Soft Rock

Seasonal Soft Rock

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 13:26:00 +0000

Dave on 2 x 30 (F8c) at El Pati

Back home in Aviemore, back to work, back to the cold. After a week in Siurana under blue skies and perfect climbing temperatures it’s a bit of a shock to be thrust into the frost and the dark.

Our wee trip was no-where near long enough, but it was definitely enough to get me psyched to get in on this Euro-sport climbing thing. A leisurely start, a brew, read a book, stroll to the crag, climb, belay, rest, chat, climb, stroll back, have a brew, make some dinner, sit about, chat, play some chess, sleep. Repeat.

Shoes: Check. Harness: Check. Rope: Check. Banana: Check. OK, ready to roll.

Siurana itself is a tiny hilltop village, surrounded on almost all sides by limestone cliffs looming out of a sprawling pine forest. It’s the perfect playground: a mixture of adrenaline-pumping psyche and awe-inspiring beauty. There’s just so much rock, with over 30 separate crags within walking distance of the village, and with grades spreading from F4 to F9a+. On first arrival and the first flick through the topo you can’t help but be bewildered. Luckily for me though, most of the folk I was with had been here before and cherry-picked the best crags and routes to try.

Siurana village

I won’t witter on too much about routes and grades, but for me the tip was a success. I somehow managed to flash a F7a (Ramena Nena at Espero Primavera) and managed the goal I’d set myself of redpointing a F7a+ (the brilliant Cromagnon Climbing at Can l’ Isobelle). Mind you, these pale into insignificance when surrounded by the other folk on the trip. Among the highlights were Euan flashing a F7c and redpointing an F8a+, Blair onsighting at least one F7b everyday, Dave ticking an F8b+ and Jenny taking her first airmiles. Other things that impressed me were Tweedley’s ability to climb everyday with tips held together by a cocktail of superglue, tape and dried blood, Donald’s ability to spout utter nonsense for a full 45 metre pitch, culminating with cries of “that’s the jigger” as he clips the lower-off, and Dave’s remarkably accurate impression of a pheasant trying to cross the A82.

Tweedley gets to grips with a F7c

________

So, I imagine that rounds off the Soft Rock adventures of 2009 (unless something exciting happens next weekend). It’s not all about numbers, but at the start of the year if someone had told me that I was going to onsight E3, headpoint E7, flash F7a, redpoint F7a+, onsight VI and come 9th in the OMM Elite Class, I’d be a very happy bunny, so I guess I should be. All these personal successes have come with their own ups and downs, stresses and strains, and all have formed and shaped the rich tapestry of the past twelve months. Here’s hoping all our explorations and adventures continue to grow in 2010.

Merry Xmas y’all.

The sun sets on another perfect day

Siurana Sunshine

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 19:34:00 +0000

It´s wednesday night, the end of a rest day and the night before I get on my wee project in the cool morning sunshine.

So far it´s been a really good trip and this tiny blog post can do absolutely no justice to the quality of the climbing and the beauty of the place. Suffice it to say, I´ll be back.

Donald cuts loose on the start of the brilliant Cromagnon Climbing (7a+)

Somehow flashing Ramena Nena (7a)

Jenny bears down while Blair looks chic at Corral Nou

Tweedley needs a rest!

Go to Dave´s blog for more words and pics of bigger and harder things...

Winter in Aviemore

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 12:29:00 +0000

A new day

Opening the account: Alex on Route Major

Evening entertainment: Steve thinking way outside the box

Back to work

Eerie ice on the first aid box in Scneachda

Joe's go

My happy place

On Bolts

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 12:23:00 +0000

Like most British climbers, I’m a jack of all trades. As the seasons and weather dictate I enjoy my share of rock, snow and ice. Whether it’s a big icy runnel in the mountains or a five-move boulder problem in the glens, I’m a happy camper. However, there’s a problem. I’ve come to realise that there’s a glaring omission in my climbing C.V: sport climbing. You see, I’ve not really done much. I feel that in all the other climbing disciplines I’ve worked hard and progressed and am finally beginning to reach a level that I’m fairly proud of: not so with sport climbing.

To my mind, sport climbing and bouldering are the keys to being a good all round climber. There’s no doubt that being strong on bolts translates to being strong above wires, cams, hammered hexes and tied off screws, and although it might not directly teach you how to deal with the fear that trad and winter provide, knowing that you can hang around, find rests, and do hard moves again and again can only be a huge confidence boost.
So, in my sad quest to be a better climber, why haven’t I done much? I’ve had a think and come up with two reasons. Firstly, the classic excuse: I live in Britain, and there’s not much high quality sport climbing here. To focus in a bit more, I live in the Highlands, and there’s even less of it (although what we do have is generally very good).

Secondly, the real excuse: it’s hard! Let’s be honest, in trad and winter climbing you don’t actually need to be that good a climber to climb at a reasonable standard. In these disciplines there are so many other factors involved besides the physical act of climbing – finding and placing protection, route-finding, dealing with fear, a long approach, bad weather and conditions on the route. Managing all these factors make up such a big part of the day that the actual climbing doesn’t have to be that hard in order to feel pretty involving. In sport climbing there’s none of this, there’s a line of bolted rock between you and the top and all that exists is the physical movement. Being able to keep a cool head miles above your last runner is no help here: you need to be a good climber. And that’s the problem.

Preparing to headpoint Firestone: Evidently, it's not that hard, you just need to be brave (or daft). Photo: Dave MacLeod.

Chris after Number Three Gully Buttress on the Ben. It wasn't the climbing that did this to him, it was the fear, the blizzard and the long approach.

However, I’ve got a chance to try to change. I’m off to Siurana in North East Spain for a week in early December; an escape from the not-yet-winter, and a chance to try hard on the steep stuff, so let’s see what happens….

My first (and last) sport climbing holiday, in Sardinia in 2005. I'd only been climbing for a year so hopefully I'll be a bit better this time.

The Recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 09:21:00 +0000

November bouldering requirements: Flask, hat, wellies, dachsteins (for feet)

Ingredients:

2 x Five Ten Anazazi Verde rock shoes
1 x Full chalk bag
1 x bouldering pad
1 x old toothbrush
1 x bar towel
1 x down jacket
1 x wooly hat
2 x Dachstein gloves
2 x Wellington boots
1 x flask of coffee, large
selection of cereal bars, chocolate, fruit, nuts.
1 x big dose of motivation for ‘pulling down’

Plus a selection of either:
good skin or lots of finger-tape,
good technique or an excess of strength (preferably both)
good circulation or thermal clothing

An excess of skin may be handy

Recipe:
Wait for a cool, sunny day in November. Pack all the ingredients into your shiny new car and take them to the Ruthven boulder. Once there, deploy the 2 x Wellington boots for the treacherous approach. At the boulder use a suitable combination of the ingredients to warm up (1 x wooly hat recommended, and possibly exchange the 2 x Wellington boots for the 2 x Five Ten Anazazi Verde rock shoes). When fully warm and stretched unleash the 1 x big dose of motivation for ‘pulling down’ on a boulder problem of your choice (chef’s recommendation: The Big Lebowski). While working on your chosen problem it is important to have regular breaks. At these points 1 x down jacket, 2 x Dachstein gloves, 1 x flask of coffee, large, and the selection of cereal bars, chocolate, fruit, nuts may be used liberally. Once the top has been reached or the 1 x big dose of motivation for ‘pulling down’ has been depleted, pack up and go home, smiling all the way.

Putting in another shift on The Big Lebowski, Ruthven

The Ice was all around

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 13:42:00 +0000

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men or beasts we ken –
The ice was all between,

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!

From The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

The view to come. Photo: Viv Scott

With the changing of the clocks something stirs in the Highlands. There’s a discernable feeling of the new season approaching; a switching of the gears in readiness for the long dark months ahead. Headlights illumine the daily commute. A torch comes to hand when walking the dog. Jackets and hats and gloves start to make their way onto the hooks in the hallway. The coal bucket fills and empties, the embers glow in the stove.

Then the murmuring begins. Starting low but slowly, slowly gathering and lifting, building to a clamoring gaggle: the expectant buzz. Training and boulders, hilltops and hot-aches, tall tales from times past, big ideas about times to come. Plans.

Where will you be this winter?

Downtime

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 08:39:00 +0000

It’s funny how things go. You anticipate and expect so much. You plan, you stress, you strain, you sweat and you train, and then, just like that, it’s over. Like a climbing project, you always inflate it in your head until it feels like a massive challenge, but when you actually do it, it doesn’t feel like such a big deal.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been worried about competing in the OMM this year, but it seems like a healthy dose of fear was needed to kick my arse into gear. Somehow, and I’m still not really sure how, Duncan and I came 9th overall in the Elite Class. Given that we were initially thinking that simply completing the race would be worthy of celebration we’re pretty pleased.

So, what was it like? Well, let’s put it this way, I won’t be volunteering as an ambassador for the Elan Valley tourist board. The place is one big bog, covered in a thin veneer of bog, surrounded by a load of bog with bog in the bits between the bogs. Shoe-sucking, knee-deep, peat-black bog. Okay, I’m probably overdoing it. In fact, it’s not all bog, because there are the hundreds of square miles of tussocky grass, waiting for an unsuspecting ankle to snap or groin to strain too. To my botanical mind the grass is called Molinea caerulea, or Purple Moor-Grass, but I’ve also heard it called Bastard Grass, Babies Heads and Policeman’s Helmets, due to the way it forms distinct and large tussocks and is bloody hard work to get through. The worst part is when the gap between the tussocks is bog. However, besides all this, the rolling nature of the hills and their relatively minor stature means that much of the ground is fairly quick to get around and there are no huge crippling ascents.

As seems to be becoming our hallmark, Duncan and I never really flew between the controls but managed to keep a steady pace and to keep on top of our navigation and route choices (mostly). We’ve done enough races together now to know the score: what kit to use (borrow other peoples expensive and very light gear), what to eat (smash, cheese, peperrami, and our top secret ‘Power Breakfast’) and what to carry (I get all the heavy stuff). I definitely had a couple of ‘sugar lows’ when I started to feel empty, but managed to fuel my way out of the slumps with Jelly Babies and energy gels, following on behind Duncan who seemed pretty indomitable the whole time. Bastard.

Now, at last, I can relax and revel in the one short time of the year when I don’t feel the urge to be out getting things done. It’s generally too cold, dark or wet for rock climbing, but it’s not cold enough for winter climbing and there’s no longer any need to be out running; the OMM has been and gone. Instead, let’s light the fire, put on the kettle and settle in with a good book…..

The End Is Nigh

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 09:13:00 +0000

Autumn in Gruinard Bay

Time keeps slipping by and the big weekend of the OMM is now just a matter of days away. My training seems to have worked out pretty well, and I surprised myself by managing to come in in 17th place in the Pentland Skyline race, taking 2hrs56. Later in the week I managed to knock a minute off my Loch an Eilein round, making my time now 18.56 for the 5km trip (being dragged around by freakily fit Stevie Hammond did wonders here). Race partner Duncan came up from Edinburgh for the weekend and we managed one last run in the hills before a week of serious rest. Now it's time to make the final tweaks and arrangements - what to run in, what to carry, what to eat, how to stay hydrated, how much vaseline Duncan's going to put on his balls. All the big questions.

Partners in crime: Harry and Stevie Hammond living the dream

Iain Small on an onsight attempt on a recent E5 6c addition to Goat Crag

I've recently found that when one aspect of either my running or climbing is going well, the rest starts to suffer, and I've definately noticed my indoor climbing has gone all to cock now that my running seems to be going OK. Hoping that this wouldn't be the case on the real stuff I made use of a high pressure system hovering over Scotland, took a day off work and hit the road northwards to get some late-season rock routes done. Now, for those that know the North West Highlands you'll know that come sunshine or showers, this place is heart-stoppingly beautiful. What I hadn't expected was how much more spectauclar it is at this time of year: the kaliedoscope of autumn leaves, frosty white glens, golden hillsides, cloud inversions and clear blue skies, and with acres of rock to play on it could just be paradise. On day one Stevie and I joined Blair and Iain at Goat Crag in Gruinard Bay, where Stevie and I got a resounding spanking on the bolts while Blair and Iain showed us how to climb properly. On day two Duncan and I went to Stone Valley Crags south of Gairloch and had a great day on perfect gneiss trad. I managed to come away feeling pleased to not fall off Bold as Brass (despite my very best efforts), reassured that there's still some fight left in me.

I suspect that these will be the last rock routes of 2009 (unless winter stays at bay and we all do a big sun dance), and looking back over the summer, I feel fairly pleased with the way my climbing has gone. Here's hoping that I'll be able to look back at the race this weekend in the same way.

Blair cruising Freak Show (E5 6a) at Goat Crag with the Fisherfield Forest beyond.

I just felt like....

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 09:25:00 +0000

I've been struggling to come up with an entertaining way to write about training for the OMM, but to no avail. So, I won't, I'll just give the facts. This is meant as a personal record, so I apologise for any boredom inflicted on the reader (if you exist).

