Cover Shot: Dillion Soin on Skin to Skin (29/5.13a) at Thompson_s Point
Thank you for sharing your photography work with us! You submitted an article about Nowra, New South Wales, Australia for our October 2020 edition. It highlighted your path into rock climbing and included lots of awesome photos. As the Feature Photographer for this month (November 2020), let’s branch out. Tell us about how you got into photography.
Since a young age I've always had an interest in taking photos. I was always the friend who wanted to run ahead of the group and have everyone “look natural” as they hike by my GoPro. It was, however, only this year that I started using an SLR camera. I had arranged with a good friend to try my best to record a particularly proud ascent. During the time it took him to prepare for the climb, I sat dangling in my harness, tethered to the crown of a mature Gum Tree fiddling with the settings. We managed to make a funny home-style video of the climb, though I was most proud of a few stills I happened to take in the process. Within a matter of days, I found myself watching more YouTube tutorials about photography than videos with Adam Ondra.
“What is happening to me?!” I thought. It was this experience that initially ignited my passion to take photos, though it has since then been fuelled by the incredible climbing community in my local area. After taking photos on a few more occasions I found myself completely engaged with telling the stories of local climbing achievements.
“What is happening to me?!” I thought. It was this experience that initially ignited my passion to take photos, though it has since then been fuelled by the incredible climbing community in my local area. After taking photos on a few more occasions I found myself completely engaged with telling the stories of local climbing achievements.
Duncan Brown (@athletebychoice) on his project at Tianjara Falls, Nowra, NSW, Australia.
How would you describe your photographic style and approach?
Through spontaneity, I hope to capture climbing realness. My day usually starts with a loose plan of simply a location or maybe a particular wall that is shaded in the morning. From there I couldn't guess which climber I may be shooting nor on which route. Through an open-minded approach and a willingness to abseil through even the thickest Lantana, I have managed to produce work that is honest and engaging.
With the local climbing community as the driving force, my work mostly features close up, in-your-face action portraits. Ones where the viewer may get a sense of just how pumped you were when clipping. When raw emotion is the goal, getting up in your grill is the approach.
With the local climbing community as the driving force, my work mostly features close up, in-your-face action portraits. Ones where the viewer may get a sense of just how pumped you were when clipping. When raw emotion is the goal, getting up in your grill is the approach.
Jason Piper (@jmanpiper) on Comin' At Ya Hyper (27/5.12 b/c) at South Central, Nowra, NSW, Australia.
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Lewis Joseph (@lewyjoe) on Plastic Exploding Inevitable (29/5.13a) at South Central, Nowra.
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Nowra is clearly a favorite climbing location of yours, do you have some other Australia favorites?
Yes, it’s true, I’m a biased fan of my home crags in Nowra. That being said, I do have a favourite home-away-from-home - Arapiles. Over the past five years I have made the 12-hour drive south many times. Staying more than a month on a few of those occasions. I adore climbing at Araps for two reasons.
1. The rock is undeniably impeccable; and
2. The Pines campground offers lifestyle-climbers like me a haven to dirtbag to their wildest dreams. At no other crag on earth, have I ever returned from a day of climbing to be welcomed by a “home cooked" meal, fully prepared by someone I met the day prior. It’s wonderful!
1. The rock is undeniably impeccable; and
2. The Pines campground offers lifestyle-climbers like me a haven to dirtbag to their wildest dreams. At no other crag on earth, have I ever returned from a day of climbing to be welcomed by a “home cooked" meal, fully prepared by someone I met the day prior. It’s wonderful!
Another favourite destination is Frog Buttress, a crack climbing mecca 11-hours north of Sydney, just over the Queensland border. This year I spent 10 nights camped at Frog, climbing and taking photos during the day and observing Orb Spiders catch prey at night. The routes at Frog are characterised by splitter cracks that form between dihedrals and are often 30-meters in length. The climbing is well-protected, sustained jamming, often with bridging of the feet. Routes such as Impulse and Juggernaut are well known classics of the area and are a must do, should you visit.
Dylan Tubaro (@dylantubaro) on Impulse (24/5.11c) at Frog Buttress, Mount French, QLD, Australia.
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Richard Stubbs (@stubbs_work_or_play) on Juggernaught (20) at Frog Buttress, Mount French, QLD, Australia.
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In your Nowra article you mentioned you love to travel and have climbed in Thailand and New Zealand. Tell us more.
Travelling has been at the top of my priorities since I visited the Himalaya Mountains via Nepal when I was 15. That was a totally inspirational experience that left me with the itchiest feet and the desire to explore.
