I literally hate this route. It brings nothing but failure and disappointment to all who climb it. And what’s worse is that it’s getting worse. Let me tell you about my enemy: Criss Cross Direct.

It all started because of a friendly wager as to whether or not Steven could lead a 5.10 cleanly before the end of the season. I don’t know why Steven picked Criss Cross Direct particularly except that it starts with a crack and he’s always trying to prove that there’s jamming at the Gunks.

To make a long story short, Steven didn’t get it cleanly and neither did I following him, but on my second attempt I discovered the “trick” to pulling through the crux. After that I dismissed the route as easy. I think Steven even did it a second time on TR to try out my trick, and we both walked away feeling certain that we’d never have any trouble with that route again.

Steven aiding over the roof on
Criss Cross Direct – the only way to go
if you ask me.

I did it with Todd shortly thereafter and my confidence by then was palpable. I quote from the TR I wrote about that weekend:

I figured I could probably do the route cleanly – once you have it wired it’s maybe 5.9 – and I did. Todd thought I should lead it next but I thought that would just be a gimmick. I wasn’t ready to lead 10s, even if I could do this one, so why bother?

Ahem.

So now all three of us were set with the route. Todd onsight flashed it so smoothly that he couldn’t even pinpoint where the crux was. Steven will lead it cleanly on the next try, thus winning his wager with something like 6 months of season left to go, and I’ll probably make Criss Cross Direct my first 5.10 lead, perhaps before I even get around to my first 5.9 lead.

Ahem.

It’s not like I remember every time I’ve been on Criss Cross Direct individually. It’s more of a general pattern, a descent, a disintegration. Steven did not lead it cleanly on his next attempt, nor his next, nor, I’m pretty sure, even his next. In fact, in the end he won his wager with a different route altogether. As stressful as it got to be to belay with my fingers crossed, what was harder for me to bear was that I was no longer following the route cleanly either.

At first it was just a foot-slipping sort of thing, a moment of carelessness, I-could-have-done-it-if, but eventually I had to admit the truth. This route was better than I was. It wasn’t just the crux that was getting me either. There was something below the crux, that dark ugly crack in the corner, that had it in for me as well.

It got worse for Todd too.

“That was kind of hard,” he would say, puzzled, after his attempt and before mine which would end with a temper tantrum. He would run laps. I would refuse to climb the route at all if I fell off even once. Different strategies with the same result. “I think this route is getting harder.”

A couple of Saturdays ago, after what had been a good day so far, Todd says he wants to lead Criss Cross Direct.

“But why?” I whine. “I hate that route.” I hate worrying about falling off of it, I hate falling off of it, and most of all I hate the fit I throw after I’ve fallen off of it.

Somehow we go do it any way and, get this, Todd ends up hanging on it. Then I fall repeatedly, and I do mean repeatedly, trying to follow it, in brand new places even, and then Todd decides to run up it on TR and he still can’t get it clean. And so I ask you, what the hell is up with that route?

Never again. Never, never again. Todd thinks we should keep fighting till we conquor it but I say it’s time to admit defeat. If we had any sense we’d have quit two years ago while we were still ahead.