The first hint, or rather inkling, of any climbing comes from a village with a fitting name – Skály, which literally means "Rocks". That calms me down a bit. My hands start to sweat and a million thoughts whizz through my head. As we drive past the sign marking the start of the village, my friend reacts quickly to my withdrawal symptoms and, with icy calm, sets me straight: "There aren't any rocks here, though." That makes me nervous and I start to wonder what kind of area I've let myself be lured into. But we carry on and the road narrows. We arrive at a little church and park. The place feels pleasant. A church on a rise – peace and quiet – as if the universe had struck just the right balance at just the right moment. The sun is trying to squeeze its rays through the colourful treetops, and I soak up like a sponge the few unusually warm days that a gracious summer is offering us now, in autumn, as an encore. I'm looking forward to it – a new climbing area!
We walk along a path between meadows where the green of the grass has long since given way to shades of yellow. We chat about climbing, the air temperature is simply perfect for climbing and I feel good. All that's missing are the rocks! We turn off the path, walk past a small birch grove and suddenly there it is in front of us – a rock face. It's not very high, about fifteen metres, but it looks compact and solid – considering that in this corner of the world you climb on a rather unusual material: slate. For a moment I just stare in surprise, but then joy kicks in. We're going climbing! I slowly start to examine the individual holds and gradually load possible sequences of moves into my head. But what about the slate? And what about me, used to North Bohemian sandstone and coarse-grained granite? I'm expecting a slippery surface with no friction at all. And that's a challenge for me.
Climbing today takes an incredible number of forms. Over time it has evolved and split into individual disciplines – bouldering, sport climbing, trad climbing, ice climbing, dry tooling, and the list goes on. Some climbers specialise in sandstone, others have found their calling in cracks, then there are big-wall climbers, competition climbers on artificial walls, boulderers and a few other specialists. And it's precisely this wealth of options and variations that makes climbing such a unique and beautiful sport. I could even divide it into competitive and non-competitive. Competitive climbing takes place on artificial walls with clearly defined rules, whereas on natural rock the climber sets the rules and can choose whichever route catches their eye at that moment.
But there are only a few climbers who aren't afraid to lead a classic, poorly protected sandstone route and can also send a hard, bolted sport line. Nor do I know many boulderers who climb around 8A (the bouldering grade scale currently tops out at 9A – ed.) and can also find their way around the mountains or on ice. Those who can climb well on any rock, in any conditions, and aren't afraid of challenges – whether on small boulders or, say, in the mountains – are truly rare. And that, for me, is the beauty of climbing. And the greatest challenge. Being an all-rounder and able to handle everything climbing has to offer. It's good to realise the fulfilment it brings you and to take your fears as a challenge. Fear of uncertainty and risk holds you back and gets you nowhere.
So here we are, standing beneath that slate wall. A little unsure, but with my thoughts in order, I set off up the first route. We start gently – a line at a modest UIAA 5 should show me what I'm up against. I make the first few moves and realise I was completely wrong. The rock is divine! Compact, not slippery, and full of lovely holds, very often crimps, which I simply love. Some are more rounded, others razor-sharp. The sporty protection, with bolts drilled close together, is a pleasant change for me from trad climbing in the Jizera Mountains and on the sandstone of North Bohemia. Every wall is crowned with a lower-off anchor, which in my view borders on excessive comfort – but it's convenient, no doubt about that. On the right side of the wall the routes are more slabby – friction climbs that really test your footwork. The left sector, on the other hand, stands out with steeper, harder lines, so there's something for every taste.
Later we moved from the fives over to the left side too, climbing routes graded UIAA 9+ and 10-. And I have to say I really love this kind of short, intense route with no unnecessary fluff. So yes – I let myself be lured into a beautiful area. It's called Dobřečov, and I'll remember that name.
