Lundy Vol. II

Day 2:

In a sacrificial bid to stop Andy the choss-botherer from muttering about wanting to drag me up crumbly and unrepeated deathtrap E1s, and on the basis of a favourable tide, I agreed to join him in a bid to climb American Beauty by the original approach. This is described in the guide as being merely “harrowing” (rather than actual certain death) as well as enormously committing, as it's only possible for a few hours either side of low tide, and retreat would be fairly impossible once cut off. The normal approach is a 100m abseil down the route, but that's hardly cricket, and only warrants HVS rather than “adventurous E1” for our way.


The Original Approach to American Beauty

We stomped our way up to the threequarter wall, and soon found ourselves staring across at the route from the other side of the zawn. It looked long, a bit vegetated and maybe a bit wet, but being in shadow it was hard to tell. We then had a gander at The Ocean, which was longer, more vegetated and generally a much more worrying proposition. As low tide wasn't until early afternoon we moved on to Threequarter Buttress and scrambled down, past the amazing cleft of Trogus-Lo-Dyticus, to the base of Quadratus Lumborum, a pleasant sounding Severe we intended to solo. I bravely sent Andy up first to test the water, and he was soon stopped by a terrifying looking 'strategic fall' to a distant foothold on the arete with a yawning crack waiting to catch you if you overcooked it. Sensible discretion got the better part of valour and we snuck round the side up a VDiff, before rejoining the route on a ledge. Andy went off hunting for the second pitch, but was soon repelled by the cold and we both followed the pleasant arete of Devonia (which, crucially, was in the sun) back to our bags.

After a brief bite to eat, the appointed hour was upon us, but first we headed back down the slope for one last look at what we were getting ourselves into. The sun had now moved round onto the slab, and we could see that only a small section under the big overlap on the second pitch was wet. Hopefully that wouldn't impact on the climbing too much... Loins suitably girded we picked our way down the slope to the point where the angle steepened and things started to look suitably harrowing. After a lengthy hunt we found a satisfactory abseil anchor and Andy set off into the unknown. The 60m length of the ab rope took us down to the point where vertical grass met vertical rock, and a further 50m abseil on our climbing ropes from the end of the ab rope deposited us on a pleasant large platform with the sea lapping nearby. We spent a few minutes ogling the impressive overhangs of the Parthenos, before starting the traverse into the zawn. The guide had promised us VDiff traversing, but the tide was so low that it was little more than a scramble to the exposed boulder beach, and the whole bay opened up to us. I hopped across to investigate the funky through-cave under the headland into Two-Headed Zawn (alas not as exciting as it sounds) before joining Andy at the bottom of the slab. It was so pleasant in the sunshine that it was easy to forget how committed we would soon be.


Andy dwarfed by the scale of Grand Falls Zawn

In order to slightly reduce the potential for wave-induced epic failure, Andy led off up the bottom of the route to reach the large ledge which most parties abseil into. From here the first pitch followed a vague crackline for 30m to a ledge and belay by a huge perched block. The climbing was sustained and excellent, with some surprising holds just where it looked like things might get interesting. The vegetation in the upper section of the crack was never too intrusive, and soon I was perched on the ledge belaying Andy up to join me. The precise line of the second pitch up to the big overlap was unclear, as the crack I'd followed soon petered out, but we had pink princess radios, so nothing could defeat us. Andy duly led off, and after a brief pause on a grassy ledge to scope out the possibilities, managed to trace a line up the slab on a perfect sequence of just-big-enough holds to the point where the crack re-appeared. Unfortunately this seemed to coincide with the bottom of the wet streak we'd seen beforehand, and there was much grumbling, wiping dry of hands and face pulling from the sharp end of the rope. Eventually Andy accepted that the holds weren't going to get any drier or bigger, and pulled up to the overlap, where some hurried gear placing ensued, before an enormous stride rightwards onto what was evidently a dry hold and a big grin. This still left the small problem of the overlap itself, which was not insubstantial in its overhangingness, but short work was made of this, and a short scuttle into a corner later and it was my turn. Again the climbing was a delight, although on reaching the wet section I couldn't help but repeat Andy's: furtle holds, wipe hands, grimace, repeat, actions. Eventually I talked my feet into accepting that they could stand on damp matchstick edges and soon my fingers were jammed into the soggy crack where overlap met slab. A quick hunched scurry along this and I was back in the land of dry holds, and altogether much happier. As hoped the overlap itself was turned with a swift stiff pull on good holds, and soon we were both eyeing up the steep, bristly looking 4c finishing crack.

Off I set, slightly apprehensive that I might be reduced to either pulling hard or laybacking, and this looked increasingly likely as height was gained and the footholds ran out into a vast expanse of sea grass, but after placing a confidence-inspiring hex I noticed some enormous turbo-jugs just behind me. I didn't need any more tempting to forsake the crack for these, and soon I was repeating the familiar Lundy top-out ritual of trying to work out which lumps of grass looked more weight-bearing than the others. What a totally fantastic route in a fantastic situation. I can't think of many better days out that I've ever had. I was really glad we'd done it by the original approach, as (other than the obvious fun of the added commitment) having an abseil route hanging down next to you as you climbed would really have ruined the experience I think. What are you waiting for? Go get it done!

