Alex Mason Climbing

A Shade Familiar

2013-06-13T10:14:00.002+01:00

After all the heady climbing I’ve being doing, and generally without a head, I was ready for a nice spot of bolt clipping. Over the weekend Jemma and I went to Kilnsey. For those who haven’t been it’s probably the best sport crag in Britain. It’s got about five main buttresses with huge roofs, bulging bulges and yawning steepness. The quality only kicks in properly at about 7c but from then on it’s pure, overhanging class. Anyway, on Saturday I lost my keys so we set off about an hour late. The van prefers a lazier pace and when we got to Skipton a sea of bodies flooded the road and we had to take a lengthy diversion, so we only arrived in the late afternoon.

Events continued in a similar fashion at the crag. My arms felt leaden from having eleven stone of gibbering man hanging off them for three hours on Thursday and all the warm-ups had ropes or climbers hanging on them, so we were forced to take the Alternative Optional Extra (7a+). Flash pumped and reminded how crap I am on bouldery ground, my ambitions dropped from 8a+ to finishing off a 7c+ I’d dropped the last move on three years ago. Jemma cruised up AOE and while I belayed I bumped into climbing’s most envied man; Alex Barrows, who had just made light work of True North (8c). Wanker.

I got on Mr. Nice (7c+) for a quick afternoon tick, but I quickly realised I was much weaker than last time I was here. So much so in fact, I couldn’t even do the moves in isolation. I spent half an hour trying to unlock a sequence that I had nearly done on redpoint a long time ago. I stripped the route and called it a day. I recommended Nerve Ending (7b) to Jemma, remembering Billy Laurence flashing it for his first 7b. After she’d fallen off for the second time, I also remembered that the route is full of reaches and Billy is a gangly bugger. We spent more time driving and more time in the pub than we did at the crag that day.

We slept a few hundred metres from Kilnsey and we were still beat to all the warm-ups. We managed to negotiate a time slot on Highway 395 (6c+). George turned up, hungover, and all three of us had chance to throw a lap in. We moved on to Smooth Torquer (7a+), I thought it would be a good second warm-up, which it was for George and Jemma, but I felt like a fish out of water and the lead arm came back.

I understood by this point that my arms weren’t going to let me make hard moves so I went for a flash burn on Dominatrix (7c). It went quite well and I made it to about half way getting just through the crux sequence before an eyeful of chalk and and armful of porridge had me off. Retrospectively, this was a good place to come off, the top roof was awkward and graunchy and It took a few goes to crack the squirmy sequence. I was chuffed when George fell off lower than I did. He might have been hungover but ill savour that burn-off. In your face Ullrich! I was elated when I managed the route second go, it was anyone’s game when I set off. Unfortunately, George got up it second go too.

A picture from a few years ago showing the impressive North Butress. Dominatrix takes the white groove in the near distance. Laura Perry Collection

On the Monday, George managed to persuade me to head up to Cloggy with him for an after work hit. He wanted to try It’ll be Alright on the Night (E7 6b). On the walk-in, we passed a couple of lads from the Lakes, they said it was ‘midgey as hell’ up there, but we carried on up. At the bottom of the crag we expected to be swarmed but it was fine. I got on Womb Bits (E5 6b) with the intention of linking it straight into the second pitch of Great Wall (E4 6a) to give a monster 65m wall climb.

It was going well and I was climbing confidently until halfway. My feet started cramping in the bridges when I tried to use small footholds and my big toe felt like it was taking the strain barefoot. I re-jigged my boot a couple of times on a small foot ledge, but it didn’t change anything. I set off into the crux sequence and after the first couple of moves I ended up on two dinky foot edges. My feet were squeezing up; taloning and my knees were weakening. I writhed about on the wall, making a few half-hearted attempts upwards. In the end, I caved and slumped onto the cam beneath me. I took my boots off and shouted at them. Goosfrahbah...

Back on the route I was quite glad of the respite. On some fairly bold ground I felt like I was moments from a pain-induced panic as I gained the Great Wall Jugs. The GW half was fun, but I was driven by a great sense of urgency. I had about three seconds per foothold. At the belay I was awash with relief when I took my boots off. The sun came round onto the wall with a ‘eureka’ feeling, lighting the place up like a rediscovered attic. Magic.

We scampered round to the base of It’ll be Alright on the Night. As George racked up the midges moved in. We had been detected. Word soon spread and by the time George set off, hundreds of the little blighters had arrived for the feast. I tried my best to belay. I had my trousers tucked in my socks, my tops into my trousers. I pulled my buff right over my head and ratcheted my hood tight around this. I was a sealed unit, but they still got in, buzzing around inside my cocoon. The low, reverberating drone sounded like some kind of blood-fuelled power station. What would they eat if I wasn’t here?

I ‘meditated’ it out, doing my best to stay calm. I would let them picnic on my hand before raining down a mighty vengeance with the other. I killed hundreds of them in the time I was there, yet, it made no difference. They stifled the air, a black, infuriating mist. Luckily, George made light work of the route. I came to second, I had to take down my cotton force field. All the way up the route they chewed at me; gnawing me senseless. I flailed up the route like a burning man falling from a building. At the top of the crag I was livid. We both were. They’d followed George up too. I screamed ‘Argghhhh! Help! ‘, enjoying the echo more than anything, then, two minutes later on the descent, voices came up the crag ‘Is everything ok? Do you need help?’ Whoops!

Finally it’s raining and I’ve an excuse to take a few rest days, get some money in the bank and notch up the power a touch. Phew.

The Long Blog Post: Part II

2013-06-10T14:31:00.004+01:00

3am. I put on my pre-prepared porridge and ate my laid-out clothes. I felt surprisingly awake. George and I began the slow trudge up to St. John’s Head. Two hours later we arrived at our stashed bags. The glum moorland disappeared into swirling white on one side, on the other, a thousand vertical feet spewed cloud like a chemistry vial. I couldn’t imagine feeling anymore isolated.

We began the descent, weaving down gullies through knee-deep elephant grass that hid streams and holes. Fulmars shot out from all over making sure you stayed tense throughout. For much of the descent the top and the bottom of the cliffs were hidden in the mist; a journey to nowhere from nowhere. It felt like a bad idea to carry on in these damp, threatening conditions. George pressed on so I followed thinking ‘Well, he has been to Patagonia and stuff. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing?!’ Forgetting that George never really knows what he’s doing. I found out later that he had thought the same, but at the time, I kept following so he kept going. At the boulder strewn shoreline, unseen screaming cormorants maintained the air of tension as we made our way across the beach, I couldn’t imagine feeling anymore isolated.

Vanishing into the haze on the descent.

At the base of the route we could see two pitches up. The other twenty-one of them were hidden in a Grand Theft Auto-style shroud. I re-applied the bandage to my burn, necked some more pain killers (hoping they might act as fear killers too) and set off on pitch one of The Long Hope Route.

Our 'heroic' DVD cover shot.

I took each move as it came, I was enjoying it and in the moment. The climbing was never too hard, but sandy all the while and you could climb for tens of metres without finding a single runner. George seconded quickly and I got pretty pumped trying to take in both his ropes whilst pulling a haul bag up.

Heading into the mists of time on P1 of The Long Hope Route.

Pitch two was similar but with a trickier, unprotected start. As George neared the end of the pitch I looked up to take a chunky grain of grit to the eye. The grass pitches were surprisingly steep on some parts, but we passed these quickly, soon finding ourselves at the base of St John’s face. I couldn’t imagine feeling anymore isolated.

Seconding P2 like a sand crab.

The cloud had lifted to reveal the next fifteen pitches or so, the towering wall spiralled away forever. The E2 Corner was on good rock, climbing felt good and there were some sequential Fulmar sections involving initial drainage followed by tactful positioning and calming stealth. George got the first vom of the day seconding. Next up, ‘The Vile Crack’, George disappeared into this emerging filthy and grinning thirty minutes later.

The Vile Crack (It's much more vile than it looks here).

Then, ‘The Unconquerable Flakes’; two exposed E4 pitches around roofs, via thick, powdery lichen and beach-like breaks. We stopped for lunch and whacked the speakers on. It seemed so surreal to have Primal Scream blaring out up there, we were making good time and spirits were high.

George balancing up sand on The Unconquerable flakes.

The next pitch was simply a walk along an enormous break, complicated by half a dozen poised Fulmars. Softly, Softly, pass a seagull. The belay was situated right next to one of the birds. I don’t know what Ben and Caff did to it the day before, but it seemed unphased, in fact, happy to see me. George led a monster E1 pitch which included ‘The Stomach Traverse’; an incredible, exhausting wriggle along a narrow break for about 15m with 800ft of thin air dropping away right by your side.

The Stomach Traverse.

Exhaustion began to take hold. We ate more food and cranked up The Red, Hot Chilli Peppers, amplified in the break. Above us was the infamous ‘Guillotine Flake’ where Drummond began to crack on the first ascent. He wrote how he felt this was a suicide mission, and how a voice in his head taunted him; ‘like some kind of male witch in hot gloat’. He imagined grabbing the flake and tearing it off wiping them both out and chopping the ropes. With this in mind, I set off to an internal chant of ‘like a male witch in hot gloat’. I tried not to think as I pulled on various smaller suspect flakes. The climbing was the most strenuous and technical yet and cramp was setting in up my arms, and in my feet and hands. I got ‘the guillotine’ and tried to scurry quickly along it, but, I was too tired and a slow, intense grapple with the male witch ensued. This moment epitomised our distinct lack of urgency.

Stood on 'The Guillotine'.

After George had led the next E6 pitch it was 8 o’clock, we had five more pitches to go including some English 6c and the wind was picking up. We wouldn’t make it to the top before dark. We were both shattered. It had got too cold to bivvy. This is where our adventure began.

At our high point on the route before bailing off around the arete.

I led off round the left arête in search of an escape up Big John (E5 6a), we were only fifty vertical metres from the top so it should be fine finishing up this. As I made it round onto the Northeast face the wind was howling; screeching across the face and sending cold air ripping through my five layers. I belayed after about twenty metres at a junction with a few potential escape routes. George forayed each of the ‘up’ lines with a sense of urgency brought about by the scowling wind and the setting sun. I wanted to sleep. I was freezing cold and all I could think of was sleep. I suggested going back round to the long hope face and having a nap, but George had other plans. He traversed off leftwards with a wide break for hands and sheets of turf for feet. I couldn’t watch as the wind was coming from the same direction and it made my face too cold, so I turned away as George disappeared. He shouted ‘watch me’ just after placing a big cam, as some of the grass peeled away from the wall beneath his feet. I thought about a nice, warm bed as I struggled to keep my eyes open. I came to second and tried to switch my brain off and go, but the dim light and loose stuff kept me thinking. Every time I arrived at a piece of gear I felt a whoosh of relief, this was serious and I was seriously exhausted. When I reached the big cam George told me that was the last piece of gear that would hold a fall. I was facing a twenty-metre pendulum if I came off, and I had to climb the moves that made George Ullrich shout ‘watch me’.

I was frantic after I took the cam out, the grass that began to peel on George came clean off the wall. Fulmars baulked in the break and George kept shouting at me to get in it. I had no choice. I took the rucksack off, stuffed it in the break and then followed it in. ‘The Stomach Traverse’ on the proper route seemed like a pleasant stroll now. This break was muddy, loose and leant out towards oblivion. It was lined with Fulmars and they were pissed. I crawled along fighting the urge to sleep now I was laid down. I held the bag in front of me for a shield as ‘bwarks’ and ‘bleughhhs’ preceded splatters as the bag got a good covering of fishy vomit, inches from my head.

George had to coax me along another pitch whilst my head bobbed. It was fully night time as we entered the bowels of the Earth. We had crawled out its intestine and we were now in the cavernous anus of the beast. The smell of sulphur, mud and bird chunder thickened the air and now St. John was literally about to shit us out.

We abseiled down into the dark, moist gully with one head torch between us; I forgot mine. We climbed two hideous pitches up saturated mud which slipped away with every step, before arriving back on elephant grass to the dim glow of the sun riding beneath the Northern horizon. We had survived. We walked back, I felt like a rubber segway; leaning forwards to keep my legs twanging downhill, almost sleep walking. After two-hours we arrived back at the tents. That was the most enduring twenty four hours of my easy, modern life. I took a shoe off and fell asleep to the hallucinatory sound of Fulmars vomiting all around.

I woke three hours later, parched, with one gritty eye glued shut and walked into the bothy. I could have not noticed the savage slowness that I moved with if it were not for contrast of everyone else’s normal pace. I spent the whole day eating.

Viking Re-enactors having trouble with a tent outside the bothy.

The next day all five of us headed to Rora Head. Caff was just resting, Adam and Ben did Two Wee Laddies (E6 6b) and George and I attempted the headwall cracks we had spotted a few days earlier. The steep line was mega sandy and the cracks were wider that the gear we had on us, so we swung around the arête and climbed the ‘Fern Hill’ style, stepped cracks. I was still knackered and I got pumped to the eyeballs climbing it and cleaning as I went. The route turned out to be awesome finger-crack climbing and had the best rock we climbed on Hoy. It became The Wise Hoy Hawk (E5 6a).

Atop P1 on the first ascent of The Wise Hoy Hawk (E5 6a).

Funnily enough, I remember seeing a talk in Sheffield by Adam Long about new-routing on Scotland’s North Coast and being hugely inspired, declaring that one of my climbing ambitions was to go to these Scottish sea cliffs and try new routes, ground-up and hopefully about E5. Here I was five years later, putting up a new E5, onsight, with Adam himself.

George on P2 of The Wise Hoy Hawk (E5 6a).

On our last day on Hoy, Caff and Ben went to try a line they had spied from the bothy; The Death Corner. An hour later they returned. The rock was rubble and if they had stayed any longer they would’ve been locked in until the evening by the tide. George and I went and did Two Wee Laddies. I fell off the very top of the first pitch when a poor hand jam ripped on sandy, greasy cracks. George took up the sharp end and managed to smash through the crux. I seconded pumped stupid. Caff was going to climb with us, but we were taking too long for him so he prussiked out to run all the way back to the bothy to grab his kit and climb with Adam. Caff spent the rest of the day running round, psyched out his mind to climb, trying to persuade someone to climb with him. In the end he resorted to soloing. That man is keen!

George and I on a pair of E2s at Yesnaby. Peter Moore Collection.

We left Hoy, taking the head of all their big talk with us, and arrived at Yesnaby Crag on Orkney at about 8am. Here we all did a bunch of E2’s an E4 and took it in turns to lead the neo-classic Dragonhead (E6 6b). Caff and Ben had gone first and left patches of chalk on non-holds to lure me out the wrong way. While I was climbing, their bespectacled faces appeared over the top and looking like school kids watching a teacher walk right into their trap, I kept my wits about me and followed my instinct. Also, the holds Caff had chalked were too small for me to hold anyway. After lunch at Julia’s we hit the road and headed South. The plan was to stop at the CC hut and then press on to The Cobbler in the morning to try Dalriada (E7 6b). Caff had tried to climb here two or three times before, but wind, rain and poor visibility had stopped him in his tracks. I woke up feeling knackered and completely worn down so I caught a lift home with Jemma instead. The rest of them made the two hour walk up to the crag just in time for the rain to come in. Thank you fatigue.

On Dragonhead (E6 6b). Caff's red herring chalk on the right. James Mchaffie Collection.

After a few days relaxing and recovering Jemma took me mountain biking. It was nice to do something different, and Long Hope had made me keen to face down some other things I find intimidating. Then, not quite ready to get back on the horse I went for a day top roping with Caff. He made a very quick headpoint of Rare Lichen (E9 6c) and I worked out the moves on Gribbin Wall Climb (E9 6c). It was nice to be on the blunt end of the rope and do some hard moves. I will be back on this soon to see if a lead is a realistic proposition.

On Thursday, Lee ‘Lee-Dog’ Roberts and I stomped up to Cloggy. The walk-in felt fine after the daily uphill grind on Hoy. We warmed up on Jelly Roll (E2 5b) and used it to access the upper facet of the crag. Lee then did the superbly positioned; The Axe (E4 6a). Not feeling on form and wildly intimidated, he savoured his way up the route and topped out a very happy man. Then, also not feeling on form and not massively psyched I went for a literal look at Authentic Desire (E7 6b) with full intention of escaping up the adjacent Octo (E1 5b).

Calum and George had both done it earlier in the week. Calum had said it was well-protected and very soft for the grade. George said it was pretty airy and there wasn’t really any gear after the crux but the climbing was steady. The reality was that after a decent RP at about 7m, there was no more gear I would’ve really wanted to even slump onto until a thin break at 25m.

