Snow Week aka Torridon Diaries #5 & 6

Rich's garage on Sunday morning, cup of tea steaming, fending off Bronwen the dog who's after the socks I thought I'd hidden in my trainers.  It's sleeting outside. My hot breath hangs in the cold chalky air.  Black undercut to yellow crimp, grey crimp, step through, paste the feet, push to take the shift in weight, launch, miss, fall.  Just another session on the board.

My phone buzzes into my attention, it's the boss.  Do I fancy taking the week off - lieing snow is going to make surveying deer dung pretty tricky?  I scan a few forecasts.  Cold, high pressure, blue skies, sunshine.  Yes please!

Monday: A wet day before the good stuff arrives.  Admin in town, drink coffee, buy a shoe rack, build a shoe rack.  Head to the wall in the evening with Sarah.  Another day of the dream. 

Tuesday: Rich has taken the day off.  Will the forecast deliver?  The initial plan is a tour of the Coire nan Arr boulders, below towering Sgurr na Choarachain in Applecross. Everywhere else is cloudless blue, but here a band of cloud hangs round the hills.  Arrival at the first on the list, The Universal block, tells us that it must have rained last night as this north-facing beast is still damp.  I slide off the warm-up a few times before it succombs while Rich does laps. The next dry thing turns out to be a cracking little problem, somehow pulling into and out of a corner.  It's actually not that hard but it takes me ages to work out, especially when I watch Rich do one move that I have to do in about four.  Typical bouldering.  I eventually beach myself on the top and we sack it off to Torridon where it's sunnier.
Despite the sun, the breeze has picked up and it's baltic, but the grips on Malc's feel sticky so I set myself up again: tarp, pads, brush.  Is this it?  No, of course it's not.  Still, another small improvement as I actually manage to hit the top and hold myself for a split second a couple of times, before pirouetting off.  It's enough to keep the flame of hope alive.

Wednesday: Am Fasgadh.  The other project for this winter is The Shield, the 7b route at the winter sport crag du jour.  I had two quick sessions on it before going to Spain in November and it felt do-able, but since then it's been wet.  Weekly texts from Ian and Tess have kept me updated with the state of the seepage on the headwall. The seemingly endless mild dampness made me start to doubt that I'd ever get back on it this winter, but then came this cold dry snap.  I got the shout from Andrew that a team were going over so jumped aboard, fingers crossed.  Snow flurries on the road sparked the fear of the dribbles, but on arrival it was plain to see: game on.

My first go on The Shield back in October (Photo: Ian Taylor)

Last week, doubting that I'd be on the route in the near future, I wrote down my sequence for the crux on the back of a receipt.  On re-acquaintance I was amazed how well I had remembered it, despite not trying it for two months.  It felt reassuring to see the configuration of holds: the sharp ear-shape crimp, the wiered finger-lock that I can just reach into, the little edge out right that unlocks the move to the final crozzly crimp.
It was cold.  No sun and a light breeze meant for a real struggle to keep warm all day, let alone warm enough to pull on small holds.  Fortunately, The Shield has a ledge at half height where you can stop and take off both hands and get the blood flowing again.  Mid-redpoint hot-aches is a new experience, but I guess that's the price of winter rock climbing. 
First redpoint I blagged my way into the crux having dogged past to get the clips in earlier.  I knew what to do but didn't have the holds well enough to shift rightwards and pop for the last crimp.  Second go, the left thumb on the last sidepull was the difference and I felt tight and strong as my right foot moved out and I went for the crozzly crimp, adjusted on it, pushed with the right foot to move the left higher up the crack and reached for the jug and success.  Another project dissolves into happy memories.

Thursday:  Being not very good means I have a huge list of boulders and routes that I still want to do - more than I could ever have time for.  On top of this is a list of new places I want to go to and develop.  Finding time to visit these is even harder as they take much more effort.  So, a week of brilliant weather, feeling tired but happy after two good days, I thought I'd head to a boulder I'd seen last year when out hillwalking.  I won't go into too many details yet - it's a work in progress, and normally I show my new toys to my friends and they do them before me.  In the end, an 'easy day' turned into a full day working a problem that I still didn't manage (it requires some body geometry that I couldn't fathom).  I did one good problem (pic below) and the stand-up version of the one I couldn't do. Brilliant rock and a lovely forest location.  Looking forward to a rematch.

