INTO THE CLOUDS
- 1. w w w . c l i m b m a g a z i n e . c o m J U L Y 2 0 1 1 2
- 2. w w w . c l i m b m a g a z i n e . c o m J U L Y 2 0 1 1 3
- 3. w w w . c l i m b m a g a z i n e . c o m J U L Y 2 0 1 1 4 A little over a year prior to our departure for São Tomé, staring at my computer screen in my apartment in Monterrey, Mexico, I stumbled across what I hoped would be my next big wall objective. A Google search of ‘The Tower of Mordor’ had led me to a dated tourist information page about the small island nation of São Tomé and Principé that lies off the west coast of sub-Saharan Africa. I’d never before heard of the country. Considering that it’s one of the smallest in the world, this was hardly surprising. Browsing the pages of the old website, with its design and layout typical of the early 90’s, I caught the first glimpse of the what is still the strangest peak I have ever seen. Rising up out of a sea of green was a 400 metre basalt pinnacle whose summit was hidden by clouds. It commanded its surroundings with an authority that would capture the imagination of even the most seasoned coach potato, and possessed all the qualities of my dream big wall. Infatuated with my new discovery, I began researching and planning for a possible new route up the tower immediately, obsessing with the idea that one day I would be able to visit this mythical island whose landscapes resembled a scene from the film Jurassic Park. As fortune had it, my discovery of the wall happened to coincide with the launch of the Adidas Outdoor ‘Claim Freedom’ initiative that was looking to support the realisation of projects in the outdoors. Luckily my proposal was selected, and the dream climb was set to become a reality. The project was ambitious on many levels, requiring every detail to be meticulously examined. Logistics were not the only challenge; to take on such a wall I would need a climbing partner with solid big wall skills and a strong work ethic. Sergio “Tiny” Almada was a friend from Chihuahua, Mexico, who had put up a number of routes on the big wall of El Gigante, Mexico and also established the route on El Diente’s North Face with me. A calm and practical thinker, we had worked seamlessly together in the past and I knew we made a strong team. The island itself offered little in the way of supplies or modern medical aid. If something were to go wrong, we would be completely on our own. When we finally reached São Tomé in May 2016, I stood on the roof of our jeep and peered through a pair of antique, leather-covered binoculars towards the spire. I breathed deeply at the reality of the task at hand. The days following our jeep-rooftop reconnaissance unfolded in what can only be described as a concerning manner. The carefully laid plans that I’d spent months polishing fell apart faster than a pair of $5 flip-flops. Firstly, we discovered that there was nowhere in the country you could get camping gas. Not only could you not purchase it, but it was also impossible to ship or fly it in. We looked at conversion options using the gas bottles that were available on the island to our jetboil, but the parts were not readily available and, even if we shipped them in, it was an unrealistic solution to the problem. It was clear that, if we wanted to sleep on the wall using our ledges as we progressed, we would simply have to eat dry, packaged food. Which brought us to our second problem: purchasing dry goods in São Tomé means purchasing imports. These are both hard to find, limited in variety, and incredibly expensive. To add to this, the dry goods they did offer still required water to rehydrate them, which brought us back to the first problem: no gas. It seemed we had just two choices; commit ourselves to a diet of oatmeal, tuna and water for 14 days, likely resulting in complete exhaustion through hunger and malnutrition, or fix lines as we climbed and jumar to the high point each day to continue the climbing, an option which would also result in complete exhaustion through physical exertion. Neither option seemed much better than the other. Both would ultimately be hard, and after some thought we decided that jumaring what would eventually equate to kilometres of rope was the lesser of two evils. With the big decisions made, we packed the remainder of the food we had already purchased and prepared to leave for the wall. Our first day carrying gear packs to the wall happened to coincide with a huge storm that seemed to rock the island’s foundations for several days. Depending on your outlook, this was either a fortuitous learning experience or a short trip to hell. Trudging through the dense jungle, we arrived to the shelter of the advanced base camp
- 4. w w w . c l i m b m a g a z i n e . c o m J U L Y 2 0 1 1 5 (ABC) only to discover that the line we had decided upon from afar was a gutter of death. Water cascaded from the corner we had planned to climb, as huge rocks and giant plants surfed the torrent that flowed from the wall. After consulting the weather forecast for the island, we agreed that it would be suicide to take the planned line, given that rain showers were expected for most of the trip. Instead, we decided upon a more direct line up the steepest part of the wall, hoping to take advantage of the shelter the capping roof provided from the elements, even if it did require more difficult climbing. Fifteen days of pain and exhaustion ensued as we fought for every inch of progress. Slaves to time, we submitted ourselves to an arduous schedule that began with a meagre breakfast at 5.30 a.m. and ended after dark when route finding became unjustifiably slow. As pain drowned out hunger, the route became a battle of willpower over adversity, with each day growing increasingly harder while we climbed through fluctuating weather: high humidity, blistering heat, and heavy rain. On the evening of June 2nd, we arrived at the convergence between rock and jungle, a sign that we had reached the summit ridge. As we pulled over the lip into the thick undergrowth, my heart began to race with excitement as to what we would discover. Having exhausted all of our static rope, we had fixed our dynamic climbing line for the final 2 pitches, and now only our 7mm tag line remained to cover the distance to the summit. As I tied in, I began frantically clawing my way through the loose bush, consumed by summit fever. My hands bled as the sharp plants cut into the creases of my fingers, and ants marched their way up my waterlogged trousers on their own big wall adventure. Ten metres below the top, the line came tight and I was forced to remove it, tying it off to a nearby tree. Covering the short distance to the peak’s highest point, we arrived in time to catch the setting sun casting its crimson light across the world below us. I could hardly believe it. The idea that we might never reach