The Shire

Luke's silhouette about to unleash on One-Eyed Traverse

A trip home to Somerset would never be complete without a few attempts to go bouldering on the lost and forgotten esoterica of Somerset. I normally try a few different crags before remembering that they're all pretty crap for one reason or another: Croscombe and Bourton Combe are dank, dark and green; at this time of year Cheddar is freezing and gloomy; the Toll Road Crags are limited, inaccessable at high tide and the one decent problem there is sopping wet unless there's a drought. After a few hopeful visits optimism gives way to frustration and I either give up and go home to mum's amazing cooking, use most of a tank of petrol and all my skin to go to Dartmoor or go to the wall in Bristol. However, this time round I think I've cracked it.

The answer: Brean Down.
"Where?" I hear you cry.

The sun-drenched Brean Down crags.

It's so obvious. Brean Down. A south facing beach-side crag, home to a selection of 1980s 'adventure' trad routes, a handful of quasi-classic sport routes and now Somerset's premier winter bouldering. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but I have to say, even I'm fairly impressed with the wee cove I just found. From now on, whenever I'm visiting the folks, this is where I'll be headed for an afternoon of pulling down.

I tried this problem all day long and still didn't finish it. Next time...

The Deep South

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.

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.

The Deep South

Alright my luvver? Drink up thee cider, and other colloquialisms from Somerset. That's right, I'm down here for one more day, then back up to the Highlands to start my new RSPB contract. It's been a good wee trip thus far.

The Mendip Morris Men

You may recall a T.V. programme from almost a year ago in which Tim Emmett took Julia Bradbury up some classic rock routes, Commando Ridge in England, Crackstone Rib in Wales and Ordinary Route on The Old Man of Stoer in Scotland. It was during a period in which the BBC seemed to be paying a lot of attention to climbing because there was also the 'Great Climb' thing which led to Macleod's To Hell and Back on Hells Lum. Anyway, my brother, not an 'outdoorsy' type at all, contacted me after the Emmett programme, asking me to take him climbing sometime. Go on BBC! Well, time passed, Christmas came and went, snow fell and melted and eventually we were both in the same place at the same time, so we headed up to Overshoot Wall in Cheddar Gorge. I climbed a couple of easy sport routes and illustrated belaying and all that jazz, and and he got top-roping and really enjoyed it. Once happy that he wasn't going to kill me if I took a whipper, he kindly offered a belay on something harder. I'd eyed up a little 10 metre 7a called Whose Line is it Anyway? a few times in the past, but never been on it, so decided to see if I could get the redpoint (lead it cleanly after rehearsing the moves, for those not in the know). Well, bugger me, I got t! It's a 70's boulder problem that they used to jump off, but has recently been bolted to the top of the crag. The technical crux is pretty low down, but it's certainly not a path from then on. After putting the rope up it bolt-to-bolt style I played around on the top-rope to become familiar with it. Within half an hour I was pretty confident that it would go, so pulled the rope, chilled, and went for it. My first F7a, and back on home turf, where this daft love affair all began. Cheers for the belay bro!

On Monday I hooked up with Em, a buddy from the Edinburgh Uni Mountaineering Club who's from Bristol, and we headed south to the mighty Dartmoor. Beginning at Hound Tor, I got spooked off the short, sharp Aerobic Wall (E2 5c), so went for a look at the micro-route Anaerobic Wall (E1 5c). Described as scary, dangerous and 'not fall-off-able' in the guide, all illustrated with a tale of some local boy smashing his leg up, I opted to see if there was any gear. Having hung around for a while to find the crucial wire and place it, I pumped out going through the crux and took the fall, splendid! Second time round it went fine, which is fortunate, as a fall from any higher would definitely be on to the rocks. Tasty. Em then climbed Liar's Dice, a great little Severe, before we had a picnic and headed round to Haytor and Lowman.

Em dancing up Liar's Dice, Hound Tor

Down on Lowman I got embroiled in Tom Patey's classic HVS Outward Bound. It climbs through a sizable roof on HUGE holds, pulling onto a very accommodating belay ledge, before weaving it's merry way to the top of the crag. Immense. To use guidebook language: very impressive situations for the grade. Up on Haytor, we then did the fun Letterbox Wall (VS 5b, 4b). The first pitch is a 5b boulder problem, with nay gear until it's all over. Not the average VS then.

Moving onto the roof on Outward Bound, Lowman.

It's funny, these short routes, where the adjective grade basically boils down to the likelihood of hitting the ground. It may be technically nails, but it's not going to kill you to fall off the crux, so it's HVS! It may be a 5b move with no gear, but it's only 4 metres up, so it's VS! I guess it's the same as lots of grit and sandstone crags, short routes have to pack a punch to earn the grade. Anyway, we all know that these little crags aren't proper climbing! Bring on the mountains.

