My Climbing Spleen

Dear Diary,

As well as providing somewhere to vent my climbing spleen, one of the good things about writing a blog is that it gives an opportunity for reflection.  In climbing, and life in general, it's so easy to get carried along with the tide, going where the weather's good or where your mates are, and before you know it time has flown by and you've not actually achieved any of the goals you were originally aiming for.  Sitting down to write gives me a chance to take a step back and be a bit more objective about where I've been, and where I'm trying to go.

As I alluded to in a post last summer, I sometimes find this time of  year tricky.  I switch from being a winter boulderer with very specific aims (e.g. get stronger, go to Torridon, do Malc's Arete) to being a route climber, in which my aims are more general and opportunistic (e.g. go where the sun is shining and do the good routes there, do more E3s, redpoint more 7bs).  Basically, after the rigidity of the bouldering season I feel a bit like a headless chicken when the route season starts.

It's been over a month since my wee trip to Siurana with Murdo, and in that time we've been pretty lucky with the weather.  I've enjoyed fun times on the boulders, sport and trad crags and am just loving being out and riding the waves of glorious spring in the Highlands: willow warblers and fluorescent bud burst, hanging on and getting pumped, squeaking oyster catchers and redshank, laughing with friends.  It's not all doom and gloom.

After getting back from Spain I got myself down to the Tom Riach (aka Nick Carter) Boulder quite a few times to try to keep some fitness in the arms.  The South West face traverse is a sustained 20ish move sideways shuffle that makes for a good local there-and-back pump-fest.  It's been a while since I was last there, but I've been busy:

The first trad foray of the year was a morning at Jetty Crag at Gruinard with Murdo where I belayed him on a respectably smooth ascent of the thin and rarely repeated E5 Gogmagog before doing Gaffer's Wall, an early season gift at soft-touch E3.  We topped the day off at Goat Crag where I nearly did Mactalla (which I've still not repeated since first doing it on Royal Wedding Day in 2011, oops).  Next day out was shower-dodging at Moy with Tess, of which the highlight was almost falling off the top of the warm up Little Teaser and then almost being sick due to monumental hot aches.  The 7a Silver Fox was a pleasing addition to the ticklist too, as it's one of the few there that I'd still not done.

Next day it was nice sunny but super windy oot East so I joined the Betts/Bronwen team for a Cummingston boulder session.  A few of the old classics, a good new classic (KinkyBitch 6C), a few embarrassing failures.  The usual.  In the week I was working down in Galloway and crept out one sunny evening to find the Rankin Boulder and had a lovely hour or so on it's rough granite.  At first I got all excited by doing Retroclaim 7A+ really quickly, but then when I made it back to the land of the internet I watched Roddy Mackenzie and Fiend do it and I'd used a hold they'd missed. 7A+? 7A? 6C? Who cares.

Rich on a new thing (?) at Cummingston

Next weekend my old mate Luke, who I very first started climbing with 10 years ago was up visiting, so we did some bouldering at Ruthven (surprisingly close to doing White Russian aka Mike's Problem) and went out to explore some of the wee sport crags near Poolewe.  A sunny day was spent on the beginner friendly Clown Slabs and easier routes on Kuhjo crag, and I squeezed out a redpoint of the hidden gem Wicked and Wierd, a 3 star 7a+ lurking in the trees.  Despite climbing up here for a while, I'd never heard anyone mention this route and was surprised by quite how good it was, and how much of a punch it packed!

Luke on Don't Kick the Bolt 6a, Kuhjo Crag

Right up to date, I had a cold day at Ardmair with Nick in the wind and cloud and threatening drizzle and only came away with a brace of HVSs, bloody hands and a bruised ego.  To reverse the misery I got back on the horse at the friendly Road Crag in Gruinard Bay yesterday and did the remaining E2 Trojan and E3 Mongo that I'd not done there, before lying in the sun on the beach.

So, as an exercise in reflection and planning ahead, all I'd say is: more please!

The Rest Day

Siurana day 4: Wednesday.

At least, I thought we’d discussed taking it easy on Wednesday:  A trip down to Cornudella, the café, a perusal of shiny kit we don’t need in the climbing shop.

As with every other day, Murdo’s up with the lark, breakfasted and brewed before most folk in the campsite have even thought about thinking about waking up.  Bleary eyed, I stagger to the washroom and play the hot shower/cold shower lottery.  I lose.  I join cheery Murdo as he lights the stove for brew number two.  My back aches.  My fingers creak.  My shoulders ache.  I think I’m getting old.

Yesterday was a good day for me.  I’d onsighted Terra d’ Om, a 7a groove at Ca L’Onassis,  then did the 35m 7a+ Cop de Roc at Can Codolar second go, and rounded the day off by flashing the 7a wall Secallona at Siuranella Central as the sun started to dip towards Monsant.  But maybe now I’m starting to pay.

Breakfast: Time, Tide and Murdo wait for no man...