Day 3:

We woke to the ever-depressing pitter-patter of rain on the tents. I did my best to try and convince myself that it always sounds worse than it is, but it was pretty minging when I stuck my head out the door, so I retreated back to the warmth and made a cup of tea. Obviously this helped matters, but didn't stop the rain and, after much procrastination, we all wended our ways to the pub, where we played darts, Trivial Pursuits and Scrabble and ate tasty lamb burgers and cheesy chips in profusion.

Eventually the weather cleared and it began to look like something might be climbable. It was pretty windy, but the tide was low, so I tried to rustle up interest in a rematch with Cable Way. On both previous visits to Lundy I'd been repelled from the approach traverse to this route (which goes at the epic grade of Severe) by monster waves, and was keen to actually get it climbed. Somehow I managed to enthuse everybody and we set out as a team of 9 to do the route. The approach was substantially less underwater than on previous efforts and we were soon all perched on a large sloping ledge which appeared to be where the route started. The tide coming in would cut off our line of retreat, so there was plenty of epic potential

Andy and Julie set of first, then Becky and I, followed by Simon and Claire and finally Chris, Dan and James. Thankfully the half-way belay was fairly spacious, although it was amongst the rusting remains of some very spiky cables, so care had to be taken not to accidentally impale ourselves. The climbing turned out to be really quite good, with steep moves on big holds, although the guidebook description either omitted to mention the large amount of traversing, or we managed to find a really good new route on the same bit of rock. This being Lundy I suspect the former. Soon we were all at the top (although not before Andy had treated us all to a delightful view of his bare buttocks when he decided to moon over the top of the crag, shudder) and repaired to the pub again for victory beers.


The top pitch of Cable Way


Day 4:

Again we awoke to the sound of rain, but it seemed more ominous this time and, indeed, we spent most of the day in the pub playing board games again and writing postcards. Andy, Dan, Claire, Simon and I did go for an exploratory walk in the afternoon and scoped out a few routes to come back to when the rock was dry. Alas it started raining quite hard just as we reached the Diamond near the far end of the island and the walk back gave us ample opportunity to get utterly soaked to the skin. Fun.

Lundy Vol. I

Day 0:

After many months of eager anticipation, and a typically last-minute packing fervour, Julie and Andy arrived at my house and we were ready to roll. The drive from Sheffield to Bideford went astonishingly quickly, interrupted only by some apparently terrible burgers from a mysterious generic fast food outlet (I was spared these by having eaten before we departed), and 4 ½ hours later we pulled into a picnic area just outside Bideford. Andy boldly/foolishly declared the rain to be no more than some dense cloud, and set out in his bivvy bag, whilst Julie and I made ourselves as comfortable as could be in the car (which was still spectacularly uncomfortable).

Day 1:

Having been awake on and off for most of the night, it came as quite a relief when the appointed hour came and we motored on to Bideford. After pumping the car park ticket machine with our own bodyweight in loose change we wandered down the front to the MS Oldenburg, deposited our bags for loading and went questing in vain for tea. With Myself, Andy, Julie, James, Chris and Dan all accounted for 45 minutes before departures there was still no sign of Si and Claire (the final members of Team Safe), so I rang them and woke them up. Evidently Simon's car is substantially more bedlike than mine. After a brief panic we were reunited and soon adopted our customary spot at the back of the boat as we set off on the high seas. The skies were grey and brooding and the sea state described as ominously 'moderate'. Mercifully we were spared the full wrath of Neptune (although Andy did look a bit peaky at times) and arrived safely on Lundy with the weather beginning to look a little more promising.



In search of some easy access climbing, several of us made our way to the Battery and headed down to the base of Flying Buttress. After a bit of grumpy old man ab-rope faffery, Claire and I were soon at the bottom and setting off up the rather ace Horseman's Route, which made for a very pleasant reminder of how Granite works. Claire then bullied me shamelessly into an attempt on Double Diamond. An HVS (eek) on a slab (double eek). Luckily the 5b start was wet, so I skirted that, and remarkably soon, with a minimum of smearing and terror (which are broadly the same thing) I was stood on some big holds near the top in a traffic jam. Very rudely two separate parties had decided to start pitches which crossed mine, whilst I was already en route. Eventually my courtesy gave way (in direct proportion to how much my feet hurt) and I just ploughed on regardless. Somehow this wasn't enough to dissuade yet another leader from setting out across my ropes whilst I was trying to take in at the top. Alas Lundy isn't immune from climbing fuckwittery it would seem.

Next on the agenda Claire fancied a go at Capuccino, a fun VS which we chased Dan and Simon up, and then Claire and Si decided to retire to the campsite, so Mr Money and myself decided to have a go at the VS 5a direct start to Horseman's Route. Alas the tide had other ideas and was washing the crucial boulder with distressing regularity, so we switched our objective to Diamond Crack. This turned out to be a steep little bugger, which only gave up with a bit of a fight (and no small amount of 5a moves), so by the time I was at the top I was pooped and ready for tea, and thence beer in the Marisco Tavern. It was a delight to reacquaint myself with the pleasures of Old Light Ale, and I feel asleep full of excitement about the potential adventures the rest of the week might bring.