Since Duncan and I decided to enter the elite class I've been fouling my little lycra leggings. We're gonna be rocking with the big boys so I thought that I should at least try to train properly. From my experience, success in mountain marathons is based on three things: route-choice/navigation, tactics (when to push, when to slow, what kit to use) and hill fitness. The first two of these come from race experience, practice and a logical approach. The latter comes from lots of hard work, and it's this that I'm concentrating on. Fortunately I've got an OK base-level of fitness to start from so I've simply been stepping up my running (frequency, distance and speed). Working a 9-5 week, I've attempted to split training into longer hill runs on weekends and shorter runs in evenings, balanced with regular bouldering and climbing sessions on nights off and one or two rest days. The plan is to keep increasing the workload until a few weeks before the race, when I'll start to taper it down and rest.

My longer runs have been:

Glen More - Loch Avon - Beinn Meadhion - Bynack Mor - Glen More: 27km, a bit over 4hrs
Glen More - Ryvoan Bothy - Strath Nethy - Coire Raibert - Cairn Lochan - Coire Cas - Glen More: 24km, 4hrs.
Sugar Bowl car park - Larigh Ghru - Derry Lodge - Coire Etchecan - Loch Avon - Coire Cas - Sugar Bowl: 37km, 4hrs45.
Loch an Eilein - Glen Einich - Sgoran Dubh Mor - Allt a Mharcaidh - Loch Gamhna - Loch an Eilein: 21km, 2hrs40.
Forest Lodge - Meall a Buachaille - Forest Lodge: 13km, 1hr30.

Shorter week-night runs have generally been around Aviemore, up Craigellachie, round Loch Morlich or Loch an Eilein, the Challamain Gap or Burnside circuits. I've also started adding faster runs to the mix, either doing intervals of hill sprints on Burnside (sprint uphill 30 secs, walk back downhill for 45 secs, repeat to the top of the hill) or fast rounds of Loch an Eilein (5 km, P.B: 19mins51). So far, so good.

The next step is doing the Pentland Skyline Race just outside Edinburgh this weekend, then I'll try to speed up round Loch an Eilein in the week, then a small run on the weekend, followed by a week of pasta, resting and quaking in my boots.

Optimism

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 08:07:00 +0000

Mid-September gloom on the West coast

Four pitches up and the inevitable happens. We’ve been watching the surrounding glens and hills smudge in and out of view through the greying rain all day but somehow our own little mountain paradise has remained under a spotlight of sun; romping up the rough schist of Creag Ghlas’ Salamander, holding out for a sliver of luck to keep the soaking away until after the climb.

Only two pitches left, we huddle into the belay, shivering and shuffling like ledge-bound guillemots in an Atlantic storm: the onslaught arrives. Water drips off my helmet and down my nose as another squall races down the glen at us, a slavering pack of hunting dogs come to ruin our fun. “As soon the rain stops this wind’ll dry the rock” I tell Steve, feigning confidence. “Aye, we’ll sit it out a while and see what happens” he replies.

Two minutes later, considerably colder and wetter and with no likely respite, we’ve made up our minds and start our descent. Belay devices wring a steady trickle of water from the ropes as we begin the abseils; stiff frozen fingers fumble with prussik loops and screw-gates. Touching down on rope stretch we pack our sodden gear and slide down the hill, to the bikes, to the car, home and to the warm fire. All the while the waves of showers keep breaking.

Tails between our legs, we spend the evening drying gear around the wood-burner and arguing the toss over tomorrow’s plans. The smart money points eastwards to a day in the Cairngorms, but emboldened by blind optimism we decide to drive into the storm again and see if we can punch through to a sunny West coast. Time will tell.

Leaving a near cloudless dawn in Aviemore, we drive north and west into the gathering dark. Passing through Achnasheen the windscreen wipers twitch and by Kinlochewe are in full flow; it looks like our gamble has failed. Beinn Eighe and Liathach have lost their heads to the swirling clouds and conversation falters to a dejected silence. Then, rounding a spur, out over the sea to Diabaig and Skye beyond we spy a blur of blue and gold on the horizon. Sun! Keep driving!

And we drive on.

A little blue speck beneath The Pillar at Diabaig. I'd wanted to climb this route for years and had said that if I could do this, The Bug and The Needle this summer, anything else would be a bonus. Onsighting E3 and headpointing E5 and E7 feel like pretty big bonuses.

Post-Pillar pleasure

Steve in similar post-Pillar shock and awe

Steve on the first pitch of Foil on the Main Wall at Diabaig

Light and Dark

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:29:00 +0000

Liathach and Ben Eighe from Sgurr a' Mhuilin, Strathconnon

In the same way that Aristotle said that "one swallow does not a Spring make", I'm sure that one high pressure system does not an Indian Summer make. Indian or not, however, this weekend's weather was good enough for me to throw off the oppressive shackles of race training and to go climbing in the sunshine. Yippee. Little did I know it but I was in for two very contrasting days.

Saturday dawned sunny and still as Alex and I hit the road north to Gairloch in search of a day's sport climbing on shiny bolts. Our destination was Grass Crag - a short wall of perfect vertical gneiss, sporting routes from F5 to F7a in a beautiful, friendly spot. In total we ticked 11 routes, included a 6c onsight (my P.B.) and a 7a redpoint, laughed, drank beer and revelled in the jeopardy-free experience that bolted rock affords. By the end of the day were so tired we both fell off a 6a+ before retiring to the wonderful Bridge Cottage Cafe in Poolewe.

Alex ready for another route at Grass Crag

Climb responsibly: wear a helmet.

When I woke up on Sunday and peeked through the curtains it was obvious that a different kind of day was in store. Low cloud shrouded the hills of Strathspey and a fine drizzle fell, saturating everything. I'd agreed to join Kev Shields to act as moral support/belay bunny on his quest to headpoint his first E7. Kev's inspiring story of climbing with only one hand has been written about by many so I won't dwell on the story, but suffice it to say that having moved to Fort William in the summer and climbing his first E5 and E6 in consecutive weeks, his lifeime goal of E7 isn't far away. He'd hoped to get on Firestone at Hell's Lum, but the weather had other ideas, so instead we headed up to Creag Ghlas in Strathconnon fo a look at another of Julian Lines' psycho-slabs, The Unknown Soldier. Paul Diffly from Hotaches Productions was with us too, filming Kev for an upcoming DVD.

