Many of you will know that in March of this year (that’s 2008 if you’re reading this in the future) Steve Culverhouse, Christina and I joined an international climbing meet organised by the Mountain Club of South Africa (MCSA), Johannesburg section.

It’s not often you get an opportunity to visit a climbing area that you haven’t climbed in before and have ten days of dedicated hosting by local climbers, so the first duty this article must undertake is to thank all our hosts – in particular Ulrike Keifer for organising the meet and keeping her cool when the weather did its damndest, and Sakkie for his excellent hosting and driving us around for the last seven days of the trip.

We also decided that it’s such a long way to go for a ten-day climbing meet that we ought to add some time on to see some of the vast country. Unfortunately, my work commitments meant we had to add a week to the beginning of the international meet rather than the obvious choice of staying on after gleaning local knowledge.

So, very briefly, this is how it panned out:

• Spent a few days in Cape Town then drove eastwards to Port Elizabeth taking in some of Route 62 and The Garden Route;
• Flew from PE to Jo’burg to meet our designated driver and taken to the first campsite in The Magaliesberg mountain range for three days;
• Driven to Magapansgrat wild camp for two days;
• Then to Waterval Boven for two and a half days sport climbing;
• Finally to Blydepoort resort for the remaining three days before returning to Jo’burg airport.

To carry on with some sort of travelogue at this point would only get long-winded and guarantee to put you off. What I would say is that should you get the opportunity to go, take it! The place is a true experience, not just a holiday or a climbing trip. Obviously there are many political and cultural issues requiring serious discussion, but that’s for another time and place. In the meantime, here is something to whet your appetites – my potted A-Z of the trip (OK, not totally complete, but what’s a missing Nquxy between friends?)

BaboonBe wary of climbing too late into the evening and watch out for Baboon poo on those ‘thank God’ ledges!Cape TownSuperb tourist city bound by the Atlantic ocean and Table Mountain. As safe as any other major city in the world providing you keep your wits about you. A great base to see lots of The Cape Peninsula and surrounding Winelands.

Cogman’s KloofEn route to Montagu. Apparently, a major climbing area of SA – although we didn’t find this out until a week later when we met up with our MCSA hosts :(Cango CavesDo the ‘Adventure Tour’. UK HSE would have apoplexy!Devil’s PeakThe true summit of Table Mountain (left in the picture above)Dung beetleHave right of way in Addo Elephant Park

ElephantYes, we did see some at Addo and I’m sure you all know what one looks like.Foxy boardwalkSounds vaguely saucy, but actually is the walkway constructed to see the penguins at Boulder Beach.God’s WindowLooks out over the low veldt from the edge of the high veldt

Homestead’Step-back-in-time’ B&B/self-catering accommodation a few miles from Addo National Park.Informal settlementNot a shanty town – really. Mandela’s vision was to give all residents of SA access to water, sanitation and electricity. Currently around 30% of the population are still denied these basic facilities.Jo’burgOr, more precisely the rather disturbing sign we saw in at the airport.

Kloof Corner RidgeThanks to Steve’s pre-departure research, our brilliant route up Table Mountain. A four hour walk/scramble (including three pitches aided by steel-link chains!) as opposed to a seven-minute cable car ride.Loslyf CragUnusually accessible climbing in Blyde River Canyon. But, see “Baboons” earlier!Magaliesberg – Cedarberg KloofSeventy-two hours of constant rain. What a shame ‘coz the kloof (gorge) looked a stunning place to climb on excellent compact sandstone.

MagapansgratBeautiful wild camping and fantastic climbing AND only our party there

OudsthoornThe self-styled ostrich capital of the world!!ProteaThe South African national flowerRed wine!mmm, hic!Star Wars WallAt Blyde River Canyon. This is the flake pitch on Chewbacca’s Traverse

Table MountainNo report on SA would be complete without at least a mention! See Cape TownVervet monkeyAs seen in Addo Park, but apparently a tad pesky in many regions – like nicking your lunch!Waterval BovenWell-developed sport climbing area about 6km outside the town of WB along a very bumpy track.

ZebraNo, not the horse like critter, but the name of our first backpacker hostel in CT. Although we did see some of the stripy fellas in Addo.

Wheel fun in the mountains

OK this is not a climbing article, but it is about having a great time in the mountains. These days I spend a lot of my spare time mountain biking and after completing the Dusk ‘til Dawn event last October with Andy, Ant and Aaron, I was after another challenge for the lads. I had read a couple of articles about La Pass Portes Du Soliel (PDS).

The Portes Du Soleil is a ski resort spread across 12 villages in the Haute Savoie, at the edge of the Alps on the Swiss/French border, just south of Lake Geneva. They have decided to diversify into Mountain Biking to support the local economy during the summer months. The Pass Portes event kicks off the summer opening of the chairlift system.

The idea is that you start in one particular village, chair lift up to the top, then ride down to the bottom of the next lift. The full circuit is 75km, the intermediate 45km and the discovery 30km. After a few phone calls debating the various merits of each option we finally signed up for the 45km route, this would give us 4000m of descent and only 300m ascent (the full-monty was 6500/500m). Unfortunately for us Ant gets a better offer of doing Kili 3 weeks before the trip, so it’s down to Andy, Aaron and myself for the main event. (Ant was successful in summiting Kili)

Accommodation was arranged in the village of Chatel, which turned out to be very picturesque, and a little quieter than the two main resorts of Morzine and Les Gets. Jo and I decided to take our main holiday straddling the event; the others were to join us for a long weekend of riding. After a overnight stop outside of Reims, our arrival at Lake Geneva gave us temperatures of 34C – a tad warmer than the 20C we left in the UK.

The Haute Savoie is a lovely area, somewhat lower than the main Alps, much quieter and really rather beautiful. The whole area is great for walking, cycling (on and off road), via ferrata, climbing, and white water rafting. Our pick of the natural wonders was Fer A Cheval, an amazing cirque of limestone cliffs about 5km long.

Our first day out proved a bit of an adventure, the temperature and closed chairlifts raising body temperatures some what. This, combined with closed tracks and tree felling, gave us a fun but frustrating first day. After taking some advice from a local we head into Champery for our next trip. This time the cable car was working and was rated for 125 people. So out with the leg and elbow armour, and we were really riding in the Alps – big mountains and blue skies – bliss. The chosen route was part of the PDS, the tracks were wide, being used to service the cable cars and some of the alpine farms and huts. This is not to say they didn’t hold their own challenges, loose dusty gravel and deep drainage channels certainly keep you on your toes.

The route down from the cable car was steep, and fun. A new trail obstacle then appeared; low bridges over electric fences, but with a structures similar to cattle grids, interesting. Soon we arrived at a small refuge and sampled the local cakes and drinks – why does simple food in the hills always taste so good? We then diverted off the main track for a short, moderately technical, single track descent. After that, what followed was a amazingly fast descent on farm tracks and finally minor roads back into Champery. This proved a real learning curve, water bars that cross at 45 degrees in one direction and then out of the blue change direction, and more downhill than you would get in a weekends riding in the Lakes. And yes, the brakes do get hot – dripping water from the Camelbak evaporates instantly!

The Friday before the event sees Andy and Aaron join us and the first of the chair lifts open. Our warm up ride is from Chatel itself and proves great fun. Fast forest tracks, rocky technical single track with some very scary drop offs and of course great mountain and ice cream huts. The day finished with the compulsory bike fettling, ready for the main event the next day.

