Rules of Gear Fondling

By way of definition Gear Fondling is relatively self explanatory. However to avoid further confusion on Sundays in Outside of Hathersage and other such establishments, it was thought that some ground rules for novice Fondlers should be laid down.

1. True Gear Fondling can only be undertaken whilst away from home for a period greater than 24hrs, on a trip involving more than one person, there being the necessity for some proof of Fondling having occurred by someone else other than the Fondler.

2. In it’s most simplistic and pure form, which requires full concentration on the part of the Fondler at all times, it can be described as entering a known and highly frequented establishment retailing in
Outdoor Equipment, spending some period of time (unspecified other than longer than 15mins) in this establishment, looking at, removing from shelves hooks and hangers, trying on over and under, talking to other Fondlers/Persons of ill repute about the Gear being Fondled and it’s quality, specification, durability, usefulness, necessity, it’s price and finishing by stating in a loud voice so that all in the shop can hear that “I can get it elsewhere for a lot less than this, even with my club 10% discount” whilst replacing the Fondled gear back from whence it came, before moving onto the next item.

3. It is especially beneficial if other members of the party are delayed whilst Gear Fondling is undertaken (Extra Brownie Points). Double Brownie Points can be earned if you are the car driver with a full payload of passengers waiting for you!

4. The Gear being Fondled must be totally technically over specified, extortionately expensive and immediately sends you scuttling off to the nearest Sunday market to pick up a bargain fleece for a
tenner.

5. A committed Gear Fondler spends hours sitting on the lavatory and in bed drooling over certain gear catalogues, making ever growing lists of items they “must” have, but have no intention of buying.

6. An ardent Gear Fondler must read all technical reviews in all outdoor magazines, so that they can expound in a knowledgeable manner the fact that they understand what the Gear actually does and how it does it, even though the recipient of their great depth of knowledge thoroughly understood the technique prior to the conversation, but is now left in total confusion.

Happy Gear Fondling

By Wednesday morning the forecast for the weekend was getting worse and worse, the forecast for Pembroke being particularly bad, and nervous emails were flying backwards and forwards. By Wednesday evening things had got so serious that people were actually talking to each other on the phone. Eventually Guy and I snuck off on Thursday night on the promise of good weather for the Friday at least. Halfway around the M25 and a final decision still hadn’t been made on whether to come off at the M4 for Pembroke (as they say, “I used to be indecisive, but now I’m not so sure”). Finally a call to the Ipswich weather service made our minds up and soon we were on the M3 heading to Swanage where the forecast was for dry weather all weekend.

Typical Swanage steepness (click on any image to view in Flickr)

Now, Swanage was an interesting choice for both Guy and me as we both had a little “history” with the place. Guy in particular hadn’t been back since a big fall had put paid to most of last year’s climbing season. My memories were much better; Swanage is one of my favourite places to climb but, despite several very good trips, I still had some unfinished business.

The Way In

A year ago I had been there on an early-season trip with Craig and we had decided to finish off our first day with something memorable; and in that I think I can fairly say we succeeded admirably. The aim was to do Gypsy, a *** classic E2 at Boulder Ruckle with 2 pitches of 5b and that worrying RockFax pumpy arm symbol. Now as some of you will know E2 has been a bit of a mission for me for several years, my previous experience involving either falling off or subsequently finding that the guidebooks have downgraded the route to E1. So, at 3.30 that Saturday it was with a fair amount of trepidation that I looked up pitch 1 at the overhanging start (and the steep middle section and the vertical final section). Just over an hour later, completely spent, I had just enough energy to claw my way over the finishing jugs on the first pitch and let out whoop after what felt like the hardest lead I’d ever done, complete with copious swearing, up-ing and down-ing, not to mention a little gibbering thrown in for good measure. By 5.30 Craig had followed up making leader-pleasing noises and had led off across the initial traverse on pitch 2 and was disappearing over an overhang. Time ticked by but given my shenanigans on pitch 1 I could hardly complain that Craig was going too slowly. Eventually though a yell came from above – ‘it’s too hard and there’s no gear’ and the comedy really started.