Kev working The Unknown Soldier

It turned out that a combination of friction-sapping sunshine, a two-hand specific move on the crux and the trifling matter of a potential groundfall from 15 metres eventually put paid to Kev's attempts and we all walked back to the car in one peice. But, for a short time it was evident that Kev was building up to the lead, entering the dark headspace that dangerous climbing demands, and each slip or mistake on the top-rope seemed to be magnified into the bone snapping reality that it could spell. In the end, Kev realised that now wasn't the time to push the boat out, and sensibly came down unscathed.

Contemplation

I've got very little experience of this type of climbing, but I've done enough to know the feeling of inevitability, both horrible and thrilling, that Kev was going through. As soon as you get on the route and start to make progress you suddenly feel like you've entered into a pact, and you know that at some point, no-matter how distant, you have to climb it. The fact that it's a pact with yourself doesn't seem to matter, in fact, it seems to make it even more unbreakable, and the Damoclean sword just hangs over you until you end it, one way or another....

A Conservation Conversation

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 07:39:00 +0000

Is this Sifaka worth protecting?

A conversation I had yesterday got me thinking about the nature of my work. Someone told me they thought that capercaillie (very rare birds that I’m involved in trying to conserve) were a mixed blessing. It took me a while to work out what they meant. Surely, the presence of one of Britain’s rarest and most charismatic birds anywhere is a good thing. We should be protecting them, shouldn’t we? Like me, the people I was talking to are outdoorsy types – runners and climbers - but to them the presence of capercaillie means restricted access to land, paranoid land-owners and, potentially, millions of pounds thrown away just trying to save a bird. It got me thinking about motives, and ultimately, about my personal view of the importance of nature conservation, and it struck me how it’s really a very personal issue.

As a professional tree-hugger I try to question the work I’m involved in and the motives behind it. I’ve thought long and hard about the hows, whys and wherefores and am still unsure of lots of the answers. Here are a few thoughts to mull over:

Why should humans bother protecting other species or habitats at all?

To what extent should humans intervene with nature in order to bring about our own goals, and by what ‘right’ do we intervene?

Is it acceptable to protect a species or habitat at the cost of human development?

If one rare and protected species survives by eating another rare, protected species, what are you supposed to do?

Are some species more worthy of protection than others?

In trying to answer these seemingly basic questions you very rapidly go from biology and ecology to much bigger issues of morality and philosophy, and people from different cultural backgrounds or points of view will give wildly differing answers. So, how do we decide who’s right, and how do we decide how to go about saving this planet that we’re single-handedly ruining?

Stormy times ahead

Slipping Away

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 07:39:00 +0000

A Rowan Riot:

According to folklore, loads of berries in the autumn herald a harsh winter to come. Here's hoping.

It seems that August has come and gone just as fast as July did. The shortening of the days, the gaggles of uniformed kids waiting for the school bus, the stark red rowan berries, the first sign of condensing breath in the morning air; they all mean one thing: Autumn approaches. A time for showers and gales and piles of dead leaves; for coming in out of the wet and the cold and lighting the fire and drinking giant mugs of tea in your biggest, warmest wooly jumper; for feeling content with a summer well spent and the rising tide of excitement and expectation as winter’s first snows creep ever nearer.

For me, autumn means that the running season begins, as I try to ready myself for the Original Mountain Marathon in late October. Having done reasonably well in the A-class event in previous years, my regular running partner Duncan and I have decided to try the Elite class this year, which could prove a mistake. It seems to me that Elite running really is the preserve of proper hill-runners and orienteers, while I consider myself a lucky amateur who does a bit of running when climbing’s off the menu. Maybe if I take my training seriously this year we’ll at least finish the race.

On that note, where’s my lycra?

Shower dodgin' and bolt clippin': Strong Ewen cruising Inverarnie Schwarzeneggar (F7a) at The Camel

Guy Stephen (l) starting Inverarnie Schwarzeneggar and me on the amazing Stone of Destiny (F6c+).

(Photo: Blair Fyffe)

The Deep South

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 17:51:00 +0000

Me wrestling with the joke protection on the popular Back Off at Fairy Cave Quarry

Normally, trips home to the West Country are all about seeing my folks, enjoying the local Butcombe Bitter in traditional hostelries, eating deep fried pork fat and catching up with neglected friendships. While a certain amount of this has been partaken of, this time round I've actually got some climbing done too. Perfection, non?

Bouldering on the mighty (i.e. humbling) Saddle Tor on Dartmoor acted as an effective exfoliant for any excess skin I happened to possess, and despite only fully completing one problem in a whole morning, I drove home from The Moor feeling like a better (more bloodied) person.

Now, these days I climb quite a lot, and while I'm no-where near as good as I should be for someone that obsesses so much about this absurd sport, it's quite nice that I'm occasionally reassured that I'm not as bad as I used to be. A few weeks back I was bouldering on the Heather Hat in Glen Nevis, and was able to make relatively light work of some of the problems I used to sweat over. Progress. Fortunately, the same thing happened t'other day at one of Somerset's more esoteric bouldering locations (and that's saying something about esoterica). When I first started climbing I used to look at the roof of the cave at Weston Super-Mare's Toll Road Crags and think how great it would be if I could climb through it. Well, after no small amount of sweat on Thursday afternoon I found myself pulling on the finishing holds with a large grin on my face. Maybe all this obsession is paying off after all....

Here's the proof:

The next day I took a trip down climbing memory lane with Luke, the fella I learnt to climb with. Happy to explore more wondrous esoterica, we went to Fairy Cave Quarry tucked away high in the Mendip Hills, and climbed some of the obscure slabby gems hidden among the fast-emerging buddleia, before retiring to the pub and drinking more of Butcombe's finest. It's been a hard few days.

Back to Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 08:13:00 +0000

It didn't take long.

I'd told myself that after doing Firestone I'd give the slabs a rest for a bit and climb some steeper rock. Bad weather and bruised feet kept me away from the hills for July, silencing the call of Cairngorm granite.

Time passed, my feet got better and the amount of sun started to eclipse the amount of rain. Then I heard from Jules, the undisputed king of Cairngorm slabs. "Yeah man, nice one on the Lower Slab. You should get yourself on some of those other routes on Hell's Lum, you'll love 'em".

A quick squizz in the guidebook reveals a few more of Jules' lines scattered around the slabby pillars and buttress' beneath Hell's Lum crag proper, so I head out for a recce.

Just being back in the cauldron of the Loch Avon Basin feels good. Strolling down Coire Domhain: the epic scene of rock, water and air. It's nice to be back. Standing beneath Firestone I trace the line and wonder what the hell possessed me to climb it. I gird my loins and solo Mars further left on the Lower Slab.

