Rules of Gear Fondling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Gear Fondling

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

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

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

The Way In

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

E2 leader Steve C coils his rope

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

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

just two ingredients of a great weekend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why Chee Dale?’ I hear you ask

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

We were off to put that to the test.

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

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

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

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

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

Sirplum from below

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon heads back

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

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

Monday morning

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

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

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

‘Heck.’

‘Phew.’

‘Crumbs.’

‘Gosh.’

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

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

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

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

My turn-Sepulchrave, HVS5a.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Artdeco

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

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

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

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

Cathar Castle	History

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

Dent d’Orlu

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

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

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

John Penny – May 2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other climbs on my hit list are as follows:

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

The list could go on and on …

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

Andy

Louise Burness – May 2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The dark arts of route finding really are another world to me” I thought on the slip road to rejoin the M1 having just missed two turnings to the car park for the services and therefore my much-awaited coffee. A few miles further on we left the motorway and were heading toward Hathersage and the North Lees campsite. Vasek and I were off for a few days in The Peak District, and I just hoped that this first slight mishap was not an omen.

The previous few days had been wet and we had started out from Ipswich in a slight drizzle but finer weather had been promised; as we drove up, though we had the odd spit of rain, the skies cleared and everything around was drying nicely. And then, just after lunch we were at Millstone.

Real rock for the first time since Whitsun – seventh heaven. But Bond Street as the first route? Well at least Vasek was on the sharp end. Off he went and it was amazing to watch as, half way up, he used one of his homemade pieces of protection – a fist-sized Czech rope-knot. And what a satisfying piece it looked I noted when I removed it. And then he was calling ‘climb when ready’.

Jamming – another dark art that still needs my attention. I have lead this route cleanly but for the second time this year I came a cropper, though this time below the crux, and off I came.

The bottom pitch of Embankment 1 at VS 4c was my re-introduction to traditional leading. I’d call it unusual; Vasek said horrible.

North Lees was as quiet as you’d expect in late November; gurgling brook and stars – bliss.

Wednesday and on a dry and bright morning we walked up to Stanage following Vasek’s thoughts; as he had a plan I led first so he had a chance to warm up before the main
event – whatever he decided. Fern Crack – a feature of The Follow-on Weekend I recall – what fun.

Guy on Fern Crack (click on any image to view in Flickr)

And then the top-out. Yep – the Stanage winds were there and I watched half the contents of my chalk bag get blown across the Derbyshire landscape. I made a mental not to close my bag at he top of each route – and then forgot each and every time.

Vasek’s turn and with a fixed smile and a secret groan I agree to second Goliath’s Groove. He is strong enough, I know, and there is fun to be had, but I seem to remember losing skin last time. The start gave me as many problems as I had expected but I was glad that Vasek had chosen it
especially when I found another one of his Czech knots as I removed the gear.

Vasek already had his next route in his sights so as we walked toward Millsom’s Minion I decided on Parasite. The difficulties on the latter are low down and things ease after that but I was happy to make the step to HVS.

As Vasek made ready for Millsom’s Minion I remember that I followed The Webmaster on this route a while ago and enjoyed a moment of airtime and as I write I have still to second this cleanly let alone lead it.

Vasek had made it all look so smooth and I felt good as I started out but it only lasted until the move up to the shallow pocket and at that point I wish I hadn’t traded height for good looks. Hey ho. Another route to come back to.

Darkness had started to fall so after a great day we made our way back to the campsite.

After an extremely windy Wednesday we decided on a sheltered venue for Thursday and headed to Lawrencefield. Both of us had plans and I lead first so Vasek could warm up safely for his choice. Great fun on Great Harry – what a great way to start a day.

Guy starts Great Harry

As I looked at the start of Vasek’s choice I wondered about gear placements. “Oh, none until the arête.” he said.

Suspense E2 5c

As he starts off I watch Vasek finding holds for hands and feet in what looks like a blank wall. Tremendous.

Vasek starts Suspense

And then he is at the ledge, and then the arête and so finally a piece of gear. I am tied to the large block and with the rope tight I am at the edge of the platform where I can see Vasek as he starts up the face above the pool.

Slowly but surely he makes his way up; small holds and small gear seems to be the order of the day.

Suspense is right and there is a definite hush around the quarry as Vasek checks his gear, ‘shakes out’ and checks his gear again. He’s at the crux; thin crack, small gear and a long reach. All breath is held, no sound of wind. One smooth move and he’s at the top. What a bloody lead!