I had such mental turmoil getting up the route, three hours of the male witch in hot gloat took its toll. A repetitive cycle went through my mind; I don’t want to be in this position anymore, I’ll equalise this RP and skyhook and bail. If I’m gonna do that I might as well get the abb rope flicked over. I can’t use the abb rope that’s cheating. I couldn’t bail off the gear because it was unjustifiable with a rope there, but, using the rope was unjustifiable too. I was pinned to the arête by a catch-22. I spent a whole hour hanging from a flatty after the crux. George (who had just made a rare onsight of Shaft of a Dead Man (E7 6c)) and Caff were peering over the top as I reached the flatty. They walked all the way around the crag after packing up and I was still in the very same place. In the end I sucked it up, made some scary arête moves and got stood on the flatty. I spent another thirty minutes here, before finally going for it up the unprotected, sidepull sequence to the sanctuary of the thin break. I was a broken man; a spent force. I never wanted to onsight a scary route again. My brain had gone into meltdown and I sat shivering on the belay.

George on Authentic Desire (E7 6b). Calum Muskett Collection.

Lee seconded rapidly, then scrambled up to the top of the crag. As I reached the top of the crag, the sun drew sigh upon sigh of relief from my lungs. I breathed out the darkness of my Authentic Desire; exorcised of the focus and fear. Through the contrast of moving from the shade to the light, reality shifted into a fond memory and I wondered what E7 to try next...

The Long Blog Post

2013-06-07T16:03:00.002+01:00

In the two weeks running up to our trip to Hoy I lost the will to climb. Even on sunny days, the idea of cranking up some pumpy wall, or sitting on some sunny belay ledge, stopped seeming like fun. I couldn’t really put my finger on what was going on... Maybe I’m subconsciously preparing myself for Hoy? Maybe I’m getting old and I can’t face it anymore? Maybe I’m subconsciously cowering away from the impending challenge? Maybe my brain is just tired? Maybe the pressure of having less than no money is finally getting to me? Maybe I’ve realised there is more to life and I’m wasting my time? Maybe my days of climbing are over??

After a week off, one thing tempted me onto a rope. I went to have a crack at a big link on Main Cliff with Tom Ripley in an attempt to re-establish some kind of psyche. I seconded Emulator first, all the while dread encroached. At the top of Emulator, my fate was sealed. I went to have a go at ‘the link’. I managed to get up the direct start to Alien, but mid-way through the main section of the pitch my mind buckled with an almost audible snap. I knew I had to do Skinhead next. I was pumped (was I really?), it was greasy (was it really?), and every move was a fight against myself. Doubt had me by the bollocks and I conceded.

I’m positive that the ability to override fear, doubt and general concern is directly proportional to passion and desire. My passion was gone just in time for The Long Hope Route.

Three days later, George, Caff, Bransby and I were on our way North. I’d torn my bicep bouldering the day before, which, as frustrating as it was; provided a superb get-out clause should I need it. I had no idea how it would feel to climb on, but the soreness while sitting in the passenger seat didn’t bode well. We stopped at a service station for breakfast No.2. As soon as we pulled out of the services my untouched, three-pound coffee dived from the cup-holder pouring down my leg and the door into a gritty, brown puddle in the foot well. Fortunately, it didn’t scold me that would’ve been a nightmare.

We rocked up at Tunnel Walls in Buichaille Etive Mor (It might be there, I’m just guessing?). Caff and Ben cruised up Romantic Reality (E7 6b), to the extent George had thought they were on an E5. Meanwhile we climbed one of the only bolted routes on any Scottish mountain crag, the wonderfully crimpy; Uncertain Emotions (7b), and the extreme rock classic; The Risk Business (E5 6a). My bicep only hurt on undercuts, I began to feel a little psyched again.

George on pitch 1 of The Risk Business (E5 6a).

We stayed overnight in the CC hut, where I bumped into an old friend, Adam Harrison. He and his mate were staying up there for a month or so, mopping up Scottish classics every day. This sounded appealing and I wished I could do the same. Overnight I’d gained a dickie tummy and a bit of a cold, I was beginning to feel like The Long Hope Route might fall off the cards.

We arrived at the ferry terminal on Tuesday morning to learn that the ferry was cancelled and would not be running again until at least Thursday. I felt a warm wave of relief, but I quickly realised this was just the puddle of coffee sloshing over my foot as the car span around and we made for another ferry port.

Me on Pitch 2 of The Risk Business (E5 6a). George Ullrich photo.

We arrived on Hoy to be greeted by strong winds, self-proclaimed and unofficial judicial independence, a desperate attempt at a tourism industry and a baffling, poetic pamphlet quote; ‘To take the head of all their big talk, pay attention to the wise Hoy hawk’. We all pondered this clearly very poignant message as we drove, packed like sardines, to Rackwick Bay Bothy.

Packed tight into the car on Hoy.

We awoke the next day to ‘a mild breeze’. Caff and Ben had left already to work the Headwall pitch on TLHR. George and I decided to begin our time on Hoy with a saunter up the E5 on Britain’s biggest sea stack; The Old Man of Hoy. When we arrived at the top of the overlooking cliff, I could barely stand in the wind, but we reasoned that, having four climbable faces, at least one must be out of the wind. At the base it transpired that our best bet was the East face via The Original Route (E1 5b). I was surprised at how sandy the route was despite being one the most sought after routes in the UK. I had my first fulmar encounter of the trip and it took about fifteen minutes to negotiate the black-eyed bastard. Near the end of the pitch I came across a wide break with a ‘foul gull’ every metre or so along it. Here I learned how to drain a seagull. I was buzzing at the top. It’s such an amazing feature to climb; the ground drops away 140m to the sea on every side, the tiny elevated island epitomises, or generates, an awesome sense of achievement.

We abbed back down the route with strong side winds. On the final abseil we threw the ropes and the pair of them, two 60m lengths of rope, blew straight out, perfectly horizontal; barely fluttering in the constant gale (totally true!). Even as we abbed down the line the ropes were still suspended diagonal by the incredible, invisible force. Wild!

We stashed the bags and boulder-hopped along the beach to check out some big unclimbed cliffs. There were hundreds of lines, but generally the rock was poor, or the line terminated at half height etc. Eventually we found a stunning 50m arête leading to an equally stunning 50m overhanging crack or a really compelling stepped crack feature (similar to Fern Hill at Cratcliffe). We decided we would definitely return with a rack. If we couldn’t do it, there was a big tiered wall with cracks and chimneys which should give ‘the best HS in Britain’ to do instead.

The Old Man of Hoy.

We hiked back up to the cliff top, legs knackered. George was psyched to go and have a look at St. John’s head, another hour or so uphill. I reluctantly went with. After about forty minutes my legs were like jelly. I hadn’t done this much walking for a long time. I was close to giving up on the walk, concerned I wouldn’t recover for days. I plodded on trying to keep up with thunder legs Ullrich. Any landmark you aimed for never seemed to get any closer. I felt pathetic. We finally made it to the viewing point and holy shit, it was huge. Videos and photos just don’t do it justice. It spiralled away to a foaming oblivion at the raging fringe of the briny. The awkward twist gave a natural vertigo-like visual as you peered down; the whole structure propped up by a screaming Beaufort 10. Hundreds of Fulmars swooped around the head like satanic sentinels and searchlights flashed across the wall through gaps in the cloud. It was an organic Auschwitz. Tolkien’s third tower. An impregnable fortress of nature, riddled with physical and psychological repulsion. My tired legs gave me a heavy, human, feeling. We stumbled back to camp, my arm felt better, I’d stopped shitting everywhere and I needed a new excuse to not go back!

I woke up to the sound of rain, glorious play-stopping rain. Caff and Ben hadn’t had a chance to climb yesterday because the winds were too strong. Caff’s eagerness to get on the route was palpable. I felt the opposite. We drank brews and ate custard creams all morning until it became obvious we were consigned to a day of shopping and tourism. The island’s shop was shut with a note in the window saying; ‘Dr Tibbert’s funeral, all friends welcome. Shop closed all day. Sorry for the inconvenience.’ We drove off down a street lined with cars, a peculiar site for such a small village. We passed rows of mourning faces on black frames until we were nose-to-nose with a car of disgruntled men on a narrow single-track road. We realised we were amidst the precession. George pulled off to the side, out of the way, only to land us all staring straight at a black car containing Dr Tibbert’s Oak retirement lodge. And that’s how we became Hoy’s most popular visitors.

That evening I was reading a book about a young lad who’d gotten into surfing. As he got the hang of it, the local surfing guru invited him to go and surf ‘Ol’ Smokey’ with him. He found himself questioning whether he could do something ‘serious’, or whether he was simply ‘ordinary’. This summed up how I felt about The Long Hope Route. As the young protagonist rode a fifteen-footer followed by an even bigger wave of euphoria, I realised I had to sort out my head. I’ve been preparing for this for months. I’ve come all the way here for this. I do want to do this. I am ready.

Ullrich surfing outside the bothy one evening.

The next day, the weather had cleared and the wind was ‘calm’. George and I planned to go do the new line, then ferry all our kit up to the top of St John’s Head, ready for an attempt the next morning. After about an hour of George trying to force a line up the arête we conceded that the rock was too weak in the damp conditions. We had a foray around the wall on the other side of the arête which looked much easier, but the wall was guarded by a not quite negligible twelve-foot of blank slimy rock. We backed off and went to climb ‘the Best HS in Britain’. George whipped up the first pitch at HS. I set off on the second, but I could barely get off the ledge. Any face holds peeled away like mud, the cracks widened with force; a pointless shit-fest! We made a simultaneous abseil over an arête where old tat marked a previous escape. After a few moments, like a tense scene from the Chuckle Brothers, we were back on the deck with two failures to hand. ‘Oh I know! Why don’t we try The Long Hope Route tomorrow?’

I felt excited and surprisingly relaxed as we cooked up an enormous pan full of pasta. Tomorrow was the day for all four of us. Adam Long had arrived ready to get some snaps of Caff and Ben in action. I was chopping some Chorizo, being conscious not to knock the pan of boiling pasta off the table... Arghhhh!!! I fled the room flailing, panicking, dancing. I tried to brush the water off as it sizzled down my calf. My leg felt on fire. I ran some cold water on it, pleading for it to be ok. It was not ok. An hour later it continued to scorch inside. I rang the Doctor. He was dead. I rang Orkney Hospital. It was recommended I stand in a river until it stopped burning. It was 11:30pm. We were supposed to leave camp at 2am to start the walk-in. The attempt was cancelled and I felt more glum than relieved.

The next day, I awoke with a hot, red leg, savage dehydration and a cold from standing in a chilly river for twenty minutes. I planned my escape from the island. George and Adam were walking up to watch Caff and Ben in action, so I decided to join them and leave the day after. When we arrived at the viewing point around 1pm, Caff and Ben were already high on the wall. I couldn’t believe it. They looked so small and distant and made the wall look even bigger. I wished I was there. We watched them through binoculars, it felt intrusive and voyeuristic. On this calm sunny day the wall appeared much more inviting, still intimidating, but more goading than foreboding. My thoughts seared with the same heat as my leg. I felt guilty for letting George down and I wondered if everyone had noticed how scared I was about trying the route and thought I’d staged the whole thing. I doubt they did. What a fucking annoying mistake. I genuinely wished I could have a crack at the route now. We were sitting for a couple of hours, the flame of resentment was gradually dowsed by the sun. I thought about how it would feel to be on the wall with a sore leg and a cold. Would it make much difference? ‘Shall we get up at three then George?’ The penny dropped and he gave a huge grin.

George's Rock Scuplture and my wood sculpture outside the bothy.

Brain-Fried.

2013-05-09T16:47:00.002+01:00

Buzzing like a set of hair crack clippers after Skinhead, the next day I headed out with Ben Alsford. He’d been skiing in the Alps for the last few months so he was just looking to second some routes, get a bit of fitness back and have a catch-up. This worked out perfectly as I had set myself a challenge of climbing an E6 everyday for a week; seven in seven. I was lined up for the second of seven. For a change we headed to the Pass, as soon as we arrived it started raining and so, once more, we made off for Gogarth. Without any real objective we dropped down to Main Cliff. Eyeing up potential routes from the bottom of Eraserhead (E6 6a), the penny dropped and I set off, straight up. The first pitch provided a sustained E4, taking in a great variety of wall climbing and would be a great way to access the Positron headwall. As I belayed Ben up I felt so at home. I looked to the sea and recieved a ‘paddling ovation’ from the seal of approval. Ben and I switched at the stance and I swung off onto ‘the finger’ that points the way. I arranged my gear and surged on up the arête on positive edges, revelling in the run-out and the comfort of 5c moves. Ben followed with a rucksack and without a nut-key allowing him to optimise training potential as he hung around trying to remove my ‘beat in’ wires (there’s an offset blue wire left in Positron for you, Bubbles).

The day after, The Ullrich and I abseiled down the steep grass into the forgotten world of Easter Island Gully. I’d never been down here until now, everything I looked at made my arms feel tired. I whipped up a shady Supercrack (E3 5c) to warm up, instead getting numb hands and a whisper from fatigue. Indecision struck as all the appealing lines lay in the shade, eventually driving George into the sun on The Ancient Mariner (E5 6b). The route was disappointing and lacked any kind of distinction except for a hard crux out of a slim groove. George managed to make a necky slap to a ledge and grovel out of danger, I struggled up on second until I took a hang and a blind pocket made itself known. After a long lunch I prepared for the third of seven; For Madmen Only (E6 6b). The start is shared with Annhilator (E5 6b) so I could scamper off up this if it felt like too much. At the junction I didn’t even look towards For Madmen Only, my arms were torched, my neurons were fried and a cam leaped from my harness into the drink. I’m too sane. Mission failed.

After a rest day, Jemma and I made the bank holiday pilgrimage to sunny Pembroke. Jemma led off on Suspense (E4 5c), while, at the bottom of Stennis Ford, tension mounted as I belayed and the sea inched and yarded, closer and closer. The belay was built in the nick of time, and I managed to hop across the rocks to the bottom of the route. After the first lunch of the day we abbed back down for me to try Ghost Train (E6 6b). After my success on Skinhead and a much needed rest day, I felt confident and cocky about the formality ahead.

The start felt harder than I expected, even though I expected it to be hard. I arrived at the big break before the big run-out with a bit of a pump and a fragmented focus. I clipped the threads and shook out for a few seconds, the whistle sounded. I climbed aboard. At the first committing move I should’ve reversed, but, I was haunted by haughtiness and I kept going like a man possessed. A long way above the threads now, I felt spooked. I made a demonic attack for the next thread, clipping in just as my forearms completely coagulated. I remembered to breathe again. I hung here for an age, regrouping and de-pumping. At the top it did not feel good. I felt disappointed in my fitness, my movement and mostly my arrogance. I totally underestimated the route and things could have turned out a lot worse. I was de-psyched by the whole situation, but it was an important lesson to learn.

After our second lunch, we moved on to Caff’s lunch, finished this and headed over to The Leap. Jemma conquered intimidation and cruised up Bloody Sunday (E4 6a) and I conquered an old nemesis by slaying The Minotaur (E5 6b). Jemma kicked off the Sunday with a quick lead of Star Wars (E4 5c). I couldn’t decide what to do, I felt disillusioned and a bit useless after yesterday, so we drove round to visit a new area near Flimston Bay.

At this end of Pembroke the rugged coastline boasts an array of compelling arches, coves and sea stacks, I can’t believe it doesn’t see more attention. Upon arrival we found that much of the area is bird banned, so we abbed into the leaning face of Mosaic Walls. Psyched up again by the impressive coastline and loads of new climbs I jumped on Bristol Cream (E6 6b). The wall was chronically greasy, it felt like you could ping off at any second, so I had a few ‘up and downs’ chalking the holds and arranging gear. When I finally went for it, it wasn’t as bad as I had expected, the holds were more positive than I imagined and it got less greasy with height. I was re-invigoured and enjoying it again. On second, Jemma dropped a wire so we went back down for it (having already lost half my rack this week). She led us out up the tremendously steep and butch classic; Wallbanger (E4 5c), then we headed North ready for a morning at Carreg-y-Barcud.

