42 Grampians trips in a year

Early in Feb 2024 a few of us got psyched off the back of a Burnley session to just get out to the Grampians/Gariwerd and touch rock. But conflicting schedules and my full-time job meant that the easiest way to do it would be to cop the long drive and just day-trip. Little did I know this was to be the first of 42 day-trips that year.

We met at the Moonee Ponds train station car park at 5:30am to carpool and set off westward. Shortly after a stunning sunrise we arrived at Ararat for an athlete’s breakfast (it was McDonalds) and a much needed coffee. After a quick check-in at the Woolies and Baker’s Delight we hopped back in the car and booked it to Hollow Mountain. The day had hardly begun and we were already closing in on the Grampians, that felt really good, also the coffee was definitely hitting.

We stepped out of the car into that loud silence composed of just wind, trees and distant fauna. It was 8:30am and time had already felt like it’d stopped. It was exactly what our busy lives needed. We reunited with our dirtbag friend Titus and warm hugs were shared. The 300km gap between Melbourne and the Grampians often keeps us from friends we ought to see more often, but not today. 

Titus was actually the first person to take me rock climbing, and for my first sample of rock, he chose Taipan (I didn’t get very far). I’ll never forget that trip. We bush bashed up to Taipan, completely missing the obvious trackside walk in. As we approached the wall I caught a glimpse of the first rock climber I’d ever seen in real life. He was peeing in a bush facing us, probably not expecting anyone to come from that direction. As we drew closer I began to recognize him. It was Alex Megos. I asked him where the easy climbs were, and he responded in that classic assertive German tone, “Zere are no eazy climbz”. Titus had no idea who he was and offered him a spliff.

Anyway, back to the daytrip… We readied our boulder pads and wandered up into Andersons with no real plan. What we did and what happened from here on didn’t matter to us. We were just happy to be in the Grampians climbing rock.

Several hours later, satisfied and spent, we surrendered to the long drive home, but not without a warm salty meal from Stawell (it was McDonalds).

As we drove home our brains ticked beta. Long spans of silence were broken by comments about boulders we had tried that day. This trip had gotten the gears spinning, and we were all silently concocting new training plans.

Some time around 10pm we arrived back at Moonee Ponds. As we exchanged goodbyes the question was raised in jest, “So… next weekend?”

We laughed and agreed that we were all keen to do this again, but I don’t think any of us really knew what was to come.

The next weekend we longed to once again touch rock, but made the more sensible choice to hit up the much closer Mount Macedon. The difference in quality and quantity between the Grampians and Macedon was felt immediately, and on that day it was decided: next Saturday would be another Grampians day-trip.

I eagerly counted down the days as the calendar rolled through the work week. Come Friday night I could hardly sleep—I woke and checked my phone about eight times wondering if it was time to go yet. I hadn’t been this excited for something since I was a kid. 

We met at Moonee Ponds again, this time at 5am, and made the usual stops at Ararat for breakfast and food for the day. Since this time we were headed to the Bleachers, we took a different road out of Ararat. We were all breath taken as we descended into the bright pink and mango tones of the rising Moyston mist that had just been set free by the sunrise.

We arrived at Sundial car park and once again met up with Titus. We excitedly charged up to the Bleachers and again, what we did from here on didn’t matter to us. We were all together, climbing on rock in the Grampians.

Throughout the day we wandered around spending time on different climbs, not really knowing their names or grades, but just looking for interesting lines. We found our way to a slab just below Red Mist. Garry Williams was up there working it and we conversed with him about the moves. I’d had a few lessons with Garry years ago and they’d monumentally changed both the way I climb and approach climbing. He invited us to try Red Mist with him, but we were all a bit intimidated by the line and its hefty v12 grade. Four grades above boulders I was only just managing given multiple sessions.

Eventually curiosity got the better of me, and as Garry took a break I started fondling Red Mist’s holds. I was completely in awe of its character, a powerful horizontal compression line on a series of beautiful right hand edges matched with a consistent 90 degree arete for the left. Its large spans suited me, and before I knew it I was putting on my shoes to feel out the positions. The first two moves felt hard and committing, but without realising it I’d already fallen into the trap of trying hard because of its high v-grade, when in reality the start moves were easier than I’d made them.

