Two Yanks Taste Humble Pie on the Superb Granite of Sweden

Sweden: this serene Scandinavian country conjures visions of sweeping granite, splitter cracks, and rounded blocs. Er, I mean, bikini teams, hockey, lingonberry jam . . . and more bikini teams. In short, all things not climbing. And so it is with major trepidation that, in April 2007, I board a plane to Stockholm for a climbing trip. I’m to meet my buddy Rob Pizem there, and then hook up with the local photographer Jonas Paulsson.

On the flight, I tell my Swedish seatmate I’m visiting his country to climb rocks. “Oh, you must mean hiking in the hill country,” he tells me. Then an elderly grandmother chimes in: “Are you sure the ice is in up north? It’s been warm.” The final insult comes from the flight attendant, who assures me I must be thinking of Norway, where you find the Troll Wall and other master cliffs. With no good response, I grow surly, drifting into sleep and pondering why I’ve spent nearly a thousand dollars, left my ski- and bike-rental shop in high season, and ditched my beautiful wife to climb in Sweden with bearded, smelly, red-afro-ed Rob.

The trip was Rob’s idea, spawned by a chance meeting with Jonas at Joshua Tree. In the three years Rob and I have climbed together, we’ve had some mad adventures, including the world’s longest sport climb, Logical Progression (5.13b; 28 pitches; El Gigante, Mexico). And though I’m on this plane because you never leave your wingman, this trip has even deeper meaning: it’s been a rough spell for Rob. In July 2006, he fell trying to free Arcturus (VI 5.13), on Half Dome, breaking his back; in December that year, his Austrian roommate, Hari Berger, died in a freak ice-climbing accident; and then in January 2007, Rob’s dad suffered a minor heart attack. Rob needs my support. Plus, I’m the only person who can make the trip.

Jonas lives in Stockholm and works as a part-time baggage handler. The Beta Rob gave me was simple enough: meet Jonas, who “looks like a Wookie,” at Stockholm’s Grand Central Station at 10 a.m. on Saturday. When I approach a 6’2” bearded guy with hair down his back, he says only, “My name is Jonas. We should go.” Then we’re off to the Millennium Falcon, his Audi wagon.

Sunday at 5:00 a.m., after Rob arrives, the three of us load the Falcon. Jonas is shooting a video showcasing Swedish climbing (Visit crackoholic.com) and is stoked to have two “strong” American climbers as talent. We drive west six hours, to the province of Bohuslän, passing endless evergreens and windmills, and crossing rivers, lakes, and, ultimately, fjords spreading over a flat, Minnesota-like landscape.

After lunch (Swedish meatballs) at a truck stop, we dock the Falcon at Hallinden, a 250-foot granite dome. The setting is a smaller-scale version of the Needles, California, or Colorado’s South Platte, with craggy domes of grey- and brown-streaked granite rising above a sea of pine. Most of the domes are about 250 feet high, with some reaching 400. They appear near-vertical and from 600 to 3,000 feet across. Crack lines abound.