I scanned ‘The Barcud’, this was another new venue to me and in contrast the walls were clean, smooth and slabby and the crowds and hot, sunny weather gave it a friendly ‘playground’ atmosphere. Feeling feline, Jemma set the ball rolling, delicately padding up Kitten Claws (E3 5c). I then took up the sharp-end for the sublime Mean Feat (E5 6a). Slabs aren’t necessarily my cup of tea but I thought this was totally brilliant, the blank-looking headwall secured the route as my favourite of the trip. With time for one more, I jumped quickly on Beyond the Beyond (E5 6b). The description read; ‘...the crux is at the very top, but the whole affair is harder for the short’. Am I ‘the short’? Arriving at the top crux, it was confirmed, I am the short. Heinously thin crimps, mono finger stacks and smears for feet left me with a tenuous slap for the finish. I held the top... just. I think I may have just done my first 6c on a trad route. We drove back to Gwynedd ready for a rest day...

...but Tuesday came, the weather was good and I can’t say no. The aim was; Wen Zawn’s Mr Softy (E6 6b). We went and warmed up in the 3-D complex of Yellow Walls. We set off on Pergyl (E3 5c), but with only an old route description to go by we ended up joining The Drunk (E6 6b) after its crux. We hadn’t realised and carried on trying to make the guidebook description fit, leading us into some fresh ground to give quite an interesting and worthwhile new diagonal line; You (E4 6a). At the top of the crag, all my psyche had gone, the thought of hanging around on sea cliffs, pulling on these stiff fingers and yarding with these sore shoulders was horrible. I was unbelievably relieved when George announced his concerns about doing anymore climbing. He was suffering from a stag-do hangover, I was consumed by a full mind and body fatigue, so the pair of us Mr Softy’s threw in the trowel and enjoyed a nice, relaxing BBQ at Fingers’ new house instead. It’s time to put concerted effort into resting.

E-sicks.

2013-05-03T17:41:00.003+01:00

On the 20^th May George Ullrich and I are off to try The Long Hope Route (E7 6c). Dubbed as ‘The most adventurous route in Britain’; this 400m, 23-pitch behemoth, on the remote Scottish Isle of Hoy, was originally aided over nine continuous days by Ed Drummond & Oliver Hill in 1970. Since then the best attempt on the wall has been a free ascent over four discontinuous days by the handy pair; John Arran and Dave Turnbull in 1997. Yet for some ludicrously optimistic reason we are going to try and do it in a day, or at the very least, spending a night on the wall and doing it in two days.

When the plan was whimsically hatched back in January time, it seemed like long enough away to detach myself from the reality and imagine the scenario as though ‘someone else’ were going there. Now only three weeks away from my this mammoth challenge I’m fully aware that it will be me on St John’s Head and in a feverish attempt to have any vague chance of success I have to get A LOT fitter, A LOT better, A LOT faster and A LOT braver. There has never been a better excuse to climb all day, every day.

Last Tuesday the youthful youth; Callum Muskett and I went to Gogarth. He wanted to try Yellow Shark (E7 6b) on Yellow Walls. I usually find it a little intimidating climbing with Callum as the concept of fear seems to completely evade him, leaving me feeling yellow-bellied and lily-livered. Pulling into the car park, Callum admitted his apprehension at diving in there without chainmail and thankfully for both of us the whole cliff was greasy and damp so we swarmed out up Creeping Leema (E3 5c). We bailed over to Upper Tier and I took up the sharp end for the long, looming crack of The Cruise (E5 6b). I had put off trying this for ages because of the appearance and the rumours, but, the route went well. I was confidently slapping in a runner and pressing on, even the top flared scoop went by in calm control. I realised I should be getting on E6’s now.
I followed Callum up The Horrorshow; written up as a bold, steady and disappointing E4/5 wall climb, we found quite the opposite; safe, superb, technical and E6. We dropped down onto Main Cliff and attempted Food and Drink (E6 6b). I took up the first pitch, following an E4 corner to a roof. I stuffed in some cams, covered greasy undercuts in chalk and went for it. Round the roof, I slapped wildly and with total conviction up opposing sidepulls until a custard pump set in hard and I couldn’t see any more holds. I laid one on out left for my last stand, but I was off. Totally buzzing and 30ft lower than I was a second ago, I lowered to the deck and watched in shock as Callum didn’t pull the ropes, top-roped up and proceeded to fall in the same place as myself, twice. It must be hard up there...

Wednesday: Rain poured across Gwynedd, and so, with the dry wit of Lee Roberts, the super psyched Rob Pitt and rock climbing’s Peter Pan; Jon Ratcliffe we headed for Dinbren. This stumpy, little limestone outcrop, nestled high in Denbighshire, delivers more than it promises and we all had a productive day. Rob and Lee smashed out a series of sport routes before getting embroiled in a gnarly 7b+, finally unlocking its sequence just as the arms gave in. Jon endeavoured to tick all three ‘Dinbren Right Wing E3 Classics’, in which he was successful, aside from the fact there are actually five Dinbren Right Wing E3 Classics. As I was the only one who had never been there before, and as I’m half their age, they sandbagged me into the crag classic Climb High (E4 6b). All was going well up to the crux when I was given duff beta and persuaded to traverse right and mantle a crimpy seam. In hindsight, I did think it was weird that I wasn’t mantling on the mantleshelf.

Friday: DMM Dougie and I went back to Main Cliff. Strong winds and big seas washed away our original plan of doing one of the big Main Cliff E5’s. Instead Dougie cruised up Aardvark (E3 6a) leaving me beneath the oddly compelling Coming on Strong (E6 6c). I had to give it a shot. I knew nothing about it other than Pat Littlejohn did the first ascent so it was probably nails. Yep, it was nails (and disappointingly contrived, wandering in and out of Achilles). With an hour of sunlight left Dougie wolfed down Branflake (E2 5b), a fibrous jamming crack on Holyhead Mountain.

Saturday: Guy VG and his band of merry men were heading for Rhoscolyn all fancying their chances on the classic DWS Electric Blue (E4 5c), so Jemma and I went to meet them, not wanting to miss out on Guy shitting his pants. The weather was perfect, Murdoch and Bullock rocked up too, there were eight people at a grit-free trad crag!! After a quick warm-up Jemma got on the Warpath (E5 6a), she stormed through the lower defences like an angry panzer and was soon behind enemy lines; over the crux roof. However, three days of stamina training caught up with her, cams were frantically tossed over the shoulder when they didn’t fit, the elbows were out and eventually the lactic Nazis caught up with her and she was airbourne. I took over the lead, and having done it before, I got to really enjoy the headwall this time round.
We rapped down into Fallen block Zawn straight onto Guy’s belay creating a total mess with ropes everywhere, a veritable ‘rat’s nest’. Once some understanding of who was tied to what was established, I launched skyward with a vengeance on Dreams and Screams (E6 6b). I tried this last October after beating my fear of falling, inevitably falling off. I had doubted whether today would be any different. My new streamlined, confident and aggressive approach was serving me well and I was at the slopey, pre-crux shake out in a flash. Forearms primed, gear in place, I tore onwards, slapped in a big, blue cam, and rode the layback flake to victory. I was barely pumped on top and I finally acknowledged that I am on the form of my life. That means only one thing...

Tangled Humans. Liam Postlethwaite collection.

http://vimeo.com/65258675 Liam, Mark and Tim on Electric Blue.

Tuesday morning, the sun beamed outside, it was another perfect day, I sat playing Donkey Kong to distract myself. I oiled my cams, discarded rotten carabiners then I got the phonecall I’d been waiting for ‘ok, I’m ready’. I jumped in the van, cranked the stereo up to eleven and blared out George Baker’s; Little Green Bag (That’s actually a lie, but, retrospectively it would’ve been a good song choice). I picked up George from work and headed for Main Cliff. I didn’t talk very much, nerves came and went like the tide. Arriving at the base of the cliff, George led off on pitch one. Nagging doubts came into my mind, I searched my mind for excuses, yet, there were none. Conditions were prime, I’d had a rest day, the sun was shining and after a lengthy period of self talk a smorgasbord of brit pop songs stating reassuring little phrases such as ‘ you know it’s gonna be ok’ and ‘everything’s gonna be alright’ sprang freely to mind. I seconded pitch one. I had to go through with this, I felt like everything I had achieved so far this year would be consolidated or shattered through my actions here. My confidence, commitment and perhaps legs depended on success on this next pitch. I envisaged ‘The Bucket-Seat Belay’ at the top of the route, I was ready to do the dance. Skinhead Moonstomp, here I come!

I set off with a veneer of confidence on the best named route in the world. The first few metres went by without much fuss and only mild trepidation. I arrived beneath the headwall at ‘the resting place’ with eyes full of chalk, but, I’d imagined myself here so much that I was totally thrown; it was nothing how I had expected. I bimbled around aimlessly, confused and intimidated. ‘Up there?... Seriously?... Up?... There?’. I didn’t know what to do with myself, there was no more gear to place as a distraction, it was breathing time. I focussed in on the reasons to continue; you can’t back off now, not without trying. You’re going well, you’re fit, you’re confident above gear and the air beneath you is particularly thin today. You’ll cut through it like a feathery knife if you fall. ‘The bucket seat belay’ will feel fantastic under your buttocks. This is THE route you’ve always wanted to do, don’t taint it with a retreat, don’t wait till you know you can do it. I had drained ‘the resting place’ of its healing mana, I had seen the sequence and my eyes were sufficiently full of chalk. Go. Go now!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHDBn7TL4JM Symarip-Skinhead Moonstomp.

At ‘The Bucket Seat Belay’ I looked out to sea (I pondered how the stretched and golden reflection of the setting sun always shone directly at me whenever I witnessed it? Not my smartest moment.), a tropically warm (chalk bearing) breeze drifted up the wall and I felt inexplicably content, savagely fit, nobly brave, arrogantly smug and slightly blinded. I felt like the world was my audience and became uncontrollably compelled to yell ‘Fuck you!’, so I did. I don’t know why though. I quite like the world.

Every Dog has it's Silver Lining

2013-04-20T13:15:00.002+01:00

Back from Spain I couldn't wait to test out my new arms. I made an erratic foray down North Stack Wall, with Gwen Lancashire, on a damp evening to try A Wreath of Deadly Nightshade (E7 6b), before quickly realising it was too dark, too wet and too slabby to engage the Latino forearms.
The next attempt was made on South Stack area with Jemma Powell. After having done zero routes for over four years, she whistled up Northwest Passage (E1 5b) placing all of three runners.
Then we dropped into Yellow Walls. I followed the awkward traverse pitch of Creeping Lemma (E2 5b), tentatively, again with few runners, to access the top pitch of Ludwig (E6 6b).

Ironically, the main difficulty I encountered on this route was composing myself. On the crux section, it took a few reconnaissance missions to spot the sequence and each time I returned to my ‘safe place’ my pulse and breathing reached allegro. An inner panic I could dispel with a deep breath last year was taking a whole can of mind beans to clear. I announced the problem to Jemma, belaying just out of sight, she said to ‘use it to my advantage’. Having absolutely no idea what was meant by this, I pressed on into the crux proper. Upon reaching ‘the point of no return’ my heart rate exploded and in a brief, yet eternal crescendo I made a wild slap for a fragile, crimpy flake. I barn-doored. The flake creaked. I squeaked. The flake held, and I scrabbled frantically to get established in the groove above. I gave a roar of relief then convulsed a little through the force of a few hundred BPM pumping through my veins. The top groove rounded off the experience nicely, teasing the ticker right to the top.

The next week Charlie T, Laura P, Timmy P, Scooby and I headed to Northumberland to see our old Uni pals; the man full of power and soul; Kieran King, and the increasingly talented/lanky; Mikey Goldthorp. Unfortunately, I had a major skin malfunction a few days before, so my ‘cling-filmy’ tips stopped me from being able to pull hard, but I had a great time socialising and watching everyone else bear down. Notably Tim’s determination on the dynamic Barbastelle (7A), Laura’s gristle on Darth (6C), Kieran’s futuristic efforts on Transformer (7C), Mikey’s ability to climb pretty much everything and, in first place, Charlie’s tenacious, cool-headed send of Down Boy, Down (7A). The best thing about the trip, however, was that it gave the perfect send off for my little brown dog; Scooby. After a week of running around the moors, unleashed, lots of ‘Scooby Snacks’ with the guys, and plenty of attention, she received... the wrong kind of stroke. In a glorious, archetypal swansong of piss, yawns and two sodden sets of bed sheets, she was gone.

The compelling Klondyke Wall (E2 5c). Kieran King Kollection.

Inspired by tenacity and the delicacy of life I’d witnessed, I jumped straight on Alien (E6 6b) at Main Cliff. Like a crab on the moon I laybacked diagonally up along the greasy, undercut flakes past a few powerful sections, arriving at a very burly ‘rest’ on a wobbly, undercut tooth. Within a minute or two I had completely pumped out on the ‘rest’. I slumped onto the rope in a moment of disheartened weakness and as I did, my chalkbag popped off, landing very close to the sea. I retreated from a cam and a wire, and Jemma and I returned to the Upper Tier, where she struck up Strike (E4 6a) with typically few runners and minimal fuss.

By this time ‘the magic hour’ was upon us, the white walls turned to gold and the late light of summer revealed another layer of psyche. Encouraged by the brilliant light and the unfamiliar tranquillity of the sea, I threw caution and pumped arms to the wind and jumped on the serious and reachy; Blackleg (E6 6a). Having failed to make the crux reach without a tight rope a few years ago, there was an uncertain orangey-glow in the air. I moved uncharacteristically confidently up the flaky wall to arrive at the crux. I put my faith in a pair of small wires in smaller flakes and drove on through, mantling on a two-finger pocket and latching the jug of glory at full stretch. Photosynthesis.

With a cam and a nut to retrieve (a significant proportion of my current capital!), it was obligatory to try Alien again. With Tim Newton, I returned to the best cliff in the England and Wales. Armed with knowledge and fresh pipes, I stormed up the wild rugosities. At the last hard move before the bicep-burning rest, my rope Z-clipped itself, I was forced to untangle the Z mid move; guns a blazing. I managed to get it sorted but I’d spent some crucial rounds. At the killer shakeout, I fiddled in an extra cam, reaffirmed my suspected sequence and launched up the overhanging fin above. Compressing like a hungry alligator, I squeezed the life from my arms and made a last ditch snatch for a jug and sanctuary... I was out of ammo.
A short flight later, I felt disappointed, then chuffed that I had committed above my gear and took the lob, without a second thought. After a quick shakeout, I got back on the extra-terrestrial horse, smashed up the flakes, smashed up the fin, smashed up the groove, smashed my nuts in and whooped with hard-won triumph. E5 my arse.

I returned the next day with Jimmy ‘Fingers’ Marjot for a crack at Dinosaur (E5 6a). I had been on this before and bailed off a wire at the greasy crux. Today I got there feeling much better, the crux was gopping, but I had nothing to lose and I snatched my way out of the chimney and up the funky wall above. Jimmy blitzed the wacky groove on pitch two, and the rest, as they say, is prehistory.

Friday: Sam Underhill and I tried Gogarth again, but the whole of Holy Island was clagged in, so we made for the North Coast to the definitively esoteric, Carmel Head. At the bottom of The Lost Pillar of Schieser (XS 5c/E2ish), a big, brown groove to the left called out to be climbed. Access was guarded by a steep cave, but, not one to miss the opportunity for a first ascent, I embarked into the unknown. I was quickly sucked into the roof, stuffing in cams like a drunken boxer, the rock around me shattered and made a beeline for Davey Jones’ locker. Out of the frying pan, the tottering brown groove above licked with blue flame. Pillars, flakes and blobs all fell to a watery grave; I wondered if I was next? The climbing up delicate school gutters and brittle trees in my youth paid dividends here as I was forced to distribute my weight evenly; thighs and elbows taking their fair share. I really enjoy the movement prescribed by choss, I was engrossed until I had both feet back on terra firma. The Legacy of Scooby lives on at XS 5c (E4ish).

Seal Pup Scoob. Mikey Goldthorp Collection.

The next day, Jemma and I found perhaps the only climbable conditions in North Wales, at Craig y Foreskin. In a constant mild-drizzle maelstrom, Jemma moseyed up Sangfroid Direct (E2 5c), and marched up the magnificent Great Wall (E4 5c). Alternately, I meandered up Manhattan (E5 6b), and crimped my way up the surprisingly superb and perfectly protected Space Mountain (E5 6a). We had no hassle from the landowner, and Space Mountain is an absolute ‘must-do’ for any E5 wall climber.

