Dig Deep: A Big Wall Story

By Rab Athlete Anna Hazlett

Matilda Söderlund and I didn’t go to Madagascar with the intention of climbing Air Madagascar, but, as with many amazing adventures, things did not go to plan!

After seeing that the bolts on Mora Mora, our original objective, were extremely rusty, we felt the climb was compromised and switched to the unrepeated line Air Madagascar (400 m, 11 pitches: 5.9, 5.13b, 5.13c*, 5.13b, 5.13a, 5.13d (5.12b variation), 5.12b, 5.11d, 5.13c, 5.9, 3rd class).

*we have suggested an upgrade to 5.13d due to key holds breaking

Air Madagascar was established by Dirk Uhlig and Jörg Andreas in 2010 and sits on the arete of Karambony wall. Much like the other routes in Tsaranoro, it is characterized by its highly technical nature and bold runouts. The initial five pitches follow a slightly overhanging crack on bullet granite leading to a large ledge halfway up the wall. From there, you transition onto more vertical terrain, alternating between face and arete climbing to reach the summit.

To our surprise, the pitches were nothing short of world-class. The movement was spectacular, the sequences tricky. We felt we had stumbled on an unknown gem. How had no one repeated this yet? Both Matilda and I were thrilled by the idea of tackling a line that was practically unknown. We had almost no information on it and couldn’t help but wonder what surprises it had in store for us.

Matilda, of course, was a great partner for this adventure. She’s a 9a climber with an impressive resume of hard multipitches. I’d actually been following her on Instagram for years before we ever met. She’s a tall woman (like me!) who excels at vert and slab climbing (my favorite styles!). Her accomplishments always inspire me. Then, by total chance, we ran into each other in Vegas, at a taco shop of all places, and one thing led to another. Before long, we were planning a trip to Madagascar!

Matilda knew this climb would be difficult, but ultimately attainable for her. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. At first glance, it looked like a reasonable challenge: it went up to 5.13d, and I’ve done plenty of climbs in that grade range! Although… usually as single-pitch projects that take dedicated effort. Okay, so maybe it was a bit of a reach goal. And then came the logistics: after factoring out travel days, we had just three weeks total in Tsaranoro. With the last week reserved for our push, that left only two weeks to project—and many of those days would be eaten up by rigging lines, getting lost, or resting. This meant I’d have to send each 5.13 pitch in just a handful of tries. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I got to work.

As we projected the route, we discovered more and more about its history. We heard rumors that one of the 5.13b’s had an “impossible move.” Luckily, both Matilda and I were able to solve it—Matilda with her full wingspan and me with a terrible intermediate. We also learned that Adam Ondra had tried the route as a warm-up for Tough Enough (5.14a) in 2010 but couldn’t get through one section. Turns out, this was the start of pitch six, originally graded 5.13d. Matilda and I spent several days trying to figure out a sequence, but the route was essentially blank at the start. It was clear that some holds had broken. To free this pitch, we decided to traverse right and climb the arete on the neighboring route Rain Boto, making it ~5.12b. Funnily enough, the universe balanced this out later: during our push attempt, both Matilda and I broke several key holds on the first 5.13c, rendering it around 5.13d in our opinion.

Although I felt extremely excited to be on this stunning route with Matilda, working through moves and doing what I love most every day, a more complicated feeling lurked underneath. I’d find myself in tears because I couldn’t imagine being able to send any of the pitches on time. Sending a 5.13+ in a few goes was still a big deal for me. And here I was, needing to send a lot of them quickly. In a row. With big runouts. I was boggled by the enormity of our goal.

And then I felt guilty for buying into the binary definition of success that climbing offers: you either send or you don’t. How’s that a fair way to measure anything?

My days on the wall in Madagascar made me reflect quite a bit. Why was I here? Was it just to tick off another hard send? That felt like such a narrow, egocentric way to experience climbing. Looking out at the most stunning view I’d ever witnessed,11,000 miles from California, I felt oddly at home. I was here to experience life fully, to push myself, and to learn. And I’d already learned so much on this trip, lessons that had nothing to do with which foothold to smear on or which crimp to grab.

Adventure doesn’t happen in a vacuum. The reality of traveling to Madagascar to struggle up a rock climb was not lost on me. Our climbing goals, however salient and beautiful in our own lives, were suddenly put into perspective. I found myself beyond grateful to be living this life: it’s a form of privilege to seek the discomfort and intensity of a big wall objective when so many don’t get to choose their hardships. I had chosen to be here, to try this larger than life objective, and I had the opportunity– the privilege– to work through the discomfort and uncertainty. However deflated I would feel at the end of the day, I would put in a conscious effort to try and start each morning fresh: I was lucky to be here. Every day was a new day to exceed expectations.

And most importantly, I wasn’t alone on this adventure. When doubts crept in, which admittedly was often, I’d call my partner, Connor—another big wall climber—who helped me work through my uncertainties. I also welcomed Matilda’s advice on the wall. One day, she shared some advice that really stuck with me: stay curious.

