Follow the Psyche!

2013-11-01T10:31:00.000+01:00

Making sense

2012-02-16T18:54:00.003+01:00

I've wandered around similar places many times... Walk that way, change perspective, try a different angle on the landscape then zoom in. After spotting a target region you approach. Maybe the terrain is not as easy as you anticipated and it takes longer to get there than you want. Finally you're there, surrounded by spaceship-like blocs. Where did they come from and why are they here?

Armed with a vocabulary made of movement you read the features and interpret the surroundings. Your judgement tells you this is good, that is not so good and so forth. Reading, scanning, interpreting. Projecting your body onto the rock and visualizing movement.

And then yesterday as I was cruising through an area like this I was staring at a bulging face, searching the mostly blank rock for patterns. I don't know what it was or how it happened but I suddenly forgot what I was looking for; there I stood gazing vapidly at the boulder. I ask myself, "what conversation am I having with nature here?" I'm not sure. My eyes focus on arbitrary details, textures and colours. And as I keep moving around the blunt corner, not minding this lack of sense I remember everything once more. Of course! That's why I am here and that's why these boulders are here!

I walk back to my pad, put my shoes on and try once more... it all makes sense again.

2012-02-01T10:54:00.000+01:00

http://vimeo.com/35880468

a yet unnamed beauty

2012-02-01T10:00:00.001+01:00

The BIG Island, its ON!!!

2012-01-14T21:10:00.000+01:00

The River Man

2011-12-19T16:12:00.006+01:00

Black as oil, flat as sheet glass and punctuated by tiny, yet bright, twinkling spots. It is difficult to determine exactly where the sky ends and the river begins. Peripherally, the river banks are also perfectly reflected. In the immediate vicinity the bow-wake distorts the image as the nose of the K1 silently pierces the glass.

It feels like a dream as I glide effortlessly over the water. I’m paddling along the South African bank where the trees are higher and I’m in the shadow cast by the crescent moon. The previous time I was here with Marc and he spotted a little glowing light in distance and commented on the peculiarity of seeing a head-lamped traveler in the middle of nowhere. It was a firefly. Tonight they are everywhere dancing around along the rivers’ edge.

Actually that last time with my bro really broke me. I was just keeping up with his meagre pace until halfway up the split on the Nam side. Then I just fell-out on flat water for no reason. Well, actually, because I was getting fatigued and I just couldn’t keep the core tight! We stopped in an eddy just before the river joins. Marc sneaks up to the top of the next rapid. As I come out of the eddy the nose gets caught in the fast water and turns me perpendicular to the fast flowing stream. I fall out and try to figure out where I’m headed. Suddenly I’m pinned against a rock and tree. The water feels like its pulling me downwards. I manage to climb over the canoe and onto the rock. After much battling and falling out (all on my part) we shoot the final rapid and entre the flats on the home stretch. At the last 800m Marc turns to me and says he’s gonna push-it back to the house. No way I’m keeping up with that. He is vastly more powerful than me.

But that one mission really bumped me up to the next step. This time I’m keeping my stroke and paddling powerfully and on the return I even give it a good push on the home straight.

Thanks Marc for dragging my along.

Pic Marc Baleta, Orange River. C – Michael Baleta

The Catalyst

2011-12-09T09:43:00.002+01:00

If you recall your lessons in thermodynamics you will know that a catalyst is a substance that decreases the activation energy of a reaction, i.e; the energy required to start a reaction. This is to say the reaction would take place without the catalyst but at a far slower rate. The catalyst ‘triggers’ what already wants to happen.

There is a big bundle of guys in the water. It’s the ‘first’ paddle session of 2011 at Dungeons, and everyone is frothing – or are they? The playing field is as big as ever. Everyone is sitting on The 2.5 (which is closer to the channel). But the swell direction is slightly off and none of the sets seem to be breaking here. After a half hour of waiting it is glaringly obvious that all the proper waves are way up the point, even a little past The 3.5 and almost directly off-shore from The Slab.

So paddle through the crowd. There are always looks of; “what do you think you doing, don’t be rude, don’t snake everyone that has been waiting….” But the glances quickly turn to; “oh, never mind he’s going all the way to the top peak”, which is pretty much a completely different wave.

I know from experience that when you sit up there you WILL get caught and you WILL get pounded. But I can’t keep watching waves go by unridden waiting for someone to show the way. I’m sitting about 150m past the main bunch, trying to be patient. I know I must select the right wave. A medium set approaches and I hold my position, it looked like it would hold back – it didn’t! I was caught inside. I managed to swim under the cascading lip as the leash pulled tight. Suddenly the tension released and I immediately knew the board had been snapped. Paris collected me on the ski and I got my trusty spare board from the float-line.

Slowly making my way back into the crowd I find myself sitting next to Twiggy. He made some comment like; “why don’t you try that again, haha….” Of course I’m going to try that again. What, did you think I was going to just sit here with the rest of you and watch all the good waves roll on bye?

Again I paddle past everyone, the camera ski follows me up to the top. I hadn’t waited more than ten minutes before a solid wave popped up in front of me. Up at the top there are a lot of backwash waves and turbulence from The Slab and The 3.5 – the water is always wrestles and churning all kinds of ugliness. I just felt like it was right. I only needed a couple of strokes before I got to my feet and then the roller coaster began.

I saw a nasty boil at the bottom of the wave and watch the little step grow as it moved up the face. I ramped off of it! Air borne! The board started to drift away from my feet, but I extend my legs to keep the contact. Touch down! Aqua firma – game on! Bouncing to the bottom of the wave I manage to regain control as I watch it start to wall-up all the way down to The 2.5. I made section for section and jumped off in the channel. Hell to the yes. I paddle through the bunch en route to the top. This time Josh joins me. He has a bomb and soon after that the reaction is in full swing with half the crowd sitting way up the point.

Destroy destroy destroy.

(Sorry for the shitty quality screen-grab image)

To Move Freely Across The Earth

2011-11-18T11:14:00.002+01:00

After you have flown, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, because there you have been and there you long to return.

Leonardo de Vinci or someone similar (numerous years before first human flight).

For years people have walked the earth with their eyes turned ever skyward at the birds, envying their world, analyzing their every movement, trying to transport their own capabilities to somewhere that yet only existed in dreams... a world filled with endless visions but limited opportunities, oh how it must have been to live in a time where so many things where yet to have been discovered. A world filled with dreams, questions about plausibility and the physicality of what possibility could be achieved through absolute dedication and innovation.

Being a little boy I had the most delightful recurring dream, It first started by jumping off our double story house with a umbrella, some nights I would dream of just slowly sinking toward the ground, and as the nights grew on, in my dream the umbrella disappeared, I didn’t have to jump from the roof. As I stood on the ground, I could hone my skills by just focusing really really hard on the subject, I would take off into the sky. When I awoke from this dream, my body was electrified, sweating, breathing heavily, it felt as real as ever, this was some of the very first overdoses of psyche I have felt in my life. When I started climbing I had a very similar dream where I would feel infinitely strong, where the physical boundary of my being was now replaced with a great satisfying feeling that I could pull anything I dreamt of.

As I* grew older, I was fortunate enough that my dreams turned into reality, after every extraordinary dream followed a series of dedicated actions toward the visionary cause, my every surrounding became a playground where dreams manifested themselves in reality, where my wildest fantasies could be celebrated in the flesh. Though dedication and training, aligning the mind and body to places where we would like to exist to the fullest of our imagination.

We are standing on the crest of a dune in the middle of the desert, the breeze of opportunity blowing up slope stoking our early morning sunlight faces… my heart starts of flutter as I start to feel the potential energy ever closing in on reality. As we assemble the flying machine, pulling back on the cables, like a sleeping dragon the wings spread out in the early morning sunlight. As I make the connection, picking the wings up between my shoulders, the breeze lifting energy into them, ever so slightly weeing off my shoulders. I look into the horizon, my eyes almost bleeding from the stark beauty and remoteness of the setting. Today the dream of flight will again realize, with every fiber in my body striding ahead at full speed, just a couple steps…

I am off the ground, the gravity of the situation sending tingles down my spine. One second, two second, three second, my head lowering down onto the control bar, flying very close to the ground I feel the lift increasing as the bird picks up speed, four seconds, five seconds, six seconds, I am separating from the earth, making way from the ground into the sky, seven seconds, eight seconds, nine seconds, I feel the wing from tip to tail, feeling how the air harmoniously moves over the shape, generating lift, ten seconds, eleven seconds, twelve second, the wind blowing up the slope now prolonging my time up here as the seconds ever so slowly tick over, thirteen seconds, fourteen seconds, fifteen seconds, sixteen seconds, seventeen seconds, eighteen seconds, nineteen seconds, twenty seconds, for the last five seconds as I make my slow descent back down to earth, the long shadow of my wings in the morning sun chasing up with me, the ground approaching every so gently, I can only gulp big breaths full of fresh air since my mouth is wide open with a big smile on my face.

http://vimeo.com/32309867

*Mad Mike also had his first flights that morning, what a beautiful experience.

*I have always dreamt, and will always act on my dreams to the best of my abilities.

*It has been about 10years since I took my flying machine out for a spin.

Going deeper!

2011-10-31T10:58:00.008+01:00

As I hang on the bright yellow boy, hovering above a seemingly endless abyss of gray and brown quarry water, my body sinking below the surface every time I exhale, I feel the weights around my waist pulling me toward the deep. Slowly, breathe in, breathe out, and repeat, I feel the tension from my suit constricting the amount of air I can intake, putting me at a little discomfort. I try to ignore this since at depth the pressure will squeeze the air in my lungs to about a third of the size.

Its my turn, I take a deep inhalation of air, with the one hand grabbing the rope, the other taking the snorkel out my mouth. Closing my eyes, disappearing into a place where I can only feel my heartbeat, nothing else matters right now.

I submerge down the rope…

one, two, three equalizations…

then I start freefall!!!

As my fingers gently circles the rope, the other equalizing,

I continue my slow and steady decent…

Occasionally the mind kicks up clouds of noise, I try shut it out…

When my hands penetrate the thermocline at about 10m I feel the icy water on my exposed areas, I know I’m around half way down, this fact is seemingly substance-less. The uncertainty of time is for the first part replaced with fear of the unknown. As I glide deeper and deeper, I feel the pressure squeeze my chest, my bulged out chest at the surface is now reduced to normal. My ears make a crackling sound as I equalize the pressure of going even deeper.

As I continue my descent, I know I can physically make the time, I know I can equalize the pressure… Every day living my body into shape for this, but somewhere in the subconscious, the battle between possible and impossible continues to rage.

I close my eyes, not think of anything…

I just dream…

I just sink…

Deeper…

In a flash, I briefly wake from the dream as my hand slides onto the ball at the bottom of the rope, opening my eyes I notice the abyss, the bottom of the dam still a way away, but we aren’t going there today. I glace up briefly, the dim light staring down into the dark gloomy dam, I’m not even half way in time, I still need to swim to the top, which is physically far more demanding. As if I have awaken from the dream but still existing in this aquatic world of underwater being, I start finning my way to the surface, some part of me still wants to stay down, the negative thoughts in the dream have sunken to the bottom of the abyss. So I take my time, closing my eyes and returning to the dream I am living.

I feel my heart beating slowly…

the volume of air in my lungs slowly returning…

the water temperature increasing...

As I close in on the surface, I feel the buoyancy dragging me up and I stop kicking

I just hang there and as if the sunlight beams are dragging me to the surface…

Every so gently, I emerge from my life aquatic, the renewed air rushing into my lungs, my body embraces the fresh oxygen and prepares for even more…

For now I have awaken from this dream, but in many ways not…

note: these are not my photos...

The Facts...

