Rain Doesn’t Stop Play in North Wales – Jan 2008

Trip report 12th January 2008

I was going to write to the editor demanding more trip reports in The Newsletter, but then I thought perhaps I should stop griping and write one myself.

On the Saturday two cars set out from Ipswich at four o’clock in the morning, with a total of six right-eyed and enthusiastic outdoor types on board. Shortly after nine o’clock we were in the Ogwen Cottage car park drinking tea, convincing ourselves that the weather wasn’t too bad and being faintly surprised just how many people were parked up and on the hill already. Five of us calling ourselves climbers and one of us calling himself a hill-walker; we chose a couple of grade three scrambles on The Milestone Buttress as our objective and set out accordingly. We started at the base of the right hand side of the buttress and roped up in two teams of three. Interesting and exposed moves kept us focused at half height. I failed to persuade the other team that the corner chimney of Milestone Direct was an entertaining diversion as we tackled the easy chimney to the right. Well, I still contend that it would have been entertaining to watch.

A little higher is the Milestone Continuation, which turned out to be a pleasant scramble as well, but by the time we got above the difficulties the rain had returned to encourage us to find a way down. Traversing and descending in the rain got us quickly and perplexingly back to the road with plenty of daylight remaining.
After some route finding difficulties in Bangor, and mixed navigational success to and from the supermarket, we arrived at Jesse James’ bunkhouse as the weekend’s main weather event built in intensity and then continued with horizontal rain into the next morning.

Sunday morning and the others elected to go for a low-level walk, but Andy and I were convinced that the weather would be nicer at Tremadog. As Andy drove through the rain near Beddgelert we managed to convince ourselves that it was easing. Arriving at the crag we were surprised to find Eric’s café and the car park closed. Astonishing in what must surely be peak season there! Gearing up it really did seem as though the rain had eased off and we elected to climb Hail Bebe, which had the twin virtues that it was ‘only a v.diff’ and that I could find the start. I have to say that I’ve always been a fan of Tremadog’s mudstone, but I admit that in the wet it isn’t the grippiest rock that I’ve ever climbed on. It was, for me, exciting enough! Soon, Andy was topping out in the gale force wind on pitch 6 as the rain started again in earnest. The wet and slippery descent was marginally worse than the usual summer conditions, but only just, and we were soon “gear shop traversing” in Beddgelert.

Monday dawned slightly drier and while the rest of us went for a walk near Llanberis, Martin and Andy spent the day at the local climbing wall before heading home.

For me it was great to get out for the first time in several months, and a bonus that we actually got some climbing done.

Martin’s Peak District Trip

Martins Peak District Trip, November 2007

Grand Adventures!

Martin Stevens – December 2007

I decided on a whim, and at quite short notice that I fancied a few days away. Having bought a smaller, lighter and less-bulky-when-packed tent just for motorbike touring and having just picked up some bike-touring luggage what could be better than just giving it a go? The weather forecast was good enough so I decided to go.

So I did. I prepped and packed and on Tuesday 13th November I loaded the boxes, clicked them into place, strapped on a drybag with the tent and my enormous full-on sleeping bag in it and headed for the Peak. Within 15 minutes I was back home and picking up my fleece jacket before heading off again.

I paused and fuelled right up just before leaving Ipswich and headed west before turning north up the M1. Next stop, fuel in Chesterfield. Onwards into the Hope Valley.

I arrived at Hardhurst Farm, checked in at the farmhouse and parked the bike. I put the tent up – easy but why do they never provide enough pegs? Still, it was Hardhurst Farm and I’ve never not been able to find tent pegs just for looking.

Here’s the Beast with the tent pitched behind it, and in the far background the pimple is Win Hill.


The beast by the tent
The beast by the tent (click on any image to view in Flickr)

Off to Hope (the village, not a state of living) for supplies in what remained of the daylight. The walk back was in the dark, by which time it was suppertime. That being done, I retired, a little fatigued, for a little lie down, a glass of wine and a good book.

Wednesday 14th November

A nice day, as forecast. Breakfast out of the way, flask made and lunch packed and it was off to Bamford Edge, rock shoes and helmet also packed. Bamford is a favourite crag of mine. I chose to walk. After all, the crag can easily be seen from the campsite so how far can it be?

It took me the best part of a couple of hours to actually arrive at the crag, but that does involve pausing to take some pictures with the crappy-cam, pausing to find out that my SLR has film but the battery has gone flat so nothing works, navigating my way and pausing merely to wonder why I didn’t just ride the bike to the parking place.


Loose Hill
Here’s Loose Hill looking good in the morning sunshine

Having crossed Yorkshire Bridge it was a haul up the ‘New Road’ beneath Bamford Edge to the approach path.
Although Bamford Edge is on Access Land there’s no easy approach except at the approach paths, the surrounding fences are barbed wire in good order and it would be a hack through long bracken up a reasonably steep hillside.


Toward Bamford Edge
Toward Bamford Edge

It’s not called the Crappy-Cam for nothing!

Having arrived I paused awhile to take in the view before dropping down to the foot of the crag for some easy soloing.


Looking West
Looking West

Looking South
Looking South

No pictures of me soloing as the crag was deserted and I’d have struggled to climb and operate the camera.
However, I did manage to take a picture of a squeeze chimney that I struggled through…


I fitted through this . . .
I fitted through this . . .

It was a tight squeeze, and I found that whilst Paramo fabric is tough stuff, sometimes it’s not tough enough!


. . . but not without some holes
. . . but not without some holes

I had a grand time on the crag, climbing whatever I fancied and feeling no external pressure. I did on several occasions look at lines and twitch, and then make myself walk away rather than trying and finding out the hard way that I wasn’t up to the challenge. I did manage the Severe 4c start to Gangway after offering up and backing off a couple of times, the success of which pleased me but did indicate just how out of practice I am and really did discourage me from trying anything harder.

Given the time I’d taken to get to Bamford and not really wanting to walk too much in the dark I headed back in good time and was happy with the climbing that I’d done. I walked back via Bamford and Thornhill villages and reached the campsite just before dark.

Hot tea, hot meal and then despite the proliferation of stars in a clear sky the cold drove me to the warmth of my sleeping bag.

Thursday 15th November

It really was cold in the night; in the morning there was every sign of a serious frost.


Frosty morning
Frosty morning

The contents of both bottles were frozen solid. Fortunately I have mastered the art of drinking black tea. A hot breakfast, several cups of tea and the making of a flask had pretty much exhausted my gas bottle so today’s walk (I certainly wasn’t climbing with the rock likely to be finger-numbingly cold) had to involve guaranteeing a supply.
I decided that given the superb blue-sky and no wind conditions that higher ground was in order. I packed up, carefully not packing my SLR – but I did pop the battery in my pocket in the hope, which I did not expect to be realised, of being able to pick up a replacement.

I headed into Hope Village, did the round of the shops there and picked up some extra lunch, a supply of gas and of al things a camera battery, and had a chat with the chap running the outdoor shop. He was very keen to suggest that the Hebrides is a fantastic place to visit. I’m sure it is, but that will have to be another Grand Adventure.

By the time I’d made my purchases and was ready to leave I didn’t think I’d have enough time to take in the walk I’d originally intended and still get back in vague daylight so I passed on Win Hill and headed straight up Loose Hill. Conditions were excellent and it didn’t take long for me to feel the need to pause to take of my fleece.


Along Loose Hill to Mam Tor
Along Loose Hill to Mam Tor

Given the quality of the weather I was bit annoyed that I’d not made the time to go back and get the SLR, but that’s making a choice in the morning for you.

I headed along the ridge to Mam Tor which was quite busy, especially for a midweek lunchtime.

On the descent I spotted a load of features set into the descent path and paused to take some pictures.


face

Plough
Face Plough

Torque

Hut
Torque Hut

From Mam Tor I headed around to pass South of Winnats Pass, where I paused for a late lunch.


Winnats Pass
Winnats Pass

Skirting around Pindale I worked my way down via a grotty quarry and behind the cement works and into Bradwell before taking footpaths back to the campsite, where I arrived just before dark.

It’s much easier to open tins of things with a can-opener, so I had to go off to Hope and buy one. That done, I made a good supper and retired to the warmth of my sleeping bag to drink tea and ponder the maps for ideas for the next day. Sadly the confines of the tent just didn’t lend themselves to good map scrutiny so I had to head off to the pub for a while, merely to have a big enough table to spread out two maps. Drink had nothing to do with it.
Maps consulted I lingered a while and then retired to bed where I drank some wine and before having a good nights sleep.

Friday 16th November

A slow start after warmer, damper night – no frost this morning. In my usual, ‘Oh, rain’ fashion I went back to sleep for a while in the hope it would stop – and within the hour it did.
After fast breakfast and packing for the day I headed out up towards Bamford again. Rather than climb (certainly too damp to be fun, I’d thought, and not even packed rock shoes) I headed over the moor behind the crag and eventually found each of the five cairns marked on the map. From there I headed down gently before heading up hill again and traversing along the foot of Stanage Edge. I made my way up around Stanage End and walked along the top of the crag. I was a little surprised to see half-a-dozen pairs of climbers but there are clearly plenty out there that are hardier than I.
At the Popular End I paused for a while after a late lunch to have a chat with a couple of paraglider pilots before descending and heading into Hathersage.
Bargain hunting was unsuccessful and it’s hard to have as satisfactory a fondle when you’re on your own so then I decided to head back to the campsite via the Derwent Way that runs south of the river. Its not that far but my goodness they do like their narrow gates and the path was very muddy in places. I didn’t get back to the campsite until after dark.
After some revitalising hot tea I took a stroll up Alston Lane and away from the light pollution. A fantastic starry night, although very cold but by this time something alcoholic was keeping me warm.
Back to the campsite for supper and wondering where all the caravans had come from. The whole site was crowded with them.