I loved that. It captured the creativity of climbing movement, the way it can feel like dancing up rock—letting go of the pressure to send or the fear of falling, and simply focusing on the puzzle at hand. She also reminded me to avoid big-picture thinking. One thing at a time.

I started to focus on the smaller moments— bolt by bolt, route by route, day by day—and mentally prepared to unleash my strongest self when it came time for the push. The day before we set off, I felt a real shift. For the first time, I was excited rather than overwhelmed. I felt that familiar rush, like standing before the starting line of a race, waiting for the gun to sound. I realized that trying my absolute best would be enough. That would be success.

During those four days on the wall, I found out what my absolute best really looked like. I fought with everything I had, surprised by my own grit. You can do this, I told myself. And if you can’t, you’ll fight until your fingers bleed and your voice gives out.

I watched from the belay as Matilda moved fluidly up the routes, one after another. She was trying hard, but she was in control. While Matilda led most of the difficult pitches, I took a few proud leads and started to find confidence on the rock. Pitch after pitch, I pushed past my own limits, reaching each set of anchors with tired legs and bleeding fingertips, joining Matilda in the sends. We decided to skip pitch 3 after multiple hold breaks, and would attempt to summit first then return to it on our last day. Aside from this, the push was going smoother than we could have anticipated!

On the second day of the push, it was actually my birthday, I was almost in shock. I sent the 5.13b I’d only tried twice before, then successfully led the terribly runout 5.13a arete pitch to the ledge. Bolts were spaced four or five meters apart, not necessarily protecting crux moves, and I had to fight to keep my body from barn-dooring off the delicate sequences. Topping out that pitch came with a rush of emotions: pride that I sent despite my fear and exhaustion, relief at finally being safe on the anchors, and excitement knowing the hardest climbing was mostly behind us. What a great birthday gift to arrive to our halfway point at the ledge! I slept so well that night.

By the third day of the push, we’d reached the final hard pitch. The sun was setting. I had just fallen off the crux on my first attempt. Matilda had already sent, so whether we topped out together that day was on me. Watching her power through the last hard sequence was inspiring, I felt so much joy for my climbing partner. But I looked down at my trembling hands: I was totally spent. Physically, my fingertips were torn open, my body shaking from exhaustion. Mentally, I was close to breaking after leading the most runout pitch on the wall, a 40 meter 5.12b with a whopping 5 bolts.

Steadily growing throughout the push was this secret hope that we could send this together. Maybe I could join her, would that be so crazy? I suddenly felt foolish: I hadn’t even unlocked the crux moves yet, and I doubted I could get the rope up in my state. I had tried the pitch once before, and didn’t even make it to the top. Knowing I wouldn’t have another shot (we simply didn’t have that kind of time) I decided to stay curious. What if I did have more in me that I just couldn’t see yet?

So I fought. I let out a scream so loud my fingers had no choice but to grip harder. I somehow linked the crux for the first time, got to the mantle around the lip, and even though my legs wanted nothing more than to give up… I stood up tall. This took so much out of me I actually had a panic attack just standing on the slab, in total disbelief I had done the hardest moves without falling. Teetering on two tiny little crystals I wiped tears from my eyes: Get it together Anna, you can do this. Every second I was in disbelief that my fingers were still holding on. Yet, there they were, latched onto the crystals like my life depended on it.

I took some moments to recenter myself, then slowly made my way through the delicate slab knobs. The climb was by no means over, and I slowly worked my way up the slab, waiting until I was absolutely certain I could make the next hold before I dared to move. I would not allow myself to fall, not now. And then I was there, at the chains. It was the most surprising send of the entire trip, although I barely had time to process it: It was now almost completely dark, so we moved quickly up the final two pitches to the summit. I was still shaking.

I gave the wall everything I had, and she gifted me back one proud, beautiful line.

We celebrated as music from the nearby village echoed off the wall. The sunset from the summit was one of the most breathtaking views I’d ever experienced. We had done it, and we had done it together!

We stayed on the wall one last night and tried pitch three again. With the missing holds, we speculated the pitch was substantially harder than it had once been. Neither of us had sent on the way up. Although I gave it my best effort, I simply could not put it together, though I felt close! Matilda took a few deep breaths, exhausted from multiple days on the wall and subsequent nights of terrible sleep. A little shaky, she moved cautiously through the new crux, now an entirely new sequence, and inched her way up the climb. She had fallen on the final move in her last attempt, so I knew it wasn’t over until she could touch the chains. One final push, and she had done it. We were delirious with excitement: her send had completed our adventure! A second celebration followed; it was time to go home.

In the end, Matilda successfully sent each pitch on the push, and I sent all but pitch three. But more importantly than any send, I walked away with a deeper understanding of my limits and what it truly means to dig deep.

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Anna Hazlett is a bold, boundary-pushing climber and Rab Athlete who shares her adventures on film to inspire others—especially women, LGBTQ2S+, and BIPOC climbers—to step outside their comfort zones. Learn more.

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