2011-10-12T09:41:00.002+01:00

The days are ticking over
my heart beats stronger every stroke..
mid November I will return on my Euro trip for 6months...

the facts are...

Friends are scattered around the European continent... they are getting up to very cool shit!!!
Climbing, routes/boulders, deep water solo, Snowboarding, Surfing, ecs ecs...
Flights are around R500 return to most European destinations...
Depending on the weather I am going to have long weekends to fly anywhere I choose.

This is the canvas for the next 6 months of my life...
and I'm fucking psyched to start spraying shit all over it!!!

sunday lunch at the deli

2011-09-12T07:34:00.003+01:00

Rebel Sessions

2011-09-08T06:53:00.002+01:00

“Security is mostly a superstition.
It does not exist in nature,
nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.

Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.

Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”

- Helen Keller

Sunsets (Tow)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AH_mk5kFurQ

Dungeons (Tow)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yvh6JMNnGnc&feature=relmfu

Dungeons (Paddle)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dxfR7FxTFSE

Waves of Psyche

2011-09-05T07:41:00.003+01:00

From Crest to Trough (c - Marc Baleta)

I’m still not certain why we have these large scale oscillations between times of active pursuit and passive recuperation. It is possibly an inherent human trait that has evolved over the eons – allowing us to over exceed in times of desperation and forcing recovery phases when muscles and mind must regenerate. The scale and duration of these oscillations vary from person to person and with each situation. Arjan was injured for almost two years and when he came back* – he came back mentally fitter, which was quickly translated into physical power as attested to by the long rap-sheet of super hard ascents.

So right now I’m on the crest (physically and mentally) and enjoying the ride. I just want to dump as much gees as I can onto this page, because for whatever root cause, I will no-doubt find myself in a trough of low-psyche. Then I’ll have to be disciplined. Keep the healthy habits. Keep the exercise routine. Keep the focus. In those times my friends are invaluable – I will feed-off of their psyche. LdT (Leon) will be flying and The Open Hand Man (Arjan) will be crunching down on the rock. And I will be smiling in the knowledge that they are out there doing their thing. The hunger will grow and the machine will kick into gear actively pursuing the next crest.

It is not how we perform when we are on these crests that count. It is how we manage ourselves when we are in a slump – this is what defines a person. Achieving some personal goal never just happens. These physical realisations are the accumulation of the building-blocks we have created – the base of which is so often defined by how we handle the troughs.

*he never really left, he just changed tack focussing his energy on other things.

How Close is too close!

2011-08-30T16:19:00.004+01:00

(Photo - Allen van Gysen)

bane–
-noun
1. a person or thing that ruins or spoils: Gambling was the bane of his existence.
2. a deadly poison (often used in combination, as in the names of poisonous plants): wolfsbane; henbane.

3. death; destruction; ruin.
4. Obsolete . that which causes death or destroys life: entrapped and drowned beneath the watery bane.

So the previous post was the set-up / tone-setter.
We all die, and we won’t know how or when?

There are enough stories about idiots botching suicide attempts and crazy people pegging by completely trivial activities... the point is we'll never know.

So how close can I get? I don't know?

I do know:

1) I NEED those situations where the outcome is completely uncertain, where everything is wild.
2) I'll keep practicing, preparing and pushing until that day when it all catches up – after that it’s up to The Big Cheese in the sky.

I feel like I’m going to burst into flames, literally! There is just so much to do and so little time – this energy needs to be released. But the more I burn, the more I have, the more I must do. [Socially acceptable behaviour – the bane of my existence]. The time is coming for me to segregate myself from daily distractions and draining interaction. Refocus, re-equilibrate and normalise to my rhythm. I’ll come back stronger, fitter, faster.

YES!

To Joseph Malbos - Happy Birthday !

2011-08-30T16:02:00.004+01:00

By Sophia Rosochacki
(you need to open the images and read the story)

Extra, Extra. Read all about it

2011-08-26T17:33:00.006+01:00

Photo - (Cape Times / Breton Geach)

Most people have no idea of the giant capacity we can immediately command when we focus all of our resources on mastering a single area of our lives – Anthony Robbins

It’s such a strange thing for me to get calls from people I haven’t heard from in years. This mass recognition is strange because nothing has actually changed. Well not for me, I’m just doing what makes me happy. And the range of comments are so varied and more often than not, highly uninformed:
“That’s so nice for you.”
“Don’t you get scared?”
“How big was it?”
“Now you can get sponsors and go places.”
The only common denominator is the stoke. Everyone is happy / proud / excited. A while back someone told me that what I did in the water inspired them. It’s such a hectic thing, to know that your actions can play a role in the lives of others. It is a power we all have and so often underestimate. Seeing Lefty take the bull by the horns was inspirational to me (re Fortune Cookie Wisdom, or was it the bull that took him). I want people to know that they can achieve anything. Absolutely anything. But what Anthony doesn’t tell you is that it’s gonna cost you, there is always a comprise to be made, and sacrifice is inevitable. But discipline is the price of excellence.

When you look at that photo don’t say; ‘wow, what a big wave that's so hard-core, it’s so amazing, it’s so nice….” Look at it and know that being able to exist in that moment has taken significant sacrifice and discipline. And that I’m infinitely happy in that moment. And, most importantly, that you have the ability to create your own moment of infinite happiness.

To set the records straight :
A cup of tea is nice.
I don’t scare easily.*
Big enough to get me excited.
The only place I’m going is back out for ONE** more wave.

* I picked up a hitch-hiker the other day who told me he was scared of everything. Yes, scared of EVERYTHING
** waves are like beers – it’s never just one more.

The Boiler

2011-08-12T15:52:00.000+01:00

I arrive home from work at about 17:37, AdK and entourage have also just pull-in. It’s been a long day at work and I NEED to get my head wet. The Boiler is the only half decent spot given the time limit imposed by the setting sun. I’m suited up in a flash and start to hurry-along the other guys; Arjan’s also psyched and suited, Danny just woke-up and is lagging and Lefty is slightly hesitant.

“So, Arjan, can these foreigners surf?”
“Ja, Danny’s fine he spent a couple of months in Indo.”
“And the other dude?”
“Lefty has only been in the water twice… but he can just sit on the shoulder”
“mmm… Ja, he should be cool”

It was about 4, maybe 5 foot and a bit lumpy and bumpy with a medium-low tide. Three other guys were out. That big old yellow fellow in the sky was slowing dipping behind the ominous leading edge of an approaching front. The dark and gloomy horizon and wild looking shore-line couldn’t have looked very inviting.

I had a couple of little waves by the time AdK and Danny had made it to the back. Then my fin broke-out while doing a big top turn (coz I’m that powerful – claim!) and I headed back to shore. Lefty has been standing on the rock deciding on how good an idea this is. I give him the basic rules of the ocean and convince him that if you don’t go, you’ll never know.

The Boiler is no joke! Getting in and out over the rocks is tricky at best. The wave itself is often compared to a scaled down version of Mavericks – holding off until it hits the underlying rock shelf, then the lip projects forward with serious attitude destroying anything that crosses its path.

I walk out with him till we are knee deep in white wash.

“don’t worry man, the worst that happens is the board gets dinged and that doesn’t matter, anyway I’ll come rescue you if it gets serious.
Jump!
Go go go! Paddle dude, Paddle”.

He’s lying too far back on the board and he can’t even duck-dive. He can’t duck-dive, wtf! He gets buffeted by a couple of little froth monsters but gets to the back, miraculously, before the next sets start rolling in. I realised he’s gonna be in The Shit on the way back to shore, especially since there was about 15mins of decent light left. So I paddle back out. I’m halfway to the peak when a set approaches. The second wave is top-to-bottom, with Lefty inside the pitching lip. It looks like those classic photos of guys going over the falls at Pipe (Hawaii). He breaks the surface, dazed and struggling to catch his breath. I help him paddle back to shore.

“You good man, just take big deep breathes and relax. I told you I won’t let you die”

Safely back on the rock above the high water mark, and Lefty is puking his guts out! But he’s alive.

Not a millisecond of discernable panic or hesitation. Lefty – impressive and inspirational. Or maybe just fool hardy and blindly trusting. I like to think it’s the former. But either way it was worth the laugh, for me, and after this experience learning to surf should be trivial.

Fortune Cookie Wisdom

2011-08-10T07:56:00.004+01:00

[Obsessive behaviour is a prerequisite for progressive action]

Fuck fuck fuck... what the fuck have I been up to. Nothing!

I feel like hedonismbot – indulging in all those things that people seem to enjoy; beer, pizza, bread, bacon, eggs, melted cheese and OMG even caff'd coffee. I had deep* fried hake and chips two evenings in a row. Shit Mike, what’s happening?

Steve Benjamin and I headed to the reserve to go for a quick dive. The conditions were shit on both sides of the peninsula and it didn’t take a lot for us to convince ourselves that it wasn’t worth getting in – I actually want to get sick typing this. Steve, I’m so sorry man, I let us down. We should have just gotten wet. It’s ALWAYS better than staying high and dry.

The first four months of 2011 was full-on training and discipline in anticipation of the coming winter. We go that super big swell in March. But not much else really happened. It’s August now and it still hasn’t happened. I realised all that pent-up psyche needed a release. But instead of actively finding some epic physical challenge I’ve subconsciously been releasing the energy by partaking in passive sociably acceptable behaviour – I’ve basically become a pussy**

It crept up on me, but I caught it just in time. I’m back on the programme! Deb’s was saying the other day that; “Michael doesn’t sleep, he recharges”. Yes!

So it's Monday morning in the office and i'm finding every oppertunity to fit in a little extra exercise; leg-ups between the table and counter while the kettle boils, pull-ups on the door frame everytime i go in/out of my office and 'randomly' doing a yoga pose when an office conversation starts to bore me - fire the accelor-ray!

I will do what I must.

....and he’s outta’ here....

* Deep, as in deeper than I can dive on one breath, which is pretty deep for a fish in hot oil.
** You are what you eat.

http://vimeo.com/25967156

2011-07-04T13:30:00.000+01:00

Amandla, sometimes we find ourselves living the dream!!!

2011-07-03T19:31:00.002+01:00

sometimes action speaks louder than words...
What an amazing day climbing with Bernd Zangerl in Road Crew,
small crew... like the good old days!!! props to Fred for opening this one... what a legend!

The Price of Cocaine

2011-06-20T17:01:00.001+01:00

Cherie found a box of old photos in the cupboard and put them up around the house. This one was placed above the bathroom sink, just below the mirror. It’s a photo of my friend Jacque Theron (a legend in the cape big wave scene). I don’t know who took it or when it was taken. I do know that it must have been a solid day at Sunset Reef. Every time I look at it I my mind is immediately transported to that special place; I insert myself in the barrel, I’m taking of where Jacques is, I’m caught inside watching that lip heading my way while trying to get a good breath or sometimes I’m just paddling back-out staring, mesmerised by her power and perfection and lured by the possibility of intimately existing with a creature so wild yet infinitely beautiful…. This is my cocaine!

So another ‘swell’ and another disappointment. It really looked like shit yesterday, but we hope and some of us probably pray that some magic might happen. At 04:50 I check the wavebouy and, oh my goodness, the swell had spiked. I’m struggling to contain myself as I try to leave the house quietly – not too much longer and I’ll have my fix! (I worked on the weekend in anticipation of this promise – it’s bad for my psyche to work on the weekend). We’re on the boat waiting in the channel just before first light. What mood will she be in today? Confused, sick, lifeless and possibly depression had started to set in – she was in no mood to play. We had the boat out of the water and cleaned by 08:45, then headed around the corner to paddle at another spot. Disappointing is all I have to say.

The weatherman made a promise; he told me I would get my cocaine but all he brought was a box of cigarettes.

