A week in the Blanca - I'm Blogging again!

So the first thing I'd like to do is apologise to my readers for slouching off the blogging over winter. I do however, have a pretty good excuse - I haven't done anything very interesting! It's been mostly training all through the winter, rubbish weather and lack of enthusiastic partners meant I couldn't get out much. The only times I have been out, have been bouldering (ugh), and we all know nothing much productive comes of my days out bouldering! Highlights have been through competitions, such as the Youth Open and the Rocfest bouldering competitions which I do actually really enjoy. I also managed to finish fourth in the 'Elite Adult Male' (I didn't come up with the names) category in the Leading Ladder Final which was nice.

So with all this plastic pulling, you can imagine my relief at the chance to get out on rock in the sun - The Rucksack Club SunRock trip was here. My goals for the trip weren't really that focused on hard routes, we were with a big group of friends, and I just wanted to enjoy my holiday in relxation. It didn't really turn out that way! Instead of the usual trip report, I'm just going to give my top five highlights of the holiday:

Number Five: Table Traversing!

So it's the last night of the holiday, everyone's a bit drunk (apart from me, my body is a temple...) and everyone starts getting a bit competitive. The first challenge set is an odd one: whilst holding onto the opposite ear with one hand, and the opposite leg with the other, you must bend down on the free leg and pick up a regular size wine bottle with your teeth. Having met the challenge after a couple of tries, a new one was set - start lay on your belly on a table, then to proceed to climb under the table, keeping feet and hands off the ground at all times, to a position hanging from the edges of the table by the hands and feet. Now for the tricky bit - get back up! The final challenge set was a biggy: we lined up all the tables end on end, reaching about twenty metres across the huge dining room, and they were to be traversed from one end to the other, underneath the tables. At the far end the challenged would have to grovel back up to get back on top of the table. After a lot of puffing and panting, very sore heels, and a fair bit of chin-work to mantel back on to the table, I sent the problem on my first attempt. I reckon it was at least font 8C...

Number Four: Heaven Can't Wait

The only sport route to make it onto the list, this three star line at Alcalali. Originally given 7b+ (soft) by the first ascentionist, it was regraded to 7a (ridiculous) in the new guide. The general consensus on 8a.nu is 7b (fair). However I knew none of this, so it felt pretty stiff for 7a! The climbing started out up a brilliant featured wall, which gradually became thinner as it closed into a groove. At the top it completely blanked out  in a square cut corner save for the arete and a few 'nobbins', where sketchy climbing led to the chains. At the time I was mostly just relieved not to have fallen off a 7a, and was heartened when I came home to see 'soft 7b+' on the route description.






Number Three: Diedro Edwards, Echo Valley

So now we move onto the trad side of things, with this classic five pitch E3, in the middle of one of the biggest sport climbing areas in the world! It was nearing the end of the day, and me and Dad had promised Mum we'd be down by four, which gave us exactly two hours to get up and down 150 metres of rock. To save time dad ran the first two pitches together giving an excellent, thuggy HVS pitch which really reminded me of being back home. I ran two together as well to give a 50m E1 pitch, but ran out of quickdraws at the top which made the climbing on loose, hollow flakes feel quite adventurous. The final pitch went to Dad, which I think really deserved E3, being a tough 45m 6b protected by just a few bolts and some dodgy wires.

On the fourth pitch I'd found a nice piece of crag swag, a decent sized sling, but I had to give it up at the top when we couldn't find the ab station, so used it to ab off a big pointy rock. In hindsight this might seem a little risky, but we did test it first when dad abbed on it backed up by some better wires. The trouble with abbing on slings it that you run the risk of the end of the rope getting caught in the loop and as you may have guessed, the same happened to us. Luckily dad a had a trick up his sleeve to retrieve it, and the next four abseils went smoothly to bring us down on the dot at four o'clock.

Number Two: Midnight Runner, Echo Valley

Continuing the theme of trad, we're back at Echo Valley, about two hours before our ascent of Diedro Edwards. We'd just warmed up on the an awkward, polished 6b and I was keen to get some trad done. The route I'd had in mind at the start of the holiday was Midnight Runner, given 7a+/E5 in the guide. From below it looked stupidly blank, save for a few big pockets, an overlap, and a couple of bolts to lead the way up the blank start. The climbing was excellent, on surprisingly featured rock, dotted with edges and pockets which seemed impossible to see until they were right in front of your nose. Protection in continental limestone, wires particularly, are often very fiddly to get in, and then fall out far more easily, but there were a few placements to reduce the run-outs between bolts. At the last of the bolts, the next protection seemed a long way off but I wandered my way up regardless, surprised by how straightforward the climbing felt to reach a nice big, threadable pocket. From there came the crux, moving through the overlap, but I had confidence in the thread, so commitment wasn't an issue as I calmly pulled round and continued on up. At this point I began to worry because the rock, despite a favourable change in angle, had now blanked out to compact grey limestone, and I couldn't see a placement for a while. The thread was a long way below me, the midday sun was beating down, and my feet were aching from being stood on the tips of my toes for half an hour. I pushed on through easy, but sketchy and balancey climbing - the worst kind to be runout on - until a bolt surprised me. I'd completely looked over it, and nearly climbed past it, simply because I hadn't expected any more, and clipped it with relief. Another led the way past a tough fingery section where the rock steepened again, and I was onto the easy ground. It wasn't over yet though, as I had no idea where to go! Now a long way above gear again, I wandered about, upwards and sideways until I found the most well hidden lower off ever, kept out of sight by a hollow in the rock, and plants growing on either side. I clipped in, yelled 'safe' down to dad, and was extremely content with having done an E5 in such relaxed style.

As to the grade, I think that firstly, the climbing wasn't actually 7a+, more like easy 7a if you're well suited to long, vertical, and technical endurance pitches. Also there were four bolts on the route, which were very well placed to protect the hard bits which couldn't be protected by natural means. There were however, decent run-outs on the easier sections, dodgy rock (my dad pulled a hold off following) and complex route finding (he also got lost en-route), which I suppose add up to make a pretty soft E5. But who's complaining?

I don't actually have any pictures of Midnight Runner.
So I put this one in so you wouldn't get bored

Number One: Nueva Dimension, nine pitch monster 7b/E5 on the Penon.

Apparently on my first holiday to the Costa Blanca, when I was really young, our family went for a day at the beach in Calpe. It was quite hard to miss the monolith that is the Penon d'Ifach, and so naturally I ran around the beach for a while screaming my head off - I really wanted to walk up to the top. We planned to walk up the next day, but the weather had other ideas, so I had to put my Penon dreams behind me... since then my appetite for the Penon has been somewhat insatiable!

