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helped myself
23 January 2012, 9:19 pm



Did Help The Young as my first 7A+. Thought it was 7A originally, I wonder what it would of felt like if I'd known it was a grade harder. I'll be experimenting with this in future.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Stolen from TommyTwoTone (UKB)

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Source: I know where

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Winter. winturgh. wintargh,
6 February 2012, 11:40 pm

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Jo applying a heel to the lime.[/td][/tr]

[/table]Over the past weeks I have not enjoyed winter. I don't like the faff of moving around in the cold with more clothes and seemingly more equipment. When I think about it I know lime trad/sport in summer has relatively more stuff to lug but everything feels lighter, especially my attitude to the day. It just feels like grit is brilliant for intensely short periods and the rest of the time is spent chasing 'that' day when everything was great and it felt like velcro (Jan'11). It doesn't take much to encourage Joble onto the lime so last Sunday we shunned convention and went to Anstons (new crag tick).

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Chris at full stretch on the 7B+ which name escapes me[/td][/tr]

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 It is a lovely wooded area with that dank smell associated with lime dales, complete with luminous bluey-green stream running through it. This type of lime is smoother and seems to hold more water worn pockets, a joy to climb. It felt great to be moving around in solid comfort knowing that I would be defeated at the end of the day by tiredness not lack of skin. James popped off 'Dark Beta' and with fist tapping momentum Barrows swung left, taking part in Lime in January really is a 'Dark Art'. Jo and I climbed a 7a on the Ebola buttress with a thin ear to a pockety finale with Jo foregoing a last pocket and giving it a royal big one to the jug, strong.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Happy Barrows.[/td][/tr]

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A week past where I took job risks and this Saturday I chanced upon a grit hit to Cratcliffe with Lock, Bob and one smoking Chris Barr. It was, how you say, FUCKING FREEZING, the Grit was well sticky like but I couldn't move and gladly the feeling was mutual (though it could of been lovely and Bob would have still tried to sabotage the day with chalk penis/mud/sexual intimidation) Did manage to pop off a beautiful arete named 'Braindead' after a Chris Barr sweet talk. We then headed to the foundry which made me feel predictably weak, the wave is pure, man.

these two tracks are really good.



Source: I know where

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not quite there
23 February 2012, 9:45 pm





We spent another sunday at Anston one weekend but unfortunately it was just a tiny bit too wet to be able to climb properly without undeserved pings. I find these times the most frustrating as you can get by and bimble on but when you’re trying hard the scales just tip over into unusuable.  I would rather have a clear cut wash out then this to be honest because when we did eventually head to that beautful crag the Wave, dans le vallee du foundry, I had a doubt in my head that maybe I could of perservered in the damp.

In the time we were out of the inside James had a few goes on White light direct 8A+ which looked utterly beyond my comprehension, poor feet and poor hands at full extenstion, poor James. He made good progress and hopefully he’s done it now and just not told me yet. I have some footage from his Vanilla Sky send a few weeks back that I can put up once I have time.

Jo had done the 7A+ Berretta since my last trip so gave me some advice on the end. By using this and working my own bunched cross over for the mid way point I can do it in overlapping halfs. As far as bumscraping traverses go I quite enjoy this one, just don’t look down, the last big throw and thumb sprag ear being the highlights. The crimps on this problem were suffering badly with the humidity and I took an impressive spine first lob from the top move on more than one occasion. Im glad I have a pedigree in falling over in my skates as these tumbles don’t affect me much (they do later though, when im alone in the shower, crying)

I had last weekend free and both days pencilled in for rock action, however lady luck spat on my rose tinted glasses and it rained Saturday. Steve had nearly died at our house two days previosly in some form of fevour so was still completely quadraspazzed needing a lifeglug. He gave me a lift to the works and after meeting the annoyingly good Johnny and Gav climbed the new comp well set. Which is too hard and just too comp wall, y’know? Needless to say I sucked a fat one and went home. That evening had dinner with my dad for his birthday at the York in Broomhill and met his hypnotist girlfriend, he made her fall asleep at the table, im not sure I believe it as to me its like WWF wrestling, a slightly strange inclusive lie.



