Saturday. Sunny. Lovely day for a long route. Unfortunately Dan had a sudden and painful attack of work, wasn’t able to travel on Friday night, and is still trying to get here. It is 9:30 am. The clock is ticking. 

Dan arrives at 10am. We hit the crag at 1pm.  

As we kit up a small voice starts up in the back of my mind, “You are starting way too late. You are going to get benighted. You are going to have an epic. Turn round NOW.” 

Sod off, small voice. I am going to do this anyway. 

Right, ten pitches, gets dark a little after six, so half an hour per pitch or GET A MOVE ON. Dan climbs faster than I do (fitter, more talented and less inclined towards gibbering sweary moments), so the plan is for him to do most if not all of the leading.  

The first pitch suffers from a protracted start-of-route gear faff and takes over forty minutes. Not good. 

The second pitch  suffers from a can’t-find-the-belay faff. Not good either. 

Deconstructing the guidebook, comprehension dawns. We’ve overshot the belay and are actually halfway up the third pitch. I lead through and we are back on track. By the fourth pitch we are flying. 

Up the awkward bit. Up the corner. Up the ridge and yes, this is *that* belay, this is where we need to be. Now, where is the thing? A quick guddle under a suspicious-looking loose rock and I have cache#1000 in hand.  

We top out just as the sun starts to set. Sorted. 

It would be nice to report that there was much beer and celebration that night, but sadly I ended up asleep after half a pint. 

(On Sunday, as some sort of karmic balancing act for the joys of Saturday, we went to Dinas Mot, did The Cracks in persistant penetrating drizzle, and then got the ropes stuck on the abseil off just as it started raining properly. Hmph.)

 (Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 34
Sport Routes (led): 5
Trad Routes (seconded): 46
Trad Routes (led): 8
Trad routes (solo: 1)

“I’m not sure I can do this.” 

Scrabbling desperately, he fumbles a quickdraw onto the bolt. 

“I think I’m coming off.” 

Weight all on hands, nothing for feet. He needs to get the rope into the quickdraw, but he can’t get a hand free. He’s tiring fast. 

“I’m gonna fall off!” 

He’s a big lad and he’s a fair way above the last bolt. He sounds more than a little stressed. 

“I’M COMING OFF!!” 

And suddenly, I am flying up to meet him.  

Loud laughter from all present. “Steve? You owe your belayer a pint, mate!” 

At the end of the meet, amid all the thanks for the beer/food/climbing and see-you-Wednesday, he grins. “Cheers for saving my life.” 

Funny, this sport of ours. We make regular attempts to get killed and our belayers perform ordinary, everyday miracles in stopping us dying. And we very rarely think anything of it.

 (Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 34
Sport Routes (led): 5
Trad Routes (seconded): 44.5
Trad Routes (led): 7.5
Trad routes (solo: 1)

Club meet at Llangollen, hindered somewhat by the campsite we’d booked into closing down three days before the meet and the last-minute replacement having a slope so severe you ended up sliding out of your tent and down the field if you weren’t careful. The organisational faff didn’t extend to the climbing, and we ended up at the bit of Trevor that’s too new to be in the guide. It was more than a little loose. On the other hand, it wasn’t polished. Which was nice.

(Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 24
Sport Routes (led): 2
Trad Routes (seconded): 44.5
Trad Routes (led): 7.5
Trad routes (solo: 1)

In search of something a little bit different, Andrew and I had a wander up to the Pinfold area of Trevor. Very quiet – only one other party there – but also a little bit loose. Did two routes, seemed to be having a bit of a high-gravity day, enthusiasm noticeably absent.

(Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 15
Sport Routes (led): 1
Trad Routes (seconded): 44.5
Trad Routes (led): 7.5
Trad routes (solo: 1)

Andrew, it emerged, had never climbed on slate before. Not once. Not ever. This was a deficiency he was somewhat anxious to rectify, so we ended up at Dali’s hole in blazing sunshine and oven-like heat. “Hot” was an understatement, but fortunately we managed to find a patch of shade to hide in between routes. Dali’s being very user-friendly indeed (short walk-in, bolted routes at fat-weak-punter-friendly grades), we were able to just keep climbing, limited only by energy and enthusiasm starting to flag somewhat in the late afternoon.

The plan, hatched over beers the previous evening, was for there to be a barbeque at the club hut. We needed burgers. Judging from the bare, empty shelves in Tesco’s, it would appear that everyone else in the whole of North Wales had the same idea. Fortunately a quick investigation turned up some sausages and kebabs that had somehow escaped the ravenous hordes and hence saved us having to try to barbeque the pasta that had been the original plan for dinner.

The clear skies and blazing sunshine continued into Sunday: it seemed sensible to head for the sort of high, bleak, windy crags that normally feel like hypothermia central. So we headed towards the Moelwyns in general and Craig yr Wrysgan in particular.

