Night of the Rising Sun — The Spot Bouldering Gym, Boulder, Colorado — Saturday, December 1, 2007 VIEW MORE PHOTOS FROM THE EVENT

“Can you cover this comp at the Spot?” my Editor-in-Chief asked/told me last week. “Sure,” I answered dutifully, bummed that I wouldn’t get to compete. A good comp like this one, with no finals and no prizes (only giveaways and raffles), is a great time: there’s no pressure; your only prerogative is to climb new routes until pumpitude grounds you, hang out, and then enjoy the provided food and booze. What better way to spend Saturday night? So like I said: bummed. Then it occurred to me – why couldn’t I cover the event AND compete? A stroke of genius, I felt. I packed my bouldering gear and my camera bag and headed out. 

One thing I’ll say, as a guy just shy of 30, is that today’s bouldering comps can make me feel old. Sure, I wasn’t the oldest at the Night of the Rising Sun — some long-time stone masters like Bobbi Bensman and Christian Griffith entered too — but with my craggily beard, my S7 pants and clear memory of the days when route climbing was in the X Games, I thought maybe I was a little out of place. When I walked in, the folks at the desk asked me what “ninja name” I wanted written on my headband (several competitors already sported theirs with pride, emblazoned with monikers like “Hiding Tiger” and “Killer Hedgehog”). Like a grumpy old man, I declined the headband altogether. 

It didn’t help that a large youth team hailing from Gunnison, Colorado, all wearing green team shirts, careened around the gym’s freestanding boulders like electrons around an atomic nucleus, full off youthy vigor. When the timer began, they glommed onto the walls as if attracted by some unseen force. As the night progressed, though, I felt very much at home — the problems were excellent and, as is rarely the case, the point values seemed spot on (no pun). I climbed better than I’d expected and plenty of folks my age materialized. The comp’s 120 competitors urged each other on and shared Beta selflessly. Everywhere, climbers growled or styled their way through problems, pitching off onto the nicely padded floors with abandon or topping out the heady highballs boulders with courage (I’ll admit, I beach-whaled once or twice in desperation).