The last time I (Daniel) was in Yosemite was 2016 when the Chossboys completed a 4-day ascent of The Salathe Wall on El Capitan. In October 2022 — exactly 6 years later — I went to Yosemite with Nick and my partner Kat.
My only goal was to onsight The North Face of the Rostrum — an 8-pitch 5.11c crack climbing test piece — with Nick. It was a dream of ours since 2016. Kat's goal was to have fun and climb moderate routes in the valley. As you'll find out, it's easy to have fun in Yosemite but onsighting The Rostrum is a challenge. Climbing routes near my limit like The Rostrum are like a mental war of attrition. Climbing feels easy when I am fresh and energetic. At some point, my motivation and energy wane. But the rock remains the same. I have to push myself somehow — I use deep breaths and self-encouragement to help me up the wall. In the lowest points, I struggle to make upwards progress by any means necessary -- cursing loudly, yelling with aggression, or sometimes even taking a minute to cry. It's those emotional moments that stand out in my memory. Later on as I replay them in my mind, I find myself facing the "real" me — the ugly, imperfect me. I find that rock-bottom moments are like flint for the fire of personal growth.
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Separated by 5,114 km, but united by climbing, on 10 October 2020, Nick and Daniel each sent their hardest routes to date. Nick's ascent of Globetrotters (5.13b) at Horne Lake, BCFollowing our incredible 2016 road trip, my climbing life suffered a serious impediment: grad school. In 2017, I began a 2-year stint where climbing played second fiddle to academia. From April to August 2018, I took my longest ever break from climbing. It was my first fieldwork season and I had to establish the bedrock of my MSc thesis. For 132 straight days, I toiled through laboratory and field experiments. I emerged in the fall with a phantasmagoria of data but appalling climbing fitness. I then attempted to resume my customary climbing routine, but grad school continued to exact its toll; my gym sessions were sporadic and perfunctory, my actions were aimless, and my vision was gauzy.
Clarity returned after defending my thesis in September 2019. I really wanted to get strong. To progress in climbing, I always knew I would need to live close to a crag stacked with hard routes so that I could devote myself to a long-term project. Horne Lake on Vancouver Island fits the bill perfectly. Serendipitously, that October, I was introduced to Marcel A., a local climber with rare motivation who needed a partner. Marcel and I climbed together several days that autumn. Witnessing his determination while projecting some of the area's hardest lines impelled me to surpass my own expectations and quickly send a few 5.12s. Near a town called Folldal, in the region of Rondane in the high inland plateaus of Norway, there is a pine forest on the side of a steep hill. Cut into this hillside is a trail, and on a sunny day the sun filters through the low pines and onto the tauny pine needles blanketing the trail. The afternoon of August 15th, 2020, was such a sunny day, and the Salomon Rondane 50- and 100-Miler races were underway. The steep path in the pines was awaiting its first victims. This is a trip report of the Rondane 50-Miler, which I (Erik) ran and finished in 10th place. It was the first time the race was arranged, but it won't be the last. For those interested in running the race in the future, this post might contain some useful descriptions of the route and what type of terrain you can expect. For everyone else, it’s in the very least a story about ultrarunning: frivolous triumph and tragedy on a mountainous scale.
On August 5th, 2020 Choss Boy Daniel Alacoque was featured on CBC's Le TeleJournal Acadie as "Newfoundland's rock climbing expert."
I (Daniel) present the sport of rock climbing in a thrilling video chat interview and photo/video montage with CBC correspondent Mathieu Masse. I am deep into my comfort zone whenever I talk about climbing. Yet, it's always a challenge when I speak in French. Let me know what you think in the comments. The Anderson River valley is home to the stunning Steinbok Peak. Two bold (read: dirty and scary) routes go up its nose: the Northeast Buttress (Grade IV, 5.9, A1) and the Edwards-Spagnut (Grade V, mega sandbag 5.10+). The Edwards-Spagnut has only been repeated once in 2007 by Sonnie Trotter, Jon Walsh, and Will Stanhope. Here's a random fact: the summit of Steinbok Peak was used as the setting of the 1992 movie K2 since its gently sloping Southwest face allowed the film crew to hike right up to the summit. Just Northeast of the epic Steinbok Peak lies Ibex Peak and then the conjoined peaks of Les Cornes and Chamois. Les Cornes is the most well-traveled peak in the Anderson Valley because it hosts the Valley's only high-quality modern routes, most notably the Springbok Arete (Grade IV, 5.11a) and it's unfortunately-named variation: the Sprung Cock Erect (SCE). The Valley was an alpine climbing hotspot in the '80s, '90s, and early 2000s because a network of active logging roads and trails led right to the base of the peaks. Currently the Valley is seldom visited because the roads have been decommissioned by the forestry industry. Nick Brown, Nick Hindley, and I (Daniel) planned to stay in the Anderson River Valley from July 5-10, 2020. Our first goal was to climb the Springbok Arete on Les Cornes and our second goal was to attempt an ascent of the Northeast Buttress on Steinbok Peak. July 6th, 2020: “C’mon! Let’s move!” Sverre