When I was a youngster back in the Ribble Valley a group of friends and myself started climbing together. Luckily we had some climbing mentors who took us under their wings; climbers like Dave Kenyon, Pete Black and Malc Haslam. Malc was a funny one. He worked in the local Trutex factory but he was misplaced there, he should have been an English lit teacher such was his appetite and knowledge of the written word. He was also a bit of a philosopher.

One of the things he told us was that he couldn’t really travel abroad to climb as he didn’t want to find a place that was better than Clitheroe (yes really). His theory was that he was quite happy in Clitheroe and the UK and he didn’t want to spoil it by yearning and dreaming for another place - another place that he wouldn’t have the means to emigrate to. He’d rather keep his mind closed when it came to geography and place. He knew there were better places to live, but he didn’t want to experience them.

I have traveled and lived in other places. One of these was California’s Eastern Sierra. We spent 9 years there and I shall never forget it, never stop dreaming of that heavenly place. Beautiful weather, excellent climbing, friendly neighbours and good climbing friends; a small town and community far removed from anywhere else. It was like living on a desert island in many respects. Very little contact with the outside world. We didn’t even have a TV, I never have. It was a world apart from the consumer-rich towns and cities that we experience in the rest of the USA, the UK and many other places.

The wilderness around Bishop gave you head space, lots of it, and time. You could wander out into the desert or up into the mountains and you were free, free from all the noise that pollutes our world today; celebrities, advertorials, the latest gadgets, mass sport spectatorship, merchandising, politics and war. That’s not to say that people hid their hands in the sand; there were anti-war protests in Bishop, but at least you had a choice and it was never in your face.

These special places like the Eastern Sierra, or the English Lake District or the Peak District near where I live now are sanctuaries of escape; even better if you get out of your car and walk or climb and immerse yourself in them; they give us head space from the ills of modern life that we have no control over.

Unlike Malc I don’t mind dreaming about these places I’ve lived in and love planning when I can’t visit them again. I’m very glad I’ve experienced them.

If I didn’t escape sometime, leave the machine and its connection to everything behind, I could work 7 days a week, 16 hours a day. There’s always 10 things to do even at the end of the day. I get pulled in so many directions, even making priorities is difficult. So come Friday night I stop and flee for the weekend, unconnect myself and attempt to experience some freedom and fresh air.

Midday Saturday saw myself and Alex Haigh stomping under Heather Terrace on Tryfan trying to locate the start of Grooved Arete. What a big rambling face and thank goodness for the big GA scratched onto the rock. What a day! Big blue sky, cool temperatures, lovely autumn colours and not that many people about.

There’s so many routes I haven’t done, so many experiences to have. Great days to plan and look for to. We ran the first two pitches together and got into the swing quickly. Behind us another party followed, Chris and his son, Lewis from down sarf. Lewis was on his first ever climb, they’d even stopped at Joe Browns earlier to buy his first pair of rock shoes. Higher up it started to get good, first a lovely groove and then we emerged on a grassy path and moved right to another big GA scratched on the rock and the upper pitches looked the business, continuous and exposed. Alex led up the big V-groove, the first proper climbing on the route, and moved left when it got steep to a nice stance. The speckled slab above was fun and a little awkward. I set some runners and made the move right, the Knight’s move, around an arete to an exposed small stance. This is more like it. Got a bit of a buzz there.

We did the Knight’s Finish. I set a belay and brought Alex up. But who was that coming up Heather Terrace. I recognise that long hair and profile. Simon Panton, whose guidebook we were using, and who I have known for a long time, was out with wife Clare and kids Charlie and Caddy, scrambling over the rocky steps to the summit. Spotting the little ones at each awkward step. Chris and his son topped out then we all made it to Adam and Eve. Chris told us stories of parapenting off the summit of Tryfan and Snowdon in the days when the canopies dropped you like a stone. Gripping stuff.

We descended, illuminated by a gorgeous sunset and warmed by friendly chat.

We had a hearty meal in the Y Fricsan in Cwm Y Glo and after a couple of beers retired to our rented caravan. Breakfast was of course at Pete’s Eats. Great to see it so busy. Bumped into Dick Turnbull who was off to Gogarth. Alex bought some new rock shoes at V12 and off we tootled up the Pass to the Mot.

There was a team of three on our chosen route, The Cracks, but no bother. We weren’t in a rush. That first pitch seemed a tad bold for Hard Severe, but higher up it was a joy. The Pass was packed. I took telephoto shots from our belay perches of all the crags I could see and climbers were everywhere, doing the same as us, enjoying the rock and this beautiful autumn weekend. Alex got the crux pitch and it was his hardest lead in years, but he cruised it and we were soon back at out packs.

I called Fliss and Xav, my children who live 3,000 miles away in upstate New York. Fliss had just had a violin lesson and then they were then going out to buy a lizard. Xav had had his first ice hockey game of the season, which this year is overlapping with soccer season so he’s fairly active. I’m out there at Thanksgiving just to catch the tale end of the New England fall. I do love New England this time of year. I bet the Carriage Road at the Gunks was packed today just as the Pass is.

Back to Pete’s for a brew and then we drove up to Bus Stop Quarry and walked down to Dali’s Hole to finish the day doing some short sport climbs. Others had the same idea and even though it was 5pm and going dark this little cliff was busy.

Then we joined the long snake of traffic leaving North Wales and headed for home.