WhippersAndTears

Some pro climbers are willing to do just about anything to fund their lifestyles; different dogs, same old bone. Rock climbers who accept sponsorships from disreputable companies like Red Bull embarass themselves and the sport they represent. Red Bull is one of the most notable sponsors of adventure sports and also the most abominable. Numerous studies have shown the harmful effects of Red Bull on the human body, yet pro climbers like Alex Megos, Will Gadd and David Lama continue to promote it. Anyone who claims this stuff is healthy is more full of shit than a campground outhouse. I understand these are popular, charismatic people who could charm the fangs off a snake, but that shouldn’t win them a free pass for ethics. I doubt Will Gadd chugs a Red Bull before clambering up WI6 ice! To watch Megos, Lama, Gadd and others fawning at the feet of Mammon just to score a few extra bucks for their next climbing trip makes me sick to my stomach. The amount of harm done to young people who admire these hero climbers and begin ingesting toxic substances is incalculable. They may as well accept sponsorships from Phillip Morris — and in fact they probably would! Maybe they could even borrow a slogan from the Marlboro Man; ‘Red Bull tastes good like chemicals should.’ Promoting cigarette smoking may even be more ethical than promoting Red Bull because the harmful effects of nicotine are widely known, whereas the side effects of taurine and other Red Bull ingredients have been less publicized. With climbing making its debut in the Olympics soon, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Megos, Gadd and company pimping McDonalds or Pepsi Cola. They should be ashamed of themselves. Squamish climbing Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/squamishclimb/ My Blog: https://WhippersandTears.com Follow me on Medium.com: https://medium.com/@disruptivetech Follow me on Facebook: https://Facebook.com/disruptivetechnology

Hey folks, Make sure to join the Squamish Climbing Facebook group to stay up-to-date on new routes, find climbing partners, sign up for free events and training sessions, and get the latest updates on Squamish climbing conditions! https://www.facebook.com/groups/squamishclimb/ Sincerely, Jesse James

Ladies, may I have your attention please! I am looking for a hot rock climbing girlfriend. But I do have some requirements. You have to be vegan and at least 73.52% raw. You must trad climb 5.11b, sport climb 5.12c and boulder v5. But you must never outclimb me, EVER! I mean it, I will dump you like a hot potato. You must be cool with living in a dirty van more or less for the rest of your life while we roadtrip around Canada, the USA and the world. You must not wear fancy clothes or makeup because that’s not what dirtbags do – unless of course it’s REST DAY, DRESS DAY. You must not flirt with crushers, ever! You must think I’m way, way cooler than Alex Honnold. Or at least say so. You must not work a dumb job or any job so we can climb basically all the time. You must be able to hand jam, fingerlock, ring lock, kneebar, knee jam, arm bar and butterfly stack. If you can’t butterfly stack, sorry, you’re not my soul mate! You must be able to pull a roof or wiggle up an offwidth with dignity and grace. You must give me an equal amount of belay time on projects – I do carry a stopwatch. You must climb hard all the time, and keep the psych high, even when you’re on the rag. And most importantly, you must never drop me off the end of the rope when you’re pissed at having to live up to all this dumb shit! Jesse James http://WhippersAndTears.com

