Originated in the 1960s’ in Dorset, South England. Often called “Psicobloc” in Majorca and other popular DWS areas. Translated to English meaning “Psycho Bouldering.”
It is early October and another weekend rears its glorious head. The weather has cooled down and every weekend is now a climbing weekend. The simple pleasures of being out of the city, away from the hustle and bustle, and out of from the rat-race call to us from beyond the desert. Finally, it’s time for some recreational risk-taking.
You know what I’m talking about! Why do we skydive, surf, bungee jump or even lean our chair back onto two legs? It’s simple really: to feel more alive.I head out with a taste for adventure.
I’m not alone. I am joined by a team of dedicated “weekend warriors.” No fakers, no posers, no egos, just genuine climbers.
Devoted, disposed, fanatic, obsessed. We hail from many countries brought together by a single passion.
This particular weekend, we’ve all decided to abandon our ropes, protection and equipment, leave the inland crags, and pursue our thirst for adrenaline Deep Water Soloing on the coastal cliffs of the Musandam peninsula.
For the readers unfamiliar with Deep Water Soloing, it is a form of rock climbing practiced on overhanging sea cliffs relying solely upon the presence of deep water at the base of the climb to protect you from injury. No ropes, no bolts, no harness and free of all movement-encumbering items.
Often referred to as the purest form of climbing, DWS allows continual thought and flow of movement without stopping to place protection or to manage rope-work. We arrive at the Dibba port on time,despite the recent border issues. Our local navigator and helmsman awaits and the sea looks calm. It’s hot as usual, but not the stifling, humid kind of heat that makes handholds feel slick and soapy. It’s a perfect kind of heat; the kind that dries your back and warms your feet after an inevitable free fall into the sea. We board the boat and head out to sea.
After a short ride we’re near an area known as “Lima Rock.” Our captain had recently taken a group of divers here and, while waiting for them to re-surface, noticed the outstanding abundance of overhanging rock in this area so perfectly amenable to DWS. Our captain has spent several weekends baring witness to our daredevil shenanigans. Consequently, he no longer thinks we are crazy when we sit perched in the edge of the boat, pondering the potential of a seemingly bare rock face. In fact, it would be fair to say he has been bitten by the bug himself, working out the moves with mime-like hand movements alongside the other climbers.
The scope for new routes along the Musandam coastline is endless. Even climbing every day, you would have a lifetime of line exploration ahead of you. Putting up a new route involves instinct and experience. Each climber eagerly scans the coastline until an area resonates with him or her. The routes are as unique as the climbers themselves. Some of us look for routes that are technical and sustained; others prefer ones with burly overhangs. Some people look for a balance of each of these things, and some are simply satisfied with routes that are high and scary! One thing is for certain however; eyeing up potential routes from the boat only leaves you with a vague prediction as to what you’re about to embark on. Until you leave boat and start climbing, the true nature of the route remains a mystery.
This can all sound rather daunting at first. When a route seems impossible or just too dang scary, you need to remind yourself to be open-minded, curious, brave. But most of all, remember – this is what you ENJOY! Each route presents a puzzle that you are tasked with solving. Once on the rock, there are only two possible outcomes: complete the route, or fall trying. Either way, you end up in the water. Each ascent is a learning experience, and wow – what a rush as well! This is why I love climbing. It continually demonstrates the link between mental and physical strength. You can have fingers made of steel but if you’re not mentally prepared, your fears will make even the easiest of climbs feel loose, slippery and beyond your capabilities.
The boat is humming with the energy of a dozen restless climbers. Lima Rock is a new area for all of us and emotions run high. Some are quiet, nervously picking at their nails while studying the rock. Others are excited, chatting to one another about the routes they have spotted. One of the stronger climbers on the boat is eyeballing something he considers appealing. It’s a direct start leading to an overhanging horizontal roof about 12m above sea level. The line is burly, powerful and pretty exposed. His shoes are on, liquid chalk already drying on his hands. He’s got that look in his eyes; psyched would be an understatement. Stepping off the boat, he climbs confidently but carefully, directly up to the underside of the roof. He pauses a moment under the roof and shouts back down at us, “THE ROCK IS REALLY DIRTY!” flashing us a blackened hand. Leaning back, he slaps to something he can’t see around the lip of the roof. It’s a bold move, fall here and he runs the risk of plunging 12m into the water on his back. We all cheer him on, shouting out words of encouragement.
DWS promotes a surprisingly high level of camaraderie for a sport with the word “solo” in its name. No one wants to see their buddy do a 12m face plant.
The encouragement pays off and he pulls over the roof to relax on a ledge. “SPECTACULAR!” he shouts before jumping into the sea. It’s begun, and now we all have to give it a go. One by one, we disembark onto the rock face. Each climber has his or her own strategy. Some grunt and groan the length of the climb, shouting out with every muscular contraction. Others climb swiftly and silently, repeating a silent mantra to keep their anxieties at bay. This route is particularly exposed, which can throw even the most experienced climbers off their game. Exposure relates to the climbers’ vision, especially their peripheral vision. When a climb is classified as exposed, the climber is confronted with the exhilarating feeling of moving through a vast gap, engulfed by nothing but air. Climbing an exposed route can make the search for hand and foot holds all the more desperate, your hands feel weaker, and your feet feel slippery. Exposure can emphasize a myriad of possible distractions, forcing you to look down, to hear the wind in your ears, or to over-analyze the route and the possible outcomes. This all takes its toll on your concentration. It’s a bizarre kind of pressure.
Most of us fall off the route, unable to break the steeply overhanging lip. We tumble to the sea and land in the watery crash pad before we even know what hit us. Those who make it to the top are faced with a barrage of questions: “Why did I finish this route?” “Now the jump is higher! Should I jump with my eyes opened or closed?” “Were the diver’s depth estimations accurate?” “It looks pretty shallow from up here, should I jump silently and as stiff as a board or scream and juggle invisible balls while pedaling an invisible unicycle?” “Has that black-tipped reef shark we spotted earlier left the area?” After a minute, the questions fade and you hear only the sound of your friends counting down your jump, “Five! Four! Three! Two! Ooonnne!” your heart beats hard in your chest. You hear your blood pulsing in your ears. You knew the deal when you started.You understood the inevitable: the higher you climb, the longer the jump. So what are you waiting for – JUMP! You hear the sea air rushing past your ears; for a moment, you are completely free. However, that moment comes to an abrupt end as the salt water assaults your nostrils. You surface, quickly thanking mother nature for your safe landing and rejoin your crew on the boat. They await you with outstretched arms, slapping you on the back and providing you with a detailed account of your adventure. You can’t stop grinning, none of us can – the day is only just beginning.
Published in November 2012
