Infatuated

Warming up for The Warm Up (F7b) at Am Fasgadh.

I've been bitten by the bug. Once again I'm in deep, to the end: a muerte, as the Spanish say. It's funny how patterns form in life. It sounds incredibly crass comparing love and life to climbing rocks, but when you spend equal amounts of time obsessing about both it starts to make sense. Miss Sarah Jones is back from the other side of the world and back in my life and I'm a very happy bunny indeed, also, I've found a climbing project and I'm super-dooper excited about the roller-coaster journey ahead. A flame has been re-kindled and I'm as psyched up as I've ever been.

So, those rocks. In an attempt to become a proper Highland climber I'm trying to infiltrate the ranks of the northerners, to learn their tricks and climb their routes. That trip to Rhue with Rich a few weeks back has made me want a bit of their remote and beautiful pie. The problem is that they're all much fitter, stronger and braver than me. So, how can I become like them?

After extensive research and undercover surveillance I think I've discovered the source of their power, the place that they come to train and pay homage to small holds and steep rock. It's called Am Fasgadh, or The Refuge as us Sassenachs might have it. A short, sharp, savage sweep of overhanging gneiss; south facing and dry in all but the worst rain. With grades from F7a+ to F7c+ this isn't a place for begginers. Static crimp-master and Am Fasgadh devotee Andy Wilby gave me the tour-de-crag last weekend and I came home inspired. Knowing that most of the locals have ticked almost the whole crag I suddenly realised why they're all so bloody good. I've got work to do. I got on the classic initiation route called The Warm Up, and though it's graded F7b this isn't an ironic name, it really is the easiest worthwhile route here. I didn't do it, but I could do all the moves almost first go and know that it's not too far off.

Now, a week later I find myself thinking about it; those moves and holds, where to clip from, where to try to shake out. I had a day off and went back in the week, bolt-to-bolting as the Atlantic fell on Wester Ross, and that's when I think it happened. I got that electric feeling in my belly. It's on. Since then I've been thinking about it before I fall asleep and as I trudge through the woods at work. Working through the moves as I go about my day. I have an obsession. Once again, I've fallen.

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Winter Continues

Steev and I about to play on the Ben

Steev starting Compression Crack

Perfect steep blue ice on Compression Crack

After a sickeningly early start Murdo and I were the first on Creagh Meagaigh this Saturday, climbing Smith's Gully then nipping up Last Post. Here's Murdo high on the latter.

The end of a great day.

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.

Light and Dark

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....