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.

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.

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).

There are, of course, lots of words that will strike terror into the heart of any man.

• “Have you forgotten it’s my birthday?”
• “Do you know what the speed limit is on this section of road sir?” [1]
• “I’d like to arrange an appointment to talk about your overdraft”

etc. etc. However, last night I found another two that could be added to that list for climbers. Let me set the scene: I’ve not been climbing for a couple of weeks. In fact, I’ve not done any kind of exercise, and have eaten an inordinate amount of very good food, courtesy of being away on my hols for a while. So, last nights trip to Hatfield was always going to be a bit of a struggle, as I’ve put a few pounds on that I needed to haul up the wall with me. We warmed up with a couple of 5a routes. One easy, that was despatched with no problems at all, and one a bit more technical, which I needed to put my foot on another route at one point, purely because there was a hold from the other route in exactly the place I wanted to put my foot for balance. Anyhow, Sol then showed me up a rather physical 5b he’d completed the week before on top-rope, and fancied a go at leading. He managed it, but I could tell that it was a struggle for him, and that I was about to struggle even more. To cut a long story short, I didn’t have a chance. I struggled and puffed and panted, thrashed, wriggled, and finally gave up on the 5b route, and grabbed the 5a that was next to it. By the time I arrived at the top I was sweating, shaking, and had a distinct case of Elvis leg. I clipped the lower off, and shouted down “Take in!” to Sol as I was ready to drop. Back up the wall came a plaintive reply:

“Hang on!”

[1] A friend of mine was pulled for speeding many many years ago on an old RD350YPVS. The officer greeted him with a cheery “having trouble taking off were we Wing Commander?”

Measuring physical strength is easy - how much can you lift, and how many times? I’m sure there’s an awful lot more to it than that, but in my simple, pink and fluffy world, that’s really all there is to it. So, in terms of strength, last nights trip to Hatfield was a resounding success - I climbed/belayed for three hours without having to back off any routes due to being knackered. I’m not sure how many routes I completed (it was either eight or nine, and I’m guessing the wall is thirteen or so metres high) mostly around 4c/5a. Which technically doesn’t sound that tricky, but I’m more than happy with that, thank you.

Mental strength is a different kettle of fish though. How do you measure it in respect to climbing? Well, I had a good test last night. We’d been climbing for a couple of hours, and I was wondering what to do next when Kev spotted a route up a well featured arete that neither of us had ever tried. It looked possible, so I decided to give it a go. About 1/3rd of the way up, I was thinking that some of the holds were a little crimpy, but that things were going well, and I should be able to get up without too much drama. Then, out above the penultimate bolt, things went wrong. The holds, which from the bottom had looked so inviting seemed now no more than crimpy little smeary marks on the surface. The one good hold was an undercut, which I couldn’t get into a suitable position to use. My left foot was slipping. All in all, it was not a good place to be, and I started to panic a bit. Now, a couple of months ago, at this point I would probably have just let go, taken the fall, and put it down to experience. But I didn’t. Despite being in physically a very uncomfortable position, I still had enough composure to take stock of the situation, steady myself, make a plan and get out of trouble. OK, it meant I took a hold on a neighbouring route, but it did mean I could reach the safety of the last bolt, and from then up to the lower off. And for me, this was a far more important test (and result) than the physical ability to climb strongly. When I later checked the grade it was a 5b, which is really a bit above what I know I can climb at the moment anyway, so I’m very happy that it went so well.

It’s worth noting that although my description makes it sound like an epic onsite attempt at Indian Face, I was in fact, about nine metres up with two metres of runout and obviously in no danger at all.  I don’t care though - in my own little world it was an achievement of note, and that’s what counts for me.

Hmmm, seeing as I have a ‘general’ category I guess I’d best write something to put there. This could be put down to destiny, kismet, karma or some other such new-age bollocks. Or it could be in an attempt to actually write something here rather than having another unloved blog festering away on a server somewhere, clogging up someone elses disk space, another momument to the uncommitted.

So, what’s been happening then? Well, I’ve got a lovely new computer (thanks Freecycle), and have just had tea, so there is an awful lot to be cheerful about. And the first signs of spring are appearing in my garden, which is also nice. On the climbing front though, all is not so rosy… Firstly, I’ve done something irritatingly painful to my left elbow. Secondly, due to a recent change in working hours by my wife, it’s been increasingly difficult to actually find any time when I can get out with my usual climbing partner. Option B is just to trot down to Cambridge and get on with some bouldering, but in all honesty, I’d rather contract syphilis. So, in the past three weeks or so, I’ve only managed two outings, which is a little disappointing. However, in the process, I have made my first ventures East to the frozen wastelands of Suffolk and the Stowmarket climbing wall. And it’s actually rather nice. Not too high (about 7 metres at the highest I’d guess) but nice and friendly, with a good selection of routes - some slabby, some overhangy, some with big bulbous knobbly bits, some with little evil crimpy bits and cracks. All in all, a good find for me. Far closer than Hatfield, and far nicer than Cambridge. And cheaper than either of them.