Now, the sensible option would have been to lower Craig off to the halfway break, reverse the traverse and then swap ropes on the belay. Far too simple of course, and so another half an hour later I had climbed up to Craig’s awkward hanging belay at his high point and was attempting various gyrations to clamber over his head and get to grips with the crux. It was at least 7.00 by now and the combination of a previous hard lead and pub opening time is enough to sap the will of nearly any leader. So that’s how it was that half an hour later we had jacked it in, abbed off and were standing back at the bottom of Boulder Ruckle with the sun setting, eyeing 40m of abseil rope that was our way out to civilisation.

A quick prussik and we’ll be out we decided, having temporarily lost our taste for Swanage limestone. Now I’d forgotten how strenuous (& slow) prussiking is so _ of the way up I stopped for a chat with some friendly students who were finishing an evening’s climbing with a quick E3. ‘Ah yes, Gypsy’ said one, ‘Tough second pitch eh?, crux of the route…’. We eventually packed up in the dark, long after the students had finished but at least in the end we made it to the pub before closing time.

Steve C warming up on Lightning Wall before the ‘main event’

A year later and I am standing at the bottom of the route again. I’ve been for a pee three times, so I am as light as I am going to get; this time it was 2.00 (I’ve learnt, see) and Guy is on the sharp end for pitch 1. That’s me just left with the crux then…. So, with phrases like ‘nothing ventured…’ and ‘what could possibly go wrong?’ on our lips Guy sets off on the 1st pitch and cruises steadily to the belay point in the break, bringing to mind again the old suspicions that he has a secret source of monkey gland (or perhaps Gecko gland?) extract stashed at the pharmacy – very impressive.

Now I’ve recently got a bit more cautious about repeating routes, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve said to myself, “it’ll be easy, you’ve done it before and you’re climbing much better now” only to scrape to the top by what feels like the skin of my teeth. So this time with my heart in my mouth, I set off to follow, hoping that I don’t embarrass myself on the 1st pitch. However, with the advantage of reassuring toprope and previous experience the pitch goes pretty smoothly and, amazingly, I reached the belay quite fresh.

A quick swap of gear and then it’s my turn on the sharp end. A few feet of traverse leaning out under an overhang, clip a rusty old peg from a reasonable jug, power up, feet on the lip of the overhang, reach up again; bugger, it’s not a jug, pull anyway and phew, I’m resting in a niche, 1st obstacle overcome. OK, so that was the easy bit, not far above is where Craig got stuck and, somewhere in the next 50 ft, the crux. So it’s up again and in with some gear until I’m contemplating gently overhanging terrain without any obvious gear, handholds or footholds – Hmmm. 30 minutes later the 1 gear placement at my waist has multiplied to 3, all within 4 inches, but I’ve still not worked out the move or found any higher gear. Suddenly I spot what looks to be a little ledge about 6 inches wide wayyyy up on the left, it looks a little polished and I can’t tell if it’s a jug or a sloper but it’s the only thing in sight; and level with it is a crack that should take gear too – result! Another mere 15 minutes and I’ve got a number 5 halfway in the crack and the excuses are running out.

OK, so it’s grab the solid sidepull, feet up, feet up again (best not to let my mind dwell on what), reaaaach for the ledge, not a jug, but it’ll do; uncurl the left foot onto a tiny spike, the right foot pops, hold the balance, match hands, rock over and up on the left foot and, phew, I’m in balance. But it’s not over yet. Right foot up high on that little ledge, another rockover and, oh yes! It is a jug. A number 9 nut later and I’m feeling much happier and those first dangerous thoughts of ‘bloody hell, it might be in the bag’ start to intrude. Still, it’s plumb vertical at this point and, jug or not, it’s not a rest so onwards and upwards. A blind reach round the corner and a good hold is revealed and I pull round rightwards into another overhang-capped, bottomless groove with a lot of air below my feet. I move up the groove to the overhang, reach up strenuously over the lip and … more jugs! A final welly up over the roof and it’s done – Result!! So there it is, a very pleased leader sitting in the sun at the top of the route. So was the 2nd pitch harder? – Well, no not really we both decided, so some of that fear was for nothing but it’s still one hell of a route!

I’d have been happy to call it a day with that but, as they say, ‘Needs must when Guy drives’ and I was chivvied down again for Guy to lead Elysium (E1) to finish the day’s climbing. All in all, I felt it was a well deserved few pints in the Kings Arms that evening!