“Make sure the belay is bomber.” I call up, having seen what is expected of me.

I need to leap to reach one hold on the first part – perhaps I won’t be leading this in the near future – but things ease a bit as I near the arête. And then the face.

It’s all there but I am on a rope, I can imagine how different it would be at the sharp end; they say it’s a lonely lead and I can see why. As Maria would have said, “you need confidence in confidence itself”.

Guy near the top of Suspense

The view from the top is excellent and having just lead it must have been twice as nice.

Over to me. A year ago I led and fell on Great Peter and here I was again, this time to claim its scalp. The first moves are really a boulder problem and then the crack begins. After a few feet I can hear Vasek recommending that I should consider placing some gear, followed by a
sigh of relief when I do.

‘Pleasantly delicate and well protected with small wires’ is a perfect description, and I have a whale of a time until I reach the place of my nemesis from last year. Déjà vu. After a couple of vain attempts I alert Vasek and seconds later I am airborne. At Copleston a week or so later
we asked each other what had passed through our minds at that moment. Honestly I did not think anything apart from “Bum, foiled again”. Vasek held the fall nicely and allowed me a short rest. The move itself is not that difficult, I was just not up to it at that moment, and soon I was
setting up the belay at the top.

The number 3 Wallnut that had taken the fall had to be knocked out using a rock and a nut key but it did come home with me.

Vasek finished the day and the trip with a jaunt up Three Tree Climb: great fun after a great few days. And then we were in the car heading back toward the M1 and The South.

I managed to find my way into Costa at the Tibshelf services this time and over coffee we congratulated ourselves on choosing three dry days between two seriously wet weekends, and patted ourselves on the back for the selection of routes that we had enjoyed. The crowning glory of which was surely Vasek on Suspense.

In August 2006 twenty three members of the IMC and various friends of mine from around
the UK spent a glorious week climbing on Lundy Island. Lundy is is a three mile long, half
mile wide, and 400ft high mass of granite, situated in the Bristol Channel about 11 miles
from the North Devon coast. It is an atmospheric and adventurous venue for sea cliff
climbing that I have fallen in love with. This year was to be my fifth trip there and,
having already done many of the lower grade classics of the island, I was keen to try
something new and unusual, perhaps as part of a mid-week rest day. Whilst planning a ‘tick
list’ for this year’s visit I was looking for something suitable when I came across a
description of St Mark’s Stone. This is a small island about three quarters of the way up
Lundy’s West coast.

Figure 1. The location of St Mark’s Stone, Lundy Island, UK (click on any image to view in Flickr)

St Mark’s Stone

St Mark’s Stone is not even mentioned in the Lundy guidebook proper, which was last
printed in 1994; however its supplement – which is regularly updated and available online – describes a dozen low-grade
routes that were first climbed there in 1998. Not only are these routes new, they are also
difficult to reach. As with many of the Island’s climbs the approach would involve a long
abseil – some 50+ metres – but this would be followed by a 100ft swim! Yup, that sounded
suitably esoteric. The supplement notes that “all the routes were repeated in August
2002 by a well-prepared party who approached the island in a rubber dinghy”. Not being
able to afford a proper dinghy for the expedition I visited Felixstowe beach and bought a
child’s inflatable boat. This was immediately tested for robustness by my daughters.

To my surprise five other people said they were interested in joining me on a trip to
St Mark’s Stone. Simon and Steph are climbing friends of mine from Bristol who had joined
ranks with the IMC and visited Lundy on previous occasions. John Pereira had also been to
Lundy before but not for some time, whilst Alex Purser and Andy Hemsted were both Lundy
first-timers. Andy had stepped-in as a last minute substitute for Guy Reid,
who was recovering from his climbing accident at Swanage. One of the things I love about
climbing is the loose network of friends and contacts that you make whilst on your climbing
travels, and our party was a good example of this. We’d been climbing hard for 3 days so
Wednesday seemed like a suitable choice for our ‘rest day adventure’.

Figure 2. St Mark’s Stone, 100ft offshore from the imposing cliff of ‘The Parthenos’ (in shadow). Photo taken by Alex Rigg from Beaufort Buttress.

