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I myself have never really grasped the concept of climbing, and the brief occasions that I have attempted the sport have not gone particularly well. However, for my mother Karen, and brother William climbing is a thing of beauty, an exiting and exhilarating adventure that is never remotely boring. In the past, I have had to tag along to these various climbing “expeditions” mainly to the Peak District (where there probably are some amazing V. Diffs or whatever they are called). These trips mainly consist of a long journey in a car followed by the long struggle that is pitching a tent in the rain. The weather tends to brighten up and with it so do people’s moods as the prospect of the waiting rock faces gets people through the evening and well into the night. The rest of the visit is spent with Karen, William and various climbing friends scaling large slabs of “eastern grit” whilst I sit and watch, occasionally wondering when lunch is.
These trips were not awful and the camping part was moderately entertaining but my latest climbing “adventure” to Gower was way below awful and worlds below “moderate”!
It was one of those weekends when my mother drags all her various climbing gear: helmets, chalk, thousands of clips etc and announces proudly that it is time to go climbing. I was not particularly thrilled but it had been decided. Mum’s climbing friend John was driving us to Gower where we were to be pitching tent. William, Karen, John and I all piled into the car set for the very time consuming journey.
The first two-odd hours went by fine; not much traffic, no getting lost, no natural disasters (yet). It was about three hours in when we hit traffic. Groans echoed round the car as we trundled to a stop. We took a detour down country lanes and got lost a few times - enough times to take up around another hour. We were headed in the right direction when we suddenly stopped before a spectacularly large puddle in the road. Well not really a puddle, more that the road was submerged with water for the next hundred metres or so. We had heard on the radio there had been floods but “we couldn’t get flooded”; that happened to other people, not us! So after long deliberation (me and Will screaming “Go for it” at the top of our voices), John drove straight through the water.
He was about halfway through and our grins said that we would make it! We would make it, we would . . . We didn’t make it. The car gurgled, spluttered and then stopped. “Excellent,” I said. No one laughed. In the end we had to get out, fill our shoes with water and push the car out of the “puddle” onto the side of the road.
John fiddled with the car but we all agreed it was broken. So we called the AA and other services but the AA had the best deal. They could come tomorrow. Yes, that’s right! The next day. We were stumped on where to stay for the night but came to a decision in a local pub. We were to sleep in the car.
The night wasn’t that terrific if you could imagine such a thing. I slept in the front seat in my sleeping bag. I found the most eventful part of the night was when I realized I needed the toilet. Yes, staggering through mud in my trainers in the pitch black contemplating which bush looked the most suitable.
The morning went by with a cup of tea and a listen to the iPod. The morning slowly faded into afternoon and there was still no sign of the AA. It was about three when John managed to fix the car himself by repeatedly starting and re-starting it until it worked. The whole event was “memorable” to put it lightly. Oh, and no, we didn’t end up going climbing. (I think I would prefer a night in a car anyway!)
Tom
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