A new thing in the woods

Friday: So much for a rest yesterday.  Despite the rest of the UK floundering under snow, the North West is in glorious sun again.  It's too good to miss so I head back to Torridon, hoping that the Malc's obsession might be nearing an end.  A few text exchanges tell me it's really windy, but I can't think of any good excuses not to try so keep going. 
Arriving in the glen I begin the see their point.  The fire-stunted pines by the road are rocking in the roaring gale.  I warm up doing a new thing on the left edge of Angel Walls, the rock feels amazing.  I don't.  I head to the Ship and sort my kit out, pegging down the tarp and standing on my mats to stop them blowing away.  It feels like hard work, and I can already tell that it's not going to be a good day.  A few goes confirm this.  Tired arms, sore skin.  Boo hoo.  I'm joined by a couple of guys that had slept through their alarm to go winter climbing (sounds sensible).  I'd met one before, John McCune, and show them some stuff on the Ship and they try Malc's.  I decide that I'm better cutting my losses for today so head up to Another Level which is out of the wind.  I've still not done Rich's Worry Bomb - a plumb vertical wall on small holds.  After John show's the way on the long top reach I take a while losing skin on the sit start but eventually get it, holding it together for the top out.  A good consolation prize. 

Later, home and showered, I look at my grazed hands and pink fingertips.  I can feel the building tightness in my left quad after too much heel hooking.  I can feel the red wind-blasted glow of my face and my heavy eyelids wanting to close.

Rest day tomorrow...

Torridon Diaries # 4

This wasn't my fourth trip to Torridon this season. It's more like the 5th or 6th, but the last few just involved sitting in the car watching the rain, sitting in the cafe watching the rain, walking round the boulders in the rain and driving home in the rain.

This time was different, for a nice change.  Freezing fog in Inverness eventually petered out on the Strathbran Autobahn near Achnasheen, giving way to a blue sky punctuated with whisps of high cloud. Sarah dropped me at the boulders then went off for a run from Diabeg.  Walking to the Ship I could feel the dry crispness in the air - that perfect combination of atmospheric and human factors aligning, being here, now.

I warmed up at Angel Walls and on North Wall on the Ship, taking my time, enjoying it.   I then went up to a lovely slab of Mike Lee's called Straition Slab.  I'd seen it on a wet walk back in December and got all excited about a hard looking slab problem (something fairly lacking in Torridon) only to discover Mike had done it and given it Font 4.  After a few joyous smeary laps I guess he's about right.  A few degrees steeper and it would be a different kettle of fish all together.

Naturally, it was only a matter of time until I was down at Malc's for the usual ritual: laying out the tarp, weighing down the corners with pebbles from under Squelch, aligning the pads, brushing the holds.  On my first go I popped off the right hand crimp scar but every go after that was solid to the slopy rail.  Of course, that bit's not the problem, it's what comes next.  The move.  Ann took the photo below of one of my better goes of the day, my fingers curling over the top before the momentum from my right foot coming off rips me backwards.

Ready for another rapid dismount... Photo by Ann Falconer

As far as I can work out one of two things needs to happen for me to hold this move. Either my right toe stays on,meaning I'm more in control and can get away without catching the hold perfectly (this isn't likely unless I grow a bit, but I could work towards it with a mega strong core), or I catch the top perfectly in true mint conditions, meaning I can cut loose and stay on.  The latter option seems more likely, at least I can work on the jump, on my core, on my contact strength.  The thing is though, I could honestly imagine trying this move forever and still not getting it.  I guess that's why I do it. 

....of 2012

To mark the march of time I'm compiling a list of 2012's finest.  The fire is glowing in the grate, the glass has been charged with an Ardbeg (the bottle's close to hand). Time to reflect.

Book of 2012:  The Children's Book, A.S. Byatt.
It was a fierce contest with Ross Raisin's God's Own Country but Byatt clinched it.  The Children's Book follows the fortunes of several families over the tumultuous 25 year period around the start of the 20th Century.  Personal stories of individuals set against a backdrop of the changing times: the Arts and Crafts movement, Queen Victoria's death, Suffrage, the rise of European Socialism, the First World War. A complete novel.

Tune of 2012: Bob Holroyd, African Drug (Fortet Remix)
Listen to this loud. 

Trad Route of 2012: Megaflake, E2 5c, Creag Rhoda Mor (aka Supercrag).
As single pitches go, this provided everything.  Long, sustained, brilliant rock, terrible rock, good gear, shonky gear, exposure, and a tricky finish.  And all on a sea cliff in Wester Ross, surely the finest place on Earth.

Sport Route of 2012: Snowflake, 7a+, Goat Crag.
The ego was tempted to go for Jam Sesion at Terredets but that was just a lucky holiday tick. Snowflake was an affair drawn out over several visits, requiring a fair effort.  Besides, the climbing is just plain fun, yarding on the biggest holds in the Highlands, and still getting pumped senseless.

