…or, how I should learn not to always trust my instincts.

After our first day out with Adrian Berry a few weeks ago, Sol and I had been keen to go back for another days coaching to reinforce the skills we had learned, and maybe push things on a little harder. Things hadn’t really looked too good for this for a while, as I was working all the hours under the sun, Sol was similarly tied up, and Adrian was planning to spend a few weeks in Morocco. However, at the last minute, everything came together and so a plan was hatched to drive up to the Peak District on Friday, camp over, go to Froggatt with Adrian on Saturday, then on to Horseshoe Quarry on Sunday for something entirely different. As always, various weather forecasts were looked at until we found one that looked vaguely promising, and we believed that one over the others while we made our plans. And, as we should have expected, it started raining pretty much the moment we got on the road on Friday night, and absolutely heaved it down all the way to the campsite, whereupon we pitched our tent in a swamp, and went to the local pub for a couple of pints before turning in.

Saturday morning saw us heading into Hathersage to grab some breakfast and for a quick look for a waterproof jacket for Sol as he had left his at home. We didn’t find a jacket, but we did find the biggest breakfast I’ve ever seen, at the little bakery just up the Grindleford road. Now named the ‘Hathersage Heart-attack’, it was a fry-up of biblical proportions, and utterly utterly brilliant. Grease duly consumed, we drove up to Froggatt, met Adrian, and walked to the crag through the puddles and mud. The sun was trying to come out, but it really didn’t look too promising. First thing we did when we got to the top of the crag was to find a reasonably dry boulder, and we spent about an hour there, just playing really, but always under the watchful gaze of Adrian, who would occasionally stop me, get me to question why I was doing something particular way, and get to to really *think* about what I was doing rather than just grabbing big holds and thugging my way around the place. This culminated in a great exercise for me, where I wasn’t allowed to look upwards. I could look dead ahead, but no higher. The idea was that it would make me concentrate on my feet more rather than looking for big juggy holds and then pulling myself into a position with good hands but crap feet. And it worked brilliantly. So much so that while Sol and Adrian sat and had a cup of tea and a chat, I just carried on, constantly finding new ways up the boulder without even thinking of my hands - just feeling upwards, not consciously choosing handholds. Brilliant.

Right then. First climb of the day… Adrian pointed me up Sunset Crack and off I went. What a lovely climb! Slightly tricky move to get over the bulge at the base of the crack, but with great protection, and a lovely position on the edge of the slab. I really enjoyed this one, and topped out with a big smile on my face. All those exercises on footwork obviously paid off, as although not the trickiest climb in the world, there are a couple of places where good footwork makes it a lot more pleasurable - rather than hanging onto the crack by my fingers I was relying on my feet, and using my hands more for balance than motive power. Oh, and for placing the gear of course. Sol then whizzed up the climb, pronounced it easy, and geared up for an ascent of Sunset Slab. I knew that in my head I wasn’t ready to lead this one, as it is very much a bold route - no protection on the upper half of the slab. At which point Adrian soloed up to the flake and pocket, and tested some protection comprising of two skyhooks and a cam - it certainly looked like it might hold a fall, but nobody was too keen to test it! Sol led the climb, and made it look easy. A simple start up to the slab, which gradually steepens up towards the top. I then hopped onto the slab on second to Sol’s lead, and proceeded to enjoy myself enormously as I padded up the slab, scarcely believing what I was doing. If, three months ago, someone had told me that I’d have the ability to walk up a gritstone slab with no handholds I would have just laughed. And yet, here I was doing just that, thanks entirely to Adrian’s coaching.  Again, I topped out with a big smile, and we sat down to have a cuppa. At which point I made a prize arse of myself, by looking at the blank wall next to Sunset Slab and proclaiming it impossible to climb. Adrian looked up at it, and said “actually, it’s not that bad. One of my routes goes up there”. Soul Doubt - E8 6c. I still have no idea how anyone would ever look at a piece of rock like that and think “yeah, I can do that…”

After lunch, we wandered along to Three Pebble Slab. I already knew a little of this climb, that it was very bold in the top half and graded HVS to E1, depending on who you spoke to. I told Adrian that I was happy to have a crack at it, but didn’t fancy the lead due to the boldness of the top half. Sol, however, was itching to get going. The crux move was either getting off the ground on the little polished toe hold, or the step through onto the top slab. Sol made the first one look easy, and then had a bit of fun placing the protection in the deep pocket just below the slab. Adrian was on a fixed rope next to Sol, and thankfully (as we shall shortly see…) got him to double check the cam placement. Eventually Sol proclaimed himself happy, Adrian double checked and agreed that if Sol was happy then he should carry on, and on he went. A couple of steps up to the ’second crux’, at which point his foot popped, and down he came. It was actually a reasonable fall to catch, and I smacked both knees into the rock. ouch. Serves me right for standing a couple of feet away from the base of the route. Beginners belaying error, and a lesson learned with two bruises to show for it! Sol went up again, and this time, there were no problems. The top half of the route looked easy, but still a little too bold for my confidence level, and so I tied into the other end of the rope and went up on second. Up to the step-through, and I could see why Sol had taken a little slip there - it wasn’t an easy move, and I stood a fair chance of slipping off the same way. Adrian, however, had no doubts. “Come on Neil - you’ve been doing harder moves than this all morning on the boulder. Just put your weight on it, and see how it feels”. And without a second thought, I stepped up, through, and onto the slab. Walking up the slab felt great. No problems. Another big smile as I topped out, and another three-star route.

