Ravensdale (02.11.14)

Limestone: A rock composed mostly of calcium carbonate, which is formed by biological processes (the remains of fossilised seashells and plankton which where alive many millions of years ago).

Something I rarely do is write up a days climbing on the same day as the climbing took place. It's getting closer and closer to winter and as such the days are getting shorter. The temperature is also dropping and as such I value the sunshine that little bit more. Maybe I just notice the warmth it provides as it is so infrequent on some days but today I've basked in it's lukewarm glow today, whilst sat on a ledge on ravens buttress overlooking a quiet dry limestone valley. Either way I'm home earlier than normal with more time on my hands.

My day has been spent enjoying the pleasures of peak district limestone, a somewhat neglected rock type in my opinion. I some ways though I'm glad it gets such little traffic in comparison to the gritstone. I went to stanage a couple of times last month and had a great time but there was still loads of people. Even on a quiet day I still see the worn footpaths leading to sandy eroded bays beneath each cliff. What is nice to note is that I don't see that much litter at Stanage, even at popular area. It isn't that I don't like people but I just prefer the relative solitude you can have at a quiet crag. Crags of the limestone variety don't seem to benefit from neglect but too much traffic has an equally, if not polar effect. Neglect equals overgrowth of vegetation and a reduction in the clearance of loose rock. Each winter more is generated in small amounts, it add to the problem of vegetation overgrowth. Too much traffic and we get the reverse. Over climbed and polished routes. There needs to be a sweet spot.

The solitude was part of the reason that we headed to Ravendale, the other being that I was reading up on the geology of the peak district (again) and just got inspired. In the 10ish years I've been climbing I have given precious little time to the lime. I don't know why this is. I also joke that limestones are for caving. If I'm heading to the peak district it'll be to climb gritstone. The reason is simple; I love gritstone. Each route, each line, can be an intimate experience. Feeling the change in grain size and sorting through your feet (even if you don't realise it) looking for that perfect smear. Crimping on the tiny sharp ripples in the rock, a remnant from the distance past linked to the formation of this feature. Remembering the jam that is causing the pain in your grazed and swollen hand; was it the cold dark crack of high moorland crag, sharp and untouched where you could feel each crystal biting in the skin of your hand or the straight sided crack, young and fresh in it's life after being rudely exposed before it's natural time, which is comfortable and inviting. The peak district itself tells one story, but each crag tells its own. This goes down to each climb and even a single problem. Man, I love grit.

So we went to limestone. I text Finney describing the crag and he confirmed. I drove up to his in awful weather. Huge bands of rain kept sweeping across the motorway. This wasn't forecast and I paniced (minor) but picked Finney up all the same. The plan was to try and film as much of the day as possible and as such our journey to the crag is well documented from van to parking and then to the base of the cliff, crossing a dry river (bedded with limestone) on a set of stepping stones. I didn't take a picture of the crag, despite all the cameras so I'll describe it instead. It stands out from the valley side as a series of cliffs, the middle of which is two tiered in the shape of a prow of rock heavily grooved in it's upper section This was Ravens Buttress. North, up valley the cliffs shorten and are separated by bands or broken rock and vegetation. Ravens Buttress right flank had blanker walls in the upper section and a series of shallow discontinuous grooves with small overhangs above a shallow break, and a small yew tree on the terrace, somewhat broken and thin this side. The left was more grooved, deeply in it's upper section with overhands and corners. The actual middle had a large v groove and a vegetated slab on it's one side, with steeper grooves to the left. You could say the crag was pretty groovy.

We plumbed for Mealystopheles, not because of the name (which I'm sure I pronounce wrong) but because of the line and the grade. We both liked the like and it looked like it's grade, if that in any way makes sense. I lead the first pitch. It was hard. The rock was a little suspect and I have a reasonable and understandable fear of loose rock. Still it was not a tottering jenga tower but something that meant I had to check: every. Single. Hold. As such the climbing was a really involved process as I was looking everywhere. My feet were a real issue. I just didn't know what I could get away with on this rock type. What would stick and where it was. I felt pushed out away from the rock but it's steepness while at the same time drawn in and surrounded in the groove. About half way up after a series of small grimps but quite gymnastic climbing with good holds spaced far apart. As I said, it was engaging which probably lead me to drop my medium wires half way up. This was no problem. I had a tonne of gear on me so carried on but my attidtude subtly changed and I was move careful and placed what ever gear I could fit.

The ledge was a fantastic belay. My first was an alcove preached slightly above the terrace and gave one quite a commanding position from which to view the valley (it's got and excellent echo as well). It was cold and gloomy in the morning shade but comfy. My second was in the sun, on the right wall. As such the terrace was short and my belay was compact. The real pleasure was when Andy shouted safe and I could lie out of the grass ledge just next to me, lacking my confinement to stay within the sensible distance of the anchor. I lay in the sun and shivered from the occasional cold breeze. Every experience is worth remembering.

Finney's lead took up up the slab and then into a short vegetated groove before traversing diagonally upwards to finish up the final deep groove. He couldn't get his head round the rope from some reason. Not that he clipped everything wrong but that he didn't accept he'd clipped them fine. It seemed to worry him on route. We also had a laugh when he topped out yelling down “Chink, where's the belay?”. He did find something in the end. When I seconded the route I was impressed not only by the climbing, which was much more exposed and on smaller hold than the first pitch but also by his route finding. He took the wrong line in the guide book. The vegetated groove was his own addition. It avoided 4 metre of very loose rock. The dangerous kind that stands up to a few blows but not a weighted tug. I didn't come off when I follow Finney. I should have gone route but at the time it just seemed part of the route. I did pull off a large rock which I had to throw off. I hit the first pitch in the process, something I felt bad about. I cleaned up the mess and then with a tight rope and some sturdy ivy I was out of danger. And into the exposed finish. Wow. What a pitch. It was Mealystopheles VS 5a, 4c.

