Hanging off cliffs from fingers
Rock climbing as a sport has intrigued and captivated millions of participants and admirers. For many, once hooked, it is far more than an obsession, it is a lifestyle.
Climbing rocks and faces for the sport of it has become something of a worldwide phenomenon in the modern era. With adrenaline rushes and high risk endeavours appealing to more and more people around the globe, rock climbing has become one of the biggest adventure sports in the 21st century.
Indeed, it is so much of what this site is about. But is not only about being on the edge of life and death – it’s about sharing the rope, the friendships and the memories that last a lifetime, and the grace of moving over the rock as if weightless, the ultimate sense of freedom.
It’s about solving intricate gymnastic type problems that initially seem completely impossible, and the elation in overcoming the preconceived limitations we set for ourselves both in the body and the mind.
And it’s about the stories and the epics, the road trips and the lifestyle.
For so many of Superclimb’s 11 years, I too was gripped by the world of climbing. In many ways it shaped many of my early adult years. I was drawn to the all the aspects mentioned above, and looking back on this time of my life now brings great joy and satisfaction.
An article I wrote back in 2002 captures many of these thoughts and feelings. It recounts a rather long day out in Namibia, on the 700 metre high granite inselberg, known to most as Spitzkoppe:
How could we resist. Andre and I both agreed that it was a project long over due. We had always been off climbing in other parts of the world during the midyear July season, the perfect and only really practical time to be climbing in the desert, or had been put off by the long drive from Johannesburg. But as we sat on the floor of my Sea Point flat with the blue Atlantic Ocean stretching away north into the haze; maps on the floor and cups of coffee on the table, it all seemed to make perfect sense. Climbing trips often just seem to fit, and this one was no exception.
Within eight days we were on our way north in my little red Mazda ‘Sting’, which we dubbed the Kalahari Ferrari, stocked up climbing gear and vegetables (Andre had this idea to only take vegetables, which turned out to be a cool idea and a welcome break from two minute noodles, ‘Royco Pasta and Sauce’ and ‘Tuna Mate’.
We stopped off in Windhoek for the night and spoke to Steven De Wet, the chairman of the Namibia Section of the Mountain Club, as well as his wife and other climbers. Spitzkoppe loomed ever closer. We could feel our dream coming true.
Spitzkoppe can be seen from the main road between Windhoek and Swakopmund, about 120 kilometres from the coast. This makes the peak accessible and has become increasingly popular amongst tourists and large overlander trucking trips. Obviously there was a contingent climbers scattered about, but the area is big enough to find a secluded spot to camp and make a base. The first day we just drove around gapping at the extraordinary spectacle that we had come to climb.
Within a day we had tested out our friction climbing abilities and were ready to have a crack at the main summit. We, being the mere mortals that we are, chose the ‘normal’ route which goes at about grade 17 at most, and was recommended as a ‘classic’ from our friends in Windhoek. The route is an audacious climb including a long and unlikely approach, followed by five pitches of reasonably graded yet horribly exposed friction climbing.
We started up early, as we knew the route was long and wanted to get an early start ahead of the sun. The route starts up the northeastern reaches of the peak, and is a walk up for perhaps two thirds of the way. Then things get interesting. We admittedly got a little lost amongst all the boulders and were not sure where we were, as we entered a chimney. We knew the scramble to the base of the climb included a chimney, and, checking the book, Andre became convinced we were a couple of metres from the start of the route. Little did we know then!
Ignorance is bliss and I followed him through a vertical wormhole that lead around a corner to a 400-metre drop off straight to the bottom of the mountain. A belly flop on to a sloping boulder under a roof gave access to a thin feature in the cliff from where an off angled layback perhaps a foot wide and 8 metres high lead to a huge gully. Andre soloed up and shouted words of encouragement while I pondered the thought all that air below me. Calling for a rope would have been a waste of time and besides, it would have dented my pride, so I gingerly followed up, trying not to think how stupid it would be if I fell and died in such unnecessary circumstances.
It all worked out and we took stock. We were actually only at the very beginning of the scramble which followed the gully for a couple hundred metres. The epic, it seemed, was only beginning. The second obstacle was a wet, slimy sloping block in an overhang. Andre scrambled up and I began, my feet on the slimy surface and my hands behind me on the sloping roof above. Just at the top my feet gave way as my hands failed to gain something above me, and I went crashing back down to the start of the obstacle. A little shaken but largely unhurt, I tried again determined not to use a rope, and resolved the move.
We continued up. A small entrance to cave like tunnel leading up at a steep angle into the inky darkness followed. Andre went up and got stuck, as the angle steepened even further. I was called to assist and, putting on my climbing slippers clambered up into the hole. Andre seemed to have gone two far into the corner of the cave, and so chimneying and resting on his elbow I climbed above him to where it opened out a bit and I could stand. Andre sorted out our packs and came up on the rope.
Things got easier and soon we were back out in the sunshine, looking into the next chimney. This was the famous ‘three step chimney’ Andre thought we had reached all those hours ago now, and we hastened to make up for lost time. The chimney was a metre wide, about 50 metres deep and dark, the walls stretching high above you into the darkness. It had a foreboding presence about it, like entering a pharaoh’s tomb. Each step was about three metres high and posed little difficulty to surmount. Above the third step the tunnel narrowed considerably to the left, until a hole barely enough to squeeze through offer the only means out the other end.
