Lessons From the Dirty South
Winter blues got me hard this year, but instead of preparing myself for several months of gym climbing and/or eating my weight in snickerdoodles and mashed potatoes, I booked it to the southeast. From the mind-blowing roof on Superwave (a Kirk Brode 5.11c/d) to the classic 5.10b, Love Handle, Evan Raines and I had a full-value day climbing until the last light faded. The weather gods gifted us with clear, blue skies both days and I was thankful to be out of Colorado snow.
But when the forecast started looking a little misty, we considered our options. With acres of land, the boulder problems are stacked at Horse Pens 40. Once winter hits the south, pebble wrestlers from all over flock to this renowned destination—and it only costs ten dollars to shred your skin into bloody oblivion! The rock lives up to the bulletproof sandstone that the south is known and loved for, but what makes it so unique is its unusual features carved by wind over time.
Shaina, Alma and I drove to Alabama with the promise of clearer skies. We dropped pads at Bum Boy (AKA the world’s hardest V3.) Shaina and I both agreed that slopers were our anti-style. To be honest, bouldering is kind of my anti-style. From years of observation, I’ve concluded that boulderers have style—unlike me, who mostly exhibits awkward movement up routes with rapid, shallow breathing and the occasional sewing machine leg, shakily asking nobody at all, “Is this piece any good?!” But boulderers are…much cooler.
Additionally, you can accomplish twice, if not three times as many climbs as you can route climbing in a single day. The commitment level is generally much lower and you never have to worry about leaving beloved gear behind. On the flip side of this, you have to consider that every boulder problem is a guaranteed ground fall. We were in a world-class bouldering destination that was undeniably one of the best, and I would be foolish to not take advantage of it, but deep down in my chewy, chocolate center—I’m really just afraid of falling.
Every sloper was huge compared to my hands, but the temperatures were crisp enough for me to trust my feet. Smooth slopers and moderately stressful mantling top outs are, once again, my anti-style, but when I attempted Bum Boy, I had no expectations—plus, a fantastic spot and cheers of encouragement from above. I slapped those giant slopers with great intention and let good friction and cold weather do the rest of the work.
Pushing boundaries of your comfort zone is awkward and uncomfortable because my human brain is wired to seek out what feels safe. But every once in a while, it's good to allow myself a chance to slip into the discomfort of uncertainty.
Cover photograph courtesy of Tim Foote