The following morning saw an early start, with Jo kindly ferrying us up to the first lift of the day – the Super Chatel. This is a two man / two bike enclosed lift that takes us high above Chatel close to the Swiss border. Cautiously we don the body armour and launch down the hill side. This starts what is to become the usual sight of Andy off in the distance followed by Aaron and me as tail-end Charlie. Eventually we’re spat out on the road between Chatel and Morgins. We tackle the short road section, passing road side Via Ferrata and catch our breath at the Lac La Cassiere. A short section of unmade road takes us into Morgins, where a fast road section takes us to the bottom of the Telesiege (TS) de la Foilleuse. This was to be a more airy adventure, bikes hooked to the end of the chairs and us looking on with trepidation as our pride and joys disappear into the distance. The Morgins Down Hill course passes beneath our feet and we are happy that it’s not on route!

After quickly retrieving the bikes we are blown away with the view including the Dent du Midi and the Dent Blanche. Absolutely amazing, and we’re on bikes!!! J

Off down the hillside for a short but enjoyable descent to Champoussin, a small hamlet above Val D‘Illiez. As we joined the queue for the TS Aiguille des Champery, we bumped into a couple of Brits doing “the full course today and tomorrow”. We refilled with bottles water before being whisked to an airy ridge.

The following section was really good fun – narrow, technical and exposed (not so different to climbing after all!). As we finish this section a young guy comes running up to us with a video camera, “Are you Brits?” Must have been our total lack of style! He was a freelance shooting an article on the event, so Andy obliged with an interview (Autographs later?). We headed off down the track and found a spot for some Tea (Andy’s ever ready Jetboil to the rescue as usual). We then picked up part of the track that Jo and I had ridden earlier in the week. Aaron and I got the water fizzing on the brakes – Andy’s had no effect at all. No wonder he’s always first down! Aaron clocks us at 41mph heading into Champery, despite the melting tar on the roads.

Champery is total assault on the senses – Parascenders, jump bikes, professional cross country racers, trade stalls and most importantly food and drink. Great local cheese raclettes, local sausages, fresh bread, squash energy bars, chocolate – a veritable feast – and all included in the €38 entry fee. After soaking up the atmosphere we headed to Telepherique (TP) Champery – Planachaux. This time the TP was full to bursting, loosing count at 35 riders and bikes. After taking in the views above Champery we retraced part of the first down hill section Jo and I had tackled earlier. All was going great until we headed off to the bottom of TS des Mossettes. Andy had followed a small section of single track parallel to the main track; the first thing I see is Andy and the bike flying through the air. Aaron and I arrive on the scene to find Andy with a cut eye, grazed wrist and bruises. Fortunately the body armour had done it’s job but the seriousness of the event hit home.

The next summit is a very airy perch and the track down to Lac Verte is twisting far below us.

Andy is off at full tilt again, but I’m more shaken by his flying demonstration. The next section is very loose, so loose that when I try to walk I can’t keep upright. The only solution is to put the seat right down and play that back brake. Once down to the lake the track could be a piece of Thetford single track, well until we hit the large section of snow 😉

As we push on the next section is technical singletrack, rock steps, loose shale – great fun. As we are whooping away down the hill we come across a chap searching in his pack. It turns out that he’s lost his puncture patches. We sort through our pack, and despite all running tubeless tyres, find some old fashioned patches. Turns out his new fangled compressed CO2 canister doesn’t do much more than give him frost bite so we lend him a pump too.

We are getting to late in the afternoon and fly down into Les Lindarets. More food and drink is available, but we rush on to the next lift – the wrong lift, part of the classic route. We unload at the top and check our maps, we follow a section of the route until we cross a road and head back down the hill side. Lots of hairpin bends and we’re soon back down again. This time we take the correct TS de Chaux Fleurie, and follow a lovely flowing track overlooking Avoriaz.

We stop at a hairpin before heading back into France. The last section had seemed almost flat, but looking back we had dropped a considerable distance. It was amazing how blasé we were becoming to the descents. As we dropped into the top of the Pre La Joux we followed a four wheel drive vehicle stretchering off a youngster – good wakeup call to take care with the final section. We opted out of the final chair lift and climbed on the bike instead. The rerun of the previous days section was rapid, and yes this time Andy’s brakes did boil water.

We stop at a hairpin before heading back into France. The last section had seemed almost flat, but looking back we had dropped a considerable distance. It was amazing how blasé we were becoming to the descents. As we dropped into the top of the Pre La Joux we followed a four wheel drive vehicle stretchering off a youngster – good wakeup call to take care with the final section. We opted out of the final chair lift and climbed on the bike instead. The rerun of the previous days section was rapid, and yes this time Andy’s brakes did boil water.

Addendum

For those that haven’t tried it riding in the Alps is learning experience compared to the UK. You can obviously choose the technicality of your route, the same way as you would at Coed-y-Brenin or the Seven Stanes, but the amount of descent is not negotiable! I ended up with tennis elbow from holding the back brake on for such a long time!!!! Although we did see one or two V-braked bikes, I’d suggest that disc brakes are almost compulsory (180/160 minimum, 200/180 preferable), and that full suspension will make the whole experience much more enjoyable. Take plenty of brake pads, and I’d also have to give the nod to large (2.3-2.4”) tubeless tyres. Knee/shin and elbow pads are also to be recommended, and I would suggest that a lightweight full face helmet would be a good idea, especially if you are prone to “air time”. Lastly if you are used to SPDs, get yourself some flat pedals and Five Ten do some very sticky shoes too.

For more details of the PDS try www.passportesdusoleil.com

Caroline Goldsworthy – November 2008

Later, on reflection and in hindsight, it’s often difficult to remember what exactly made you think something was a good idea in the first place. For me, the idea was to string together all four of Ken Wilson’s Classic Rock ticks on the Idwal slabs and walls above and complete them in one day’s outing. How I came up with this gem I cannot in all honesty remember but I knew that in Andy I had the perfect partner in crime and abject lunacy to undertake such a project.

As soon as I put the plan to him he was bursting with such enthusiasm and ideas that I began to wonder what I was about to unleash. I can only liken it to pressing the button and then, as you watch the cloud swell and continue to mushroom, wondering if pressing the button really was such a good idea after all!!

So the plan was set and in the weeks that followed the Classic Rock book was read thoroughly; we also studied three different guidebooks and one map (waterproof naturally). And then at last we had a finalised plan.

On the day itself we awoke at 4am like a couple of excited schoolchildren, but decided to stay abed until the allotted hour of 6am. A rare sight for an IMC meet greeted us as we emerged from our tent – IMCers were up and about; but rarer still, the sun was desperately trying to break through the clouds. Porridge was made and consumed, sandwiches packed and everything received a last check. And then we were off.

We arrived at the Ogwen Cottage car park at 07:16 – OK so the plan had slipped a bit, but it then took us less time to walk in than anticipated and we were cragside at 8am and seriously concerned that we would be excommunicated from the club for such keenness.

I elected to lead the first pitch of Hope as a) I had done it before and, more importantly, b) because I had seen the twin cracks at the beginning of the next pitch and had decided they were ideal for Andy!

Bearing in mind that things had not been going too well so far this year I wasn’t sure whether the slab start was the best idea, but I went for it anyway. And of course once that first piece of gear is placed the world seems a much sunnier place.

The first pitch was dispatched fairly quickly and Andy came to join me on my party ledge. We swapped gear and Andy set off on his pitch.

I must add at this point that the “bursting-at-the-seams-with-enthusiasm” persona was not limited to me. I began to wonder what I had agreed to as Caroline proceeded to organise the day’s assault on Cym Idwal with military precision. I was surprised that she had not brought along a Nobo Flip-chart to further enhance my briefing. I was getting concerned, very concerned, for our future with the IMC for not only were we planning arrive at the base of climb by around 08:30 hours but we were also planning to be back at car in daylight! As it turned out we were early, arriving at Cym Idwal at about 08:00 hours. After a quick gear faff (it’s tradition) Caroline was off, gliding up the first pitch. The race was on; looking back a swarm of climbers could be seen converging on the area.