Our first trip up the Penon in 2011 took us up El Navigante, the classic 7a of the crag (yes that's right, at the

My first trip on the Penon
I may have matured slightly since then...

age of fourteen Dad didn't bother introducing me to the Penon with one of the easier classics - not even the slightly easier neighboring classic of 'Costa Blanca', a 6c+). The difficulties slowly escalated, right up to the last pitch. I'd managed it all clean up to here, but at that time leading 6c was really my limit, especially with a few hundred feet of exposure beneath my feet, so I let Dad take the final 7a pitch. Unfortunately on that day, Dad's excellent route reading skills let us down for the first time, and we ended up doing the 7b variant pitch instead. Needless to say my aid skills were thoroughly tested and improved during that 30m of overhanging hell...

The next trip was in 2012, so logically we took the next step up in grade to do Puto Paseo Ecologico, a 7a+. This time, the crux pitch was the first one, and I had become a lot stronger over that year, so I quickly fired up the first pitch, before relaxing into the easier climbing above. The final pitch was my lead again, an incredibly exposed 7a pitch up the dramatically leaning headwall, which started by traversing out off a ledge into scenes of incredible exposure. Fortunately the holds were all massive, and I shakily topped out the route having done it clean onsight.

Our most recent trip up the Penon wasn't nearly as well planned as those - for our first ventures we would wake up at the crack of dawn to make sure we had plenty of time, and that we'd be able to climb the route of our choice without queueing. We'd normally have topped before three o'clock.

This time? A little different.

We originally planned to climb a trad route up the Divino at Sella going at 7a/E5, but upon arrival we realised our little hire car couldn't handle the rough roads leading up. Very frustrated, and perhaps touched with a little bit of sun-madness, we made a new plan. It was twelve o'clock at the time (we'd spent a lot of time faffing), and Calpe was an good hour and a half drive away. Needless to say we'd get to the bottom of the route at two o'clock at the very least, but we planned a mad dash down to the Penon to do our other goal of the trip - Nueva Dimension, 7b. Sure enough, despite breaking speed limits and running to the foot of the crag in the full heat of the midday sun, we arrived at the foot of the route at 2:01. The first pitch looked absolutely horrendous - a steep, tottering, pile of choss, with a vague line of chalked holds finding their way through the rubble. To make matters worse, the line seemed to split halfway, though there was no mention of this in the topo, and each line looked equally punishing. To make matters even worse, this was the 7b pitch. So here I am at two o'clock in the afternoon, not having warmed up at all, but still sweating like mad in the heat, about to set off up a nine pitch 7b, without even knowing which way the route went. Sounds pretty stupid doesn't it? Like I said, I think the Sun got to me,,,

Note the poor state of the rock, and the haunted look in my eyes...

I weaved my way through the rubble, taking extreme care not to pull to hard on anything, tapping each hold before I committed to it. As you can imagine, this was a very tiring way of climbing, but it really was necessary, proved by several holds wobbling at the slightest touch. After 15m of climbing the rock began to improve in quality, and although the sandyness didn't quite disappear (very reminiscent of Gogarth!), I could begin to trust the holds now. Fortunately this coincided nicely with the crux, a few very  pumpy pulls on flat sandy holds through an overlap, and another 10m of dodgy climbing brought me shaking to the top. I barely had a the physical or mental capacity to croak 'safe' down to Dad, before hauling the ropes up. When I got down and had a look at the guidebook I saw that this pitch was given a grade of E5 6b. This may seem like an exaggeration on a sport route, but thinking about it now it was justified: extremely loose rock, combined with rusted-black bolts in dodgy, hollow-sounding placements, and insecure climbing made this sport pitch feel very 'sporty' indeed. Now above all difficulties (well most anyway), the quality of the climbing improved massively. To save time we began linking pitches together, and it was simple one three star sixty metre pitch after another in an incredible position.

I realised I'd barely had a lunch, and began to get hungry and thirsty, but there was only time for a five minute break. This may seem a little harsh but when you see what time we topped out, you'll realise what a half-hour break could have lead to! We seemed to have hit another change in rock type again, this time looser but more featured, which signalled the change from sport to trad. The next three pitches were some of the scariest of my life, each thirty metre pitch protected by just two bolts. This, together with the stomach-flipping exposure of the wandering traverses, the rock that crumbled if you stepped on it in the wrong way, and the burning hot sun, meant that these 5+ pitches felt more like E2 5a.

It really was that steep. Promise.

After coming to a bit of a standstill (mentally and physically) after the second trad pitch, the final one went a little more calmly, and by the time we reached the penultimate stance the sun had started to set. We finished the last of the water, allowed ourselves a quick bite to eat, and then Dad led on up unbelievable pitch. When I spoke earlier about exposure on the earlier routes, I don't think I even really understood the word, although I certainly do now! The pitch traversed a 45 degree wall, spacewalking on weird blobs of conglomerate - the picture says it all really. I led the final pitch which was a little more 'up', with a few tough pulls out of the overhang, and onto a more easily angled headwall. The sun had finally set, and I sat at the final stance, shivering, with a wry smile on my face at the irony of being so cold. We topped out at 6:30, and walked down to the car in the dark, the Penon only lit by the lights of Calpe.

We were quite grateful for the lights along the beach!

So the lesson learnt was that you really should plan these things.

But the other lesson learnt was that if you want to start your nine pitch E5 dream-route in the afternoon, then go for it! Just be prepared for a tough time.

YECTOYD

The YECTOYD is a term coined by my family to describe one of those days when everyone else is so demoralised by weather or work that they just can't be bothered going climbing. But you're so keen to get out you'll spend the day doing laps of the Hobby back wall traverse in the pouring rain, or getting Bitterfingers done in between heavy showers (or during one, in Luke's case), because climbing is what you love, and you'll do it whatever the weather.

The original advert...

YECTOYD stands for You Either Climbed Today, Or You Didn't. We stole it from the Nike advert, which shows a dedicated runner, doing what they love best, despite the horrendous weather. Everyone else stayed inside, but this runner got out, and ran, because they love to.

Even if you don't get much done, or you climbed routes too easy for you, or routes that aren't even that good, you still get a satisfyingly sweet feeling at the end of the day when you realise you managed to snatch a victory from the jaws of the oncoming winter, that you managed to get something done against the odds, and that you had a good time doing it. This post is about my last few days out, YECTOYDs indeed.

Stoney Middleton, 18th November

It's colder than it looks!