Back under the main crag I spy a route of Jules' called Devils Advocate. Perfect friction padding, and it even musters some protection. I'll return soon with a belayer.

To: Mark C

Yo, there's a route on hells lum i'm pretty psyched to try to onsight, would you be able to belay me one night this week? I'll owe you lots of drinks or belays or summat. Gaz

As ever, Mark's psyched so we meet up after work and crush the walk-in. Cool and dry, it's perfect for frictional endeavors. I'm feeling relaxed and ready, though I'm not sure why: this could end in another big ride.

Committing to the crux, nothing to do but climb.

On the crux, high enough to hurt, still a way before the gear arrives, it's time to convert brain function from hope to trust. Hands sweep the grey pink rock, hunting greedily for a weakness, a fingertip ripple for balance. Flashes of yellow crustose lichen dapple the way ahead, runway lanterns. Don't think, don't hope: know. There comes a point where I realise there's nothing for it, no other way, empty the mind and climb.

Later, higher, happier, I shake Mark's hand and we start to walk home, one route closer to knowing.

Mark finishing the crux; flashing the route on my gear.

A Matter of Style

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 09:27:00 +0000

From the outside, the sport of rock climbing looks pretty straight forward: you find a bit of rock and make your way to the top. What could be simpler? Well, what the casual observer doesn’t know is that it’s far from simple. Once you get sucked into this small, incestuous world you begin to realise that climbing is actually a hotbed of infighting, one-upmanship and ego, and for one reason: style.

Climbing is all about style (and, alas, I don’t mean trendy branded jeans or luminous lycra). By style I mean the way in which a climb is executed. Climbers, being self-obsessed pedants (me included) are keen to try to be the best they can be, and this means climbing in good style. Any old loser can get to the top of something in poor style, but it takes a good climber to climb the hardest routes in good style.

Getting to the top without falling off, placing all the protection on the way up, without prior knowledge, is the Brad Pitt of climbing style. Anything else comes lower down the scale, including working out the protection, watching someone else climb the route, pre-rehearsing the moves or falling off and trying again. Some would argue if the route is at a level of difficulty that makes the Brad Pitt style impossible then you shouldn’t bother with it, that by climbing in a poorer style you’re just reducing the route down to your level – beating it into submission. For me, though, trying the occasional route that’s miles above my current level is a great way to improve my Brad Pitt style climbing, and so long as it’s a route that I won’t one-day want to climb in better style, and that I’m not damaging the route for future climbers, everyone’s a winner.

"Hey! Look! It's Brad Pitt. Oh, wait. It's not."

Over the last few weeks I’ve done all four of the above-mentioned cardinal sins on the same route; I’ve worked out protection, watched someone else climb it, pre-rehearsed the moves and fallen off and tried again. In the end though, after a few failed attempts I managed to lead The Art of Course Climbing (E5 6a/b) at Farletter Crag on Wednesday night, and it was bloody great fun. It’s a short, very gently overhanging schist crag, and being steep and fingery is not a style of climbing I’d profess to excel at, so it was all good training for something….

Mid-flow on The Art of Course Climbing

High Five!

I Know What You Did Last Month

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 08:19:00 +0000

Where the hell did July go? At this rate I’m gonna to be up to my nose in mid-winter snow in the blink of an eye.

In the meantime, here’s a few snapshots of the people, places and things that July threw my way…

Murdo Jamieson on Death is a Gift (F8a?) at The Camel. I’d never been to this crag before and was very, very impressed by it's long pebble -pulling stamina pitches.

Blair Fyffe working the moves on a Glen Nevis deep water solo project before the send.

Mark Council making a headpoint ascent of The Art of Course Climbing (E5 6a) at Farletter. I finally took the plunge and visited Aviemore’s premier outdoor climbing gym last week. After linking The Art… on toprope I went for the lead and promptly lobbed off onto the twenty year old tied-off peg. It held. To be continued…

Another pleasing tick for the summer: me starting Ground Zero on Wave Buttress in Glen Nevis.

Blair contemplating and executing the onsight of The Singing Ringing Tree on Spreadeagle Buttress, Glen Nevis.

How have I lived in Scotland for seven years and never had a macaroni pie? As I soon found out, they’re a taste sensation, best enjoyed with a chilled can of Tenants after a good day’s climbing.

The Scene...

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 14:57:00 +0000

Blair Fyffe deep water soloing in Glen Nevis

I had a brief flashback to the halcyon days of Fort William living this weekend. Tempted west with the promise of sun-kissed schist and beer, it was great to be back in the old fold.

Down the years I’ve heard many legends of the infamous Fort William doss-houses – hovels where skint climbers would cram themselves and their wet and smelly kit for the few hours of the week that they weren’t on the hill or out on the piss. Weird and wonderful stories about bronchial infections from damp buildings, starting fights with Mallaig fishermen, trying to bed local lasses and hiding behind the sofa when their mothers come round to beat them up, and, not infrequently, climbing hard.

Those days have sadly/gladly passed, and it’s now an era of relative health and respectability in the Fort, but the climbing hard continues. The mantle of ‘Crucible of Psyche’ remains at my old residence, 55 Banff Crescent, and despite Tony ‘the savior of Scottish winter climbing’ Stone having now moved out, Blair and newest recruit Kev Shields are keeping the cranking level high, not to mention Dave Macleod stationed in his new training facility just out of town and numerous other strong folk kicking about the hills.

Most of these climbers are very modest and won’t blow their trumpets, and I know climbing hard isn't the be all and end all, but I think it’s worth noting that there’s a fair amount of gnarl going down in the Highlands at the moment. Kev has soloed his first E5 and E6 and is now on the trail of his first E7 (pretty good for someone missing a hand!), Blair made the second ascent (?) of Trojan’s Pillar (E6) on Ben Nevis with Iain Small the day after doing The Clearances (E4) in Glen Coe with Guy Robertson, and among other things, Dave has climbed Profit of Purism (E6), Firestone (E7), and Chiaroscuro (E7), not to mention three new E8s and an E9. Johan headpointed Jahu (E6), and Tony onsight soloed The Steeple (E2) after climbing The Spire (E4) on The Shelterstone with Blair (an easy day because he was ‘weak’ after a month in Alaska). Amongst these routes I’m sure there are loads that I don’t know about, and I find it really heartening to know that even in the quieter areas of the UK climbing scene there’s still a lot going on. Big up Fort Bill!

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So, this weekend I managed to drag myself up the brilliant Fang on Cavalry Crack Buttress in Glen Nevis, before we all decided it was far too hot for any more serious climbing and retired to the leafy shade of the River Nevis. Here Blair showed us the local's secret crags, hanging above a beautiful deep sun-dappled pool. The climbing was superb but no-one fell in, so we had to go for a swim afterwards. Life's a bitch.

Here's a short video of Blair cleaning and climbing this fine arete:

Temperance

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 08:30:00 +0000

The smackdown from fluffing my first lead on Firestone left me with a good limp and a fair amount of bruising on my feet. Even after a week of rest, ibuprofen, ice, arnica and deep heat they're quite sore (but definately improving, although a couple of bouldering sessions didn't help). Somewhat hopefully I made it to the Lakes and started the Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon on Saturday, but we decided to retire halfway through day 1. No event is worth causing further damage and an even longer lay-off. Sorry Chris!

Dave sent me a load of pics from last weekend's soiree at the Lower Slab. I hate to harp on about the route, but with a buggered foot I've not been up to much lately...

Here's a selection chronicling my ups and downs:

Attempt number 1: just before gravity got involved. (All photos: Dave Macleod)

Splat

The spoils of war - you lucky bastard!

Contemplating the inevitable

Attempt number 2: Back in the saddle

The security of the crescent flake

Thank fook for that

Firestone

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 11:08:00 +0000

It’s a perfect summer Sunday morning. As I sit tapping at the keys I can see Harry the dog lazing in the sunny garden and hear the cries of swallows and swifts, filling the air with their optimistic cheer. The last of the early morning mist is rising to reveal the Cairngorm corries beneath a deep blue blanket, promising another scorching day. The gentlest hint of wind stirs the leaf-burdened birch. Fortified with strong coffee and ibuprofen I start to reflect on yesterday.

Banks of cloud lowered the temperature in Strathspey, making a cool day up on Firestone a fine prospect. This time I was joined by Dave Macleod, keen for a look after seeing it while working his mega-route To Hell and Back on Hell’s Lum in 2007. I felt pretty calm and optimistic after my first session on a top-rope on Thursday, and felt sure that it would feel easier in the cooler conditions. I decided to go to the crag with an open mind, if I felt good on a top-rope I’d go for the lead, but only if. Dave was keen for the onsight – a very hard task on such a delicate and tenuous route. I’ve known Dave a wee bit from living over in Fort William, bumping into him in Glen Nevis and running endless laps of the Ice Factor bouldering wall, but this was the first time I’d been climbing with him, so I was looking forward to learning a few tricks from the master. I suspected that I was going to be shown up pretty rapidly as he calmly waltzed up the route.

Dave getting psyched beneath the pink streak of blankness

The continuously dry weather ensured that the line was still seepage-free, so on arrival Dave chalked up, cleaned his shoes and stepped on. After some upping and downing he stepped back off for a think. I was quite impressed that even he was finding it tricky and hard to commit to. Maybe E7 slabs are quite hard after all? I put the rope on it and linked it first time. Gulp. The conditions were definitely better than Thursday, but those moves are still very committing where it rears up at the top. After more playing, chalking smears to highlight where to go in the maze of nothingness, I came down and Dave got on the rope. He had decided that headpointing was more sensible than onsighting – the slide from the top didn’t look tempting…..On the rope Dave made quick work of it, refining the top sequence a few times before coming down.

My turn again. I was faced with THE decision. I knew that I could do the route. I knew the moves and where to go. I knew that if I didn’t get on the lead today I’d only have to come back another day, and all the time between now and then it would be eating away at me, challenging me, questioning me. For some reason the name of The Smiths song How Soon is Now? came into my head. Was now too soon? This was only the second session on the route; I’d expected that this decision was weeks or months away. That slide, thirty feet from the last moves to the ground, okay, it’s not going to kill you, but it’s definitely broken ankle territory, and what if you clip a heel and spin, landing badly? I tried to take all the nagging doubts and push them away, focusing on the positive – I know I can climb it, I know I can climb it. I’ll do it.

Inside the bubble I stepped on, vaguely aware of Dave above taking photos, gently snaking up the rock, right foot rock-over, left foot rock over. Standing on the mid-way ‘holds’ I suddenly became aware of the bubble bursting and realizing what was happening, where I was and what I was doing. Trying to re-focus I noticed how much I was shaking, adrenaline surging. Taking it all in I started the crux sequence, a tenuous series of smears rising leftwards to the crescent flake. Three moves to go, rock over left and match the horizontal fault, shaking, two moves, feet on bad smears now the rock steepens, trust trust trust. Then I feel a foot going, I try try to stay in balance but deep down know the battle is lost. I managed to shout out “Fuck, I’m going” four times before gravity took over and I was gone. Sliding thirty feet, picking up speed, hurtling at the ground. Bang. Shit. The first thing I did was laugh, I was okay. Was I? Picking myself up I could hear Dave calling down, seeing if I was hurt. Wow, I genuinely was okay. Besides bruising my heels and the odd scratch I was fine. Lucky bastard! We both giggled as the dark air diffused. Oh well, next time, I thought.

After a few minutes of recuperation it was Dave’s turn to lead so I hobbled to the top and got on the rope to take photos. He knew he could do it, but seeing me take the ride from the top definitely put tension in the air. Naturally, he got the route first try, but not without some shaking at the top, reflecting that this was still no walk in the park. Nice one Dave, E7 headpoint and the first repeat of Firestone (?), which is pretty impressive since he onsighted Prophet of Purism, a famously hard and steep E6 in Glen Coe the day before. There’s no stopping him!

Mid-flow in the headpoint bubble

Dave on the last few hard moves before the crescent flake - the point I took the slide from

Relief: it's in the bag

Me again. I opted for another go on the top-rope to refine those top moves, and to see how my bruised feet would get on. With a slightly different foot sequence making the stretch to the crescent flake more in-balance I came down. Faced with the decision again, the thoughts began to swirl in my head once more. I really didn’t want to take that slide again, but I really wanted this route, and knew that whatever happened, I’d be doing it soon. If not now then maybe tomorrow or the next day or the next. I was here now, standing below it, with the moves fresh in my mind. Ding ding, round 2.

And this time it worked. Firestone, E7 6b, headpoint. Possibly the 3rd ascent. Slight hobble, big grin. Committing to those crux smears was still utterly terrifying, but this time I had enough mental strength in the tank to trust them and make the awkward stretch to the crescent flake, gently rocking over onto the easy slab above. Happy days.

So, big thanks to Dave for coming across and offering up the psyche, and to Jules for doing the first ascent 14 years ago. You’re a nutter!

