Vertical Life #41

AUSTRALIA & NEW ZEALAND’S CLIMBING MAGAZINE

SUMMER 2022• ED41 • AU/NZ

IN FOCUS: TAS SEA CLIFFS, SEA STACKS & WEST COAST BOULDERING

SPOTLIGHT:

RRP AU$12.95/NZ$12.95 (INC GST)

SUMMER TASSIE CLIMBING

FROM THE ARCHIVES - FRENCHMANS CAP | SAFETY WITH LOUISE SHEPHERD | SIMON BISCHOFF ON PHOTOS & POTATOES

Team Athletes:

Jackson Marvell & Matt Cornell

Photo:

Austin Schmitz

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C L IM B ING S I NC E 1 9 8 9

NE W KO NS E A L H A R N E S S & PA C K

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF COUNTRY Vertical Life acknowledges that we live, work, recreate and climb on stolen land, and that sovereignty was never ceded.

We acknowledge Traditional Custodians across Australia and Aotearoa, and pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging. We recognise the continuing connection of all First Nations peoples to Country and Culture across all lands and waterways since time immemorial; and we reaffirm our commitment to reflection, reconciliation and solidarity.

As this issue of Vertical Life is focused on lutruwita/Tasmania, we also extend our respect to the palawa/pakana people and their ancestors and elders.

Issue #41 of Vertical life was printed on Wangal Country.

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SUMMER 2022 VERTICAL LIFE IS PUBLISHED QUARTERLY

WINTER/SPRING/SUMMER/AUTUMN AUSTRALIAN MADE. AUSTRALIAN PRINTED. AUSTRALIAN OWNED. EDITORS

Coz Fleming Wendy Bruere Sule McCraies Joanne Lee team@verticallifemag.com

DESIGN

Marine Raynard KaleaMarineDesigns.com.au

ADVERTISING

Toby Ryston-Pratt toby@adventureentertainment.com +61 413 183 804

SENIOR CONTRIBUTORS

Dave Barnes, Simon Bischoff, Max Gordon, Araminta McLennan & Mitchell Scanlan-Bloor

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Moses Bassett, Simon Bischoff, Wendy Bruere, Amelia Caddy, Coz Fleming, Jamie Graham-Blair, Nick Hancock, Sule McCraies, Araminta McLennan, Simon Mentz, Louise Shepherd, Tim Macartney-Snape, Darren Williams

PHOTOGRAPHY

Max Bennet, Simon Bischoff, Michael Blowers, Simon Carter, Tara Davidson, Max Gordon, Jamie Graham-Blair, Heather Hancock, Alex Hartshorne, Rosie Hohnen, Olivia Page, Mitchell Scanlan-Bloor, William Skea

CREDITS IMAGE

From The Archives, circa 1990: Danny Jenkins & Gam Cooper navigate pitch three ‘The Ninth of January’ (19, 160m) on the East Face of Frenchmans Cap, Tasmania. Simon Carter - Onsight Photography

CONTENTS IMAGE

Michael Lehmann leading “White Noise” (21), Maelstrom Wall, Bruny Island with Paul “Frothy” Thomson on belay. Shot by Jared Anderson

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT IMAGE

Mist gathering on kunanyi - Michael Blowers

PUBLISHER

ON THE COVER Simon Bishoff on the first ascent of Daddy Issues (24) at Killiecrankie, shot by Hannah Vasiliades.

“Daddy Issues is a short, shapely and appealing roof a pitch or so off the ground at Killiecrankie. It’s a tricky one to grade because the difficulty is almost entirely derived from employing the correct techniques. And when all the right techniques are used it can be climbed almost effortlessly. Conversely if you don’t use good technique it will be horrendous and you will be defenestrated before you can say butter sandwich.”

Climber: Simon Bischoff @_simonbischoff_ Photgrapher: Hannah Vasiliades @hannah.anura

Toby Ryston-Pratt Founder & CEO Adventure Entertainment.

ABN: 79 612 294 569

SUBSCRIPTIONS

subscribe.verticallifemag.com.au E magazines@adventureentertainment.com P: 02 8227 6486 PO Box 161, Hornsby, NSW, 1630

COPYRIGHT

The content in this magazine is the intellectual property of Adventure Entertainment Pty Ltd. It must not be copied or reproduced without the permission of the publisher.

DISCLAIMER

Rock climbing and other activities described in this magazine can carry significant risk of injury or death.

Undertake outdoor activity only with proper instruction, supervision, equipment and training.

The publisher and its servants and agents have taken all reasonable care to ensure the accuracy of the information contained in this publication and the expertise of its writers. Any reader attempting any of the activities described in this publication does so at their own risk. The publisher nor its servants or agents will be held liable for any loss, injury or damage resulting from any attempt to perform any of the activities described in this publication. All descriptive and visual directions are a general guide only and not to be used as a sole source of information. Climb safe

Verticallifemag.com

VerticalLifeMag

VerticalLifeMag SUMMER 2022

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CONTENTS SUMMER 2022 . ED41. AU/NZ

14. EDITOR’S NOTE COZ

16. READ WATCH LISTEN ARAMINTA MCLENNAN

18. YOURS?

JAMIE GRAHAM-BLAIR COZ FLEMING

24. FROM THE ARCHIVES: FRENCHMANS CAP DARREN WILLIAMS

30. LOCAL LORE WITH CRAG CARE TAS AMELIA CADDY

34. ESSENTIAL READING

TIM MACARTNEY-SNAPE & SIMON MENTZ

36. GETTING TO KNOW: ROXY PERRY 40. HOW I GOT THE SHOT SIMON BISCHOFF

46. BOULDERING TASSIE’S WEST COAST MOSES BASSETT

54. SEA STACK SPOTLIGHT NICK HANCOCK

60. TALE OF WOAH YESTERDAY’S HERO LOUISE SHEPHERD

65. GALLERY 72. CRAG COOKING SIMON BISCHOFF

76. NEW GEAR 80. BETA & BREW SUMMER 2022

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EDITOR’S NOTE VL MANAGING EDITOR COZ FLEMING (THEY/THEM)

Writing has never come as naturally to me as speaking has.

Learning to write as a kid was a tedious process; my grip on the pen was so tight my fingers would turn white as a precursor to numbness, meaning I could only ever write one large and messy paragraph before the class ended. As writing became a fundamental part of school exams as I got older, I found the struggle between my overactive brain and hands that couldn’t keep up, both frustrating and overwhelming. To make matters worse, I’d revise what I’d written only to find I had either actually written some words backwards, or that others had somehow merged together in my mind to create one long sentence I no longer recognised—rude, if you ask me.

Despite the challenges, I did everything I could to write. Afterall, I was an imaginative kid and I loved the freedom writing gave me. I’d sink quietly into my chair as I listened to teachers tell me to slow down my thinking, or to triple check my work to sieve out mistakes.

I’d consistently tried both those things and it never worked, so I assumed I was broken. I’ve recently learnt that I have both ADHD and dyslexia, which explains the magically rearranging text, racing mind and joint hypermobility that caused my writing struggles at school. While it’s great to have that knowledge now, the caveat is that I’ve carried the shame of persistent failure over the inability to access something I loved, for over two decades.

Growing up with such a deep sense of failure and shame inextricably linked to writing, meant that I worked harder than my peers to develop my ability to communicate in other ways. That, combined with growing up with Hungarian family members who barely spoke any English (let alone reading or writing), meant that I had to depend on my nonverbal, verbal and visual communication skills to build relationships with my family and community.

Storytelling gave me an outlet for the creative ideas trapped in my head. It felt liberating to watch the magic of a story unfold for someone else in real-time; so it’s no wonder I ended up as a sought14

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after public speaker for the first half of my career.

It was one of these speaking events in 2018, that prompted Wendy Bruere to reach out two years later, with an offer to tell one of my stories in a book she was editing, More Than It Hurts. As an anthology of rock climbing and mountaineering stories, I was initially really excited so I quickly agreed.

As I started writing though, I felt plagued by the lifetime of shame I’d carried since my failures at school. The cycle of writing and deleting and believing I wasn’t capable happened for months.

I wasn’t brave enough to ask Wendy for help because I didn’t understand why I was struggling to put a story on paper that I’d been telling for years. Afterall, it was a story about my own damn life, so why was it so difficult to write?

By the time I called Wendy to withdraw from the book, I was so deeply ashamed of myself that I tried to convince her (and by default, myself), that it was because my story wasn’t meaningful or worthy of printed pages. I’d decided that printed pages were reserved for timeless classics, for the great triumphs and learnings of our sport, for big moments—and certainly not for me. I’d never seen a story written by a trans-non-binary climber before, and I’d convinced myself that the absence of these stories mean that no one would want to read mine. After all, you can’t be what you can’t see.

It was Wendy’s strength that inspired me when she said that not having stories similar to mine, actually made my story more important to publish. I laughed thorough my choked back tears when she reassured me with “Surely you’ve read a shit book?”, as she helped me unpack why I thought paper was only reserved for the greats of our sport. It was her calmness when she told me that my experience matters enough to be written down, and her assurance that she’d work with me in a way that felt meaningful, that showed me what editorial leadership looked like. At the crux of it was her determination for my inclusion and patience as I learnt to write

again that’s since shaped me as an editor. The book went on to be recognised with a Special Jury Mention in the Banff Mountain Book Competition, and my Instagram inbox was full of people who were grateful for the role my story played in their own understanding of gender—Wendy was right!

I decided to take on Vertical Life in 2021 for a lot of different reasons, many of them actually boil down to how Wendy helped me find my passion for writing again. I couldn’t believe the difference these stories made in the lives of the women who read them, and now as VL’s Managing Editor, I can’t believe how many people come to me with story ideas, only to then try and withdraw them for the same reasons as I had.

Since Jo, Sule and I first started this crazy ride, we’ve been adamant that our community’s stories matter. We’ve matched our belief with countless hours developing the voices of emerging and existing writers. Have we thrown in maybe one or two rogue semicolons or extra exclamation points as a result of the three of us continuing the proud tradition of climbers learning how to run magazines on the fly? Yes, absolutely!

It’s for all these reasons why it gives me so much pride to welcome Wendy as the newest member of our editorial team. She’ll be coaching emerging writers, in the same way that she coached me, to tell stories that matter, while also curbing our penchant for pirate punctuation. So, send us your stories and pitch your ideas, confident in the knowledge that Wendy is here to guide you to writerly greatness!

In our first edition as a team of four, we’ve teamed up with some of our favourite dirtbags and thought leaders to create a special edition with a focus on the summer climbers’ pilgrimage to Tassie. Avoiding the dreaded chalk-sludge and sauna-tent experiences that summer climbing on the mainland provides, climbers pack their bags and make for Tasmania’s coastal crags each year—it’s a tale as old as time.

Coz and Jamie Graham-Blair reflect on how increasing tourism numbers brings added responsibility to how we talk about this special place; and Crag Care Tas talk us through how they formed to take action on the ecological pressures of key climbing areas. We take a down memory lane through the Rock magazine and get a glimpse of what it was like climbing Frenchmans Cap in the 90s and 2000s. We ground ourselves firmly in the future as we get to know Roxy Perry—Tas’ very own gym superstar. With spotlights on sea stacks, sea cliffs, new bouldering areas on the west coast, key books to read and some wise words on safety from the all-knowing Louise Shepherd, we also get the scoop on 2023 gear (as well as another banger coffee recipe) from Sule. We reflect on the moments only climbing can give us, as well as cook up a storm with Simon Bishoff.

HUNTSMAN

FACE THE OUTDOORS WITH FUNCTIONALITY IN YOUR POCKET When it’s time to go offline, take your Huntsman with you. Offering 15 practical functions to cut, saw, screw and pick, it’s the ultimate all-rounder.

We’re so proud of this issue and the people who made it, and we’re stoked it’s finally in your hands.

FROM THE MAKERS OF THE ORIGINAL SWISS ARMY KNIFE™ ESTABLISHED 1884

READ WATCH LISTEN

By Araminta McLennan

Read this BOOK REVIEW: UNRAVELED: A CLIMBER’S JOURNEY THROUGH DARKNESS AND BACK BY KATIE BROWN

winning multiple X-Games and Rock Masters titles. Her notable outdoor ascents include the first female onsight of a 5.14.

The legendary Lynn Hill called her the “best female sport climber in the history of the sport”.

But Katie’s departure from the sport was as abrupt as her meteoric rise, leading many to ask, “Where did Katie Brown go?”

Her newly released book, Unraveled: A Climbers Journey Through Darkness and Back, gives some answers. She takes readers on a journey through her climbing career while offering detailed introspection and critical analysis of the sport and its impact on her life.

An engaging storyteller, she takes readers from her first competitions as a child in Kentucky to her first X-Games, and outdoors on many adventures around America, including the coveted walls of Yosemite.

Content warning: This book includes content discussing eating disorders, depression, self harm and emotional abuse.

For many climbers the name Katie Brown is a familiar one. For years she was considered one of the strongest, if not the strongest, female competitive climber.