And then we came to Tody’s Wall.  Something very strange happened here. As I tied in to lead it, I didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but really, something just didn’t feel right. Was I scared of the intimidating move over the lip onto the slab? Possibly, but even on lead this was an exceptionally safe move, with bombproof protection right there. The first couple of moves were technically quite staggeringly easy, but my head just wasn’t in the right place. I placed some gear, then proceeded to embarrass myself by not getting established on the jammed block to make the move up to the lip. And Adrian, from about 10 metres away was quite right when he said that I’d not give it my best shot. I hung my head, and lowered off from the cam, feeling angry with myself, and ashamed to have not at least given it 100%. Sol then had a crack, and while it was obviously a struggle, he made it past the lip, and up the slab and crack above to the top. I then completely lost the plot. Even on second, I couldn’t make the move onto the block, and in the end walked around the edge to start the climb from the slab. And even on seconding, I was completely paralysed with fear. I stabbed my way up the crack, panicking, cursing and swearing all the way, despite being perfectly safe. And, to add to my predicament the last mantleshelf onto the top-out was stopped by a nut on my harness betting caught in the crack.  Of course, I could have just leant back and let Sol hold me while I sorted it out, but I was so completely gripped by fear I couldn’t see that. I swore a bit more, panicked a bit more, and eventually sorted it out and slumped over the top. I crawled onto my hands and knees, put my head down, and tried to stop the retching. Why was I scared? I didn’t know. Logically, it’s obvious I was completely safe. But in a state of panic I just hadn’t allowed myself to see that. I needed to be able to separate perceived from actual risk, and I had just failed in this quite spectacularly.

Of course, Adrian had an idea. Put me on a top-rope, on a route I had no real chance of climbing, and get me to fall off a few times trying. And so, I found myself on one of the most hallowed climbs in the country, Great Slab.  I hope I don’t upset too many people by admitting to top-roping this climb, but it was all part of a learning process. And what a climb! What a stunning piece of rock. Every move felt right at my limit, and yet every time I made that move, the next one opened up for me. Of course, I fell. Lots. That was the point. But it was worth it. After half an hour, I slumped on the rope, physically drained, yet emotionally high. “You’re not done yet…” Adrian called up. “Give me a smile”. What? Had he gone mad? “Seriously. Smile. You’re enjoying this right? Smile. Laugh. Have some fun”. Of course, what was happening was positive reinforcement. Equating being out of my depth with having fun. And bloody hell it had worked. “10 more moves upwards - and I want you to smile on each one”. And so I swarmed upwards towards the top, with a big smile. Of course I fell again, but I fell a happy man, and gave Adrian the thumbs-up as I swung backwards away from the face. Sol then tied in, and something extraordinary happened. With one slip only, he got to the top. E3 5b. OK, so you can ignore the E3 bit of that on a top-rope, but it was still a remarkable achievement for someone who has been climbing for just a year.

We packed up, and cleared off to the pub for a bite to eat and a beer. Both well earned. And both heartily enjoyed. What a top day. Again, I had come face to face with my fear of feeling out of control, and had pushed through it with Adrian’s help. I’m already looking forward to the next time.

I have a deep-seated fear of sea cliffs. This isn’t something new, but something I’ve lived with for as long as I can remember. My fear isn’t one of the cliffs themselves, rather a fear of myself, and my ability to resist temptation. You see, what really scares me is that I have an overwhelming desire to jump from the top of one. To hang there, for one brittle yet fleeting moment of complete serenity, before my fall to eternity. I have no idea where this comes from - I’m not a suicidal person by any stretch of the imagination - but still, it’s there, and it’s something I have to deal with every time I’m on top of a cliff. As such, these are places in which I do not dither. If I have to walk near the edge of a cliff, I quite often find myself physically running away or throwing myself on the ground in an attempt to remove this temptation.

I mused on this as I stood on top of the promontory at Baggy Point, setting up a static rope for Sol and I to ab down to the bottom for a couple of climbs. We had planned to have a crack at Lost Horizons on the Long Rock, but the weather meant that the descent to the ridge was dangerously slippy, and we only had one static rope that would be needed for abbing in to the foot of the slab so we couldn’t protect the scramble down. We also tried to get around from Slab Cove, but that nearly ended in disaster on the way out when Sol slipped on the steep path down from the Promontory, and only survived by grabbing a couple of handfuls of grass to slow his slide. To be fair, we very nearly didn’t get that far after I had a raving attack of the willies on the way into Slab Cove at exactly the same point, and sat there in a quivering blue funk for 10 minutes deciding whether to press on or turn back. So by the time we got to even start climbing, it had already been rather an exciting day for us both.

Anyhow. Back to the plot. The plan was to climb ‘Ben’ on top rope, then see what else grabbed our attention. Sol abbed down first, while I teetered on the brink of oblivion at the top of the slab - I had secured myself to the static rope for the belay, but just couldn’t resist leaning out over the edge, to see how it felt. And oddly enough, I didn’t feel the euphoria I was expecting. I just felt a little exposed, and hoped that if the anchors failed, I wouldn’t land on top of my buddy and leave my Goddaughter without a father. Sol then climbed up, got to the top, and proclaimed it a good climb with a tricky move near the top, and good friction. My turn… Abbing down was exhiliarating, despite my normally hating abseiling. And, before I knew it, I was standing on the platform at the bottom, looking up at a perfect slab that just cried out to be climbed. Sol had warned me that it got hot on the slab in the full face of the afternoon sun, so I reached round to get a handful of chalk, and realised I had left my chalk at the top. In the absense of anything better to do, I took my shirt off and tied it to the back of my harness to use as a sweat rag if necessary.

The climb was beautiful - there is no other word for it. A couple of nice powerful moves at the bottom to get the main crack, then follow it diagonally right, all the while with the stunning boulder bridge in view off to my right. The rock was clean, and offered great friction without the abrasiveness of gritstone. And then, at about 30m I’d guess, I hit the crux, which I kind of bodged my way through with a bit of a scrabbly moment from my right foot and a good pull on a small hold. From there, it was plain sailing the rest of the way and I emerged at the top with a big smile on my face, and another little personal victory. For a long time I was completely unsure whether I would ever be able to climb a sea cliff. Something I hadn’t even told Sol during the arrangements for this climb. This was a battle that needed to be won on my own terms, and I had just done so.

We looked at the book, decided that we had actually climed ‘Marion’ instead of ‘Ben’, and Sol promptly abbed back in again to have a crack at something else. Sol was in the mood to lead something, but we decided that as the tide was coming in, we’d leave the static line in place and keep toproping just for safety. I was happy with this arrangement, as I’m more interested in the rock than the style of the climb, but I could tell that Sol was rather disappointed. Next time mate. One thing that we hadn’t bargained for though was the amount of crap that gets knocked down from the top of a cliff when it’s being top roped. I took a couple of hits on the soulders from small pebbles, and Sol had to duck out of the way a couple of times. Still, no damage was done, apart from the sunburn from climbing topless all afternoon.