Purple Haze was our next route. This looked more intimidating. Round on the right wall taking a line through an overhanging groove above the shallow break. My first lead took me into the right corner, not where I wanted to be and I scuttled back retrieving and replacing gear. My false start might have cost me some time but it was much harder than I was expecting so I now approached the groove with caution. The climbing was gymnastic with layaways in tiny cracks converting to stemming on then edge of the groove. Heels, jamming and eventually a great rock over to bridge the groove and get over the over hang. It wasn't over and I stripped dead ivy from slabbier grooves.

Finney loved it and waxed lyrical from ages at the belay. His lead took him up an wide crack, amusingly climbed as he stepped his scrawny leg inside it to climb up on jammed rocks. A short battle with a yew tree cost Finney some serious rope drag, despite his victory and then the headwall above. This pitch earned its abjective grade. The climbing was sustained on steep rock acrossing a broad headwall to... a short groove. He took his time and rightly so. It must have been great to have been on that pitch on the lead. My experience was similar. After my laze in sun I climbed the groove (without putting my leg in) acted as reinforcement battle with the tree and freed the ropes before stopping and looking up at Finney peaking over this flat steep wall. It was impressive. Little clusters of gear long sections of climbing. It was steep face climbing with the occasional rest. After I'd seconded enjoying the tether of safety guiding me Finney told me how he'd just climbed really slowly, in short moves with pauses while he decided on the next move and just psyched himself up that he could do it. It worked, clearly. It was Purple Haze E1 5b, 5a.

And that was it. The sun had gone in and we were cold. Sometimes you don't need to push it and get another climb in, coming down in darkness. We left happy. We'd taken so much away from the days climbing. It had been different, unusual and challenging. The rock itself was an unknown. I kept moving for holds only to find the crimp, that I knew would be there, was no where to be found. I lacked that intimate knowledge that'd driven my love of gritstone. I climbed carefully tortoise like but slowly I began to read the rock. Things started to make sense. Each groove and each line was presenting a story. And that is where it ended, because I don't know enough limestone to compare it too. I've not climbed on it. I've neglected it, Ignored and pushed it aside in pursuit of pot noodle climbing and alpine starts.

But it won't any more. I have climbed on limestone in the past and this day has brought back so many memories. Great days out with old friends, Esoteric experiences and avoiding the rain and climbing the tower of babel one sunday afternoon. I love gritstone but the peak is more than just one rock type.

Falling off slate (not to be recommended)

On the first of December I fell further than I've ever fallen. In short I pulled off a large block and fell 40ft hitting the ground on rope stretch. No gear failed in the fall as I was just very high above my last piece. I sustained an open fracture and dislocated the ankle on the left foot. I lacerated both the palms of my hands open; the left significantly worse. In the process I cut my FDS tendon on my ring finger. I was climbing a route within my grade.

And in short that's what happened.

I'd like to say that it started out as a bright sunny day in wales... etc etc. It actually started with a hangover and wandering around the camp site, bleary eyed in the weak morning sunshine... in between the cloud. Sooner or later vans and tents were packed up, vehicles where mounted and we headed to Gideon Slate Quarry to go climbing.

I love climbing in Gideon. If slate is the “pot noodle of climbing” then Gideon is those dodgy looking polish or chinese noodles you find in the “world foods” section of the supermarket. Occasionally (and mostly, in my experience) they turn out to be better than your average pot noodle. Once in a while turn turn out much worse. You choose to risk it or play it safe. Today it would be Uncle Rob, Soames, Stewie, Mick, Toaf and I heading into the quarries.

The morning was spent climbing the shorter and drier sport routes around the top of the quarry. Those who hadn't been before had a chance to get used the rock. Every single crag is different, even if they're made of the same rock. The slate in Gideon (when compared to Dinorwig) almost feels like it has a grain, like a brief glimmer of hope that there might be friction. Its been folded into different structures, feaatured and is more fractured than Dinorwig. Personally I think that getting to know the rock your climbing on is important. Either way we had to wait for the Gideon slab to dry out.

The slab never dried that day. A band of cloud rolled over and rain threatened as it always seems to. As it wasn't actually raining though we all followed Stu up to see him have a go at Cracking Up, right at the top of the quarry. Cracking Up is a route that I've been waiting to have a go at since I first saw it 5 years ago... and Stu beat me to the punch! I was more than happy to sit around today, just climbing within my grade and enjoying myself. It's been a long time since all us lads have been allowed to go climbing away together.

With time to spare waiting around till Cracking up was free, I checked the guidebook. Checked the line on the cliff and settled on the Rothwell Incident, graded E2 5b. I looked like my kind of route. Even from the base I could see what looked like loose rock in the top half. There are many people who'll shy away from loose rock and there are those who seem to revel in it (See Dave Thomas climbing “choss” in the DVD HXS or look at Mick Fowlers climbing career). I fall somewhere in between. I have a lot of respect for loose rock but I still climb it.

The route started out just like old times. Toaf and I haven't climbed together in a long while mostly due to life getting in the way really. We arsed around setting up, flaking the ropes out at the base of the route, whilst banter flew through the air between all 6 of us. Before long I had to do those last few little routines, cleaning and putting on my rock boots, chalking up the fingers and one last check of everything before I couldn't put it off any longer. I don't want to make it sound like I had an immense sense of forboding as I geared up or anything like that. Its just that I always feel nervous before setting off on a trad route but most of the time I still set off.

