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URBAN CLIMBER MAGAZINE - FINISH HOLD
Got something to say that we can close the book on? Send it over to
finishhold@urbanclimbermag.com.
If we like it, you’ll see it here, and you’ll get a
CHOICE PRIZE and bragging rights.
PHOTO: Tommy Caldwell walked nine miles for this FA: Spread Eagle (V11), Box Lake, RMNP. Photo: Andy Mann / andymann.com |
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 The B-Sides
As the Golden Globes are to the Oscars, so these dubious achievers are to the prestigious Urby award winners. Best hangover send: During a night of debauchery, Dinkus promised a cute girl he’d never met that he would take her climbing the following day. His drink list, which included four Jäger bombs, six Budweisers, two shots of tequila, and an unknown volume of whiskey sodas (he spilled more than he drank), left him still over the legal limit the next morning.  Getting it Done
Particles of chalk gently alighted, circled, and danced away, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight slicing through the pines. The breeze was playing havoc with my nerves—one whispering wave would taunt me with a cool freshness from the brook, only to get sideswiped with a furnace-like gust from the sundrenched canyon sides above. I was worried. I was already greasing off the slick, tightgrain stone, and my fingers wouldn’t stop seeping. It was 8:47 a.m., yet time was short. The advancing wall of heat would finally catch up and make the long, technical line impossible.  The Moment
You came to this place with one thing in mind: This setting can’t be beat. You knew the line would be proud, but it is so much better up close, in person. You have done the moves over and over again in your head; the beta is dialed. It is the last day of your trip of a lifetime, and your departure looms in the very near future. Despite all previous efforts, the crux continues to shut you down. As the daylight dwindles, you are left with one last attempt, the absolute last go before you are forced to pack up and head home.  Inclined to Climb
During one of my adventure days last winter, I stumbled (quite literally) across an incredible splitter crack on Lookout Mountain in Tennessee. It just so happened that this splitter crack was right beside the world-famous Incline Railway. The first time I climbed this crack, I sought cover under the darkness of night and climbed the splitter by moonlight.  Train as Hard as This Kid!
I live in Tanzania, East Africa. I’m a Peace Corps volunteer here, and I live in a village called Ihanja. My house is near the local primary school and kids pass it on their way home. One day they caught me on my rock rings and, enthralled, asked to try them out. Soon they were crowded around seeing who could do the most pullups. This picture is of a kid named Ben who wanted to win the contest…bad.  FINISH HOLD - #37 - IRRATIONAL FEARS
My name is Arnold, and I am a sport climber. Ergo, I eat celery by the bushel, I have an 8a.nu scorecard, my harness has one gear loop on each side, it takes me 45 minutes to onsight a 50 foot 5.9 trad route, and I haven’t used an ATC or similar manual belay device in five years.  FINISH HOLD - #36 - TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY
The error of our ways is only that we climb too much. With three hours to complete four hours of studying, we climb and do not study. Only the man who climbs six days a week can call himself obsessed. Only when you have callus so thick you can no longer straighten your fingers are you at peace with yourself.  FINISH HOLD - #35 - IT COULD BE…
It could be about . . . . . . one small move being big progress. . . . ripped flesh, broken bones, and broken hearts. . . . falling over and over again, to later realize that the failures showed us more about who we are than the successes ever did. . . . people breathing life into us, inspiring us, showing us a better way to live in the world. . . . us breathing life into other people, inspiring them, showing them a better way to live in the world.  FINISH HOLD - #34 - THE CLIMBING SHOE
Behold, the climbing shoe: so rough and tattered from use; memories of blood, sweat, and tears fused deep into its worn rubber — rubber torn bit by bit by all those times it saved your ass … from a bad hand placement, or that time you tried to clip, pumped with fear. . . . The rubber was the lifeline. Sure, you can climb barefoot, and ropes and pads are important, too  FINISH HOLD - #33 - NEVER QUIT
“You could lose your leg, your foot.” “You’re lucky to be alive.” “You’re out for the season.” “You might never climb again.” NEVER QUIT. For some, it takes only telling them; for others, being close to death — to get back to the basics, appreciate every day, know who’s always been there and want to love them well, to climb for more than grades, to live purely, without fears.  FINISH HOLD - #31 - LOVE, PAIN, AND CLIMBING
Last summer, I broke the first metacarpal in my right hand, chipping the ball clean off in a fall. A few months later, I saw an orthopedic surgeon. A two-hour surgery left me with three pins, an artificial tendon, a gigantic cast, and bottle of painkillers . . . and something else — fear. Fear of not climbing, and of not achieving my goals. My doctor said, “Your hand might not work quite as well as before. And there’s a minuscule chance that the artifi cial tendon might tear.” In short, climbing could undo everything I’d gone through to fix my hand.  FINISH HOLD - #30 - ONE LAST CLIMB
It's all about those last four feet on your final climb of the day, when you're so pumped a strong breeze could peel you off. You don't care about anything for those final seconds when you dig in and exhaust your last ounce of energy. You nail that final hold and hang like a wet towel, basking in the sun until your hands just give out.  FINISH HOLD - #29 - In Teddy’s Words