Will I do another sea cliff? Yes, I think so. I had real problems sleeping the night after the climb, as I just kept visualising myself releasing my belay device while leaning back at the top of the abseil. But I’ve proven to myself that I can put myself right in the middle of one of my greatest, and certainly most destructive fantasy, and not give way to temptation.

Positive Mental Attitude. Or in my case, the way things had gone on my last outdoor climb, Papped Meself Again. I felt pretty down after my last bit of proper climbing. I had failed to even get off the ground on a lead climb that I knew I could pretty much walk up on second. Possibly because of this, my enthusiasm had also taken a bit of a knock, and that, combined with a really hard few weeks at work meant that I have really taken my eye off the ball as far as climbing goes over the past month. I reckon I only got out once, for a quick hour at Cambridge. Which of course was complete toilet, as it always is.

However. Something happened on Friday that changed all that. Something that has actually quite astounded me, when I look back and realise just how far down in the dumps I was a few weeks ago. I had a day of climbing coaching with Adrian Berry, which Sol had paid for by way of a birthday present. I knew that it was an extremely generous present, but I had no idea how valuable it would turn out to be. The plan was to meet up with Adrian in the cafe at Outside in Hathersage, somewhere around 10am. The weather looked kind of OK, with showers but a stiff breeze that would dry the rock out pretty quickly. We had the option to cancel if the weather looked dodgy, but as we’d both taken the day of work anyway, we decided to risk it, and if it all got a bit damp we’d just head off to a climbing centre in Sheffield to practise some climbing technique. So, we turned up at 9am in order to get some breakfast in, and promptly hit our first obstacle of the day. The place didn’t open ’til 09:30. However, a bit of wandering around soon wasted the necessary half hour, and so we sat down to a bit plate of fried brekkie and buckets of tea. Marvellous.

And, right on cue, Adrian turned up at bang on 10. We looked at the weather, and decided that it was still too damp to do anything, so we just had another cup of tea and chatted about this and that. Adrian came across as being quiet, reserved, and just the kind of chap that I’d like to trust on a day out climbing. It was obvious from the start that he wasn’t there to massage our ego with motivational talk, and this suits my way of doing things down to the ground. Working for a large American corporation I’ve seen enough insincere and false motivational bullshit to last me a lifetime. And his methods of getting to question our choices started before we even got to the crag.

“What gear do you have?”

“A couple of sets of nuts, a set of hexes, some cams…”

“What size cams?”

“Errrr… Dunno. We’ve got four of them though”

“Do you reckon that will be enough for large breaks on grit?”

“Errrrrrrrr.”

Sol & I looked blankly at each other. And then we turned to the subject of shoes…

“What shoes do you have?”

“Scarpa”

“Not the blue suedey ones?”

“Um. Yup. Are they crap then?”

“That’s for you to decide. Very much a beginners shoe. Are they comfortable?”

Ah! Brilliant. I can impress him that I don’t wear my shoes too tight…

“Oh yes, I can wear them all day”

“Not ideal then. You have a beginners shoe that is the wrong size”

So, armed with a large dent in my wallet after buying new shoes and cams, we headed off up to Stanage. And oddly enough, I’d been agonising with the decision to buy a new pair of shoes for months. Worth pointing out here, that Adrian very carefully made sure to let us know that he isn’t on any kind of commission from the shop. Which is a shame, as he gave us some bloody good advice on choosing gear.

First thing to try at the crag was a spot of bouldering, padding up a steep slab. Adrian went first, showing us how easy it was. I went second, and bloody hell, if he wasn’t right as well. The new shoes made a huge difference to my confidence, and after a couple of goes, and a bit of practical advice about using my hips more to move my centre of gravity, I went up a few more times feeling more comfortable each time. Next up was a problem that from the ground, looked easier than the first. Hah! I knew I could do this with my eyes closed… Only I couldn’t. Eh? I got two moves off the ground, wobbled around, and jumped off. Eh? How could that happen!? My new found confidence was instantly deflated. Sol, meanwhile, who had been looking at the route, quietly jumped on it, moved left where the handholds went right, and walked up the rest of it.

“That’s an important lesson. Read the route, and look for foot placements first. Once you’re on the route the hand placements will come naturally, but if you don’t have good solid foot placements, you won’t be going anywhere. Well done Sol. Have another go Neil.”

And so I did. And at the first time of trying I got to the top, with a slight wobbly moment at one point when I realised that I’d never soloed anything this high before. So, after one small boulder problem I’d already learned that I could push myself outside of my previous comfort zone without anything terrible happening, and had also gained a wealth of practical knowledge in terms of how to place my feet, how to use the grip, how to keep my centre of gravity in the right place and the importance of clean shoes. Next problem was described as a ‘friction problem’ and after watching Sol fall from it three times before nailing it, I knew I would struggle. And I did. Nine times I slipped off while transferring weight from one foot to another. And on one glorious occasion I got the crux move, stepped up, and promptly slipped down on my belly again.

“That was interesting. You did the hard bit, then got carried away and moved your foot too high. Slow it down a bit, take smaller steps, and remember what I said about hip placement.”

Deep breath, touch rock, and before I know it, I’m at the top. Brilliant! I was so chuffed!

“Good. Now, try and do it with a bit more control, and without using your hands so much when you get near the top.”

What!? Use my hands less when I’m most out of my comfort zone? Is he mad? Another deep breath, and this time with a bit more thought about keeping my centre of gravity vertically above my feet, I walked up. And even I, a complete climbing novice, could feel the difference between bodging my way up previously relying on luck and finger strength, and doing it properly in control. Blimey. Not even lunchtime and I was in the middle of a radical rethink about the way I climb. It’s absolutely not about just thugging my way up to the top of a route and then moving up to the next grade. All that will teach me is how to complete one route at a particular grade. And it didn’t take Adrian to tell me that. I just needed to find it out for myself, and that’s exactly what I’d just done.