We got there eventually. *Very* eventually. But on the plus side, the huge diversion round the roadworks took us through some gorgeously scenic bits I didn’t know were there – I shall have to go back there for a walk.

I hadn’t been to Craig yr Wrysgan before, so there was a whole new world of stuff to go at – we started with a very nice 4-pitch VDiff, and it was only when we’d finished it that we realised there was a whole load more rock up top . . . it’s a crag that comes in two tiers. We decided to investigate the top tier, Andrew spotted a HVS he liked the look of . . . game on!

So . . . a new crag visited . . . and we’ll be back.

(Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 13

Sport Routes (led): 1
Trad Routes (seconded): 33.5)
Trad Routes (led): 7.5)

We could see the campsite from the top of Birchen. We could even see our mess tent from the top of Birchen. In fact, it looked as though some sort of alien spacecraft had landed and was in the process of devouring the Eric Byrne. Yes, it’s quite a big tent. ::o)

Quite a good meet, really. Discovered a bit of Birchen I hadn’t been to before, gently prodded someone up her first lead, fell off Trapeze Direct (Froggat) yet again, watched one of our more mature members prove that at the age of 71 he isn’t quite dead yet by cleanly seconding various VSs at Stanage, and had a very relaxed chill-out session in the big tent^h^h^h alien.

Which is now drying in my (very very small) flat. I think it has eaten my bed.

(Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 5
Trad Routes (seconded): 31.5)
Trad Routes (led): 7.5)

It’s the third weekend, so it must be “informal meet” time. Which is why, of course, I rocked up at the hut to find virtually nobody there. Saturday morning dawned beautifully sunny, so I went for an amble up Moel Eilio and along the ridge to Moel Cynghorion, then back to the hut via a quiet, empty valley and a river crossing that felt very good indeed to hot feet.

Back at the hut, the hordes had arrived . . . ooh goody, climbing partners!

So, on Sunday, I ended up wandering up the Pass to do Rib and Slab with two newish-to-climbing bods. Gear? “We’ve got a new rack to christen, you can leave yours.”

Up the hill to the crag. Explain to partner #1 where the route goes and what to do by way of a belay (yes, it’s a route I’ve done before). Kick partner #1 off up the route. Stand there belaying in the sun and savouring the situation, the view, the nice weather, not being at work and all the other things that are good about being there. Partner #1 eventually finishes the pitch – fairly slowly, but leading’s something he’s still quite new to, and he’s having trouble getting gear in. No worries, we’ve all been there.

Partner #2 will second on one rope, I will second on the other one. One at a time, to simplify things for partner #1. Partner #2 sets off. Stretch, eat cereal bar, admire view. Make encouraging noises at partner #2, who is climbing with all the speed of an elderly snail with a very heavy shell. No worries, admire the view some more and make more encouraging noises. For me it’s a great view, for rather “townie” partner #2 I would suspect it comes across as scary exposure.

Partner #2 finally tops out, second (or possibly third) the pitch and find the belay way off to one side and rather higher than the usual place between the top of pitch one and the bottom of pitch two. Mentally curse and explain to partner #1 why he may not find this too helpful when he leads the remaining pitch.

Except that he doesn’t want to lead the remaining pitch. Neither does partner #2.

“Ok, give us the rack then, I’ll do it.”

He hands me half a set of nuts.

“Ta. Quickdraws? Slings?”

He hands them over.

“Rest of the nuts?”

“Rest of what nuts?”

Eeek! Give the nuts he handed me earlier a quick look and they are, in fact, a full set. Except that they’re a brand that attempts to go from tiny micronuts to huge great chunks in one set and hence, out of the whole set, there’s maybe two nuts in sizes likely to be of any use.

So we have: A very minimalist rack. A belay positioned for a potentially huge pendulum into some rather hard rock. Two partners who don’t look very happy.

Fortunately the top pitch is as straightforward as they come.

I timed the whole route – bottom to bottom – at five and a half hours. Fairly impressive (if you see what I mean) for two pitches and some slippery grass we stayed roped-up for at the top.

Stuff learned – when someone who is new to climbing says they have gear, check exactly *what* they’ve got. Never under-estimate the effect of an unfamiliar environment on people’s performance.

(Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 5
Trad Routes (seconded): 6.5)
Trad Routes (led): 3.5)

Club meet on Dartmoor. Rocked up at the campsite on Thursday night and couldn’t find anyone. Went into the pub (well, it’d be rude not to, and have to go in there to pay for camping anyway) and still couldn’t find anyone.

Next morning . . . *still* couldn’t find anyone! I *have* got the right weekend, haven’t I?

No sign of climbing partners, so wander off towards Ingra Tor in search of geocaches. Lots to go at, might be able to get the 400th up if no-one else turns up. Back to the campsite – and now everyone’s turned up. Apparently they all arrived half an hour after I left in the morning, I must learn to restrain my enthusiasm!

