By Guy Reid, Simon Chandler & Martin Hore - June 2005
The weather in Pembroke over this year's May Day Bank Holiday weekend meant that the IMC had a slightly later than usual start each day as we waited for the overnight inclemency to be burnt back by the hoped-for sun before making any rash decisions. However despite all precautions, and with some previous knowledge, a rash decision was still made. Martin Hore has long felt that the current guidebook does not paint an adequate picture of the route so within hours of returning from our jaunt he wrote a new description (see below) that he will be submitting; what follows that are two slightly more personal reminiscences of . . .
Preposterous Tales, 190 feet, E2 *** (by Martin Hore)
This route enters the western-most of the two sea caves to emerge from a prominent hole 40 feet back from the cliff edge: an unique and memorable expedition not to be underestimated. Many parties have epics. Pitch 1 (the daylight section) is E1 5b. The remainder may be ungradeable; E2 is proposed to deter the unprepared. Experience of caving or mountain routes in bad conditions may be an asset.
A fall by either leader or second from the crux on pitch 1, or from any part of pitch 2 is likely to leave the climber hanging in space. Come prepared to prussic! Though the route can be climbed by natural light, head-torches are advisable for gear placement and possible benightment. The route should not be attempted in rough seas. Start as for Quoin.
1. 80 feet 5b. Traverse horizontally right (facing in). Avoid a blank section by a short descent then climb back up to a prominent flat handhold on the arete. Cross a short overhanging wall on jugs and enter the apex of the cave beneath a large thread. Chimney onwards into the cave, and arrive at a stance where the gap beneath ones feet temporarily closes.
2. 60 feet 4c (if dry, but expect it to be wet). Bridge onwards into the cave descending slightly until the passage opens into a huge cavern. At the very brink step precariously across to the right (East) wall and pull left above the void to a small square ledge. Ascend steeply to a niche, face right and cross to the West wall. Large holds lead right and slightly down to a narrow ledge above nothing, from where a stiff pull up around a rib gains the bottom of the exit shaft. Good stance and belays 15 feet higher. Careful ropework is essential to protect the second on this pitch.
3. 50 feet 4c (if dry etc...). Climb the corner, on the right where it steepens, and emerge, relieved, into the daylight.
By Simon Chandler
Seven us were camping at St Petrox over the May Day bank holiday weekend for the annual IMC climbing trip to Pembrokeshire. Saturday morning started grey and damp from the previous night's rain, but as always Guy and I were keen to get to the cliffs. We'd shared the journey to Wales with Martin Hore, and had agreed to climb in a group of three with him on this first day. We made a hurried plan to meet the others at St Govan's, and then hustled Martin into Guy's car. Just as we started to pull away I was struck with a crazy idea - Martin's done the route before, so lets get him to show us the way through ... drum roll please ... Preposterous Tales!
Two years ago Mervyn had organized the May Day trip and had travelled to Pembrokeshire several days early. A forecast of bad weather caused the rest of the IMC to go to the Peak District, abandoning poor Mervyn. Fortunately he managed to team up with the Cambridge Climbing and Caving Club (the 4C's) and joined them for a trip through Preposterous Tales. The tale of his adventure, involving a fall from the overhanging first pitch and the subsequent prussiking above a raging sea, was recounted in the June 2003 IMC Newsletter. Somehow this story had inspired me, and I was about to find out for myself what an amazingly unique and surreal experience this route could be.
Preposterous Tales starts on a ledge at sea level, traverses rightwards above the undercut base of the cliff into a cave. It then winds maze-like inwards before exiting through a blowhole at the top of the cliff about 30 ft back from the edge. Arriving at the cliff top the blowhole was easy to find. From a vantage point some 40ft to the left of this it was even possible to peer over the cliff top to see the starting ledge. So far so good. At least we knew where to throw down the abseil rope. We geared up and did rock-paper-scissors to decide who'd lead the first pitch - at 5b the most technical of the three, and the scene of many prussiking adventures. I 'won' so abseiled down first. I almost made the same mistake as Mervyn two years previously and stopped at the first ledge I reached. Just in time I realized this was too high, and scrambled down to the lower ledge just above sea level. While setting up the first stance Guy and Martin joined me on the ledge.
From the booming sound of the sea you could tell that around the corner to my right was a large sea cave. A slow rising traverse, I was told, would take me to the very apex of the hidden cave mouth, which I should enter then set up a belay. Once around the corner we wouldn't be able to hear each other so we agreed on a code of tugs on the rope: one for take in, two for slack, three for climb when ready. I also took Martin's advice and kept the abseil rope clipped to my harness - this would prevent a fall into the sea if I fell at the crux. I set off on the traverse, aiming for a prominent flat hold out on the arete, silhouetted against the sky.
At first the traverse was easy, then I reached a blank section. I either had to go under this, or over it. Unfortunately Martin couldn't remember which was the right way. I first tried going under the blank rock, but dropping lower makes your legs go under the overhang so putting lots of weight on your arms. I didn't like that, so backed up and tried going over the blank section. Nope. No gear. So it was back to plan A. A committing side-pull move took me under the blank section, but the weight was still on my arms and I was tiring fast. I reached the arete with its big flat hold. It was certainly a jug, but my legs were still under the overhang so weren't supporting my weight. Starting to panic I managed get a nut into a vertical crack to the right of the jug just as my arms gave out. I was dangling, but at least I was right by the gear and didn't have to prussik back up to the rock.
