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Kona ignoring his spotting duties as Courtney climbs the beautiful Marijuana Corner.
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Whenever we're back home in the promiseland (aka Switzerland), Avers (aka Averstal aka Magic Woods) has become one of our favorite summer chill spots. Beautiful yet remote, more often than not we'd have this "euro-Squamish" all to ourselves. The heavily wooded hillside rises steeply from a river's edge at the base of a deep valley in a small, remote corner of Switzerland. Once you've crossed the beautiful river (by means of a couple carefully placed wooden planks) and walked into the dark woods, you've enterred a hidden world of lush moss, thick trees, and perfect granite. Vague trails crisscross the forest, moving over, under, around, and in between boulders. Wandering across the lushly carpetted hillside, you'll soon find yourself happily lost, discovering one boulder after another, each an example of granite at its finest. Kona's favorite place in Switzerland by far, the thick moss carpet gives him ample places for comfortable repose, peacefully gazing out into the forest. And like Kona, we're equally happy sitting by a boulder in this fairytale land, waiting for a pixie to pop its head out from underneath the rock, or from around the next corner.
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Kona relaxing in his favorite venue.
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(click on photos to enlarge)
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The soft marshmellow clouds
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Never been much of a route climber: climbing with a harness and rope is a bit like sex with a condom: something's getting in the way of my pleasure; and I'm particularly turned off by the belaying: the craning just seems to put a world of hurt in my neck. I reckoned ah what the hell, you gotta taste when the tasting's good. I'm in the land of abundant gobsmacking crags; so I might as well make like a "real" climber and taste the fine cuisine. Perusing the menu, surreal pictures and friendly advice (more like gushing) had me guessing that Céüse might be the place to whet my appetite. We set up shop in the "better than camping" campground which Europe seems to have in spades and began our daily one hour pilgrimage up to the hilltop monastery. Although some had warned us about this spicy uphill trudge, we immediately loved the way it cleared our sinuses and rid the snot. Yeah sure, I was at times slowly and painfully dragging my ass along, but I always seemed to arrive at the top a bit more centered, having lost a few layers of mist from the brain. Just that much more prepared to appreciate the feast at hand: a spectacularly beautiful expanse of perfect limestone cliff overlooking stunning vistas turbocharged by an electric sky. I felt like a kid at his best friend's bah mitzvah: dying to convert. WHAT A CLIFF! Impeccable limestone: velvety here, silky there, sweeping angles, dramatic lines. A medley of colors: orange, white, and pink streaked with blue, black, and grey. It all made for one hell of a tasty treat upon which I was dying to nibble. Yummy, mmmm...., gooood.... "Yo randy, your licking the limestone again and making the french nervous." And when we'd turn our backs on the cliff in a moment of frustration or despair, we'd slowly dissolve into a morphine like stupor: feasting our eyes on the awe-inspiring spectacle of crashing thunderstorms, vivid lightning, textured landscapes, and stunning clouds dramatically lit by the brilliant blues, pinks, reds, and yellows of the sun's daily extravaganza. Whoooooa..., woowwwwww, amaazzzzzzing. "Uh randy, you're drooling again" "Can't help it, I just feel like cutting loose, letting go, jumping off, and floating out into that cotton candy, sticky finger, big top expanse." "This is goooood, man. I feel greeaatttt. Sooooo hhhiiiggghhhhhhhhhh." And fly we did, Steve and I running down the hill on the wings of our feet, trail underneath and darkening sky above, returning to ourselves, to camp, to feast, and to rest for the next day's journey.
