doi coreeni insa nu ii vazuse nimeni.
Tot atunci aflu ca onorabila “concurenta†este pe la primele aventuri pe gheata asa ca sintem dispusi san e simtim bine sis a ne dam pe trasee doar de dragul catararii. Din pacate organizatori ne spun ca toate traseele sint inchise si va trebui sa asteptam sa ne vina a doua zi rindul. In plus, vom concura doar in proba de viteza. Ken si Goiran decid sa se intoarca acasa, coreeni decid ca intreaga intreprindere e oricum prea dificila pentru ei si se retrag. Raminem doar Steve si cu mine. Cu putin noroc serara, inainte de a se intuneca apucam sa sarim pe traseul de calificare al fetelor si apuc sa fac primul meu traseu anul acesta, imediat dupa Steve, si inainte ca organizatorii sa traga coarda. Onsight teribil la WI3+ sau pe acolo…
Duminica sintem informati ca vom intra in competitie direct poe traseul de finala de viteza (undeva in jur de WI3+/4-) al baietilor. Cum nu imi place proba de viteza si ingrijorat ca ma voi accidenta inainte de excursia in Tibet in care urma sa plec peste o saptamina refuz sa iau parte in aceasta proba si pledez pentru cea de dificultate. Mi se spune ca asa sintem trecuti in program si ma las convins in cele din urma. Ajungem la traseu, sintem introdusi si atunci imi dau sema ca nu sintem altceva decit doua maimute pe sfoara. Textul introductive a sunat ceva de genul: “iata-i pe cei doi invitati din strainatate. Urmariti-i cu atentie cum vor demonstra niste tehnici superioare de esclada.†Maxima ipocrizie deoarece, desi de mine nu stiau nimic stiau de Steve ca era in primul sau sezon (luna!) de catarat gheata…. Se da startul, ajung in top dupa ce in a doua miscare imi infig prompt coltarii in genunchiul drept. Steve inca se chinuia in prima jumatate. Dupa ce ajunge in top schimbam traseele si scena se repeta in timp ce lumea pleca spre zona in care urma finala masculina.
In ziua anterioara doar un singur competitor a facut topul. Intradevar un catarator foarte bun si tehnic Zhao Kai era vedeta si favoritul de necontestat al evenimentului urmat, la mare distanta e drept, de un alt sportiv care face parte din echipa care va duce flacara olimpica pe Everest.
Traseul de finala era o succesine de trecere de pe o coloana rupta pe alta cam de 25 de metri cumulat cu trei “pasi†– unul la doi metri de intrare, unde se trecea pe primul turture, urmat apoi de o escalada delicata a coloanei pina la urmatorul “pas†unde se trecea pe cealata coloana, urmata de un loc de odihna decent si din nou de o trecere pe un turture pritr-o esclada a unui pasaj usor surplombat si de echilibru spre cel de-al treilea “pas†care trecea peste surplomba si se termina cu patru miscari usoare pe o fata. Jumatate dintre finalisti au cazut la primul “pasâ€. Doi au cazut in cel de-al doilea “pas†iar restul din pasajul delicat de dinainte de al doilea pas. Doar Zhao Kai, cu o mica ezitare, a terminat traseul foarte elegant.
Intre timp la fete lucrurile durau mai mult. Organizatorii ne-au anuntat ca vom intra pe finala fetelor cind acestea termina. De data asta i-am spus lui Steve ca prefer sa nu catar deloc sau sa cad in prima miscare din finala masculina decit sa intru pe traseul fetelor. Decizia mea a fost comunicat organizatorilor care, intr-un mod condescendent mi-au spus: “dar traseul e foarte greu….†Nici o problema – cadem repede si ati scapat de noi. Ideea a parut sa le surida si au spus OK.
Primul a mers Steve. A intrat in primul crux insa dupa un efort bun a cazut in primele miscari. In timp ce catara multime striga s ail incurajeze, la fel si anunturile la microfon insa se simtea clar un to condescendent.