We headed off to Burbage North to try and find something drier to have a crack at, and Adrian pointed us at Knight’s Move - which I knew to be HVS 5a, and therefore completely impossible. No point in even trying it. Sol, however, was bouncing with confidence and enthusiasm, and was tied in before I had a chance to even get my belay plate on. Adrian had rigged up a fixed rope next to us, so he could get a good idea of our skills in gear selection and placement. So, off Sol went. And after a couple of moments where he wasn’t sure of the gear and Adrian made him question why he’d placed the gear where he had, he topped out without too much problem.

My turn. Oh well. In for a penny… And the first half of the route actually went reasonably easily, using my new found methods of padding up slabs trusting in friction rather than just grabbing at handholds that aren’t really there. I was constantly aware of Adrian three feet to my right, quietly encouraging when I got something right, and questioning why I’d made some more dubious decisions.  And then, at about three quarters of the way up, on the last hard move, I lost it.

“I can’t do this”

“Yes you can. It’s easier than the moves you’ve been making all day.”

“Really I can’t. I’m not comfortable. F**king hell, I don’t like this.”

And I really wasn’t comfortable. Adrian, however, just made me slow myself down, take a good look around, and work out what to do next. And while I can’t pretend I found the next move that easy to make, I did it, and that was it. About three easy moves later I was at the top. I had to stop for a minute to take stock of what had just happened. I’d just climbed HVS 5a. Given that last time out I’d backed off a S 4a I was really quite astounded at what had just happened. And it wasn’t just a case of Adrian saying “OK, left foot there, handhold to your right, number 5 nut in the crack, right foot up, blah blah”. That would have just shown me the mechanics of a single route. Not shown me that I can work these problems out for myself, take myself way outside my comfort zone, and still come out on top.

And with that, we packed up, and wandered along to have a crack at Long Tall Sally,  which I was by now really looking forward to. Only the weather was starting to turn against us, and the bottom of the route was already wet. To cut a long story short, Sol quite brilliantly managed it, to pull his first E1 lead out of the hat. It took 45 minutes and three falls, but he made it. And for some reason this made me feel immensely proud too, but I haven’t got a clue why. By the time it was my go, the bottom of the route was actually running with water. I slipped off the first move three times, and called it a day. But I didn’t mind. My expectations had already been blown completely away by what I’d achieved.

I’m still completely amazed with what I achieved with Adrian’s help. And when I said at the start that it was a very generous present, the value I’ve taken from it far outweighs the cost. And yes, I hope to be spending a few more days in the company of Adrian over the next few years, to build on what I’ve learned so far, and to give myself the best possible chance of being able to continue to push myself to new heights.

(Before I get going, another apology for the title of this post. A quick bit of searching has turned up at least four bands, a couple of songs, and a route by Adrian Berry of the same name).

So, what’s this? Two updates in two weeks? Obviously, I’ve been busy. Firstly I’ve been playing with my woody (why on earth a home climbing wall is called a woody is beyond me, but I’m going to get the most of of it with plenty of schoolboy jokes) which has been good fun, but also, as a Fathers Day treat, I got to spend the day at Dovestone Tor. Another early start was in order, as it’s the best part of a three hour drive up there, but it was such a beautiful clear morning that I was happy to be up and about at that time. At least, I was after a cup of tea. I don’t really feel a great deal before my first cup of tea to be honest. The normal stop for brekkie at the Leicester Forest services was as enjoyable as ever, given the green mould growing on my bacon sarnie. Note to self: never ever ever eat there again. And, by about 9am we were parked up at Foulstone Delf ready to walk up to the tor. I was looking forward to this nearly as much as the climbing, as I enjoy walking, and the novelty of walking somewhere with a hill was something to savour. At least, until I put my rucksack on. Somehow it managed to be small, uncomfortable, heavy, and impractical all at the same time. Serves me right for buying the cheapest one I could find at T.K. Maxx I guess. And, as I write this post the day after the event, I’ve already thrown it in the corner and ordered something else. Anyhow, the walk passed without too much incident, other than having to stop every 50 metres for Sol to consult his Satmap gadget. Given that there was only one path, and it was clearly defined, I reckon we could just have scraped through without it. (In fact, I’m just jealous. It’s a brilliant piece of kit, and if I had 300 quid burning a hole in my pocket, I’d buy one tomorrow).

So, we got to the Tor, made a cuppa, and tossed a coin to see who would lead first. Sol won, so geared up to lead Dovestone Edge, a Severe 4a through some nice features. He made it look easy. The start was very juggy with the best holds on gritstone, a good cam in a break just above, up through a slabby middle bit to a grassy ledge with a good small nut placement, then a nice couple of breaks for a big nut, up another easy slab to the top. Easy. So easy in fact that I skipped up it on second in about three minutes flat, even though I had to spend two minutes retrieving the second nut from a particularly tenacious placement. Brilliant. Just what the doctor ordered as the start to the day. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that we ran back down to the bottom so I could lead it too.

Only I didn’t. I got established on about the second move, and just froze. Despite there being the biggest and best holds I’ve ever found outside, I just couldn’t commit to move above a point I could easily reverse without any protection. I tried about 5 times. I even tried bodging some protection in for the second move, even though of course, it would have done nothing in practical terms. I tried again, and again. I must have spent twenty minutes going up a metre and a half and coming back down again. Sol got through two cigarettes before I called it a day. Why was this happening? I knew I could climb it, and very easily too. I just couldn’t get past that stage of doubt, knowing that it would be difficult to reverse the first couple of moves if I got into trouble before the first protection. I was determined not to beat myself up about it, but it’s pretty disappointing knowing that I’d given up on something easily within my capability without giving it a decent try. So, instead, I decided to have a go at another nearby route. So, Poll Taxed was chosen, and although I had a slight hesitation on the first moves again, once I got going it was easy. So much so that I don’t think I bothered placing any gear after about the first third of the route. Not that it mattered much, as it turned out that the gear I placed was rubbish and most of it fell out anyway. Note to self 2: get some more practice placing gear…

Sol flew up on second, and we headed off right, as he fancied a go at Talon. This one really put up a fight, and after a tactical retreat to the right, Sol decided to call it a day as he was knackered, and we both needed some lunch and more tea. After lunch we decided to have a go at some bouldering problems around the tor, as neither of us had ever done much bouldering, and there were some cracking looking rocks around the place. There’s not really much to report here really, other than that we found a rock with the abrasive qualities of a cheesegrater, and that years of washing dishes in Fairy Liquid have left my hands way too soft to ever be any good at bouldering. Still, it was good to work on a few short problems rather than screw myself up again by failing dismally on another easy lead.

