I’ve done some climbing. I’ve been cold, hungry, and scared, but my first climb in the People’s Republic was all that, with some rustic flavor thrown in. Rock climbing in China is not for the faint of heart. Here is the story of my climbing adventure in the White Cliffs of China.
In the Quest for the Next Mysterious Chinese Climbing Sensation
It’s my third week in China, and my climbing partner heard a rumor of some cliffs north of us. Based on a sparse description and a tiny photo, I quickly agreed to spend my weekend looking for China’s next climbing Mecca.
It’s like that.
The climbing areas are primarily untapped, and the secret hope of being the first climber is a haunting dream. But in China, even the promise of a new cliff sometimes pales next to the challenge of getting there.
It’s 7:15 on Saturday morning. We were supposed to meet at 6:30, but my partner overslept again. I make the effort and greet him with a smile. We use Guangzhou’s modern and efficient subway system to get to the downtown bus depot and arrive two minutes too late for the early bus.
I keep my comments to myself. My partner doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s because he’s Chinese and used to delays. I also notice I have the bulk of the climbing gear, but his backpack seems fuller than mine; I wonder what he has that I don’t, but I don’t ask.
An hour waiting in a crowded, under-ventilated depot is the perfect prelude to the rest of the trip. With eleven other passengers, we board a vast, highly well-air-conditioned bus for a two-hour ride.
Within minutes, I regret not packing my sleeping bag. An arctic blast pours from the air-conditioning vent. It’s a cold that lets you count every nasal hair.
My partner casually pulls out his down jacket. Settling into the deep-cushioned seats, I drink my bottled water before it freezes. Our mobile meat locker lands us in Ying De.
Arriving in Ying De
It’s a cliché that China is a nation of contrast, but one I wholeheartedly embrace. Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, the 90-degree heat outside is a welcome relief. But Ying De isn’t our final destination.
We need to take a second bus from the opposite side of town. This means what the Chinese carelessly call a taxi ride. I call it staring at death. Windows down, China’s marvelous smells drench us: rotting vegetables, the essence of wet dog, eau sewer. Our driver has all the survival instincts of a lemming approaching a cliff.
Potholes and the occasional pedestrian flash by, only inches away. We reach our destination and I leap joyfully into the dust and sunshine, shouldering my overloaded pack. Strangely, my climbing partner doesn’t seem as unnerved as I.
He gives me a wink as if to say, I’m daft, how about you? Our next bus is a modified eighteen-passenger van. Half a dozen fans keep the air circulating. I take it back. The taxi we just left was a first-class limousine. Twenty-one passengers and eighteen seats mean “China Daily Post” bundles double as seats.
Unfortunately, I can’t read the Chinese characters between my thighs, but if I could, they would probably say, “Passengers are requested to remain optimistic.” Our packs are placed with the gaggle of geese on the roof. I envy them. I watch and listen to coughs, hacks, and spits for the next hour and a half.
The spitting is most attractive and done with much throat-clearing to ensure no one sleeps through it. On two separate occasions, a young boy spares us a pit stop and relieves himself on the floor. One thing keeps me smiling through it all: the countless limestone towers we’re passing. I point them out to my companion, and he smiles, too. As far as the eye can see, limestone totem poles stand 200 meters above flat ground.
Dizzy, stiff, and disoriented I step off the bus. We barter with two motorcycle taxis for the trip to the cliffs. The two oversized mopeds strain up the hills with two riders and sixty-pound packs. The moped ride continues my preoccupation with death.
The driver must feel my heart pounding. My arms circle his narrow chest like a shrinking rope. For now, he and I are one. How’s my climbing partner doing? No clue, I have enough to do reviewing my own life as it flashes before my eyes. There is a God.
Climbing the First Pitch
The mopped wallows in the dust as it comes to a six-G stop. We’re close to it if we’re not the first climbers here. In 95-degree heat and matching humidity, we harness up. I gulp down a liter of water and launch into the first lead. At only 5.9, the first pitch is straightforward climbing.
Within ten minutes, I finish my lead, and my partner follows. It is not a bad start to our White Cliffs of China adventure.
Pitch 2
Pitch 2 is a vertical two-inch crack to a slightly overhanging face with tiny holds. At the end of the crack, I find a small no-hand rest and make the most of it. The holds above look small. With a sequence in mind, I climb towards the crux.
My arms must weigh a hundred pounds, sweat stings my eyes, and my calves are on fire. Still, I continue to climb. Instead of enjoying the challenge, I fight to control the situation. Is it a spillover from our death-defying rides, a lack of sleep, or a new environment? Fear starts to creep in like seawater in a wetsuit.
I grip the rock harder, causing more lactic acid in my forearms. Legs shaking, hands over-gripping, and my focus on where my last piece is, I fall. After several more attempts at the crux sequence, I decide I have no more strength and bail.
It’s a decision I don’t want to make. 6:00 AM, day two, we are back at the start of the route. Cooler air and a more limber body make the first pitch feel easier than it is. This time, my climbing partner doesn’t struggle nearly as much.
I re-climb the familiar two-inch crack. Yesterday, it felt like 5.11, but today, it feels like 5.9+. It’s amazing what sleep and some shade will do for your climbing. The third goes just as smoothly. Too soon, we have to rappel and begin our trip home.
Journeying Back From the White Cliffs of China
It’s time to journey back from the White Cliffs of China. We flag down a local bus at the trailhead. It is fully equipped with geese, chicken, and animal parts. Initially, the bus was empty, but soon we were fully loaded with over 30 passengers. The natural air conditioning system is quite good.
Open the window and drive fast. The faster you go, the cooler you are. Also, the bodily fluids on the floor aren’t as pungent, and the hacking and coughing are more tolerable. Next comes another mobile meat locker.
Once again, my partner uses his down jacket while I freeze.
We arrive back at the bus depot and take the subway home. I ask my partner his impressions. He shrugs and smiles. He’s used to scenic transportation, luxury accommodations, and the festive air of a Chinese climbing destination.
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