In Quebec, tenacious climbers are ‘bolting’ — setting new routes in the rock

I’m hanging 25 metres above the ground from two ropes attached to the top of a cliff. A giant drill is dangling from my climbing harness. I’m halfway through inserting a line of metal pieces, sculpting a route up the cliff face that hundreds of climbers will ascend in the next few years — I hope.

The sun is pouring down and I’m almost out of water. My bottle is also attached to my waist, along with a metal brush, a hammer and a 20-pound tool bag full of metal glue-ins, translucent yellow vials of glue and a paint chipper (which works wonders on stubborn mountain moss).

My whole body rattles as I start drilling, but the shaking stops suddenly when the drill bit gets stuck against the metamorphic rock. I take a sip of water before switching out the burning-hot bit, and enjoy what to me is the most amazing view in Quebec’s Lanaudière region: rugged grey cliffs up to 80 metres high looking out over pristine forest, a trickling stream and a rocky road — a view diminished only by massive power lines (which are admittedly helpful for orientation when you stumble off the nascent path while picking raspberries).

Rock climbing is among Quebec’s most popular adventure sports, with more than 250 climbing sites across the province, including the bucolic St-André cliffs in Kamouraska and well-known Val-David. But not many people have climbed at this site yet.

The new St-Alphonse-Rodriguez Climbing Park, nicknamed “Chez Roger” in honour of the original landowner, isn’t accessible to the public yet, but with the city taking over in July, it could open as soon as this summer. An hour and a half north of Montreal, it’s virgin rock and for climbers, that’s like an unopened present, all tied up with a bow.

The area where I’m “bolting” — or “opening” by drilling metal pieces for future climbers to attach their own ropes (which will allow them to ascend and descend safely) — already has 12 sprawling sectors along 500 metres of cliff and almost 150 routes, with plenty of potential. The park will undoubtedly become a playground for expert and beginner climbers alike, with a family-friendly “school wall” of easier climbs and other areas reaching into 5.14 grades, well outside the average weekend warrior’s reach.

Bolting requires patience and a lot of time hanging alone on mountainsides. You spend days or months deciding on safe placements for protective gear and shaping a route out of a moss-covered cliff. Where you put each bolt often determines how people will climb it. It’s a little bit art and a little bit engineering.

I learned to do it last year during the pandemic, when climbing gyms closed and I wanted to contribute to the climbing community. Other bolters here have already opened more than 30 routes each, compared with the handful I’ve contributed to and the one I’ll soon call my own.

According to the local climbing federation, there are as few as 10 women bolters in Quebec. In my class of eight experienced climbers, I was the only one. I’ve only met a few others. But the group of “ouvreurs-équipeurs” in the region is welcoming, dedicated and growing. There are a number of nearby sites in development and new places are always being discovered (or kept secret).

On any given day, there’ll be someone at St-Alphonse-Rodriguez lugging gear up their ropes to work on a route. Even if I don’t see anyone, I’ll certainly hear their drill cutting through the air like a battering ram. When I need a second opinion on where to place a bolt — a metre to the left, perhaps, or on denser rock — I’ll hike along the cliff base (always with a helmet in case of falling rock) to ask my neighbour for a second opinion.

When my route’s ready (if I ever stop destroying drill bits), I’ll ask my fellow bolters to climb it and decide on the difficulty or grade. But the right to name it will be mine: “La Branche d’Olivier” — The Olive Branch — both in tribute to a pointy and ambitious shrub in the middle of the route (I hacked it with a handsaw for a few hours before giving up), and in honour of the friend who gifted me gear that keeps me pulled into the rock.

Once, without it, I flew a couple of feet backwards on my ropes when I started the drill and the metal bolt flew into the woods. It happens. We’ll probably be finding bolts scattered among the trees for years. When I asked my friend how much to pay him, he said, “Just go make great routes.” That’s the goal.

There’s a feeling of satisfaction when someone loves your route. When a fellow bolter wrote in the area’s unofficial guidebook that “La Branche d’Olivier” would become a classic, my heart swelled. But the rock deserves the praise. There’s a natural edge along the upper right side that just feels so good to climb — another gift.

What’s not a gift is the moss. I’ve spent entire afternoons scraping away thick layers of greenery. Now, when I climb clean rock, I think about how much time someone spent cleaning it, and then cleaning the dirt out of their eyes, ears and clothes; a camp shower in sun-heated water after a long day of bolting feels like a miracle.

Then there’s the view: rolling fields and nobody in sight. It’s addictive, and it has to be because bolters aren’t usually paid. But I accept payment in colours and access. Over a single season last year, I’ve seen the forest change from budding green to autumnal red before being all blanketed by snow. Those memories push away thoughts of lugging gear that’s half my body weight up cliffs.

It’s the kind of complaint I won’t share with my fellow bolters around evening campfires. Instead, we’ll talk about our most difficult routes to drill, negotiate climbing grades and debate distances between bolts.

And when I sleep, I’ll dream about hanging on ropes — and more gifts from the rock.

Where beginners can learn to climb outdoors

In Quebec:

Attitude Montagne offers classes and custom-guided, leave-no-trace climbing trips for groups, kids and businesses on private sites.

La Liberté Nord-Sud plans half- and full-day outdoor climbing with accredited guides in the Laurentians, Montérégie and Montreal.

Passe-Montagne runs one- and two-day intro courses for people 16+ and five-day climbing camps for kids.

In Ontario:

Thornbury’s On the Rocks Climbing offers courses and adventures with fully certified guides at Rattlesnake Point and the Beaver Valley crags.

Get Out Toronto provides half- and full-day group trips with a private guide. It also organizes three-day sea kayaking trips (with optional rock climbing) to Georgian Bay’s 30,000 Islands.

The Star understands the restrictions on travel during the coronavirus pandemic. But like you, we dream of travelling again, and we’re publishing this story with future trips in mind.