Gear

BMC International Meet

So this is the driest spring on record! There has been sunny weather for months. Then when I commit to try a bit of climbing………. it rained. (actually the other time I tried to climb in the UK in 2011 it also rained which, on that occasion, precipitated prussiking out of the Ruckle! Twice! in one evening)

But this is my story of the international meet……. Sunday: as I drove West along that flat straight section of the A5 the sun was setting behind moody cloud shrouded Snowdonian peaks reminding me of a scene from Lord of the rings and giving a premonition of the apocalyptic weather waiting in the mountains.

True to form it was a wet Monday morning so my Finnish guest, Perttu, and I headed to the North coast on Calum’s advice, thanks, you saved us the soaking most of the other climbing teams got. Sport climbing from the beach of LPT was good and we got a couple of routes ticked before the tide chased us back up to Marine Drive where I dug deep and enjoyed a 6c retro-flash.

Perttu at LPT

Tremadog. I had never climbed there before so when we arrived I, as usual, didn’t have a clue what to climb so finding a route called Helsinki Wall in the guide was obviously a good omen. Strolling to the top of the crag to start climbing was unusual and more walking than I would have preferred but I finally located the descent gully and some extremely unappealing looking rock that must have been Helsinki wall. Brilliant! Perttu had travelled all the way to North Wales for me to show him some sport routes and a chossy looking gully wall. Worse was to follow……. as we were now at the foot of the crag I instigated plan b and tried to locate the second pitch of Stromboli, to my embarrassment this actually resulted with me climbing a tree, slinging a branch for protection as I ascended loose rock and brambles to reach the grass. Cool. Later on Perttu made short work of the good E2 Plastic Nerve but that’s not so surprising considering he has climbed Fr8a on gear (~E8).

Alex on the Ramp

On Wednesday all the climbing teams swapped round and I was with a different guest. Alex had led a handful of routes on gear before the meet but had been happy on an E1 he had strayed on to! so I pointed out Gauntlet on the upper tier at Gogarth and he was psyched for the lead. No dramas with this line or The Ramp so we had a go at Central Park, as Gogarth cracks don’t exist in Serbia to practice on Alex had been training on a campus board. Maybe this is why he had a bit of a moment as he quickly learnt about rapid down-climbing for a shake out. From my hanging belay below I was trying to explain about my aversion of shock loading any gear when Alex stepped back up and finished the awkward crack in good style.

Alex on Central Park

I had a good week, I hope the guests did too!

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Bad Landing

As I was driving I saw a strange thing:
From the trees blew a leaf that bounced off the radiator grille and landed in the middle of the bonnet with a thud that was slightly too loud to be the noise of a leaf landing on a bonnet?
Still driving, I squinted through the windscreen at the leaf caught motionless in that eddy caused by the sleek Landrover streamlining, once stopped I cautiously prodded the bat hoping it was not bleeding (or would make me bleed in revenge for driving in to it then poking it).  Happily nothing other happened than the furry matchbox shuffled its wings back in to order.  Studying it by the light of a torch beam I could see a delicate transparent membrane poking from below its nose, the membrane was part of the bats precise ultrasonic echo location, I guessed. Incorrectly. As the bat came to its senses it finished chewing the insect it had been chasing and ate the wing that was hanging from its mouth.
Unblinking, it fixed me with tiny black crystal eyes then maybe because I had just blinded the nocturnal creature it started off on a circuit of the bonnet moving with a surprisingly efficient shouldery crawl on its elbows (wrists? or some other anatomical adaption).  After I picked up the bat its hooked ‘feet’ helped make rapid and determined progress up my arm until I couldn’t hold my nerve any longer and scooped it off my shoulder.  I’m not sure what passing drivers thought about the figure standing in the dark with one arm raised like a Nazi salute but the bat hung upside down from my finger for a while then flapped off back in to the trees.

Normandy House

10 days away in France and I didn't even see a cloud! The trip started fiery hot when Graeme persuaded me to try some chili sauce, Dragons blood or something. Extreme, and that was just a trace of a taste, luckily the dangerous Naga chemicals were forgotten back in the car and didn't have to be explained to any customs officials looking for chemical weapons. Waking up the morning after the drive south it felt good to be back in springtime Font and I was sort of keen to try some problems, when I did find a suitably easy problem to attempt it was, as I expected, hard work. Several months away from climbing was bound to lead to a drop in performance so to try and get back to climbing at somewhere near my previous level I left Font and headed to the Normandy coast.

While I was away Pete and Graeme set about some good problems and projects, Graeme getting fingers that are more used to plastic a bit thrashed on his projects while Pete went for mileage on his 7a quest. When I returned everyone was happy with the problems they had climbed but I'm sure their wafer thin skin was deeply happy that the chili sauce never made it over the channel.