The day before I'd done my Duke of Edinbirgh practice walk - it wasn't long, but it was long enough for me to feel it in the morning. I groaned in discomfort as I wriggled about in my bed, shoulders stiff and feet sore, wanting to spend the whole day in bed, before I saw the tiniest ray of winter sunlight through by curtains. I jumped out of bed (groaning again) and packed the gear straight away - I had loads of undone homework due in for that week but I needed to climb. With the temperature gauge on Dad's car saying 3C as we left the house, the sunlight offered slight encouragement that we wouldn't spend the day thawing out frozen fingers, but we knew we needed somewhere sheltered and south facing, and where else but my favourite crag in the world - Stoney.

Walking down the busy road, Dad was adamant that the idea of trad climbing today was crazy talk, particularly seeing as we could very clearly see our breath in the air, and we were still chilly despite several layers. Then we got onto Windy Ledge, the sun shone, and everything felt better. Dad warmed up on Inquisitor, an E1 that really should be E2, an worried me slightly by having to hit every handhold and kick every foothold to make sure it wouldn't fall off. Fortunately not one piece of the tottering pile of choss fell on my head, so I survived to second the route, trying to reheat my hands at every opportunity, whilst still being careful to replace any hold I pulled off...

I didn't really fancy leading anything too scary - college is enough stress for me without needing life threatening situations - but I didn't want to leave feeling like I hadn't tried hard. The compromise (seems silly now looking back) was Circe. It had a nice new shiny bolt next to the crux, bomber gear everywhere else and looked brilliant. To be fair most of the climbing was great, but the crux was bloody hard! After teetering rather cautiously up some very polished footholds, with just one wire as far below me as the ground was from the wire, I was pretty grateful to the kind soul who replaced the bolt, but disheartened by the size of the next few holds. I traversed out along the polished rail of tiny crimps, and snatched for the next. It was crap, and I slumped onto the rope in frustration. I tried the move a few times more, got it once then lowered, with the plan to try it again. The next go I fell at the same move, got fed up and did the rest of the route clean, which was brilliantly thuggy and safe, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed at not doing the whole thing clean.

To save the day, I needed an ego boost. It sounds shallow, but I needed something to make my day seem worthwhile. I needed a route that's hard enough for me to feel good about doing it, but not so hard that I'll fall off. Wee Doris seemed like a good option, and after the sketchy start I fired off the crux with a few pumpy pulls. My mistake was hanging around for ages on rubbish holds fiddling in gear, ignoring the jug to the right, but when I found it I recovered, and stormed to the top. Dad followed quickly, eager to do something energetic to warm him up after belaying in the shade, and more eager still to be allowed to go home. I walked back to the car, proud of having stolen a day in the middle of November, and prouder still of getting an Extreme Rock tick in the cold.

Burbage South, 24th November
Having been inspired by Jim Popes recent achievements on the grit (the thirteen year old kid cruised two E6s for his first trad routes, in case you haven't been on UKC for the last month), I was interested to sample the headpointing experience for myself. I've never really been much of a grit climber, but I figured I'd pick it up quickly on an E6. It had rained the day before, and the temperature had dropped to sub-zero overnight. Walking over from the car park, my feet crunched through the ice and frozen mud. Burbage South really is an inspiring crag, with lines such as Parthian Shot, Messiah and Dynamics of Change, all classics concentrated in a very small area, not to mention numerous other nail-hard offerings. But today, everything was wet. Standing under the Cioch Block was like being in a light shower, and the majority of routes were covered in a green slime, so you can imagine my surprise (and relief) to see Nosferatu slightly in condition. Not wanting to jump straight on, I led a HVS to warm up, which looked like a pleasant flake into a solid jamming crack from below. Only when I pulled on did I realise it was overhanging and damp! Some very strenous moves brought me to a couple of decent cams in a soaking wet break, then I threw my hands into the slime-coated crack. The jams had to be perfect because otherwise my hands just slipped out, at one point my foot slipped off it's hold (it had a small stream running down it) and I only scraped through by locking off on jams. Eventually though I made it up, and felt sorry for myself as I belayed Dad up, feeling the cold, wet rock freeze my bum. From there we set our toprope up, and I was ready to go.

The moves surprised me, being powerful rather than the subtle technique I was expecting. The climbing was knacky - once I'd done the moves it felt easy, but it took me a while to get it all wired. Lots of slapping, heel hooks and slopers facing the wrong way joined together in a perfect sequence to bring me to the ledge, from where an exciting dyno brought the top. I lapped it a couple more times on the toprope, but the slightly smeggy conditions and lack of pads meant today wasn't to be the day I did my first E6, but I felt happy to have got all the moves wired on an E6 on rock I wasn't used to. I felt quite tired walking back to the car, and was a little confused because I hadn't done any real climbing. Then I remembered I'd been basically lapping an E6 all day and it started to make sense...

Stanage Apparent North, 1st December

Again, cool temperatures (1C) were barely compensated for by a bright winter sunshine, but today was even colder than the last couple of weekends. We discussed potential trad possibilities but in the end it was inevitable - we had to go bouldering. Andy was keen to introduce us to the crowd-free delights of Apparent North, and I was happy to be given a tour.

On the crimps of the crimpy roof problem

We began at Long Wall, warming up on a couple of easier problems before trying the harder line of the wall, the imaginatively named 'crimpy roof problem'. As you might expect, you span the roof, to some crimps, then finish up the problematic wall above - clever these names... It took me a few goes to get the move to the crimps, but once I'd done that I was sorted. V4 isn't a particularly impressive grade but I'm not the a very strong boulderer (even less so on grit), so I was quite pleased with the start to the day.

Tea Leaf - V4

Next up were 'Three Tiered Cake' and 'Cave Crack', two very dissimalar problems within a few yards of each other. TTC had pleasantly technical climbing but a worryingly high topout (wet and icy are never a good combination four metres above the deck), but Cave Crack was a total contrast. Leaning out of the roof brought you to the roughest sided crack you have ever seen, and the crux involved locking off on a brutally painful finger jam to reach the break. After grimacing my way past this move I threw a heelhook above my head and proceeded to grovel to the next break, slapping and gurning, followed by another damp topout - all very character building stuff.

The penultimate stop on our chilly tour of Stanage's lesser travelled end was Grand Theft Wall - a perfectly angled and featured wall for grit bouldering. I faffed about a bit on eliminates, snatching between crimps in an unnecessarily (but very enjoyably) dynamic way, before doing an actual problem in the book - Tea Leaf, V4 - which followed a rising traverse up the wall on good edges and crimps.

