Clogwin

Ever since visiting Fairhead a few years ago, Cloggy has been top of my unrequited craglust list. Given the length of time I’ve been climbing, it was an obvious glaring omission, but every opportunity I had to go there, it was wet, and every time it was dry I was busy doing something else unavoidable. Perhaps I should have just taken the Dai Lampard approach and phoned work to say “I’m sorry, I can’t come in, I just have to climb on Cloggy today”. Anyway, this weekend the stars finally aligned, and at 5am on Saturday I crawled out of bed and headed west, stopping only to pick up LJ from Stockport.

It was lunchtime by the time we’d driven over, stomped up the Llanberis path in the baking heat and had out first eyeful of the crag. I’d only ever seen it before from afar and in pictures, but wow, what a crag. More great lines than you can shake a stick at, with enough dark, dank crevices to maintain an air of silent menace. There were 5 or 6 other parties at the crag, all of whom seemed to be on the Great Slab/Bow-Shaped Slab link up, so we left them to their devices and scrambled round to the start of Longland’s Climb, a three star VS. after a hard, bold and slightly damp start, 3 pitches of pleasant slabby climbing deposited us below “The Overhang”, the aptly-named crux. Good but spaced holds were promised, so after some faffery I applied a bit of faith and groped inelegantly upward for jugs and glory. The temperature on the crag had been pleasantly cool, so it was a bit of a shock to scramble up to the ridge and suddenly be struck by the heat. Glad we weren’t climbing in the sunshine (and it’s not often you can say that in the UK).

By the time we scrambled down Eastern Terrace the crowds had dispersed, so we jumped straight on Great/Bow and were rewarded with 5 pitches of outstanding climbing. Every pitch was better than any of the pitches on Longland’s (and that had been far from bad). The crux is a traverse which is either a safe but tough swing along a break with little for your feet, or a bold but easier teeter along the same break. I was all for teetering, but James had led the hard way, so I had to follow the gear. It felt pretty stout to me, especially when I misjudged the length of one of the moves and failed to take out one of the runners until I’d climbed too far past it to reach it. After much huffing, puffing and sketchy reversing I managed to flick it out and scuttle back left. Whew. The sun came round onto the slab by the 4^th pitch, which was quite pleasant, but it brought the midges with it, which was less so. Not enough to detract from the climbing though. Totes amazeballs.

We win at life

It was pretty late by this stage, so we wandered down to the lake below the crag where we planned to bivvy. My last bivvying experience was in a motorway service station near Stuttgart, so these were altogether more impressive surroundings. Some creative use of a nutkey was required when it became apparent that I’d neglected to bring one, but our pasta, spicy pesto, salmon, sweetcorn and brie conflagration was worth the effort. A spot of celebratory whisky was imbibed and I soon fell into a very well-earned slumber.

I was awoken at 8 by the youth complaining that the sun was up. I’d actually woken up just after sunrise to see the crag bathed in an amazing orange glow, but was too tired/lazy to get my camera to record the occasion. After a leisurely breakfast and a morning cuppa we wandered back up to the crag just as the shade had come round onto the East Buttress and I led the easy approach pitch to Silhouette, one of the crag’s many classic E2s. As I wasn’t psyched for failing to lead any 5c moves, James set off with a monster rack for a 45m adventure pitch. He slipped off downclimbing early on, which was a shame, but he managed all of the actual upwards climbing, although he certainly took his time and made the top crux look desperate. When I got on it I found out that was because the whole route was hard, from start to finish. Other than the two 5c cruxes there was barely a move below 5a, and plenty of tricky 5b, compounded by a few greasy patches in the crack just where you didn’t want them. I reached the non-rest below the upper crux feeling very low on beans and when I went for the moves I was convinced I was off, but somehow I managed to rearrange my feet as I was about to fall and one desperate final application of try brought a just-good-enough hold into reach. The route was brilliant, but definitely at the E3 end of the grade and not one I’ll be rushing to lead in the near future.

