The reserved embrace of Lindfield Rocks

We got off to a mixed start. I had never considered myself much of a climber, with my experience mostly consisting of pulling myself up the walls at Climbfit, plus with the occasional outdoors trip with far more able and confident friends.  On my first visit to Lindfield Rocks, I didn’t quite get it. I remember the walls feeling too high, and the holds just a little too small for my hands and feet (Where am I meant go? Surely not up!).

Over the years I went back to Lindfield a few times, always with friends and never that excited. I remember a few fun climbs, ticking off taller classics like The Arete and The Overhang on top rope, and tiptoeing across a few of the easier traverse sections. Still, some of the classic boulder problems on the Kenny Boulder felt confoundingly hard, and ropeless efforts on the taller walls were gripping.

About 10 years ago I moved to Japan for work and play. I did very little climbing, but a lot of general mountain adventure – skiing, bushwalking and scrambling. After moving back to Australia and starting a family I fell back into a little bit of climbing – mostly indoors, some great outdoors trips, but a sense that perhaps there was a bit more to it than I was figuring out.

If anything, I looked more forward to climbing for the company. Afternoons at Sydney crags with Mr Paine (watching the ease and grace he brought to climbing) felt like watching someone bound up a hill ahead of me whilst I sweated it out with sore calves and sweat in my eyes. I secretly looked more forward to the finale of a delicious Japanese whisky and a chat about adventure. Likewise for days in the mountains with Rahn, pushing myself to try steep sport climbs with howling forearms, shaking with nerves trying to make a desperate clip, and replacing the whisky with a sourdough loaf and coriander dip from the Katoomba co-op.

I remember a specific conversation 3 years ago with the wonderful Mr Paine over a glass of Hakushu. I expressed my admiration (envy?) for how he climbed and said that I was thinking of putting some time into getting to a place where I could actually call myself a climber. That feels a strange aim now, but I think what I meant was that I wanted to feel flow on rock, and that instead of fear being the strong associated emotion, it would be focus and enjoyment.

As we had moved to Lindfield to live I tentatively started stepping back into the world of Lindfield Rocks. I borrowed a mat, and started trundling down in my lunch break or after work. Past the tennis court and down the stairs, throw the pad down under something easy and move by move work towards familiarity.

Over time comfort started to develop. By picking off one new climb at a time I expanded the list of climbs that I felt relaxed on, started to try some thinner holds and more interesting moves. It felt better to go there alone, and challenges with fear and comfort seemed to float up when with friends, or on days when lots of other climbers were down there. I bought the Sydney Bouldering guide and started to add a texta dot next to completed climbs with some kind of rough aim to maybe do all the climbs in the guidebook.  

As my kids have grown, I’ve started to share Lindfield Rocks with them. Easy sessions, sometimes more about the nearby playground, spotting shapes in the rock (budgies, eagles, Minecraft characters!), stick forts or tasty snacks on a bouldering pad fashioned into a sofa. Watching the kids climb for pure enjoyment and without any concern for grades shifted my own focus. Its hard to watch people you love and admire climb a certain playful way and to not have your own perceptions shift.

It's not like I have become a particularly amazing climber, but over time I’ve built up to levels I never expected. Climbs that felt improbable at best can now form part of a nice relaxing circuit in a stolen hour during a day’s work. Somehow classics like the Corals traverse, Kim’s Arete and The Tourist Route have started to feel meditative, with a focussed flow of movement.

When I climb in the Blue Mountains or visit other new (to me) bouldering spots in Sydney, my mindset has now completely shifted. The comfort I have 5m up a wall at Lindfield has meant that mid-grade trad classics that would have made me sweat are now a challenge I can look forward to. I had a great time leading the traverse section on The Spartan at Piddo, something I could have never entertained 4 years ago.

When I look back on my wish of getting to a place where I thought of myself as a climber, it feels like a pretty naïve one. The problem wasn’t me not being good or confident enough to be a “real” climber, but just that I couldn’t figure out how to climb for myself. The real discovery has been the absolute joy I get from small improvements, repeating easy classics, or even having a lazy afternoon when I hardly climb but enjoy a cold beer or a dram of whisky just looking at the rocks at Lindfield. When I walk down past the tennis courts now I feel welcomed and comfortable – relaxed and able to enjoy being there in a way that meets how I’m feeling on the day. Lindfield has opened itself up to me as well – and I’m still discovering new variations and figuring out more efficient ways to do moves.

There’s still some challenges to throw myself at - I still haven’t managed to cling on until the end of Pipe Dreams and I’d love to have a crack at Minuteman on the right day. There’s no rush though, I feel like I’ll wander down one day and it will feel like the right time to have a go. When I do it’ll be with a sense of joy and focus, more about the process than the outcome.