Attempting the V7 start to Skinless Wonder (E6 6c)

The last stop was the most impressive - the Apparent North Buttress. Not really for bouldering - the buttress is one of the biggest on Stanage - not to mention the hardest, it overhangs massively, making it's rounded holds even worse. We bumped into a few familiar faces trying (and repeatedly failing on) an E6 called Skinless Wonder, so I gave the (V7) boulder problem start a go before leaving it to those with a more favourable ape index, and having a go on Hamper's Hang instead. The line looked great, following a rising, sloping lip to a rest then a footless traverse of a juggy break to finish. The traverse took a few goes, messing about with heel hooks, but once I'd figured the sequence out I fired off the rest of the problem, and was pretty pleased with the V6 tick on grit, which isn't too bad for a limestone trad climber. I finished the day off flashing a few easier problems, a technical V3 arete and a burly V4 roof crack, before the sun set and things got seriously chilly.



Ssttrettccccchhhhh! But not quite stretched enough

As I walked down from the crag, I was chuffed to get yet another YECTOYD day in the bag - climbing outside on three consecutive weekends, in November, in Britain, is crazy! Happily listening to the sound of ice crunching beneath my feet and wind whipping around my ears, watching the beautiful sunset, and feeling my whole body ache from exhaustion, I thought to myself - "You either climbed today, or you didn't".



Gracias, Catalunya! La Segona Part

The next day I felt broken, I could barely lift the milk to put on my cereal that morning, let alone climb. But Luke was desperate to get on something big, so we planned to do a seven pitch, 200m 7a - Papisuca. Planning to be as quick as possible, we decided to string pitches together and travel light. The first pitch started up a loose, sparsely bolted 6a which felt more akin to a serious HVS. Luke was in more danger than me, as several blocks seemed to disintegrate on touch and fall to the ground beneath me. Eventually the rock quality improved and the 6c pitch provided enough difficulty for me to worry about the 7a. The sun went in, and hanging on the stance for an hour bringing Luke up the first two pitches then belaying him on the third had me chilled to the bone. When we had set off the sun was roaring hot, but it had clouded over and a harsh wind had started to blow - my t-shirt and windproof suddenly seemed woefully inadequate. By the time we got to the 7a pitch my fingers were numb and the rock was freezing to touch, so I had to take a rest on the bolt mid-crux to re-heat my hands in my armpits. I then ran it into the next 6a+ pitch, which was no pushover, I was just keen to get off the rock as quickly as possible. Again, I was at that stance for what felt like ages, bringing Luke up two pitches then belaying him on a further two pitches ran together. Rocks occasionally flew down past me, accompanied by a scream of "BELOW", then half an hour later I finally heard a faint cry of "safe!". Thank God. I climbed as quick as possible, desperate to top out onto flat ground. The walk down was horrendous, sliding down steep muddy scree to the road which seemed miles away, agian we were lost. It had taken us an hour since we topped out, and here we were walking down the road in bare feet, freezing cold, with tired bodies. Later that day Luke would say "I don't think we need to do another multipitch this holiday".

The next day I needed a rest day. I felt absolutely battered, and everything felt like hard work. Plus I had loads of homework to do. I spent most of the day wondering whether I made the right decision to sacrifice a day climbing but now I'm sure I did, because the next day I felt fresh as a daisy. Earlier in the week we'd met a British couple in a bar, and they'd strongly recommended we go to Tres Ponts. To be fair to them it looked fantastic, so we put it on the hitlist. Me and Luke were dropped off at the crag, and it was absolutely freezing - the sun was behind the clouds, the rock was cold and river seemed to be creating a cooling effect on the entire crag. We 'warmed up' on a couple of easier routes, then I made the most of the sun coming out by onsighting the highly recommended Graellada. The route, from below, appeared to be an overhanging pumpy tufa-fest, but in reality it was a much more technical affair, balancing between shallow flutings and pockets. The crux was a sting in the tail, the very last move to get established on two soaking wet undercuts to clip the chains. Whilst not being totally straightforward, I remember clipping the chains thinking '7b+ my arse'. It was at that point that the sun went behind the crag and everything went very cold again. The next route on the hitlist was Alt Urgell, a supposedly soft 7c. Frustratingly, after battling through the low crux with numb fingers on polished crimps, I fell off higher up due to a simple route reading error, slapping to a hold which was poorer than it looked from below, and swinging off. By now my hands were seriously cold, and I felt miserable dogging to the top of the route. To cheer myself up, I finished the day doing a fun 7a up the first proper tufa of the holiday, then onsighting what was simply the best single sport pitch ever - an unnamed 7b. Luke had done it earlier that day and had said it was fantastic, but I didn't believe it would be as good as it was - swinging perfectly from jug to jug, with the occasional technical sequence to keep things entertaining, up an otherwise blank piece of steep rock. To top the day off my Dad lead it as well, which I think he was pretty pleased with.

Having accomplished the trips onsighting goals, the next day I decided to try to fulfill my redpointing ambitions too. Luke was keen to redpoint the first section of Frederic Balsara, and I was inspired by a 7c+ up some ridiculously steep ground to the right, so we went back to Perles. Luke got his 7b+ done on the first go of the day, and I spent about two hours faffing about on the 7c+, before realising that the route was way out my league, and way too steep and powerful to suit my strengths. Feeling a little disappointed I trudged back to the easier sector where we finished the day on another three pitch route, which thankfully was good enough to allow me to enjoy the amazing positions and scenery, and to forget about the earlier failure.

The final day of a trip is always a funny one. You want to rush to get as much more stuff done as possible, but you also need to be careful because you're ridiculously tired, and want to go out on a high. In the end you'll probably settle for just getting some good mileage in, and feel a bit disppointed you didn't try anything harder. Or you'll fall off something hard and regret not enjoying your climbing by doing easier stuff.
We figured it would be a shame to go to Catalunya but miss out on Oliana, so we went to see what all the fuss was about. In fairness, the hype is fully justified - the crag is incredible. Soaring lines of tufas and pockets up the huge, fifty metre barrel wall give you a stiff neck as you try to work out how it's even possible to make it to the top of one of Sharma's super-projects. After warming up, I onsighted a 7b which is normally something I'd be pretty pleased with, and I was, until I realised it was just the easiest way to get up to the start of the harder routes. The extensions included two 9a+s. Dad and Luke had been trying a 7a+ together up a huge tufa, the line looked great and it was really quite good, but again it was just the first (pathetically easy in comparison) section to a much harder route. To finish we all did a 7a together, which at least didn't have a ridiculously hard extension, and managed to make its way up 25m of the crag, which was a nice ending to a brilliant trip.

