One of the nice things about climbing with Steven is that he’s always up for one of the moderate classics. The other nice thing is that we get a reasonably early start to the day, so we actually stand a chance of getting one of the moderate classics.

Amazingly, in three years of climbing at the Gunks, I’ve never been on Strictly from Nowhere (5.7 PG) in any form. Today I see Steven’s face peering down at me through the trees as I start up the talus. His smile tells me we’ve got it.

All the signs of yet another miserably hot and humid day are present, but at 8:30 the temperature is still low enough to climb with some confidence.

“The great thing about Strictly,” Steven says, “is that it’s the first route where you have to stop in the middle of the crux to place gear.”

Way to wig me out, Steven.

So I climb up to the corner determined to place beaucoup gear before the crux, just in case I don’t feel like stopping to place any in the middle. Slightly below the roof I run into a tricky move and back off. I have a green Alien, somewhat oddly placed, in right before the move. I’d like to place a second piece. The roof looms above me–who knows when I’ll be able to protect again. Now is the time, I tell myself.

I have it in my head (though it turns out I’m wrong) that Strictly is a G-rated route, so I’m confounded by the seeming lack of gear. I remember watching from a nearby route as a leader on Strictly kicked out a nut while climbing past it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can see where that nut went and I’m not surprised it came out without much coaxing. I refuse to place the nut.

After a thorough scouring of my options I finally decide that my only choice is to step back up to the hard move and place something from there. So I do. Ouch. Once I get the piece in and pull my way through the move into the roof proper, I realize that that was actually the worst stance on the route. In fact, this is exactly what Steven meant when he said you had to place gear from the middle of the crux.

Steven asks me if I want to lead the second pitch as well and I shrug–whatever. “It’s like 5.4, isn’t it?”

“Nooooo,” Steven says. “I wouldn’t say that.” So it’s my lead again.

Classically, Strictly is done in three pitches. The more modern approach, now formalized by the installation of bolts directly above the roof, is to climb it in two pitches. Under the old pitch breakdown, all the difficulties were on the second pitch. The last pitch, now largely ignored, was indeed something like 5.4. But the new breakdown actually splits the hard parts between the two pitches.

As I find out.

In fact, the second pitch is loads of fun with perhaps more wild moves than the first pitch, though none quite approach the same level of difficulty. As I pull through each tier expecting the rock to smooth out above me, I find yet another layer of overhangs. The short pitch ends on a shady ledge. I belay Steven up, glad I finally got on Strictly from Nowhere and grateful to be out of the sun.