A venit apoi rindul meu sa intru pe traseu. Am fost incurajat de multime care striga “jiayouâ€. Am intrat in traseu si in trei miscari am trecut de primul pas. Lumea a amutit si la fel si domnisoara de la microfon. Am facut o mica pauza de odihna in care simteam linistea grea care se lasase. Eram mai sus decit sase dintre finalisti. Am intrat apoi spre cel de-al doilea “pasâ€, am trecut de locul in care cazusera restul, am intrat in cel de-al doilea “pas†si nu m-am oprit pina la locul de odihna. Steve urla de jos cit putea: “Yeah man! Show tehm how it’s done!†iar din public prietenii mei chinezi strigau si ei “Allez†si “Jiayouâ€. Cind am trecut de al doilea “pas†lumea si-a revenit si a inceput sa strige, la fel si domnisoara de la microfon. M-am uitat in jos si toti concurentii erau la baza traseului. Am zimbit cameramanului de deasupra mea si am legat ultimele miscari pina la ultimul “pasâ€. Acesta fusese gindit pentru “heel-spurs†– avind toate trei prizele in dreptul umerilor si urmatoarea cestul de sus deasupra surplombei. Cum nu aveam “heel-spurs†cocnurind cu o pereche de bocanci obisnuiti a trebuit sa fac o “fig4†care a cistigat o exclamatie din partea domnisoarei de la microfon si vociferari din multime. Din pacate priza respectiva era prea fragile ca sa suporte toata presiunea exercitat de pozitia mea sip e cind am agatat priza superiorara mica formatiune care ma sustinea s-a rupt si am cazut, cu patru miscari usoare sub top si cu o treime din traseu deasupra celui care va fi oficial clasat numarul doi. Am fost coborit si am primit apaluze insa se vedea ca nu foarte entuziaste. Oficialii de la baza erau cam acri si ii cam durea zimbetul. Mi-am impachetat sculele (de fapt un set de scule care le lausem pentru Iustin sip e care baietii urmau sa le duca in RO) si m-am retras in coltul meu.
La premiere officialli au veit san e invite sa luam parte la ceremonie. Ni s-a spus ca desi u am fost parte formala din competitie vom fi premiati. Dup ace s-au anuntat locurile cistigatoare la dificultate baieti si fete si al viteza baieti si fete (ambele fiinde ocupate binemeritate de Zhao Kai si de sotia sa) am fost si noi doi (Steve si cu mine) invitati pe scena. Mie mi s-a decernat locul 1 la viteza divizia internationala iar Steve a luat locul 2. (Go figure – cu doi concurenti). Am primit fiecare cite un rucksacel, am pozat si am strins miini. Nici mic despre proba de dificultate. Televiziunea centrala care cu citeva ore inainte imi luase un interviu despre ce cred despre olimpiada si de spre mincarea chinezeasca m-a evitat subtil. Mi-am impachetat jucariile si am pornit spre aeroport prin amabilitatea gazdelor care mi-au multumit pentru vizita. Am ajuns in Guangzhou la 2 noaptea, total nepregatit pentru o luni dimineata la scoala…
Morala – cred ca e undeva in zona mamaligii care cind explodeaza, ei bine…. explodeaza. Nu am mers acolo sa cistig – nu ma antrenasem, nu particip in general la competitii, nu ma incinta spiritul competitive deloc preferind muntii si proiectele insa voiam sa cunosc mai multa lume, sa comunic cu comunitatea de aici si sa ma catar in weekend. Atitudinea foarte ospitaliera insa extrem de condescendenta a oficialilor – si a unor sportivi (insa nu si Zhao Lei) m-a motivat sufficient incit sa cauzez, “live on TV†o jena CMA. Azi dimineata in raporturile de presa apar clasamentele inclusiv pina la locul 65 si poze insa nici macar o mentionare a numelui meu cum ca am fost macar in nordul Chinei. Pe de alta parte, se pare ca au cobit deoarece intr-un sfirsit, Cosmin din Romania le-a aratat totusi ceva tehnici mai deosebite care i-au permis ca direct din fotoliu sa se claseze al doilea din 101 de concurenti la doar patru prize sub eroul national, iar ironia s-a intors si i-a muscat de spate.
