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Hobart, Australia
I have dirt up my nostrils and the lichen I brushed off the rock fills my boots. Preparing a new route is like mining for gold, you just keep brushing until a classic is revealed. It’s a grind making a path for climbers to follow but if you have the eye for a line and can see it through, Eureka! |
Dave on his FA of Mr. Bodaceous (5.7). Hobart, Australia. Photo Credit: Douglas Harvey
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But, with this route, I have one issue. There is this tree. Well It’s a minor tree really, a pine-tree-type-of-thing not more than ten feet high but with a stem that is strong. Its roots have haggled out a home with what seems like conviction alone. The cliff got in the way so it just grew out.
The tree on Mr. Bodaceous. Photo Credit: Douglas Harvey
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Here grows my dilemma. This frigg’n tree is rooted in the middle of my climb! It’s below a cruxy bit of climbing and splinters are not my thing and either are splints. Each time I rappel down, that stubborn tree disrupts my attention. It’s healthy green needles reach out towards the morning sun, it adds colour to the Allum cliffs that house it. It looks like they have developed an arrangement of sorts, like an odd couple. So different, but somehow, that tree and that cliff look good together.
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I have become acquainted with some proud trees growing in some precarious places in my climbing life.
In Sydney, there is a crag called, The Cathedral. There was a tree that grew out of the floor of the rainforest at the foot of the cliff. There was no sun down there so it followed the contours of the rock until it could flourish beyond the crag’s shade. The tree became a part of the climb and the name complemented the climbing, “Jack And The Beanstalk.”
The Academy Award of Climbing Trees must go to the lone pine that symbolises the end of The Nose on top of El Capitan. There are photos of the first ascenders sitting beneath it, as well as, modern images that focus on that lonesome pine when climbers break speed records. The most touching still, is to witness climbing pilgrims water it with tears knowing their El Cap dream has finally been accomplished.
The El Cap tree. Connor Herson takes part in top out celebrations. Photo credit: Jim Herson
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That Lone Pine grows stubbornly out of the High Sierra granite. Its roots are anchored in the ancient stone. That pint-sized pine stands guard on the edge of forever, alive and proud like a monk dressed in pine needles. Its symbolism is well known and its beauty radiates.
I think the Lone Pine is a natural end to an ascent of The Nose. It is an alter of thanksgivings and a meeting place of two living things that are not of the rock but live amongst it. As the climber darts up to that Pine Belay the climbers hands and the timber of the tree must marvel at each other’s survival. I challenge you to find a climber who does not finish the Nose, or a nearby route, who doesn’t pat the lonesome pine at the end of his or her climb on El Capitan. It’s a quiet acknowledgement of survival between two living things, touch wood. So trees have a place. Yeah I get it. Trees are a part of the climbers’ story. I know it. Trees are fighters in a hard-ass world of stone. That deserves respect. So what about my tree? I’ve cleaned around it. I’ve had chats to it. I’ve pruned it but I have not destroyed it. I have wanted to, really I have. There it stuck in the middle of a good climb like an annoying sibling who stands in front of the TV during a favourite movie. |
There is a climb at Mount Boyce in the Blue Mountains of Australia called Fire Bug. In 1967 ethics were still Greek to Australians so the first ascent party poured several gallons of petrol down its crack to clear its bushy bum fluff. I’m not sure if I would get away with that today.
What to do?
So now I’m sitting at the base of the new route having a smoke with my climbing partner, Conrad. I ask him,
“Mate.”
He says,
“Yeah bro.”
I say,
“How long have you been climbing?” Conrad has been climbing a long time and in a Mr. Miyagi type of way he says,
“Not as long as that tree, Dave.”
Where do I go with that?
What to do?
So now I’m sitting at the base of the new route having a smoke with my climbing partner, Conrad. I ask him,
“Mate.”
He says,
“Yeah bro.”
I say,
“How long have you been climbing?” Conrad has been climbing a long time and in a Mr. Miyagi type of way he says,
“Not as long as that tree, Dave.”
Where do I go with that?
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It’s a no brainer. If nature has given air to breathe and sun to grow and water to refresh this green fighter then whom am I to interrupt its existence and part in the life of this place? I am here just for a moment and may leave some bolts but this small tree will gather dirt and be a home for the birds. Amongst that dirt and stone It will plant seeds for new life. The tree is a gift that will keep on giving.
So there is my conundrum addressed. This tree will live. The stubborn tree will remind me that there is life on this climb well beyond Conrad and me. This bodacious tree, hanging in there, will now be the apex of my climb. I will pat the old mate as a fellow climber as I respectfully move skywards. |
The tree sits regally below Dave on his climb Mr. Bodaceous. Photo Credit: Douglas Harvey
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