Preface
Christo Vladimirov Javacheff, better known as Christo was an ‘avant-garde’ artist who had a predilection for wrapping things. Together with his wife, Jeanne-Claude they wrapped many iconic landmarks, the latest being the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. This they wrapped in 25,000 square metres of recyclable polypropylene silvery blue fabric anchored by 3,000 metres of red rope making it the greatest work of public art worldwide in 2021. L’arc de triomphe, wrapped will be on display for 16 days from September 18 until October 3rd, 2021. Sadly, Christo passed away on Sunday May 31st at age 84, only months before seeing his long-held ambition of wrapping this tomb come to fruition.
Though Christo and Jeanne-Claude wrapped Berlin’s Reichstag in 1995, neither the L'arc nor the Reichstag qualify as the largest example of public art ever. Back in 1969 Christo, through the auspices of the John Kaldor Public Art Projects, received permission to begin work on what would become his greatest and perhaps largest ever work of public art - wrapping a bay.
Though Christo and Jeanne-Claude wrapped Berlin’s Reichstag in 1995, neither the L'arc nor the Reichstag qualify as the largest example of public art ever. Back in 1969 Christo, through the auspices of the John Kaldor Public Art Projects, received permission to begin work on what would become his greatest and perhaps largest ever work of public art - wrapping a bay.
The Reichstag in Berlin, Germany wrapped by Christo with the help of climbers in 1995. (Photo Credit: Oscar Wagenamns wikimedia)
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Little Bay, a coastal suburb of Sydney, lies 14.5 kilometres (9 miles) southeast of the city’s centre and just north of Botany Bay. The suburb sits on a slope just above a tranquil and very popular semi-enclosed natural ocean pool with a line of sandstone cliffs forming a steep barrier facing the ocean to its north.
Towards the end of 1969 2.5 kilometres (1.5 miles) of this cliff-lined shore was covered with 92,900 square metres (1,000,000 square feet) of synthetic woven plastic agricultural fibre material held in place by 56.3 kilometres (35 miles) of a reddish-brown polypropylene rope. The coverage of the cliff ranged in width from 46 to 245 metres wide (150 - 800 feet), its height rising to 26 metres (85 feet) in parts. Eventually 17,000 man-hours over a four-week period were needed to affix the fabric to the rock by some 125 workers. Making up this number were at least 15 climbers mainly from the Sydney Rockclimbing Club (SRC) who were hired to work on the higher, steeper sections of the cliffs by firing Ramset nails through the rope to hold it and the fabric in place. |
Little Bay, Sydney, Australia: "A tranquil and very popular semi-enclosed natural ocean pool with a line of sandstone cliffs forming a steep barrier facing the ocean to its north". (Photo courtesy of Sydney Snorkelling - Little Bay)
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Most workers, including the climbers, were paid a significant amount for the time. Indeed, many climbers used their windfall to finance a trip to the Southern Alps of New Zealand just a few months later. I was paid sick leave by my employer, as well as receiving the pay from hanging around with Christo; this enabled me to stash money away for an expedition to Balls Pyramid as well as finance a trip to Europe midway through 1970. But Christo made a further important contribution that will be detailed in the article that follows next month in the November/December 2021 edition of Common Climber.
It should also be noted that while "Wrapped Coast" employed climbers, the wrapping of the Reichstag, the Arc de Triomphe and probably several other of Christo’s projects also required the professional vertical expertise that could only be offered by the climbing fraternity.
It should also be noted that while "Wrapped Coast" employed climbers, the wrapping of the Reichstag, the Arc de Triomphe and probably several other of Christo’s projects also required the professional vertical expertise that could only be offered by the climbing fraternity.
The last image on the video showing two climbers standing at the cliff's edge with arms folded are Hughie on the right and Keith Bell, the author, on the left.
Wrapping Up the Coast: Or How Not to Uncoil a 400m Rope...
I suppose anybody who has climbed for any length of time has some skeletons in the cupboard. By this I mean an incident or decision that took them to the edge in more ways than one. I have a recurring nightmare that dates back to 1969. Ah ’69, just by looking at the numbers you can tell it was a good year: Full employment, mineral booms, free trips to Vietnam for 19-year olds, Simon and Garfunkel LP’s, and the rock opera Hair was soon to open in Sydney. Hirsute hairstyles were in vogue and while barbers struggled to make a living, the year was especially kind to Sydney climbers.
