A Thousand Words....

48 hours after saying a teary goodbye to Jones in Fort Dauphin, three flights, four Imodium, 6000 miles; I'm almost home, but not yet. I'm stopping at my folks down in Somerset for a few hours before I catch one final flight back to Scotland tonight.

Only a couple of hours off the plane and I was keen to see if my diarrhea-enforced fighting weight would pay dividends, so I hot-footed it to Cheddar for an hour of sleep-starved bouldering. Except for remembering that soloing polished limestone next to a busy road is truly terrifying, I learnt nothing.

Anyhoo, as promised, some photos from the land of Miss Sarah Jones: Ladies and Gentlemen I present Madagascar.

Letter from Madagascar

As short holidays go, a two week trip to Madagascar is pretty ambitious, especially in the midst of some of the worst political unrest for years, but these are the only two weeks that I’ll get to see Jones for at least six months, so here I am. Seeing the work that she’s involved in with ONG Azafady has been really inspiring, and the whole lifestyle and location is truly enviable.

Picture a lush narrow coastal plain bordered with white beaches and azure seas, backed by rolling verdant hills and grey granite cliffs. Top it off with a remorseless sun beating from a clear blue sky and you might be getting close. The town of Fort Dauphin is an intricate maze of narrow paths and dirt streets pushing onto a crenulated coastline of sandy bays and rocky headlands. Scraggy stilt-legged chickens strut the streets with dirty dogs and grinning children. Round every corner a different stereo pumps out a different afro-dancehall classic at high volume and you have to pinch yourself to remind you that this isn’t a festival, its everyday life. Everywhere you look there are people; people standing, people sitting, people chatting, people laughing. Selling, buying, building, cooking, dancing, playing, watching. It’s a very foreign thing for the Brit-abroad, seeing so many people just taking the time to enjoy the world going by. And everyone is so happy. That’s foreign. Back in Britain, we’re so used to seeing Africa portrayed as a war-torn, disease crippled land that I’m almost surprised not to see starving bodies littering the pavements. Sure, times are hard here, but that’s not getting anyone down. I guess it’s that age-old truth, money doesn’t buy happiness; a simple existence, lived in harmony with nature and the seasons, the ebbs and flows of harvests and the mercy of the weather brings much more fulfilment. It’s something that many in Britain have been trying to say for a long time, and a notion I’ve always subscribed to, but living it isn’t so simple.

In town there’s a big extended family of Vazahas (white folk) and Malagasy that are involved with the running of Azafady’s many impressive projects, so Jones has slotted right into the party. I have to say, I’ve been so impressed by how welcome they’ve all made me feel, and I’m nothing to do with anything. The volunteers that come out to work for ten week stints must never want to leave!

So, what is ONG Azafady? It’s a British-based charity that works in the villages and communities around Fort Dauphin in the south east of Madagascar. It’s probably easier to ask what they don’t do, rather than what the do, because they’ve got a lot going on. I guess the main thing is what we might call rural development in the UK, so that’s everything from environmental work to education to nutrition to health and hygiene, and everything in between. And of course, all this stuff is linked, and it’s about trying to get communities to work for themselves to sustain their own livelihoods, rather than constantly relying on others for help. Basic GCSE geography really, but it’s somewhat easier said than done. Jones co-ordinates the Pioneer scheme, a ten week placement where volunteers come out to work on Azafady projects, be it tree planting, teaching kids how to wash their hands or building a school. Ten very intense weeks, but clearly very rewarding.

And Jones, well, it’s just great to see her. Especially now that she’s in her element, doing something that means so much to her and somewhere that makes her so happy. Unfortunately for me it just so happens that this somewhere is a tropical paradise on the other side of the world. But hell, who ever said life was easy?

Photos to follow when bandwidth allows........

Welcome Back

New year, new fun and games. The post Hogmanay hangover depression has been banished and energy levels are high after two weeks of festive exuberance.

Steve finishing the crux corner of a very burried The Message

So, what has been happening in the world of Soft Rock? I hear you cry. Well, since last bloggage I’ve enjoyed traditional Scottish powder on The Message (IV 6***) in Coire an’t Schneachda with my landlord Steve, several short trips to very cold crags in Englandshire over the festive season, namely The Roaches, Baldstones, and Somerset’s jewel (ahem) Uphill Quarry, a fair bit of running, including a 6 mile circuit with my bro on Christmas Day (the beginnings of a fine tradition perchance?) and eventually saluted my return to the Highlands with a full day on Braeriach yesterday. The gaps between all this were filled with copious bouts of food and liquor consumption, dog petting, familial camaraderie, and oh, did I mention spending time with Jones?

