Gear Review: Thrift Store Baselayers

Nice day for a jaunt, aye?

When it comes to clothing, there are two types of climbers: the ones who want performance, and the ones who want value.  On the value end, you've got Kevin.  After countless pitches on granite, basalt, and sandstone, the seat on Kevin's Dickies finally blew out.  Instead of replacing them, he attacked them with a sewing machine.  Now they look like something out of The Nightmare Before Christmas.  He's drunk out of the same one-gallon Gatorade jug for years, and his "performance" layers are old enough to sell at a vintage boutique.  The other day he showed up at the crag with a brand-new pair of shorts.  "Yup, I invested in some technical bottoms for my trip to the Valley.  Fourteen bucks at Wal-Mart."

On the other end of the spectrum, there's Owen.  The trim of his jacket will match his pants—and they'll both be designed exactly for the environment where he's climbing.  You can scoff, but he got the last laugh when he and his party were running from a sudden downpour.  When they got to the car, everyone was all soaked through—except Owen, who stripped to reveal a crispy-dry t-shirt.  Someone pointed at his rain jacket and shouted, "I want that one!"

So, you can drop paychecks on performance gear, or you can drag the same fleece up the rock until it's more hole than jacket. 

But what if you could have it both ways?  The quality of what the pros wear, but at silly-low prices.

This bike sweater has your moisture-management system on LOCK.

Enter the Thrift Store Baselayer.  Ok, they're sweaters.   Really thin, once-fancy sweaters.  With moth holes.  But damn if they don't get the job done.  That's because they're merino wool, the stuff they make $35 t-shirts out of.  The thing is, wool has its wicking, odor-squelching properties whether you buy it at REI or at Goodwill.  I brought two TSBLs to J-Tree, one for the days and one for the nights, and they kept me comfy, sweat-free, and smelling like a rose (more or less) for the whole week.  Nowadays, if I'm outside, it's a good bet I've got one of these next to my skin.  As a bonus for us lanky folk, they're stretchy enough to stay tucked into your harness.  Yes, the V-neck and grampa cut are a little goofy—just tell yourself you're bringing a touch of class to the crag.

MSRP: <$6
Where to Buy:  your local thrift shop
Carbon Footprint: negligible
Labor Practices: probably pretty bad, like everything else…but the original buyer takes the rap for
Rating: *****

PS: A note on buying and care.  When I find a promising specimen, I wear it around the store for awhile to make sure it's not scratchy.  They can be hit and miss.  Also, make sure the label says 100% Wool or 100% Merino Wool—"Made With Merino Wool" means there's but a token amount of the good stuff.  To wash, toss in the washing machine on cold with gentle cycle, then hang to dry.

Perfect sending temps — FOREVER.

Preoccupied: Regarding a Troubling Advertisement

 

Let's talk about irony. Let's talk about this ad, which confronted me the other day while I read Climbing.

In the ad, Five Ten's “Occupy Yosemite” tagline aims to associate the company with the revolutionary Occupy movement. We all know revolution and social consciousness moves product: think Che Guevara t-shirts, children of ex-hippies wearing Urban Outfitters, LiveStrong bracelets, etc.  Choosing Yosemite is significant, too, as the Valley was the proving ground for some of the most counter-cultural climbers in the history of the sport.  (How counter-cultural those climbers actually were is debatable, but people like the Stonemasters are nevertheless seen as the epitome of untainted, "authentic" climbers).

So, it's obvious that Five Ten is trying to co-opt the Occupy movement, which is just wrong.  But Five Ten's products have nothing to do with upending the inequality that Occupy is confronting.

Now, if Five Ten were its own company, the ad might be nothing more than a bit of cheek.  But now that they're part of the sportswear behemoth that is Adidas (€11.99  in revenue in 2010), the ad is the epitome of hypocrisy: a company that's part and parcel of neoliberal capitalism trying to sell product by invoking the very forces that would see it fall.  Ouch. 

