We develop a weekly ritual of arranging an outing to Ogawayama with Tokio Muroi, the mysterious slab master of V15 fame, which invariably falls through because of rain or snow. Ogawayama is the highest crag in the area, situated at over 1600 meters elevation, and it catches the brunt of the mountain weather. Tokio is a retiring character. He eschews crashpads, which makes his first claim to V15, Banshousha, sound like a cranium-shaking experience. Not much else is confirmed, other than 5.13 climbers haven’t been able to even get off the ground trying the problem; that Tokio probably has abnormally flexible ankles; that he boulders hard; and that it’s impossible to tell a V13 slab from a V15 one, there being no standard for that kind of climbing at that level.
Muroi also claimed a second V15 slab, which has been repeated — and heavily downrated. There’s a rumor that the rating dispute also involves an old spat over sponsorship and a shoe review, the kind of thing that is said to be rare in the normally tight-knit Japanese climbing community.
The downrater is no other than Dai Koyamada, mystery man, sandbagger, and perhaps the world’s strongest climber. Dai has been ghosting through the Western climbing press for several years. In Japan, he’s universally acknowledged to be the most powerful climber, surpassing even Yuji. His name is more often than not misspelled in Western publications, and his age has been variously reported from twenty-three to twenty-seven in the past few months. Dai is rather amused by the confusion. “I’ll be twenty-eight this year — do you think I look like twenty-three?” he asks hopefully. “Well ... no.” He looks chagrined. “Damn, must be getting old.”
Koyamada has met us for an evening workout at the gym that was his bivi site for a year after finishing high school and moving to the Tokyo area. We huddle around a gas heater for the interview while the wind whistles through the rafters. The winter nights living in the gym were probably as close as Dai will ever get to alpine conditions. His climbing style has him airborne half the time — going up, not down. “I bike too much — check out these big old legs, bad for climbing!” he says ruefully, looking at his calves, then contradicts himself by launching into a series of sick dynos.
The gym manager shows us some of Dai’s problems and complains that they are extremely unpopular because he underrates them. Dai is referred to by the affectionate diminuitive of Dai-chan by everyone, but in the same breath they frequently give him flak for sandbagging. He invites us on a trip to Horai, a volcanic-tuff climbing area four hours south of Tokyo, near Nagoya. Although it’s mostly known for its sport climbing (which is excellent), this is where Dai put up a boulder problem named Byaku-dou. Literally “White road,” referring to the Buddhist path to Nirvana, it caused a minor furor in the Western climbing press when it was touted a possible V16.
Dai brings an entourage on the trip, including an additional photo team for a sponsor’s website and a video crew hoping to improve on the too-dark footage of Byaku-dou’s first ascent. The rock is seeping from recent rains, but after drying off the holds, Dai gives the problem a few solid burns, climbing through the crux to the top on one attempt, and getting to the crux move on others.
The crux itself is a long deadpoint move off a monopocket, and Dai’s feet cut loose as soon as he hits the next sloper. The whole problem consists of a nine-move sequence out a roof, with a lot of opposition on marginal slopers for hands and feet; a couple of positive holds leading into the crux, with the angle easing gradually to fifty degrees overhanging; and a few more tenuous balance moves on small holds to the top. Dai initially put up an easier problem, rated V13, that enters the crux from the right. Both problems are unrepeated. Yuji Hirayama and French hardman Fred Rouhling tried the V13 variation while Dai was working on Byaku-dou, but neither was able to pull the monopocket crux move.