Temperature inversion at the Roaches Skyline (Photo: S. Jones)

That’s right, Jones returned for three weeks from her saintly work in Madagascar (you can follow her adventures HERE) and we spent most of my two weeks off work together. When she was in Madagascar she kept saying how she missed the sensation of feeling cold, and couldn’t wait to come up to Aviemore and experience the Highland winter once again. Well, as we all know, the grass is always greener, and within minutes of stepping off the train she had had her fill of the cold. Sadly, it has remained pretty parky all over the country for quite a while, so the poor lass has been be-scarfed, be-hatted, be-gloved and be-everything elsed for weeks. Not long now until she ships off to top up the tan though. The plan is for me to go out to Madagascar to visit her in March, so I’m starting to make plans. Muchos excitement.

Anyway, you didn’t come here to read about domestic bliss. You want fear and loathing and gibbering miles above the last dodgy ice-screw. And so, back to yesterday on Braeriach. Sam, Konnie and I made the long (12 or so kilometers) trudge into the truly remote and beautiful Garbh Coire Mor via the Lairig Ghru at dark-o’clock yesterday morning under a clear sky and frosty ground, eventually getting to our chosen route, Vulcan (V 4***), a long, long time later. From below we beheld thinly iced grooves and stellar neve so decided to have a pop. Somehow, luckily for me, it was my lead, so I promptly began battling upwards, spurred on by a couple of rather poor tied off ice-screws and small wires teased into the side walls. Anyway, fortunately my lead went pretty smoothly, despite having to gird my loins a time or two.

Konnie entering Garbh Coire Mor, Braeriach.
Vulcan takes the central line in the buttress right of the obvious gully

From above my rather uncomfortable, and potentially psychological, belay I could see the sidewalls shy away to leave a steep groove capped by a cornice that appeared Patagonian in style. Oh, what larks. On his arrival at the belay Konnie slumped under the power some utterly heinous sounding hot-aches, coughing, wimpering and groaning into the snow, and all the time being ‘papped’ by Sam and his new video camera. So after several sessions of swearing by Konnie and laughing by Sam and I, Sam started up the final pitch. He made pretty steady work until the final five or so metres of the route, at which point the day took a decidedly dark tone. The sticky ice and neve that we had been enjoying seemed to run out and morph into almost vertical sugar powder. Axe placements no longer existed and the last joke runner was over five metres below Sam’s feet. He started to make noises. And not, happy, happy, joy, joy noises. More OH FUCK THIS IS SERIOUS I MIGHT BE ABOUT TO DIE noises, and at this point I started to look at the one (hopefully) solid anchor of my three anchor belay, and started to think OH FUCK THIS IS SERIOUS I MIGHT BE ABOUT TO DIE. The sickly grin I shared with Konnie told me he was in on the impending peril theme too. Even the weather seemed to join in, and a clear blue sky and glistening coire was replaced by swirling grey cloud as far as we could see.

Sam heading towards the cornice on pitch 2 of Vulcan

A wee bit later: Sam in Patagonian mode

Eventually Sam started caving, digging into the sugar-snow, burrowing into the cornice and slowly, slowly making upwards and inwards progress. The more he dug, the more the situation seemed to diffuse, until, with the inventive solution of burying sections of his walking poles as runners, he flopped over the top and disappeared from view onto the plateau. Thank fuck for that. Before long Konnie and I followed him into the mirk, shared the ‘we’re still here’ moment, and made the long, long way back down to the car.

Hello 2009, I’m alive.

Farewell Jones, and other stories.

Well, it’s been a funny old week. I’ve been down in Stafford and Somerset, spending time at home and with Jones before shipping her off to the far side of the world. I tell thee, that were an emotional morning – she almost got a tear out of my stony heart. How dare she. She's spending a year in Madagascar working for Azafady, a charity based in Fort Dauphin in the South East of the island. They're involved with all sorts of community projects, rural development and the incredably biologically rich environment. Jones is chronicling her year in Madagascar at Eka Be, so tune in for regular postings from paradise (not that Fort William isn’t paradise, of course). I’ve added a link to the blog list on the right of this here page too.

So, before that fateful morning in Terminal 2 at Birmingham airport (the starting point for all international adventures, no doubt) when Jones disappeared into the departure lounge, we had been out and about on the rock. Following on from redpointing my first 7a in Cheddar last time I was home, I redpointed another on Sunday, this time in Somerset’s dingy, dark and dismal North Quarry. To the rational mind it’s a proper shit-hole, and not worth the effort of finding, especially with the hallowed walls of Cheddar, Brean and Uphill nearby, however the place has sentimental value for me.