The Lundy topo showed that our abseil started from a spur to the North
side of Grand Falls Zawn. Simon and I had been here before in 2003. On that occasion we
had sat for some time on this spur looking back at the immense slab taken by American
Beauty, trying to summon up the courage to make the 250ft abseil and so commit ourselves
to doing that classic E1. This time we knew we were in roughly the right place, but not being
able to see down to the base of the cliff (as is often the case) we were unsure quite
where to abseil. Tying the 100 m static rope around a couple of large boulders I
threaded-in to my belay device and attached the backup prussik loop before starting a careful
descent down the loose fern-covered slope. This became steeper and more crumbly before finally
reaching solid rock, although I still descended slowly to avoid dislodging loose blocks
above. On reaching the bottom I yelled up that I was off the rope, and then started blowing
up the inflatable boat.

My plan had been to put the climbing gear in the boat and push it in front of me whilst
swimming across to the island. The boat could then be pulled back and the next person could cross with their gear. An alternative scheme was suggested – to set up a Tyrrolean Traverse between Lundy and St Mark’s Stone.
None of us had done this before but we gave it a try anyway. John volunteered to swim over to St Mark’s Stone with one end of the spare rope that we were intending to suspend across the gap. Off he went. On reaching ‘The Stone’ he realised that climbing pro, tape loops, nuts, etc. would be needed to attach his end of the rope to rock, so I swam across with my climbing gear in the boat. It quickly became clear that we weren’t going to be able to get the rope under enough tension for a person to haul themselves along it. We could have tried to increase the tension by setting up pulleys and using prussik loops, but the gap to the island was so big, and the rope so stretchy that we gave up on that idea. It just wasn’t going to take a person’s weight. Communication was now more difficult because two of us were on the island and four were still on Lundy, but we managed to change the plan. If we passed each end of the rope through runners attached to the rock then surely we could haul over bags of climbing gear suspended from the rope – rather like a cable car. Again this wasn’t successful. As the bag of gear neared the middle of the gap the rope was sagging so much that it started to dip into the sea. To pull the gear out of the water it was necessary to put the rope under so much tension (using italian hitches for example) that it was then impossible to move the rope one way or the other.

Figure 3. Our failed attempt to haul climbing gear across the gap – photo Alex Rigg.

By this stage lots of time (and energy!) had been spent fiddling about with the rope. It was time to revert to a modified form of ‘Plan A’. The gear would go in the big red drysac that was tied-in to the boat, and that would be pulled back-and-forth by the rope. One by one the remaining four crossed over, most of them swimming next to the gear-laden boat which was guided by the rope. At this stage the sea was pretty calm so getting in and out of the water was straightforward. In fact whilst the others were crossing I had fun jumping from rocks into the fantastically clear deep water. Andy, however, was not happy about the cold water so opted to sit in the under-sized boat and paddle over.

Figure 4. Paddling across in the gift shop dinghy

Throughout the crossing I was worried that the inflatable could be punctured by a sharp rock. I have to admit that I was fussing about this too much – but with all the difficulties we’d had getting it there I could imagine not being able to get our climbing gear back again without the boat.

Once on St Mark’s Stone you find that it’s got a friendy and relaxed feel. The main slab faces South so is warm and sunny, and rises from a large non-tidal platform on which it’s easy to lounge and take in the atmosphere. Most of the routes follow diagonal crack features on the main slab and all are at easy grades. These are marked on figure 5.

Figure 5. The routes on St Mark’s Stone. Photo Alex Rigg.

In this photo John and Alex are on the far left-hand end climbing Lundy Offshore, marked by the green line. The straight diagonal chimney ending
at a is St Mark’s Chimney (Diff), whilst St Mark’s Crack (V Diff) is the line ending at b. Steph is leading St Mark’s Jugs (c) belayed by Simon Pelly. Leaning Difficulties is the straight chimney/crack ending at d, whilst the slab directly below (green line) is Swim for Victory, graded HVS but downgraded by Andy and me to VS at most. In this photo Andy and I have just finished the prominent straight line of Mary’s Jugs (e) and are looking for Arguably the Most Inaccessible Quality V Diff on Lundy. This is over on the right-hand end of the island and is – unsurprisingly – a V Diff. It’s reached by abseiling to some small ledges just above the high tide line. From this same point Simon and Steph created a new route called Blinded by Bermuda, in honour of my stunning shorts.

The slab’s diagonal lines are such strong features that most of the existing routes follow these. Whilst eating lunch and contemplating the rock my perverse mind decided that it would be fun to do something deliberately unusual. From this was born a new route Currently the most esoteric girdle traverse on St Mark’s Stone which Andy and I climbed in two pitches and graded VS. It’s two pitches are shown in figure 5 by the red and purple lines.

