Ciro's Blog

Aaaaaaand.... relax!

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sun, 11 Sep 2016 13:40:00 +0000

It's taken a while to relax into this trip, but in the last few days it's finally happened. Mallorca will do that to you.

Mallorca provides a stunning setting to relax.

I had decided to fit a high roof to the van before going away again. If I'd known the DIY route was going to cause me enough stress to slide back into a serious depression I'd have paid someone to do it for me, but at the time it seemed like a good project to learn some new skills. As it was, my plans for a summer of british trad had to be put aside while I got myself back together, and got the job finished. I did of course learn a lot in the process, but the main lesson was that I never want to work with fibreglass again!

I also lost the chance to visit people around the UK before my departure - the ferry to Mallorca had been booked months in advance and it was a deadline I did not want to miss. Apologies to all those I missed, I will do the tour when I get back.

For the first few days, pretty much everything that could go wrong did. I had one mechanical issue that needed a spot of welding, my side door broke, my insurance broker told me I no longer have 365 day trip cover the day before I was due to cross to France (I didn't read the renewal documentation, assuming renewal meant, well, renewal), and the van starter battery died whilst overnighting in a quiet French layby. I felt the world was trying to stress test my recovery.

Thankfully, after a quick self-rescue from the leisure battery things turned around. Other than sweating through temperatures nudging into the 40s, the rest of the trip down through France and across the Pyrnees was pretty uneventful. Sleeping in the cool of the Col de Puymorens (1915m) was a blissful highlight.

Waking up in the middle of the Pyrenees is hard to beat.

I arrived in Barcelona a couple of days early to see some old friends (Marco, Monica and their delightful little handful Uma). I was just in time for the last evening of the Festa Major de Sants - a local festival where 26 streets are closed to traffic and decorated by the residents, with temporary bars installed to pay for bands that play late into the night. For the whole week, the residents eat together in the evening

Unfortunately I had missed the castellers, but the street decorations were amazing, and the Correfoc later that night - drums, devils, fireworks and a fire breathing dragon in narrow streets - was an experience. No health and safety getting in the way here as the catherine wheels spin around your head and are aimed at your feet (to encourage you to dance with the devil)... all the things we got told off for doing with fireworks as children!

Street dining - was impressive to see such community spirit in a modern city

Street decoration - Charlie And The Chocolate Factory

Devils and fireworks

Just when you thought you'd got underneath the line of fire...

And the fire breathing dragon... suddenly I wished I wasn't wearing flip flops!

Just round the corner from the Correfoc was the square where Barcelona's left hang out.

I felt a lot better by the time I boarded the overnight ferry from the mainland, but it left just one small problem. In the last four or five months, I'd had three sessions climbing on plastic and none on rock... DWS, by it's nature, is not a gentle re-introduction to the vertical world!

I dived straight into Cala Varques... literally - the first thing I did was take the leap off the top of the Metrosexual Area, that to my shame I chickened out of on my first trip here. It settled the nerves well, and so while the first two days were spent mostly falling off Bisexual(7a) and Metrosexual(7b), that didn't matter - I was there for mileage on steep rock, and quite pleased to be immediately relaxed above the water.

Those two days did trash my finger skin and forearms though, so the next few were spent practicing the guitar and trying not to get burnt in the ongoing heatwave.

I had one more day back on, and started to feel a bit of endurance coming back - making it to the crux of Metrosexual 7 times in total, but lacking the power (or technique?) to stick it. That volume did come at a cost, and two more rest days were in order. More rest days than climbing days is of course the sensible way to proceed right now, but it is a little frustrating when you're surrounded by great climbing and have been out for so long!

On Friday things started to pay off though. I went to the Cova area, flashing the mega classic steep jugfest Big XXL (7a) and coming very close to onsighting the delightful pocket climbing of Golden Shower (7a) - falling at the last hard move. I'm confident I'd have bagged it had I tried on fresher arms, so considering it's less than two weeks since I put my rubber shoes back on I'm pretty please with where I am - it shouldn't be long before I'm back where I left off a year ago.

Aside from the climbing, the beach life relaxed me enough to restart a daily yoga practice - setting up a virtuous feedback loop. I've done a fair bit of swimming, and yesterday it cooled down enough for a hilly bike ride up the coast, with a stop off to watch Celtic consolidate their position at the top of the league in the familiar surroundings of an Irish bar. I've gone from surviving on four hours sleep, to nine or ten every night and I'm finally starting to feel like myself again.

It's good to be back on the road, but more importantly it's great to be back in a normal headspace. Some serious relaxation was needed, and on that score Mallorca never disappoints!

Jurgen - one of a team of strong Austrians who crushed the Metrosexual Area, on Smash It In! (8a)

Lorenzo on the steep traverse into the crux of Metrosexual (7b)

A Spanish climber on the super steep jugs under the roof of Big XXL (7a)

A German climber onsighting Golden Shower (7a)

In case you get tired of climbing...

Quitting gets easier

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Fri, 29 Apr 2016 17:37:00 +0000

The first time I handed in my notice to go travelling, it felt like the world was turning upside down. Yesterday was an altogether more relaxed affair - after seven months of work it simply felt like time to get moving.

Last time was something of a leap of faith. This time I know what I'm getting into, and I know I'll still be employable when I decide to step back into "normal" life for a while.

I have four weeks left, then it's goodbye office chair and hello to the good things in life - being immersed in nature, climbing rocks, swimming in lakes, and sitting about in dusty car parks eating simple food and playing the guitar with friends I haven't met yet.

It seems following your dreams gets easier with practice. All you have to do, is take that first step.

I can't wait to be back on the road!

Life affirming moments.

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sun, 24 Apr 2016 07:40:00 +0000

It's nice when they catch you by surprise.

Going back to work was initially quite enjoyable; there was something nice about a bit of routine, and even the rather different social dynamic of an office.

That quickly faded however, as the reality of a Scottish winter working night shifts set in. The atrocious weather, some unexpected van repairs and the desire to save money for travelling combined to ensure I was doing very little with my free time.

I started working the odd overtime shift. Before long I had the pound signs in my eyes and it seemed the only thing I was doing outside of work was sleeping. I took to just parking up in the city all week. I rarely saw trees and countryside any more, or sunlight for that matter.

Life was getting rather dull.

Towards the end of one 70 hour week, I awoke to discover someone had blocked the van in the car park. My attempt to drive out over the grass was not entirely successful - due to the biblical amounts of rain that had been falling, my front wheels were promptly buried up to the axles. Half an hour of crawling around in a freezing peat bog digging with my hands got the snow chains on, and was able to pull myself out - just in time to see my tormentor jump in her car and drive off. I didn't even get the chance to rant.

To use a scottish turn of phrase I was fair scunnered, and that evening I came very close to handing in my notice.

Coming out of work the next morning I decided I needed a change of scenery. I headed towards the Crow Road, unsure even why I was doing so with the wind blowing the sleet sideways. The van skidded around on the icy hill, and there was still snow in the corners of the car park.

There were also three gentlemen with heavy coats and camera tripods hanging out by their cars... they must know something.

Sure enough, the sleet stopped, the clouds started to clear, and I watched a gorgeous sunrise as I made my dinner. I briefly wished I had my camera too, but then realised I was better without; I didn't have to worry about angles and apertures - I could just sit and watch nature at it's best.

That evening (my morning) I awoke with a renewed sense of perspective. The night shift flew by with a smile on my face, in the realisation that I'm a pretty lucky guy. I've found a sport and a lifestyle that I love, and which gives me the freedom to spend quite a lot of my time not working. After 18 months on the road I walked into a job which, whilst not exactly intellectually stimulating, is reasonably well paid and in an office full of really good people - and for a while at least I got to choose between three nights a week and a life, or six nights a week and quite a lot of money in the bank.

I decided to stick with the six nights a week, and reward myself for the hard work with a new toy inspired by the guys in the car park; I'd been wanting to get a DSLR for some time, but had found it hard to justify the cost. On the road however, I became quite frustrated by the limitations of a point-and-shoot so now it seemed a worthwhile investment.

Over the next five weeks I battered in the overtime like a man possessed, which means that in six months I've earned enough to sort out the van and put aside enough for another year on the road.

Since then I've spent quite a bit of time catching up with family, and out in the countryside getting photographs. In the process I've fallen in love with Scotland all over again, but I think it's almost time to move on.

I've booked a ferry from Barcelona to Mallorca at the end of August, for a month of DWS. That gives me four months to finish up at work, re-fit the van and get rock-fit again.

Perhaps a summer in Llanberis might be calling...

Winter morning on the Crow Road between Kippen and Fintry

Heading up to Glencoe for a day's skiing presented this stunning view.

Looking out to the Summer Isles, just outside Ullapool

One of my favourite shots of the winter - taken from Sighthill Cemetery one morning after work.

Back to my roots

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Wed, 30 Sep 2015 16:03:00 +0000

I came home at the end of August, and after a brief stop in London and a weekend climbing in Llanberis, I came to Gargunnock to catch up with friends and family.