Saturday 17th November

A fine, fine nights sleep – and then I find the onsite cafe is open for breakfast! So I did the decent thing and went for the works. Eventually I dragged myself from the warmth of the cafe and prepared for a day out. I’d considered wandering south into the white peak instead of always heading north, and today was the day.
Over Rebellion Knoll and slowly the overcast sky clears as I head into limestone country, but the wind stays cold.
I headed for Silly Dale, just for the name and then for St. Peters Stone where, once I’d ascended, I stopped for lunch. Of all the places to take new climbers, St. Peters isn’t high on the list – I’d call it a tottering pile of choss but apparently “It’s really good for hard won belays” which is why the team of ML trainees were there. In talking to their instructor apparently there’s a cave beneath the Stone that’s bigger than the Stone…access via a metal plate in the cleft that forms the easy way up, if you care.
I took a parallel route back to the campsite, encountering some very friendly horses and seeing a pair of kestrels hunting the same small patch of ground. By the time I was back I was getting really fed up with the “squeeze” type stiles. They’re really not designed for the slightly less than streamlined and I encountered entirely far too many of them.

Back in good time although my feet were really beginning to protest at the amount of walking the trip had requested of them. I got to the point where it was easier to just keep gently walking around than to sit or lie down. The gently walking did take me back up Aston Lane a good way, where I got a good view of fireworks over Bradwell, although the stars weren’t nearly as good as the night before.

Sunday 18th November

I’d woken a few times in the early morning to the sound of rain, and it was cold too.
Eventually I was forced to get up despite the patter of the rain sounding worse, although as it always does it sounded far worse inside the tent than it actually was outside although at some point snow had fallen and some ice was still gathered in the creases of the tents flysheet. On the higher ground I could see that the snow had settled or at least not melted yet and the hills were white.

I found the cafe was open, and it was raining…a no-contest decision and I once again went for the cafe breakfast.
Having had a fortifying breakfast I couldn’t really not go out into the snow, at least for a short walk so I packed lunch and headed for Win Hill, well wrapped up against the rain and cold.
Above about 450m the rain stopped and became sleet, then snow, and snow had settled


Snowy path up Win Hill
Snowy path up Win Hill

Visibility started to become reduced and became correspondingly more careful with my navigation. I prevailed (it wasn’t that hard) and reached the summit where, given the almost complete lack of view I failed to stop and headed on down straight away, looping around towards the Ladybower Reservoir through the woods. Across Yorkshire Bridge and then I took footpaths down towards Bamford. Being suddenly followed by a flock of sheep isn’t the sort of thing you want to have happen to you and I’ve no idea what triggered it off but the whole flock just started to follow me…


They just followed me
They just followed me

Being a town-dweller I’m unused to such things and had to pause in the Outside cafe for a late lunch to help settle my nerves before heading back to the campsite. I’d had my fill of the Derwent Way the day before so took what seemed the expedience route along the road, a dull haul in the failing light.

By the time I got back, if it hadn’t been so dark I could quite well have packed up and gone home but finding a bottle of wine lurking in the foodbag put a new complexion on the matter. The gentle patter of falling snow as the temperature dropped just assured me that I’d made the right decision not to motorcycle home that night.

Monday 19th November

Packed up and travelled home after a slow start, taking it easy until the mist cleared once through Chesterfield.
In the vast scale of things just a few days away in the Peak but sitting here reading my diary notes, editing the photos and thinking back…what a Grand Adventure!

Martin

Peter and Louise in Knoydart

Peter and Louise head into the wilderness

Peter Krug – December 2007

Bloody Cameron McNeish

…… I muttered under my breath as I staggered under the burden of a heavy
rucksack along the picturesque …… nay stunning banks of Loch Hourn
towards our base-camp in Barrisdale. This was the culmination of what had started, a few years ago, as an innocent evening’s entertainment watching the TGO
editor’s series of programmes entitled “Wilderness Walks”. It was a particular episode, a backpack with the late Chris Brasher, which sowed in my mind the idea of visiting Knoydart, one of the last wildernesses in this country. And now, on a sultry mid-summer’s evening, it was happening.

This was a long-planned and well thought-out trip……………… not. The
destination was decided whilst on the M6 the previous evening when we obtained
the latest satellite weather forecast from Louise’s father via mobile.
It indicated that the further north and west you went the more promising
was the weather – so that’s the way we headed. So well thought-out was it that the next day we needed to pop into Fort William for some provisions, having only just survived a MidgeCom 10 attack (on reflection later downgraded to 7) whilst
erecting our tent at the Red Squirrel campsite in Glencoe the pervious midnight.

Now we were on the way, and as we walked we came across a couple of
sights that sent shivers up my spine. We met and chatted with two sturdy
male backpackers on their way out and they looked how would you say it . . . a bit tired . . . well actually they were chinstrapped. One of them
even admitted to being “shattered” and was asking how much further there
was to go (he could be excused as he had backpacked all the way from
Fort William in four days).

The walk-in from Kinloch Hourn was, allegedly, only six miles and included,
allegedly, only about 300metres of ascent and descent, but it felt a
whole lot further.


Loch Hourn
Bonnie banks of Loch Hourn (click on any image to view in Flickr)

However, it was very pretty and the whole feel of the
place was unusual in a way that I couldn’t quite fathom. In a way it
felt almost sub-tropical, perhaps because it was a humid evening, but some
of the plants and trees really gave you that impression. You could certainly tell that they got some rain around there.


Loch Hourn 2
Walking by the Bonnie banks of Loch Hourn

As we turned the last
corner into Barrisdale Bay we passed a sign claiming that this was a busy
area and asking us to camp by the bothy a mile further, and a long
mile it seemed. Busy my arse – we reckon that there were fewer than 15
people there – have they seen the Bigg Market on a Saturday night!

We found the bothy, put up our tent and cooked some well-earned nosh; it was 8.00 pm but, being high summer, it felt like it was mid-afternoon.


Looney Bin
Looney Bin

It was a great place to be with the impressive Luinne Bhein (renamed Looney Bin) towering above us one side, Barrisdale Bay and Loch Hourn on the other. As the sun set we discussed the next day’s options in terms of what mountains to climb and by which routes, and a great philosophical debate raged over whether or not we could call
camping by a bothy with running water and a loo “wild camping”.


Home, sweet home
Home, sweet home

The next morning was bright, warm and extremely humid, and we could
see that there was a build-up of cloud. Well, “let’s go for it” we thought,
and today’s main objective was Meall Buidhe – the only
Knoydart Munroe to have escaped Louise so far. We headed up past
some woods into the valley known locally as the Gleann Unndalain and up
to the bealach (col) known as the Mam Unndalain. It was hot work
climbing to the 500-metre point of the bealach; we stopped only to store the
contents of our Camelbacks in our stomachs so we could refill the
former from the stream as we were not sure when we would next find water.

However, the clouds were rolling in and as we were reaching the bealach
some of the tops were periodically disappearing from view. We then hung
a right (turned westwards) and tried to find and follow the ridge
towards Luinne Bhein that those who were paying attention earlier will
know as Loony Bin. We had some lunch on the way enjoying the views but
as we reached the base of Loony Bin, just 90 metres short of
the summit, Louise dropped the bombshell that to climb Meall Buidhe we
would have to hang a left (turn southwards), drop 250 metres to a col
and then climb again.

I surveyed the route ahead and, after studying the nearer territory,
realised that Meal Buidhe was a very long way away, that there was a lot
of up and down required to bag this one and that we would have to
return the same way. I said, “Let’s go for it”. Now I am not sure that
Louise was too keen on this and the weather was not improving but,
nonetheless, we trudged downwards as this was the Knoydart Munroe that
Louise needed to bag. It did not take too long to get down to the
bealach and with no further ado it was up the other side passing Meall
Coire na Gaoithe n Ear (what a mouthful!) before descending and then
descending and then ascending and descending ………….. You get the drift I
said there was a lot of upping and downing and there was.


Meall Buidhe
Home, sweet home

When we reached the base of Meall Buidhe itself there was some interest with a
bit of scrambling which took us up the final 100 metres to the top of
Meall Buidhe, although naturally the actual summit was at the far end of
the top (nothing is given away easily in Knoydart).

Having achieved the top and with a bonus of some splendid views of the
hills of Knoydart and the Glen Shiel to the northeast and the Islands
(Inner Hebrides) to the west we had a snack before reversing the four
kilometre walk right back to the base of Looney Bin that we had left some
two hours previously. This was purgatory, but hey, we hadn’t come to
Knoydart expecting an easy ride. The final pull up to Loony Bin was
uneventful and we were treated to similar views to those we had enjoyed on
Meal Buidhe but there was weather in the air so we did not hang around.