Figure 6. Abseilng in to ‘Arguably the Most Inaccessible Quality V Diff on Lundy’	Figure 7. Andy belaying on our new girdle traverse.

I really wanted to do more climbing but John pointed out with some concern that sea was getting noticably rougher. I wasn’t keen to leave because it still seemed early in the day, but John was quite right. Alex swam back first to take charge of pulling over the dingy’s guide rope, then we took it in turns to swim back with our gear in the dingy. The sea was now rising and falling with some considerable swell, and even getting into the water proved a tricky with Steph being knocked from the rocks into the sea. Having seen this most of us wore our climbing helmets while swimming back.

Figure 8. The return crossing

Having made the strenuous 100ft return swim through a choppy sea you then had to get out of the water. Grabbing hold of the rock whilst the sea was at the highest point in its swell you were left clinging to slippery wet rock – above a nasty looking drop as the sea fell by some 10ft or more. Not nice. You then had a few seconds to scramble out of its reach before the sea rose and caught you again. Unfortunately the sea moves faster than you can climb. In attempting to scramble out several people ended up with cut feet, so I’d recommend suitable footwear if we ever do this sort of thing again. The other top tip is to use a length of rope as a handline. Those on shore coil this up and throw it over the head of the person in the water, aiming well past them. This makes it easier for the swimmer to find the rope and grab it as it falls onto them. They can then be hauled in by the helpers on shore. By holding your legs forwards rather like a water skier your feet hit the rock first – hopefully at the high water level – and you can be pulled out of the water by the rope, pivoting about your feet into an upright position above sea level. Only when standing almost upright do you grab the rock with your hands. It’s just as well we’d got this technique honed because while drying off and getting ready to change out of my wet clothes I knocked my rucksac off its ledge so that it bounced down the rocks and back into the sea. My camera was in there! Fortunately trapped air kept the sac afloat so I was able to jump back in to retrieve it, and then be hauled out again.

Figure 9. Standing in front of our exit point from the sea. As a sign of how rough it was the water is spraying up to well over head height as it hits the rocks

We were all safely back on Lundy island but the fat lady wasn’t yet singing. We still had to climb to the top of the cliff over fairly loose ground. Originally I’d planned to climb one of the routes in Grand Falls Zawn, but we’d been told by the Island’s nature warden that it was restricted due to the large number of birds that were still nesting there. To be honest at this stage I didn’t mind; the excitement of swimming back from St Mark’s Stone had left me feeling pretty tired. I now just wanted to see everyone safely to the top of the cliff and back to the Barn. The route up was technically easy, but the rocks soon gave way to loose grass and dry mud in which were embedded large boulders that had to be passed carefully for fear of dislodging them. Those people that were still left below the climber crouched behind protection out of the route of falling debris – or that’s what I wanted to happen. I can remember getting quite stressed when I saw this wasn’t happening. I really didn’t want to see anyone get hurt on my mad adventure, particularly after its success so far.

The Devil’s Slide by moonlight

Dinner that evening was a jolly affair. As usual we were all sitting around the huge table on The Barn, sharing meals, drinks and our tales of the day’s adventures. Spirits were high and, to my surprise, quite a few people said they’d like to join in with part 2 of my plan for the day – to climb The Devil’s Slide by the light of the full moon. The whole trip to the island had, in fact, been planned so that our visit coincided with a full moon. However, like most of the climbs on Lundy ‘The Slide’ is on the West coast, so the moon wouldn’t be seen from base of the slab until the second half of the night. It would need an ‘alpine start’, so I put in my earplugs and went to bed.

Somehow I woke at 1.30 am, just before my watch alarm was due to go off. That was good – nobody would be disturbed if the mission was aborted. Outside the full moon was shining brightly, but the sky was full of small clouds. They scurried quickly across the moon’s face, driven by the same wind that had made the sea so choppy during our return swim yesterday (!). Conditions weren’t great for climbing, and with all this cloud around I couldn’t even be sure that the moonlight would last for long. Should I wake the others? I woke Simon Pelly to ask his opinion. We decided that we would do it, so got ourselves ready to leave. Simon and I planned to go ahead of everyone else and to rig the abseil rope before they arrived; although I doubted anyone would really want to leave their bed to join us once the bravado of the previous evening had worn off. At the last minute I quietly woke those who’d said they were interested, and left The Barn.