Somewhere or other there’s a great piece of writing by John Redhead about the doubt in climbing, and how confronting this doubt is good for the soul. At the moment, I feel like I’m running away from it rather than confronting it. And I don’t think that any amount of soul-searching is going to help me here. I just need to get out there and scare myself on something. Looking at it pragmatically, what’s the worst that can happen?

(Note to self 3: stop trying to use Safari to edit this blog, as it screws up the formatting. I should have remembered that from last time).

eBay impulse buys are, at the best of times, dangerous things. I’m not really too sure how well my latest one will turn out; only time will tell. Whatever, it will be fun finding out. You see, I’ve just brought what was advertised as an ‘indoor climbing wall’. OK, it’s a bit of a grand title for what is effectively a sheet of 8×4 ply with loads of T-nuts and a bucketful of holds, but hopefully it could turn out to be very useful. As far as I see, there are three main advantages to having a small wall at home:

1. No need to pay to climb at Cambridge any more. My wall is nicer, doesn’t smell as bad, and I don’t get charged for using it. In fact, I’ve worked out that if I use it five times rather than go to Cambridge, I’ll have saved enough money to cover the cost.
2. Easy to get some training in quickly without having to drive anywhere. I’ll still be doing my weekly trips to Stowmarket/Hatfield - but I’ve worked out that really, I need to climb at least twice a week to keep my fitness up.
3. It means I don’t have to spend another evening away from home. It’s already kind of difficult to get out twice a week during the evenings. This should mean I don’t have to.
4. If this summer is anything like last summer, it means I can climb without having to worry about drowning. 

(Dammit, that’s four. I should learn to count). The original plan was to put it up the outside of the back of the house, but this was discounted after about 2.7 seconds proper thinking, for a multitude of reasons. Mainly involving men in stripy jumpers with bags marked ’swag’ over their shoulders. So, plan B. The garage. I’m lucky, in that my garage has a pitched roof, so I can get about 5 metres height on the wall, and also a nice overhanging section. I need to have an enormous clearout first, as there’s about 6 years accumulated rubbish in there.  Also, it means there’s enough scope for a bit of an expansion should the idea prove good, and I save up enough for a few more holds and some plywood.

Time for my monthly update… When I started this blog the idea was to write something every time I climbed something. However, with the best will in the world, it’s not always easy to find something interesting to write about another trip to Hatfield or Stowmarket. Hopefully now the weather has taken a marked turn for the better I’ll be able to get outside a bit more (and I don’t mean the West Stow boulder) and get some more interesting things written.

Anyhow, enough apologies. On to the main subject of this months outpouring of drivel - a trip to Stanage last week. I’d heard good, and bad things about Stanage to be honest. Good - the quality and quantity of the routes were without question, and a flick through the Eastern Grit guidebook showed page after page of inviting looking cragginess with any number of fantastic looking lines. Bad - I’d been told the place would be crowded, and told to watch out for the ‘Prana-wearing top-roping Gaylords’. I made a mental note of this, and vowed never to buy a Prana shirt as long as I’m climbing, just in case I get seen seconding a route whilst wearing it. Sol & I had an early start, and stopped half way up the M1 at Leicester Forest for a bacon sarnie and coffee whilst looking out the window at the hammering rain. It didn’t look good. We arrived at Stanage Popular via a GPS-induced series of detours around Hathersage (just in case anyone from Hathersage ever reads this, I’m really sorry if we disturbed you after driving around the village for the fifth time) to a completely deserted car-park, and a low cloud but no actual rain. So we put the kettle on. An hour or so later, the cloud was still low, but the wind had picked up nicely. And we were still the only people there. Another car load of young climbers had turned up, all piled out of the car, and then spent ten minutes asking each other who had remembered to pack the ropes before all piling back into the car and going to get them. I like to think that they had remembered their Prana shirts and matching chalk-bags though.

So, with nothing better to do, we wandered up to the crag, and had a poke around. Anything that was in the wind was dry, anything sheltered was greener than a particularly sanctimonious David Cameron cycling off to fix his wind turbine. So, we picked a route, Leaning Buttress Crack, and I geared up to lead it. About half way up I got lost, came back down to have a good rethink, while Sol scooted up there in about twenty seconds flat. I seconded him, and we walked around the crag to get back down again. Lovely. Eddie had turned up by now, and he and Sol had a quick go at Chockstone Direct while I wandered off to do something vitally important, the exact nature of which completely escapes me. Next up, the classic line of Flying Buttress, again with Sol leading and me seconding. What a brilliant climb. I had a bit of a problem flopping over the top on the very last move, but it was still a fantastic climb, and the first time I’ve realised what a 3-star climb is all about. Brilliant. We stopped for some lunch, at which point I realised that Pot Noodles are far easier to eat with a fork rather than a pair of matches as chopsticks.