She dominated the international competition scene in the late 1990s,

But if you’re just looking for a record of spectacular climbing achievements, this isn’t it. Sure, there are plenty of successes, but rather than using the book as a vehicle to celebrate her wins, Katie bravely shares intimate details of her internal battles with self esteem, disordered eating, and an emotionally-abusive home life driven by fundamentalist Christianity.

A lot of the time, reading this book made me want to cry.

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t read it, because it is a gripping read. But the raw honesty with which Katie recounts her journey from child prodigy climber to a somewhat lost adult battling a love-hate relationship with the thing that brought her to fame is confronting.

The book includes numerous personal diary entries. This brings a sense of intimacy to the story, creating a deep sense of empathy as you follow Katie into adulthood.

A no-holds barred account of what an athlete will do to succeed in this grueling sport, Katie pragmatically but honestly highlights her own experiences navigating the incredible stressors that come with occupying the space she did in the climbing world. In a sport where the majority of coverage celebrates feats of strength and speed, it is more important than ever for this book to exist.

At the heart of the story is tension— tension between Katie and her family, Katie and the pressure to perform, Katie and her motivations to climb. Beautifully written, Unraveled is ultimately her story of overcoming darkness in every sense, all while competing at the very highest levels on the international climbing scene.

A vulnerable and inspiring read, her story is one that I hope helps to set the sport on a path that prioritises protecting and supporting athletes. But more than that, I hope that any climber who takes the time to read this (and you all should), puts the book down and starts a conversation, whether it be to help themselves or someone else in the community in need of support.

Katie’s story taught me the importance of feeling seen, having space to be heard, and finding a supportive space to balance what is expected of you, with what you need as a person.

Grab a copy online via the Adventure Entertainment Shop www.adventure-shop.com.au

About the reviewer: ARAMINTA MCLENNAN | Minty (she/her) is an avid paraclimber living in Naarm (Melbourne) and stands as current Chairperson of Adaptive Climbing Victoria. She’s passionate about making space for climbers of all abilities at the crag and in the gym, and when not climbing she is often found pestering strangers to pet their dogs.

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Listen to this MUM’S GONE CLIMBING PODCAST #12: DIERDRE WOLOWNICK ON MOTHERHOOD AND TRUSTING OUR CHILDREN

If you’re a parent who loves to climb and you’ve thought, “What do I do when my child wants to do that crazy dangerous thing, and all I want to do is protect them?” then you should give this podcast a listen.

The incredible ladies behind the community group Mum’s Gone Climbing, used this episode to ask that exact question to the multi-talented author, professor, conductor and climber Dierdre Wolownick. Did I mention she also happens to be Alex and Stasia Honnold’s mum?

I’ll caveat this review by saying I don’t have kids, so I won’t presume to understand what it takes to be a parent. But from speaking to mothers who climb, it’s no secret that navigating motherhood and maintaining time and space in life to climb can be a tricky balancing act. This podcast is designed to bring the beta for

those crushing mamas, building a killer community along the way.

In this interview, Diedre talks candidly about her experiences with motherhood and raising two children whose names are now synonymous with adventure.

She reflects on navigating the maternal instinct to protect, while still encouraging her children to be curious about the world around them. She reinforces the importance of learning to trust children to know their own limits.

This episode is funny, enlightening and a joy to listen to. It feels like a cosy chat by the campfire between friends and is sure to bring a little light to climbing mums and dads at every stage of the parenting journey.

Tune into the Mum’s Gone Climbing podcast fortnightly on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your pods.

Watch this NO STRAIGHT LINES If you struggle with campus envy, don’t watch this video. I mean, still do, because it’s awesome, but you’ve been warned.

Sure, climbing is inherently adaptive and all climbers learn to play to their strengths, but climbing without the use of your legs takes that to a whole new level.

A short film by The North Face, No Straight Lines, offers a poignant snapshot into the life of celebrated Austrian paraclimber Angelino Zeller. Rising to recognition after his consistent podium performances on the World Cup circuit, he’s a man who frequently leaves an audience in awe, not least due to his incredible campus skills.

His humble personality is at odds with the showmanship you see during his competition performances—and performances they are, the man can absolutely put on a show!

Angelino invites the audience on a journey to better understand what it takes to succeed as an adaptive climber. Following him as he projects his first outdoor lead routes, you come to understand just how much it takes to not only rise to the top of this sport, but to push your own limits over and over again.

But this film isn’t here to paint him as being an inspiration, at least not to ablebodied climbers. Instead, it highlights that regardless of ability, climbers are driven by

the same determination, the same stoke, and—with the right considerate support— can achieve phenomenal things.

As Angelino says, “The real barrier is not the physical ability. If you find your own access, define your own goal, you will find purpose in it. And that’s why I am at the wall.”

You can watch No Straight Lines plus all other films by The North Face, online & free via their YouTube channel.

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ESSAY

Yours?

HOW INDIGENOUS PHILOSOPHY CAN ONLY EMPOWER YOUR OUTDOOR PROJECTS AND WHY THE LANGUAGE WE USE ABOUT LUTRUWITA MATTERS. INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY MANAGING EDITOR, COZ FLEMING (THEY/THEM) ARTICLE & IMAGES BY TRAWLWOOLWAY, PLANGERMAIREENER PAKANA WRITER, CREATIVE, EDUCATOR & ACTIVIST, JAMIE GRAHAM-BLAIR (THEY/HE).

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Ribbons of smoke from the sacred fire slowly curled upward towards the mist slowly floating downwards, gently settling on the shoulders of the 100 or so of us gathered in front of the Ferntree Tavern. It was a greyer-than-usual August morning as the crowd formed a semi-circle facing Jam, hanging on every word as they introduced themselves in palawa kani (the language of the Tasmanian Aboriginal people).

They gave the crowd a briefing on how the day would unfold, handed their captive audience over to the capable hands of the wukalina Walk guides, and set off on their 25km run –the reason why we’d all congregated there in the first place.

This wasn’t a regular morning gathering of bright-eyed bushwalkers, or eager climbers who’d stopped in for their morning bean-juice prior to hiking up the mountain to squeeze in an extra lap on their proj. It was the start of laykara 25 –a trail running event Jam and I had spent many sleepless nights organising a few weeks prior. laykara, meaning to run in palawa kani, and 25 signifying Jam’s longest run yet on their journey to the New York City Marathon.

Jam had organised the event as part of their Indigenous Marathon Program participation, but in typical Jam style, instead of keeping the focus of the event on themselves as an athlete about to become the second ever Tasmanian Aboriginal person to run the NYC Marathon, they graciously used the moment to create learning opportunities for others. Jam worked with wukalina walk to offer two, hour-long tours led by their award-winning guides, to deepen attendees’ knowledge and understanding of Country and kunanyi.

While handing out cups and tickets to attendees, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own relationship with the mountain too. I’ve spent endless hours climbing, hiking, running, riding and frolicking in the fleeting flurries of winter snow, as both a summer-season climber and now as a resident. Reflecting on my feelings of connectedness to this place, I noticed that it was largely centred around how this place benefits me. When I’ve been here, it’s been with a purpose –to climb, hike, ride or run –and that purpose exists purely to benefit me. I mean, have I ever come to kunanyi for other reasons?

Yeah sure. But what I realised as I extended that reflection onto the rest of my relationship with the outdoor places I love, was that at the crux of my connection to place more often than not, was me.

I’m climbing here because it’s a beautiful place, it’s

close to where I live, and climbing adds immense meaning to my life.

I’m running here because I like to be in nature, it feels special here, and I love how running makes me feel.

I’m riding my bike here because I want to ride, I love riding, and I love this mountain.

I’ve joined a bush care group to look after this place. I care about this place because I visit here often and want it to remain a place people like me can enjoy.

Sound familiar?

It’s human nature to see ourselves as the nucleus of our experiences, so it makes sense that this also extends to our relationship with nature and the places we climb. After all, there are only so many cheers of triumph, screams of encouragement or tears of fear you can have at a crag without developing core memories, which ultimately lead to lasting emotional attachments to these places. As part of a collective outdoor community, we undoubtedly feel especially connected to places that have acted as catalysts for our own transformative experiences.

It’s not to say that the presence of self-interest in how, when and where we engage with nature is inherently sinister. It’s the frequency that self-interest becomes the crux of our relationship with the places we climb, that makes for an important point of reflection.

In the context of the island of lutruwita/ Tasmania, this connection to place can be quantified into some pretty big numbers. The Tasmanian tourism economy alone contributes $2.25 billion of Tasmania’s overall Gross State Product (GSP) and a whopping 13% of state-wide employment –the highest rate nationwide. As a rough head count, annual visitor numbers look like a total of just under 800k people visiting the island, spending a combined total of $2.39 billion on accommodation, tours and experiences while they’re here.

Taking a step back to look at what draws people here in droves, nature and the opportunity to connect to place is the clear winner. When surveyed by Tourism Tasmania earlier this year, 46% of domestic travellers and 66% of international travellers listed ‘wilderness and wildlife’ as their top reason for travel. With these statistics front of mind, it’s important

to recognise that while climbing does have a proud tradition of existing on the fringes of society, we’re not exempt from it, and we have a part to play in how we engage in it.

The language we use to describe the experiences we have in nature and our relationship to place, while are always important no matter where we are –it’s especially critical in treading lightly while in lutruwita. Whether we like it or not, climbers are part of these tourism numbers, and I’d argue that because of that we have an important role to play when it comes to how we speak about and relate to the remote and fragile places we visit while we’re here.

Like you’ll read from Jam, the language we use to describe lutruwita and how we frame its value in relation to ourselves needs a re-think.

It’s this quiet reflection that left me awestruck watching Jam cross the finish line on that cold August morning on kunanyi. The journey Jam has undertaken as an athlete and their prioritisation of culture, community and country during that process is something every one of us can learn from. Removing ourselves as the centre of our own universes and experiences outdoors, and instead, recognising our role as part of the collective whole; gives us the much-needed opportunity to learn from, and be led by, the voices of the people who have cared for this island since the time began.

Just as we look to professional guides for safety advice; to athletes in our sport who are redefining what we thought was achievable; to photographers who capture the beauty of the sport we all love so much; and to the writers who tell us about it –so too, must we look to First Nations people to understand how we recreate on, and talk about, their land.

Jam shares their knowledge of conservation, ecology, climate science, pakana history and culture as an athlete, writer, creative and educator. Recently, they’ve collaborated with the good folk behind Keep Tassie Wild (IG: @ keeptassiewild) to continue to educate the wider community and help people living on and travelling to lutruwita, to care for and respect the island and her children in a holistic way.

We felt the #KTWxMukaNita collaboration speak to concepts all climbers can learn from, so we’ve worked with Jam to republish three of their short-form pieces. For more, you can continue to grow your knowledge by searching the hashtag #KTWxMukaNita and following Jam’s work via @muka_nita on Instagram.

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ESSAY YOURS?

previous generations of lay people, based on what they observed and considered normal. In a world so quickly changing under the impacts of the climate crisis it is interesting to consider the impacts of SBS on people of older generations compared to younger generations.

This issue stems from a breakdown in communication between generations of people, as well as a breakdown in understanding indicators of healthy ecosystems in order to monitor and maintain their health. Indigenous people worldwide who still maintain subsistence harvesting and land management techniques are more immune to SBS due to their deep connection to country and intergenerational knowledge systems.

However, that doesn’t stop the impacts of colonialism and capitalism from eroding Indigenous knowledge systems and environmental health.

Untouched?

In Flux Country is always in flux, changing and evolving over time through different climates and pressures.

Indigenous and traditionally living people who depend on Country and its ever changing seasons, have developed intergenerational knowledge sharing techniques to describe and relate to these environmental changes over time. But what happens when we, as a species, distance ourselves from the natural world, opting to create non-natural spaces for the majority of us to live within, like cities? Odd psychological phenomena such as the “Shifting Baseline Syndrome” are born.

Coined by Daniel Pauly in 1995 ‘SBS’ is often referred to as the changing of how something is measured, or considered as normal. In conservation, it normally refers to how degradation of an environment becomes normalised as new generations of humans observe the environment. That is to say, to the layperson, healthy Country today may well have been described as degraded to 20

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Words like ‘pristine’, ‘untouched’, ‘clean’, ‘wild’ and ‘pure’ often come to mind when we imagine the remote parts of lutruwita. Words like this paint a picture of a place void of human impacts and they often feel like the right words to use.

However, these words are loaded and can lead to the erasure of the First Peoples of the island, and perpetuate the harmful myth that we don’t exist.

In palawa kani (Tasmanian Aboriginal language) there is no word for wilderness, it is simply called milaythina, or Country.

It is understood that Country is the all-life, everything, including ourselves.

A system of infinite relationships and seasons stretching forwards and backwards through time in an immeasurable length.

The many languages and cultures of the island historically all depended on healthy milaythina, and as such were structured in a way that each clan group, each family, and nation held responsibility for caring for their own section, often overlapping with neighboring groups for shared responsibility and community building.

This need to care for milaythina kept the

island relatively peaceful for millenia, and this responsibility also kept the people in tune with the island for what western science says, is more than 42,500 years.

Given the immense length of time the Old People have walked this island, through multiple ice ages and warm periods, every square inch of the island was managed, maintained, shaped, nurtured and utilised by the ancestors.

Nowhere was untouched until we were forcibly taken off our homelands.

While us pakana (Tasmanian Aboriginal people) maintain their responsibilities to milaythina today, we also know that the Western concept of wilderness, of ‘man vs. nature’ rather than ‘people are nature’, holds us back from healing and truly conserving the land.

Yours?

Within both academic and practical realms of ecology and conservation many people have devoted their lives to the goal of protecting natural resources and native species. This goal is an admirable one, and obviously growing in importance as the climate and biodiversity crises worsens.

ISSUE 41 | VERTICALLIFEMAG.COM

While conservation can be an incredibly empowering action, it can also be a tool of colonialism. The land on this continent was historically, and successfully, managed by the First Peoples, but it didn’t take long for Europeans to displace these systems of governance and care. Often acts of colonialism were (and are) supported by myths of unused land and “uncivilised” culture, the implication being that the land could be much better utilised by the colonisers and their rapidly expanding industries rather than be “wasted” in the control of the natives.

This mentality is still upheld in many modern environmental discussions and is often supported by simple words, phrases and mentalities, frequently used by nonindigenous people.

An example of phrases that perpetuate conservation colonialism, is the usage of the possessive “our” when referencing a

place, ecosystem or collective of people.

Our forests, our island, our mountain, our Aboriginal people.

Regardless of intent, these words imply ownership and support a legacy of colonialism and denial of Aboriginal sovereignty and should be avoided when talking about the island we all call home.

To address the well ingrained antiindigenous mentalities within western concepts of land care, we need to center and amplify Indigenous philosophies, voices, and calls to action.

By shifting how we measure conservation success to a scale of anticolonialism (as a root cause of many environmental problems) we can see the world of conservation in a new light; in a way which center’s justice for people and place, for the benefit of all.

LEARN MORE: • Read about the true history of lutruwita/Tasmania, at the Tasmanian Aboriginal Centers website: www.tacinc.com.au • For the beta on minimising your ecological impact while you’re adventuring around the island (think, avoiding beach-nesting birds, minimising the spread of root rot while camping & making sense of the waratah stickers you’ll see on the back of every local's car) - follow @keeptassiewild on Instagram.

• For the full Keep Tassie Wild X Muka Nita content collaboration, search the hashtag #KTWxMukaNita on IG. • Support land returns in lutruwita by learning more, donating and sharing at givinglandback.org WHILE YOU’RE IN LUTRUWITA • Book an Aboriginal-led tour to deepen your understanding of the island, check out: www.palawakipli.com www.blackledtours.com www.wukalinawalk.com.au • Visit the taypani milaythina-tu: Return To Country exhibition at the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery. “This ground-breaking exhibition presents creative work from 20 Tasmanian Aboriginal artists responding to relationships between community and Ancestral objects, particularly those held in institutions outside lutruwita/Tasmania. Ancestral objects from collections around the world will return to lutruwita to be exhibited alongside these contemporary responses, some of which are by descendants of the original makers, representing generational reconnection across time and place.” www.tmag.tas.gov.au closes 12-02-2023 SUPPORT PAKANA CREATIVES • For more of Jam’s writing, or to support them by purchasing a print, head to their Instagram @muka_nita • For authentic Tasmanian Aboriginal art, jewellery and cultural items, check out www.blackspacecreative.com.au • Grab a copy of Born Into This by pakana author Adam Thompson via www.blackspacecreative.com.au

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COMMITTED. There’s only one way to reach the top. You try and try again. There’s always failure. You learn from your past mistakes. Train some more.

Gain experience. Then you try harder. Fail and fall again. You take a beating. Get hurt. And keep coming back. But in the end, when you pull past the point of no return, steady your breath, and stare down what’s between you and success, you know what you have to do. Commit. We know what it takes. At Black Diamond, we’re committed to catching the falls along the way.

Black Diamond Athlete Colin Duffy

Christian Adam

FROM THE ARCHIVES

Frenchmans Cap - 1990 Simon Carter Onsight Photography

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Wet ‘n’ Wild DARREN WILLIAMS FINDS THAT THERE’S MORE THAN JUST ‘TICKING NUMBERS’ TO CLIMBING ON ONE OF THE BIGGEST AND MOST REMOTE CLIFFS. Leather boots, whiskey, vintage blue jeans, trees and solid friendships –some things are just better with age.

Welcome to our new From The Archives segment. We’ll be bringing back some of the best of the old stuff, so our readers can sink deeper into their armchairs after a long day on the rock and say with a sigh “ah, they don’t make em’ like they used to!”.

Here at VL HQ we love climbing history as much as our readers do, so we’re pumped to throw back to a selection of Rock articles that make us think, laugh and climb in a way that celebrates how far our sport and our community have come.

In this 2000 article originally published in Rock magazine’s Winter edition, Darren Williams takes on Frenchmans Cap—in the rain. From the comfort of more than two decades on from the adventure, he says: “Since then, I’ve had many trips to Tassie, which always involve an adventure of some kind. It’s definitely the trips with mates that involve long approaches, unpredictable weather and challenging route finding that leaves the most indelible memories. Reading my profile on the original story, not a lot has changed. Still a better juggler than climber.

Did manage to push the grade up a bit over the years. Still instructing and assessing. My eight-year-old daughter is now 30–with her own two-year-old daughter.”

Simon Carter - Onsight Photography graciously rummaged through his archives to unearth some unseen images of a similar vintage. These shots were taken in 1990, 10 years prior to the time Darren’s article was originally published.

Between Darren’s words and Simon’s images, we get a 30 year glimpse into one of Tasmania’s most iconic climbing objectives –Frenchmans Cap.

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FROM THE ARCHIVES FRENCHMANS CAP

something on Frenchmans Cap. I mentioned the idea to two mates but for the next year or so we were all too busy with other things to make the necessary commitment. A year later I lent my guidebook to a visiting American who was heading to Tasmania for a few weeks. He was planning on doing the two-day walk in to Frenchmans Cap and then having two days to climb. I didn’t hear from him for a couple of months and decided to chase him and my guide-book up to find out about the climbing.

He described his ascent of The Sydney Route (380 metres; grade 17). He and his partner had taken nine hours and had come across route-finding challenges, loose rock and drizzling rain on what he described as a good day for climbing. My interest in getting up that big face was increasing!

Tim, Mark and I decided that March 1998 was the time. We had been told by some Hobart climbers that the weather was ‘pretty stable’ then. That sounded good but I wasn’t really sure what it meant.

Later we found out that it meant ‘when it rains, it does so for a long time!’

While researching further into the walk to the Cap I found out that even in March it rains for about 20 days. That’s a lot for a good month! I concluded that if we were in there for seven days we would get two or three days of climbing and three or four days of sitting it out in the Tahune Hut at the base of the Cap. This proved to be an accurate long-range forecast. It also helped us to make some vitally important choices when deciding what would go into our packs and what would be left in the car. Obviously, the pack of cards was a must, as were the two litres of port, 600 millilitres of 15-year-old Scotch whisky, lots of chocolate and coffee. The Gam Cooper, pitch two, The Ninth Of January, Frenchmans Cap. Simon Carter - Onsight Photography

rest was just a ‘bonus’.

Unfortunately, the bonus added up to over 30 kilograms of gear a

Just before leaving for a bush-walking/climbing trip to Tasmania four years ago, I flicked through the guidebook to Frenchmans Cap. The location is remote; the route descriptions are plagued with comments such as ‘climb the rotten rock’, ‘a serious route with sparse protection’, a nerve-racking pitch with poor protection, to a dubious ‘vegetation belay’.

person, which felt like 50 kilograms when walking across the ‘sodden Loddon Plains’ in knee-to-hip-deep mud for two hours.

Our original group of three had grown to five by the time we left Adelaide as we’d decided that pairs would be a more efficient way to climb, and Mark’s wife was coming along only for the walk.

We arrived at the Tahune Hut shortly after dark in drizzling rain,

I could hardly wait! Well, as it turned out I would have to wait, as

much to the surprise of the two hut occupants who, not expecting

my girlfriend took one look at the guidebook and decided that a few

any wet, tired and hungry arrivals, had settled for the night. We

days’ climbing on the ‘friendly’ sea-cliffs at Freycinet sounded much

wondered whether we would be too tired and sore to climb the next

more pleasant and in line with the term ‘holiday’, which is what we

day even if the weather held out.

were supposed to be having.

We awoke from our deep sleep to the tune of Tim’s 6.30 am alarm.

I returned from the trip eager to go back to Tasmania and climb 26

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The original two in the hut were now convinced that we were

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completely insane and tried to ignore our whisperings about the weather and which route we would tackle.

Our decision was made easy by drizzling rain that cleared by about 11 am. We figured that we wouldn’t have enough time to get up anything too big, so Tierry le Fronde (147 metres; grade 16) got the nod.

The climb is sufficiently straightforward despite our best efforts to go off route on three of the five pitches. We topped out about 4 pm and headed down to the base of the climbs to find The Sydney Route for an early start the following day. Luckily we left sufficient daylight for this as finding the Direct Start was only possible by locating the fourth pitch and working a line to the ground. We stashed our gear and went to the hut for dinner.

After turning in early we (and our by now expectant hut companions) were awoken about 11 pm by our friends Mark and Duncan, who had walked in, in the dark, to climb the next day. They had left Mark’s wife and the Cointreau (!) at the Lake Vera Hut some eight kilometres down the track. They scoffed some Raro drink, ate some metwurst and cheese and crashed for the night.

The familiar 6.30 am alarm brought little response until the espresso coffee was fired up. We ate porridge in the predawn light as we waited for the sky to reveal the day’s weather. The news was good. A clear sky! We headed off on the track and were on The Sydney Route by 9 am. Meanwhile Mark and Duncan had a more leisurely start by watching us climb the first two pitches before heading off to do Tierry le Fronde.

The Sydney Route is written up as 13 pitches but by using a 60 metre rope and stringing a few pitches together we made it in eight with a scramble out the top. A regular supply of badly rusted, old pitons and fixed machine nuts helped to keep us on route, which was a good thing as the description in the guidebook contains little information on some pitches and no topos. Despite a few really wet sections, the occasional loose flake the size of a small elephant, and regular 10-15 metre run-outs, the climb was sufficiently straightforward and fair at the grade.

The ninth pitch (crux) traverse was the highlight of the climb for me with exposure unequalled by anything I have climbed in Australia.

Cranking up on loose blocks 250 metres above the floor, five metres from your last runner, you really know that you’re alive—if the adrenalin hasn’t already killed you!

As we completed the final pitches a light rain began to fall and by the time we reached the hut after our descent it was raining. We had taken seven hours swinging leads with a 60 metre rope.

Gam Cooper, Frenchmans Cap. Simon Carter - Onsight Photography

Chris Dewhirst and Chris Baxter did the second ascent of this route SUMMER 2022

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FROM THE ARCHIVES FRENCHMANS CAP

system sat over the Cap with little respite. We considered these enforced rest days as an opportunity to catch up on some serious eating, resting and card playing. ‘Croupier’ Tim was a veritable encyclopedia of new card games for fun and profit and proceeded to take Duncan and me to the cleaners in everything except ‘Fish’. Duncan’s delight at winning his first and only card game for three days was a Kodak moment celebrated by laps of the hut, loud whooping noises and pigeon impersonations rarely seen outside Sesame Street.

Carrying those incredibly heavy packs loaded with every conceivable delicacy was now paying off as we unsuccessfully attempted to eat our way through the mountain of gourmet food that surrounded us.

We were due to be picked up from the start of the track by Mark and his wife, who had walked out when the rain began, at 1pm on Friday.

Therefore we had to leave the hut at the latest on Thursday afternoon to give us two half-days to walk out. On Thursday morning we awoke to silence—no rain! Hallelujah!

We threw down coffee and porridge again and the three of us headed off to The Chimes of Freedom (270 metres; grade 17). Access is long, and entails scrambling up a scree gully that was regularly releasing boulders the size of watermelons after three days of constant rain.

We survived the walk in and found what we believed to be the start of the route (we later decided that the route actually starts about 30 metres to the left. Tim led out the full 60 metres and I headed left to get us to the top of the third belay in accordance with the guidebook.

So far so good.

Well, that was the end of the holiday camp. The fourth pitch (crux) was a minor waterfall as were most of the remaining pitches, and Tim led it with a minimum of fuss, much to my and Duncan’s deDavid Jenkins, pitch three, The Ninth of January, (19, 160m), East face, Frenchmans Cap

in 1968 in 4 hours and 45 minutes in pre-SLCD days. An impressive effort indeed. We figured that without any SLCDs to place they probably just ran it out from belay to belay! [Not exactly, lads, but there were a few modest run-outs. Editor]

light for neither of us liked the look of it much.

With that over, we figured that things should get easier. A big assumption! The remaining pitches turned out to be just as difficult.

We began to understand why we were finding abandoned gear obviously left to facilitate retreat from ensuing epics. The fifth pitch is a sky-rocketing, 35 metre corner-crack requiring about ten #2-2.5 SLCDs or #8 Hexes-we had only one.

That night the four of us shared dinner, port and descriptions of

So I spent a lot of time back-cleaning gear as I fought my way up the

our climbs before retiring early with expectations of another full

wet, glassy crack. Tim linked the sixth and seventh pitches, with

day’s climbing the next day.

the last 20 metres being a traverse of about grade 17 with only two

That night was a wild one. The change blew in and the rain was

runners (three if you count a 25-year-old peg that you can wobble

audible on the hut roof all night. We awoke to the sound of constant

with your finger).

rain which accompanied our 6.30 am alarm for the next three days.

It was a ‘ballsy’ lead and again, Duncan and I were pleased to have We were hut bound for those three days as an intense low-pressure 28

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been spared. I followed Tim’s lead and then sat under a dripping,

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overhanging off-width ‘corner thing’ shivering and psyching myself

himself back on the belay ledge after an unsuccesstul attempt at the

out while Duncan took whippers off the traverse 200 metres above

overhang.

the ground. It was all happening—and then it started to rain!

After some creative aid moves (including nut-key hooking) we were I drew the very short straw to lead the wet ‘corner thing’, which

out of the drama and into the mist that engulfed the top of the

didn’t even look

climb. Following the mandatory summit shots we debated how

‘aidable’ due to the width of the crack and the amount of grass and moss growing above the bulge. I decided to place a high runner and use some small edges on the right wall which looked marginally more doable.

Five metres up from my last runner—with ice-cold water running down my sleeves as I searched in vain for an edge to stand on—I could see myself taking the whipper from hell and pulling up level with Tim’s head at the belay ledge. I could see that he was preparing to jump backwards to shorten the fall. (A kind thought but not comforting at the time!)

Somehow my foot stuck long enough for me to pull up and over to a good hold and the game went on. I linked the eighth and ninth pitches together which in hindsight wasn’t as smart a time-saving idea as I had hoped. With the crux being five metres above the belay ledge (and after I had led up 50 metres) a struggling second found

dry rock would have changed the experience and concluded that it’s probably dry so infrequently that everyone climbs it in ‘our’ conditions.

Are we glad we climbed it? You bet! Would we hurry back for a repeat? Not likely—those sunny sea-cliffs around Freycinet sound much more appealing holiday material!

Darren Williams is a far better juggler than climber. He has never led anything over 24 (and probably never will!), hasn’t any aspirations to climb an 8000 metre peak, but juggles a full-time career, study and an eight-year-old daughter. He is an instructor and assessor for the South Australian Rockclimbing Education Association and has been climbing throughout Australia and New Zealand for eight years.

GEAR FOR HERE

Khanh Huynh on Rose of Jericho (27) Elanora Heights. Photo: Lucas Corroto Scan me & good things will happen

LOCAL LORE

CRAG CARE TASMANIA A SMALL COMMUNITY WITH A BIG IMPACT WORDS BY AMELIA CADDY, IMAGES BY SIMON BISCHOFF, OLIVIA PAGE, ROSIE HOHNEN AND ALEX HARTSHORNE

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Welcome to our Local Lore column, where we drop a pin on the climbing map and ask locals to give us the beta. From local climbing legends & lore to must-do-routes and historical deep dives, we’re letting our favourite locals loose on these pages to tell us how we should be spending our time in their backyards.

Amelia tells us how the Tassie climbing community rallied to face environmental challenges together.

When Launceston local Steve Postle decides something is worth doing, you can generally be pretty sure it’ll happen. It’s this dedication that got him into climbing and brought him to lutruwita/Tasmania four years ago, and it’s this same dedication that led to the formation of Crag Care Tasmania in early 2021.

After moving to Tasmania, Steve set about meeting people in his new community. The more he talked to the local climbers, the more he realised they were brimming with energy, enthusiasm and ideas for ways to tackle some of the issues at the local crags.

Community), advocacy, codes of conduct and anchor maintenance; Crag Care’s remit is to mitigate the environmental impact of climbing on Tasmanian crags, and on the species and ecosystems that depend on them.

“I’m not great at coming up with new ideas, but I’m good at, I guess, bringing people together and getting things done,” he says.

That said, there’s still plenty of overlap in their work, and the two groups are careful to consult each other and stay in regular contact.

According to Rosie, this collaborative approach is key to their ongoing success.

“I just said, ‘Cool, let’s start—let’s meet at my place.’ And it grew from there.”

The more he and local climbers talked, the more they realised there was a common environmental theme running through the issues they were discussing—issues like weeds, erosion, track degradation and the need for improved community education and consultation. Each was too daunting for any one person to tackle alone, but as a coordinated group, perhaps something could be done.

Further south in Hobart, local climber Rosie Hohnen was independently coming to a similar conclusion.

“I remember driving down the mountain [kunanyi/Mt Wellington, where over 650 climbs on alpine dolerite are found 20 minutes from the city centre] and being like, ‘There’s track erosion up there and it would be really cool if we could do something about that’,” Rosie says.

She mentioned the idea to Climbers Club of Tasmania President Hamish Jackson, who filled her in on Steve’s plans. And, just like that, Crag Care had a southern chapter.

Crag Care and the Climbers Club of Tasmania have been clear about their distinct areas of responsibility from early on. The Climbers Club looks after access (including liaising with the Tasmanian Aboriginal

“Fragmentation just isn’t productive in a small community,” she says.

“You have to work together to get outcomes on the ground; to have a real impact, it’s critical that everybody can talk to each other.”

If impact is the measure of success, then Crag Care is off to a great start.

In its first year and a half, with Steve its President and Rosie as South Region Coordinator, it has established relationships with landowners and managers, including the Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife Service, the City of Launceston, the City of Hobart and Mount Wellington Trust.

These connections have enabled the group to conduct working bees to do revegetation, control weeds and erosion, and undertake track maintenance at crags all over the state: in Launceston’s Cataract Gorge, Ben Lomond National Park, Freycinet National Park, Hobart’s innercity Fruehauf and the Organ Pipes on Mount Wellington. There are plans to expand operations further afield as the group’s capacity grows.

Climbing still has a relatively low impact in most of these locations, but Crag Care is preparing for a future in which that might not always be the case. Across the globe, climbing is growing in popularity. At the same time, more and more climbers are cottoning onto the fact that Tasmania offers not just world-class sport and trad climbing, but a remoteness and quietness that is increasingly hard to find.

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LOCAL LORE CRAG CARE TASMANIA

“Climbers, climbing—we come from a bit of an irreverent background,” says Rosie. “We’ve operated under the radar for so long as a community, but with climbing becoming so popular, particularly in Tasmania, that’s just not possible anymore. There are so many people accessing these places and impacting these places—we really do have a responsibility to help look after them.”

An ecologist by trade, Rosie perhaps sees these impacts with greater clarity than most of us. We all know the big ones: loo tickets drifting in the breeze, piles of poop barely covered by a thin layer of dirt, muesli wrappers and rope stubs dotting the bases of cliffs. But what about the tiny Shea-oak seedling you stepped on as you set up your top rope at White Water Wall? Or the rare fern you fished out of that crack to make way for your cam?

“Cliff ecosystems are super unique and often quite sensitive,” says Rosie. “Certain species rely on cliffs to breed—Peregrine Falcons are a great example of that. There are also certain plant species that are restricted to cliff environments, and it’s really important that we’re aware of those kinds of impacts.”

For Rosie, Steve and the rest of the Crag Care community, the work they’re doing is about educating the community and mitigating those impacts before they get out of hand.

“We’re trying to be proactive, not reactive,” says Steve. “I think we do have a tendency to take the places we climb in for granted sometimes, 32

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and this is about going, ‘Hang on, this land doesn’t belong to us, and if we just keep taking, taking, taking without giving back, then eventually these places will probably be taken away from us’.”

Steve’s not having a crack at climbers when he says this. In fact, he’s quick to point out that there’s a long history of climbers having a positive impact on Tasmanian cliffs. But without an actual group to rally around, a lot of this work has been sporadic and unpublicised.

Crag Care is an opportunity not just to increase public awareness of the good work that’s being done, but also to bring people together—to connect climbers with landowners and managers, and with each other.

Controversy and crises may bring people together temporarily, but they can’t build a community. To do that requires trust, shared values and a uniting sense of purpose. Steve says it’s that sense of belonging that made Tasmania his home.

“The climbing here is amazing—that’s why I moved—but I’ve grown to realise that it’s the community that keeps me here. It’s Crag Care, it’s seeing it grow, it’s seeing people actually giving a crap, giving their time for something that they don’t really get any personal reward from,” he says.

“We’re getting the same regular crews turning up to pick up rubbish and pull out weeds. They don’t have to do that, but people make time for it, and that’s really special.”

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ESSENTIAL READING Having great local beta on hand, along with an entertaining tome for campsite reading, are important parts of travelling and climbing anywhere. For that reason, team VL recommends these two books to get you started on all things Tasmania. Let’s call it your Tas climbing essential reading list if you will.

From stunning images to dream tick lists, Gerry Narkowicz’ Climb Tasmania (third edition) has your back. Or, if futurist climbing in the far reaches of our galaxy is more your style, then grab a copy of local writer Dave Barnes’ debut novel The Red Curtain: Climbing Expedition To Mars 2043.

Both books are available online at www.adventure-shop.com.au a few hours when the weather is crap on 'the Pipes' above Hobart.

Boulderers haven't been forgotten either, with 14 pages dedicated to various pockets of boulders scattered around the state.

The new layout and graphics make this guide both user-friendly and appealing to read. And there is plenty to read! Gerry has included loads of local history, and even a section called 'Star Wars’—a pisstake of the characters, the development, the ethics and the feuds from the Tassie climbing scene over the last decades.

doubt that Gerry has done Tassie climbing proud, along with everyone else who has contributed to it.

Fortunately, the book is out just in time for the upcoming Tassie climbing season, so start planning your next climbing holiday to the magic island state.

The inclusion of yellow boxes which tell the stories behind iconic Tasmanian climbs is a nice way of injecting a bit of character into those pages dominated by dry route descriptions.

CLIMB TASMANIA (3rd edition)

By Gerry Narkowicz Review by Simon Mentz For an old jaded climber like me, seeing the latest edition of Climb Tasmania was the shot in the arm that I needed. This isn't just a reprint of the former excellent guide with a few extra titbits thrown in, but a complete re-working of the book... new layout, new topos, new maps, new photos, new crags.

Among the other, more significant areas to debut in this edition is Cloudy Bay down on Bruny Island, which hosts a bunch of moderate sport routes in a seaside setting.

I was also glad to see the inclusion of Fruehauf, which despite being a chipped quarry is still a worthwhile place to spend 34

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Visually the guide is well served by a variety of photographers, but in particular, the work of Simon Bischoff lifts the book to a world-class level with his cliff photos and action shots. Many enjoyable hours can be spent pouring over the photos and maps to familiarise yourself with each area.

There is an abundance of new information in this book, with more detail than in earlier editions. Gerry has called on a host of people to write and update different regions. Climbs such as the Candlestick and the Geryon Traverse now have far more guidance for those wishing to tackle them.

While I would occasionally question the allocation of stars, particularly by a handful of first ascensionists getting carried away with their latest creations, such gripes are minor. There is little

THE RED CURTAIN: CLIMBING EXPEDITION TO MARS 2043

By Dave Barnes Review by Tim Macartney-Snape I’ve just woken from THE craziest dream in which I was an onlooker into the most epic techno climbing adventure ever!

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From start to finish the story teetered on the edge of becoming a nightmare of many differing sorts. Somehow, like roadrunner, it always managed to pull back from the fall.

The setting was some 20 years into the future with the Earth descending into energy poverty and climatic catastrophe.

But a newly discovered mineral, holding the key to an unlimited source of energy, offered humans a glimmer of hope.

However, this mineral only existed in any useful quantity on Mars—and then only in a small vein of rock near the top of a 3,000 metre wall on the tallest known mountain in the solar system, Olympus Mons!

Well, dreams can be far-fetched and a lot of dreams, at least in my brain, involve mountains. And they often involve climbing—as did this!

A planet-saving mission was launched, involving two of the world’s top climbers, who just happened to also be US

astronauts! Yeah, from dirtbag climbers to planet saving astronauts, why not? This is the beauty of dreams, anything is possible.

It was a story both out of this world and, especially if you’re a climber, as real as sweaty palms on a big run-out.

Reassuringly, I think(?) the US of A was still vigorous enough to mount a Mars mission ahead of other, shall we say, more nefarious global contenders, and still sane enough to even have one Tommy Caldwell sitting in the senate. Tommy, of course, played a key role in getting the mission off the ground.

As you can imagine, the atmosphere on the red planet isn’t at all healthy for humans. It was pleasing to note that the dream took account of this fact, and many other important technical details too numerous to mention here.

The climbers were clad in lightweight space suits to counter the extremes of temperature, lack of oxygen and damaging solar radiation. Not only did they have to

learn how to climb in a space suit, albeit under the influence of weaker gravity, but they had to master the plethora of tech aids that we can, well, only dream of.

There was drone assisted route finding, pocket-sized powered ascenders, climbing adapted gloves with a built in air-blaster for cleaning holds, and more.

Usually I find that in my more complex dreams the narrative cannot be sustained.

It morphs into something completely unrelated or becomes unfinished business because I wake up. Satisfyingly, this one didn’t; it came to a gripping and climactic conclusion.

I must now confess that it wasn’t I who dreamed up this sci-fi climbing fantasy.

It came out of the mind of master tale spinner and climbing tragic, Dave Barnes.

The Red Curtain, is a compelling mix of climbing jargon and archetypes, often cliched, occasionally cheesy, but like heavy metal or country music, it becomes quite palatable when you get into the groove.

GETTING TO KNOW

Roxy PERRY

Roxy Perry, also aptly known as Rox or Rocks, has competed nationally and internationally every year since her early teens. As well as taking home trophies, the lutruwita local is passionately involved in Hobart’s climbing scene. At just 25, she is an accomplished route setter, coach to tomorrow’s champions, and is about to open Hobart’s first dedicated bouldering gym in Derwent Park.

She chats to Vertical Life about the evolution of comp climbing, how route setting influences her own training, and why summer in Australia’s southernmost state absolutely rocks.

Congrats on making the Australian team again! How many years in a row is that now?

Oh, I should probably know this! It would be every year since my first World Youth Championships in Austria in 2011.

Wow, so you’ve been competing for 12 years now! What are some of the changes and growth that you’ve noticed in that time?

Style-wise, there have been huge changes with bouldering. When it was introduced to the competition scene it was just a more powerful version of route climbing, then it slowly became bigger holds, bigger moves, and more coordination.

ROXY PERRY (SHE/HER/THEY), HOBART’S LOCAL COMP CRUSHER AND ROUTE SETTING SUPERSTAR

The style of climbing is also shifting and changing. Even lead climbs are becoming more powerful and exciting. You’re still getting really cool showy moves, but there’s less straight-up cranking on small holds.

Speed climbing has also become a lot bigger. At the first World Youth Comp I went to we had kids competing in their runners, just because they wanted to try speed climbing and see what it was all about. Now you don’t touch the speed wall unless you’re running 10 seconds or less.

Tell us about how your path into competition climbing Roxy In Focus mid Boulder Nationals 2022, image by Tara Davidson

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I started climbing when I was about six or seven through the indoor scene. My dad coached our primary school team. Outdoor climbing

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was also a pretty big part of it for me—I’d go out with my dad and his friends, and we’d get on some top ropes at the local crags.

I was also excited that this was a thing I could actually do—I was so tragically bad at every other sport I tried, and all my friends at school were sporty, athletic, super competitive and really good at everything they tried. But climbing was fun, social, competitive…and I wasn’t bad at it.

I first started competing at nine or 10. I’m quite naturally competitive.

When a school comp or a state comp would come about, I’d be like, “Yeah, I’ll give that a go!”

Then I qualified for my first World Youth Championship when I was 13 or 14. The process was wild! I went to a NSW state comp and came third out of four girls—so I only just made it.

I also didn’t even know what the event was. Someone said, “Hey, you can go to the World Youth Championships!” And I was like “Oh, cool.

What’s that? That sounds fun! I get to go to Austria? Okay!”

At the comp we got completely demolished. I think every Australian was in the bottom five that year. It was horrific, but we had so much fun.

How do you balance your own personal climbing with training/ competitions, coaching, route setting, work, and everything else?

I’ve always lived life running nonstop. I wake up early and I go to bed late and I don’t stop in between. I think the hardest thing to balance is route setting, because it is so physical.

There’s also a lot of planning and thinking really carefully about the load that I’m putting on my body at different times—even just mentally—and making sure I schedule in rest as much as everything else.

The coaching side of things is a little bit easier, and the hours definitely aren’t as long. Lately, with the new gym underway it’s been really hard, and some sacrifices have definitely been made in my personal climbing to open this gym.

And I know that it’s only going to be a few more months and then everything will settle down and I’ll have more space to train and climb and set [laughs].

Does your setting style/preferences mimic your climbing style/ preferences?

Yes, I think so. The more setting I’ve done, the more I’ve been able to identify that and adapt to it. I know my strengths, I know my weaknesses, and I really try to push my boundaries and learn from that.

I’m not very good at dynamic, coordinated jumping, so I try to set routes that push me out of my comfort zone. Instead of the little crimpy tick-tacky power boulder, I’m going to try for a triple clutch.

I think it’s important as well, as a head setter, to remember that it’s not always about the boulders that you like or the boulders that you think are good. So many people are climbing them and so many people climb differently and enjoy different things.

Tell us a bit about the new gym build and your role in it

I probably trend towards setting (or at least enjoying setting) stuff that I know I’m gonna enjoy climbing. I think that’s just natural for any setter to do.

Rock It will be launching Hobart’s first boulder-only gym, in Derwent Park.

Describe your perfect route or boulder problem

I’ll be one of three owners as well as a director of the new facility. I certainly won’t be a stranger to counter-work either! I plan on being very involved in the entire operating process.

I’m currently head setter at the Rock It in the city in Hobart, but I’ll transfer over to head setting at the new gym. I want to pave the way and show people what bouldering really can be and what it means—really cool holds and walls and climbing.

This is such a tough question because I just love climbing. I think no matter what somebody throws at me, I’m probably gonna find something that I like about it.

I love pinches, so I would probably trend towards something that is steep, powerful, has some pinches in it, and has a bit of funky core tension. Maybe some toe hooking, plus I love my shoulders. See, I’m already throwing up everything! Steep and powerful is the main thing, that’s what I will always get on.

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GETTING TO KNOW ROXY PERRY

I had a random round at boulder nationals once where I came out first and I just flashed every boulder. It wasn’t finals and I didn’t end up winning the event, but that round meant so much just because everything came together.

Don’t get me wrong, as a competitive athlete the results and the placings are important. There is no greater moment than when you actually hit the top after working your whole life towards it. But competing is so much more than that; there’s every single up and down, and every moment along the way that gets you to that bit where you win. And those memories are just as crucial.

What has you psyched at the moment? Any goals or projects?

Summer in Tassie is the time to climb outside! Especially for me where it’s a bit more off season—for the comps anyway. And I hate being cold, so summer is just stellar.

I’ve been wanting to go back to Street Fighter (28), at Star Factory, in Freycinet. I tried it about five years ago and got pretty close.

I also love something that I can find a completely new way to do. I’m quite short and I actually don’t have the best leg power for jumping, so I often find quite strange beta for boulders. Rather than jumping the height of my body, I will heel hook over my head and mantle it into a shoulder press.

As a Tassie climber, what’s something you wish people knew about the local climbing scene?

I also have some friends who are developing new bouldering areas on kunanyi/Mt Wellington. I went up with them once last week. It’s very cool and very exciting, so I’m definitely keen to get back there to do a bit of developing with them.

Other goals are off-season training and getting ready for the comp circuit next year, including the World Champs in Bern, Switzerland.

We’ve got such a huge outdoor presence because there was a time—and this is even in my climbing career—where we didn’t have a climbing gym in Tasmania for a few years.

What’s your climbing kryptonite?

The scene turned very quickly towards climbing outside and home woodies. And so it was very much about outdoor climbing and training and getting strong. I think in Tassie we are finally catching on to the idea that maybe indoor climbing is its own thing.

Spray walls or system boards (Moonboard, Kilter, etc)

The gym that we have at the moment in Hobart is quite small. It’s almost a bit underrated. Our setters are really switched on and they’re really trying to progress the sport with what they have to work with.

And that’s super exciting.

Indoors: Probably the Kletterzentrum, Innsbruck. I spent about a month training there and the facility, the people, and the training, was just out of this world.

I think it’s going to give our setters a really interesting perspective when we do open this boulder-only facility. It’s going to allow a very different approach to how they set, because they haven’t previously had that luxury of big open space, big holds to play with, low density, and all that good stuff.

Run and jumps! Anything where I have to move fast on the wall and throw some coordination moves.

Both! I think the spray wall has to be done right to be good. But when it is done right, they're phenomenal.

Where’s the best spot you’ve ever climbed/trained/set?

Outdoors: One of the most beautiful climbs I've ever done was on Mount Brown, Tasmania, when I was about 16. It wasn't anything hard, it was just so special. The weather was spot on and the rock was perfect.

Setting: Setting in Hobart with my crew. They're so inspiring and so cool.

What’s your all-time favourite climbing moment or memory?

Fav training music

I feel like the obvious answer would be winning nationals, but that’s kind of cliche. Obviously it was a huge feeling and it really was one of the greatest moments, but there have been so many special moments with friends, or travelling to comps and seeing all these new places.

I love a bit of electronic disco vibes, anything that's like fun and boppy.

The things that stand out the most in my competitive career are the moments where I’ve just felt so good while climbing and so happy and content with what I’m doing. It’s not necessarily about the position or the results.

Chunky chalk or fine dust?

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Setting in Vans…Yay or Nay? Yay! I definitely like to mix it up, but Vans are often my go-to.

CHUNKY! Abolish the baby powder, get rid of it—what is the point?

WHAT IS ADVENTURE? For generations, adventure has been in our blood.

It’s taken us to new heights and pushed us to new limits.

But what is adventure?

It’s in all of us but it’s different for everyone.

FIND YOURS AT MOUNTAINDESIGNS.COM

E S T. 1 9 7 5

B O R N O F T H E M O U N TA I N S

HOW I GOT THE SHOT

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WORDS AND IMAGES BY SIMON BISCHOFF

ISSUE 41 | VERTICALLIFEMAG.COM

If you’ve flicked through the third edition of Climb Tasmania by Gerry Narkowicz, then you’ll probably already be familiar with two things: Simon Bischoff’s stunning photography, and the tiny illustration of a Tasmanian tiger sitting inside a golden circle at the top of some of the route descriptions. Gerry explains the meaning of these cute little graphics as being, “the routes you come to Tassie for.” One of the best examples of a route that’s worth the classic Spirit experience—sitting awake all night in a stiff armchair (oh come on, we’ve all cheaped out of booking a cabin at least once!)—is the Sea Level Traverse.

While this route is one of many classics that draws climbers here each summer (and rightfully so), it isn’t the only sea level traverse on offer. Through hunger, cold

and what seems like unbridled creativity, Simon Bischoff explores the concepts of purpose and place in his reflections on two new sea level traverses he established with Danny Wade, along the Freycinet coastline. He gives us a glimpse into this unique type of climbing and encourages us all to really live in the moments climbing gives us.

Like a beautiful and exposed ridge in the mountains, a good sea level traverse is difficult to escape.

Each step and stroke takes more commitment than the last and at some point, it becomes easier to keep going than to turn around. You can easily accumulate well over a kilometre of swimming, as well as many kilometres of technical scrambling in wet boots, on rock where falling is not recommended.

Very minimal food and water is taken, if any. If you have too much, you don’t get out of the car park; if you have too little, you’ll be lucky to get back to the car park.

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HOW I GOT THE SHOT SIMON BISCHOFF

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ISSUE 41 | VERTICALLIFEMAG.COM

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HOW I GOT THE SHOT SIMON BISCHOFF

Given that you will do shitloads of climbing, be hungry, cold, thirsty, totally isolated, visibly delirious, horrified and completely astounded at what you’re doing coastal traversing is paradoxically the closest you will get to alpinism in Australia.

And, you only need a wetsuit and boots.

The concept of a sea level traverse is simple, but through words alone it’s impossible to convey the delight of a journey along the coast.

Words can not replicate the cold salty water on your body or the hot polished granite on your fingertips.

Lyle Closs said of the famous route, “You will start out shattered and come back whole.”

This style of adventure can be free from much of the paraphernalia and abstractions found in modern rock climbing.

After your tired muscles have recovered and you have laid down a lasting memory, your body will not be the same as it was before.

That place you passed through, ate from, drank from and looked upon is now taking its own part in your creation.

Shooting these photographs on an old and consequently cheap underwater film camera, like the traversing, has been a liberation for me.

Many of the things that I would choose to have are not available, or limited because they’re too heavy, too expensive, have too many buttons, and I suspect might require me to spend more time trying to acquire them than I would spend actually spend using them.

You simply start from the beginning and end at the end.

Ultimately then I’d have to ask myself why the hell I’ve put so much effort into capturing this memory of a journey rather than simply living it.

Bask in the elements, be a child, be an otter, be entangled and inseparable from your environment.

It’s a good question and one that I haven’t got a clue how to answer.

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FEATURE

Bouldering TASSIE’S WEST COAST Words by Moses Bassett Images by Mitchell Scanlan-Bloor

Growing up, my home crag was a nearby quarry. I need not describe it as a “chossy” quarry because quarries are inherently chossy—probably something to do with all the dynamite… I digress.

The crag wasn’t anything special, but it was close enough that we all climbed there. There was a handful of good routes (some may call them “crag classics”), plenty of mediocre ones, and tucked away in the corner was the most unappealing, uninspiring, and un-repeated pile of garbage, cleverly disguised as a route— complete with a few questionable carrot bolts to really sell it.