I had been thinking of spending a couple of weeks up here, and then down to London to look for contract work, however the culture shock of those first couple of days in the city changed my mind. I couldn't step straight from the tranquillity of Ceuse to those busy streets. I decided instead to try living in Scotland again, and began looking for work in the central belt.

Previously I'd been put off coming back to Scotland by the difficulty of finding good weather for rock climbing; the thought of not climbing for long spells wasn't appealing and the thought of losing hard fought gains by not being able to get out was too much to bear. But having just climbed for six months non-stop, and discovered how quickly I could come back to my peak after a long spell out, I've lost both the desperate need to climb, and that fear of regression. A finger board should be all I really need access to in order to ensure I can hit the ground running next time I get on the road.

Coming home also means I can get back out in the Scottish mountains. Injuries have limited my running for a while now, but I have an ambition to race the UTMB one day, and after picking up a bit of fitness in Ceuse I'm keen to keep it going.

I started off doing some running around Gargunnock, but after a good start I hit a snag - coming back down the hill from the waterfall I got a familiar pain in the outside of my knee - the dreaded IT band syndrome. I limped home and took a couple of weeks of rest and intensely painful foam rolling.

During that time, I had a trip over to Edinburgh to see some old friends from London. Gayani was at a conference in the city, and Dimuthu had tagged along for the holiday so we took a wander round the old town one morning then up Arthur's Seat.

I can't think of anywhere else you could stand at a trig point on top of a hill and see a guy in a suit, holding a briefcase, taking a break from work? I was always a Glasgow man, but Edinburgh has a lot going for it... the football teams might not be as good but they know what you're supposed to put on chips and the views are a bit better, so it's definitely somewhere I'd consider in future.

After that, the same run around the Campsie Fells passed without any knee pain this time, so when my old mate Ian phoned on Friday to ask if I fancied Munro bagging in the morning I jumped on it.

We headed up the west side of Loch Lomond, parking at Inveruglas and aiming for a loop of Ben Vane, Beinn Ime and Beinn Narnain. We held a steady pace up to the first peak and stopped for a bite to eat with some nice views. The clouds began to close in, and by the time we reached Glas Bhealach we were walking in light mist. We made the Summit of Beinn Ime in decent time, but then the pace slowed a bit.

After a slog, the top of Beinn Narnain was in thick fog, and an overly blazé attitude saw us take the wrong ridge off the top. By the time we realised we were on the way to Arrochar we had already lost a good deal of height, and the thought of going back up was not a pleasant one. In the end, we decided on the six mile walk back up the side of the loch instead - our little detour turning it into a pretty long day. It didn't really matter though - I had a smile on my face and a spring in my step as we dodged the cars... it was great to be back in the Scottish hills.

I'm starting a six month contract in Glasgow on Monday. The job doesn't sound particularly exciting, but the big draw was the hours - three 12hr shifts leaving me four days a week to park up in the highlands and play.

Perhaps coming back to reality isn't going to be as terrible as I thought ;)

I was pretty lucky to grow up with the Campsie Fells as my back garden...

Gargunnock Waterfall is even more beautiful than my memory

Gargunnock from the waterfall

Dimuthu on Arthur's Seat

Lunch break for a city gent

The walk in to Ben Vane

Top of Ben Vane with Ian and his dog Bella

On the way up Beinn Ime

At the top of Beinn Narnain

The view of Loch Long that we shouln't have seen...

I was treated to this view on a bike ride out from Stirling to Gargunnock the other night... it's easy to take the place you grew up in for granted, but sometimes it will force you to take notice... central Scotland is a truly beautiful place.

Buzzing!

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Mon, 10 Aug 2015 14:57:00 +0000

Thought I'd do a vlog for a change:

Learning my lessons in Céüse.

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 20:26:00 +0000

What can I say about Céüse?

Is it the best sport climbing crag in the world? Well I haven't seen all the competitors for the title, but it's often said that climbing is a masochistic sport, and on that basis it must stand head and shoulders above anywhere else I've been.

No place has abused and frustrated me, satisfied me, then left me begging for more the way Céüse has. Jill described her as bi-polar but that's just part of the game; like any good dominatrix she has to keep you guessing.

Nothing is given easily here. From the 45 minute hike to the crag with 400m of ascent (often in 30+ degree heat), to the bouldery cruxes and the technical top-outs it's all hard work.

Forget the stamina draining jugfests of Rodellar, the tendon shredding pockets of Margalef, and the psychological torture of a technical, run-out Finalese slab... Céüse takes all of these, parcels them up, and serves them as an entrée. If there's a weakness in your climbing she will expose it and then, if you are willing, your correction will begin.

In Chulilla, my first ever 8a redpoint went down with just four days projecting; here I took six weeks to send a 7c+ that is considered easy. In Siurana I came to expect to onsight 7a; here it's taken two months to onsight my first 6c+. On one 6c+ I had to pull on a draw to get past the crux, and come back to figure it out later. But as long as you can put your ego to the side, the high 6s and low 7s you're falling off are all astonishingly good lines - everything I´ve got on here is worth three stars.

A couple of weeks ago I nearly went home due to physical and mental fatigue, but when it came down to it I couldn't leave - I'll have to go back to the real world and make some money soon, but until then Céüse has me firmly under her spell.

Alex Megos resting on the steepness of (I think) La part du diable (8c) on the Biographie wall.

The holds got a bit smaller.

Jonathan Shen on the techy vertical start of Lapinerie (7b) at Demi lune

Matthieu Lapalus on the steep bouldery start of Bibendum (7b+)

Spring cleaning the vans and ourselves by the Lac de Pelleautier

Gorgeous sunsets from the top of Céüse plateau.

Putting things into perspective.

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Wed, 29 Jul 2015 11:25:00 +0000

I'm on my way back into the hostpital in Grenoble, to see my good friend Nicola.

He was clipped into a belay station on a multi-pitch climb in Briancon when a large block fell from the anchor above, just missing his head and smashing his right arm and leg badly. He lost a lot of blood, and was still in intensive care when I got up here, but thankfully he's now stable and on a ward.

Suddenly the things that have been stressing me lately seem so insignificant. Nic's mother expressed a hope that this would convince us all to stop putting ourselves in danger by climbing, but this was a freak accident - the block could as easily have been a careless driver in London or a mugger in Turin.

Life is fragile, and sometimes something out of our control threatens to take it away; far better to live your life doing the things you love until that day comes along, than to worry about it's arrival.

It's going to be a long road to recovery, but I have some special memories of climbing with Nic and I look forward to the day we get out on the rock together again... venga a muerte with the rehab Nic, see you soon at the crag!

Down in Portland in the early days

Cranking out the steep stuff in Rodellar

A bit of Southern Sandstone bouldering

At the top of Bric Pianarella in Finale, after a superb day multi-pitching on Joe Falchetto... the realisation of a dream for Nic

Calm before the storm in Valle Dell'Orco

Psyched after the storm in Valle Dell'Orco :D

Mind games part 2 - The Sending Window

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Mon, 13 Jul 2015 08:17:00 +0000

After my day of contemplation at Lac du Pelleautier, I decided to go down to Gap for a change of scenery, visit the laundrette, and find a decent 3G signal to play internet poker. I wanted to get projecting out of my mind for a while, let my body recover, and wait for cooler weather.

I didn't have to wait long - after 3 rest days the temperatures were forecast to drop by around 7 degrees for two days. I headed back up to Sigoyer on the evening of the third rest day feeling pretty psyched.

Gerd was back for a quick visit and he also had unfinished business with Makach Walou, so we headed up to Berlin at lunchtime to eat, rest and get ready for good conditions. Around 4pm the temperature started dropping rapidly. I knew I should probably wait a little longer, but I was itching to see what shape I was in, so I jumped on.

The holds were a little greasy, but I got as far as the crux feeling good. I gave everything a good clean and Gerd got on - sending for his warm up and looking really solid all the way. He followed that by closing out the cruxy Queue de Rat (7b+), a strong day coming back so recently from injury.

I had another two burns, falling on the same move each time. I came down in a state of confusion. I'd been through that crux before but now, in perfect conditions, I was dropping it every time. Was I not as well rested as I felt, or had I just developed a total mental block around that move?

As I voiced my frustration, a French chap who had sent the route earlier came over to ask how I was taking the crux hold. He told me he was using it differently; I decided to stick with my beta for the next attempt and then try his method if I fell. I did fall once more, but as soon as I tried the new beta I knew it should be the last time.

It was getting dark and I was tired, but in my excitement I tried to squeeze in one more effort. This time I didn't get as far as the crux, but it didn't matter... I fairly bounced down the hill that evening, knowing I had one more day of weather window and some crucial new beta.

I headed up with Will Oates the next afternoon, he wasn't so psyched for spending the whole day at Berlin so we decided to warm up elsewhere and come back when the conditions were at their best; after food and a good rest we headed round to Demi-Lune and I got on a bouldery 6c called Bonnye and Clyde to warm up. I ticked it first redpoint, and although I'd failed the onsight, it gave me a boost because I'd pulled on much smaller holds than I would find on Makach and the injured left arm felt good.