The Dirtbag Dude's Guide to Picking Up Hot Girls at the Crag by JESSE JAMES http://WhippersAndTears.com What I love about climbing is that it’s not only tolerable – but accepted, even mandatory – to stare at some hot girl’s ass while she climbs. In any other situation you would surely get slapped for looking at a girl’s butt for so long (or beaten up by her boyfriend), but not at the crag. No way. See a butt you like on the wall? Well, now, it’s time to move in. First you need to get her attention. Take off your shirt. Sun’s out? Guns out. Is she looking at you yet? No? Move next to her and start talking about some hard routes, even if you never climbed them. *cough* The Rostrum. *cough* Astroman. The Nose on El Cap was so rad. A day? Oh, hell yeah. Like it was nuthin. Make sure she can hear you, man! Did that work? No? Try name dropping. You might not be famous or cool, but maybe you climbed with someone famous or cool. You rope up with Honnold, right? Ya, like all the time. Remember: It’s not lying – it’s flirting. Has she got the hots for you yet? No? Shit, son, it’s time for some next-level pickup. You gotta demonstrate your bona fides. I mean saddle up, cowboy. You need to IMMEDIATELY jump on the hardest route you can possibly climb. Rip off that shirt. Grunt your way up the overhanging rock – skip bolts, run it out, and try not to die. Unleash a savage man-beast howl at the chains – GRRRHHHHHHHAAAAA!! Yeah, dude, you got her attention now. For sure. Unless … there is a crusher lurking nearby. WARNING: Your worst nightmare is the crusher! At any crag, there are bound to be multiple handsome dudes pawing at one hot girl. This is a problem. You must isolate the competition. If there is a crusher on the loose, watch out! He might steal your girl. You need to strip him of his manhood. Be like, ‘Oh, yeah, he’s just a SPORT climber.’ Make sure to pronounce the word ‘sport’ with as much condescension as you can muster. Practice at home if necessary. Repeat after me: ‘Ohhh, he’s just a SPORT climber. Trad is so much harder.’ Of course, you better sack up right then and there. Grab some cams and GO! GO! GO! Show that sport twinkie who the real man is! After your death-defying trad lead, shuffle over to her and whisper sweet nothings in her ear; ‘He might have bigger muscles than me, babe, but you can see my balls from space.’ Next step? Get up close and personal. Is she working a route? Show her some ‘moves.’ Women love it when you pay attention to them. Take an interest in her project – ‘wow, that’s so sick’ – even if it is five grades easier than your warmup. Good news, boys; climbing is your license to touch – and women get mega turned on when you touch them. Is her harness too loose? Adjust it for her, real slow. Show her the beta on her project by guiding her body gently through the moves on the ground. Massage her shoulders before her big send. Is the first bolt 1 meter up? Give her a spot. Obviously, and this is extremely important, seize any and every opportunity to grab her ass. All in the name of safety, remember. It’s no secret that girls love money, but since you’re a climber, I know you’re broke as dirt. Do not fret. Talk about those sponsorships that might be coming in – one day. Free Patagonia jackets, free climbing ropes, maybe even a free cam or two – you just gotta send that next hard project that you’ve been working for years. Brag about your awesome van that you camperized in a Home Depot parking lot in two hours – girls love a handyman. You’ve been living in it how long? Just make sure there’s nothing else living in it, like mice. And if you invite her back to your wicked rig for ‘dinner,’ hopefully we’re not talking about Kraft Dinner. You do have some real food, don’t you? In an article for Outdoor Research, Beth Rodden gives men some pickup tips. She says to ‘impress her outside of your climbing abilities.’ Good call. If nothing else works, do one-arm pullups, like Honnold. As many as possible, right in front of her. Beth also says ‘make sure you are clean.’ Obviously, if you smell like wet diapers, you’re not gonna bag that hot climber babe you’ve been oogling. At least take a hobo shower at Starbucks before you go prowling. Whatever you do, avoid bouldering gyms, especially indoor bouldering gyms. I went down to the Hive in N. Van cruising for chicks, and some ripped freak was swinging all over the wall like a monkey on yayo, doing moves that looked more like Parkour than rock climbing. How the fuck does a trad climber compete with that? The boulderfields outdoors are not much better. Avoid them. I know you’re desperate, but you’re not THAT desperate. Those boulderers share more than just beta – you could get clapped a day’s drive out if the wind is right. Most importantly, learn to handle repeated rejection with dignity and grace; you came to crush, not creep on girls. Jesse James Relationship Status: Single (lol) http://whippersandtears.com/the-dirtbag-dudes-guide-to-picking-up-hot-girls-at-the-crag/

Cerberus is a 5.11d Squamish mostly-bolted 'sport' route on an amazingly clean wall with incredible small dyke feature. Getting into the main business via the 5.10d Catharsis Crack provides the head crux with 50 meters of tenuous undercling smearing. Great FUN for both leader AND second! View more videos at http://WhippersAndTears.com

I'm a Canadian climber considering heading south to climb all fall, winter and spring in the states. I'm stoked on big multipitches, desert cracks, and classics! I climb 5.12+ but would mostly be interested in classic 5.9- 5.11+ multipitch lines, and harder single-pitch climbs. I LOVE leading so if you're not up to the grade I'm happy to lead most or even all of the climbs. I'm hoping to find a partner in advance so as not to have scrounge from campgrounds .. I want to visit all the rad places like Jtree, bishop, red rocks, zion, tuolomne, indian creek, and of course yosemite. If you climb 5.10 or above and have MASSIVE STOKE then lets talk! add me to Facebook and let's chat: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008360059088

