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. 

East Gully (IV 3,4)

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)

Easter Weekend 2013: a cold adventure.

[I'm not going to lie, I've been really struggling to write this post for a few weeks. It happens sometimes that I just don't know how to get everything down that I want to say about a weekend. Sometimes it just that no matter what I write it comes across as a disjointed and cobbled mess jumping from point to point. I've got to get this one down though, because it really was an excellent weekend]

Each Easter I go away to Wales. I have done ever since my first Easter trip years ago with Toaf. As times have progressed I've been away for whole weekends in good weather with loads of people to a single day trip. There's has only been one Easter trip that's actually winter conditions and I remember Toaf and I heading out (sans crampons, though avec a walking axe each) and doing the north and south ridges of Tryfan, Bristly Ridge and then having the navigate off the Glyder plateaux in a full white out. It was one to remember.

This year there was the best winter conditions I've experienced in Wales and I got to spend three days ice climbing at Idwal. Not only that but I went away with some great people. I couple we're old friends, one a recent additon to my climbing life and one was someone I've been wanting to get out with, but never really through our paths would cross. To make things even better I got to take out two of my friends, who won't mind me telling you that they only had a little or zero ice climbing experience before hand.

In the end Tim, Laura, Finney, Simon and Me base camped at Eric's barn. The barn itself feels like a second home to me and it has everything I could require for a base camp of sorts. We'd had a nice set up in there with a mock kitchen on the one side and all of us sleeping at the same end of the bunks. There was even a nice bean to hang all the winter kit off to dry. Our days were all actually pretty similar. We'd aim to get up around 6am, which meant that I did and everyone else stayed in bed for an extra few minutes (or half an hour). The planned leaving time was 0700 but we always mssed it. Then we'd drive to Idwal and walk in for our chosen route. By 1600 each day (normally sooner) we were back at Eric's lazing around outside in the sunshine waxing lyrical about the days' climbing while the gear hung from beams, rafter and washing lines drying. For some reason the boots always ended up on the top of my car.

The evenings were spent getting a bit drunk and cooking a variety of different foods as each climbing team seemed to be cooking for themselves. The evening activities would follow and this ranged from bouldering around the inside of the barn, dry-tooling the outside of he barn (including the beams, much to the horror of Laura), chin-up competitions and general tomfoolery. At some point Me and Simon would usually sit down and look through the guidebook for an objective for the next day, before the bags were packed and the kit made ready for the morning. The evenings last activity always ended up being a shiver in the sleeping bags... the hut has no heating.

Our first day saw us heading for Idwal Stream (II/III). It's a route I've climbed before in winter but doing it again would be fun. Routes never form in exactly the same way and the ice has a different character each year depending on what has led up to it forming. Idwal was a good option because it also offered lots of escape routes, should that me necessary. Up until this point ice climbing was something Finney had only dreamed of, whilst Laura had had one day of winter climbing on the Ben under her belt (which very nearly put her off completely). Simon and Tim would climb together as one team, leaving Laura, Finney and myself to follow.

I block lead every pitch on Idwal, which left Finney and Laura alone on the belays and they then climbed together. The idea of this was to keep the speed up, something that has become an obsession in winter. Moving quickly just makes more sense to me. If I have confidence in myself and the conditions then I'll try and move as quick as possible, something that Laura apparently cursed me for as she struggled to pay the ropes out quick enough. I don't think I've told her but her belaying was pretty spot on all weekend.

As for the route itself it couldn't have been more perfect, especially for Laura and Finney's first day out. The pitches of ice seamlessly flowed into easy snow slopes with reasonbly good belays throughout the route. I don't think I enjoy climbing anything as much as I enjoy climbing ice. There is just something about it, the movement, the medium, the texture, the punishment. For me it is a very simple joy. It's strange to think that a bit of frozen water can cause so much emotion but it does. We climbed about five distinct pitches of ice, connected by short snow gullies before we go to the final snow slope. Here I moved together with Finney and Laura soloed for a bit, until she decided that she didn't like moving over snow and became part of Simon and Tim's team. As winter days go, it was pretty perfect.

The second day both of ours teams headed for The Ramp (III/IV 3) as it was slightly harder and we knew it was in condition. Both Laura and Finney had expressed a wish to try some harder ice and this coincided well with my own personal desire to climb another classic ice route in Idwal.