My west coast training consisted of large streak barbecue's, beer, sitting around and, although I'm usually not a fan of sea food, very tasty scallops. It was cool to see my family and afterwards, luckily, there was enough time to get back to Font and give my fingers some exercise. The weekend I arived back in Font was a bank holiday and lots of UK boulderers had descended on Isatis, Sabot, Cuvier etc, car parks were full with GB, D, B and E plated vehicles but few French! Lots of chalk had been slapped over the usual problems and not brushed off, I hope this level of use is sustainable. Luckily we could still find some quieter problems to try and I enjoyed hauling myself up a 6c.

(for hi-res slideshow click above and view @ Flickr)

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Ansteys Cove

Ansteys Cove in the sun, fantastic! Andre, Dan and I headed to the coast for a quick Sunday/Monday blast, them climbing, me snapping away........

Andre quickly ticked Cider Soak (8a, 3rd rp over two days) he also red pointed Just Revenge 7c+ and "flashed" Empire of the Sun 7b with a tiny amount of beta (not forgetting the interesting looking 7b slab event).

Dan got his project route Just Revenge.

On Sunday a couple of other teams were providing me with some entertainment.....
The Dawson brothers (12 and 14yrs) warmed up on Empire then worked their projects: Cider Soak and Fishermans Tale (8b). Not bad!
Tim and Grant were going well, as were the Castle team.

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Brands Hatch

Well this is different.

It was a steep learning curve trying to pick Matt out from the other riders with enough time to be able to get him in the centre of my cameras view finder then keep him there while Canon works its magic. The grindingly slow autofocus of my 100 quid lens (mainly brought for it's macro ability!) didn't really help but just as the shadows extended across the track I had some shots that looked ok on the camera.

Unfortunately, fortunately? I have never ridden a bike so I'm not sure what subtle details to try and capture on film and maybe something that I've photographed because it appeals to me will not look good to a rider? sorry! I do know that getting your knee down is a good thing...........




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A last couple of shots

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No fondue

After the initial flip upside down he kept falling.

W.t.f.?  Am I actually holding the ropes?  I remember trying to take in slack to stop his headfirst fall - unsuccessfully.

Miraculously when Ramon did eventually stop, upside down, on a sloping snow covered ledge he was completely unharmed.  Apart from not moving.  As he lay there with his eyes open I enquired after his health?  No response.  This wasn’t quite the finish I had imagined for the second pitch of our new route.

The 55m first pitch had kept me amused for a couple of hours, a turfy un-protected start followed by some slightly loose sections with ok ledges to stand on and dig protection from the frozen mud clogged cracks.  After that our chosen line steepened in to a long curving flake crack that Ramon traversed to the base of then disappeared up and out of view for hours, and I mean hours!  When I eventually saw him again I was surprised that he was without his right crampon (it had been removed for an inventive smearing move) but I was even more surprised when he tried to put it back on in the middle of some fairly technical climbing.  After the crampon was hung back on his harness and some awkward looking upwards moves were completed the ledge on top of the flake beckoned.  I have a sharp memory of three solid looking swings of the left axe in to what must have been turf followed by that move all winter climbers know, when a downward pull on a hold starts to receive an outwards component as height is gained.  I was closely watching this sketchy climbing and saw immediately when the left tool ripped.  I also saw when Ramon was quickly flipped upside down by the rope.  I heard the semi instinctive warning shout to the belayer change tone as the fall continued.

“Sit up Ramon, sit up Ramon”

Part of the gear ripping fall of about 15m had been hidden from my view but I had watched as Ramon had hit a snowy slab head first and not done much since.  After lowering him a couple of meters back to the narrow ledge level with the belay I was encouraging him to sit up - without success.

“sit up Ramon” I shouted again.

Tie off ropes (easily done as they were not very tight).

“Sit up Ramon”

Escape system.

“Sit up Ramon”

Belay myself across ledge.

“Sit up Ramon”

“I’m trying”

OK, good I thought, a coherent reply, not one hundred percent perfect but at least it was an improvement from laying upside down looking at the sky.  By the time I had traversed 10m right to Ramon he had put his crampon on and was looking at the big slice in his finger.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Your top tool ripped out of the turf.  What hurts?”

“My finger.  I don’t remember anything”

“We have to get back across to the belay”  I said.

“Is that my blood?”

“Err?     yea, from your finger”

“Where are we?  I don’t remember anything”

here we go………..

One hour later the Swiss doctor advised a light dinner and specifically no fondue!

Three hours later and guess what Scott and Nic had prepared for dinner.

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