Tom O’Halloran
As humans we crave a challenge. If it were easy, it’d be boring. I don't want to know when, where and how it’s all going to work out. What an uninspiring way to float through the years. I want to get psyched for the seemingly unattainable, try hard, get kicked, get up and go again. I want to explore how I become a better me. How do I get the best out of myself? The destination is the motivator, but not necessarily the answer.
In climbing the redpoint is what truly motivates me to be better. The anchors are the destination in a sense, though perhaps a checkpoint is a better descriptor. Each time you clip them it’s another challenge met and you become better prepared for the next. I want to be a better climber and climb more routes, to continually challenge what I can do year after year.
In my wildest dreams I never thought I’d be where I am today. At 14 I had redpointed 24 and thought if one day I climbed 30, that mythical in the clouds number, I would be the happiest person in the world. I’d never be that good though.
Then one day I climbed 30. However there was no great release and feeling I could put my feet up. I was psyched, but wanted more. Maybe a 31? Each time I achieved the next, I wanted the next. I wanted the challenge and process of intense learning that goes with it all. Dealing with the emotions, doubts, highs and lows becomes an addictive game. It gives substance and grit to the experience. The constant development of skills and searching for a tussle that fights back harder than before. Will there be one that kicks back too hard?
my first ‘proper’ 30. Evil Wears no Pants at Mt Coolum in 2010
At the moment, redpointing is where I feel I can push myself. Finding a line that motivates me to become better and train harder. There have been a few stand out routes over the years. The Wheel of Life, Baker’s Dozen, Kitten Mittens, Little Empty Boat are just a few which made me find something more. Some even made me cry with joy and love for myself. They helped shake away the negative thoughts holding me back, not just in climbing but life in general, but that's another story. All these experiences have culminated in three years of effort down at The Underworld on my project, Hump of Trouble.
topping out the wheel of life. the most incredible feeling
The quick over view of this is as follows. I went to The Underworld for the first time in 2011 just after I moved to the Blue Mountains from Brisbane. I was inspired by how different the climbing was to the rest of the Mountains. I spent sporadic days there over the years, slowly climbing most of the established lines, which must rate as some of the best around. There was still unclimbed rock, lines yet to be bolted. I set my sight on a few intriguing features and put in bolts in 2014.
Two lines, each starting at the same spot, one climbing straight up for five meters to a big break, then a few more meters of easy terrain to the anchor. The other busting out left from the original and taking a line out a steep prow to victory. I dabbled a few attempts just after bolting them but both were waaaaay too hard. In 2016 I went back with gumption and set to work on the straight up. After a few solid days, I climbed the first ascent of Sack of Woe, 34/8c+.
Straight after clipping the anchor I hung my draws on the next project. A process I’ve done hundreds of times, literally. This time however, I had unknowingly opened Pandora’s box. I could hardly do any of the new routes’ 16 moves. I had the first two moves sorted, as it starts as for Sack of Woe, but the sequence changes as you prepare to kick left out to the steep prow. High levels of funk, precision and strength were needed. As well as some help from the weather, very cold dry days were going to be key to getting this done.
My usual redpoint approach is a big picture, broad strokes type deal. I love chasing the feeling and experience of flow. Where body acts independent of the brain and intuition takes control of the wheel. I try really bloody hard when I’m on the wall but there’s ideally not a lot of conscious thought going on. It’s all on feel and subconscious movements. I work out the general flavour of what’s happening, put it in an order then roll the dice a few times until I strike red. Simple. Getting bogged down in details, nuance, and micro bollocks is for the climber who can’t flow, man. Keep it groovy and let the redpoints flow.
After seven or eight days I had finally sorted all the moves, which was six or seven days longer than any other route had ever taken. After several more days, two moves in a row were all I could manage, despite trying really, really bloody hard. Why was it not just coming together? I figured it would’ve fallen together by now. In the past, even when things didn't look favourable, I’d just get it done. But it wasn’t happening this time. Things were strange.
Trying to stay on the rock for more than a brief moment was only half my issue at this point too. It took nearly half a season to work out how to not hit the ground from mid route. Clipping draws was a legitimate crux, the third draw took half a season to figure out. Skipping was not an option here, if you did you’d break your legs. Skipping bolt four is the only option, through that sequence you can’t take a moment even to breathe. Draw five, your two moves from the final jug but the moves are hard and your body will be smoked. I wasn’t sure whether I’d skip this as well, or burn precious forearm juice trying to clip. I considered bringing a boulder pad down to protect the fall on the last move, then remembered I wasn’t in England. I figured out a way of clipping in the end but golly, it wasn’t easy. The odds were quite quickly stacking up against me and I didn't know which way to kick.