This time Laura, Finney and I were the first team in the route. The first pitch was more of a snowy ramp than anything else until the final 15ft where it steeped and became the base of the main icefall. I joined the team before me in shared the cramped belay and made polite conversation as I belayed up Laura and Finney. With the three of us sharing belays it did make things quite cramped but I found a few ways round it. One was pre-cutting ledges for Finney and Laura if necessary and the second was to get Laura involved with the belaying. She climbed faster than Andy (as he had to remove the last belay) and once she'd arrived, she took over belaying up Finney. This gave me chase to re-flake the ropes ready for the next pitch. Over the course of the weekend we seemed to have this particular technique down to a tee.

The next pitch of ice was the big one, at least for this route. It was only short but the ice was fat. It was very enjoyable to climb, made more so by the overhanging roof of rock which made movement so much harder. I ended up kneeling on an icey step at one point (a bit of a touch and go moment!) while I moved my axes up. It did end with a much more spacious belay though. Laura and Finney both seemed thoroughly engaged in the pitch as I belayed them up. I think Finney might have even had a moment when his crampons ripped out, which can't have been a fun experience on his second ice route.

The final pitch was like a lot of final pitches, long and snowy. I actually like these pitches because on the odd occasion that they're full of neve then you can literally just run up them. This pitch wasn't filled with neve, but never the less it was fun to try and climb it as fast as I could. Laura must have loathed belaying me on this type of terrain. I stopped before I ran out of rope, finding an excellent block to belay off and they both joined me while we sat and waited for Simon. Simon didn't show up for a while and eventually Tim appeared climbing up the snowy gully on the lead, grim faced and muttering “why the f*ck do I do this”. He smiled when he saw us and belayed off the same rock bring up a soaked Simon, as the icefall has sprung a leak and he had nowhere to go. I guess that's just one of the perils of winter climbing!

On our final day we headed straight for Central Route (III, 3/4) but this time Tim didn't join us. He did walk in with us and even took some food and drink to meet us at the top after he'd bagged Y-Garn. Laura and I were first on route with Finney and Simon following on behind us. The first pitch was everything I wanted in a ice route, even with the lack of gear. We didn't even have a belay to start from, though we could have dug and axe belay. I'd set off with the intention of getting something in early but unless I pegged some rather chossy rock I wasn't going to happen. Instead I just enjoyed moving quickly over some excellent ice. I did find something eventually below the first serious bit of steeper ice. It was here that having 60 metre ropes really paid off.

Me and Laura were the first team on the route that day, something that I love. I hate being stuck behind another team for quite a few reasons. There is always the risk of ice, rock, gear or even a person coming down on you but my big concern is that I'm forced to belay behind the other team. It just wastes time and with this approach it saw me jetting off up the steepest bit of ice till I ran out of rope just after I'd passed it (much to my relief!). Laura climbed so well that day and she really enjoyed it.

The next pitch was a snowy gully with short sections of ice, before it broadened out again. Here I could just pick and choose whichever line I wanted, so of course I went for the hardest piece sure that Laura would be able to follow. Again she did and on arriving we decided it was time for Laura to learn how to take coils and move together. We didn't really need to as it was easy enough to solo but with such a nice day we could afford to. The final snow slope up the gully actually steepened but was full of perfect neve. I almost regretted the moving together as I just wanted to run up as fast as I could! We made short work of it either way.

Our speed on this route turned into our slight downfall as we now had to wait for our partners in crime climbing beneath us. It turned out they'd had to do it in three pitches in the end but we took the time to go through various snow anchors before settling down to huddle together out of the wind. It was almost a shame to look down on what was a perfect snow slope to see it covered in my crampon marks and a tonne of different ice axes belays and snow bollards. As we sat and waited who should turn up but Tim. This welcome surprise was made all the better by the flask of hot tea he provided. It wasn't long before Finney and Simon joined us, soloing up the final slope, Finney with a look of complete happiness on his face.

And that was it for our winter climbing over the Easter weekend. Considering I'd written off this winter season completely due to the state of my ankles I was overjoyed to get these routes in. It also reminded me how much I love climbing ice and just being out in winter in general. I couldn't have asked for better partners to climb with, or better people to spend time with over the 4 days. It was so nice to be away with a group so solely psyched to just get out climbing.

This winter trip has also led me onto planning another Alps trip, with Finney who's just psyched to get out there that I literally can't wait. Simon'll be out there this summer as well so the possibility of teaming up with him for a route is always on the cards.

Life is good. 

