Bouldering and Focus

Gill on Red Cross Rock

Thinking about the class on General Motors, I drive a few kilometers north and go for a walk. The Fontainebleau forest is old and deep, the hunting ground of French kings for 500 years. Perhaps a hundred square miles in extent, it is now crossed by paths frequented by hikers, runners, and bicyclers. Most of the INSEAD students walk or picnic in the forest, but few seem to know it contains rock outcroppings that attract boulder climbers from all over the world.

The worldwide sport of boulder climbing was born in Fontainebleau forest in the 1930s. At that time, French mountaineer Pierre Allain began training for alpine climbing on these boulders and began to do short ascents that required feats of strength and balance beyond any seen before in climbing. Allain invented the soft-soled shoe (“PA”) that revolutionized rock climbing and was the first to climb a number of classic Alpine routes of great difficulty.

Modern bouldering began in 1959 with American John Gill climbing fifteen foot-high Red Cross Overhang, on the shores of Jenny Lake, in the Tetons (Wyoming). Gill’s innovation was to break the conventional wisdom that a climber should always be in a stable position, able to reverse a move and climb back down. Gill swung and lunged his way up, out, and over the central overhang. The name “Red Cross” described the condition of a climber’s hands after trying the route.

Bouldering is a sub-specialty of rock climbing. The boulderer has no rope, no pitons or wedges, no weather problems, no long approach march, no issues of logistics and equipment, no ice, snow, streams, mud, avalanche, or altitude to distract him. The boulderer focuses on moving hands and feet up a single rock. The only tools are shoes, available to almost anyone.

That day I walk past the boulder route known as Le Toit du Cul de Chien (The Roof of the Dog’s Ass). It is possibly the finest sandstone boulder problem in the world. The rock is about twenty feet high. Standing at its base I see a smooth twelve-foot face capped by a horizontal roof that extends out over me for about four feet. Above the roof is another three-foot vertical section leading to the top.

The short climb is rated 7a on the Fontainebleau system, about 5.13 in the U.S. rock climbing system. The climbing community rates the difficulty of a climb as the difficulty of its hardest single move. If you cannot do that move, you cannot do the climb. How difficult is a 5.13 move? The U.S. system for measuring the difficulty of rock climbs arose in the early 1950s, based on ten standard comparison climbs at Taquitz Rock, California. The scale of difficulty was numbered 5.0, 5.1, up to 5.9, the top grade, 5.9, thought to be the limit of human capability. It soon became clear that some people were capable of more, and that some people had done harder climbs elsewhere in the past. The scale was extended to 5.10, defined as “harder than 5.9.” There the system stayed for a decade. Then, in 1964, climber Bill Larson climbed a route at the Shawangunks (New Paltz, New York), that was recognized as being a grade harder than anything done before. In 1972, John Bragg did a still harder climb there. The scale was revised to be open-ended and these new climbs were rated 5.11 and 5.12. Climbers joke that 5.11 means no holds and 5.12 means an overhang with no holds. Today, the scale tops out at 5.15, with only three climbers in the world claiming routes at that level.

Two climbers are working Le Toit du Cul de Chien. They put rectangular pieces of carpet on the ground to wipe the sand from their climbing shoes. They climb without ropes, spotting each other in case of a fall. Each climbs in turn.

To get up to the overhanging roof, the stronger climber toe-dances up about three feet and presses the middle finger of his right hand into a slight declivity. Using that amazingly poor hold, he cams his left heel against a vertical spur of rock, gaining support from the muscular tension in his body between his right finger and his left leg. He arches his back to match the angle of the roof and extends a left hand to a small indent, large enough for two fingers. Hanging by two fingers in a horizontal lever, he makes a smooth dynamic swing, launching himself upwards into space, slapping his right hand onto a round hold the size and shape of a half-cantaloupe. Hanging onto the round hold with finger strength and friction, he presses his right toe into a small ridge in the rock, then swings inward and pulls up, stretching his left hand to reach a small niche in the rock. Now, using both hands for support, he lunges up to get a grip on a small grip near the top. Another invisible toehold, a mantelshelf, and he is on the top. Watching, my palms sweat. (The video below shows a 2006 ascent of this boulder (direct link to video).

Seeing these and other climbers in the Fontainebleau forest, one cannot help but marvel at this hidden reservoir of pure excellence. Beyond a pair of shoes, it is flesh, muscle and nerve against stone and gravity. There are no stock options, no teams, or owners, no audience but other climbers. No TV cameras or fan clubs. No million dollar contracts or product endorsements. There are just people pushing themselves to their very limits for the private joy of doing something that, to the ordinary person, looks impossible.

During a lull, I chat with two French climbers, and find they are from a town in southern France. I ask them why they have traveled all the way to Fontainebleau, passing by the Alps on the way.

“These are the best boulders in Europe,” one replies. He goes on to say, “in the Alps, it takes all day to get to a crux move, and what you can do is limited by weather and the rest of the team. Here you can get the crux move in ten seconds. On these rocks you can push yourself to your limit. You get better faster this way.”

On my way back to INSEAD, I reflected on the climber’s comment that on the boulders he was not limited by “the rest of the team.” On a big Alpine mountain, each member of the team protects the others, but the stronger should not lead where the weaker cannot follow. The ability of the weakest member of the team determines the level at which the team can climb. By bouldering, climbers break the chain-link logic of the climbing team and work at their own individual limits. In addition, the boulderer breaks the chain-link logic of ascending a large mountain where one must master the approach, the logistics, the weather, the snow, the ices, and so on. The boulderer concentrates only on movement on rock.

The climber’s words triggered a number of insights—about organizational excellence. A system has chain-link logic when its performance is limited by its weakest sub-unit or “link.” When there is a weak link, the chain is not made stronger by strengthening the other links. If one of the stronger “links” tries to get better or stronger at its task, there is no improvement in the overall strength of the chain.