A fost un weekend interesant unde am identificat potentiali parteneri pentru ture, mi-am facut un sponsor fericit si m-am ales cu un pic de catarare inainte de excursia in Siguniang.
PS. Din cauza numarului mare de concurenti si a vremii foarte calde competitia s-a desfasurat in regim de mansa, organizatorii apreciind ca periculoase asigurarile pe cuie in astfel de conditii.
Fiecare catarator are motivatiile sale in legatura cu practicarea acestui sport. Unii nici nu il considera a fi sport de altfel ci mod de viata. Si ocmai pentru acest motiv rar vei gasi doi cataratori care sa fie de acordsupra a ceea ce inseamna catararea in viata lor. In plus nu de putine ori motivatile care ne imping sa facem un traseu sau altul au in egala masura de a face cu orgoliul cit si cu placerea escaladei.
Zilele trecute am vazut pe casca colegului meu de coarda un sticker care mi s-a parut ca rezuma perfect ceea ce este catararea pentru mine:
“If gravity is a law this is civil disobedience”
Este o provocare continua. Un traseu pare imposibil si apoi ‘cade’ cind lucrezi la anduranta insa ramine un alt traseu in care ai nevoie de tehnica si cind il rezolvi si pe acela e altul care apeleaza la curaj, apoi unul care apeleaza la noroc poate si tot asa te straduiesti sa pacalesti o lege naturala care te trage, la propriu, in jos.
Pentru mine escalada sportiva este in primul rind despre placerea de a te misca bine si mai ales frumos pe stinca. Si repet din nou - cel mai important mi se pare estetica miscarii si impresia pe care un catarator o da de fluiditate. Ma impresioneaza mai putin gradele insa ma impresioneaza teribil aparenta de lipsa de efort si de ‘plutire’ pe stinca pe care cei buni o ofera. Asta ma inspira pe mine. Sa vad ca acolo unde cineva trece in tractiuni si cu vena puscindu-i pe git o fata subtirica miscindu-si
picioarele putin mai sus sau mai intr-o parte trece cu un zimbet pe fata. Eu asa judec un catarator bun si cind merg sa fac escalada un traseu indiferent de grad catarat bine imi ofera mai multa satisfactie decit unul greu, muncit si scos la limita. In cele din urma orice bolovan poate fi urcat si asta este valabil atit in escalada cit si in alpinism - stilul conteaza, din punctul meu de vedere, insa cel mai mult.
O a doua dimesiune in care acel slogan de mai sus poate fi inteles e si aceea care face din cataratori nonconformisti. E un sentiment ciudat ca sa traiesti o viata intreaga cu stiinta ca ceea ce este atit de important pentru tine, pasiunea ta, este considerata de altii o prostie, si uneori o prostie periculoasa. Astfel e putin de mirare ca in general cataratorii sint competitivi, combativi si nu de putine ori aroganti. Ne-am obisnuit prea mult sa fim priviti ca niste ciudati deoarece ne indeprtam de la normele a
ceea ce constituie ‘petrecerea placuta a timpului liber’ si sintem mereu in defensiva. Si asta cu atit mai mult in Romania (dar si in alte tari cu traditie scurta) unde chiar si escalada, care este in esenta un sport sigur si cu mai putine accidentari decit multe alte sporturi (rugby de exemplu) este in continuare considerata o intreprindere riscanta.
In incheiere as spune ca cel ce vrea sa se apuce de escalada (sau boulder) trebuie sa fie creativ, sa iubeasca in primul rind estetica miscarii (altfel e doar ‘jogging’ vertical) si sa fie un/o perfectionist/a.
