Wednesday 15 August 2012

Boven ated

Snippets from a trip cut short

All photos by Gustav Janse van Rensburg, unless stated.
Disclaimer: colourful language has been used, but only where absolutely and totally appropriate.
Apologies if any entomologists disagree.
Eyes on the prize: Chunky Monkey (27) is one of many aesthetic lines on offer
If you have been climbing in SA for more than a nanosecond then you will have heard of Boven.  However, you may not have indulged yet.  Don’t worry, I was practically a virgin in March, so I planned a 2 month stint to make up for it. So what exactly is in store at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe?
Here, ‘Snapdragon’ is not a flower (in the Antirrhinum genus, for the nerds), and despite his desire Lotter was not first to score that beauty.
Outside of Boven, Lotter probably had many other less savoury yearnings and ‘Snapdragon’ could also be the 1993 American movie thriller, a type of yacht or a Japanese comic super villain.  But you knew all that, right?
However, when your wallet slims passing the extortionist toll plaza (or you add years to your car on the alternate route), the rest of the world is left behind.  Including all the decent supermarkets and strip-clubs.  But fear not, the availability of unexpired food and grinding lap dances will soon fade from memory.  Either after several toots at the Lodge, or when you hit one of the awesome crags on offer.
Here, you know the deal, you did not come to watch a C-grade movie, go sailing or klap a samurai yielding cartoon character.  You came to climb, and what, if not awesome routes.  Images of which were etched in your mind long before you left the N4.

The Other Sharp End – the unsung belay buddies
Boven is a bit like Paris.  The first local you meet speaks French.  The difference is that this person is super friendly and welcoming.  If you are confused, then you probably haven’t been to Boven (yet).  Or you somehow didn’t see Roc n’ Rope on your way in, and if your eye-sight is that bad then climbing is gonna be a tad tricky.  Oh, and all the optometrists are back in the big smoke.  C’est la vie.  In light of this, it was no surprise that Flex spat the dummy when he thought he had lost his glasses in the undergrowth after wielding a drill with a bit too much gusto.  Don’t stress, I’ll elaborate later.
Let’s talk perceptions briefly.  Yes, Boven is predominantly a bolted clambering venue, but there is good trad to be had too.  This may explain why Hector has been sighted here (I mean he’s about as hard to miss as Gulliver would be among piekenins).  It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the aforementioned French accent, nothing whatsoever.  Back to the routes – I proudly confess I am somewhat of a route snob.  The great advantage of being a first time visitor is that everything is new.  Why then would you climb anything but the best of the best?  Hence an objective tick-list is about as important as beer and condoms – both help you have a great trip.

Danny Pinkas showing signs of Hypertension (30)
Although racks of aliens and peanuts are not standard fare in these parts, finding the crème de la crème of trad lines is still fairly easy.  Anyone who has walked to the Superbowl will have seen the Theatre from the top of the path. Heart of China blasts straight up the centre of the sexy wall that stands as proud as a honeymooner’s member in the distance.  However, there is a gem down by the waterfall that is one of the best trad lines I have ever been on.  It is pure magic: hard, scary and beautiful to boot.  It may be better than the Totem Pole.  However it is graded 25X, so suffice to say I had some brushing to do.  Stay tuned, I’ll save the best for last.
Characters.  Visitors.  Locals.  If you reflect honestly, surely it is the people that really make a great trip?  Now I would like to think I have been round the block, at least a little bit.  Nowhere else have I met such accommodating, friendly and downright awesome people as here.  Gustav, Alex, Jan, Thulani, Danny and Claire all make Boven a fantastic experience for the out-of-towner.  Many climbers feel a soft spot for Boven, and I can see why.  The regular weekend warriors, the Rock Ralliers and maybe even some of the Euros will feel this.  Certainly those who got engaged or married here know it.

