An Albertan’s Perspective on Ontario Climbing
Moving to Ontario made me the climber I am today, the one I dreamt of becoming as a little g irl, star ing up at the jagged peaks of Alberta’s Rockies. I g rew up in Calgar y and my parents showed my brothers and me the magic of an alpine sunset over Canmore, the joy of glacier-fed swimming in the Ghost, and the down-toyour-bones-cold winter camping of K-countr y. We hiked, biked, canoed, rafted and skied however far mom and dad could coax our little bodies to take us. Yet while my mind would dream me up the rock face of Ha Ling and onto the summit, climbing would remain just that – a dream. Only when I left Alberta for Australia, and Australia for Ontar io, did climbing become a par t of my reality.
Whenever I told an Ontar io climber that was from Alberta, the classic response was a look of bewilder ment, followed by “what are you doing here?” My climbing community took root in KitchenerWaterloo (KW) with the opening of the local gym in 2011, the Grand River Rocks ( grr). My first tr ip, on a br isk March morning, to an Ontar io crag was with a KW climber. When we left KW, there was no snow to be seen, but by the time we reached Metcalf crag, there was at least two feet. Despite ice, snow, water and rock, I stiffly hopped on my first Ontar io climb. Halfway up, I rested on an icy cr imp, shaking life into my fingers and mutter ing a few words of disdain.
As the season arr ived, so began the weekly tr ips to Rattlesnake, Buffalo Crag and Nemo. Most climbers in southern Ontario cr inge when they hear the name Rattlesnake. Truth be told, the bustle, polish and choss, of the accessible crag made our tr ips there infrequent. Jeremy Hahn insisted we climb McMaster Special 5.8. It has an easy start then a one-metre roof, which has cracks big enough to swallow forear ms. One by one, we plugged our fists and elbows into those cracks, and with a few grunts for dramatic effect, heaved ourselves over the roof to be rewarded by whoops from below.
On the other side of the Escarpment is Mount Nemo. Nemo will always hold a special place in my heart, serving as my first Canadian home crag and my first trad lead on the four-star, 5.7 classic, Camel. The weekly tradition that grew around our Nemo trips began unsuspectingly enough. Eric Draycott and Dan Stiplosek gave out an open invitation for breakfast, coffee and climbing in early May. From then on, their doors were open every Sunday morning. We sipped coffee at their kitchen table and watched in amusement as a var iety of unannounced climbers flowed into what I came to call “Sunday mass.”
Recently, the north end had a number of moderate routes go up, offer ing a transition space for climbers looking to make the move from the crowds of Rattlesnake. If you do make the tr ip to Nemo, keep your eye out for three things: the beautiful 5.9 crack Cat’s Tail, golden sunshine and purple clouds at sunset, and a grr bumper sticker in the parking lot.
After three wonderful years in the KW climbing community, it was time to move back out west. True to for m, a dozen climbers organized a tr ip to Lions Head on the Bruce Peninsula as a sendoff. I had heard of the beauty, grades, and commitment involved in climbing at Lions Head. Most climbs are accessed by rappel with a hanging belay, so be prepared for exposure and winds that sweep up the cream-coloured face from the water below. Not recommended is a water approach via canoe with three climbers, two dogs, 100 pounds of gear and 60 km/h gusts of wind.
On our last day at Lions Head, I dislocated my knee. I was once again shown the camarader ie, dedication, and kindness among KW climbers. Without complaint, my gear was divided among the remaining climbers of the day and I was hauled, spotted and carr ied up from the crag. When one of my rescuers offered me his trekking poles, I stubbornly refused, chuckling that I would take a sip of his bourbon. Back at the road, I was so overwhelmed with gratitude and goodbyes, collecting my distr ibuted gear slipped my mind.
Heading west we stopped in Thunder Bay. I had to buy a new rope. I met a local climber at the gear shop. Jon Hollway gave us a place to stay, his out-of-pr int guidebook, and an invite to join several other climbers for a weekend tr ip to the Indian Creek-like Claghorn.
Over the next four days, it was evident the burgeoning community of Thunder Bay climbers – ar med with relentless cur iosity, enthusiasm and a borrowed dr ill – were deter mined to develop routes. Endless unexplored cliffs r ise out of the Boreal around Thunder Bay, to challenge strong climbers like Aric Fishman, Martin Dube and Sam Metteer.The ethics are traditional and the grades stiff.
Ontario gave me my first 5.10 and countless adventures. Far more significantly, Ontario endowed me with the realization that community is as essential, if not more so, than the rock we climbers connect with. It is community that made me the climber I am today.
My story is a humble one, as I am just one of the thousands of Canadian climbers finding their path with climbing. My story will forever be connected to the climbing community of KW, and ultimately, to Ontario.