A quick gear swap and I was off up the highly polished twin cracks that Caroline had generously presented me with as my first lead of the day . These turned to be quite pleasant with holds just where you wanted them even if one or two required a bit of a stretch. I arrived at the belay alcove and set-up ready for Caroline to attack the cracks which she did in fine style. So at this point I’ll hand you back over to Caroline.

Then came the third pitch. Quartz. Some sharp. Some polished. Some crumbly. Gear placement is not difficult on these classic routes. In fact it is trickier to find a gear placement that hasn’t been used time and time again. I was enjoying myself so much that I think I went past the belay ledge and kept going until Andy pointed out that I was rapidly running out of rope. I scouted round for a suitable nesting spot and prepared to bring Andy up. Another gear-swap and then Andy started the final pitch.

The third pitch as a “second” was a right little piece of sheep dung as the rope decided it wanted to nest in the crack just where the route turns a corner. No amount of “nice” words, threats of torture or bribery would persuade the rope to slither out of its little hidey hole so I had to climb up to free it before moving on. Luckily the second rope behaved itself.

The final pitch went on for ever and a day, turning out to be much longer than the view from below implied. However Caroline soon joined me on the more than ample ledge below Holly Tree Wall. We had a bite to eat and then Caroline was champing at the bit to crack on with Lazarus.

First tick completed we were ready for something to eat and had a quick snack while we perused the start of Lazarus.

It was my lead, but I messed up somehow and got myself in to a position from which I could not continue. The ledge below had become very crowded and some bloke was shouting his head off at something. At me apparently. I was off route. I belayed from where I was and Andy joined me to take over the sharp end. At this point some random bloke decided that he was leading Lazarus and started climbing towards us! His friends told me later that every time they go out with him he annoys everyone else on the crag. I cannot understand why they continue to climb with him but can only applaud their loyalty.

A wee bit of confusion was had in the start gully, Caroline was going the right way then some “gimp” started giving (unwanted) route advice which meant Caro’ was directed off route. The belay was set-up on second step of Start Gully, where gimpo had directed us. The move to start the second from this position was more like a 4c move as opposed to an un-graded (technically) Severe. A couple of up-and-down moments and I off. The random bloke who was making an effort to join me on Lazarus took the rather unsubtle hint that I wanted him **** off and elected to do another route nearby. The traverse bit is exceptional value at this grade and I can see why this is in Ken Wilson’s Classic Rock.

At my turn to second Andy’s pitch I had a mammoth struggle. The section that Andy had led I couldn’t climb and because the rope had got wedged in somewhere Andy could not take it in to protect my falling. Another climber downclimbed his own route, un-wedged our rope and I was able to do the move with a little help from my friend. I have no idea who the chap was but he has my most grateful thanks.

The Arête was my lead. We had watched some people previously coming in from the right and working left to the arête. Closer inspection revealed why. Guidebook consultation demonstrated that this was the designated route. At least I would have some gear placements. This route is extremely good value for VDiff. Towards the end I reached a section that was quite tricky. There was no gear and while I could get my hand on the hold, and the hold felt very positive, my back was screeching in protest. In normal circumstances I would have been able to stand on tippy toes, reach the hold and then smear like crazy to move up. My lower back was telling me in no uncertain terms that this would not be happening today thank you very much! I downclimbed a short way and stood and surveyed the situation. Ping! There it was. A small intermediate foot hold. Now if I could just get my foot on to that… As I topped out in whale-like fashion I felt a tremendous feeling of relief and achievement. The photo says it all.

As we made our way towards Grey Slab we decided that enough was enough and that it could wait for another day. A good decision as it turned out as the lads who had gone over to it told us that there were two teams on the route already and neither team were climbing very fast.

We returned to the foot of the Idwal Slabs and devoured the food that we’d left there.

Paddling in Llyn Idwal a short while later we decided that it had, after all, been a thoroughly good day out!

Finding Patum Peperium in Chee Dale

Steve Culverhouse and Guy Reid – August 2008

‘A map has come into my possession,’ the indomitable Mr Culverhouse breathed quietly to his vertically-challenged companion Paramo Brown, their conversation anonymous in the hubbub of the hostelry. He told the tale of its discovery, in a darkly mysterious gearshop, thus.

“Behind the counter the assistant had an air of a man who had sold too many Friend 6s to novice Mod leaders but still, if rumour was to be believed, he had treasures to sell. In these situations it is important to make your first impression count – walk in and check the Moon T-shirts, those oversize chalkbags or the beanies and any chance of seeing the good stuff is gone.

I walked to the counter and looked him in the eye,

‘Four metres of that ab tat please, and a rockcentric 7 – on dyneema mind.’

At this the assistant looked at me sharply before heading off to find my items and I knew I’d found the right man.

‘And will there be anything else Sir?” he asked.

‘I hear you have some ‘special’ goods for sale,” I replied.
At this he looked conspiratorially around the shop, shooed a younger staff member over to the bouldering mats and pull-up boards then beckoned me closer.

‘I may have something for the discerning, er, traditional, gentleman. I can do . . . Ronhills.”

‘No dice,” I retorted. ‘I can already walk the walk, but I need . . . directions, pitch grades, topos………..for Chee Tor.’

At this the assistant sucked in his breath, thought for a moment but then drew out, from under the counter, a brown volume.

‘The treasure of Chee Tor,’ he began, ‘and many other places beside, may be found in here, but, mark my words, not one man in a hundred will make it there through all the ordeals that he will encounter on the way, and fewer still make it back.’”

Glancing furtively around Mr Culverhouse unfolded a piece of paper, pointed to a picture of the route and its arcane description, “Here be dragons” was the only thing missing, and smiled.

It didn’t actually start quite like that but should have done.
The next morning we left the car in Miller Dale and took the track heading toward Chee Tor and its famous girdle.

“Chee Dale takes a long time to dry out and a good spell of dry weather is required . . .” After dropping down to the river bank just by the abseil bridge we certainly found this to be true for the underfoot conditions – one day, albeit the very sunny previous one which we had spent at Beeston Tor, is not enough; under the canopy of tree cover “squelch” was the order of the day.

Flanders and Swann sang in my head

Approach: Along the riverbank, under Rhubarb buttress and Cornice, over a bridge and then double back.

Under Cornice (click on any image to view in Flickr)

Sounds so simple, but there is plenty to keep you entertained even before you reach the start of the route.

Proceed with care

A strangely beautiful walk-in takes you into the set of ‘The Lost World’. Impressive rockfaces tower above, whilst all around there is luxuriant undergrowth in profusion; bushes, nettles and huge rhubarb leaves swallow you up whilst brambles snag cloth and skin.

In the Undergrowth

Even once over the bridge there is still some more bushwhacking and a short downclimb on wet rock to keep the interest going.

And then we were there.

Over a sandwich decisions were made and Steve racked up ready to take pitches 1, 3 and 5, whilst I would lead 2 and 4.

Ready to go

Doggone Groove, the traditional start, is a 4b pitch with attitude, particularly in the day’s dampish conditions; a curse or two and the odd “ooh-er” was the sound track as Steve got us underway.
And I realised why when I followed him up to the stout belay amongst trees.

As I led out on the second pitch the rock and the route, no longer under the tree canopy, changed condition. Now the rock was clean and dry, and all about was an airiness and great views; a smile crept onto my face.

