Going Nowhere Fast

Good things about this week:
I got out climbing 3 times mid week
I got a Hard Rock tick (Valkyrie, on my winter list of gritpsyche too)
I got a soft E-point (Easter Rib, also on the gritlist)
I climbed my 250th HVS
We saw a kestrel flying around at Froggatt, and a massive stag on the walk back to the car
I remembered how much I perversely enjoy rubbish eliminates on grit. At one point today I could simultaneously touch two adjacent routes, but enjoyed not using any of the holds from either of them.

Raptors ftw

Bad things about this week:
Being rained off Froggatt after only one route
Leading the second pitch of Valkyrie like a cack-handed buffoon and nearly falling off (until a beautifully elegant solution involving altogether too much of my arse and not enough actual technique was found)
Nearly getting hypothermia belaying James on The Big Crack
Having to use a point of aid whilst seconding aforementioned crack (I blame a combination of very cold hands and extreme uselessness)
Not getting to do Motorcade or Brown's Eliminate, in spite of visiting Froggatt twice. Shakes fist in the general direction of the crag.

The Motivating Power Of Lists

After last week's spanking at Almscliff and my realisation that some grit routes just need more fitness, combined with a general post-Lundy gritstone malaise, I decided to make a little list of grit routes I'm inspired to do. I also had a think about what was stopping me from doing them, partly so I can work on those things with a specific goal in mind ('get fitter' is a bit less inspiring than 'get fitter so I can crush Bachelor's Left-Hand' and more likely to actually make me put the effort in), but also to almost prove to myself that there is no reason why I shouldn't be trying some harder things.

I climbed one route off the list, Tower Face, the other day, and yesterday I found myself back at Stanage with the youth standing at the bottom of another - Wall End Slab Direct. I'm not sure what drew me to this route in particular, but it was in the 'Things I could probably do now' section of the list as I couldn't think of any good excuse why not. I warmed up on the original route of the slab, and then the left arete, which is amusingly not independent in the slightest, and not nearly HVS. In between James fell off the Severe crack that Death And Night And Blood starts up (although he had no problem with the E1 bit once he got there), and spent a hilariously long time and an awful lot of effort trying to get off the ground on Fern Crack (he got there eventually).

Flummoxed by a VS. Oh how I laughed.

I'd had a glance over towards my chosen foe and the gear break didn't look as good as I might have hoped. James also pitched in with a helpful anecdote about belaying Jon Stewart on this for an age in the freezing cold before he backed off it. And then my belay plate randomly snapped and fell off the back of my harness for no good reason. So all was auguring well, but it looked as though it wouldn't be too hard to run away from before the crux, so I set off to 'have a look'.

I managed to finoogle (definitely a real word) in a variety of cams of varying degrees of uselessness, which between them might perhaps have held a fall, and moved up to the interesting bit. The move seemed obvious - a high left foot and a committing rockover into a decent, but slightly awkwardly shaped pocket, but it felt hard. After a few wafts at the pocket with my foot James suggested I try some footwork, which helped a bit,  but it still looked hard and scary. I was about to give up when I tried something slightly different with my body positioning and it suddenly felt a lot more feasible. Reassured by the fact that I couldn't see how ropey the ropey cams were I went for it after a couple more false starts, and that was that. A bit of bold but easy padding up the top of the VS and I'd done it. My first E2 in Britain. Yay me. It's easy to see how people get caught up by grade-chasing on bold slabs. As long as you don't fall off they feel easy! It's perhaps for the best that there aren't too many other slabs on my list. Just Telli (which actually has some gear) and Motorcade (which is only 5a, how hard can it be...), and lots of steeper things. Ulp.

Fail

On the issue of my auto-destructing belay plate, I emailed DMM, who said that apparently this does happen in very rare cases (something to do with a process called dinking). To their credit they have already sent me a replacement and asked me to send the broken one back for testing, but it is a relief that it didn't happen halfway up a multi-pitch route on a sea cliff. Or mid-abseil. I think I'll be carrying a spare one on my harness next time I go to Gogarth...