This trip marks the first major step up in sport climbing ability for me in over a year, and I went home happy that I had put in all my strength, effort and tenacity into every climb I tried, which really paid off the majority of the time. Despite still calling myself a trad climber, it can be a relief to be able to push yourself to your physical limit on a route, and not having to worry about the consequences of not being able to match the demands of the route. Nine times out ten this holiday, I had been able to match the demands of the routes I tried, but is was nice not to be scared shitless when I didn't.

Gracias, Catalunya! La Primera Part

This post is a (rather belated) report on my recent trip climbing in Catalunya, a beautiful region of Spain which boasts some of the best, hardest climbing in the world. I'd strongly recommend the area to anyone who perhaps is tired of the usual sun-rock destinations, and fancies 'getting away from it all' in rural Spain. I reckon the climbing is better too.

Oliana - the hardest crag in the world?

The day-redeeming 7a

5.30am marked my rude awakening by the harsh beep of the alarm clock. Normally (me being a teenager and all) I am virtually impossible to drag out of bed before 9, but this morning my psyche dragged me out. A short taxi ride dropped me off at Manchester airport, where I met Luke, who I was to be climbing with for the next week. A tasteless coffee and stale egg and bacon sandwich later, we were off to Spain. We emerged from Barcelona airport into the bright Spanish sunshine a few hours later, to see my parents waiting in a car outside arrivals. "So where are we climbing today?". The answer was Coll de Nargo, the local crag to the village we were staying in - in fact you could see it out the window of our little villa. Despite not being the most inspiring crag in the area, it was convenient, so we dumped our stuff at our home for the week then headed up. My first day was also my least interesting so I'll describe in brief - we attempted to warm up on a 6a+ which damn near threw us both off, mumbling excuses as we lowered - "not used to the rock yet", "the sun took me by surprise", "I woke up at 5.30". I then made the same stupid mistake I make at the start of every trip, I rush to get things done. So with out any further warm up, I decided it would be wise to jump on a 6m, hence bouldery as hell, 7c which basically followed a line of horrendously sharp crimps up the least inspiring bit of rock at the crag. I spent about an hour faffing about on it before realising I was wasting my time, and managed to redeem my day by flashing a 7a with some beta from Luke. Not the start to the holiday I was hoping for...

The initial slab of El Diedre

I woke up the next morning, eager to put yesterday's damp squib of a day behind me and get some serious crushing done. The venue was decided as Abella de Conca, a beautiful crag with some incredibly strong lines up proper, definable features, as opposed to the uninspiring random line of bolts to follow. Unfortunately, to warm up, we had to do some bolt following, but the next route looked an absolute cracker.

We mooched on over to the next sector so I could try 'El Diedre' - The Corner, an amazing looking 7b+. Just looking at it, I was inspired. The main feature of the route was this huge, orange overhanging corner, access to which was guarded by the thinnest of slabs, sculpted with scoops and overlaps. It looked like it was made to be climbed. The first hard moves came right off the deck, dynamic snatches between poor crimps on even poorer footholds, and a move (which I later decided was the crux) which was so strenuous it make my back feel inside-out. Fortunately this brought me to a good rest, but in any direction the footholds seemed to have disappeared. I resorted to mantelling onto a crimp, and standing up using an undercut mono above my head, then using said mono to desperately scrabble into the corner, which I soon found to be a holdless nightmare. With each foot tenuously smeared on either side of the orange groove, upwards progress seemed initially impossible. Then, move by move, it all fell into place. Palming off the walls, throwing in drop-knees, bridging where ever I could, I used every technical trick in the book. At one point the only thing keeping me on to clip was the friction between my chalk bag and the crozzly rock. Every positive hold was a relief, anything where I could gain the slightest bit of purchase, so you can imagine how grateful I was for the jug next to the chains.

In the Diedre

To finish the day I led a 45m monster-stamina-fest 7a+ up the wall to the right, with the clips in from Luke, who described the crux as being 'E2 laybacking'. It wasn't, it was hard, but I made it to the chains after a fair amount of grit, tenacity, and determined grunting. Walking down from the crag that day felt great, looking at the sun set over the mountains, feeling completely satisfied with my day. Then I nearly killed Luke (and myself) when I caused a minor landslide by standing a boulder which was less stable than it looked, but I was still pretty pleased with the day on a whole.

"E2 Laybacking"

 

Happy Birthday Mum!
Doing the usual birthday things meant our day had a slightly late start, but when we arrived at the crag - Perles - the air still had a fresh chill about it, and I was cold despite the bright sun in the blue sky. The day had something about it, and I knew I was going to get something good done. To get things going I led a very pleasant 6a+, still feeling fresh after the hard day yesterday. Luke was pretty keen to get some multipitch ticks - "I just like hanging about on the stances" - so we did a three pitch 6c to get the feel for it (although Luke accidentally chose the new - hence ridiculously chossy - 7a+ to the right). I pendulum-swung over to the next stance, then led up the second 6c pitch. I've never been very good when a long way above the ground, and I have to admit that on that pitch, where the rock seemed to just disappeared beneath me, I really felt the exposure. The tenuous slabby moves on slippy pockets had me overgripping to compensate, and I would have ran out of steam but for the no hands which allowed a moment of relaxation and time to compose myself. Fortunately the pitch eased up after that, and Luke led the last pitch to finish. Walking down was the beginning of a soon-to-be reccurring theme of the holiday - getting lost.

Starting the extension of Frederic Balsara

We eventually fought through the brambles back to where our stuff was, from where we set off to the main objective of the day, and of my trip - sector Pont de l'Arc. The route in question was Frederic Balsara, a stunning line up the right side of the arete on the arch itself, all at an achieveable grade of 7b+. "Do you want to take up some extra clips for the 7c extension?" asked Luke. "I think I'll be lucky just to make it up to the first chains" was my reply. The route began by laybacking up the faintest of grooves on the vertical wall, with the crux of the section being a blind slap to a move positive hold, standing on smears and tiny nubbins. After that came a jug, and a near hands off rest to allow recovery for the next section. Easier but awkward moves brought me to a rest round the arete where I could relax and read the moves ahead - layback flake, heel on, slaaaaap for the next flake. The sequence worked, but I was getting pumped. A painful span out right brought another flake within reach, where a big press move brought my other hand to a layback position, so I could sprint up to a jug, and the chains.