After lunch we decided to go for something a little harder, and Beech Tree Wall appeared to fit the bill, particularly as all the easier climbs now appeared to be in the process of being top-roped by a bunch of Prana-wearing gaylords. (And one unfortunate youngster who got stuck on Leaning Buttress Crack for about 90 minutes, while continually whining to anyone in a twelve mile radius that there were no handholds. I have no idea what happened to him. For all I know he’s still there. The queue of people waiting to try the same route just led up past him in the end, fed up with waiting). Anyhow, again, it was agreed that Sol would lead the climb, as there was a rather blank looking section in the middle that would require long arms and a steady nerve. Both of which Sol possesses and I don’t. And, he did struggle with it, but eventually topped out with a whoop of restrained happiness while I got ready to fall off it. Which is exactly what happened. It was only a little slip though, and once over the sketchy middle section, it was plain sailing until I put my hand into a pile of bird poo on the top ledge. We were both getting a bit tired by now, and it was a long journey home, so we decided to have a crack at an easy one to round off the day. Black Hawk Traverse Left was chosen as a suitable candidate, and I tied in to lead. To cut a long story short, I got lost. Twice. Idiot. That will teach me to read the guidebook more carefully in future. However, help was at hand in the form of a group on the next climb who pointed me in the right direction for the “bishop’s stride” around the bulge. A great move, once I had worked out where it was… And I capitalised on this sudden rush of confidence by traversing straight past the point where I should have started heading upwards, instead finishing up Castle Crack. Enjoyable, apart from the rope drag caused by my navigational incompetence.

A great day out. I don’t care that I only led one climb and managed to get lost doing it - I thoroughly enjoyed the crag, and can see why it’s so popular.

Much as I hate to admit it, I am rather a control freak. I don’t like being placed in situations where my actions have no bearing on the outcome of the event. This is why I’m so terrified of flying, yet will happily go out and race a motorcycle. Obviously, statistically, I am far safer on the plane, but I feel far safer on the bike, as I have a direct input into what is happening. It’s one of the things I like so much about climbing - I can put myself in situations that are inherently scary and very exciting, yet I still retain control of that situation. Do I want a bit more risk? No problem - just don’t place any protection before the move. Do I feel scared? Again, no problem - protect the current situation [1], take five minutes to recompose myself, and work out a plan.

Last night, however, something happened that I think a few months ago would have had me in real trouble, shouting for help and hanging on desperately while I wondered what to do next. I had lead to the top of one of the panels at Hatfield, not a technically difficult route (5a I think) but quite physical. Certainly physical enough that when I clip into the screwgate at the lower-off I breathe rather a large sigh of relief. Last night, however, I reached that lower-off and the screwgate was jammed solid. Nothing I could do to it with one hand would get it open. I could have just abbed back down from the last bolt, but that would just have left our quickdraw there and passed the problem on to someone else. So, a plan was hatched. Climb down to that last quickdraw (I didn’t have any spare on my harness), remove it, climb back up (not as tricky as it sounds, as it’s only about a metre below the lower-off), clip myself to the lower-off chain and rethread the broken screwgate. And, in complete control, that’s exactly what I did. No shaky legs. No swearing. No drama at all. Luckily I carry a spare screwgate on my harness for exactly moments like this, and for the first time it was pressed into service. I was rather pleased with myself when I got back down again - firstly for completing the climb with no trouble, and secondly for remaining calm and composed when I was presented with a bit of a surprise problem at the top of the route. I know that in the grand scheme of things it was a pretty trivial problem when placed against some of the things that can go wrong while climbing, but I’m still happy.

In fact, I think I probably deserve a cup of tea.

[1] I know, it’s not always possible. At my level it certainly is though.

Well, it’s been a few weeks since my last entry here, which normally indicates a lack of activity on my part. In this case though, nothing could be further from the truth. Firstly there was a couple of trips to the wall that were, well, uneventful. And then there was a four day trip to the Montserrat Massif with the chaps at climbcatalunya last weekend, which turned out to be one of the greatest things I’ve ever done, culminating in a multi-pitch to the top of one of the pinnacles that make up the startlingly dramatic landscape of the summit of the massif. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The trip started pretty badly actually, with a long wait on the runway at Stansted due to fog in Barcelona. There were meant to be four of us climbing for the weekend - however, at that moment Sol & I were sitting at Stansted, while Eddie and Champ were sitting at Luton for exactly the same reason. Eventually Barcelona air traffic control declared that they could see well enough, and we got going, arriving there a couple of hours later to be met by our guides for the weekend, Gee and Carole. We all piled into Gee’s Landy, and headed straight from the airport up to the massif. The landscape is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And rather than trying (and failing,no doubt) to describe it, let’s see if I can find a photo. Ah - yup, here we go.

(Image copyright someone else. No idea who. Hope they don’t mind me linking to it, but as I’m the only person ever likely to read this, I don’t suppose they’ll notice the extra bandwidth). Well, as you can guess, we were all pretty excited to see something like this, and couldn’t wait to get started. Important things first though, we stopped at the cafe and had coffee and a sandwich before heading up the funicular railway, and a short walk in to the base of six or seven climbs, all about 25 metres. Now, given that the only place I’ve ever clipped a bolt before now is at the wall at Hatfield, I had two immediate concerns. Firstly, where were the big plastic juggy holds? Secondly, why were the bolts four or five metres apart? I had about twenty minutes or so to ponder on this, as Sol decided to lead the first climb. This sort of technical fidgety climbing is right up his street, and he fairly whistled up the climb before tying off at the top and abbing back down with an enormous smile on his face. So… My turn. My first outdoor sports lead, on an unfamiliar rock type best describe as ‘entertainingly bolted’. I needn’t have worried. It took a few metres to get used to the technique for moving up on this rock (just look for any kind of feature, no matter how small, jam your toe on/into it and stand up. Don’t bother looking for handholds - there aren’t any. If you find a handhold, it’s usually cause for quite a celebration) but move up I did. The runout between the bolts really didn’t bother me actually, as I was enjoying the climb so much and concentrating on the movements. I made it to the top, clipped into the lower-off with a handy quickdraw, and turned around to look at the view before rethreading. Wow. Really wow*10^6 - now I’d cleared the trees at the base of the climb I could see clearly, and the view was stunning. Anyhow. Acutely aware that I was hanging on a single piece of protection, I decided that rethreading was a good idea, and then it hit me that my actions in the next minute or so would have a distinct effect on the length and excitement of the rest of my life… I checked the knot four times before shouting to Sol to take up the slack in the rope while I unclipped the quickdraw. I was back on the ground twenty seconds later, in complete control, with the biggest smile on my face. The rest of the afternoon was spent at the same face, trying different routes, and chilling out enjoying ourselves. I probably made about three climbs, before attempting one last one but dropping off half way through ‘cos I was hungry, and tired having been up since 4am in order to catch the plane. For tea, Gee and Carole took us to a local restaurant where we had cold beer, tapas, squid and chips. Perfect…