We continued along the ridge rather than reversing the route for
variation and descended down to the bealach (Mam Barrisdale) heading
roughly in a northeasterly direction. We were coming down just in time
as the weather was closing in around us, and by the time we reached the
bealach it was raining. But the path was a good one and I had the shock
of my life when Louise “beep-beeped” me in Roadrunner fashion indicating
that I should speed up. This is most unprecedented methinks! As we
reached the glen I was surprised to see about a dozen deer grazing in
the field immediately behind one of the houses. “It was only about 7 pm
and the conditions were fine so why come so low” I thought!

We quickly got together our food and stove and headed towards the bothy
to cook our supper and chat with the other folk there and get out of the
rain!

We knew the next day was going to be a big one if we were to bag Ladhar Bheinn and
backpack out, and so it proved to be. Careful route-planning and debate
raged as to which route we were going to take and in the end it was
decided that we would cross the bay and find our way up Creag
Bheithe, the nearest of the two north east ridges of Ladhar
Bheinn. The next morning revealed itself to be overcast with the tops
occasionally disappearing into the clouds; after breakfast we set off,
for some reason deciding to head up to Mam Barrisdale thus reversing
the previous days retreat from the hills!

A steady pace up the easy path saw us well on the way. We were
looking for an easy route up to the eastern ridge of Ladhar Bheinn (Stob
na Muicraidh) but none of the options proved attractive so we carried on
up to Mam Barrisdale where we met a couple of chaps whom we had met the
previous day. They were camping somewhere below the bealach and had
enjoyed quite a stormy night. We briefly joined forces as we hung a
right and headed northwest to pick up the ridge below Stob a Chearcaill,
the most south-easterly of the tops around Ladhar Bhein. A
short scramble saw us skirting below this top, then we contoured
around to the Bealach Coire Dhorcaill where we finally joined the ridge
leading to the top. We weren’t quite there yet though as there was still a
fair amount of upping and downing, some mild exposure in places and not
to mention a couple of false summits before this peak was officially
bagged. We were now at what Ralph Storr writes as the best viewpoint in
the Western Highlands – yeah right. “So why does grey cloudy stuff
constitute a great viewpoint?” I grumped.


The best view in The Western Highlands
The best view in The Western Highlands

Now the fun began. The peak of Ladhar Bheinn is quite complex so in the murk that surrounded us we weren’t quite sure where the descent was.
There were some big drops around as well to add to the spiciness of the
situation. We were looking for a ridge descending in a northeast
direction, which was all very well but we couldn’t see “Jack”. We carried
on along the ridge for a while before Lou decided that the descent route
lay elsewhere and headed back past the summit before spotting it
(actually by standing above it). It was not a very enticing prospect
involving a lot of scrambling and more exposure than Lord Snowdon
could shake a lens at, but it had to be done. Unfortunately we dropped
below the murk quite soon and so we could see where we would fall, but a
steeling of nerve and steady progress saw us down safely onto more
amenable ground.

However, the day was passing quite rapidly. It was gone 3.00 p.m. and we
still had a fair bit of walking to get back to Barrisdale, and then there was the walk-out.


The long walk home
The long walk home

So we legged it back to Barrisdale in double-quick time. By now the weather had cleared but there were no thoughts of heading back up to confirm whether or not Ladhar Bheinn was the best view in the Western Highlands.

Having reached the tent the cunning plan was to drink some tea and finish
the provisions whilst packing the camping stuff into the items of torture that
were our rucksacks. We left the campsite at about 6.00 pm and the views
were even better than they had been when we arrived. Unfortunately, Lou’s toes
were giving her grief; surprising really as, after all, we had only been walking for something like eight hours and there was only about another four more to go. She had decided to break the walk-out into six stages and had rationed herself to only one strop for each stage! In spite of this we made it out in slightly less than the 4
hours. We both felt sad to leave such a remote, rugged yet beautiful
place and head back to the thriving metropolis that is Kinloch
Hourn. It was certainly hard work but every step was worth it. Try it if
you feel you are up to it – you’ll love it!

Newsletter – December 2007

Madam’s Meanderings

I’m just coming to the end of the project I’m working on and the first thing to be
writ large on my Lessons Learnt Report will be “never trust a salesman”! I know
this is a lesson that I should have learnt at my mother’s knee but a part of being
a project manager is that you have to trust your client. Even if that client is a
salesman!

It made me think about the concept of trust and where we would be without it. The
Beatles sang that “money can’t buy me love” but it can’t buy trust either. Like
love, trust, is something that, once lost, cannot be regained. When someone lets
you down, whether that be through poor belaying, infidelity or just not catching
you when you fall, the trust in that person is damaged, often terminally.

So what is this thing called trust? It is intangible, it is important and without
it we wouldn’t get through the day. Could you imagine for example walking across
the floor if you did not trust the floor to take your weight? Or not leaving the
house for lack of trust in returning safely? The Concise Oxford defines the verb
trust as believe in the reliability, truth, ability or strength of. I’m not sure
that I can truly apply any of those words to this salesman, but he does have an
ability to keep pushing to get what he wants.

However, these concepts of reliability, strength and ability are so important to
us as climbers that we take them for granted. We trust that the belayer is
watching our every move and has their hands on the rope, but Andy relates a tale
of one climbing pair he saw earlier this year where the leader, in dire straits,
looked down to see his belayer yawning and stretching his arms above his head. I
am given to understand that sharp and harsh words were exchanged! We’ve all been
caught unawares at some point or another – hands up those who can honestly say
that they belay with total concentration all the time. Yet that person is trusting
you, and trusting your judgement as you in turn trust them when it’s your turn on
the sharp end. I know I for one am always nervous when climbing with someone new
and, especially when leading with a novice belayer, tend to take my grade down a
level or two. Earlier this year I upset someone because they considered themselves
to be a more experienced belayer than I felt they were, but it comes back to the
issue of it taking time to earn trust. And, at the other end of the extreme, a
close friend of mine was killed due to trusting the ability of someone who was not
honest about a medical condition which, ultimately, caused the death of them both.
So it would appear you can trust too little and you can trust too much.

On a happier note this year has seen another IMC wedding, and I’m sure you’ll all
join me in wishing Pete and Lou the very best of happiness as they embark on the
journey of the greatest trust of all – putting your happiness in the hands of
another person. However, from what I’ve seen of them I don’t feel that there’s any
great risk involved here!

Finally, it is proposed that we market the club a little more and encourage more
new membership next year, and whilst I applaud the intake of new members it will
cause a strain on existing resources as Beginners’ trips are likely to be larger
next year than they have been this year. It will need more leaders to step forward
and take on beginners during these trips than we have had in the past and it will
mean that you may not always be able to climb with your usual climbing partner. On
the other hand it is only for a weekend and not for a lifetime and at some point
in your climbing career someone did the same for you.

I trust that we as a club will see an increased level of support to facilitate
these weekends.

Right, that’s all from me for this year. I wish you all the very best for the
festive season and the New Year. Good climbing, skiing, mountain biking –
whatever.

Yours
Caroline
La Prez

 


Editor’s Erratum

The Christmas issue is here and it’s a cracker: there’s plenty to keep you
entertained as you warm yourself with mulled wine and an open fire. My heartfelt
thanks to those who have contributed to produce such a fine issue.
[Note from Simon: And there’s more to come! Further articles will be published in
part 2 of this newsletter, due out at the end of January 2008]

It’s great to hear some new voices amongst those we know and love in this issue; I
hope this bodes well for the future of the newsletter.

The mixture of an empty in-tray in September and the request for a bumper
Christmas issue means that this is only the third Newsletter this year. Looking
back over the last few years I see that we have changed from bi-monthly to
quarterly and this present change hints at a drift toward an even longer gap
between issues.

This is not the way I would want it to go.

I think every three months means that time-sensitive articles can be seen whilst
they are still topical, but issues will still also include writing of a more
timeless nature.

I think that The Newsletter is another part of the gel that holds the club
together, and in a time when we are trying to promote the club having a vibrant
newsletter can be no bad thing.

I hope that over the coming year we will continue to see inspiring articles that
bring the individual’s quirkiness to their tales of outdoor exploits.

Merry Christmas and best wishes for a great 2008

Guy

 


Name that Route

Four mystery routes for you this time. Can you identify these? And for a bonus point can you identify who is in the fourth mystery route?

Route 1

Route 2

Route 3

Route 4

 

 


Articles

This months articles can be seen on separate webpages by clicking the following links.

And here some of our member’s look back at the past year …

More articles will be published in part 2 of the IMC Winter Newsletter – which will be out at the end of January 2008.
Hopefully this will include a trip report from the Walking/Scrambling/Biking/Climbing extraveganza in the Lake District on the 19th-20th January (see the meets page for details).
There will also be articles from Peter Krug, Alex Purser, Steve Culverhouse, Martin Stevens, and Andy Hansler. Order your copy now!

Did you know that most of the articles that have previously appeared in the IMC newsletter can be read online?
Find them listed in the Articles Index.
By the way, these can now be read by anyone on the internet – not just members of the IMC. So tell your friends and family.


IMC Climbing Crossword

By Guy Reid

Our editor has compiled a Christmas Climbing Crossword for you. Send your answers by email.
If you’d like to print the crossword, open this page and print from your computer in the usual way.