Saturday saw us all rocking up at Sheepstor. Various other parties out, which is probably how my guidebook came to go missing – when everybody’s got the same one, it’s much too easy to pick up the wrong one by mistake. Led one route and seconded Andrew up a couple of examples of overhanging thuggery.

As for Sunday – all the fun of the circus! We ended up at Haytor, which was swarming with families, children, dogs, kites, frisbees, people asking daft questions, people tripping over ropes, people who think they know it *all*, plus the occasional example of obsolete equipment and vaguely iffy belaying. Aaargh, aargh, aargh! (Only been there in winter in the pouring rain before, didn’t know it got that popular.) Eventually escaped and went in search of more buried Tupperware.

So, what to do on Monday? Climbing club meet so really should go climbing, but am within spitting distance of cache #400 and want it to be a good one . . . sod it, tupperware time! Finished the day in a cramped, dark tunnel containing rather a lot of water and a plastic box, #400 in the bag, excellent!

(Score so far:
Winter Routes (survived): 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 5
Trad Routes (seconded): 6.5)
Trad Routes (led): 2.5)

Long slog up hill. Clag. Long slog up hill. Rain. Long slog up hill. Wind.

At which point we decided that suffering wasn’t the name of the game, and retreated in search of tea and toast.

Dan has a new car. It’s very new and very shiny and doesn’t look like a climber’s car at all. I offered him some of the litter out of mine (two empty Red Bull cans, a chip paper and a pasty wrapper, to be precise) to make it look a bit more used, but he said no, he’d rather keep it pristine.
This probably explains why it was me who ended up driving round to Cwm Idwal. And then halfway back up the Oggie Valley, since the good conditions and late-even-for-us start had left parking spaces at something of a premium.
Trogging round the Llyn, we dug the guidebook out and considered. Someone appeared to be trying what looked like a very thin route on the slabs: we picked on the gully just right since it looked fairly user-friendly and didn’t seem to have anyone on it. Gear on, rope out and Dan was away, stopping intermittently to furtle screws in. Somewhere behind me, the party from the slabs, defeated, trudged off in search of something more possible.

I looked at my watch and the old familiar jitters started up, a lurking sense of “we’ve started too late, we’re dooooomed”. Too late to do anything about it now, if you wanted to bail you should have said so earlier, now get a grip and climb the frigging thing. Whack, whack, stamp, stamp, stand up and whack, and suddenly all the tension melts away and I am the happiest little nut in North Wales. This is perfect, this is awesome, I could keep doing this forever, more please, gimme more!

At the top, we shared a little lukewarm ribena. I don’t know why it has to be ribena, but it does. It doesn’t work anywhere nearly so well with orange. We followed the footprints off and scrambled down via a little gully that’s probably horrible in summer, but well worth remembering as a descent in winter.

Down. In daylight. We are not going to have an epic. We’ll be back to the car in daylight. Romp off down the path, crampons still on due to the ice, and . . .

“Are you Ok there?” Silly question, she clearly wasn’t Ok, people who’re Ok aren’t usually lying in the snow grimacing in pain. Out come the belay jacket and the blizzard bag, out comes the phone, no signal. We mug the next party past for any spare warm clothes and they have a phone on a different network that does, amazingly, want to play ball.

“Can you call the mountain rescue for us, please?”. He gives me a somewhat panicked look and hands me his phone.

“Emergency - which service?”

“Police, please.”

“North Wales Police”

“Hello, can I have a mountain rescue call-out, please?”

More details, and it turns out the MRT have already been called and are on the case. We do our best to cheer the casualty up while she’s waiting. I venture the opinion that she’s lucky she fell over here rather than Llanberis - the Ogwen rescue team have much nicer bums than the Llanberis team . . . . .

We eventually got back to the car just after 9pm.

Sunday morning was a nightmare. Getting out of bed felt physically impossible, we started stupidly late again and I felt hopelessly knackered. I will freely confess that I was in far too much of a bad mood about not very much. Fortunately Dan was well up for more climbing and had enough motivation for both of us - and, as usual, the first few feet of climbing were enough to chase away the blues. We climbed the Idwal Stream, plenty of water coming down under the ice but the route was still perfectly climbable. And so endeth another weekend in North Wales.

Stuff learnt: Taking the back stiffener out of your rucksack stops it knocking your helmet over your eyes. At the end of a long day out without drinking very much, drink lots of water before bed or you *will* feel like shit the following day. If one phone doesn’t work, try one on a different network. Getting someone with an immovably-painful leg into a bag doesn’t work, something blanket-shaped would be a far better bet. Stretcher carries are chuffing hard work.

Oh, yes . . . that’s the only time I have ever called 999.

(Score so far:
Winter Routes: 3
Sport Routes (seconded): 4
Trad Routes (seconded): 0.5)