After a rest day, Gwen and I went to the Orme, sheltering from the wind. Determined to get the most out the day we climbed Contusion (6c) to warm-up. I then retroflashed Bloodsports (7b), followed by an impressive flash from Gwen. We moved into the sun and I onsighted the surprisingly difficult; Scary Canary (E5 6a/b), the safe and intense Flake Away (E5 6b) and Private Investigations (E5 6b). The latter giving a shit spooky experience yarding off a skinny ‘handle’ of improbable strength. This was my first ‘E5 hat trick’. Shame the Orme doesn’t count.

In Memory of the late, great, turd factory; Scooby. Kieran King Kollection.

2013: The Beginning

2013-03-20T23:29:00.000+00:00

In January I went to Tremadog. I hadn't trad climbed much for nearly 2 months. It felt fantastic. It felt natural. I felt at home. I'd been struggling with psyche since receiving my 6th annual finger injury on New Year's Eve (an accident waiting to happen after the stone I gained over Christmas and the deep dehydration from too much festive drinking), I'd wondered what to do with myself, whether to keep climbing, or not! That day in January though, that day reminded me why I climb; the freedom, the clarity, the fear, the effort, the pump, the utter engrossment, the doubt, the mental dissidence, the triumph and the rush!

The Ochre Slab on Vector (E2 5c). Dan Lane Photography.

I managed to keep getting to Tremadog once or twice a week, between rain and routesetting, mopping up some classics and working up through the grades, highlights being a repeat of the justifiably infamous Vector (E2 5c), the testing and diverse Pippikin (E4 6a) and the sublime Spare Rib (E4 6a). I managed a stunning day out in the Lakes with Matt Burdekin after setting at The Kendal Wall. We walked in up frozen marshland to the bottom of the initially underwhelming 'Burnt Crag'. Matt cruised up the two bridging corners of Double Trouble (E3 6a) and Splinter (E3 5c), while I went ground up on a superb technical wall, Burning Desire (E5 6b). First go, I fought my way up to just short of the top until a long, committing move left me stranded and pumping out on a flatty. I had 2 blindly-placed rp's by my feet and only two options, keep climbing (not an option) or drop onto the rp's. Fortunately, they held and the second time round I had enough left in the tank to press it out for the top.

Swing round the top arete on Spare Rib (E4 6a). Dan Lane Photography.

The highlight of the trad season so far has to be a fluvial accent of 'The best E4 at Gogarth'; Pagan (E4 5c). The unbendingly, unperturbed Ullrich whipped down the rope first, indicating up that it was all good, giving me the go ahead to follow. As I abbed diagonally down the wall I thought to myself 'Well, it's a good job Pagan is dry, every other route is gopping'. I noticed two things when I reached the bottom of the route, firstly, George was laughing, second, I was getting wet. Tiptoeing around the sodden ground I looked above to see a bulge running with water, dripping all over us. The Ullrich had found himself committed at the bottom of the zawn so instead of prussiking out up the soaking ramp, like anyone else, he called me down so we were both stuck there.
It was decided that in some way it might be a good idea to attempt the route, good practice or something. I sat under the shower singing and dancing to keep warm and sane while George led pitch one behind a watery veil. The situation was ridiculous. At the first belay we realised the route kicked back left, through the soaking bulge! I set off pulling on pockets full of water, spilling out and down my sleeves. 'Why does this feel fun?'. I tried to force a line just right of the wetness, but it wasn't happening. I slithered through the goppage getting wet all over, straight into a sustained, run-out wall without a chance to catch my breath or dry my feet. Once at the second belay it was very windy thankfully so I dried off quite quick. Then, while george was midway up the third pitch a dirty, black cloud rolled in above, I shouted to let him know, so he went slower, timing it to perfection to top out just as the cloud burst and I got my 3rd soaking of the day. Karma came when George tried to pull the abb rope and got it jammed, rigging a pulley system only made things worse and off he went back down to free the rope. I made sandwiches and found an ideal vantage point to watch the struggle back out.

Off Moligna (7c+), Roca de la Espanelles, Margalef. Rachel Wilson Collection.

On a whim, I booked flights out to Spain, chucked a bivvy bag and a pair of shorts in my rucksack, jumped on a plane, jumped off, jumped on a train, jumped off, jumped on a bus, jumped off, walked the wrong way downhill for 4km, walked the right way uphill for 10km, hitched a lift and found myself at the Siurana Campsite. Hot from my big walk I didn't notice the icy temperatures, it was only when I awoke that I realised how cold it was and how under prepared I was. I met up with Jake Rogers who sorted me out with some food and lifts, after a few days in Siurana we met up with George and Rach, who brought more food and warm clothes. We all moved on to Margalef where things got consistently sub zero. Then Steve Ramsden turned up as it began snowing with more warm things including a tent and a down jacket, and Jon Freeman lent me a 'borrowed' blanket (Thanks everyone for sorting me out, I would have been screwed without you all).

All six of us headed to the best crag I've ever been to (Gogarth's an area!); Bruixes Wall, Terradets. It's simply stunning. 300m long, 35m high, gently overhanging all the way, dripping with tufa pipes and brimming with jugs. It suited me down to the tittle; lots of options for your feet, lots of holds to rest on and soft grades. On the first day there I surpassed any expectations I had for the trip and flashed El Latido del Meido (8a). On the 3rd day I kept the ball rolling and managed my first 8a+, Flix Flax. On the 4th I quickly redpointed Maneras de Vivre (8a), and on the 5th I gave it everything I had left and managed Energia Positiva (7c+) second go, and onsighted Orient (7c+). After this, everyone I was with had left and I climbed with Gerd the Aussie. We went to Santa Linya, the enormous cave crammed with 9b's and Sant Llorenc de Montgai, the old home of hard Spanish climbing, but then I missed trad climbing too much so I came back to Britain, to my van, my dog and our rain.

Jake using speed to his advantage on our new game at L'olla, Siurana (try getting from the first section of L'olla to beneath L'Elephant without hands using only the wall). Rachel Wilson Collection).

The Magnificent Bruixes Wall, Terradets. George Ullrich topping out Flix Flax (8a+). Rachel Wilson Collection.

The Gymnastic Element

2012-11-17T14:04:00.001+00:00

I rode the crest of the wave out of the route season strait into winter bouldering bay. A six-strong team of eclectic rock afficionados met together under one banner for a day of high-frequency crushing at the Wavelength Boulders. After the usual warm-up on the utopian Utopia boulder we headed to higher grounds to begin the siege. I managed to get Plinth Eyed (7B), a brilliant roof problem on the Pie-Shop boulder, on my second go after make a silly mistake on the flash. Then we pressed on up to ol' Wavelength herself. Jack introduced me to a 7A/+ slopey compression prow; Gav' Sitter and I managed to flash this with a nifty heelhook. The team headed up to Killer Weed (6C), Laura quickly dispatched this and Gwen was very unlucky to not quite get the top hold. Next time Gwen.
We trooped back down the hill to the brilliant Boysen's Boulder where Gwen levelled the field with an impressive and enduring flash of Boysen's Groove (6B). I played on The Witch (7B), a powerful problem that I never thought I'd be able to do a couple of years ago. The moves came together quite quick but it took a lot of goes to make the link. A great finish to a perfect days bouldering!

Me sieging The Witch (7B). Laura Perry Collection.

A couple of days later Laura, Dunc, Burdekin and I hit the Craig y Llyn Boulder. I'd heard mixed reports about the place from 'one of the best problems in wales' to 'shit'. On first appearances we were underwhelmed. The nice, leaning face, veiled by a tree and a boulder, played its cards close to its chest. We laid out mats out beneath, a peace offering. After a quick warm-up on some nearby jugs we proceeded to conga our way up Voie Normale (6b+). The next obvious link to try is Alice High (7A) which adds a couple of moves either side, I fluked a flash and Dunc and Matt got it quickly. Logical progression led us onto Voie Normale SS (7a+), I tried for the flash again and got it. Inspired and feeling confident I jumped on Alice (7A+) and flashed this too. Meanwhile Matt got Voie Normale SS and Laura got Alice High while Dunc got devastatingly close on Alice. I was distinctly aware of the Alice Normale link-up (7B), with a perfect score so far the pressure to flash it was keeping me quiet, I rehearsed the moves mentally having done most the moves through the original problems. I cleared my head with a bit of breathing and snapped into the first moves. I had to fight but it went down in the first round. Although, it's not really a flash (having done the originals) it was good practice for dealing with the pressure of trying to flash stuff, something which I really want to try and develop with my climbing, or perhaps old habits just die hard.
Maybe I'm biased but this block is well worth checking out, especially if you like leaning walls with positive holds!

The next day, armed with a hangover, 11 Cambrian Terrace (Dunc, Laura and I) went to Elephantitus Cave. The eponymous problem is another one I had declared impossible for me a few years ago. Weighing in at 7a, brilliant moves through a large roof lead to a total stopper move throwing off a nasty crimp to a sloping blob. Expecting to dispatch it quite easily this day, after my a couple of hours trying I was ready to give up. Dunc suggested taping the tips for the final crimp. Mummified, I could pull that little extra to make up the momentum for latching the blob and soon smashed in another nemesis. Definitely 7A+!
Given the recent spell of good form, when Sheep Pen was suggested I was happy to go along fro the day. I took a back seat for most the day watching everyone tick Klem's Arete (6B+), Kingdom of Rain (7A) and Toe Dragon (6C). At the end of the day I had a few goes at THE Pinch (7A+). This amazing problem snatches up from two crimps to a Big. Fat. Pinch. Then you paste your feet on the vaguest of vagrants and lay one on for the sloping, scooped lip. Having always previously been unable to hold 'the' pinch, simply being able to grab the bugger spurred me on no end. I had a few goes and was getting close to making the distance. Then it started raining and everyone wanted to leave. I'd been drawn in to the 'one more go' thing and just couldn't go. On my 5th 'last go' once everyones patience had worn thin, they began the pack up. I frantically cleaned my boots, the holds, the hands, the mind. One big effort and ill stick this. I snatched the pinch and gave it some, then in one big, screaming, uncharacteristic explosion I stuck the damp velcro top, mantled and ran down the hill after the departing team.

I had a brief trip to the peak, thwarted primarily by rain the first day, and a hangover the following two. Day 1 I managed to get all the moves on Hannibal (7C) at Tom's Cave, Stoney but my shoulder had enough before I could get the link. Very powerful. The following day I highballed out Hard Cheddar (E5 6b, or 6B+! in new money) with Guy VG, Oli G, and Chris Barr. Here's a little video for budding filmmaker Guy Van Greuning: http://vimeo.com/53399556
Next day, Laura, Dunc, Tommy and I went to Gardoms. After everyone smashed in Gardoms North, including a very special, long term project tick for Laura on Mark's Roof Left Hand (7A) we headed to the South End. I peeled off the top of Suavito (7B) more times than I'd like to mention and never quite managed to get it. I'd call it a nemesis problem but its so, so good and the line in undeniably one of the best in the whole country.

Several Nemesi down, this winter could shape up to be a great bouldering season. Just pull harder every go, keep breathing, maintain the tips and most of all don't get bloody injured again!!

Finally, here's a list I've compiled of the 100 best problems in North Wales. It's still 2 or 3 short so any suggestions are welcome!

The 100 Greatest in North Wales

3+ - 6B

Ysgo Crack-Porth Ysgo 5
The Ramp-Porth Ysgo 6a+

The Ramp-Cromlech 5+
Utopia Groove-Wavelength 5
Paul’s Bulge-Wavelength 6b
Boysen’s Groove-Wavelength 6b
The Seam-Pont y Gromlech 6b
Marsh Arete-RAC 6a
Cost of Living-Gallt yr Ogof 5+
The Thin Slab-Gallt yr Ogof 6a
Caseg Fraith Arete-Caseg Fraith 6a+
Idwal Squeeze-Idwal Cottage 3
The Ramp-Braichmelyn 6a

6B+ -6C+

Wren Arete-Angel Bay 6c
Chaos Emerald Crack-Angel Bay 6c+
Lincoln Hawk-Pigeon’s Cave 6c
Fast Cars-Porth Ysgo 6c+
Higginson’s Scar-Porth Ysgo 6b+
Made in Heaven-Porth Ysgo 6b+
Ministry of Silly Hats-Talfarach 6b+
Pac Man Arete-Pac Man 6b+
Lordy Lordy-The Meadow 6c
Killer Weed-Wavelength 6c
Moose’s Toothpaste-Cwm Glas Bach 6c+
Viking Invasion-RAC Crag 6c+
Riley’s Arete SS-Crafnant 6c+
Caseg Groove-Caseg 6c
Central Wall-Braichmelyn 6c+
Klem’s Arete-Sheep Pen 6b+
Toe Dragon-Sheep Pen 6c
Red Sky Wall-Clogwyn y Tarw 6c
Jez’s Arete-Milestone Boulders 6b+
Pit Start-Milestone Boulders 6c
Seren-Orion Boulder 6b+
George’s Crack-Lily Savage Boulders 6c+

7A - 7B

Clever Beaver-Parisella’s Cave 7b
Left Wall Traverse-Parisella’s Cave 7b
The Limpet-Angel Bay 7a
Popcorn Party-Porth Ysgo 7a
Truth SS-Porth Ysgo 7a+
Incredible Shaking Man SS-Porth Ysgo 7b

Jawbreaker SS-7b

Ding Dong’s Arete SS-Porth Ysgo 7b
Pill Box Original-Pill Box 7a
Fish Skin Wall-7a+
King of Drunks-Wavelength 7a
Willy Two Goes-The Meadow 7b
The Minimum-The Barrel 7a+
Jerry’s Wall SS-Carreg Wastad 7b

NASA-Craig y Llwyfan 7a
Elephantitus-Craig y Fulfran 7a+
Bustach Prow-Clogwyn y Bustach 7b
Voie Normale (SS)-Craig y Llyn 7a+
Clear Spot-Beddgelert 7b
Chummers Wall-Moel y Gest 7a/+
Mallory’s Crack-Mallory Boulder 7a+
Bingo Wings-Crag X 7a+
Sex Bob-omb-Ffestiniog 7a+
Wonderwall-Crafnant 7b
Smackhead-Gallt yr Ogof 7b

Lily Savage-Lily Savage Boulders 7b

Harvey Oswald-Milestone Boulders 7a
Ogwen Arete-Idwal Cottage 7a

Kingdom of Rain-Sheep Pen 7a
The Pinch-Sheep Pen 7a+
The Gimp-Caseg 7b

7B+ - 7C+

Left Wall High-Parisella’s Cave 7c
Lou Ferrino-Parisella’s Cave 7c+

Millenium Drive-Pill Box Wall 7c
14 Years Later-Pigeon’s Cave 7b+

The Main Event-Benellech Crags 7b+

Mutant Child SS-Porth Ysgo 7b+

Sloace-Talfarach 7b+
Lotus-Wavelength 7c+
The Big Smile-Dinas Mot 7c
Barrel Traverse-The Barrel 7c
Jerry’s Roof-Cromlech 7c
Lizard King-Craig y Llwyfan 7b+ - 7c+

Cosmic Wheels-Mallory Boulder 7c+
Ultimate Warrior-Craig yr Ogof 7b+

Cruella-Crafnant 7b+
Special K-Crafnant 7c+
Animal Magnetism 7b+

Paul O’Grady SS-Lily Savage 7c
Renaissance of a Small Hold-Ogwen Cottage 7b+
Don’t Think, Feel-Caseg 7b+
Main Vein-Caseg 7c+

8’s

Broken Trigger-Parisella’s Cave 8a+
Dorsal Stream-Parisella’s Cave 8b
Silk Cut-Parisella’s Cave 8b+

Pilgrimage-Parisella’s Cave 8b+
Mr Fantastic-Cromlech 8a
Pool of Bethesda-Cromlech 8a+

Cross Therapy-Craig y Fulfran 8a
Beautitude Kiss-Moel y Gest 8a

The Slopey Rail Project-Ffestiniog 8?
Isles of Wonder-Carreg Mianog 8b
Caseg Groove SS-Caseg Boulder 8a+

The Big Payback

2012-11-01T16:08:00.003+00:00

During my week off I managed to limit myself to just a couple of hour-long sessions at the wall and to be honest it was quite refreshing. Whilst my psyche was locked in its cage the stories of other peoples days out was like waving a red flag at a bull. I managed to channel this into doing some stretching and tennis-balling (rolling your back on a tennis ball to work the knots out). I cannot describe how beneficial this was! I went back to my project; Never get out of the Boat (8a) and the moves felt solid, even the top crux off the pinch was ok. I felt so, so much stronger, a little bit of a power top-up and a rested body gave me inexplicable gains. I went for a redpoint and made it to the top shake-out before the crux but I couldn't recover! I had nothing to give to the pinch and the game was up. I forgot to shake my left hand out early on after the first couple of moves which didn't help. I didn't really mind, it was great to make progress and feel strong on moves which felt so hard before. I knew it would be on with a bit more fitness.