North Quarry is a big hole in the side of Crook Peak, the extension of the Mendip Hills just above my parent’s cottage, the hill that I spent my entire childhood exploring, walking, running, cycling, shooting bunnies, drinking and bivi-ing on, and instilling a deep love for nature and the outdoors in me. In fact, North Quarry is where the idea of going rock-climbing came from in the first place. My good buddy Luke and I were scrambling about on the easy angled limestone one day when some ‘proper’ climbers turned up with ropes and all and started to crank up the steep and scary western walls. Inspired, we bought some kit, went to the indoor wall, learnt the ropes and before long were driving hither and thither across the Mendips in search of rock, grubby mits firmly clenched on Martin Crocker’s Avon and Cheddar guidebook. Happy days.

Crook Peak, my childhood playground (Photo: Jon Marshall)

Times Past: Me on a route on The Glacis, Fairy Cave Quarry, Summer 2006

Anyway, the bizarrely named Motorway Sheepdog is actually a pretty good route, despite it’s fairly grotty appearance. A lot of these Mendip limestone quarries are very slate-like, as the limestone sheers to leave smooth, slabby walls with nay gear and nay grips, all in the familiar rotting post-industrial waste land. It took me a few goes on the top-rope to suss out all the moves, but after a bit of foot-work here, some re-balancing there, some good old-fashioned faith in friction and the acceptance that sometimes it is just plain hard, I felt like a redpoint attempt was on the cards. Surprisingly I did it on the first go. Woop woop. Top-marks to Jones for the belay.

Setting off on Motorway Sheepdog (F7a), we only had a thin half rope so had to double up.
(Photo: Sarah Jones)

A very pleased me after the successful redpoint.
(Photo: Sarah Jones)

Next day we were in Staffordshire, so made a bee-line for the Roaches, where limestone crimps were exchanged for grit-stone slopers. It took a while to get used to, initially on Prow Cracks (Diff*), then the very good, if technically imbalanced, Jeffcoat’s Buttress (HS 4c, 4a***), and then the very, very good Safety Net (E1 5b***). As the drizzle started to appear we strolled along to the Hard Very Far Skyline and I tried in vain to get established on Wild Thing (E1 5c**), before giving up and running away.

Grit-stone detail: I think this is Chris belaying me on Nosepicker (E1 5a) at the Roaches in April 2007.
(Photo: Sarah Jones)

Jones safely packed up and shipped off, I made my way back to Somerset and have managed a bit of bolt-clipping at Cheddar with my good friend Johnsey, of Nova Scotian wedding fame. We did 7 routes between F5 and F6b (mainly F5, of course!) in two and a bit hours on Overshoot Wall, Arch Rock and Horseshoe Bend Buttress. Not bad mileage.

So, my week off is almost at an end and I’d better get packing. Next stop, Forsinard, the ends of the known world, and two more weeks of bog-trotting, sphagnum counting and plant measuring. Bring it on.

Logic vs. Adventure

All smiles: Fran and Jones chilling on Cioch Nose

Remember those annoying questions in maths classes? If Jimmy has three bananas and five pears and Jenny has two plums and an apple, how many men does it take to change a lightbulb on the 16:22 train to Okehampton? Or something like that. Well, on Saturday morning, cruel logic, something I hadn’t really thought about, took it’s toll.

If you have a 1.3 litre R-reg Skoda Felicia and fill it with people and kit, will you be able to drive it to the top of Britain’s longest/highest/steepest mountain pass? Obviously, no. Or at least, not without it overheating at least three times and needing to wait in a layby with the bonnet open, radiator fan wheezing, like a fat Labrador on Scawfell on midsummer’s day. Fortunately, and about an hour later than planned, Jones, Steev, Fran and I finally made it to the car park at the top of Bealach na Ba in Applecross. Our objective: Patey and Bonnington’s Classic Rock masterpiece, Cioch Nose (Severe****) on Sgurr a’ Chaorachain.

Fortunately, the weather forecast had North West Scotland as the sunniest spot in Britain for Saturday, so we were in the right place. With at least three teams in front of us on the route we took our time about it and relished the climbing. Steev and Fran climbed in front of Jones and I, meaning it was a very sociable and friendly day out, despite the ‘out-there’ nature of the line for the grade. Obviously, it’s a great climb, four pitches covered in huge holds and good gear, made all the better by finishing up the A’Cioch ridge above the climb proper. This adds another 100-odd meters of VDiff/scrambling followed by some towers and gaps to skirt round/down/over/up.

Fran employing traditional skills seconding pitch two.