E2 leader Steve C coils his rope

So, with an E2 ticked I can relax now and take it easy…. Though there is always Springbank on Gimmer and, now I think of it, I really ought to have a look at Vector at Tremadog…. and what about Left Wall? – I hear that’s supposed to be a classic….

Postscript: I was obviously on a mission to relive my entire previous episode that weekend. Simon Curtis and I abbed down again a few days later only to find the rock too wet to climb. The 40m prussik was just as hard work the 2nd time around.

just two ingredients of a great weekend

A sense of déjà vu as I noticed the overhead sign-lost again. The road did not look familiar at all-yes, definitely lost again. The conversation and music had been just too good.

“Uhm . . . I think I’ve missed a turning and we’re on the A1 rather than heading up the A14 toward the M1.” Not so much lost I suppose, more mislaid. Never mind, I have the route-finder general alongside so we’ll be right.

Simon calls for the road atlas, pulls a face at the date (2001) but gets stuck in. One interesting cross-country trip later finds us drinking coffee in a garage car park trying to decide which way to head once we had crossed the M1.

The weather reports had been in flux over the previous few days and it was almost at the last moment that we decided we would go as the Sunday looked good and the Monday would possibly allow us to climb for some of the day. But apart from ‘The Peak district’ we had no other plan.

I’d packed Eastern Grit, Western Grit and Northern Limestone to cover all eventualities and by the time we threw our cups in the bin we had decided on Limestone and pointed the car towards Buxton.

As I drove Simon scoured his OS map and within an hour we were putting up our tents within spitting distance of Chee Dale. Nearby a group was having a noisy party but later, as I lay in my sleeping bag, Dark Side of the Moon drifted over and then all was right with the world.

Early next morning the mist hung low but the sun broke through and by breakfast the day was drying nicely. By half past eight we were walking out of the campsite with our plan.

‘Why Chee Dale?’ I hear you ask

‘ . . . a tick list comprising of the classic trad routes of The Stalk, Sirplum and Chicken Run . . . will be enough to convince many sceptics.’ is Northern Limestone’s riposte in its description of the area.

We were off to put that to the test.

I had been to Chee Dale earlier in the year with Aaron and had noticed that Plum Buttress is shaded early in the day so we decided to start with Chicken Run and then head back to look at our other choices after that.

Chicken Run-HVS 5a,5a with 1 Star. It seemed like a good start to the day but neither Simon nor I could recommend it now. I led the first pitch and have no recall of it at all. Simon came up and led the second pitch that, I think, left as much of a good impression on him as the first had on me. I carried memories of my belay stance for the next week though for whilst belaying, cramped into a bush, I noticed the odd caterpillar wandering over my t-shirt and later I began to notice the itchy rash all round my neck and upper chest. Hey ho

‘Hmm,’ we both thought as we packed up and headed back toward Plum Buttress. ‘Least said the better.’

Plum Buttress (click on any image to view in Flickr)

I’d had my eye on Sirplum for a at least a couple of years but when I saw it in the flesh in February I had swallowed hard a couple of times and now, standing below it, it was easy to see where it got its reputation. The route does not get the sun until about lunchtime and we seemed to have timed it well.

Sirplum from below

At E1 4c,5b it could seem a little unbalanced but as I followed Simon on the first pitch I felt there were moments when it was not the straightforward warm-up that I had expected and wanted. At the belay Simon agreed, and whilst racking up ‘biting of more than I could chew’ came into my mind.

It is everything the guidebook says, everything that you have heard. And it is fantastic. The first move is a little gymnastic and after that, though more straightforward, certainly does deserve its ‘pumpy arm’ symbol. But there are rests and times just to hang on and gawp down at all that space beneath your feet. Tremendous.

Back at the foot we decided to go for Aplomb which took in The Stalk and then would give Simon some lead time on the top pitch of Sirplum.

The Stalk-wow; 1955, renowned for many great things, comes up trumps again..

A small indiscretion low down began with ‘Gosh, this foothold looks polished’ and finished with a breathless ‘oops’. I seemed to go a long way down, but stopped short of Simon. Just. Nervous laughter, and then I ask to be lowered the last few feet to the ground.

