What do you see?
One of my more memorable climbing experiences involved examining a piece of gritstone with king of grit Johnny Dawes. We were stood under The Breadline, a slightly precarious arête jumbled among the Stanage Plantation boulders a few years ago. I think we were concerned with how to make the transition around the arête from the lower start of Beneath the Breadline. Being a similar size and too small for the standard foothold, we were searching for a different one. Almost instantaneously our eyes were drawn to a certain pebble, which was in just the right place and stuck out at exactly at the right angle offering about 1mm edge of sharp purchase. I remember being really quite pleased with myself that my eyes could see what Johnny Dawes could see in a similar amount of time. And it to top it off, this foothold worked. I realised that a lifetime of looking at and stepping on gritstone smears had led up to this.
The scene of that conversation with Johnny. Although this picture was from another day. Here our friend Jeff from the USA is about to teeter up Breadline (font 6c) at Stanage. If where to put your hands and feet is a given, it frees the mind to cope with weather like this. I remember this day with fondness - it was brilliant, we had every season that day and climbed all sorts of things.
Up till now I’ve spent 27 years looking at bits of gritstone (and various other types of rock)! It’s an odd thought when I really think about it. I started climbing on grit at Almscliff and Caley and now I live near the Peak District, which is famous for its gritstone edges. I see the subtle bumps, ripples, undulations, every crystal and read the texture and sheen. Then I attach a meaning to all of it, matching the perfect bump of a foothold with a similar complex arrangement of handholds and visualise the position my body will make. I’ve been pretty intimate with many other types of rock too: granite, sandstone, limestone, quartzite, conglomerate, slate and so on and know many of these variations from around the country and around the world. But gritstone is the rock I’m most familiar with.
Gritstone - what do you see? I remember being quite captivated that day as the rock was really sparkly
The retinal images sent to the brain of what we see are not pure, crystal clear 3D images. It is in actual fact, the brain that makes sense of the picture. And that picture is an interpretation based on what we know of the world, our memory and imagination. Eskimos discern far more shades of white. Expert clinicians interpret x-rays far quicker than medical students. Top tennis players read the body positions of their opponents, predicting the outcome of a lightning fast serve in split seconds. Effectively these people see things that others simply do not.
In the book ‘Bounce’ by Matthew Syed, the author recounts a tennis game he played with Michael Stich, Wimbledon winner and how, despite being a national level table tennis player himself, he’s astounded by how it’s possible for anyone to react and return serves as fast as Michael’s. Liverpool John Moores University professor Mark Williams (a world leading expert on perceptual expertise in sport) explained: “It is not as simple as just knowing where to look; it is also about grasping the meaning of what you are looking at”. A top tennis player knows not to look at the ball or racket (as a beginner would) during a serve, but the hips and torso, very quickly spotting patterns that will predict where and how the ball will land. An expert clinician interprets the shadows and shapes in x-rays because they can refer to the many other x-rays they’ve seen, along with the multitude of discussions with other experts. And it’s the same for experienced climbers. Not only is it the shapes they see in the rock, but the chunking of information which allows them to see how hands and feet may optimally combine, making recognisable shapes and patterns.
If a handhold leans off in a certain direction, the eye of an experienced rock climber will immediately get drawn downwards to the feet, to a small section of rock that will oppose and support the handhold. “I need a foothold right there”. It will appear straight away – in fact they are not even thinking about it, their foot just travels to the right place instinctively. For example an undercut handhold instantly suggests either an opposing outside edge foot directly beneath it, or two feet either side, one inside edge, one outside edge. I know what I’m looking for now, even before seeing it in real life, because I’ve seen it before so many times. The eye zones right in to one square foot of rock, discounts the rest and sees the necessary ripple, with the necessary friction. And if the eye doesn’t see what it needs, it’ll move quickly onto the next possible set of options. These are all subconscious decisions, all happening in split seconds.
Me about to set off up Janus E6/7 6b at Curbar. The rock really sparkles in that groove - whilst the climbing up there is spectacular, the footholds are small and it’s a good place to spend time, sit and look.
Sometimes my clients say they can hear my voice in their head “the whole rock is a foothold”. I wonder if this can get annoying, well it will do, unless I can explain the reasoning behind this statement. When we read the rock like this, tens of other footholds become available. Whilst on rock with friction this may be true, there is a complex matrix of dynamics that allow us to see what we need to see as quickly as possible, ideally automatically. The brain is then freed up to think about tactics and many moves ahead.
Having stood next to many bits of rock with clients and fellow climbers, it’s interesting to know that we may not all be seeing the same thing. (In fact that really is another discussion altogether; just as we can never know that what one person sees as red is actually the same as the next person.) But still, even if we can see the same bumps and ripples, can we interpret meaning and see recognizable patterns – what a foothold is telling us – what a handhold wants us to see in our feet – whether a small piece of lichen is saying “yes you can stand on me” or “definitely don’t come anywhere near me”?? Maybe the foothold is speaking to your mind “trust me, it’s ok” or maybe it’s saying “yep you’re right, I am a slippery fish – you might be better off with my mate next door”. Perhaps your shoes are saying “don’t blame me” or “give me a rest and get a new pair”. There are endless questions and a new set will keep cropping up every time you meet a new type of rock.
I guess I really enjoy looking at footholds and bits of rock. When you go outside climbing next, what will you look at?