Struggles, Ignominy and Autumn Weather

Having been abandoned by my girlfriend for the weekend without a car last Saturday, I found myself negotiating the delights of public transport en route to Chateau Julie and Andy in Leeds. I arrived to find Julie suffering with a cold and Andy bemoaning his own snottyness, a veritable cavalcade of psyche. After several cups of tea, Andy and I decided to see just how windy it was at Almscliff. The answer was very, but Black Wall was out of the worst of it. I took a near-infinite amount of time to lead South Wall Traverse, a VS with an exceptionally polished start (with no gear and a little too high for comfort), before falling off several times trying to follow Andy up the unreasonably steep Black Wall Eliminate.

It looks so benign from afar...

Hoping to claw back some dignity I managed to lead Traditional Climb in polynomial time and with no lapses of style. Things were picking up. As was the wind. Andy then led Demon Wall, whose top out had defeated him previously when he tried to go the wrong way. It turns out that even when you go the right way it's still bloody hard. As if to prove this I fell off then my foot popped whilst I was flailing around uselessly with my pumped arms trying to locate the finishing hold. Very undignified, especially on an HVS .

Not keen for Overhanging Groove (which was directly in the wind and covered in top-ropers, or at least aspiring top-ropers, as their attempts to lower a rope down the route were rather hampered by the wind blowing the rope horizontally along the crag)), I lobbied for running away to somewhere less windy. We ended up at Brimham, where I ran straight for the first slab I could find, which also conveniently had a three-star VS on it. I'd belayed Oswald on his ill-fated cold-fingered attempt on this back in February, so I was expecting a modicum of difficulty. I wasn't disappointed, but a frisky little scuffle past the crux overlap and a teeter for the top saw me alright.

The hardest technical move of the day - getting into the car avoiding the puddle Andy had managed to park in the middle of

Keen to drag me back down into ignominy Andy then insisted on climbing Minion's Way. We'd bouldered out the start before and it was desperate then. Turns out it hasn't grown any less awful, and a combination of general uselessness and some inconveniently wet holds led to me grovelling horrendously along the mid-height ledge on both knees trying not to peel off backwards. On finally reaching the top crack I discovered it was far more awkward than it appeared from below. Only the determination not to fail on yet another HVS kept my going as I was forced into laybacking, shudder. Overall it was a rather inglorious day out, but a good reminder that a lot of grit routes need some actual stamina. I've kind of always known that, but perhaps it's time to do something about it...

The following day I indulged in more train-related fuckwittery, before racing out to Burbage with Oswald just in time to get to the crag, rack up, then run away again when it started raining. We tried again on Monday afternoon at Stanage and this time I actually managed to climb a route, an HVS, even, without falling off or nearly dying. I'd been trying to do Tower Face for about 2 years, but it was always covered in rain or people, so it was good to finally get it ticked (and it was a cracking route). James then started up Fern Groove, and had just placed the crucial runner when it started to rain and we ran away again. Well, I say runner, what I mean is 5 cams within a metre of each other, but you catch my drift...

Five shalt be the number of runners thou shalt place, and the number of thy runners shall be Five. 

More successful adventures were had yesterday at Millstone with Adam. We arrived to find Kyle and the youth about to do Plexity, so I racked up to take advantage of the fact that Estremo didn't have an in situ owl for once. It took me far, far too long to finally work out how to use the awkwardly wide crack (too wide for fist jams, too narrow to get in), but once I did it wasn't actually too bad, and the worrying layback at the top turned out to be avoidable by sexy wide bridging. Whoop.

After Adam had made short work of Great Portland Street, which he'd unaccountably never done before, I toyed with the idea of doing one of the Embankment E1s, but decided instead to take advantage of having brought my big cams with me, and get involved with the "Salivating fissure" of Crew Cut. After a false start involving a very painful and near-terminal knee-jam, I managed the necessary medieval thrutching to reach the ledge of loin-girding. I found some sneaky bonus wires here which was pleasing, since the top required an actual proper layback. Against a green sidewall. Bleurk. Somehow I didn't die, and ended up, panting, at the top, glad to be alive. All very type II fun.

From here the guide recommends doing a further pitch, rather than skulking off rightwards, so Adam quested off up into the undergrowth. A heathery crack led, via some very green looking footholds, to a few runners, some more heather, and a tiny sapling. A delicate teeter leftwards past some more heather led to the arete and a proper hold (but no more gear) and then an exciting move or two in a position where falling off would have been ill-advised at best, led to a nasty, sloping topout. I don't recall seeing Adam look so chastened before. According to the UKC logbooks it's only had 3 ascents, and the last one of those was in 1984, so I'm not surprised it was so vegetated. At least it's been upgraded from VS though, that would have been a nasty shock!