So, for now, I’ll let my mind wonder through this photo exploring every possible situation. It’s enough of a fix to keep me training, to maintain that headspace, to be ready to dance when she wants to party.

the psyche in NOT dead. long live the psyche.

2011-06-12T20:13:00.007+01:00

And then
after many many weeks
and minor optimizing of suit-design arrives, finally,
a window of opportunity
to get into the sky!
A thumbs up and a smile from Hugo
in the plane
before taking a relaxing 2 minute flight
on a Sunday afternoon...
BOOM.

let's backtrack a bit while we wait

2011-06-12T20:01:00.006+01:00

A while ago I made the ambivalent claim that "the psyche is dead, long live the psyche." While it was actually a joking reference to "the king is dead, long live the king" it summarized many of my feelings at the time.

Frustration, rage, mild waves of hatred, indifference but also motivation, hopefulness and well, psyche to get the ball rolling again...to shake off that feeling one can easliy get after working too much and not playing enough...

So I started with some bakground schemes and worked my vision (and still am) into reality. So before my new wings arrived I went tracking - the closest you can get to wingsuit skydiving in terms of flight path, visualization and muscle utilization without actually putting on a suit.

Nothing wrong with flying on your back, occasionaly looking backwards at the upside-down horizon, thinking about the week behind and the week ahead. And so it went for a few weeks, backtracking and backtracking and backtracking...

a few moments from recent flights (more tomorrow, super psyched)

2011-06-10T18:46:00.007+01:00

Intrinsic Motivation

2011-06-05T11:14:00.003+01:00

At last the image arrives! Thanks Craig Fox.

The MAS is dead, Long Live the The MAS.

2011-06-01T06:39:00.004+01:00

It’s Monday the 14^th March 2011 at about one o’clock and I’ve been watching the swell build on the wavebouy. I’m overheating, I can’t sit still. The reaction has started and the energy is building exponentially. I feel constricted by my body, almost claustrophobic, I’m about to explode.

By 16:00 I’m strapping on my leash and paddling out to Sunset Reef.

Standing in the parking lot the bay was overcome with a morass of gigantic swell, untamed whitewash and the air filled with the deep rubble of monster waves. But as soon as I pushed off from the shore and started to paddle-out there was a conspicuous dulling of the loud rumble. The waves had produced a thick froth on the surface of the ocean which seemed to suck the sound out of the air, only to leave an airy din.

James Lowe, Si’, Andy, Smithers and Jayson Hayes were already out there with Jeremy H on the ski playing rescue ranger. Si and James went for a bomb. James made it and Si got thrashed. He very nearly earned a two wave hold-down, lucky there wasn’t another one behind. Then a cleanup set did its job and it was only Andy, Si and myself remaining. There went to drop-off Jeremy H so that they could tow. I was out alone for about twenty nervous minutes trying not to get caught by a rough one. The two old dogs returned and Si put Andy into the second wave in a set, I went for the third. Si saw it from the ski. I was just off the peak – but fuck. I made the wave, barely and paddled out wide to avoid the remaining sets. It was definitely some of the biggest waves I’ve ever surfed and most definitely the wildest! Si dragged me back to the spot on the ski. I was sitting about six or seven hundred metres further out than on a normal Sunset day. Andy and Si were about 150 metres further waiting to start the tow run.

I saw a set building way far out, definitely a really big set. I started paddling out into the middle of no-where. Big deep, full, slow breath. Not paddling frantically, just hard confident strokes. As the set approached I could see a ‘little’ one in the front with three successively big waves building behind it. As I paddled over the little one I saw how big the other waves were – it was already too late what ever happened I was going to be caught! So I turned and when for the first proper one. I just scraped into it. Got a little air under the board and stabilised a third of the way down the face. As I negotiated some rather large bumps, my inside rail snagged and trying to corrected I missed my chance to come-off the bottom and get onto the face. Straightening out there was enough time to get a full breath and watch the monster grow to its full height before releasing all its power onto that special place – that place exactly where I was helplessly waiting. But this is exactly what I train for. I’m calm and relaxed, relatively. If the leash had snapped I may not have been able to write this junk. I could feel it stretching to the absolute limit. I took the rest of the set on the head and almost a kilometre from where I started Andrew raced toward me on the ski. The worst was by far over but it was so good to see him. I got my breath and paddled back to the beach.

Another epic day with hardly anyone around! The magnitude of that swell was not realised by almost everyone. No photos, No proof, No MAS... Long Live the MAS

Part 1: It’s my birthday and I’ll die if I want to

2011-05-20T08:47:00.003+01:00

20 April 2011

Like a tiny pebble in your shoe, that constant niggling self-doubting “what if” question. It’s more like a short video clip that plays on repeat every time my mind quietens – a hold breaks, a foot pops or whatever and I fall away from the rock. That moment when some part of me is still touching the earth but the inertia of my outward momentum is inescapable. In 4 to 8 seconds I’ll impact and it’ll all be over. It doesn’t scare me! It frustrates me to the n^th degree; I’m falling to my death for something so trivial and I won’t be able to do all those other fun things I like to do. Stupid Boy! But, as gravity acts on all mass, I must go; I must spend time in these situations (physically & mentally). I don’t know why in need to but I do.

The previous night, after my normal training, I spent about 40minutes breathing and visualizing the possible outcomes (of consequence) for my plans on the 20^th. If I do fall should I roll onto my back stair into the heavens or turn and track a far as I can. If that shark does get feisty will I punch it on the nose or poke it in the eye. I make dead certain that I end with a seamless string of visualizations from topping-out to being spat-out to ending a great day with a big smile and sense of contentness.

The morning of the 20^th is overcast with a serious threat of rain. TM looked like it had a thin veil of clouds. Actually it was in the clouds. I was just really desperate to act-out the previous evenings mind games. While driving over Chappies it started to drizzle and I made the ’wise’ decision, and headed up to Silvermine. I did a couple of single pitches and headed back home to swap gear. By the time I got to the dive site Steve Benjamin & Hanli were just leaving. It was cool to see them but I was happy to have the place to myself. At 15 sharks in that many minutes I stopped counting.

After the dive it was back to Kom for a very dismal kite session, then my first coffee for the year, woohoo. Went for a quickie at the Boiler in the late afternoon when the swell had started to pick-up. It was big, messy storm surf with nobody around just like those countless sessions at my local in the Garden Route. I never got spat-out of any barrels, unlucky. After a hot shower, I headed over the mountain to visit my family for dinner via a quick slack-line session on the Rondebosch Common.

I met up with Ruan in town and we headed out to the chosen site. It was about 23:00 and was walking around on the bridge setting-up the swing. Every time a car approached I would conceal the gear as best as possible and stroll around nonchalant. As if you can act casual on a bridge in the middle of no-where on a dark stormy night. WTF. So I did the bag test and ran down to check what the clearance looked like. I had given it about 4 meters of extra slack. The bag was hanging with not much more than two meter of clearance. Even without that slack the rope stretch from the weight of a person would’ve put the apex of the swing somewhere in the ground. We moved the gear further across and did the bag test again. Plenty of clearance and we were good to go. I climbed over the barrier rail, shouted one final check to Ruan and jumped! Aaaaaarg yes! So psyched. While I was penduluming around I check the time - 23:58. Got it all done in a day.

As the swinging slowed, Ruan lowered me to the ground. I took up my position on the other end of the rope and R ran up to tie-in for the jump....

[Photo - Sijmon de Waal]

Part 2: It’s not my birthday and I really don’t want to die

2011-05-20T07:53:00.002+01:00

I’m tethered to the car with the rope taught patiently waiting for Ruan to get his shit sorted out, on the jumping end of the rope. It’s always going to feel like an eternity, waiting for the other guy to jump – and there’s just never enough time to check and double check your knots before jumping. While waiting I notice a car cruising along the other fly-over. The blue lights on top made it hard to miss. Ruan was taking a little longer that he should have and then the rope goes slack as i watch the jumping end drop with nothing on the end. I phoned Ruan to get a hasty reply (shouting full sentences was not efficient); “I’m just speaking to the police’ I’ll call you back”. If there is anyone you can sweet-talk the police it’s R. So we did the bag test to demonstrate what we were up to. (The bag survived). I run up to see what was going on and help with any negotiations. Constable Nthethe was the man in charge. Super friendly and surprisingly cheerful – i think that when you rush to the scene of an attempted suicide* and find a couple crazy people chasing cheap thrills you can see the lighter side of things. So Ruan pulls out the Blackberry to show Constable Nthethe and his crew so images of the other stuff we do. They seem convinced and are about to move out when the good Constable turns and asks; “are you sure you don’t want to die?”

Psyched!

*Apparently the few cars that did drive past thought we were trying to off ourselves and the police got numerous calls.

restatement: the tragedy of the commons in bouldering

2011-04-11T11:34:00.005+01:00

Given that bouldering happens within a social context, the first impulse is the search for recognition in that social context. Boulders are a necessary but not sufficient condition for attaining this somehwat vague goal. For those fleeting moments the eyes of others focus on your ultimately insignificant achievements and you feel great about your obscure obsession. The tragedy is not that this is both futile and childish (I mean, who isn't childish?), but rather that we don't have institutions which translate the various valuations of the area into a proper pricing system. When the price of use is effectively low, then the impact is high - download the topo, tick the boxes, send the classics and move on. Over-use follows, and the character of the area is altered permanently. In this process, the value of the area decreases for a part of the population, and they have no incentive to bargain for a different deal - the damage has been done. The area stays over-used, and the disease spreads to other areas. Maybe the main attraction of big-wall and trad is that we are unable to alter the essence of the space where we climb. And the effective price to access that space remains high due to the necessary commitment and skill. There is a spreading disease in our midst. Maybe the big-walls will offer the much-needed solitude and escape from the urban colonization, the ruthless search for recognition, the scramble for African boulders and the tragedy of the commons. Or maybe future walk-ins will become so far that only the fittest will survive. I can think of many walk-ins that make me very happy indeed. May the mountain gods have mercy on the souls of others that they may have the courage and stupidity to discover their own walk-ins and experience for themselves what the true benefit and cost of exploration is.

The UK is DEAD, long live the UK!!!

2011-03-16T09:06:00.003+01:00

ve been living in the UK now for over two months, having a very cold and wet transfer from our farm in the Orange River, on the Boarder of Souh Africa and Namibia where every year I go there for the grape harvest season, generally with some good mates to keep the psyche high for what would generally be a pretty mundane job. I must say, that after a very seccessful four months season of Rocklands and finally doing my old route project in Montagu, I was ready for a little tranquility and to build up the psyche from afresh! The simplicity out here in the desert makes a good platform for obsession.

This year I spent only tree weeks in the desert, and with the tides moved with the first shipment of grapes on to the UK where I will be based for the European winter. Tipical climber behaviour, I pop open Google Maps, mark the location of my workplace, and start scanning the area for good climbing, only to find that the best option to keep up the strenght is indoors (since rain is a national past time for the Brits). I dont even realize anymore when the drops fall on my windscreen while driving to work. The sun only makes it face known once in a blue moon, where its only for a glimpse, to light up the surrounding clouded out sky. But for better or wourse, Im here in the UK, working for my father, looking after the grapes that they send me from back home to supply to Tesco.
So here in the UK, far removed from my comfort zone and all the tools I generally use to keep fit, I feel myself slipping a little, every weekeng looking at the weather to go climbing in the Peak, FUCK but chances are that there will be snow, rain, iced up roads, or whatever mother nature can produce to force the Brits indoors, so there I go, following the pack... (now I know why indoor climbing is such a bit sport in the UK)

I remember the first time I arrived in Sheffield, The Climbing Works, mavelling at the walls, I also recall that I couldn't feel my feet inside my shoes, it was just as cold inside as out. Darn, It was unpleasent here (I thought)... but after some sessions, I really do prefer it when its freezing, hands stick to holds, skin doesn't go to waste on sliding off pasty holds, and man, is their setup good here, fun climb with world class holds, and above all, a good way to keep strong upder the misrable climbing conditions outside. I climb every opportinuty I can, but I feel the psyche slipping, all the indoor climbing, no solid projects and constantly being held inside by rain and snow is taking its toll. I stare at MeteoFrance at work, for TWO MONTHS looking every weekend for a gap in the clouds so I can drive 8hours to go climb on some world class rocks! NO LUCK, so I go spend my weekends in the local gym, one hour away, at least it has good walls and a circuit setup that is pretty fun to climb on! I rearrange the cobwebs in my mind to try go ape shit on the walls, trying to do everything not to loose my edge.

