| Name | Type | # Changes | Last Updated | First Updated | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Tokio Muroi's ascent of 八十八夜 | ascent | 13 | 23rd July 2025 | 19th July 2025 |
| 2 | Golden Feet | climb | 11 | 22nd May 2025 | 22nd May 2025 |
| 3 | 八十八夜 | climb | 11 | 23rd July 2025 | 19th July 2025 |
| 4 | Lucien Guillou's ascent of Le Mur des Lamentations | ascent | 11 | 24th June 2025 | 14th June 2025 |
| 5 | Ben Moon's ascent of Screaming Dream | ascent | 10 | 22nd May 2025 | 22nd May 2025 |
| 6 | Philippe Le Denmat's ascent of Golden Feet | ascent | 9 | 22nd May 2025 | 22nd May 2025 |
| 7 | Dany Riche's ascent of Le Carnage | ascent | 8 | 14th June 2025 | 14th June 2025 |
| 8 | Dany Riche's ascent of La Bérézina | ascent | 8 | 14th June 2025 | 14th June 2025 |
| 9 | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | ascent | 8 | 19th July 2025 | 19th July 2025 |
| 10 | Dany Riche | climber | 7 | 14th June 2025 | 14th June 2025 |
| Date | Time | User | Type | Name | Attribute | ||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 21 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:55 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 | climb_name | |
|
Before
None
After
八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya
|
|||||||
| 22 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:55 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 | climb_type | |
|
Before
None
After
2
|
|||||||
| 23 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:55 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 | grade_id | |
|
Before
None
After
40
|
|||||||
| 24 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:55 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 | notes | |
|
Before
None
After
Mizugaki, Japan. Another contender for worlds’ hardest slab.
Diff
--- before
|
|||||||
| 25 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:54 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya | grade_id | |
|
Before
None
After
40
|
|||||||
| 26 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:54 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya | climb_type | |
|
Before
None
After
2
|
|||||||
| 27 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:54 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya | notes | |
|
Before
None
After
Mizugaki, Japan. Another contender for worlds’ hardest slab.
Diff
--- before
|
|||||||
| 28 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:54 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya | climb_name | |
|
Before
None
After
八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya
|
|||||||
| 29 | 19th July 2025 | 12:23:54 | TdG | climb | 八十八夜 / Hachiju-hachiya | notes_pretty | |
|
Before
None
After
<p>Mizugaki, Japan. Another contender for worlds’ hardest slab.</p>
|
|||||||
| 30 | 19th July 2025 | 10:03:01 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes | |
|
Before
Without a pad.
>Journal
>Asagimadara, and Beyond
>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
[2] TOKIO MUROI Mizugaki Guidebook 2024
After
Without a pad.
>Journal
>Asagimadara, and Beyond
>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
[2] Muroi’s journal published in Mizugaki Guidebook 2024
Diff
--- before
|
|||||||
| 31 | 19th July 2025 | 10:03:01 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes_pretty | |
|
Before
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond</p>
<p>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
<p>[2] TOKIO MUROI Mizugaki Guidebook 2024</p>
After
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond</p>
<p>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
<p>[2] Muroi’s journal published in Mizugaki Guidebook 2024</p>
|
|||||||
| 32 | 19th July 2025 | 10:00:34 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes_pretty | |
|
Before
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond
It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
After
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond</p>
<p>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
</blockquote>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
<p>[2] TOKIO MUROI Mizugaki Guidebook 2024</p>
|
|||||||
| 33 | 19th July 2025 | 10:00:34 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes | |
|
Before
Without a pad.
>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond
It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
After
Without a pad.
>Journal
>Asagimadara, and Beyond
>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
[2] TOKIO MUROI Mizugaki Guidebook 2024
Diff
--- before
|
|||||||
| 34 | 19th July 2025 | 09:58:19 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes | |
|
Before
Without a pad.
>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond
It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
After
Without a pad.
