No Advantage Without Disadvantage

A woman rock climbing in Maple Canyon, Utah.
Skinny ropes or fat, light and fast or slow and heavy, tall or short… There is no advantage without disadvantage.

One wise colleague of mine when I worked at Petzl had an accent that was a mash-up of German (his first language), French, and English influences. He wielded all these tongues, and a few others, fluently. Thus, when rolling out his signature aphorisms, he could take on the air of a sort of Teutonic Yoda character, imparting know ledge in a unique polyglot grammar at once entertaining, endearing, and thought-provoking.

Like any master seeking to instruct, my colleague deployed maxims as needed—to lighten the mood, inject caution into a debate, or to put a fresh perspective on things. There were enough of these little nuggets that some enterprising soul produced an unofficial T-shirt with a list of them printed on the back, “Use with care, as hedgehogs make love” and “We risk to become professor ridiculous,” among them. But there was one simple phrase of his—not an original, granted, but a favorite—that always stuck in my mind: There is no advantage without disadvantage.

He might bring out this saying while we debated mountaineering’s thirst for ever-lighter equipment, or solutions to a tricky rigging problem. Even though it wouldn’t point directly toward a resolution, it reminded that with every “new” answer to an old problem, there’d be trade-offs.

For example, faster and lighter is the alpine trend these days. Less gear and less weight mean quicker ascents that take advantage of fleeting favorable conditions. It’s great style and inspiring, but also leaves climbers exposed. Fast and light often means going without extra food, fuel, or layers, meaning that any unforeseen circumstances that stop forward progress can turn fatal. There is no advantage without disadvantage.

Lighter gear is nice, but when we remove material from a piece of personal protective equipment, we must compromise in some other way. Think of skinny ropes. That 9.1 is great when your clipping the final piece of pro at the end of a 150-foot pitch, but when you see your rope raking over the edge of a rough flake, you’ll be wishing for your trusty old 10.2 again. No advantage without disadvantage.

It’s common for shorter climbers to cry foul when a tall climber skips a move (or a whole sequence) on a climb. But being tall isn’t all upside for climbers: physics tells us that longer levers make climbing-adjacent movements like pull-ups more difficult, and plenty of high-steps and heel hooks that work great for a small or medium-sized frames aren’t options for bigger ones. In fact, many top-flight competition climbers are shorter than the average. There is no advantage sans disadvantage.

Or consider: a lot of climbers want freedom to roam, so they get a beat-up old van and live a threadbare lifestyle on the road until injured, broke, or bored. It can be great for your climbing, but hard on the bank account and future career plans. Such a dirtbagging lifestyle also often means forgoing such practicalities as health insurance, which is fine until the day it’s not. A steady job is the obvious solution, but of course the trade-off is time, flexibility, and freedom. Take your pick, but there’s no advantage without disadvantage.

The Petzl Grigri is another good example. In exchange for the convenience of a belay device that locks down on the rope and helps to catch a fall, one must accept greater weight, diminished versatility, and increased complexity. For some uses, the Grigri’s advantages outweigh the disadvantages; for others they don’t—it all depends on your specific needs and what you value most. There is no advantage without disadvantage.

Most of us are engaged in a constant search for advantage in one way or another—shortcuts to bigger, better, faster, more. But I think the world is more intricate and interconnected than we tend to notice. For this reason, the phrase “no advantage without disadvantage” is worth meditating on.

The Book of Changes

A flaming log in a campfire.

“Blaming life for changing is like blaming fire for being hot.” I wrote this in my freshman year of college, in an email to my good friend Mike. We were attending schools in different states and had sought out a correspondence to deal with the newness of it all. Both of us were facing what felt like overwhelming changes at the time. We were out from under the watch of our parental units and confronted with all manner of unfamiliar responsibilities and scenarios.

I don’t recall what my point was exactly with that platitude about fire; it was the kind of thing I’d spout in a moment of poetic reverie without fully understanding why. Now though, nearly two decades on, it makes a certain kind of sense to me. Heat can cause problems—it can burn—but it is essential to the thing we call fire, inseparable, and also what makes it useful. Likewise, the mercurial natural of this ride we call life… let’s just say it’s pointless to take offense at such things.

These remembrances of things past come easily to mind of late, I think, because change looms large on my horizon. In a week, my wife and I will leave behind our little blue bungalow in Salt Lake City and move to the California coast, just a few hours north of Los Angeles. I’ll be moving on from Petzl, where I’ve worked happily for almost six years, to Patagonia, a company whose story I’ve been following with interest for over a decade. My wife and our dog will stand as constants, along with some furnishings and sundry books and artifacts, but not much else. Just life doing that change thing again. The funny thing about change is, even when you recognize its inevitability, it’s bound to catch you off guard.