Simon and I set off up the gravelled track on the East side of the island, planning to cross over to the West coast when we reached the Threequarter Wall. In this way, we figured, we’d go straight to the cliff at the top of The Devil’s Slide. It was a good plan, but we should have prepared by visiting the target area sometime in the previous few days; it was a bit late to realise that we hadn’t been there for 4 years! As you can probably guess, on arriving at the West coast we weren’t sure if we were in the right place. Uncertain of what to do we went North a bit, then South a bit, then back North – trying in vain to identify a feature we recognised. It all looked the same in dark. Finally we heard voices, so headed back South towards them. Right at the point where we’d originally arrived on the West coast we found all the others, heading down a gully that leads to the abseil boulder halfway down the edge of The Slide. Feeling pretty silly I mumbled something lame about taking the scenic route, then set about tying the abseil rope around the boulder.

I arrived at the bottom of The Slide first. It felt eery to be alone in the darkness with an angry sea crashing into the base of the rocky platform. Far above I could see half a dozen head torches dancing around, but all I could hear was the pounding sea. By the time Simon arrived our ropes were flaked out and I was ready to go. At first I tried to leave my headtorch off. Sure, the climbing was easy even without much light – just pad up the super sticky granite slab – but I found it difficult to spot where to put protection, even when leaving long gaps between the placements. I chickened out and turned my head torch on. Soon I arrived at the halfway break, level with the big boulder that we’d abseiled from. There were still plenty of people there, queuing. Despite it only being 2:30 am four other pairs of climbers had joined the party. It looked like this adventure had turned out to be too popular.

Figure 10. Belaying at the halway break on The Devil’s Slide. Photo taken by Ian Thurgood from the abseil boulder.

By the time Simon and I arrived at the top of the climb, three more pitches later, the sun was rising and a warm glow hugged the horizon. Caroline and Mike met us at the top of the cliff; our rucksacks brought up from the abseil boulder and the abseil rope already packed. Being at the back of the abseil queue they’d got too cold and decided not to do the route, particularly since they wouldn’t actually be doing it by moonlight. Four pairs, it seemed, were as many as The Slide could accommodate in one night. We didn’t wait for all the others to finish climbing, but set off back for The Barn to catch some sleep. After all, it was dawn and another days climbing was beckoning …

Alex Purser – January 2007

Saturday

Perhaps stopping for a breakfast bite just off the M5 to let
the traffic subside was a poor idea. It certainly seemed one as we lurched
around the minor roads of North Devon trying desperately to make the ferry on
time. Hemmed in by caravans, stressfully screeching round corners and in
near-constant (albeit broken) communication with Simon ‘Central Command’
Chandler, the beginning of the trip seemed more like Saving Private Ryan than
Let’s Go Climbing! Nevertheless; Alexes three made it to the boat (just) in
time. [Simon’s comment – the boat waited for them!]

MS Oldenburg (click on any image to view in Flickr)

The first good look at the island is certainly a magnificent
sight for the Lundy virgin. Rising steeply from the sea on all sides it
immediately screams, “LAND OF OPPORTUNITY!” at the approaching climber before
settling back down to its habitual impressiveness. After sorting out provisions
and gear at the barn I headed off with Alex Rigg, Simon Chandler and Bob Butcher to
Threequarter Buttress. Alex and I took in just the one route to familiarise
ourselves with the island: A deliciously tense scramble/downclimb finished at a
decent ledge for the route to start at. Alex Rigg lead the first pitch up the
edge of the slab in fine and solid style allowing me to lead the steeper but
easier second pitch in excellent position. Certainly a nice familiarisation
with the island, with the rock and (for me) with sea cliff climbing.

I am most impressed.

Alex Purser at Threequarter Buttress Photo by Alex Rigg

In the evening we returned to the barn to assemble ideas for
the forthcoming week. Guide books and bottles of wine were passed around and
plans were made.

Sunday

Today I would climb with Simon Chandler, veritable Lundy
veteran. As a first timer, I was particularly glad of this as he knows the
island quite well and I didn’t know it at all.

We headed firstly to Beaufort Buttress, the Burbage North of
Lundy for a couple of easily accessible hits before shifting round the corner
to the less popular Freak Zawn. Finding routes here was far harder because
frankly, the guidebook isn’t much cop for some areas. Simon coolly lead an
intimidating looking fluted overhang (Dog Watch, VS we thought) before moving
round to the more wild and woolly looking South wall. Here we did a couple of
pleasant routes from wave-lashed ledges before spotting the esoteric and
seldom-travelled Dihedral Zawn to the South. Simon puzzled over the lines in
the guidebook whilst I went for a dip before joining him in scoping potential
new lines. We decided to return here the next day.