Pembroke

A sunny forecast and plenty of enthusiasm for sea cliffs saw me heading Pembrokewards this weekend with Young Dan, Jon, Sophie, Simon, Claire and a huge cast of friendly others. After much slaloming through the wilds of Mid-Wales, we arrived at the vast Vicar's Field campsite, with it's luxurious single portaloo facilities (but corresponding bargainous price and proximity to the pub). It was a beautifully clear night, and we stayed up later than was wise drinking whisky and spotting shooting stars.

Saturday morning found Jon, Simon, Claire and I heading to Mother Careys. After a slight false start heading down a dirt track to oblivion, we managed to locate the car park and thence the crag, and Jon and I made a bee-line for Sea Groove. We scrambled round to the base of the route under the impressive White Slab, and I bambered up it in a lovely long single pitch. There was even some mild jamming as an extra treat.

Suitably warmed up, we decided to get on with one of the weekend's principle objectives, namely Inner Space. As a veteran of such recent crazy adventures as Skeleton Ridge on the Isle Of Wight, Jon wasn't too perturbed by the rather terrifying look of the first pitch, and duly set off. For those of you not familiar with the route, it starts in a huge cave, climbs 20m or so up to the roof, and then back and foots sideways across the top of the cave for 20m in a position of extreme exposure, to reach a welcome belay on a chockstone right at the top of the cave mouth. A bit like this, in fact:



Mercifully there was plenty of gear, and even a few holds on the traverse, but it was an impressive piece of climbing, and a pretty mind-boggling situation to be in. After joining Jon on top of the chockstone and celebrating our continued aliveness, I led the short, but very exposed second pitch to the top, where victory brownies awaited (of the edible chocolatey kind, rather than cheerleading girls), and the slow process of letting the type II fun set in began. I think the traverse might be the most type II fun I've had at one time.

Full of calories and keen for more adventures we abseiled back down and boulder-hopped round to the base of Rock Idol. I'm not really one for steep climbing, but the line looked amazing, and it was reputed to be low in the grade. The rumours turned out to be well founded, and luckily there were loads of rests to be had en route (including a proper sit down one in a cave), as well as bountiful gear and some epic handholds. The crux roof had a few less holds than I was hoping for, but tactical deployment of a sly jam soon had me back in vertical territory. It was a pretty satisfying feeling belaying from the top looking down to see how much the route seems to overhang the start. My first Welsh E1, and a good 'un too. After that the team headed to Pembroke for fish and chips, and the pub for beer and plenty of socialising.

On Sunday we header to Stennis Head, and got things underway with a group traverse to the base of Stennis Arete and Stennis Chimney. Jon set off up the arete whilst I marvelled at the improbability of the E3 Sophie was climbing on the other side of the zawn. Next we headed down for a crack at The Bludgeon, but there was a team in situ, so we removed ourselves to the base of Hercules, and I set off up it hoping the name wasn't too appropriate. It turned out to be pretty strenuous, but the steep bits were overcome by bridging, so my arms just about lasted the course, aided no-end by two (count 'em) proper sit down rests on ledges. Win. Between the rests the route was pretty sustained, and the crux was a very commiting feeling step right (although with brilliant gear), but thankfully the angle relented soon after and the upper groove was a juggy delight. Some epic posturing whilst bridging above space round the capping roof was had, and then some more satisfied belaying.


Sophie on Grey English Wimpout/A Walk On The Wild Side

After these exertions Jon and I fancied some slightly less strenuous amusement, so we abseiled down to the base of the Myola slab, and Jon romped up Myola, which proved to be excellent after a bit of tricky offwidthing at the very start. I then led the neighbouring VS, Myopia, which was a bit of a challenge of routefinding, picking the easiest route up the slab. The gear was a little less than obvious, and there was a rather spicy runout near the top, but thankfully the sanctuary of the grass was soon reached. At this stage I was very glad to have 60m ropes, as the belay stake was some way off, and the prospects of any other meaningful gear amongst the shattered rubble and grass wasn't very bright.

In the evening light we finished off the weekend by dragging our weary arms up Quickstep, a very pleasant little route, and after laughing at Sophie and Dan's swimming antics, we set off for home, via some very stodgy pizza and lots of thankfully deserted roads.

All in all a very productive trip, and I've got lots of Pembroke-psyche for a return to hopefully tick off a few more classic HVSs and E1s. Cool For Cats, Straight Gate, The Arrow and Lucky Strike in particular look pretty sensational.

The Whole Gamut Of Choss

This weekend I found myself heading, with no small amount of trepidation, towards the Lleyn Peninsula in North Wales, with committed mentalist and lover of danger, Andy. As somebody with a keen interest in staying alive I was a little bit afraid, but the adventure potential was high, and I do enjoy a good adventure.