I set off again and this time enjoyed 25 metres of non-stop climbing; a great route which does not let up after the first few metres until you reach the belay. The idea from here was that I would take the next pitch-a short 4c traverse-to allow Simon to do pitches 3 and 4-a mega traverse followed by the top of Sirplum. It was not to be. We prevaricated because of the time and than having led off I couldn’t find any gear and felt less than confident as I moved across a “grassy and slightly loose” wall and further from Simon on the belay. ‘Discretion is the better part . . . ‘ and all that, so I cautiously moved back to the belay whence we abbed off and headed back to the campsite.

Simon heads back

I felt guilty as I seemed to have had the best of the day, but lying on the grass in a Sunday-evening-empty campsite we enjoyed an ice cream from the shop and agreed what a great day we’d had. And there was still tomorrow.

Tomorrow began very unpromisingly; the early morning mist so thick and close that “you could hardly see your glass in front of your face”. As time passed it didn’t seem to be burning back but we still went through the routine of breakfast and packing as though we were heading to the crag and not straight home.

Monday morning

Wet and limestone not being a good combination we decided on grit-Cratcliffe. Neither of us had been before and it would be a second new place for Simon this weekend. At 8am it was still not looking promising but then suddenly the sun came out and in a matter of minutes summer had arrived..

Cratcliffe is a small crag and, just as the guidebook says, is very picturesque; we had the place to ourselves with only a little farm noise breaking the country quietness.

Suicide Wall-obviously. HVS 5a with three stars, an absolute classic. Simon racked up. The plan-for him to lead it in two pitches, stopping at The Bower to re-rack.

‘Heck.’

‘Phew.’

‘Crumbs.’

‘Gosh.’

When I joined him at The Bower I agreed with all his sentiments.

From here you are above the trees and into the sun, you can’t see what’s ahead from the ground. Simon led round the corner into unknown territory.

At the top I congratulated him-a brilliant lead. I found it nerve-wracking on a rope so what must it have been like for him?

The sun was blazing now and it was nice to get back into the shade of the trees down below.

My turn-Sepulchrave, HVS5a.

I’ll get my excuses in now: it was too hot; I’d led a lot the previous day; my neck itched; my toes hurt. Falling on deaf ears? Ok, so I just wasn’t good enough.

At the middle section of the second (rightwards) traverse it all went wrong. After some time I realised that I just couldn’t move on and I had nothing left. With my head down I decided to be lowered to the ground asking Simon if he wanted to finish it off.

Cursing in my head I went off to check the time. Whilst I was gone Simon made a pact with himself and when I came back with 2.15pm it meant that he would lead leaving the rope in the gear placed so far and then finish the route. Even after my highpoint the route still challenges the leader but Simon was more than a match for it and he was soon belaying me up. The final crack is, to put it mildly, unusual but great when you have solved its problem. Big smiles at the top and as we sorted the gear and ropes we decided to call it a day.

From an inauspicious start and an unpromising weather report we had conjured up a tremendous weekend; not all successes but the laughter and the curses, the fun, had been in the trying-and we will be back.

Back in January of this year Christina and I made plans for a week in the French Pyrenees. A luxury week in IMC terms as we planned to rent a gite with the Aged P’s (my parents to the uninformed!). As the months sped by and the planning progressed, all was looking well. We were opting for the l-o-o-o-ng drive from Dunkerque to Regat nr Foix – 675 miles – because we couldn’t leave Black Shuck behind could we! Although we persuaded the Aged P’s to fly Stansted to Perpignan and hire a car for the week. Not wanting to lose too much holiday time, we booked the 02:00 Saturday sailing from Dover planning to have a restful evening and leave home around 10pm Friday night.

Then what happens, Lou only decides she can’t let her ‘0’ birthday slip by without a knees up, so she arranges a barby for the Friday night! Well, it would be churlish to decline, so a large proportion of the 48 hours of Friday and Saturday was spent snatching dozes and loading up with caffeine!

