The Investment

Iain Small on Pitch 1 of Cosmopoliton (E5 6a,6b). The top pitch has yet to be onsighted, and when I left Blair was making ready for the attempt, How did he do?

After all last weeks grumbling and groaning about not getting any better at climbing I had a pleasant reminder that all's not totally crap yesterday.

On the way East from a few days working in Ardnamurchan I popped into Glen Nevis to see if I could catch a quick route with Blair and Iain. They were embroiled in E5 missions and I didn't have much time to play with, so instead I slipped off to the Heather Hat for a quiet boulder.

Longer followers of Soft Rock might cast their minds back to the Autumn and Winter of 2007-2008, when I used to live in Fort William and I got a bit obsessed with a boulder problem on the Heather Hat called Midnight in a Perfect World. I spent hours up on that lump of Nevis schist, trying, failing, resting, trying again. And when I finally finished it off on that February afternoon I promptly got obsessed with it's nextdoor neighbour, a problem called Killer Instinct. This eventually succombed to my similarly stubborn efforts. At the time they were both really hard for me, and when I first took up the Midnight challenge it was definately to be a long term project.

I've been back to this boulder a few times in the intervening years, and despite a few tries have never been able to repeat either problem again: they seemed to belong to that winter season in Fort William when all my efforts were focused on that perfect stone. Of all the routes and boulder problems I've tried before and since in my seven years as a climber, the hundreds of thousands of holds and moves, these ones still have the deepest stamp on my memory.

So, back to last night and there I was again; swinging from the roof beneath the ancient peaks of the Mamores, silently watching my every move; expectant. And before long I was back there, back to that season, that success-hungry hunt.

Except, this time it was different. Were the holds bigger or the problems shorter? Had the heel-toe jam become more secure? Maybe my new shoes allowed more precision? But, no, of course not. All that's happened is my investment has started to pay off and I am, perhaps, getting a bit better.

The bouldering wall on Sanna beach, Ardnamurchan, perfect post-work fun.

Taking Advantage

They say variety is the spice of life. If that's true then I think I'm turning into a stick of cinnamon. In a spell of eight days over the last two weeks I have been up to some awesome stuff. I'm not bragging, just singing the praises of living in a country that enables such stuff.

Last Tuesday, Duncan, Becky and I climbed Menage a Trois, my first V,6, in pretty wintery nick. The next day I climbed Ordinary Route with Chris. It was a sunny day but the route was absolutely buried and fairly stressful to lead. Then on Sunday I visited Traprain Law and did some gentle cragging with Jones and Chris in pretty miserable conditions: the famed East coast Har. Then on Monday I ticked my project on the Heather Hat, a V6/7 boulder problem; Midnight In A Perfect World, in stunning evening sunshine. Then, on Tuesday I drove north and met Sam, Duncan, Konnie and Becky and we headed across to the sun-drenched Orkneys and climbed the East Face Route on the incredible Old Man of Hoy. My first sea-stack, and surely one of the most memorable and characterful routes in Britain. Getting the chance to climb it in perfect blue skies in February can't happen often. Hats off to Sam for leading the crux pitch - an intimidating roofed offwidth/chimney/corner that was covered in sand and dirt (though he thought it was OK because a) he is a pervert, and b) he is clearly wrong). Seriously though, a very good lead that only impressed on me that being able to hang crimps two metres off the floor is no substitute for having big balls. Watch Sams blog for some words on our adventure soon.

To make matters even better I've managed to get a wee bit of work with Upland Ecology again. And the sun is shining.

It's Midnight In A Perfect World

I’m here again. Another session perched on my thrown, hands shrouded in dachsteins, frozen toes swaddled with wooly socks and thrust into dripping wellies. That familiar feeling of heavy arms and numb fingers. Did I fall off last time because I was tired, or were my fingers too cold to feel the rock? Snuggled in a downy, no cold air can reach me now. I look out from under the roof, across the glen to the spike of Stob Ban and see some walkers coming down from the white coire. Not long ago I was up there, scratching about with crampons and ice tools. I recall looking down here, at this block, relishing our next date on a cold dry afternoon. Right now, my shredded fingers are relishing nothing. I’ve given up counting the number of times I’ve tried these moves on this piece of rock.