I could feel the nervous excitement building, it really was on now. I had to find a way to lower my expectations. There was a strong Spanish climber on the route as we approached Berlin - he got the onsight, and came off without cleaning the holds. It was perfect - I told myself "there's probably been three or four folk on here already and the crux will need a clean - you're not going to send, just get up there and try out the new beta". It worked, and I felt pretty calm as I tied in and pulled on.

After somewhere in the region of 60 or 70 attempts, I've never had a route so well dialled - the climb to the crux went like clockwork and with the new beta I pulled through it almost effortlessly. There's a half-decent rest at the next clip, but I felt good so I didn't hang around long. The next 5 moves flowed as smoothly as I'd ever done them off the rope and I was into a huge jug with a couple of meters of easy climbing to go. I could almost hear Jill's voice saying "after that jug, just don't forget how to climb!". I took a deep breath and didn't forget.

I've never felt so emotional after a sport climb. It wasn't a first at the grade, but it was the longest and hardest project I've been on. I learned a lot about my climbing in the process and I had to dig in when injury and common sense were telling me it was getting too much; I hope that experience will stand me in good stead when I'm getting shut down in future.

Later that evening, whilst falling off an onsight attempt of the stunning 100 Patates (7b) I heard Ali yelling in delight as she closed out her long term project of La Petite Illusion (7a+), and then Will flashed 100 Patates to round of a rather splendid couple of days at the crag.

So long Makach Walou, it's been fun and perhaps one day I'll come back to use you as a warmup; but for now, at last, I'm free to move around and enjoy everything else Céüse has to offer :)

Jill focused on nailing the crux... she crushed Makach early and left me in her wake.

Kat working the top moves - this balancy sequence was one of the most satisfying pieces of rock I've climbed.

Gerd pulling through the crux.

Ali also showed great determination to keep projecting and send La Petite Illusion.

Mind Games

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sun, 05 Jul 2015 18:09:00 +0000

My logbook might say Super Cantina Marina (8a), but Makach Walou (7c+) has been physically and mentally the hardest project I've worked to date by far.

It started well - doing all the moves on my first attempt - but I knew it needed a level of power endurance I didn't have. It was my first day in Céüse though, and as I was planning to stay a while I figured working it would be a good way to get fit.

After two weeks of solid projecting I'd linked all the sections, and one-hung the route. A week later I made it through the top crux, twice. The first time my arms gave out; the second I fluffed my footwork for the very last hard move. Little did I know then, how that mistake would come to haunt me.

I took another couple of rest days and came back expecting to send, but pulling back on I felt sluggish and couldn't recover fully on the rests. A month of marching up from 1400m to 1800m and projecting hard was taking it's toll. I was back to falling at the crux again, but was it physical, or had it become a mental problem? There was clearly a bit of both, but it was hard to say which was the most significant.

This put me in a bit of a dilemma... the weather was getting hotter and I knew the crag would only get busier - I wanted to get the popular line done before it got too bad. I was stuck between the need to rest and the desire to send.

To complicate matters, I began to feel depressed again. It was nothing major, but then I went to a party in Sigoyer and had a few too many drinks, triggering several days of severe anxiety which messed with my guts - interfering with my ability to recover and re-fuel my body. I had been running up to the crag when I first arrived, now I was plodding and it didn't feel good.

I gave away the beer and wine I had in the van, and decided to get on some other walls for a change of scenery. I had a go at some steep, juggy routes - Bibendum (7b+) was a lot of fun but didn't quite go before another rest day, and then down at Cascade I got on Super Mickey (7b). Big lock offs, huge jugs, and an even bigger grin characterise the line. On the first redpoint attempt I linked all the way to the top crux, but fell off the dyno. I stuck it next go off the rope, but immediately felt a pain in my left forearm. Shit.

I could crimp on holds with my ring finger, but I couldn't hang them - pretty important on the pockets here. It also felt very similar to an injury I had before which turned chronic... should I even try to climb through? I'd had a good trip, maybe it was time to head back to the UK, look for work and rest my weary body?

I slept on it, but looking up at the rock over my morning coffee I knew I had to stay and take a chance.

The temperatures were climbing all over Europe, and Céüse was no exception. Resting up in the car park for a few days I was sweltering. Hiking back up for another go yesterday, I must have sweated out more water than I carried up. With a tape strap at either end my forearm actually felt OK, but the rock was so greasy I fell off before the third bolt. After a good brushing I had another go, making it to the crux, but I'd had to work so hard to stay on the lower section there was little in the tank to get through it. I ate dinner and took a long rest to go for an evening send, but by the time I got on the breeze had died away and conditions felt just as bad as before. I trudged down the hill feeling pretty dejected.

It felt like there are just too many stars that need to align before I can send this route. Physically and mentally I need to get it right, and the weather has to play it's part. The send is so much further away than it was a fortnight ago that my head says I should give it up, but my heart says I've put too much in to let it go.

I needed a sense of perspective - it's only a couple of weeks since I happily proclaimed (whilst staring at the stars after good food and good wine in good company), that if I won the lottery tomorrow I'd still want to be exactly where I was. So this afternoon I drove down to the Lac du Pelleautier, and after a bath and some sun lounging swam the length of it and back.

From google maps, it looks like I did about 1.5km, and although I wasn't breaking any speed records I surprised myself by finishing quite strongly. In the process I reminded myself that there are other sports out there, and that I'm pretty lucky to be in the position, for now, of being able to wake up every morning in the alps and decide which one to do.

I feel a lot happier tonight, and mentally more rested. I'm ready to enjoy what the area has to offer for a few days and wait for the weather to break. In the meantime, my body can rest a bit too... perhaps I can get those stars all aligned. :)

Update: you can read part 2 and watch the video here

Antoine sending Makach Walou.

Matt on the bouldery start of Bibendum, on his way to a quick send.

Kat lowering off Bibendum... it is quite steep!

Super Mickey is full of big lock offs...

... hanging out on jugs at the knee bar...

... more big lock-offs...

... sticking the dyno that could have ended my trip. I must go back and send this, once Makach Walou is safely in the bag! Photos by Jill Sompel.

Unknown climber on L'errance d'une passion (7c) at Berlin.

Evening sunshine at Lac du Pelleautier.

Back on the rock (and the one that got away)

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Tue, 02 Jun 2015 11:08:00 +0000

By Wednesday I'd convinced myself to head up to Chamonix the next morning, when Gerd messaged me to say he was keen on coming to St Leger. I told him I wasn't fit, but it started me thinking again.

That evening, I grabbed my climbing shoes and chalk bag and wandered down to hang off some holds. It was still painful but not as bad, and the discomfort was dependent on the wrist angle - if I stayed below the holds it was fine.

I started soloing up and down the bottom of a 6b+, and the longer I went the less pain I felt... maybe I could climb through it by warming up properly?

This was probably wishful thinking, but decided to give it a go; I arranged to pick Gerd up at Sahune on Friday morning.

Fancying a change of scenery, I went for a drive on Thursday - stopping in pretty little French villages and generally being a tourist for the day. Suddenly it felt like summer had arrived, which made for a lovely day out, but I began to wonder if climbing in St Leger would still be feasible.

I stopped for the night in an aire about 5km short of Sahune, and woke up in the morning to find a beautiful little tufa crag right above the car park. This part of France is just amazing, there's quality rock everywhere you look.

Despite the heat, I found a super-psyched Gert sitting by the bins in the centre of town so we turned and made a bee-line for La Baleine.

Warming up on Du Rire de Baleine aux l'Armes de Crocodile (6c) things felt OKish - more discomfort than pain, but when I got on Commando Fada (7b), I came to a move that sent a familiar tearing sensation through my right arm. I grabbed a tree with my left and shook it out. Fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound. I managed to dog to the chains, and by the top I found I wasn't having as many problems.

There were two open projects I could have a go at - Pirequetoutopoulos (7b+) or La Chant Des Baleines (7c/+). They are both cracking lines, and there doesn't actually feel like much difference in difficulty between the two, but I decided to err on the side of caution and go at Pirequetoutopoulos. I surprised myself by almost linking to the rest below the top crux whilst putting up the draws, dogged the rest, and then called it a day; I'd pushed pretty hard so time to see how the arm felt in the morning.

The answer was pretty good - no bruising or swelling, and a similar pain warming up as the day before. However, the heat was becoming a real issue, too much sweat meaning low friction and fast wearing skin. The original plan was for Gerd to be there for five days (four days climbing with a rest day in the middle), then he was going back to his Miriam's parents farm and I was planning Céüse. We came to the conclusion that it would make more sense to pop up to the farm for our rest day, then Gert would come up to Céüse.

That gave me an afternoon to send Pirequetoutopoulos. I had two cracks at it - the first, I climbed well and made it into the crux sequence, but an error cost me. The second I was a bit more ragged; with energy reserves low I was fighting the whole way. I got the sequence right, and got to the final hard move, but couldn't hold the tension to reach for the jug. I knew I didn't have enough in the tank for another go, but it didn't really matter. I was grinning from ear to ear as I knew I had given it my all in the quest... I was back!