As 1969 was drawing to a close, the avant-garde artist Christo (born in Bulgaria) arrived in town with his penchant for wrapping things. Now, this man thought big — he wanted to wrap Little Bay if that is not a contradiction in terms. However, Little Bay boasts cliffs almost 30 metres high, definitely not your run-of-the-mill Christmas or birthday present. But I didn't really care, Christo was willing to pay $20 a day to climbers for our services and I was all-in. At this stage many readers are probably thinking ‘ripped off’, but the average weekly wage was about $40 at the time so this little project was a genuine gold mine.
As 1969 was drawing to a close, the avant-garde artist Christo (born in Bulgaria) arrived in town with his penchant for wrapping things. Now, this man thought big — he wanted to wrap Little Bay if that is not a contradiction in terms. However, Little Bay boasts cliffs almost 30 metres high, definitely not your run-of-the-mill Christmas or birthday present. But I didn't really care, Christo was willing to pay $20 a day to climbers for our services and I was all-in. At this stage many readers are probably thinking ‘ripped off’, but the average weekly wage was about $40 at the time so this little project was a genuine gold mine.
Christo's "Wrapped Coast" at Little Bay, Sydney, Australia, 1969 (Photo Credit: Ellen Waugh)
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My Mate Hughie roped me in, and halcyon days were spent hanging around on abseil lines firing the occasional Ramset nail powered by a heavy charge through the polypropylene rope to hold the plastic fabric in place onto the friable sea cliff sandstone. The large bulky Ramsets were difficult to cock while hanging free on an abseil rope with nothing behind to push against; once fired the force of the recoil sent the climber spinning out into space. Target practice was also on the agenda, and we became adept marksman with these bulky pieces of artillery. At the time, the site on top of the cliffs was a suburb rubbish tip and climbers quite often made creative use of its detritus. Most memorable was the abseil anchor constructed from the front bumper of a Pontiac. The area now is a tranquil golf course.
On some days we could escape to a more restful place, finding a secluded ledge near the bottom of the cliff and basking briefly in the sun, absently watching the waves break against the rocks. The "Wrapped Coast" remained in place for a period of ten weeks. We spent many carefree days maintaining the site, but it came to an abrupt end when a "southerly buster" ripped through early one morning. One moment "Wrapped Coast" was largely intact, the next, the shrieking wind had torn the hanging sheets into swirling, tattered streamers. The environmentalist in us re-emerged as we witnessed nature reclaim its own. Christo (consoled by his beautiful wife) was forced to admit defeat. In the aftermath, though, we were provided with a windfall in the form of unused polypropylene rope that the disconsolate Christo gifted to us. Hughie and I promptly dropped the boot (trunk) lid of my Morris Minor and strapped three 400 metre coils onto it. We were part of a team going onto Balls Pyramid in early 1970 and we thought that this rope might prove useful — particularly at the price. As we took the rope off the coil to cut it into useful lengths, it knotted and twisted into an entwined labyrinth that proved very difficult to untangle. Some lateral thinking was required, and the result was to be the genesis of my recurring nightmare. |
A photo from 1969 of the author's mate Hughie who also took advantage of the awesome pay being offered to climbers to secure the wrapping. (Photo credit: unknown)
A junkyard was located near the bay and the climbers would creatively use resources that might help with the wrapping task. (Photo credit: unknown)
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There are not too many climbers with a 400-metre coil of rope tucked away in the cupboard, but the following might prove instructive on what not to do if you want to cut it into smaller, more manageable lengths. It could also illustrate that simple and seemingly elegant decisions in the climbing world can lead to trouble.
After a night of deliberation in the heady atmosphere of Gearins Hotel at Katoomba, we came up with the following solution: we were going to make use of geography and gravity to overcome the "gordian knot." What we decided to do was to take the remaining coils to the nearby Echo Point Lookout and toss them over the 200+ metre drop. Our plan should have been a bit more complex than that, but in our befuddled, inebriated state we had not worked out all of the details.
After a night of deliberation in the heady atmosphere of Gearins Hotel at Katoomba, we came up with the following solution: we were going to make use of geography and gravity to overcome the "gordian knot." What we decided to do was to take the remaining coils to the nearby Echo Point Lookout and toss them over the 200+ metre drop. Our plan should have been a bit more complex than that, but in our befuddled, inebriated state we had not worked out all of the details.
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So, on a fine Sunday afternoon we arrived at the car park and struggled down past the bemused tourists with our booty. Placing one of the coils about four metres back from the safety rail I took one end, made a few loops and casually tossed them over the side. Meanwhile Hughie was enjoying the view. The rope slipped gently away, feeding freely from the middle of the coil. This was going to be a breeze.