So after the long wait, we finally get a window of opportunity to go climb in Font, we pick up Marijus at his parents place in Crawley, where he was also getting his dreams of climbing in Bleau cramped by crap weather and trying to look for a job in the city.
Driving throught the night, we arrive at 4am in Fontainebleau...
PSYCHE IS HIGH!!!

the psyche is PROBABLY dead. long live the psyche.

2011-03-14T15:43:00.007+01:00

OK - I'm willing to fall back on such strong statements as: "the psyche is dead". Maybe that was short-sighted of me. But I'm not willing to concede that the psyche is alive, no, not yet. I'm gathering evidence from all kinds of fields, taking notes, taking stock and counting. If I had to estimate the intensity of liveliness of the psyche I would rate it at 0.5. Now if I allow a 50-50 probability that it is not dead then that gives a (0.5)(0.5) psyche = 0.25. PROBABLY dead...but also PROBABLY alive...

In my recent stock taking and estimation procedure I've chanced upon some interesting developments: a package arrived from France - blue, with airlocks, back and front air-inlets, an incredibly intuitive and strong flying position, sensitive turns, rocket forward speed, stable and neutral by default... The acrobatic potential of this blue animal hasn't even begun to be explored...the mountain potential lies waiting, the body and the mind has to adapt to a new way of interpreting the relative wind...it is invading my dreams at night, my weekends by day...the probability of the psyche NOT being dead is rising with every second spent flying... I venture a hypothesis: soon things will converge from different and unexpected sides, soon the elements will come together, soon the psyche will not be dead...

(In the absence of wingsuit-photographer people flying with me I humbly submit a static picture of a wonderful creation: the s-fly verso wingsuit).

The psyche is PROBABLY dead.

Long live the psyche.

the psyche is dead. long live the psyche.

2011-02-24T10:02:00.006+01:00

There are many things that are not funny. Some of them are particularly relevant when it comes to sustaining momentum for doing stuff: injury, too much work, not enough sleep, substance abuse (as apposed to use), fickle social events with random people, not having money for essential high risk toys, emotional or mental breakdown (in more extreme cases), gear being stolen, wrong weather conditions for your given activity, the apocalypse... Luckily the end of the world is only scheduled for next year, so there is time enough to overcome the other obstacles.

The thing is; one of these setbacks need only hit one of your key friends and then you are affected. Suddenly your partner in crime is gone (if not permanently then long enough for physical and mental atrophy). But lucky one doesn't need perfect conditions to do something...

My ankle is not at full strength yet, and I've been fitter and stronger than this before, but at least I'm flying again. Things could be more perfect (with less work, more money for toys, more partners in crime, no apocalypse looming in 2012...) but fuckit, time to take up those risks again, in spite of the mad swirl of 8 to 5. A new wingsuit is in the pipeline, a canopy downsize is imminent, country routes are being ticked, it is getting closer to winter (the temperatures are dropping and the slopers are getting stickier), the old bank account is filling up ,and my general indifference to randoms and normals is allowing me to maintain a good measure of mental and emotional energy...

"have you been to that new restaurant yet?"

"they have the most amazing breakfast menu..."

"I only have seasons 1 to 10, can I get the rest from you?"

"I hate holidays, I get so bored..."

"We should really keep destroying our bodies and minds; smoking, drinking, eating unhealthy, not get any excercise, watch tv, not care about anything and have no ambition to move beyond our perceptions and limits..."

Vomit.

The psyche is dead.

Long live the psyche.

begone you evil backpack you!

2010-12-24T16:03:00.003+01:00

What's that I see through the window?

2010-12-11T20:55:00.006+01:00

"Why the hell are the rest of the passangers so inattentive to what's happening outside down below?", a thought that briefly flashes through my mind as we keep climbing to cruising altitude. Not caring too much about the perceptions of the normals next to me (it is wrong to expect the ignorant to be knowledgable), I continue to scan the Boland from above. My brain wires itself and flashes with images, memories and future plans...Drakenstein...Du Toit's Kloof...BK...Castle Rocks and the Hex...the whole Kouebokkeveld opens up to the north, stretching into the Southern and Northern reaches of the Cederberg...mother of god, there's too much to do here, so many unknowns folded into the details! And then my mind shifts away from the landscape below to the pages in front of me: abstractions...(Feel free to indulge the details of the panoramic photo taken by Nico Brink).

Bolting Alone

2010-11-21T12:24:00.010+01:00

A challenge with two accompanying questions: writing about something that I don't really want to write about; why and how to do it? Regarding the first quesiton: the medium demands words. And then the second: relegate the things I want to say, those details that I want to capture to the unsaid; keep things implicit, try.

First encounter: it's almost always the case that projects lie around in my subconscious for quite a long time before I suddenly and impulsively take action and start to engage. I have no idea for how long I've actually been aware of this potential space. But now, on this cloudy day the time is right. I tell myself, "now way it will rain", willfully forgetting the hours I've spent running around in the rain at this very same place. Ah, the madness of action, what delight! With a full backpack I crawl up the incline, constantly looking up at my goal, imagining what it will be like to touch it. I fixate on features and streakes of colour racing down the face. I want that one! Having searched over the rock from the bottom I head around the shoulder trying to find the top of my intended piece. By the time I lean over the right spot I'm completely wet from the gentle but constant rain. I could stash some gear and come back, but time and resources are limited, so I go for it: luckily the vertical drop faces east and its dry in these conditions. Navigating the new and untouched space, projecting my future onto the present, I manage to fix some protection.

Third encounter: due to some poor decisions (funny how judgement becomes impaired when the body is stressed) I'm here with yet another static rope. "I have to finish this today", I tell myself. Over the edge, down the face, clip-clip-clip-clip, study the features, project the climber, estimate the optimal point, drill-bang-turn, repeat (man I love this shit). I remember a recent discussion I had about unexplored places and modern times: my partner is crime musing, "It must have been so exciting in the past, I mean, imagine what it was like to see all this for the first time, to discover it - you know, what the world was like before the GPS and before Google Maps and all that shit; it must have been so cool." I know the feeling that is being expressed here and I know that I've had the priviledge of being in places where no-one else has set foot. "You know, I think that there is always a frontier," I reply. "Take those Medieval maps for instance, the ones with 'Europe-as-the-whole-world' - people probably looked at those maps and thought to themselves that the glory days of exploration were over given the 'comprehensive' geography that humans had developed by then. Now, of course they were wrong. Similary we are wrong to assume that with the present technology we have reached the apex of our mappings and that there are no longer any spaces left to explore. I grant that there has been a massive objective change since those times, but atavism is not going to get us anywhere. The fact is that there are many spaces still unexplored and untouched, and they're much closer to your home than you think."

And here I am in a "new space" - no human being has ever been here before. And here I am executing movements never done before, taking falls never taken before. Thank God that some things go unnoticed, unrecorded. Though the internal map may be getting larger, the external and objective map is as blank as it has ever been.

Intrisic Motivation

2010-11-11T20:44:00.008+01:00

The incentive to undertake an activity based on the expected enjoyment of the activity itself, rather than external benefits that might result (en.wiktionary.org).
Another way of looking at intrinsic motivation is to see it as the expression of an instinctual urge to master the environment (Rhona Ochse).
I often struggle to relate to people, trying to find some common ground some frame of reference? I couldn't care less about Andy Irons pegging*, Kelly winning his 10th Title**, Eskom welcoming a R20bn Government Boost or that the Proteas are Counting on Amla (Times Live)... blah blah blah.
The only thing I really care about. Wait, actually its a little more than just 'caring about' - my entire being is completely focussed on how the rock feels under my finger tips - it's a flat edge but the friction is great considering the warmth of the mid morning sun. Moving my right foot out over the nothingness I consciously place my big-toe on the little edge, which I had tick-marked earlier while rapping down the intended line. Shifting my weight out I carefully watch the rubber mould onto the rock and catch a glimpse of two spandex clad cyclists far below.
This is exactly where it's at!
The body position is fairly balancy and rather exposed but I'm so solid. I release my left hand, slowly, very deliberately moving away from the rock barely enough to allow my hand unobstructed access to the good side pull just in front of my chest.
One full breath.
Sort out the feet. Reach for the good hold on the ledge. An easy mantle and another 'uneventful' mission complete. Maybe this line has been climbed or maybe not. Never the less I'll name it Intrinsic Motivation give it some relative grade and go down to the local coffee shop and make small talk, probably about the weather, the game or how hectic the blah blah blah....
(I put the video camera on an adjacent ledge, but it stopped filming just short of the last two moves. It is safe to assume that I did in fact make a successful ascent of this line. I'll post better footage/pics as they become available)
*when I off myself please don't come to some paddle out if you don't even know my middle name (or names).
**I have infinite respect for a person so dedicated to progress. Talent = Hard Work + Sacrifice

GOOD FUN WITH A TOYOTA LANDCRUISER in Tulbagh 2010

2010-10-21T12:44:00.009+01:00

Thanks to Nic for taking the 100' corner round the dam at 50km per hour.

the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god

2010-10-01T10:20:00.001+01:00

http://vimeo.com/15192383

Issues of political correctness

2010-09-22T11:34:00.004+01:00

Sommige goed kan eenvoudig net nie vertaal word nie. Jammer. Daar was eens op 'n tyd 'n proleem gewees wat nie 'n oplossing gehad het nie: die probleem is ontdek deur die menere Jouberts. Na 'n lang proses van probeer en alleen rond stap in die Boland se berge in die middel van die somer het 'n meneer Du Toit die probleem opgelos (wel, so het hy gedink). 'n Paar ander mense het die oplossing gesekondeer oor die jare en die probleem is vergeet. Toe na 'n paar jaar is die oplossing weer ontdek deur 'n meneer Ehlers. Hy was so lus om deel te wees van die politieke kwessie dat hy die mees belangrike vashouplek afgrebreek het! Hel! Ewe skielik is die oplossing weer terug na 'n probleem, en al die werk wat gedoen is moet weer her-oorweeg word. Aandag is weer gefokus op die hoogs kontroversieele politieke kwessie, veral deur 'n sekere meneer Moolman. Met jare se wysheid onder die belt het hy die probleem omskep in 'n positiewe kwessie. Kort voor lank en die stappe van die nuwe oplossing tot die eeue-oue kwessie is uitgele...En so waar as wragtag, laas week het meneer Moolman die oplossing gevind! Goeie werk meneer Moolman, jou insig tot die diep en verskriklike probleem word waardeer. Lank lewe die Menskleurkwessie!

BRIEF REVIEW OF CUTAWAY – JULY 2010 – WINGSUIT

2010-09-21T11:21:00.011+01:00

[Ruan Viviers]

Ha Ha. Couple of weeks ago, Sunday, I had another cutaway. It was my first wingsuit flight (and second skydive) in quite a while, which stands to reason that I flew myself into this textbook spinner.

