Meet the Most Dangerous Man in Lafayette

Hans Florine is a dangerous man.  Not because he shimmies up the nose of El Capitan dressed in shorts and equipped with only a rope and a rack, the gear-laden sling rock climbers use to hold equipment.  No, Hans Florine is a dangerous man because when he talks about climbing up vertical rock, other people listen.

In a blink, stay-at-home moms, part-time coffee house servers, kids on bikes, the neighborhood mail person, retired ballerinas—all of them, begin to imagine scaling vertical surfaces.

Florine, a Lafayette resident, is no casual climber.  Growing up the son of a military father, he learned the art of movement living in Virginia, Texas, Illinois and Alameda.  Finally settled in Moraga, Florine tried football and soccer, but found "there's a political structure lined up to do football.  I was more of a Tom Sawyer: I could climb a tree better than a quarterback, but a quarterback could throw a football," he says, with easy acceptance.

Running track met his need for speed and his physicality, which, more than 20 years later, is still honed to wiry perfection.  But it was a college friend's invitation to go for a climb that led him from horizontal competitions to straight-up travel.  "I climbed a 20 foot-high boulder in the middle of a cow field," he says, of his first climb.

After graduating from California Polytechnic State University with a degree in economics, he went corporate.  Two years later, he wised up: "In the middle of a meeting with my boss, I said, 'I'm really sorry, I have other plans.'  I just wanted to go climb."

Florine became a full-time climber.  He uses the term deliberately, pointing out that unlike golfers or tennis players, professional climbers are rare.  "There might be ten people, today, who can climb for a living,"  he says.  In the late 1980's, there weren't even ten: Florine climbed full-time, but not for what could be called a living.           

Sport climbing was the style of the day in the late 80's and 90's.  Popular with rebellious, "anti-climb" participants—Florine says these people climbed mostly because they'd been told not to—sport climbing emphasized difficulty over any other factor.  "I tried to climb harder and harder things," he says, "It was comfortable for me to push the grade and be competitive."

He won a string of competitions, became Executive Director of the American Sport Climbers Federation and made an important discovery.  "I was decisive…and, it turns out, fast," he says.

Transferring the dot-to-dot approach he had learned on artificial walls to the outdoors, Florine was able to apply the same skills to natural rock.  He says that shifting to speed climbing provided an unexpected bonus: "I got to climb more cool places."  Why?  Because he could cover more territory at a faster pace and fit in more climbs as a result.

Increased speed in most sports reduces safety, but in a counterintuitive twist, it made Florine's mountaineering less risky.  "Speed is a part of good climbing," he says, "otherwise, Mother Nature will do what she does with you."  Avalanches, fatigue, darkness, and indecision can imperil a slow climber's ascent, according to Florine.  "I've been in places where I've thought, I don't want to be here.  But I'm not out to find risk."

Instead, he's out for adventure.  Which is why Yosemite has become his favorite climb.  "You can find other walls like El Cap, but I don't know of any other place where you're 12-15 minutes from your car door to the wall," he says.

This is the moment where anyone within 20 feet of Florine should cover their ears, because when he talks about Yosemite, he's golden.

Calling it an "outrageously wild wall, but outstandingly accessible," Florine quotes, without notes, the names and times of all Yosemite's record holders for the past 20 years.  Granted, he holds a number of them, including climbing the nose of El Cap with partner Yuji Hirayama in 2 hours, 37 minutes and 5 seconds.

"He's a mega star," Florine says, about Hirayama.  "There's a 5 x 7 foot head (sculpture) of him by a train station in Japan!"  Their relationship may be sporadic — "we see each other every few years when it's time for a climb" — but the friendship is genuine and based on trust.

Trust comes into play in Florine's family life as well.  His wife, Jacki, a prize-winning athlete, former top model and mother to their two children, also climbs.  Their oldest daughter, Marianna, 9, takes classes at Concord's Diablo Rock and is already gathering awards.  Her 7-year-old brother, Pierce, can't be far behind.

In his mid 40's, Florine could be slowing down.  But he's not.  "Once you get older, you become more knowledgeable about your body," he says.  He climbs most weekends.  He's started a wellness program at the architecture and engineering firm where he is employed.  He teaches core strength for climbers at a local gym.  And two weeks ago, he gave up his Honda Civic and now rides his bike to BART every morning.

Which is all good, because eavesdroppers, panting at the chance to climb, are belayed by the list.  Belayed: Fixed, tied, secured in place.  Most return to their incline-free lives.  As for the rest, there's only one direction: up.