Lowering off a very happy bunny

At this point I felt pretty stupid for not having brought the clips up with me, because the extension looked brilliant and very doable. Luke had an idea: "Clip in short to the chains, don't weight them, then lower a loop!". I will refer any sceptics or doubters to Adam Ondra's recent ascent of The Change - the worlds first 9b+ - which employed similar tactics. Taking deep breaths and trying to relax, I launched myslef up the steepening wall. I flowed perfectly between the edges and flakes, resting where I could and moving quickly. A series of fantastic moves brought me to a final resting point before another steepening; a blank looking wall a few metres below the chains of my possible first 7c onsight. I moved up, clipped the next bolt, had a feel of the holds, then retreated back down to my rest. I sorted a sequence out in my head, then excecuted it - sidepull, dropknee, into the gaston, crank like a demon (scream like a little girl) and latch the jug. I was so pumped at this point I had to shake out before I could even clip the chains, but when I did I genuinely let out a cry of happiness before lowering back down. I was literally buzzing walking down from the crag, which is my excuse for getting lost again, but I've never been more pleased to do a sport route in my life.

Pont de l'Arc

Taking risks

Today was a day that just had to be called a 'grit day'. With clear blue skies, a bright sun and a perfect chill in the air, who could argue? We made our way to the Roaches, and arrived to find the road lined with cars and the crag bustling with weekend warriors determined to make the most of a sunny Saturday. Stepping out of the car, I was asked "Excuse me? I don't suppose you're here for the abseil experience day are you? Only I don't know where to go..." Walking through the gates I was met with a few strange looks, obviously inquiring as to the purpose of the great big foam squares on our backs. "They're parachutes, for when we fall off" was Dad's tongue-in-cheek reply. As me and Dad weren't actually bouldering, so we uncoiled the ropes beneath The Mincer, a classic brutal HVS. Having constantly rained for the last few days, it was fair to say the rock had a green glow about it, not helped by the trees hiding the crag from sunlight, and the midges were already out in force. I was keen to get up and away from the biters, so I climbed quickly up until the awkward traverse along the undercut roof crack. Shuffling with my knees level with my elbows, I hastily threw a cam into the crack before turning round the arete, laybacking off a hideously slimy and rounded crack, to achieve a standing position, and a no hands rest. Now feeling the heat of the sun, I took off my hoody and prepared for what looked like an awkward but rewarding struggle up the downwards-flaring hand crack. Another cam stuffed in, and I thrutched up the crack, which was also damp, my feet slipping out of jams as I made upward progress. I eventually grovelled onto the ledge above to another rest, before the final test of the route - the offwidth. I had absolutely no idea how to go about getting past this bit, so I decided to layback, with one foot twisted painfully into the crack, the other scrabbling up the wall to the side. I was moving upwards at about an inch a minute, always struggling and fighting to work my feet up, and slapping up the rounded side of the crack. Thankfully, the top of the route was above the trees, so avoided the slimy green coating, but the warm sun was starting to make the rock warm, and my hands sweat. More determined thrutching eventually brought me to a sloping top out, where I heaved on a pebble out of desperation for any hold that wasn't round, and a knee jam had me at the final ledge. An airy few moves brought me to the top of a very thorough exam of my grit capabilities, testing my footwork, jamming and offwidth skill, but most of all, my ability to enjoy the pain and struggle of grit thuggery. It's almost masochistic.

Masochism... Green and slimy!

By now the midges had reached a new level of irritation, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. We wondered up to the Skyline to see if the more exposed position meant the midges were more tolerable. They were worse. We hurried back down to the car to escape the onslaught, past a scout group "what's he carrying?", "Excuse me mister, what's on your back?" and into the car. With Luke regretting his choice of crag, and my Dad being passive, the choice of retreat was up to me. I could have said 'Pub' or 'sport climbing' but unfortunately, I chose Millstone. To be fair, the weren't nearly as many midges. There was, however, a ridiculous temptation to try every hard route.

It turns out my willpower is dreadful, and I couldn't resist the perfect, soaring seam of pockets that makes London Wall. The line, the history, and the glowing red rock had me hooked. I racked every finger-sized nut and cam we had available, and set off up the leaning crack. Just a few meters up, and I was off, my foot having slipped out of a small peg pocket. I lowered, then got back on almost immediately. This time, I made it past the steeper initial crack, past the energy-sapping traverse rightwards, and onto the more positive holds that make up the easier section of the route. Now high on the wall, I pushed on higher and higher, placing gear every few moves and climbing steadily, until a large foothold took some weight off my tired arms, and allowed me to rest. I placed two bomber wires, and gazed up at the soaring crack above me, the wall to either side of it was blank, devoid of holds. I had stayed at the rest too long, and recovering soon became tiring. I knew I had to make a move soon, so I hesitantly jammed my fingers and feet into the thin crack, hauling most of the time on just two fingers, feet smearing and slipping below. Moving further away from my last cluster of gear, I got scared and hastily grabbed in the first cam I could find - it just had to be the 000 C3. I threw it into the crack, ignoring the 'aid use only' warning, and pressed on. My arms were starting to fade, when I reached the shallow groove a meter below the top of the crag where the crack runs out. The next hold was a single two-finger pocket, and my feet were slipping off their smears. Now fully feeling the fear of being run out above a tiny microcam, I screamed and stabbed for the final pocket. My feet slipped, my fingers missed their target, and with another scream, I was off.

Eyeing up the sprint finish

In what must have been a fairly short period of time, a lot of thoughts went through my head as the rock passed me in a blur. The first; will the cam hold? A sickening feeling of the rope becoming tight then instantly giving way gave me the answer to that question. The next thought; how far am I falling, and why am I not terrified? The last; will the next pieces hold? A jolt, and an end to the weightlessness answered that question too. I hung there, too shocked to speak, until Dad broke the silence, "you okay Jake?". "Fine" was my muttered reply. He lowered himself to the ground (the force of the fall had him a few metres up) then lowered me. I sat down, took my harness off, then looked up at the route. The gear that caught me was about two-thirds the way up the wall. The place where I came to a halt was about a third of the way up - I'd fallen more than half the length of the crag. I felt pretty shaken, mostly just surprised that I had actually fallen, but also that I had gone such a long way. One moment I'm within reaching distance of the top, the next I'm twenty metres below, all taking a few seconds.

So I finished the day bouldering with a few people I recognised from the wall, feeling like I'd had too much excitement that day for another route. Luke onsighted Jealous Pensioner in a very smooth fashion, claiming the best ascent of the day at E4, and once more we retreated to the car to escape the oncoming midges.