Despite all this, I was pretty determined to make it happen. That I was currently up the creek without a paddle, boat, game plan or physical condition didn’t really seem to matter. One day I would climb it. I loved the game.
I set to work, keepin’ the vibes chill and sussing out what was happening. Things progressed inch by inch. Each session resulted in a recognisable version of progress and I felt psyched, but also a tad curious as to when the end would come. More than three moves in a row was a good link at this point. I tried everything I could think of to make the climbing easier, but I couldn't stop falling. I was sure it would happen soon though. Even if the number of clothes I needed to stay warm at the cliff was getting fewer and fewer. Summer was coming.
The result of season one was doing all the moves and linking up to 4 moves together. This thing was hard. Like, proper hard. Proper, proper legit hard. I’ve often thought the breakdown must be about seven move V13 into 9 move V13 with absolutely no rest. Season two would be the time though. I’d train, something I’d never needed to do before. One route just lead to the next and my climbing naturally progressed. This was a different cup of tea though, so I needed to extract something different from myself.
The plan was to specifically train, get a stack of other routes knocked off, have momentum and make the magic happen. I knew what direction to kick now. Trust me. I could feel it.
Season two opened as the streets turned orange, brown and red. I love the feeling of the first cold days. You can taste the sendiness in those gusts.
The first days were bloody awesome down there. I was linking sections I’d never done before. This was a more familiar pre-redpoint feeling. Still nothing ground breaking, but it was there. Soon I’d be holding victory. Anticipation is the best.
Then nothing. Months went by. I had hit a wall, or perhaps a ceiling, a gigantic slap from above. I couldn’t stick move six from the ground. All I could manage was falling. Everything slowed. A few months earlier the send felt like a formality, now I wasn’t so sure.
trying links in the depths of winter ‘18. Photo Kamil Sustiak
I’m an eternal optimist when redpointing. I’m that person who has only just done all the moves and thinks, ‘hey, I reckon I could do this next shot!’ Maybe a few days and some good links later, this process would always lead me to success. I followed the same well-trodden path on Hump of Trouble. I had all the moves sorted; I just needed to get lucky. I’ll get in the flow of the route and it’ll happen. Every day was a redpoint day. I was hungry for it. But I kept on falling, over and over again. The redpoint was meant to have happened now. Actually it was meant to happen months ago! But there was nothing. I needed to change tacks otherwise this was insanity.
I began delving deeper into the minutia of the route. Breaking down each move and looking at what needed to happen for each move to be done and linked into the next. Where are my hips, where does my elbow need to be, which toe is grabbing that hold? I became more aware of where I was in space and the pieces started to fall together. I consciously moved my body into the next position to make the next move. Links became a little more consistent and longer. Had I found the answer?
I think every climb has something to teach you if you let it. Was this my lesson? Did I actually need to start considering the details? I always felt this approach would detract from the intuitive flow to my climbing style. I had so strongly rejected the analytical approach because I wasn’t that type of climber. People had told me how intuitive my climbing looked. I hung my hat on this. Now it seemed, what I had pushed back on so hard was the answer. Really? You can't argue with results. Albeit still shy of a send, progress is progress. I delved deeper.
On the last couple of days of the year I finished with two good high points. The best being falling on move 10 of 16. Which was bloody unreal, but also a tad sobering. I had the second half dialled in and felt sure that when I linked the bottom half I’d just fall my way up to the anchor. At that moment on the last day of the season, the enormity of the route kicked in. It had taken me something like 30 days to climb 10 moves in a row, there were still six to go and I had spent everything I had getting to where I was. Those 10 moves were perhaps the hardest piece of climbing I’d ever done and I was only two thirds done. What was I in for?
Along came season three, 2019. This was going to be the year. I was going to climb that thing. Oh lordy it was going to be the best thing ever. I trained hard in the lead up to Autumn. I had made measurable progress and could feel that finish jug in my right hand.
As with the previous season, I had a very promising start. I made proper progress and within a few days had a new highpoint, then a new highpoint and a new one again. I was so bloody psyched.
Analysing video I was taking of each attempt I could work out why I was coming off. I could see when and how my body was dropping out of position. On the next attempt I’d force into the position and try to snatch the next move. I was cleaning up the lower half of the route as well. Making small adjustments to get it as efficient as possible. Everything was falling into place and I was feeling great. Why had I been so stubbornly resisting this approach? It was gold! I was going to send, baby! I was writing my victory speech now.