A handful of tries later I found myself at the crux, an aggressive right hand snatch from a wide span into a narrower one further along the roof. It felt brutal, and initially my body instinctively wouldn’t even commit to half trying it, due to the way it would violently eject you onto your back at speed. I slowly built myself up to trying like I meant it, and for a second I caught a glimpse of what this move might require. I could hold the crux holds in isolation, so I knew the move was possible, but that it would be outside the realm of anything I’d ever done. The thought of that lit a fire in me that began to spread uncontrollably throughout my life. 

I couldn’t help but obsess over Red Mist the whole drive home, knowing I had more beans to give it. I woke up the next morning thinking of it, and my lunch breaks throughout the week were filled with classic Grampians sleuths, gathering every bit of beta and history I could. I had to go back that very next weekend to try the crux move and give it everything. Both Saturday and Sunday were forecast to be in the high 30s, and only one option could combat that—a night sesh! 

On Friday I convinced a few friends to come along for the weekend and booked an AirBnB in Ararat. We got to the Bleachers in the afternoon and warmed up slowly into the night. At around 10:30pm it was time to reunite with Red Mist. I laid out the pads and got to work on the first couple of moves which, despite the 35 degree temps, were feeling easier than ever. Knowing it’d still be hot, I’d purchased a Makita fan during my lunch break on Friday, just for this moment.

There was something in the air that night. I felt so excited and energized, yet completely relaxed. My face a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded, presently awaiting whatever outcome I was about to witness.

I began to try the crux move. I knew half the battle was committing to the move enough to fall on my back, so I took a few tries to do that deliberately. Therein lay my first breakthrough and suddenly I was latching the crux hold, slowing myself down on it and only slipping off at the last second. 

“I can do this, this is possible,” I said to myself.

It was time to give it the ‘more’ I’d promised myself in the week prior. Each attempt taught me something new and subtle. I began to learn the move wasn’t about brute strength, but about timing and momentum. 

After each try I sat in front of the fan, softened my eyes and exhaled the tension within my body, visualizing myself into a daydream about the next attempt. I stood up and waited until my mind emptied then pulled on and set up for the crux. This time the angle of the roof felt different; it felt like the ground didn’t exist as an option. I latched the crux hold with my right hand and as my body continued its leftward momentum my arm stretched out. This is where I’d usually fly off, but this time I didn’t. Instead my hips twisted, easing the shock of the move.

On my second session, on a 35 degree night, I had done the crux move.

I stood off the boulder to the silence of my friends, their jaws dropped awaiting my response.

“That’s it”, I nodded. “I get it now…”

We celebrated briefly and decided it would be wise to continue trying the move. I tried it again and bam, it went down again, this time even easier. I rested a little while and ambitiously tried it from the start. That went down too. 

What was happening? I was climbing out of my mind that night.

I basked in the afterglow of that night for the next few days as I contemplated what to do next, other than the obvious answer: day-trip again next weekend. My mind raced in all sorts of directions. Could I really be a v12 climber? I got ahead of myself, caught myself doing that, and unwound the delusions of grandeur back to reality. 

I reflected on the lessons I’d learnt in the decade that I’d known the sport, and one thing was crystal clear. Every time I’d gotten strong in the past, I’d gotten injured. I pre-emptively sought the best climbing physio in Melbourne, Katie Kaminsky, and booked the next available session a few weeks away. 

The next day-trip came, but I ambitiously made the mistake of splitting our itinerary between Caves Club and Red Mist. Caves Club involves a 45-min hike to the top of Mt. Stapylton, which meant that by the time we’d made it to Red Mist in the arvo, I was cooked. I still tried the crux move, and understandably it felt miles away. Okay, lesson learnt. 

The following weekend we day-tripped again, this time we took advantage of the cool morning temps and after a proper warm up went straight to Red Mist. On paper, everything was perfect. But the crux move couldn’t have felt more foreign, and I was throwing myself all over the place desperately trying to manage an attempt resembling that magic warm night of two weeks ago. 

“I’ve just got to give it more beans.” I thought. 

But that just ended in bloodied knuckles as I dry-fired my hand into the roof repeatedly. On the outside I remained calm, but internally I was losing the battle. I’d built my expectations up too much and they were crashing down around me. “How was it possible to regress this much?” I wondered. 

In the week that followed I sifted through my emotions finding lessons of humility and a much needed humbling. The biggest takeaway was how attached I’d become to the idea of sending this boulder. The most fun I’d had on Red Mist wasn’t when I was pursuing an outcome, it was when I was just playing on it, seeing what would happen. I deeply cared about sending Red Mist, but being attached to climbing it wasn’t doing me any favours. I reflected on my mindset for a while, and settled on something much easier to own. I decided I was going to do everything in my power to make the most of my time climbing on it, but ultimately, sending it was out of my hands. 

