Ticking Along

Cummingston, that slippery little minx.  On the face of it, what's not to love?  Wave sculpted golden sandstone, pocketed pillars and caves.  The sea lapping on the beach, the fulmars chuntering away on their ledges.  On a clear winter day the white pyramid of Morven stands out across the Moray Firth in Caithness. The problem? There's always a problem. The coastal humidity, and the north-facing beach of rocky nooks and crannies is often sheltered from a drying wind.  I've been burnt too many times: arriving to find a coat of sea smeg on everything.  So, pick your conditions wisely.  Falling temperatures, a brisk westerly and low tide in the early afternoon, and you should have a day of it.

Last weekend the stars aligned and I had a rare chance to do the oft-damp Gorilla, a funky 7A prow of heels and slaps (and one of the few at the grade that go up rather than sideways!).  After knackering myself working out how to do it I spent the rest of Saturday failing. Knowing how rare it is to have it dry I had an express re-match on Sunday and did it 1st go.  The importance of rest.

Cummingston's Gorrilla 

This weekend it was back to Torridon for the first forays of 2014.  Friday's highlight was doing the full version of a brilliant wall of Rich's called Indian Winter. When he originally did it he must have been feeling strong because he gave it 6B (the Betts 'go-to' grade), but then couldn't repeat the sit start when he showed it to me back in October!  The stand start is a brilliant 6A on it's own, on some of Torridon's best rock, but there are obvious good holds for a low start so a sit makes sense. I had a try a few weeks later and got no-where, but this time a little more perseverance and sensible rest saw me through.  There was some magical winter light when I was trying it so the camera came out:

Indian Winter - Torridon from Gareth Marshall on Vimeo.


And finally, the line of the season so far.  On one of my first ever visits to Torridon I watched heart in mouth as Murdo repeated Rich's uber-highball Vapour Trail.  I was impressed.  It's not really that hard, 6C in the guide and with the crux throw at the start, but it is pretty tall, and with a few blocks in the potential fall zone. It's more of a grit route than your typical boulder. It's a proper striking line though, and perhaps for that reason alone it was always on the to-do list, but I've always had a soft-spot that psychological realm where boulders meet routes. Realistically though, I never knew when I'd ever feel ready.  I'm still not sure what changed this year, perhaps becoming better acquainted with the place, perhaps feeling a bit stronger and more confident.  Regardless, I tentatively tried the start back in November and did it quickly.  Game on. Now I just needed a crew with a big stack of pads.  Oddly, this isn't something that happens much in the Highlands, so I had a go on my own with my three but just couldn't bring myself to commit.  I gave up and held out for another day.  Today I went back out with Rich, padded the landing and offending leg snapping blocks and strapped it on.  So good.

Photo: Anne Falconer

Having it.

Managing Expectations

Every year it's the same.  Along comes the festive season and we pack the car and head south to our families.  The long A9 blurs into the longer M6, with obligatory stops at House of Bruar (the World's Poshest Toilets) and Tebay (the World's Poshest Services), and perhaps somewhere depressing like Charnock Richard (where?) depending on the caffeine levels.  Bleary eyed and bladders bursting we finally arrive, and festivities begin.  Luckily for me, Sarah's parents live about an hour from the Roaches, and mine live a similar distance from Dartmoor, so for a couple of days each holiday I take the pads and sneak away from the families and feasting and fine ale and get some time to myself.

Weeks in advance, around the time Sarah starts making lists and buying presents, I start to think about my Christmas days out, where I'll go and what I'll do.  In my daydreams it's always dry, always perfect conditions, always cool and calm and sunny.  It's never too cold or too windy to keep the pads down and there are never massive puddles under the problems.  And of course, in my daydreams I'm always going well and feeling bold.  I've got the pick of the Roaches and Dartmoor to go at.

Hen Cloud from The Roaches

Naturally, the reality of rock climbing in winter in the British isles rarely matches my daydreams, and the hitlists that I excitedly put together in my head end up being radically re-drawn.  This year's Roaches list included such optimistic ideas as trying the 7B slab Boba Fett.  I did the 7A C3PO next door on Christmas Eve a few years ago, so surely this would be worth a try.  In reality I couldn't get off the ground and got my pads drenched and covered in bog.  Fail.  Then I thought I'd try the Undercut Dyno but it was damp, and when it eventually dried I couldn't do it.  Fail.  I also wanted to solo Chalkstorm, but 1; it was baltic and I could hardly feel my hands, and more importantly 2; I was on my own and scared, so I scuttled off into Prow Corner. Fail.