Hi folks, the weather in Squamish is phenomenal right now! Anyone want to come out here and climb some big, awesome multipitch routes like Freeway, Grand Wall, High Plains Drifter, Milk Road, Cerberus, etc? I am also willing to lead EVERYTHING if 5.11 trad is above your grade .. Message me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008360059088

Grizzly Bear Encounter: Rogers Pass, British Columbia (July 9th, 2015) by Jesse James http://WhippersAndTears.com'>http://WhippersAndTears.com Having just climbed the Southeast Ridge of Mt Uto, my partner and I were descending lazily in the extreme heat of the afternoon when an off-duty ‘visitor safety’ specialist named Lydia blew past us. Despite a grizzly bear advisory on the trail, she left her climbing partners in the dust (maybe they were slowpokes?) and scampered down the trail solo, sans bear spray, until she surprised a large female grizzly feeding on roots slapdab in the middle of the path. Understandably not wanting to get into a ‘right-of-way’ dispute with the large bruin, she backtracked up the talus slope, and waited for us. Arriving on the scene, I promptly whipped out my pepper spray and a large machete, ready for battle should the bear decide we looked like fish n’chips. But alas! The ranger informed me that I could ‘go to prison’ for defending myself against a bear attack with any kind of sharp object. Apparently in Glacier National Park self-defense is illegal; just let the animals eat you. What about rocks? Could I bash the bruin on the head with a pointy rock if it got the better of me? She didn’t know. Then I reached for my GoPro as she recoiled in horror; ‘no knives or GoPros!’ I guess cameras are illegal too. With the bear refusing to budge, she radioed for help at the ranger station, and they told us to wait until we formed a group of five or more, and then descend, but only if the grizz graciously ceded us the right-of-way. Otherwise, get comfortable. After some consideration, I was OK with waiting – you pick the devil you dance with, and I had no burning desire to tango with this monstrous bruin. As we waited for another party to catch up, the ranger drolled on about how useless my knives would be in a rumble with a bear. ‘They don’t even pierce the hide,’ she chided. Uh huh. Having spent twenty years exploring the backcountry, I’ve been charged twice by grizzly and encountered countless bears. Lydia had worked in Rogers Pass for a year and never laid eyes on a brown bear before; she talked about this stuff like she read it in a book. Pissed off, I told the ranger that if the grizz got feisty with her, I’d make sure to keep the knife in its sheath; she was on her own. Sorry Lydia, but prison sucks. The ban on filming brown bear with GoPros confuses me, but not as much as the law against defending onself with all means available in the event of a predatory animal attack. Her argument was that a knife would be useless against a bear. Maybe, maybe not. Wild Bill Hickok reportedly killed a grizzly with a hunting knife. In more recent times, during the summer of 2014 a Minnesota man killed a 525lb black bear armed only with a small knife, stabbing the attacking bruin more than twenty times. The bear was so huge it took ten men to drag its carcass back to camp. A year before that, in 2013, Fraser Graham killed angry grizzly with a hunting knife as it severely mauled him. Back in 1999, Alaska hunter Gene Moe was charged and knocked down by a grizzly while he skinned a deer. Having left his hunting rifle a hundred meters away, he had only a small blade to fend off the savage attack. He cut its throat and survived – the bear was not so lucky. In all three cases, carrying a knife saved the lives of these men. In none of the cases, did the knife fail to pierce the hide, as Lydia Marmont would have us believe. Is a bear gonna f**k you up if it’s in a hurtin’ kind of mood? Hell yes. But would you rather fight a grizzly with bare knuckles or with an 24 inch razor-sharp Cold Steel machete called ‘CHAOS’? Jesse James Blog: http://WhippersAndTears.com Reference Links: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2014/09/30/mi ... g-mauling/ http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2013/11/01 ... 94910.html http://www.cbn.com/700club/features/ama ... e_moe.aspx

THE CLASSIC - by Jesse James (dedicated to the Columbia Buttress, Revelstoke) The guidebook marked it ‘classic’ The FA called it ‘boss’ Above me on the starting pitch – One hundred feet of choss. My parter froze with mouth agape The looseness gave him pause Handing him the rack I grinned ‘Ain’t nothing but some moss.’ Halfway up that awful pitch He pulled a piece of choss Tumbling down the rotten face His words were at a loss. The guidebook marked it ‘classic’ The FA called it ‘boss’ Above me on the second pitch – One hundred feet of choss. I grabbed the rack and charged that crack And hollared down to Ross ‘Watch me, dude, this block moves’ Then BAM! Down went man and rope and choss. We talked about retreating as our hearts were wildly beating Bad luck is one of Murphy’s laws. I thought ‘maybe it gets better’ as I crawled up to the station with trembling hands and chattering jaws. The guidebook marked it ‘classic’ The FA called it ‘boss’ Above me on the final pitch – Two hundred feet of choss. Suddenly I felt a shaking as of something smartly breaking Pulling on a flake nearly fifteen feet across Flying backwards in the air I screamed ‘This route has been my albatross.’ (for more climbing poems, humor, trip reports, beta and pictures visit http://WhippersAndTears.com)