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Steve losing himself in the streaked limestone
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Unfortunately (actually, fortunately) every true journey has its trials and I soon discovered that attaining enlightenment in this paradise would prove more difficult than simply aspiring. I wanted to transcend and I wanted to comprehend, but all I got was pumped. It seemed the gates were guarded by big, fierce, gruesome monsters who steadily pumped your arms up like water wings as you progressed up a climb. The easiest moves could eventually send my elbows up to my ears as if hoping to help me (unnecessarily) hear their cries of "JUST FUCKING LET GOOO!". Hell, I wasn't even trying to hold on, I was simply fighting to override the strange safety mechanism which seemed to be commanding my antagonizing muscles to lift my fingers up and off the holds, one by one. I'd force my index finger back down only to find the middle finger rising in revolt to throw me the bird. As I struggled to grasp the concepts of recovery, bigger obstacles began to loom over, around, and inside my mind. It quickly became obvious (as obvious as George Bush's ignorance) that we were facing some sort of metaphorically physical journey that really manifested itself in our minds (DUH - that's climbing). Intimidation reigned supreme. Not yet prepared for the task at hand, our efforts were being bullied around like George McFly. Mustering the courage to throw a punch, I fancied a beautifully pristine climb: grey and black rock, wonderfully textured pinches, edges, and slopers, 6 bolts separating me from the anchors 25+ meters up. Inspirationally intimidational. At the 3rd bolt, a rush of air, and I'm standing puzzled on the ground with Courtney some ways above me, her just-dynamic-enough by nature belay (by the nature of her weighing naturally not very much) providing me with a cushy soft landing of which NASA would be proud. Hmmm. That was interesting. Moving on, digging in, and working hard, aspiring for an onsight with only the biggest E eyesight, I found myself injudiciously going for it on a particularly run out section of another route. As the holds got smaller and I went from tired to really tired, the old "safety" mechanism kicked in and picked up my fingers, spinning me, right round baby right round; and in my less than graceful pirouette, I swept my foot behind the rope before squealing like a stuck pig during my headfirst descent. Again, Courtney's dynamic belay meant that I hit nary a thing on the way down, but it also gave me such a long ride that everyone had a chance to turn and wonder what the hell was making that god awful noise. Hmmmm x 2. Finally, a nearby neighbor of these routes, getting in on the act, smacked me down onto a rock from a much lesser height but with semi ankle crunching consequences. 3 strikes and I'm out; stick a fork in me, I'm done; I'm officially rattled. Seems my cohorts were facing similary challenging mental exercises, and our frustration had us threatening to break our #2 pencils in half.
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Sylvain Millet working the loonggg (70m) project on the Biography wall
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Having reached bottom (not much of a bottom really because it didn't have any scary snakes or spiders or anything like that), we stepped back from ourselves to consider the surroundings and found before us some fairly amazing inspiration. Gap local, Sylvain Millet, serenely taking 25 meter free-fall rides on a stunning 70 meter project up the Biography wall. It almost looked as if he was casually smirking during the descent. Is he in there or out there? I prefer to imagine that he just IS there. Dave Graham, with utmost determination, working to wrap his mind around the amazing challenges on Realization, enjoying every attempt (from shaky and hesitant to totally locked), exploring the questions and answers which arise with each fall from the crux. Digging deep, studying every hold and move in extreme detail, trying to find himself enough to lose himself. Each attempt bringing on a rush of manic energy displaced through a flurry of Davesque vocabulary lasting late into the night. You can't help but feel the vibe. But beyond all else, simply soaking in the incredible environment, the towering cliff stretching out before and behind, and of course the ever-changing sky, seemed to clarify the mind, pulverizing our selfish and trivial concerns and integrating us into the ever-present expanse. Soon after, we're riding the climbing, letting the energy flow in as much as out, happy as fuckin' clams. Or at least something momentarily like that. Courtney's leading the way, in her bounding style, simply prancing from hold to hold with the grace of an antelope. Caught up in the game, I'm sliding along after her, smiling the whole way.
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The sun doing it's job working the lights each evening at sunset
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Simply put, I love this place. I'm already dreaming of a return voyage. It may have it's drawbacks: the occasional chipped start or crux (such as those previously placed on the 70 meter project which Sylvain worked), growing crowds (Dave found it increasingly difficult to lose himself in his passion with 20 plus onlookers, including us, projecting their expectations), and the rare polished hold. Regardless, the true nature of the place, it's beauty and it's charm, simply overwhelmed us. For those on the lookout, it's mystic. - rp
(click on photos to enlarge)
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