Vera Schulte-Pelkum entering the fun zone where the ground is far enough below that falls are safe and soft on Not My Cross to Bear (5.11), Penitente Canyon, Colorado
Vera Schulte-Pelkum entering the fun zone where the ground is far enough below that falls are safe and soft on Not My Cross to Bear (5.11), Penitente Canyon, Colorado
Climbing has always been a fascinating amalgamation of romantic adventure; a nerdy, science-experiment-like endeavor; and a physical, athletic pursuit. Craig Luebben, the author of the first edition of this book, was gifted in communicating all three of these seemingly disparate aspects of the sport. Thanks to climbing gyms and the social media culture, modern climbing tends to be seen as more athletic than scientific or adventurous, and as such, Craig’s books may be more useful than ever before. When we’re getting pumped on a sport climb or checking out the instatweetchatbook feeds showing fit climbers after their latest send, it’s easy to forget the basic forces that make the sport both beautiful and dangerous. Craig, a scientist by training, introduced the first edition with a fundamental reminder of what makes climbing work:
Gravity: The tireless force that pulls two bodies together. The more massive the bodies and the closer they are, the stronger the pull. Earth’s huge mass creates an enormous gravitational force that traps the atmosphere, holds the planet together, drives glaciers and rivers, and makes climbing what it is—fun and challenging, yet sometimes frightening, perilous, and hard. Gravity lurks and lingers, always ready to pluck a climber from her tenuous stance. When a climber does fall, it’s up to the rope and anchors to catch her.
Climbing anchors allow us to “safely” defy gravity. We use them to build belay and rappel stations, set top ropes, and protect lead climbers. Solid anchors and proper rope techniques can prevent a fall from turning into a catastrophe; bad anchors are an accident waiting to happen.
Setting anchors is simple and straightforward on many climbs; on other routes, finding the anchors and engineering the protection system can be a significant part of the climb’s challenge. For some climbers, the problem-solving aspect of creating anchors is one of the many appeals of rock climbing. For others, setting anchors is just a duty to keep the climbing safe. Either way, having a large repertoire of anchoring techniques makes climbing safer and more efficient.
This perspective is perhaps even more important now than it was when Craig first wrote it, because the number of people who need to learn the fundamentals of how climbing anchors work has grown exponentially since then, and most climbers today are introduced to the sport in the seemingly safe environment of the climbing gym. For this reason, one of the big additions to this second edition is a chapter on climbing gym anchors (see chapter 8). For experienced rock climbers, the concept of climbing gym anchors may seem like an oxymoron, but think again. In this book, anchor means anything that attaches a climber to the wall, regardless of whether the wall is made of rock, concrete, or plywood. This includes the bolts; natural protection; and top-rope, lower-off, or belay anchors. Gravity works the same in the gym as it does outside, and the forces of swinging falls and climber location relative to the anchors and the belayer are equally applicable to indoor and outdoor climbing.
Some of the ideas and techniques presented here come from the guide’s perspective; these are systems that are used day in, day out by thousands of guides around the world. Other information comes from the light-and-fast school, where speed, efficiency, and skill trump the urge to build big, complex belay anchors.
Many valid climbing styles, rope systems, and anchor-rigging techniques exist—there are dozens of ways to crack an egg. This is where creativity meets science. There are a lot of options for building an anchor; in the end it needs to be strong enough for the given situation and convenient to use. The key is to understand the potential forces and build anchors that can handle the forces with strength to spare, all while constructing the anchors quickly, cleanly, and without using excessive gear.
On opposite extremes, a team of intermediate climbers may set as many anchors in a four-pitch route as a speed team does in twenty pitches. The speed climbers are cutting corners where they feel climbing skill can compensate for safety protocol, using advanced rope techniques and increasing risk tolerance in order to achieve their goal of climbing fast. This variation among climbing teams is fine because everyone is (hopefully) having fun and accomplishing their objectives without mishap.
In the gym, climbers don’t build anchors, but they certainly use them; probably more falls are now held by gym anchors than by anchors in real rock, and knowing when to clip, how to assess potential falls by both you and your partner as well as climbers around you, and how to take into account the difference in body weight between climber and belayer makes the difference between a great experience and an unpleasant, painful, and potentially dangerous one.
Most instructional books can be accused of encouraging protocol-based solutions to problems. But the climbing landscape is too complex and the variables too many to be served well by protocol. A climber needs the flexibility to craft a solution for each situation. Protocol is necessary for beginners and still important for intermediates. For anyone seeking to become a good climber, though, the best plan is to become educated and experienced, so you can consistently and quickly make good judgmentbased decisions. The ultimate goal of this book is to help you on that quest.
Craig and I started climbing together when he was working on his engineering degree and I was in high school. We shared a common interest in not just making climbing safe enough, but in making it as safe as possible while still pushing our own athletic and adventure limits. I recall spending many hours on the long road trips between climbing areas discussing the myriad details and physics of climbing anchors. Craig was a great mentor for me, and I helped him to embrace the go-for-it attitude that has become so prevalent in the modern climbing culture. We climbed together in Canada, China, and all over the United States. After Craig’s untimely death in 2009, his widow, Silvia, invited me to author this second edition.
While working on this book, I climbed in Eldorado Canyon with Craig’s daughter, Giulia, who, at thirteen years old, was already climbing 5.13 in the gym. She hadn’t done much hard traditional climbing, so we spent a day climbing the tenuous, naturally protected thin cracks that split the soaring arêtes of Eldorado’s Redgarden Wall. Watching her solve the complex sequences, use anchors of her dad’s invention—the Big Bro—and enjoy the airy belays and the birdlife soaring around us reminded me of my early days climbing, when I followed better and more-experienced climbers than I, including her dad. This part of learning to climb, the mentorship, is something that no book and not even the vast (and often misleading) information available on the internet can replace. Every climber will do well to find someone, a guide or friend, who can be your mentor and do for you what Craig did for me and what I have done for Giulia. Then, when you’re the more experienced climber on the team and you’ve mastered everything in this book and more, do the same for your partner and help to pass on the love and lessons of this great sport.