Pitches two and three keep up interest without being taxing. The wall below is just about vertical whilst above there is almost always a small roof signalling the start of the great headwall. The sense of adventure stays with you as you move steadily across the face of the rock but well above the trees,

Along the way

Luckily for us Chee Tor was deserted because we necessarily crossed any number of routes as we meandered along the fault line. The intense quiet also added to the unique strangeness of the outing; we could hear nature as we slowly traversed across the rock face.

Pitch four is, at 5a, the supposed crux and during it sight is lost between leader and second. There are a couple of tricky moves but the whole time one is able to continually enjoy the exposure and airiness of the situations. Threads abound, as do bomber gear placements, not forgetting the numerous belay points for the routes that we were crossing.

Paramo Brown on pitch four

From the hanging belay Steve would set out on the fifth and last pitch – passing a big corner groove and then across a fantastic big open face before going just round a corner to the final belay.
Just after he moved away from the groove I heard him ask about footholds; asking as in, ‘where the “goodness gracious” are they?’

Footholds?

The route had kept a little sting in its tail; one that I discovered for myself on the second when I enjoyed a moment of hanging-on-by-my-fingertips before finding somewhere to plant a toe. This surely is a 5a pitch too we agreed later.

Round the corner Steve found a glut of new and shiny stainless steel. A fine abseil/belay station. He was both happy and sad as he realised that we had reached the end of our excitement.

The final belay

It took us under 10 minutes to walk back to our rucksacks – rucksacks that we had left some three and a half hours earlier – where we sat smiling and had a little something to eat.

The rock was not in good condition below the traverse line so more climbing at Chee Tor was not on but it was too early to head back to the tents.

A quick decision (surely anathema to the IMC) had us packing up and making ready to do some reconnaissance work. We were off to find Harpur Hill (where Steve led a great HVS despite wind and impeding rain, but that’s another story).

But even the escape was not without its fun as we decided to brave the water on the return . . .

The walk-out

And boy, was it cold.

On our day out we had found the Patum Peperium for a jaded climber’s palate. The girdle was just so much fun; challenging without ever being too difficult. It just has to be done as no article can do it justice.

Notes Novel from Norway

Antics in The Arctic

It all started with an e-mail from Steve C.

“How about this for a climbing venue?” was the question attached to a link to the Rockfax website where an extract from the newly published Lofoten guidebook could be found.

Never one to hang about, Steve downloaded it, and the very next time we were in the Peaks, he purchased the guidebook. Question is – could we make it there? The pictures were enticing: beautiful views, stunning rock and a welter of routes at grades that the two Steves can lead. It had to be done.

Days later we had booked the flights and hired a car for an eye-watering total of £1800 (Norway ain’t cheap!!), and we started collecting gear. Having investigated Rorbus (fishermen’s huts which can be rented out), we decided our credit card bills were already big enough, and chose the camping option. Next problem: the baggage allowance on the final flight of our three-leg hop was only 15kg + 8kg hand baggage. An extensive wardrobe was not going to be possible, and as we expected the weather to be a bit autumnal we had to choose very carefully. I laid out my normal alpine trip clothing on the spare bed, cut it by half, and then threw a few more items out for good measure. The Sunday evening before departure we packed, our baggage just meeting the set allowances.

The journey out was hassle free: Oslo Gardemoen Airport has the feel of a public library about it with its parquet floors and quiet, unhurried atmosphere and at Bodø we walked into the arrivals lounge and fifteen minutes later walked back down onto the tarmac for the final twenty minute hop to Svolvær. Our first view of the Lofotens themselves came as we descended through thick cloud to see myriads of rocky lumps emerging from the sea, surrounded by azure water and tiny golden beaches.

In reality the weather was a bit more unwelcoming than that – with a cold wind blowing, and grey clouds hugging the mountain tops. We pitched camp at Sandvika – a pretty ordinary site but which featured wonderful showers that we partook of later in the trip – cooked a meal, and went for a wander down to the sea. Later on, back in the tent, I marvelled that despite being past 11pm it was still broad daylight outside. Would we be able to sleep?

Well, sleep was no problem – but the next day we woke up to rain. We opted for an exploration of the local area and discovered Kalle, one of the recommended wild camping sites. It is situated on a wonderful golden sandy beach, but has the most hideous dry pit toilets you can imagine. We have done smelly loos in the Alps, but you needed to hold your breath to even get close to these, and we all doubted whether we could hold it long enough to actually get in there and do the deed itself.

Just to get our feet off the ground we climbed our first route at Paradiset (think a smaller version of Chair Ladder in coldish Easter conditions and you’ll know what it felt like).

A bit further down the road you come to Festvåg and the Gandalf climbing area. There is wild camping here too – and we spied out a pitch just over the headland in what turned out to be a bit of a damp sphagnum moss patch, and decided to move. Camping at Sandvika was going to cost £23 per night for the three of us, so we could save substantially by roughing it a bit. To say the pitch we had chosen was bracing is an understatement, but when we woke the next morning, there were promising signs of a change in the weather. There was blue sky showing through, and while thus far we hadn’t been able to see anything except low lumps in the water across the sea, these revealed themselves to be full-scale mountains. Wow! The temperature was also improving and we couldn’t believe we were in the Arctic.

First route on Gandalf was . . . Gandalf (5). After an awkward struggle to get out of a niche about 3m off the ground, the climbing rapidly improved and we were soon regretting our decision to wear Buffalos. The friction was superb, and the views stunning. We went back down to the bottom (friendly walk-off, shoes needed) and did Guns ‘n’ Roses (6-). Another great route, but getting three people up three- or four-pitch routes was quite time-consuming so we called it a day and returned to camp before taking a trip to the climbing pub in Henningsvær. Two half-litres of beer (Steve C was driving) came in at £11 (ouch!) so we decided that this was not a place to spend a lot of our time.

Next day the weather was wonderful and we chose a trip to Djupfjord to do the classic Bare Blåbær (5-).

The definition of ‘happy’

Our route up to the crag set the tone for all our other walk-ins: having been sold a pup by a pair of local climbers who directed us up what must have been their own favourite route to the crag, we arrived hot and sweaty and thrashed to within an inch of our lives by birch saplings (Steady on, Pete!). A quick lunch and we were off, following hot on the heels of a local guide and his client, but ahead of the natives who seem to stay up late and start out late (the chance of being benighted is zero).

There is only one word to describe this climb – magic! The position is wonderful, the rock amazing and the friction . . . sticky. We zipped up the crag pretty niftily for us (two seconds moving at once on some pitches) and took the advice of the guide who said that the top two pitches were worth doing, and they were. (We had met some friends of Chris Craggs the night before who had said they weren’t.) We abbed back down, avoided losing our ropes in a nasty off-width crack, and set off back down the valley, stopping en route to “skinny dip” in Djupfjordvatnet (a freshwater lake above the fjord itself). It was bloody freezing. Perhaps being in the Arctic should have given us a clue?

Day four took us to Pianokrakken, where we did Applecake Arete (5+) and then endured the worst descent path in the world. Next we had a go at Pizzatyven (6). We made it up the first grotty approach pitch, climbed the second pitch (nice) but failed to notice the rather new looking tat on the belay bolts at the top. Steve G huffed and puffed, scrabbled about, made some hideous moves, hung on the gear and then finally gave up after Steve C suggested that if it was that difficult, maybe it wouldn’t be that easy to get us all up? Retreating without leaving gear took a while, but we made it back down safely. Only later, reading the description, did we notice that the route is given E2 5c and often used to practise aid climbing . . . D’oh!