Two days later Tommy C, Ollie C and I went to Upper Pen Trwyn to do some routes in the sun, I was going to use this day to get some fitness on. We warmed up on Pure Gold (6c+), it had a lovely lower groove, but the problem headwall was a real slap in the face. Next up was Gold' n' Delicious (7a+), I went for the onsight but UPT's thin, technical walls are heinous to read. I spent a good while trying to figure out the top, finally finding a two-finger micro-crimp which was enough to balance over to some insecure, pulse-raising undercutting and then the lower-off. This was probably as hard an onsight as I've ever done, so I was really impressed with how easy Tommy and Ollie made it look on the flash. Moving on, it was Tommy's turn to go first on The Magical Ring (7a+). I stepped in for the flash and it felt good. It's amazing what a bit of chalk and beta can do.

We'd had enough of the thin stuff so we drove back round to Parisella's. Tommy jumped on Harry's Zontal Band (7b) and after the first crux pull he walked across the rest. I got psyched up and went for an onsight of Tomorrow People (7c). From the deck I plotted every move I wanted to make, throwing in plan Bs and plan Cs for the less obvious bits. I consulted with Tommy, who had done it before, and his sequence was very dissimilar. I concluded that our dimensions are also very dissimilar and so it was onwards with my sequence.
The first few moves felt harder than I had imagined. It was time to Engage plan D: pull harder!! I made it to the poor shake-out on the lip, then launched into the top boulder problem and executed it with just a little juice left in the tank. The top 'easy bit', which I hadn't accounted for, was nearly fumbled but I made it to the top. I decided to take the flash tick as it's a bit of a shit route for my first 7c onsight and technically I did have beta. I managed to squeeze out a flash of Harry's Zontal Band to cap off my best ever day on Pen Trwyn.

A week later I returned to The Diamond to find pretty disappointing conditions. George and Tommy had two goes each on Dumpster Divers (8a+) in the same time it took me to go bolt-to-bolt on NgootB as I had to clean and chalk ALL the holds. The top 8 or 9 holds were all soaking wet with water running down the wall, so where the route would usually be more or less over, leaving me with a juggy romp to the top, I now had a lot of wetness and insecurity to contend with. As I lowered-off I shouted down 'it'll be a miracle if it goes today, it's all soooo gopping'. I gave Miles a similarly lengthy belay on Boat People (7c), did a couple of quick sprints along the pebbly beach and set off on a redpoint. I was shaky on the first few moves and could feel the warmth leaving my fingers. I remembered to flick the left hand this time. 'Breathe' I told myself, puffing out hard, trying to restore some focus but I continued to climb jittery as soon as I pressed on. My feet pinged on the grease a few times as I neared the pre-crux shake-out. I was upto my eyeballs in acid. Lactic acid. It felt more and more improbable that I could make another move and it got harder and harder to fight the gravity and the doubt but I made it to the pre-crux shake-out. I thought about Adam Ondra and the way he breathes. I mimicked his powerful exhales and I could feel my forearms reinvigorate. 'I can do this if I give it everything on these next few moves'.

I grabbed what I now affectionately knew as 'the pinch' and squeezed a few million years of fossilized life from it. I slapped out into the next hold. 'I've never got this far'. My elbows cocked but for everything my body lost my brain gained twice over. I was never gonna let go, I was never getting out of this boat. I slapped up again with nothing left in my arms but the memory of strength and so I looked to my feet for assistance. I put so much effort into nailing the footwork, dropping the knees further than ever before and it worked! I grabbed a soaking wet jug and my heart sank. I couldn't hold it. For some reason though everything that should have been happening wasn't and a few moves later I was one move from the top. All the chalk I had left on the penultimate hold had turned to unclimbable slime and I had to hang around cleaning the hold for 3 or 4 minutes before I could pass, the whole while being so conscious about not blowing it. I had a single 5a move between me and my hardest route ever, the pressure to not ping off the greasy little blighter was enormous. As I grabbed the final jug I felt an almost physical whooshing sensation of relief. Out of the boat just in time for the start of bouldering season.

The first session on Never get out of the Boat (8a). Owain Atkins Collection.

Thanks for all the Diamond psyche Tommy.

Pissin' in the Wind

2012-10-22T23:43:00.002+01:00

Having always been an advocate for climbing all the time as the best way to achieve Nirvana a recent 'quicksand effect' made me reconsider.
After learning to fall and stop giving such a shit about onsighting stuff I managed to blow Boat People (7c) and Dreams and Screams (E6 6b), both routes I had saved for a long time. At first I saw them as sacrifical lambs, allowing me to move forward with climbing, but, nothing really ever came of it. I decided a redpoint would help get me firing on all cylinders and decided to open an account with Never Get Out of the Boat (8a). In the first session I put together a rough sequence, second time around I got a few sequence tweaks and a few decent links but the top crux was very low percentage as I couldn't really hold the pinch. Third session; I got the top crux dialled but had to give the pinch absolute beans to get the move. I had a couple of redpoint burns and felt fit but would run out of power half way at an 'arms-length' slap.

The fourth time I went to get on the route the whole crag was running with water and NGOotB was soaking. The only thing steep enough to be dry was The Waiting Game (8a) so I got on it to get some power/maybe miraculously do an 8a in a session. After a good few goes at getting the moves sorted I went for a lead even though I felt screwed. Halfway along I heard a crunchy-pop from my knee and jumped straight off. I managed to via ferrata outta there ok, but, the next day I woke up and could barely walk. I've had a trio of knee injuries before and each time recovery was quicker, so I remained high spirited about the recovery rate of the quadraspaz. I did some fingerboarding instead and tweaked a finger. I went out partying instead and spent the next day with a stomach like Nepalese borders sending even the most diplomatic of foods (like soup) back the way it came.
My body was trying desperately to heal its many ailments, and as a result my immune system packed up and failed to repel Autumns annual epidemic; Freshers Flu.

Anyway, thursday came, I squared up to adversity and headed down The Diamond to send my project with Dunc C, Tommy C, Tom L and Matt S. The crag was cold and damp, the odds weren't necessarily stacked in my favour. After some initial slipping and sliding on big holds I made it to the first bolt whereby a fingery, knee-torqueing move enabled passage. I packed up and left the crag, alone.

The walk from the crag to the train station was sobering. I never like to leave the crag early, walk more than a few hundred metres or use public transport, and here I am doing all three. Something is wrong. Then it hit me, perhaps it's the fact that I have a finger injury, a knee injury, flu and a damp minge. I decided to stop pissin', turn around and throw my ideals to the wind. I decided to take a week off climbing. Let things mend. Let things settle. And I managed it seven days without touching rock. Well almost.

Falling/Failing/Flailing

2012-09-25T15:28:00.002+01:00

'TAKE!' I shouted, halfway through trying. Not on one single occasion, but, everytime the membrane of my comfort zone was confronted for, at least, the last two years. It took me more than a year to realise/admit this to myself, then about 6 months to actually pluck up the courage to do something about it. Every visit to the wall would begin with the intention of falling practice, yet it's always much easier to just climb routes you know you can do, or pretend to try and surrender to gravity once the time to try comes and the draw is clipped above your head.

The ability to fight until the bitter end was always something I regarded as one of my strengths when I was younger, never giving in, clawing a path to the top. It was what made me able to break new ground and push past my current level. It is no suprise then that in the last two years only my bouldering has improved, comfortably dropping onto a mat once at breaking point. Routing this year so far has consisted mostly of relatively easy, dangerous pitches, neatly avoiding the need to try hard and find myself in a position where I may fall.

I guess it's not just the falling that scares me, it's the failing too. For a long time I have held getting to the top, onsight, in such high regard that if I didn't feel like I had a 90% chance of success on the days goal I would try something easier, avoiding the need to broach the subject; how hard can I actually climb? The more successes I gained the further compounded the desire to stay in my comfort zone became, the more at risk my ego became (e.g. after x consectutive onsights, a toss up between potential failure on something hard or another consecutive onsight became an easy, yet limiting decision).

A recent trip to Swanage sparked the revolution to usurp the tryanny of King Ego. Gripped by the possibility of failure whilst on The Conger (6b S0), the ascent became almost entirely unpleasant and a huge chunk of mental energy was wasted, enough to be too psyched out to try the awe-inspiring and 'top-of-my-list' route, The Mind Cathedral (E6 6b). I managed a 2nd go ascent of Temple Redneck (7c+), yet the ascent was tainted. Tainted by the fact that it was essentially a consolation prize.

The next day Dan Gibson and I tried Nowhere to Run (E6 6b); an inescapable 5 pitch girdle adventure through the wildest territory I have ever come across. Dan led the first pitch fairly nonchalantly, whilst I sat at the belay getting gripped by the magnitude of commitment involved in the route. My turn to second the pitch came and off I went wauning between confidence and terror, until a table-top ledge, which Dan had used, collapsed under my feet almost taking me with it. Terror reigned.
I reached a 20ft traverse line with two bits of gear; one at the start and one at the end, with a hanging slab right in the fall out zone, this did not seem like a time to fall off. My first forray saw the first apparently solid hold fracture as I began to weight it. I stepped back to safety and brushed the broken hold into the briny. I wanted to leave now, the holds were deceptively load bearing, waiting for your entire weight before shattering seawards. Mental conflict arose as the chant of a thousand doubts began.
The optimism and passion for adventure oozing from Dan was the only thing that kept me moving on. I removed the gear at the start of the traverse and committed. A few moves in and my heartbeat was the only sound for miles. I reached out for a big projecting knob hold halfway along the traverse, dropped my heel out of the break. Something happened. My left hand. The knob snapped and off I came.
I caught the break below with my passing hand and through a blurred moment, a scream of power and absolute life-flashing, pant-shitting fear I was at the belay. Safe, in relative terms.

I had a brief looked at the ever-deteriorating horrorshow of pitch 2, but, the brain guns had done too much blazing already. I doubted whether I even had enough left in me to even escape back the way we came. Fortunately, leading felt much safer, a viewpoint shared by Dan as he seconded back out.

Tiny versions of Dan and I escaping from Nowhere to Run (E6 6b), Swanage. © Sam Ferguson.

For the next two days I climbed with Tom Livingstone. Having lost a day to failing, I wanted to make sure I had successes, play it safe, trying only routes I knew I probably would get up. This led to me getting totally shutdown on Birth Pains of New Nations (7b), not deep water soloing in the sun and not doing Polaris (E5 6a). My mental strength was reduced to nothing and I was forced to confront myself.

'When was the last time you fell off? When was the last time you tried something you might fall off? Where have your balls gone? Why don't you get a job you lazy shit?'

I went to the wall, tied on, climbed up, manned up, sucked up, jumped off and it was AMAZING! I wanted to fall further. I climbed higher each time, taking more and more airtime. After 6 intentional falls I decided to climb until I fell off. At quickdraw 6 I wanted to shout 'take', but, it wasn't until draw 12 that I fell. I got 100% further when trying. So, 50% of my physical ability, whilst on a rope, has been locked away for a long time. Not only that, but, the climbing is so much more fun when I'm taking falls; happy with my efforts and no longer loathing myself for being such a wimp. I've become the liberator of my own mind, Che Guevara to my mental revolution, Robin Hood of my concsiousness, and most importantly, I am no longer a prisoner to 'The Comfort Zone'.

'I'M OFF!'

Alive

2012-07-30T11:26:00.000+01:00

We paid our £2 parking fee and set off along the pastoral cliff top. Scooby, enticed by the meaty sheep, pulled hard against her lead, keen as mustard to get involved with them. Once in the next field I set her free and she bounced off through the long grass, rudder waving, tongue lolling. Through the final gate and atop Craig Dorys, I walked hard against the wind, keen as mustard to get involved below. I'd finally moved into a new house in Llanberis with Laura and Duncan and been set free from work. I bounced off down the long wall, rudder waving, tongue lolling.

Between Duncan and I, we only had 8 quickdraws, so after making a couple out of prussiks and screwgates I set off up Samarkand (E5 6a); the third, and hence, final route in the fine Byzantium Wall trilogy. Having not climbed for days and days I pressed on with gusto, where ordinarily, I would have placed high runners, reversed, faffed etc, I was fighting the urge and pressing on. The climbing was steady but in some fairly sketchy situations on rock with an estate agents' integrity.

The drive down had been through rain and clamminess, but we kept the faith, and down here in blue skys and perfect sunshine the gamble had paid off. It always does. Belaying Duncan up Samarkand, I couldn't stop staring at the 30m high, leaning tower out to my right. Perched delicately on an easy angled slab, there didn't seem to be much reason why it should remain standing. Concluding that the impressive pillars' descent was imminent, we abbed in to climb the central line of Absent friends (E5 6b) before it becomes merely a scramble on a beach. The route hosted the most solid rock I've come across at Craig Dorys, and thankfully so. The moves were physical, goey and superb all the way and with 5 decent insitu pegs it almost felt more like a sport route.

We drove over to Ty'n tywyn Quarries, a series of micro-granite craglets just off a beach. In the good weather the place had a real laid-back vibe, and me and Scoob kicked back whilst Dunc led the slightly disappointing Who's Who (E1 5b). As we walked out along the beach we passed a small, scrappy looking bay I remembered from the guidebook it apparently housed a well-recieved route called Microcosm (E4 6a). Not looking like much at all, I wandered over and only once stood beneath the base of the route did its overhang become noticable, which is suprising as it is very steep. I racked up quick as I could and blasted off up the steepening wave. Wild moves and intermittent bomber cams made for an awesome time and I drove home fully appreciating the 'sheperds delight'.

Stripping the micro-gem Microcosm (E4 6a). Photo: Duncan Campbell

After a rest day, where I failed to arrange a partner for the next day, I was chomping at the bit to get out. The Lleyn had been fun, but it never felt challenging and that's what I was after. I roamed around Llanberis trying to find someone keen for Gogarth. I've recently been reading Paul Pritchards' Deep Play, where he describes his life as a climber based in Llanberis and I felt like a character in the book. The only difference being it's now 20 years on, and the 'Gogarth scene' has dwindled somewhat.
Eventually I got given the number for a guy called Sam. He'd never been to Gogarth before, and had barely climbed recently as he'd become a victim of a particular strain of Seasonal Affective Disorder; Llanberis Fever. The perpetual rains of Llanberis lead people to believe that the sun no longer exists, and after the summer (rain) we've had (are having...), there is an epidemic amidst.
We drove out towards the light, dim at first, but, the further we went the clearer things became, until we arrived at North Stack car park, showered in sunshine. Patient cured.

Hell bent on going balls-out we went straight to The Long Run Direct (E6 6b). The tide was coming in and I couldn't reach the base of the route so I started up The Long Run (E5 6a), apparently with no change in the grade. The E5 section went by relatively quickly, without any inspiring runners but lots of imaginative sproggled in wires, passive cam placements and 'perched-on' slings, until 8 metres from the top. Here a decent break provided a smorgasbord of runners, the best of which was a friend 2 which I did not have. I arranged enough kit to be sure it would catch me and made my first skirmish towards the summit. The wall overhead had a healthy abundance of crunchy sea-grass, hiding all the holds. After the third forray up uncovering holds from the natural astroturf and unable to reach higher without committing, I figured that I would carry on with the E5 version and traverse out easily to finish, as going direct was itimidating, dirty, hard and bold. Then Sam shouted up that the sea was coming in. I looked down to see his stuck on a boulder with the tide cutting his access to the wall. My decision was made. The journey into the unknown began.

I flew up through the first few moves which I had dialled by now. I looked to the top for inspiration, breathed hard and set off. Making the first committing foot-stab upwards I breached a bubble of serenity. I fingered onwards, flaking away the grassy beards optimistically where it looked as though there may be holds. My state of mind masked my rising heart-rate. I was lying to myself and now I knew it. By this point I was a couple of body lengths out from my gear. I was out of reach of all the holds I'd cleaned. Out there.

North Stack Wall from Britomartis Wall. Long Run Direct (E6 6a) climbs more or less straight upto the house. Photo: Me.

I managed to hold it all together for long enough to clasp the top of the wall. Everything I had bottled up came splurting out. 'WOOOOO'. 'YEEAAAHHHHH!'. 'FUCKIN'!'. Cheesily, I began singing/shouting Pearl Jams' 'Alive'. I felt on top of The World, in fact, three days on the embers of that feeling are still smoldering away inside. Hopefully on Wednesday I can add some Main Cliff fuel to get the fire blazing once more.

