Martinswand Base Climbs

Published on 2018-4-14 by Michael Stanton

Vaclav is a funny guy, though alarmingly conscientious. "Let's climb outside Saturday, on the Martinswand!" I said. The weather forecast was finally good, after a snowy spring thus far.

"I'll drive, and we can climb the wall 3 times before exhaustion," I went on. Only as I spoke did I remember that moments before I'd delivered a long and angry speech about our civilizations failure to step back from growth, from wasteful use of remaining energy.

Hmm. Most people would let me slide. In fact, I thought sadly, I would have let myself slide. But finally convictions have to be held or thrown away. It's been said that climbing is actually an automotive sport. In my quest to be "productive" (why must I bring the workplace to the peaks?!) I've driven through the night to be in position before the first rays of the sun touch the summit cross. Thank God for freeing me from this insane ambition. Now, maybe, I was ready to listen.

Vaclav, in his characteristic way, wouldn't put anybody down. "Yes, that's an option!" But a faraway look appeared in his eyes, indicative of "finding another way."

"Meanwhile I'll look into train and bike options," he concluded cheerfully.

And he did.

And so we did. Take the train.

"140 euros to get two people from Munich to Innsbruck?" I took the news sorely.

"We could also ride our bikes?" offered Vaclav.

"No...let's pay..." I had a vision of myself straining to mantel up onto a rock on shaky legs, depleted of strength from hours of biking. “FALLING!”

Later in the week I attended a talk, quite wonderful in many ways. It described marvelous ways we can use technology to solve problems. The world is our oyster! Our problems are merely challenges, which we, using our big brains will stride through easily over the next 100 years.

All very bracing. I grew especially excited at tell of a project to re-use emitted carbon in the environment to provide fuel for vehicles. Results seemed promising, but then---

Oh. The market spoke. Yes, fuel is simply too cheap. Project canceled.

We returned to our discussion of all the wonderful ways we'll use technology to solve our...ad infinitum.

This soured my mood at first, but then I remembered that I irrationally paid 3 times the cost of the gas in my car to get to the Martinswand in order to use a train that carries many people. I swelled with pride, happy that although my brain may not be big, I am at least willing to be irrational. And therefore, I "hurt" the world just a bit less on this fine free day.

After an annoying walk shaped by the needs of vehicles and not walkers, taking 30 minutes to cross various overpasses, we touched shoes to dirt and made the steep hike up to the routes on the right side of the Martinswand. We decided to climb "Rucola" (V+) first. I'd done it once before with Barbara. Vaclav was a quick study, climbing surprisingly fast throughout the day, and having no trouble with retrieving quickdraws, doing the handoffs, all that good stuff.

Later, he said that the murmuring voices of "the mountain peoples" inside had begun to stir, and the impression grew stronger throughout the day.

This might explain why he often said "what?" as if he was in a room of loud voices when I asked how it was going!

Heh, naw, but seriously, we just had great fun in the sun. Vaclav slipped at the crux move near the end of the route. It's a strange and steep wall that you traverse into from the right, and then you snake your way up from left back to right again. The handholds are sparse, and the feet are poor. I was glad he got to experience a brief fall, maybe just to take the edge off the crazy experience of being very high up. Either way, he came up pleased and ready for more.

Vaclav somewhere on Rucola.

A "Selfie" that gets us both.

We said hello to a couple of fine fellows sitting at the top. They offered to share some food with us, but we were intent on climbing the wall for a second time! That ambition never really goes away...

We lost the way a few times on the faint descent trail, but no matter, soon enough we were at the bottom. However, the burning sun reminded us of the desert at this point and I searched for a tiny bit of shade to sit in. Vaclav joined me, but chose to stand because there was a column of ants busily collecting material, and by sitting among them confusion would arise. I thought this silly, but now I'm scratching my back constantly, as several ants had offered me "feedback" on my careless time with them!

It's often hard to get started on the second climb. We chose "Kaiser Max Spaetlese" (6-), and waited a bit for a party above to go, then started up. The first pitch was already nice, climbing an easy grade 4+ face to a belay under an overhanging corner. The corner had an exciting move, through which I pulled on gear, purely as illustration for Vaclav.

"Thank you, Michael," he said, knowing how much it had cost me to give up the exercise of pure strength and power I would have easily displayed for the passersby, only in order to teach the practical lesson of "French Free."

Higher, things got easier for a while, and then there was a long climbing traverse to the left, culminating in a very interesting zig-zag ascent, then partial descent and traverse around the corner to a belay on a ledge. Rather unusual, but wow, what a spectacular location for photos. I took between 20 and 400 as Vaclav arrived. We moved the belay over to the left side of the ledge (about 3 meters over), then I headed out for the last pitch with the crux.

Vaclav on the photogenic Spätlese traverse.

"Good luck!" said Vaclav, and belayed me down and out to the left. I climbed back up in a shallow gully easily enough, and soon stood directly above Vaclav at the crux move. You have to clip, then delicately move up and left on a slab with poor feet and non-existent holds. I cheated for part of this, but I'd like to go do it again! Sustained slabby climbing continued for 2 more clips, then things got easier. Very nice!

Vaclav worked on the crux for a while, searching for the best way. As is completely normal for the first time on such terrain, he finally pulled through and emerged wondering how the heck you climb that.

This was my chance to look world-weary and seasoned. I stared into the distance. "There are ways, my friend...there are ways..." I'd momentarily forgotten that I'd gripped a quickdraw in my tight little fist and cheated my way shamelessly onto the slab.

And so it goes!

She, the Martinswand!

This time we only got lost twice on the descent, and soon we were pounding the pavement back to the train station. I'd been dreaming of radler and Fanta and anything like that, visualizing exchanging coins and bills for ice-chilled containers of colorful liquid. There was a gas station, and we almost walked by it.

"What are you going to get, Vaclav?" I asked, already wondering what additional chemical additives I could load into my bloodstream.

"Oh, nothing. But perhaps we'll find a restaurant..." he said.

Only after a few more paces did I realize: he doesn't want to bring more plastic into the environment, where it will inevitably end up choking a seagull some months hence. Ach.

Man, he's right!

Nursing my thirst with pride like a martyr, I joined him for the final walk to the train station, happy to suffer that this seagull may live!

We waited a while, then the train took us to Innsbruck. Here, we looked in vain for a restaurant that suited our rather refined sense of what would be "nice." Why do train stations only have Doener shops and gambling dens? I saw how darned hard it is to find a place that uses glasses instead of pointing you to a refrigerator full of plastic.

At the last minute, we found an old-style hotel, with a fantastic bar. Ahh!

Vaclav order not 1 but 2 non-alcoholic beers! What a glutton...

I ordered only one, but with alcohol, and then followed it up with another at the Kufstein station an hour later. Therefore I only remember the tail end of our train conversation, in which I was loudly asserting I was more of a feminist than most, and how much I resented the term being used in a small, "tit-for-tat" way in ongoing petty cultural wars.

I looked around, and we seemed to have the train car to ourselves. There was only Vaclav, smiling gently, and as usual, expressing a kind of gratitude to all the things around. Finally I quieted down, wondering what all the fuss was.

We'd had a great day. We'd considered our impact. We'd climbed.

These are good things.

Thanks Vaclav!

A lady was just married, and this was random!