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World Cup in Boulder, CO Not Bouldering

For many it came as a shocker: the IFSC World Cup, which came to Boulder for the first time ever, had nothing to do with bouldering.

Who does THIS when they climb?

Sport climber at World Cup displays bad bouldering form, somehow still crushes the tall boulder problem.

Many were astounded to see “slackline diapers” at the event, since Boulder is eponymous with its favorite sport and loves pebble-wrestling, and in the past has seen such well-rounded talent as Daniel Woods, the Tiger Woods of the Boulder community, who’s probably the son of Tiger Woods, and reputedly has a great swing.

Faculty members and staff did not understand why the estimated difficulty of  the 45-foot problems hardest move was 8 or 9 on the V-scale.

Said one spectator, “I paid $15, and I was like, ‘They can only climb V8?'”

“Slackline diapers” worn by the out-of-towners did little to impress the those watching online at

Why is there a rope?

Angela Reiter of Austria, straining to do the V4 move.

According to the Daily Camera, the number of people who watched people who did not boulder for two days reached 1200, and tickets were sold at the door for $50 when the event sold out.

UBC Burlington – The Unreleased Story

A big competition just wrapped up in Burlington, and this year athletes and staff faced a big obstacle bigger than any other they’ve ever faced: the sky.

100% humidity slowly settled over Burlington and the town was muffled by anti-friction forces, post-poning semi-finals for the UBC pro-tour and trapping several dozen athletes behind the wall with limited provision and a single port-a-potty. After hours of waiting, a fine drizzle negated initial rescue plans, and once reality sank in, the group prepared themselves for a four-hour siege from the heavens, escaping to their respective eating spots in the isolation area to bundle up and mull the possible predicaments they could encounter.

Then the impossible happened:

The athletes ran out of energy bars, pretzels, and gummy bears, leaving only the free coffee and a meager helping of pizza leftover from the day before.

Athletes were informed several hoarders had been stashing free power bars – and there was a gleam of hope that more would be supplied in time to save us. I saw Brian Kim walk by while I was stretching, and noticed mint-colored wrappers poking out from his jacket pockets. In Brian’s defense I probably had twenty or so myself.

While plotting to run away with the rest of the ClifBar box to increase the chances of my own survival (something involving an explosion of white chalk, intricate dodging sequences, and the port-a-potty’s last toilet paper square) – humanitarian supplies were sent in. A solo-mission setter by the name of Chris Danielson brought us earplugs, and a masseuse was provided by NE2C for those in the worst physical condition.

But the situation was still dire. Nadya and I used the last of my camera battery to make a short video so the world would see our story.

We were in the middle of deciding who would be first first to feed the rest – voluntarily of course – when the first climbers, miraculously, were sent out to their boulder problems.

Unfortunately, we had already eaten Brian Kim.



Reporter’s note – “We didn’t notice Brian Kim was gone until a few days later.” Friends say they are very used to the quiet of a humble man. “Not much has changed.”



Duttle Claims Sarchasm

“Take up!” A fat drop landed magnificently in the center of my eyeball. I had seen it falling from three hundred feet up, and was too tunnel-visioned to close my eyes for the inevitable D-Day.

“Climbing! Slack!” I yarded rope, feeding the hungry yanks of a scared clip.  It’s been three years since I’ve really lead outside, and the result was terrifying.

Don’t fall – don’t fall, I told myself at first. It turned into a whispered mantra of “Don’t look up, don’t look up…” He always took, except twice. Day one of our venture, a foot broke on the finality of the crux. The day we filmed, the wall was seeping so loudly I could hear a waterfall in the right dihedral.

On day two, Duttle sent Sarchasm.

A 5.14b, at 11,500 ft or so, atop a steepish 4 mi hike, is no joke – Tommy must have loved it. I talked to Jim Redo about the story that he’d called up Tommy to dare him to FA the route, and he pointed to one of the pictures in Movement above the water fountain, at the very center, and said, “Yup. That thing right there?” (That picture had been my phone’s internal wallpaper for 5 months.)

I signed on as a partner the first day because hiking was a great way to get endurance in preparation for the World Cup, since I couldn’t afford a gym membership, and the BRC was full of strangers – so we hiked the 8 mi up and down, and Nick Duttle locked all the moves that day, until his foot broke yet another piece of the climb. Despite my brave comments on the hike – “This hike is-,” very heavy panting, “-piss!” – the hike destroyed my legs. All together, the three days added up to 24 miles. On the last day, I think Duttle was hiding the fact his bag was full of 5lbs of light clothing, until I lifted it just before hiking down and almost tripped into the large broken talice.

It was funny, being his belayer. From the beginning, I just wanted to hike. Then everyone kept asking, “Where you the one who belayed him?” “Yes,” I had replied – the feeling of pride rising from a warm fuzzy place in my ego.  “I was the one who belayed Nick Duttle on the send go. I’m that one person. I belayed him. Hail me.”