(horrific view of my lycra clad legs)

The climbing in the lower half was good. I can't say much more than that. It was nothing other than a 5b corner compared to the second half of the route. I was spooked by the sharp edge I kept seeing but the rock was solid. Just after half height I took out my nut key and scraped the remaining choss out of a small crack, deep in the bedrock of the slate. Here the rock looked looser but only for a short section. I figured that climbing through it would be ok, there'd be gear higher and what I'd climb through before certainly justified the E2 5b. I didn't forsee it getting any harder. I made one of the those big committing moves you seem to end up doing over and over on the slate. The ones where you've only gained a few feet in height but you know you can't reverse it.

There is no point in lying. I didn't calmly carry on climbing without a care in the world. I paniced and I paniced hard. Going down didn't seem to be an option but the stuff I'd just climbed into was horrendous. From before the really large flakes which I'd taken as solid bedrock were far from it. I climbed gingerly, if you can call it that being incredibly careful. Every single hold was tested, gently at first and then weighted. I'd have kept three points of contact as well, but the climbing wasn't easy either. The route changed in my mind from a corner to a shoot, directing whatever I pulled off down towards my belayer; Toaf. I couldn't put him in danger but I couldn't stay there. I carried on climbing, my state of mind decaying with every inch gained.

Toaf has climbed with me enough and together we've shared some risky and some downright dangerous routes over the years. He knows the tell tale signs of when I'm panicked. He knew this time and kept doing what he always does. Throwing banter up to me as I was leading whilst staring at me eye to eye when I looked down. I think he knew what I was going through up there.

It is very hard to describe the feeling of climbing on very loose rock if you've not experienced it yourself first hand. The sense of relief was overwhelming as at about 4ft from the top of the route I found a couple of perfectly solid footholds and a small flat but solid hold for my left hand. I now realised I was sweating and close to tears. I probably (knowing me) yelped out some noise of relief. The terrain ahead looked bad, but not as bad as I'd climbed through. I rested. I then reached up with my right hand and selected the most solid looking of all the flat topped flakes which barred my passage. I tested the big flake, gently and that was enough. I felt like the bottom of the flake crumbled out.

I remember everything about the fall. Time slowed. Its cliché but it did. I feel backwards with the flake. I felt that horrible feeling when you fall backwards, the one where you know no matter how much you wave your arms about there is no way you're coming back from it. I yelled “oh fuck!”. I was very conscious of how far away my gear was beneath me. Foreshortening works both ways and when you look down a route everything looks further way than it is. Falling, I grabbed the first thing I could in a desperate attempt to slow myself down. I must have slowed myself down to some degree but I still sliced open both my hands on a sharp flake. I crashed and tumbled down the route. I can only assume I looked like some kind of drunken cat trying in vain to land on it's feet at the bottom. I did hit the bottom just after the rope caught so I crashed into the floor on rope stretch. Muttering something to Toaf I sat down on the ledge just by his head and he got my up and lowered me to him. I was bleeding a lot. Toaf took off a couple of layers and wrapped them round me, then he sat behind me and wrapped his arms round me to keep me warm.

I assessed my injuries. My right hand was bleeding but it didn't look deep. My left hand was bleeding more and it did look deep. The peeled open slice of flesh revealed the inner workings of my hand, an image I won't be forgetting. I flexed my fingers and they all worked bar my ring finger, which just flopped around uselessly. Oh well (a detached part of my brain thought) I might have lost a finger but I'm still alive. My ankle looked bad. The swelling was visible over my rock shoe already while blood flowed out of a gash beneath where my ankle bone should have poked out. Now it was literally poking out of my skin, but not much.

The pain manifested itself as a dull throbbing ache. A friend told me that the brain can't remember pain, but I can remember what I experienced while I was in pain. By now things had sprung into action. Mick called MRT and while Soames got grid references & place names and told him to request a helicopter. Soames then set about making me comfortable and warm. Stuart went to the road to meet MRT. Mick then joined the entangle body that was Toaf and I on the small ledge and dealt with strapping me up and stopping the bleeding. The same detached part of my brain was watching the whole incident and laughing at the stupidity of it. Here I was lay on a ledge bleed and battered. A ledge only about 5ft higher than the floor, but I couldn't get off it. Rob had probably the worst job. He was at the base (therefore not on my party ledge) passing things backwards and forward from the bags. It was vital job as none of us could move off the ledge now but it must have just been awful not being able to do anything.

With me all strapped up and the blood flow staunched we just waited. I felt bloody useless as I couldn't move myself now as my hands had become stumps wrapped in beer towels, beanie hats and hordes of climbing tape. I darn't move my left leg or ankle, which lay rested on Soames sack and Mick had a hold of it anyway. The waiting seemed like forever. Shock is a horrible thing to experience. I kept going through cycles of pain in my ankle and hands. At these times I screamed profanities into the quarry. The detached brain listening to them as they echoed off the walls of the quarry. Primal screams of pain spewed out of my mouth but it felt good. It always felt like I was throwing the pain away with each scream. Eventually they'd abate. Sometimes my head would loll as I seemed to pass out. Toaf was a wonder. He'd rag on my beard or twist my ear. Once or twice he pinched my nipple. Each time I'd be pulled back to reality. Sometimes I would be manically happy. We'd crack jokes on the ledge and the banter flew through the air. Toaf and I sang so well that Soames told me in hospital he was amazed at how well we sounded. I think the quarry helped, acting in the same way as a shower or bathroom. It was fun during these period. I'm not joking but it was actually fun. Sometimes I would feel exceptional paranoia. I told them all to leave me on the ledge because of the danger from rock fall. I was manically worried for their safety, or apologetic for ruining the climbing weekend and putting them all through this. At times I cried and screamed Rachel's name into the quarry. I couldn't believe that I was going to put her through all this. She didn't deserve to be put through the worry and stress this would involve.

It just continued on like this. Me occasionally asking and being denied some water. I was so thirsty.