A rather mad weekend... but with a sense of purpose

If last weekend (easter weekend) did anything, what it did was psyche me up for more climbing in a way that I've not felt in a while and like mot good climbing adventures it starts with a rather mad idea. The conditions were still in in North Wales but they wouldn't last forever. With this is mind but some time constraints I called up Finney with a simple plan... sleep out in the mountains and got climbing nice and early to guarantee that the route would still be frozen. I supposed you could view this as a mock alpine approach to winter climbing but did mean that I'd be able to get a night out in the mountains wild camping. How did it all go then?

I had time constraints in the form of an induction at Peak Pursuits on their mobile climbing wall (on the Friday morning) and then work (on said mobile climbing wall) at Trentham Gardens on the Sunday. This gave us from whatever time I finished my induction to technically Sunday morning, but instead of cutting it fine we opted to come back on the evening before. As soon as my induction was over I headed to Finney's house and we began the process of deciding on everything we'd need, then trying to fit it into two sacks for the walk in. We could have packed everything up much lighter than we did, but that would probably have made for a cold night. Instead we stuck a few luxury items in like a second sleeping bag (for me), Petrol MSR stove because it's more efficient for the amount of fuel and therefore we could brew up more and a tent instead of bivi bags. Normally I'd have plumed for bivi bags, but Andy kind of made the final decision on this and I'm grateful for it.

In my head I saw us packing up the sacks in like twenty minutes and heading off to wales, but in reality it took us a couple of hours. We ended up discussing each piece of gear and whether we should take it. I began to think Andy was a little nervous about going and worried about how warm he'd be over night. I long ago accepted that my sleeping bags have one advantage, they're lightweight but not warm so I knew I was in for a restless night. Then we got onto the food we'd be eating. Andy didn't quite fancy my idea of Smash powder and thus we ended up with pasta, thick vegetable soup and a piece of fresh salmon to boil up with the pasta. I'm not going to lie, I was skeptical.

By the time we did come to leave I knew we'd be walking in in the evening light and not the afternoon sunshine. This was even better as far as I was concerned as the light at that time of day puts a beautiful glow on almost everything it touches. We'd get to watch the sunset as it dipped behind the mountains. This is exactly what happened on our walk in. With heavier packs than the weekend before we were somewhat slowed down but it didn't matter. When I pointed out that I'd planned to camp actually up in Nameless Cwm in preparation for an ice route in the morning I got the distinct impression that Finney did not want to camp on the snow. We settled on a camping spot (after much searching around for a flat piece of ground that overlooked most to the back wall of devils kitchen. By now it was actually getting dark and there was a distinct change in the temperature as the sun dipped out of view. It was time for cups of tea and food to be sorted, by headtorch light.

Cooking was a fun game. I'd set up a kitchen area slightly away from the tent because it was out of the wind. With hindsight I'll just cook in the awning of the tent in future as I ended up doing that anyway. I'll get to lay in my sleeping then as well. As I've mentioned Finney had carried up a piece of fresh salmon, something I was sceptical of. His plan was to just throw it in with the pasta and allow it to cook through and break down, before adding the soup. This was probably the nicest wild camping food I've ever eaten and the smell of boiling salmon must have carried for miles over the Idwal area. It really did smell amazing.

Our evenings entertainment was in the form of a team of three climbing up Idwal stream, by headtorch light. We noticed them as we started eating and couldn't work out if they were stuck, involved in the rescue of just slow. I think they were probably having difficulty with a pitch because they soon speeded up their progress as the evening progress. They didn't start down the walk off until 1115 and by this time we'd retreated to the sleeping bags and were sipping hot chocolate (brewed in the awning!). Finney was going for the full “alpine” experience as he'd forgotten his roll mat and not realised until we started sorting out the kit in the car park. My car usually has a few odds and ends in it and we found two pieces of foam (normally sitting mats) that'd do the job. When Finney realized he'd forgotten his roll mat, his first thought was that he'd just sleep on his bag not wanting to miss out on a nights camping. I think this is testament to his sturdiness. Sleep came eventually and I'd closed my eyes and accepted that I'd have a cold, restless night.