Approaching the first crux on Silhouette

After that we were both feeling pretty physically and emotionally drained, so we contemplated doing Sheaf, a 2/3 star VS/HVS depending on which guide you believe, but Ripley told us not to bother as the 3^rd pitch was unlocatable. After a bit of umming and aahing we decided to follow him and his dad up the 1^st two pitches and then finish up White Slab, that way avoiding the terrifying looking entry traverse of that route. I led the first pitch, which had some nice climbing in spite of being a bit dirty, but I was constantly unsure that I was on the right line and couldn’t find a sensible belay, so ended up in an awkward semi-hanging stance some way above where I wanted to be. The next pitch, down, round the arête and then making a descending traverse of a slab was pretty cool, but my feet were in agony and I felt like I was climbing like a particularly punter punter, so I made Oswald lead the next pitch, which was brilliant; slabby cracks with just enough gear, and a cool steep juggy traverse at the end. The next pitch was the crux of White Slab, involving either a 5c traverse, or a pendulum at 5bish. It seemed that even if you wanted to do it free, failure to lasso the spike was a scary option, since falling off the smeary 5c moves would then have you scraping across the slab, before swinging round the arête and off into space below the belay (if you were lucky enough not to hit anything else). I sat in the corner and sulked about my uselessness and general all-pervading tiredness whilst James spent 40-odd minutes fruitlessly throwing armfuls of rope at the distant spike. A cowboy he ain’t. Eventually, not fancying the necessary manning-up to lead it free we decided to escape, which involved an entertaining abseil round a blind rib. I was very pleased to round it and find the ropes running back down into the descent gully rather than hanging off into oblivion.

Ripley pulling some shapes on White Slab

I was a bit grumpy about our failure, particularly my general exhaustion, so I decided to see if a swim in the lake would sort me out. The water was a touch nippy, but very refreshing and mill-pond still, so I decided to swim out into the middle and wait until the ripples had settled down. I had to abandon this plan 2/3 of the way out when I suddenly realised that I was so battered that there was a very real chance I might not have enough strength to swim back to shore if I went much further. After I was safely back on dry land this made me feel a little vindicated about running away. I’ll just have to come back when I’m harder, better, faster and stronger. Or at least a little less puntertastic. Not that I need encouragement to make a return visit. It’s an amazing crag, well worth it’s semi-mythical status. Now if I can just man up enough to do Shrike next time round that would be nice…

The Stanage Ton

A couple of years ago, after a remarkably productive day soloing at Harborough and Windgather with a stinking hangover and a sprained ankle, I decided that soloing 100 routes in a day was the kind of thing that I ought to do at some point. I also quite fancied soloing a vertical kilometer in a day, which might be harder at obvious soloing haunts like Birchen, Windgather and Burbage, but should come for free with 100 routes at Stanage. As an added bonus, this would also avoid the rather unaesthetic faffery of driving between crags. A previous effort was aborted due to midges and broken feet, but it seemed like a challenge worthy of my current level of climbing skill. After a failed effort to drum up any willing companions, I found myself sitting at the far right of the Popular End at 10am on Monday, putting my rock shoes on.

I followed the same pattern as my previous attempt, soloing all the Mods and Diffs, including a few in descent which I knew were reasonable propositions, with a few VDiffs (and the odd Severe), especially on the taller buttresses to keep the average route length up.After 19 routes I was already feeling tired and not overly optimistic about my prospects, but I got on with it. After 40 routes a well timed spot of drizzle forced me to have a rest and a spot of lunch (a particularly fine goats cheese and chorizo quiche). I'd resolved to bring a pen and paper with me so I could record the routes as I did them to make sure I didn't miscount and end up on 99, which was a great plan, since it forced me to take short breaks every 10 routes or so to write everything down, which I think saved me from any kind of mental fatigue. It was also nice to have a regular excuse to take my rock shoes off.