0712crossword

Across

1. You may not see the light, but you’ll enjoy the crack. (8)
7. In Dorset a trad route has both taken the scalps of, and given fun to, members of the IMC. (5)
8. After re-laying our slabs I was able to get something done up at Burbage. (8)
9. Repeal changed the meaning of jumper on a Royal estate. (6) 10. Pie due to be cooked near Merthyr is quite tasty I’ve heard. (6)
11. She’s a rainbow on Kalymnos, but hard with it. (4)
12. In the farthest remotest lands there is a taste of millstone grit. (7)
15. Teaser perhaps – this island is a feast of limestone fun. (6)
17. Bride-to-be with a speech impediment? Sounds a like a fairy tale to me. (4)
18. Though often felt to be troublesome, a young lad coming back in the Ogwen Valley is not too, too hard. (3)
19. Dyson I rebuilt is one of Puttrell’s. (6)
21. Perhaps just what you’ll need after a Tremadog route known to be vegetated. (3)
23. See 30 Across
24. Avant-garde ambient androgyne famed for his fruit salts goes back to being solo. (3)
26. See 31 Across
29. See 30 Across
30, 23 and 29 across. Mick and Keef call for help to get going on something hard down in Pembroke. (5,2,2)
31 and 26 Across. Margrave of the Marshes, the limestone DJ. (4,4)

Down

1. Over-indulgence in pleasure? Sounds like a sin, but don’t feel guilty about having so much fun near Matlock. (10)
2. He conjures up a little magic opposite Eric’s. (6)
3. Puss seen in a tizzy ends up in a state of high anxiety. (8)
4. Guy’s been climbing on Peak Limestone; talks about a great route there. (5)
5. Broken boom is part of the Whillans myth – something typical of the man. (10)
6. Say goodbye up at Stanage End. (11)
12. And the Romans phone home. (2)
13. Neptune holds the answer to the Western peapod question. (7)
14. A state of happiness? Certainly is when you top out. (7)
16. The crack at the end of the day. (6)
20. A favourite of the marquis. (2)
22. Muddy had his working; will you need yours above Llanddulas? (4)
25. One German route at Crowden Great Quarry. (3)
27. More than just one route above HVS. (2)
28. A note after some needlework. (2)

Answers


From The Secretary

There are currently 132 members including 36 new and 18 under-18 members. 93% of members have chosen to receive the newsletter electronically, and 95% of
members have their details listed on the web contact list. 37 (out of 129) of last year’s members did not renew this year.

The YHA group membership has been renewed until Sept 2008 and the club’s membership card is held by the secretary.
The club’s YHA membership number is 7653317, which can be used by all IMC members when making bookings.

Please use email to contact the secretary, at secretary@ipswich-m-c.co.uk.

 


Website News

We are currently trying out a new website service that was requested by some of our members at the AGM.
The IMC forum is open to all members of the IMC.
The posts there can only be read by members of the IMC, since access to it requires
the website username (‘imc’) and password (which I can’t tell you here!).

To use the forum click the link on the IMC webpage menu, or go straight to http://www.ipswich-m-c.co.uk/forums/.
Once there find the ‘register’ link in the top right hand corner, register, and then you can immediately start using the forums. There are currently two forums:
‘The Soapbox’ and ‘Committee Matters’. The Soapbox is open to any IMC member. You can put anything you want in there. Later you may create (or suggest that I create)
more specific forums to discuss particular topics (e.g., training techniques), but for now let’s just use this Soapbox. The ‘Committee Matters’ forum can only be read
and modified by IMC members who are members of a usergroup called ‘The Committee’, and these are – surprise surprise – your committee.
Finally, I’m not a great user of online forums, so this is all a bit new to me. If there’s anything you think needs to be added, removed or changed then please tell me.
I need your advice on this.

The forum currently has 20 registered users (out of 132 members), who have posted 54 articles/comments. The articles so far include:
Why use a forum when we could use email to discuss things?
, Why are some people frightened by “traditional” VD,
and the committee members are discussing the planning of Beginner’s meets.

Please try out the forum and send me email if you can suggest any way that it can be improved.

Over the Christmas break I plan to setup an image gallery on the IMC website. This will allow you all to add photos to the website. If you wish
you can add some descriptive text, and make comments about other members’ photos as well as vote for your favorites. I hope that this will keep the
photo album fresh and dynamic. Stay tuned …

Simon – IMC Webmeister

 


The Committee

See the contacts page for list of the IMC committee members and a brief description of their roles.
There were a few changes in line up at our last AGM, with Louise and Peter Krug jointly taking over the role of secretary from Mervyn. Martin Hore was chosen as our Child Protection Officer, whilst Aaron Willis and Jo Southall are our youth representatives.

 


Diary Dates

See our Club Meets page for up-to-date details about
meetings and events that are currently planned by the Ipswich Mountaineering Club

This scheduled list is suggested as a framework for meets in the coming
months and to help get dates into your diaries; however, we are looking
for volunteers to co-ordinate some of the events and for ideas of where
people would like to go. Please contact the meets coordinator if you are interested in helping to organise any of the above or to make suggestions for future meets.

A quick reminder regarding attendance: Please note that anyone
attending an official Ipswich Mountaineering Club meet must be a
member of the Ipswich Mountaineering Club or some other BMC
affiliated club. A “meet” being defined as any trip advertised on
the website or newsletter or announced/advertised via the e-mail
facility (i.e. members@ipswich-m-c.co.uk).

Apuan Alps Trip

Adrian and Kearton take on Italian via ferrata

Kearton Rees – December 2007

Very early one September morning Adrian, the Fagg clan and I trooped off to Stansted airport en route to the Apuan Alps (Alpi Apuane). Despite what their name suggests, they are not part of the Alps but a small range of mountains on the west coast of Italy just north of Pisa & Florence, south of La Spezia and east of the main Apennine range. Our base was to be Lucca, an interesting old walled city, thirty minutes north of Pisa. This was my second trip to the area whilst Adrian had been there many times. On my previous trip we had walked many of the peaks in the area, including the highest in the south of the range, Pania del Croce (1880m). This time the aim was to do a few of the via ferrata in the area.

The first day we decided on the easiest via ferrata in the area on Monte Sumbra. Due to a late start and some confusion over the map labelling we reached the starting point next to the marble war memorial in Arni at 1230. The route took us past the church, up some steps and onto a well-worn path up to the edge of a ridge. On the first part of this, despite the strong midday heat we wished that we hadn’t worn shorts as the path wound its way through a field of gorse bushes. From the ridge we got excellent views across the valley and up to the marble quarry at the base of Monte Fiocca. The slog up the ridge, on uneven ground, to the traversing path, was long and slow and made me wish I’d done more fitness preparation. Once on the traverse we speeded up a bit with the occasional misdirection. On the whole paths in the area, maintained by the Italian Alpine Club, are well marked – although sometimes the signs are more visible if moving the opposite direction. By 4 p.m. we had traversed around the top of two valleys and through a wood. At this point looking at Monte Sumbra we realised that there were another two valleys to pass plus an ascent before we would even reach the start of the via ferrata, so we decide to turn around and treat it as part of our fitness preparation

The weather forecast had promised three good days before bad weather arrived, so the via ferrata routes had to be done at the start. The next day we headed to a car park near one of the highest buildings in the area. This allowed us to avoid a significant ascent at the start. The route took us up to the pass, Calare Mattanna, from where strips of red and white paint indicated our route down from the pass, starting with an interesting scramble followed by a slow descent to a path past the base of the main face of Monte Nona. This is the most significant climbing wall in the area, but aside from one rope leading to nowhere in particular in the middle of the face, we couldn’t spot any routes beyond about 6m above us. The path crossed a small footbridge that spanned the chasm between Monte Nona and the ridge that holds the cylindrical Monte Procinto and its smaller, but similarly shaped, neighbours Procinto Bambino and Bambinetta. (Seen below from Monte Forato ) The via ferrata on Procinto is thought to be the first one put up especially for walkers and climbers rather than being left over from World War One.


Monte Procinto
Monte Procinto and its smaller, but similarly shaped, neighbours Procinto
Bambino and Bambinetta (click on any image to view in Flickr)

The base of the via ferrata was located above the path around the base of Procinto and once again it was easier to spot when retracing our steps.


Monte Procinto
Monte Procinto

In the picture above the via ferrata starts near the centre of the rock at the top of the tree line, goes up for half the height, then traverses up and left to enter the obvious cleft. The first section was a ladder followed by a very steep section with footsteps cut into the rock. Ascending a via ferrata involves clipping, using two spring-gate karabiners on slings attached to your harness, to a chain or wire rope at the side of the route. The twin clips ensure that one is always attached whilst passing connection points. The first thing you notice compared to climbing is that you are not ‘safe’ in the case of a fall until you pass the second fixed point on the rope. Another thing is that when you reach the fixing point, the karabiners always have to be dragged up from behind you, so progress is not as quick as you expect. At the top of the steep section was an easy path cut into the rock that led into a cleft in the mountain and a short section of grade two scrambling, made safer by the chain. Above this a path wound its way through the trees to the flat top. Like most Italian mountains, Procinto – at 1177m slightly shorter than Snowdon – has an iron cross at the top. This one showed evidence of many lightning strikes in its life. Whist enjoying a well-earned sandwich we signed the visitor’s book that is stored in a tin on the top. Given its prominent location the views for the top were spectacular, including a better view of the face on Monte Nona and across the Monte Forato ridge, scene of the next days walk (foreground from bottom right in the photograph below), to Pania del Croce. One good thing about walking in this area is that it is nowhere near as busy as the Lake District or Snowdonia. We had met a couple descending the via ferrata as we arrived but other than those, the only people we met all day were two members of the regional mountain rescue team climbing on the far side of Procinto near some small caves and a small group of elderly ramblers when we returned to the pass.