Monday

Back in Dihedral Zawn Simon and I quickly set about climbing
the lines we had looked at the previous day. They proved tricky to find because
of questionable guidebook descriptions but provided pleasant outings. Most
started steep, turning into shallow-angled grooves at about one third height
and finishing on blocky ground. The three routes, Dreaming, Illusion and
Reality were all done but I have no idea which of these were new-routed by us,
which of these we thought were new-routed by us but were in fact other routes
poorly described in the guide, which were existing routes or in fact whether
they weren’t Dreaming, Illusion and Reality after all. Simon is the chap to
consult on this matter. Separated from these climbs is a smaller slab further
towards the sea, which (according to the guidebook) had no recorded routes on
it. Named ‘Arf Slab because it’s about ‘arf as tall as the main lines in the
zawn and was under close observation from a seal (think what noise a seal
makes) when Simon and I climbed a line quite definitely not mentioned in the
guidebook. Whether it is a new ascent or just deemed too easy to be mentioned
is unknown. Very easy but with the advantage of being easily recognisable, I
can at least remember which route it is!

New routes in Dihedral Zawn? Photo by Simon Chandler.

After lunch we headed to Immaculate Slabs. Impressively bare
and with the starting ledge tucked away out of sight under a bulge, it was with
some trepidation that I abseiled in. Let’s face it; abseiling isn’t much fun
and this outing was no exception. Possibly by further guidebook error or
possibly by using too much rope to equalise the belay anchors, it didn’t reach
the necessary ledge. I had volunteered to go down first and had luckily taken
the precaution of taking some jumar equipment down with me should the rope not
reach. Had I relied on using prussic cord I might well still only be half way
up (I admit, I am painfully slow at ascending ropes with prussic cord)!

After us failing to even reach his desired route, Simon was
rightfully a bit annoyed and had to console himself with a second go at a
previous project.

Centaur (HVS) in Landing Craft Bay takes a meandering line, firstly up easy slabs, then tricky,
thrutchy and awkward chimneys before a delicate ramp system. It’s really all
about the second pitch, which Simon lead better than I could second it! Padding
up the lichenous and featureless ramps felt precarious enough seconding, let
alone on the sharp end of the rope. Tricky for HVS to my mind.

Still a little early to head back to the Barn, we climbed
the lighthouse stairs to take in the view and relax a little from the day’s
exertions. It was here that we ran into Alexes Rigg and Harpur and exchanged
stories of derring do before heading back for dinner.

Tuesday

Today I would team up with Andy Hemstead to take on one of
the island’s classics; Double Diamond (HVS 5b). One of the few magnificently
perched routes on Flying Buttress, Double Diamond takes in the longest length
of an impressive slab of rock suspended from the mainland offering perhaps the
finest positioned route on Lundy. The first pitch a damp affair to a belay in a
notch at the bottom of the face, which I lead. Andy lead the second pitch, the
entire length of the main face. Steady climbing laced with the occasional
tricky rockover makes for a fantastic pitch well worthy of its reputation –
I’ll certainly be going back and leading it! Well protected and not as daunting
as the grade suggests, I heartily endorse this route.

Simon on Flying Buttress Photo by Steph Summerfield.

Both of us in an adventuring mood, we took a stroll to the
South-West of the island to the area surrounding the Devil’s Limekiln. The Devil’s
Limekiln is basically a whopping great hole in the island with tunnels heading
out from its bottom to various areas not trodden as often as many by dint of
the effort consuming approach. The scale of the thing has to be seen to fully
comprehend. However, what I reckon’d to be a fairly good description of the
size, is, “a hole large enough to fit a medium sized cathedral in upside-down.”
The mind blowing exposure of the few routes out of the limekiln is pulse
raising to merely imagine, let alone abseil into and solo back out of on a
shunt. This is of course what Andy did later in the week (onlythe E3 route though…)!

In this same area of the island is Great Shutter Rock. A
tottering pile of choss approached by slightly iffy scrambling on loose
material (alpine styled ropework helpful) and a loosely compacted bridge of mud
and rock, Great Shutter Rock rises almost vertically from the tidal boulder
field below and is not subtle in the slightest. For lovers of the perverse it
is the ideal climbing location on Lundy: imposing, loose and steep. I rather
liked the look of it and made a note to come back. Feeling that we should
probably do some climbing after all this mooching about we headed over to
Kistvaen Buttress where we abseiled down and climbed up. It was suggested that
the route taken might have been Justine (VD).

