Oh, joy of joys!  Oh, magical marvel of marvels!  What fortune has entered my life!  What life has replaced that which I thought to be life before…

My new crampons got here last week, and they sure are pretty rad.

The rope goes on forever, and the party never ends.

Some of you may remember that I left a pair on the painful descent from the Sphinx at the beginning of the season.  All things considered, it wasn’t a huge loss; they were broken, anyway – functional yet frustrating – and I was forced from then on to climb in my mountaineering crampons which, in turn, forced me to focus more intently on my footwork.  Without a doubt, this has made me a better climber, and I’m grateful for the improvement.  Still, it was only a matter of time before my capacity to appreciate the extra challenge gave way to lust, and I made sure to point out the newest, shiniest, baddest vertical ice ‘pons on the market when Michelle inquired about potential Christmas gifts.  I think she was a little frightened when I hugged the spiky steel plates like a teddy bear upon receipt, but there was no doubt about my excitement.

They're like sparkling unicorns: beautiful but deadly.

And, man, have they ever delivered…  The few pitches I’ve climbed in them so far have felt a half- to a full-grade easier than they did earlier in the season, and the drastic difference is due to more than just my gradual gains as a climber.  The simple fact is that I’ve traded equipment that’s marginally suited to an activity for equipment that’s built for it, and the difference has been immediate and substantial.  It’s like I’ve skied a full powder season on cross country skis and finally upgraded to the latest composite-core fatties: yeah, I was getting the job done before, but now I’m getting it done with style.

The new crampons make my climbing more efficient, and that’s really the highest compliment you can give a piece of gear.  Energy is precious in the mountains, and every decision I make regarding my gear is (hopefully) in effort to better conserve that commodity.  These new crampons are outfitted with a single vertical point in the front, and the efficiency gains from this monopoint (industry term) are several: the single point displaces less ice than the dual points on mountaineering crampons; the vertical point corresponds to the vertically-oriented ice formation, so the ice is less likely to shear out beneath me; and I can slot the single point into the placements I’ve already made with my ice tools instead of having to kick new steps each time.  Make no mistake, there are people who climb way harder than I do on dual horizontal points, so it’s not like these new crampons will instantly transform me into the climber I want to be.  What they do, though, is make every move on the ice a noticeable fraction more efficient, and that adds up over the course of a climb.

The ice is still abundant in Montana -- from right, "Mummy Cooler II" (WI 3+) and "The Scepter" (WI 5)

Gear’s fun.  It’s fun to buy, it’s fun to play with, it’s fun to master, and, eventually, it’s fun to replace.  I’ve got plenty of it, and, to the untrained eye, a lot of it probably looks redundant.  Why do I need three puffy jackets?  Why do I need three pairs of crampons?  Why do I need eight backpacks and four belay devices?  The obvious answer is that I don’t need all of that stuff.  It’s just that, over time, I begin to notice places were my gear options are compromising my efficiency potential, and I fill in the gaps.  When I started climbing longer routes that required several rappels, my standard single rope became a liability; I got a pair of double ropes to facilitate full-length raps.  When I started climbing a lot of ice and alpine routes that put my ultralight down puffy in regular danger of getting wet, I got a synthetic-fill jacket to guarantee warm belays.  Now, I can take into account variables like weather, route conditions, and overall objective and tailor my gear choices for optimal efficiency.

There are very few things in the mountains that we can truly control, but gear selection is one of them.  Take the time to do it right.  Style is serious business.

Julia Morton, Warrior Princess. Indian Creek, UT

I was cross country skiing out of Crested Butte the other day when my 30-year-old 3-pin binding pulled out of my 30-year-old Nordic skis. As I fumbled with frozen hands to free my boot from the binding, a comforting thought occurred to me: It’s almost climbing season! And the joy of that helped as I post-hole glided home.

The next day, as if on cue, I got an invite to Red Rock, Nevada, land of sport cragging and 10-pitch moderates. “Rock climbing? March? Oh, yeah, Climbing sounds great,” I said loud, slow and obvious, hoping my Nordic skis – which were in timeout in the corner – would overhear. Now, after the initial jubilation has worn off, I’m bracing for a super sore reentry. The closest thing to training I’ve done this winter is pull ups on the rafters of the bus-stop awning to keep warm while waiting for the free town bus. Crested Butte doesn’t have a climbing gym, I’m not much of an ice climber, and my fattening tele thighs are going to be like kicking, wiggling anchors in the air.