A Guide to Sandbagging Newbies and Sport Climbers on Squamish's Grand Wall (5.11a) http://WhippersAndTears.com/'>http://whippersandtears.com/ by JESSE JAMES …. One of the most legendary multipitch excursions in all of Canada, the Grand Wall cuts a brilliant line up the cleanest sweep of granite in Squamish, an imposing face of steep corners and flakes. I run up The Grand at least once a month to re-assure myself of my manhood. The Grand Wall is a fantastic afternoon climb for two seasoned trad climbers looking for a quick two hour workout on an awesome wall. It is no place for a newbie. I thought I would introduce this tremendous route to my buddy’s cousin, let’s call him Pete. He was 20 years old, all muscle and radness, a lean and muscled warrior who practiced intense martial arts training for years. A hundred pushups? No problem. Fifty pullups? Easy peasy. I mean this kid was Bruce Lee. Shazaam! We were going to run up The Grand, and eat breakfast while we simul-climb the Split Pillar. But there was just one problem: Pete had never touched rock before. Not even plastic. He might have climbed a ladder – once. This could be trouble. I was a little worried about his belaying – as in, he had no idea how to belay. So we dragged up a mutual friend on a second rope. I would lead on two ropes, and use my trusty ATC Guide to belay both climbers up below me. Only problem was, the two ropes were so thin we weren’t sure they were rated for top-roping a second. Twins? Halfs? Who knows the difference? And up we went. The first two pitches of the Grand Wall are designed to keep pussies off the route. With seven bolts in 70 meters, and the first bolt a solid 10 meters off the deck, the slabby dyke gets your head warmed up for the main event. This is not the place for a 5.9 climber to show his stuff on lead. I considered peer-pressuring Pete into leading the first pitch (‘what are you, dude, some kind of pussy?’), but thought he might actually fall off, and die, so I canned the idea pretty quick. After the first two pitches, appropriately called ‘Mercy Me,’ we hit a beautiful 5.10b traverse. Now was the time to test Pete’s headspace; the pitch can be terrifying for a weak second if the leader ‘forgets’ to place any pro, simply clipping the two bolts and being done with it. As I traversed rightward, I considered plopping in a bomber red Alien. Nah, I thought to myself. He’ll make it. And around the corner I went, fingerlocking my way to the top. The cool thing about this pitch is that the second can’t actually SEE any protection as the leader disappears around the corner; no gear, no bolts, nothing. Let’s put this guy to the test, I thought to myself. See what he’s made of. On a previous ascent, I watched my relatively experienced second take a horrific pendulum fall on this pitch, and waited patiently for an hour as he ascended the line with a prussik. If Pete fell, I would have to rap down and help him up. He didn’t know a prussik from a hand jam. Perhaps due to his martial training, Pete kept his head together on the exposed traverse, struggling fiercely at the crux near the bolts, but otherwise cruising. I was mildly impressed; the gruesome pendulum potential hardly fazed him. Or maybe he was too much of a newbie to understand what happened to the human body as it bobbed and bounced off slab on a 20 meter pendulum whip. After the first three pitches, we arrived at the base of the famous (infamous?) Split Pillar, a 5.10b splitter crack soaring forty meters skyward, dead vertical, imposing, awesome. I climbed the Pillar during my first year of climbing, when my ‘coach’ handed me a few pieces of gear and said; ‘Go for it, man.’ I tottered and squirmed halfway up the pitch when my foot unexpectedly popped out of the crack, catching the rope and flipping me like a pancake, sending me headfirst below the belay, where, upside down and mouth agape, I found myself staring into the bulging pupils of a terrified female climber at the top of the previous pitch. I blinked, composed myself. ‘Howdy,’ I said. And then I began yarding up the rope. Recomposing myself at the base of the Pillar, I quickly fired up the route, and this time kept my feet in the crack, where they belonged. When my ‘coach’ got to the top, he told me that below him were two German girls guided by a local rock guide named Jeremy, and that my fall had frightened the ladies so much that they insisted on a quick retreat. Jeremy also chewed out my coach for sending me up such a route, clearly unprepared, with a minimal rack and no helmet, much less any skill. A few weeks