In 2017, I flew to Thailand with my life- and climbing partner and we had no real plan in place. One week into that trip we arrived by boat at Tonsai - a famous climbing destination renowned for beach-side climbing and hippie-pirate bars. I spent seven days climbing throughout the daylight hours and eating Mama’s chicken in the evenings. The climbing in Tonsai offers a delectable platter of steep limestone walls that rise out of the sand merely 20-meters from the ocean. A climber’s paradise for sure, though I don’t think I could ever get used to the conditions. Half-a-day of climbing leaves your harness soaked with sweat. One moment I will never be able to forget (and trust me, I’d rather) was the sweat dripping off the back and shoulders of a guy I’d just met - it was literally raining down on me as I belayed him. I’m still scarred.
In 2017, I flew to Thailand with my life- and climbing partner and we had no real plan in place. One week into that trip we arrived by boat at Tonsai - a famous climbing destination renowned for beach-side climbing and hippie-pirate bars. I spent seven days climbing throughout the daylight hours and eating Mama’s chicken in the evenings. The climbing in Tonsai offers a delectable platter of steep limestone walls that rise out of the sand merely 20-meters from the ocean. A climber’s paradise for sure, though I don’t think I could ever get used to the conditions. Half-a-day of climbing leaves your harness soaked with sweat. One moment I will never be able to forget (and trust me, I’d rather) was the sweat dripping off the back and shoulders of a guy I’d just met - it was literally raining down on me as I belayed him. I’m still scarred.
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Since I began climbing, traveling amongst the islands of New Zealand has become a regular occurrence. I have made multiple trips to both the North and South Island for both climbing and general tourism. There are so many fond memories when I think about my time spent in that adventurous wonderland, though climbing until sunset on the Castle Rock Pinnacles in the Coromandel Peninsula is certainly among my fondest. Getting a brain freeze after duck-diving a wave while surfing on the West Coast is a bittersweet memory. Abseiling the final waterfall in Robinson Creek Canyon is possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve seen with my own eyes and running the Wanaka Skyline Traverse is the hardest I’ve pushed my body. Incredible stand-alone experiences, though none of these experiences would have been so rich without the beautiful souls that accompanied me on each journey.
How do you balance climbing with taking photos? Balance isn’t a word I would have previously used to describe my climbing. Until this year, I had been utterly obsessed with spending every spare moment climbing in some fashion. This year however, taking photos has created balance by providing goals outside of performance. Since taking photography seriously, I believe it has been 50/50 climbing/photography - a refreshing routine that has only been good for my climbing. Some days I set out with the intention of devoting my time completely to taking photos, though I almost never do. There always seems to be one hard move or one funky crux that I can't help but try just once. My usual routine sees me taking photos in the early hours of the day, climbing for a few hours of the day and taking photos during my rest periods and then trying my best to capture the golden hour before sunset. |
Mungo Skyring (@mungo_) on Junkyard Dog (24/5.11c) at The Junkyard Cave, Campbelltown, NSW, Australia.
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Do you have any particular goals around photography?
I hope, through my work, I am able to create a sense of community, especially in my local area (Nowra). During the past months I have noticed that I love not only climbing photography, but photography of people in general. Storytelling is my passion. I wish to continue to find and capture moments of the amazing people I'm surrounded by. I’m most proud of photos I’ve taken when someone sends their project or breaks into the next grade. Not only do those pictures capture a special memory for the climber, they also allow me to share the experience with the rest of the climbing community. It is my goal to continue being ready for awesome moments like that. If even one person is inspired to try a new route or climb with a new partner because of one of my photos, I’ll be stoked.
Rob Saunders (@1momentum) on Dr. Pepper (28/5.12d) at The Secret Cave, Queensland, Australia.
Is photography your profession or are you working (or going to school) in some other field?
Photography is not my profession. Currently I am working at my local climbing gym as a coach, guide, and route setter. It’s been 5 years since I started at Hangdog Climbing gym as a party host and since then have become involved in all other aspects of the gym. For the past few years however, I have spent the summers living and working in Wanaka, on the South Island of New Zealand. During that time, I continued to work as a Via Ferrata (cable climb) guide. I would meet clients in the morning and over the course of the day, climb with them on a 450-meter tiered waterfall and then fly back to the base via helicopter. An incredible opportunity that I have been extremely lucky to experience and provide to others at WildWire Wanaka.
What are a few songs in your current playlist?
- Kingdom by City Calm Down
- Heartbeats by Giiligan Moss, BETSY
- Panic Room by Au/Ra, Camelphat
Rod Young (@rodyoung1709) on his project at Illawarra Escarpment, Wollongong, NSW, Australia.
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Stefan Mllr (@steve_mllr) on Do The Stangle Dangle at The Grotto, Nowra, NSW, Australia.
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Do you have a memorable climbing story you’d like to share?