Then the cavalry arrived. The helicopter was heard long before it was seen. After circling a big chap named Neil was lowered down. He came skittering down the cliff, directed by us away from the loose material at the top of the route and crashed along the cliff onto our ledge. It didn't look like a fun descent and I can only assume that it was a challenging place to land someone. Neil was great. He stuck a collar on me which I instantly hated and requested to be removed. My request was denied but I was given gas for the pain. Gas is bloody amazing stuff. The pain was still there, but I just didn't care about it. Only problem I had was getting the thing into my mouth with my bound up hands.

MRT turned up soon after. I don't know what people expect when they see them arrive but my experience of them has been very different from my perception. I've ended up helping and being part of MRT rescues a few times over the last few years I'm sorry to say. All friends or good people I've met. I always thought Mrt would turn up and instantly take over and rescue the casualty in the nick of time. I mean them no disrespect (I hold them in the highest regard) but its just not like that. Every accident or rescue must be different, each with its own problems that need to be over come. It turned out to be problem solving time. It was decided that I was to be air lifted out, from where I was. Problems however arose in the form of the cramped sloping ledge I was on made everything awkward. Eventually things took place and people sprang into action. Bit of gear we called for and I was happy to donate my rack of small brass wires when no ones else had any to offer. Toaf and Soames didn't leave the ledge till I was airlifted out. The stretcher was slid down behind me. My harness was cut off. It probably wasn't necessary but it needed retiring anyway and it required the least movement.

Then it was time to go. Goodbyes were hard and I made the lads promise to meet me in hospital. I was tucked into the stretcher. The coats and jackets were removed and I remember being freezing cold, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. I was suddenly so afraid of the helicopter. How did it stay in the air? Would it fail? I panicked so much. Neil reassured me and told me I was to be accompanied by him. My belay or at least the last thing I was connected to was cut as the winch cable was clipped in. Everyone was sheltering as the down draft was flinging whatever small loose material that was above down onto us. I was covered by Soames, Toaf, Mick and Rob and Neil from MRT. Anything could have come down then, but they still covered me. And then I was off. Being pulled away from ledge I'd spent the last hour or so on. Being pulled upwards, freezing cold and feeling very very alone. 

Afterwork Climbing (in the peak)

I finished my first wave of NCS work for the summer the other day. As jobs go this has got to be one of the most interesting as I've been employed as a group leader for 4 of the 6 waves (2 I can't do due to DofE work commitments). Being a group leader means that I've got the same group for 3 days; 2 of which are spent walking and scrambling (not real scrambling, but more phootling about through the rocks) with an overnight camp and one day is spent canoeing and raft building. The job actually means I get to spend a few days this summer actually playing on the water. I basically get paid to play, responsibly of course, but essentially play.

My evenings off normally depend on the time I finish or whether I'm working an overnight job. I did managed to get in my first after work bouldering session the other day. On the whole I'd say it was less of a bouldering session and more of an excuse to go and see Andy as he'd come up to the peak to get out of stoke. I arrived late to the Roaches (he was already there) and walking in some mad little part of my brain decided that soloing Valkyrie would be a good idea.

I've had quite an on going relationship with this route over the years, having to bail off is on several occasions due to weather or my head not being in it, I've rescued a guy off it with a broken arm and eventually got round to leading it. The idea of soloing something so risky hasn't ever really been my thing. I like highball bouldering because of the risk, and will solo smaller routes where the likely hood is broke ankles or legs at the worst, but soloing something with terminal fall potential is somewhere I've not gone before.

I'm not sure which part of my mind was gunning for me to do it so much. Normally when you get ideas like this, or at least when I get ideas like this, there is a voice in my head that'll speak up and yell “hey man, this is serious, way too serious... what're you thinkin'?”. I can't explain why but there was none of this as I walked to the base of the route after making the decision to do it. I'll admit that it worried me a little. Why was I suddenly happy climbing something that could cost me everything?

It didn't really matter. I was focused on climbing the route and nothing was going to change that. I took my time doing all the little things before I started. I changed into my rock boots and cleaned them till they were sticky. I rolled up my trousers till they sat where I like them. I had a drink of water and a quiet couple of minutes to contemplate the route. I then stood at the base and chalked up before setting off.

The route itself was an amazingly intense experience. I couldn't get into the the flow straight away and it took a few slow careful moves before my mind was silent and all I could concentrate on was the climbing. I climbed slowly and carefully going back to basics and having three points of contact and thinking through every single move. As I made the easy moves to gain the first pitch belay ledge my mind started screaming at me. I sat there for what could only have been a couple of minutes but it seemed like forever while I argued with myself about continuing.

The option of retreat was dangling there in front of me. I could virtually walk off from this ledge and it would all be over. I'd be safe, but unfufilled. I'd be left asking myself the same question over and over:

“Why couldn't I just continue?”

So I carried on. I stood up and chalked my my hands, then chalked them up again for good measure before grasping the first holds on that massive flake and continuing on a path from which there would be no retreat. I've reversed all of the flake before, from the crux but this time would be different. As I started down climbing I was in a state of panic. My heart was racing and felt like it would burst out of my chest. I couldn't see the hidden foothold I would need to make the set across and again it felt like an eternity before I got my foot onto it. I stepped across and very carefully felt the next hold with my hand, adjusting where I placed it again and again to make the next move as easy as possible. Falling off here simply wasn't an option.

I made it. I didn't retreat and I carried on round to the front face. The climbing is easier and I had to slow myself down so that I wouldn't make a stupid mistake, but I still ran to the top. The view from the prow of valkyrie was that same view I'd seen countless times before, but this time it was different. I was looking through it was different eyes after an intense experience. My heart was still racing and I could almost feel the blood pumping round my body. I felt like I was dreaming.

I understood for the first time why people solo routes, especially ones where the consequences of a fall are so severe. It's not about the rock your climbing, but the places in your mind that you go. I finished thinking that what I'd just done was reckless and stupid and I'm sure there as those that would agree, but I don't. I went somewhere I've never been before and came away from it changed, if only slightly.