was motoring through the scree lining the beach of the idyllic Djupfjord near the hamlet of Henningsvær in Lofoten, Norway. I had never seen the Norwegian, typically laconic and soft spoken, move so swiftly. “Those bastards were trying to run past us!” He said. What bastards? There were two climbers who had tried to run ahead of us, he explained, thus claiming their spot ahead of us in cue. He had spotted them just as we were setting off from camp, their heads bobbing up and down above the chest-high grass by the road. Watching Sverre move through the boulders ahead, I could not help but grin at myself. “He’s getting this thing,” I thought. The boulderer is becoming an alpine climber, intent on moving as quickly and lightly as possible. This would be my second ascent of Vagakallen; Sverre, a boulderer from the verdant hills of North Trondelag, was still relatively new to the mountains. The GoPro I had with me practically burned in my pocket. It was a beautiful clear morning and we had arrived the evening before in Sverre’s van with moods as high surrounding peaks and with no agenda except to have fun and challenge ourselves in the mountains. Check out the GoPro edit in the link below! For a more detailed trip report of the North Ridge of Vågakallen, check out the post I made from last year’s ascent. July 11, 2019: Chris battled through the short crux pitch, taking the name “Fingertip Traverse” a bit too literally as he clung onto the exposed slab with his finger tips. This was no easy task, because his rubber gloves (which he still wore despite my intermittent suggestions to remove them) wrinkled and flopped around like over-sized dish gloves as he tried in a Herculean effort to traverse the thin horizontal crack. A bit of graceful footwork and controlled breathing would have gone a long way. He got it through, though, collapsing with a grimace at the belay where I sat. Once again, he had the same expression on his face he had had after the first pitch on Vågakallen - a worrying look like he wanted to kill me. Later, Chris admitted that he had dislocated his pinky finger during the struggle and had had to force the little appendage back into place, mid-route. Even more remarkably, he confided to me that finishing that pitch was among the most rewarding experiences in his life. In the summer of 2019, I (Erik) went on a bike tour in North-Norway with my friend and old classmate from engineering school, Chris Pope. Along the way, I managed to convince him to rope up with me and climb some classics moderates. After our ascent of “North Ridge” of Vågakallen I figured he’d never want to climb with me again. Just two days later, though, when I asked if he wanted to climb the “Normal Route” of Stetinden, he agreed. I had told him it was a lot easier.
The gyms are closed. It's raining outside. You've baked cookies three times in the past three weeks. What does all this have to say about your training? In short: not much. The Corona Times have presented a unique challenge: that is, how to train self-sufficiently. Without gym equipment and social pressure, days can fly by without a single good effort. The Choss Boys went through adjustments in training to deal with the Corona challenge. We started by acknowledging the circumstances in a short video chat. Then Erik put the challenge on the table: take a short video of your training day and upload it to our shared Google Drive. The effect was almost immediate: a psych to get out and train. Motivation that one day we'll be back to climbing trips and trail running races - and when that day comes, we'll be strong. See the result of our collective training day in the short YouTube video and click "Read More" to check our respective training logs for the past month. Friday, 21 June, 2019: The Summer SolsticeSeamus was putting his newly purchased 2004 Chevrolet Tracker to the test. Several large cobblestones on the narrow "road" to Amon Rûdh had us praising the quarter-inch steel skid plate protecting the SUV's viscera. After crossing two narrow creeks and teetering along a steep washout, we arrived for a trailhead bivvy just before midnight. The storied walls of the Eldred Valley surrounded us but were shrouded in darkness. My (Nick's) imagination flickered with visions of granite monoliths as I drifted off to sleep. Our alarm would sound at 5:00 AM, heralding dawn and the start of our ascent of On the Virg—an obscure route that sees few attempts.
July 8th, 2019: Chris gained the exposed ledge marking the top of Pitch 1 of the North Ridge of Vågakallen. It was his first time climbing outdoors. I (Erik) grinned at him, but as he strode towards me I noticed something wasn't right. “You better fucking smarten up,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “I don’t know what I’m doing. That Norwegian couple down there told me I was belaying wrong,” he said, pointing down to where the climb began on an airy ridge. “And they told me my harness was on upside-down.” I laughed, but Chris was not amused. I swallowed. “You’re right. I need to smarten up. But don't worry! It gets better. Just remember to breathe.” Chris, hands on knees, had relaxed a bit but didn’t say anything. This would turn out to be a proper adventure after all! I thought. And I wasn’t wrong. Classmates from engineering school, Chris and I had both moved to Norway around the same time. In July, 2019, we set out together on a bike tour in North-Norway. Along the way, I convinced Chris to rope up with me and try a few classic moderate climbs. Amazingly, he agreed.
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