This is where the screenplay goes into flashback just to annoy the be-jaizus out of you! Sometime around the middle of April, Christina got the opportunity to attend a conference (boring work stuff, so we won’t dwell on that!) in Florida – nice one! 3 star hotel, 5 star conference facilities, where’s the catch? Well, it was the 4 days prior to May bank holiday so she would return to UK totally shattered and we wouldn’t get out into the hills over an all too precious long weekend. There was a solution, however. Why don’t I fly out to Florida for the weekend – so this s what we did! OK, it wasn’t very eco-friendly but what a chance; and we certainly crammed in the sightseeing.

Day 1 – a wander round Palm Beach amongst the beautiful people and an amazing outdoor sculpture museum

And back to the hotel via a motor dealer trading beautifully restored classic American cars who opens his showrooms for all to view his gleaming treasures.

Day 2 – a trip to the Everglades. 15-mile cycle circuit spotting wildlife and being in awe of the space

Gator (click on any image to view in Flickr)	Viewpoint

Plus a visit to Everglade City (hick town more like!) via the world’s smallest Post Office and on to Smallwood Store a fascinating old trading post turned into tourist trap/museum!

Day 3 – a chance to check out the Art Deco architecture of South Beach Miami before checking in for our (separate) return flights.

Artdeco

It was a bit of a whirlwind tour that couldn’t do the area justice – we’ll just have to go back!

Now here’s where it starts to get mad! Given that this was an unplanned trip when we booked our Pyrenees holiday, we felt somehow bound to go straight to work after getting off the overnight flights. So there we were, Tuesday lunchtime back at the coalface. But not for long, as we had already booked Friday off to prepare for the drive through France starting from Ipswich at 10pm!

Now we flash back again to paragraph 2 (annoying isn’t it!). 7.30pm sees us helping Lou to celebrate her momentous milestone whilst Pete is under a gazebo barbecuing in the rain – top effort Pete! Unfortunately we had to leave just as things were beginning to liven up. Just as well we left in good time what with the 45 minute detour due to closure of A.12/M.25 slip road! The ferry crossing was uneventful as, fortunately, was the drive, albeit very long and very tiring. The Aged P’s eventually arrived at the Gite so it was at last time to crack open the vino collapse!

So what’s the French Pyrenees got to offer? Loads! You’ve got buckets full of history from the Cathars through to French Resistance smuggling chaps over the Spanish border.

Cathar Castle	History

Even though there are hardly any peaks over 3,000m you’ve got some spectacular views. We were there in mid May and the snow line was around 1,800m. This one – The Dent D’Orlu – we have a return match with having navigationally mucked up by approaching from the wrong valley and being forced by the steepening, icy terrain and not enough equipment to beat a retreat. Our attempt to reach the climbing from the proper direction later in the week being foiled by that damned precipitous wet stuff!

Dent d’Orlu

It also has it’s fair share of single pitch bolted limestone crags with routes ranging from easy to silly ‘ard.

So, we’re back in blighty on the 19th May – which gives just enough time to wash out the smalls and pack for the spring bank holiday IMC foray to The Lakes the following weekend! It’s not as if we can decide not to go or leave the decision to the last minute as we’ve arranged to meet up with Greg and Marika who are en-route from Jerusalem back home to Oz. Anyway, it turns out that The Lake District sees some fantastic weather and Christina and I manage to tick another Ken Wilson classic by the name of Bowfell Buttress. This included getting out of bed by 6am on the Saturday morning after arrival 11pm Friday night. Other fun activities for the weekend were a scramble up Pavey Ark involving linking a Moderate climb to a Diff climb and crossing Jack’s Rake; and Helvellyn via Striding Edge with Monty and a 6 month pregnant Clare Lambert!

Now, to you young bucks out there this sequence of events might not seem like much, but to us of more advanced years it felt like madness – but brilliant fun and an overload of experiences. Roll on the summer!!

John Penny – May 2007

In the summer of 2006 I decided to take a slightly different trip from the past few years. Instead of heading for high altitudes I decided to try High Places’ trip “The Iceberg Trail” to Greenland. This was a two-week backpacking trip along part of the coast of East Greenland supplied with food drops every 2-3 days by boat (and in one case helicopter).

The preliminaries were to acquire a new larger rucksack as my old 60 litre one was falling to bits and was unlikely to be big enough anyway. The thought of carrying 15-20 kilos encouraged me to get training seriously, so I could be seen pounding the streets of Woodbridge for a couple of months beforehand and also taking part in some of the “Friday 5” series of road races in May and June.