Wednesday

“Rest Day” my arse; Six go adventuring on St Mark’s Stone.
(See the related article)

Party to this extravaganza were Simon Chandler, Andy
Hemstead, Simon Pelly, Steph Summerside (?), John Pereira and I (Alex Purser).
We made our way to the headland and set up the long abseil onto the ledges
opposite the island. This was to be our launch platform across the sea to our
target for the day: St Mark’s Stone, a less travelled area of Lundy for obvious
reasons. Since he quite closely resembles the bald, pint racing Italian from
the Guinness advert several years ago John “Iron Man” Pereira was the obvious
choice to first send across the briny to establish advanced base camp. Our
first mechanism of transferring gear across to the island was tough at first,
trying to haul the dry-bag across, above the water. The weight proved too much
so Simon’s inflatable dingy was brought into play, making things far easier.
Luckily the sea was calm enough at this point for us to be heard on either
shore, thus allowing our learning curve. All made it safely across with
particular merit to Andy “One Man In A Tub” Hemstead for the style in which he
accomplished this (see Simon’s photos of the day).

Once on the island we set to work
in pairs climbing a good number of routes for our relatively short visit. Of
particular note was the three ascents and three different taken routes of
‘Arguably The Most Inaccessible VDiff On Lundy’ (VDiff). A guano soaked,
overhanging, blocky scramble of a meandering route leads up the shoreside
buttress of the island and was enjoyed immensely by all (in whichever form).
The more intrepid pair of Simon Chandler and Andy Hemstead also completed a new
route, the girdle traverse of the island.

Of course though (to my mind
anyway) the main focus of the trip was the getting to and from the island. The
less observant and the more intent on fitting as many routes in as possible
might have failed to notice the rising tide, increasing height and ferocity of
the waves and the somewhat important fact that the Barn and the Marisco Tavern
were back across the water.

I headed back first to man the
(now reasonably slick) boat towing system. Later I discovered this move to be
to my advantage and others’ detriment^*. Climbing ashore was made a little
tricky by the swell. This is accomplished firstly by getting close enough to
the ledge to be bashed into it. From here, the swell must be allowed to carry
the victim to the apex in order to spot holds. This takes several bobs (bashes
included). When confident the holds chosen are nearly positive enough to haul
on when filled with water, one waits ‘til the next high point before grabbing
said holds. The water then drops away below you (it is standard form to fall
off at this point) dragging first one’s whole body mass, then (if still
attached) one’s legs (neat trick of scraping bare feet off their wet smears)
downwards (it is standard form to fall off at this point). There is now the
psychological issue of not being supported by the water to contend with (it is
standard form to fall off at this point). Eventually, a bloody mess will haul
itself ashore.

I think we all picked up a scrape of some kind on the return swim.

Apart from Simon (Chandler) going
for his third swim of the day after dropping his dry-bag into the sea, the rest
of the event went off without much ado. Minor rockfall down the abseil chute
sustained interest for any slacking at the back.

After congratulations and
regrouping of gear most returned to the barn for tea, medals and sleep. I quite appreciated the rest considering the next climbing several
of us (including myself) would do would be at 01:30 the next morning. Read on…

* I inadvertantly made the
self-preserving decision of going first and Steph inadvertantly the
semi-suicidal decision of going last (when the swell was at its greatest). Top
marks to her for managing to get out relatively unscathed in such difficult
circumstances. As said by Andy – “Not bad for a girl“.

Thursday

My first climb on Thursday was
indeed at 01:30 but only involved getting out of bed (noisily). Apologies to
those woken by me knocking my rucksack of clink off the bed. The chilly and
breezy moonlit stumble down the island revealed to me how foolish one of my
previous ambitions had been. To my mind (I can’t remember where I got the idea
from), it would have made a far better story for the Devil’s Slide to have not
merely been climbed by the light of a full moon, but to have been climbed naked
by the light of a full moon. Alas; one can’t have
everything.

Come 04:00 it was my time to
abseil down the peripherary of the slab. I was finding it a bit difficult at
first but put this down to the weight of rope hanging below me. However. By the
time I’d winched myself further down the slab I could see the cause of the
problem was a bit more of a challenge than previously thought. The rope had
snaked off the edge of the slab and the rope bag was unfortunately hidden in
the boulder choked gulley off this side. Not too taken with the idea of
abseiling into the gulley I heaved and wiggled the rope at the bag, but to no
avail. It is here where the advantage of being 4^th in a queue of
teams on a route becomes apparent. The nimble finger’d Simon Pelly climbing
from below managed to make a short traverse and help me out (much to the
gratitude of others still waiting to abseil in as well as me!).