Next day we headed off to Rørvika where there is a crag of single pitch 6s which I thought might be good practice for my two trusty leaders to have a go at. Sadly I didn’t read the guidebook description of the approach properly, so we ended up scrabbling up a hideously chossy gully, and as punishment Steve rolled a portable-TV-sized rock down on me which drew the first blood of the trip. Nice try Steve, but you’ll have to do better than that! Once there, Steve C led Moody Blue (6-) – lots of loose rock on the first bit (one substantial chunk that I pulled off landed exactly where Steve had been belaying but fortunately he was in the bushes elsewhere at the time) followed by a trickily thin traverse, and then Steve G did a sport route called Automatic for the People (6-). This was great – long and sustained with some very thin moves on it. We descended by the very easy approach/descent route and then went to display our finely toned and dazzlingly white bodies on the beautiful beach below.

After dinner, spurred on by our successes earlier, we decided a spot of midnight climbing was in order and headed up to Store Festvåg for Lundeklubben (6). The second pitch features an overhanging jamming crack (these are a bit of a feature of Lofoten climbs) and I was not looking forward to it at all – but having climbed easily up the steep corner crack past the jammed wooden puffin (read the guidebook or come to the slideshow!), I found it actually remarkably do-able. We topped out at 11.30 pm, posed for a photo with Henningsvær in the background, then returned to camp for fish soup and bed by 2am (still light!)

Next day we headed off to Svolvaer to do Forsida (5+), the classic route up the Svolværgeita “Goat” which overlooks the town and the local graveyard. I led the first pitch (!) and then my two gallant leaders took over. Steve G made the slanting whole-body jamming crack on pitch 4 look hideous while Steve C just walked up it, and I managed to bugger up Steve G’s rope on the final pitch by looping it round a ring bolt to get it out of my way for the difficult moves. Oops!

The “special” bit of the Svolvaer Goat is the move from one horn to the other. In the olden days climbers would jump between the two (think Adam and Eve but higher and dodgier), but since a rock fall this is no longer recommended. Steve C had managed the manoeuvre successfully, but there was no way I was going to do it – even with ropes in front of and behind me, the wide bridging move and perilous lean across to the other side was horrific. I opted to be lowered to the little col between the horns where I perched and subsequently had wonderful views of the shenanigans as the Steves attempted to get off the horn and back onto the ab rope. I have never seen my Steve look so scared before, and I thanked my lucky stars for my cowardly nature! Back down on terra firma we returned to Svolvaer, organised a birthday barbecue and cake for Steve C, and visited Sandvika for an illicit shower and clothes washing session. A great (if scary) day.

The weather was again glorious when we got up the next day. Sadly our packing for autumn conditions was proving a bit misjudged, and my thick down sleeping bag made getting up a panicky scramble once the sun hit the tent. On the agenda for day 8 was Solens Sønner (6) at Sjøsvæt, and this proved to be a real adventure. The photographs in the guidebook look amazing, so we slogged up the Lofoten¹ path and geared-up at the bottom of a glorious, smooth golden granite slab. The two Steves eyed up the route, and it was only when I innocently asked what the UK grade equivalent was that Steve C realised it was E3 5c. He was obviously feeling lucky, so we pressed on.

The first pitch was straightforward, but the second involves a friction traverse, followed by a thin crack-line to the belay – a long 45 metres. Off he went. He placed high gear to protect the friction traverse, and then a lot of swear words indicated that he was finding the bottom of the crack a bit tricky. He moved up. Rapidly. Now twenty-five metres out. Only four extenders left (he had started with 13). Lots more rapid movement and then whoops of relief. He had made it. It was a superb lead up a fabulous pitch – well done Steve! The friction traverse was freaky, the moves into the crack-line really thin, the crack itself wonderful. And then came a second thin section where the first crack petered out and you had to move across to another one. En route Steve’s nut key had been pressed into service as another useful extender!

The next two pitches had bolts on them (two and one respectively) but this was pretty well all the gear there was in the entire 50 metres. However, the climbing was easy spider(wo)man stuff – especially for the seconds – although both leaders had their moments of hesitation! We commented on the dodgy nature of the abseil gear (a single bolt and a frayed rope tied to a whippy sapling) at the top of pitch 3, but the reason for its presence became clear when I abseiled back down the line of the last two pitches to the top of the second pitch. The rope wasn’t long enough by about 2 metres. Bugger. As I began the abseil descent I had joked that I hoped I was heavy enough to stretch the rope to the ab station, but I hadn’t considered what to do if I wasn’t. Some protracted tying and retying of knots and prussiks in various configurations, accompanied by the annoyance of shouted instructions from above (“Shut up and let me think!” was my answer) got me safely off the rope and onto the bolts, and then the Steves came down to join me. It was easy enough for the second person to get off the rope, but not so easy for the third – the ropes would have been out of reach to pull without care – so some extensive knitting was required, but eventually we were all down safely.

A celebratory beer was required so the Steves went foraging in Henningsvær while I fetched water from the tap across the road and had a go at slacklining with some friendly Norwegian climbers. The two Steves cooked dinner while I went fishing – I caught a small cod that we fried up as a starter.

After a brief shower of rain, which caused a late start, day 9 took us to Gandalf again (our local crag!) where we did Gamle rev (6) and Gollum (5). Both routes feature jamming cracks. In Henningsvaer afterwards we bought Haddock hats (a local outdoor fashion item, not a joke shop disguise), and then played cards as a cold and gusty Northerly wind rattled the tents.

The wind was even colder the next morning, so we decided on another route in Djupfjord. We opted for Coley Smoke (5) which is given 3* but in our opinion is not worth any of them, and it proved to be by far the lowest quality route we did in the entire trip. It wasn’t helped by the fact that it was absolutely freezing in the wind, and the entire climb was in the shade, so our warmest clothing was absolutely essential. Coley Smoke also features the most viciously sharp hand-jamming crack in the world! Having given up on the idea that hot showers were necessary we had the obligatory skinny dip in the lake, and then decided to have a fire and fumigate ourselves in the smoke. Steve caught a fish (smaller than mine, but we ate it nevertheless).

Saturday 2nd August took us into Svolvaer for some shopping (should we buy Bog, or Sodd or Snürring, we wondered?), and then we went back to Kalle to Honnikornsvæt to do Puffrisset (5+). The star feature of this route is a wonderful jamming crack, sharp enough to draw blood, and the whole climb looks out over the pretty beach and towards Svolvaer. It was gloriously sunny and boiling hot, and as we climbed we had the extra entertainment of watching the local farmer baling silage in the fields, and a tractor equipped with a giant pair of sugar tongs stacking the lumps on a trailer. Back at the car we decided we had three options: do another route, cook and eat or have a shower, but that we only had time for two of them. We ditched the shower and went to do a sport route called Drømmen om Michaela (6) at Tjedbergvika that was steep, fingery and technical (about UK 6b) – great fun.

All week we had been wondering whether we should have a go at Vestpillaren (6) the classic 12-pitch route up Presten, a truly amazing conical slab of rock just up the road from Gandalf. Despite lots of people saying we should have a go the fact that there were three of us, moving quite slowly, and that two of the pitches of grade 6 are towards the top where retreat is difficult were off-putting factors. Someone else had said that the pitches of 6 are 6 all the way – for 50 metres – so it certainly wouldn’t be any kind of pushover.

Next day, Gaukerisset (6-) on Lille Festvåg – my only failure – it had a really strenuous traversey move that you couldn’t see – but above, the climbing looked wonderful. I lowered off at the difficult bit and the two Steves topped out and abbed off. We then went to do Tromsø Ekspressen (6). Not to be defeated this time, I conquered the long layback crack with a bit of buttock smearing, and we competed for the belays with a group of Czechs climbing Gollum equipped with a couple of rope “chocks” and little else. That night we dipped in the sea to freshen up and then had dinner. Steve G caught a fantastic mackerel that we would have for breakfast the following day, and which would get its revenge on its captor later on . . .