17 Minutes later I was in the bush doing the meerkat on a fence pole looking to see my main canopy when I got a call from Leon. He was standing at the base of the 3000 ft Kjerag in Norway and had just pulled off his first ever BASE jump, prepping for another! The timing was uncanny. Last time I had to get rid of a piece of washing over my head was 2 years ago on 2^nd new years, after flying with Lutz the crazy German. I had also just landed when Leon called me from the African Freefall Convention to cry out ecstatically about the Herc [C130], the people and the random intimacy he and Pakkie had shared with some Sheik’s parked Boeing.

This time the ecstasy was on par, the touch points just different... “Ruan! 3000 ft! So much time... just track and track and track! Oh yes, I left my Dytter on. Was screaming death in my ear all the way down. Putt a big smile on my face!”

From what I had gathered they were down at the grass landing area packing their rigs between the boulders. We had a brief chat through everything and I could tell he was learning a lot. [Great, more knowledge into the pool.]

For the following week and a half I thought about the mal as I was driving, shopping and in the office, and in hindsight it was probably caused by my leg straps not being tightened evenly.

See, wingsuits are tricky that way. Due to the turbulence created behind the wing the deployment bag can sometimes dance around like a temptress tart and by the time it releases your chute, you can feel if it’s developed line twists or not. A split second later and you’ll also know whether it wants to spin you into the ground. Even when it does come out cleanly, if the lines aren’t loaded evenly, due to a dropped shoulder or the rig sitting skew (thanks to uneven leg straps) the canopy will still fly itself into an out of trim spin.

In this instance the lines were spun up to right behind my neck [prevents one from looking up and seeing what the hell is going on]. Fortunately, since I hadn’t flown in a while I pitched at an opening altitude of 4900 ft which gave me 1400 ft extra to fight the thing (about 9 seconds). After swiftly unzipping my arm wings and forcing apart the risers to push the bulky camera helmet through, I rode it for another 7 seconds trying to equalize the risers. Then, when it was time to get out of there I got my hands on the handles and...

Right, Wait.....! Where is it? [the main], belly down, OK Left. Ayoba!

When I landed Timmy (Hutchins) was coming in laughing his guts out in a finger pointing fashion at the white canopy in my hand. Got to love our mentors!!!

The following Saturday I stuffed my gear bag with sandwiches, fruit and water and did a five hour fitness session through the bush of Angola (or what could’ve been). I found my beautiful PEPSI canopy after half an hour of searching - about 200m from where Langes had supposedly spot it from the paramotor earlier that week. Then I took an upwind bearing and plotted a chicken run all over the 4 X 2 km area with a first generation Garmin.

Never did find my reserve pilot chute and freebag, but it was good Ruan time and good riddance. I’m not sure I’d want to continue using that key piece of equipment after weathering seven days of UV’s and rainstorms. Back at the DZ it was beers all round.

[Note: Malfunctions are excellent training. They constitute one of those simple “ok, what next” moments where you break things down into steps. Getting it right is really rewardingJ]

some thoughts about some subtleties

2010-08-18T15:00:00.009+01:00

Have you noticed how a big wave can look deceptively slow on a video? How shockingly easy it can look when someone is sending 8+ boulders and/or 9+ routes? How scarily easy and risk-free a wingsuit proximity BASE, or even just a 'normal' jump can seem? Well it is no surprise that the third person onlooker cannot be completely transported into the first person experience, no matter what the medium is; film, photo or first-hand observation. More often than not, it is the contact with the sportsman (in addition to secondary documentations) that really helps to open up the particular world for the third person. But that's not always possible. And it does not prevent a video or a picture or a written account from being heart-stoppingly exciting! There are indeed many gaps to fill...

The broad ideas are clear: run and throw yourself off into the air; then remember to throw that small parachute into the air so the bigger one gets pulled out; then grab onto those handle-looking things, pull them right and left until your feet land nicely in the clearing on the ground. But then of course there are finer details to consider; like when riding a bike the process is conscious at first as you focus on not falling. So too, when flying your body in dead to terminal air. Then, with some benchmark reminders about body positions in mind, the intuition gradually takes over. The learning process reverses itself: now instead of telling your body what to do, your body tells you what to do (sticking to some crude distinction between 'you' and 'body' for convenience); you discover what works better; the muscle memory is engrained.

With a goal in mind (tracking as far as possible for instance) the overwhelming sensations become muted and the concentration becomes sharper. No longer freaked out by the edge, now more accostomed to the view of racing past ledges, racing towards the ground, gliding your body over the talus/scree slope, more confident in your pack-job, you suspend your attention evenly throughout your body and stretch it from your crown down through your spine into the tips of your toes, de-arched from the core and experience the results: a joyous forward glide through the air...a series of pure and uncomplicated moments. Fuckyeah!

(pic: Thomas Haugersveen)

Days in the Office

2010-08-11T17:35:00.003+01:00

This room is so big, and I’m camping out in one corner. It was an early night – the weekend really took its toll, but I did enjoy abusing my body. I wake to the sound of crashing waves. It’s just after 3am and I’m wired! I know I need more rest consciously trying to relax my mind. But it drifts, always returning to the same images of waves, rocks, and now fiords. Tossing around until 04:45 I cant take it anymore. I have a stretch then pack the car in preparation for the coming day. I’m suited by 05:30. The sun wont be up for at least another hour and a half.

Around 06:45 I message a couple of the boys and start paddling into the darkness. By the time I’m at the back, there’s just enough of a pink tinge to the sky to see an approaching set. I move out the way, watching vigilantly, what mood is she in today? There’s a mild offshore but completely manageable, and I’m on the next decent wave. It’s really difficult out there, and I got caught a couple of times, but also did some catching. Jacque and Jason joined me just after eight. It was really nice to have some company, you’re always on edge when you out there alone.

By ninish the wind was getting to me and I was really cold. I paddled inside to catch a wave out and a good one came through. I never paddle hard enough. Lip Launched and Pounded. Thoroughly! If you wanna play you gotta pay.

I’m in the office by ten, making small talk about the long weekend… blah blah blah, good thing I did my screaming in the mountains.

(pic: Peter Lambert)

a last jump for the season

2010-08-04T11:22:00.007+01:00

Shane, an Aussie, joins me and Jeremy for a 3-way. It's taken a few days of general lobbying to convince some people to jump exit 7, because it is the furthest non-wingsuit exit, and so it takes a bit more time to get there. People generally go for the most convenient stuff (almost funny how approaches to walk-ins are basically the same in both BASE and some climbing disciplines, most notably bouldering, but whatever). Exit 7 is the right-most point in the picture: fucking brilliant I tell you; located at the top of a massive shield-shaped face, overhung and a ramp for an exit! Jeremy and Shane are next to each other and I'm right behind them. "Ok guys, three, two, one, go!" We run down the sloped edge. Because of the incline you can't tell which is your last step and when you begin your freefall, so just suddenly you find yourself in mid-air, listening for the sound of acceleration, waiting for the shield to open itself up to your view. As usual, Jeremy is talking on the way down, telling Shane to look at him for a good camera shot, but Shane has pushed way too hard with his legs on exit, sending him into a head-down fall. I can hear and see it all happen right in front of me and I burst into laughter. I see Shane trying to grab some dead air to pull himself into a track, but it takes a few seconds for the relative wind to give some resistance, and for what seems like an eternity I watch him, laughing all the way, racing head-down next to the awesome shield. After a few seconds I had already started my track and was glad to see Shane do the same, eventually. We fall our separate ways and the chutes crack open. I laugh all the way down. I'm still laughing as I write. Man I'm gonna miss this place...

smorgasbord!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2010-07-30T18:39:00.008+01:00

The days are super long, and since there's almost no darkness during the night we use the whole day to jump. I pitched my tent in the campsite not knowing that every single day it would fill up with bikers, hikers and loads of campers carrying families from all over Europe...kids, dogs everything. The site empties out in the morning and a fresh load arrives in the late afternoon. Out with the old and in with the new, and my little tent stays...I try to get enough sleep but the families are just having so much fun! Stupid families, what do they know?

But of course I throw a blind eye to that madness and focus my attention on the 1000m cliffs around the corner. The social environment among the rest of the jumpers is incredibly diverse, in terms of nationality, experience and general outlook on BASE. Not only is the rest of Scandinavia well represented (Sweden, Denmark, Finland) but the rest of Europe is also here: Austria, Germany, the UK, Russia, Hungary, Italy, Switzerland...and then there's the USA, Canada...and then there's the Aussie and Kiwi bunch...and then there's Jeremy Samson and me, the Africans. The range of professions is as diverse: oil rig workers, trader, commercial pilot, economist, garbage truck driver, soldiers, stunt man, sofware developer...

A typical day revolves around packing the chute properly, walking in without getting too tired, and enjoying the jump without incident. In between I eat morsels of food and hope my bloodsugar is high enough to maintain the intensity. When will there be time to do washing and shower? Maybe tomorrow...when its raining and there's nothing else to do.

The general consciousness is filled with crazy stories and plain hardcore shit: ...yeah on my first cliff strike...do you know that guy who worked as a security guard, he killed a lot of people...I lost my leg but they put it back on...was about 2m off the ledge in freefall...and then you have to fly down this ravine otherwise you go in...I broke my back jumping this antenna...and so it continues. In the last 10 days there were 3 fatalities in BASE around the world, and I saw one happen after a jump. I was the first to jump the cliff the next day. In some areas of life our actions have more serious consequences than others.

Anyhow, the point is that the atmosphere around the jump (the 10 minute gear-up, the 10 seconds surrounding the exit, the 15-20 seconds of freelfall, and the more or less 1 minute canopy flight) is seriously rich, diverse and stimulating.

And in between this mixture of experience lies the mountain and the fjord. And when the day is done, when the jumpers and the campers and the bikers and hikers have left, the mountain and the fjord will still be there.

I clear away the heaps of memories and uncover the landscape. I focus on the space and the topology. The mental map is getting larger stil...

the view on top and on the way down...

2010-07-30T18:31:00.003+01:00

Lucid interval

2010-07-20T10:21:00.005+01:00

Kjerag, Norway. Exit number 6. I've still got this Skunk Anansy song in my head, despite the circumstances. Jumpers start exiting... the song fades away as my turn comes up. It's quiet. Blue sky and puffy white clouds up above, clear fjord water below, and scree and cliff in between. Ten seconds... 3,2,1,0!

A gentle hop does the trick. Acceleration. As the relative wind picks up speed my arms gently swoop back into a track, while my legs extend with pointed toes: I watch the face as I track away from it, counting the seconds. I feel comfortable and in control. I stretch my body even more to feel the wind on the back of my neck (so I know I'm maxing out). Eleven, 12, 13, 14... I flare my legs and throw my pilot chute. The canopy whacks open with a slight turn to the left. After an easy correction I'm on heading and going for the landing area. The 7-cell puts me down in the middle of the grassy patch between the boulders, and the jump is over. Absolute perfection!

The door has been opened, the game is on... now let's play!

When the water blew up and shit went down!

2010-07-15T18:11:00.002+01:00

Its a cold day here in Rocklands, the wind is pumping up the pass, the waterfall between “” and “” is blowing up the mountain. Benjamin de Charmoi, John Reeding, Julia Chen and me make our way to Roadside, feeling the cold conditions hardening my skin I briefly think back on what Berndt Zangerl said in The Rocklands Movie, “when its cold here, you can crimp almost anything ”! I have a little smile inside and my heart glows in the anticipation of what might unfold in this landscape of endless possibilities. Fully equipped with long johns and down jackets, we pack out at Roadside boulder the iconic landmark first climbed in the hay day of Rocklands. Benj and me worked Nutsa on a previous session here, so the pad stack goes out underneath the bulge. Not being on for too much warming up, I do the stand-start (Sunset Arête) to ingrain the top crux and set up a rope for the possibilities of some filming. My previous approach has always been to get the strongest as possible and just attack lines with as much energy as I can conjure from within. This time around I want to make the moves count, I sit down, chalk up, and start pulling, up and up I go, pulling through the crux at the lip, set the heel, and that was it, no hesitation, no wasted energy on unnecessary movement, just giving what is required to send, SWOOSH! There I stood on top of this boulder, smiles from ear to ear, pure pleasure!

