For those who didn't geek out over Medieval siege-weaponry when they were in Junior High, a Trebuchet is a cross between a giant slingshot and catapult. Without relying on the specific workings of the Trebuchet, the nature of this climb likens itself to said weapon: that is, if you botch the first move, you get forcibly flung off the arete.
Lo, the first sequence of moves.
Then I throw a heel high and left, engage those mysterious inner-thigh muscles you didn't know existed, and pinch the arete with my legs. Once established, I grunt through a series of off-balance crimps that lead around the corner.
Now, the headwall. A beautiful—but insipid—crack slashes diagonally across the face, and provides the only means of travel. A series of desperate finger-locks lead the way, culminating in a viciously hard crossover move.
If you snag the crossover, the next move makes you work even harder. Set up, roll out, and dyno for a shallow fissure. It's beckoningly close, but the poor feet, steepness of the rock, and angle of the hold conspire against you.
This is where I've been falling. Best rope-swing in town.
Images courtesy of the inimitable Jason Shepherd, Santa Barbara's ONLY current legit climbing bum.