Beyond Mississippi Buttress the crag loses a bit of height and there are plenty of easy routes at around the 10m mark to get the total ticking upwards. I was starting to think it might actually be possible, and when I passed Dover's Wall, where I'd given up before on 68, and could still walk, I had a celebratory handful of Haribo to spur myself on. The next, scrappy, section of the crag has a good number of short easy routes, so I was up to 80 by the time I reached the Unconquerables. Here the Diffs and Mods start to thin out and the VDiffs all seem to be proper thrashy chimneys. I tested one of these out - ODG's Chimney. That was a bad move. Some time later I emerged from its verdant bowels substantially chastened and boasting considerably less skin than before. I vowed to stick to the Diffs, even if that meant I had to walk all the way to the far end of the crag.

Eventually, after a lot of wandering around, I found a cluster of insignificant Diffs that took me to 100. I found the energy to solo one more route (with a star no less) just in case, totted up the total height of all the routes to check it was over 1000m, and hobbled back along the top of the crag towards the now rather distant car.

So, 101 routes, 1023m of climbing, 22 chimneys, 20 cracks, 2 clefts and 49 stars. Not a bad day out. I could do more, I think. Next time I might be tempted to ignore the height and just see how many routes I can manage in a day. Or try and collect stars. That could be fun, and would probably involve a fair bit less greenery...

Bimbling At Stanage, Spanked At Curbar

Another month, still haven't remembered how to climb. I have had lots of fun bimbling around. Much like all of Tremadog, climbing obscure unstarred low-grade routes at Stanage is one of my great guilty pleasures. I've been 3 times since my last post and climbed all sorts of mildly esoteric gems, including Birthday Buttress (a bit of a voyage at VS 4b), Elliott's Eliminate (a great route to do on a busy day, crossing 3 2/3-star routes at the Popular End) and The Real 20-Foot Crack (pocket-sized jamming loveliness). I've also found a fair few sandbags, including an HVS arete called Scary Canary that Adam led, which involved some very unlikely moves off uninspiring jams and a rounder-than-you-like arete.

Bimbler's Paradise

I've also been to Bell Hagg. Twice in a week. On the first visit I mostly just got pumped and made tremendously hard work of the easy low traverse. On the return, Soph and I sheltered from the rain and made up some amusing eliminates. Oswald and I spent a frustrating day at Rivelin, where I soloed a bold HVS between the showers. And yesterday Adam and I went to Curbar with predictable results. 

My natural reflex when anyone suggests going to Curbar is to shout "Noooooooo" with a despairing look on my face, but Adam overcame this by using the lure of unclimbed ticklist routes. So we went. Potter's Wall was very pleasant, then Adam led an unfrequented HVS with a stout little crack and a breezy top-out that was much easier once he'd found the holds. Not feeling like leading an HVS at Curbar was a good idea given my current levels of ineptitude I thought I'd punter up a nearby HS. After a long time pansying around on a ledge I escaped into the neighbouring HVDiff grovel, not fancying the baffling moves and uninspiring gear. Ignominious.

Windswept

Adam then led another HVS with similar hold-missing faffery at the top, before we wandered left a bit to The Brain. It starts with an unprotected slabby teeter, which felt rather more soul-searching then it should, and finishes with brilliant exposed moves on mega-jugs up an arete. A VS at Curbar that wasn't a terrifying sandbag. Perhaps it really isn't a crag full of sandbags? 

No, it is. Adam proved this by being repelled by the pain of a frankly horrible looking fist jam on a VS crack (which is disappointingly on the ticklist, so I'll be back at some point, hopefully with an idiot to lead it for me). He followed this by sketching his way up the scrittliest slab I've ever had the misfortune to venture onto.

So Curbar is still terrifying and I still can't climb. At least I've been having fun trying.

Yet More Puntering And A Bit Of Falling Off

Easter seems a long time ago, but other than a slightly damp, windy and generally uninspiring day at Lawrencefield with Oswald and Ripley, where the highlight of the day was an epic onsight crush of an unstarred VS 4b, I've managed to avoid climbing entirely. Curses. Anyway, last weekend found an enthusiastic team of reprobates heading to Gardoms.