Jones finishing pitch two

We camped just below the Bealach na Ba car park on Saturday night, barbecueing sea bass and overlooking Skye, Eigg and Rum. Who says that low-budget climbers have to survive on super-noodles?

The happy team stroll back to the car, with Skye beyond.

Sunday dawned and we all slept in. Oops. Still worried about my car, we decided to head back to Chez Jones in Munlochy for brunch before heading to Cummingston in her wheels. I felt that I had an inevitable date with Diedre of Double Doubt (E2 5b**) so warmed up on Diedre of Doubt (HVS 5a**) and then Right (HVS 5b*) (neither of which is particularly easy for the grade, I felt)

Me on Right (HVS 5b*). Photo: Steve Crawford

Before I could psyche myself out I stepped up to Diedre of Double Doubt and became embroiled. It’s a great wee route, (I would say that, having done it), pretty steep, but on big holds for the most part. Gear is spaced, and fairly wee and far below the crux, providing pretty ‘heady’ climbing. I felt pretty strong on it though, down-climbing to place more gear before getting fully committed. Smuggly belayed at the top, I felt justified in sitting on my arse for the rest of the evening, which I did, watching Nadal take Federer’s Wimbledon title.

'Getting some back' on Diedre of Double Doubt (E2 5b**)

Nearlly there.... Photo: Steve Crawford

So, despite still not climbing any properly challenging mountain routes this year, I feel like I’m beginning to break into the E2 grade, something that I had really wanted to happen this summer. Also, as Jones gets more confident we’re starting to climb some of the easier classics that I’ve never done, like Cioch Nose. All in all, mustn’t grumble, really.

A Weekend of Classic Ridges

Although the weather hasn't been great in the Highlands since coming back from Nova Scotia I decided to have a crack at finding dry mountain rock this weekend. Jones came up on the train from the burg on Friday arvo and not long after work that evening we were heading East in the trusty (?) Fiat Bravo. That scans nicely.

I had thought the of some easy big things in the North West, namely East or Central Buttress on Beinn Eighe and A'Cioch Nose. Jones is still a rookie really so its pointless aiming for harder stuff so big routes in big places make for the excitement. In the end the foreccast was giving the North West the shittest weather we headed towards the Cairngorms where fairer things were promised on the Monk-cast.

That night was amazingly clear, with no moon and millions upon millions of stars shining down on Glen Muick. Bootiful.

Look, its Eagle Ridge!

Eagle Ridge, the uber classic 4-star Severe, was on the cards so we scampered in to the corrie, only to find two teams starting the route already. Bum. They were going very, very slowly and it was only after we realised we were'nt at the true start that we understood why these guys were having such problems on a Severe. Only two hours lost! In fact we ended up overtaking the second team.

Jones, the Ridge and the Loch.

Its a great route, with maintained interest and some good exposure. The 'sentry box' pitch is particularly splendid, to use guide book parlance, with lots of air beneath you and huuuuuuge holds. Jones had a few 'moments' when the exposure was felt but pressed on like a trooper and was really glad that she had.

Joes was happy to get the route done.

The only problem is that now I've blown my winter on-sight. Damn. I've only climbed a couple of grade VIs in winter but I must say this one looks like a pretty full-on day. Respec.

The 'Sunday' route of choice took us to the Norries, and a very windy and cloudy Coire an't Schneachda. I had though of Fingers Ridge Direct, the VS version of the classic Diff, but the aerial moisture content, plus the 'oh shit I'm going to get hot-aches as soon as I stop climbing' conditions put payed to that. So we went for the Diff, and had a jolly good time. I've done it in winter, and its a stonker, so it was cool to see what you're actually torqueing and hooking.

Looking down pitch 3 of Fingers Ridge, its a beaut.

To add interest, the last two pitches were fully in the clouds and what might be known as 'pissing'. I'll admit I decided to don rock shoes for the short wall after the fingers so as not to slip off.


Then it was time for a brew in the ski-centres wonderfully named Cas Bar and a hitting of the road. By the time we were back in the West it was shitting it down and we both felt tres smug that we got a route done in the hills.

A brilliant weekend I must admit.

Jones topping out. Check out that view.....

So far this week I've done a bit of running and been down the Glen a couple of times. In fact I was down there today and was getting a kicking by everything I tried. The mantle on the top of A Dram for Donald on the Cameron Stone is still spitting me off. I have, however, decided to make the lip traverse of the Heather Hat, Midnight in a Perfect World my project, in order to get strong. Its V5, and I will have climbed it before my contract with Upland Ecology runs out on the 24th December 2007. you read it here first.

Raaaaa!