The Summer's Last Hurrah

In spite of the utterly diabolical weather in Britain this summer, my Faustian pact has come good and I've been blessed with some unreasonably dry conditions for my various summer holidays. Last week was no exception, and for the first time I spent a whole week on Lundy without either getting rained on, or spending any time sitting in the pub playing darts badly and sulking. Aces. The youth, Gwilym major, Oli and I had 8 days of climbing lovely granite, with only a few minor adventures along the way.

It was Gwilym and James' first visit to Lundy, so we headed straight for the Devil's Slide off the boat, but it was covered in people, so we carried on to the Fortress. Oli and Gwilym had a fun time climbing a great-looking, but rather wet E1, whilst I tried to run a 2 pitch VS into 1 pitch, before deciding that was a bad idea, so I belayed on a nice grassy ledge and sent James up the second pitch. It turns out that not reading the guide and just following your nose isn't a totally infallible method of routefinding, so I managed to inadvertently sandbag him with one of the worst pitches I've ever had the misfortune to climb. It was hard, vegetated, not overly well-protected, and the crux involved much use of a very temporary flake. Not the finest introduction to the delights of the island.

Carol Anne Butler Corner and The Fortress

That night the Tavern was rammed with more climbers than I've ever seen before, including Pembroke's own Trevor Massiah, so we got up early(ish) the next day to beat them all to the Slide. It was worth the effort, as shortly after we arrived, a further 12 people appeared and started queueing for the routes. What an outrage. After romping up the eponymous route I talked myself into having a go at Satan's Slip, a route I'm fairly certain I told somebody once to shoot me if I ever contemplated going near. My apprehension was furthered when the leader in front of me placed but one runner on the main pitch, which fell out. I managed to find a fair few more than that, including some that might even have held a fall, but it's well described in the guide as a lonely lead, and it was definitely more of an emotional than a technical challenge.

A busy day on the Slide

After a day climbing pleasant HVS 5bs in Landing Craft Bay, and an excursion to Needle Rock, I found myself half way up Admiral's Arete, a bold E1 5a which I'd previously seconded Dr Money up. My memory was that it was desperate and that the gear was all placed blind, but even in excitingly strong winds it felt easy this time, and the gear was just fine. Either I've learnt how to smear a bit, or some holds have fallen onto the route. I'm not sure which of those seems less improbable.

Road Runner

The next day Oli and Gwilym made short work of American Beauty, whilst Oswald and I faffed a bit and did the wonderfully named (and also quite good) Nonexpectis Jugsimisius. We then met up, abseiled down a tottering grass slope of death, and marvelled at the falling-downy appearance of the Devil's Chimney (which isn't a chimney at all, but a sea stack). The thing even has a huge hole through the middle of it. As a bonus for us, the boulders which moved a few years ago, rendering the scrambly start into a tough 5b pitch, seemed to have moved back, making things a whole lot easier than expected. Oli then led a very underwhelming and loose pitch, which left me wondering about the wisdom of our endeavours. The top pitch made up for it, with fun moves on clean (solid) rock, although it was stout for VS, and led to a very accommodating summit where one could lounge around and gawp at the amazingness of The Promised Land and the terror of Overlord. I had been expecting a desperate scramble back to the mainland to avoid getting cut off by the tide, but the sea was still miles away after we'd abseiled off, so we had a little explore of a very impressive cave and avoided the horrific prusik back up the deathslope by climbing out up a tricky VS on Punchbowl Cliff.

The Devil's Chimney

Buoyed with my 2 E-points it seemed like a good idea the following morning to try Fifth Appendage, after a previous epic failure to even reach the start of the route on my last visit. Cleverly I managed to make exactly the same mistake as last time and the belay at the base of the route was being lapped by the sea, so we had to bail up a nearby HVS. Luckily for me this was Oswald's lead, as it turned out to have next to no gear, and some borderline 5b/c moves, what fun. I tried to atone for this error by leading Headline, an E1 I've been after for ages, but after some to-ing and fro-ing I decided the greasiness was too much to commit to. The youth obviously has stickier hands as he just ignored the slick holds and got his crush on. A cracking route, with a superbly atmospheric mid-height belay above the crashing waves.

Goatfight!