It was a fitting end to my affair with Valkyrie. For me it was almost the combination of 10 years of climbing and I loved every moment of it.

After work climbing

After an extremely stressful day at work (I'm no complaining as my job couldn't be better) I got a few hours climbing in at the Roaches after work. As we walking in everything felt right and I met Finney and Sammie at prow cracks area. I don't know why everything felt right on this day, but it did and so as soon as Finney had finished I'd geared up and set off up Hunky Dory (E3 6a). I've been looking at this line for the past 5 or 6 years (or as long as I've been going to the Roaches). It just looks so doable with everything in the right place. From the guidebook description and just looking at the route I could see that the crux (whether psychological or technical) would be at the top, after you've placed you're last pieces or gear in the crack. I hoped it would be like this anyway.

Setting off my head immediately started trying to talk me out of it. The first few moves to actually gain the crack were probably the hardest throughout the whole route. I think what made them hard was that they were just not obvious and the whole thing felt like a boulder problem stolen from the churnet valley. On actually gaining the crack it became a beautiful section of laying away with your feet smearing on the edges. I didn't climb it as quickly as my writing makes out, but the flow was still there and although I climbed up and down and re-arranged my gear everything still felt right.

By the time I'd placed my final pieces in the top of the crack and shuffled off to the left to balance precariously on the small ledge the little voices in the back of my head, which he been so quiet after their initial ranting decided to speak up. I was now looking at a possibly nasty fall, on a couple of cams. what I should have done at this point is just turned the volume down on the voices telling me I should back off, telling me the gear wouldn't hold, telling me I'd catch an ankle on the ledge during the inevitable fall... what I did instead was listen to them for just a minute.

I felt like I was on that ledge for hours having a silent arguement with myself inside my own head. In this time Tim kindly threw me a couple more cams (he owns a slightly smaller size) and now the "final pieces" had become a bomber series of placements. They calmed my thoughts enough to step off the ledge and try and make the most of the tiny crimps I was to rely on. I don't know how fast I climbed but everything felt slower, ordered and considered. I could feel every single grain of grit smeared and holding onto the rubber stretched over my toes. My finger tips screamed silent protests as the sharp crystals cut into them (too much climbing and not enough rest) but I pulled on them anyway. The small holds ran out and I slapped for what I hoped would be a good sloper... it wasn't the best but it didn't matter. My other hand joined the first on the sloper and I tucked my fingers into the shallow depression which was hidden from view. Gently I picked a point for my left toe on the small rail I was heading for. This was it, the big move, the 6a mantle... and it was fine. It honestly felt fine and for that single small moment as I rocked over nothing else in the world mattered.

Considering I was climbing in a pair of borrowed shoes as I'd forgotten my own it wasn't bad .

half way up the crack (photo courtesy of Sammy Dye) 

Somebodies Switched My Medicine E2 5b

A few weeks ago Soames and I had a very Himalayan climbing weekend, whilst camping on Anglesey. Over the course of three days, when only managed to get one new route climbed (but what a route) as the rest of the time was spent laying in the tent, waiting for the weather to clear up. We could probably have left, but the weather was never bad enough to  justify anything other than just waiting it out on the off chance it would improve. At the time I'd not been to Anglesey for a while and just being there seems to calm me down and settle me. I was happy lay in my tent, eating good food and straining my ears to hear the sea.

The route we did put up was a line that we've both been looking at since we discovered the cliff. I think at some point it was Soames's line, but along the way it has become a small obsession of mine. Each weekend away new routing would see me throwing down the abseil rope and cleaning it, checking the holds and looking for gear. It's the first time I've done this for any route and it was quite a big thing for me. It made the actually first ascent very different from the onsight first ascents I've done.

It's called Somebodies Switched my Medicine (E2 5b), but honestly I don't know about the grade. I'm very confident that it's 5b climbing, as I've been over it so much. It's the abjectival grade that concerns me a little. It couldn't grade it for an onsight attempt because I have so much knowledge about the line. I had too much information.

When we first saw it I think it blew us both away a little. The top half overhangs, considerably (for trad) and the gear up to the overhang didn't look like the greatest either. Due to all this I was happy to abseil down it. Firstly it started off with just cleaning the holds and looking for gear placements, but eventually I was trying the moves in short sections (only 1 or 2 moves at a time) to get a feel for the route and where the gear would go. I still can't have abseiled down in more than ten times, but I've stared and stared at the line from all angles. It's been over 9 months in conception.

On our first day (of the weekend) we spent our time walking the coast looking for other lines and possibilities. There is a lot of what I'd call "background effort" that goes into new routing. So many weekends have resulted in very few routes but hours spent at a cliff checking photographs, abseiling and cleaning. There is a lot of mental preparation as as well. You're climbing something that you've almost mentally graded from below or on abseil but you don't know. A lot of the time you'll find the route is surprisingly different in character to how you thought. Somebodies switched my medicine was different to this.

We came round to the cliff we've spent so long climbing on and it felt like meeting an old friend. I must have walked across the top hundreds of times and felt like my feet knew the rocks underneath them intently. The day felt good. It was getting on to late afternoon by the time I'd abseiled the line again, checking for gear. I found a key piece of gear which'll actually protect a ground fall before launching out to the overhanging wall. It was a size 2 cam, but with a difficult move to place it. Satisfied I jugged back up to the rim.

The light was perfect. The sun was low enough in the sky and it was still early enough in year to get that weak winter glow. It turns the rock this beautiful orange colour. The tide was on ourside but my head wasn't in it. I must have sat around thinking the route for ages, Soames waiting patiently to hear my decision. I offered him the lead but he declined. Honestly I was happy about it. If he'd have taken me up on the offer he'd have got my support 100% for the lead, but that selfish egotistical side of me wanted it for myself. In the end we pulled the abseil rope and racked up. Instead of abseiling in we'd scramble round and belay on the ledge at the base.