Monte Forato from M Procinto
Monte Forato from M Procinto

Day three started from the same point but wound around the back of Monte Nona to a pass called Foce di Petrosciana from where it started the climb up the ridge of Monte Forato (foreground in the photograph above). The right side was moderately steep and wooded whilst the left side was mostly a sheer drop, but with fantastic views across the valley. After about 20 minutes we reached the steep section, obviously where the via ferrata started. Once again we spent time wandering back and forth along the lower path, (you can do this route without the via ferrata) trying to find the start, only to find the sign after we’d passed it and again it was more obvious from the ‘wrong’ side. The first section was quite steep, with a few tricky bits and the odd step sideways across the big drop, but the holds were mostly good (my first taste of climbing limestone). Once passed, the slope eased and later became (relatively) level (Pic. 4) and the views even more dramatic


>Monte Forato via ferrata
Monte Forato via ferrata

It was also possible to see the sea to the west and the hill town of Barga off to the east. At one point the undulations of the ridge gave Adrian the chance to get high above me and photograph me crossing the narrowest section, with steep drops to both sides.


>Steep drops
Steep drops

For me it was on this section that the via ferrata came into its own as I doubt that I’d have attempted it without the wire. At the end of the ridge the path wandered into the woods and then up to the southern peak which gave us our first sight of Monte Forato’s (‘the pierced mountain’) most significant feature, a rock arch about 40m wide.

Its size and alignment is such that it is visible with binoculars from Barga, over 12km away. After sliding our way down through the woods to the lower path (the real route was not obvious form above) we reached the end of the arch and Adrian sauntered across and back over the 300m drop only to have to go back out again since my camera battery had packed up when he was halfway across (see below)!


>Adrian mid-arch Monte Forato
Adrian mid-arch Monte Forato

We took the lower route back, including an unintended diversion along a spur because of more obscured signs.

After an easy day in and around Lucca, the remainder of the trip was affected by varying amounts of rain. One day involved a drive along great mountain roads though Bagna di Lucca (Lucca Spa) and some high villages. On the final day we drove to the northern end of the Apuane region. There the peaks are higher and more rugged but unfortunately, although the weather low down was reasonable, all the peaks were in cloud. Still, it leaves more for next time!

Kearton

How hard can it be? Well, according to the guidebook…

Andy finds a V. Diff with attitude

Any Hansler – December 2007

After a flurry of emails and texts it was agreed that my partner in rock climbing excellence, or should that be rock terrorism, Mr Rafe, and I would meet at the infamous Dol-gam, Capel Curig campsite. Yes, the famed campsite that comes complete with quadraphonic sheep sound effects (steady Mr Krug) and the dulcet tones of a handy built-in running river. Oh, and not forgetting the farmer who appears smiling at your tent entrance wanting payment at some ungodly hour in the morning.

After packing most of my kit the night before with the idea of an early start a self-induced disaster slowly began to overtake all my plans and good intentions!

After a series of delays I was successfully ambushed by my World of Warcraft PC game (I only meant to check my emails, honest governor). After a sustained tussle I was able to escape this torrid virtual landscape and re-enter the real world. Oh crikey, fiddle sticks and all that; I was behind schedule and much, much worse Mr Rafe was on my case! He had sent a text message to say he had already arrived at the campsite. I was shocked as he even had the audacity to ask deep and penetrating questions such as what time was I expecting to arrive there.

A hasty text, and an even hastier exit, and I was off and running; the car was revving, its stereo cranked up to the max heaving out Scandinavian black metal vibes, and my leaden right foot stomping on the accelerator hard. I didn’t exceed 100mph once, well maybe once but don’t tell anyone.

Good progress was made until opportunistic feeder Andy was led astray and, as if by magic, drawn into a midpoint service station for some of their world-class cuisine (not), a suitably large coffee and an even larger bill out of all proportion to the meagre peasant-level fodder produced. Fully caffeinated up I was suitably wired to carry on towards North Wales at breakneck speed.

I finally descended on the campsite at 23:30hrs or was it 00:30hrs where Mr Rafe, the hero and scholar that he is, was still awake and able to offer a tin of beer which I felt duty bound to accept so as to honour the rules of hospitality. My God, this was North Wales in October and I able to put my tent up with no rain; had I entered a strange and mysterious alternative Wales? Apparently not – I had missed the rain by a few hours as was evidenced by my now slightly soggy camp shoes. Some discussion was held with talk of an easy first day with an easy (beer talk there) VDiff up on Glyder Fach main face as a warm-up to be followed by something harder.

Retiring not soon afterwards we were to be kept awake by lashings of rain in a much more traditional Welsh setting. Alas we ended up rising a bit later than planned; oh well, “best laid plans” and all that. I must stress that the late start was nothing to do with sheep or beer. Every cloud has a silver lining as we opted to use this as the ideal excuse for a trip to the gear shop and a deluxe, super-healthy (?), heart-attack-inducing fried breakfast. Once again both gear shops were sold out of the items I wanted, although this didn’t in any way hamper the bumper gear fondling session, one shop was even visited twice! After re-lacing my boots and carefully stowing my recently purchased energy bars in Dave’s glove box we were off.

We set off from the car park at about 10:30 – 11:00hrs for the hike up to Glyder Fach. We took a fairly direct line of attack yomping up past Milestone Buttress on Tryfan, then contoured off towards our target just before the Bristley Ridge / Bwlch Tryfan area. On route to the Glyder Fach main face area we came across a fantastic looking bouldering area with oodles of crack problems, from finger to hand to full-on off-widths. We may enter the dark side and return here at some point for a dedicated boulder session as this looked like far too much fun to ignore.

Gaining a bit more height we were able to cross the scree slopes at their narrowest points; always a disappointment that, as we all know much fun scree slopes can be. We were at the base of the climb by about 12:30ish. It was at this point I now remembered that my energy bars were still in Dave’s glove box, in Dave’s’ car at the blinkered blink blank car park. But Mr Rafe being a total gent offered me some of his grub. Geared up with both ropes flaked we were ready for action! Dave was especially excited as I had managed to coerce him into a first taste of the dark connoisseur art of big boot climbing.

Out came the guidebook for a final consultation. The trusty Ogwen and Carneddau tome describes Chasm Route ** (IMC star junkies take note) as an honest old fashioned climb that demands a workmanlike approach and according to its pages it even has a “famous” named crux pitch called “The Vertical Vice”. The new Ground Up North Wales guide even goes as far to make wild claims about The Vertical Vice typically requiring the considerable expenditure of energy and then trying to scare off would-be pundits with mention of a difficult finishing crack once past the terrors of the vice!

Oh well, how hard could it be (very difficult according both guidebooks, apparently,) and what could possibly go wrong? After all this was only a seven pitch VDiff with an easy and obvious descent route on what was to be a warm up on for an attempt on Lot’s Groove…

Things finally got off to a slow start at some unspecified time – we had both tucked our watches away in our rucksacks at the bottom of the climb for safe keeping. We decided to link the first two pitches together for speed although this was negated by Dave having an extremely fun time experimenting with the sublime skill of climbing in big boots. It must be said that his progress was assisted (not) by jocular comments wafting up from the belay stance. What was the hold-up? Why was he taking so long? Ah, now was my chance to show him how it should be done – enter Mr Hansler, devourer of VDiffs. Umm, this seems a bit thin, bold in places, crikey that felt a bit stiff for VDiff I thought to myself feeling a bit humbled. Quickly taking the gear I set off up the pitch that gives the climb its name; a steep and smooth sided beast that is greatly assisted by a crack on the right, the anatomical advantage of long arms and some slightly unorthodox manoeuvring. This was all proving to be great fun. Even more fun was finding some puddles on the ledge right were I wanted to plant my hand as well.

The next few pitches went quite smoothly but it was noted that the cloud cover was dropping a bit and it seemed darker than it should be. A quick check and yes, we had both left our head-torches in our rucksacks, obviously to keep our watches company. Dave arrived at the base of the “Vice” pitch and shouted down encouraging words to the effect of “I’m glad that you’re going to be leading that”.

I was now ready for whatever this “vice” thing could throw at me; and hah, that didn’t look like much. I squirmed into a narrow greasy chimney, jammed a boot in and wriggled my way up towards a smallish opening through which some daylight was filtering, I then did the rock climbing equivalent of the breast stroke and pulled through into a strange little cave-like affair. Umm, I thought, as I realised the squirmy chimney thing wasn’t actually the “vice” bit of guidebook notoriety.

Looking up I could see a narrowing chimney / off-width thing. Balancing on the end of a pointy bit I stood up and bang, damn, my helmet was too big for the chimney. I crouched back down. Leaning out a bit more I went up again and was squished very solidly into the chimney / off width thing – a startling insight rattled through my brain, “that would be why it’s called a vice then!”