As an ex-competitive fighter, a new climber, and a CrossFitter, I hold on to the following words as a mantra for why I do what I do — because when it comes down to it, it’s all about the effort. I can't claim these words to be mine — Theodore Roosevelt said this:  FINISH HOLD - #27 - Only When…
When you spend your time in a place that few will venture to When you take the time to venture out When you ask of your self everything and nothing When you are your only adversary When it’s never too cold, or cold enough  FINISH HOLD - #26
“Climbing far transcends some recreational activity that bides my time. It’s a lifestyle that unites my mind, body and soul in a beautiful, chaotic melody.” —Mark Mellette  FINISH HOLD - #25 - Good Friction
A cold wind whips through Prescott, Arizona, howling as it weaves past trees and my house. Out in the driveway the wind is so strong it’s hard to stand. I unlock my truck and climb in. With a turn of the key, it gives a whine of protest before starting. As I drive through downtown an unseen force pushes me from side to side.  FINISH HOLD - #24 - Alex is #1
Small-town girl Alex Johnson, 19, of Hudson, Wisconsin, took first for the women in the bouldering World Cup this June, at the Teva Mountain Games in Vail, Colorado. She climbed with confidence and determination to beat out the reigning world champ, Anna Stöhr and 13th-ranked Katharina Saurwein, both of Austria. Alex’s win helped answer the question, “Can American competitors hold their own on the world stage?”  FINISH HOLD - #23 - Homesick
WORDS AND PHOTO BY TIFFANY HENSLEY - A wide-angle panorama of drastic and dark mountains underscoring toothily the bronze, dawning sky—voluptuous clouds slothed over these mountains with hypnotizing rhythm; a slow, single, continuous heartbeat. Rusty boulders with pock-marked faces look up at these clouds, a light darkness moving across their bulky bodies in abstract patches.  FINISH HOLD - #22 - The Fence on Carter Lake
By Matt Samet - Sometimes they blow up the boulders quietly, sneaking in at night to unroll their fences. And sometimes the heavy machinery moves under your nose, the dynamite seated by expert, brutish hands. Since matter can neither be created nor destroyed, lamenting lost rocks is a cosmic mistake. A two-foot hunk of stone has neither more nor less intrinsic value than a 20-foot one. Tell yourself that, no matter what might come.  FINISH HOLD - #21 - Chalkcloud
Chalkcloud of thoughts/Irregular breathing beating against/The heart expanding/Gripping the palms/Fist of energy released like flicking/Water to dry ground/Squeeze the mind/The tension pushing out/Worry and wish/While sweat pellets reflect/Blue-grey/The sky and rock unified in mirror/As chalked fingertips/ Ground white magnesium carbonate/Consume the body’s watery origin/The first touch on stone/Carefully sensitive/Conserves the energy for this tactile task |
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 FINISH HOLD - #20 - excerpt from THE NIGHT CLIMBERS OF CAMBRIDGE
Quote excerpted from The Night Climbers of Cambridge. Originally published in 1937 under the pseudonym Whipplesnaith, it was written by a group of Cambridge graduates who, during their time as students, found adventure and kinship climbing the ancient, stunning architecture of their university and town buildings. The book, which is now seeing its 70th edition, has earned cult classic status and is a must-have for climbers of all types. Look forward to the next issue of Urban Climber for a feature story about the fascinating Night Climbers of Cambridge.  FINISH HOLD - #19 - Backstepping
I walk, I walk/ in pine-scented sun/on a waking rattler/Serpentine glide/with delicate flagging/lean-she sendsIcy moonlit drifters/gently tap/on my tent/I dream wild dynamic flashes/of leaping/withering sockeye/Ouch!/A black fly tries/your good spot  FINISH HOLD - #18 - Memoirs of Yamnuska
whose hands and feet are craving real rock/whose eyes would rather squint at the sun than glimpse another grey cloud/whose ears are reminiscing the rustling of the trees/whose nose and mouth wants that refreshing, clean breeze/and whose entire being is just home-sick for Nature/and to return again to the wilderness.  FINISH HOLD - #17 - Before
“What about that?” he said over and over, pointing to each new sequence as if it were a game, and I, who had not yet fallen, still a novice, reached up for a jug hold and swung my body into a lieback, feet crossing, hips twisting back and forth up the cave roof, above the broken concrete blocks, the limestone rippling yellow and purple, as the shadows wavered, cool as underwater plants  FINISH HOLD - #16 - My Friendly Nemesis
People are imprisoned by their homes/The cold guards their door/Children stare out windows, hopelessly bored/So cold, and a blanket of snow/The trees shiver each time the wind blows/Beautiful I think, cold and pristine/The crowds die out along with the green/Step out of the car, piggy back my old friend/Exhale like a dragon, my breath spells out “send”/Walking through the forest, I spot nemeses from the past  FINISH HOLD - #15 - A Familiar Reflection
WORDS BY JASON ROBERTS/ PHOTO BY KRISTEN UBALDI - As I gently brush my hands off, intent on approaching a new problem in an unknown gym, the clutter of random holds and neon tape sends me spiraling down memory lane...This journey into the psyche of a climber began 3,000 miles away, on the east coast, when I was nineteen. A short time after being introduced to bouldering, I was fortunate to realize the most incredible aspect of the sport - its absolute ability to elevate past the importance of winners and losers and zero in on personal rewards, friendships and mind-altering experiences.  FINISH HOLD - #14 - Fusion
What is art for/But to search and explore/The vast and obscure/Depth of e -/ Motion after exact/& fluid motion/We climb a rock/With soul devotion/How can art Be/Without a constant/Reach into creativity/So reach high/Girls n guys/It matters not  FINISH HOLD - #13 - A Perfect Moment...
