James Pearson makes highball ascent of Legacy at Rocklands

First, a bit of history. Dave Graham originally spotted this line — a ten-metre wall of immaculate streaked black and gold Rocklands sandstone — pretty early in the area's development. His instinct was to climb it as a highball: no rope, just pads and friends. For one reason or another he never got around to it, and some years later the line was bolted by ZA local Sean Maasch and offered to Fred Nicole, who began projecting it every season.

After five years or so Fred was getting very close — he'd even fallen once after the crux — but had been hindered by injury. At the time the route was considered a “closed project", a practice fairly normal in certain circles back in the day, though much less common today. Then in 2019, Giuliano Cameroni asked Fred's permission to try it, and made the first ascent (with a rope) after three days of work. Fred followed just a few days later, and Giuliano insisted they share the credit, naming the route Legacy — Africa's first 9a. Since then Paul Robinson and Paige Claassen have also repeated it, also on a rope, but interestingly both noting that the line felt more like a boulder problem than a route. Paige's 2023 write-up ended with something like: "I can only imagine someone will boulder this someday."

I came to Rocklands this trip with a head full of highball ideas, and after sending The Finnish Line (8C) early on, started wondering what might be next. I spoke to Keenan Takahashi, who was working some other highball projects nearby, and after hearing what he had to say about Legacy I went to take a look for myself. Standing below the wall for the first time, my first thought was: it's big, but it totally goes.

Before I go further, I want to be clear: the way Fred, Giuliano, Paul and Paige climbed this isn't just "valid" — it's clearly the more sensible approach, given the height, the landing, and the fragile nature of the holds up high. Doing it without a rope meant a serious logistical mission: hiking in a mountain of pads, rounding up friends willing to stand beneath a fairly consequential fall, and committing to all of that in a place where getting injured would be a very bad idea. But Dave's original vision for the line felt like unfinished business, and it matched something in how I like to climb. Climbing doesn't have one correct format — it's always a mix of local ethics and personal preference.

The opening four moves are definitely the crux: small, slick holds with intense, snatchy moves right off the deck. I worked those out on the first day, then checked the upper wall on a static line. The moves above are more straightforward in comparison, but surprisingly sustained on sharp, fragile crimps — with the hardest coming right at the top. I had to find a compromise between efficiency and minimising any outward force on the holds to avoid snapping anything. The last move is the trickiest in this regard. The easiest way is a big drop-knee off the right-hand side-pull, allowing a static move to the final jug — very controlled, but if the hold went you'd fly sideways off the wall, well clear of the pads. I chose to climb it front-on instead, feet low, going for the top jug with the other hand. Slightly harder, but a fall from there would at least be predictable — hopefully feet first into the upper nest of pads.

On day two I went back up on my own and tried the upper wall above some pads, just to get a feel for being up there. I started climbing and jumping off, taking progressively bigger falls, letting the exposure become normal. By the end of the session I felt comfortable enough to know that if I could get through the start, there was a real chance I'd go to the top.

A few days later — a little warm, but with a good wind — a group of friends hiked in every pad they could find and arranged themselves below. There was a lot of laughing and messing around while we got everything sorted, which was exactly what I needed to keep the tension low. I talked them through the sketchiest parts, told them there was a real chance the bottom boulder might take me all day — or might not go at all. Then I put my shoes on, pulled on, and climbed to the top.

The feelings on the upper wall were exactly what I'd hoped for — calm, focused, and completely present. The noise from below only reached me on the top-out. It felt like finishing a sentence that someone else had started. Thanks to everyone that made it possible: Keenan Takahashi, Martin Käble, Ethan Pringle.

- James Pearson