Down on Dartmoor the big 2 problems I wanted to try were Dancing Queen at Saddle Tor and The Wave at Bonehill, but on arrival I could hardly stand in the howling gale.  Both problems were catching the full force of the wind so keeping the pads down while trying to keep warm and trying to keep all my kit dry and trying to pull on shitty sharp granite proved too much.  And then it started to hail.  Fail.

Luckily, the story has a happy ending.  Both days ended well, with clear skies and golden sunsets and drives home passing in the warm glow of success.  At the Roaches I managed Too Drunk, a feisty little 7A at the far right of the upper tier, ignoring a 9a wad's toe-hook tech for straight up burl.  Tick.  On the Moor I deployed the emergency tent pegs for long enough to keep the pads down and do the highball Bjorn Again Extended Start at Saddle Tor.  Although it's not hard, onsighting the high top-out on my own in a gale with freezing hands felt pretty fruity.  Tick.  After the hail passed I went over to Bonehill and did the sit starts to the arete and the prow on the Cube, both of which I'd failed on last Christmas.  Tick tick.

Bell Tor from Bonehill Rocks on Dartmoor.

So, not the glory I'd hoped for, but significantly better than nowt.  Happy New Year.

... of 2013

Book of 2013:  We the Drowned, Carsten Jensen
I've never read a Danish book before, but if they're all like this one I'll be filling the library.  The book follows the fortunes of the harbour town of Marstal on the small island of Aero, telling the story of over a century of shipping, salty seadogs and the families they leave behind.  Uniquely, most of the book is written from the point of view of the town's community rather than one particular person, which allows the story to focus on different generations of the same families and travel all over the world, from tropical piracy to the Arctic convoys of World War 2.  

Tune of 2013: The Shoes, Time to Dance (Extended Video Edit) 
OK, so I think this came out in 2012.  And I only started listening to it a few weeks ago so it might not pass the true test of time, although I did hear it in a Kissy Sell Out podcast a while back.  Energetic, funky, chimey, and the extended version has a couple of nice breaks and builds, which I'm always a total sucker for.


Trad Route of 2013: Where Seagulls Dare E3, Pink Walls, Pabbay
2013 has been pretty weak on the trad front, with the highlight being a week on Pabbay and Mingulay back in June. Compared to many of the routes on the islands this one isn't that remarkable: one good long pitch sandwiched between a couple of easy filler-ins, but it stood out for me because I got the big main pitch at a point when I wasn't feeling very confident.  It's a classic islands number - long, steep, exposed and safe. On reaching the belay at the top I basked in that warm satisfying glow of a fight well fought, and for a brief spell that elusive confidence returned.

Sport Route of 2013: The Shield 7b, Am Fasgadh.
That's right.  I'm choosing a short route with a hands-off ledge at half height. Despite 75% of routes at Am Fasgadh being way out of my league, it's become one of my favourite sport crags.  The name says it all - the refuge.  Somewhere for the myopic rock climbers of North Scotland to delude themselves that they're still getting out during the short dark days of winter.  I did The Shield on a memorable day: bitterly cold and windy, the hands-free rest was fully milked to get sensation back in the fingers, and then skipping a clip for the crux right at the top of the golden headwall as the Fisherfield hills disappeared behind another snow squall.  I love you Scotland.

Tess on the crux section of The Shield

Boulder of 2013: Lawrence's Crack 7A, Ardmair Crag 
An obvious line on brilliant rock in a stunning location.  Enough said really.

Spanking of 2013: Primo (Curving Crack) 7b+, Am Fasgadh.
After The Shield this is the next on the list of Am Fasgadh test pieces.  It's the first (and perma-dry) section of the full 7c line of Primo, scuttling off right to an intermediate lower-off below the umbrella-esque quartz band.  It's taken a while to get to the point when I can do it in overlapping halves, but on redpoint I just don't have the fitness to get anything from the 'rest' so I'm off as soon as I start the second half.  Is 2014 the year? Only if Malc's arete gets done first...