Then the rope began to accelerate. Within about thirty seconds it was leaping out of the coil, arching over our heads and screaming like a banshee as it poured gracefully into the yawning void on the other side of the safety rail. It then occurred to us that apart from not having found the other end, we had also failed to anchor it. In moments of extreme danger, it is a common assumption that the world becomes quiet and that things move in slow motion. However, I can attest that this is only half true. The noise, the speed, and the height of the rope careening into the air increased exponentially as our attempts to find the other end and tie the knot was played out in slow motion. We were still desperately intent on achieving the latter as the coil disappeared. To this day I do not know who found the end and which of our four fumbling hands secured our booty to the lookout rail, but somehow, we did it. Within seconds the plummeting aerial cableway came to a halt with an almighty thwump. To our horror and amazement, the slender cantilevered lookout, with its concrete deck and galvanised iron safety rails, was shaken violently on its foundations. Nearby tourists scattered in fear and trepidation. Hughie and I were lifted off our feet by the momentum of the rope and pulled across the top of the reverberating rail. I can still remember looking directly down the rope to the trees far below as I balanced like a human seesaw on the top of the rail. Hughie had adopted a similar pose and his eyes caught mine as we extricated ourselves from our perch. We both knew that the Grim Reaper had tapped us on the shoulder but had failed to take a swing. With badly bruised hands from the impact of the rail and holding on for dear life, we climbed back onto the lookout deck and let the ‘Sounds of Silence’ do the talking. In the intervening years we have never spoken about the incident but have always acknowledged that we were climbers bonded by a special rope. |
A coil of rope from the wrapped coast exhibit (Photo courtesy of Michael Waite of the Kaldor Public Art Projects)
A modern version of the Echo Point lookout at Katoomba in the Blue Mountains of Australia (Photo Credit: Margaret R Donald, wikimedia commons)
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Click on above photos to enlarge ad see captions. (Photos courtesy of Michael Waite of the Kaldor Public Art Projects)
Postcript
The Christo rope was used extensively by the 1970 Balls Pyramid expedition (see the stories Animal Acts Part 1: Things With Wings and Animal Acts Part 2: Things That Slither Crawl and Walk ) for fixed rope, slings and the float rope used to ferry gear from the boat to the shore.
In 2019 the John Kaldor Public Art Projects celebrated the 50 years of public art (beginning with ‘Little Bay’) that they had supported with exhibitions and a series of public performances at the NSW Art Gallery. A large library near Little Bay also featured an exhibition and photos of Wrapped Coast. Not to be left out, many of the climbers and their friends/partners including a representative from John Kaldor revisited the site and then retreated to a local pub to do what climbers usually do in these circumstances.
In 2019 the John Kaldor Public Art Projects celebrated the 50 years of public art (beginning with ‘Little Bay’) that they had supported with exhibitions and a series of public performances at the NSW Art Gallery. A large library near Little Bay also featured an exhibition and photos of Wrapped Coast. Not to be left out, many of the climbers and their friends/partners including a representative from John Kaldor revisited the site and then retreated to a local pub to do what climbers usually do in these circumstances.
Finale
Whether positive or negative Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s intention was to provoke a strong response to their work that over the years included natural features such as Little Bay or man-made structures like the Arc de Triomphe and the Reichstag.
By wrapping (or by sometimes adding other elements) they were attempting to deconstruct or reconstruct our perceptions and our feelings. "Wrapped Coast" was variously described as a tsunami, snowfield, iceberg, glacier, waterfall, moon/desert landscape or just sheets of plastic hanging on a cliff. Alternatively, others would just be captivated by the sheer magnitude and scope of the undertaking.
Perhaps though, the last word should be given to Christo.
“I am an artist, and I have courage. Do you know that I don’t have any artworks that exist? They all go away when they’re finished. Only the preparatory drawings, and collages are left, giving my works an almost legendary character. I think it takes much greater courage to create things to be gone than to create things that will remain.”
By wrapping (or by sometimes adding other elements) they were attempting to deconstruct or reconstruct our perceptions and our feelings. "Wrapped Coast" was variously described as a tsunami, snowfield, iceberg, glacier, waterfall, moon/desert landscape or just sheets of plastic hanging on a cliff. Alternatively, others would just be captivated by the sheer magnitude and scope of the undertaking.
Perhaps though, the last word should be given to Christo.
“I am an artist, and I have courage. Do you know that I don’t have any artworks that exist? They all go away when they’re finished. Only the preparatory drawings, and collages are left, giving my works an almost legendary character. I think it takes much greater courage to create things to be gone than to create things that will remain.”
AUTHOR'S NOTE: My thanks to Michael Waite of the Kaldor Public Art Projects for his assistance and provision of many rare photographs of Christo’s Wrapped Coast. There are some excellent images of the Little Bay Wrapping as well as of climbers working on it. http://christojeanneclaude.net/projects/wrapped-coast