The first response most of us have to change is fear. Change is scary in the same way darkness is—we can’t see what lies ahead, and so we fill in the blanks with phantasms of our own making. But it’s important to remember that there’s no real alternative to change. The things we identify with and attach ourselves to are bound to shift, evolve, and eventually fade away, one way or another. (In Buddhism, this concept is known as anicca, or impermanence, and it’s one of the three marks of existence.) A static world in which we can hold on to anything, even ourselves, exists only as a philosophical concept. Change, ironically, is the one constant we can count on.

So, with that in mind, I’m working to let go of the dualities my brain is trying to bring to this latest set of changes—the pros and cons, the fears and desires. Instead I try to focus on each step in the process and let the change happen, as it will whether I welcome it or not. The past is a memory and the future is a dream—what happens in between is an infinitesimal point that flickers and dances like a flame. The truth of this condition can only be experienced, not intellectually understood nor directly expressed. Some things never change.

Chuck Odette Facts

It's not the fall that kills you… it's Chuck Odette waiting for you at the bottom

Master Chuck

Chuck Odette managed the demo gear fleet for Petzl’s national events. This meant that our sales rep force would contact Chuck to request demo harnesses, helmets, and headlamps for events like the Ouray Ice Fest or the Red River Rendezvous. Chuck was notoriously meticulous when it came to scheduling, and he was frustrated to no end when stuff didn’t make it back to Petzl HQ in time for the next event.

One year, at a sales meeting, Chuck stood up and made a demonstration to impress on the sales reps the consequences of not returning gear on time: he had me hold up a thick pine board while he punched it in two with perfect karate form. Those reps would think twice before delaying a return shipment again…

Chuck was in his mid-50s then, yet he had the physique of an athletic 30-year-old. His sandy blond hair was long and he tied it back into a ponytail when he practiced yoga poses and karate katas at lunch.  It was around this time that I started to equate Chuck with legendary caucasian martial arts movie star Chuck Norris.

Last week, at the age of 59 and after twelve years at Petzl, Chuck retired. Unlike your average retiree, however, Chuck sold his house in Ogden, Utah, gussied up a Scamp camper trailer, and hit the road with his wife Maggie on a quest to climb (and bolt) hard sport routes.

For his retirement party, I put together some memes based on the famous Chuck Norris Facts that have been circulating on the web for the past decade or so. I didn’t write any of the facts in the memes below; I just copy/pasted and switched out “Odette” for “Norris”—they seemed to work just as well. I think they do a lot to capture this hard-climbing, karate kicking grandpa’s badass personality and sense of humor.

More from Chuck

If you know him…

…feel free to submit your own Chuck Odette facts in the comments.

Chuck Odette Facts

Heights are afraid of Chuck Odette

Chuck Odette doesn't have a mullet… his mustache just has a back-up

Girls open doors for Chuck Odette

Chuck Odette doesn't actually need food. Food just uses his body for protection

Chuck Odette looks 30 although he is 59 because age tried to catch up with him but he roundhouse kicked it back ti 1985

Chuck Odette is the only person who can kick you in the back of the face

When Chuck Odette smoked his first cigarette, the cigarette coughed

When it's cold outside, frost gets Chuck-bite

Chuck Odette can't go bald. His hair is too scared to leave.

If at first you don't succeed, you're not Chuck Odette

Turkey: A Trip Worth Taking

I’m writing to you from Kadir’s Tree House, a funny little tourist resort in Olympos, Turkey. I’m here for Petzl RocTrip, which, by the time you read this, will be over. This was a work trip, mind you, so I didn’t do much climbing, but it was still an experience worth sharing. I’ve heard the value of a picture can be quantified in terms of words, and that, in fact, it takes more than a few words to pay for one picture. Therefore I’ll turn to some pictures to tell you, in a very broad sense, the story of my two-week trip to turkey, which was localized to Olympos and an area called Geyikbayiri.

It’s important to note this post focuses on the places I visited more than the people I met. Indeed, it’s harder to translate the new friendships and the perspective-stretching discussions one has during a truly international event like this one (people from over 60 countries attended RocTrip’s 40-day road trip across Eastern Europe). In my last post, I wrote that climbing was a wonderful vehicle for connecting with people of different backgrounds from yourself. After this trip, I believe that more than ever… but that’s a topic for another day.