After a flight to Reykjavik on World Cup Final Day I made the correct call of eating in an Italian restaurant before fortuitously finding an organ recital on at the stunning Hallgrimskirkja Cathedral. I woke after a fractured night’s sleep (it was light all the time!) to find that two of my companions for the trip were Trevor and Dave who I had met in Ladakh in the summer of 2005. Conversations ensued along the lines of who was stalking whom! We were to fly to Kulusuk from the internal airport that morning but we were delayed for a couple of hours by fog at Kulusuk. Eventually the flight was successfully made and we were met by Asty Taylor, our guide. After putting on every available piece of warm clothing (for which I as very grateful) we headed off by motorboat through the sea-ice to our drop off point for the start of the trek; supposedly a two-hour trip.

After four hours it became clear we were not going to reach our destination as the ice was too thick. This was something I learned during the trip – sea-ice moves around a lot depending on currents and winds and there are times when it is simply impossible to get through even in the summer. After a quick meal we travelled to Tasiilaq which was meant to be our final destination. Tasiilaq is a small town of about 700 people and even a supermarket.

We spent the following day climbing a small Munro sized peak behind the town whilst the logistics of our trip were revised. The first impressions of the two initial days were of a wild, pristine beauty and fierce colours. We were blessed with fantastic weather. During the previous days’ trip we also witnessed an abortive attempt to shoot a seal by the local boatmen. A catch would have been a serious reason for high spirits by the locals. I had not realized how enormous Greenland actually is – the size of Australia but with only 56,000 people, all living around the coast. The vast majority of it is ice cap, one of the three largest in the world.

The following day it had been decided to run the trip in reverse, minus the first two days. We were loaded into motorboats again and taken to the other side of the fjord, thankfully a trip of only about 45 minutes. During this trip we passed a small island where some of the local huskies were let loose. This was so they could keep exercised but were unable to escape. They were fed every day by the boatmen. Having pitched camp we headed up a small mountain at the back of the campsite for stunning vistas to the north of ranges of snow clad peaks into the distance. Not a sign of man existed anywhere. I believe that there must be many unclimbed peaks left for the adventurous in North Eastern Greenland.

The following day was the first one we had to carry the full rucksack and walking speeds were certainly sedate I was glad to find. The weather was not quite so brilliant but perfectly good until we reached the next campsite. After pitching the weather quickly deteriorated first with rain and then with wind. I think the ensuing night was the most unpleasant I have ever experienced. I kept expecting my tent to collapse but it did survive until the storm eventually, after twelve hours, blew itself out at 6am the following morning When I did eventually emerge after virtually no sleep, I found I had been one of the lucky ones. Trevor and Dave’s tent along with one of the other’s had been ripped to shreds and all their gear was sodden. They had survived the night in full wet weather gear inside their down sleeping bags. Asty’s tent had turned turtle around 5am and the flysheet was nowhere to be found. After discovering by satellite phone that there was no way that we could be picked up by boat, we had to reverse the previous day’s walk and walk round the fjord back to Tasiilaq. As someone said, it felt like being on a long piece of elastic being pulled back every time. The return journey was long and very tiring, necessitating much up and down and two serious river crossings, the latter thigh deep in places and about 100 metres across. The weather was still very overcast but it was not actually raining.

We were fortunate to be found a house under renovation (with heating!) to stay in for the next two nights whilst we sorted ourselves out (again). The weather immediately improved and remained superb for the rest of the trip. Eventually it was decided to do the central part of the trip in the original direction, so after a long (and cold) boat trip we were dropped off along Sermilik fjord. The next few days were, in many ways, fantastic. We managed to climb another Munro (winter style) height mountain and walk along “the roof of the world” a ridge at about 500 metres with quite breathtaking views, camping on it for one evening.

We passed through one small settlement (great hot showers) before the final couple of days walk. We were supposed to be being picked up by motorboat from a beach to be returned to Tailed. This was the one time when the arrangements were poor. The boat (when it eventually arrived 2 hours late) was the slowest boat in the world. I have never been so cold by the time we eventually reached Tailed.