Crouching back down for the second time I unfolded the mental drawing board for a quick re-take; the escape to the right was an obvious cop out so I ruled that out but facing left I could make out a ladder of smooth handholds. Up I went again. This is hard I thought, down I came again. Next, squatting, I lent out at full arm’s-length so I was almost outside the chimney / off-width monster and grabbed a hold with my left hand and heaved upwards in a “workmanlike fashion” and wedged my feet behind me.

What followed was a torrid battle using a technique best described as “chest and footing” that included expanding my chest so my upper torso acted as a cammng device. At one point my upper body was cranked round about 100 degrees with respect to the orientation of my legs (one of which was momentarily stuck under an unhelpful flaky bit) as I followed the handholds up and to the right. This was new, I have never been pumped on a VDiff before. But then suddenly whoa, I was free from this menace from the land of Wales and the glory days of tweed climbing. Where did I put my pipe?

Hah hah, the final difficult crack was there right in my face; a nice big beast splitting into a Y shape in its upper reaches and yes, it was polished to a very high standard. It looked like someone had really gone to town on it with the Pledge. So right at the best possible moment, as I was halfway up, the rain came down and out came a fair few swear words and up came some laughter from the belay. Wedging in I found a solid chock to pull on with another one conveniently higher and behind. Grabbing the second chock stone I was somewhat alarmed as it suddenly moved towards me and attempted to escape the crack. Luckily my feet were cammed in solidly and I had a bomber right handhold. Heart inserted back into my chest up I went again. Finally at the belay station I was able to relax and collapse into a jellied heap.

Dave came thundering up after the belay had been set up but not without some grunting and noises of protest it should be added. Once we were both safe the belay was dismantled at the speed of light and the ropes coiled even faster. Optimistic talk was even bandied about getting to the pub for a decent meal; thoughts of doing Lot’s Groove had long since evaporated in the salivating jaws of The Vertical Vice. Damn, it was getting dark. Off we merrily went to locate the obvious and easy-to-find descent route in the now very poor light. Buggernuts! Someone had stolen it, probably the sheep.

At last we found a gully of some description and we carefully started down using the time-honoured fairy step technique. After much tentative blundering about we found a large ledge with some rather decent “ab tat” helpfully attached to a large flake. Looking across I could see where we were, height- wise, in relation to the Chasm Route. A brief consultation with the guidebook confirmed we had enough rope to reach “dry land”.

Setting up an abseil point with care I led off into the dark, down what seemed quite a steep face. Once I was clear of the ropes Dave followed. Leaving Dave to sort the ropes I tiptoed across to our base camp skirting around the top alphabet slab. Eventually the sacks were discovered and head torches recovered.

Going back was a bit harder as I could now clearly see the drop off from the traverse, or part of it as it disappeared into the mist. Dave was somewhat relieved to have his head torch back in his possession. The first rope had been pulled through, freed and coiled; however, the other rope wasproving to be a bit more problematical. Much cursing would have been heard if anyone else had been silly enough to be sheep hunting climbing in this area at this late hour. After 30 minutes of trying to free it by various and devious means an executive decision was made to abandon the damn thing.

After reclaiming our sacks and de-gearing it was about 20:30 or thereabout and quite dark. Our master plan for navigating out was to go generally right and down, not so easy as it was now darker than a dark thing and the cloud cover / mist had reduced our illuminations’ effectiveness to about 5 – 10 metres. So off we went generally forward and to the right as planned, using the slope as guidance and hoping find Cwm Bochlwyd at some point, and then to locate the path from that. After some careful down-climbing and backtracking, and possibly chasing our own tails we managed to identify a large grassy slope leading us straight down to the even larger boggy expanse in which the lake most be hiding.

After crossing a rather slippery boulder and gingerly stepping through the follow-on bog I turned to warn Dave, but alas I was too late, Dave disappeared up to his waist with a loud splosh. Of course I didn’t laugh…

At last we found the Cwm Bochlwyd from which we were able to take a bearing and find the missing path. Good progress was made until the path vanished, re-appeared and vanished again and again. But now we were on the final leg of the journey. At one point I made a snappy comment (apologies Dave) which in hindsight was good indication that the blood sugar levels were dropping due to a lack of sustenance; sugar, spice and all things nice. After a while and the odd trip we decided to have a break; no point in getting a busted ankle in the last 30 minutes!

At last we made it back to the car and wasted no time in raiding the glove box for the energy bars; feeling much revitalised we demoralised ourselves by checking the time – 00:30hrs. With no more to-do we rushed back to the campsite and set to cooking some food and cracking out some beers (cheers again Dave). Of course it decided to start raining but then stopped after we retreated to the safety of the tents.

The next day we went to Idwal Slabs for easy day; Tennis Shoe seemed a bit greasy so we opted for The Ordinary Route. We generally followed the line of The Ordinary Route, but climbed the slab to the left on the first pitch and following a more direct line higher up. This time the descent was much more civilised although the gully was a bit wet. And yes, this time we did make it to the pub for some well-deserved beer, and we stuffed ourselves stupid. Damn the temptations of the desert menu.

On the final day “Operation Rope Rescue” was launched. The offending rope was recovered without too much fuss and we were able identify our earlier descent path. Off we went to have a look at the Llanberis Boulders, but alas a boulderfest was not destined to occur as the weather finally broke. Saying goodbye and getting back into my car I prepared myself for the highly inspirational journey back to flatland Suffolk.

Anyone wanting a good old-fashioned climb should look up Chasm Route; it has a lot to offer; lots of varied climbing and an exciting and bizarre crux. Personally I would give this three stars and the not the guidebook two. But be warned, I’ve climbed VS routes with easier crux moves than this! So this definitely looks like one of those VDiff’s you should breeze once you are leading VS routes on a regular basis.

Andy

My Climbing Year: E2 to E7 – Aaron Willis

The first trip out this year was with Guy and not a great one to remember, however it will stick in my mind for a while. I think the hardest thing we climbed that weekend was an E1, but the part I will always remember is pulling Guy up off the floor during my small flying lesson on Mississippi Buttress Direct (VS4c). Thank God two out of three bits of gear held – I love number1 nuts. My confidence felt like it had had a ten-round match against a heavyweight boxer. It was smashed.

So the start of the year was not looking good.


March

Early on in March Gav and I travelled up to The Peaks for a weekend of hard climbing. As most people know Gav and I are always sensible when it comes to climbing, so we had a nice early night…………………….in the pub.

After half a pint each (well may be a bit more), and laughing at the drunken man dancing/wobbling on the dance floor, we decided to hit the sack. The next morning we decided to get up nice and early about 11am and shoot down to the café. After a great breakfast we jumped into the car and headed to Burbage North.

The weather was fantastic – a lovely crisp day. Perfect time for Gav to do his first E1. I took him along to Long Tall Sally. This is a great E1, however I had trouble getting the first nut in, (I think it’s a 1 or something). After a few minutes of faffing I got it to stay in the crack, and it even held the rope, so I was away. One smear after another and before I knew it I was mantling the top.

Gav and I rarely second each other’s routes. Most time we ‘ab’ down and whip the gear out so the other can still climb it ‘on-site’ or ‘red point’.

Question – what does on-site mean to you?

Lafi, a Slovak, thinks that even looking at the guidebook means you loose the ‘on-site’ which is true; you get told where the route goes, where the crux is, if it’s protected, where the gear goes and what size. Even the grade gives it away. So ask yourself how many routes have you on-sited?

Anyhow, we did a few more E1s that day, including The Irrepressible Urge and Now or Never. I think that ‘now or never’ is a great name for the route; the crux is moving off a safe, warm, comfortable ledge and you just have to make a decision. I was lucky in that just on tiptoes I could reach the ‘cam’ slot, so apart from the wind blowing around the arête I flew up the last few moves. Poor old Gav wasn’t so lucky. If Gav named the route it would be ’Up and down from now or never’.

To finish the day off we on-sited two E2s – Boney Moroney and the intimidating but easy, The Sentinel. As I managed to get up The Sentinel cleanly in my trainers, I think it should be downgraded to E1. Even Gav thought it was one of the easiest routes we had climbed all day. I think you would only have trouble on it if you hang around playing with your nuts. I put something in halfway and that was it; I think Gav managed to get a ‘cam’ in at top.

After a good day’s climbing, well three to four hours, we had to have a debrief of the day. Obviously it was too cold to sit out side, so into The Traveller’s it was.

After a few beers, the conversations started to get intense. Gav asked me a question. “What grade are you climbing?” After a few minutes of thinking I replied “HVS”. We carried on chatting then a couple of minutes later he asked, “So why do you think you’re an HVS climber?” Again he stumped me; I had to think. “Because it’s my middle grade, two grades lower than my hardest”. He then asked me how many E1 have I fallen off, and how many E2s. He was right – I had never fallen off them.

I realised I was climbing within my comfort zone.

That evening I told Gav I would keep going up the grades until I can’t possibly get any further.

And this is where my year really begun!

How many other people in the IMC are climbing within their comfort zone?

