HEART OF STEEL WRAP UP

By Kaleigh Bush

On January 30th, the Boston Rock Gym and Evolv hosted the second annual Heart Of Steel climbing competition. Hundreds of climbers and spectators packed the facility like a can of sardines on Saturday morning to behold a spectacle that unfolded in a style not foreseen by anyone.

The event, spearheaded by Gavin Heverly and Max Zolotukhin, was the product of countless hours spent turning wrenches and toiling over piles of climbing holds in order to satisfy a vision cast by raw ingenuity. The route setters aimed to upstage last year’s event by crafting truly innovative boulder problems and bestowing them upon competitors in a format that would trump prior efforts within the industry to blaze a trail for the future of bouldering competitions.

The qualifying competition was by no means mild-mannered. With more than double last year’s turn out, each bouldering room was at capacity teeming with climbers eager to take a stab at every boulder problem within the varied ranges of ability. The main bouldering room erupted in “oohs” and “aahs” whenever a daring climber flew over the heads of a brimming crowd on one of the more dynamic routes, either sticking an impressive finish or falling onto a pile of spotters like a crowd surfer. With so many motivated competitors anxious to fill up their score cards, the preliminary competition was a sincerely cut-throat redpoint round. Final scores were determined by the top six boulder problems with falls indicated but only detrimental in the event of a tie.

After scores were tallied, finalists were announced: Sidney McNair, Francesca Metcalf, and Sasha DiGiulian would go head-to-head on the female finals problems; Rob D’Anastasio and Vasya Vorotnikov qualified for first and second men’s finals slots while Michael Bautista and Zeb Engberg tied for the coveted third place slot right down to the number of falls taken. As promised by the Heart Of Steel guidelines, only three males and three females would duke it out in the finals competition, so a sudden-death boulder problem was set in a deciding round that sent Bautista to finals.

The strongest climbers who entered the competitive arena for the day performed beyond the route setters’ expectations and, consequently, the finals routes had to be tweaked in order to present a challenge to the finalists. Route setters modified the finals problems behind the scenes while Taylor de Lench premiered his movie Sick: Climbing In New England.

At 6pm, the Heart Of Steel’s level of intensity soared to new heights after a tarp was dropped to lay bare the amended first finals problems. Behind a smokescreen, spotlights, and a soundtrack governed by climactic industrial and metal music, an already unorthodox climbing competition was transforming into an epic production of a finals round. While cash was being taped inside of boxes along the course of the first finals problems, Gavin explained the rules of engagement: each finals problem was endowed with a $200 cash value for each competitor’s attempt. Within the ten minute time parameter set for each climber, the problem could be attempted an unlimited number of times and the only goal was to pull as much money off of the wall as possible. The cash left hanging after the ten minutes expired would be awarded to the first place male and female finalists. After the finalists previewed the problems, they went to war in a face-off boasting a more similar appeal to an episode of American Gladiators than to your traditional bouldering finals competition. All of the female finalists flashed their first problem in an impressive display of fortitude, still managing to outperform the expectations of the route setters. Meanwhile, Bautista dyno’d to his final bill in a fit of bouldering theatrics and Vorotnikov pleased the crowd by fluidly breaking intended beta and easing the plight of a long, exhausting boulder problem that climbed more like a sport route.

Finally, it was time for the mob of spectators to relocate for the second finals problem where, as Gavin had confidently promised earlier, “minds would be blown.” It was then that a second tarp collapsed to unveil the event’s main attraction: the Dark Crystal. The Dark Crystal is a diamond shaped climbing feature littered with climbing holds that dangled in mid-air attached to an adjoining climbing wall. No words can do the revealing moment of the Dark Crystal justice; only a panoramic view of the hundreds of jaw-dropped thunderstuck witnesses to its grandeur. Gavin quickly noted that the looks on the finalists faces upon preview were like, “this isn’t bouldering! What the hell is going on in this room right now?!” The spectators immediately thought the same thing. But nothing short of sheer bouldering insanity ensued thereafter.