The perfect solo. Spider Wall (E1 5a). Photo: Sam

Anyway, after some lunch we abbed in to do Toiler on the Sea (E2 5b), but, both forgetting to bring the ropes I soloed back out up Britomartis (HVS 4c) to retrieve them. Back down and Sam made a brilliant, run-out lead of Toiler on the Sea. Typically, wanting more, I dropped back in one more time to solo Spider wall (E1 5a). Definitely alive.

Deh-Shay, Deh-Shay, Bah Sah Rah. Bah Sah Rah.

2012-07-28T19:42:00.003+01:00

Much to the suprise of my peers, friends, girlfriend, old school teachers (I imagine), lecturers and probably even dog - who've all seen first hand the bare minimum of effort I applied, I attained a 2:1 for my degree in Geological Oceanography. Interestingly, it was only my parents, who know better than anyone about my lazy, careless and hedonistic approach to life, who weren't suprised.

Anyway, this gave me a real confidence in my confidence as I had always thought the best thing to do would be to scrape a 2:1, and having been bumped up from 59.3%, it's fair to say this was dutifully achieved. It adheres to my tenuously agglutinated, tongue-in-cheek philosophy, that the reality which pans out before you is largely and inexplicably a result of what you believe beforehand; we are the masters of our own destiny. Thus, if you want to challenge yourself, you'd better think you can do it before you try it.

With this in mind I had a day down in Portland with Laura. After finding a crag which wasn't victim to the mud slides from all the rains we've had, I set about warming up on a few 6c's on Battleship Main. With a healthy blood flow, fluid motion, and drying rock I set about Dreams Burn Down (7a+). Mid-crux and chicken-winging like a mother, I fought hard to maintain the tenacity of mind neccessary for upwards progress. After a series of slaps of desperation I grovelled over onto a resting ledge, suprised. The same story unravelled on the adjacent Nihil (7b). Fortunately for my arms, the rains came so we scarpered.

The next day I met up with Dan Gibson for some steep shit at the most under-rated area in the UK - Swanage. We rapped down into the insanely overhanging Lean Machine Wall to be met by a centurion of riders on white horses. Taking sanctuary on a dry plinth we traversed into the meaty jug-fest, Sirius (E3 5b). Back down and Dan directed his attention towards Surge Control (E5 6b), a superb stamina test with testing moves between shake-outs. At around half height the lactic demons got the better of him, and unable to imagine recovering for a while, he returned to the deck and handed over the sharp-end. Knowing how handy Dan is, it was hard to fight intimidation; the catalyst of doubt. I breathed deep, inhaling self belief and surged up the wall, not necessarily in control. With half the gear in already, I reached Dan's high-point relatively fresh and was able to press-on to the top keeping the demons at bay.

Characteristically insatiable, I persuaded Dan to belay me on World in Action (E5/6 6b). Dan abbed down first, keeping quiet about the fact the wall was totally gopping, with sea-piss dripping out the cracks and undercuts. Given that the abb down is onto an isolated ledge with no other routes off it, I was left with no option. Chalk proved useful only for creating a slimy paste. I felt as though I'd been abandoned by a trusted friend.

After the lesson I'd learnt on Mammoth Direct, even after a hang I pushed on with full-bodied effort. I made it to the point where the route became vertical, where the abb rope met the wall, tempting me to grab it and haul out of this soggy cliff. I resisted, cranked on a chicken head and became airborne. Grappling at the rope by my eyes, I couldn't understand why I was still falling, until I realised that wasn't the rope I was attached to. I recalibrated just in time to get my legs out in front of me and save my face. Wanting more than ever to climb up the rope, I clawed out up the route to top-out jubiliant. I may not have got the route clean, but I managed to try hard with no incentive of a clean ascent and in terrible conditions - retrospectively, a greater feat.

Scooby graduating on my behalf whilst I was in Pembroke. Laura Perry Collection.

After a rest day George and I drove down to Pembroke intent on 'tearing it up'. The morning was drier than expected, but dampness lingered all around. After seconding Fitzcarraldo (E5 6a), I tried Magazine People (E5 6b), both in The Leap. It looked nails but Caff had said it was 'nice'. The route essentially saw me trade all my finger strength, stamina, finger-tip skin and 'toe comfort' for a bucket-load of sweaty-faced, dry-mouthed fear. 'Nice'. After seconding George on the stunning Big in America (E6 6b) on Bosherston Head, I was all but spent and managed to squeeze out Passion (E4 6a), at St Govans in one pitch and Slap up/Fitz in (E4 6b) back in The Leap. The latter of which had a superb first half, and if combined with the top half of Fitzcarraldo would provide an absolutely outstanding link-up.

After these four days in the South of England and Wales I began to believe in sunshine again. Just in time for 10 frustrating days trapped inside.

June in a Nut: Part II

2012-07-23T12:13:00.000+01:00

Back from Pabbay I was ready to go full tilt at North Wales' classic testpieces. First day back out Jon Ratcliffe and I went to Scimitar Ridge, the best crag for E5's in the pass. Jon wanted to have a look at a project arete, and I wondered about trying Surgical Lust (E7 6b) as it's similar to Pabbay; Steep.
We warmed up on The Kicker Conspiracy (E5 6a); a meaty route with varied and unrelenting difficulties. I'd struggled like hell to second George on it a year or two prior so it felt good to lead with a decent degree of control.
Jon then led Killerkranky (E5 6b), a route best attacked with a proverbial 'run-up', it seems you can hang around just long enough to place some good kit, then it's time to move again. Then the midges descended and sucked the psyche out of us. I had chance to have a quick look at Surgical Lust, and it didn't look too bad, which is never a good sign! Just before we drove off I pulled onto Roadside Full Extension (V9) and first go (I had done half of it as a V8 before) managed to do about 90% of the problem. I came back a few days later and sent the full thing as my second V9 (although they are both more 8a+ given the length).

Anyhow, the day after managing Roadside Full I went down to Main Cliff to try Mammoth Direct (E6 6b). We passed some guys on the way down who said it was suprisingly cold down there, so I counter-intuitively wore my trousers down. Needless to say before I even set off I could barely lift my legs up as a result of sweaty kegs. First go, I made it out left through the first 6b section to find myself on undercuts with screaming biceps and more unobvious 6b ahead. I made an attempt upwards, but, lacked commitment and was duly taught a lesson. I ran all the way back to the bags and changed to shorts ready for action.
Back beneath the mammoth, exhausted, I tried again. This time I got through the second 6b section, sweating like a human percolator, to be met by a third 6b section. This last one being the most awkward, the only thing spurring on my glistening, wasted meat bag was a rusty old peg. Not for the peg itself however, in the description it said 'join the original at a peg by a pocket with good holds in it, and continue up into the originals' crux'. I gritted my teeth, stretching up, ready to recieve some good holds only to be met by a fistful of sand. I quickly slapped a quickdraw into the peg and took a hang. After a brief rest, I carried on with relative ease to the belay where I suddenly realised that, until I sat on the peg, I was on for a clean lead. In the moment I'd forgotten this and felt like I was taking 'just another hang'. At first I kicked myself for forgetting it was ground-up, but retrospectively, I should kick myself for giving up, simply because I wasn't on for the clean ascent. It's something I do a lot, once I've sat in, fallen off etc I find it hard to try properly. Weakness highlighted.

After a full week of rain, George and myself headed to Yellow Walls at Gogarth for the adventure fix the weather had been denying us. After getting stuck in work until 5pm instead of 2pm it became something of a quick hit so I jumped straight on Me (E6 6a). 'Yellow Walls' strikes me as a very unassuming, reticent name for such a wild, warped, escher-esque piece of rock. Twisted, as it is, you'd imagine to personify the place would be to describe an unhinged schizophrenic; volatile, unpredictable and requiring care.
I set off from the belay with a paradoxical emotional mixture of excitement and tentativeness. Only a few metres up, on the least steep section 'the pump' was murmuring in the back of my mind. Moving further up, footholds began exfoliating, showering down on George, whilst the damp sand in hand threatened to depart perpetually. The mind-chaos began. The sounds of the sea and the birds whirred into an intimidating white noise, drowned out only by the conflict in my head; instinct screamed 'Down!' and desire whispered 'upwards' like a fork-tongued hyponotist, whilst rationality froze, insisting the only sane thing to do was to stay still and wait for help. Controlling the physical situation became an aside to the psychological, yet it was only at 'rests' where it was possible to regroup and restore sanity. After about an hour on the wall, the internal chatter began to acquiesce, this far up, the safest way was up. In a state of mental harmony I climbed into the final section, lured into a goey sequence, and yet, happy to accept the consequence either way. Fortunately this time, my body did its job and all that remained was to pass 'the suspect block'. With no visible connection to the face, it was a real 'off-the-wall' bit of climbing to finish. Triumphant and basking content, I watched George battle with his mental demons on a stage of gold, the rock, the waves, the sky all illuminated by the setting sun.

The rest of June was wet.

Here's a little video short from the International meet a few years ago with Nico Favresse on 'Me' and off Nightmayer (E8 6c).

June in a Nut: Part I

2012-07-19T11:55:00.001+01:00

Blogging came easier when I had uni work. The moment I walked out my last exam, I went straight to North Stack Wall, Gogarth. The verbal diahorrea brought on by post exam ecstacy was duly corked as I started up the snaking line of The Cad (E6 6a), but, after a few deep breaths I found myself a third of the way up the wall with un-tieing shoe laces. I was in two minds as to whether I should reverse to the deck, or press on to the foot-ledge mentioned in the guide at two thirds height. I reversed.

As I rocked through the crux, I could see no sign of the supposed ledge and the moves forced me onwards. Eventually I got stood on a 5cm by 5cm square block and began to relax, totally thankful that I had reversed to tie my laces. I stood facing an old bolt stud which can be threaded with a wire, a bolt stud which I'd been told was no longer neccessary as there was a 'bomber' skyhook.
I looked at my skyhook swaying in the wind and at the moves ahead.....
I fiddled about trying to loosen the heads on my wires to thread the bolt, but, none of them would free up, so I was left with some very thin moves to do with only a wobbly skyhook between me and a 90 foot ride. A few tense and tenuous moves led to a mindfuck of a final move, with no other options, I stuffed all my eggs in one basket and piano-played up the wall with my left hand, as my feet were creeping beneath me. Suddenly, time warped back to its usual pace, the calls of fulmars could be heard once more and the sea returned to flagellating itself on the rocks beneath as I grabbed a proper thank-god hold. A final few moves went by, then I sat on top and gratefully appreciated the strength of flaky quartzite.

Well, I'm still over a month behind and If I carry on at this pace, and you read as fast as myself, you'll never catch-up, so here's some delights for your delicate, multi-layered, light sensitive membranes.

PABBAY (Probably About as Brilliant and Beautiful Area as You'lleversee).

Duncan warming up on the ferry. Photo: Gwen Lancashire


Trying to get the burnt bits out the sun on the exposed P3 belay of Prophecy of Drowning (E2 5c). N.B. we were so far North that the horizon can be seen to curve dramatically, the sun doesn't set until midnight either! Photo: Duncan Campbell

Home. Photo: Duncan Campbell

Seconding George on the awesome Johnny Scuttlebutt (E5 6a), Banded Walls. Photo: Will Nicholls

Starting out my short-lived attempt on Every Cormorant is a Potential Shag (E7 6b). Photo: Ben Alsford

Setting off on P2 of Perfect Monsters (E7 6b), Dun Mingulay. Photo: Duncan Campbell

Pabbay and Mingulay from callum coldwell-storry on Vimeo.

Perfect Island, perfect weather, perfect holds and gear, it's just a shame about the company.

My last day of climbing as a student.

2012-05-13T19:58:00.000+01:00

I wolfed down my Morrisons breakfast buttie because I couldn't wait to get to Gogarth this day.
I was climbing with Martin Haworth, a old friend from when I lived in hull. Last time we climbed together was on the winter route Bowfell Buttress (VI, 6) where Martin had taken over the lead on at least one of the pitches and essentially dragged me up the route (This was, by no coincidence, the last winter route I did). Today was my chance for revenge.
Duncan went off to Yellow Walls to do The Savage (E2 5b) with Martins mate Andy, whilst we were the first ones on the busiest cliff at Gogarth; Castell Helen. The sun hadn't come round yet, the usually grey-white walls were knocking on the door of black, a pretty good idicator of greasy, damp conditions, but we were down now. I looked to Martin for signs of hesitation, I can only get out of this one if he cracks first. Instead he began nonchalantly spooling out the ropes, unphased by the sub-ideal conditions and soon we were tied on beneath the synonymous with the eponymous, Kalahari Highway (E5 6a).

Martin nipped up the first 4b pitch and I was soon on my way. The first half of my pitch is shared with the original Kalahari (E3 5c) providing a bit of a warm-up. By this point my hands were slick with the slippy bacteria that haunt the shady sea cliffs and my chalk laid waste to the old addage by being very much like soft cheese. 'You sure you still wanna do this Martin?' didn't get the answer I was hoping for. Committed.
The crux pull over a small overlap felt committing as you can't make out any holds coming up after, fortunately the move was ok, and it led straight to good holds and an awkward set of resting positions. From here an impressive traverse on undercuts and smears (exactly what you want in damp conditions!) lead out from under the big rooves. Then at the end of the traverse you're left hanging steeply at the edge of everything on jugs with an exciting blind finale. As I got halfway through the final moves rope drag became terminal, I couldn't move. I didn't feel in balance enough to pull at them without peeling off and in a heart-stopping moment I squat-thrusted upwards feeling the full resistance of 40m of friction. Phew!
Martin seconded the damp journey, dissapointingly, without issue to emerge from the labyrinth of rooves pumped and grinning.

We then swapped partners and me and Duncan went over to North Stack Wall to escape the wind and get gripped. By the time we arrived the sun had come off the wall, the wind had changed direction now blowing straight onto the wall and the tides were too far in for The Cad (E6 6a). So Duncan went first on Blue Peter (E4 5c). He seemed more than a little nervous as this would be his biggest lead to date. I laid down on a nicely inclined slab and got progressively colder. Duncans first steps were tentative, but with every metre of height gained, with every runner placed he got more and more confident, and I got colder, and colder. By half height he was flowing and yarding away as if on his local warm-up, and I was fucking freezing. As Duncan topped off a fine effort with a few squeals of delight I began plucking myself, limb by limb, from my ice-pop polymorphic state ready to second. First move, strained bicep. Second move, stubbed toe. Third move, knee pain. The Cad was off the cards.
When I topped out from the 40m of vertical wall climbing I finally regained some feeling in my fingers and the idea of trying The Cad re-gained credibility until I looked down into the zawn and the tide was STILL too high to gain the bottom of the route. I racked up to go do 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (E3 5c) only to encounter a bird-ban sign at the top of the route. All my enthusiasm was lost, I was uninspired to try anything else around and so we set off home. Then it occurred to me, surely it's a good thing that I've done an E5 and it feels like a bad day.

Every cloud.

Sprechen sie Dorys

2012-05-09T16:53:00.003+01:00

For the last few weeks I've been really enjoying the trad, but, it's felt like an uphill struggle trying to get the fitness/competence/confidence back and after reversing away from the crux on Fiendish Beanish on Sunday I was just about to start feeling disheartened. But during a brief session at The Indy Wall on Monday afternoon, I managed the '7a+'! traverse for the first time and with relief I could begin to see some improvement in fitness.

On Tuesday, Tom Livingstone and I went to Craig Dorys. I think the crag is made of sun-baked mud, or shortbread. It persistently exfoliates the outer layer, after fiddling with a bit of rock whilst belaying I realised you could keep picking away at the rock until you're left with just a pile of muddy flakes. Anyhow, it makes for some mightly absorbing climbing.
Tom kicked off with the classic Cripple Creek (E3 5b). Uninitiated to this kind of terrain, the usually gungho Livingstone adapted well, taking his time and employing a more considered approach.
We abbed back down and I scoured the guide for any hint of persuasion towards a particular route. With so many gobsmacking lines to choose from I got overwhelmed and characteristically indecisive. In a moment of haste I opted for a drop of the big, bold, Honeydew (E5 5c/6a).
The first few moves leave you at a ledge with good runners and a junction with the Knowing Her (E2 5b). From here a high rockover commits you to the route. Setting up to get on with it, the internal chatter went into overload, doing this move would lead to success on the next 10m of flaky wall climbing, or, a horrendous, maiming fall. I grabbed myself by the mind balls and thrust into 100% commitment. From here the climbing edged out above the lip of a cave on small flakey edges not beyond suspicion. I was no longer scared like I was on before committing, it felt natural to be there and I had total confidence in success, having said that the return to normality came with a shocking wave of relief as I gained the juggy, cam-gobbling break. I proceeded up the 2nd half of the route with much gusto now I was safe and revelled in the mudstone roulette.
At the top there were loads of loose blocks, we cleared off all the rubble resting on ledges which must have totalled about 4 tons, a new passtime I hope.