I sat looking out to sea, stretching out my legs while Soames built a belay on the cramped ledge. All I could see in my view was ocean and sky, with the sun low and off to one side. I was intensely worried. No one knew where I was, only Soames and I. What would be the consequences of failing on this route in a bad way? We would I end up? Sat there staring out to sea I decided that I didn't care. The route would go, or it wouldn't and if it didn't then I'd cope with whatever consequences came from that. I would climb carefree.

Setting off was slow. I cleaned my boots rigorously and shook out my shoulders, chalked up my fingers and set off on the short journey. I placed my feet carefully and gradually made progress up the steep but delicate groove. The gear isn't the greatest until you get a little higher. With my arms clinging to two undercuts I realized that the excellent size 2 cam placement I'd found only hours before, was out of reach. To place it would have caused more problems so instead I made the first of the large moves upwards.

The moves up the overhanging wall are big and powerful. Each of the large chicken head type features means you can get a sling on to protect yourself, but for the feet there isn't much. The second large move means you can bring a heel into play, dangling above the ocean by 2 hands and a left heel. The next series of moves are like a 5b boulder problem, but high up. It involves more heel hooking and more dangling. I fought with my arms and my head. One telling me I couldn't pull up anymore the other telling me I couldn't afford to fall off. The carefree attitude that possessed me setting on the ledge before I started had gone. Each arm felt like a clock ticking down the time till my strength failed. Before this could happen I made the big rock over, converting that magical heel hook into a useful place to stand. I was still 10ft from the top but it didn't matter. With pumped arms I placed the final cam and climbed the last section, happily.

(Somebodies Switched my Medicine E2 5b)

A veritable spree of new routing…

(A Rams & a Man, head to head?)

Well that statement isn’t entirely true as I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the routes have been done before, but we’ve actually taken the time to record and name the lines. We also found no evidence of previous gear placement or polished rock. Seeing as the majority of the spree was done on the high tide area, where the rock quality is grainy and brittle at best, you’d have thought there would have been something. 

I’m getting ahead of myself here and should probably start at the beginning, or at least not so close to the end. Soames and I have been away climbing in North Wales and new routing at a cliff on holy Island… and we’ve had a blast! We managed 25 lines in 2 days. We’ve stayed true to the Gogarth (and Rhoscolyn) ethic and tried everything ground up, if not onsight. All in all I can safety say we’ve had a whale of a time (no pun intended considering it’s a sea cliff). 

Our day started bright and early with the filling and refilling of many flasks and cups of tea at Soames house in the wee small house of the morning. As our journey continued we sampled our first bacon or sausage sandwich for the Rhug Estate which has now established a permanent set of buildings rather than a collection of converted caravans. There really is nowhere else to stop for breakfast on a trip to wale. Soon enough we found ourselves, having taken the wrong turn again off the A5, driving along the bumpy track which leads to Porth y Garan. We could have parked at Rhoscolyn Main area, but I think we both preferred the cliff top work. 

 

We parked up to watch a big sea smashing itself against the cliff. Soames had the glint in his eye of a young boy on Christmas. I probably had the worried look of someone who doubts his ability to swim with a rack on, in such conditions. Because the weather was as I’ve said, instead of sitting around in the car we headed out onto the cliffs to start doing some work. If I’m honest I don’t think Soames would have sat around all that long anyway, what with the sea like it was.

Start doing some work? It really has been a while since I’ve ventured out armed with a pen, pencil and bunch of papers in a trusty plastic wallet. As the sea raged along the base of the cliffs we literally set to work working out where the already recorded lines were on the cliff. I took this time to try and map the top of the cliff, not only for posterity (for the guidebook) but also to find the new routing opportunities. It really wasn’t long before scribbling on paper started to become tedious and I started itching to get on the rock.

And so we did. Back at the car I knew I needed to rehydrate, what with my early start and overly efficient insulated cup (it keeps the tea almost too hot to drink, see). Soames had found a pack of stubbies I’d thrown on the back seat and cracked us both a beer. It seems a bit early to be celebrating an hard days new routing but what the hell! It made for a good start to the day. 

As for the climbing, well, we just seemed to climb on and on. The sea cliff itself topped out to a low angled slab, which dropped back down behind it but leaving a 10metre high cliff behind it. We’d already nicked named this High Tide Walls, due to their ease of access regardless of the tidal conditions. I’m currently in the process of typing up all the route information for this (and the other areas) but we managed something like 14 routes on these rocks. The rock quality itself changes throughout the length of the cliff as the geology subtly differs. Some areas are a little crumbly and snappy, but they will clear up in time where as other are pocketed and compact. Some resemble the rock of Yellow Walls at Gogarth itself, while the white slab area is reminiscent or the Wen slab, with its compact white quartzite and multitude of small edges. The descents make it easy enough to tick off a host of routes in any given period and we stayed tied into the same ends of the rope for much of the day. 

As the day wore on the tide rose to its highest point and then started its gentle drop down the cliff. Over in Porth Saint Bay to the south the submarine started its slow rise out of the water. This curious feature (as short stack which has a long dyke of rock heading out to sea at its base, all coloured red) is mention in the old area guide and I didn’t believe it when I read it. Now throughout the day I kept an eye on it as once it has made harbour in the bay it means that the platform at the base of the sea cliffs are free from water.

Because of these tidal constraints and darkness we only managed a single route on the cliffs that plunge out of the water. It was my lead and I head to a clear line I’d spotted on our recce a few weeks before, a broken crack and flak line which took a feature, dubbed the central tower, right up its main face. 