Miriam's family run an off-grid organic farm and guest house nestled amongst the trees an hour south of Gap. We arrived on Saturday night to a warm welcome and a hearty dinner, and spent Sunday sitting by the pool listening to the cuckoos and larks, watching the bees and butterflies going about their business. Total relaxation in a stunning location - I'd highly recommend it to anyone looking for an alpine getaway; fantastic hosts and the sort of place where time just stops.

It's been a brilliant few days, and to cap it off yesterday we made it to Céüse... if the first day's climbing is anything to go by the next few weeks are going to be a bit special.

Park your van randomly in the dark, and wake up to find tufas above your head.

It looked really good, and had about half a dozen bolted lines.

Every French village has a beautiful church.

War memorial at Buis Les Baronnies.

Gert getting ready to do battle with the tufas

It's a magnificent cave at La Baliene

The heat didn't seem to be slowing down this young french lad, working Un Monde Sans Gauche Est Sans Issue (8a)

Goodbye to Saint Leger... it had a really nice bathroom.

Chilling by the pool.

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Tue, 26 May 2015 19:16:00 +0000

It's been a while since I wrote an update, mainly because there's not been all that much climbing going on. For personal reasons, going back to Rodellar didn't work out, and feeling mentally and physically exhausted I decided to head for the beach. I ended up in a lovely little spot called Segur de Calafell, near Tarragona.

Despite being more than warm enough to swim and sunbathe, there were few tourists around - most of the apartments were shuttered up and I was able to just park the van by the beach for about 10 days with nobody bothering me. With nothing to do but yoga, guitar and chilling on the beach, had I been in a better state of mind it would have been absolute heaven. As it was it was a great opportunity to recharge and reflect on the last few months, and some of the old behaviour patterns that I'd fallen back into.

It was also a great place to be inspired to get fit again - with people constantly biking, jogging and roller blading along the sea-front, and making use of the free outdoor gym. I strapped on the GPS watch, and discovered to my surprise that I'm still capable of running quite quickly. I guess the weight loss of the last couple of years helped plug the gap created by lack of fitness. If I stay at this light, it will be interesting to see where I can get to with a bit of CV training.

After Calafell, I went back over to Siurana. I bumped into Charlie and Gillie, and had a really nice day climbing with them, but back at their pad in the evening I started to feel quite anxious again - not really dealing well with being in company, so I jumped in the van and headed back up to the car park behind the goat farm where this whole trip began.

There was a really nice bunch of people staying there, and as the week wore on, I started to crawl back out of my shell. I wish I'd spent more time getting to know them. They all left for Margalef, but I hung around as Mike Reed was on his way back over from Kalymnos. It was good to see him again - we get on well and I find it easy to relax in his company and talk about the shit that's bothering me.

Next stop was Barcelona, to catch up with old friends Monica and Marco, and meet the new (to me at least, it's been a while) addition to their family. It was great to see them and get a look around the city.

After that I went back to the beach for some more me time, but the tourists were starting to arrive and the resort felt a bit less secure - one afternoon I was sat with the curtains drawn when somebody came by casing the camper. I guess it's one of the drawbacks of van life, your gear is never safe so you need to steer clear of nice spots that attract thieves.

I'd been thinking about St Leger for a while, so when I found out some more old friends were heading there for the weekend I decided to make the long drive up the Route National. It was a liberating feeling being on the road proper again, and arriving at the car park for La Baleine sector I found a lovely little camping spot. It was good to climb with Vlad and Aurelia again, and after they left I met up with a really nice French/Quebec couple, looking for a third to make it easy to look after their kid.

It was all seeming to click back into place - mentally I was feeling better and on the rock I was beginning to feel strong again. On my first attempt at La Chant Des Baleines (7c+) I'd figured out all the moves, so I got back on it a couple of days later feeling like it could be a quick tick. Nic offered to put the draws up for me so I could have a good go at the first redpoint, narrowly missing out on the onsight himself in a really good effort.

I made it through what's probably the crux for most people, but slipped off a tricky intermediate sloper on a slightly morphological move just after. I was pretty boxed, so even if I'd stuck it the chances of recovering enough for the send would have been pretty slim, but to even be thinking along those lines felt great.

After resting on the rope and carefully checking out the middle third of the climb, I made a mistake whilst trying to link the top section. After skipping a clip, and with the mists of oxygen deprevation descending, I forgot my footwork on the final hard move - stepping across and behind the rope instead of the drop knee I'd worked out before. I reached the next hold, but couldn't unwrap my feet and came off. Facing the prospect of a long inverted fall, I instinctively threw an arm round the dead side of the rope as I passed it; I succeeded in keeping myself upright but at the cost of a fair bit of skin, and as I was later to find out some muscle damage underneath.

I've spent the week since week pottering around Mont Ventoux resting, and although the arm is now back up to general duties I suspect it'll be a while before I'm able to climb hard sport routes again, so I'm thinking on heading up to Chamonix. Anyone fancy bagging a few 4000m peaks?

The beach front at Segur de Calafell

Looks like even the Face Man is a fan of the resort...

Katerina on the crux of Ruaxa (7a+)... Siurana has some magnificent crack climbing.

Physio in the evening sunshine.

Aurelia on a three star and hard 7b+ (name escapes me) at La Baleine

Vlad starting out on the super steep Malaxe (8a+)

It keeps going....

D'OH!!

Taking a holiday from the holiday.

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sat, 18 Apr 2015 18:54:00 +0000

It's been a funny few weeks - the climbing has been ticking along nicely, but after a fairly long period where I felt happy and settled, my moods started swinging wildly again. I suppose it was always to be expected, but it's pretty frustrating.

Highlights have been a quick send (4th go) of Festa Fortre (7c) at Margalef, onsighting the magnificent Fiesta De Los Biceps (6c+/7a) at Riglos, and an epic ascent of the easy (6b) route up El Puro - where the three of us made enough mistakes for a week's climbing, but managed to emerge laughing in the end.

After Riglos I headed to Rodellar, but was starting to feel a bit battered, both mentally and physically. I had a good time getting on some old projects - Gracias Fina, Kings of Metal and Made in Mascun all feel doable now - but I was finding it really difficult to relax away from the crag.

Last weekend someone damaged a water pipe in the car park at Rodellar, and the police came round taking pictures of all the vans, so fearing a fine for illegal camping we thought it might be a good idea to go somewhere else for a couple of days.

It was a good thing for me to get away anyway, and after two days climbing with Stephane and Frank in Alquezar I decided to hang around and take a break. Aside from the climbing (which I definitely want to return to some time), the village is really stunning, and there's currently no problem with parking up. I suspect it would be a rather different story in high season, but with most of the climbing south facing, it really seems like an ideal winter destination. I think you want to be climbing pretty hard to get the most out of it though - there's some stunning roof climbing here.

It was a great place to sit and contemplate things. I did seriously consider jacking the trip in and heading back to the UK, but after a week of nothing but yoga and guitar, I'm feeling a bit refreshed in body and mind, so decided to turn back for Rodellar... having come this far it would be a shame to give up before I got properly fit ;)

Just to make sure I couldn't change my mind, I popped into Huesco today for some climbing related retail therapy....

Fiesta De Los Biceps

At the top of El Puro with Nicole and Stephane after a bit of an epic...

Meeting old friends in Rodellar

Alquezar is stunning

Frank on the world's steepest 7b+ at Alquezar... I couldn't do the crux... what a shame - it means I'll have to go back.

New toys for Rodellar... Kings of Metal here I come!

You always have more time than you think

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sun, 08 Mar 2015 19:36:00 +0000

I say this often, but am I really acting on it?

On my previous attempt at Super Cantina Marina, I'd climbed well but fallen just below the crux. From the ground, I had decided I must do the powerful move before clipping to keep the flow of the sequence, but it didn't work.

Going back last Saturday, I decided to try a more measured approach. After a warm up, I got on to put the draws back up. I climbed slowly and steadily to my previous high point and looked around. I found a higher knee bar that not only allowed me to clip first - I was also able to shake out, brush the crucial hold, and visualise placing my feet and engaging the core. After that, I pulled over it fairly easily. Why didn't I have so much time before? I didn't try to find it.

The rest of the line went much the same; the send barely entered my mind until I was stood at the final rest. When it did, I rushed the next few moves and almost blew it, but after reversing I re-focussed and was soon clipping the chains.

I was pretty stoked with the 8a tick, but even more pleased with the way I'd gone about it. The project took just 5 attempts over four days, and I felt I'd taken the mental side of my climbing up another notch in the process.

To cap the day off Aussie strongman Gerd onsighted the same line, and watching him climb slow and measured felt like further vindication. Good climbers always look like they have loads of time, and it's easy to get a little jealous; thinking they're able to do that because they're so good - when perhaps they got so good because they learned to take their time?

Back on the ground with an 8a tick in the bag... happy camper!

Gerd onsighting Super Cantina Marina (8a)

Giving myself credit

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sat, 21 Feb 2015 17:32:00 +0000

It's something I've never been very good at; when I was in counselling, my therapist must have got sick of pointing it out.

When it comes to my climbing, I've always said "I'm not a strong climber, I'm not a super technical climber, but I am good at giving it everything I've got." I've voiced this a few times recently, or at least tried to. First Sam interupted me before I got to the "but", to question what I was saying. Then Mike interrupted me before I got to the "but". Then Nicole interrupted me before I got to the "but".