The Heather Hat in Glen Nevis. Almost a perfect cuboid of ancient schist sat in a bog on the slopes of Britain’s biggest peak. Tufts of moor-grass and heather stir in the breeze. The skeletons of birch trees shimmer and wave. In the distance the Water of Nevis gurgles. I silently look up. A few metres of horizontal roof jut out just above my head. A line of chalked jugs, then slopers, then jugs, then edges, then back to slopers work their way round the lip, from right to left. These small edges have entranced me for months now.

It all began in July. A new arrival in Lochaber, working for an ecological consultancy on a graduate placement, fresh faced and ready to immerse myself in an area steeped in climbing history. I cycled down the Glen after my first interview in June to see what all the fuss was about, and have been obsessed ever since. After a few weeks and a few midgie post-work sessions I had worked out the classic left-hand roof problem Maisie Gunn’s Magical Midgie Cream, the roof/arête of Theory of Relativity and numerous other gems on the Cameron Stone and was in need of a new project. The long traverse of the Heather Hat lip was the obvious choice: Midnight in a Perfect World. There was no doubt that I had set my sights high for this one, but what if….? What if…?

At first glance it didn’t look that improbable; there are jugs, and I was familiar with the finishing moves from previous problems. The problem was the bits in between the jugs, oh, and the fact that it’s a 5 metre roof. It didn’t take long to see which holds were best, but holding them was a task in itself, let alone linking them. That’s when something went wrong. Something happened to me. I found myself thinking about those holds when I was in the office. Thinking about moving from the heel hook to the sloper. Thinking about crimping the seam and crossing through to the edge. What had I become? Those few metres of undercut rock had taken me prisoner. Pathetic. A few metres of climbing had captivated me more than any long mountain routes ever had. I decided the only way to end this affair was to go all out and make a pact with myself; to have completed Midnight in a Perfect World by the end of my contract at Christmas.

Week followed week and the sequences started to become familiar. Weather permitting I would head down the Glen twice a week after work. Engrams engrained in my waking thoughts. The feeling of becoming fluid in motion became addictive, I would overcome this problem. I would. Remember to cross the right hand through before swinging into the heel hook. By late October I could traverse the lip in two overlapping halves, but I just didn’t have the beans to yard on those horrific slopers when I was slathering and shaking from the earlier two thirds. This was compounded by the pointy boulder that greets you as you come tumbling from the last desperate moves. Clearly something was going to have to change.

And change it did. The clocks changed and a Lochaber winter began. The cycle home from work became a dark, wet affair. Evenings on the Hat turned into evenings down the wall. Perfect ice-chipped edges became hand-moulded slopers on the 45 at the Ice Factor. Mountain breezes became a chalky fug. But this was all neccasary, so neccasary. Bouldering with the likes of Blair Fyffe, Donald King and Dave Macleod on the steep wall started to strengthen my fingers and teach me subtle footwork that I would never think of. Interval circuits at the Fort William wall attempted to build up my endurance - so important for a long, steep problem like Midnight... Three-finger dead hangs on the bar in the house attempted to make those moves on small edges that bit easier.

Blair doing circuits on the Fort William wall

2007 passed into 2008 and still I couldn't find a time to get down the Glen during a dry spell. So much for my pact. And so, it came to February. A fat high pressure is sat over the UK and the Highlands are bathed in glorious, unseasonal warmth and sunshine. Winter seems to have taken a break. I spent the day on a train back up from Edinburgh - escaping from the Har. Surely the Hat would be dry? Pulling in to Fort William at 16:00 I hurried to the car and drove straight down the Glen. There it was, under the pale wintery blue sky, that cuboid of ancient schist. After a spell of hanging the jugs, jumping about and generally trying to get some blood into my hands I got on it.