The finalists, after a jam packed day of seriously technical and difficult bouldering, were presented with the challenge of conquering the Dark Crystal during their final climb of the evening. Before a massive crowd, each finalist put his or her heart of steel into gear and battled the Dark Crystal in an adrenaline-fueled duel likened to some obsessive video game rivalry between the player and a monster impeding on his or her triumph. None of these finalists had climbed as hard as they did all day to be put to shame by some outrageous climbing feature, and they were out to prove it by way of brute strength and superhuman trickery. It was exhausting to watch. And afterward, we’re all left with the same questions in mind: how will Heart Of Steel one-up its futuristic display of a finals competition next year? How will it accommodate the increasing multitude of climbers and spectators who want to be a part of it? The sky seems to be the limit for the innovators at the forefront of the Heart Of Steel.

All photos courtesy of George Lucozzi/ASA Photographic

Final results in order of how much money each competitor won are as follows:

FEMALE:

Sasha DiGiulian-     $450

Francesca Metcalf- $450

Sidney McNair-       $300

MALE:

Vasya Vorotnikov- $830

Michael Bautista-    $280

Rob D’Anastasio-    $90

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE: The Florida Climber’s Plight

By Kaleigh Bush

Florida gives rise to a fairly ubiquitous vision: flat sandy beaches mopped by the broken waves of the Atlantic; highway medians adorned with strips of sweeping palm trees; and toe headed, heat intoxicated sunbabies riding their ocean Cadillacs to shore dressed to the nines in sunburns and wetsuits. The vision does not yield mountainous terrain. Nor does casting this landscape likely fortify the climber’s penchant for brisk arid climate and good friction. I’ll also go ahead and assume that the last thing you’d reasonably anticipate from the balmy swamps of Florida is the emergence of a laudable rock climbing community fit to foster the kind of dude whose dexterity on a rock face can hold a candle to that of the most championed climbers on an international scale. But chances are if you’ve visited just about any crag or boulder field in the US and maybe even worldwide, you’ve probably met a handful of Florida climbers. There’s even a good chance they were kind of strong. Maybe not the prized heifer at the county fair, but, arguably, we’ve generated a couple of those as well.

BRG's own (and FL native) Maxim Zoltukhin making an embarrassing spectacle of himself (but crushing none the less) at ABS nationals.

Nick Sherman is from Orlando, but now resides (and kills it) in Boulder, CO.

I was born and raised in Gainesville which is located in north central Florida where, ironically, I started climbing three years ago. It’s worth noting that, less ironically, my loosening ties to Gainesville and the beginning of a disparaging relationship with my home town simultaneously erupted inside of the Gainesville Rock Gym which still stands more than a decade after its inception. The gym is located on the outskirts of downtown within close reach to the bulk of the University of Florida’s student population inhabiting the nearby historic district. Before I started climbing, Gainesville catered almost perfectly to me. Now, I’m hoisting my sails after uniting with a throng of peers who anticipate more enriching locales in the foreseeable future.

It’s no surprise that Florida flaunts several quality climbing gyms, though, because the great enabler for Florida climbers is plastic as there is literally no real rock actually fit for climbing anywhere in the state. Tornado Alley is all the flatland rage, but Florida is in fact the flattest of all the fifty United States. It’s PANCAKE FLAT. The peninsula’s mean elevation is a negligible 100 feet (the highest point being 345 feet at Britton Hill, located near the Alabama border). The closest thing we’ve got in Peninsular Florida to real rock aside from the limestone bedrock that we’re founded on is some naturally occurring limestone exposures just west of Gainesville where privately owned quarries feature some gorgeous walls masquerading as climbing potential. Unfortunately, this limestone makes for second-rate climbing because its quality has proven to be poor and too chossy to scale seriously.

FL native Randy Hill on ABSOLUTION (v12) in Idaho.

Tomfoolery as Gainesville, FL climber John Reger takes the 1st place in Men's Advanced at the Triple Crown Bouldering Series

Matt Segal is from Miami. But is now a well-known climber, North Face athlete, and is pushing the limits of hard trad climbing out in Boulder, CO.

