Film Diary

I know that I mentioned I was going to get around to my weekend with Doug Robinson. So finally, here it is!

Amazingly, those similarities
Reach/lurk deep in your brain
And mine.
Right in the tiny gaps
Between nerves
Your synapses, where for a moment
Your whole nervous system goes hormonal,
Shifts for a split second
From electrical to chemical.
That’s the moment when
All my alpine challenge
Leverages its alchemy.
Simple.
And profound.
It transforms the way
You see the world.

- a little piece of a guest blog (rough draft) from DR.

See, many of you know Doug Robinson for coining the phrase “Clean Climbing” in the 1973 Chouinard Equipment catalogue, for doing the first clean ascent of Half Dome (as in, using all nuts and passive pro and no pitons - you know, those huge stakes people hammered in) or for the recent hubub surrounding the controversial return to half dome to do “Growing UP” (i can’t even begin to explain…supertopo it).

But what I came to admire most about the man was an article he wrote in 1969 called “Climber as Visionary” - in which he talks about philosophical, chemical, and cognitive effects that climbing has on the body and mind. Suffice to say, this article introduced me to Aldous Huxley and completely reshaped my views on cognitive and drug research.

He’s been working on a book follow up to that article ever since, based on years of notes and research (what kind of research? i’d venture a mix of climbing, psychadelics and a lot of reading about neurotransmitters).

So as you can imagine, the trip was without a doubt, mentally stimulating. The weekend started off with a late dinner at a quirky old-hotel-become-restaurant, with a gray cat loitering around the jazz piano player, and a waiter from vegas who kept bringing us wine after our bottle had been polished. We had planned to go climbing in the Buttermilks (that DR developed) the next morning, but as our climbing, cognitive, life discussions clocked in at about 4am, I had a hard time getting up before dinner.

We did manage a pretty short hike (accompanied by DR’s green stash of perceptual enhancement) before a wonderful dinner with the McKeown family. Joe McKeown, an old school Valley climber, and Nancy and Kali (completing the family of three who’ve sailed the world) gave us such a good time. Good food, gin and T, wine…and the stories flowed flowed flowed (as did the wine and black and white photos and copies of Vulgarian Digest) and I never had such a good time with a family I had just met.

Me - “I think I saw that photo in Rowell’s Vertical World of Yosemite…”

Joe - “That book was my idea! I asked Rowell for help, and he took over the whole damned thing and never gave me any credit!”

(Or something like that…)

Something about the storytelling, the family comraderie, the world travelling, the red hair (?) possible reminded me of my own family of three and our world travels. It’s good to meet good people.

My weekend with DR was complete. He was off to the high country, with snipits of visionary climber writing I’m hoping he’ll mastermind in the film. And me, I was off to the low LOW country, the business of filmmaking, as they call it.

DR: Great? Yes. Grown up? Well…If yes, then very cool for grown up.

This is a story about my new chalk bag. This sounds boring, and hell, maybe it is. But you’re reading it, but it’s actually a very pivotal moment for me, and has far greater implications about the evolution of climbing.

I spent the first part of last week in a down dirty rotten state with mild but unpleasant food poisoning. I’m not pointing any fingers but, well, DON’T EAT ANTHONY LESLIE’S CINCO DE MAYO ENCHILADAS IF IT’S NOT CINCO DE MAYO ANYMORE! Refrigeration required.

So I spent the first part of the week feeling generally sorry for myself, listlessly drinking Maalox, re-organizing my 6 climbing binders, and wishing I was somewhere fun with my friends, somewhere in the outdoors, or just somewhere other than the bathroom floor. In times of sickness and physical exhaustion, the dogawful habit of evaluating one’s life always arises. Why do I have six binders of highlighted hole punch climbing artifacto manifesto defacto? Why do I spend hours a day writing emails? Why do I find myself flaking on everyone I know to stay up late logging and capturing? Why can’t I just get a boring normal job, forget all my aspirations, and learn how to cook already?

Luckily, bad spells don’t last long. They end a lot quicker when something small shows up to cheer you. Like a letter from someone I’ll call Strom Klost. Clap thunder roar! Am I saying that sending me a letter is the way to my heart? Yes possibly.

On the return of my good health, me and Alejandro set off for Mission Gorge, to find meaning in life and all, but mostly for me to try out my NEW CHALK BAG.