Gwilym was keen for Satan's Slip, so we all headed back to the Slide and I manned up enough to lead the bristly-looking, but very cool line of Shark. The route climbs a prominent arete, with exposure and interest increasing with height and culminating in an exciting sequence laybacking a hidden crack in a superb position. Certainly deserving of more than its single star, and just about tickling its way into E1. After nearly a week of climbing I felt quite battered after that, so I generously let Gwilym follow James up a hard E2, and Oli and I headed back to Arch Zawn, where we climbed a neat little E1 each.

Gwilym hunting for the elusive runners on Satan's Slip

The trip finished with a morning climbing in glorious sunshine at Beef Buttress, before we had to get back on the MS Oldenburg and head home. Leaving was made slightly easier by the knowledge that after a week of dry weather the forecast suggested it might rain solidly for the rest of the year. All in all a cracking trip, including my 20th extreme lead of the year and my 3000th trad route. There's still plenty to go back for though. Who knows, maybe one day I'll even make it to the start of Fifth Appendage...

Curbary Unpsyche

James getting stuck in

What is it about Curbar. Why is everything there so hard? I went there on Sunday with Adam, Kate, Hazel, J-Ro and a man called Neil, and in spite of the very amenable weather I was massively uninspired by everything. I belayed James up Cioch Crack, although at one point it looked like he might have to be abandoned to the offwidth gods after taking my advice to "Be at one with the crack" a little over-literally and getting stuck. It turned out he was just ignoring all of the holds.

Maybe it's because I haven't had a really good day out on grit since March, or maybe it was just because Curbar gives me the willies, but I wasn't really feeling the love for leading anything. All of the VSs looked like they would need more fight than I was prepared to give up for an unstarred VS tick, and as for the HVSs, well, only a hero would tackle one of those... Or James. I channelled my enthusiasm into belaying him up Tree Wall, which looked nice, but steep. It turned out to be nice, but steep. I nearly fell off. Oh dear.

My, this looks like a whole bucketful of fun...

After belaying Neil on an exciting (but ultimately successful) foray up Black Nix Wall I did lead the VS next to it just because I felt like I ought to lead something. And then it was home time. 3 routes in 5 hours. Not impressive. The moral of the story is to be more psyched. Or remember how grit works, or just stay the hell away from Curbar.

Neil on The Bear Hunter

On a more positive note, I'm off to Lundy on Saturday week. I've been regaining my psyche via perusing the guidebook this evening and making a little list of routes I want to do. At 30, there are far too many to actually do in a week, but it's good to be ambitious. I've made sure to include a winning combination of chimneys, girdle traverses, vertical gardens and E1 corners. And Satan's Slip for some reason. Bring it on.

Questing In The Midge-Ridden Wilderness - Part II

After the sunshine at Reiff the forecast was a bit dodgier, with gale force winds promised, but we reasoned that might keep the midges at bay at least and headed for Diabaig. I'd heard nothing but good things about the place, and once we'd negotiated the tortuous windy road from Torridon we were rewarded with a view of The Pillar looking all ace. We were both dead keen to lead this, but there was somebody on it so we wandered past to the Main Wall, where there was a four star HVS to warm up on. There were no gales, but there was just enough breeze rolling around to keep us safe, and the climbing was outstanding; long pitches on beautiful rough Gneiss, with brilliant gear and cool moves. Route Two was amazing, as was The Black Streak, so we wandered back down to the foot of The Pillar, which looked even acer at close quarters. James ran off to get some water from the car, and the second he left the breeze dropped and the midges swarmed. I spent some of the least pleasant minutes of my life lying in the long grass with my trousers tucked into my socks and a waterproof on, sweating like I was in a Turkish bath and feeling generally miserable about the unfairness of it all. Guttingly the wind didn't return, so as soon as James got back we ran away.



Contemplating the crux of The Black Streak

 We had plans to meet Matt (the erstwhile Mr Fiend) in Gairloch that evening, so we managed a quick evening hit on a weird little crag of partially-metamorphosed sandstone (kind of conglomerate-y) called Aztec Tower. We tossed a coin again for the rights to the crag classic HVS, which I won, but was let down by the route being a) not very hard b) not very good and c) not very well protected. James' neighbouring VS was altogether more enjoyable.