A few occasions come to mind when I first read this question, though my first climbing experience in New Zealand stands out way above the rest. It’s a tale of two green climbers who bit off a little more than they could chew.
In March 2018 I boarded a flight bound for Queenstown, New Zealand - a tourist hotspot reputed for Its ability to provide action-packed days and raging parties by night. Although an incredible destination of its own, I didn’t intend to stay long. Upon arrival I was met by my close friend of 10-years, Patrick Gray. When I first saw Pat standing barefooted in the car park awaiting my arrival, I screamed “WE’RE IN NEW ZEALAND BABY!!!” at the top of my lungs, just to make sure our trip started with a bang. I didn't look around to see who noticed my antics, instead I squeezed the hell out of my mate whom I hadn’t seen for a year. He went a little red in the face with excitement and embarrassment of my typical entrance.
Pat told me, “We should get a move on,” because he’s been avoiding paying for a parking ticket by doing laps of the car park. Within minutes, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Pat’s Honda, bags packed, zipping along the highway.
“I’ve got an expedition planned out for us,” Pat told me with a beaming smile. “We’re heading down to Fiordland to climb a route called the Bowen Allan Corner.” Pat sat on the edge of his seat, behind the wheel as he continued to tell me that the route lies in the Darran Mountains, is a grade 17 (5.9) trad route and 180 meters (590 feet) long. I was both excited and nervous by his announcement because, though his plan sounded fantastic, I had never climbed in an alpine environment and I really didn't have that much trad experience.
“She’ll be right,” I thought to myself as we continued our journey south. It was dark by the time we arrived at Homer Hut, though we didn't intend on paying for accommodation. Instead, Pat pulled the car behind some trees and laid his sleeping mat next to the rear tyre. “You can sleep in the car; I'd prefer the fresh air tonight.” he said.
Having just arrived in the country, I was overwhelmed by the cold and started to think Pat's a mad-man for opting to sleep on the ground. When I got in the car, I saw that the seats didn’t fold all the way down and Id have to sleep bent like a banana. I quickly realised why Pat didn't mind the cold. I cleared hordes of climbing equipment from the boot of Pat's car and rolled out a thin layer of foam. I put my head down and immediately drifted off to sleep.
When I woke at first light, I was jaw-dropped by the view. Steep mountains as far as the eye could see rose up into the sky, blocking the horizon like the teeth of a shark. I imagine my reaction looked like a scene from a movie when the main actor takes drugs for the first time. Where the camera zooms in on the protagonist's eyeball as his pupils dilate with euphoria. If I was nervous during the drive, now I’m honestly scared. I was still eager to see what was next, though, so we had a quick breakfast of porridge (oatmeal) and peanut butter and started the approach.
Pat pointed to a saddle between two mountains and said it should take us about 40-minutes of hiking to get there. By the time we reached the saddle my legs were burning and the cold air stung my lungs. From here, we had to traverse a ridge that lead us to the base of the biggest wall of rock I’d ever seen. From this point, Pat pointed out the route and told me that all we have to do is “end up in that huge corner at the top of the mountain.”
We were met by our first obstacle right after leaving the saddle. A particularly narrow section of the ridge that culminates both sides of the saddle into a spine of rock like a knife blade. We discussed the idea of using a rope though It was quickly decided that “we’ve got it” and Pat walked the plank first. I snapped a picture and then followed his lead.
In March 2018 I boarded a flight bound for Queenstown, New Zealand - a tourist hotspot reputed for Its ability to provide action-packed days and raging parties by night. Although an incredible destination of its own, I didn’t intend to stay long. Upon arrival I was met by my close friend of 10-years, Patrick Gray. When I first saw Pat standing barefooted in the car park awaiting my arrival, I screamed “WE’RE IN NEW ZEALAND BABY!!!” at the top of my lungs, just to make sure our trip started with a bang. I didn't look around to see who noticed my antics, instead I squeezed the hell out of my mate whom I hadn’t seen for a year. He went a little red in the face with excitement and embarrassment of my typical entrance.
Pat told me, “We should get a move on,” because he’s been avoiding paying for a parking ticket by doing laps of the car park. Within minutes, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Pat’s Honda, bags packed, zipping along the highway.
“I’ve got an expedition planned out for us,” Pat told me with a beaming smile. “We’re heading down to Fiordland to climb a route called the Bowen Allan Corner.” Pat sat on the edge of his seat, behind the wheel as he continued to tell me that the route lies in the Darran Mountains, is a grade 17 (5.9) trad route and 180 meters (590 feet) long. I was both excited and nervous by his announcement because, though his plan sounded fantastic, I had never climbed in an alpine environment and I really didn't have that much trad experience.