Here’s a question: Why can’t climbing walls standardise on one grading system? (Or, in the case of Cambridge, why can’t they have a grading system, other than “can climb that one” or “can’t climb that one”?) Hatfield uses a UK technical grade, while Stowmarket seems to use Font grades. While I don’t want to get hung up on chasing numbers, it’s bloody irritating for a newcomer to turn up, and not really have a clue what’s what. Still, looking on the bright side, I now know that I can managed a UK grade 4c without too much trouble, or a Font 5+ with a little bit of swearing and a bruised kneecap. Lord only knows what grading system they use at Bear Rock, Warwick, as when I went there a few weeks back I skipped up a 6a without really much of a problem. Or perhaps gravity just isn’t as strong there.

On the ‘things to look forward to’ front, there’s a couple of things coming up - firstly, a trip to Birchen next weekend. My first attempt at trad lead climbing.  So looking at things pragmatically, unless I write something else before then, there’s a chance that this could be the last blog entry, and my last act on this earth will be to make a small crater at the bottom of a bit of gritstone while wondering what went wrong with my cam placement. Secondly, I’m off to Spain in a few weeks for a few days sunshine and climbing in the Montserrat Massif. Which will be tremendous fun, apart from one thing - I am terrified of flying. Gulp.

Have I already made it quite clear that I really don’t know what I’m doing with regard to climbing? Yes? Good. As the following is an admission of complete idiocy on my part.

I popped into the local wall in Cambridge a couple of days back for an hours climbing before going to the panto with my family. (Cinderella at the Cambridge Arts Theatre. Highly recommended if, like me, you’re still a child at heart). I’d noticed a few nights ago that the soles on my shoes were no longer black, but more of a hazy grey colour (or gray color for our transatlantic friends). I didn’t really think much about this, but I just cleaned them up with a damp cloth and dried them to bring back the previous nice black colour. I was, to put it mildly, rather surprised when I skipped up a climb that only a week ago I’d fallen from three times when my feet skidded off from a little smeary patch.

Nobody had ever told me that you need to clean the soles of climbing shoes. I’m not sure exactly what I expected (magic climbing pixies that come out at night and look after my kit for me or something) but that’s something else learned. See? Told you I really don’t know what I’m doing.

Indoor climbing seems to come in for a lot of stick from the ‘purists’ who like their rock, well, rocky rather than plastic. Which is fair enough, but seeing as I live in the The Fens, if I want to go climbing during the week without taking a holiday, I have no choice but to climb indoors. My local wall (Cambridge) is quite frankly shocking. It’s about 6 metres high, smells of old socks, with no ropes, no facilities for leading, and as far as I can tell, the routes have never even been cleaned let alone changed. Quite honestly, I probably get more enjoyment from climbing my local trees.

Next nearest ‘wall’ that I can find is the outdoor activity centre at Mepal. This isn’t so much a wall. It’s a tent. And while the wall is taller than Cambridge (11m), and has facilities for leading, it only seems to be open about three times a year. Next up is probably Stowmarket. I’ve never been there, so can’t comment.

So, given that the local facilities are so desperately appalling, the prospect of a 120 mile round trip to climb at Hatfield isn’t so bad after all, even if it is ruinously expensive in terms of time and petrol. At least I get to play on a sensible wall, with good facilities, and a cafe. Which is exactly what I did last night. My normal climbing buddy Sol was on babysitting duty, so I arranged to meet up with Kev, another friend and ex-bike racer, who is also a dead handy climber. The goal of the evening was just to get back on a wall after the Christmas break, and see just how badly all that booze and food had affected my ability to climb, so I wasn’t expecting to achieve much really. After a bit of bouldering to warm up, Kev decided to launch straight into my nemesis route - ‘only’ a 4c [1] but with a thuggy overhang above a ledge which while not technically taxing, for some reason really freaked me out. To the point where I could top-rope the route with ease, but had backed off three times on lead attempts. So I held the ropes, and watched him whizz up to the top without too much trouble, other than a bit of a shaky leg half way up. So it was my turn… I didn’t get off to the best start when I nearly slipped off a simple mantleshelf onto the ledge, but I put that straight behind me, probably being due to me carrying an extra 3kgs or so after Christmas. Ooops. Next up was the crux - pulling up under an overhang, a couple of strong moves, then back out onto the main face. This is the bit I’d failed on three times before, despite being able to do it when protected by top-rope. This time, however, I didn’t even think about it - I clipped just under the overhang, pulled up, got my legs up, and with a bit of grunting and foot shuffling, found myself above the crux and back on the main face. I was so surprised to find myself up there, that I noted the bolt to clip to was now below my waist, which was less than ideal. Still, the bolt was clipped, and the rest of the route was climbed without too much trouble. Woo! Happy.

The rest of the evening was spent climbing a selection of other routes, and generally having a very enjoyable evening. Another 4c was going swimmingly up until the very final move to grab the jug next to the lower-off - as I moved up my hand slipped, and I was forced to grab out at the nearest hold which wasn’t on the route I was climbing. Dammit. More chalk next time. (I’ve always thought of chalk as primarily a psychological aid. This time, however, I absolutely needed it. Another lesson learned).

So, while I’m not obsessed with chasing grades, it’s good to finally have an idea of what I can acheive as a starting point. Currently 4b I can walk up without thinking about it. 4c makes me work, but I can do them. And at 5a I fall off. But that’s OK, as Kev fell from the same 5a twice, and he’s a far better climber than I. The only downside to the evening was that I got so carried away climbing that I failed to notice the cafe closing at 10pm, so I never did get that cuppa.

[1] Hatfield grades it’s routes with UK technical standard.