Let me preface this HUGE MOMENTOUS occasion by saying I have never used chalk before. This is my first chalk bag period. My father, who climbs with a swami belt to this day, who taught me most of my climbing skills, never used chalk in his 20 years of full-time climbing and according to him”doesn’t see why he should start now, when his climbing career is at an end”. Plus, I’m pretty sure he thinks its wussy.

Consequently I never considered the need for chalk. “You know what makes a good xmas gift for any climber? Chalk,” says the guy at REI. I roll my eyes in disdain. But with the dammed white junk at the bottom of every climb, I couldn’t help picking it up and rubbing it across my fingertips, if for no reason other than boredom. I actually collected so much chalk at the bottom of climbs (mostly at City of Rocks, Idaho) that I was storing it in empty film canisters and pseudo ‘chalking up’ before climbs with it.

city of rocks

Now, let me preface this with a little explanation of my climbing education. As a wee, limber kid I climbed with my dad in my swami. He used cowbells with perlon webbing and wore EBs and occasionally would sport his climbing friend Ray’s prototype cam nut (you know, ‘Friends’ haha). Twenty some years later, some of the perlon has been replaced and the EBs exchanged for LaSportivas, but the other aspects of our climbing repertoire seems to be the same. Time warp? Sort of.

circa 1989

What really happened is that I took a hiatus from climbing, spending the rest of my youth living outside of the US. Adventures were ripe and a daily reality, but climbing was not. When I returned to the US six years later, I climbed occasionally, being more interested in books, film, and cheap whiskey than memorizing names of different knots or reading gear magazines, I paid little attention to the scene and the tumultuous changes that had been going on in the climbing community.
And then one day, things changed. Maybe I was out of sour mash or maybe inspired by nature, maybe I had discovered hand jams, or maybe I had just finished Menlove Edwards, but it bounded back in to my life, full frontal.

eery picture of city of rocks

I meet some climbers who think this makes me a ‘cute novelty.’ Some who think it makes me backwards. You can guess what I tell them to go do. I think it makes me right on time.

Since then I’ve been updating techniques for the current century. And this meant (other than a sweet girlie purple harness for me) a chalk bag for Christmas. A chalk bag?! Wait just a minute. What would I possibly need that for? Perhaps my dad had seen me collecting chalk and interpreted that as a silent wish.

Half a year later, I haven’t used it. I couldn’t bring myself to actually buy the white grains. What the hell did I really need chalk for anyways? So then a week ago, REI had a sale…and I finally thought, hell, its about time... I got eco chalk. I got grey chalk for granite. I got red chalk for sandstone. And I got plain ol original white chalk for everything else.

As the time grew closer to leaving for Mission Gorge, I started to get a small elation when I thought about using my new chalk bag. Wow, I actually was gonna chalk up my sweaty mitts in between moves. WHY WAS THIS SO DAMN EXCITING? I don’t know, maybe it’s symbolic of my growing up, or of embracing my own climbing image, maybe it’s just a new toy, maybe I actually think my climbing’s going to be seriously improved by some white drying powder…Who knows, but I was genuinely excited.

Evidently, so excited that I forgot to pack one of our harness’ into the trunk of the car.

The grand punchline. The first time I get to use my chalk bag, I find myself leading with an old-school swami that happened to be in my gear bag.

I love the irony. I also love the chalkbag. Even if I don’t climb any better. Even if it doesn’t help with long runouts.

Day 2 of chalko loco

Alex: Can I stick my hand in your chalkbag?

Me: Pervo.

Alex: Come on.

Me: Dast ich nich gute…

(when I lead, I like to practice German)

Alex: What is it?

Me: It appears that there is nowhere to put in any pro for the entire rest of this climb.

Alex: Hm.

Me: Should I just do it anyways?

Alex: Um, no.
Me: Ok, but tell me what you really think. (The chalk bag sways in the wind…)

Life is good when you are healthy, hopeful, ambitious, and have a good friend to belay you. And a brand new chalk bag.

Why we don’t get along:

As much as I like being comic fodder for the sport climbers skipping by on their way to delicate face climbs, I do genuinely dislike chimneys.

this is an ok size for a chimney…this is not the type of chimney I hate most of all. I just happen to have this pic that my friend Alex drew.