A crow starts from the spruce

A crow starts from the spruce, rasping call and black flapping away.  Crunching through frosted grass, the cows steam in a huddle, lowing loud.  Despite the chill I sweat up the slope, through the fence marking the divide between the farmed strath and the heathery slopes.  Part way I stop and turn to drink it in: the frosted flat expanse of upper Strathspey. Smoke hanging above cottage chimneys,  green belts of fir and pine and golden stripes of birch and beech, and down by the river the sheep flocks grazing, as ever.  Then above, the hills rise and rise.  Late November's snow in patchwork with the brown of last season's plants, then above, perfect uniform white.  Beinn a Chrasgain and the rest of the Monadhliath, once more in winter's grip.

Pushing on, the ground levels out and I follow paths made by sheep and deer through the heather.  A raven honks overhead, and for a second I'm transfixed by the rush of sound of it's wings beating the air, nearing and retreating.  Grasses rustle and the Allt na Cubhaige burbles round ice-petalled pebbles.

Yesterday I went back to Laggan.  It was my first visit for well over a year, since moving from Aviemore up to Inverness.  I'd been meaning to return for a while, partly to try a few problems I'd not previously managed, but partly just to go back, to see the place and remember its shapes and colours, and the times I've spent there.  So far this bouldering season I've been more involved in the siege process than ever before, determined as I am for this to be the year of Malc's.  I'm still relishing the battle, and starting to see some benefits come through, but there's no doubt that the more you focus on the specifics of holds, moves, conditions, skin, the less you open your eyes to your surroundings.  Yesterday it was good to re-connect with a place, to remind myself of the journey this microcosm of obsession has come from: the mountains and glens, the woods, the rivers, the fields.

And, I could barely do this move a year ago.  Which was nice.

Coming of Age

I remember back in the autumn of 2007, not long graduated and not long living in the Highlands, over in wet Fort William. Plying my attempted trade as an ecologist, one weekend I went up to Kinlochewe to join a group on a lichen identification training weekend (no sniggering at the back, lichens are way cool). I was staying in the bunkhouse at the Kinlochewe hotel and one evening, while I overboiled my pasta, I picked up a copy of Scottish Mountaineer magazine left behind by a previous incumbant. Flicking between the stories of bearded heros in snowy couloirs and gatered wonderers on their favourite Munros, the pages fell open on an article about bouldering. The peice was describing the Celtic Jumble in Glen Torridon, describing a scenic circuit on perfect sandstone, tucked between the towering mass of Liathach and the lapping shores of the sea-loch. I remember one photo in particular, of a tall skinny guy stretched out on a problem called The Mission on one of the most awesomely shaped rocks I’d ever seen.

Little did I know how much that place would come to mean to me, how much time and effort I would pour into that rock, and that that tall skinny guy would soon become a good friend.

Bouldering in Torridon is now one of my favourite past-times, my default setting whenever the weather looks right. As any Soft Rock reader will know, I’ve been locked in a wrestling match with one of it’s most famous problems for the last few years, and during that time, when I’ve not been sat beneath it trying to envision my eventual success, I’ve spent hours exploring the boulder jumble, climbing it’s sandstone shapes.

Rich had told me a few years ago that him and Ian were thinking of putting a guide together. It makes perfect sense since it must now be one of the finest bouldering venues in the U.K, and people deserve to know about it. The location alone makes it special, in the quiet Highland solitude between mountain and sea, far from major population centres but only a short walk from the car. The rock is as good as you could dream, both on the scale of the lines and the holds – sculpted sloped edges, pebbles, pockets. And the range of problems: friendly lowballs, ankle-searing highballs, Font 3, Font 8A.

And it’s happened, Ian and Rich have put together a real labour of love: the comprehensive guide to the main boulder jumble and local outlying areas. The boulders have come of age. No longer must people rely on whisperings, blogs and half rememberances. It’s the full shebang: photo topos, lots of large scale maps, well researched descriptions and quality action shots, and all bound together with Ian’s dry wit. Personally, I think it's great that the two guys that have put the most into developing the area have gone to all this effort; recognition of the world-class bouldering and documentation of the psyched wee North West scene.

Besides wellies and a tarp, what more could you possibly need?

You can get yours here.

