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Another Spartacus classic, however you pronounce it. Sounds like: "Why the hell did you put so much peanut butter in my damn sandwich!?!" But most just call it, "Batcho" and have done with it.
Start your day off with a bang, a well protected but delicate/dicey, bouldery crux smackdown (exactly WHERE is that three-finger crimp?!?). Change gears and monkey up mildy overhanging (by Kalymnian standards) pockets of joy. Shake out and look right. Pretend that all the wankers at the base of Daniboy screaming "A'le-A'le-A'le" are cheering for YOU. Now grab that bucket mail slot with the correct hand (sequence, people), then mail yourself express out the traverse rail (fantastic crossover hands in a deep crack on airy, greasy feet) and up to buckets before the pump clock removes your forearms and your will to live.
Still with us? Charge up easy ground to the anchors. Last bolt is hidden off to the right, but easy enough to skip as to clip.
Overall, like eating a sandwich of stellar.
On the shady right side of Spartacus. Just left of Les Amazones, just right of Harakiri. Marked at the bottom of the wall in blue paint.
A dozen(ish) bolts plus linked-chain anchor.
|Photos of Mon Batchounousougounoudoudou Slideshow
See? Even the locals don't wanna bother with the w...
BETA PHOTO: Mr. Nance, checkin' out that wicked boulder-y star...
Eric nearing the crux on a flash of Mon B.
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