Then came another wall. I fell on the second last move quite a few times. And when not falling there I was coming off four to five moves lower. I became so incredibly nervous while climbing. Complete with proper hand shakes, gumby foot placements and a maxed out heart rate. I exhausted every calming technique I could think of but still I was climbing like a jitter bug. My issue was I could feel the send. Clipping those anchors was going to mean so much to me. Each go could be the one. I didn’t want to stuff up the send and got way too deep in my head. I over analysed everything and spiralled into a complete wreck. Where had my flow gone?
I spent hundreds of nights before sleep, rehearsing sequences and problem solving my falling. Having found the analysis method to be the ‘answer’ last season, I thought that was going to be it. ‘Ok, thanks project; I’ve learnt my lesson now. Time to send. Thank you.’ But I had gone too deep into the rabbit hole. It wasn’t the whole answer.
Critical analysis and flow state calm. Can you have progress at your limit by only using one of these approaches? Naively I used to think full dedication to one was the way of the future. Now I see them as symbiotic. The yin and yang of redpointing is the flow of the conscious and subconscious mind. The balance of consciously putting yourself into position to perform through analysis and preparation, then letting your body take over. Let your body surprise the mind with what it can achieve.
This realisation left me with a new mindset at the cliff. I felt freeness to the process and trusted what would happen. Rather than strangling out a redpoint by numbers.
Progress came quickly. I was consistently at the second last move again and getting very close to snagging the dead point to the small slot. Once you hit the slot, you cut feet and paste a right foot to the left and jump for the final jug. Done.
Having now fallen more than 10 times on the second last move I got somewhat used to how it felt. I made every effort to counter this and kept on running laps on the last few moves at the end of each day. So I knew how it felt to hit the move and go to the top.
Then I hit the move from the ground. I had the slot in my left hand and had it well. This was it. Three years of effort was now about to be over. The moment I had waited for. In my sleep I had done this move hundreds of times, perhaps a similar number of times in the flesh. I knew what to do. ‘Mate, you’ve just bloody done it. Quick, lets jump to the jug and it will all be over.’ I jumped up, covered the jug with my right hand, then it was gone. What was happening? I was falling. I was meant to be holding the cliff, not being caught by my belayer. I had punted it. I swore. Then swore again. Then sat swinging at the end of the rope in disbelief, then laughed. What was there left to do?
The attempt felt no different to any other that day. I was feeling good and in flow, knowing I had done everything I could to put myself in position to do my thing. But for that split second when I caught the move I never had, I lost it. Suddenly I was extremely aware of where I was and what that meant. My conscious mind tripped me up and I fell. I got ahead of myself and lost the moment.
As disappointed as I was, I couldn't be too frustrated. I can never get upset with a highpoint on a project. Especially when it’s the hardest piece of climbing I had ever done; new personal best despite a brain snap.
The Olympic preparations took over my life after that and I didn’t get back on it for a couple of months. I had one or two days but had lost my specific route shape. Though I was psyched to spend the time back down at my favourite cliff on my favourite piece of climbing.
Why do I keep coming back to Hump of Trouble I often wonder? Over the years it’s put me through the ringer of emotions. What is it about the route? I spoke with Vince Day on my podcast Baffle Daysin late 2019. In our chat he talked about his relationship with redpointing as well as other personal and business related challenges he faces in life. He said he loves the fight and the push. Digging his teeth in and the stubborn determination. He knows he can achieve a hell of a lot. Even in the intense, deep abyss of the projecting black hole he kept going back to the fight because he knew he had more to give. What is that?
Why do we keep digging in deeper? From the beginning of this process three years ago, I was determined to climb Hump of Trouble. Even with all the bumps and barriers along the way I wanted to keeping going back. My theory is our minds can blank out the ‘failures’ because deep down we know we have more to give.
I wonder sometimes whether there is delusion sprinkled along the path to the dangled redpoint carrot. Or a subconscious desire to discover what we are truly capable of. A mixture of the two? Or are they different ends of the same rope?
Perhaps we just want the challenge of exploring how far we can go, both in climbing and life. Maybe this way of thinking, means we actually get invested in the big improbable tasks. It’s our mind tricking us into a new space where we will grow and learn. In these situations the end may look completely different to what we first thought. What if I never send? But by having travelled the path I’ve grown.
At times, growth can be incredibly tough. The very nature of the idea means you need to explore new places in yourself. Find comfort in the unknown. But that’s what makes it worthwhile. I want to have skin in the game and feel the realness of it all, even if at times it can hurt. I’m sure at some point I’ll invest in a route I’ll never be able to climb. Or follow a life path that hits a dead end. But taking the lessons from this will make me a better partner, Dad, friend and human. I’m pretty psyched for that, however it all plays out.
squeezing as much as I can out of myself. Photo Kamil Sustiak