But there’s hope: The Rock Warrior’s Way, a book I try to read annually at the beginning of every climbing season. While I can’t pump the forearms, I can still train the brain and keep my spirit ready for the sharp end by revisiting this metaphysical equivalent of a hangboard. In short, The Rock Warrior’s Way revolutionized not only how I climb, but also how climbing fits into my life. Even shorter, The Rock Warrior’s Way made me a happier, healthier human being.  I highly recommend it to climbers of any sort.

For millennia, nearly all cultures have trained and employed warriors: people who either kill or are killed; people who brush death every day at work; people for whom a split second delay is the end. “Essentially, a warrior is an impeccable hunter of personal power,” writes the book’s author, Arno Ilgner. “He gains power by taking forays into the unknown where he focuses his attention, grapples with chaos, and learns from the experience.” Turns out, the way warriors use their attention on even the simplest task can benefit anyone, not just those who get their fight on regularly. Thus, the idea of a Peaceful Warrior. The Rock Warrior’s Way integrates these multicultural philosophies, along with more contemporary Peaceful Warrior philosophy from the likes of Dan Millman (The Way of the Peaceful Warrior) and Carlos Castaneda (Journey to Ixtlan and many others). Ilgner then applies the ideas to the cliff face, where steep run-outs, difficult climbing, sustained exposure, dicey gear or any number of other factors can make us feel very much like we’re on a battle field, where life is amplified by the easy proximity of its counterpart.

The book focuses on identifying thoughts and action that drain our energy

Who said the Rock Warrior's Way is all serious? Matt Bynum, focusing his impeccable attention and feeling secure above a well-placed #6 Franzia box. But then again, how could you not send hard in a clown suit? Joshua Tree, CA

(like fear, wishful thinking, and destination attachment) and offers seven processes that, in contrast, help us become more powerful and capable. Those seven processes explore how we use our attention, how we breath, how we guide our internal dialogue, how we react to adverse and unexpected conditions, and more. They also cut to the very essence of why we climb: “Once in the chaos of risk, you focus on the journey not the destination,” Ilgner writes. “When you’re stressed you are tempted to rush through the stress. Yet, if you have prepared well, this stressful situation is exactly why you came here in the first place. It holds the rhyme and reason for your climbing.” Each process distills into a single action word: Observe, Center, Accept, Focus, Commit, Trust, and Attention.

I first read The Rock Warrior’s Way in the spring, about five years ago. At that point, my emotional state as a climber seemed to match my emotional state in general: I was beginning to lead trad, and was exhausted by fear after only a couple pitches. In non-climbing life I was experiencing the lowest emotional point yet (which I’d say is not all that low – I’m a pretty happy dude). I had just exited an ugly relationship that I had let sap all my energy. Fear, loneliness, doubt and depression had become regular companions. Ilgner pegged my love-hate relationship with climbing immediately: “If you’re using fear to motivate and energize you, you’re showing a symptom of a more significant problem which is probably affecting your entire ability to enjoy climbing and improve: being out of touch with your love of climbing.”

As early spring warmed into the Front Range climbing season, I picked the book up at The Mountain Shop, and I started climbing more. As I matched a practice of climbing and reading, the act of moving up rock became an exercise in spiritual well being. I began to not only enjoy my vertical time more, I felt like I was taking something important home from the crag every day. The most important find was an ability to surrender to joy and beauty amidst the challenge, pain and uncertainty of never ending growth both on the rock and off.

While I’ll still have a sore body in Red Rocks in a couple weeks, I hope to at least have a smiling face, a clear head, and a strong heart as I rack up, tie in and leave the comfortable deck behind.

Have any of you had experiences with The Rock Warrior’s Way? Let’s hear about it!

Other related and recommended reading: Dan Millman’s The Peaceful Warrior. Carlos Castaneda’s Don Juan series including The Teachings of Don Juan, The Teachings Continued, A Separate Reality, and Journey To Ixtlan.

Wise man say, "Rock Warrior is but shadow on wall of life."