Rain did not stop play…
So after that warm and fuzzy interlude, I must warn you of some things about the Restaurant  before making your booking.
1. Dust.  Lots of dust.  Coming from the Mothercity this dry Highveld business took a bit of getting used to.  It clings to the rock, makes your feet slip, gives you excuses for sucking, turns your toothbrush brown and soils your socks.  On the plus side it encourages you to shower more often.  Fortunately, at the right time of year, the deep and lush green of the vegetation totally makes up for this omnipresent consequence of erosion.
2. Perdebye.  Horse-bees.  Wasps for us sout peels (Thanks to Harry and Madelein for being my Taal tutors).  Now these little F*#kers will find the crux hold of a route and build a truck-off fortress there, just waiting for fleshy fingers to sting, repeatedly.  They are evil.  In a previous life I was a biologist, so I appreciate biodiversity, but not on my handholds!  Dewald clearly agrees, so he designed the Doomsday Device.  It’s a blerrie great can of Doom on the end of an uber extendable pole, with a cunning trigger system.  It allows the purger to commit genocide at a distance.  We all gathered to watch Flex vs. The F*#kers.  The Device was boringly efficient, to the tune of about 25-0.  After sinking a bolt, Flex managed to jettison his specs into the leafy abyss below, which provided some welcome spectator entertainment and maybe restored some karma to the End of the Universe, as he fumbled around the dead and dying F*#kers to find his third and fourth eyes.

A Not-So-Chunky Monkey was spotted at the Left Wing
And now for the story you have all been waiting for:  how the best route this this side of the Limpopo put me in hospital.  Sorcery is a radical line.  It is about as obvious as 36DD pair at an anorexic conference and just as pretty.  A steep arête, wild moves and a thundering waterfall.  Psyched!  Sure it’s a total sandbag and you could hurt yourself, but this isn’t Disney World is it?  Those homies back in the 90’s must have been smoking some good stuff, but with modern gear you could fall of without axing yourself.  Not that I advise it.

Gustav, Alex and Sorcery. All three are awesome.
So there I was, on the crux, a blue alien somewhere way below, when a child fell from the top of the cliff.  I gracefully jumped off and caught her.  All the gear ripped, slowing our elegant, slow-motion swan dive into the pool at the base of the waterfall.  A surprised crocodile was quickly dealt with, as was the passing anaconda.  At that moment a rouge ex-Vietnam nutjob napalmed the entire valley in his restored helicopter.  My belayer fainted so I grabbed him, the child, a wounded water buffalo and the scared photographer.  Balancing them all on my head I speed soloed up the route, retrieving my gear while the flames came ever closer.  What a send!  I turned round, took a leak and put the blazing inferno out, saving the town.  Celebrating in the pub, I had about 14 six-packs too many and tripped over a banana peel that wasn’t even there.  My knee needed surgery, but as I was too tipsy to do it myself, I hopped back to Cape Town and let the doctors do their thing.
True story.

Working Sorcery (25X) on a fixed line. The author feels 28R may be more realistic… 
Photo: Warren Gans.
I am happy to report the knee is getting better, although my physio did try hide in Namibia for a while.  If I spend the next 6 months training on my new hangboard I may eventually manage 10 pull-ups.  Then I can plan the second half of my Boven trip!
For those familiar with the Menu, please read the specials below.  For the rest of you, remember that although this old railway town doesn’t have Woolies goodies or pole dancers, it does have a vibe and a beauty that should not be missed.  Go make it happen!

Mates having a jol at the Lodge. Join the party!
Oh, and if Peddles tells you F*#kers don’t build nests where there is chalk, it is a stinking mistruth. I discovered a battalion of humming F*#kers in a chalk smothered undercling… On the plus, they make belaying more entertaining.