I sat one evening and thought about this - the most credit I could give myself was to add an addendum to my self-criticism. Everyone else seemed to think those criticisms weren't warranted. I resolved to put a lot of energy into believing in myself and my climbing ability. The next morning, I did an exercise in positive re-inforcement - something I hadn't done for a while.

We went round to Las Chorerras, and climbing with a Bristol lad, Toby, I was having a great day. We were onsighting 7a for fun and having a right good laugh. The line of Super Cantina Marina (8a) caught my eye. I heard the voice of doubt, saying it was too hard for me to get on, and decided it could fuck right off. I cruised up the first 15 or 20 meters, then fell off what turned out to be the lower of two cruxes. I plugged away, and some time later I'd done all the moves and reached the chains on a sustained 40m 8a with a technical crux.

Since then I've been climbing more relaxed than I ever thought possible. A second go on Super Cantina Marina improved the crux sequences and identified a knee bar rest between them, then I decided to take a break and get on some other stuff. I found a bouldery 7c that really wouldn't suit my style (Los Mercenarios at Parade de Enfrente), and worked out all the moves first go. I jumped on the more suitable 7c+\8a Ramalla, and at a hands free knee bar at about 25m had the onsight firmly on my mind, but not the choking desire that usually accompanies it. The crux proved too much, but again I figured it out and felt the line should be very doable.

With my finger skin getting pretty thin, I decided to have one more go on Super Cantina Marina before taking a longer rest. I went fully "A Muerte" and was climbing really well until a sequence error sent me head first and backwards down the crag - thanks Stephane for a superb soft catch to keep me in one piece. After that, I linked from the rest below the bottom crux to the top of the second - although as I reached for the jug at the end, my skin finally gave way on the other hand and I slid off. Two tips were clean through and pissing blood, but I didn't really care. I knew I was rolling the dice when I pulled on, and I may have lost the skin but I'd found more than enough confidence in my climbing to make it worth while.

So I am a strong climber, I am a technical climber, and to top it off I've got a fucking good head for getting the most out of that. If you hear me saying otherwise, you have permission to slap me.

But to give credit where it's due elsewhere, I owe a big thanks to my new found friends in the Chulilla car-park. Coming off a bad depression it has been hard to find confidence, and whether you complimented my climbing (or my singing!), popped into my van for a chat on a rainy day when I needed it the most, accepted some decisions I had to make without any ill-feeling, or just welcomed me into your circle, you've helped me back onto my feet more than you'll probably ever know.

Joris on (I think) Richer Line (7a)

Stephane on what he thought was a 7b line at Las Chorerras (athough on UKC it looks like there's only a couple of 7cs where he was climbing)

Nicole getting into a knee bar high on El Ramallar (7c+)

Relaxed - this was right before I pulled on to go "A Muerte" at Super Cantina Marina (8a)

Focussed - but still relaxed... I never knew climbing hard could feel so simple.

About to go for some upside-down airtime... forgot to move my left foot before I tried to stand up. Thanks Per for the photo to remind me not to do it again.

Team Scotland

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sun, 15 Feb 2015 15:42:00 +0000

After three days of rain, we were itching to get back on it, and I formed Team Scotland with Mike to return to Sex Shop.

Warming up on the polished 6b+ felt I felt strong, so I decided to go straight at the line to the right, which I had a feeling went at 7a (the guidebook is out of print at the moment, so a lot of us are flying a bit blind). I had to really pull hard through a technical crux, but I managed the onsight of what turned out to be Eco dildo (7a).

I was going well so despite intending to get back on Dale Duro Negro, when Mike fancied a go at Happy end (7c), I decided to join in.

Mike went first, and took it sensible redpoint style - conserving energy, resting to look at sequences and then completing them with minimum fuss.

I went with my usual not-so-sensible "a muerte" to see where it got me - the answer was not very far into the hard moves of the upper half of the route, but I was still very pleased with the effort. My head is in a good place, but it's not yet on a solid enough foundation for complacency.

I dogged my way to the chains, and lowered with a smile - I'd done all the moves, and that meant I could do the route. I've never had a first go at a 7c go so smoothly.

Mike dispatched it second go, and I decided to just go for it again. I made the chains with only two falls, which I was very happy with. After finding better footwork where I'd fallen, I think I'm already in with a genuine shout of the redpoint next time I pull on.

As the next day was Saturday, we decided to walk round to the quieter far gorge. It was a fair slog, but worth it. Beautiful scenery and stunning walls, with a lot more steep sections and tufas. After a not very finger friendly "warmup" at Oasis we walked along the crag a bit to find a gorgeous 6b+ tufa climb that was almost 40m and finished up practically inside the rock.

As we finished, a French lady was lowering off Catherine Panzeta Jones (7a) and whooping with delight. "That was good then?" asked Mike. "That was better than good, like an orgasm, you know?" came the reply. Obviously I had to have a crack. It was indeed a fantastic line... by 30m I had a grin plastered across my face despite the pain of the pump, and after a slightly desperate lunge, I clipped the chains for another 7a onsight. I was starting to feel like it's something to be expected.

Mike wanted to have a go at Sendero luminoso which goes at 7a+ for pitch one, and 7b if both pitches were strung together. He onsighted pitch one easily, but didn't have enough draws to carry on. I wasn't sure exactly where it finished, but I racked another 8 and set off. The French lady (who we now knew as Lilly) was climbing next to me, and we chatted for a while on the way, which helped keep my mind off what I was trying for. I was climbing relaxed, and the first anchor came surprisingly easily, but then I was on my own. I tensed up a bit and it turned into a real physical battle. I also started to get distracted by fears of an epic descent - if the rope wasn't long enough to lower back to the first anchor, it was far too steep for me to abseil, and I was running out of quickdraws. I skipped two bolts, and it was just as well - I finished with none so the top would have been very run out, and there was one final hard move just below the chains. That move almost snatched the onsight from me, but after a desperate reversal I found some better footwork and reached the finishing jug.

I was properly spent, but elated... my first 7b onsight. I know these are Spanish grades, but I've spent enough time on Spanish rock before without getting these numbers so it's still a sign that I'm climbing at my best.

Mike's a strong climber, and I'm sure there's a lot I could learn from him, but the thing that struck me the most was that his route reading is light-years ahead of my own. On my first attempt at Happy end, every time I got stuck, he gave me the perfect beta; even when I didn't believe it was possible, he was right.

If I want to take my climbing to the next level, this is obviously something I'm going to need to work on. But other than logging the hours on the rock how do you do that? I guess the first step is to keep a more open mind to what's possible, but what then?

Answers on a postcard please (c/o The Top Car Park, Chulilla, Spain), or in the comments below :)

Team Scotland colours nailed to the mast...

Can't beat breakfast in the sunshine, under a lemon tree...

"We go this way, right?" "What ze fuck are you talking about?" Joris, Mike and Stephane on the walk to the second gorge

Worth the walk though...

Stephane embracing the tufas on Magic Line (7a+)

Mike on the "Orgasmic" Catrin Panzeta Jones (7a)

Revelations

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Mon, 09 Feb 2015 21:27:00 +0000

For my "something a little more difficult" I headed up to try the Sex Shop sector. After warming up, I decided to go for Dale Duro Negro, as it seemed similar in character to Blue Agave - an easy angled start leading to a sustained upper section, that hopefully wouldn't have any stopper moves - and at 7b shouldn't be pushing the boat out too far.

The line was pretty much as I expected - I climbed through the bottom half clean, then fell after mis-reading the crux. Some time and two more falls later, I made it to the chains with arms like footballs and fingers that no longer seemed able to translate the messages coming from my brain.

Back on the ground, I thought about what I'd just climbed. The second fall was largely down to a loss of motivation for suffering with the onsight gone, and the third my hand just opened on a fairly large hold below the chains. All three were only a couple of moves from a rest, and each time I pulled back on and completed the sequence second go.

It dawned on me that not only should this route go quickly, with a little bit more fitness it would have been eminently onsightable.

Even at my fittest, I don't think I've ever had such a thought about a 7b, and a quick look on UKC shows that most think it's fair for the grade. At the moment, it seems like every day I'm pleasantly surprising myself.

The car park's other resident Scotsman, Mike, on Dale Duro Negro (7b)

A technical little 6a+

The Enfrente wall, taken from the top of the first pitch on the sensational 6c crack climb La Diagonal... hand jams, fist jams, finger locks... on polished spanish limestone???

It's all about the systems

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Sun, 08 Feb 2015 19:53:00 +0000

After our rest day, we headed to a slabby crag round the far side of the village, by the old fortified walls.

I decided to up the ante with the falling practice, and took some long whippers on a 5c slab to start the day. This made a big difference to my climbing, as nothing else I faced could hope to be as terrifying. However, with fear of falling out of the way I was free to notice some performance anxiety. Sloppy footwork cost me the onsight of a really nice technical flowstone line, but behind the bad technique was too much desire to onsight it's grade of 7a.