To my amazement I didn't wake up during the night shivering, not did I wake up in the morning cold. I'd actually had a warm night in the sleeping bag... as poor as they are. I put it down to a few things like wearing my belay jacket to sleep in and sharing the tent which must have pushed the temperature up. We did oversleep but this was probably because we stayed up discussing our planned route for the day before. Originally I'd suggested Clogwen Left hand high up in Nameless Cwm. It was a route I'd attempted early on in the season last year when the second pitch of ice wasn't fully formed, but I'd already clocked that the top pitch had a fat load of ice on it. Finney wanted to climb a grade IV as well, but the only problem with this plan was that it was grade V. I was pretty psyched to try it but it was quite a grade jump for Finney, especially as it was his 4^th ice route. We also only had four ice screws with us. Idea's were thrown back and forward till Finney suggested East gully IV (3,4) which was supposed to be quick to come into condition and was a mixed route. Somehow this became our objective for the day.

I managed to make a brew from my sleeping bag in the morning. This might not seem like a big achievement but when you factor in I've borrowed a rather temperamental MSR XGR petrol stove it is, especially as I did it without melting the tent. I've been using this stove for a few weekends just because of the cold weather and it really impresses me. It is definitely the most economical stove I've used with regards to fuel and because of this I don't feel bad about leaving it running and brewing up loads of water. The other benefit is that I don't have to sleep with cold gas canisters in my sleeping bag.

We weren't the first people up that morning. As I left the tent and started packing up for the day a couple of teams passed us on the walk in to Nameless Cwm, eager to get in routes before the thaw that day. We left the tent at about 0800 and after much plodding through powder snow got to the base of the route at about 0900. I'm sure if the snow conditions were better then we'd have gotten there much quicker. Sadly the snow was a nice thin crust of neve, not enough to support my or Finney's weight and then up to a couple of foot of powder snow beneath. Needless to say progress was slow. We had tried to go for a lighter approach by bringing only the one sack. One of the reasons behind this was that Finney's sack was already falling to bits and defiantly not suitable for climbing in.

The first pitch of East Gully was horrendous. It was by far the hardest pitch I'd led all season and I was bricking it all the way up. I think that I might have not climbed the correct line and instead climbed a groove which relied on too much tenious hooking for my liking. The correct line I think followed a rather thin stream of ice to the left, but I really didn't fancy that. I reached a piece of rock that resembled a belay and brought Finney up to me, who wasn't happy about this pitch either. Still we carried on and got our first and last section of ice in.

The next pitch started with a short 15 metre section of ice which I happily climbed up until I hit the powder snow above. This powder really slowed us down as I was forced o pretty much clean a few inches of the stuff off for each decently placement. The Snow carried on till another belay could be reached. The belays on this route were few and far between and all a little bit hard to organise. It is just part of winter climbing, but finding a good belay for each pitch was a priority for me. I just didn't want to hold Finney if he fell off. 

The rest of the route was simply a joy to climb. I'd now climbed enough that I wasn't bothered about the lack of pure ice on the route and my brain seemed to have engaged into using the frozen turf. I love the noise it makes when you sink a pick deep into a big plug of turf and it just sounds like it's never going to come out. Mixed climbing in this way always seems so much more akin to rock climbing as you're constantly looking for the next placement and trying to keep balance on your crampons so much more. I've always found pure ice much simpler to climb as I make my own holds and move up without really thinking about how I'm moving, instead just letting it happen and enjoying it. 

I did have a few moments as I was leading though. At one point I had everything I was standing on and axes buried into rip out, causing me to fall about 5 ft before my right axe (which had been wildly swung at the wall) caught on a small edge. I hung there for a minute, with about a centimeter of my pick hooked on this small ledge and glanced down at Finney. I can still remember the ashen look on his face as I made some stupid comment to try and relieve the stress of the situation. I moved a little slower and tested placements a lot more after that.

The last pitch was again a little bit exciting. I tried to take the hardest line out of the top of the gully, but I couldn't make the step over to it so I carried on the up the next hardest. At the back of my mind some little mental ticker was flashing up a warning along the lines of “You'll run out of rope soon” and all I could think was that there was no way of me safely reversing the moves I'd just done. I was committed to finishing this short section and hopefully finding a belay above. I did make it onto the snow slope at the top, which was terrible. The type of crumbly snow which seems to delight in shifting away under your feet and giving you a horrible feeling of insecurity. I spotted a good crack about 10ft away and took two steps before the rope came tight. I was now up the creek without a paddle. I yelled to Finney that he'd need to start climbing. From his point of view he had just watching this mass of snow coming down the route. For all the powder that I'd had to clear off on the way up, Finney had to wade through it as he seconded. He wasn't happy about simuli-climbing the last 10ft. 