Conveniently my physio appointment with Katie had rolled around. I told her about how every time I’d gotten strong I’d gotten injured, my experience on Red Mist, and then asked her to help me find every weakness in my body that wouldn’t exist in a v12 climber. Boy, did she find them!

I left that session with a ton of simple yet challenging exercises, including pilates-esque ones to build core strength and back muscles. In the week that followed I stopped climbing and practiced these exercises fastidiously.

To properly honour the change in my movement that these exercises demanded, I had to bring myself back down to v1s and 2s, combing over and nitpicking my climbing as I learnt how to incorporate them and change the way I moved.

A fortnight passed and another weekend rolled around. I still longed to be out in the Grampians again, so I offered my friends a day-trip but promised them I wasn’t ready to climb just yet. We headed to Epsilon wall and for the first hour I managed to not touch any rock. But curiosity got the better of me. I thought maybe I could just try testing my climbing on a few moves of an easier climb. I set myself upon the holds and cued my back and core, making sure everything was engaged properly. After doing just that a few times, I tried making a couple moves without losing form.

Before I knew it I was finding body positions that enabled me to use holds I previously avoided. Suddenly the tiny crimps that I usually skipped were usable. I started testing different holds nearby, and soon enough found myself pulling onto the crux crimps of 100 Pound Club. An infamous v10 which I’d previously written off given that I generally avoid small crimps and at that time I was quite literally 200 pounds. I couldn’t help but continue exploring my new pilates-bod, and got to trying 100 Pound Club from the start. Within 20 or so minutes, to the complete surprise of my friends and myself, I had sent it.

Dumbfounded by those incredibly fast results I dialled down on that list of low-hanging-fruit once again. Making small, sustainable tweaks to my life, eking out every small advantage that might help in some way. After hearing Ondra share that he believed longer nails helped on micro crimps, I even stopped biting my nails. Just like that, a bad habit left unchecked for over two decades vanished overnight.

The next weekend we day-tripped to Caves Club to try its namesake v10. I took my time to warm up properly, respecting every step of every exercise I’d been prescribed and only moving on when I got it right. I set upon Caves Club and after discovering a couple knee-bars, it went too. 

I was frothing at this point. I was finally doing everything I knew I should be doing for my climbing, and it was paying off in spades! The next v10 to go down was Butcher’s Choice, and on the Sunday morning after I started wondering if two v10s in a weekend was possible. At midday I sped off to Venus Baths for a chance at sending Stoplight Arete and found the answer to that question was yes! In the fading afternoon light I stood proudly atop that boulder, despite what may have been the worst driving to climbing ratio ever undertaken.

Word had spread of my day-trip service. By Monday afternoon I’d have to turn friends down as the car was already full for the next weekend! Every weekend we day-tripped and climbed on something new, and every week that followed I made some small tiny step towards being more of an athlete. My training throughout this period consisted of an hour of physio exercises as a warm up, followed by 5-10 moonboard v4s. That was it. On paper I’d never been this weak. I was the heaviest I’d ever been, I hadn’t done a single pullup all year, and my fingers were capable of crimping about 20 percent less weight than before Covid. On the rock though, I’d never climbed or moved this well. Experiencing this completely changed my perspective of what a v10 climber looks like.

We continued day-tripping and managed something like 25 weekends in a row. Each day-trip I shopped around for projects and reached the point where I’d had one or more sessions on 18 boulders v10 or harder. But Red Mist was still the one my mind kept returning to.

Eventually a day-trip came where Bleachers was once again suggested. I was curious to check in with Red Mist, but cautious to expect anything, knowing how hard it had shut me down earlier in the year. I made it a point to not start the day on Red Mist, but that I’d instead save my energy and try it in the afternoon. We set up the pads, and I once again was reminded of how harshly the crux ejects you onto your back. I did everything I could to get into the mindset of that magical warm night, but I just couldn’t stop preemptively putting my feet down. My friend Marlow wisely suggested he give me a power-spot, seeing as though I was having trouble committing. 