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When you fly into Turkey’s Antalya airport (usually via Istanbul or Munich), you pass over the Taurus mountains, home to Mount Olympos and the town and crag of Geyikbayiri. These peaks, up to 3,756 meters, rise almost directly out of the Mediterranean sea, which is, as they say, preternaturally blue and clear and warm.
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The city of Antalya was built 150 years before Christ, give or take, but really grew and prospered under Roman rule during the Pax Romana. The city looks Roman in its layout, my mom pointed out when I sent her this arial image. I have no idea if that’s true, but it sounds good, so I’m going with it. (Fun fact: in 2013, Antalya was the third most visited city by international tourists behind Paris and London. Who knew?)
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You can either camp or rent bungalows or pitch a tent at several spots in Geyikbayiri. Here, climbers chill at a place called Rido’s Camp, which has tents and this nice gathering spot with beer and wine, water, good food, and bad wifi. Other places that offer accommodations are Jo.Si.To, with its camping, bungalows, nourishment and beverages. The Climbers Garden is also a great option—it also offers camping, bungalows, and food and drink. I didn’t eat much at these places, but the steak at the Climbers Garden restaurant was exceptional.
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In Geyikbayiri, bands of limestone are in no short supply. They range from clean faces, to sweeping caves, to clumpy, funky, globular formations that require stemming and stink-bugging and other 3-D climbing techniques to navigate. Here, the view from the Trebenna crag, just a 10-minute walk from Rido’s Camp (which you can see it in the lower left hand corner of this picture).
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The climbing at Geyikbayiri is quite good, and also plentiful. A variety of rock types and difficulties can be found there, all detailed with excellent pictures and topos (many of which will have to be updated thanks to the RocTrip sending spree) in Öztürk Kayıkçı’s new guidebook. Here’s a list of spots to get the guide: http://bit.ly/turkeyclimbingguide.
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While here, we checked out a super-crag called Çidtibi, which was bolted almost entirely for the Petzl RocTrip. The routes here range from 60 feet to 500 feet in length and feature limestone tufas of many shapes and sizes, along with your other, more typical holds. Climbing these formations is really a full-body experience, which some climbers referred to as “going to the rodeo.” Here, Heather Weidner at the rodeo.
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Plentiful in the region are fruits, most famously pomegranates. Vendors at Geyikbayiri’s local market will kindly sell you a liter of freshly squeezed, deep-red pomegranate juice in an old water bottle for just a few bucks. Way cheaper than that Pom stuff they sell at Whole Foods.
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Some ladies in Geyikbayiri crankin’ out the gözleme, a tasty Turkish pastry typically filled with cheese, spinach, potatoes, meat, or some combination thereof. Gözleme shops in this area and in Olympos can be found every couple of doors, and while I’m sure some are better than others, I know not how to make a determination. If I stayed here for long, I might make it my mission to try each one.
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After a few days, the Petzl RocTrip caravan headed to the town of Olympos, down on the coast. Most folks stayed in a funky, touristy spot called Kadir’s Treehouse, which actually used to offer accommodations in elevated tree houses, but I was told they burned down. Now you just stay in roughly made wooden structures that are vaguely tree-house-ish, tightly packed, and with almost no protection against the transmission of sound waves. Wild cats, dogs, and chickens roam the grounds, along with German tourists.
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The three most striking feature of Olympos are the history, made visible in the form of ruins dating back to the Hellenistic period, the stony mountains, and the clear blue sea. Here, two of the three are visible. The freshwater flowing in the foreground actually drains into the Mediterranean, just five minutes down the road.
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There’s a bunch of cool sport climbing within walking distance of the accommodations in Olympos, but the most interesting experience overall was the deep water soloing, accessed by a 45-minute boat ride. I’m not sure if this is something the average person can arrange, or if it was specially orchestrated for RocTrip, but just cruising out along the mountainous coast was reason enough to head to the DWS section. Chances are, if there’s money to be made taking climbers out on such excursions, someone will make a business of it.
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The climbing at the Olympos DWS area was described by those who experienced it as “sharp,” “slippery,” and “scary” … however these same climbers proclaimed the experience to be absolutely amazing and not to be missed. The cliffs were up to 25 meters high, but have no fear: the water at the base is far deeper than the wall is tall. It’s important to have a good boat driver who will swing over and pull you out of the water after a hard landing.
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When the sun sets on the ruins of ancient Olympos, the energy of a thousand generations resonates in the air. This land is a palimpsest of human activity, and the climbers visiting for RocTrip were just another brush stroke on the canvas. If you’re in search of a new climbing experience and looking to travel, and provided political relations remains stable, I suggest adding Turkey to your short list.

 

[Video] Petzl RocTrip China

Last year, I went to China for the Petzl RocTrip. It was one of the most memorable trips I’ve ever taken, mostly because Chinese culture is so different from that of the West, especially in Gétu Hé, the tiny, rustic farming town where the RocTrip took place. As always, Petzl produced an amazing video about the trip. I wish I could say I was more involved with this production. Still, I feel a certain sense of pride working for a company that values and supports such adventures and such artistic endeavors. The video, with its musical integration, is pretty unique in the climbing mediaverse. Check it out: