Strathspey Climber Part 2: Ropes

Mr Winter goes all-rounder: Guy Robertson working Ubuntu at The Camel on a dreich summer's eve.

I may have mentioned this before, but the weather has been a bit pish recently. Consequently, I’ve been doing almost all my climbing close to home in Aviemore. Normally I would spend most of my time driving out to the West Coast, and although West is still best I’ve started to see my local crags in a new light. As such, I want to share my new found enthusiasm. So, first things first, lets stroll down to the Mountain Café for a coffee, then set off on an exploration of the local rock.

The Strathspey climber can split the local crags into a few categories. Obviously, we’ve got the Cairngorms - the big daddy show-offs like the Shelterstone and Hell’s Lum and the more accessible Northern Corries. Then down in the strath we’ve got the schist outcrops. After that come the not-as-local but still accessible crags up in Strath Nairn and round Inverness.

The Gorms
I won’t talk much about the Gorms; the acres of flawless granite are no secret and I’m by no means an expert. The fact that a whole large SMC guidebook is dedicated to them is proof that there’s a lifetime of climbing up there. But I will mention two things I’ve learnt:
1. Despite providing the backdrop to Aviemore life and just because they’re nearby doesn’t mean you climb there much. This year there’s been so much snow and so much rain that there have only been a handful of really good dry days this summer. I’ve only done 4 Cairngorm routes so far. However, last year was much better, so I guess it’s swings and roundabouts.
2. The Northern Corries are overlooked in summer. Despite being Scotland’s most popular winter crags, hardly anyone climbs there in the summer. This is possibly because there are very few well known routes, and the cleanest are all pretty easy, but a look in the guide shows that there are actually loads of things to go at, and the crags get sunshine late into the evening. And they’re only a 45 minute walk from the car, so perfect for post-work pleasure.

The Strath
In a perfect world we’d always be able to climb on pink Cairngorm granite, but cruel reality means we have to look elsewhere for our fun. This is where the schist crags come in. In their own right I guess most of these crags are minor venues with only local appeal, but I’m starting to realise that if you live near to them you might as well use and come to appreciate them.

So, lets start in the South at Creag Dubh, the jewel in the crown. Scotland’s premier roadside crag with over a hundred routes between Severe and E7, etc etc. It does have a reputation for scariness, but there are loads of routes and not all of them are death on a stick. The style is generally steep and positive (not my finest style) and I’ve been a bit soft and not done much there. Time to man up.

Starting up Cunnulinctus at Creag Dubh (Photo: Steve Crawford)

Moving North we next get to Kingussie Crag. I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about Kingussie either, having only been there once. From what I hear, it is worth visiting, especially for the lower grades and is South-facing and open so less of a midge-fest than other spots. In fact, as I write this I’m wandering why I haven’t been more! North again we get to Farrletter, the one people always want to bolt or just top-rope. It's a funny old place but I am quite fond of it. Yes, it’s pretty bold, yes, it’s pretty hard, but I would argue that if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen. I’ve done (or fallen off) 5 routes there, some of which were safe as houses, and I can personally vouch for the integrity of at least 3 of the old pegs. Saying all this, if someone did bolt it it would be a fun, if rapidly exhausted, local sport venue. Finally, Huntly’s Cave. Another ‘nationally’ known crag, steep, positive and safe. It can stay dry in light rain, but equally can get super-midgy, and it’s not huge so you do run out of routes do fairly fast. As an example I went there last night to try a route I'd not done. It was drizzly, warm and very midgy and I ended up bailing from an HVS. Not a fine hour...

Then we've got the other ones – Burnside, The Badan, etc.. If you thought Farrletter was esoteric then you aint seen nothin’. Scattered about the Strath are loads of wee faces and chunks waiting for you and your wire brush, but whether the attention they get will justify the effort is a different story.

Beyond
One of Aviemore's strengths is it's location. Lots of places are easy to get to, if you're happy to put the miles in. In terms of climbing that is still local (less than an hours drive away) we have The Camel for long, steep, perma-dry pebble pulling on crazy conglomerate, and only 5 minutes from the car. An amazing stamina training crag, which is growing in popularity, and deservedly so. In fact, it's been the saviour of this wet summer so far. Then there's Duntelchaig. From what I hear it’s quite popular but I’ve only been once to climb the classic E3 Dracula. Must do better. Then a personal favourite, Tynrich Slabs for two-teired gneiss slabby goodness near The Camel. It’s quite small so there aren’t many routes, but the ones I’ve done have all been great and the rock is superb. Definitely should be more popular than it is. Finally there's Moy, The Camel’s friendlier cousin, with a few more routes and more in the 6s. Superb, long conglomerate pitches and only 5 minutes from the road.

Steve Crawford getting his feet into Puffball on the lower tier at Tynrich.

Well, I think that sums up the trad and sport climbing close to hand, so next time I'll get involved with the world-famous Strathspey bouldering. Prepare to be inspired...

Strathspey Climber: Part 1

Man alive, it’s been wet. I can’t remember a day when it hasn’t rained up here in Aviemore in the last month. So much for fleeing from the West Coast monsoons of Fort William to live in the dry Central Highlands. I got back from Pabbay in mid June, all psyched and keen for miles of mountain rock and sea-side cragging and have been shut down by rain at almost every attempt. I’ve always known that to be a climber in the Highlands you have to endure a substantial amount of crap weather, and if you can it makes the good times all the better, but honestly, it’s beginning to get a bit boring. I know Blair has bailed from the Highlands to North Wales for the rest of the summer.

I think it’s fair to say that North Wales is the Promised Land for most British climbers. It’s where everyone seems to live, or at least, it’s where everyone seems to spend a lot of time, and for good reason. Almost all the variety of styles of British climbing, including many of the very best, are accessible within a tiny area, so even if the weather’s crap there’s almost always something to do. Consequently there are loads of climbers around so it’s easy to find keen beans to get out with, and lets face it, that’s half the battle – finding folk to share the adventures. I think another reason it’s so popular is that despite being fairly tucked away and quiet, it’s not that far from big cities and modern amenities – you don’t have to be an all-out balls-out yokel to get on there.

So, I got thinking about the places in Britain where climbers seem to live and about living here in Aviemore and thought I’d write my musings down in a series of blogs. Maybe the Strathspey tourist board will hire me to promote the area for climbing bums.

Generally, when I tell non-climbers I live here they assume it’s a great place to live as a rock climber - with the Cairngorm mountains right here there must be no-end of rock to play on. But the truth is not so simple. As the highest continuous lump of ground in Britain The ‘Gorms are out of condition for most of the year – either they’re caked in snow or they’re hiding in a rain cloud, so we have to look elsewhere for rock. And while the high tops are capped with beautiful pink granite, down in the Strath we have to settle for schist, (I’m not being rude), and this schist seems pretty reluctant to bare itself.

Naked schist: Creag Dubh's Great Wall (Pic: Steve Crawford)

So, over the next wee while I’m going to spray a bit about my experiences of living here and the climbing we’ve got at our fingertips. Stay tuned...

Siurana Sunshine

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...

On Bolts

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 End Is Nigh

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.

A Matter of Style

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

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.

Statement of Intent

For quite some time now I’ve had this fantasy. It lurks at the back of my mind. When I’m lying awake at night, wrestling with thoughts and memories and hopes and fears, it creeps from the shadows and pushes it’s way into my consciousness. It’s a project. A challenge. A goal. In order to keep my head above the rising tide I’m in need of something to keep me occupied. And I’ve found it.

Back in the long hot summer of 1995 a young chap called Jules Lines was working at the Landmark Centre in Carrbridge. A keen climber, Jules had spent years cutting his teeth all over the crags of Britain, and had emerged as a leading light in the devious arts of hard slab climbing. For those not in the know, in rock climbing terms, a slab is a wall that is less than vertical, so the challenge comes not from being able to hold on, but from being able to trust the friction of your shoes and to balance your way up on tiny edges.

Slab climbing heaven: trusting the subtleties of friction between coarse granite crystals and modern rubber soled rock shoes. This is me on Hammer, Etive Slabs. (Photo: Steve Crawford)

After work each night, Jules would head up to Cairngorm, cross the plateau, and drop down into the mighty cauldron of the Loch Avon Basin, home to acres of blank granite slabs. And here, like a kid in a sweet shop, Jules set about filling in the blank sections of the crags under the cloudless skies. Among the many routes Jules climbed that summer, the hardest was on the Lower Slab below Hell’s Lum. At E7 6b, Firestone was created; a direct line up the blankest part of the slab. The description in the SMC Cairngorms guide says it all:

“A slab climbing test piece at the right end of the Lower Slab. Climb the obvious pink water worn streak directly up the dark but notably smooth section of the slab. Holdless and protectionless.”

And I’m going to climb it.

So, why on Earth have I decided that this is a good idea? Well, It’s pretty simple really. First and foremost, the Loch Avon Basin is one of the most beautiful places on this planet, so I’ll use any excuse to spend time there (it’s actually part of the RSPB reserve I work on, so I could claim to be doing ‘work’). Secondly, I’ll gladly confess that I love slab climbing (this is a much misunderstood and maligned climbing style). Thirdly, at E7 it’s clearly sick hard and a tad on the dangerous side, so I have no bones about working the route to death from the safety of a top rope before deciding if I want to lead it (if you’re a staunch ground-up, on-sight climber, you’re more than welcome to come and get the first on-sight ascent, otherwise, no complaining please). Fourthly, I’m in need of a long term climbing project; something to keep me busy; something really hard that I’m going to have to fight and stress and worry to attain.

The playground

I’m hoping that as the summer begins and the snow starts to clear from the hills I’ll be able to spend the long evenings and weekends working on the route, so I’ll be updating Soft Rock with my progress and thoughts on the gargantuan challenge that I’ve set myself.

Fasten your seatbelts, it could be a bumpy ride……

A Dog's Life

King of the Castle: Harry Hammond

Life is pretty simple really. Do what you love as much as you can, struggle through the rest. Young Harry here is a pretty good role model for this way of life. Eat, sleep, exercise, repeat. He’s been a steady companion ever since moving across to Aviemore. Whether it’s been trotting at my heels when out running, protecting my lunch at the base of the crag or snoozing by the fire after a day in the hills; always the same wag of the tail, the same lolling pink tongue; he’s a happy little camper.

As I write, he’s passed out on his bed. He’s been out on two runs tonight, once with me on the Burnside circuit, once with Steve up to Coire an’t Schneachda. He’ll probably get up in a bit, have a bit of a stretch, go outside for a piss, scratch himself, have some food, then go back to sleep. I’m not sure about you, but that sounds like a bloody good evening to me. Simplicity; is it the route to contentment?

Jules Lines showing off his hidden boulder at Pityulish.

Not long after wandering if he could climb Font 6a, Stevie Hammond ticks The Dude (Font 7a) at Ruthven.

Despite the recent moisture in the Highlands, I managed to maintian my Weekend Warrior status with a couple more days on the rock. Blair, Jenny and I spent Saturday at Dunkeld in Perthshire, sheltering on and under Upper Cave Crag. I just about managed to contort myself up Coffin Corner before the precipitation set in, then spent the rest of the day getting a work out on the perma-dry sport routes. I was very inspired by Hamish Ted’s Excellent Adventure, which weighs in at an honest 7b+. Long, steep and sustained, it’s the perfect route for a trad climber to train for, and I know that if I’m one day fit enough to lead it cleanly I’ll be fit enough to get on most of the routes that inspire me in Scotland. So, I’d better get training.

Talking of training, I think the long evenings down the wall this winter are starting to pay off. A few weeks ago I was chatting to some fellow climbers in the pub and they asked what my aim for this rock climbing season was. My reply was to onsight (cleanly climb with no prior knowledge of the route) a route graded E3. Well, I’d better have a re-think, because we’re only a month or two into the Highland rock season and I’ve already achieved my aim. On Sunday I just about managed to onsight Dracula, a famous E3 at the lochside Duntelchaig crag, South of Inverness. As the wee video below testifies, it was a pretty desperate affair. Pumped, eyes on stalks, I swore and grunted as my feet skated off and I cut loose and slapped my way to the final holds. But, it was simple: I got from the bottom to the top, and for that moment, when I was sat safely at the top, as the adrenaline began to subside and my heart rate began to settle, I felt content.

Fighting on Dracula. It's steeper than it looks!

Off subject a little, but still within the realms of contentment and simplicity, I stumbled across a beautiful show on Radio 1 a few weeks back. Rob da Bank and Friends were having a campfire special, showcasing a load of contemporary British folk artists. The first band on, Mumford and Sons, really took me by surprise, and I instantly downloaded all their EPs and have had them on repeat ever since. Get your ears round them and see what you think.

Introspection

Psycho-killer clouds over Meall a' Bhuachaille. Photo: J. Willi (RSPB)

Where do you go to hide?

The sea from Peanameanach

Where is your playground?

The Old Man of Hoy emerges from mid-winter mist.

Where can you find happiness?

The Puffins of Mingulay (Photo: Rik Higham)

Sometimes the answers seem close enough to touch; sometimes they seem so far away.

Why do so many of us play these useless games? To go back again and again, to struggle, to sweat, to scream?

Is it the places? Is it the people? Is it the spirit-crushing lows and mountain-moving highs? Is it the pain, the fear, the doubt? Is it purely the feeling of doing something, the challenge, testing the ability to overcome?

Steev wrestling with the crux on Pushover on Stac an Faraidh, Loch Avon Basin

I don't expect I'll never know. All I can be sure of is that it makes me scared. And excited. And tired. And happy. And alive.

Shirts vs. Skins

Stevie Hammond on Polldubh classic Ressurection (VS 4c***). All photos: Siobhan Miller

Sweaty palms, worn-out finger-tips, big grin.

It's been another week of blue skies across the Highlands and the Aviemore posse have been out getting scared, pumped and sun-burnt.

Pete's Wall (E2 5c**) at Huntly's Cave was the start to a good week, climbing with housemate Stevie Hammond and some chap called Julian Lines (whats he ever done on grit/granite/gabbro/limestone?). I then proceeded to almost kill Stevie when a huge hold came off the top of Dead Tree Wall (VS 4c*). Luckily I caught my fall on the profusion of colossal holds in a Mission Impossible stylee. Stevie dived out the way just in time, but hurt his ankle in doing so. Better than stoving in his skull. Be careful out there kids.

Siobhan Miller on Polldubh's other classic VS, Damnation (VS 4c***)

Jules then showed us a new bouldering spot above Loch Pityoulish which is absolutely incredible. Roof cracks, juggy prows, and scary jamming abound. The next day I teamed up with G2 Mike, Jules and Duncan for more exploratory bouldering, this time in Laggan. Lots of stunning lines to fall off, but just mind the bog. Mike will be bringing out a new Strathspey bouldering guide in the near future, so watch this space for more esoteric masterpieces.

Topping up my tan on Kaos (E2 5c**), Blacks Buttress

Then it was Saturday and a trip to the holy grail of West Highland cragging: Polldubh. Blue skies, no midges, tops-off-for-power. The highlight for me was heavy-breathing my way up Kaos (E2 5c**) up on Blacks Buttress, but in all honesty sharing a beautiful day in the mighty Glen, on great routes, with friends, is always a sheer delight.

Stevie getting bored while I gibber high on Kaos.

I think Steve wins.

Emergence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,

Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,

Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between

Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration

Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze

Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,

Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among

This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed

About like a shadow buffeted in the throng

Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.

The Enkindled Spring, by D.H. Lawrence

Yawning and stretching we blink into the bright light of a new season. As the glens slowly transform from winter’s brown to summer’s green and the icy whiteness recedes to the highest hill-tops, our thoughts start to turn. Eyes begin to look away from the snow, big boots and down jackets are put away, crampons and axes hung up. Winter is over, and with it the cold, the suffering, the early mornings. The spindrift and wetness, the heavy packs and hot-aches. The constant, endless, non-stop weather and conditions checking. Spring is here, and with it the excitement and expectation born of months spent pulling on plastic holds at the indoor wall. The rock-climbing season begins.

Steev beneath cotton-wool clouds on Handrail, Bowden Doors (All photos: S. Crawford)

In celebration I traveled south to old haunts. Fife’s Limekilns was the scene of the first routes of 2009, and they didn’t disappoint. Joining my old housemate and long-time climbing partner in crime Steev on Friday evening, we played on the sun-dappled limestone cubes beneath the closing canopy. Steev’s hardest onsight (all be it very soft-touch by his own admission) was a good start on Kiln Dance with Me (E1 5a*). I then flexed my muscles on Elgin's Crack (E2 5c***), one of the classics of the crag, and a pleasing first route of the year since it's as hard as anything I did last year. As the evening drew in Steev waltzed up DTs (VS 4c**) and I gave up before commiting to the bold (but supposedly soft) Grasp the Nettle (E3 5b*). Maybe when there's more light....

Seduced by Saturday's blue sky we hopped into the beast (my Skoda, which is still holding on) and made the pilgrimage to Bowden Doors in Northumberland. I was pretty chuffed to climb Stretcher Wall (E1 5c*), as it's not exactly my forte, and decided to carry my positive momentum forward and have a go at the classic sandbag The Overhanging Crack (E2 5c***). My lack of jamming expertise meant my attempt was short lived, but as Steve put it, I've made the first steps on the journey, so can take it from there.

Me on the easier top section of Stretcher Wall, Bowden Doors

Steve climbed the good little Handrail (VS 4c*) and had a good look at Canada Crack (HVS 5a***) before deciding to come back later in the season. Good mountaineering, as Mr 'Crazy' Chris Edwards might have it. In a similar theme to many previous Bowden trips, the 'next step' for me, i.e. the routes in the grades I'm approaching, are mainly soloes, and I'm still not going well enough to commit to them. I had a good look at both Klondyke Wall (E2 5c) and The Trial (E3 5c), but couldn't bring myself to make the long moves high above pads. But hey, it is only April...

Enjoying Childs Play in the evening sunshine.

The day wound down with a cheeky bit of bouldering. I managed Cave Left Hand (Font 6a+), which I've tried sporadically for about five years, so was pretty pleased, and then got all highball and fluttery on the superb Childs Play (Font 6b+/E1). So, lets hope the rock season builds from this positive start.

Culfern Crag, Part 1

The North sector of Culfern Crag, Strath Halladale, Sutherland.
The only bit that I have touched (so far) is to the far left of this photo, and looks tiny from here.

Turns out, this is the place to come to find the beating heart of the Flow Country new-routing scene. Perhaps. So, this crag I mentioned:

Culfern gets a short paragraph in Northern Highlands North, basically acknowledging its presence and location (though it gets the latter slightly wrong), but there is no mention of specific routes. So, on a day off last weekend I went for a stroll with some shoes and a chalk-bag and ended up coming home with soar tips and pumped arms. What I had found was far better than the guidebook description. For a start, the rock is very good gneiss, although, unsurprisingly, it's pretty dirty in places. There are two main sectors, both of which are no more than 15 metres in height and vary from a couple of degrees overhanging to pleasantly slabby. Both look like they will provide some nice trad lines, although the highest and steepest sections look pretty gearless. There are also another few slabs and walls that will provide routes and good bouldering separate to the main crags.

On my three trips up there since last Sunday I’ve identified at least five obvious lines that will muster gear and look do-able by myself (i.e. maybe between Severe and E2), but there are lots more that look a fair bit harder/bolder/dirtier. Most of my attention has been spent on the bouldering at the south of the southern sector, and at the small steep wall at the north of the northern sector.

The northern-most wall of the north sector.
My line climbs the intermittent thin crack on the left.

This latter wall gently leans for a few metres then kicks back to plum vertical and varies between about 8 and10 metres in height. Two thin vertical cracks snake upwards at each end, and it was the left-most of these that I climbed on Thursday evening. To begin with I worked on bouldering up the start then jumping off, hoping to come back on another day with a belayer, since there would be good gear in the crack above. However, with the slim likelihood of a belay and a good grassy landing below, I decided that it would be OK to treat like a highball boulder problem, so came back a few days later with the pad and surprised myself by doing it on the first go. Turns out that it’s a perfect candidate for such treatment, and after a couple of very busy weeks at work, was just the tonic that I needed.

A video still (hence low quality) of me on The Merlin.
The top quarter is hidden behind the tree.

It’s hard to say whether it’s a route or a boulder problem (what’s the difference nowadays?), but it’s very much in the style of things like Pinup at Back Bowden; a stiff start followed by easier bold climbing at a height that you wouldn’t want to deck from.

Should it turn out to be a new route, I'm deciding to call it The Merlin, in honour of a surreal episode that occurred last week when a juvenile merlin (a small falcon, for those not of the ornithological bent) landed on my head. I was collecting vegetation structure data out on the bog, so was hunched over a wooden measuring pole, recording plant heights. Incidentally (thankfully) I was wearing a baseball cap. All of a sudden, I heard a whirring, and then felt a slight heaviness on my head. I automatically flinched and the heaviness ceased and the whirring got louder, before quickly receeding. I looked up, and rapidly heading off into the distance was a rather embarrassed merlin. I couldn’t quite believe it.

With a spot of luck, this won’t be the last route that I do there, but I suspect that it’s the only one that I’d be happy soloing, so it may be a while….

So, the full shebang:

The Merlin, E2 6a, 8m
Start beneath the left hand crack in the northern-most wall: a distinctive pink stripe rises from right to left. Use edges to reach holds in the rising pink stripe, then gain and follow the crack to the top. Protectable.

This video shows me on the route again, shortly after my (the?) F.A.

Something New?

The briefest of missives, which I will endeavour to expand upon when time/speedy interweb sees fit to allow:

While to-ing and fro-ing up Strath Halladale (read Far, Far Away) in the name of work, my eye kept resting on a large chunk of rock that seemed to glow pink in the evening sun. Last weekend I took it upon myself to explore further, and couldn't believe my baby-blues when I stumbled upon treasure. I have found a crag. Now, the area guidebook, SMC's Northern Highlands North, mentions 'Culfern' as being a series of slabs and corners with next to no gear, and as such it's confined to top-roping, beginners and abseiling. Having given the place the once over it's clear that they havn't explored it properly, and I feel duty bound to let the reading public (all two of you) know the truth.

It's awesome. I won't go in to all the details, but suffice it to say that there are a good few trad lines and some good bouldering on sound, steep gneiss.

This evening, after a day of vegetation surveying, I soloed the probable first ascent of a cracking little line on the Norther-most crag. It's only about 8 metres, so it's in the micro-route/highball boulder area and takes the left hand thin crack in the gently leaning wall. It reminded me of those little routes you get on grit and in the County, with a hard start and then steady, heady climbing above, and would say it's around E2 6a/highball V3. I've got my eye on a few other lines too, but think gear and a belayer will be required. So, if any one out there wants to bag some first ascents get in touch. I am a long way North, but there is a train station next to my house (look up Forsinard).

I'll blog again soon with some pics of the crag and a video of the route (I was going to film the opening moves to get a video still to put on this, but it was so fun I ended up climbing it again).

Stoked...

Soft Rock Review

Would you believe it, it’s been just over a year since Soft Rock was born? Aye, time flies, especially when you’re having fun. I have to say it, but it has been a good year.

Inspired by my then house-mates, Sam’s Seasonal Affected Disorder and Steev’s Stevious Says…, I quite liked the idea of archiving my activities. As a climber you spend a lot of time traveling to new places and drowning yourself in emotional experiences which really lends itself to the written or spoken word; small wonder mountaineering has such a rich history of literature. Combining my whittering with pictures, videos and web links, it’s very easy to create something that looks half decent, and sitting down for the weekly blog session has become something I really relish. If anyone out there does actually read this, then cheers, hope you like it, get in touch. I’ve discovered that I really enjoy writing, so even if no-one reads this, I’ll keep going.

So, the last year. Twelve months ago I was just nearing the end of my monster 10 month doss at Loveday Towers in Edinburgh (I will give you some money one day Sam, honest, but I’m still very skint!). Four days a week I worked in Peter Green & Co. Wine Merchants, the rest of the time I was trying to climb. However, with no car and no money, Edinburgh isn’t an easy place to get lots of climbing done.

A typical evening in Loveday Towers: Big Brother, tea, beer, brown sauce.

My big break and the biggest change of all, came when I moved to Fort William in July, starting a graduate placement with Gary Servant’s Upland Ecology, which lasted until Christmas. I rapidly discovered that Highland life was something I was well suited to, and can’t really see any reason to ever work anywhere else: life really is too short to put up with the things you don’t like. I discovered the delights of Glen Nevis, both the exceptional climbing and pure beauty. Laying siege to the Heather Hat gave me some of the most intense and enjoyable climbing I’ve done. I know on sight trad climbing is where it’s at, but there’s no denying that the feelings of exhilaration and pride rapidly fade. Projecting something hard provided a whole new, deeper, experience. Just another thread in the tapestry, I guess. My contract with Gary ended, and along came the winter season.

A Fort William Winter: are you tough enough?

Fort William turned into the place to be. Coming down for breakfast you’d trip over a slumbering dosser on the kitchen floor. Strolling around town, bleary eyed and red-faced from a day on the hill, your eyes would meet with some other rosy-cheeked, greasy-haired climber type and we’d share a knowing smile. The scene. For three months I subsisted on a few mornings work with Blair for the Avalanche Service, and the pay-out from writing my car off – rock and roll, man. Luckily, as things started to look desperate, and the snow started to look like melting, a job fell into my lap. As a black grouse fieldworker for the RSPB I spent my early mornings surveying the forests and glens of Lochaber for lekking birds. Up before dawn, finished by nine thirty. Not bad. At this time the sun started to shine, and the cragging season began in earnest. Then along came my current contract, and I’ve moved over to Abernethy Forest in the Eastern Highlands. The climbing has continued, and at the moment I’m feeling pretty good.

Searching for enlightenment on the Heather Hat

This time has been punctuated by a few stand-out moments: Johnsey’s wedding in Nova Scotia in August was an alcoholic hill-billie roller-coaster ride, as was my brother’s in October, just with less hill-billies and more kilts. Topping out on Midnight In A Perfect World was the final piece in a five month jigsaw, and a real lesson in self belief, persistence and some of the more mental aspects of climbing. Taking my first decent trad fall was utterly enlightening too. I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders, and a sudden confidence: falling isn’t that bad (sometimes!), and this realization has since allowed me to strap it on on a few occasions that I would have bottled in the past. One final defining moment was the starriest night I have ever seen. Jones and I were camping in Glen Muick, planning to climb Lochnagar’s Eagle Ridge the following day. The combination of time spent with Jones, the slumbering mountains, the prospect of a days climbing and an endless view of those distant galaxies was damn near perfect.

Jones high on Eagle Ridge

Throughout the year Jones has been a pillar, gamely putting up with all my climbing spray and obsession, supporting my decisions as I moved around for work and not minding when I buggered off to play on stones. There’s no denying that not seeing her as often has been one of the biggest challenges of the year, but hell, if you want things enough, they’ll work out.

All in all, not a bad passage of time.

----------------

Much of this reflection was brought on by the last weekend. A decidedly unsettled Highland forecast sent me South to my old haunts in Edinburgh, and as much as I still love the place and all the friends still there, it definitely felt like a stranger to me. The whole time I just had this nagging feeling that what I’d left behind in the hills and glens of the Highlands was the world I now inhabited, and that a city boy I was no more (was I ever?). I guess I’ve just been spoilt by having it so good up here. Living in the stix isn’t for everyone, I’ll admit, but it’s what I’ve come to love. Let’s just hope that I can continue to find work up here.

Chris and I headed down to Back Bowden on Saturday. I had hopes to do battle with a few routes I had tried before and failed on. Starting on The Witch (E2 5b***) I found much better gear than last time round, but proceeded to go the wrong way and took the lob. Next time round I discovered that if you go the right way it’s actually pretty easy. What a twat. Look away now if you want the on sight: don’t traverse the bare slab beneath the overlap, step up high and undercut the overlap all the way from the gear. Big holds make it easier than no holds. Next up: The Sorcerer (E1 5c***). I failed on the long reach on the initial boulder problem a few times, but when I finally latched it the rest all came together. Over a year ago I had had a comedy wobble before falling off when pulling round the lip, but this time that bit went on the first go. At the end of the session I did The Magic Flute (E2 5b**), and am indebted to the guy that lent me his cams for the crucial gear. None of mine fitted, and he threw his up. Surely that’s not beta, I only knew what kit to place when I was at it. Anyone? No? Fine.

On Sunday we went to Stirling’s answer to Rosyth Quarry: Cambusbarron. I had been informed that it wasn’t too bad a spot, but let’s be honest, a dolerite quarry is a dolerite quarry: there’s no folklore and mysticism like the slate quarries here, it’s just a shit hole. It didn’t help that we had to share the crag with an aged Def Leppard (sp?) lookalike in lycra who would not shut up. I’ll be frank, maybe even snobby, but I don’t particularly enjoy spending my weekends in the company of weird old men in dirty holes in the ground. Chris had a valiant effort on Easy Contract (hard HVS 5b**), I did The Doobie Brothers (E1 5b**), and we both decided to sack it and bugger off.

The day before I was inspired to climb. On Sunday, despite being offered numerous quality(ish) routes, I was not. I didn’t mind though, I don’t really think I’m missing much by not going back to Cambusbarron.