First ascent of the SW wall of the Fourth Sister in Siguniang shan by Wai Wah Yip (UK/HK) and Cosmin Andron (Romania), June 2006. +400m, aprox. 4500-5000m alt (Also in Alpinist Newswire, AAJ 2007 , ROc and Shanye)
It should have been a smooth ride. Not a walk in a park but nevertheless a smooth ride. And why not? I have been in the area three times before; I’ve worked three times before with our local contact person; we had pictures, timetable, objectives. Actually I was so certain that everything would go smooth that I even booked my flight for Romania departing the night following my return to Guangzhou. Why not? The summer holiday just started and I was planning on doing something interesting, relatively close to the beaten track, nothing too easy of course but nothing to taxing either.I am not the superstitious kind but I should have known that something is not right as soon as I got Katia’s phone call telling me that she’s out, two days before departure, down with pneumonia. The day before departure Benjack called also, to let me know that he’s out too. The vagaries of running your own successful business I assume… I redesigned the gear list and waited for Geordie to show up from Hong Kong – of course keeping my fingers crossed that he’ll actually show up…. In the end it was to be only the two of us. Geordie (Waiwah Yip in passport) is rigger and technical manager for an adventure races company in Hong Kong (Asia Pacific Adventure). Although ethnically Chinese, Geordie was born in New Castle (hence his nickname) and he’s more English than a cup of tea.Things were getting better every minute – a motorway congestion meant that we missed our flight. In the airport, once we got there, we realised that we booked our flight with the only company in Baiyun Airport that had no complaints service or manager on site or at least an English speaker, let alone someone partially knowledgeable enough to transfer us on a later flight: the amazing Sichuan Airlines.We started walking towards the plane twice just to be turned back twice. The second time, against common sense and our loud protests, the clerk sent us to board with all our kit. My deepest regret is that I missed the opportunity to film the expression on the security agent’s face when our 150kgs of kit passed through the X-Ray. Indeed, we said the truth when we told them we had no nail clippers nor scissors nor paper cutters in our luggage. We had only one big knife each, two pairs of crampons, two pairs of ice axes and spare blades, pitons, ice screws and assorted garments. I keep wondering why they didn’t let us board with such a benign hand luggage…Finally, almost 10 hours later, richly seasoned with negotiation and fights, we landed on the tarmac of Chengdu Airport. From here everything worked just as planned: the driver, which our local fixer arranged for us to pick us up, was there, waiting patiently. He took us to the hotel and we planned for the next day to go food shopping and move towards Rilong, in Siguniang shan, about 8 hours drive from Chengdu.
Next day, in the evening, when we arrived in Rilong, black clouds were looming again over our little expedition. Instead of our local contact his wife, a charming and very affable lady, who nevertheless knew little to nothing about our plans, greeted us. Her husband was in the mountains with another group of clients from Hong Kong and was due back in three days. We were graciously invited to wait, option that we could not even contemplate. With ten days in total, door to door, we could not afford to waist not even one hour, let alone three full days. This being the predicament we found ourselves in the situation to organise our own logistics, on site. The most amusing fact seemed to be that everybody was addressing Geordie, who listened actively, just to turn later and ask innocently:
What are these guys saying?
Needles to say, Cantonese doesn’t have too many speakers in Sichuan and I seemed to be the only proud bearer of a vocabulary of some sort in putonghua. Few hours later I managed to negotiate some horses for next morning, a price and an itinerary. Or so I thought… Our great logistics masterpiece was quickly turning into a marvellous act of improvisation. We sorted out our luggage, sorted some more gear and we went to bed.
At 4 am a squeaky van picked us up and took us up, towards Chanping guo where three local Tibetans were waiting for us with four horses. We unloaded the van, which swiftly disappeared into the darkness. We loaded up the horses and we confirmed the itinerary and the price before setting off. The itinerary was OK – the price however doubled! Oh – and we were also supposed to pay them for eight days, not only one day.
Of course we said NO! Of course they unloaded the horses and turned around. We were left, in a clearing in the mountain, with 150 kg of luggage, angry and helpless. I pictured myself setting up the tent and cooking barbecue for a week… No! That’s impossible. We didn’t come all this way for this to happen. We called them back. An hour later, after negotiations that resembled more a shouting match we accepted the doubled price and they accepted to be paid only for one day – the day they were actually working for us. I wouldn’t necessarily call this a victory but it got us moving.
Four hours later we stopped.
- The horses go only up to here!
- But this is not where we wanted to get to. This is not where we agreed to go to… You know?
- The horses go only up to here!