Saturday morning dawned wet and grey, so we sat around in Pete's Eats drinking tea and persuading ourself that it never rained on the Lleyn. Eventually we were full of tea, so we set of aiming for Pen Y Cil, described as being particularly solid in the guide, and home to Guillemot's Groove, a pleasant sounding VS. After a bit of tomfoolery thanks to the guidebook describing the wrong place to park, and the wrong way to approach the route (I opted for some wave defying traversing and Andy downclimbed a frightening looking gully), we were in the right place, in the sun, and I was feeling quite psyched. The route turned out to be really good, with no sign of any loose rock, good gear, and some nicely exposed moves near the top of the first pitch. The second pitch was a bit of a scramble up some looser, but easy ground, and we were soon back at our bags.


The Wonder Of Dorys

Our next destination was Craig Dorys, renowned as being 'adventurous' even by Lleyn standards. The reputation is certainly justified. The crag is an impressive sprawling mass of epic shaley terror. Some of the rock looks like it might just about hold bodyweight, but a lot of it just falls apart to the touch. This is a crag for proper lunatics. The guide describes a 'fine' VS there, ominously called The Craterer, which I was a bit afraid of, but Andy manned up and set off up. It follows a vague line up a large, solidish looking slab with the promise of good runners at half height, below an overlap. In spite of carrying the biggest rack in all of Christendom, Andy somehow didn't have the right size cam for the only decent placement, and so beat a rather tentative retreat back to the bottom, whence we ran away to Abersoch for chips.

Sunday morning brought sunshine and the promise of a proper epic, as we had our sights set of Fantan B, apparently the lower grade classic of the Lleyn. Thanks to hearing tales of terrifying traverses on dried bird crap, no gear, mad hand infections and in situ vomiting fulmars I was substantially afraid, but somehow still found myself following Andy down the 80m abseil down a steep grassy bank. It soon became apparent that nobody had told the seagulls that the bird ban was off and nesting season was over. Both having had previous experiences with gulls defending their nests, and not wanting to incur the wrath of either the bird gods or twitcher hell, we decided that this was not our day, and prusiked back up the rope, the sounds of gulls squawking ringing like laughter in our ears. I'd never prusiked in anger before, and it turns out it's quite hard work...


The Approach Pitch To Fantan B And It's Avian Guardians


Suitably chastened we decided to abandon the Lleyn and head for the altogether more solid climes of Gogarth. Specifically Mousetrap Zawn, the most famously solid of all Gogarth's cliffs. Ahem. After some more halfwittery with steep grass and pretend ropes we found ourself at the bottom of the Zawn. It is truly one of the most impressive places I've ever been, with truly mind-bogglingly freakish rock rising up in bizarre folds above. Seen from front on from the lighthouse steps our intended route, The Green Slab, looks steep and terrifying, but the view from the side reveals a very amenable angle, and it was only VS 4b in the old guide, what could possibly go wrong...


The Top Pitch Of The Green Slab

Actually as it turned out the route was excellent, with really funky climbing on solid rock in an incredible situation, and all perfectly positioned for looking hardcore to the gawping tourists looking on from the steps. What's not to like? The gear was sometimes a little unconventional, but there was enough of it that it didn't concern me in the slightest. The top pitch had a tricky move followed by some softer and even more ludicrous rock, but the sanctuary of a typical Gogarth top-out was soon reached.

This esoteric climbing has a certain appeal to it, I can see myself coming back for more.

Climbing Memory

It's a funny old thing the human brain. I have a great memory for useless trivia I first heard years ago, but ask me what I did yesterday and I'm flummoxed. Climbing memory is an even odder thing. This evening I went to Burbage South with my friend Jim and climbed three routes I'd previous led or seconded at some point in the past. The first, Byne's Crack, I led a few months ago. I seconded it this time and it was exactly as I remembered. The jams were just as good, and all the holds were where I remembered them. The second, Brook's Crack, I led, having seconded it several years ago. All I could remember was that the first half was easy, then there was a bit of a grovel round a bulge, and I remembered the top as being not too bad. The guidebook intimidatingly described the route as "strenuous and sustained for its entire length", but I trusted my memory over it, in spite of not really feeling the psyche, and set off upwards.

The start was as easy and pleasant as I remembered, the crux bulge was still a complete grovel, and then I found myself below the upper crack. It looked like it was going to involve some serious jamming, so I got stuck in, but almost immediately something in the back of my brain told me to try some extreme bridging, and lo, suddenly all was good. It was odd how the memory of how to finish the route was only triggered by being back in that same position, but I was very glad for the extra help!

The third route, Gable Route, was one I had led the same day as Byne's Crack a few months previously, and I had found it fairly straightforward then, so I recommended it to Jim. He found it a bit of a struggle and there were some allegations of sandbagging bandied around. This got me wondering if I'd remembered wrong, and sure enough, it felt much harder this time. I wonder if it was this more negative approach which made me climb it badly, was I just not climbing as well this evening, or did I just miss some subtle trick I'd found last time to make it feel much easier.

Hmmm. Funny things memories...

