A Sermon

As a science-fearing atheist I feel very comfortable saying that I don't believe in a higher power.  No gods, no designers, no creators.  However, sometimes, and just sometimes, I wonder, and the conclusion I keep coming to is that if there is one, they're a climber.

God's gear?

I was thinking this as I walked off Beinn Eighe on Saturday afternoon, having just romped up Groovin' High on Coire Mhic Fhearchair's Far East Wall.  I'm ashamed to admit that I'd never climbed on Beinn Eighe before, but I'd heard tell of the brilliantly steep, positive and well-protected climbing provided by the steep quartzite walls.  I'm glad I'd heard this, as it meant I was prepared for the shock and awe cast by the sheer, grey, seemingly-blank appearance that the crags confronted us with as we dropped into the coire.  


"Are you sure an E1 goes up there?"  
"Well, that's where the guide says it goes"
"Looks pretty steep to me".
"Let's find out".

....some hours later...

Steve following pitch 1 of Groovin' High

"F*****g hell! That was f*****g amazing!"
"Not bad, eh?"
"The f*****g holds, just...so.. f*****g...big!  And the f*****g gear!  And the f*****g exposure!  Just when you thought things were about to get sketchy you just placed a brilliant bit of gear, reached up, and hugged the mother of all jugs.  Again, and again.  F******g brilliant!"

Russell at the end of the last pitch.

It does sometimes strike me how incredible it seems that holds and cracks for protection are so regularly spaced on so many bits of rock across the globe - how many,  many bits of rock can be climbed at pretty amenable standards, even ones that look totally improbable.  Maybe there is a creator that designed it after all.

Or maybe Homo sapiens are one of many species of primate and are therefore quite good at climbing.

In  bad news, the 2012 midge season kicked off  this weekend.

Duncan Gump

The sun emerges on Clough Head (Photo: Viv Scott)

As dawn crept into the Eastern sky we could make out the glimmering of torches coming off Blencathra.  Flickering left and right, snaking down to Thelkeld and the waiting support teams.  Duncan, Adam and Andy, supported by the irrepressible Viv, soon arrived out of the gloom, steaming like colts in the frosty morning air, smiles beaming across their faces.  Leg 1 of 5: complete.  They'd been out for four hours already, starting at one in the morning on their second attempt at completing the Bob Graham Round, the Lake District challenge of 74 miles and 42 peaks in under 24 hours.   The first attempt having been cut short by wild weather almost a year previously.

Dermot and I were Duncan's pacers for leg 2, the graveyard shift from Thelkeld to Dunmail Raise.  Like a Grand Prix pit-stop, Sarah had Duncan's kit laid out ready for him on arrival: a change of socks, a bite of pizza, a mug of warm soup, water, jelly babies, jaffa cakes.  I took the rucksack from Viv, who stuck to his all-night- party-animal form and decided to carry on with us (if you've got up at midnight to go running, I guess there's not much point stopping at half four).  And within a few minutes of their arrival, we were off.

Toward Great Dodd (Photo: Viv Scott)

Four and a half hours later, leg 2 completed on schedule, we waved a freshly refuelled and re-shod Dunc goodbye as he started up Steel Fell with his new team of pacers for leg 3.  Sarah's job, as lynch-pin support driver for legs 2 and 3 was  now complete, it was 0830, and we had the rest of the day to play with.  However, somewhat weary after an early start, the best we mustered was the Langdale Boulders (mainly bouldering, but a fair bit of dodging the mountains of sheep shit too), followed by tea and cakes in Ambleside, a snooze, a wee walk to Derwent Water (watched a fishing osprey) and then a race back into Keswick to see Duncan sprinting up the high street looking fresh as a daisy.  He took 19 hours, 32 minutes for his Bob Graham Round - very fast indeed.  Adam and Andy arrived within the hour, making a trio of fast BGs.  Nice one boys!

To the victor, the spoils: Duncan after 19hrs 32mins of being Forrest Gump. (Photo: Matthew Tilley)

Sunday morning routes: M.G.C at Shephards Crag (Photo: Viv Scott)

Rain Sandwich

Two days of brilliant blue, sandwiched between two of the wettest, grimmest days for a while.  Strange.  Strange to be getting weather from the East at this time of year.  Strange to see the Cairngorms so blindingly white in the bright sun at eight in the evening - shadows and definitions different to those cast in winter.

I'd agreed to a day with Sarah on Saturday, which would normally involve some sort of running or being dragged up a Munro, or both, but she was battling with the end of a cold, which meant that snoozing in the sunshine while I bouldered was a perfectly legitimate couples activity (the promise of tea and cakes at the newly discovered Kilnroom Coffee Shop, just a stone's throw from Laggan 2, had nothing to do with it).  I even cleaned a new problem for her to do - Sarah's Slab, Font 3.  It's not all about me, you know.