“Yet virtually all life experience shows us that we have extraordinary control over circumstances. All that stops us is taking that little leap of deciding to exert that control. Ever been persuaded to do something a little outside of your comfort zone by a friend or even been too embarrassed to chicken out and then looked back and thought ‘I’m glad I did that’. That feeling is quite refreshing isn’t it? It puts a bit of a spring in your step for a while. I think people who progress in sport, or anything for that matter, remember that good feeling and look for it. After a while, breaking out of habits, or in other words ‘personal barriers’ becomes the comforting feeling itself, rather than staying inside the safety cocoon of mediocrity.”
Dave MacLeod

Climbing Memories of 2007

This article is a textual collage of the some of our favorite climbing memories of 2007.


A year in 100 words

Guy Reid

Freezing nights,
cold, blue-sky days; early promise changed to ‘wet, wet, wet’ and ‘mud is all around’.
Summer came . . . went . . . came back. Skewed-weather year.

Log book a fine wine
-’55, vintage year; Excalibur, Count’s Buttress, The Stalk, Nifl-Heim, Moyer’s Buttress.
Spice with the odd E2. Try again: Sloth, Cenotaph Corner.

Companionship? Twigs
replace “lost” tent pegs; cold mountain route on Cloggy summits in Caribbean sun; being
part of a first E2; J7 on M5; late-night lift back to camp – twice; lolly after Chee Dale;
Hard Rock almost Hot Rock on Gogarth; Swanage night rescue; Peak Limestone – it just gets
better.

 


Inspiration overcomes disappointment

Fraser Hale

Thanks to the spectre of injury that follows me around like a forlorn Labrador, the
high point of my 2007 is easy to identify – Beginner’s Weekend! Having introduced my
daughter and a work mate to the modest excitement of indoor climbing, Beginner’s weekend
was their first try on the real thing. Two great days on grit, and the usual pleasantly
laid back and welcoming atmosphere of a big IMC meet, convinced them both that the walk in
was worth it over the convenience of The Cragg. Sadly, due to an unfortunate altercation
between my velocipede and a BMW, we’ve not been back out at all this year. Still, there’s
always Scotland to look forward to, and at least one of my recruits should be up for a
trudge through the white stuff. “Bring it on!”

 


 

Encouraging two beginners up their first VS 4b. Knowing they could do it but getting
them to believe in themselves and their feet was the real challenge and the real reward.

Caroline Goldsworthy


 

Not perhaps one of my best years for special memories – things got off to a slow start
in the wet Spring weather. However, the highlight has to be the Fehrmann route on the
Campanili Basso in the Brenta Dolomites. Eleven 50 metre pitches of Hard Severe / VS on
continuously steep terrain. The swoop of exposure as I led the traverse on pitch 10 was
quite spectacular. Two other memories from the day were being overtaken on the route by
the “Dresden Four”, a party of amazing German climbers of average age 66, and Carol’s
comment as the full height of the face came into view on our descent to the hut – “If I’d
seen it was that big I’d never have started up it!”

Martin H


 

Climbing Avalanche/Red Wall/Longlands Continuation (Lliwedd) on the August Bank Holiday
proved to be a great reminder of how good climbing is in God’s Country. OK the climbing
wasn’t technically hard but there were a couple of spicy moments on thinly protected
traverses. There was interesting route-finding (OK I admit we never found the Longland’s
Continuation until we crossed it near the top and opted for an easy scramble up the nearby
gulley). As Louise says topping out after over 7 hours on route and about 13 pitches (with
a two hour walk back to Pen-y-Pass in fading light) was our climbing moment of the year.
That evening further jubilation ensued in the Vaynol Arms having learnt that the route was
now graded Severe.

Peter & Lou


 

My favourite climbing experience of this year was when dad and I did a seven-pitch
route on Gimmer. It wasn’t necessary very hard but wow it was high. I loved how you were
so exposed, and for once I didn’t freak out! If you know my dad you will know he likes to
push you hard, and never ever lets you give up (even if you cant do that grade he will do
anything to get you to the top). This time he didn’t need to push as I was having so much
fun; however coming down was another matter. We’d had navigational difficulties just
getting to the climb. Dad sprinted up the mountain and then we, or should I say dad, had
made some bad route decisions and we ended up scrambling up a steep wet grass bank. We
came down in similar style, sliding down a scree slope on my bum (to dad’s dismay), then
down a wet slope and finally abseiling from a tree. Of course none of this was done
without me reminding him how embarrassing it would be when I told everyone in the climbing
club, and numerous swear words (from dad obviously). When we finally got back I was
ravenous, tired, and had managed to collect a new friend (a tick). But all in all it was a
brilliant experience and dad was hilarious!!!

Isobel Chandler


Climbing on “The Gambit”, North Wales at Easter

Christina

Recipe for hypothermia turned into a fantastic
route.  Beautiful walk-in at 6 am followed by 2 hours of fabulous climbing (in the
shade) and increasing warmth from about halfway up. Incredible views (and sunshine) on the
top.  Perfect.  Must sort out this southfacing thing…….

 


 

Climbing in the peaks, leading for the first time. The climbing walls don’t teach you
that.

Anon


 

During our “Summer” in April this year I spent a glorious weekend doing the back of
Skiddaw with a most memorable moment I shall dine out on for years to come.

Bowscale up to the tarn across to Blencathra to Skiddaw, Skiddaw to High Pike and back
to Bowscale. Friday night camp at Bowscale tarn and sat night at the Lingy Hut on Gt Lingy
hill.

After a long hot, sunny, short wearing saturday made it up the hill to the Lingy Hut
and what a site for sore eyes it was. Looks like an old chicken shed, wired to the hill
but a bothy is a welcome friend!

Went in and much done to keep the wind out ,gallons of expanding foam etc. which had
worked!

Trangia on and running, some superstar had left a sachet of Cadbury’s Hot Chocolate and
a flapjack bar well they were mine now and went down a treat before I made my “spagbog”
and allowed me to read thru the visitors book.

So elated at my stay in hut had a full ablutions session, and prepped myself for an
early night and a good 6am start as had to be off hill by 9.30 to pick daughter up from
uni get together in Preston at 12.

Climbed into sleeping bag for the most regal of sleeps and was sound o’ by 9pm.

12.30 am I was awoken by the door rattling (locks from inside) thinking I was under
attack by sheep! You all know that feeling! Head torches thru the slit window and I heard
” there’s no one in there why’s it locked”

Out of my dossbag, up to door, unlatch, torch on, open door, stunned silence and I say

“What time do you call this, I ordered my bloody pizza hours ago!!”

Three guys, three girls, 2 dogs RAFLAO!!  When they regained their composure “If
there’s room do you mind if we stay the night?”

Well they got themselves settled and then sat outside till 4am drinking, birthday girl
thought be great idea to go up the hill for the night, there’ll be noone there!!!

No doubt they too dine out on that one!!!

Merry Xmas to all at IMC, few words eh!!

Kevin Jarvis


 

Leading my nephew up a VS 6 months after getting knocked off my bicycle.

Bob


 

I was chuffed to lead HVS trad, 6b sport and TD Alpine this year, but my biggest feeling of accomplishment had to be finally nailing Veranda Buttress at Stanage. Hard V. Diff, and the hardest thing I climbed all year!

Johnboy


 

My 1st , and only, outdoor session of the year and 1st time on the Roaches. I found
myself on the beginners FU weekend. Under superb stewardship of Lou & Pete, I followed on
both Maud’s garden S*** & Damascus Crack HS** 4b & didn’t bottle out (although rumour has
it some less that vicar-ly language was uttered on occasion!). What a feeling

Judy Bailey


 

The disappointment of nearly climbing 11 pitches of stunning looking rock in the French
Pyrenees after firstly spending hours attempting to approach from the wrong side of the
mountain, then being thwarted by the kind of weather that makes the northern side of the
Pyrenean ranges so green & lush!  We’ll be back, Dent D’Orlu

Lessons learnt: Read the guidebook more carefully especially when its in French…..

Ian


Moments in Time

My memories of climbing are like frozen moments in time – usually captured feelings of
fear, exhilaration, and occasionally success.

Belaying my leader as he
traverses across Sirplum, and struggling to suppress my rising feelings of fear – “I’m
going to have to do THAT!”

Abseiling into the unseen
zawn by the remote North lighthouse. Confronted at the bottom by an awesome sea tunnel
that carves its way through from one side of the island to the other. Four seals leave the
sanctuary of their cave in a panic, throwing themselves over the rocks and passing within
a few feet of me as they try to get to the water. My feeling of sorrow at having invaded
their home is banished, first by the arrival of my friends, then by Mary Patricia Rosalea.
She’s our route out of this committing place, and takes all my concentration.

Standing at the top of the
mountain at the end of the day. The ski lifts have stopped running. It’s absolutely
silent. I’m facing my first red run.

Discovering the tranquility
of Cratcliffe, and the brutality of its routes – the jamming crack on Suicide Wall and the
thrutchy offwidth that ends Sepulchre.

The unusual feeling of
confidence as I cruze Sloth.

Leaving my friends behind on
the previously cramped belay ledge as I step out onto the blunt arete on Hangover. An even
greater feeling of loneliness as my last piece of protection recedes way below my feet –
the 5b moves being too hard for me to be able to get anything else in. Gulp.

Climbing on Gimmer with
my daughter. The seven pitches made up by White Slab and ‘B route’ being her first
mountain experience. Both of us whooping with joy at the exposure. Totally confident in
each other. Big grins all round.