I set up for the crux throw and he placed his hand on my back. Suddenly the ground once again felt like it wasn’t an option. As I threw for the crux hold Marlow took some of my weight and with his help I stuck it. We looked at each other in awe, and he agreed to take less weight off next time. I once again set up for the crux, he placed his hand on my back, and this time when I threw he only took off a few kilos, yet I once again stuck the move. Excitement rose dramatically, and he agreed once again to offer less assistance, easing me into doing it myself. This time he tricked me, his hand was on my back when I set up, but when I threw for the crux hold he hovered it off. Still, I stuck the move! 

Just like that Red Mist had made its way back from the peripheries of my mind to the front and center. We day-tripped back the next weekend, this time with the company of another friend, Harvey. I explained Marlow’s phantom-hand technique to Harvey and he helped me get back to sticking the crux move once again. I tried unassisted a few times with wildly varying degrees of success. Harvey made the astute observation that my toe was creeping near an obvious feature suitable to toe-hook. Something that from under the roof was completely blind to me. So I made the beta change and set my toe upon that edge before throwing for the crux move. That tiny 3cm change made all the difference, and suddenly I was sticking the crux throw consistently unassisted.

At this point Red Mist was all I could think about. Every night I lay in bed and rehearsed the moves, visualising every detail, even the view from the top when I’d finally turn around and celebrate. This reminded me of how obsessed I’d gotten in the past, and I reminded myself to focus on enjoying the climbing. 

In the few weekends that followed I day-tripped exclusively to Bleachers. Each time sessioning it with an open mind, ready for any outcome, including a drastic regression. Slowly I pieced together larger and larger sections of the boulder, eventually managing two overlapping sections. Everything was hinting at success, but I did everything I could to restrain any need to succeed, and just kept having fun!

On the tenth session back focusing on Red Mist again I was joined by a work colleague, Luke Muscat. I was pretty excited to show him Red Mist, though we left that for the end of the day, as per usual. The afternoon rolled around and we headed to my project. For the first time ever I managed to stick the crux move on my first try of the session. That made me nervous. I tried a bigger link from the crux move to the top, which also went first try. 

That made me even more nervous! I realised I could send Red Mist that day, but it wasn’t going to happen by accident—I could easily mess it up! It was time to start trying it from the ground. I really needed my head to quiet down. A mantra given to me by Titus when I first started climbing in 2015 came to mind: “Just go to sleep, man.”

I turned my brain off as I pulled on to the wall, letting my body take over. I made a few small mistakes that spat me off, but they were after the crux and easily avoidable with a little more care. I pulled on once again and just climbed. Honest to god, the next thing I remember is being at the second last move, stuck in a loop trying and failing to place my foot somewhere it didn’t belong. 

“Come on, Mikey,” commanded my friend Jack. 

He had accompanied me on most of the day trips and I’d never heard that tone from him before. The sternness with which he said it sobered me. I was two moves away from doing Red Mist, and I was faffing about on a misplaced foothold. I had the strength to just pull through that move, so why didn’t I? 

I felt like Jack had communicated that I had what it took to do it, I just needed to finish it. His certainty gave me confidence and I muscled through to the last move, placed the last foot and grabbed the top of the boulder.

“Holy fuck… HOLY FUCK!” I shouted as I topped out.

Everyone erupted with joy. 

I turned around and looked down at everyone, it was just how I’d imagined it all year.

“That was it!” I exclaimed.

This whole time I had wondered, what would ‘the send’ be like, would it be a battle? Would it be calculated execution? Or something else entirely? I’d dreamt of the moment all year, and finally I knew.

For a moment I stopped and looked around, placing my hands in front of me to touch the reality I’d stepped into.

I came down and celebrated with my friends. I asked them a few times in total disbelief, “Was that really from the start? I didn’t dab or anything?” I truly couldn’t remember the majority of the send, only the ending where things nearly went wrong.

Slowly my mind settled down and an incredible amount of space opened up in it. It was like I’d unknowingly left 1,000 Chrome tabs open, all of Red Mist, and suddenly I was able to close them all at once, freeing up my brain to think of something else.

From that moment on everything about the Bleachers looked different. The dappled light, the gentle sway of the ferns in the breeze, the varying texture of the rock and its array of colourful mosses. Undoubtedly the greatest post-send afterglow I’d ever experienced. 

Thanks climbing!

BIO: Mikey Musch is a 32-year-old self-taught game developer, based in Melbourne. Despite working full-time, plus 10-20 hours extra per week on his own game ideas, he still finds time to indulge his love of all styles of climbing—but mostly bouldering.