“She’ll be right,” I thought to myself as we continued our journey south. It was dark by the time we arrived at Homer Hut, though we didn't intend on paying for accommodation. Instead, Pat pulled the car behind some trees and laid his sleeping mat next to the rear tyre. “You can sleep in the car; I'd prefer the fresh air tonight.” he said.
Having just arrived in the country, I was overwhelmed by the cold and started to think Pat's a mad-man for opting to sleep on the ground. When I got in the car, I saw that the seats didn’t fold all the way down and Id have to sleep bent like a banana. I quickly realised why Pat didn't mind the cold. I cleared hordes of climbing equipment from the boot of Pat's car and rolled out a thin layer of foam. I put my head down and immediately drifted off to sleep.
When I woke at first light, I was jaw-dropped by the view. Steep mountains as far as the eye could see rose up into the sky, blocking the horizon like the teeth of a shark. I imagine my reaction looked like a scene from a movie when the main actor takes drugs for the first time. Where the camera zooms in on the protagonist's eyeball as his pupils dilate with euphoria. If I was nervous during the drive, now I’m honestly scared. I was still eager to see what was next, though, so we had a quick breakfast of porridge (oatmeal) and peanut butter and started the approach.
Pat pointed to a saddle between two mountains and said it should take us about 40-minutes of hiking to get there. By the time we reached the saddle my legs were burning and the cold air stung my lungs. From here, we had to traverse a ridge that lead us to the base of the biggest wall of rock I’d ever seen. From this point, Pat pointed out the route and told me that all we have to do is “end up in that huge corner at the top of the mountain.”
We were met by our first obstacle right after leaving the saddle. A particularly narrow section of the ridge that culminates both sides of the saddle into a spine of rock like a knife blade. We discussed the idea of using a rope though It was quickly decided that “we’ve got it” and Pat walked the plank first. I snapped a picture and then followed his lead.
Pat Gray during the approach to Bowen Allan Corner.
An hour passed and we were finally standing at the base of the wall, straining our necks as we tried to distinguish the route. Our topo-like view at the saddle was now replaced with a vertical ocean of rock and we were dazzled. We searched the base of the wall for initials marking the start of the climb but found nothing. The search continued for more than an hour without any certainty that we’ve found the route. After much debate I believed I found the line and convinced Pat we should start to climb. We talked about how late in the day it was, and he agreed we should get moving. I put an entire double rack of cams and nuts on my harness, accompanied by slings, draws and my GoPro and I was off.
I climbed for about 30 meters (100 feet) and found myself below a small roof of about a body length. Convinced I was on the right path, I placed a piece at the back of the roof and then heaved myself out and over the lip using a thin finger-sized crack. Immediately the rope drag was horrendous, and I regretted placing the gear where I did. I made a few more moves and now was standing on a bare slab with my fingers locked into the thin crack with my feet pasted against the wall. It was at this point I realised I didn't have any gear left on my harness to protect the finger crack. My legs started to shake. The thought of sliding down the slab and whipping off the roof terrified me. “WTF am I doing here!?” I moaned to myself. Up and to my right another 5-meters I could see a hold, so I kept on climbing. As I approached the hold, my breath was heavy, and my body started to quiver. I had the realisation that I’m on the side of a big mountain and I have no idea what I’m doing.
The drag of the rope on my harness felt like I was towing a car. I started to panic. I held my breath as I made a small lunge to the hold. To my wildest nightmares, the hold breaks. I think I could have soiled myself in that moment if my cheeks weren’t clenched tighter than a fish’s behind. With the fear of death in my mind I cranked as hard as I could on my left hand and held a slip. I would have given anything in that moment to be sitting at home doing jack-all by this point. My only option was to run it out a little longer and I finally reached a ledge. From this point I looked across to my right about 15 meters (40 feet) where I saw a collection of slings wrapped around a horn of rock. Immediately I realised that It’s the top of the first pitch and I’m most definitely not on the route.
I belayed Pat to the ledge and he’s all blasé about the pitch and the exposure. I told him about my horrible experience, and he said, “I wondered why it was taking so long.” We swapped whatever gear was left on my harness and Pat took off climbing without much hesitation. The whole time he was on lead I couldn't stop thinking about how overwhelmed I was and that maybe this wasn’t such a good warm up for the trip. Arriving at the end of pitch two, I shared my concerns with unknowing-Pat. He agreed that maybe we’d be better off trying again tomorrow. We rapped to the ground, back-traced our steps along the ridge, and made our way back to the car. Enjoying a cup of hot tea, we laughed hysterically about what happened and started to plan our return for the following day.
Dillion Soin (@dylan_soin) on Skin to Skin (29/5.13a) at Thompson_s Point.
CHECK OUT MAX'S INSTAGRAM: @southcoastclimber