>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond
It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
Diff
--- before
|
|||||||
| 35 | 19th July 2025 | 09:58:19 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes_pretty | |
|
Before
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
After
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond
It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
|
|||||||
| 36 | 19th July 2025 | 09:57:47 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes_pretty | |
|
Before
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
After
<p>Without a pad.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?</p>
<p>In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.</p>
<p>Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.</p>
<p>I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.</p>
<p>In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.</p>
<p>Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?</p>
<p>Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.</p>
<p>I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.</p>
<h3>References</h3>
<p>[1] <a href="https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742">https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742</a></p>
|
|||||||
| 37 | 19th July 2025 | 09:57:47 | TdG | ascent | Tokio Muroi's ascent of Asagimadara | notes | |
|
Before
Without a pad.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
After
Without a pad.
>Journal
Asagimadara, and Beyond
It was to be my final project. One of my early Mizugaki discoveries, it was overwhelming in its beauty and power, but I quickly realized how difficult it would be, and allowed it to slumber for many years. After all, there were other problems to work on first. When all else was done, this would be the culmination - the perfect end - to my efforts at Mizugaki. But why, in the end, have I never stopped going to Mizugaki? Why do I still find new problems to develop?
In 2007, most of my other projects were climbed. There was nothing holding me back, so it was finally time to face this problem. I began with a sense of excitement and determination, feeling ready to climb this, my final Mizugaki boulder. However, my plan to send it by the end of the year soon crumbled. The second move, where I had to stretch my body to its limit, was harder than I'd imagined; for the first year, and then the second, I reached the end of the season without sticking the crux move even once.
The autumn season of the third year seemed to arrive under a dark cloud. I willed myself to focus more, and decided that this would be the only problem I worked on. Summoning everything I had, I would try six, or seven times. When that didn't work, I used a stepladder to practice the moves, then went back the next day, or the day afterwards. From September on, I repeated this two-to-three-hour routine religiously before heading to my shift at the gym.
Autumn deepened, the rock grew drier, and my body position gradually stabilized. But I still couldn't stick that second move. Impatience and irritation built, and the stress began to weigh on me. I was unsure whether I could maintain my motivation for another year, and felt the first stirrings of doubt. What if I can't climb it? Is that how this will end!? Once I allowed these thoughts to surface, the nightmare that would keep me up at night crept into my consciousness, and I felt heavy-hearted on the way home.
I lifted my head, looked at the landscape around me, and thought of my other first ascents. Mizugaki had given me so much - it was impossible that I would be rejected now. This was my final test on the way to completion. it was time to shake off the nightmare.
In November, I finally stuck the second move. I felt a surge of willpower unlike anything I have known before, and I knew I would send. After that, nothing. The next thing I remember is standing on the ledge, my entire body suffused with a terrible fatigue. Sending this problem had drained me of everything I had, including my capacity for thought and memory. I staggered up the final slab and collapsed on top of the boulder, exhausted.
When describing the moment of topping out, many climbers write of feeling relief and liberation, rather than joy. For me, it was the same. The gratification of having climbed my final Mizugaki boulder, the euphoria that I had expected - those feelings never came. I was filled with relief that I had overcome this last challenge; I was freed from the impatience and irritation that had been weighing on me. I no longer had to try, and the nightmare was gone.
Before finishing a problem, I feel vexed, impatient, irritated. Afterwards, I feel relieved and liberated. Where is the pleasure and joy in climbing? What am I seeking, and why do I pursue a climb if it means going through this suffering?
Why have I been doing this for decades?
I sit up on the rock, allowing my body and mind to relax. I look at the landscape with unfocused eyes as I ask myself these questions. As I do, a nebulous understanding begins to take shape. This is like an ouroboros loop. Where one problem ends, the next one begins. Once I have grasped a hold, there will be another hold beyond it, and there will be no end until I stop climbing. I will continue to reach into the unknown, towards the next challenge.
I close my eyes for a while. A flicker of hope - that I can advance to the next problem, the next climb - begins to stir inside as I feel the strength return to my body and mind, and I stand up on the rock.
### References
[1] [https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742](https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2016/10/asagimadara_8c_by_ryuichi_murai-70742)
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| 38 | 24th June 2025 | 15:24:50 | TdG | ascent | Philippe Le Denmat's ascent of Calamity Jane | suggested_grade_id | |
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33
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| 39 | 24th June 2025 | 15:24:33 | TdG | ascent | Philippe Le Denmat's ascent of Calamity Jane | ascent_dt_end | |
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1997-07-01
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| 40 | 24th June 2025 | 15:10:02 | TdG | ascent | Julien Nadiras's ascent of Imothep | ascent_dt_start | |
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2004-01-01
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