Not un-repeated due to difficulty, but due to the fact that nobody wanted to climb it. To everyone else, that route was probably a waste of metal, but I'm sure to somebody it was their pride and joy, their first “first ascent”.

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I’m sure everybody’s home crag has a route like this, some obscure “3-star” pile of shit that starts off as “the corner everyone pisses under” (stop doing that by the way). Of course, even the most revered 3-star mega classics at the most highly trafficked crags had a humble FA at some point. (Likely a much more glorious one than old mate’s “piss-corner direct”.) But I think we can all agree that the chance of stumbling across Australia’s next “Punks in the Gym” is slim.

These days, it seems that FAs are reserved for those willing to crimp harder, run it out further, bush bash longer, or don sillier attire than those before them (novelty FAs are still FAs). This is the exact narrative I’d sold to myself, right up until I caught a whiff of the potential for bouldering FAs at Mt Lyell, Tasmania, at which point I purged my brain of all that nonsense and promptly booked my tickets to Tassie! -Sule (Co-Editor)

ISSUE 41 | VERTICALLIFEMAG.COM

In classic Tasmanian style, the boulder field has a solid approach

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FEATURE BOULDERING TASSIE’S WEST COAST

Potential as far as the eye can see

Mt Lyell is a massive spread of conglomerate boulders and formations situated near the small town of Linda, 10 minutes from Queenstown on the West Coast of Tasmania. Legends Moses Bassett and Ben Thorp have been responsible for the majority of development in the area, including getting support from the local council.

With only 200-ish established problems, the area still has tons of potential and will surely become a future hot spot for the budding first ascentionist. VL’s resident quarry-crag-enthusiast Sule, sat down with Moses to get the beta on all things Mt Lyell.

around 2005. Jon and maybe a few others had a look, but I think we were actually the first people to climb there.

I’d go explore and wander around up there for maybe four or five days at a time, even though I’d only get sent there for a week once every three months, so my exploration of the area was spread over little while. Eventually I spoke to Ben about it and we went down and had a few days of climbing. The first stuff we put up was a couple of problems down lower on the hill and the first route through the cave [For A Few Dollars More, V6]. Then Ben moved to Melbourne and I didn’t have anyone to boulder with, so I went back to sport climbing and nothing really happened again until recently.

History & Early Development:

It’s definitely the first area I’ve developed. I’ve put up boulders/FAs at established climbing areas like Sister’s Beach and Doctors Rocks around my hometown, but this is the first new area I've been involved in.

I think Ben Thorp and I were probably the first people to actually climb there, but a few other people had obviously driven from Hobart to the West Coast and seen the boulders across the hill. The first time I went there was in 2014, I was in Queenstown for work reading water meters.

I was looking for something to do after work, so I jumped on TheSarvo and there were photos of the mountain that Jon Nermut had put up

The first 10 times Ben and I went there we just walked around and looked at things. Every new boulder we found we’d just go, “Oh wow”.

And then you’d go around another little hill and go “oh wow” again.

So for a long time we just wandered around getting to know the area, refining the approach routes. Then eventually it got to the point where we got sick of that and went, “Righto we need to start climbing things.”

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ISSUE 41 | VERTICALLIFEMAG.COM

Sule working Bone Tomahawk (V5) on a misty morning

We just started at the thing with the easiest access and went from there.

The first problem that went up was The Lone Ranger, which I did on my own after work in 2014. It’s down low, off to the right-hand side towards Burberry, which since then hasn't had much development.

We found the rest of the stuff up the hill was much better. The Lone Ranger and Tonto were the first two boulders.

The Western theme was my idea. After climbing my first boulder there I was like, “Oh, we're on the Wild West Coast of Tassie” and named it after a Western movie. Then the next one got named after another Western and it just kind of stuck!

Current Development & Potential The West Coast Council is just going mad for any kind of eco-tourism and really trying to improve the reputation and lifestyle of the West Coast. Obviously they’ve spent a lot of money on mountain biking around Queenstown—a lot of money!—and they were asking around to see if anyone knew of any climbing potential in the area, and we started talking to them about it.

These days Tassie’s West Coast is a lot friendlier, there are more people

there, and climbers are accepted, just like mountain bikers are. There are a lot more facilities. It's not quite the Wild West that it used to be back in 2014. It's changed a lot in the last 10 years. Thanks to work with the council, you can even get a soy coffee if you need one!

At this point Mt Lyell is just like any Tassie climbing area (open for business). Of course, it’s a pretty unique location so you still need to follow all the normal leave no trace principles. Some stuff is pretty fragile, especially in the upper parts of the mountain. But at this point the idea is to get people out there climbing.

I really want to see it continue to grow in the way that it has, as a great remote bouldering area. It'd be nice to see some of the hardest stuff done as well. The previous summer, I was just spending my time opening some of the nicer boulders in each sector. Last summer, I went back and put some time into doing some stuff that's harder for me. And then there's still stuff that's going to be way too hard for me.

There's definitely some route potential too, right up on the summit, for both trad and sport routes. Any routes right up on the summit would have an amazing view—you’d be looking out over the Wild West Coast, but still only two hours by foot from the road. However, it would be a fair hike with a trad rack or bolting gear. And when the bouldering is so good, is it worth the hard work of developing other routes?

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FEATURE BOULDERING TASSIE’S WEST COAST

ACCESS & BETA: Location: Mt Lyell is located in the small town of Linda, 10 minutes out of Queenstown on the Lyell Highway, four hours drive from Hobart.

Parking is on a small gravel section just off the highway, after crossing the small creek bridge (-42.06739, 145.60929) Directions:

Moses refining the starting moves on the aptly named, A Fistful of Flies (V7)

From the carpark you will see the boulders sprayed across the hill up on your right (or left, depending on which way you face). Cross the small creek which runs perpendicular to the highway. Keep an eye out for orange tags starting upstream of the bridge. Head cross-country towards the obvious main spur, and try to follow the faint path and cairns towards the For a Few Dollars More cave (-42.05910, 145.61487). Don’t go too far right like our editors did.

And if all else fails, check The Crag for better directions Season: Summer and autumn are ideal—but beware… the bugs!

Camping and visiting: The best option is to use the established sites at Lake Burbury Camping Ground along Lyell Highway. This does mean you have to drive to the start of the approach, but camping at the bottom of the hill isn’t that great. The established campgrounds only cost around $6 per night and have toilets, BBQs, and heaps of grassy camping spots—everything you need! The other option is to stay in town, be it near Queenstown or camping at the local football grounds.

First visit beta: If it's your first day at Mt Lyell (depending on how much time you've got) heading to A Fistful of Dollars cave is the easiest, lowest option with great climbing. From there, work your way up to the Bone Tomahawk boulders and beyond—the higher you go, the better the view!

Taking in the atmosphere on the descent.

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For those looking to develop boulder problems for the first time, be sure to stay safe and keep your impact as minimal as possible—don’t go moving rock just for the sake of it! Be sure to inspect the rock for any loose pebbles before committing, lest you blast up a highball and biff on your FA flash attempt. The best option is to give anything suss a tap (with a tool, not your hand).

If it sounds hollow or shifts, then it's probably going to come

Ashlee Hendy, Bogong Sponsored Athlete Have a Good Flight (26) - Arapiles

off. And if it's on a line that you want to climb, then you’ll probably want to take it off. Occasionally you’ll find some of Mo’s developing gear (ladders, crowbars, wire brushes, etc) stashed in A Fistful of Dollars cave for cleaning boulders (obviously be respectful of his gear).

Things to Try: Bone & Tomahawk (V5) Super aesthetic, standalone boulder

► ► ► ► ►

Helena Knife Fight (V5) Big arete Hasta Luego, Amigo! (V6) Glorious roof line Ennio (V3) Classic for the grade A Fist Full of Flies and Wheel of Flies (V7) Roof pumpers Sharik’s Project (V10?) Awaiting an FA

Gear list: Wire brushes can be useful for cleaning new lines

► ► ► ► ►

Plenty of food and water for the day Long pants (or gaiters) for the approach

Check out our climbing gear!

Sturdy approach shoes (mids or hiking boots are ideal) Protection from the harsh alpine sun Something to keep the flies off you

If you do a new boulder problem (or route) then put it up on The Crag or TheSarvo. If you climb something new and don't feel like writing it up, Mo is more than happy for people to get in touch so he can do the writing to ensure the history stays up to date. Or even just hit him up for some beta!

Mo Bassett (mbassett77@hotmail.com)

Gear for serious adventures bogong.com.au

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SPOTLIGHT

TASMANIA’S ICONIC SEA STACKS Words by Nick Hancock

Nick Whitelaw logging airtime on Burning Spear (22), the Moai.

Mitchell Scanlan-Bloor

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ISSUE 41 | VERTICALLIFEMAG.COM

Climbing along lutruwita/Tasmania’s iconic east coast is a huge drawcard to the island state for both Australian and global climbers alike. Images of deep turquoise seas juxtaposed against bright white cliffs, and delicately placed sea stacks seemingly held up by ambition alone, immediately fill the imaginations of the Island’s summer climbing crowd.

With Gerry Narkowicz’s Climb Tasmania (third edition) acting as both an informative guide and a stunning photography book—thanks to the talented Simon Bishoff behind the lens—it’s easy to see why climbers seek to escape the mainland heat along Tasmania’s coastline each year.

Before the time of location hashtags and instant access to stunning climbing images from across the world, Tasmania’s coastline was still drawing interest from abroad. With 2+ decades of UK climbing under his belt, Nick Hancock made Tasmania home in 2000 and never looked back. Originally lured over by the island state’s sea stacks, Nick now shares his passion for climbing in these unique landscapes as an outdoor education teacher. There’s plenty to learn about sea stack climbing, and luckily for us, Nick was happy to share some anecdotes from his early days climbing these precariously-placed ocean towers.

I started climbing in Devon and Cornwall, England, in the late 1970s. At that time there was so much unclimbed rock to explore—the sea cliffs were often untouched. There were also amazing unclimbed sea stacks with easy access, just 20 miles from my home. Unfortunately, the rock was often pretty rubbish, but it instilled in me a lifelong love of ocean summits, the smaller the better!

I had visited Tassie and Australia on climbing trips in 1993 and 1998, and eventually the lure of so much adventurous climbing was enough for me to sell up and jump on a ship. When I moved to Tasmania permanently, I couldn’t believe that there were so many unclimbed pinnacles and sea stacks. Often at reasonable grades and always on good rock, either dolerite or granite, this island has more sea stacks than anywhere else in the world... except maybe Scotland.

The Totem Pole This slender tower of dolerite sits in a deep chasm in Fortescue Bay, Tasman National Park. It doesn’t get a lot of sunlight, so it’s much colder and windier down there than you might imagine.

In normal conditions with medium ocean swells, it’s necessary to abseil 70 metres off bolts to a reasonable ledge with the waves swirling between you and the Tote. The most sensible option is to take a three-metre telescopic pole and clip the first bolt on Deep Play (24), pull yourself across to The Totem Pole, and start climbing whilst your belayer stays on the ledge at the foot of the abseil.

Those who like getting wet while belaying can cross over and hang off the bolt with their leader. This means that not only does the belayer get very wet, but also if the leader comes off, they’ll fall onto their second.

Falling isn’t a great idea low on the pitch anyway as the sea isn’t far below, and there’s a good chance of a swim.

The first time I climbed the Totem Pole was in 2000, shortly after moving to Tasmania. My climbing partner was one of the best climbers in the world at the time, Glenda Huxter, and due to The Totem Pole’s worldwide reputation, it was our main goal that season.

We were quite lucky the day we went as the sea was so calm, Glenda could stand on the rock at the foot of the west face and not get wet at all whilst I led the first pitch. At the time we didn’t know about the easier first pitch, Deep Play (24), that most climbers do nowadays. The original route, The Free Route (25), is a lot more complex and harder than the Deep Play start—it climbs up rightwards on dodgy carrots and spirals around the pillar so that the leader is out of sight of the belayer for the crux section up to the ledge on the east face.

Luckily we had both been climbing lots in the Grampians previously,

and Glenda seconded the pitch without falling. Glenda onsighted the top pitch despite it being much harder than the guide stated. I led the top crack, which some people forget to climb, and Glenda joined me on the dizzying summit.

We returned to the mainland via a tyrolean traverse—essentially a European flying fox. We had set up a rope running between the mainland and The Totem Pole, which, when pulled taut, meant we could cross back above the heaving ocean.

The Candlestick For such an easy climb it was a bit of an epic. It was 2002 and I had the strange idea that it would be more fun and more efficient to kayak out to the cape with Sophie LeRoux, my regular climbing partner at the time. Our other friends, Annie Phillips and Steve Bray, decided to walk and meet us there.

Sophie and I made great time on the water so I was feeling quite pleased with myself until I tried to get my kayak onto the rocks in the moderate swell. In the end we had to haul out on the north end of the gulch and scramble all the way back up to the abseil anchors. By this point, Annie and Steve had been waiting there for ages.