After seconding Toms rapid ascent of Byzantium (E4 6a) my arms were feeling weary but it was still light so I went for a go on the phoenomenally well named route; Noble Savage (E5 6b). It takes the proud headland face on up an uncompromisingly steep crackline. We got on to the route's tidal belay plinth, knowing if I didn't manage it, we would be wading back to the beach. The first few metres went in a flash past the best line of the biggest jugs ever, to a hands off rest. From here the most perfect fist jam in the world plonks you at the crux. A big, bouldery slap sees you through it and then it's just precarious blocks to the top and a belay from a decaying spike and an overhanging earth mound on the otherside of the headland. I'd already belayed off a threaded rabbit hole earlier so this felt bomber.
I can't wait to get back there and roll the dice with Dorys.

Climb Fast, Climb Free

2012-05-07T16:21:00.000+01:00

From the familiar racking-up roost, the big cheese, Jon Ratcliffe, and I spied some tasty looking prey. We swooped down past the small fry of Upper Tier to get involved with The Rat Race (E3 5c). The Rat went at The Rat having been deprived of any Gogarthian delights for a year. The sun hadn't come round yet so it was freezing cold and the rock was pretty slippery from the morning moisture.
Jon plugged away steadily all the way passing a particularly wet looking section around the crux. On second I couldn't feel my hands until I got to the end of the pitch after getting pretty pumped from not being able to tell what I was holding onto.
It was my pitch, the pitch. A loose, overhanging chimney! Although technically easier that the first pitch it packs quite a punch, if only visually. At first I tried to climb it straight on pinching some wobbly fins of quartz, but I soon realised this wouldn't go at anything like 5b. Only one thing for it; to get right in the back of this sandy cleft. A long rockover onto a big foothold signified commitment to the traditional approach. Back and footing up, I looked down between my legs at the Atlantic sloshing away at Main Cliff, even the powerful pounding of the ocean can't bring this mother down. Talking of 'ard bastards, Joe Brown, the first ascentionist is one gnarly legend. With all my modern kit, the knowledge of difficulty, and even knowing that it was even passable I was still intimidated. Acknowledging this act of heroism, and feeling dwarfed by my position with respect to both the cliff and my predecessors, I surged on feeling like a determined cartoon mouse.
As I neared the belay I bumped into Duncan and Bubbles on the sight-seeing tour; Cordon Bleu (HVS 5b). We shared a huge belay plinth in the sun, and with only a long 5a pitch to go I felt at one with the Main Cliff.

I mentioned in my last post about going to try Dreams and Screams (E6 6b), well being a notoriously seepy venue, we gave it a miss, but I still wanted to get a pump on. I tried Run Fast, Run Free (E5 6a) early in 2010, but ended up pumping out ripping my highest runner, blasting a chunk of rock of in the process which stoved me in the face. The route has a reputation for being very pumpy and after my last attempt, I felt nervous about this go. Also by the time I got to the base of the route I was cold and tired, but, I was there, so I got on with it. The first few metres were wet but I managed to dodge around the worst bits, moving about as well as I ever have. I made it to my previous high-point feeling fresh. The stopper crux from last time was passed in about 3 minutes, to a slick flattie. Having assumed it was 5b jugs from this point, I got a slap in the face when I was still crimping and the feet were shrinking into greasy, glassy nubbins. The pump came on thick and fast, and all the holds were very blind sidepulls. I wanted to press on up, but everytime I did I could feel my arms wilting immediately. I hung around shaking out my arms and legs, but was barely getting anything back. I figured I would have to go for it and hope I got lucky and hit the good bits on the blind sidepulls. I got lucky twice, making it to the final impasse with about 30cm of rock, covered in jugs, between me and the top. Blinkers on, I surged up trusting my feet to some poor, anti-directional edges. I grabbed a handful of mud-topped quartz on the top, it offered no purchase and a fleeting moment of panic gripped me. My elbows were ticking upwards, counting down the seconds I had left. I scrabbled out left gaining a, fortunately, juggy pinnacle and heaving over on to the top.
It would definately have been screams.

Yesterday, Duncan and I headed for the Orme for some sport action. In Llandudno we got stuck in an hour and a halfs worth of traffic because of some ridiculous parading of steam engines. It never cleared and the mechanical monsters kept steaming on by. We gave up in the end and tried another approach going the wrong way down a one-way. When we got there, evidently other people had tried and some officious penis had taken it upon himself to stop us passing through. I was already pissed at the delay so I grabbed him by his jacket and pulled his head in through the window, rolled the window up, trapping his head and set off at a considerable pace. Once he'd stopped screaming I dropped the window sending him spinning off into the roadside railings. We'll I wish I'd have done that, instead I just did as he said and turned around.
Then we remembered you can't even climb on the upper Orme on bank holidays anyway, so saved by the bellend, we drove straight over the top to try Red Meat (7b). Met with further adversity in the shape of a bird-ban we left the Orme after wasting nearly 3 hours and made a bee-line for Noticeboard Crag.

Noticeboard Crag from the caravan site. Duncan Campbell Collection

I'd driven past hundreds of times and always fancied going to try the line of the crag; Fiendish Beanish (7b) which takes the line straight up the middle though the sheet of perfect orange, pocketed rock. We did the airy Leaning Jowler (6b) to warm-up, then I went for the onsight. I made it to just beneath the 5th bolt giaing an isolated pocket with my right, but couldn't figure out what to do. Feeling run-out and pumped I reversed to the deck to let Duncan have a burn. He surged up to my high point, matching the lone pocket and throwing out right for another pocket. He pulled up a load of slack to clip the bolt, but had to drop it and grab the draw as he began to peel off the rock. After a quick rest he climbed to the top ticking some hidden holds on the way.
I went for it again, armed with knowledge. This time I got the isolated pocket and rocked straight up to a flattie. After a couple more steep and brilliant moves I was at the chains. Almost seconds later Duncan had knocked it out 2nd go for his hardest ever sport route. It's an absolute gem of a route and well worth seeking out. There's also some old trad routes on the cliff which I think should be retro-bolted up to give a fine set of steep routes perched above gypsy heaven.

On both these ascents I think I could have moved quicker, as soon as I was pumped I became very hesitant. I need to climb faster and with less care about falling off. So a bit of falling practice is in order, but perhaps first I will get a new harness.

Bring the Pump

2012-05-01T19:49:00.001+01:00

The suffocating smog of deadline pressure has lifted and with just one assignment and one exam left, visibility is at 99% giving almost perfect climbing conditions. This has come with some relief as the last few weeks have been very slow on the climbing front.
Four weeks ago, I was down in Dorset for Easter eating heartily and plugging away at my dissertation. Me and Laura made it out to Portland for the day for a spot of bouldering at The Cuttings and despite the perpetual eating of late it turned out to be a pretty good day.
We had a quick warm-up on some greasy classic called Nu-Breed (V4) then I spotted this steep looking wall coming out of a pit with a perfectly spaced set of edges. It wasn't in the guidebook but it looked really cool. I couldn't really tell how hard it was from skegging it. It could have been anything from V4 to V10 but I managed to crank through it nicely first go after spending the time figuring it out, so it could only be V6 at the most.
We moved on and I got frustrated at a bunch of poor quality problems with horrible holds and unpleasant moves Then it started raining and my brush snapped punctuating the mood. I realised this had been my only day out in ages and I wasn't enjoying it. Then I realised this had been my only day out in ages and I should start enjoying it. It worked. I flashed Petty Thief (V6), Neil Armstrong (V6) and Death of Kings (V6). We went over to the Relativity block and I managed the eponymous V6 3rd or 4th go, but only just as I was getting pretty powered-out.
We bumped into a group of locals who told me the unidentified problem I'd done earlier was Terminator (V7), and off the back of this confidence boost I scraped my boxed carcass up Lightning Strike for my second V7 flash of the day! I wonder if I'd have flashed either, if 'd known the first one was a V7?
A week later, after much pleading for a partner on UKC, I went to Swanage with Luke Tickle. We planned to go to The Promenade for some sport climbing, but with really rough seas we were confined to a small, frequently wave-splashed platform. We knocked out Flail Trail (6a) next to the abseil, then I tried the bouldery Violent Breed (7b+). Needless to say it was a poor warm-up and after managing to onsight the roof problem crux, I pumped out on finger jugs above. By this point the sea was tickling at Luke so we decided to bail out for somewhere less tidal. Luke led Eskimo Nell (E1 5b), a rather fine scooped wall reminiscent of an easier Wall of the Worlds (E5 6a) just along the coast.
Then I looked at doing Zoolookologie (E5 6a). I'd read that it was hard and pumpy for the grade so had no idea how I'd get on as my fitness had been long neglected. I'd also read that you should preplace a rope to escape up past the top band of mud/rubble. It took a while to locate the stakes to hang the rope off, then a hail storm came.
I'd been dying for this day for ages and after getting two buses to be here, I was relucant to turn away despite the hail, the thunder, the abiguity of access and the explosive seas. Fair play to Luke abbing in with me as it was harder than anything he'd been on before, the route was frikking steep and the atmosphere was wild. I was pretty nervous at the bottom with Zoolookologie looming out over me and the sea, but through a bit of re-thinking and whooping I channelled the nerves into excitement.
The route was pretty goey with less places to hang around than I expected. I managed to sprint it well though and pulled through the top bulge with only just enough juice left in the tank. I do love Swanage.

I've just had a gruelling fortnight of university hell, handing in my dissertation and giving a 10 minute end of year talk consisting mostly of opaque bullshit. I was supposed to sit and listen to my peers talk's for the next 6 hours after, but the sun was shining and I am, at least a little hedonistic. With a face saying 'ill be back' and a gait projecting purpose I walked out the door and jumped in the air for a fist-pump freeze-frame with the equally bored and disrespectful Tommy Cole.
This signalled the termination of 'the thick of it'. To the slate!

Riding a high from 'winging it ' through the talk and then escaping, I went to go try The Rainbow of Recalcitrance (E6 6b) with Jim McCormack. It was all wet so I tried what I thought was Splitstream (E5 6b) instead. I was revelling in the movement on rock and couldn't stop exhuberating about the quality of the moves and the hair-raising run-outs. I popped off the crux first go but got straight back on and did it getting sucked into a sustained and exciting run-out, which I was pleased about as usually I lose my bottle once I've come off.
From the halfway point on the rainbow the line became totally ambiguous and I felt like I was doing some scary moves which felt harder than what was supposed to be the crux. Fairly mentally spent and in fear of being on one of the E7s hereabouts I backed-off. It turns out I was on The top of Cystitis by Proxy (E5 6b) so maybe I should have ploughed on. I really, really, really enjoyed it though. Bring on the summer of trad.
The next day I went to Gogarth with Bubbles. I led up Park Lane/Doomsville Connection (E2 5b/c) in one big pitch then Tom tried his nemesis; The Strand (E2 5b). At half way it looked like it was in the bag for him, moving well and and not pumped. He got above his high point and I think expectation got the better of him. Next time Tom! I led it with pretty much all the gear in place as a clip-up. Fantastic. Might as well bolt it up as its got a lower-off at the top already!
Then I tried Energy Crisis (E5 6a). I'd had a go about a year ago and gone up and down three times from half height to preserve my arms and the onsight. This time armed with the crucial cam (3.5. You could also get a bomber 5 even higher) I was glad to have not committed before. Some unique moves got me through the crux and led me into a spectacular monkey-up-a-stick sequence with a solitary rock 3 on the last 5-6 metres. We did the recently cleaned Crowbar (E1 5b) to round off the day and on the top crux pitch I got struck my an ironic energy crisis. I felt like I was falling upwards, like I was going to faint, scrabbling through the moves desparate for the horizontal. I made it onto the top slab and managed to paste a rainbow of seagull fluids all over myself by building the belay in an unfortunate position. Crowbar was great and certainly deserves attention along with Fifteen Men on a Dead Mans Chest (E5 6a) since Rob Greenwoods cleaning escapades. We made it back to the bags and refuelled just in time to wait for an hour and a half for a lift home.

Yesterday I had a brief window between handing in an assignment at 1 and working at indy at 6 so me and an on-form Gwen Lancashire bombed over to Gogarth to go for a high-speed, top-down burn along the Kalahari Highway (E5 6a). We abbed in to see the route's imposing, stacked rooves... and Tim Neill already halfway up it. After waiting a while to follow them up it Tim had to take an intermediate belay because of savage rope drag, and time pressed it's smug, governing thumb into my face like a bully with the upper hand. We did Kalahari (E3 5c) instead, but it was still awesome with great climbing and a summery atmosphere.
I've got two rest days ahead now, after which I intend to try Dreams and Screams (E6 6b). With a 75% chance of the latter, I'm gonna give it absolutely everything. Can't Wait.

Sun is Shining

2012-03-27T13:38:00.001+01:00

This weekend was supposed to be the start of a week long trip bouldering in the Lakes, but 'real life' reared it's ugly head. Being utterly useless at generating motivation to get on with uni work, I've ended up having to sacrifice my Easter holidays to instead read journals and disseminate the work of competitive scientists.
The trip was supposed to be with Mikey G, Kieran K, Drew M and Tim P, so Laura and I went over to meet them for a days climbing at Nesscliffe before they all set off. We had a lazy start after a late night, and got to the crag around midday. The weather was amazing with the sun blazing, but it called a stop to my plan to try Leaf Storm (E6 6b) as I started to sweat just stood at the bottom. We started off with a load of bouldering including the classic Berlin's Fallen (6C), The Highwaymans Escape (6C+) and my favourite, The Planch (7A). Then we went round into the huge quarry with its gobsmacking 40m high corners, walls and aretes. Nessy definitely has the best lines I've even seen in my life!
Yukan II (E7 6b) is a stunning slim groove said to be about 7b+ with a couple of exciting sections and it's on the hitlist for the year. It was in the shade so I figured it could be worth a shot. When we rocked around a couple of Lancs lads were trying the route, I realised there were going to be on it for a while and with only an hour and a half left at the crag I knew I wouldn't get chance to try this either. However, it was great to see people turning an E7 into a spicy bit of fun as they took it in turns ground-up. Seeing that has broken the aura for me and I can't wait to get back and try and flash it.

With the routes I wanted to try out of bounds, I plumped for a razz at the Nessy testpiece My Snorkel (E6 6c). Quite appropriate at the moment to, as I struggle to keep my head above water in the sea of shit that is final year. I went for the onsight, it looked well protected with a couple of pegs. I got up to the first peg via a long, committing stretch. Once I'd clipped this it was time to suss the crux. With an arete in my left hand and an undercut for the right I tried desperately to keep the sun out my eyes, and to make a heinous high rockover. After a few goes, I was getting bloody pumped, finding it hard to release a hand to shakeout. A local offered beta, but I thought I could do it so I declined.
Then, embarassingly, Scooby attacked his dog which really thickened the lactic custard in my arms. 'Ok, what's the beta?' I shouted, as my hands unfurled on the holds. As per the advice I swang around to the otherside of the arete, and made a big reach up to a good flattie. I was through the crux, but I was screwed. Stretched out, pumped out and with no holds for my right hand I made a desparate bid for some higher holds. Needless to say, I was off. I couldn't even untie my own shoelaces afterwards. Fitness Needed!

I watched Mikey cruise it and got that nostalgic jealousy as he reached all the holds with such ease. I've worked hard to let it go, but it's hard to not feel hard-done-by when you watch someone able to reach past the move which had you off.. That said he fully deserved the tick, climbing with such confidence and guile.