Walking down I’m shaking a little, feeling the charge that built up, MMM, the hunger sets in with this need to chill out and conserve for the next “attack”! Sitting there, watching Benj pulling in, harder and harder he goes, just throwing himself at the line, I get really inspired watching how hard he can try! I feel his energy, just loves giving 100%, giving everything on every try, he whispers something to himself and psyching up, blasts off... falling on the last moves of Nutsa and this is only his second day of the season in Rocklands! We chill at the base having a snack and contemplating on where to go next! I remember chilling here with Berndt and Barbara Zangerl, he was describing his project, a direct variation of Black Spider, a shallow tight three finger pocket up to a small hard to hit crimp, then a small explosion to a horn! I remember looking at it back then, wondering if it was at all possible. Benj had done this line the year before, but was getting well worked by Nutsa so we decided to go check it out so he can rest a little! (we have a similar problem, getting too Psyched and not getting off the rock for long enough to recover for the next go!) Rocking up there in the “stepped cave”, the place is padded out by the Americans, we through some more pads down and I put on my shoes and chalkbag. I talk a little with Jessy, a really strong guy trying Green Mamba, but I recon I will just have to try it and see, since you can see all the holds from the “step”. Jumping down, Im thinking to myself, ‘just to warm up on the bottom traverse’ since it is not that hard. So off I go, putting on heels, hanging around on the traverse, chalking and warming up! Climbing to the direct finish, I place the heel, thinking that my left hand is sliding a little on the slopy crimp, but somehow I just continue climbing, I try to place my right hand in the pocket, (Benj explained this was tricky to get the positioning right). I remember not having a firm grasp on it, not knowing if I should re-adjust or not, I just hear screams, COME ON, COME ON, the energy is good, and I through for the tucked away crimp, and MY WORLD STOPS! I’m in this zone, my hand just gripping down, the next thing I knew I threw for the horn, I stuck the last hold! As I looked back in disbelief to the group of climbers behind me, It felt like watching Nalle Hukatavial in a movie, but somehow I was the one topping out!

Somehow doing the hardest lines can feel effortless, ONCENESS!!!

on sport and art

2010-06-28T11:20:00.009+01:00

Just the other day I found myself among some friends and acquaintances in the middle on an all too familiar conversation that verged on the edge of becoming a civilized fight. As usual, the subject was the definition of art. Having been caught up in this kind of mess many times before, I gladly excluded myself and became an observer. It started off with loose comments about Lady Gaga and Britney Spears, and soon devolved into some minor disagreement about the nature of their work. The banter heated up and voices had to be raised to be heard in the general clamour of remarks surrounding these pop-cultural phenomena. Then suddenly there was a comment and a moment that fixed itself in my mind....

"What do you know about art?!" blurted the art student to the athlete.

Now this impulsive and unexamined comment was based on an implicit moral high-ground - the existence of this implicit moral high-ground being based on the fact that the art student is engaged with art and the athlete with sport; and that this supposedly leads to a situation where the athlete's opinion about the artistic nature of something would have to be subordinate to that of the art student's opinion in the face of a disagreement. If this is indeed the implicit understanding (and I think it is) on which the comment was based then it is obviously an ad hominem logical fallacy. But the fallacy usually prevails in conversation because it is difficult to dismiss it in one stroke. Explanations in the wake of such attacks become clumsy and people shift their attention to the next topic. And so, unfortunately, it goes. But there is an important link to explore here: the link between sport and art.

The world of the artist and the athlete is not so different. Even though it is a commonplace practice to define some things as art and others as sport, it does not mean that there is not a common experiential foundation. Not being a professional artist or athlete myself I claim no high-ground or authority for my thoughts. I speak from experience. My mother is an artist, and I have produced many works of art in sketches and paintings; I have performed as an actor on stage; I've done many sports since the day I first learned to ride a tricycle and continue to practice sport as part of my lifestyle. I know others like myself, share experiences with them. I know others who are indeed professionals in art and sport and their experiences are known to me. Without sport and art I would not be able to recognize my own life, let alone live it.

The point is that both the athlete and the artist have to rely on their own creativity to accomplish their goals. The painter may end up with a painting while the climber will have to leave the route behind when the send is done; the actions that guided them to their goals happened in different contexts, but both were engaged with the creative process: imagining the uncreated colour and tone, visualizing the yet undone movement. And then taking the leap: putting brush to canvas, hand to boulder. Sometimes the overlap between these worlds is even more intimate: artistic photography of sport for instance! Both the photographer and the climber work together to create a moment in reality and capture it. The same kinds of processes are at work in many spheres of society: in situations as diverse as religion and science. Hell, even business and politics require creativity for effective functioning.

For him or her whose actions are driven by the engine of creativity, distinctions between sport and art are irrelevant: the world is a playing field for creative expression. Stay psyched, play hard! And thanks to Unio Joubert for the awesome picture!

Arriving Home

2010-06-23T12:54:00.002+01:00

I had the longest shower ever and waited until the water got cold. Then I just passed the fuck out! Got up early and went for breakfast on a nearby wine farm with Arjan and my bro (Marc). It was raining and cold. Fuck it’s good to be cold. We had a proper coffee and the hugest breakfast in front of the fire. The warm glow and familiar crackling along with being close to my family... the normal lethargic response was absent. Instead we are full of gees (energy, psyche and spirit), planning the next angle of attack (climb, surf, paddle... etc). Winter in the Cape, fucking stoked!

The next day we (Marc and I) head down the coast to visit our ballies (parents), via a canoe race my bro wanted to do. We arrived early. The river is glass with low lying mist blanketing the surrounding vineyards and not too far away the familiar Langeberg Mountains silhouetted by the pink and orange aura of the rising sun. Slowly the mist adopts the colour of the sky and my bro glides through the water disturbing the morning glass on his warm-up run. Twenty six kilometres downstream I’m sitting with Pierre, the winner, on the grassy bank overlooking the finish line. Suddenly Pierre jumps up; “is that marc – already”! It’s my bro’s fourth race and the longest he’s ever done. Finishing a couple of minutes behind the leaders, he needs another six months of hard training and he’ll be very competitive. So we’ve been training! Up at 5am running, core, stretching, slackline, surfing, paddling, climbing... completely maxing out. I just want to do everything as much as I can, every day. Sometimes I have too much energy in me and i just need to scream to let it out. Aaaaaarg!

The day before the water blew up!

2010-06-18T09:25:00.001+01:00

I'm at the hatchling, I brought everything that's good, Benj(the new psyche machine), loads of pads, liquid chalk, camera, you know the whole deal! As Benj gets ready, I brush the holds and scope out the top, not wanting to fall off there again! My exitenent drops as we start climbing and my hands slide a little feeling out the flat crimps, I know the crux hold is a slopy crimp needing crisp conditions and delicate precicion, but alas! Not wanting to set a bad example for the young gun and throw in the towel, the attack sets off! having not been on this line before Benj and Scott don't quite know how the holds feel with tons of friction so I'm the only one falling and bitching about the conditions. Finding myself in a catch-22 situation, not wanting to quit I keep on trying and keeping on not wanting to continue the skin taking rock eat-out! We stop just a while in, not having sacrificed too much skin on the first problem on the first day. Moving swifly along, we show Benj Shadow of Ourselves, a classic 7c roof problem. Digging out the camera, placing pads and giving beta we witness Benj saddles up and dig his teeth in! Using the more balls to the wall beta he slaps out, keeping core tention and waving from hold to hold, WHAM BAM THANK YOU MAM! There he goes, FLASH!

On the walk out, we mission toward The Hatchling, Im rubbing my tips together waving my hand gently through the air and feeling the slightly crispier conditions on my hardened skin, my feel stop at the boulder and I have this exited feeling about the situation! Mmm, desition time, to stay and capitalize or not! I tell the fellas to throw down the pads, I just want one burn. Like the fickle quality of rock, the line starts with delicate hand setups, a feet cut whist holding your breath a little to minimize slippage, a high toe and then it's rolling, a dinamic move, delicately latching a sharp rolling slopy crimp, a quick re adjusting to fully close, another breath hold, and WHAM, from stillness come speed, lots and lots of speed, latching the top hold, my feet cut, fuck, I grabbed it shallow, I'm looking down at my landing! Swinging out, my hand still holding the lip, there I hung in a state of confusion! FUCK, I just sent! Lekke

April

2010-06-16T19:32:00.004+01:00

01-04-2010

Today was kak, woke-up and couldn’t shake that little niggle in the recesses of my consciousness. But I could hear the waves breaking while lying in bed waiting for the sun to do its thing. At first light I headed down to the look-out point for visual confirmation, I stubbed my toe rather badly. Michael, can’t you just concentrate? Went back to the flat and doctored the toe. It took me three tries to leave base, kept forgetting little crap. Despite a few other minor niggles, including a no petrol in the scoot situation, I finally made it to the beach. The waves were solid, good barrels but not much wall for turning. I patiently make my way to the top of the pack and drop into a bomb. Pull-in and get shut down! Every wave I catch closing-out or falling flat. Ok, go home and take it easy, the body is definitely talking.

02-04-2010

It’s supposed to be smaller than yesterday (?) but I head back to the same spot. There are only 20 people in the water (1/3 of yesterday) and it’s slightly smaller with no wind. I watch the line-up from the warung and eat a mie goring while sipping on a Bali kopi. Gathering myself and commanding my consciousness – I hit the water and hit it hard! The waves come to me. Even one of the hard-ass locals (with whom I’ve had ‘encounters’) seems friendly and even calls me into a couple of bombs. I’m number 3 away from the peak and beaut’ starts to build on the outer reef. Number 1 is too deep and number 2 paddles. Then for no reason hesitates. I swing round take a half stroke and stand-up in the barrel. Maybe 6 seconds later I come out clean and bust an air. It was one of many great waves that day.

Nothing really changed since yesterday, well except for me. Sometimes I’m just too fatigued to overcome that little niggle. Rest is training!

More Smiles!

2010-06-14T14:22:00.002+01:00

Its 7am and the crack of dawn, having just awoken from the sleep cycle, my eyes glued to the canvas of my tent I can feel my heart rushing the ever refreshing blood through my veins! I have little recollection of what I had dreamt but soon the visions of my slumber no longer matters, as my immediate environment soon consumes me! My heart starts to race a little as I imagine the unlimited potential the day might unfold upon us! I would have liked to sleep a little longer and rustle around under the blankets, but there is just no way that’s going to happen! This is about every days curse of jumping myself out of bed, hopping to the nearest bush to empty the tanks, and off the day goes! Wondering to myself what I am doing up so early and why I can’t bring myself to take rest days... mmm, maybe the psyche has consumed me, absolutely smitten in this place where the energy seems limitless! Like a kid in a candy store I feel aligned here with heaps of energy and bunches of projects in hand, could not be in a more perfect place.