 The events of the day got me thinking about risk. London Wall is described as a 'safe' route, and must be one of the safest routes at the grade in the country. Yet I still managed to take a serious fall because I risked going for a 'sprint finish' which didn't really work out. I risked trusting an awful microcam placement and pressing on instead of doing the sensible thing and taking the time to arrange something better (there were far better options available). However, had I hanged on for longer placing better gear, I would have used up all my energy, and risked falling off even lower. So perhaps on a better day when I was climbing just a little stronger, taking the risk would have meant success. Similarly, I risked a serious fall on Supersonic, only on this route the runout was unavoidable, and the risk began the moment I left the ground. Obviously, technically easier climbing meant I didn't have to experience that fall, but it was potentially even worse, and only faith in my own ability kept me from it. Just a few musings...

More Grit Thuggery

A perfect warm up

As I'm now really starting to feel the benefit of 'training my weaknesses' - i.e climbing on grit - I was keen to continue to put my skills to the test. Plus it had rained the night before so all the limestone would be wet anyway. After visiting some of Eastern Grit's finest - Burbage, Bamford and Higgar Tor - it seemed the contender left would be the biggest of them all, Stanage. We rolled into the Popular car park, and rolled out the other side when we realised there was no room. Pulling up on the embankment of the road, we strolled up the path towards the bustling crag. It turned out I had forgotten the guidebook, so we were basically making our choices on whatever looked good, and Dad's vague recollection of their grades. The arete of Black Hawk Bastion (which turned out to be a HVS called Eliminator) looked excellent so we warmed up on it. It's a lovely climb, sometimes powerful but always delicately so, and perfectly run-out to maintain safety whilst still offering excitement. Next, Dad was on the hunt for something he hadn't done yet, a search which yielded an unprotected HVS 4c, which I'm sure he did just to worry me...

Walking over to that previous route took me underneath the mighty Tippler Buttress, where I was inspired by the line of seemingly perma-chalked holds linked across the huge roofs in a way which begged to be climbed. The gear looked good, the fall zone looked safe, and with those boxes ticked I tied on and climbed the lower wall past a couple of bomber wires, to a dramatic change in angle. A couple of shuffles a long a juggy rail took me into upside-down-land, and a dodgy heel hook and a crank on a crimp brought me into even steeper territory on a large sloping break. The only foothold worth the name was now beneath a smaller roof, now providing much help for my quickly tiring arms. I needed to act fast, so rocked up onto the foot hold, and locked off my left arm on the break. The next break was still inches away from my finger tips, desperately scrabbling for any feature I could pull on. All my momentum now gone, I slumped back onto the lower hold, but hung on, determined to get the clean ascent. Deciding that doing it that way just wasn't going to work, I went for a change of plan. I tried to bring both my feet up over the lip, but the position was too strenuous to work with. Again retreating down to the hold, I knew the only way would be an all out dyno. I attempted to recover what strength I could, with my heel locked into a break level with my hands. I hung there for what seemed like ages, swapping arms and chalking up whilst trying to shake out the pump, all the while in a horizontal position. Muttering encouragement under my breath for my own sake, I launched for the hold and flew - I caught it with the tips of three fingers, and very nearly let go. Then I remembered the tenacity that got me to where I was, and held on desperately to bring my other hand up into the break. Welcome protection arrived in the form of the crack on Tippler Original, where the crux of that route presented itself in the form of a mantel, which was not easily overcome, and I groveled onto a ledge, massively relieved, and proud that my tenacity had paid off. I was still shaking back down at the bottom, when Dad chose yet another bold slab for his lead, and had me suitably worried once more - I wish he'd be as careful with his own route choosing as he is with mine!

Feeling exposed..

I chose a significantly safer route for my next lead, Black Hawk Bastion, an E3 up the corner to the left of Eliminator. Some awkward and confined moves bridging and palming up the right-angled groove led to some very three-dimensional climbing and a big lunge out to the arete in an exposed position - a complete contrast to the enclosed corner. Hanging around for a bit in a spectacular position, I fiddled in some gear, enjoyed the exposure, and secretly posed for a picture. I finished easily, finding it an awful lot less effort than the other E3 of the day - The Bastion gets E2 in some guides, The Tippler Direct gets E4 in others. 

Back under the Tippler Roof, I decided to finish the day on The Dangler, another roof struggle, this time at E2. Swinging between huge holds, at the end of a great day, clothes flapping in the wind, I felt tired from the day's earlier efforts but still strong enough to climb powerfully and dynamically through the overhangs. The route looks incredibly intimidating from below, like a brutal overhanging offwidth, but up close it's much more friendly and turned out to be my favourite outing on grit so far - a true classic.

Relaxing above the crux of Tippler Direct, just the crux of Tippler Original to do now...

Having recently started at a new college, and with a national competition looming ahead at the beginning of October, chances to have a day out as nice as today are becoming rarer and rarer, which in some ways makes me savor them more. Over the summer I have been taking days as enjoyable as these for granted so now I'm a little more grateful, and hopefully I'll be able to write about more of them in the future, despite the oncoming winter (which some people optimistically call 'grit season'). The next big event is likely to be the British Lead Climbing Champs (BLCCs) on the 6th of October, but keep checking in for more updates on my climbing - hopefully some cool, dry weather will give me the chance to get my first grit E5, or maybe even harder!

A battle at Higgar Tor

Continuing this month's theme of getting good at grit, we went to Higgar Tor on what is likely to be the last sunny weekend this summer has to offer. 

On arrival, you look up at the leaning block, see all it's cracks, flakes and features, and though intimidated, you start to think 'that doesn't look so bad' or 'ooh, maybe I'll give that a go'. Then you walk round to the side and see just how leaning the leaning block is! The feature is simply one of the most impressive on grit, and it literally beckons to be climbed. But before tackling the massively overhanging face I decided a warm up would probably be a good idea. With my new found willingness to jam I was keen to test my skills on The File, a perfect hand jamming crack, nearly parallel but tapering every now and then to give perfect bomber jams. It's also one of the most steep and sustained VSs around. Feeling a little cautious and keen not to embarrass myself by falling off such a classic, I slowly plodded my way up the crack, settling into a good rhythm and placing a cam every few jams. A gentle steepening (an oxymoron if there ever was one...) brought new difficulties but again determined jamming brought me to a standing position in a break. A high cam in place, I threw a massive fist jam into the final crack, and heaved for the top, grateful for the dish to help with an awkward mantle. I topped out, a little relived not to have fallen off a VS!