Hitchhikers guide to Boven

Beware:  you may fight the Beast, a Monster or Giants.  Big Butterfly and Condor Superfly in the Stata cause Flying is Fun.  Although Mostly Harmless, Jack of All Trades got Hypertension and Raptophillia.  He went to the Psyche Ward to get his Freak On with Sweet Cousin Cocaine.  After some Triptolactic Fairy Tales The Fix was to Stich It at the Joy Division of Acid House.
Legends: Big Bad Wolf found Fat Annie in her Yellow Polka Dot Bikini Red at Granny’s Cottage in Toon Town. Chunky Monkey and Atomic Ardvark cried Merci my Brother, while Jabberwocky was too Bamboozled by the Rubiks Cube to notice. Heroes Pedley of Rodan in his Mankini Blue and Jono in the Bronkonator Just Behly saved the day.
Rude Bushman tried Karfofeling with his Sweet Plumb, Miss Mickley, at Club Tropicana Coconuts.  Women aint Nothing but Trouble, he got Panty Slapped and Tokoloshie chased him along the Inca Trail past Eldorado to Atlantis.  He-Man had Paradise by the C with Rock-Chuka-Chick.
Feeling religious?  God No!  or Hell Yeah!  Screaming Demons Shout at the Devil in Satan’s Temple during the Endless Summer of Wild Fire.  Eventually Lucifer goes to the Gunks… The God of Small Things has Black Magic and Unlimited Power but Kindred Spirits shouldn’t Jump in the Fire.
In the case of African Rain, play Dungeons and Dragons, ride the Bovenator or watch Pit Fighter Hack and Slay Godzilla with the Vorpal Sword at the Boa Rodeo.  Dutch Popcorn, Chocolate Eclair and Sticky Toffee Pudding on sale.  The Backcountry Butcher also serves Frazzled Lab Rat at Cactus Palace As the World Disappears.
Got Questions?  Who’s Your Daddy?  Who Needs Lucky Cows?  Who’s Line is it Anyway?  Only one way to find out…
Plan another trip to Boven!
Richard is sponsored, sometimes proudly, by La Sportiva, Wild Country and DMM.

Big thanks:
Pics:  Gustav and Warren.
Great hospitality:  Gustav,  Alex, Jan , Danny and Claire.
Loan of crutches: Roc ‘n Rope.
Supplies from the real world:  Tim.
Good memories:  Everyone I shared a rope and time with.

Wednesday 6 June 2012

Visual Lessons




Sometimes you must climb sideways. Pic: Joe Möhle  
Gear can be fiddly to place. Pic: Jonathan Joseph
Aretes are awesome. Pic: Bruce Spottiswoode
You can find really cool things in the background.
Professional photographers can make anything look heroic. Pic: Forrest Woodward

Always look down!





Wednesday 23 May 2012

New Vertical Ramblings

Guidebooks are useful: they show you where not to climb :)

Have you ever tried to go for a walk in the fynbos with a Botanist? Not with your mate Fred, who (on a good day), can distinguish blackjacks from palm trees. I mean the bona fide, scientific-name-sprouting floral enthusiast. Crawl would be a better word.


Almost at the end of the fight on Matador (25), TM. 
Pic: Jono Joseph

Every few steps their nose will disappear into the undergrowth, accompanied by pointing and shrieking. This is usually aimed at some particular planty thing that, to the rest of us, would seem to blend in with all the other planty things, like a pink boa at the Pride parade or a bicycle at the naked bike ride.


Douw Steyn doing the Bokkeveld Boogie (22).

Most of my walks in the fynbos are somewhat speedier, and serve the express purpose of getting myself and an exploding bag of gear to the base of a crag. However, like the keen botanist, I also have a disease than means you can’t see the forest for the trees. Specifically, you can’t see the cliff for all the potential routes. If you can’t see at all, then check your hat hasn’t slipped down over your eyes. The wilderness is no place for gangster fashion.

So while the approach walk may be swift, when the details of the rock feature come into view I can slow to a veritable toddle. Squinting, gesticulating and making wild suggestions about what looks like the next best line since Astroman is all par for the course. Fortunately, I don’t climb with any truly obsessive botanists, otherwise we would get very little done indeed.
So what is this article all about? First ascents, more or less.

Moonflakes project – IP.
Pic: Jono Joseph

New routing can actually be a fair bit of work, so why would one bother? So you can live out your childhood Star Trek Fantasy to boldly (sometimes) go where no man (woman or hermaphrodite) has gone before? The allure of the unknown? An outlet for creativity, exploration, discovery and challenge? Contributing to the sport?
Meh. Over-rated.

Here are my reasons:

1. Money.
I found 5 bucks on a path the other day. Just holding out for the big time – maybe a tenner stuck in a Protea bush. I can feel I am close. Just gotta keep my eyes peeled.
2. Chicks.
You won’t believe how many hysterical girls have shouted to me from the cable car on TM. Yeah, I regularly get the “O.M.G!” while I still got my shirt on.
Recently an Aussie lass was so amazed all she could yell was “Oi, check that bloke – KEEN!”. True story.