Being the slimmer of the two, I went first, wriggling and squirming up, until at last I was through. Andre, unfortunately, made some heavy weather of the obstacle, understandably due to the larger torso and heightened sense of claustrophobia. He pushed, pulled, squirmed, squeezed, swore and cursed, but still he could not fit. I pulled on his arms and he grabbed at my feet, trying to lever and break free, but to no avail. Our only option was for me to climb back in and push from below.
Back down into the darkness I squeezed, following Andre back into the tunnel until it was wide enough for us to pass each other. Andre now worked his way back to the hole, and I positioned myself securely underneath him, ready to push. And so it continued. Andre stood on my hands, shoulders, head, whatever he could as I pushed and willed him through from below. Like a newborn baby he finally emerged from the hole, but not without supreme struggle and endurance. Finally, the scramble was over.
From this point one follows down a small gully to a ledge. A ten-metre abseil gives access to a lower ledge, from which the start of the climb commences. It was a committing moment as we pulled our rope through, as we now had no way of regaining the upper ledge save finishing the route. It was now early afternoon and we were hungry. We had tried to buy bread from the local store the day before, but none had arrived from the nearest town. Come back later they encouraged us, come back at 4pm, no-no come back at 8pm, no-no tomorrow morning 8 am etc. Eventually we resolved to cook a potato salad. This we undercooked and, after a night of standing looked so unappealing in the morning we figured two oranges, a pineapple and a little bit of chocolate would do. Nine hours later we shared our first orange…
The first summiteers chiselled holes into the first pitch before they realised they could smear/friction climb if the gradient was not too severe. We used the chiselled holds, and Andre even stood on my shoulders to reach them. It seemed like no time to be spending time figuring out the intricacies when we were so behind schedule, and so short on sustenance. The second pitch followed a fault in the rock, and made for exhilarating climbing, with wild exposure and enough gear to feel safe. It was a sterling lead that Andre pulled off with a cool head.
Pitch three was more of a scramble, and pitch four started with an awkward and difficult take off, followed by a very balancy friction face that lead to the summit chimney. Again, Andre took the lead and climbed confidently like a lizard up a wall. The summit felt within our reach, just above some final cliffs. A narrow, deep chimney was all that separated us from the top.
Andre took one look, and began to mutter, curse and swear. His disliking for chimneys soon got the better of him and before I knew it I was balancing my way up to the entrance. The whole world seemed to fall away below me, as we know almost 700 metres or so off the deck. I peered into the break in the mountain. Surges of adrenalin pulsated through my body and I became determined to finish the climb off no matter what. I launched into the narrow break and pushed and squeezed and squirmed ever deeper into the mountain. It wasn’t difficult at all, just claustrophobic and uncomfortable. I didn’t care. I just wanted it done.
Just as the chimney seemed to give no more, and a huge chamber inside the mountain fell away at my feet, a conveniently placed ledge leading out allowed me to walk out and on to the base of the summit top. Andre followed, choosing to go straight up the face with the safety of a top rope, and saved himself the agony and the bruises of the narrow chimney.
It must have been about 5 pm when we stood on the summit and gazed out at the eternity of space stretched out below us. The desert melted away into the haze of the late afternoon as we signed the book and took some photos. Our car was barely even a speck down below us. It was a good reality check of how far we still had to go, and how late it was getting.
We abseiled back down to the squeeze through hole and made better time getting through the three step chimney, although the darkness soon caught up with us. The rope jammed and we left it, hoping another party could retrieve it for us in the upcoming weeks. I had pulled on it until my hands bled, but it was just proving a waste of precious time and energy. We now only had 50 metres of rope left, but we knew only one short abseil remained before we could safely walk out. We sat down to share our second orange and the chocolate in the darkness.
So the descent continued into the night. Andre had left his headlamp in the car, further slowing our progress. At about midnight we shared the pineapple, which was a lifesaver as we had finished almost all our water. Its juices revived us somewhat and we continued down. Near the bottom, huge slabs yawned off into the darkness below. It was impossible to choose which one was the right one. We were so tired. Concentrating was becoming a problem and I continuously felt faint. In a moment we decided to bivvy, it seemed the only option we could think of that didn’t involve more epicing or dangerous decisions.
We made a fire from a dead tree nearby and warmed ourselves until sunrise. On sun-up the way became clear and we were soon back at the car. We sped off to the shop and bought chocolates, cokes, eggs and of course…bread!! It is amazing how quickly all the pressure melts away after such an experience, and how one’s feeling of elation and achievement quickly override all the pain and frustration.
Recovering from Pulmonary Oedema, perhaps we can claim the first the Pulmonary Oedema case to stand on top of Spitzkoppe, not to mention the likely possibility of the SLOWEST all round ascent of the route!! But as Alex Lowe once said, the best climbers in the world are the climbers having the most fun. Spitzkoppe, we salute you!
Note: Thanks to those climbers who retrieved our rope...much appreciated
Title image of Clinton Martinengo by Dirk Smith; Insert - skyscraper spiderman Alain Robert