Sarah had work to do on Sunday so I headed out to Goat Crag with Rich, Nick and Mike, meeting Andrew, Sue and Tess there.  I'd been keen for some trad action but Rich reckons he's ticked all the early season crags, so Goat it was.  (I told you it wasn't all about me.)  Given that Goat is the jewel in the crown of the North West sport crags, it was pretty ridiculous that I hadn't been for about a year, not since last Spring's Mactalla sessions.  During this time I (might) have improved, and even more routes have been put up, so was more than happy to leave the wires behind.  There'll be plenty more opportunities....ahem.

Nick, the sky and Snowflake (Photo: Richie Betts)

After Mactalla, the next amazing 7a+ is Snowflake - a techy wall capped by a ludicrously, and I mean ludicrously, steep flake, utilising a rather foreign-feeling selection of kneebars, heelhooks and joke-sized jugs.  I'm not ashamed to say I've not done it yet, but am looking forward to a rematch soon.

Opportunities

Beware, this post might contain some moaning, in which case, I apologise.

After the quick trip down to the grit in March I had a great weekend in the Highlands, making the most of the warm dry spell and opening the Highland trad account in Gruinard Bay.  It felt great to be back out on the gneiss after a winter bouldering season that had centred on schist and sandstone, and after 4 days of tradding in the Peak I didn't feel too rusty when juggling wires and cams and wondering how on earth to make a clove hitch and equalise a belay.  I started to feel excited and ready for the (hopefully) approaching spring and summer of Highland trad exploration.

Since then, in typically Scottish fashion, the weather has taken a nosedive back to showers and snow on the hills so my dreams of sunshine and sea cliffs and getting scared and being puked at by birds have been scaled back to the standard fare of boulders and bolts.  I shouldn't grumble really, as I've had fun and am feeling relatively fit and strong (for me!) but after a taste of the sweet trad nectar I just want more.
I just need to make sure I make the most of all my opportunities.

The bulletpoints:

• Laggan - I'd written off a project at Laggan 2 as a bit sharp and a bit hard to bother with for now, but after a quick play on the way home from work I changed my mind, re-jigged a sequence or two and reached a new high point.  Perhaps it's back on?
• Applecross - stayed in Monty Hall's bothy at Sand and started a cold drizzly day of trying to climb under the MOD roof.  Did the traverse. Which was nice.
• Torridon - Later we migrated to Torridon where it was drier but still chilly and got on Malc's for the first time in over a month.  Feeling pretty solid all the way to the shelf now and experimenting with the last big move.  Tagged the lip 3 times in a short session.  Big progress.  Will the cold return for another go?

Steve trying Scott's Wall on the Celtic Boulder

• Scatwell - Same day, when everyone else seemed happy to pack up and go home when the weather eventually turned good I dragged Sarah to Scatwell and had a go on Road to Demestos but ran out of beans (and time) before I could do it.  Sad times.
• Edinburgh - Staying with Sarah down in Auld Reekie and managed to sneak out for a few sessions at the old haunt of Agassiz Rock.  Surprised to see it still standing and most of the hold still there.  It really is a tottering pile of crap, but I've had a jolly nice time and got pumped so it's not all bad.
• North Berwick - A quick morning session dodging showers with Chris.  Finally ticked Fogtown, after first trying it a few years ago and not going back since.  It's rather short, but good fun.

The way to Monty's Bothy...

Flicking the Switch

It would appear someone has flicked the big weather switch from winter to summer so it's time to rearrange activities in accordance.  Winter projects have been put to one side for now and priorities are for routes routes routes, and if possible, trad trad trad.

Never one to jump on a band wagon too quickly I held out for a few weeks and spent some time playing on the border between cold weather bouldering and warm weather routes.  A day at Bowden Doors saw a long awaited ascent of Klondyke Wall and a sealing of the deal I'd made with Dog Eat Dog a few weeks earlier. It was pretty darn sunny though, and Sarah was starting to look pretty bored, so we bailed for ice creams on the beach at Bamborough.