I found a horrendous looking Mod with a star, and set about soloing it armed with Adam's oversized brush just in case the going got filthy. Other than some weird dried out slime on the first few holds it was actually quite clean and much better than it looks. I then scared myself silly soloing a couple of VSs I've soloed before, while Adam laid siege to a manky looking Severe crack. After eventually applying more than a Severe's worth of skill, we were all bafflingly possessed by the urge to follow him up it. We all found our own weirdly contorted way of overcoming the crux section - J-Rowe applied a calf-jam, whilst I managed to knee-bar my own knees. After another couple of routes it started to rain. Just as Simon had reached the top crux of Elliott's Buttress Direct. I found a convenient ledge and offered some generous words of advice. Definitely no heckling. Oh no.

Mmm, damp holds...

The following Friday afternoon brought a dry forecast and another team of waifs and strays, this time heading to Stanage. After a brief tussle with an overhang on a VS, and some tomfoolery with Dan on the arete of Topaz (which looked horrendous - Jaime and I stuck with the E1 copout), I fancied a go at some slabby HVS rounded break-hauling on Meiosis. The start was a bit butch, but after a couple of forays to stick a cam in and fettle the holds I went for it. I stretched up for a thin seam, which turned out not to be a hold, and was just wondering how to engineer the extra few inches to reach the break above when my foot popped and I was off. Luckily Jaime was paying attention and other than a slightly mangled finger and a bash on the chin no damage was done.

After a brief moment to gather myself I got back on and gave it the beans to get to the next break. After a rather harrowing few minutes in a very contorted position trying to fiddle some more gear in all was well with the world. The rest of the route was thought-provoking, but altogether less eventful. Huzzah. We finished the day by pootling up a couple more routes whilst Dan engaged in some ethically questionable toproping chicanery in his mad quest to climb all of the routes at the crag.

Superfuntimes

Standing On The Edge Of Winter

After a month of unproductive cold I was pretty psyched for some kind of climby adventures at Easter, so I hired a car, filled it with enough kit to cover all eventualities, and set off for Andy's parents house in the South Lakes for to meet Julie and Andy for some kind of fun times. Julie is in training for the Fred Whitton  next month, so Good Friday saw the three of us poncing around Coniston in lycra failing to find any hills to cycle up (they were all covered in snow, sad times). We still managed 50 miles, and other than being utterly baltic, it was all quite pleasant.

The next day Andy, Oli and I got up unreasonably early and drove round to Borrowdale, to climb Raven Crag Gully, a classic grade III/IV above Combe Ghyll. There were already 2 parties there before us, but they were out of our way before we'd faffed about at the bottom. We soloed the easy approach pitch, then Andy led up a few nicely technical little steps to a belay, whence it was my lead (Oli was excused leading anything hard as he was in walking crampons). I've not done much winter leading, but it looked ok, and after spending quite a while fannying about trying to work out what to do I managed to get up a couple more tricky steps, to another very accommodating stance. Another interesting icy pitch, then a snowy wander led us to the foot of the much vaunted top pitch. The guidebook made claim that it's the most beautiful in all of the Lakes, which seemed a bit hyperbolic, but it did offer about 30 metres of excellent pure fat ice. Mmm.

The top pitch of Raven Crag Gully

After another day of cycling over Honister, Newlands and Whinlatter (oof) Andy had contracted some kind of faceaids and could barely be coaxed out the house. Eventually we ended up wandering up to see if Low Water Beck was frozen (unsurprisingly it wasn't) before sulking back to the house (via Booths for some consolation food). Eventually the sunshine persuaded us that sitting inside wasn't the best use of our day and we went to explore the bouldering on offer at Dunnerholme. It turned out to be something like Cumbria's answer to Craig y Longridge, only made of limestone and not in a holiday park. The very pleasant setting almost made up for the fact that all of the problem were overhanging, crimpy and had rather frightening top outs (a point emphasised when Andy kicked a head-sized block at my head - sadly for him he missed). My fingers are clearly still weak, but I dragged myself up a few problems and it was nice to be out.