After rendezvousing with Matt and spending a night in the ridiculously expensive campsite in Poolewe we had a slow start and needed some caffeine and a giant scone in the frankly awesome Mountain Cafe in Gairloch to get us going. We then decided to brave the gales and pay the craglets around Loch Tollaidh a visit. They were ace (actually I'd been before, but I'd forgotten my rock shoes that time and had to lead a couple of VDiffs in Alistair's giant clown shoes) and much fun was had by all. James in particular had a good day, leading Buena Vista a brilliant E2 slab.


Some pleasant HVS at Loch Tollaidh

That evening we drove down to Skye and set up base camp at Sligachan for a few days. The forecast was still windy and a bit showery, but we took a punt in the morning on Kilt Rock, and we arrived to find it sunny and lapped by a gentle breeze. Perfect. There were a few other climbers around, so I thought it best to get on with the main event as soon as possible before I had time to talk myself out of it, or somebody else got on it. Grey Panther is the easiest route in Extreme Rock, so it was a possibly unique chance for me to get a tick in the book. It had also been top of my mental wishlist for a long time, so I was a bit apprehensive, but a peer down the line from the top reassured me that it looked totally awesome. The route didn't disappoint, with 45m of continuously great climbing, bridging between two jamming cracks. None of the moves felt particularly tricky, and the crux for me was probably trying to conserve my hand-width cams for when I would really need them. I managed this so successfully that I got to the top with them all still on my harness. I even only placed 16 runners, which was very sparing by my usual standards (I'd taken 21 quickdraws). The climbing was actually very reminiscent of routes on The Prow at Fairhead. Mmm, must go back there some time soon.

Afterwards, whilst bathing in the warm glow of self-awesomeness, I tried to egg Oswald into tackling one of the other major E1/2 cracks, but he was afraid. Instead we ticked off a pair of three star routes in the descent gully, an HVS and a VS, which were both pretty stout at their respective grades. This wasn't the spur that the youth needed to get on harder things, so we left and paid a visit to Flodigarry. After hacking over the tedious heather for an age we reached the top of the crag. James had idea that he might try an E2, but we couldn't pick out the line, so we agreed that he should lead the three star HVS I'd been keen on, and then we could run away for a cup of tea, dinner, and the pint that he owed me. The route, Lucy In The Sky, was a little gem, taking a slabby crack with sustained mild interest right to the top.

The forecast the next day seemed more stable, with clear skies in prospect, so we took a gamble on being able to find something out of the wind in Coire Lagan. Our first objective, The Klondyker, seemed to be just about out of the gusts, so we set off. James lucked out and got the two good pitches, whilst I had the easy link pitches, but the route was ace. The crux pitch was a long, sustained 5a wall, with a touch of rather 5b-ish spice thrown in pulling round a small roof. The gear was excellent, but it felt worthy of an E-point. This was later confirmed when we bumped into Mike Lates, who literally wrote the guide but admitted to never having done the route, and he told us he'd heard from reliable sources it was worth an upgrade. The route wasn't over after the second pitch though, with the fourth offering "Space walking on buckets". We had harboured ideas of climbing Vulcan Wall afterwards, but by the time we'd made it back to our bags we were pooped, so we scuttled off to the Sligachan in time for a few (very incompetent) games of pool.

The spacewalk on The Klondyker

The next day brought another dodgy forecast, but I put my faith in the magical microclimate of Neist, and lo, we were rewarded with more sunshine. I led a lovely VS called Midas Touch, and silly E1 direct start to a classic HVS which involved a couple of sketchy moves with only one good RP2 between me and the ground. James led the classic E0 Security Risk, and then set off up a really good looking E2 - Wall Street. He took ages, which was unfortunate as the base of the route was out of the wind, so I started to get quite badly midged. I had a windproof and a midge net, but my ankles were taking a beating, so I improvised some socks by coiling the rope around my legs. I can't recommend this as a course of action. I ended up with slightly numb, but still midge-destroyed feet. Boo. Anyway, the route was brilliant, up until the capping roof, where things went all wrong and overhanging. I managed to get as far as lurching at a jug, but then couldn't find the arms to pull up into the final groove. So I rested on the rope. Except I was in an awkward position whereby I couldn't actually take much weight off my arms without taking a swing and smacking into a wall. Fail. Eventually I got sufficiently uncomfortable that I laid one on and pulled some heinous manoeuvres to reach the finishing holds. A fine lead by Mr Oswald.