Ireland Trip Part 2

We woke up the next morning with surprisingly clear heads and a sense of purpose. After being delayed for an hour or so whilst Leo told us why the Irish economy was “fecked”, we drove South East for a few miles to Muckross Head. The crag here was totally different to the other local crags, being composed of horizontally layered sandstone and mudstone. The mudstone had eroded away to leave great overhangs of sandstone above a friendly rock platform, which luckily wasn't being washed by the sea when we arrived. There are a few easier routes weaving their way through the overhangs between all the big E-numbers, so I set off up a VS called Primula. The climbing somehow managed to avoid directly climbing any overhangs, whilst still passing through some very impressive terrain, and it was thoroughly ace. Oli then had a go at the other three star VS on the crag, called Headland, which traversed for miles across the lip of another huge cave before finishing up an unlikely looking crack. Again, the climbing was great, and the positions very unlikely, and I even saw a school of dolphins pass by whilst belaying. A word of warning for other interested parties though: the belay at the top is a concrete post about 30 metres away from the top of the crag. As the route was 30 metres long and we only had 50 metre ropes, this meant I had to start climbing with Oli sitting in a small hollow thinking heavy thoughts until there was enough slack to reach the post. Eek.

After a quick spot of lunch we raced Northwards and inland heading for our second crag of the day, a big granite mountain cliff called Bingorm. Conveniently there is a road which passes within 15 minutes of the bottom of the crag and so come mid-afternoon we were sitting at the bottom staring up at a 130 metre three star HS called Tarquins Groove. The guidebook described the first two pitches as easy scrambling up to the foot of the large corner, 50 metres. I baulked at the steep greenery and tried to climb some rock instead, which left me some distance off route after a bit of exciting slab climbing, but at least anchored to some rock. Oli boldly tackled the vertical jungle head on, and eventually reached the foot of the good climbing looking somewhat afraid. It came as a great relief to both of us that the remaining four pitches were excellent and entirely on actual rock, more than justifying our travails in getting to them. Our descent back to the car wasn't entirely uneventful as we both found out that steep boggy slopes and flip flops don't mix that well, but eventually we made it down, unscathed but slightly damp of foot, and drove over to Northern Ireland that evening. We settled on a campsite in the middle of the biggest static caravan park I've ever seen in Portrush, and then spent a good 20 minutes wandering around looking for the toilets. For some curious reason they were disguised as a static caravan, which was quite a good disguise in an endless sea of static caravans.

Bingorm:


Wednesday arrived slightly overcast, so we stopped off at the Giant's Causeway en route to Fairhead. I have to admit we were both slightly underwhelmed, but then I suppose climbers see their fair share of amazing rock architecture, and we were probably a slightly harder sell than most. It was certainly pretty cool, but I'm not sure I'd have wanted to travel very far to see it if I hadn't been passing already. Fairhead was an altogether much more impressive sight. Even the few hundred metres of hulking cliff you can see from the Ballycastle descent gully are an amazing sight, and it boggled my mind to imagine another few miles of that stretching off round the corner. I'd heard that the VSs were all impossibly hard, and the HVSs harder still, so we found the easiest decent route we could to start off on. Chieftan at VS 4b, 4b, turned out to be rather good and pretty fair at the grade, so buoyed by this we set off up Girona, a “high in the grade” VS 4c, 4c. The first pitch was brilliant and sustained, following a line of cracks and grooves to belay behind a massive detached flake. Oli's second pitch chimneyed up behind the flake (trying not to think about how attached it was) and climbed the wall above by a series of awkward high steps/mantelshelves, which were luckily aided and abetted by a few bonus jugs along the way.

Our first two Fairhead routes had been excellent, well protected, and fair at their grades, so we decided to have a crack at Hell's Kitchen, a 70 metre long HVS 5a, 5a up an obvious groove at the right side of the incredible looking Wall Of Prey. I led the first pitch, which turned out to be ridiculously well protected (one of the biggest challenges was not placing gear every 6” and then running out of quickdraws) and totally brilliant sustained 4c/5a climbing all the way to the belay. The second pitch was more of the same, although there was a little bit of added interest where the groove steepened at the top, but luckily a hidden hold made it all OK. After six long pitches we were pretty tired, so we headed to Maguire's Strand campsite and slept the sleep of the dead.

Suitably rested, the next morning we made for the Grey Man's Path descent gully at the other end of the main crag, although not before stopping to peer over the edge of the White Lightning Amphitheatre, an enormous bowl of 100 metre high crags stretching into the distance. Impressive stuff. We geared up in the sun at the top of the descent and wandered down to the bottom of Burn Up, another classic HVS 5a, 5a following another 70 metre high groove line. Mine was the first pitch again, and it was another cracker, perhaps slightly trickier than Hell's Kitchen, but no less well protected, and soon enough I arrived at the belay, a magnificent throne just to one side of the main groove. Oli followed me up and set off up the last pitch, which was billed as 25 metres of increasing difficulty to a ledge, followed by some 5a laybacking, eek. Luckily it turned out that the laybacking could be jammed instead, and we were soon both basking in the sun at the top of the crag again.