We abseiled down to the ledge and Steve was volunteered to do the swim across to the Stick. After much diagonal swimming due to the surging waters, he eventually struggled up onto the ledge. The tag line he was swimming with had really slowed down his progress. He was pretty cold by the time Sophie pendulumed over with his clothes.

Eventually we were all across and I led up the first pitch of the Normal Route (16), which is a big, loose chimney. Unfortunately, I knocked off a rock and chopped one of our ropes; fortunately it didn’t hit any of my friends.

At the top of the chimney it’s necessary to climb carefully out onto a chockstone and pass the rope around it for the tyrolean traverse.

The last pitch was up a nice solid open corner and we were soon all on top. The Candlestick is so much higher than The Totem Pole, which looked tiny from the top of the Stick.

The best thing about an ascent of The Candlestick in the tyrolean back to the mainland. The taut rope you inch your way along is angled steeply down, and is high above the water.

Steve and Annie walked out, but Sophie and I had to scramble all the way back down to our kayaks. It’s never easy to relaunch kayaks from SUMMER 2022

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SPOTLIGHT TASMANIA’S ICONIC SEA STACKS

The fact that there was a killer whale eyeing us hungrily didn’t help either.

Against all odds, I didn’t capsize on entry and we paddled away from the hungry marine predator back to the safety of the pub.

Nick Hancock and Kim Ladies on the FA of Two Nuts on a Knob (19) Frew’s Flutes, Ben Lomond National Park heather hancock

Nick Whitelaw employing the abseil-tyrolean combo to descend The Candlestick.

Mitchell Scanlan-Bloor

the rocks as the wind and waves always pick up in the afternoons.

It was late by the time we got back to the boat ramp, but for the final half hour the bows of our kayaks broke through an amazing display of phosphorescence.

The Moai In the summer of 2000, Glenda, Andrew Bissett (Bisso) and I paddled out from Fortescue Bay in nice calm weather. While this was another climb where I made the mistake of thinking it would be easier to kayak rather than walk, we hauled the kayaks onto the platform below The Moai without too much difficulty.

We then climbed all three routes on The Moai, which are all very different. Sacred Site (18) takes the easiest and most obvious line up the seaward face of the Moai. It climbs easily up a pedestal, then immediately the crux occurs with technical face climbing past a bolt, leading into easier climbing to the airy small summit. Blunt Instrument / Burning Spear (22) is a nice technical climb.

However, my pick of the routes is Ancient Astronaut (24), which is a lovely technical arête climb with great bolting.

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Portrait of Nick Hancock after first ascent of Chaos Theory (26/27), Frendly Point, Freycinet.

Matt Bennett

It was still early in the day when we finished all three lines, and I thought the south east arête might make a good new climb. Luckily, I had a very full trad rack with me including a few skyhooks and some manky RPs—for all you aid climbing fans out there. I fought my way up the arête, placing a lot of gear, none of which was much good. I got stuck for a long time a few meters from the top.

As I wondered what the consequences of a slip might be, Bisso shouted up that the wind had picked up and the sea was getting rougher. He said I should quit as we needed to get back into the kayaks and make for the Bay. I lowered off a manky RP (is there any other kind?) and we packed up the gear. The rocks we had hauled out on were now awash. After loading up the boats, I held onto the stern of Bisso’s and then Glenda’s kayaks until I could help launch them safely into the surging ocean.

Unfortunately, this meant there was no one to hang onto the back of my boat. I had to launch from much higher up on the main platform and tip myself forward into freefall at just the right time. The fact that there was a killer whale eyeing us hungrily didn’t help either. Against all odds, I didn’t capsize on entry and we paddled away from the hungry marine predator back to the safety of the pub.

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TALE OF WHOA WORDS BY LOUISE SHEPHERD, IMAGE BY MICHAEL BLOWERS

Tale

OF WHOA YESTERDAY‘S HERO Climbing safety is everyone’s responsibility and it’s something our editorial team are incredibly passionate about. Our regular Tale of Woah column is our continued commitment to creating a culture of safety within our community. By providing a place for established climbing professionals to deconstruct teachable moments from accidents and near-miss moments, our hope is that our readers will lift the lessons off our pages and put them into practice at the crag.

With summer climbing in lutruwita/Tasmania as the overarching theme this edition, Louise Shepherd reflects on risks managed and mistakes made on the state’s challenging cliffs. With remote crags, long approaches, tricky route finding and lower-than-expected grading, unwary climbers can face unexpected dangers.

It was January 2022. Phoebe, Tara and Sasha were off to Tasmania for the summer holidays. The three friends had recently graduated high school, and were on their first big trip as young adults.

They had their climbing gear with them, even though they mostly bouldered in one of the Melbourne gyms. Phoebe had been climbing with her dad since she was a kid, seconding him on trad routes at Arapiles. Tara had done a bit of sport climbing outdoors. Sasha was the least experienced and had never climbed outdoors before.

Phoebe’s father, Greg, is a friend of mine, and told me that although he had concerns about the three, he trusted that together they would make good decisions.

Their first port of call was Bare Rock, a large sunny monolith of frictional black rock, liberally sprinkled with sport routes, with some trad and mixed routes at the right-hand end.

Phoebe, Tara and Sasha selected Yesterday’s Hero, a three-pitch grade 21 sport route. With bolted belays and abseil stations, the route was well within their technical climbing abilities.

They had a late start, and by 5pm they had only reached the top of the

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second pitch. Phoebe, feeling the burden of responsibility, called her dad for advice from the belay ledge.

Greg, back in Melbourne and unsure of their situation, suggested the safest thing to do would be to retreat while there was still daylight.

He emphasised putting knots in the ends of the abseil lines, and added, “but remember to take them out before pulling the ropes!”

The friends decided that Tara should go first and secure herself to the abseil station, Sasha second, and Phoebe last. This strategy worked well. Even though it was Sasha’s first time abseiling, he felt pretty safe being in the middle.

Unbeknownst to the trio at the time, Andrew Martin was watching their progress through his telescope on his back verandah. Andrew owns the land through which the access track to Bare Rock traverses, and they had met him on their way in to climb.

A keen climber himself, Andrew takes a proprietorial interest in the adventures and tribulations of climbers in the area. He was relieved when he saw them start to descend before their adventure could turn epic.

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TALE OF WOAH YESTERDAY’S HERO

Tasmanian cliffs pack a punch above their weight. The approaches are often arduous, route-finding baffling, and many long trad routes are moderately graded, seducing mainland climbers into a false sense of accessibility.

When they saw him again on the way out, he revealed he had kept an eye on their adventure.

in the crack about a metre above the bollard. He then clipped the ropes straight into the wire with a bail ‘biner.

The three climbers reached the ground just before dark. Sorting out the logistics of two abseils with three novice climbers had taken much longer than they’d anticipated.

This arrangement meant that if the wire failed, there would be a significant shock-loading on the sling and bollard.

When I chatted with Phoebe after the trip, she said that the third pitch had looked awesome and her right brain had yearned to go for it. But the left side of her brain knew they would have certainly run out of daylight.

Something her dad had said to her years ago had stuck in her mind that day: many climbing accidents happen on the descent, especially when abseiling is involved. Climbers are tired, the adrenalin of the climb is exhausted, and mistakes happen.

Tasmanian cliffs pack a punch above their weight. The approaches are often arduous, route-finding baffling, and many long trad routes are moderately graded, seducing mainland climbers into a false sense of accessibility. Grades do not always reflect the overarching seriousness of the undertaking: loose rock, exposed scrambling and poorly protected wide cracks and chimneys.

There are at least three emergency call-outs every year from Tassie cliffs.

Whilst dramatic rescues from the Totem Pole capture the headlines, the nearby Candlestick, with its benignly named Normal Route, 16, is attempted more often. It has been the site of two serious accidents requiring emergency services.

Another very popular Tassie cliff that belies its appearance is The Organ Pipes on Mount Wellington, a cliff so beguilingly close to Hobart that it seems almost urban. But the crag is more serious than its proximity implies.

Philip Stranger, a talented young climber from Victoria, broke his back when a dislodged boulder knocked him over on the approach to an Organ Pipes route. This was in March 1968, and the slopes of Mount Wellington had been destabilised during the devastating bushfires one month earlier.

Philip would remain wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life.

One day in February 2005, two local climbers, Colin and Fred, nipped up to the Organ Pipes after work for a quick climb. They chose a three-pitch grade 16 that neither had done before.

I met Colin years after the event, and he told me that grade 16 to 18 was “their grade”. He said he and Fred, both in their 40s at the time and each with a dozen years of experience on rock, tended to stay within their grade limit.

On this occasion, Fred took longer to lead the crux second pitch than anticipated. By the time Colin followed, it was clear to both men that time was against them. They decided to retreat.

Fred took charge, as he often did, and rigged the abseil. He placed a sling around a bollard on the belay ledge, and threaded the ropes through the sling.

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Unfortunately for Fred, this is exactly what happened. As Fred abseiled, the wire pulled out, the sling was shock-loaded and was completely severed by an abrasive edge on the bollard.

This outcome would have been avoided if the two pieces had been equalised by another sling. Or, indeed, if the original single piece, the slung bollard, had been used by itself.

Fred plummeted 25 metres and landed on a small ledge, mortally injured.

Colin told me that he watched in horror as Fred started groaning and then rolled off the ledge, falling another 20 metres to the ground, where he died.

Colin, in deep distress, was marooned on the ledge as twilight fell. He was eventually rescued later that night by other climbers.

Note that names of climbers have been changed. The events described above actually happened but some details have been changed. The images used for this article are unrelated to the incidents described.

Analysis and Prevention • Equalise your anchors! It’s standard practice to equalise your anchors on the belay. If you are retreating from a route with no fixed anchors in sight, it’s the same: equalise your abseil anchors.

Your life is worth it.

• Like the three friends on Yesterday’s Hero, make the call to retreat earlier rather than later when your circumstances allow.

For instance, retreat may be best when you have inexperienced members of your party, or when conditions deteriorate, or if you run out of daylight.

• Be aware though that in different scenarios, the safest option may be to continue.

• When you visit a new area for the first time, read the general introduction to the guidebook and the description of the individual climb you have selected. It can contain crucial information about the approach, the protection, the cruxy or sustained nature of the climbing, loose rock, and the descent. If you bump into local climbers, ask their opinion.

About the writer: LOUISE SHEPHERD | What about this: Louise (also known as Lou, she/her) has been climbing for 40 years and guiding for 35 years. Back in the 70s, there was no trad or sport, it was all just climbing and the culture was to toss beginners in at the deep end. Louise survived this brutal baptism and now teaches trad lead climbing rather differently than the way she was taught. She works with The Climbing Company in Dyurrite.

stanley1913.com.au

Designed to keep you moving!

GALLERY

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Tink Olynick looking determined on Remembrance (21) - kunanyi/Mt Wellington Michael Blowers

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GALLERY Mark McGivern on Via Magna (26) at The Underworld.

Max Gordon

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GALLERY A different kind of summer climbing. Peter Rohde on the ridge of the Zinalrothorn (4221m), Switzerland.

William Skea Photography @williamskeaadventureguiding

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GALLERY Maria Alejandra Garcia Villegas on the not so slabby Unfair Dismissal (20) at Narrabeen Slabs, Narrabeen, Sydney.

Simon Carter - Onsight Photography

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CRAG COOKING: WITH SIMON BISCHOFF Ah, the humble spud. With ancient origins as a staple crop carefully cultivated by Indigenous Incans atop the Andes mountains in modernday Peru, archeological evidence has traced it back to the shores of Lake Titicaca as early as 400 BC. Its journey to Europe and the Americas started off below deck as one of the many stolen artefacts by Spanish Conquistadors, with a few thousand years of suspicion to follow before it would start its rise to global crop dominance. Once the rest of the world embraced is wonder-tuber for the tiny nuggets of nutrients they are, potatoes have rightfully earned an enduring place in many traditional dishes, and economies, globally.

Not only do these unassuming yams pack a global economic punch as the fourthmost important crop worldwide, but here in Tasmania, they generate a whopping 70% of the total value of state-wide vegetable production. Given this edition’s theme, we’d be starch-raving mad if we didn’t shake down Simon Bischoff for his hash brown recipe. If you find yourself climbing in the apple-isle (I guess “potato-isle” doesn’t have the same ring to it) this season or even if you’re looking for some Sunday brunch beta, grab yourself a sack of local spuds and give this recipe a go!

In the wise words of Marge Simpson, “It’ll be good for the economy.”

RECIPE & IMAGES

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Hash Browns

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CRAG COOKING

Hash Browns Food plays a larger role than just fueling our bodies and driving performance - food is language. Through food, we share stories, emotions, and small bits of chalk (that’s right, we know you didn’t wash your hands ya filthy dirtbag). Food is also culture. For centuries people have passed stories between generations over bowls of soup (or in Coz’ case, Gulyásleves) – not too dissimilar to climbers of yore sharing their tales of woah with young frothers over campfire delicacies in the Pines.

