Queen Bee: A Learning Process

    Ever since I "sent the mega-rig", I've been trying to figure out how I want to express my experience. I have multiple unfinished articles. Despite the name of my blog, I don't want to spray too much (only a little bit). It gets old when someone describes every hold on the route in 4K. You know the pros in movies? "I take this Gaston, it's pretty bad. Two fingers and a thumb, then I drop into this crimp, it's like 10mm" (Jokes on me those are the crux holds). It felt great to climb, but the experience I'm left with feels to be more about overcoming something in my mind. I began trying Queen Bee full of doubt, but I finished it with a renewed belief in myself as a climber.

(Tim Banfield)

    I had heard of the route from friends, and knew coming into this season that I wanted to hop on it. The first day at Paradise Wall, I found myself surrounded by climbers I knew to be very accomplished. It was intimidating, to say the least. Someone helped me with the beta as I worked my way up on my first attempt. I remember it feeling so hard. On those first few days, I only tried the bottom section of the route. It's thirty-five meters long, with four distinct cruxes: The roof, the crimps, the slopers, and the down climb. In my first three sessions I did the crimps in isolation but one time, and it took me six sessions to even climb to the top of the route.    

Coming out of the roof (Tim Banfield)

     

Small on the wall.

What am I doing here? This is too hard.

    I knew I had to stick to a process. My weekends consisted of fun trad climbing, while on Tuesdays and Fridays I would head up to Queen Bee. I was grateful to be mostly joined by my good friend Gavin, who was also trying the route. I would quietly let myself into his kitchen to warm up my oatmeal at 6am on Tuesdays. I'd listen to the microwave hum as I washed the residue antihydral off my hands from the night before. I love the stillness of an early morning. Hamish would also come belay me some mornings; he's such a good friend. I continued my efforts, but I suffered from self doubt. I partially regretted telling anybody I had been trying it. "How did it go today?" my friends asked. While I appreciated their genuine support, I began putting more pressure on myself. I just wanted to feel like I had a chance at doing it. I'll always remember a quote that lived on the wall of the club cabin where I ski raced as a kid:

"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fall."

Moving up to the rest (Tim Banfield)

Resting after the crimps.

    I finally started to believe it was possible for me around session eight. I remember linking much of the top half of the route. I could visualize climbing the whole thing. I knew that if I could do the crimps from the ground, I would maybe be able to send it. On my tenth session, I started up. I climbed the crimps from the ground, and found myself shaking out at the good rest before attempting the top half of the route. Frantic thoughts ran through my mind. Am I sending?  No. Focus. What if I do it? Oh my god I could do it! My legs shook, and I barely maintained composure. Next thing I knew, my foot slipped and I was off the wall, swinging in air, feeling defeated. That was my chance.  I came back the next morning to try again, and upon grabbing the sharp crimp I split my finger wide open. Hamish lowered me to the ground and my finger throbbed as blood pumped out of the cut. I knew it wouldn't be that easy, but that wasn't the experience I wanted anyways.

There's a less PG photo without tape.

    One week later, Gavin and I hiked up to the crag. It was my thirteenth session. I was leaving for the Bugaboos the next morning so today was my shot to do it before I wrecked my body in the alpine. I knew that once I got back it would take a couple weeks to get back in shape. I wasn't worried about it though. We chatted about things non-climbing. At the crag, two other locals showed up for a pre-work climb. The vibe was so relaxed. I did my usual warm up, and then rested while I belayed Gavin as he climbed on the bottom section. Next thing I knew I had tied in and was moving up the route. I think I made a joke as I started, but I can't remember about what. I was on autopilot. I blinked and I was through the crux, resting at the jugs. I took in the view while I rested, which I hadn't yet done. I was usually so hyper focused on the rock in front of me. I remember thinking how beautiful the valley was that morning. It was cool for the first time in a while, and the conditions were perfect. I continued climbing without agitation to send or fear of failure. I was patient at the rests, and moved fluidly over the terrain. I climbed with great effort, but also with precision and a feeling of grace. I clipped the chains, and waited a moment before saying "take". I sat back in my harness, put my face in my hands, and smiled in disbelief. One moment you haven't done it, and the next you have. Just like that, it was over.

Moving up to the slopers (Tim Banfield)

    It was the experience I had been looking for. I'm sure I have lots of projecting ahead of me in all my years of climbing, but I think I'll always remember this process. I'll remember how impossible it felt in the beginning and how easy it felt at the end. I'll remember to remain persistent, determined, and level-headed, even when I cut my finger. I'll also remember sharing the experience with those who joined me at the crag. I am ever-grateful to have had the company of my good friends, and to be able to share the climbing experience with them. While I love projecting hard like that, it's only a part of how I want my climbing to feel. I think I'll wait until the Fall to jump into something hard like that again. For now, I've been itching to trad climb as much as I can, and I'm excited for the many adventures the rest of the summer holds in store.