The Usual Suspects: Uwe et moi at Tafelberg (aka best crag in the Universe).

3. Drugs.
Since I started doing FA’s, I have definitely done more Arthroguard and Panado. My local dealer (Clicks in Green Point) sometimes gives me a good deal.
4. Fame.
My Mom’s friend in the U.K. knows about what I do. That’s not even the same continent. International baby!
5. Sandbagging.
Oh come on, who can resist?
6. Parties.
Often, after another totally awesome, 17- star new route, I’ll have a few beers with some mates, talk about climbing stuff and sometimes the waiter will ask for my autograph. Usually we party hard all night, sometimes even past midnight.

Maybe I am getting old. Well, actually that’s not a maybe.
Anyway, without sounding like a jaded old bag of gas, I think there is a natural progression in climbing that leads to wanting to find and do new routes. When you start out, it’s all novel and exciting. Local crags are full of new treats, shiny gear and hopefully girls to impress with your freshly acquired jargon. Don’t get me wrong, I can still have a great day out with mates at ye olde local crag, but the urge to go and explore uncharted territory normally wins.

Its like a big treasure hunt, and you don’t have to be a pirate to appreciate that.
Not that I have anything Arrrrgainst them. However pet parrots are only welcome at crags if they find booty, or keep the starlings at bay. Native parrots are of course an exception.

Note: If Polly tries to get it on with a local bird, he either he misunderstood the rule about finding booty or you have a very startled starling. Regardless, he probably deserves a cracker. Granted, this is about as likely as a having a rodeo where all riders wield a Bazooka. Welding them would be even more impressive. Anyway, see below:

Joe going horizontal on the FA of Bazooka Rodeo (25). 
Definitely not a sandbag. 
Trust me. Bring your big guns just in case...

However, its not all glory, loot and babes with big bazookas. I feel I must be honest. On the odd occasion when we don’t find a masterpiece for the front cover of Bumbling Magazine or SA Hill, a rare, minor blemish may occur on the record, something like this:

Jayson Orton having an Eye for Trouble (19) – at a crag very far away.

Le Botch.
(no where near France)
In an age gone by (sometime last year), a friend sent me a portrait (electronically sketched from far away) via carrier e-pigeon of a cliff he had spied. This was destined to be the “next big thing in the Western Cape”. We organised four days leave and an ox-wagon worth of gear.
We had enough to fit out an expedition to Baffin Island I dare say. I must confess that some of the aid gear I could not even name. The sun had long set when we pulled into the farmer’s property.
By dim headlamp and cheap wine we devised an elaborate strategy including phrases like: “base camp”, “fixing static”, “initial carry” and “grand central line”.
Or was the el cheapo vino on another trip? – all a bit hazzy.

At third (or maybe fourth) light, we started up the main kloof and I enquired to location of said mega cliff. “Its around the corner”. Some trudging later, a cliff does indeed come into view, high up at the top of a subsidiary kloof. “It doesn’t look as big as in the sketch does it?” I noted. ” Blah, blah don’t’ worry it will be awesome, check those cracks out!! blah blah. et Blah”. We soldiered on through dense bush, experiencing a frustrating optical event. The closer we struggled toward the cliff, the smaller it seemed to shrink. Like something out of Alice in Wonderland – just without the grinning cat and stoned caterpillar. Although there could be an argument made about there being two mad hatters.

Getting ready for action on the FA of Big Green Coconuts (23). 
Pic: Douw Steyn.

Sweaty, covered in bushy debris and a tad deflated, we arrive and study the clifflet.

Observation 1: Its size is about an order of magnitude less than expected.

Observation 2: Rock resembles an elderly prostitute*: loose, frail and unappealing.

Observation 3: Instigator of the mission has suffered a sense of humour failure.

Observation 4: In the next valley, in the distance, there looked like a wall that may have some potential….