Next day dawned bright and beautiful, with some stunning views from our refuge down to the mist in the valley below. I’ve got some photos somewhere which I’ll upload when I get an hour spare. Anyhow, a long day on the south face of the massif beckoned, so we breakfasted, drank coffee, and all bundled into the car. The walk-in was a bit more strenuous this time, with a bit of ‘bushwhacking’ as Gee described it to get to the base of the first face. Gee scuttled off up a 6a+ climb to put a rope up for us, Sol led up a very technical 5+, while I settled for the easy option and led up a nicely situated 4+ just around the corner. In fact, I liked it so much I pulled the rope down, and led up the route immediately next to it as well. The sun was up, and I was feeling good. I then had a go at top-roping Gee’s 6a+ route, and suddenly realised that despite feeling good, I wasn’t Johnny Dawes. I got about 12 metres up, and just fell off. So I tried again, made it to about 13 metres, and this time just gave up. I’m not sure why, but this knocked me back a bit, and I completely failed to complete any further climbs that day, including a beautiful technical crack line that Gee picked out when he saw I was struggling with the technical climbing. I couldn’t help feeling that for some reason I was letting everyone else down by not giving it 100% effort. Sol & Eddie on the other hand were both giving it at least 100% effort, and proved it by both climbing a beautiful 30 metre neighbouring route involving a chimney, some bridging, laybacking from a hanging flake, traversing an undercut before clipping in to the lower-off a full 30 metres up. A beautiful route, but quite beyond me. I sat at the bottom, sulked a little, and realised that just because a line is there, I don’t *have* to climb it. I can appreciate it just as much by looking at it and working how I’d approach the climb if I was technically capable. Food. Beer. Zzzzzzz…

Next day, and another sector on the South face with another fearsome walk-in. First route up was a brutal looking chimney, straight up, a full 30 metres. I belayed while Eddie led it, and it was obviously a struggle, as it took him 30 minutes or so. My turn… I like this kind of climbing more than the technical nadgery stuff we’d been doing up to that point, so was expecting to enjoy this climb and do well. But, yesterday’s demons were still haunting me as I got to a tricky narrowing of the chimney about 15 metres up, and rather than press on, just bailed out when I looked down and got scared. I was furious with myself. Bloody furious. It was such a beautiful piece of rock, and well within my ability. So I cleaned the crap off my shoes, told the demons to piss off and got back on there. 10 minutes later I was at the lower-off, feeling bloody marvellous. From there, it was straight onto a very technical “six something plus I guess” that was next to me. And here, I had another epiphany. I got to a very reachy technical move which normally I’d just shrug my shoulders at and drop off saying “can’t do that”. This time, however, I had a big sweary moment. I really shouted. Lots. And, with a final scream of “f*cksocks” I pulled up on a handhold that was no wider than a pencil using a pebble hole no bigger than a large grape for my toe before driving straight through another less than enormous hold up to a “resting point” which was actually a small ledge smaller than my mobile phone. I closed my eyes, breathed very very deeply, and relaxed. At this moment Sol took a picture, so rather than capturing the most dynamically explosive move of the weekend, it actually looks like I’m having a snooze. I’m sure I climbed something else later that day, but I’m already having difficulties remembering exactly what I did and when I did it. What I do remember is eating sausage and chips for tea in a local bar and drinking a couple of cold beers before suggesting to Gee that we maybe have a pop at a small, easy, multi-pitch route the next day.

And, next day, I was standing at the bottom of one of the massif pinnacles after a 7c+ walk-in wondering what on earth I’d done. It was about a 100 metre climb in all, with a traverse, two 30 metre pitches and a final 20 metre scramble to the summit. Champ had flown home ill the day before, so the plan was for Gee to lead me, and then Sol and Eddie to follow us up exchanging the lead. There was a lot of ropework to learn, and Gee was brilliant at explaining everything at ground level, demonstrating as he went along. So, all geared up, he started off along the traverse. Eventually I heard the call of “safe” so took him off belay, shouted “that’s me” as the rope came taught, and started off. I’ve never done a traverse before, and bloody hell, this was a baptism of fire. It started off easy enough, but there were only three bolts over the entire length of the pitch. And the second one was immediately *before* the hardest set of moves, so if I’d slipped there I would have had a 10 metre swing out over the trees. It’s safe to say at this point that my mind was concentrated wonderfully. I made the belay ’stance’ (actually, it was technically a hanging belay, as there was no ledge at all, just a couple of bolts and a chain) clipped in, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Gee then went through exactly what was going to happen next, and exactly what my responsibilities were as I belayed him up. Off he went. The first bolt was a good four metres above, so a fall while reaching to clip it would have been entertaining for both of us. Of course, he didn’t fall. He vanished round the corner, and 10 minutes later again I heard the call of “safe” and the process repeated itself. The climbing wasn’t too tricky - a couple of balancey moves, but really, a lot easier than we’d been doing the day before. The exposure was completely different though, as I was acutely aware that I was starting from a point 20 metres up, and climbing another 30 metres from there. It was fantastic. The next belay point was a cave, where we stopped, had a quick bite to eat and a drink, and again, a lesson in constructing safe anchors and belaying off them. I felt enormously privileged to be there - on a global scale, a mere handful of people had ever sat in this cave and seen this view. Next pitch was more of the same. 30 metres of quite simple climbing up to the next belay. At which point, rather than making myself safe, Gee just told me to scramble the final metres up to the summit being bloody careful not to fall off as the only protection was from his belay point. I crawled onto the top of the pinnacle, clove-hitched my rope to a rusty old piece of kit bolted on up there, and sat down. I’d made it. And just sitting here typing it up is enough to give me a huge surge of adrenaline. The feeling was completely and utterly indescribable. I don’t care that it wasn’t the highest pinnacle on the massif. It was the proudest moment of my life in terms of achievement, and I had about 30 minutes of complete solitude up there while Gee waited at the belay for Sol and Eddie to make their way up. I’m not a spiritual person, but sitting up there, completely alone, on the summit was the closest I’ve ever been to a spiritual revelation. Enough of this though. As anyone will tell you, a climb is not over until you’re safe on the ground again, and we had a two pitch abseil ahead of us, using full length ropes. I made a bit of a meal of this to be honest, as my belay plate doesn’t work too well for abbing on two full ropes, so I bounced my way down, and managed to jam my thumb in the bloody thing just to add injury to insult. (As I write this, I am debating what to replace it with). The last abseil pitch was the most risky part of the whole day, for two reasons. Firstly, the back of the chimney we were descending was very loose so a lot of rock came down. Secondly, there was a bees nest at the bottom. But, we all made it down, thanked Gee profusely for the help and guidance, and prepared for the flight home. (Actually, there was a lot of chilling out and chatting, but my typing finger is hurting now).