Going for the second go with tight and swollen forearms I wasn't holding out much hope. I nippped up the start easier than before. Swinging round the arete, I could feel my grip loosening. At my previous high point, I smashed on this time, laybacking the arete to a good pinch just above. I clipped the peg from a pair of mediocre holds, but I was pumping out. I fondled the little crimps above but when I tried to pull on them, my elbow just lifted instead. Fight mode engaged as I tried to shake some energy into my arms. I decided on a sequence and went for it. Boning down on the crimp with everything I had left in the tank, I slapped up into a slopey undercut. The top hold was within arms reach. An all out slap landed thankfully on an incut jug, but I could still barely hold on. Luckily this was the end, and all that remained was a scamper up a sandy slope.
I seem to get ridiculously pumped a lot!! It's probably time to get fit now if I want to stand at chance on this years projects.

The next day we parted company with the lads as the four of them set off up to The Lakes with four big people, four loads of luggage and four bouldering pads in a Nissan Micra. A solid win for optimism!
Laura and I headed to Ruthin Escarpment on the way home. It lies in the rolling hills of the Clywd region and provides some good quality limestone micro-routes and bouldering in a chilling little spot.
It took us about an hour and a half to find the place, getting lost in the woods and running into a really creepy, derelict farm complex. Finally getting there, it seemed a shame to be using this amazing weather to climb on an insignificant and uninspiring little bit of limestone. Totally wasted from the day before, it hurt to just clench a fist, so everything felt quite hard. Particularly the 6B's which felt no easier than the 6C's. I managed a couple of problems, but the lack of footholds wasn't ideal with our arms on the day.
The highlight was a new variation finish to Pity the Billionaire (7a). Simply called Pity the Billionaire RH (6C), the problem takes on a funky pinch to pop out onto a series of flatties on an undercut wall. A highball extension to this would be possible at about 7A+, but I didn't have the beans for it.

Anyway, it was good to get on an E6 this early in the year (even if it was a punchy E5), and after eyeing up Yukan II, my goal of flashing E7 seems an excitingly realistic proposition.

...to Have the Good Times

2012-03-24T12:55:00.001+00:00

It's hard to imagine now, the way I felt a few days ago - wallowing in self pity and disarray at the intimidating volume of work impending and the numerous dormant tweaks and injuries threatening.
Laura helped me re-plan my dissertation, I cancelled a week-long trip to the Lakes and the pressure released like accepting you'll never make it to the toilet in time: I wasn't pleased with what I'd done, but it certainly felt better.

Warming up in the cave on Tuesday, I was feeling positive. I'd eaten half as much as I usually would over the last two days, and the day before I'd done a 40 minute boulder session to get the muscles going. In theory I was in as good condition as possible with two days preparation.
I met up with Jo Allen and James Noble who'd come over from Sheffield for a couple of days. They were making good progress on Left Wall Traverse (V8) and In Hell (V12), while a week-old pet lamb checked out the place with even more youthful enthusiasm than Mikey G.

I refamiliarised myself with the moves on Lou Ferrino and it felt encouraging, so I toyed with a positive mind set. Should I think I can do it? Should I KNOW I can do it? Should I think I can't do it? Should I stop over analysing? To the latter I've retrospectively applied a resounding yes, as my state of mind manifested in the first few attempts. Scruffy, undecided and weak. Banana time.

Now more relaxed, I had my first proper burn on it, and it was my best go yet; tickling the two-finger pocket nine moves in. I realised I’d forgotten to bump my heel along a few moves back, which had a domino effect on the execution of the subsequent moves. I fiddled with the bits I not done well on and found I could get the two-finger pocket static by pressing my knee up against the far left side of the crimp rail. I tried again, with the new beta this time. This would have to be the go, the muscles were waning. I got the two finger pocket well, but the huge lunge from this, to a fingers-depth slot required more accuracy than I could muster, and it wasn't to be.

I took a good rest, and wondered whether I had enough left in me for a good burn. Pulling on expectation free, after the first two moves I knew this was the go. The first moves never felt easy like that before. Remembering back to the first time I tried it, I just couldn't even pull off the floor. Going even further back, I recall see Chris Davies dispatch it in 'Stick It' and thinking 'I'll never do anything like that... 'cos bouldering is shit' I qualified defensively... Eight moves in and it was all going well, no mistakes. I dug into a deeper echelon of power at the crimp rail and rode a fresh wave to the two-finger pocket. This was it. All was going well, I'd nailed the sequence so far. I sucked up and Starred down the finger slot like an angry python, and with all the venom left, I struck for the pocket. The finger tips licked the edge of the hold, but, it was enough. I lunged over behind my head with my right hand, and went again for the finishing slot. It wasn't over. The tips on both hands were slipping...

I dropped to the floor after matching the finishing hold, at first ecstatic, then, a bit unsure as to whether I had definitely done it from the start (I definitely did). It was over!!!

Whenever anyone gets a successful tick in the cave they always wander out, into the light. Without thinking I did the same. It seems instinctive to leave the place, and for me it will probably for a while now that summer is here.

I'm over the moon to have done it. Steep and burly used to be my biggest weakness, lagging a few grades behind most other styles, and now it defines the hardest thing I've done. It stands as testament to the benefits of climbing indoors. When I moved to Wales two and a half years ago, steep V3/4 felt nails and now I’ve done a horizontal V10. Thank you Indy. I’m fairly sure that patching up the technical and physiological deficiency has consolidated my ability on the vertical too. Anyhow, that’s enough smugness for now.

The next day I went up to Sheep Pen for a chilled one with Laura and Dunc. When we arrived Joble were already there, Jo had done Dirty Slappper (V6) and James had done the rarely repeated Jerry’s Problem (V10) (in about 5 minutes as well!) and this was after a good session at the Cromlech boulders including Jerry's Roof (V9) for James. The first time these two Jerry testpieces have been done in a day?

We warmed up and cracked on, it was a lovely day. Proper t-shirt weather. Laura and Dunc quickly knocked out Dog Shooter (V4), and the powerful Toe Dragon (V5)... nice one Laura! I had a wander around with Joble and walking back over to the Dog Shooter Block we eyed up an overhanging prow on the back of said boulder. There were holds. Nice ones, small ones, slopey ones. A little bit of lichen and a dry-stone wall under the overhanging face must have repelled attempts as it looked unclimbed and I'd never heard anything of it. We got to work, brushing the holds and ticking the feet and realised the wall isn’t in the way at all. It was time to try it.

Noble nobly stood down and let me have the first go even though he’d done most of the cleaning, or, perhaps he was hoping to get the beta as I drop it near the end? Either way, I went for the flash burn and gave it everything expecting V7/8 difficulties. Luckily for me ‘The Heels Have Eyes’ turned out to be about V5 with great climbing. Noble knocked out the second ascent first go, then did a V2 rockover named 'Blink' direct through the middle. Then Jo did the stand-up at V4, dubbed ‘Eye See Ewe'. I think we’ve opened up a great line with some very good climbing and look forward to hearing what people think of it.

Nearing the top on the F.A. of The Heels Have Eyes (6c+). Laura Perry Collection.

All satisfied and powered out, we chilled and watched the last of the evening gold spilling over the mountains. These are the good times...

You Need the Bad Times

2012-03-19T19:01:00.002+00:00

Since I last wrote a blog, I had a peak exchange with big Stevie Ramsden. He came here first, and we spent the day in a series of dwarfing corners. Steve did Emulator (E1 5b) first, then we swung leads on Big Groove Direct (E4 5c) on Main Cliff which was totally brilliant, it felt pretty bloody hard for 5c, but I think it might have lost a flake. This would explain why it felt 6b, or perhaps we were just blind to an easy, traditional solution.
In stark contrast, the next day we hit the cave. Steve racked up a good haul of V6-V8's whilst I tried Lou Ferrino (V10). I figured out how to do the knee-torquing fourth move, so I tried to link the first four moves together and in an unexpected whirl of excitement, made it to move 8 of 12!
After a bit of a party that evening, a relaxed curcuit was in order. We headed to Caseg. The rock here is perfect, so even the crap problems are a delight. I think Caseg Groove (V5) might be the best problem I've ever done, powerful and subtle, spot on.
The next day we went to Rhoscolyn, it was cold and windy up top but once we got down there conditions were decent. We started off on Savage Sunbird (E2 5b). The climbing is mega absorbing, most holds appearing to be glued on so it takes an element of stupidity to pull away on them.
Steve tried Centrefold (E3 5c) in Fallen Block Zawn. He didn't check the guide and ended up getting pumped on Dreams and Screams (E6 6b) before trying to escape by traversing across an overhanging hobnob of a wall. Needless to say a variety of crumbs parted company with the wall before Steve became the eponymous fallen block. I tried The Viper (E4 5c) which charmed me with a wonderful array of jams, pinches and undercuts up a gently overhanging shallow groove. Loads of cams protect it and with very little venom, it would be a good first E4.

Me battling with The Viper (E4 5c) courtesy of a procrastinating Laura Perry.

The next weekend Me and Laura went to Steves in Sheffield. It proved to be a fairly fruitless trip, with the exception of a day at Gardoms where Laura got close on her Mark's Roof Left-Hand (V6) an I did Soft on the G (V8). Also at the end of the day I made a few exciting slaps for the top of Suavito (V8+), which resulted in bruised heels when I missed the mats twice in a row.
We went to the CWIF final on the sunday evening which was a great event with Shauna Coxsey stealing the show using high precision footwork and effortless technique. Impressive.

Since then, things have been pretty naff. I spent the last week trying to write my dissertation, struggling all the way, but having now realised I was going about it all wrong, I'm starting again. So one of the most depressing, laborious weeks of my life was seemingly in vain. Retrospectively though, I think I learnt a lot from it . Firstly, knowing when to cut your losses: I had a feeling what I was doing was rubbish, yet I couldn't bring myself to sacrifice two days of effort, but, it ended in me losing a weeks worth of work.
Secondly, you won't achieve fuck all with a negative attitude. I was really resenting having to acually do some work, and as a result I worked myself into a recoiling ball of frustration and hate. Now out the other side of a fairly pathetic dark-time (god knows how I'm gonna cope in 'the real world') I can see that if I could apply a bit of my climbing mindset to everyday life, it wouldn't be so bad. I need to stop making excuses for being lazy and get round to doing things. I've always just considered myself pretty poor at life tasks and organisation, but I'm never going to be any good at it if I don't try it. Basically, having to click 'forgot your password?' is no longer going to thwart my attempts to access the plethora of online accounts 21st century life demands.
Which brings me back to climbing. Of course. Since the quirk of likelihood experienced on Lou Ferrino, I've been back twice. I haven't got any closer, but I have remained positive and got the moves dialled (also I managed to get a confidence boost for the year by doing Left Wall High (V9) at the end of a session, for the first time since the first time, first time).
Lou Ferrino is definitely one of the best problems I've ever been on: technical, unlikely, power endurance and surrounded by £2.50's worth of breath-taking scenery.
Burly slapping through a roof really isn't my style and I've had to work my weaknesses to get anywhere near it. I first tried it about this time last year and each move felt like the living end, but an intensive period of steep, indoor bouldering early this winter and regular dabbles at the moves have brought it within the realms of attainability.
I'm heading back there tomorrow afternoon, after a morning on my dissertation. If I maintain a positive attitude, it might just knock Caseg Groove off the top spot on one of my many, many lists.

Mind over Body

2012-03-15T19:56:00.000+00:00

I've not got time for blogging at the moment with my dissertation deadline looming, but here's an awesome video of Dave Graham talking about the concept of movement, and the idea that, to an extent, we only need to be stronger in order to fool ourselves about that which we are capable of. It's very reminiscent of the wafflings of Dawes, and I doubt that's a coincidence.

DG on movement and the future of climbing

Enjoy!

Tenuous Transfers and Tricky Transitions

2012-02-29T14:26:00.002+00:00

We all heard the rumours. Everyone was talking about it. Could it be true... Apparently, a friend of a friend said his friend saw a forecast for a day without rain in North Wales. Even the optimists were dubious, but, sure enough, Saturday was indeed dry. Of course, in the run up to this meteorological anomalie it was particularly hard to decide what to with this window of opportunity. I wanted to do something nails or something exciting and without too much demand for fitness, so the slate seemed ideal. The plan was to get a clean ascent of The Medium (8a) before have a crack at the most stunning line on slate: The Rainbow of Recalcitrance (E6 6b). Duncan was keen for the respective neighbouring lines of Headin' the Shot (E5 6b) and Poetry Pink (E5 6b). Perfect.

We rocked up at Serengeti to the familiar bleak humming from deep within the mountain. Armed with re-soled edges, I had expectations of success so I got straight on with it. A quick toprope to remind myself just how freakin' thin it is and it was time for the lead. It's times like this I'm glad we live in a quantum universe, somehow falling off and moving up at the same time, that was until I tried to observe my position at the final move, and found myself swinging below the first bolt. Many failed attempts later (including two on Headin' the Shot!), I threw in the towel. It just felt too hard, and increasingly painful and unpleasant. Fortunately for me, Duncan is wiser than he is tall, so a little pep talk and a really quick onsight of Headin' the Shot (E5 6b) from him, gave me the inspiration to have one last go.
Rocking over on the big-toe pocket-smear I had managed to divert my attention away from the jaws of defeat just long enough for a sneaky peak at self belief, but, it wasn't good enough and the cloud of doubt shrouded my mindscape once more. I fell off, and although disheartened, I'm keeping my towel.

Like Brian Blessed with a Total Fitness membership, Ben Alsford turned up and led us to; Taken Over by Department C (7a/+). In need of a bit of a pick me up I went for the onsight putting the draws in. The lower wall succumbed to a delicate yet powerful approach, and all was going well until a final impasse by the last bolt. I tried to recover on some undercuts above my head but I was flagging. I became totally unwilling to part with the rock, it would take more than a bit of protein to repair my ego if I fell off this as well. I gritted my teeth and made the final crossover to a huge jug just in time. All is not lost.
Retrospectively, it seems that The Medium (8a) has become largely a mental battle. It feels as though every time I think I might fall off I do. I need to believe I can do it, to do it. It's as if it really is some kind of metamorphic medium.

Monday, me and the savvy seal, Tom Ripley found good weather at Craig y Forwyn. One of my first blogs was about this crag and in particular Great Wall (E4 5c). I remember absolutely loving the crag and this day was just the same. I don't know what it is about the place, it could be the reminiscence of peak limestone trad and the youthful nostalgia it inflicts, the giddyness brought on by knowing your not really supposed to be there, or simply the immaculate, pumpy wall climbing.
I wasn't sure what to do so Tom picked out The Snake (E2 5c, 5c). I wasn't feeling all that fit, or even awake so I had no real expectations, and knew it'd be no formality. The first 10 metres or so were steady away, then I came to a point where I had to swing around an arete onto a layback flake. I arranged a bunch of gear and set off. It felt ok. Brilliant, I thought, E2's feel juggy. A couple of metres up the flake it was time to switch to another flake to the right. I was gently pumping here, I had gear about a body length below my feet and I could see a good incut at the base of the next flake, so I pushed on. "Ah, Fackin'el" the incut was full of mud. I backhanded further up the flake and made a powerful swing across, but I still couldn't stop to place gear, the feet were crap. A fleeting moment of terror came over me and I scampered my feet up high to the muddy incut. I was in a bicep-burning position and the flake flared above. I stoved a cam home in desperation and clawed my way up the final section. Tom got even more pumped seconding with the added trouble of having to remove the gear, so by the time he made it to the belay he was wasted. As such I led the second pitch as well which provided a really contrasting bit of climbing with intricate moves and thought-provoking gear.
Tom had intended on doing Mojo (E1 5b) but a heavy night of drinking the night before crushed his psyche. Instead he tried Sangfroid (HVS 5a) only to be thwarted by the alcohol again. Luckily for me he made it as far as the junction with Sangfroid Direct (E2 5c). I took over the lead on another stunning E2 pitch, very similar in character to The Snake, but this had a bigger feel to it being one long pitch with chunkier flakes. I laybacked up to another flake transfer crux, put some gear in this time and smashed on up direct via some suprisingly hard moves to join The Snake for the technical headwall finale. Then, just as we topped out, the rains came.

I had intended to launch myself headlong into this years routing season with my new found bouldering strength, but it doesn't seem to immediately transfer to routing. Given my current level of fitness and lack of faith in the holding power of my tatty old harness and ropes, I think I may need to invest a little bit of time to that dangerously comfortable 'mileage' mindset, and perhaps a little bit of money on some new gear.

Webcam Links

2012-02-24T13:52:00.000+00:00

I've added a few links to webcams in North Wales on the right-hand side of the page. If anyone knows of any other good'uns let me know, particularly ones for Gogarth. The live feed from Anglesey is a little gem.
In other news, I've been digitally enhanced, as in the finger is (touchwood) near enough better... and a second gritstone slab of wordplay. Tenuous.