The impossibility of local Florida climbing aside, climbing is habit-forming regardless of where the skill is honed be it outside or indoors. But the general consensus among climbing enthusiasts is that the chief purpose of the climbing gym is its utility as a training implement; the concept is appealing in that it lends climbers a facility for training when the option of climbing outside isn’t available due to adverse weather, being too hard-pressed for time by school or work to spend a day at the crag, or whatever. But I’ve climbed outdoors and indoors enough to realize that the rigid dichotomy between the two environments is as apparent as the contrast between the fibers of plastic and of stone. In the face of this realization, reconciling with the fact that I have to drive for at least seven hours to get my hands on some quality sandstone or granite is quite the cross to bear. Consequently, us Florida climbers who are passionate about what we do are left feeling like salt water fish in a fresh water aquarium when we’re giving it the ol’ college try with nothing at our fingertips but a decent training tool. And when we do get to rock climb, our callouses are sturdy as brick houses but quick weekend climbing trips are too fleeting for our tender fingertips to restore any previous durability. So more than a few good burns on an ultra-crimpy problem and our tips are left pink, shriveled, and nearly deprived of sensation. I won’t even get into the dilemma, regardless of how substantial it may or may not actually be, of how indoor grades stack up against outdoor grades as a system for measuring progress. Is it precise to call yourself a V4 climber if you’re a solid V6 plastic climber but have only topped out V2 outside? Or are indoor grades entirely null and void since indoor climbing is barely even comparable to rock climbing? The debate is probably as contrived as the concept of climbing grades to begin with.

So how do we Floridians satiate our appetites for climbing, then? We train hard inside for brief weekend respite fit for voyaging to the prominent southeast boulder fields and crags that rally flocks of climbers from all over, performing at all different levels of difficulty, most notably during the three months that encompass the popular Triple Crown bouldering series. But the unrelenting desire to touch real stone doesn’t subside during the off-season which is a truth that remains self-evident in climbing documentaries like SubtleSqueeze’s Summer Sessions series. Aside from Horsepens-40 (Steele, AL), the Stone Fort (previously Little Rock City, located in Chattanooga, TN), and Hound Ears (the private boulder field open to the public one day a year for the Triple Crown competition), we’ve got an adequate supply of other options available to us within reasonable distance. (The main difference between the Florida climber and anyone else is probably the concept of a “reasonable distance” for traveling to climb, I suppose.) Rock Town is located nearby in extreme northwest Georgia between Atlanta and Chattanooga. A recent favorite to a crew of Florida climbers is Rumbling Bald situated near Chimney Rock, NC which flaunts the best winter climbing in North Carolina because of its perfect southern exposure. Also, there’s a plethora of boulder fields and crags supplying the climbing community with plenty of first ascents that have yet to be achieved in and around Chattanooga, which largely remain locals-only hotspots for now. But the crown jewel of the climbing season for me and my friends is the annual new year’s pilgrimage to the bouldering mecca of the US that is Hueco Tanks located outside of El Paso, TX. My first year as a flatland climber, I was unfit for the approach into the boulders that Hueco accessibility demands. I wasn’t prepared for my first plunge into the sheer western beauty that is Hueco until last year. This indian reservation cradled by its own delicate history is littered with countless perfect boulders crafted from unusual rock formation and is nothing like anything climbable anywhere I’ve yet to visit on the east coast (pseudo-primitive desert camping in a three season tent was reminiscent of Florida when I woke up covered in sand following every blustery night, though). Floridians faithful to this tradition drive for almost twenty-four hours to the border city of El Paso every year, unless they opt to fly. This trip, to me, is a significant source of motivation for inspiring another long year of gruelling indoor training and a handful of familiar southeast climbing excursions.
So, there are rock climbers in Florida. There are definitely surfers in Colorado. We’re undoubtedly among the unorthodox and would probably rather be somewhere else more conducive to our respective lifestyles, but we all get by finding a way to do what we love. And we love climbing as much as the next guy. I would also argue that being a Florida climber and having friends locally who are pivotal in the greater climbing community fosters a unique brand of pride that emanates from all of us who know what it’s like to have to set aside entire weekends for climbing in order to rock climb at all. Most of us either put climbing on the back burner when real life kicks in at the onset of real adulthood, or we move out of Florida and build our lives around climbing as a priority. Regardless, one day I will move out of Florida and build my life around climbing as a priority, which speaks volumes about the powers of passion. And my parents’ ceaseless wonder about where the hell they went wrong.