Em and I met up later in the week and went for a look at a little bolted wall in Trym Valley Gorge, North Bristol. The easiest line there is F7a, so armed with my recent success I was looking forward to another fight. Sadly, as seems to be the way with crags round here, part of the wall was covered in ivy, so we opted for the only clean and accessible line, a F7a+. With a spot of swearing, some aid and general faff I got the rope to the top and we both had a go at working the moves. Blimey Charlie! It was nails! I've very little experience of routes at this grade, but am aware that on top-rope I should at least be able to work some of the moves out. Unless you're very tall, I can't see how it's 7a+. Slightly disgruntled, we gave up and went home.

Musical Pick of the Week

A new feature on Soft Rock, should anyone care. This week I have been mostly listening to Buck 65. Nova Scotia born, world traveled, pretty much the epitome of modern music. Rapper, story-teller, scratch artist. Tells tales of the everyday to a backdrop of hip-hop, folk, tv themes, rock, classical music. Who else manages to make a song about being a shoe-shiner (besides Johnny Cash, of course), being a centaur wanted by the porn industry, or about how small-town gossip ruined the life of Stella. That's not a tear in the corner of my eye.....

Check him out here, and you can listen to a collaborative concert he did with Symphony Nova Scotia here.

The Shire

In order to sort out my things for the eventual move to Fort William I've come home to Somerset for a few weeks. The train was only delayed by one and a half hours so it could have been worse. On the wednesday eve before I left the burgh Chris and I had a play at North Berwick Law Quarry. Nothing very exciting happened, except that I was very cold when I tried Fogtown (a F7a that I've tried a few times and fancy as a redpoint target) and didn't get beyond bolt 2. Ach well, serves me right for not warming up. We did some of the easier routes and generally had a pleasant time.

So now I'm back in Somerset, with grand plans for a few weeks climbing, but I fear that, as ever, I won't get much done due to a lack of belayers. The bouldering and soloing is OK, but I've done lots already. You see, I started climbing here in the Shire, with my mates Luke, Johnsey and Sarah H, four summers ago, and we used to get out quite a bit one way or another, visiting lots of obsure and esoteric crags (the major crag of the area, Cheddar Gorge, was mainly closed to climbers over the summer, which was when I was back at home, and Avon Gorge never appealed when we were surrounded by crags in the countryside). Within a half hours drive there are loads of crags: North Quarry, Sandford Quarry, Croscombe, Dinder Wood, Fairy Cave, Goblin Combe, Bourton Combe, Brean Down, Sand Point, Portishead, it goes on... But nowadays its hard to get a belay. Arse. Johnsey is in Canada, Luke is less interested in the rock, and works quite a lot, and Sarah is frequently away. So I seem to spend my time dragging a crash pad around.

Yesterday was no different. I started at Croscombe, a sweet, short limestone crag in woodland the other side of Wells from me. It's steep and pocketed and there are some good wee routes and boulder problems, except that yesterday it was pissing. Just about every bit of the crag was wet, dirty or a combination of the two. I played around for a bit, and am getting closer on a problem of old that Luke and I discovered a while back, which is nice, because the first move used to be a bitch, now its pretty easy. Jumping for wet holds isn't great though so I'll go back when its dry.

The Cave at the Toll Road Crags: The roof is often wet. Bum.

Later I went to an under-rated wee bouldering spot known as the Toll Road Crags. They are a section of wave-washed limestone cliffs under Weston-Super-Mare's Toll Road. There are a surprising collection of walls, slabs, caves and roofs, which generaly dry quickly and catch the sun all afternoon. Just check that the tide is out. Yesterday it was and I got deep down and dirty in the cave area. The Cave roof has a line of jugs that finish half way to the lip, so a long-standing project of mine is to link them and carry on out, but its very hard, and the jugs are a drainage line, so you need a long dry spell for them to dry. They were wet yesterday, but it was worth a go. I also found a wee problem I hadn't spotted before and got close to sending it (as they say), except the crux move requires a long pull round a roof from a heel hook, and if you don't latch the hold and fall off backwards you're gonna be hitting your head on the rock platform below, pad or no. A spotter is required. Maybe I can get my Dad to come along....

Yesterdays new project: mmmm, nice.

Over the last few years I've done quite a lot of nice wee problems at the Toll Road, all of which I'm sure have been done before by someone better, but I've never seen another climber there (except friends of mine), so I always get a feeling of it being my own little spot.

I went on a wee run up Crook Peak yesterday eve and felt no knee agro so things are looking up for next weekend's Saunders. I'm gonna go on a bigger run today (its wet, no climbing) and see how it holds out. Fingers crossed....