The next day we went back to Parad de Enfrente and after warming up (complete with the now customary whipper) I decided to get on Blue Agave (7a). I knew it was soft in the grade, and so the onsight was again on my mind. I started a little internal mantra of "It's just another route... it's just another route..." and by the time I'd made the first few clips, I was relaxed and climbing well - not caring too much about the result, despite the crowds there to witness my success or failure.

It's just the sort of spanish limestone route Ramon taught me how to deal with - long and sustained but with good rests everywhere if you take the time to look, and before long I had pulled through a pumpy section to the last bolt. I was feeling boxed, and despite a decent rest position I didn't seem to be getting anything back. I could almost hear the catalan cranker shouting up "just wait there then!", so I did.

Eventually, refreshed, I made the last few moves with ease and clipped the chains. It was indeed soft in the grade, but since on paper it's my first 7a onsight in some time, I'll take it.

As someone once said, climbing is all about systems; I seem to have systematically worked my way back into good climbing form - loosen up the body, deal with the fear, then deal with the ego - far faster than I could have hoped for when I crossed the channel.

There's a few days of rain forecast, starting on Tuesday, so perhaps tomorrow I should open an account with something a little more difficult...

Climbing under the old walls.

Pinchtastic flowstone on the gorgeous line of Smegol (6c)

Weekend + Sunshine = Not The Quiet Crag We Got Used To. Ah well, nice to be looking forward to Monday mornings ;)

Migrating

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Fri, 06 Feb 2015 19:03:00 +0000

Siurana was beginning to freeze. The conditions for climbing still seemed OK through Scottish tinted lenses, but Hanka wasn't enjoying it, and she doesn't have the benefit of blown air heating at night so it seemed fair to head south.

It turned out to be a great decision - an afternoon's driving took us to Chulilla, and it is a stunning place. A beautiful village, situated at the end of a valley lined with imposing limestone walls, with angles from vertical to pretty steep. Sunshine is on tap all day if you move around, and the closest route from the dossing car park is about 3 feet away, with just a 20 minute walk down to the valley floor and back up to the massive Parade de Enfrente wall.

We had embarked in the middle of a mass migration - a few vans already in the car park were recognisable, and those who arrived after confirmed the sense in the move; the next morning there had been two inches of snow.

The cold winds had followed us south, and the first day at the crag was a little chilly, but warming up on some quality 40m 6b routes at Pared de Enfrente it was immediately obvious that this is a place to get the rock fitness back. After climbing three of them, I had also warmed down.

Yesterday we went back for more of the same (but this time with no wind and shirt off at last!), including a satisfying onsight of El ramallito (6c). It showed me that I'm climbing reasonably economically and recovering well. I was feeling nervous of falling though, so on my warmdown I took a victory leap from the chains... guess I'll have to get back in the habit until I'm climbing at ease.

I'm trying to work myself back in to climbing sensibly, so another rest day today, but perhaps tomorrow it's time to start on the 7s that this place is famous for...

The view of the village at night that greeted my arrival

The town square

The start of el Parad de Enfrente as seen from the carpark in the morning... it goes on for some distance

Look up in any direction from the village and you'll see rock...

Tops off for Power! No that this scrawny body has much right now...

The less glamorous side of van life... still, beats chucking it in the washing machine and heading in to work ;)

Clearly cycling produces a lot of dirty socks...

Catalunia!

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Mon, 02 Feb 2015 16:50:00 +0000

After a few days catching up with people in London (if I didn't catch you, please don't think it means I don't love you... I didn't have long after finally getting the van in order) I finally got on the road to Portsmouth last Monday.

I had a ferry booked to Bilbao in the morning to save me driving through France again, but on the way down I got a text to say it had been cancelled due to "unforeseen technical difficulties". I was pretty annoyed initially, but after switching to a crossing to Caen, and hearing that the seas further south were getting uncomfortably rough, I realised this might be best anyway.

After an evening parked in a pleasant little carpark with views of the city at night, I slept in the ferry port and boarded at 7am. The ferry was empty and the sea millpond flat, so after a while enjoying the view, I did a couple of hours of yoga, then had a siesta in the sunshine. All felt good in the world.

The weather turned again, and the drive through France was damp, dull and largely uneventful, but upon crossing the Pyrenees the sun came out, and I cruised down towards Tarragona with the windows down, reggae blaring, and a huge grin.

I came to Siurana to meet Hanka - another nomad who I first met in Finale over the summer, and who's climbing partner had unfortunately (but luckily for me) decided to go back to the rat race. At the end of a glorious sunny day, I found her bunkered under the trees in a very cold and windy Siurana... the forecast I'd seen the week before had been rather optimistic.

Next morning it was raining, so an enforced rest day before I even got started, but the following day conditions were perfect... sunny but cold and maximum friction. We went down to Grau dels Masets Cami, a nice little south facing sector, down the hill a bit and sheltered from the wind.

Immediately on arrival, one line caught my eye... short but sweet, 17m right up the centre of a pretty blank looking slab. It turned out to be a fairly recent addition to the crag, a 7a called Festucs first climbed in 2013. Initially I told myself to leave it alone and concentrate on getting some lower grade mileage, but by the end of the day it was winking at me in the late afternoon sun, and I had to give it a go.

I fell half way up, but after a few more goes I'd worked out the sequence for what turned out to be the crux, and climbed the rest clean to the top. Up to the crux was crimpy, and I decided not to risk my fingers on the redpoint, but left with a real sense of satisfaction to be climbing so well this early, particularly on such a technical route. It seems I learned some of the lessons Finale was willing to teach me.

The other thing that was particularly exciting; although I felt weak on the lower graded steeper routes, when I got on the slab I felt lighter and more limber than ever - and with good reason. I've never tried to control my weight for climbing, but since leaving work last May I've been on a wholefoods diet, and slowly and consistently loosing weight as a result. Last check, before I left Scotland, I was down to 57kg - 8kg below when I left London. I've also improved my flexibility tremendously. I'm quite intrigued to see how this will play out when I've got some rock fitness back :)

It's forecast to get even colder here, so we might head further south for a while, but my first little taste of Siurana will leave me wanting much, much more.

Festucs (7a) in the centre of the slab, the chalked holds to the left are Suape (6b) - another worthwhile line, if a little polished.

Back on the road!

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Wed, 21 Jan 2015 14:30:00 +0000

I left a rather wintry Central Scotland on Saturday afternoon, and after several hours of challenging driving conditions, one motorway aquaplaning incident, and one self rescue from a soft verge, arrived in a rather wintry North Wales.

Not exactly the Spanish sunshine I'm aiming for, but with Ramon and Viki making the pilgrimage up to the White Goods dry tool training crag, and having not climbed for four months, it seemed a good way to shock my body back into action without risking my fingers.

Ramon's a machine with axes in his hands, and I knew he'd been training hard for an upcoming trip to Helmcken Falls, so it was no suprise seeing him tearing the place up and sending Stump Man (M11) - but what was really inspirational was seeing how well Viki has taken to the dark arts of climbing with tools. After recent sends of a couple of M10s, she was looking very strong on Stump Man as well. Looks like Ramon's going to have to up his game soon if he wants to keep the post-crag bragging rights.

For my own part, I had great fun and was pretty pleased with my climbing - I almost repeated Jazz (M8) on my "warmup" (not sure they are supposed to involve so much gasping for air), and did send it on my second climb. More importantly after so long out, my head was in a good place; I was able to go till I fell or clipped the chains with very little concern about falling.

I'm in London now for a few days, then off to Portsmouth for the ferry... next stop Siurana, and I can't wait to get my actual fingers on the rock, but thanks guys for a great start to being back on the road; have a great time in Canada, and good luck with Spray On Ramon!

Viki warming up the guns on Jazz

And making good progress on the Stump Man traverse.

Viki tearing up the Goods previously:

Me "Warming Up" on Jazz. It's steep. Photo by Ramon Marin.

Precarious natural placements. Photo by Ramon Marin.

Still got some lock off strength left :) Photo by Ramon Marin.

Don't tell your dentist that you're taking up dry tooling...

Ramon fig fouring along the traverse.

Some creative resting.

"TAKE!" Ramon spent after giving everything to clip the chains on Stump Man (M11)

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men...

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Wed, 03 Dec 2014 17:22:00 +0000

I've been rather quiet on the blogging front lately, largely because I had little to say that wouldn't involve airing my dirty washing. After a good start to the road trip with Clare, our relationship took a downturn and carried on that way until we decided to call it a day.

I came up to Scotland to see my family and chill out for a while, and though I was sad, despite my recent struggles with depression I thought I was coping fairly well. That changed about a month ago, when I tried to get back on the road and head for Catalunia.

I felt the anxiety building as I was preparing to leave, but I shrugged it off, thinking I would settle once I was on the road. The clouds continued to build - in Sheffield I stopped to see friends but ended up making excuses to leave as I wasn't coping with being in the company of others, and by Toulouse I was in a really dark place where I struggled to be in my own. I turned tail and made for the channel.