My last trip to Jtree, my friend/crew member Alex and I got stuck on the summit of a climb for a long time before finding [making] a descent route which involved descending at least 3 fifth class chimneys. This, of course, was in addition to the crux pitch of the actual climb, which ended on an ugly squeeze chimney itself.

The result? Alive, yes.  Butt suffice to say, unless assless chaps make a comeback, I now have three pairs of designer Goodwill pants that are retired from the public circuit forever.

Chimneys: 3, Oakley: 0.

And you should be too.

If you don’t know, supertopo.com is a website for climbers that has area and route beta, topos, pictures, articles, and best of all a forum where any registered member can start and comment on threads ranging from first ascent stories, to booze recommendations, to bad fixed anchor warnings to polemic philosophical debates, etc.

I find this forum to be a more advanced communication model than tv or radio; it’s closer to a socratic seminar than I’ve seen in all my years of higher education.

As Doug Robinson commented in his first big expo in the epic 2000+ thread forum about the controversial rap bolt route that they put up on the South Face of Half Dome,

“I value your thoughts; this is about as good a community as I’ve found anywhere. A worthy place to work on getting more human.”

Wow, DR, intellectual heavyweight and the father of the clean climbing revolution, said this about a forum on the Internet??

The climbing community, though vastly anarchic, disestablishment, contradictory, and disagreeable with each other, is a fascinating, bona fide community. The potential for this film to establish this community to itself and offer self-reflection has been coming up more and more as I speak with the climbers who will make up this documentary.

Notes from a phone call with a certain ‘Shmon Hauk’.

I would go on a big proto-philosophical blog-pulpit spray, but I got the point from the consensus of my last blog (more pictures, less words.) So that’s all I will say for now. I have been lucky enough to talk lately with some of my biggest climbing idols, and feel the exciting adrenaline of progress.

A package from a certain ‘Schmug Globinson’.

I am now off to get ready for a fancy film premiere where I will continue to troll for more investors, or in the least, free champagne. If anyone has suggestions on how to cover up poison sumac marks from under a posh black dress, do tell.

Crawling out of the VW after leaving the clutches of the thriving desert for the screeching tires/concrete amalgamations of LA, I try to explain how the Joshua Tree trip went to my LA base, but I keep trailing off while my eyes glaze over…I’m replaying the footage we shot 24 hours earlier in my head.

I think I have my hands on something good. It’s part of an answer that I’ve been looking into for some time. No, sadly, not the answer to the Meaning of Life (this was a peyote-free trip) but rather, part of the answer to the question: how to best film a climb.

Five days earlier I picked up the Davis boys (Max and Sam) from the Ontario airport and jetted off (ok, crawled up laboriously in 2nd gear) to Jtree with the purpose of climbing and filming a climb which would be used in conjunction with the excerpt interview I had just gotten from Lars Holbek two days before (he was here on a brief CA stint relocating endangered tortoises in 29 Palms so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.)

After two days of climbing and location scouting for a good route (one which, for example, didn’t include a remote 5.9 crack in Oz where the approach was a 5.10a lieback and the crux was an angry swarm of bees…) we settled on a nice line in split rocks which would suit all the requirements of filming.

Luckily, Max eats 5.7 cracks like this one for breakfast and was graciously (almost mischievously) willing to do the climb a gazillion times up AND down, basically free soloing the thing repeatedly to get the shots. (Max was using gear from the 70s with worn or even melted perlon, wearing a swami belt while Sam belayed him using a loose hip belay at best…) But he’s got the grace of a young Henry Barber and biceps the size of small children, and as such, made it all look really great.

We experimented with lots of different ways to film the crack (helmet cam, jib arm, me on top rope dangling nearby…)

Though initially not jazzed on the helmet cam idea (seemed too gimmicky in my mind, and did nothing to solve the need to go ‘beyond documentation’) now I’ve had a 360 turn around. The footage, unnaturally jerky and fast moving, gives an animated life to the climb which I hadn’t anticipated.

It can’t replace necessary shots, like those from the camera on belay, but it gave me something much more unusual than I had expected. As for filming from a hanging belay, I think to throw in some etriers and get more practice with the jumars (you know, so people don’t have to literally haul on the other end of the tope rope to get my ass started on the rock) oughta solidify that setup.