Fairhead:


Next we decided it was time to pay a visit to The Prow, a 30-40 metre high section of crag with a couple of VSs, and no end of three star E1 cracks. We abseiled down the line of an E3 which looked like very hard work indeed, and I started off up The Fence, a VS 4c which the guide describes as “a VS which thinks it's an HVS”. Sure enough it was pretty stout and covered some very improbable ground for the grade, but the gear was once again perfect. It was probably one of the best single pitches of VS climbing I've ever done, although I'm not sure Oli agreed given the amount of jamming involved. Oli then led the VS next door, The Black Thief, which was a slightly gentler proposition, although no less brilliant. Sitting at the top trying to psyche myself up for Fireball, one of the E1 cracks, we noticed that another pair of climbers had arrived and set up a separate abseil line. This came as a bit of a shock, as we'd managed not to see another climber since Dalkey 5 days earlier. It turned out they were locals just out for a little after work climb. It must be odd having Fairhead as your local crag, surely everywhere else you go turns out to be a bit of a let down?

I peered over the edge, half hoping that the other climbers would be on Fireball so that I could pansy out of it and we could go and get ice creams instead, but they were on Railroad, so I was all out of excuses not to get on with it. I racked up with a ludicrous amount of extra gear (well the pitch was nearly 40 metres long and I didn't want to run out) and set off down the abseil with no small amount of trepidation. The route follows a crack which runs the full height of the crag and the lower section is a proper old-fashioned offwidth thrash. No small amount of effort later I found myself at the point where the crack narrows to hand-jamming loveliness. There wasn't much in the way of footholds, so it was hard work, and I kept trying to place entirely the wrong size of cams in the crack, which didn't help, but soon enough some very welcome jugs appeared on the left wall, and the crack opened up into a grove in which you could get a proper hands-off rest, phew! The last 10 metres or so were lovely open groove climbing, with a capping roof at the top which looked like it might be horribly awkward, but actually felt surprisingly easy with a bit of jamming and a high step, and suddenly I was at the top. It definitely felt like a proper E-point worth of effort! Watching Oli, a sworn jamophobe, second the pitch was rather amusing, although he cheated a bit by bridging around the initial offwidth rather than getting involved with it.

After all of that hard work I felt we deserved a drink, so we drove into Ballycastle, ate some underwhelming fish and chips, and wandered into a pub on the main street. There were some old men playing folk music in the corner and it felt like a proper Irish pub. Hell, I even tried the obligatory pint of Guinness, and it really did taste better. We got chatting to some friendly locals and somehow ended up spending the evening in a karaoke bar over the road. Mercifully everybody who got up to sing was either hilariously tone deaf or actually very good, and, against all the odds, it was a great night out.

After a bit of a lie in the following morning we struck camp and drove South towards the Mourne mountains. Most of the crags there have horrifying walk ins, but one, Pigeon Rock Mountain, is essentially roadside, so we made a beeline for there. After a bit of heckling about his lack of E1 leading the day before, Oli found an E1 5b called Phantoms which was described as excellent, well protected and low in the grade, which sounded like a good combination, so we rocked up to the crag and off he set. I turned out that “well protected” in the Mournes was a whole different kettle of fish to “well protected” at Fairhead, and although the gear was always probably enough to keep you from hitting the ground, it was never terribly reassuring. Thankfully the climbing was never too tricky, but it was nonetheless an impressive lead and I was glad I hadn't jumped on it. Descent was by abseil from a tangled web of pegs and vintage tat, so we replaced as much of it as we could and lowered back to the ground. I had a hankering for some slightly easier thrills after all that excitement, so I romped up a lovely Severe called Class Distinction and then Oli led a really excellent HS called Falcon. Football watching was beckoning once again, so we drove down into the coastal town of Rostrevor, which was well equipped with pubs and a campsite. Alas the campsite was full, so we ended up cooking our tea in the local park (classy) and watching the match in an empty pub, before driving up the valley a few miles and camping in a picnic area which may or may not also have been a local dogging spot (classier).

Our final day in Ireland was another sunny one, but we didn't fancy any epic walking-in, so we drove back to Dublin and made for Dalkey Quarry again (we found it much more easily this time). The place was really busy with climbers, people out for a stroll and sunbathers soaking up some rays, which made for a great atmosphere again. I started off bambering up a lovely little VDiff called Eliminate A, and Oli then decided to have a go at the adjacent VS 4b, Eliminate A Dash, which didn't appear to have any gear in it, but we had just watched some children happily top-roping it. It turned out to be a bit hard, so a couple of judicious side-runners were employed in the VDiff. Next I lead Streetfighter, a much better protected VS, and Oli led Yorkshire Pudding, which was one of the softest HSs I've ever climbed. VDiff would have been nearer the mark, but it was a great route. I couldn't resist a nearby HVS, just for the name, and Stereo-Tentacles ended up being a funky little number with great gear where it mattered, and a couple of weird crux moves. It'd probably be a lot harder for the short though. After this we decided we needed some shade and headed for the West Valley again, where Oli led Charleston Direct, a short but sharp VS, and I led E Route, a VS 4b with plenty of holds and gear (and not a great deal of 4b). The top was a bit exciting, but that was shared with a Severe! On reaching the belay some friendly sunbathers gave us some barbecued sausages, win for us! Next on the agenda was Mahjjong, a very thin and not overly well protected VS 4c, and Paradise Lost, a brilliant juggy romp at VDiff. At this point it was really time to get a move on to make sure we didn't miss our ferry, but we'd done nine routes and it seemed rude not to get into double figures, so Oli raced up a HS with an exposed and spicy finish called F Route, and we ran back to the car. We were a little bit later than we'd planned, so we only had half an hour to get from Dalkey to Dublin Port. We would probably just have made it if I hadn't tried to follow some road signs and ended up taking a massive detour right through the city centre. In the end we reached the port 15 minutes late, but a friendly Stena Line worker took pity on us, and we just squeezed onto the ferry before it left.