I have some fantastic memories of the trip despite the weather created problems. Whilst out on the trekking part we saw only four other people other than our food drop boatmen. The major drawback was the problem of mosquitoes that were pretty awful at times, especially at a couple of the campsites. The use of a head net was really important; I can vouch that they can bite you even through Rohan bags. If you can put up with the hardship, there is certainly nowhere else like it on earth.

First off on my hit list of climbs for the 2007 season will be last years failed attempt at un-powered human flight. This tale of woe and misgivings started on a bright and sunny morning during last year’s Yorkshire IMC meet. It all started very well in the morning climbing into new grades for the first time and making a reasonably good job of it. However, (cue the beginnings of the Jaws theme) in the afternoon I spied an interesting climb that looked like “it might go”.

This new venture was rather inauspiciously titled Parallel Cracks, which is, surprisingly, two parallel cracks. These can be climbed in tandem or individually. I quickly consulted the guidebook and the grade, VS 4c, leapt out at me, as did the route description for the left hand variant, which stated that the climb “has an interesting finish trying to locate a ‘secret’ hold”.

Not to be put off by these omens of great lobs to come I geared up. This would be a grade jump of two grades for me after completing my earlier leads (how hard can it be)! Now the important bit: only afterwards did I find out Yorkshire grades are a tad harder than elsewhere. “Experience is something you seem to acquire just after you need it”…

After an easy start things began to increase in the interest department. This wasn’t too foreboding as I managed to get some early good gear placements. But as I gained altitude the gear placements thinned out somewhat. After nearly 10 minutes of faffing I made it to the last section and thankfully some more gear. I really wanted to double protect this bit but the only thing that would have gone in was the cam I had used near the bottom.

What followed was a shift layback manoeuvre arriving at a large jug and with arms beginning to tire I pulled up and over fully committing to the move. Now there was no going back, just the sickening feeling of a huge sloper of a finish and the damned secret hold that suddenly went into stealth mode and proved to be much more elusive than I had at first hoped for. Damn; was it left or right? Nothing looked obvious. Decision time, I opted for groping to the right only to find out later that the hold was in fact to the left. Spread out across this dastardly and seemingly featureless typically rounded grit surface I noticed that my hands were (alarmingly) beginning to move backwards very slowly (Jaws theme reaches a crescendo). Despite mentally trying to convince my hands that they were in fact stationary and not moving in an inappropriate direction they continued to move backwards but a bit faster just to rub the point in. I now realised a lob was imminent.

Swiftly gaining backwards momentum in what was described “as a very graceful start” by my second I soon peeled away from the rock with all pretence of grace evaporating as I randomly thought about the lone upper piece of gear. So began my arc of descent that included a trip through a nearby tree to collect foliage in my helmet. Talk about value for money; in a matter of seconds I was suspended upside-down four metres from my start point but yes, the gear did hold!

Another member of the party rushed over to see if I was ok and then lamented about the fact they hadn’t been able to video the event on their camera. Damn those IMC fifth columnists. Note, this episode was not profiled until after the Christmas Curry…

Other climbs on my hit list are as follows:

• Nelsons Nemesis, Horatio’s Horror, Topsail & Powder Monkey Parade (Birchen).
• North Buttress Arete, Taller Overhang & Portfolio (Windgather).
• High Neb Buttress, Verandah Buttress, The Right and Left Unconquerables & Paradise Wall (Stanage).
• Via Dolorosa & Valkyrie (Roaches).
• Lightning Wall, Finale Groove (Swanage).
• Direct Route & Great Gully (Multi-pitch Wales)
• Haste Not (Multi-pitch Lake District).
• Sunset Slab (Froggatt).
• Dream of White Horses (Gogarth).
• The File & Surform (Higgar Tor).
• The Mincer (Swan Wall).
• Machoism & The Great Zawn (Ramshaw Rocks).
• Now or Never (Burbage North).
• Via Dolorosa & Valkyrie / Valkyrie Direct (Raven Rock).

The list could go on and on …

Some of the above are dream reach goals for next season but to get results you have to have dreams… On another note I am currently on the look-out for a regular climbing partner if there are any takers.

Andy

Louise Burness – May 2007

Well someone was mad enough to put out an appeal for more newsletter
articles, so never one to leave people in a sticky situation here is
the best I can do. If you think you could do better, then why not try to
prove it to us eager readers!