The most successful setup that we used was definitely in conjunction with the jib arm.

There is something mysteriously poetic about the movement of the camera up along the vertical crack, in conjunction with, but not simultaneous to, Max’s jamming movement upwards. The two movements are at once quite different, a flowing, endless vertical crack mixed with episodic rhythms of hands and feet jamming one by one horizontally; with a moving crane as simple as the jib arm, the intersection of the two is visualized, and the whole magic of the climb is expressed with one sweeping shot that takes less than maybe 5 seconds.

Perhaps now I am heading into eye glaze territory, but I do believe that I’ve stumbled onto a key element to dramatizing a climb.

Now, how to get this setup in a place where theres not a wide ledge at the bottom of the climb? Perhaps we can lure the guys from Piton Productions with their helicams to entertain an experimental collaboration…

As has been shown from countless amateur (or less than amateur…) climbing videos which go no further than simple documentation…watching someone do a climb is either boring or untrue to the nature of the climb (ie filming a slab climb from the bottom looks wimpy, versus heel hooks on extreme overhangs become the desensitized norm). And watching a climber doing a really hard climb, filmed without strategy, is just climbing porn. After a few shots of one crux after the other, we’re desensitized, bored. It means nothing, has no effect on the viewer.

Basically, the entire art of filmmaking rests in the craft of faking real experiences. “Jaws” isn’t the movie that made us all afraid to go in swimming pools because we saw an animatronic shark zooming through the water. No, it made us afraid because of the way the camera bobbed up and down at sealevel for those shots when we know the shark is about to pounce…that’s our eye level, our perception, what we feel every time we are waiting around for a wave…when we start to play the epic theme song in our heads…and thats how Jaws gets us. (Wow, can’t believe I’m using Spielberg references…i must be going mainstream, might as well enroll at USC…) Enough of this film school mumbo gumbo. The end.

So all that was one major point of the weekend: to find out how to convey the drama of a climb, the tension, the grace, the psychological mapping, the experience…

As I was unpacking my bag this morning from a week-long climbing trip to Yosemite, all of my stuff seemed to permeate the smells of dirt, food, the spring air and sweat. But amongst all that, there was that one overpowering familiar smell on all my clothes: campfire.

Even the biggest bah-humbug city dweller can’t deny that there is something magical about campfires, about they way they bring people together on a cold night, the way they blanket everyone in beautiful orange light.

My Yosemite trip was completed by the nightly campfire in our site at Camp 4 with guitars and mandolin that brought people from around the camp to sing and play stuff like some particularly awful renditions of Bob Dylan songs (think ‘Mr. Bojangles’ done in rounds, uninentionally) and ad lib blues songs about off-width cracks.

In the morning, some people would stop by again around propane stoves, and as I would drink coffee and eat my eggs, they’d spell out what they planned to climb, exchanging some tips, occasionally signin on to somebody elses route, and be off until the end of the day, when we’d meet again at the campfire. The Camp 4 appeal, after fifty years, is still around.

From Thanh, practically a Camp 4 resident with his stories of rattlesnake bites and epics and remarkable memory for visualizing climbs, to Trevor & Javier from Idaho improving their trad technique, to Anna from SB just takin in the air, to Max, the wildlife biologist with an abnormal attraction to off-width cracks, I found myself surprisingly sad this morning when I woke up and didn’t hear them cooking outside my tent, but instead heard my alarm telling me I had to go to work.

At any rate, it’s this quality of the campfire that made me decide at the beginning of the brainstorming for this documentary that all the interviews with climbers should be done by campfire light or lantern light.

A huge portion of The Rock Adventure Guide consists of interviews with different people (rock climbers, outdoors enthusiasts from the 50s onward) who tell stories about life in the outdoors and on the rock. What better setting than at the side of a campfire?

Not only because it fits with the setting of the film and these characters, but also because of the aesthetic quality. Unlike bright lighting in an office or traditional interview setup (like with a swirly blue background reminiscent of your 3rd grade school pictures), a campfire provides for more a cinematic effect. A subjects face is partly lit and partly obscured in the same way that their legends are partly fact and partly myth.  You wouldn’t film Paul Bunyon or Johhny Appleseed in a studio with three point lighting, imagine how dissapointed you would be!  The same is true of the figures we plan to interview for this documentary.