Once you have the disease, every cliff becomes a canvas and plotting ground. Infected individuals can’t walk past a rock face without fully sussing it out, gesticulating wildly and often taking a photo**. There is no cure, thankfully!*


Lots of work before this one goes free. 
After 5 days effort I can report that I can do half the crux move. 
Pic: Jono Joseph

* – I am taking a flyer at this, no personal experience.
** – Beware: as per Le Botch photos can be misleading, but may provide unexpected adventures.
*** – As I have recently discovered, tearing the meniscus in your knee is a temporary cure.
But that’s another story…

Richard is sponsored by:
La Sportiva, DMM and Wild Country

Friday 10 February 2012

Painted Desert


The Painted Desert - it's a place in Arizona. Blue sands harbouring dinosaur skeletons strewn like confetti, not a MacDonalds in sight. I saw it mentioned in a documentary on fossils (and other things paleontological) many moons ago before I got interested in girls and booze. I wanted to go immediately. The dream never faded despite the acknowledgement of beer and bikinis. For now it remains on the tick list, but if I haven't been within the next decade in may get bumped onto the bucket list. The idea of holding in ones hands the cast remains of something that was alive zillions of years ago is pretty darn incredible. Just think about. Go on, actually think about.

Take an ammonite (old school nautilus) for example. Sure you normally find them in museums, scuffed up on fleamarket stall benches or sliced and buffed up in hippie jewelery, but nonetheless the occupant of said now-stone shell was once cruising around in the sea while the inspiration for Jurassic park was stomping around pre-mammalian lands. Hectic! Equally incredible is how we can dig other stuff out the ground, get it 'Made in China' and use the product to watch images of events on the other side of the planet, in real time. Wow! The wonders of both nature and technology.

Back to the painted dessert. Best served after a fancy meal and over-priced wine at one of those trendy restaurants with complicated, arty menus that don't list Black Label. The font for the delicious, aromatic meal descriptions is also vastly superior to the diminutive font used to inform you how much your plastic will be zapped. Don't worry, the paint is lead free and tested on Norwegian roof rats, not cute bunny rabbits. No offence intended to any Scandinavian readers. Homonyms: can really ruin a blog can't they?

As I grew older, but not ancient (like our bird ancestors sleeping eternally in the colourful sands of Arizona), I became keen to climb on rocks, rather than scrutinize them for signs of life from another epoch. One of the best places to do this is Tafelberg.I have been fortunate to climb in places very far from home, and I can certainly say that some of the very best is in the Mothers cities back yard. If you allow a back yard to extend 250km North past the Boerewors curtain. Anyone who has been will certainly be familiar with the Pillar Box. For the rest of you, it is a remarkable 20m height brick that the builder of Tafelberg left standing upright on the edge of of the property when building the massif. Fortunately this architectural oversight is a blessing for climbers as it offer exceptional routes in a great setting.

Pillar box to the right. 
Pic: Joe Mohle

Opening a new line on the Pillar Box has, like visiting the colourful dinosaur cemeteries in Arizona, been on my to-do list for a while. However, the remaining real estate was rather blank, so initially I was lacking in both the strength and skill departments. I banked the idea and ate lank Pronutro. I even managed a campus board session about 4-5 times a year. Fortunately, clocking up hours at the crags seems to osmose some ability, cause I am still ever so slightly scant on the bicep front (sounds better than scrawny runt doesn't it?).
Left of the easy arete is a strangely straight meeting of orange and grey hues on the face - as if made so by brush. Perfect. Joe had also played on this line, but was happy for me to give it a bash. Shot boytjie. Out came the Shunt, across went the sun, emerge did the sequence. Out came the belayer, in went the tiny cam, and off came I - repeatedly. Down went the sun, in went the sun downers, the moon did the nightly glide. Thinner skin, waning patience, more air time, more cussing - more snacks. Wind stronger, arms weaker - last go for the day. Stuck the hold, skirted the banana peels, catching duty done - raindrops - last climb of the trip - perfect.


Painted Desert (26) - orange on the left, grey on the right, no excuses for being off route!
At least finding a name was easy. Now I just need a flight to the visit the namesake.

A big thanks to Brenna for being awesome, and for belaying.


Pic: Martin Kleynhans