Holly heavens! Here it starts again! Desperate I looked around – we were in the middle of Chanping guo, surrounded by forests and granite walls. I called a war council with Geordie. The decision was unanimous:
- Screw the plan!
I pointed to a wall:
- Can we go there?
- The horses can’t!
- What about there? I said pointing to another wall.
- The horses can’t!
- So how far can the horses go then?
- The horses go up to here only!
- But we’re still miles away from any place we would like to get to…
- The horses go up to here only!
- And how do we get to the wall? To any wall?
- Well… let’s see. If we can agree for a price maybe we can help you with your stuff. But you know, there is no trail and we are very, very tired….
And we did agree for a price: an arm and a leg basically. For us, however, it ceased matter anymore… we were overboard with our finances for two days. A few hundreds extra mattered little by now. The only thing that mattered now was to advance. Otherwise we would lose thousands. We randomly decided on a wall, I pointed to it, we unloaded the horses, we loaded the Tibetans and we started going up.
Six hours later, in which the price we paid seemed kind of reasonable after endless bushwhacking and slab climbing, we were somewhat close to the wall.
- We go only up to here!
I was by now a veteran and used to their mantra! I had my own strategies, developed in a long day of battles. I clawed out of them another 50m elevation gain till a reasonably looking BC site, we paid them and we agreed that they’ll be back in 7 days, for the same price, to take our junk down the hill. And they were gone…
Geordie pulled out a telescope and began scooping for lines. Before the porters left they told us that our randomly chosen wall was actually the southwest face of the fourth peak of Siguniang shan – the most famous and coveted peak in the range. Our random selection didn’t land us that badly after all, and we got our hands on a plum instead of the peanut we aimed for in our initial plans.
Although knackered we picked up to backpacks of stuff and in an hour of scrambling and slogging we dumped them at the base of the wall. On the way I threw up! More than once! We were moving for 12 hours; we were at 4500m altitude and I haven’t eaten nor drank anything all day. At least we reached the wall. At last!
By the time we set off for BC the rain started. One hour later we began setting up our tent while the darkness was settling in over the hills and the rain. I threw up again. We crawled inside, wet and exhausted.
In the morning we looked again at the wall, from BC. We didn’t need to inspect it too long. The line we would try to climb was way too obvious. In the 30’s the Italian climber Comici wrote that the perfect line of a route would be the trajectory of a water drop released from the top of the wall. Such a route later became known as a diretissima. Comici accomplished his dream with his 1933 route in Cima Grande.
We have found our diretissima too. Right there, splashed in the middle of the wall, were two parallel cracks that ended in a roof, followed by a chimney and a corner and finishing in another wall fit various crack systems. Geordie was drooling over the idea of leading the crack – I wanted the roof. We agreed easily. We loaded up another burden and back up again, from BC, to the base of the wall.
I’ve done something stupid though: the day before I drank nothing. I handle thirst quite well and in general it doesn’t bother me. At altitude, however, and especially when you exercise a lot, nothing is more important than hydration! I knew this and I knew how dangerous is to ignore liquid intake! Unfortunately I didn’t practice my own preaching and because of tiredness and wanting things to be done I ignored it for a whole day. I was now in the claws of a dreadful headache and my stomach was turning inside out.
By the time we got back down to BC we found out that our local fixer and a client from Hong Kong (a climber, known to both Geordie and myself) had come up. We gave them the short version of our story, we told them that next morning we are getting up on the wall, that we’ll get down on the 8th and we sent up our fixer and the Hong Kong climber (who was very kind to lay a hand) with two big backpacks.
Near BC I found a place where my mobile phone was able to catch some fading, pale whisper of a network and with the last cry of the battery I managed to send a message to my girlfriend in Guangzhou with the details of our whereabouts, the short version of our adventure so far and our intended schedule. As soon as the message went, the battery passed out and I crawled into the tent where I did pretty much the same thing. Outside was raining heavily; I was forcing myself to drink as much as possible before falling asleep and my boots, which I forgot outside, were collecting water as well. Slowly the water was creeping into the tent as well. Forget famous brands – our North Face was thirsty. After a season on Denali with Geordie the poor tent needed a holiday and sitting out the rain in Qionglai range of Eastern Tibet wasn’t probably the best species of a holiday.