We got in to Holyhead at 1am on Sunday morning, so just threw the tent up in the North Stack car park. We woke early as it was another baking hot day and hatched a sensible and totally achievable plan to do Dream Of White Horses in the morning and then drive to Chester to drop Oli off for the 2:30pm train. This plan was further improved by the realisation that we only had half a bowl of Alpen between us for breakfast, but some other climbers took pity on us and gave us half a pain au chocolat in the car park. Suitably fuelled we marched over to Wen Zawn and abseiled down to the ledges above the sea. Neither of us had ever climbed in the Zawn before, and the situation was very intimidating. We spent an age trying to pick the line of the last pitch out, but couldn't work out where on Earth it might go. Suitably scared we started off climbing. The first, short pitch was easy enough, and the second followed a line of holds which just kept on appearing when all looked lost. The third pitch followed an obvious flake line, with an excellent supply of holds and gear, before dropping down to a belay in the weird rubble of the Concrete Chimney. From here the final pitch still looked unlikely, but rather more possible, and the sun was shining on the second half of it as an added incentive. Oli made short work of what turned out to be fairly easy climbing in a totally crazy position, and we were soon back at the bags. We felt like we'd been fairly efficient, so it was a bit of a shock to find out that it was already 2:30. Another race ensued, but we lost this one, with Oli just missing the 4:30 train. My drive back over Snake Pass was civil enough, and the trip counter just ticked over onto 1000miles as I pulled into the bottom of my road. What a trip!

Ireland Trip Part 1

It was a warm Friday evening in June the year of our lord 2010. I sallied forth from Sheffield in my trusty steed, the Astra, and collected Oli from Chester station. As is to be expected he was late (he blamed the train), but as is also to be expected, so was I, so we arrived at exactly the same time. We immediately piled down the A55 to Conwy, where we visited the marvels of Tesco, and then continued to Anglesey. We were bound for the campsite at Rhoscolyn, but neither of us had been there before and it turns out that the map in the Gogarth North guide is a little bit less than amazing. So we spent some time driving around tiny country roads in the dark just before midnight before eventually locating the campsite more through blind luck than anything else. We pitched the tent and slept.

Saturday dawned bright and earlyish, so we struck camp and moseyed on down to the port at Holyhead, where our ferry awaited. The crossing passed without anything of note happening, and soon enough we were deposited in Dun Laoghaire on the outskirts of Dublin. Our aim for the day was Dalkey Quarry, Ireland's premier urban climbing venue, and a mere mile or two from the port. In fact we could see the crag, but again the guidebook (well, the printed out pages from the online wiki for the crag I'd elegantly bound together the day before using work's ink and stationary cupboard) lacked a little in the specifics of how to get there, so we drove all the way round the crag a few times before finding somewhere to park. The quarry is a rather pleasant spot, atop a hill with views over Dublin Bay, with quarried granite walls of between 10 and 30m high dotted around the greenery. We headed for the upper cliffs and asked some friendly local climbers for recommendations. They suggested Thrust as the 'must-do' HVS of the crag (although we spent some time looking for a route called Trust before we remembered how Irish pronunciation works), so we decided to warm up on a VS and then get on with it.

It was Oli's lead, so he set off up Helios, a three star VS in the White Walls area. The granite didn't give a great deal away in terms of gear, and he got mildly harassed at one point before reaching a peg and a cluster of other gear, but the climbing was nice and soon enough we were back at our bags and moving on towards Thrust. The route follows a nice crack line for the first pitch, so I had no gear lacking issues, and the crux even featured a crucial knee-wedge, which was a bonus. Oli's second pitch was totally brilliant, with well protected climbing on super holds up a fairly impregnable looking section of rock. This boded well. Flushed with success we moved down to the West Valley for a look at another three star VS 4c called Pilaster. On first inspection there didn't seem to be any gear, so we asked a nearby climber and they told us there was a crap microwire at half height, but it was basically a solo. That didn't sound very appealing (or fair at VS) so we moved on to an HVS called Superette which clearly had plenty of gear. It turned out to be quite nice and rather soft for the grade, marvellous. We then rounded the day off with a spicy little VS number called Tramp which took an innocuous looking corner to a finish round a mean looking overhang. It turned out that the corner was about 5b, but luckily the overhang was covered in jugs and had a stealthy knee bar in it to aid progress. So, our first experience of Irish climbing was pretty positive, although the grading seemed a little varied, particularly with respect to the gearfulness or otherwise of the routes.

