FINISH HOLD - #7 > October/November 2005 - Making The Best of What's Around

Making The Best of What's Around
Words by Chris K.

"Shhhh!"
"What? Did you hear something," I whispered.
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. Our eyes immediately fall upon the object of our obsession - the recently finished climbing wall that serves as a backdrop to this otherwise ordinary room.
We stand there momentarily, basking in the glory. It is quiet and peaceful, and we have come through the pitch-black night to our Mecca. We perform a delicate ballet, stepping over and around boxes as we make our way to the wall. Crash pads fall to the ground. We head over to the door in the far side of the wall, and go behind the giant structure. A minute later and we are back in front of the wall, with a box of climbing holds, bolts, and two allen keys. We walk over to the nicely overhanging bouldering section that resembles the bow of a ship.
It looks like Christmas as we tear through the box, ripping newspaper off our new presents. A crimper! A sloper! A monstrous undercling! We set all of the holds on the floor, picking out the smallest and slopiest of the box as our objects of affection. Our minds are bedazzled by the possibilities, and we quickly start working.
"Okay, so let's put those two pinchers here and here."
"Yeah man, and a jib here."
"Right. Now move from that up to this big sidepull, match on the sidepull, foot out to the right, then big dyno up to the semi-jug."
"Sweet. Yeah! And then a cross to a crimp, hand-foot match on the jug, right hand to another crimp!"
"And finish it all up with the yellow sloper, then top out."
He sends it first and hops down. I miss the big dyno a few more times, but finally stick it, and finish the route. We spend a few more minutes setting up another route. This one's a bit harder. I send it first, and he follows. We sit there resting for a moment. No warm up, and two hard routes and we are already semi-pumped. This is good because we need to split as soon as possible. Campus police have been out and about, and they've caught a couple skinny-dipping or having sex in the new pool. We quickly break down the holds, place them gently in the box, and return everything to its original position. We stuff shoes and chalk in the crash pads, and stealthily make our way out of the gym.
"There aren't many options for climbing when you live on a sandbar," my roommate says, as if to the wind.
I know he's not talking to me. We have been over this so many times. We've somehow ended up at this eastern seaboard school stuck between a river and a bay. There are no crags, no cliffs, and no mountains; no boulders, and no climbing gyms. We have thus far made due with what we have. There is a twenty-five foot tall clock tower with triangular shaped pillars, which I have frequented. It is a mildly difficult climb, with the occasional reward of finding a Frisbee at the top. There is also the pillar jutting off of the side of the library. Its right angle edges make for a harder climb than the clock tower. We also have the campus tree, with its nicely spaced branches, and the arch in front of the dining hall, with the crimpy line of bricks above it. And, of course, now there is the gym to sneak into at nights.
All of this will change come next semester. That construction sight we have walked through so many times will be a new and bustling gym, boasting the only climbing wall in the county. My roommate and I won't have to sneak into the gym at nights to set routes any more; we'll get paid to do it during the day. We'll be pumping plastic instead of brick. Now I know. It's not granite, gneiss or sandstone. But it's something. Living here for the past year and a half has taught me to make the best of what's around. In the end, what matters most is not one's surroundings, but one's desire to put body against mind in the epic struggle that is climbing. If the desire is there, so is the climbing. You just have to look around.


Congrats to Chris K. for landing a spot in this issue's Finish Hold. Black Diamond is hooking him up with a Drop Zone bouldering pad for his efforts! If you want the Finish Hold UCMAG#08, as well as a Mad Pad from MadRock, get to work! Email words and pics to finishhold@urbanclimbermag.com.