Starting Hold #40 - July 2010 - Photo Annual

I started shooting pretty much the day I started climbing. That doesn’t mean I’m any sort of real photographer. I had found a new activity/sport/lifestyle that I wanted to share with as many people as possible — not to mention make memories from my early days of gumbyism that shaped me into the climber I am today (a slightly less dangerous gumby). From my first outdoor trip to the terrible problems and routes we set in my college’s even more terrible climbing gym, we tried to capture everything. The small climbing crew that accepted me into their ranks slowly grew, enveloping many of the young and energetic students at the University of Oklahoma. Fridays we would meet at our friend’s larger-than-average single dorm for coffee and stories. Every week we’d make a video or some lame slideshow of pictures to show off what we’d been up to (which usually involved flailing on 5.11s, sending 5.8s, and making ridiculous music videos). Pathetic as our climbing achievements were, it was cutting edge for our group, and we all shared the same enthusiasm for the small steps we made toward our long-term goals (which were never really defined; I think I settled on something near 5.16b). This excitement translated into our unabashed effort to take good photographs.

We quickly learned not to shoot from the ground looking up. If we could get above a boulder problem or hang from a rope to shoot, it dramatically changed how good our shots were. I’d spend half the day just trying to get a rope up on some obscure Oklahoma route so I could snap a few less-than-stellar pictures of my friends from what (we later found out) was not really a unique angle in climbing photography. It didn’t matter. It never really did. We couldn’t get enough of the pictures, and despite the fact that they were never sellable, all the time and energy we spent trying to be professional media makers seemed worth it because our personal coverage represented a pivotal time in our lives.

p>We were awkward 19-year-olds who thought we were adults (now I know better) given the freedom to figure life out on our own (mostly), and because we were so adamant about documenting our ridiculous exploits, I can look back fondly at the crazy times we had as I slowly became a “climber.” The pictures above, evidence of my comical first few years of climbing, will likely have no impact on you, but when I look at them, I see my first 5.10 trad lead that left me stuck in a perfect hand crack on a slab for 45 minutes while I freaked out about falling.

Another brings back the day my friend fell above a shitty cam placement (which popped), and I stuck my hand in between him and a large rock. Then there’s the terrible haircut I had, my first 5.12a, the day my friend fell 50 feet on Supercrack, the time a deer tried to destroy the hood of my car, climbing under overpasses on glued-on rocks, being hungover on New Year’s Day and climbing anyway, driving two hours when I was psyched to climb and making my friends miserable in the freezing weather, etc. ad nauseam.

It’s likely, though, that you have a similar collection of photos on your computer. The hardly noticeable folder buried deep in your hard drive is simply a token from more insipient (some may say simpler) days. When climbing was climbing, and it was the most important thing any of you could possibly do with your time. Since then, I’ve taken fewer photos. I’ve grown up some and wanted to remember less, I suppose. Looking back at these last few years, I regret this and wish I had something tactile (more or less) to show for them. My hope is that as you fl ip through our 2010 Photo Annual, you’ll find the inspiration to record your own journey through the vertical life and always remember to toss that camera in your pack. — Andrew Tower