Last year I had a crack at Wings of Unreason at the Roaches Skyline. For those who don't know this semi iconic skyline route it takes the middle of a short slab far up on the skyline. It's called "wings..." in reference to the final moves than need to be done to complete the route, a total psychological crux headgame. It's truely an awesome route.
Last year I jumped on wings with Rach belaying. It was a miserable day and ultimately ended in failure because by the time I'd decided that I wasn't going to do the final move, the weather was turning and Rachel was getting very cold belaying. On re-treating I tried not to weight my gear but that wasn't going to happen so I semi-climbed/fell down the route.
I think I should mention the final move. There are 3 little holes in the middle of the face, or pods as it were. One takes your gear and you have to mantle into them and then position yourself for the final move. The gear it literally at the level of your feet and you then need to make a dynamic move to slap for a glorious jug. When I reach up I'm only 5/6 inches short, but at that moment that distance seems like a million miles away. Everytime I stared up at it it was like watching the hitchcock zoom.
This time it was different. Summer is over and autumn seems to have taken hold with a rapid efficiency. Every morning I've gone downstairs to go to work the wind has been blustering through the trees, whipping leaves and little along the pavement. There's a distinct chill in the air and Rachel actually put the heating on the other day. I can feel winter coming in the air, as it slowly closes it's grip on the world. I can't wait for the first frost, the first snow. And climbing during this autumnal period it my favourite time of the year. My lightweight summer climbing fleece have been removed from it's hollow at the base of my pack to be prplaced with my winter belay jacket, warm leather gloves and a hat (or two). My flask has been cleaned and my hot food carried made ready. I love climbing at this time of year.
And so it happened, we had a slow start to the day, eventually a bunch of us had mobilised and headed up to skyline, some wanting to have a go at Prelude to Space (solo) and some just wanting to be out. I wanted to try wings.
We'd set up beneath the slab with Toaf's new massive eldride pad as Ronnie soloed Prelude to Space. I then geared up as best I could and went through all the little rituals of starting a hard climb; tying in my chalk bag (even though it's virtually empty and it's a freezing dry day), pulling on my tight shoes and lacing them, selecting the small amount of rack that I'll need, tying in to the lead line, cleaning my shoes with a little spit till the rubber is sticky and finally chalking up my hands. I couldn't really put it off any longer.
I actually asked Toaf not to bother belaying me till I'd got some gear in, but mainly because I expected to blow the first set of moves (the technical crux) but this time I didn't. I still thought I was going to even as I grasped the hold I was reaching for with my finger tips and felt my foot stick to the small hold as I rocked over. I gave up trying to fiddle a piece of gear in here, instead relying on not falling off and the massive pad beneath me. On gaining the pockets I plugged in a cam (a red dragon cam if anyones bothered). I tried to fit one in next to it but I didn't have the right size and Toaf lobbed my up another size 2. It was all going so well.
I remembered the move to gain the pocket, and my final decent footholds but it required me to take out one of the cams (eek!). I didn't really have a choice so I removed the one, rocked into the pocket and then replaced it blindly so it stuck out at an odd angle. It didn't really matter as there wasn't any retreating from the move now anyway. Then I hit a wall. Not a physical wall (obviously) but a massive mental wall in my mind. I scanned the wall infront of me, running my fingers over everything, every ripple, every change in slabs angle, every bit of grit with slightly more friction than the one next to it. I was trying to find that good hold that didn't exist or that little crimp that I'd missed before. Christ I was so close. It was literally inches to the final hold but it may as well have been miles.
I must have gone on like this for ages. I don't know how much time had passed but I know it threatened to rain at least once and I got offered rescue at least once too. I also tried to retreat and reverse the last move, but when I couldn't I knew I'd have to just do it.
In the end I just did it. I don't know how I managed to convince my brain to do it but it just worked. I think I probably closed my eyes when I did it too but within seconds I was pulling up over the top and rolling onto my back to stare at the sky. It was over, all over.
I actually asked Toaf not to bother belaying me till I'd got some gear in, but mainly because I expected to blow the first set of moves (the technical crux) but this time I didn't. I still thought I was going to even as I grasped the hold I was reaching for with my finger tips and felt my foot stick to the small hold as I rocked over. I gave up trying to fiddle a piece of gear in here, instead relying on not falling off and the massive pad beneath me. On gaining the pockets I plugged in a cam (a red dragon cam if anyones bothered). I tried to fit one in next to it but I didn't have the right size and Toaf lobbed my up another size 2. It was all going so well.
I remembered the move to gain the pocket, and my final decent footholds but it required me to take out one of the cams (eek!). I didn't really have a choice so I removed the one, rocked into the pocket and then replaced it blindly so it stuck out at an odd angle. It didn't really matter as there wasn't any retreating from the move now anyway. Then I hit a wall. Not a physical wall (obviously) but a massive mental wall in my mind. I scanned the wall infront of me, running my fingers over everything, every ripple, every change in slabs angle, every bit of grit with slightly more friction than the one next to it. I was trying to find that good hold that didn't exist or that little crimp that I'd missed before. Christ I was so close. It was literally inches to the final hold but it may as well have been miles.
I must have gone on like this for ages. I don't know how much time had passed but I know it threatened to rain at least once and I got offered rescue at least once too. I also tried to retreat and reverse the last move, but when I couldn't I knew I'd have to just do it.
In the end I just did it. I don't know how I managed to convince my brain to do it but it just worked. I think I probably closed my eyes when I did it too but within seconds I was pulling up over the top and rolling onto my back to stare at the sky. It was over, all over.
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