Anon


 

Grabbing the jug after the crux on Gypsy; ½ an hour spent working out the crux move and
psyching myself up and then it all went magically smoothly…

Looking down from the
limestone pinnacles at the top of Dovedale on a crisp October morning onto the
Autumn-coloured trees below.

Steve

Kilimanjaro

Trekking for charity

I was recently part of a Charity Challenge trek to the summit of Kilimanjaro in aid of Diabetes UK. Mervyn Lamacraft kindly collected some sponsors for me and, maybe jokingly, suggested I should write it up for the newsletter. My diary amounts to 17 pages of text! Here is an extract from it about The Summit Day. It was the most amazing experience and I hope to raise over £4000 for Diabetes UK

After 6 days of trekking through amazingly varied landscapes and practising walking ‘pole, pole ‘ which means ‘slowly, slowly’ we were about to embark on the final ascent of Kilimanjaro to a height of 5,895 metres above sea leve

We set off at 00.30 bathed in bright moonlight from the huge full moon; the massive silhouette of the mountain rose in front of us and tiny specks of light twinkled on the path ahead from other trekkers already on their way up. By now we automatically walked ‘pole, pole’, but tonight it was because we just could not go any faster. The pace was very slow but steady, and when the guides suggested a rest for a few minutes one immediately felt cold and limbs began to stiffen. Some of us did not want to stop but rather go on ‘slowly, slowly’ making progress. However the guides were strict and we all moved together and all rested together. When some of us found it hard and tried to rest longer they chivvied us and would not let us sit down. ‘Don’t sleep. Don’t sleep. You die!’ I heard them say to someone squatting by a rock with his head in his hands. It was steep and hard and slow, but when i had the energy to look back I could see that we were making definite progress. We trudged mainly in silence; each of us wrapped in our own determined worlds, shrouded in our own thoughts. One step at a time, each step one step nearer the summit, one step nearer our goal.

For my water supply I had decided to use my ‘Camelbak’ first as it had an insulated cover and then the ‘platypus’ that I carried wrapped inside my rucksack. I thought that this should last me well into the ascent. I had managed, with a great deal of difficulty, to acquire an insulation cover for the pipe but still had to remember to blow back into the bag to clear the pipe after every drink to prevent the liquid freezing. I had not appreciated quite how hard this would be and how breathless I would become after each sip. However, despite the preparations, within minutes the duckbill mouthpiece froze making sipping difficult and within half an hour both water reservoirs were frozen. My insulated pipe had lasted no longer than anyone else’s with no insulation! All this meant that rather than sipping as I walked I had, at each stop, to take off my rucksack, unscrew the pipe which was freezing and drink the semi frozen water directly from the bag. The icy water struck my warm stomach like a knife but I knew I would need to go on drinking if I was to make it to the top. We rested for a few minutes quite frequently and sometimes I nibbled a hard cold cereal bar or crunched on a semi-frozen jelly baby.

The air on my face was cold but I was toasty warm so long as I was moving; in fact after a couple of hours I was too hot and took off my waterproof jacket and undid the side zips of my waterproof trousers. Being slightly too long the trousers flapped around my feet and I kept standing on them. I stopped to take them off. It only took a few seconds and I quickly stuffed them in my rucksack but when I looked up the person I was following had got a fair way ahead. It was probably only 20 yards or so but they seemed miles away. I tried to quicken my pace slightly to catch up and immediately was gasping. I was probably walking slower than I had ever walked and yet I was gasping for air. There was nothing I could do but just plod on ‘pole pole’ and hope they did not get further ahead. Eventually they stopped to rest; I was tempted to speed up but knew I couldn’t. It seemed like minutes before I reached them and as I got there, wanting to rest, they were ready to move on as they were starting to get chilled. I felt better though without the constriction of the extra layer of my waterproof jacket and felt pleasantly warm rather than overheated. We trudged on and on; up and up; so, so slowly but always onward. I felt strangely happy, and at peace. The moon was so bright it was almost like the watery sun on a winter’s day and you expected to feel its warmth rather that the steely cold. Walking became automatic, almost trance-like. I was so tired, totally exhausted with limbs so heavy I could hardly lift them and yet I felt like I was drifting along. It was a strange experience as if I was drifting upward in another dimension watching my bodily self struggling. It was as if those exhausted limbs were not part of me. Random thoughts flitted through my mind. I must try to concentrate. Was this a sign of altitude sickness? Was I becoming confused? Was this dissociated state real or imaginary? I looked around me. Upward the shadowy mountain still loomed, downward a long trail with small head torches glinting along its route and around me the rest of our team all totally absorbed in their own worlds, all plodding on like old tired machines. They looked how I felt. Were we all feeling the same I wondered? I wanted to ask but I felt I did not want to intrude. I was completely happy in my little world and did not want to share it. I assumed everyone else felt the same.

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.

As we rested we talked a little: sometimes we shared snacks, sometimes we changed our order, but when we were moving we all retreated into our private worlds and ‘slowly, slowly’ the summit got closer. I could not remember ever being this tired before. Once I was desperate for a drink and throwing off my rucksack said to Lee ‘I’m giving up’. I meant just for a short time for a drink but he immediately retorted ‘No, you’re bloody not!’ At one point Kay was struggling and started dropping back, at first others encouraged her but within a few minutes she was feeling really ill and vomiting. It was a shock, jolting me back to reality. Kay had always been one of the forerunners on every trek and of all of us seemed to have been one of the best prepared. How could it be she was now ill? Would she have to turn back? How disappointing would that be, especially as it was soon going to be dawn. Surely it could not be that much further. We were getting cold and needed to move on. The rest of us set off again passing Kay who was with a porter and Matt. I felt a pang of guilt but deep inside we all knew we could only help each other so much and at the end of the day each of us could only get to the top on our own personal inner strength. However after a few minutes Kay was on her feet again, and though at the tail end of the group was back striving for the summit.

I had lost all concept of time when suddenly a faint orange glow began to form in the sky and rapidly grew and stretched across the purple, grey sky. Dawn was breaking. My heart leapt at the thought of sunrise. I suddenly realised it had been a long, long night and now the sun was rising. It was a new day; a bright new day. The day on which we would reach the summit. I looked up and realised the top of the ridge was not far away. It really was attainable. We were almost at Stella Point. We almost fell to the top of the ridge at Stella Point. This was a significant landmark: we had reached the top of the steep face; we had done the most difficult bit. Now we just had to walk around the crater rim and we would be there.

We rested a while in the shelter of a large rock, drank some strong warm tea from our flasks and prepared for what I thought would be a gentle walk. Sure it was still uphill but we could see the ridge ahead of us. It did not occur to me that I could not see the rickety signpost from all the summit photos I had seen. It was tempting to set off quickly as the end was in sight, but immediately we realised ‘pole pole’ was the only way. We began again, one step after another and so, so, slowly the ridge got closer. I was with Steve but we walked in silence and finally reached the ridge. As we stepped up onto it at the same time we realised it was a false horizon. Far, far away in the distance the summit taunted us. We had really believed that we were almost there. A string of expletives filled the air. We threw ourselves on the ground. I was crying. I couldn’t go on. I didn’t even want to go on. I wanted to stay there, lying on the ground. For me this was the top. I thought Steve felt the same and later he admitted that he too had just wanted to stay there, and for everyone to leave him alone. Scott had joined us now. He had also thought this was the top. All three of us stared in silence. Then Scott was speaking to us, encouraging us. I don’t know what he said. I don’t know if I even heard him. I just heard his voice, not his words . . . and then I was walking again. Walking very slowly and deliberately, but walking. Walking to the summit. And Steve was too; and Scott. We were going to make it to the summit.

The view was amazing. The glaciers were stunning, standing serenely with the sun reflecting off them and a blanket of cloud behind them. We walked between ridges of frozen snow and looked down toward the snowy crater. It was fabulous. All around us were the most marvellous photo opportunities but I was too tired to notice, too tired to get the camera out. All I wanted now was to reach the crooked old signpost.

I reached the summit alone. Gordon was already there, sitting alone on the rock beyond the signpost. I took off my rucksack, laid down my walking poles and sat down. I was here. I had made it. Suddenly I was crying. Sitting on a cold rock on the tallest free standing mountain in the world; almost 6 kilometres above sea level staring at the amazing scenery through a veil of tears. I don’t know how long I sat there. I don’t know how many people will get their summit photos back and see a pathetic woman in a green down jacket huddled in the corner crying.

After a while I realised I wasn’t tired now and I wasn’t crying. I was at the top of Kilimanjaro I needed to take photographs. I needed to find the rest of the team; we needed to be together. I took a photo of the sign and of my rucksack propped up against the rock even remembering to check the 1000mile logo was visible. Then I walked over to Gordon. We didn’t speak at first, we just hugged and then we were both crying. We went back to the signpost and started meeting the others; Dave, Scott, and Steve. We were all hugging each other, most of us were crying. It was such an emotional experience. I do not know if it was happiness or sadness, relief, elation or just total exhaustion. The rest of the team were joining us now, we were jostling for chances to get photos at the summit of each other and trying to get everyone together for a group photo. Dan had removed his shirt and was smoking his victory cigar. This was it; this was what we had come for. Some people had waited two years for this moment. We had reached the summit of Kilimanjaro. I wanted this moment to go on forever.


The summit
The summit (click on image to view in Flickr)