Progress

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 12:18:00 +0000

As I'd hoped in my bloggage t'other day, this spell of good weather has hung around for long enough to get out a bit.

I joined Alex for some post-work mountain cragging on Wednesday evening, in the shape of No Blue Skies on the Mess of Pottage in Coire an t'Sneachda. This pleasant wee crag gets all the sun going from mid afternoon onwards so is perfect for an evening's play. Three pitches of mountain granite in shorts and T-shirts at eight in the evening, then back home for tea and medals (pasta and pesto).

Alex following pitch one of No Blue Skies

Mark was keen to join me for a Firestone raid early yesterday morning (work didn't start 'til mid-day, honest) so we made the familiar slog to the Lower Slab for a look-see. For the first time this year the route was all there - no seepage, no snow: play time. He very kindly belayed while I played on a top-rope - the first time I've actually been on the route proper. First things first, at about 20 degrees by 9.30 in the morning it wasn't optimal slab climbing conditions, as proven by my amazing vest-shaped sunburn (colder = better friction), however, I did make some pleasing progress, linking the whole thing in a one-er once (beginners luck?) and spending time refining the moves. Unsurprisingly it's pretty hard, very delicate and sequency, but I think with full knowledge of the moves and cooler conditions it might be OK.

Learning about friction: working Firestone

Fortunately the weather is cooling for the weekend so if it stays dry I'm heading up again tomorrow. There could be a wee posse of us this time, and with an open mind let's see what happens....

High and Dry?

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 08:10:00 +0000

My office: Looking towards Strath Nethy from the southern edge of Abernethy Forest

The summer ticks along apace and the Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon looms in a little over a week. In preparation, I hopped on the train and joined team mate Chris Jones (a.k.a. Jones' bro) in the Lake District for a weekend of slogging up hill and sliding down dale. Day 1 was a circuit from Coniston: up Wetherlam, down to Wrynose Bottom, up Grey Friar, down, then up the Old Man of Coniston and back to the tent. Day 2 was a circuit above Langdale: New Dungeon Ghyll, Stickle Tarn, High Raise, Angle Tarn, Bowfell, Three Tarns, New Dungeon Ghyll. I'm feeling pretty fit at the moment so can't complain too much - stomping over to the slab project is paying dividends. Fingers crossed for decent weather for the race.

Chris showing off his hill-chic

Fickle weather has meant I've not done much climbing lately, besides circuits at Burnside bouldering crag and a wee session at Ruthven yesterday. Good weather just hasn;t co-incided with day's off. I would say that it's frustrating, but I've lived in Scotland for long enough to just roll with the punches. A settled forecast of hot high pressure is on us so something might happen....

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Firestone Sessions

A combination of bad weather and work commitments (get me) mean there's not much activity to report here. The sun shone for some of Monday so I dragged myself up the hill after work for a peak. The effects of a week of poor weather were visible dribbling straight down Firestone. It's quite amusing really; the route takes a smooth pink streak up the otherwise dark slab - pink because it's worn smooth from millenia of water dribbling down it. The end of the crux section is a steepening that you pull out of using a beautiful crescent shaped blind flake, and this seems to channel the water straight down the rest of the route. Lesson learnt: even with the snow all gone you need a fair period of dry weather for the route to be in condition. It's really nice getting to know a bit of rock really well - the shapes and colours, the minute intricacies, the conditions required, the views.

Monday's view of Firestone: the left-hand wet streak.

Reluctant to waste the journey, I stuck the rope down the slab and worked the dry line next to Firestone, just to get familiar with the type of climbing that's required. It's funny, but I can honestly say I think there's only one 'hold' in the whole 25 metres. The rest relies entirely on smearing, palming and subtle variations of weight distribution and movement. Because of this, learning a sequence that I'm confident to lead is going to be hard - one non-hold looks like any other non-hold!

There's a dry, warm forecast for this week, so the route should be drying as I write. Another post-work session is on the cards so watch this space.....

Re-aquaintance

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 12:28:00 +0000

Lochan Meall an t'-Suidhe, known to most as the Halfway Lochan on Ben Nevis. (Phot: Mike Marshall)

In the summer of 2002, in the adolescent twilight between A-Levels ending and university beginning, four friends and I travelled north from the West Country and walked the West Highland and Great Glen Ways from Glasgow to Inverness. We stayed in Fort William for a halfway break and on my 18th birthday made the pilgimage to the top of Ben Nevis. Those three weeks were the first time that I was really unleashed on the Scottish hills and a spell was cast over me that's still working it's magic today. Before long I took up residence as a student in Edinburgh and started making attempts to break out and walk in the hills on weekends: train journeys to Bridge of Orchy, drives to the Cairngorms. As my confidence grew, the thrill of rocky scrambling and winter walking began to appeal as ways to reach bigger and better personal peaks. Then, one day I had a go at the next logical step, rock climbing, and everything changed. I joined Edinburgh Uni Mountaineering Club, blew my loan on mountains of shiny hardware, and spent evenings falling off lumps of plastic at the indoor wall. All of a sudden weekends were taken up charging round the Highlands looking for dry crags and walking was demoted to a simple means of access, rather than an activity in it's own right. The poor walking boots never stood a chance and but for the odd foray have been gathering dust for the last five years.

So it was a really refreshing change to put the boots back on and to enjoy a day's walking this weekend. I had invited my Dad and brother up from Somerset and Glasgow respectively to take them up Ben Nevis. Neither of them are really outdoorsy types and havn't spent much time in the hills, so this was a chance to show off Scotlands jewels. Wanting to give a good impression we went up via Carn Mor Dearg and CMD Arete, only having to jostle with the crowds on the tourist path on the first half of the descent. It's a really nice route up the Ben, with stunning views of the mighty north face, a bit of air beneath you on the exposed CMD Arete, two Munros for the price of one, a decent amount honest slogging to earn the evening's beers and hardly anyone else around. All went to plan, and Mike and Dad bagged the Ben with ease and were all smiles, despite the clouds hiding the view for much of the day. Maybe the mighty Ben will have cast it's spell on two more unsuspecting people....

Mike, me and Dad, happy trekkers on the Ben (Photo: Jon Marshall)
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Firestone Sessions: #3

Managed a quick run on Sunday evening to see how things were shaping up on the slab. Personal best of 50 minutes from car to crag, but think this could be trimmed down substantially.

Run-in tunes: Son of Red Mixtape by Stevious.