Dunnerholme

 Another day of cycling, this time a lap of Helvellyn, was followed by a day soloing 3 easy gullies on Tarn Crag, wandering along to the top of Helvellyn, down Swirral Edge and back up Striding Edge in glorious sunshine. Not technically hard at all, but a glorious day out and with some spiffing views.

Looking East along Striding Edge towards St Sunday Crag and High Street

The following day Oli and I managed to find a few hours to sneak off to another local bouldering mecca - Woodwell near Trowbarrow. It was a bit more highball than I was expecting for a bouldering crag, so we stuck to English 5a and below problems, but it was a fun way to give the arms a bit of a work out (as well as the head on some of the top outs) as well as collecting another new crag point.

Oli trying to psyche himself up for another tussle with the overhang on The Teaser at Woodwell

I'd made plans to meet up with Simon and Claire on Friday night at Helyg in Ogwen, but had no plans for the day time until some last-minute logistic chicanery resulted in me meeting up with Mr Ripley and his friend Mr Burrows at Skelwith Bridge, followed by several hours of driving around fruitlessly searching for a crag that wasn't a) covered in snow b) made of slate (we went to Hodge Close just to check, but it's still made of slate) c) bird banned (Stonestar looked great otherwise) d) utterly cack (see Troutal Gorge) or e) unfeasibly far away (see Hare Crags in Eskdale). We did manage a few minutes of amusement at Seathwaite Buttress in the Duddon Valley, where we soloed a nice little (ticklist) Severe, and Ollie led the Profit of Doom-esque groove of Seathwaite Buttress Direct, before deciding that the South crag of Castle Rock was the place for us. By the time we arrived it was nearly sunset, so I soloed a few easier routes whilst the others had fun with cold hands on some bold E1s.

Ollie soloing Crackle at Seathwaite Buttress whilst Tom climbs a tree for some reason...

After an unreasonably long wait for the wrong pizza in Penrith, I hared it down to North Wales, then spent some time staggering around in the dark at midnight trying to find the CC hut. Turns out it's on the other side of the road... We had a little bit of unwelcome excitement the next morning when one of the other occupants of the hut came down with some kind of mysterious inner ear infection that caused him to throw up copiously. I'd love to say that in a triumph of the human spirit over adversity, all the other hut occupants pulled together to look after him, but no, the other bastards all pissed off, leaving us to try and persuade him he wasn't about to die, and get some medical help for him. What fun.

Anyway, we eventually reached Tremadog, where the sun was out and everything was warm and pleasant. I soloed a HS while Claire led Borneo, a one star VS that was reclaimed from the vegetation a few years ago. Both were very pleasant. Si then led an unstarred, but also very nice VS with an unpronounceable Welsh name. I know it isn't very cool, but I love Tremadog. The rock is lovely, there are loads of hidden jugs and generally good gear. It's easy to do a load of multi-pitch routes in one day and there's loads of good stuff to go at. I've done 35 different route on Bwlch y Moch alone, and I can't think of a bad one among them. As if to illustrate how great the place is we finished the day up Kestrel Cracks, an old VS sandbag now upgraded to HVS. Claire led the 4c first pitch, which was brilliant. Funky 3-dimensional climbing up a corner with loads of weird palming moves and daft contortions. Brilliant. The top, 5a, pitch was only hard for a short section, but it needed giving some beans to get past a singularly unhelpfully polished nubbin. A great finish to a really cracking day. It was difficult to believe that there was anything approaching winter conditions to be had anywhere given how warm it was.