Simon Pelly grappling with the rope bag

The route itself is a corker and
went pretty smoothly. I led the first and third pitches with Andy (Hemstead)
leading the second. The only real tricky part of the route was the monstrous
rope drag on the top pitch (pitches three and four merged). This provided a bit
of a challenge and ensured I didn’t get cold – It really was like towing a car!

Andy and I topped out at 07:10 and
celebrated with biscuits, before heading back to the barn for breakfast proper.
Tea was taken on in absurd and necessary quantity before we could collect
ourselves for another adventure.

We had been strongly recommended
to make a trip to the Devil’s Chimney and with the tides so conveniently timed,
it would’ve been rude not to. Set against the imposing buttresses of The Devil’s Chimney Cliff
the stack (more a Dibnah chimney
than a Piggott or Puttrell y’see) jaggedly rises from the boulder shelf below.
The abseil in is from a conveniently placed flake on a grassy ledge hidden from
view from above and snakes down various square grooves to the slippery boulders below.
In fine style,
I promptly slipped over whilst fell-trained and nimble-toed Andy hopped across
unhinder’d. Andy lead the first pitch, starting with a thin, greasy and
unprotected (apart from by the bombproof pillar-thread belay) traverse to a
blocky overhanging arête. From here the route meanders back left by way of
easier ground to a large ledge (the side elevation of a small Volvo estate I
reckon). The second pitch begins from the left hand end of the ledge up two
leaning corner-slab combinations joined by a tricky block. I was leading and
found the first leaning corner pumpy (although safe), consequently slumping
onto the rope. However, after (in no better style) getting the crucial pull
over the lip the real extremis moments began. By dint of whole bodily friction
and my nipples performing cilia type functions on the slab I managed to moved
up and left to another slab and then easier ground. It is here that Andy’s
remarks on how he thought the route was a bit stiff for HVS were mainly based
(to quote Andy: “Alex does brilliantly to
stride awkwardly left onto another slab!! The Purser Udge is too hard for
me…..”). The route
finishes in fine position on steep but easy and well protected ground leading
to a cracking little summit. Guano, feather, carcass and bone matted, we stayed
awhile taking in the view and eating sandwiches before abseiling off. A pain in
the arse jumar on dynamic rope followed (possibly poor execution by someone in
need of far more tea and sleep) to get us back topside. A well worthwhile
outing on a fantastic route in a fantastic setting.

Myself and Andy atop the Devil’s Chimney

It is probably prudent to mention
that the described might or might not be White Riot (HVS), our intended route,
but was the closest we could find. Maybe this is why we found it tough for the
grade (E2 5c was reckon’d).

I can’t remember what happened for
the rest of Thursday.

Friday

Thursday night’s preliminary plans
were confirmed, and based on Tuesday’s reconnoitre Mike Bailey and I were to have
a crack at Great Shutter Rock. We approached the choss bridge; me full of
enthusiasm and dreams of derring do, Mike slightly more reserved (perhaps his
greater experience of loose rock rearing its head in the name of
self-preservation). I lead out across the bridge at first only displacing the
odd footprint of gravel but soon moving fist sized, then head sized and finally
super-microwave sized blocks. The seals watching from below were luckily at a
safe distance from my quarrying. From the far side of the bridge I could
confirm a couple of conceivable routes as doable but was unable to convince a
less optimistic Mike to follow.

Shutter Rock – Red and white helmeted Mike Bailey and I just visible

On returning to relative
terra-firma, I recalled an adage about old and bold climbers and understood.
The rest of the day was spent exploring the seawards tunnels leading from the
Devil’s Limekiln and the far North end of the island. Taking a stroll to the
far North lighthouse is a lovely outing, greatly supplemented by seal watching
from the loading platform below.

After lunch, packing and cleaning
of the barn, Andy and I found time to go for a final stride around the island.
It is here that my fitness is put to shame by that of a man’s thrice my age. No
more need be said of this…

A very enjoyable trip to a
fantastic place – I’ll certainly be going back!

Alex Purser

P.S. Alex Harpur would here
receive special congratulations for being the only one of the group to
successfully complete the mantelshelf in the Barn but forfeits for losing his breakfast in undignified circumstances on the return crossing.