So here o’ hungry climbers, you’ll find recipes and the stories behind them that bring climbers joy, and most importantly, that bring us together.

“I know you probably didn’t buy a rock climbing magazine to learn how to cook potatoes but hey, you’ve made it this far. I’d been making hash browns the standard way my whole life until Hannah showed me this little trick, retaining the potato starch.”

INGREDIENTS:

GEAR:

»

Spuds

»

Grater

»

Salt

»

Large bowl for mixin’

»

Olive oil

»

Smaller bowl for starch juice

»

Clove of garlic

»

Utensils

METHOD: 1.

Peel your spuds & grate them into a bowl. Add a good pinch of salt, mix and let sit for 15 minutes.

2.

Squeeze – and I mean really squeeeeeze – as much moisture as you can out of the grated potatoes. DON’T throw away the extracted liquid. Set aside the squeezed potato.

3.

Let the extracted liquid sit in a bowl and let settle for 5 minutes or so. In the meantime, you can mince your garlic as much as you like and mix it with potatoes.

4.

Now get the liquid you set aside (spud juice). You will find that the starch has settled in the bottom of the bowl, so by now, it should look like a white, heavy-gluey substance. Carefully pour off the water from the top. Now take the gluey starch and mix it back into your squeezed potato. This will help bind it all together & give it that extra crisp factor we all want in a hash brown.

5.

Now you can fry your potato mix. The secret here is plenty of oil. Don’t be a tightass with the oil, it’s not bad for you! Fry on medium heat until golden and flip to do the same on the other side.

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I like to fill the whole pan up and make a giant one, then fry a few eggs and put them on top for a good meal for two.

Don’t use old potatoes as they have low starch content and you’ll end up with soggy, oily hash browns that won’t crisp up well.

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NEW GEAR

THE NORTH FACE DANKYU PRO X KATIYO

BLACK DIAMOND LONG HAUL HARNESS

A route-setting sneaker that can climb? That’s right!

After almost 20 years at the throne, the BD Big Gun harness is finally passing the torch…all hail the BD Long Haul! The Long Haul is made from the same lightweight material as the BD Technician harness, but with way more padding. It has five molded gear loops, a rated haul loop, two seamless “infinity” belay loops, two ice clipper slots, and, at long last, speed adjust buckles.

The Dankyu Pro X Katiyo is a special edition of TNF’s ever-reliable Dankyu Pro, featuring an updated design by artist and internationally renowned route setter Tonde Katiyo—enough said!

THE 2023 WATCH LIST

If you’re wondering why Santa didn’t stuff any of these badass items into your Christmas stocking –fear not! It’s not because you were on the naughty list (all VL readers are on the ‘nice’ list…obviously!), it’s because these goodies are set to drop in 2023. Just like the mysterious arrival of the big man on Christmas Eve, we’re not sure when these will land, but what we are sure of, is that team VL will be eagerly waiting in line to get our hands on them.

OSPREY ZEALOT 30 Built for those who are too busy carpe-ing all those diems to drop by home for a bag swap, the Zealot 30 will have you at work by nine and projecting that pink in the corner by five.

Built with more pockets than a limestone sport crag, the zealot features dual compartments to keep your stinky climbing shoes separate from more civilised items. Highly durable, expandable, bluesign® approved, and available in a 45L for the crag.

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BUTORA NARSHA SOFT

ARC’TERYX KONSEAL HARNESS

The new Narsha Soft may look the same as the old Narshas, but you may as well call them evil twins (except in a good way). Unlike their edging monster of a sibling, the new Narsha softs are…well they’re soft. How soft? Quite!

Introducing Arc’teryx’s “swiss army knife” of harnesses: The Konseal! It’s light, it’s comfortable, it’s versatile. The Konseal is designed to deliver all day comfort on those hanging belays, but stay out of the way when it’s “all aboard the send train” time—and it has four stonkingly good gear loops to boot!

In fact we’d say they’re softer than a Butora Acro Comp (with the same sticky Neo Fuse rubber), making them a great shoe for all your smeary and overhanging bouldering and gym climbing.

We’re Out There: Gear for Every Adventure WarmCube-Active Alt HB Hoody

Find your nearest retailer

marmotau.com

GEAR NEWS WORDS BY WENDY BRUERE & SULE MCCRAIES

ARC’TERYX LAUNCHES REBIRD IN AUSTRALIA

IMAGE BY Nadhirah Marzuki (@diramarz)

IMAGE BY Nadhirah Marzuki (@diramarz)

I’m not a sentimental soul by any stretch, but I have, well, feelings about my adventure gear that don’t extend to anything I’ve ever worn to the office.

My first down jacket features dozens of holes patched by climbing tape (I stood too close to the campfire—we’ve all done it!). It came with me on at least three failed attempts to ice-climb at Blue Lake, and kept me warm on icy mornings at the crag. I’ve kept a pair of flip flops I dropped halfway up a multipitch and only managed to find in the bush six months later despite my best efforts (they survived, bless their little rubber hearts!). And I still own far too many pairs of shredded pants, where I know the tale of every rip or tear.

Our adventure gear shares our best life—and stories of type 2 fun—with us. Each item is a reminder of days in the sun (or snow), routes climbed (or bailed on), achievements unlocked and misadventures had. So when our gear finally gives up the ghost and ascends to the great climbing bonanza in the sky, we mourn its passing.

And, as a bunch of dirtbag hippies and nature lovers, climbers tend to be acutely aware of the environmental impact of creating waste.

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Luckily for us, our friends at Arc’teryx have been busily working on a solution to help us cling to the disintegrating shreds of our favourite jackets a little longer.

With the launch of their ReBird program, Arc’teryx will repair, trade in or recycle your precious (albeit tattered and smelly) gear.

It’s a win for the environment and your wallet.

So, what is ReBird?

Arc’teryx’s new program has one goal: reduce gear waste. In the age of the ‘there’s a perfect piece of kit for everything’ mentality, it’s easy to forget just how much labour and resources go into making every product we purchase.

Good quality gear costs a pretty penny too, and it’s for all these reasons that the Arc'teryx ReBird program is here to help you squeeze every last droplet of adventure out of those threads.

The ReBird program consists of three prongs—like a trident!

RECARE ™: Let’s say your beloved jacket is starting to look a bit worse for wear. Arc’teryx will be rolling out in-store repairs for minor damage, such as small holes and tears. If your jacket has suffered through too many granite offwidths (or bear attacks), and needs major repairs it will be sent off to a professional repair facility. The program is even trialling instore reproofing for Gore-tex and DWR garments, which would be a brilliant addition to an already gamechanging program.

REGEAR ™: Maybe your jacket is still going strong, but your needs have changed, or all that winter hangboarding has left it feeling a bit too tight around the forearms. Worry not for ReGear is a second hand gear scheme! Trade in your old gear for discounts on new gear, or snag some sweet savings on pre-loved gear! These second-hand goodies will be sold in-store starting next year, with talk of an online marketplace in the works for 2024.

RECUT ™: Arc’teryx gear may be pretty bomber, but after a lifetime of adventures, any bit of good kit is going to be damn near disintegrating off your body. When it gets to the point of being more repair tape than actual jacket, Arc’teryx will turn to the immensely talented Evan Howard of Terra Rosa Gear. Evan will salvage any usable material and turn your spent threads into funky new gear like sleeping bags, quilts, and backpacks, reducing as much waste as possible from enteril landfill. These unique creations will also be auctioned off as fundraisers for good causes, so keep your eyes peeled!

Upcycling > Recycling Of course, not everything can be given a new life, and as a last resort these scraps will be sent to the textile recycling centre, Upparel.

There they will be shredded down into pillow filling, which will eventually make its way back into Arc’teryx stores as cushions for your sitting pleasure.

It should be noted that while recycling your gear is definitely better than sending it to landfill, recycling as the first option still has a much larger carbon footprint than repairs and upcycling do.

The preference is always to repair, re-use and upcycle, especially for the blended fibre constructions, which can be extremely problematic to recycle.

It’s also worth noting that Arc’teryx will be prioritising repairability (and durability) for all their new products, making it easier to do things like replacing a whole jacket panel— preferably in a funky colour.

So why are we excited about it?

With a captive market for kit repair programs in Australia & New Zealand and only a handful of existing options to choose from, we’re so excited that Arc’teryx are recognising and responding to the demand through their launch of ReBird.

Our own outdoor enthusiasts are already familiar with how it feels to watch gear repair services start up and expand in larger global markets like Noth America, Canada and Europe; all while we watch on in our gear held together by dental floss, and hopes & dreams.

So it’s going to feel extra sweet when we can walk into an Arc’teryx store, ripped pants in tow, and walk back out again sans custom air vent.

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BETA & BREW Drinking milk with coffee is like using a cheat stick…I mean a stick clip: there’s nothing wrong with it, as long as you’re aware people will be judging you for it.

However, unlike a stick clip, if you didn’t bring one to the crag then they’re very hard to assemble yourself. While there’s no doubt it will be hard, it will undoubtedly be worth it for the glory and braggin’ rights—or so I’m told, having never drunk a flat white or clipped a first bolt in my life.

As a change of pace, this won’t be a recipe so much as a bit of beta to help you send the mega proj that is the “crag flat white”. It’s not for the faint of heart, but we promise that the risk is worth the reward, so if you actually manage to pull this off, please send us a picture!

- Sule (VL’s Resident Coffee & Gear Nerd)

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Crag Flat White 1. The Espresso: This will be the foundation of your flat white, so it’s best to get this part dialled. There are many ways to make “espresso-style” beverages and I only have two pages. So, instead of telling you how to make espresso, I’ll recommend a few approaches and pieces of gear for you to consider adding to your crag brew kit (we all have one of those, right?). »

»

»

Aeropress: This method is quick, low effort and relatively forgiving…but yields pitiful crema (see VL#40 for recipe).

Stovetop/Moka pot: Gives more of an espresso taste and feel, and even has that chic Italian aesthetic…but it’s fiddly to get right, and still no crema.

Portable (pressurised) espresso makers: These are undoubtedly a bit of an investment and require a good grinder (and plenty of practice), but once you nail it…

Heaven! I’ve tried a lot of portable espresso makers outdoors, and I think the best one by far for a balance of price, portability and tastiness has to be the Wacaco Picopresso.

Note: A good grinder is critical for espresso, so make sure you get something that can do the job. Personally I rate the 1Zpresso and Made by Knock hand grinders.

2. The Milk: On the one hand, how hard can it be to froth some milk?

On the other hand, it can be extremely hard. Making some hot frothy mily is both the crux and the easy part of this project. In this context it is less about technique and more so about the equipment you use.

»

»

Note: When heating your milk, try to aim for around 65ºC to avoid scorching your milk (maybe a bit lower for the soy/oat milk drinkers in the crowd). You could use a thermometer…but I just use my finger.

3. The Pour: If you’ve made it this far then you’re doing well. But just like on any proj, it’s not over until you clip the anchors. If you biff the pour, your lovely thick espresso and beautifully textured milk may just end up as a cup of beige, instead of that pretty flower thing you’re aiming for (it’s called a rosetta). »

Here are your options, in descending order of dirtbaginess: »

»

Protein shaker ball: Exactly as it sounds. Put your hot milk into a container with a metal protein shaker ball and shake. Be warned, it produces more bubbles than actual foam.

French press: Place your hot milk into a french press and use the plunger to agitate the milk until it reaches your desired level of frothiness. This works well, but is annoying to lug into the crag.

Frothing stick: Most of the little milk frothing sticks I’ve seen are a bit shit, but there are a few which actually work. So far the Subminimal NanoFoamer is the best I’ve used, producing pretty decent texture in a small size—the downsides being it’s a bit expensive and looks like a marital aid in your backpack.

Stovetop steamers: These look like Moka pots with a steam wand and will either come as a dedicated unit for steaming, or will be part of fancier stove top espresso brewers (like a Bellman CX25P). This is the closest thing you’ll get to steaming milk on an actual espresso machine, but comes at the cost of more money and using something which feels eerily close to a pressure bomb. Don’t worry, there is an overpressure valve.

»

Milk Jug: No matter what you intend to heat and steam your milk with, I’d still recommend you buy an actual coffee milk jug to pour with. They cost like $10 and will greatly improve your chances of getting some latte art going (most are also fine to use on a camp stove).

Cup: Pour into whatever the f*#k you want, I don’t care! Just make sure you tilt the cup on a bit of an angle and pour in a slow, controlled manner.

Personally I think learning to pour well is like taking off quickdraws with a stick clip…best learnt on YouTube first. And if it still looks like crap, just dust some choccy powder on it to hide the mess (the coffee, not the quickdraw).

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VAPOR

VERSATILITY ON THE EDGE.

VAPOR is designed to offer supportive edging with versatility aimed at more technical outdoor routes. Innovative technologies and materials make this shoe well-balanced, able to offer great performance in all climbing styles.

To locate your nearest stockist I T: 1300 784 266 sales@outdooragencies.com.au I www.outdooragencies.com.au

climbinganchors.com.au Store locations in Alexandria NSW & Fitzroy VIC

SUPERLIGHT, SUPERFLY Mosquito Series