The initial jugs soon gave way to the heel hook and bouncing between the poorest slopers, then I'm swinging around the nose. Remember the sequence. I'm still on and I'm moving between the three-finger edges. I'm on the slopers. I'm hanging above the pointed rock. It's calling for me. But, no, I'm still on and I've got the heel-hook. I'm pulling onto the final jugs. It's just a mantle away. It's done. I'm ankle deep in heather on the top of the Hat, chest heaving and fingers shaking. It's over. Midnight In A Perfect World. My first real 'project' has been dispatched and when it came to it, it felt easy.

So what am I supposed to do now?

Literate Motivation

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;..."

We studied 'To Autumn' by John Keats for GCSE English, and those two lines have always stuck with me. They were going round and round in my head yesterday as I sat under the Heather Hat roof, flask in shaking hand, trying to rest between goes on Project X (Midnight In A Perfect World, but its getting boring writing the whole name, and anyone who reads this will know about the obsession already). I hadn't been able to get down the Glen for over a week, now that 'daylight-saving' has removed all the day-light from our lives, and there was a really noticable difference in the Glen. Autumn is definately here, and by the looks of thinks getting ready for that switch into winter. Where before the bog-trot up to the rock was a wade through sweet-smelling bog myrtle, it's now a wade through their skeleton-bare twigs. The leaves on the birch trees that layer the side of the Ben and hide the hundreds of wee craglets all over Polldubh, have all passed-on. No more fiery gold and orange to light up the hills, just their ghosts to rot down and become next years food. And the weather. It hardly needs an introduction, but it's fair to say that the whole of last week has been a shocker. For the first time I saw the MWIS forecast use the word 'incessant', and you know thats not going to be good. The rain seemed to arrive with the gaining of an hour in bed. I wish I'd slept in. It just didn't stop. In fact, I was glad of the OMM wounds for an excuse not to cycle to work.

So when it dried out on Saturday morning, and remained dry into Sunday a Project X mission was in order. I thought I'd make a session of it, bring a flask, my book, lunch and ipod, rest properly between tries, warm-up properly and keep warm. You know, the opposite of the usual get pumped and stay pumped with cold hands and leave twenty minutes later.

I really noticed that I hadn't done the moves for a week or so as I repeatedly failed on the first crux the first few goes, but after a while it came, and it was time to settle into the same old routine of trying 'the big link'.

In Stone Country, the Scottish bouldering guide, Dave Macleod has written a really good peice called 'Happiness In Slavery'. It's all about the feeling of being trapped by a project that you just can't leave alone, and the proccess of wiring it all together, inch-by-inch. He describes sitting under one of the big roofs at Dumbarton, locked in by the rain outside, pulling on for 3 seconds at a time before crashing back onto the pad. But slowly, week by week and month by month the 3 seconds becomes 5, and he can throw for the next hold, then the next, until in isolation he can do it all and he realises that one day it will be possible. But until that day he is a slave and he wouldn't want it any other way. Instead of becoming despondant with the huge obstacle he has to surmount, he draws inspiration from it. It's a reason to try harder, get more pumped and fall off more.

Its getting that way with Midnight... Except that Dave Macleods project was about V14 and mine is V5/6/7 (depending on which guide you look at). I can do the whole thing in two overlapping halves, and the second half is coming easier than it was, but having the juice to do it all in one is still proving evasive. I feel like I'm locked in battle and victory is possible, but it's not coming without a lot of skin, heavy breathing and gurning. Awesome. I'm loving it. I just need a few more dry weekends when I'm free and it will go. It will go. In the mean time its down the wall thrice a week so that I can bear down like yo mumma.

Still hanging on: Lining up for the first crux