I could now see the cave 12ft to my right. A sequence of moves on big jugs - but with little help from the feet - would take me to an obvious rest at the cave mouth. I started the sequence and was almost there - my hand inches from a massive thread hole - when the abseil rope that was still clipped to my harness went tight. It was holding me back, preventing me from getting any closer to the rest. Again my strength was fading fast and I started to panic. Fortunately I managed to place a solid large friend and clipped my harness straight into it. OK, so this was aid climbing, but I needed help and in this position nobody could see my antics. I hauled up on the friend, unclipped the abseil rope and managed to throw a long tape loop through the thread hole. I clipped into this, so any fear of swinging out below the overhand was gone. Detaching myself from the friend I made a couple of moves before jamming my head and shoulders into the cave mouth. At last the weight was back on my feet. I turned on my headtorch. Now all I had to do was back-and-foot my way across 15ft of wet rock above a void, with no handholds or gear placements. Somehow this didn't seem so bad - either because of my experience caving, or because I was so thankful to have survived the overhang. Safe at last, I placed several belay anchors then tugged three times on the rope ...
By Guy Reid
This is my kind of climb, I thought, as I started after Simon on the first pitch; the day was now bright, the rock dry, and seconding I only had to worry about ensuring Martin was protected when he followed me. I was in my element, the sun above and the sea below, as I moved up to the long tape loop hanging from the thread hole.
Passing underneath and into the mouth of the cave I started to get a sense that this was no ordinary climb as I performed a not-to-be-recommended 'head jam', though at the time it was all that I felt was possible. Extricating myself from that dilemma I was then presented with a route that had a vaguely anatomical feel to it. Now I have never climbed up someone's colon but dark, wet, slimy and very slippery is what I would expect, and that is exactly what I was confronted with ...
Simon says 'Back and Foot'. I say 'You can not be serious'.
Simon says 'Put a foot there then your hand over there then your shoulder then your back'. I say 'You can not be serious'.
Simon says 'Then shuffle along, that's back and footing'. I say 'You can not be serious'.
He was serious, so I put my faith in his directions and set off. It worked a treat and though I was bloomin' glad to be on a rope the consequences of a slip, just like on a traverse, did not look like fun.
Joining Simon on the belay was like taking my place in a spider's web, and after making myself safe I sat back and watched with admiration as Simon alerted Martin and began taking in, as the latter began his climb to join us.
I think Martin 'enjoyed' the same qualms as I had as he made the final moves to join us on the belay and then he was racking up ready to set off on Pitch 2.
Simon followed on from Martin and then it was my turn.
I had heard Martin and Simon discussing the way across what had looked like, from the belay stance, a relatively innocuous small step, but I was soon to discover the reality.
After a few failed attempts I called up to Martin for some advice.
'Have you found some nice undercuts?'
'Yes,' I reply, pleased with myself.
'You've gone too high.'
Back down, back across and I have to start again. And again. And again. And again. And aaaagggghhhhh.
And all of a sudden I'm swinging in mid-air in the middle of a huge cave; thundering sea way below my feet, the rope above me and the sloping ledge I was trying to get to just at the tip of my outstretched fingers.
'Don't panic Mr Mainwairing, don't panic.'
Martin and Simon were out of sight and communication was very difficult. In such a situation it is imperative to shout loudly and clearly; concise information, each word separate.
'MartinSimoncanyouhearmeI' mdanglingbtucanseewhereIneedtobegivemeslackIthinkIcanrestonaprojectingfinandmove fromthereoopsnothatisn'tworkingtakeinImaytrytoprussicoopsaaaghslippedgosh.'
I always carry prussic loops and have read the books; but it was dangling 100ft above the crashing waves below that I felt that a little previous indoor practice would probably been a good idea.
Suffice to say that I'm glad I couldn't hear Martin as I expect he was thoroughly cursing me as I flailed around on the end of the ropes pretending I had any idea of what I was meant to be doing; but with a mixture of prussiking and brute strength I managed to pull myself onto the small sloping ledge just before Simon, having climbed down a short way from the belay, leaned round and asked if I was all right.
'Yes, fine thanks.' I replied, 'I'll be with you in a mo.'
I can't really remember the next stretch to the belay but the guidebook assures me that there are big holds on a steep wall.
The second belay was a bit cramped; Martin and I were on a small ledge with Simon hanging slightly below us. Though it was my turn to lead I declined. On this day this kind of climbing was not my metier, and it proved a good decision as even following Martin I went off route and had to weight the rope as I made a precarious traverse across a wet blank face.
Later that evening I was asked what my favourite part of the route was.
'The exit.' I answered in a flash. But that does not to tell the whole story; it was great day out on an extraordinary route, and I would not have missed it for the world. One day I may even consider another go.
Simon, Guy, & Martin