I’m in Rocklands :)

Wax Smile

2010-06-09T08:46:00.000+01:00

I often scrape little balls of wax off of my board and press them back-on, toward the nose of the board, in the shape of a smile. It helps to pass the time between sets, but more importantly it’s my conscious effort to exercise positive thinking. Seeing those little wax smiles make me happy and reminds me how powerful a smile can be. Those days when it’s just not happening for me; when my swell magnet is switched-off, when I’m falling for no reason. I see the smiles and tell myself to smile. It doesn’t matter that I fall – I can actually obtain pleasure by being aware of my existence in such beautiful environments – sitting in the ocean feeling the natural flow of energy and allowing my mind to calm. Hippie shit.
I often think of Andrew Marr when I’m in the water at crowded/competitive breaks. He always has a smile and gives a hoot for anyone going for a good wave. When he’s around the entire atmosphere changes and everyone has more fun! I’ve seen the same thing when Arjan gets in the water. It’s amazing to see the effect we can have on our environment and the people within.
...I’ve been patient, very patient waiting for the bomb set. Some chop blatantly drops-in on me. I pull-into the barrel behind him. There is spray everywhere and I can’t see anything just trusting my line. He bails. I come off the bottom and hit the lip before hopping over the shoulder and start paddling back up the point. As I pass, he makes a half-ass apology. I say “no-worries man, there’s plenty of space for everybody”. Not to sound cocky but so that everyone else can feel the good vibes. Seriously, I’m in Bali surfing my heart out and I just got barrelled. There is nothing to complain about.
Keep the Peace
Stoke the Gees

Where have the horizons gone?

2010-06-03T15:10:00.001+01:00

remote control

2010-06-02T13:46:00.004+01:00

Chris taking a look at some lines in some remote arenas. More changes have been made to the mental map. When I'm bored in conversation I run around in the mental bouldering fields rehearsing sequences, navigating by way of the elaborate and informal system of landmarks one has to use in order to avoid GPS coordinates. It's better to get the feel of the land, to get to know how it lies, where it turns and drops and curves...let the intuition take over and follow your nose around the place...get lost...find your landmarks again from different angles and run to see everything you can before the sun goes down. There is a simple joy in personal exploration and discovery that simply cannot be replicated.

It reminds me of Huxley's 'The Doors of Perception': he argues that the mescaline experience subverts those impulses that lead to practical action, thereby creating the time necessary to get stuck on "unnecessary" details of things around you. Unnecessary in the sense that if you forever gaze at something in amazement you will die. Now in a sense, by not having a GPS, a topo, by being forced into a position where the landscape tells you nothing more than you perceive one is forced to become more attentive to details that can be considered irrelevant to climbing in a functional sense. But the whole experience is enhanced by this more expansive approach to the climbing experience: having to look for the best way to travel up the hillside through the fynbos; having to evaluate whether it is worth it to look over the next neck and see whether the promised land lies there or not; debating within yourself about whether the whole trip is worth it, relative to the usual and fun weekend that you could have had; taking notes of the 'path' for your return to the car; using features in outcroppings to orient yourself and so on. Of course you don't need the parallel with mescaline to make the point nor do you need to explore to open your perception to the landscape, but the intensity of it will be different.

And yes, then there is the reward: finding awesome lines to climb and climbing them. And repeating the whole process of exploration within the confines of the boulder problem.

under cover of night

2010-04-30T15:04:00.001+01:00

suspicions become realisations after years of waiting

2010-04-28T11:52:00.006+01:00

Its been about 12 years since I've been there, and finally I returned with new eyes and a new mind. For 2 years I've been wanting to go there so badly, but there were too many other places to see. Getting there, physically, is a reminder that it is easy to get conditioned into thinking about climbing in terms of normative standards. The walk-in "should be" this and this, and there "should be" a guide with names and grades. Social context is as maleable as anything social. Suddenly you are surrounded by people who do not share the same conceptions as you, and what you do becomes something different altogether. Bouldering off the map, off the beat and track. What motivates me to do this if no-one around me grasps its meaning? Primitive drives make their way to the surface and translate into action.

There's almost no water at all. It seems like there is no horizon. You get lost in the moonlight looking for sequences of movements on unknown and untouched sandstone blocs. Each one a homeomorphism of the next. The topology of the space impresses itself on your mind and the place becomes a part of your daily awareness. The tiny pad that you've dragged here is no use in case of a fall - it's a mere psychological mechanism, a placebo. It doesn't matter anymore. I see patterns that can be traced with movements. The potential has to be realised. For those who are willing to let go of conditioned thinking, for those who are willing to redefine what they understand as a "walk-in", for those who are willing to boulder themselves off the map that others have provided for them, there awaits a vast unknown filled with some of the best sandstone blocs in the world.

The Numbers Catch-Up

2010-04-12T06:42:00.004+01:00

Fok Bra's
I had a serious nearly! Or did I?
So i was talking to some people the other day about pushing oneself and listening to your feelings and listening to that little voice that guides your decisions, being in 'the zone'. I do listen, and generally very well, hence my surviving many 'situations'. I cant understand why I so often 'get away' with insignificant damage - all I can say is that I really do believe the world is spinning for me, I always put so much conscious energy into positive outcomes. I tell myself every day i cant die!

It's about 08:00 and I'm heading to Canggu for a surf. The Bypass (double lane each way with concrete divider) is real busy, space between trucks, cars and scoot's is no existent. You never have much more than 3meters of clear road ahead and this entire mass is moving along at about 80km/h. I have my board in the rack on the left of the scoot, short shorts, a vest, and crappy helmet. No modesty, I'm good, real good! I'm doing about 95km/h weaving through holes left by a local kid (whom I'm catching up to quickly). Just so alert - taking in tons of info, calculating, predicting, deciding, reacting. This guy dashes across the first lane and finds a tiny gap just before the center line, I'm just on the other side of the line with a car to my right and a scoot to my left. He's maybe 15meters in front of me when he looks and runs. (I suppose the other scoot would have hit him dead-on if he hadn't moved).

I swerve to the right and just clip him with my board and left handle-bar. Scoot goes down - I go up and over. I tumble uncontrollably 4 or 5 full rotations maybe more, just stay completely relaxed Michael. It's a total blur, then I back-flip and take 2 huge bounding steps backward to keep up with the momentum - so relaxed - everything slows down. I see the car that was on my right and now on my left cruise past me, a scoot dodges my scoot which is sliding toward me and another scooter dodges me. I make myself small again to force the roll so i don't break an ankle flipping and bounding. I come to a stop about 70meters from impact standing on the white line. I move to the side walk. Nothing is obviously broken! Slip back onto the tarmac to retrieve the scoot. It starts first time. I turn to check if the other guy is ok. He's sitting on the pavement all the up the road and doesn't look to be in mortal danger. As I start walking toward him a police man starts toward me - corruption, bribes, extortion. No thanks! Get on the scoot, some dude in the small crowd that's gathering asks me where I'm staying. I lie, cradle my arm like its broken and ask directions to the hospital. I never went near a hospital, instead straight to the busy part of town...

Some minor roasties on both elbows, knees and right foot (wasn't wearing shoes). My board is fine. Nothing of any significance. I really feel bad about connecting with that guy and especially not sticking around, but fuck. I was thinking that morning on the ride to Canggu, if the numbers would eventually catch-up with me. And i suppose they did, but at least I learned a lesson; too continue staying positive and listening to my feelings. I'm back on the horse/scoot and still driving like i do, focused and calculating. I understand the risks, now even more so. It doesn't scare me. I'm more worried that if I stop using my luck, it will dilute away. A second slower or a second faster - it can be argued both ways. I know that for me it's best to keep pushing forward.
Hati-Hati

Early days, Siurana!

2010-04-07T08:32:00.002+01:00

Stepped off the plane on Friday night, after a grueling but dirt cheap flight from Cape Town - Johburg, Juhburg - Doha, Doha - Heathrow, Heathrow - Gatwick, Gatwick - Barcelona, where I was warmly received by a Spanish climbing friend Leon and I made in 2006 on Mallorca. Although the psyche was high, my stomach was all messed up from 30hours of airplane food and a healthy bag of M&S wasabi coated peas... Oh my G, did that do the trick! On the drive to Siurana, we stopped for Easter lunch and some Spanish culture at Jordi´s family, his mom quickly suggested a remedy for my poor condition! Easter weekend was a mess of too many people, dogs, babies and cold showers. But wtf, back to the climbing.

Siurana, the cliffs here are very different to Rodellar or Ceuse, where most my previous limestone climbing was done! Andrew Peddley and Micky(L Lens) are here allready, Adrew having scoped out many projects and ticking them off as he goes, 8b/8a+´s as we go from sector to sector. Micky´s making some good work of the pocket lines here, very strong, and his execution will catch up accordingly! I quickly realize that my head needs a little re-adjusting from all the bouldering and plastic climbing I´ve been doing, the most important thing for me is to keep relaxed and be patient with myself also enjoying this semi-unceartain headspace, realizing this is early days on a 6months journey! Saying this the driving force behind my climbing is to engage on the highest level I can possibly manage without tearing my limbs off my torso! So when everything falls into everything else, and everything is alligned, there will be no fight, no thinking, just flowing and following the line!

First learn to read the sheet, then you can play the music!

Finding the G-spot

2010-03-31T12:19:00.000+01:00

The G-Spot

2010-03-31T12:16:00.000+01:00

There are currently three surf caps at G-Land with space for 160 surfers and there’s a fourth camp on the way. We are the first trip for the season and a total of about 16 surfers are there (including us and all the camps).

After 12 hours on the bus from Bali to Java we finally arrive at JoYo’s Surf Camp with the sun just coming up over the ocean. Breakfast is served and everyone is amping to hit the water. The swell is marginal and the tide is wrong with a slight on-shore. Also, I had two nights of fever and the glands in my groin were badly swollen – should have looked after that little scratch a bit better. So I opted out and went to bed instead.

By the afternoon everyone was finished. And I had just risen in time for the pushing tide. Feeling slightly energized I grabbed my board.

I’ll never forget this session.

I left the camp and walked out onto the exposed reef. (The camp is down at the end of the point and there is a foot path to the top that goes through the jungle). I took a slow walk along the reef. It took me at least half an hour, stopping to check the life in the pools and the odd set rolling down the infamous point. I never saw a single person not even a local fisherman. I had the wave to myself for about two hours. It felt like I’d always imagined – like in the old-school vid’s of Gerry Lopez and the boys. Back when G-Land was still the G-spot of the surfing world, stuck away in the virgin jungle.

Anyway I spoke to the doc later that evening and he said it was bad and would get serious if I didn’t stay out the water for a couple of weeks. He was worried the infection would spread to the bone. I could see the concern in his eyes and also that he knew I was never going to stay out the sea for that long. I managed three days of not surfing at G-Land then a decent swell arrived.

I’m blessed to have had my first time happen the way it did. And I thank God that most men cant find the M-Spot

the premonitions are getting stronger, more real...

2010-03-26T10:45:00.008+01:00

Expression Sessions, Feb-March 2010

2010-03-22T15:38:00.003+01:00

After lots and lots of preparation, having it form part of routine, I am now just sitting back, having trimmed flight at a good orientation, it now feels natural to give my best. “It is only human nature to want to practice what you can already do well, since it’s a hell of a lot less work and a hell of a lot more fun.” Now its for the fun times! (less of the isolated training in the desert) I have tried to fill my weekend with what I like to call "expression sessions". Going kitesurfing with my mates Marc and Ruan, trying to bust the sickest moves we can conjure up, going bouldering with the Cape Town crew Marijus/Woody/Benji trying sick hard boulders and giving everything to this espresso style of climbing! Rowing, Surfing/Swimming, just burning the flame as bright as I can, creating psyche with friend! It is a wonderful change to isolated-solo training in Namibia and back on the farm! It transfer into the week when I'm back on the farm, keeping up the spirit!

scedule:
I dated this post, since I will be going to Catalonia, Spain in 1 April, where the crew Andrew Peddley and Micky Wiswedel will be for most the month! After much thought on where in Europe is the best place to write my UNISA exams Paris/Genève/Madrid, I was instantly persuaded after a weekend in Rocklands that I MUST fly back in May for I will miss the winter season, and it is just too darn good there to miss out! Rocklands for 4 May - 31May!
1 June back to Barcelona where I will purchase a chorrr to travel in for 4months, Junio/Julio/Agosto/Septiembre (by which time I would like to not use google translate to do my Spanish for me :) The I have no set plans for the whereabouts in these months, only I will be hunting the best conditions and vibes! I know Ben Harper and Leon du Toit are making plans to come over for I donno how long or when? Everything will fall in place! If anyone is psyched to join, here is an open invitation to anyone who want to!