To open a whole 'nother can of worms, the other problem with the ad is that Yosemite is already Occupied by a bunch of citizens of the U.S., the government of which invaded and forcibly removed the indigenous people who previously inhabited it. Many factions of the movement have problematized the word "Occupy," noting, for instance, that European settlers forcibly installed themselves on the land that's now Wall Street — the “Wall” refers to the barrier they erected to keep natives out. How would this ad come off if it read “Occupy Ship Rock” or “Occupy Devil's Tower,” two places where climbing access has disrupted indigenous rights? Of course most of our country is occupied in this sense, but the barb of irony is particularly sharp in the National Parks.

=====

Well, what're you gonna do?  At the end of the day, this particular ad doesn't make a difference.  It's just an indicator of the relationship between climbing, media, and advertisement.  But that doesn't mean climbing itself has lost its spirit or any other such doomsday-speak.  You're just better off looking for that spirit at an actual crag rather than in a magazine.

My friend and original climbing guru Grant just put up a big route in the Cochamó Valley, Patagonia.  Hell yeah!  Check out his write-ups here and here.

"We had no idea what was underneath that greenery; was it going to be another flaring butt crack or was it going to be something that you could actually protect, and, dare we even hope for it, something you could actually jam?  Searching through the huge rack on his harness, Chris found the nut tool and started cleaning in search of a placement.  'Dude!' he said, turning to me, dirt covering his face, 'it’s splitter!'"

Shawn's World - Trad and Tuna in Joshua Tree

This is Shawn.  He keeps his keys on a full-size oval biner, along with a bottle opener and a hair tie.


Maybe that's all you need to know.

====

"Take.  Take."  Shawn's weight hit the rope and sucked me towards the wall.  He roared, "Fuck.  FUUUCK!" He's 6' and 220 pounds.  When he gets behind a swear work, you feel it.  "Those ASSholes!  They probably put this one in the book so no one could get 'em all!"


Then, rearranging his gear, he dropped a #3.5.  "Um, you want me to grab that for you?" I asked.  He grumbled.


Our second day in J-Tree had started on a happier note: In his life, Shawn had done 57 of the climbs in the 60 Favorite Climbs guidebook, and today he planned to tick the last three.  Diagnostic (5.6) hadn't given him any trouble (okay, except for some cursing when he had his gear on the wrong side for the layback moves) and he was optimistic when he racked up for Music Box. "This thing looks easier," he'd said.


Now he dangled 10 feet off the deck and cursed.  I had to look down at my belay device to keep from laughing.

"You could live 100 lifetimes and never begin to touch it all."
                                                                                                                                    - Fred Beckey (via)


                   

gym notes: tall, self-conscious climber

I'm 6' exactly.  Medical assistants comment on it when they take my height and weight.  "Wow, right on the dot!"  Between my height, a neutral ape index and a muscular-ish build, I have all the tools to yard through a lot of moderate climbing.

Problem is, I hate doing that, and tonight's bouldering session brought that home for me.  A group of shorter folks were working a V3, the crux of which was a sideways dyno.  They urged me to try it.  "You should get on it, man, you've got that reach," someone said.  I didn't touch the thing.  Sporty V3 is tough for me anyway, especially coming off a week of Joshua Tree granite (more on that soon).  Only some truly heinous flailing would get me up that problem, and a "send" like that just...doesn't feel worthwhile.  I see guys my size (let's be real, it's usually guys) getting super gripped in weird positions, legs shaking, elbow chicken-winging, shoulders up near their ears, every move a spasm.  No matter the grade or if they send, that kind of climbing just doesn't inspire me.  Grace and balance do.

So I tinkered with something that actually intrigued me, a pinch problem with little balanced cat-moves on it.  Finding the finishing jugs on it satisfied me in a way no awkward yarding ever could.

Freedom of the Old-School Hills

"Climbing is a joyous, instinctive activity; unless restrained, most children will scurry up trees, garden walls, building facades, and anything else steep and enticing.  While society, in the form of parents, teachers, and the law, discourages these activities, some determined individuals persist and eventually find their way to the peaks" (181).