this point had begun to creep into my mind, that we simply didn’t have enough time or equipment to make it possible. Now, with just four days remaining before we departed the island, we had succeeded in completing the critical stage of establishing the route. But the challenge was far from complete. We still had the task of cleaning 15 pitches, removing over 400 metres of rope, creating a rappel line, and the biggest challenge of all: redpointing the route. With no time to lose, we spent the next day removing the moss, plants and blocks from the route and preparing our equipment for the climb. The following morning arrived sooner than either of us wanted. Rising groggily from our bed in the dirt, our aching muscles creaked into motion as we made breakfast. With supplies beginning to dwindle, fifteen spoons of oatmeal with the consistency of concrete and a cup of coffee would be all we could afford in the way of sustenance for the day ahead. Still exhausted from the weeks of opening the route, we stood at the base of the route and gathered our thoughts as we prepared for a free ascent of the line. The plan was to focus redpointing the first four pitches in the roof which seemed to be the hardest, then sleep on the portaledge before aiming to complete the remainder of the route the following day. The climbing went well, and we made good progress. But the difficulties were far greater than we had anticipated. We climbed the first 7b pitch with ease, but pitches 2, 3 and 4 proved much harder, with the desperate second pitch featuring 8b climbing. Unable to climb these pitches clean that day, we decided that we would rappel to the ground and attempt them again the following day, though this would be the absolute last opportunity to achieve an all-free ascent. That night, tired and frustrated, we went to bed early with the goal of waking with the sun and giving it everything we had. Waking early the next day, we ate our breakfast of oatmeal and once again walked to the base of the wall for our final attempt. Tiny went first again, climbing the first 5.12 (F7b) pitch with ease, and I followed. Switching over at the second pitch, It was my turn to take the sharp end. Tightening the velcro straps of my shoes, I stared at the wall above, rehearsing the moves in my head. This was the 8b crux pitch of the route, a bouldery roof section that involved two big dynos on slopey holds followed by a technical 8a section to the anchors. I had practiced the moves the day before and knew them intimately; all I had to do was stick them. Chalking my hands, I double checked my knot and threw myself into the climbing above.
- 5. w w w . c l i m b m a g a z i n e . c o m J U L Y 2 0 1 1 6 Stepping off the belay, I clipped the bolt that protected the first dyno and set up for the move. Locking my eyes on the catching hold, I launched myself upwards, clenching the edge perfectly as my legs swung out below me. Regaining my composure, I placed my feet back on the wall, clipped another bolt and took a deep breath. But it wasn’t over. The following dyno was the hardest, a large throw to a frictionless sloper at the limit of my reach. Positioning my feet on small pebbles, I summoned all my strength and launched again skywards. Time seemed to stand still as the weathered skin of my swollen fingers took hold of the polished volcanic rock. To my amazement, my hand firmly grasped the target hold. Reacting quickly, I raised my heel onto the tooth-shaped protrusion of stone that would allow me to complete the final crux move. As I reached up to grab the small pinch, my hand slipped. I fell through the air in a moment of weightlessness, and a sinking feeling came next as the rope stretched tight. I had blown it. Tiny and I stared at each other as I hung there in space. the unspoken words drifted in the empty space between us ‘we won’t be able to climb this all free’. Pulling back on to my high point, I made my way up to the anchor where Tiny joined me shortly after. We fought hard up the two pitches that followed, making solid links but, again, we were unable to send them without falls. With just two days remaining, we were out of time and would have to continue climbing the route in order to establish the line. Reaching the portaledge that evening at the top of pitch 4, we discussed our disappointment over a tinned tuna dinner. We had both worked harder on this route than anything we’d tried before. If we could just complete the remaining 11 pitches to the summit cleanly, we could leave the island content with our route and our efforts. The next day we rose at 5 a.m. and packed away the ledges. Gearing up, we planned to climb simultaneously through the easier pitches above and stop to belay traditionally only when we guessed the difficulties to be 5.11+ (F7a) or harder. Pulling on my shoes and bumping our fists to signify we were both ready, we charged the 350m wall above with less difficulty than the roof below, arriving once again at the summit almost 13 hours later. Standing atop the lofty peak, our hard work was rewarded with a spectacular sunset and panoramic views of the entire island. Our celebration and excitement was brief. For a while, we sat in comfortable silence to reflect upon the journey here and the questions it brought. Why had we chosen to do this to ourselves? Why suffer these painful endeavours that push us to the limits of our mental and physical boundaries? What were we hoping to gain? As I sat there absorbing the glow from the setting sun, the answers seemed to come to me in a epiphany, each hidden in the questions they raised. I realised what this expedition had been, for me, was the search for an understanding of something intangible. I wanted to know where the line was drawn: the place where my personal boundary of possible and impossible converged. Had I found my limit? I am certain, though, that whilst not rushing onto my next project quite so soon, this won’t be the last time I run the big wall gauntlet, chasing that intangible understanding. Gaz Leah is supported by: Nite Ize | Mad Rock | Hanchor | Maxim Ropes | Voltaic Systems | DMM | Adventure Medical Kits | Adidas Outdoor | FiveTen | Revo Sunglasses
- 6. w w w . c l i m b m a g a z i n e . c o m J U L Y 2 0 1 1 7 Nubivagant (Wandering in the clouds) 455m, 5.13d/A0 (F8b) *** A direct line up the steepest part of the giant roof and onto the headwall above. Though equipped as a sport line this is anything but and should be approached with the respect that big wall requires. The majority of the difficulties are located in the first 100m of the route which is a steep overhanging roof, arguably one of the largest in the world with 3 pitches of climbing at grade 5.13b (F8a) or harder. Pulling through the roof, the climbing eases considerably and you just have to hope the tropical storms stay at bay to reach to summit.