To be honest, even going slowly as we were, ten days of continuous climbing is pretty knackering so we decided we needed a day of rest the next day, and took time out to tour the rest of the islands. We therefore set off West. Much of the Lofotens look pretty much like The Lakes – green peaks with craggy bits sticking out. Eggum is wonderfully wild, with a huge cliff that as far as we could tell has no climbing on it at all (yet). Perhaps its proximity to a Nature reserve was part of it? It was at Eggum that the mackerel made its reappearance. Later on we visited the Viking Museum and took stupid pictures of us wearing a Viking helmet, and then went to Leknes, which is a dreary place with not much going for it as far as we could see. We took the scenic route home then, having dumped Steve G to sleep off the after-effects of the mackerel, Steve C and I went to Pianokrakken to do Pianohandler Lunds Route (4+). I led three of the five pitches on what is a very nice climb (although the route description is a bit misleading).

Next day we decided to do Rom and Cola (5+) on Alkoholveggen. This involved an hour’s walk-in on Lofoten paths, and some very tricky route finding, weaving a route back and forth under a series of overlaps. At one point, Steve had 25 metres of rope left on one rope, and was hard up against the belay device with the other! There was only one place where I found the climbing at all difficult and this was on the penultimate pitch after I had been left sitting on a belay, all on my own, contemplating the massive drop into the valley! The top pitch was a wonderful corner crack that required a bit of jamming, a bit of bridging, and bit of lay-backing – a bit of everything really! The view from the top was great, but the abseil was down a boggy gully. “Minging” sums it up. En route up the climb Steve C had dropped his Swiss Army Knife, and we found it later, stabbed, knife-blade down into the ground at the bottom of the crag – it is a good job that it wasn’t busy there: in truth, we hadn’t seen a soul all day! On the way down we contemplated a dip in Kallevatnet, but the clouds of mosquitoes persuaded us that this wasn’t an option. Back at camp we had Chilli cowboy style (barbecue flavoured beans rather than kidney beans) and sank a few beers before retiring to bed. Although it was still light, the nights had turned distinctly darker – whereas earlier in the trip we were treated to the sun dipping behind one peak and popping out again before disappearing behind another peak, by this point the sun was disappearing for good about 30 minutes earlier.

Wednesday 6 August was our final day of climbing. We went back to Pianokrakken again to do Lys og Skygge (5+). This is another good route, but much steeper than the others which had mainly tended to be slabbier. The descent is a 50m free-hanging abseil. Wow! Thereafter, we had pretty much run out of steam so the two Steves had a play on a short 6+ route with a tree start. After a couple of small falls but no submissions, Steve completed the first pitch, but they abseiled off when the second pitch proved to be up a totally unprotectable rounded arête. We then packed up, headed back to camp and after dinner went into Henningsvaer and spent our final evening in the pub. There was a great singer on, and we chatted with some members from an Oslo Angling Club whilst drinking our way through £60 worth of beer (easier than it sounds, believe me!)

All in all Lofoten is a great climbing destination. It has to be said we were incredibly lucky with the weather – had it rained it could have been a truly miserable (and extremely expensive) experience – but go there, and find out for yourself!

Carol

1. Bloody horrible, easily lost, steep path, tangled with birch saplings and laced with holes for you to break your ankles in

PS: Apologies go to Steve C for any errors with things like route gradings which in the typical male’s pursuit of factual accuracy he corrected for me, but which, in a typically female way, I have ignored! (Well, I lost the email, actually)

An . . . experience

Alex Purser – December 2007

Last winter, my first bash at Scottish winter stuff, I thought it was a terribly good idea that Cath and I should do a night in a snow hole. Here follows an account of the experience:

After spending the morning doing nothing in particular we left the car at the Cairngorm funicular car park and set off towards Coire an Sneachda with plenty of enthusiasm, rucksacks the size of washing machines and the latest and greatest in snow-relocation technology (straight from the garden shed). Of course, we got the occasional, “Bit late to be heading up, isn’t it?” looks from the parties heading back to the car park but we brushed them aside with a nonchalant chuckle. They were probably going back to some pink, fluffy bunkhouse to paint their toenails! Wimps.

We plodded on, hopped and skipped through the corrie, zoomed up the Goat Track at the pace of a thousand raging (racing?) tortoise and dropped into a pleasantly misty Coire Domhain. Wild conjecture to the fore we now had to decide where to site our snow hole. I believe I was quickly running through the finer points of Brigadier Sir Chimley-Glawson’s 1925 theory on snowflake cohesional differentials in a rarefied atmosphere at the moment the mist cleared enough to spot a dark shape not 50 yards into the corrie.
“That’ll save some time,” we thought, recognizing what it was.

By way of a nice surprise we discovered the pair we were sharing the excellent Carrbridge bunkhouse with having lunch in the hole. They didn’t stick around for long though. They had their last twelve routes to tick on Shelterstone crag before they’d be calling it a day. “Enthusisatic” doesn’t come close describing these chaps

Feeling slightly on the cheaty side, not actually having to dig our own snow hole, we set about at least tidying it up a bit. I thought we actually finished up with quite a respectable porch, which is a shame considering that it was largely demolished by an arse on ingress.

There was still a few hours light left and the weather was glorious. Crisp, bright, artistically hazy and with brilliant views over the Cairngorms. We took a wander towards Loch Avon, enjoying some textbook trouser-seat tobogganing on the way, before heading up towards the top of Coire Lochan for a good view of the sunset. So ideal were conditions that we walked back to the hole in our footsteps from earlier.

Here, the tack changes.

You see, snow holes, however much fun they sound, are a pain. You can’t move without getting wet something you don’t want to, in fact you can barely move full stop unless you’ve built a veritable palace (as opposed to our modest offering). And we’d forgotten to bring biscuits thus sullying the entire experience and heavily biasing me forever more against our icy, Hobnobless abode.
In their defence, they are warm and offer excellent shelter from the wind and we managed to enjoy supper in relative comfort.

However, come morning the roof will have sagged sufficiently to nigh on pin you to your sleeping platform and will start dripping on you just as you want to get out of bed. The Chinese were onto something with that water-torture business – the dripping is truly maddening.
We ate breakfast outside; out being infinitely more pleasant than in.

Conclusions:

It’s not impossible, or even difficult, to snow hole; just annoying. I’m afraid the novelty wore off quite quickly and, in this case anyway, the problems far outweighed the benefits. We were glad to have done it but mainly so we can tick snow holing off our lists of things to do. Maybe a more remote camp with some far-flung objective in mind would make it worthwhile.

Would I snow hole again?
If you’d asked me at the time I’d probably have said something sarcastic with an overall, “Not bloody likely!” feel to it.
I’ve now had all summer to forget how much I disliked it so could quite easily give it the benefit of the doubt and have another go (the season is nearly on us after all).
Watch this space.

Trip report 3rd March 2008

Andy and I set off at 7.00pm on Wednesday evening for the usual overnighter, hummed and hawed our way up the A1 and decided on starting on one of the buttress routes on Aonach Mor West face since it would be low avalanche risk.

By 5am we’d made it to the Gondola car park in the clag and with regular rain showers coming down the original motivation levels for a pre-dawn start had weakened to the point that we decided that an hour’s kip would be in order. Six o’clock was even claggier and since the first Gondola was only two hours away we agreed there was hardly any benefit in walking up. By 7.30 though, the sun was up and the excuses had run out and we were gearing up in the car park with a handful of keen skiers and climbers.