The following day, after another stuff-carrying session we jumped at the wall. Geordie’s plans of freeing the parallel cracks faded real quickly. Two hundred meters of offwidth crack is less than inspiring. After the first few meters only a number 5 Camalot was offering protection and a 4.5 some shred of hope. For the rest: nada! With all our ton of gear these two were the largest pieces of pro we bothered to bring along. Mesmerising! The progress was slow and the distance between Geordie and the last piece of pro inclined to slow down a fall was increasing steadily: 2m, 5m, 10m, 15m.
Standing in his aiders, in his no. 5 Camalot he was sliding no. 4.5 as high as he could, climbed up their etrier as fast as possible while the cam was wiggling and giggling under his weight and shove in again the no. 5, and, again, from the top… leapfrogging he whole pitch. After about 15 m the crack on the right seemed like willing to accept a blue camalot so helped by some monkey business he stuck one in there, clipped the rope in, and back again on the original crack, with the original moves.
During this entire Odyssey I was curled up on a ledge, bent by pains, every now and again belaying – every now and again throwing up. Thank you Petzl for giving us the GriGri!
That evening, after we fixed the pitch, we went down to my ledge at the base of the wall and we put up the portaledge. That was indeed a fully new experience for both of us. We had with us a Metolius/Mt. Hardwear which Geordie borrowed last minute. I never saw one before and I was used to A5s. Geordie played a bit with it in his back yard but I guess his back yard in Hong Kong looked little like a ledge at 4500m altitude in eastern Tibet… At those times we didn’t really appreciate the humour of our situation, albeit now in retrospect we both (and our stuff included) looked like crazy monkeys on a string. After an hour long battle during which Geordie’s sleeping bag fell victim and literally fell into the valley below, we managed to reach some sort of equilibrium and we fell asleep in some rather less orthodox positions.
Geordie’s hands were trashed, glorious result of his attempts to free the crack. In consequence when nature called I had to help him up with his trousers’ zip. Needles to say how close all this experience has brought us! That night the flood began!
We started the morning with a trip to recover the dropped sleeping bag. All night Geordie was shivering, covered with his and my down jacket while resting his legs on my chest. The prospect of a better night sleep was worth the effort. We sorted out some more gear and we jumped back at the wall. Geordie had one more pitch on the parallel cracks and I was feeling slightly better. In the evening, around 10 pm we began hauling up the portaledge and all the luggage to somewhere around 200 m. We finished the work and the set-up sometimes around 4am.
The next day rained so hard that we stayed in. we were surrounded by clouds with zero visibility and drowned by heavy rain. The prospects for the future didn’t looked too good. That afternoon we get a message over the radio. Our Tibetan contact was saying something in putonghua. The only things I could understand were: come down! or just maybe come! I passed the radio onto Geordie to try to find out from the Hong Kong guy, in Cantonese, what’s it all about. The only part he understood from the Cantonese version vas the same: come down!
- What the hell are they saying? What about this come down business? Are they asking us to come down or they want to go down?
- I have no idea! What do they mean by: come down! We can’t go down now! Would take us too much time and the whole climb would be compromised. We won’t have time and energy to come back up again and by the way – why the hell go down in the first place?
- Maybe something happened…
- Well, they are the support down thee. Normally, if there is anything to happen that would be with us and we would need their assistance not the other way round…
We radioed back for more details. The reception was awful. The only new word I could understand was piao.
Piao, piao… What the hell did it mean? I knew the word but I could not remember what it meant… Oh, yeah! Ticket. What ticket is he talking about? This is neither zoo nor cinema….
Then it all sinks in! He didn’t mean ticket! He meant permit!
- But I thought the permit was sorted out before our arrival…
- Should have but since our lovely porters forced us to randomly chose a rock wall to climb by refusing to carry up our stuff anymore and by a twist of fate that peak happened to be the most coveted summit in the range we find ourselves now climbing it without a valid permit.
- That’s no good!