Sea Eagle Omen

Autumn fronts have brought bands of hated rain across the North over the last couple of weeks.  Not so bad for me as I've been sat in front of a computer modelling deer populations while my colleagues have been out in it counting trees.  Less good on the weekends though, when the options at this time of year are dramatically narrowed.

True to form, Am Fasgadh delivered, living up to it's 'outdoor climbing gym' billing.  The problem of course is that normal climbing gyms have routes I can actually do.  Nick had been on The Warm Up a few weeks earlier so was hungry for the tick, I'd not been there since about April so just happy to get the beta for Primo (Curving Crack) back out of the box and blow the dust off.  Neither of us were successful on that first visit, although Nick did all the climbing of Warm Up, just couldn't get a hand off to clip the chain. Gutted.

Next day it was mirky and damp in Inverness and I had to be home to get Sarah from the airport by five but all the Westies kept texting to say it was blue with them.  I couldn't face another day at Am Fasgadh so took the pads up to Ardmair for a look at the stuff under Arapiles Wall.  Bouldering at the crag was still a hole in my North West C.V.  As expected, I wasn't disappointed, getting stuck into the tenuous finger-locks of Lawrence's Crack in the anti-socially warm October sun.  After about 5 goes working out how to climb the crack, another 5 working out how to do the finish and then about 10 doing it all and then blowing the last move, diminishing returns set in and I packed up, keen for a return with fresh arms and new shoes with edges.

Another week of deer numbers passed and Nick and I were forced back to Am Fasgadh.  It rained all day but the crag stayed dry behind it's curtain of drips.  Mustering motivation was hard work in the cold dampness, but having driven all that way we both stuck to our guns.  A sea eagle floated by on the breeze - a good omen.  This time round Nick got The Warm Up sent, despite climbing all the way to chain only to fail on the clip on his first redpoint.  Effort for sticking with it.  Curving Crack started to come together, and I can do it in two halves almost every time now. Getting anything back at the halfway 'jug' is proving a little problematic, but I've refined some foot faffing which makes the next (crux) moves less strenuous.  We'll see.

Nick demonstrating the importance of rest before a redpoint.

Like last week, next day I went back to Ardmair, but this time armed with a pair of box-fresh Megos. After a warm up Lawrence's Crack went down third try. In it's own right it's a really quality line somewhere a bit different; slightly techy, slightly powerful and then a highball  lurch to a jug.  In the big picture it's a really good addition to the ticklist I'll be relying on for positivity for the impending Torridon seiges.

Afterwards, as I waited down by the road for Sarah to come and pick me up after her run, a sea eagle glided past.

The Beginning

So, last time round I threw down the gauntlet.  Now it's out there on the web: things are gonna be changing round here.  I'd better stick to my word.

I've had 3 dedicated campus sessions since I wrote that blog, and have found that I can fit them in to non-climbing days at home pretty easily.   I'm terrified of being stupid and injuring myself so being pretty conservative in my sessions.  I'll try to do at least one a week from now on.  I've been working on a few very basic core exercises most evenings for a while now - mainly plank and sit-ups so been keeping them up.  I got some inspiring exercises and tips from Beastmaker Dan so will try to fit them into sessions on Rich's board.

The weather's played ball, giving up three days of early season Torridon action over the last two weekends. It's been nice getting back into the swing of bouldering sessions: trying hard, sore skin, flailing, pulling, fighting. Knowing that it's still early days I've been enjoying floating about, taking it easy, notching up mileage on old and new classics.  I guess I'm trying to build a base of positive momentum for the inevitable roadblocks that a winter of projecting will bring.

Jus' good ol' fashioned fun

Sunday saw a gathering of Scottish trad jedis on the Torridon boulders and it was cool to be reminded that bouldering is sometimes just plain hard.  A cool wind quenched the fears that it would be too warm to bother trying Malc's, so down went the tarp, the pads, the inhibitions.  The first 2 sessions of the season hadn't been great starts - admittedly conditions weren't great, but I'd struggled to reach the slopy shelf  which I'd reach almost every time last year.  Sunday felt good though, and I had a decent couple of goes on the move from the shelf where my fingers were over the lip as my flailing feet pulled be backwards.  A positive start.

Has last winter's Am Fasgadh robin de-camped to Torridon?

Murdo trying Sostenuto the hard way.

Murdo dancing with Poor-man's Mission

Tony and Murdo discuss where they can fiddle in some RPs on Malc's.