Having passed the Higgar Tor entrance exam, the next classic involved a jump of four grades to The Rasp, the intimidating line of grooves and flakes up the ever-steepening block. I under-estimated this route, thinking very cockily that it was 'just an E2'. This route brought me back down to earth, and showed me that E5 onsight on limestone means nothing here! I can't really describe my experience of this route in detail, I was literally too pumped to remember. I just fought and thrutched my way up, wacking in a cam every few metres and trying to recover. I can honestly say I've never climbed so technically poorly in my life - I just pasted my feet on anywhere I could, hauling with my arms taking all my weight, with absolutely no chance of rest or recovery. One point I do remember very clearly is whimpering 'Dad... I think I'm off...' before looking down to see just how far 'off' would take me. Some extra strength came from God knows where, allowing me to place a cam and heave my way up the rounded holds and laybacks to a resting place before the final few moves. Ridiculously pumped, that sloping shelf traverse brought me to a shaking, grovelling mantle to finish the biggest battle of my life.

Character building to say the least.

After following Dad up a thuggy VS (although 'thuggy' is an adjective which can be applied to almost any route on the Tor), I walked down to see a man discussing filming someone climbing Bat Out of Hell with a camera man, for a Wild Country video. Intrigued, I asked who was climbing. 'James Pearson' was the answer, who is one of Britain's best trad climbers, so I thought we'd better hang around to watch. While we were waiting I lead a rather more pleasant E2 called 'The Mighty Atom', which was a little sketchy in places, but I wasn't nearly as pumped as when I finished The Rasp. My fingers, however, were now shredded to the point where my finger tips were purple and oozing with sweat - not ideal on a warm day on grit!


Sure enough, when we got down, there was James Pearson casually leading an E5, apparently for the second time that day. We admired from a distance until Richie, who was belaying, asked if I wanted to follow. I decided it might be fun and if not at least I'd have a decent story to tell, so I swapped my harness and chalk bag for Wild Country replacements and was filmed following James Pearson up an E5. Admittedly it felt a little surreal, and I tried to climb as casually as possible. Unfortunately the route was having none of that, and it's pumpy nature demanded I climbed a little faster if I was to avoid embarrassment. I managed the crux 'pop' to the sloping break, despite fingers dripping in sweat, and slapped desperately in an upwards direction to jugs and an easier top out. I climbed badly on that route too, I somehow cut loose about four times, but I was fairly determined to impress so I didn't let go! You may be able to judge for yourselves, if they put me in the video, which is apparently coming soon to a computer screen near you. James told me that apparently he climbed it in a similar style when he first did it which cheered me up a bit - despite being such an absolute beast, he's a surprisingly nice guy.

Attempting to recover before the final traverse

Higgar Tor is a crag which exposes all your weaknesses, multiplies them, then uses them against you, making you to climb badly and inefficiently. My weaknesses today were my fitness and my grit technique, and I'm really quite proud to have survived the ordeal with a bit of dignity still intact! I hope to be returning soon having learnt what I have from today, and apply those lessons to some of the harder routes which look absolutely brilliant.

Maybe this grit stuff ain't so bad after all...

A beautiful warm day - I wasn't expecting it either! To escape the heat (as well as the crowds), we went to Bamford, possibly the most picturesque of the grit edges, and basked in the rarity that is British sunshine!

Take note of the rubbish break and good break:

Gargoyle flake looked particularly appealing, and we couldn't resist it's classic appeal so we started on this. Whilst it was all pretty straightforward, the last few moves do take you into a magnificent position on the arete so it's well worth doing whatever grade you climb! (Well if you climb VS or harder anyway...) Today had to be a short day so I was keen to get on Jetrunner, which is the relatively 'easy' introduction to the Salmon Slab at E4. It starts the same as the other harder Salmon classics, but breaks out left when they get hard, to wimp out up the arete. Nonetheless the climbing looked excellent, and the runouts exciting so I gave it a go. Bouldering up to the first of the two large breaks providing protection, I was somewhat dismayed by the size of the gear placements possible. What had appeared from below to be a large horizontal crack, stuffable with many large, confidence-inspiring cams, was in reality a collection of mini-breaks, which either flared massively or were too small to fit anything useful in. First off, I had to shout Dad to chuck me the microcam, and I fiddled in the size 000 C3, which is undeniably the least confidence-inspiring cam out there. Next up were three microwire placements, one of which rattled about uncertainly, and the other two were RP0s placed sideways, which I'm not even sure is safe. What is odd is that at this point in time I was more worried about my Dad being disappointed in the rather dodgy gear I had arranged rather than the harmful potential of a fall. Realising that this was madness, and that I should just get on with it, a big stand up onto the break with the help of a small pocket had me duly committed and scared, until I saw the size of the next break which allowed me a sigh of relief. I stuffed the break with the doubled up set of cams I had on my harness before traversing leftwards to the arete, where another big stand up, this time with the help of the arete, had my feet in a break next to my gear once more. The next irrational fear to crop up was the fear of blowing the onsight - was I honestly more worried about not getting something first go than taking a pretty massive whipper? Well it turned out yes, but I could feel my legs starting to cramp so I  finally committed to the sprint up the arete.  Smearing and edging upwards on ripples and pebbles, further and further away from the gear, I was relieved to arrive at the sloping top of my first grit E4 (and what I think is only my fourth ever 'extreme' lead on grit) - yay! Maybe this grit stuff ain't so bad after all...

Buzzing after Jetrunner, I followed Dad up an E1 to the right with a crux move which wasn't far off the difficulty on Jetrunner (which was a little disappointing), and chose my next challenge walking down - I really should learn to quit while I'm ahead! What comes next isn't really very exciting so I'll describe it to you briefly: The lower two thirds of the route is completely unprotected so I decided to place a side-runner in the crack to the right, before struggling and slapping my way up the arete to a break, where some bomber cams went in nicely. Next up came the 6b bit of E5 6b - a massive stretch (which I'm not long enough for) to a flake (which looked rubbish anyway) on some rubbish footholds (two pebbles) - needless to say I had a bit of difficulty. Trying and trying again - even resorting to crimping down on a pebble - I began to feel worse and worse about my climbing, and the possibility of me actually doing the route. In the end, I just thought screw this, there are better routes to be wasting my time on! I bailed up the aforementioned crack to the right, creating a hybrid route to which I shall give the grade of E3 6a. My hesitation had cost a lot of time (sorry Dad!) so it was time to be leaving, which felt like a shame because it was such a beautiful day, but I guess it's my fault for choosing another stupidly hard route! Anyway...

Today I sampled all of what is so amazing about grit - the exciting, but ultimately safe routes of great quality, the exposed positions, the incredible friction and an all round good day out.