It was no good for many reasons. Firstly it wasn’t good because by not having a permit we were putting our local contact and ourselves in a very delicate position with the Sichuan Mountaineering Association which is the tax enforcer in the area. Secondly it was bad because we could not just get down… We were not just up the wrong tree so we could hop off. We were up the wrong big wall (by permit calculations), caught up in a storm, half way up.
- Well, what shall we do?
- Down is no way! We go up and we pay the permit on the way out. There is no other way.
That night we didn’t see any lights in the BC. Nobody answered our radio. We figured out that our local guy went down to sort out the permit mess. That was great! The problem was that if anything should happen to us we were doomed. Nobody would know if any accident were to happen till it was too late. Rather gloomy and still engulfed in water and clouds we went to sleep on our little portaledge, hoping for a better tomorrow.
Tomorrow came equally wet. It was obvious the bad weather was there to stay. It was my turn to lead now. The next two 70m pitches were mine to enjoy: a crack, a roof, an overhanging chimney and an overhanging corner. The crack would have been fun if it had not been an expanding crack. The roof was fun. Up in the chimney I was thinking of Comici and his diretissima. Were he still alive I would have looked for him to break his legs! Where his drop of water was following its path now the whole family of that water drop was coming down my head, transforming the chimney into a canyon. By the time I got to the corner I was exhausted and hypothermic. By the time I finished my pitches it was dark and I was shaking like I was connected to a power outlet. I thought I saw Comici floating, riding on a cloud, but I wasn’t sure. Could have been Marco Polo just as well …
By the time Geordie got up to the belay we decided we wouldn’t stop until we finish the wall. We didn’t have plans to summit – we came for the wall and that’s what we will climb. I don’t have too many memories form the last pitches. I was too busy being hypothermic. I can remember though Geordie saying every time it was his turn:
- There’s a little bit left. 20 minutes of easy scrambling.
Sure as hell he had no idea how long we still had left and I wasn’t sure if he was lying to me or to himself… The last 20 minutes section lasted three hours and two falls. In the end, at 2:45 am on the 8th of June 2006 we were on the top of our wall, on the summit ridge, intersecting the second Japanese route. We reached our aim. Had we had one more day and a properly obtained permit we would have gone for the final ridge to the summit via the remaining bit of the Japanese route. However, in our situation the priority was: DOWN! We accomplished the route! We climbed the wall! We survived! Now we had a plane to catch in 24 hours! I had actually two planes to catch within 48 hours!
We didn’t leave much gear behind. A couple of hexes, half a dozen pegs, a couple of nuts and some slings, all in the abseil anchors. NO BOLTS!
On the way down, at some point, the ropes got stuck and Geordie began jumaring up to free them. I just finished the abseil and was resting in an intermediate belay: a hex, a yellow camalot and a blue camalot, all three in a vertical crack. Suddenly something hits me in the face. Luckily I was wearing glasses. It was the hex. Thanks to my reflexes I grabbed the ends of the abseil ropes. The camalots just popped out as well. Because of the exhaustion – we were on the move for 31 hours by then – Geordie didn’t noticed that the crack was an expando, that is a crack that under weight and pressure opens up.
The picture didn’t look happy at all. I was hanging, Cliffhanger style, off the ends of the abseil ropes, Geordie was 70m higher locked at the beginning of his abseil after he freed the jammed rope and to top it up I just dropped my radio so I could not tell him what was going on down there. Somehow I managed to tie up the ends of the ropes together and clip in my daisy. Then, to take the load off I stuck my hands in the crack and waited, jamming, till Geordie reached me. He was slightly upset that I was fooling around with the ropes when he was trying to abseil – I wanted to smack him but my hands were busy jamming…
The imminence of the disaster woke us up. We decided to check up everything twice even if that meant taking twice as much time to get down. The haulbag took a flight to the valley off the last lower off section and Geordie’s last abseil was a off some pegs stuck in mud but we somehow managed to get all our stuff down and be back in BC by 6pm.