So with the volume turned up loud, head out the window, wind in my hair, I'm continuing this adventure that I call my life that I'm am so blessed to be celebrating!

(this is not my pic)

jissis

2010-03-19T11:01:00.001+01:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06Ktg1mpm7o

premonitions of wintertime

2010-03-18T15:14:00.001+01:00

very nice

2010-03-16T15:49:00.001+01:00

http://www.vimeo.com/9398585

Molenaarskloof then and now

2010-03-10T11:55:00.006+01:00

Part Zero:
In the beginning there was inspiration: that strange mix between irrational will to action and a structured vision of something to come. A bunch of us were in the car, on the way back from Montagu, when Pete Mortimer said something like "hey, have you guys had a look at that red wall out right?" Neither of us had, but I remember taking a good note for the future. I think this was sometime in the winter of 2005.

Part One:
It was hot, too hot to really climb, so I called Ben and convinced him to check out this red wall for potential. It was December 2007. Like with all new places it takes a few times to figure out which is the best way to approach the wall and we ended up "walking" in horrible fynbos - it was more like swimming really. Nonetheless we made our way to the base and decided it looked big enough and that the rock was good. The seed started to grow and the vision of a multipitch sport route took hold.

Part Two:
So we were psyched to get started. And in January 2008 the first attempt to slay the dragon was made. Our intention was to get onto the wall by tradding up a crack on the right-hand-side and then traversing into the more compact section on a series of ledges. Well then, it turned out to be a mini-epic day (later we would find out that mini-epic days are the status quo in this game). The "crack" line we followed up (for about 3 pitches) was horrible: chossy, mud-like, shale type rock with very little, brittle and exceptionally dodgy protection. It was more like soloing up bad quality rock, the gear being mainly psychological - a ritual to calm the nerves.

Eventually we reached our target ledge and we started to traverse as far into the face as we could, crawling over massive blocks of shale. By the time we reached the innermost point that the ledge would allow the sun was chasing us off the wall. Soon we found out that we didn't have enough rope to get to the ground in a single rap, and so we had to simul-rap down, placing a second set of retreat/route anchors on the way down. An insecure beginning, but at least we had some gear on the wall and at least we were getting to know the face.

Part Three:
It was a year later, 21 February 2009 and this time we were going to throw all our gear at the wall and take a completely different angle of attack. In the year that had passed we had had enough of ground-up bolting missions so we opted to go top-down on this baby. With 270m rope, plenty of bolts and all the rest, we marched up into the unknown, in search of the top of the face. 3 hours later we were gearing up and the journey to the bottom started. We estimated that we would have enough rope and battery power to get down...

Slowly making our way down the face, breaking off huge blocs, spotting lines to climb, fixing ropes with the idea of jumarring back up again, and voila! 4h30min and we're on the ground. All set for a jumar and bolting session! Psyched!

Part Four:
One week later. With the ropes fixed, fitness and psyche flying high, we returned and placed some bolts on pitches 3 and 2. Amazing how intricate this route finding can be - it takes about 3 hours to place 10 bolts. Navigating up, down, left, right, roofs and overhangs. We go into what we jokingly call the "bolting zone" - the zone where the outside world disappears and its just you and the drill and the rock and the line, and the shit that you keep talking in the harness...ah the zone...

Part Five:
Two weeks later. An uncontroversial trip. We finish bolting the first three pitches and we climb the first one. Brilliant stuff. Very Milner-like style climbing.

Part Six:
A week later - we're into the place, in touch with what is happening there. We jumar all the way to the top. "I think I'm getting jumar muscles"..."no, I'm only getting blisters"..."don't they use gloves in the movies?"..."I dunno"..."maybe we can get white Michael Jackson type leather gloves"... We place 20 bolts and I sprain my ankle pretty badly. A good time was had by all. Nico accompanies us to take some pictures and provide us with general laughter.

Part Seven:
I hate it when life gets in the way of climbing! It's May already and the rains are coming. The river is rising, the wall is getting wet and we need to get our gear down before Winter takes over. While I'm jumarring up the first rope Ben drops the battery from 100m up and it whizzes past my head - fuck. We jumar all the way to the top and nearly finish bolting the line (so we think). Rapping off proves to be more hectic than imagined since you have to swing along the wall to get to the anchors, and also swing to stay onto the wall. It takes us a full 6h30 to complete the time on the wall. Motherfucker. I can't think about a harness. We walk out with all the gear, 28kg packs, 270m rope...beer and chips waiting at the Du Toit's Kloof Hotel...sweet

Part Eight:
It's the year 2010, 6 March. We intend to climb all the pitches, haul the drill and bolt where necessary, and then bolt the rap route...but fate has other plans! It turns out to be onne of the hottest days of summer and despite our early start we struggle. The second pitch is way hard and Ben, in a moment of weakness drops both the hammer and the spanner after placing three much needed bolts! Feck bru. OK. So we can't go to the top (not that we would have been able to anyway, since the haul bag was killing us). We fight to the top of pitch two and go down.

Thankfully some mountain god intervened and took the hammer and spanner away from us, because it's only a matter of a few minutes and the wall is in the sun - we would be dying of heat, forced to climb all the way to the top (with not enough rope to rap down after ptich 3) and with another problem: Ben had left five extremely necessary bolts at the camp and had we gone to the top, we would not have been able to bolt our way down. Nor would we have our walking shoes to do the alternative! Major Epic avoided.

And so, there you have the condensed version of the ongoing Molenaars project, soon to be finished in hopefully only three more committed trips...And just to clear something up for the record: the line we take cannot be tradded, so the bolts are absolutely necessary.

re-focus

2010-03-09T15:43:00.008+01:00

A Response (Marc Baleta)

2010-03-03T04:06:00.002+01:00

I like what u say about training and having the psyche to push yourself in the more "boring" training areas. I find that when training with a partner there is more drive to push yourself harder, especially if, say for example, Mike trains with a hardcore cyclist so, mike has to fight hard just to keep up and thus, the more productive Mikes cycling session would be.

Also, its been said over and over again that training should be precise and specific. I think that sometimes its really difficult to measure ones level in a discipline, i.e. paddling, since I cant always time myself and I never know how far Ive gone or to what extent Ive exerted my body. To know what exactly is happening in your body is crucial and in my view a heart rate monitor can put, what your body experiences, on to paper and thus you can track your progress accurately, ...Anyway the point is a little technology can go a long way.

Sustaining Psyche during Training

2010-03-03T03:53:00.003+01:00

On the sustainability of psyche;
with special regard to training and periods of isolation

A goal without a plan is just a wish (Antoine de Saint-exupery)

Training toward a goal and enjoying that training. (AdK)

I am infinitely pleased and proud at the appearance of my 'child'.
Darwin; after seeing the first printed copy of origin (which was over 20yrs in the making)

Can you wait 20 years to reap the fruits of your effort? no! we need to take pride and pleasure out of
the incremental steps leading toward that ultimate goal. That "ultimate goal" which in all likelihood
is not discernible at the beginning of the journey.
Then what is there to strive for?
You can only know what drives you, and focus on that.
Of course, setting tangible goals is essential to any progressive endeavor but these should be
secondary or interchangeable: I want surf the Redbull, now there is no Redbull. But this is only
secondary, my primary drive is to surf big waves. And so my general training continues.

We are fortunate to know what drives us, now we must proceed by sharpening the tools. For discussion
it is useful to dived this process of improvement into five spheres, not forgetting that all are
interdependent:
1 body - your physical health including diet. Your strengths, and more importantly your weaknesses.
2 mind - your mental state, do you control your mind in all situations. "Wherever you go, you bring
yourself: your emotions, ...your shortcomings." (Sebastian Naslund)
3 experience - the accumulation of physical and mental skill acquired during training. (Muscle memory and
cultivation of mind over matter, etc.)
4 equipment - Without the correct equipment, success is improbable. Your equipment is merely and extension of
yourself allowing your existence under the given conditions.
5 playing-field / training-field - What aspects of the training-field are representative of the playing-field.
It is often necessary to utilize various training-fields that together adequately mimic the playing-field.
An essay is owed to each of these spheres; this script focuses on sustaining positive energy during training -
training should be self-motivating.

I've been know to use the Hate word when it comes to my views on cycling, but a significant part of my training regime constitutes cycling. How to keep motivated? It is essential to know why you are doing something and what it is that you want out of it.

(to improve general fitness and strengthen legs, to surf
better, to be more confident in big waves = to enjoy my surfing more).

Once this is known and understood incremental goals must be established. This is to, both, monitor progress and gain pleasure from the task. Satisfaction should be taken from achieving ones goals. Without gaining some form of pleasure from a task it soon becomes draining, rather than stimulating.

(I cycle around the block, I cycle around the block in t = time, by the end of the month I want to cycle around the block in t-20mins, I push myself to cycle around the block 5mins faster each week, I enjoy seeing the improvement, I want to cycle to better my time, I enjoy reaching those targets. But continually my subconscious is telling me I'm going to enjoy my surfing more.)

This should all be fairly self evident. But what happens when you don't reach an increment and your time around the block is slower, how do you find the energy to push-on?

(I'm swimming up the Orange River. I can hardly see my hands and all i hear is the drum-like action of my arms accompanied by a monotonous breathing rhythm 1,2,3,inhale,1,2,3,inhale,1,2,

3... I'm struggling to better my time, I just feel heavy, I know that swimming maintains my fitness, I know that when i'm fit I will enjoy my surfing, i tell myself this - repetitively! Nothing! I had a bit of flue, but i've recovered? Something is just not right. I try to push, but there is just nothing.)

Mental fatigue is difficult to identify, as the physical manifestations are exceptionally diverse.
Listen to your body.
Rest IS training.

(I spend time with my family, I quarter my training so i don't lose my habits, I party a little and eat junk food, I see pics of my friends pushing themselves, I sleep late... And then I'm back!)

Discipline is only needed to form good habits, once you have a positive habitual routine in place it is easy to maintain. Don't let resting disturb this routine. If your are sick and, say, cant go to yogo, rather roll-out you matt and lie on it for and hour than watch TV. Keep your hard earned habits. It is also important to remember that after a rest period you cannot immediately begin at the same point. No matter how excited you are. Work your way back to the previous high. Force yourself to cycle around the block in t+20mins.

(I'm uncertain as to the precises catalyst, but I just feel solid again. I go for a swim, it feels effortless, I see those same pics of my friends and now i cant contain myself, I know that moment in the photo, I want to be there, I will do everything i can to be prepared, i found my psyche).

It is essential to surround yourself with like minded people. Maybe they don't surf but they do want push the limits of their discipline in a similar fashion. That collective - your true friends - will keep you psyched. By their example and by their stoke you can maintain yourself through periods of uncertainty. Sometimes just knowing that you are out-there pushing yourself is enough of a spark to push myself a little harder. Also, you will no-doubt be an inspiration to others. And in this way the psyche is self-sustaining and self-perpetuating...
Having a conscious awareness of this is paramount.

Initially i wanted to put forward ideas on the difference between training for long- and short-term goals. Although in typing, this script has evolved along is own coarse. But, it is what it is.