a perfect moment.../...unfolds after eight hours in the back seat of my pick-up truck when two young rock climbers get psyched to pull down. never mind that it's eleven thirty at night, and we still have an hour left on the drive home. never mind that they're third day on and planning to climb hard tomorrow.  FINISH HOLD - #12 - [sAne.]
The ability to flow smoothly through a particular set of motions in a particular discipline has always fascinated me, especially when executed spontaneously. Whether going for a perfect link up of power moves on linoleum or on rock, going to a live performance or performing myself, I admire the ability to flow through a complicated sequence of events. I love to climb. I love to dance. I can't help but draw on whatever surfaces I can make a mark on.  FINISH HOLD - #11 - Live Your Ticklist
You won't know bouldering until you approach your project with a cool stride, masking the turmoil of anxiety and tension in your gut. You won't know bouldering until your hands have been dipped in your chalk and are bearing down on the beginning holds; a meeting of old acquaintances. You won't know bouldering until the nervousness, the pressure and all thoughts that stray from your sole purpose dissipate, aware of only the rock and nothing else.  FINISH HOLD - #10 - History in Stone
It's last summer and I'm standing in northern Utah's Logan Canyon. A light breeze carrying the scent of scrub oak and evergreens touches my face. I breathe deeply, taking in the canyon's thick smell. Looking at the large limestone wall dotted with small metal bolts, I prepare myself to dance with the mountain. The stone speaks and each climb has a personality of its own.  FINISH HOLD - #9 - Harvest
As I approach I feel the crisp chill mountain breeze fill me, making me one. / The frost capped grass crunches beneath me. / Around the bend, down the hill looms the dragon. / Defeating me everyday during the summer. / I feel it taunt me as I casually assemble my armor. / The past will not become the future.  FINISH HOLD - #8 - What does it mean to be an urban climber?
It means treasuring the weekends away, crossing out the weekdays of your calendar as you approach Friday, when you plan to take yet another sick day and head out to the Valley, to Bishop, to Lost Rocks, to wherever you and your friends have planned, with already having called and e-mailed back and forth all the details of who is going to drive and bring food and who has what gear.  FINISH HOLD - #7 - Making The Best of What's Around
We stop and listen. It is midnight in a well-lit construction sight, and my friend and I are trying to look invisible despite the crash pads on our backs. A few moments pass; the only sounds are the creaking of the building, and plastic sheeting flapping in the breeze outside. We keep on walking. Down a corridor, through a door, and into a large room. There is a forklift, a couple spools of electric wire, boxes upon boxes full of asbestos, I-beams, a half-eaten pizza, and about a centimeter thick layer of dirt, dust and grime on the floor. But we don't see any of this.  FINISH HOLD - #6 - What Climbing Means to Me
Last month, Nick Brandreth was able to get his photojournalism project, "What Climbing Means to Me," in front of us. It was a pretty cool - he put together a journal of climbing photos he took and had his friends write what climbing means to them. Unfortunately, we couldn't print the whole thing, so here's just a sampling of his scrapbook. Thanks to Rope Gun for hooking Nick up with a new wardrobe!  FINISH HOLD - #5 - The Last Ascent
Every day was the same. Up at four, an hour of stretching, 250 pushups, 250 pull-ups, 500 sit-ups. Exercises that don't require equipment - just an able body and willing mind. It had to be that way. Breakfast was at 6:12 each day - rarely a minute early or late. Strictly vegetarian. He said it was for religious reasons, but the real reason was simple physics. Weight is of no use on the rock. At one time his six-foot frame tipped the scales at 190 pounds. Now he was gaunt by comparison; bones, veins, and strands of muscle clearly visible beneath his skin.  FINISH HOLD - #4 - Climbers of the built environment
As climbers of the built environment, we have realized that lifting ourselves above the ground by our own will and determination can be done anywhere and not just on the faces of distant mountains. It's an addiction that cannot be taken lightly. It changes our vision, making architecture more engaging and creating a desire to climb everything in sight that is so great, it is practically unhealthy. Thankfully, we can relate to one another about this affliction in cryptic sign language and pantomime while other people stare blankly at our spastic throwing of appendages. |
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