The Tibetan porters were there as agreed but our fixer, and his Hong Kong companion were missing. By the time we broke the camp down it was already dark. We had to throw in some more money so the porters would agree to go at night and we started going down. We were walking like zombies. We had only one working dead torch by this stage (mine being somewhere in the bottom of the haulbag). We lost the trail in the early stages of the hike down and probably the good direction at least an hour earlier. Instead of three porters as agreed, we had only two so we both ended up loaded like mules. At some point I managed to fly over a cliff, through some bushes and small trees and I ended up in a stream. The good news: since I was kind of behind and I’ve lost the others and I was torch-less it was a relief to find myself on the stream down the damn hill… The bad news: I busted horribly my knee that came out of joint and I had to knock back in.
By 3am we arrived at some hut. We were expecting to have reached the horses and carry on to Rilong where the meeting with our driver back to Chengdu airport, where we were supposed to arrive before 1pm, was long overdue. Our porters, however, decided they were tired and they won’t move till 8am. The end of story! That meant we would certainly miss our flight to Guangzhou and maybe I would also miss my flight for Romania. Nothing seemed to be able to make them move.
At 4am we heard noise outside the hut. Our local contact busted in, followed by another guy. After an hour of shouting and negotiations our porter brought the horses and started moving. What happened was that indeed, as we thought, he returned to Rilong to sort out the permit mix-up and luckily in that last sms message I sent to my girlfriend in Guangzhou I mentioned the names of our porters. When she saw that I did not contacted her at a time when I was supposed to be on the way back to Chengdu she called our local contact to enquire about our fate. Since the guy had no idea where we were providing him with the name of our porters brought him on time at our door just in time to save the day. At 6am we were in Rilong where we paid the permit fees and a hefty fine – all in total 2400RMB. On the way there every time I stumbled and fell over I would fall asleep. Geordie the same. We were on the move, with no rest for 46 hours. When we were loading up the car we noticed that our porters lost some of our gear: one Beal Ice line and a hammer of mine, Geordie’s boots, iPod and his solar charger. The damage was around few thousands RMB. Nevertheless we had no strength left to do anything. We crawled into the car, glad to be on our way out, and we instantly fell asleep, totally knackered. Our driver managed to drive the 8 hours route to the airport in 6 hours and we arrived at the ticketing office in the last minute. We were the last people at the check in and the last people to board the plane.
We were looking awful – full of mud, wearing winter boots and down jackets, smelling like a sewer and with hands covered in blood. The flight attendant showed us to our places. Nothing could go wrong from now on we thought. We were almost at home. Alas a last mix up caught up with us: there was a mistake at the ticketing and we landed in first class seats! Finally a mix up that worked for us for a change and which we thoroughly enjoyed for two hours to the utter repulsion of our clean-trimmed-suit-wearing fellow passengers.
Siguniang shan is a chain comprising four main peaks, the highest of them reaching 6250m. The first ascent of this peak happened in 1981 by a Japanese team following the southeast ridge. The ascent lasted for 16 days and the Japanese used 2000m of fixed ropes.
The second ascent is again a Japanese one and happens in 1992 following the southwest ridge. The siege lasted 23 days and they used 600m of fixed ropes.
In 1997 the American climber Charlie Fowler climbs solo, in three days, a variation of the first Japanese route.
In 2002 the British climbers Mick Fowler and Paul Ramsden climb the northwest face following a 1500m ice line to the top and spending five days on the wall. Their climb was awarded with the prestigious prize Piolet d’Or.
2004 sees the fifth ascent of the peak when a Chengdu based company run by an American climber, Jonathan Otto, manages to put up on the summit the first Chinese team of climbers.
Our route is a diretissima of the southwest wall on the same valley as the Fowler-Ramsden route. Our final point meets the Japanese route of the 1992 on the south ridge. We did not summit.
The grade we proposed is V A3 5.10 (possibly 5.12) and it is purely subjective. Having with us better-sized camalots and more of them might have reduced drastically the fall factors we were looking at in the first two pitches. The rest stays the same. Although we spent more time on the wall we appreciated the grade as being a fair V because I am convinced that we could have climbed it faster with no extra effort if the state of my health would not have slowed us down during the first couple of days.
I didn’t know Liu Xi Nan for a long time and I didn’t know him as well as many of his other friends did. I thought, though, that I would have the time to catch up…