It was the most severe attack of anxiety and depression I've experienced; at its peak it was terrifying, although thankfully the worst passed fairly quickly. I went back to Gargunnock to get my head around what had happened, and figure out what to do next. I considered stopping here, looking for work and going back into couselling, but I still feel the need for a good break from all that, so opted to just rest up and try to get my head together. I'm lucky that my parents still live in the large family home (and don't seem to mind me abusing it), so there's always a bolt-hole if I need it.

The depression continued to lift, but the anxiety was keeping a firm hold. I tried yoga and meditation, music, writing, pottering around doing jobs on the van, and even picked up a bit of delivery work to get me out of the house, but nothing affected the agitation. There were knots in my stomach and a sense of dread lingering in the background of every activity - a constant and dibilitating companion.

Thankfully the last few days seem to have been a bit of a turning point. I got myself out running in the cold and wet up the Gargunnock hills a couple of times - nothing too long, but those 30 or 40 minutes of fun and brutality in equal measure blew the cobwebs away a bit.

Then on Sunday morning, I woke up to an unexpectedly sunny day. My first thought was to get cracking on the van, but it seemed a bit of a waste, so I collared my dad to see if he fancied a stroll in the hills. We both wanted something easy and relaxing, so we picked Ben A'an - a short childhood favourite that punches well above its weight when it comes to views.

The usual path runs up through the woods, however it's been closed for tree felling and a diversion over the peat bogs set up - complete with floor mats, signs every 100m and fixed ropes up the steep sections. It was not quite the immersion in nature I'd been looking for, and to begin with I still had trouble relaxing, but half way up we came across a family - three children 5, 7 and 9 years old - at the top of a steep muddy slope. The two older kids were having a ball and eager to reach the top, but the youngest one was quite upset as her mother wouldn't let her slide back down the slope. She plonked herself down in a strop.

I had to chuckle - it reminded me of a story my dad used to tell; apparently when I was around the same age we exited the forest, and looking up at the front face of the summit, I saw a bunch of climbers on ropes. I asked if we could go that way, and when he said no, sat down in the huff... it was the south face or nothing as far as I was concerned.

The thought of my early display of pig-headedness bordering on the absurd (a trait I still carry), seemed to snap me out of it, and for the next couple of hours I felt relaxed and back to normal. It was wonderful to soak up the views and the winter sunshine, without fear in the background.

I don't suppose I'm out of the woods yet, but I've felt much better over the few days since, and this morning I managed to really engage my mind in my yoga practice for the first time. Mountains and crags definitely have a strong effect on my mental well-being... I think it's about time to have another go at getting on the road.

It would be nice to have some climbing to talk about ;)

The strop was soon over and much fun being had once more... perhaps a good lesson in letting go of things!

Ploughing up the peat bog by fixed rope or by crook.

Someone had decided to decorate a lone christmas tree growing by the path.

The first view of the summit, and that "south face" I wanted to climb at 5 years old...

A busy summit, with views over Loch Katrine

Loch Achray from the summit. In the distance you can see the Campsie Fells (the hills above Gargunnock I get to play in)

It was sunny, but was the end of November in Scotland, so the trusty Alpkit down jacket was needed on a windy top.

The clouds on the hills looking west over Loch Katrine were beautiful... unfortunately from a distance the camera doesn't really do them justice.

An Apology

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Mon, 22 Sep 2014 20:04:00 +0000

On Friday morning I was pretty despondent, and said I'd hung my head in shame at how we'd voted in the referendum. It came from genuine emotion but it was a knee jerk reaction, and it was wrong.

For most of the lead up to the vote, deep down I thought independence was a pipe dream - to be chased valiantly but probably never attained. As we got closer I saw the swell of grassroots support - the animated discussions between people who'd never seemed particularly engaged in politics, and the soul searching and ultimate change of heart from lifelong labour supporters. The conversation seemed so much about social change that I began to believe we had a real chance of something better, although it felt like we had just one shot.

On Friday morning that shot was gone, but around the web - from friends on social media through the various campaign sites to the Scottish political parties - people with more belief, more conviction, and more vision than I were dusting themselves off and deciding what should be done next. As their message filtered through I realised my mistake. The people of Scotland had not let themselves down; for sure some would have voted against independence out of narrow self interest, but the vast majority had engaged and debated over what would be best for the country, and nobody should be derided for deciding independence wasn't it.

Those who felt it was had galvanised themselves, forged a new political consensus, and come tantalisingly close to a monumental victory - and unlike me they were certainly not ready to see this as the end of the fight for significant social change.

Initially there was a feeling of betrayal and a banding together under the banner of "45"; a sense of "We voted for change, what's coming our way now isn't our fault", but then a more positive narrative began to form. There was a perception that the unlikely alliance of the big three Westminster parties, with the help of banks, corporations, and perhaps most importantly a compliant media, had interfered with the process of Scottish people deciding amongst themselves. People thought that regardless of the result we needed to ensure the internal dialog continued, and that outside interests could not impede it. We must look to engage everyone fully - not just go out and try to convert people to our cause, but to ask questions of them, ask questions of ourselves, and determine how we could all work more closely together.

Divisions would just allow Westminster to slip back into business as usual, benefiting nobody in Scotland. The call for our nation to come together must not become a convenient sound bite to silence dissent, it must be a genuine driver for like-minds and not-so-like to sit down and talk openly about Scotland's future without prejudice.

Ideas began to be passed around. By Saturday, on the Six Degrees To Independence group on Facebook I read the following list of them:

Stay engaged.
Consider joining the SNP, Scottish Greens or SSP. Many people are doing so. They're the only parties fighting for Scotland and there's a General Election around the corner apart from anything else longer term. Send no more Tories, Red Tories or Lib Dems to WM.
Have a good hard think about what supermarkets, businesses and bank you use. Continue to vote with your feet and your wallet.
Join CND. Sign up to Rethink Trident.
Refuse to give the BBC and the rest of the mainstream and print media air time. Cancel your apps. Unfollow them. Find new honest sources of information. Start with the Sunday Herald and NewsnetScotland but there will be more.
Find post-YES projects and groups to support. We'll post them here as we hear more about how people are regrouping on the ground.
Find your nearest foodbank and offer donations or help. The vulnerable need us now more than ever.
Set up a Twitter account and follow people and groups with the same passion as you.
And when they break their promises make sure everybody knows.

And people were doing it. The SNP website creaked then went down under the load as people tried to sign up. By Monday afternoon they were reporting almost 17,000 new members. George Square turned into an impromptu food bank donation center. Tommy Sheridon issued a statement on Facebook asking socialists not to stand against the SNP at the next Westminster elections and instead get behind them in the campaign against Westminster austerity.

Something exciting is happening in Scotland, and while the tireless work of a small group of politicians and activists towards the referendum may have started it, the people took it on and made it so much more. So to all of you - from the seasoned politicians to the new bar-room economists, but in particular to those who voted No out of genuine concern for the good of the country - I apologise unreservedly.

I still believe independence would be the easiest way to improve things, but I'm happy to continue arguing the toss with anyone who thinks otherwise, while we discuss what we can do within the existing framework. Who knows, maybe you can even change my mind. In the meantime, long live this new, vibrant Scottish political scene.

Fear over Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Fri, 19 Sep 2014 14:29:00 +0000

Yesterday Scotland had it's future in it's hands, and decided to give it away again.

We could have decided to vote for change - to leave what remains of the faded British Empire with its ever-rising inequality and try to build a fairer, more socially responsible democratic society - but we didn't have the stomach for it.

And it was more than just that.

The world was watching while we decided whether to stand up and send out a message, load and proud, that we would reject the neoliberal political consensus that dominates Westminster, and the morally indefensible foreign policy that comes with it.

That message was drafted to say:

We will no longer allow weapons of mass destruction to be berthed in our lochs, threatening the children of other nations, at the expense of hospitals and schools for our own.

We will no longer commit our troop's lives to the endless invasions of foreign countries in wars for resources and strategic gain.

We will no longer be a part of radicalising the middle east and producing the next Isis.

We will no longer place the god of the market above the equality of our society.

We will no longer agree with the dogma that every man should fight tooth and nail to climb the ladder of personal financial success, whilst labeling those who can't follow as scroungers.

We will no longer support a system that sees the poorest in society bearing the brunt of an austerity package aimed at recovering a crisis no fault of their own, while those who caused it continue to reward themselves handsomely.

Instead, after a No campaign dominated by claims of economic uncertainty, the message we sent was simple:

We'd rather be party to all of the above than risk losing a few quid.

The world is not really watching Iceland's quiet revolution, but they would have had to watch ours. The chance to make a real mark on global politics was there, and now it's gone.

Yesterday I walked to the polling station full of hope, with my head held high.

In the early hours of this morning, I hung my head in shame.

Scotland the not-brave-enough.

Back to School

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Mon, 23 Jun 2014 15:05:00 +0000

Since my last post I've been through a bit of a schooling - both physical and mental; Finale is a hard but fair teacher.

To start with I was only managing a few routes a day in the 6a to 6b range and left feeling broken.

My skin hurt. My fingers hurt. My back hurt. My arms hurt. My feet hurt.

After a few days of this, I began to feel frustrated - I was desperate to get back to where I was before the injuries, illness and van building duties that kept me out of action since September.