Needless to say my brain kicked in eventually and I started digging through the snow till I found something. This something was in the form of a sling round a bedrock spike. In the summer when I'm trad climbing I never build a belay off one anchor, it just doesn't seem acceptable but for some reason the rules are different in winter. I yelled I was safe and started taking in. Finney arrived shortly after and took the last pitch, a short pitch of good snow and he brought me up the the final belay where we sat in the sun.

I'd checked my watch and it was now 1200 which meant we'd climbed pretty well. The afternoon was supposed to be 9 degrees and I wanted to be off the snow by this till. We could have moved a little quicker to start down but I don't think we felt we needed too. Instead we sat eating through the small amount of food we brought, re-racked most of the gear (apart from the dropped or left behind items) and discussed the route. Finney told me there was a few moments where he was just not happy and wanted to be elsewhere. I told him I'd had the same but for both of us it was never when were actually climbing, just when we were hanging around belaying. I guess we had time to let our minds just wander.

I could bore you with our long journey back down but there isn't that much I can say about walking down hill through snow. I can tell you that it was a bad choice putting the asymmetric bars on my G14 crampons. They made it awkward to walk in and bad to climb in and top of that by the time I'd finished the left crampon had disconnected itself from my boot and was hanging round my ankle. My first thought was to sell them and I probably will. I can't really justify owning a heavy weight pair of really aggressive crampons when my general use crampons are close to breaking. I should just replace them with some G12's. 

Back at base camp (for want of better phrase) it quickly became apparent that Andy and I were tired, and with an afternoon of sunshine you can just imagine what happened. We got as far as making a single cup of tea (each) before we lay in the sun and fell asleep. When we did move it as late afternoon but there was no rush to get back. I only had work in the morning.

The weekend before I climbed my first ice routes of the season and now this weekend just gone has probably been my last. I really do feel pretty lucky to even have got this small amount of winter climbing in. Although I'm supposed to be coming to the end of my physio (which has been excellent) and my ankles do feel stronger they still hurt a lot. It's like a constant worry at the back of my mind that I'll twist an ankle. Even a small twist seems to put me out of action for a week or so at the moment. I'm pretty happy to have even got out.

Finally, and this feels a little like an obituary, but my trusty tent has finally given up. I've had her for many many years and she's stood up to some truly horrible conditions and never been found wanting. The fabric is seems is now just too weak to even sew back together and a pole broke when I set it up to repair it. It's a sad moment for me and rather stupidly something I'm having a lot of trouble coming to terms with. I've got a lot of memories of that tent and it's taken me to many places. I guess it's last wild camping as our base camp whilst winter climbing was a fitting end.

Spring is here

I often joke that there are only 2 seasons in my year. Summer for trad-climbing and winter for winter-climbing. These seasons are not fixed and can overlap, especially during what is normally referred to a spring and autumn where I might be climbing on sunkissed rock one weekend and plodding through the snow on another.

Of course there aren’t only 2 seasons in the year and this is a pretty narrow minded point of view. Spring and autumn are awesome and clearly (by me at least) underrated. It’s spring I’ll write about today. First my mushrooms have finally grown. Rachel pointed out that spending £5 on a mushroom growing kit from B&Q makes it a pretty expensive harvest, but I don’t care as it’s finally produced a single mushroom. Mushrooms are not the only thing in our flat. We’ve got our little greenhouse up and running and have little plants sprouting up all over the place. We’ve tried to be a little more greener and installed a new set of storage things for the recycling. This is a great idea and it would be made all the better if the council actually collected the recycling for our flat.

 

Finally what has made this spring really cool has been all the birds I’ve seen when I’ve been out climbing, and at home. Up and down the coast over the past few weekends I’ve seen seabirds flying backwards and forwards. I’ve been screamed at by large blacktip gulls who have been defending their nests at Crag X and we’ve sat on the cliff and watched the oystercatchers defending their island. There is a cormorant at crag x that keeps us company, and carries off massive fish every so often.

On the last visit that was bird I didn’t recognise and I’ve spent the last week trying to work out. It was a Wheatear and it took almost 2 days for me to get a reasonable decent shot of it with my camera. It was nice to see something new.

I did mention at home to. We’ll not quite at home, but at my parents there is blue tit which had taken advantage of an old nest box that my Dad has uprooted and just left lying against the fence. I think there are 7 chicks in total. I’ll be keeping an eye on them over the coming weeks to see how they develop.

 

Quickly a final note, at Castle Naze this weekend I finally found a Dung Beetle! (here) the wiki page isn't very helpful but these guys do turn up all over the place, so keep a look out for them!