There’s no talk of rest as I chew my muesli, and before long bags are packed and we’re heading over to Ca L’Isabel by the village.  Well, I might as well try.  I’ll warm up on a nice little 6b.  Except, it’s desperate blind grey rock and it’s all I can do to claw my way up.  Then I failed on the  6a+ next to it.  Not good.  Murdo casually warms up on a 6c+ corner, then after some work on the boulder start does Boys Don’t Cry 7c smoothly.  Hmm.  He’s psyched.  There’s a change.  So it’s down to Piqui Pugui  ‘just for a look’ at Anabolica 8a.  He gets distracted by Souxie 7c+ first, but it’s a stamina beast’s nightmare: burly mono action precipitates  swearing and a retreat.  I try again up a long 6b+ traddy groove thing, just about making the chains but I know when to stop.  Now it’s a rest day.  Anabolica’s free so he gets on it.  More burly pockets.  More swearing.  Another retreat. Maybe now we can pack up and eat cake.

Just one more?  Down to Ca L’Onassis.  I only take my harness and gri-gri to the crag, as a show of solidarity with the cake.  Murdo hops on a good looking 7b but lobs off so he’s got to redpoint.  Second round is a charm.  The boy looks tired now though and is happy to call it a day there.

“Un café con leche y un croissant por favor.  Muchas gracias.”

Pink tips

Next morning he’s up even earlier, keen to catch the morning shade on Memorias de una Sepia, an 8a down at Siuranella Central.  He creaks on the warm up, then gets shut down on the crux.  That rest day is catching up.  Meanwhile, fresh armed (for now) I see off the cracking 7a+ Si vas niquel fas tard.  Who’s the winner now eh?

Last day, he does L’Escamarla 7c+ second go.  He is. Bastard.

About to take big air of Lo deje to blanco (Photo: Murdo Jamieson)

Closedown

Off for a week of sunny sport climbing in Catalunya tomorrow.  The bags are packed and Ropegun Jamieson locked and loaded to warm up on all my projects.  Mind you, he'll be weak and feeble after a winter spent shuffling between ledges, while I'll be strong like an ox after months of bouldering.  The routes are only a few moves long, right?  Perhaps not, but it should be a good pre-season arm-stretch for the inevitable long hot Spring and Summer that await. Ahem.

I've been seeing this trip as a book-end to the winter bouldering season proper.  It's been okay, and I seem to have managed a steady trickle of quality problems, but without success on Malc's Arete it can only be considered a failure.  To be fair, good conditions and weather have been hard to come by so I've not been having consistent sessions on it.  But, despite feeling stronger than last year I've not made any progress at all on the move.  C'est la vie.  I think that trying and training for Malc's brought some of the year's successes within reach, so that's cool.

Here's few video clips from trips out this year:

Highland Boulders: Winter 2013-14 from Gareth Marshall on Vimeo.

Soggy socks

Most of the time, it's hard to see the wood for the trees.

On a few occasions lately I've come away from a climbing session feeling pretty despondent.  Despite upping the training effort this year I don't really feel any different.  I've not broken into any new grades and, most frustratingly, my long-term projects are still long-term projects.  But then, every now and then something happens that makes the grind seem more worthwhile.  Today was one of those days.

There's a problem of Rich's over the back of Duntelchaig called The Dagger.  It's a bugger.  The approach is a pain in the arse, over a fence and then a stomp through swampy bog, heather and bracken.  The landing consists of a load of boulders jammed together over a stream.   It's OK with a couple of pads, but there's a pointy block right below the final stretched out mantel moves, and big holes just waiting for your brush, keys and phone.  The rock's good, solid steep gneiss, but as is the way with most of the stuff round Inverness, it's sharp and off the beaten track is pretty dirty.  Rich showed me The Dagger a few years ago, introducing it as something I might be able to flash.  Great, a soft touch.  Game on.  Except, of course, I failed on the flash attempt, and failed on every other attempt from then on.  I don't know how many times I've done that horrible trudge over there, and despite sorting most of the moves pretty quickly - crossing through a line of perfect edges on a mega leaning wall and then a big burly throw to the lip - I never once managed to top it out.  In the end I told myself I just wasn't tall enough to make the massive lurch over the top of the final slab and binned it, relieved never to have to go there again.

The first session of too many... (Photo: Richie Betts)

But today I went back.  It's not somewhere I'd normally think of going, but after bailing from Ruthven due to icy top-outs, and warming up nicely at Farr, it seemed like a good idea.  It must be at least a year since I last tried it, so if nothing else it would be a good measure of my current standing.  Getting there hasn't got any better, but after ringing out my socks and arranging the pads over the Jenga-pile landing I got involved and finally saw it off.  I think maybe I'm a bit stronger than previously so can put a bit more oomph into the final lurching slap.  Or perhaps it was a combination of conditions, rest, skin and confidence.  Whatever it was, I'm mainly happy that I don't ever have to do that walk in again.

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...