Oh, and before I go further, I do NOT have the luxury of a spell checker
on this computer!

Each outdoor activity tends to give you a different view of the great
British countryside. Climb and you become expert in rock types, being
able to distinguish your southern sandstone from the harder Northumbrian
kind. Walk and you understand the landscape, the topology of the
countryside, the folds of the rock to build the mountains. Sail and it’s
wind and tides; mountain bike, and you become an expert in mud.

It is amazing how many different types of mud there are, so it is a sad
reflection that given the richness of the English language we have so
few words for it. After all rain, just one vital ingredient for the mud,
can be: mizzle, drizzle, shower, rain, downpour, monsoon, cats and
dogs-and that’s just for starters. However when sitting down over Christmas wine I was stuck trying to come up with many mud types even though, as any (non-seasonal) mountain biker will tell you, there is a huge variety of different types of mud, each
requiring their own unique riding style. So, with the aid of an
on-line thesaurus, I have come up with the following glossary.

Slime This usually exists as a thin but highly mobile surface on top
of a hardcore. It can often be ridden successfully – provided no change
of direction is attempted. This type of mud is particularly good for
practising your ice techniques.

Bog: Often associated with Peat, or did I mean Pete? The old (as in ex)
Pres was so enchanted when he first encountered a true Scottish peat
bog that he was not happy just to place one foot in – oh no, only a two foot
exploration would enable him to discover the true properties of this new
species of mud! I personally was rather aggrieved when, on trying to
effect a rescue, I was accused of pulling his arms from their sockets
and encouraging him to leave his boots behind! This type of mud can only
be ridden if you want to ride straight down into the depths of the
hillside.

Glop: This is easily recognised as anything dropped into it leaves a
ripple rather like water, but the concentric circles expand at a much
more leisurely pace. It is typically left behind in the tread-lines of
4WD off-road vehicles after their owners have been enjoying the fresh
air, peace and wildlife in the countryside. After much experimentation
we have finally devised a suitable riding technique for the
glop-containing trenches . Firstly lower your seat, position the bike
into one of the tyre runnels, unclip your feet and place them slightly
in front of you, on the raised bollards that run on either side of the
runnel. A running motion will now see you and your bike propelled
through the mud. Occasionally you may come across a small lake formed
where the original byway has been totally destroyed. To negotiate this
requires power as well as skill, as here you will only be able to reach
one of the side bollards.

Goo: (pronounced gloo) You cycle, initially oblivious to the substance,
as it has much the appearance of reasonable earth. Gradually, you slow to
a stop. Puzzled, you dismount, and then, examining your bike to
understand the failure, you realise the danger you are in. The signs on
the bike are easy to spot – you can no longer see various components,
like brakes, wheels, or in extreme cases, the bike itself. Where they
should be, there is just a large mound of the brown stuff. Do not stand
still too long examining this problem – march those feet double-quick,
otherwise you will find yourself completely stuck in the mud. If that
does happen, the easiest way out of the problem is to give in gracefully
– i.e. lie down rather than fall over, and wiggle away to firm ground.
Unfortunately Caroline seems to have lost the pictures that were taken on
her first encounter with the goo.

Quagmire: Often indicated on a map as marshland. Totally un-cycleable.
Patches of hard tussocks of grass will encourage your bike to attempt
unauthorised direction changes, leaving you very wet indeed.

This list is clearly not complete. What for example do you call the good mud?
The sort that can keep children amused for hours at little cost to the parents other than the call-out charge to the washing machine repairman? Or the sort that people pay good money for in health clubs, for use as a face pack, but is in fact freely available – and applied for you courtesy of a good downhill slope? As a footnote to cyclists, I have
noticed that health clubs tend to only apply this stuff to the face or
naked skin. The current habit of cycling with the backside sprayed with
mud, as illustrated in the enclosed photo, is not to be recommended.

It is hoped by leaving these questions unanswered I will inspire other
mud experts to come out of camouflage and write their own answer to the
conundrum.

Some muddy photos from Caroline can be found here
http://www.flickr.com/photos/32494879@N00/

and another here.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/mycams/349267700/in/set-72157594465642079/