Boulder of 2012:  Road to Domestos, 7A, Scatwell.
This one was hard to pinpoint as there aren't really any problems from the last year that really stand out.  Despite probably bouldering more than ever, I'm constantly trying problems and rarely succeeding. This one got the top spot as it was something I'd tried a few years ago and couldn't fathom, then tried again last Spring but didn't finally see it off until this Winter.  Great rock, classic moves and a lovely spot, but not a king line.

Spanking of 2012.
Where to start?  As an occasionally lucky boulderer, getting a kicking is a regular feature of my climbing.  The list of things I've tried and failed on is doubtless longer than the list of successes.  I think this award will have to go to Malcolm's Arete in Torridon, purely as it's the problem I've had my sights set on for ages, tried hard on, and still can't do.  No doubt it's hard, and harder the shorter you are (I'm not that short, but definately not tall!), it's very conditions dependent and, recently, it's been drenched.  2013 is the year.

Run of 2012
I've not run as much this year as normal, in an attempt to climb more, but I did have a few good days out.  The best (and hardest) was an attempt to link the last two Northern Cairngorm Munros I'd not done: Cairngorm car park to Beinn Bhreac via the Saddle and Fords of Avon, then up Carn a Mhaim via Derry Lodge, then back across the plateau via Ben Macdui and down the Goat Track.  The last 5 kilometres back to the car were messy.

The traditional dash to Dartmoor when visiting my folks at Christmas and last day out of 2012.  Amazing conditions in a strong wind meant the year ended on a high(ball) after I finally shook my way up Aerobic Wall - a long held ambition and quite exciting on my own above 2 small pads.

Patience

It's a virtue, they say.

I feel like I've been tested recently. Since coming back from Spain in late November I've only managed one day on dry rock. It's not that it hasn't been dry at times, it's just been a timing issue. Despite having 3 day weekends the dryness has always been midweek, when I'm normally waist deep in a bog, being paid to count deer shit.

I've got bored of checking the forecast, of driving out and waiting in the rain, of trying to dry holds, of asking around for conditions updates.  So, instead i've tried to make better use of my time, to be ready for when the stars align.  Every day that I would normally be trying to get out I've tried to have a good session on Richie's board or at the Inverness wall, tried to work on some specifics.

So, I'm down south for the festive season and the theme continues. My normal day at the Roaches has given way to a session at Mirf's Redpoint wall in Birmingham. I'm holding out for some Dartmoor granite when down at the folks' in Somerset but expect I'll be in TCA in Bristol.

Hopefully all these intense sessions of movement on a variety of steepness will be what's required for progress on the projects.  Let's hope the seasonal eat-athon isn't too detrimental to the regime....

Merry Christmas!

Torridon Diaries #3

It was wetter than forecast.  The snow flurries scurrying up Loch Torridon sent Richie and I bailing to the cafe in the village, to nurse a brew and wait for the weather to pick up.

Everything was still drenched when we made it to the Jumble, even Slot Crack, so we warmed up lapping Slot 1 then hid down in The Pit.  It's a reliable hideaway when everything else is wet.  I'd tried The Pittance before but a lack of ability and skin and the fear of the looming block to the right stopped me in my tracks.  It almost did again, but a lurching jump high above the pads eventually saw me at the finish jug.  Screw Rich's technique.

That previous try on The Pittance - don't hit the block! (Photo: Richie Betts)

The Ship was still wet so we went upstairs for Rich to have a tickle on Stokes Croft, DanV's 7c+ prow/arete thing.  What a problem, and what a location.  Rich is getting close, and it seems right that Mr Torridon should do one of the hardest problems there.

After diminishing returns started to set in we went back to the ground floor, spread the tarpaulin and I started to re-warm for the familiar attempts on Malc's Arete.  I'd heard there was the potential for going from an outside right edge on THE move so felt I had to try it before ruling it out.  Like all the other potential methods, it was no better than a straight up throw.  After studying Rich on his eight thousandth lap of it I had a go exaggerating the bend of my right leg on THE move and found my fingers over the hold.  Over the hold...  Of course, I didn't hold it, but it was clear that this has to be the way.

A Good Read

A quick hit to the limestone playground of Catalunya is the perfect tonic for climbers getting bogged down by the wet and cold at this time of year.  I was only out for a week, but it was enough to forget about the winter dark at home, and I managed to climb lots of brilliant routes at a range of crags, and to have a couple of fruitful redpoint battles.  There's nothing quite like that rare feeling of satisfaction when you're climbing seem's to be going OK.