Good news: The top snow patch and almost all of the bottom one has disappeared. Bad news: The route is dry; no more excuses. Except, this one: as soon as I got on the route it started to rain. Using my GCSE physics I deduced:

holdless granite slab + water = low friction

Abbed the line to check the cam slot: it takes a Wild Country Zero 4. Going to have to weigh up the psycological advantage of knowing I've got some gear to go for, even if I've done all the hard climbing by then, against the faff of trailing a redundant rope for the very thin first 12 metres. However, there's a long way to go before I need to worry about that.....

Run-out tunes: None, my ipod battery is crap.

Not Amused

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 07:49:00 +0000

Saturday was free and I was looking forward to some more lone slab warrior action on Firestone and another blue-sky day like this:

However, when I looked out of the window on Saturday morning I saw this:

Now, I don’t know much about the intricacies of global weather systems, but it’s June and this is just bloody rude. I spend weeks shoveling snow, crossing fingers, doing ritual dances and sticking pins in voodoo snow flakes to get rid of it from the project, and it starts falling out of the bloody sky again. Rude. Plain rude. What the hell am I supposed to blog about now?

Well, I’m afraid you don’t get to miss the dubious pleasure of the weekly Soft Rock sermon that easily, so instead I’ll find something else to witter on about.

Here are ten random thoughts rattling around my hollow skull:

1. The BBC have been bigging up poetry of late in their Poetry Season. Big thumbs up. Don’t worry boys, there are some manly poems in there too. Grrrr.

2. Just finished Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. It’s very good, but I fear that books that take a few days to finish will be forgotten in roughly the same time. Just started Crime and Punishment to alleviate said fear.

3. Managed to keep the positive momentum up from the start of the rock climbing season and have managed a few routes I’ve wanted to do for ages: The Magic Crack, The Needle, Dracula, The Bug, Pete’s Wall, to name but a few. Smug.

Starting up the mammoth pitch of The Bug at Creag Mor Tollaidh

4. Have noticed that words in songs/poems/films etc. bear more relevance when you’re feeling a bit down in the dumps. Every cloud has a silver lining.

5. My Dad just got called up to play for the England Over 55’s men’s hockey team. Now that is one cool cat.

6. Still rinsing out Mumford and Son’s tunes at high volume, but they’ve been joined by Lisa Hannigan as well. Folkey dokey. At the other end of the spectrum, looking forward to Kissy Sell Out’s forthcoming album.

7. My indoor bouldering abilities seem inversely proportional to my success at on-sight trad climbing. A small price to pay.

8. Just back from a day’s climbing near Gairloch. Slowly coming round to Jones’ view that Slioch is the finest Scottish hill. Looked particularly doom-laden and menacing under swirling purple clouds as we drove past.

9. Starting a load of fieldwork for some black grouse habitat research at work tomorrow. Are my bryophyte ID skills up to the task? That's mosses for those not in the know.

10. Not fallen off a route yet this year. The clock is ticking.

The pilgrimage to Loch Avon and granite heaven

That snow better melt soon otherwise I’ll have to think of ten more things for next week.

Spitting Distance

noreply@blogger.com (Gaz Marshall) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 16:05:00 +0000

My car is crap.

Maybe that's not fair.

Maybe what I mean is that my confidence in my car is crap.

I can just about cope with the daily routine of the commute to work, but much further than this and I'm convinced that something is going to blow up. It's had enough trips on the back of recovery lorries for me to think that every bump in the road, every whirr of the engine, every twitch of the steering wheel is a crucial part of the under-carriage dropping off or snapping or burning or breaking. Often I'm sure I can hear a hideous noise emenating from beneath the bonnet, only to find that it's the music on the radio. I reach my destination a nervous wreck, terrified I'll never make it home again.

Obviously, this is mildly irritating. However, looking on the bright side it does mean that I have to look for fun on my doorstep (or rely on other people with cars that work). If I lived in a city centre or in the flatlands of South East England I think I'd have shot myself long, long ago, but luckily I don't. Fortunately for me, within spitting distance of my front door (if you can spit about 15 miles) is one of the finest playgrounds known to man. I may have mentioned it once or twice. It's called the Cairngorms.

Wearing my tree-hugging hat (it's hand-knitted with a bobble), the Cairngorms are a unique area of high sub-arctic mountain tops and remnant Caledonian pine forests. Rare plants and bugs and birds and mammals abound in some of the only wilderness that we have left in these isles. Just being here is a privelage. Wearing my climbers hat (it's a beanie with the word 'gnarl' emblazened across the front), it's a haven of granite peaks and cliffs, slabs and cracks, turfy corners and icy gullies. A higher concentration and diversity of world class routes is hard to come by in the rest of Britain. Wearing my runners hat (it's probably made of lycra and makes me look like a dick) it's a vast array of forest paths and rocky singletrack, high mountain passes and endless rolling hills.

If you combine these factors, sprinkle in a smattering of blue skies and rub in a big serving of energy and effort, you might just find paradise.

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Firestone Sessions

Friday: A run over the back confirmed that the snow is still steadily creeping away from the bottom and top of the slab. The melt-water from the upper snow patch is dribbling down the initial 12m section (the crux), but this should stop once the snow has all gone (not too long now). The top 12m is dry.

Saturday: Returned to the Loch Avon Basin and climbed a route on Hell's Lum with Colorado David. The 25 degree heat was doing wanders for the snow melt on the Lower Slab. More crag-swag: a sling and wiregate Krab on pitch 1 of The Devils Alternative and a nice new wire from the top pitch of The Magic Crack in Coire an t'Schneachda.

Sunday: Back to Firestone on my lonesome. Walk- in tunes on the ipod: Mumford and Sons - Love Your Ground EP and The Cave and the Open Sea EP; The Octopus Project - Hello, Avalanche; Lisa Hannigan - I Don't Know.

More digging from the top and bottom snow patches. I found a better anchor than previous and set up a top rope. Abbed the route and found a small cam slot protecting the top section, trouble is, you've done the hardest climbing by then. Worked the dry top section on the shunt. Pretty easy. Worked the dry line next to the wet lower section (it's not the route, but looks like a section of similar climbing: delicate, balancy friction). Delecatable. Took a while to learn how to trust non-holds but eventually managed to link the whole thing into the top of Firestone. Still a few metres of snow to go from the bottom which will add quite a lot of height to the crux. Awesome. I Imagine that working the route from the safety of a top-rope is going to feel 'fairly' easy, but doing it solo will be quite a different prospect. Soloed Hell Gates before dropping the shovel down the rundkluft (gap between snow patch and slab). It's going to remain there until the snow recedes. Arse.

Walk-out tunes: Kissy Sell Out - Are People Real Mix; Doug Stanhope - Deadbeat Hero.

Bring on the melt.