Sort of longish post today…and only one picture. Hope you don’t get bored!
Yesterday (Thursday) was the day. We got geared up for Psicobloc: bathing suits, lots of chalks, spare climbing shoes, and a long, knotted rope to help us get out of the water (the cliffs are severely undercut in places). We got up early-ish and headed south. After 15 minutes in the car, we realized we forgot the guidebook. The roads are too twisty to turn back…change of plans.
We pull over in Valledemosa (our favorite town besides Deya, and only twenty minutes south) and get café con leche. After much laziness-driven discussion, we decide to head back to the port, just a few minutes away. The cliffs are roadside (I wrote about them earlier) and the approach is literally as easy as stepping from the driver seat onto the cliff. There are a bunch of great climbs here, most of which we had yet to try since it was busy the other day.
We’re successful on most counts as the day progresses. The climbs here are thin in places: tiny holds and minimal foot placements. As the day grows hot, the rubber on our shoes grows mushy and our fingers start to hurt. Dan and I try the first ten feet of a climb about ten times each, but it’s too hard. Ugh. Dan then goes for a super steep line that arcs over the road and gets shut down. He’s able to pull through the hard parts with a little help (yanking on the gear in the rock), then mounts the final section and lowers off. I make sure no trucks are coming by before I lower too far, or else he would be right in their path (picture him dangling twelve feet high, exactly in the middle of a one lane road as a big dump truck goes: fly-on-windshield situation…).
While at the cliff, a friendly Brit named Mike came by. He was climbing alone and set up a rope on a bunch of climbs that he mostly powered right through. I’ve found that old guys tend to have surprisingly strong fingers and predictably good technique. He was quite a chatterbox, always filling the quiet air with stories of good climbs on the island. He’s been coming to Mallorca for ten years or so and knows lots about the climbs here. His favorite topic was Sa Gubia; a cliff we visited several days ago. He was psyched to climb a multi-pitch line (a classic of the island) and needed a partner. I quickly signed on and we planned to meet the next morning near the base of the climb.
11:00 am, Friday. The sun is just hitting the first pitch of our climb. It seems to have a variety of names, and there are a lot of variations, so for simplicity’s sake, I’ll go with the most simple: Gubia Classic. It’s a stunning arête, about 1000 feet vertical, then another 800 feet of steep ridge scrambling. Mike was pretty “keen” on it and had the line all scoped out. I followed the first pitch, which was harder and steeper than I had hoped, but it went fine. I led the next pitch, sweating the whole way (from nerves and the sun). At this point, the upper pitches had been baking in the sun for hours and I could feel the heat radiating off the rock. We finally pulled onto a sizeable ledge where a couple of boisterous Spaniards were laughing and drinking Coke. They pointed to the next pitches and then rappelled back the base, now a couple hundred feet down. I traversed right and up a slab, found a belay after 20 meters, then Mike followed. He led the next pitch, a rope stretching 60 meters. At this point, we were nearing the top and I was getting dizzy with the heat and lack of water. I led a very short pitch to a better belay (a decent sized ledge), then Mike went on through and led the final 80 feet to the top. From there, we unroped, put on our sneakers, and started the scramble. At first, the ridge was narrow, about three feet at times. Big, jumbled blocks led all the way to the true summit, and we went across most of them on all fours. Eventually, the ridge widened (but also steepened). I found myself pulling some tricky moves, unroped, with a short tumble and then 1000 feet of air below me. It was tense, but wonderful at the same time. It was the most exposed I’ve ever been, and while it felt scary at moments, I loved it thoroughly.
Here's a shot of the steep part. The scramble begins at the point and heads sort of straight back towards the distant summit. From the base, that point is around 1000 feet. (The internet has been iffy here, I hope this shot loads)
I didn’t have a camera on the route, but Mike did, and maybe someday he’ll e-mail me the summit pictures. We signed the little notebook tucked into a copper casing and headed on down the sheep trail. An hour later, we got back to our cars. Dan and Reilly were waiting—they had spent the day doing other climbs down below, then Dan got a little bit sick and they sat at the car waiting for awhile. We all enjoyed some Mallorcan pizza and beer at the nearby café, then headed home to Deya to relax.
We’ve got about a week left, some great climbing and equally great exploring left to do. I finally checked out the little cove in Deya this evening (it’s a pretty long walk), and it’s simply gorgeous. Clear water, and a little house (restaurant?) perched above the calm sea. It felt a little cold for swimming, but maybe I’ll get tempted soon.
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