PSA: your REI dividend is cash, not credit

It's a moment of excitement, peeking into the mailbox and finding that slick slip of paper.  How much is it?  Are we talking just a few new biners?  Maybe a whole cam?  A chunk off a new rope?  What gear from REI are you gonna spend it on?

Well, turns out you don't have to spend it at REI at all: As the REI Memberships Benefits Page explains,  "You can use your dividend notice as soon as you receive it to purchase gear and services at REI.  Or you can redeem it for cash after July 1st."  You can redeem it for cash!  News to me.

So the real question is, do you really need a few new biners — or some gas money for you July 4th road trip?

gym notes: 50% and 1/2

I sent a project in the gym tonight.  Breaking news, right?  Well, it was a near thing.  After warming up I topropped the thin, vertical route, probably my fifth time climbing it with no hangs.  White tape marked the holds, a fitting color for a route that had become my white whale.  On previous redpoint attempts the tenuous clips had startled me, pushing me over the line from tenuous to desperate.  Unlatching my hand for the second clip meant putting almost full bodyweight on a grimy smear, one I could just feel my foot popping off.  I took, then limped up the rest of the route, greasing off the hold before the dyno to the finishing jug.

Next go I was anxious to make that clip and pulled the rope up at an earlier stance — only to find myself short of the draw.  Then I did it again.  Premature E-clip-uation.  Managed to get the rope in from an awkward but secure cross-body reach from a little undercling, but the rope shenanigans left me weak.  When I got to the movement crux, an off-balance foot sketch, I took again.  Crap.  Finished the route properly, though, but that only added to the disappointment.  I know how to do this!...So why can't I? 

My fingers felt pathetic, but I figured having one more go while I was tired would ease up the moves for next time.

...And I sent.

It's a measure of my inexperience that I've never worked a route this many times.  A half-dozen toprope burns is nothing in the world of hard sport climbing, and even this relatively little bit of work  affected every single move.  The insecurity was still there, but the confidence of rehearsal overcame it.  I knew the way through.  Yup, it's going to feel sketchy committing so hard to that smear, but hit the next crimp efficiently and you'll stay on.  It feels better to put your foot on that knob now, but in two moves you'll be a lot happier if it's on that edge instead.  After the crux I thought, You're about to send this thing.  Is this over-confidence, something to be suppressed?  Or is it conviction, which can carry you through?  Either way, I stayed calm and stuck the dyno.  All business.

When I got down I noticed the route's name scrawled at the bottom.  50% and 1/2, 5.11-.  Whatever that means.

on belay

Over the past month a direct relationship has revealed itself: Days I climb, I go to bed content and with a sense of possibility for the next day.  I sleep deeply.  Days I don't climb, I don't sleep; when night falls I'm too restless, a mind churning, a body buzzing.  This embodied fact makes it clear how critical climbing is to my wellbeing.

I don't want to be an addict, but I already am.

--

I'm a beginner.  OK, I've been climbing for a year and a half, but I still count myself a novice.  Because I feel like a weak klutz 90% of the time I'm on the rock.  Because I have so, so much to learn.  Because I still haven't sent 5.10.  Because I say shit like "Slab climbing is so relaxing."*  Noob status!

I live in Santa Fe, NM.  Don't tell, but it's a local's climbing heaven.  Within an hour and a half's drive you can climb granite slabs, overhanging conglomerate, monzonite mulit-pitch, and a slew of basalt crags — year round.  I've never had to worry about the weather, just how many layers to bring and whether I need sunscreen.  It's a privilege to get to learn the craft here in the high desert.

--

So, I started this blog.  "Climbing really straightens me out," as a friend of mine once said, and I feel the same way.  Afterwards I'm at once relaxed and focused, and insights flow.  I'd like corral them here.  My interests run from climbing as a movement discipline to its gear to the cultural and political implications of the sport.

Thanks for reading.

--

*actual quote.