After that I couldn't take any more, and it was getting on a bit, so we jumped in the car and motored over to the CC hut in Roybridge, where we availed ourselves of the delights of an oven, and comfy beds. Whoop. The next day was showery, so we took a punt on the "Lethal when wet" but allegedly quick drying Creag Dubh (also known, ominously, as Crag Death). Sitting at the bottom of it eating our lunch it was clearly going to need a bit more time to dry off, so I persuaded James that a visit to the distillery at Dalwhinnie was in order. On our return to the crag it was actually dry, so I racked up to have a bash at Inbred, a steep HVS and apparently Dougal Haston's finest new route. It didn't take too many brief ventures onto the holds to decide that there was the potential to get myself into a dangerous position, as the moves were steep and the gear fiddly, so I handed the baton over and belayed James. He made it look fairly easy, and the moves were OK on second. Not that I regretted backing off for a second, especially since as I was part way up the pitch a rain shower started looming ominously. I just managed to beach myself on the belay ledge when the heavens opened and the rock turned to soap. So we sacrificed my sling of irritating shortness and beat a hasty retreat.

The next day found us climbing at Dunkeld. I did a spot of VS bambering and James led another E2 through some roofs. The climbing wasn't too hard, but the gear for the first roof was pumpy to place, and for the second was a bit weird and uninspiring, so it was just about worth E2. After enjoying my Aunt's hospitality we spent the last day of the holiday climbing at Auchinstarry - Scotland's answer to a Lancashire quarry. It wasn't actually that bad, although my three star VS was a bit underwhelming, and the 2 star VS 4b arete I soloed was quite terrifyingly sandy. And then after one more route it was over and we had to drive back south again. In the rain. Bah. Still, it was an awesome fortnight, we got loads done, and saw loads more that I want to go back for (especially The Pillar). Next on the agenda is Lundy in September. Bring it on...

Promontory Direct at Auchinstarry - A refugee from Wilton in the central belt

Questing In The Midge-Ridden Wilderness - Part I

After a hard week visiting the many and varied distillery-shaped delights of Islay and Jura (and a bonus brewery for good measure) I needed some kind of holiday. Fortuitously the youth had secured the use of his parents' car, and I had a fortnight off work. So we did the only sensible thing and drove 500 miles north (via a couple of quick routes at Loudoun Hill, including the spectacular but bold The Edge) to near Wick. After wild camping by the beach at Latheronwheel we had planned to climb a few routes before catching the lunchtime ferry over to Orkney, but it was raining, so we checked out the sea stack and cool arch at Wick and went shopping in Tesco instead.

I hadn't realised how close to the mainland Orkney is - you can see the Old Man from the ferry port at Scrabster, but the ferry still takes an hour and a half to pootle its way round Hoy (passing the Old Man and the impressive precipitous vegetation of St John's Head) and into Stromness. Confusingly the main island on Orkney is called Mainland, as is the case on Shetland, so it is possible to get a ferry from Mainland to Mainland without going anywhere near the actual mainland. Strange. Anyway, we hung around on the quayside for an hour or so until the little passenger ferry chugged us over to Hoy, where we walked the 5 miles past the northernmost woods in Britain (more of a copse really) to the well-appointed and beautifully situated bothy at Rackwick. There we spent an entertaining evening in the company of an elderly Australian who was en route from The Hague to London via Bergen on his bike, a Canadian magician, a Czech artist who lived on Shetland (and hat the comedy red woollen hat to prove it), a drug-dealing farmer from Portstmouth and an Orcadian fisherman.

We got up unreasonably early the next morning and trekked up to the cliffs opposite the Old Man, then picked our way delicately down the Gogarthian approach path to the base of the stack. The crux pitch looked hard and wide and pitches 3 and 4 looked very green. I was suitably intimidated. I nearly just ceded the crux to James, but managed to man up enough to toss a coin for it. I was secretly slightly relieved to lose, racked up and bambered up the first pitch. James led through, traversing over into the main crack and was soon out of sight round an overhang, leaving me to guess how he was getting on. He took quite a while, but eventually I heard some muffled shouts and the rope came tight, so I set off. I had heard that the rock was softer than the Torridonian sandstone on the west coast, so I was expecting scrittly rock. I was rather surprised, therefore, to find perfectly good, solid rock that somebody had tipped a sandpit down. Excavating the holds took a while, but the climbing was amenable up to a large roof, where James had abandoned his belay jacket on the understanding that he would buy me a pint by way of recompense for my bringing it up with me. Getting through the roof involved a hilarious sequence of contortions (including spending a long time waving a foot at a crucial ledge that I couldn't see but knew was somewhere behind me) and some quality udging, but the sand wasn't really an issue.