After some disappointing football watching that evening we decided to head for Donegal for a few days, so we set off and were almost immediately confounded by a toll-booth free toll motorway. The signs informed us we had until 8pm the following day to pay our few Euro toll, and that this could be effected either by phone or online. Possessing neither an Irish phone or ready access to the internet, this seemed a rather cruel trick to spring, but eventually I imposed on Avril to pay it for us. The rest of the drive went uneventfully (except for some mild confusion when we crossed into Northern Ireland without realising, I was expecting a sign or something), but ended with a midnight mini-epic trying to find a campsite. We finally arrived on a massive caravan park on the shores of a massive lake near Enniskillen, which had, amongst its more redeeming features, a covers band playing Kaiser Chiefs songs very loudly indeed until the wee small hours. Luckily our pitch was at least 20 yards away from the building they were playing in so we had a pleasantly quiet night, ahem.

The following morning was midgy and rather showery, so we continued Donegalwards, then onwards through Killybegs to Malin Beg, a tiny village on the tip of the North side of Donegal Bay. We could see it raining on the other side of the bay, but it was dry at the crag, which was a pleasant looking selection of walls and bays, with convenient ledges running beneath much of the climbing. The rock was pretty intriguing, somewhat reminiscent of North Pembroke's sandstone although with more weird pockets and less small crimpy holds, but apparently it's actually some kind of Quartzite. It was my lead, so I started off up Bosun's Ladder, a short, but friendly Severe, before Oli led the equally pleasant VS 4b Hydrophobia just next to it. A tricky approach past an ominous looking green pool, and a comedy foot-next-to-face high step manouevre at half height were the cruxes of the next route, Splashdown, and then Oli led a fun little VS called Trident, which had some interest from a wobbly crux hold, and the biggest suicide bugs we'd ever seen in residence at the bottom (suicide bugs are these odd little creatures you get at sea cliffs which are kind of a cross between woodlice and earwigs, but have a tendency to jump off the cliff into your eyes at every possibly opportunity). By this point the sea had come in a little, and the nice platforms we'd been basking on earlier (the sun had come out by this stage) were suddenly looking a rather dicier prospect, so we soloed three easier routes at a slightly higher level and then hunger forced us to set up camp and cook tea. As it happened this coincided with a brief shower, so we settled in for the night, camped next to a lovely natural harbour, all of 5 minutes walk from the crag.

Malin Beg:


Monday morning was pretty sunny, so we wandered back up to the crag and decided to abseil in to one of the longer routes, a VS called Second Mate. It was very amenable and full of gear, but its companion VS, First Mate, looked like a much scarier proposition, as did the apparent classic of the crag, so we bottled those and Oli led a geartastic HS called Calvin's Corner. As lovely a crag as Malin Beg was, we decided it was time to get exploring, so we drove a few miles up the coast to the improbably named village of Glencolumbkille, where we had tea, soup and scones in a proper Father Ted tearoom before visiting the even more improbably named Skelpoonagh Bay. Again the guidebook map was useless, just showing a generic bend in an unspecified road, with Peter's House marked in big letters on the corner. Later investigations revealed that Peter did indeed still live in the house in question, but reluctant to start randomly knocking on doors we just picked a promising looking corner and set off coastwards.

Skelpoonagh Bay and Glencolumbkille:


Luckily we had chosen our bend wisely and soon arrived at the top of the crag, which consisted of four large zawns separated by jutting headlands. The principle object of our attentions was a VS called Paradise In The Picture-House, which there was a rather cool looking photo of in the guide, and which was described as “phantasmagoric”. The route takes a rising traverse across a hanging slab above the mouth of a yawning sea cave, leading to a huge quartz vein, up which the route finishes, with a crux roof at the very top. With the waves crashing below the situation was very atmospheric, with the roof proving well protected, but requiring some burly jamming to overcome it. Needless to say Oli particularly enjoyed following that bit. We both chickened out of an HVS which started in the same place before traversing into a hanging corner directly above the sea cave, the guidebook description “change your trousers here and then bring up your second before you change your mind” worried us both a bit, so Oli picked an interesting looking VS called New Beginnings, which followed a striking thin flake crack up an otherwise featureless wall. The climbing was pretty sustained, building to a tricky crux high up the route, but the gear was all small nuts behind thin flakes which hardly inspired confidence, and probably put the route at the scary end of HVS, a good lead by Mr Gray! This chastened us somewhat, so we decided to try and find the campsite the guidebook mentioned in the village, with good, but clearly never to be fulfilled, intentions to return to climb in the evening.

After a brief search we located Dooey Hostel (apparently the oldest independent hostel in Ireland) up on the hill above the tea shop, and found a wonderful campsite in a wooded glade with an incredible view across the bay. The proprietor of the hostel was an amazing chap called Leo, who lived up to my every stereotype of Irish hospitality and then some. He supplied us with tea and a lavish plate of biscuits upon arrival and insisted we avail ourselves of the kitchen, shower and common room in the hostel, which we duly did, and spent a fabulous evening in the company of a couple of friendly Germans who were also staying there, playing shithead and drinking whisky until the wee small hours.