I was throwing myself at the rock with gusto, but the climbing here is very technical; Finale rewards patience (and footwork) over enthusiasm.

The frustration ruined my crag psych, which spilled over to affect Clare as well - I wasn't a fun person to climb with.

I should have known better, I've been here before.

After a bit of "heated discussion" on the matter, on Tuesday I realised I was behaving like a child, and resolved to try harder to relax and enjoy where I am, instead of thinking of where I want to be and immediately things began to improve.

On Wednesday we went up to Falesia della Luna - a short crag with quite cruxy routes that didn't really suit my style - and onsighted six routes up to 6b.

After a rest day, Nic appeared in town for the weekend, so I headed up with him to Bric Scimarco - Superior for a Friday evening climb. Nic's non ti prioccupare attitude to climbing (and life in general) was just what I needed to help settle me down, and the sector proved to be an ideal place to show myself I wasn't doing too badly.

After warming up on a couple of long easy routes, I went for Tutti Questi Temerari Uccelli - a 32m 6c. It was more my usual style of climbing with a steep, powerful crux on good holds.

On my onsight attempt I lost composure, concentrated too much on my hands, cut loose, tried to campus, and failed.

Getting back on I tried the same sequence, but took the time to really place my feet well; I comfortably reached over to the jug at the end of the crux. There was a bit of climbing left, but nothing too difficult and as I clipped the chains I was a little annoyed: Just a bit more composure, or a bit more finger strength, and I'd have onsighted that!

By the time I reached the ground I was already in a better mindset; I read the route well and picked the right sequence for me at the crux, and in a few weeks time my composure will be better, my fingers stronger and my footwork tidier; in fact it was good that I didn't have the strength to campus - I wouldn't have learned anything from it.

I sent the route first redpoint, which left time for one more line. Nic went up Hyperzot (34m, 7a) and watching him climb I tossed up in my mind - have a go or take a sensible warm down?

Nic got to the chains and asked:

"What do you want me to do?"

"How was it?"

"Crux is tricky but I think the rest is quite climbable."

"OK, leave the draws in and I'll have a go."

Having already watching him climb it, I pumped Nic for the beta and went for the flash. The crux was high on the route with a rest immediately below, and I climbed everything up to it pretty cleanly.

I phsyched myself up and went for it - some crimpy moves round an arete, then a reach to a tufa blob at the back of a dihedral. I set my feet well and stretched over. As my left hand touched the rock, the fingers of my right hand popped off and I was in the air.

So close, yet this time I was not annoyed. I'd read the footwork correctly, kept my composure, and executed the moves well - I simply didn't have the strength to stick it.

That will come. Just like a route, project Get In Shape needs a little patience - and if there's one thing I have a lot of right now it's time.

After another rest day to let the fingers recover, we joined Nic and Simone at Placca dei Maleducati - another new crag for us, this time just down the road from our home base at Monte Cucco.

Clare and I started on some shorter lines to the left of the crag - these were quite dirty, technical and hard. One line - Via Centrale (6b) - defeated me and I had to pull on a draw to finish and clean the route.

Further along the routes became longer and better, but still with a very technical style - Nic tells me the alpine club take students here to learn footwork and I can see why.

Il Falcetto Picheitto E Il Mangiatore Di Mosche was a beautiful 20m 6a that made me think a bit at times, then next to it was K-pax (6b+, 20m). Simone had some difficulty working the crux, and as I tied in to have a go he said to me "let's see your style". I immediately felt under pressure to perform, to make a good impression on the locals.

Once I got under way however this fell away, and I climbed with much more freedom than I have to date. I nailed the crux, and apart from wasting energy stopping to clip just before reaching a good rest, I knew I was climbing well. I clipped the chains and let out a whoop of joy... the numbers did not matter - I was as proud of that onsight as I would have been on a steep 7a.

I may seek out some "harder" lines in my style again before I leave Finale, but for now I'm going to stick with the technical climbing - see if I can learn to climb these 6bs like a local.

First lesson learnt.

Crux of K-pax - photo by Nicola Ciancaglini

Then a super-strenous clip, two moves from a jug... D'OH! Photo by Nicola Ciancaglini.

Simone on the super-wild looking Les Couleurs d'un Autre Monde (6b)...

... and sending in style.

Bit of rest day fun...

On the road at last!

noreply@blogger.com (Ciaran) — Thu, 12 Jun 2014 13:29:00 +0000

It's a year and a half since we decided to quit the rat race and live on the road for a while. Having dinner in the Monte Cucco car park in Finale, watching the fireflies dance after a morning at the crag and an afternoon at the beach, it's hard not to feel smug. The hard work and sacrifices of the last 18 months are fading into memory now we're into the payoff. And what a payoff - we've hit the jackpot.

I finished working six weeks ago, and after a bit of time in Scotland seeing my family then down in the west country with Clare's, we popped back into London to get a fresh MOT for the van, get drunk one last time with old friends, and head for Dover.

With time on our hands, we avoided the toll roads and ambled down France on les routes national passing by Paris, Lyon and Grenoble to cross the alps at Briancon last friday afternoon. We went down to Turin to see Nic and Elo for the evening, then after a lazy morning and trip to an open air market for fresh fruit and veg we headed south for Liguria.

Clare hasn't been here before, and as soon as we left Savona on the coast road she was blown away by the scenery. We were sweltering and it would be too late for a climb, so we parked up at the first free spot and hit the beach, before heading up to the car park for the night.

Between work, van building and injury, neither of us have climbed for a long time so Sunday morning we looked for somewhere easy. One of the sectors at Monte Cucco seemed to fit the bill - the historic settore Della Torre. After a couple of 4b climbs to warmup I got on the first pitch of La Torre - a 5c first climbed in 1969 by Gianni Calcagno and Allesandro Grillo. Boy did I have to fight for the onsight... it may be much more polished than the day it was graded but if I needed a reminder of the old school style and grading in Finale, here it was.

Monday lunchtime (after a long lie and a slow breakfast), we decided we'd better find a north facing crag and went for La Goletta in Rian Cornei. It was a 20 minute uphill hike from the Ponte Cornei and despite the tree cover we were drenched in sweat by the time we arrived. It was worth the walk though - Goletta is a small but beautiful crag that deserves more traffic than it obviously gets. The bottom of the routes was dirty and vegetated, and the pockets filled with cobwebs, weeds and dead spiders. We didn't see a soul between parking the car and getting back to it.

The highlight of the crag was an overhanging groove called Alle Cinque Della Sera (6a+), of which the Tomassini guide book says:

"Whoever goes to climb at the Goletta cannot help noticing the corner masterpiece... sometimes you ask yourself whether it's worth taking a trip just to climb one route... in this case Fabio (Bigo) Peirpaoli and the Association Outdoor Liguria think it is."

I think they're right, and I'm glad I got on it while I wasn't fit enough to make it an unfair fight. Whilst not quite the old school grading of some of the earlier bolted crags it still packed a punch for the grade; it took a strong dose of determination and good tactics to bag the onsight. It's a line I won't forget for a while, for more than one reason.

Powerful moves between pockets up the groove led to an uncomfortably stretched bridging rest, before pulling over to a short vertical face climb to the chains. My first three attempts to get established on the slab resulted in a scrabbling retreat to the rest, before I finally saw the missing jigsaw piece. A couple of moves later I was somewhat precariously onto the slab and breathing heavily. There was a line of three pockets in front of my face; the middle one wasn't so positive so I took a double gaston position on the outer two to sort my feet and get pressed into the wall to recover.

My face was against the rock with the middle pocket just by my temple when from the corner of my eye I noticed there was a twig inside it... wait a minute... that wasn't there before... I pulled back to focus and realised it was a small arm complete with claw - I'd been resting with my head against a scorpion's front door and he was coming out to tell me I wasn't invited. So much for getting the heart rate down!

I didn't want to blow the onsight, and I knew I wasn't yet recovered enough to bolt for the top, so I leaned back and watched him - all the while wondering if the three open-backed pockets were connected and whether his family were in there. As it turned out, standing watching him was less scary than moving off - as soon as he was out of sight by my feet all I could think about was him scuttling out and up my leg to sting me, so it was with considerable joy and relief that I high-stepped onto the ledge above to clip the chains.

We got back to the beach in time to catch the last hour of sunshine. As we swum around cooling off we started laughing and I think it finally sunk in... WE MADE IT OUT!!!

For so long Monday has been a day to dread - the start of the working week. One day we may have to go back to that but for now it's just another day to climb and visit the beach. The hard work and sacrifices to get here were definitely worthwhile.

Deer in the highlands of Scotland

Summer in Ullapool... not quite the heat of the italian riviera

Beautiful beaches though

Church in Albertville.

French wheat fields

Crossing the Alps

Fruit market in Turin

This little fella climbed onto my shirt as we arrived at the crag...

And had finished transforming when we left.

Lo scorpione...

The beach we go to most afternoons, between Finale and Noli - free beach and usually free parking within a 5 minute walk.

A selfie... since all the kids are doing it these days...

View from the beach.

I had no idea there were scorpions here, but it turns out they may be quite common - found this one a day later on the toilet wall at Monte Cucco car park.