before the climb with Pete, I had brought my friend Paul, a solid 5.14 sport climber, up this same route. Paul could clip bolts, but could he do the man-dance on a trad route? I wasn’t so sure. He admitted the day before taking his first fall on gear – on Hand Jive, a Squamish classic at the Lower Malamute graded 5.10b. Same as the Pillar, except Hand Jive was a one-move wonder. Paul agreed in advance to test his mettle on the fearsome, gaping hand crack of the Split Pillar, so I made sure to bring a bare-minimum rack for the whole climb, six cams and a few nuts. Secretly I hoped he would take a ferocious whipper like I did years ago. Handing Paul the gear at the base of the Pillar, I told him solemnly; ‘Man, we don’t have much gear. You’re gonna have to run it out.’ He had never led anything above 5.10b, and you could probably count his total trad leads on one hand. Interesting, I thought. Going to be some action. Paul started up the initial half-inch layback crack, and just kept on laybacking. ‘Jam it, dude,’ I shouted up to him. ‘JAM IT!’ Nope. I watched in rapt horror as he laybacked the entire 40 meter crack, pausing occasionally to blindly stuff in a piece of gear. (Mental note: find a crack climb that sport crushers CAN’T layback.) And so I stood with Pete looking up at this beautiful line, knowing full well that he would be yarding on every piece of gear I placed. Like Paul, he had no idea how to jam. But unlike Paul, he couldn’t climb 5.14. I doubted if he could climb 5.9. I wasn’t sure he could make it up the Split, or the Sword, and almost certainly not Perry’s. It wasn’t that his footwork was bad; he didn’t have any footwork. It was almost like he didn’t have feet. He was doing pull-ups on the 5.9 crimpers of Mercy Me. This could be bad, I thought. ‘Don’t worry, Pete, it eases up,’ I encouraged him, as he gazed upwards, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, at the ridiculous splitter in front of him. ‘Easier than it looks, trust me.’ And so up we went. Pete was an amazing guy; no complaining, no bitching, no tears. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his experience, with no evident fear of heights. The exposure on the next pitch, the world-famous Sword (5.11a), was startling, but Pete was grinning ear-to-ear. Much stronger climbers than him have been reduced to tears at this point on the Grand Wall, suffering the humiliation of retreat. I asked Pete how he was doing. ‘AWESOME,’ came the reply. He was psyched. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t responding nearly as well as his mind. In the middle of the Sword, as he pulled left onto the absurd exposure of the face, his fingers began clinching inward, like claws. It was some kind of hideous cramp. He couldn’t even open his hands. He had to pry his fingers apart with his teeth. Yes, his teeth. Betrayed by his body, Pete struggled on, somehow inching his way up the final lieback, desperately yarding on gear. The next pitch, Perry’s Lieback (5.11a), is an amiable 5 minute cruise for me, but for some people this is the crux of the entire route. A stupendous number of bolts protect relatively easy but endurancy moves. For people who aren’t strong, this pitch can feel hard. Pete was not strong. After more than an hour grovelling up the wide layback crack, he emerged from the abyss claws-first looking terribly haggard, his hands bunched up into quasi-fists, bloody, unsightly, useless. As he crawled up to the belay station, like some ugly avian lobster, I pointed to the ominous roofs above me; ‘Showtime,’ I said. ‘This is the crux, the meat, the real deal. Are you ready for this, buddy?’ I watched all of the youthful exuberance seep out of him, like a tire slowly deflating, as he turned pale with dread. ‘Oh, sh*t,’ was all he could muster. Of course, we don’t pull the roofs on that pitch – it’s a casual stroll across the slabby ‘flats.’ I had to haul him up the rest of the route, yanking with all my might on the belay, appropriate punishment, I thought, for my foolishness in cajoling a complete newbie up this intimidating route. The final pitch, called the Sail Flake, took at least an hour, with Pete constantly falling and swinging downward, then trying to climb the rope, Tarzan-style. As we traversed Bellygood Ledge, looking down at five hundred meters of air, I was concerned that Pete, in his depleted condition, might stumble on a third class move, dragging me down to oblivion. So I roped him up to his friend, then sprinted across the ledge to eat lunch and admire the view. JESSE JAMES http://WhippersAndTears.com