Ever since nearly getting washed out of the triangular niche on Castel Helen when there was a high sea running I’ve been pretty afraid of sea cliff climbing. At the same time it isn’t cragging in the peak district or staring as the space beneath your feet on a high mountain crag and this little bit of fear is something that I cherish in sea cliff climbing. Plus it adds so much more to the day; the anticipation of low tide, the desperate need to actually top out on your route (as you can’t just abseil off) and the clean worry that you’ll not be able to complete your route, regardless of grade or style. I’ve had to prussic out of a sea cliff once before and I did it shaking from a recent ordeal on a route, while watching all my mates climbing up in the evening sun. It defiantly left an impression.

The route we climb I named Tide and time wait for no man, after a message Soames had sent me  a few days early when commenting on the early start and high sea. We’d gotten up early and been climbing a waiting all day for access to the base. It just so happened that the sea was running a nice high 6 metre tide and the high point of which occurred rather annoyingly in the middle of the day. We grade the route VS 4c originally, but after some considerable discussion and comparision to the many other routes we climb it’s been left at HVS 5a. The rock which resembles Sennen cove and is interspersed by breaks and dark crack lines, doesn’t have the nice deep crack of the southern granite. This quartzite has been rounded and sculpted by the sea leaving behind a great variety of holds and gear placement. The inventive climber here will be rewarded!

We must have topped out in the last rays of the suns light and while I was still youthfully fired up to go back down and carry on climbing, by headtorch should it come to it, Soames was the voice of reason. We were both knackered and the prospect of new routing in the dark on a cliff we hardly knew would have been folly. A retreat was ordered and it wasn’t until I’d filled my sack and started the plod back up the cliff top path that I realised how tired I really was. I good decision made by Soames.

 

(Just a horse)

And another good decision was the curry he had made for our evening meal. I’ve obvious not raved about his cooking on here before, lest people get wind and steal my climbing partner for his culinary expertise. We dined and drank stubbies in Erics barn before the walking to the pub later in the evening. I could hardly stay awake in the pub as we toiled away writing up the recorded routes and thinking up inventive names for them. By the end of the evening I must have nearly fallen asleep at the table. My sleeping bag was a welcome companion.

Morning wasn’t cold, which was a pleasant change. Soames didn’t actually emerge from his sack before me for once and this gave me a chance to return the favour of his cooking the night before by boiling the kettle over and over the multitude of cups and flasks and reheating some soup for the day. I think we technically skipped breakfast, though our single banana and the lumps of bread and cheese left over from the night before was distinctly continental. Before long we found ourselves following the cliff top path back to our little piece of rock history.

(Finally! A picture of us doing some climbing!)

With a high tide in again we carried on ticking off the many lines on the High Tide Walls waiting in anticipation for the sea cliff lines we wanted to put up. As the day went on we toiled away trying the harder lines of the cliff. They provided some good entertainment but some were worryingly close to the edge of my mental ability. Eventually the Submarine had made harbour in Porth Saint Bay and the real fun could begin near the ocean below.

For someone who’ll freely admit that sea cliff climbing scares the … well, it scares me I was very eager to get back to the base. This time both Soames and I got to put up a line. Mine carrying on what seems to be becoming an obsession with what we dubbed the central tower. It took a shallow crack line which joined a series of right facing flakes, this wound its way up the cliff to a very difficult finish over the final tapered summit. It has been a long time since I’ve genuinely thought that I was going to fall off climbing, but this climb did it for me. I felt like I’d climbed myself into a hole and one that I wouldn’t be able to climb out of. With frozen fingers I pushed on reaching for blind holds that shouldn’t have been there but were. I topped out with that small smile of a close call.

Soames line made recorded ascent of what has been dubbed Gambler’s Wall, named after his route “Queen of hearts”. This took a blunt arête and for a while as Soames was on the lead I thought he was going to take a clear traversing line which made its way across the face. Instead he stayed true to the line and tackled the arête head on, providing a hard and awkward crux. By the time we topped out the darkness was similar to that of the day before when we’d finished so a retreat was ordered, as today we still had a three hour drive home.

WIthout hope or agenda...

For a couple of weeks I've been looking forward to going away with Soames with the intention of new routing somewhere. It has been quite a while since we've made it back to "our" cliff on the Lleyn and there is a route there that is eating away at me... slowly. We never actually made it to the Lleyn, but we did get to see the sea, and spend a day walking the coast and climbing  on the cliff there. We went to Rhoscolyn.

I arrived at Soames house at some god unearthly hour on Saturday morning to find the kettle on ready for tea. Soames then produced a pen and paper and his tiny laptop on which he had a topo of Porth Y Garan (which can be found here). Armed with our tiny sketch map of new routing possibilities and a sense of adventure we packed up and left. 

I didn't realise how much just going climbing meant to me. I don't mean going out for a day's bouldering with routes or problems in mind. Or going out to massage you're ego (or help someone else massage thiers). Going climbing, without any worry about grade or line, especially next to the sea (and to quote johnny readhead) nourishes the soul.  

The little cliff we were climbing at is situated in front of a quaint little bay. The bay itself is sheltered on most sides from the wind and would have made an amazing place to spend the night. It's somewhere I hope I'll remember to head back to in the summer. There is just so much climbing there and a lot of it is unrecorded or untopoed (new word I guess) at least. I could imagine long summer evenings soloing across beautiful rock while the sun sets over the Irish sea. The rock isn't perfect but it is compact and has great friction. At the same time it is a little loose and crumbly in places. It seems to be quite a soft rock to climb on and I managed to crumble a few gear placements when I was tugging my gear to set it. Whatever, it's a lovely place to climb.