At £1 per minute the cable car isn’t the cheapest option but the value is certainly excellent compared with 500m of laden uphill walking and soon there was nothing for it but to shoulder the packs and hit the hillside. An hour or so later we were at the head of the Allt Daim looking up at the cliffs of Aonach Mor and comparing them with the rather hopeless topo. Thankfully there was some local help and we eventually decided that a featureless buttress matched the description of Western Rib (** III) and made the final 150m slog to the base of the route. We geared up at the top of a gentle snow slope after kicking a small ledge – but not until Andy had practised his ice axe arrest after stepping back off our little ledge to eye up the route.

Andy soloing at the start of Western Rib (click on any image to view in Flickr)

The start looked fine I thought, so while Andy geared up I decided on a quick ‘look see’ and started off up the blunt rib – naturally I immediately got committed and a few exciting minutes were had scrabbling up disintegrating turf before safer ground was reached. Since both the ropes were down with Andy there was little to be done but to call down ‘The start’s fine’ and rely on Andy’s sense of self-preservation.

Rather chastened, ropes were tied in and the rest of the route went moving together. Three to four hours of steady work and several ‘I-think-we’ve-done-the-hard-bit-now’s later we popped out, with some relief, right by the summit cairn as the effects of the previous night were beginning to catch up with us. Thankfully the navigation off the top is straightforward, basically head due North until you hit the ski tows, but still we ended up 150m off course after we saw another team topping out on one of the other buttresses – a brief chat, ‘Hi guys. What have you done?’ ‘Hi, Stirling Bridge… so long’ and they were off at what appeared to be a sprint. ‘I think that was Neil Gresham’ says Andy and sure enough he later discovered it was indeed – they’d obviously been having an easy day on a VI, 7.

The forecast for Friday was utterly dire and after Wednesday night’s drive we needed no other excuses for a lie-in and a late start at Fraoch lodge. A leisurely breakfast staring out at the lowering clouds and rain led to the obvious choice of spying out the attractions of Aviemore. We even had the ideal excuse for a visit to the gear shops as Andy had managed to drop his belay device the day before. So the morning was spent very pleasantly touring the gear shops and the Cairngorm Mountain Sports Cafe, lightening our wallets somewhat.

Andy, the boss man at Fraoch lodge, had suggested that we might like a day’s rock climbing and had suggested that we pick up the NE outcrop guide and head off to the East coast and a crag called Cummingston; ‘it’s in the rain shadow – it’ll be dry’, he says. A quick look in the guide and it’s clear that the easiest thing at the crag is a lone VS and then a glance at the driving rain outside the tea shop window and the decision was made. Aviemore indoor wall it was

Saturday was forecast to start dreich and windy then clear up during the day so another lazy start was on the cards; but as soon as we woke at eight with the sun gleaming from a blue sky we realised we should crack on. After a quick breakfast we were on our way to the Cairngorm car park where normal Scottish service was soon resumed as snow showers hit us from an overcast sky – ah well, the forecast was still for an improvement. After Thursday’s success on grade III the plan was to push the boat out with a IV, 4 in Coire Lochain called Andromeda, a classic of the crag. By the time we reached the Coire though several other teams were ahead of us heading for the area of our route and, to the left, the obvious slot of The Vent, a grade II and the scene of a recent IMC team’s minor epic involving a cornice collapse.

By the time we reached the bottom of the route it was clear that the late start had cost us the route but possibly saved our pride as we saw a team ahead puffing, panting and swearing their way up Andromeda, the leader taking well over an hour on the 1st pitch in the end. Luckily though Milky Way, a starred Grade III, was free, and soon Andy was galloping off up the snowy gully that was the start of the route. At the top of the snow the rope slowed somewhat as gear was placed and the crux contemplated. A confident pull, a knee up and Andy was over and the rope was moving steadily again. As Andy led onwards I spent my time excavating a larger and larger ledge as a way of keeping warm in the face of the ever-present spindrift that was unusually blowing up the crag in the North Wind.

Andy on the crux of Milky Way

As soon as the rope went tight I was glad to be on my way and soon reached the pair of dodgy ice screws protecting the crux and emulated Andy’s technique to surmount the short corner. Then it was a set of rocky ledges covered in powdery snow that provided insecure axe and crampon placements that led to the belay – with just 2 bits of gear in 55m, a damn good lead!

A very icy Andy greeted me at the belay and no time was lost in swapping the gear and a quick 20m solo up the final gully led to the top and relief for Andy from the perpetual spindrift.

Amazingly, the weather forecast was nearly spot on and the walk back over the plateau was clear and we had good views of the nearby peaks of Braeriach, the Lochnagar peaks and the impressive-looking Shelter Stone crag which may be a venue for later trips.

The start was from Martin’s house in Ipswich on a grey Thursday afternoon where (under strict orders of no boxes or crates) Steve Gray’s C5 was loaded to the gunwales with all the paraphernalia for a 6pm start. Twenty-four hours later a very tired team pulled into the campsite at Madonna Di Campiglio whacked up the tents and cracked the first beer. In the intervening 1200 miles the main excitement had been the destruction of the nearside wing mirror with an impressively load bang whilst passing the French equivalent of road cones at 70mph – thankfully the car’s owner was driving at the time! Gaffer tape and a vanity mirror got us as far as the Citroen garage at Innsbruck

The following day we decided to start on the Via del Bocchette Alta (or Bugatti alta as Martin insisted on calling it), the classic via ferrata (Iron way) of the Brenta that we planned to do in two days. That afternoon after much faffing and lunch-shopping we headed up the Groste cable car (bliss!) and headed off for a short via ferrata to get us in the swing of things before heading back to the Graffer hut for the evening. A good meal, another beer and a bunkroom to ourselves felt pretty luxurious by alpine standards and we had a relatively relaxed 6am start to look forward to as well. The following day we were out by 6.30 and heading up to the ridge where the Bocchette Alta starts. Initially it’s over ugly ski-developed land but soon we were on an amazing limestone pavement and were being overhauled by a fit Swiss party. At the ridge we started to see cables on the harder sections but the tricky terrain is about Grade 1 or 2 scrambling and you can avoid the cables if you like. Three and a half hours later and we descended rickety ladders to the first col – the not-very-Italian-sounding Bocca Del Tuckett – and eyed up the climb to the day’s high point. We slogged to the top via a series of short ladders with a lunch break halfway and soon we had the plateaux in view where our destination – the Alimonta hut – is sited. So far it had been a lot of walking with a little scrambling and a few ladders, but the next two hours were a series of steep and exposed descents and ascents on ladders in amazing terrain.

Via Ferrata (click on any image to view in Flickr)

It was with some relief that we eventually spied the hut around 4pm.
Steve Gray nipped inside with the kitty and soon returned heavily loaded and with a large grin on his face – a ‘birra grande’ turned out to be a full litre – but we weren’t complaining.

4 having a beer

Another fantastic hut with a menu, comfy bunks and copious beer meant the 6am start wasn’t too onerous the next day and we set off back to the col we’d left the previous day and then up a series of ladders. This section was the most spectacular of the trip so far with narrow ledges, rickety wooden walkways, huge drops and views of the big limestone spires and faces, all well-protected with steel cables. 10.00am saw us at the end of the Bochette Alte and all we had to do was get to the Groste cable car back at the start of the route. Thankfully there was an ‘easy’ way back via a lower-level path but still it was a pretty shattered crew who got back to the tents at 6.00 that evening.

The call was for a day off so we headed off for the fleshpots of Trento (surely the underwear capital of the area given the number of such shops) before Martin started talking us into the next objective – the Fehrmann route on a limestone spire called the Campanile Basso.

Steve C with The Campanile Basso behind

Martin sagely kept quiet about some of the details of the route, sticking to the line that it was a classic and that he’d done it before without any trouble. It was only after the plan was agreed that it transpired that we had signed up to 13 pitches of up to VS and an abseil descent. The Fehrmann finishes 4/5ths of the way up the Basso and, if you’re quick, you can continue up the ‘easy route’ to the top. We reckoned we’d need to finish the Fehrmann by 1.30 to give us time to get to the top and back down for dinner.