Next up I'd had a four day trip down to the Peak with Chris booked for a while, which coincided with the four hottest days of the year so far.  So much for great conditions and cold slopers, but it had the benefit of forcing me out of the easy bouldering options and onto routes.  Stanage, Froggatt, the Roaches, then back to Stanage, with a quick evening flash of Tom's Original at Stoney (the softest 7A ever?) in between.  Plenty of classic routes that lived up to their billing - Tower Face Direct, Brown's Eliminate, Via Dolorosa - to name a few.  A few soft touches - Four Pebble Slab anyone?  The odd sandbag - Shortcomings on Roaches Skyline.  And of course a few schoolings - warming up at 0830 in the morning by failing on The Tippler was one, failing to get a three metres off the ground on Goliath's Groove was another.  Oops!

Despite coming from there, it never fails to strike me how 'nice' England is.  Nice pubs and brilliant beer, lovely little villages, greens, rugby clubs and cricket squares, and rolling countryside.  The rural wilds of Scotland where I spend most of my time sometimes have an air of seriousness about them.  The weather and remoteness really can make some places feel a bit ominous and 'big', for want of a better word.  Down in England it's never like that.  It all just feels nice, warm and friendly.

Anyway, enough about that.  It's the next weekend already.  Just in from a Friday afternoon with Steve at Moy, the local suntrap, and managed a quick redpoint of Pulling on Pebbles, a bouldery F7a+ on the Flat Wall.  Steve's been locked on a journey with the crag classic Little Teaser for a wee while now, his first proper redpoint project.  He's now got the moves well within him, and even has the fitness, but it's turning into a mental battle.  He's got to believe!

Oot west for traddage tomorrow.  Psyche!

The Long Road

Great weather timed with my 3 day weekend allowed time on both West Coast projects and a day to rest in between.

Malc's high point.

Another shift on Primo

Progress made on both, but they both still feel pretty hard, and with Spring in the air it feels like time might be running out on the project season.  More battling next weekend? Here's hoping.

Sealing the Deal

Friday morning.  Sheltering from the drizzle whipped by on the wind, trying to keep warm between tries on another new thing at Laggan, a text arrives from Rich.
"I've just had a mad idea to go to Northumberland.  Forecast looks mint."
A few minutes later, another beep and buzz.
"As in double fucking mint."

Laggan projecting.  Ignore the wonky skyline!

I check the forecast back at home, it agrees with Rich's mint scale.  That's that then. Pack the car and head south, the A9 passing in a blur, to Sarah's in Edinburgh, to be joined later by Rich all the way from a day at work in Inverness.

Saturday morning. The A1 to a coffee stop at Berwick then on into the sun to the County, that hallowed land of gentle rolling green speckled with breaking waves of golden sandstone.  The cold wind blows but excitement and an enthusiastic reccomendation send us to check out hilltop Ravensheugh.  Possibly not the best choice on this of all days,  but we stay long enough for Rich to do Debbie McGee.  I can do all but the last move and keep trying until icy toes bring diminishing returns and we bail.  Boulder pad sails in the gail wrestle and ragdoll us, throwing us both to the ground in literal gales of laughter.

Back at the car, back on the road.  To Hepburn, in the hope that some trees will abate the cutting Westerly.  They do, just, so we step to.  Rich points the way up the Fontainbleau-esque arete of Titanic, then it's sit-start.  I spend an hour flailing on it, my hips refusing to point where I want them, eventually giving up for some easy consolation prizes below A Northern Soul, which Rich makes light work of.  I start to get that low feeling, all this driving and still no decent ticks, so with a wing and a prayer leg it up to Rheumatology, a low-tech 7A, and scrape through the topout as the sun starts to sink.  In seconds I'm transformed from serious and sad  to happy-elated-bestever. It's pathetic.

Sunday morning.  The A1 again.  Coffees again.  More big blue skies but the wind from Cumbria keeps coming so we opt for shelter at Kyloe-in-the-Woods.  I've not been here for a good few years, since I lived in Edinburgh, so it's nice to warm up on the problems I previously had to work.  Rich flashes Playing Rudies, I try Jocks and Geordies.  It climbs brilliantly but I struggle with the long last reach and end up climbing the whole thing about 15 times and still don't make the bump from crimp to final hold.  With a bruised ego, I give up and we head to Bowden Doors to meet a strong team and use the last of the weekend's skin and muscle.

Rich flashing Playing Rudies, Kyloe-In

Re-warming on familiar solos I eventually pluck up the courage and stick the pads below The Trial, the classic blend between route and highball.  After years of wanting, it goes down with out a fight and all the morning's woes float away.  Later, after a prolonged but eventually fruitful battle with Cave Righthand and a traditional sunset ascent of Russet Groove we try Dog Eat Dog, which Rich does quickly and I climb to the sloping topout about 5 times without any success.  I blame it on my empty arms, but am starting to see a trend in failing to seal the deal when it matters.  I've got to start asking myself, what would Varian do?