Claire on the top pitch of Kestrel Cracks

Back at the hut we were joined by an ever so slightly sunburnt Becky, who'd been out wandering around the Glyderau in the snow. We were plotting a return visit to Tremadog when some of the other folks from the hut started telling us about their great day out winter climbing on Llech Ddu. I had a look in the guide and found a sexy picture of a grade III gully (imaginatively named 'The Gully') in nearby Cwmglas Bach which promised to be "Chock full of fat ice". After a super early start (well, 6am) we stomped in over the frozen bog (which wasn't so frozen on the walk out) and up to the base of the route, which looked exactly as described. Bo. Some of the ice was a bit brittle, but there was so much of it that it hardly mattered. I even got one of Si's mega ice screws all the way in at one point. Whoop. After lounging around in the sun waiting for Si and Claire to join us we had a slightly hairy descent back to the bags, then a long walk back out through the bog with broken feet all round. Another great day out and difficult to believe that we had been climbing in the sunshine only the day before. What a strange place the world is.

Fat ice ftw

Venturing More Than 6' Off The Ground

I went to Birchen on Friday afternoon with the youth. We ticked most of the easy problems on the three ships as a warm up, although the trivially easy but pumpy traverses were beyond me. Bah. Then we went down to the main edge, climbed an entertaining little V3 arete fairly swiftly, and had a few attempts at Hornblower, a classic V4. Oswald made some good progress and eventually hit the elegant lurch for the decent sidepull, and it was in the bag. I, however, failed repeatedly to make the first move, so I consoled myself by soloing a few of the routes nearby. It's been a while since I was more than 6 feet off the ground, but I managed not to get a nosebleed with the extreme altitude. I finished the day by sandbagging the youth on the start of Powder Monkey Parade and watching some gentlemen make impressively short work of Gritstone Megamix, a highball classic.

You can't beat a good sandbagging...

Yesterday the forecast was glorious, so I made plans to go to Yorkshire with Lizzie. I felt a little cheated when I woke up to a world of fog. I felt more cheated when it still hadn't burnt off by late morning, but eventually around noon the sun managed to break through, so I set off. Driving through Leeds is a bit like punching yourself in the face, only it takes much, much longer and is substantially less fun, so it wasn't until 3 that we actually reached the bottom of Crookrise and racked up. All the jangly gear was a bit confusing, but after a massive attack of uselessness at the start of a VS I pulled myself together and managed my first leads of the year, and even a new ticklist route, whoop. All in all it was a very pleasant afternoon, and it was nice to catch up with Lizzie. It was also a good reminder that I need to get better, so VSs don't feel like quite such hard work...

Sun!

Getting stuck into some traditional VDiff action

C..C..Caley

A few things have happened since the weekend. I turned 31 (hurrah for prime number ages), I bought a road bike (part of my grand plan to be less fat and puntery) and some new rock shoes, mostly for climbing things where I might want some stiffer soles than my usual flappy Boosters. I also awarded myself the day off yesterday (for being totally awesome) and headed up to Caley with Jaime.

I'd paid a flying visit once before on my own, but I didn't do anything of note, so there was plenty to go at. Although a fair few boulders were looking rather verdantly green and lichenous, there was plenty of dry rock, even if there was quite a chill in the air. Having cunningly chosen a crag on a north-facing slope we were also out of the sun. So we had to try hard in order to keep warm instead of lounging around. To my great surprise this actually worked. Although trying hard currently involves anything above about 5a, I managed to punter up 23 problems, including quite a few V2 flashes. The highlights of the day were probably The Thin Slab, which was a bit of a soul-searching voyage into a smeary world of excitement, and a delightful mantel problem called Bob's Bastard. I was mostly drawn to it because it was a mantelshelf and it sounded like it might be horrendous, so how could I resist?

Jaime finessing her footwork

The initial lip was some distance above my head, so a substantial hoik was required to peer onto the slab above to see what lay in store. There was a mysterious pocket, and not much else, so I gave it some beans and threw for the pocket. I missed it and fell off. Twice. Then I hit it and fell off. Twice. Then I almost made it round the lip, but my hip got snagged and I fell off. On the next attempt I got cramp in my calf, but after a brief rest I gave it the beans and sent it like it had never been sent before. Or something. Anyway, it was fun. First 6a of the year as well. Whoop. May it be the first of many.