The start of the Fehrmann at 7am in the mist

The day didn’t start too well when we followed a knowledgeable-looking Italian team in the fog to completely the wrong place – they were back down before we’d left the ground though and soon we, along with the Italians and a team of four Germans in their 60s, were at the proper start and the Italians disappeared upwards. We got going too, moving as fast as we could and placing what we thought was minimum gear. The Italians and Germans though placed virtually nothing, typically just clipping three pegs on a 40m pitch and soon the Italians were out of sight ahead and all the Germans had overtaken us. 1.30 was now looking optimistic and a small HVS (at least that’s my story) diversion didn’t help. Ultimately we all got to the ledge by 4.30 to see the racing German pensioners descending off the summit above us. Four abseils later we were back on the Bochette Alta, the last half-mile of which constitutes the start of the descent route. A thirty-minute gallop down the moraine and we made the hut five minutes before dinner finished at 8.00 – a memorable day out and at least we beat the Germans back to the hut!

Steve, Carol & Martin 12 pitches up on the Fehrmann

Having warmed up in the Dolomites, the decision was made to head to higher things and, after much faffage, we decided on the Ortler Alps just 150k or so North of the Dollies. After seven hours of driving over three passes, some very narrow roads, more hairpin bends than you can shake a stick at and huge numbers of mad motorcyclists and fit pedal-cyclists we ended up at Trafoi just outside the National park area of Sulden – where hotels are permitted (and rich tourists!) but camping clearly constitutes a danger to the National park – Grr.

We headed up the next day to the Dusseldorfer hut which, according to our guidebooks, sat near the foot of a set of glaciers running down from the Hohe Angelus and the Vertainspitze, both around 3500m. Sadly, global warming had done its thing and both glaciers had virtually disappeared to the particular disappointment of those in the team who had bought new crampons and an axe. Still, we were up at 5 the next morning and set off for the Hohe Angelus via the newly exposed rocky ridge and then, on a point of principle, onto the remaining snow and ice to the top. At 9am we were on the top and then it was down onto a huge dry glacier on the far side, clearly melting fast. Dropping the sacks at a col we nipped up the Vertainspitze too before a consultation of the map revealed we had 1000m of descent to make to get back to the chairlift home. With much groaning of knees we slogged downwards over hideous chossy moraine and it was a very relieved team who sat down at the lift station. Here some confusion was caused by the waiter being under the impression that we would like four bears – you’d have thought these dashed foreigners would understand their own language wouldn’t you?

We did a bit of cragging at a very chossy little crag on the Tuesday where we watched a local guide teach belaying techniques that would give Libby Peters a heart attack, and then on the Wednesday went to Bolzano where we took in the Museum where they have ‘Otzi the Iceman’ – well worth a visit.

The plan was then to go back up to a hut and do the big peak in the area, the Ortler, but 2 days of solid rain and a poor forecast decided us on an escape to drier weather cragging in France. Sadly, by the time we got to Dijon it had been raining all day there too and showed no sign of letting up – the restaurant for the evening even had a fire burning in the hearth. The forecast deteriorated further overnight so finally the decision was made to run for home. All in all though a good trip with, for me, the highlights being the fantastic rock and scenery of the Dolomites.

Gunni Page – January 2008

A voice behind me piped up cheerfully: “Here are my lucky nuts, Gunni.” I choked on my muesli…

It was the morning of the first day of the beginner’s follow on meet and I was innocently sitting outside my tent having breakfast. Having tentatively put the word around that I was hoping to start leading some easy routes soon, Caroline had very kindly offered me some of her surplus gear to get my rack started. However, as this conversation had been had a) some time ago and b) over a pint in the pub, I hadn’t expected her to remember. But here she was, true to “Madame Pres” form, crab with the lucky nuts in hand and looking very surprised at the sight of me with milk dribbling down my chin… There was no getting out of it now, was there? Me and my big mouth…

Though I had studied the guidebook for the area carefully beforehand and had marked some suitable – or so I thought – 1st leads, the masses of climbers present at that day’s chosen venue, The Roaches, meant that I didn’t actually succeed in leading anything that day. I still managed to second several nice routes, though, and enjoyed some great climbing. So, lucky nuts dangling unused off my harness, I retreated back to the car that evening, feeling a mixture of disappointment at not accomplishing my objective for the day and (ok, I admit it only to you) a little relief at not having had any difficult lead situations to deal with, as, of course, I wasn’t nervous about my first proper lead AT ALL.

True to Staffordshire spec, the next morning dawned a bit grey and breezy. And things were to get worse… No more spilt milk actually, but Johnboy announcing cheerfully that the chosen venue for our group for the day was in fact Hencloud, as he wanted to meet up there with Nick, who – since leaving the flatlands of Suffolk for sunny Sheffield in the summer – is now a “crag local” (who said we’d be bitter??). Well, the routes at Hencloud have a reputation for being hard for the grade, the whole crag is much more exposed and there aren’t more than a handful of easy routes. So I mentally prepared myself for a day belaying and bonding with my duvet jacket.

Cue the ever-supportive Clio, who was having none of it. Once arrived at the crag, but not before giving a very impressive and gutsy performance trying to lead “Reunion Crack”, a VS 5a**, she bullied me (in the nicest possible way) into trying the very short and low grade “Chockstone Crack” as a first lead. Well, talking of trying to get off the ground! I just couldn’t do it and felt disillusioned and desperately sorry for Clio and Steve, who were trying their best to talk me up the rock, all the while getting colder and colder and probably thinking “What IS she doing? This is a “Mod”!. I was a little happier when Steve tried the first few moves himself and agreed that for someone my height they were hard and maybe we should move onto another route instead (no offence taken, I always knew that one day being a shortarse would come in handy). So, off we all trundled to find Johnboy and Nick, who were climbing at the other end of the crag. Right, I thought, this weekend’s plan is going nowhere…

A quick check of my pack produced some much-needed sustenance and a can of Red Bull. I can only put it down to this liquid refreshment (and, ok, a little more bullying from Clio) that I soon found myself gearing up to lead “The Arête”, a superb looking 30m long HVD***. Well, what can I say: while Clio belayed me, Steve soloed up beside me to give hints and moral support (which was MUCH appreciated), I placed every bit of gear I had and then some, thoroughly enjoyed the experience and finally topped out with a big whoop. What a feeling! Having set up the belay I quickly brought Clio up. I am certain that by that time she well and truly regretted her earlier persistence as she had got quite cold belaying me and was now having to take my rather well placed gear out as well. Luckily, the stiff breeze took all swearwords, which might have been muttered, away before they could reach my delicate ears. Seeing as my grin went all the way round my head at that time, I probably wouldn’t have heard that well anyway. Eventually Clio joined me and Steve, we broke down the belay and set off down the crag – the perma-smile still plastered across my face and the lucky nuts dangling happily off my harness, this time used and abused.

Now, why exactly I bottled out of leading an 11m short route, graded at a mere “Moderate”, to then successfully lead an “HVD” route three times as high an hour later, only God and the makers of Red Bull will be able to answer. All I know is that I thoroughly enjoyed my first “proper” lead and for this reason my thanks go to:
Caroline – for the kind surrender of the lucky nuts
Steve – for reassuring me all the way up
Clio – for being the nicest bully I know
The makers of Red Bull – for giving me wings

Bring on the summer – the lucky nuts and I are ready! (And I will remember to bring something non-spillable for breakfast as well as plenty of “liquid wings”!)