James starting up the crux pitch of the Old Man

Pitch 3 was easy until I ran into the fulmars. I had naively hoped they might have buggered off by August, but they hadn't, and they had lovely smelling fishy vomit saved up especially to project at my face. Words cannot express how unpleasant the experience of racing past the fat little bastards, with each new ledge bringing a new feathery bag of stink, was, but I made it (although I was certain I would have to burn my clothes once we'd got down). Pitch 4 was wandering but ledgier than it had looked from below, and mercifully fulmar-free, and pitch 5 was 30m of brilliant, steep VS jug-hauling up a corner to deposit you on the summit. On joining me the youth complained that the summit wasn't as flat and grassy as he'd imagined (there's no pleasing some people), but there was a bottle of beer and a logbook to sign. The abseil back down was faffy, but we took an ethical decision not to add any tat to the huge quantity already there (I'd neglected to bring a knife to clean it up) and just ran the gauntlet of trusting 5 vintage krabs and 15 bits of fraying old rope for each anchor. The final 60m free-hanging abseil back to the ground was exciting (especially for James who wasn't sure whether the ropes would reach or not), and we got back to the bags just in time to race back to the bothy, and then speed back over the hill to catch the last ferry back to Stromness. Sadly this conveniently just missed the last ferry back to the (real) mainland, but we befriended a cheery local on the ferry who we joined for a pint in the pub later. It turned out he had been friends with Mr Crofton of Cumming-Crofton route fame, and had some good tales to tell.

The next morning we high-tailed it off Orkney on the 6:30am ferry and paid the conglomerate weirdness of Sarclet a visit. It was pretty awesome. I led a brilliant VS called Groove Armada, which must be up there with the best single pitch routes at its grade in the country, and then the wonderfully titled Sarclet Pimpernel, a classic E0 romp. James' 3 star E1 lead then turned out to be a bit midgy and not very hard, so we ran away, but I'd be keen for a return visit. The first time I've climbed on conglomerate without spending the whole time worrying about the temporaryness of all of the holds.

Sarclet - The Sarclet Pimpernel takes the right arete

After a long drive south and west, we awoke in the campsite at Ardmair and decided to pay Stac Pollaidh a visit. A certain Jon Stewart had raved about the aceness of Jack The Ripper, an E1 on the west buttress, although he also claimed the walk in to be a mere 20 minutes. Given that you start at basically sea level and the buttress is at 550m that seemed improbable, and it was. A very steep and sweaty hour later we collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the route. It was James' lead, so he raced up the first pitch, and I did the same up the slightly trickier second, but the route is really all about the beautiful groove line on the top pitch. It's a sensational pitch, and well worth the walk up to it, especially when you have the crag to yourselves, top out directly on the summit of the mountain, and have incredible views. Bo. After lunch we nipped up another route before midges drove us to run away. We still had some beans left, so we found some midge-repelling breeze and went to check out the slightly obscure sea cliffs at Rhue. They were quite cool, especially in the evening light. Oswald managed to make a hash of leading an E1 through a roof, resulting in some entertaining diagonal abseils and horizontal dynoing to retrieve the gear, before I led us out up a smart little Hard Severe.

The marvellous top pitch of Jack The Ripper

The next day was sunny and breezy so we went west to check out the Stanage-by-the-sea ambiance of Reiff. I had a little solo-fest and led a VS arete that Oli and I hadn't fancied the look of on my only previous visit. I then took a shine to the E1 next to it, a fun looking crack in a slab. It turned out to be less slabby where it mattered, but after much upping and downing between the crux and a good rest ledge I gave it the beans and managed to reach the top in a state of only mild panic. After that we decided to move on and wandered past a beautiful white sandy beach which looked very appealing in the heat, so we had a quick restorative swim in the sea. The youth the got ideas above his station and set off up a disgustingly overhanging E2 corner. I decided to punish him for this stupidity by making him abseil for his gear. We finished the day with some pootling around on a few weird routes including a bizarre sandbaggy VS and a butch HVS on which I managed to place, but not actually clip, a crucial runner. Oops.