I got home after midnight. Tired, but immensely, immensely proud. Enormous thanks to Gee and Carole for their hospitality, assistance, good humour, coffee and encouragement. I’ll be back again. No doubt.

Climbing, it seems, is about more than hauling ones bulk up to the top of a wall/crag/mountain and getting back safely again. There is also a social aspect to it which I had never considered. From the strong bond of trust forged between a climber and his belayer, to the meeting up of loosely associated groups of people on a regular basis who have nothing in common other than a desire to climb, there are always people around a climber. This is one aspect of climbing that I struggle to deal with to be honest, as I am a miserable surly git at the best of times, and am very uncomfortable in large groups. So when I arrived at the Stowmarket wall last Thursday evening to find it so full that there was only one rope that didn’t have a small group congregated at it’s base, I was, frankly, rather dismayed at the prospect of spending an evening accidentally bumping into people and apologising to them. Happily, in the end, it was a good evenings climbing. The crowds dispersed after an hour or so, and left Sol & I virtually alone in the place to get on with it. Very good.

Compare that with Saturday. I had arranged to travel up to Birchen to meet up with a few friends for a day on the gritstone. Birchen is a three hour drive away for me, so it was an early start, and I arrived just before 9am. The car park was empty, which was a good sign. So I picked up my gear, and walked up to the crag. And I had the whole place to myself. Not just the crag. The whole valley stretched out around me, and there was not a soul to be seen or heard. So I fired up the Trangia, made a cuppa, and just sat there, listening to the birdsong and revelling in the tranquility and solitude. Really, it was the most pleasant half hour I’ve had for a long time. And the creeping realisation that I would be doing a lot more of this in future filled me with an optimism that I will be carrying with me for a long time to come.

Blimey. Almost seems trivial to talk about the climbing after that, but climb I did, and ticked off another grade - an HS 4a was chosen as my first route of the day (Stoker’s Hole), and after a little struggle to get the first move, the rest of it went swimmingly. Comedy moment of the day was when we eyed up the next route, Trafalgar Wall, a highly rated climb. We looked at it, scratched our heads, and both fell off the starting move before giving up, heading left and wandering up Trafalgar Crack instead, which proved to be very enjoyable. I’ll have another crack at Trafalgar Wall next time I’m there, hopefully with someone who has done it before so I can get a bit of information about how to get off the ground. I don’t particularly care about not being able to claim it as onsight, but I do want to have another go at it. Final climb of the day for me was Yo-ho crack which I chose just because it looked like a nice line, rather than the grade. I’m not sure what I screwed up, but I really found this one a struggle at one point - I just couldn’t work out what to do with my feet. In the end I just pulled myself up on a rather uninspiring hand hold and used a couple of smears to gain height, which felt a bit precarious, and certainly not in keeping with the character of the rest of the climb which was lovely. Again, I’ll have another go at this one at some point, as I’m sure it’s a lot easier than I made it.

A grand day out. And made all the better by that 30 minutes of solitude at the start of the day which I will remember for a long time to come.

(Before I start, an apology about the title of this entry. I know it’s a tired old cliche, and a quick search reveals literally millions of “fear and loathing in <placename>” web pages around. My excuse is that it’s Monday morning, I’m a bit tired, and in desperate need of tea).

Any road up. Last Friday was another trip to Hatfield, to meet up with Sol and Kev. I may have to start limiting my trips there because it’s costing me a fortune in petrol, which is a shame as I thoroughly enjoy climbing there. But, onto topic one of todays drivel: Fear. I noticed something odd while attempting a new route on Friday. I got about halfway, up to the crux which was a couple of balancey moves to grab a hold around an overhang and pull myself over. Nothing that I’ve not done before on other similarly graded routes, but I got up to it, looked at it, tried it, came down, looked again, came down, and pondered. In the end I realised that I wasn’t going to get it, so I bailed out, and Kev whipped up to the top to retrieve the gear I’d left behind. While he was on the move that flummoxed me, I watched carefully and closely, and when he got down, I told him to leave the top rope up and I’d try it on top rope now that I knew the sequence of moves I needed. While I won’t say it was easy, it really did get me wondering why I couldn’t work out the sequence on the onsight approach. And the more I thought about it, the more it confused me, for one main reason. I’m normally pretty good at making on sight choices regarding risk and action. When I raced bikes, I could pretty much guarantee that on the first race on a new track, I could get a top three finish while everyone else was struggling to learn the circuit. By the end of the meeting I’d be back in my customary midfield obscurity as all the proper racers learned the track and used that knowledge to good effect.

So, why can’t I apply this ability to climbing? My theory is that it’s easier to rationalise falling off a motorcycle than falling off a cliff, and for that I blame evolution. Falling off a cliff is a much more primal fear than falling off a motorcycle, and so the brain is harder to retrain to accept and rationalise the risk. I rather think the only way I can overcome this little problem is actually by falling off a good few times and attempting to get used to it.

Loathing? The cafe closed up early and wouldn’t sell me tea. No excuses, no apologies, nothing. Don’t they realise how important a good cup of tea is to the modern climber? (Well, to me at any rate).