We went armed with a small topo of the right hand crag, as this was where most of the new routing opportunities lay. However we didn't actually climb on it because, well it looked a bit small and broken. There was a couple of amazing looking lines there and something I'd really like to go back and try (obviously I'm not going to say on here just in case the three or four people ho actually read this run and steal my line). We climbed on the left hand cliff, the one which I'd not actually taken a topo for, leaving us with our imagination about what to climb up. Firstly Soames took an easy jug pulling line, before I was allowed to be unleashed on what was to become Without Hope or Agenda (VS 4b/c). This took a line up past 2 clear pockets in the face, then taking a small overlap before running it out to the top. It was a nice little route and I didn't know it was a FA when I was on it, hence the name.


Soames then took a bit of a girdle traverse on the basis that I'd brought 60m ropes and we were going to use them! This took a great through some suspect rock which you could feel crumbling under your feet as they settled. This line went at about VS 4a/b and Soames named it Kleptomaniac. The last line was actually on the topo, but it was one that has stuck me as soon as we got down to the cliff. It was a curving line just off centre of the face. I was pretty easy and the gear was very interesting. I also pulled an old wire out of the face which was quite nice too.


The rest of the day was spent walking along cliff top following the vague descriptions in the guidebooks and searching for new lines. We found loads of cliff that wasn't actually in the guidebook and had some really trouble relating the descriptions to the actual lines that have been but up. In then end I think we gave up a little too. The cliff which looked amazing from half a km away suddenly turned out to be tiered easy slabs and I lost heart a little. Aside from this there was some really interesting ruins, standing stone, old field boundaries and a host of other oddities. If you're interested in this then here might be useful.

We did actually do another route, by the time we'd walked round to Rhoscolyn main area. We scrambled in so I could lead Truant a classic VS there, which seeps badly. Today was clearly a bad day for Truant as it was pretty much running with water but we didn't find that out till we had got down there. Instead of just scrambling back out I just took a line up the driest area of rock I could find. Soames had clearly done it before as he offered me his skyhook, knowing the protection was a little run out. I actually really climbing. It was a little run out but that didn't really matter because the climbing was so good. Belaying however was awkward to find enough decent anchors.


We then took a walk back along the coasts and cliff tops, making more of an effort to explore the cliffs. In particular we checked out a short looking red colour cliff (named "crag x") in the guidebook. This cliff had been given a particularly poor write up in the guide, but we'd decided to check it out anyway... and what a shock we were in for. It's pretty awesome as undescribed cliffs go and we'll be heading back there soon enough.


Sadly, due to my inability to remember if I've pulled the photos off my camera, I think I've lost all the pictures from that weekend.

Weekend of the 14/01/12

It was a fairly uneventful weekend by all accounts. There are no photographs, because although I carried my camera around all weekend I didn't really find anything worth shooting. Actually that's a lie, there is always something worth shooting, but I could be bothered to actually take the picture. It all stared as normal with a group of us drinking tea round someones student house in stoke instead of taking advantage of the early start we'd promised ourselves. We (a group consisting largely of SUMC members) headed to Castle Naze, because it's close, there is a reasonably wide berth of climbing for such a small crag and it's not the Roaches. So of the SUMC still went to the Roaches in the morning, I guess they can't get enough of the place.

Over the course of the day I ended up botching the crux on an E1 6a route (Orm and Cheep) I've done before. I messed my hands up grabbing the pocket I needed and instead of reaching across with my left, I had to cross through with my right. I couldn't commit to it so I broke the rules that govern "eliminate" routes and grabbed the HS crack so I could sort my hands out. I was pissed and I still am, because I should have read it better. To cheer myself up I soloed Icebreaker (E2 5b), again to Killian slight disbelief. Then came the grand sitting around which always seems to occur when I end up climbing with the SUMC. I think the problem stems from the fact that there are a few people who'll lead but many many more who're happy seconding. It means for the people who can lead, they can pick out a belayer and then get the route done they want, sometimes regardless of whether the belayer will get up it.

In the end I teamed up with a lad named Andy Finn and we did The Crack (VS 4b) which was great. There was good moves, good gear and a nice sense of exposure as you bridged up the sentry box. Andy also really enjoyed this route too but we had a bit of a problem while he seconded it. Andy used to tie his knot and stopper knot pretty far away from his harness. I guess tying in to your harness quite snuggly and neatly isn't something he has had drummed into him. Basically one of his roped got caught in the crack and wedged pretty tight. I had to lower him back down on the other rope. I think the main thing to take from this is I got to show him how useful double ropes were.


I did want to have a crack at Birthday Climb (HVS 5b) but finding a belayer proved a bit of a problem as half the group left to go to the outdoor show. This caused enough confusing about who was staying and who was going that the rest of us just gave up. I had a Birthday Party to attend in Stoke (one of my old uni mates). My evening was spent eating at pizza hut and watching "Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol". I am not a film critic, but I'd give it 6/10. The story was good, and acting ok and I was impressed by Tom Cruise, who seems to have gained a lot of weight (I guess he's getting old).


I had a rough night in my poor quality decathlon down sleeping bag. It's just getting a little old and abused. I still expect it to perform really well but sleeping in a student house is probably more akin to biviing out in Scottish winter. After much debate I went to Hen Cloud. Ronnie made it 2/3 of the way up great chimney before he lowered off and Killian finished it. In the mean time Ronnie belayed me up Bachelors Route (VS 4c). I've done this before, about 4 years ago but the route was a real breeze. All the moves felt right and all the gear was good. It was probably one of the most enjoyable climbing experiences I've ever had.

It wasn't the case when I jumped on Bachelors Left Hand (HVS 5b). This I got on when I was cold, tired and got feeling so great in general. To cut a reasonably short tale even shorter I got freaked out and back off after down climbing to my last piece of gear. This is the first route I've failed on this year but it's ok. It was the right decision and I'm glad I made it.


I came away from this weekend not feeling that great about climbing, but feeling really excited about what could be in store next weekend. I'm going back down to the forest of dean with Rachel (hopefully) and I'm looking to explore some more bouldering and solo/highball problems.