Highlights were a quick redpoint of Jam Sesion, a cool 7b contrasting burly tufa with delicate wall climbing at Les Bruixes, Terredets, and somehow managing to onsight the 35m Ay Mamita! at El Pati, Siurana, as the last route of the trip.  I think being surrounded by very good climbers (Iain set the scene by flashing 8a on day 1, and onsighting 7b+ seemed fairly routine) made me raise my own expectations, not least because I knew they could get my clips back when I failed!

Anyway, a while back Blair wrote this blog about his favourite novels, prompted by how important reading during downtime on climbing trips is for him.  He reminded me about it on this trip (he was reading a very serious-looking translated French novel), so I've decided to do the same.  It's taken a wee while to think about these and compile a list, and I've tried to go for books that I enjoyed for their content, and for books that have meant something more to me. 

So, my top 5 novels of all time (so far...):

Salamandastron, Brian Jacques.
A slightly odd inclusion, not least of all because it's a childrens book about warring tribes of woodland animals.  I first read this when I was 8 or 9 years old, and it was the book that really whetted my appetite for reading.  My brother was given it for Christmas and I have vivid memories of sitting by the fire at my parent's cottage, engrossed in the woods on winter evenings before bedtime.  From then on I lapped up all of Jacques' books from his Redwall series and started to explore further afield. In fact, I kept reading his books as an adult, up until he died in 2011 (although Wikipedia tells me 2 more have been published posthumously - must get them!). 

The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens.
I must have been in my late teens when I read this, and it was a revelation when I discovered that stuffy old classics could actually be incredibly funny, poigniant, intelligent, satirical and, well, modern.  It was one of a few books that led me into me reading lots more 'classic' literature.  The book tells of the loosely-related adventures of the pompous but well-meaning Mr Pickwick and his friends in the Pickwick Club as they romp around Victorian England.

Black Dogs, Ian McEwen.
I always love Ian McEwen's books.  He writes about people so well, in a way that allows books in which not very much actually happens to be utterly enthralling from cover to cover.  This was a toss up between Black Dogs and A Child in Time, but there's something about the character Bernard in this book that I like.  Bernard believes that science "can cure the world's 'wretchedness'"; and is embarrassed by his wife June's "unbounded credulousness," her eagerness to buy into religion and mysticism.  I think I agree with him!

Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy.
A classic Classic.  I've got a soft spot for Hardy: why use one word when ten will suffice?  As a bit of a country bumpkin myself, I think this description from Wikipedia part explains why I like the book:  [Tess] portrays "the energy of traditional ways and the strength of the forces that are destroying them".  Also, while perhaps not being a cynic, I do consider myself a reallist, and I know that sometimes life can be downright cruel; this is the story of Tess

The Children's Book, A. S. Byatt
This one's a bit of a cop out, as I've not actually finished it yet.  So far (I'm about halfway) it's been amazing; a tangled web of relationships among the artistically and politically active families that live around Romney Marsh at the turn of the last century.  The details and descriptions are so well written, and all of the (many) characters are mysterious yet somehow believable.  I'm including it for 2 reasons: firstly, I'm hopeful that it will become one of my favourite books, and secondly, it's a symbolic inclusion.  As the book I'm currently reading it's a nod to the never-ending journey of books.  There's never really a definitive favourite.

Working Goes

Winter days. Short, dark days. Cold, wet days. The horizons shrinks and the bigger picture blurs.  Time to get embroiled in projects.  This time of year is all about the detail; micro-exploration. Deeper relationships; not the brief acquaintances of the trad season, the lucky brush with a route that comes and goes. It's about getting to know something, and yourself.  Breaking it down, working with it.  Picking battles and chipping away at them. Small victories become big triumphs.

Malc's in Torridon is a given. I know those moves up to the last so well now. Sloping red rails, the sidepull crimp scar, sit over the right heel, intermediates leftwards, then pop. Ian offered some intriguing beta, something new to try. Can't wait to go back but it won't be until after next week's limestone pump in Spain.

For routes, Am Fasgadh is the perfect highland winter sport crag. Mostly perma-dry, all perma-brutal. I've had three days trying things there so far this season.  The Shield is all worked out and ready to go, it's a waiting game for the top wall to dry out now. Primo still feels solid; powerful and sustained. Saturday's session was spent lobbing half the height of the route trying the cross through into the crack at the top. A Sea Eagle cruised above and wondered what the fuss was about.

At last a small success: Road to Domestos at Scatwell Boulder finally caved in to my trying. A perfect woodland lowball hidden with the hazels above the raging Conon river.

It's a start.