Sunday looked like a perfect Grit day and I was excited so shunned an offer by Chris Barr to go to anston and headed off with Joble to the west side! Jo wanted to do the 7A Too drunk at the Roaches and it after warming up we wandered over. It was bloody hot and the grit felt minging, still Jo nearly nearly did it but couldn’t keep her heel from popping off which led to a knackering cut-loose. James flashed this and did the 6C+ to the right in his trainers (naughty boy). We quite litterally hot footed it over to ramshaw where my dreams of grit evapourated trying a stupid bloody shit pointless sit start to an otherwise great right to left traverse under tierdrop. I had it and apart fom an enjoyable slope up Ossie’s Bulge cut my losses. James flashed tierdrop from sit and my camera ran out of battery as he did the heroic last move, I cant prove it but I blame the grit for this event as well. On the way home we went to the Gibb tor  and tried the 7A arete Stall. No exaggeration needed I think this problem is 7B or above, lovely arete but so very technical and hard to get established. All three of us felt a bit disheartened from the Grit so on the way home (actually we drove back on ourselves!) we went to Raven Tor which was dry and beautiful. Not long now you savage bastion of strength and I’ll be back again, safely suffering the delights of limestone stockholme syndrome.

GET IN!



Source: I know where

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movement
27 February 2012, 9:21 pm

JOBLE

I dont know why its deinterfuckinglacing but I can't be arsed. screw you Vegas.

Source: I know where

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no summits
14 March 2012, 9:11 am



I feel on the verge of something good, possibly an improvement. I am a good weight, I feel strong in areas where I was weak at and spring is just about sprung. But mentally I am low, in regard to climbing anyway. Since my last update I have been out twice, that’s twice in three weeks, owing to a move into the new flat, family commitments and an expertly timed solid two days of rain.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Noble on some squeezed in 7B left of crystal[/td][/tr]

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Before the moving Saturday and hospital Sunday I had anticipated a shit fit if I didn’t climb so on the back of a good forecast I booked the Friday off work. Sure enough the forecast changed midweek and it was raining with moody skies all around. Discussed options with Jim and he was keen on climbing at Roche Abbey after a brief look earlier in the week. I had heard of the place a while back because due to it’s location it was popular with Hull climbers. Driving towards Barnsley for climbing seemed odd but after a bit of a deliverance village we pulled up at the Abbey parking. One buttress is directly behind here and sticks out the hill like a miniature crag, it looked quite French for reasons I don’t really know (the whiteness maybe?) We walked further along to the buttress with the problems Borg and Crystal; Borg was slopey and hard whilst Crystal felt undoable after the initial pulls. I did neither. Jo has climbed them since and says she found some good sequences so not all hope is lost, I was following noble beta after all. After James cleared up we moved back to the first crag, there are a number of 6 and 7s here along with some desperate problems. The rock is nicely featured with crimpy breaks and water worn pockets but some of the pockets are really painful, more to the left hand side where the lime is textured rippled, one of the crimps felt like it had the point of HB pencil in it. I flashed the two 6C’s, one went well while the other was sent in rather more dramatic style involving a dynamic fingerlock to keep in the slanting crack. That marked my highpoint and even with James showing the methods I just couldn’t figure/do any of the 7s. We ended the day by locating the serendipity crag, a sweeping wave of blank rock with some very very hard problems on.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]looks like the famous painting[/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]start undercut crimp on serendipity[/td][/tr]

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The next weekend I had work and then a plan to climb on Sunday, chips were pissed on as it rained on my parade in grand style so I went to the foundry with Barr Bar the black sheep to climb routes for a change. Predictably I was shit and 6b+ felt like it used a monumental amount of energy and my soul to climb, but it did feel very good to be doing moves on a rope, especially on crimps. Need to fall off though, haven’t addressed my shit falling technique yet.

Im bored.

Competed in the CWIF this weekend with Jonny, failed on a lot of problems so I came very close to last, fun was had so I don’t mind so much. Part of 9/10 climbers says to climb in social situations you have problems with so this was quite the deep-end for that exercise with big crowds and pressures. Sunday was a beautiful day and quite warm so with Steve, Al and Laura went to Burbage south to seek shade. I have wanted to do the Knock for a while so held myself back from other problems only for the sun to have baked the top-out to a lovely finish so my balls shrinked and I ended up doing nothing all day. Steve wanted to climb ‘Above and Beyond the Kinaesthetic Barrier’ and after a few goes at a duff sequence we watched the beginning of a gritstone year on YouTube where Jordan Buys goes tumbling down the hill, this provided the beta and Steve got it next go. Watched the CWIF finals in the evening and had 3 free burgers (thank you works) so the day was not a loss.

I feel like it’s about to kick off but something is in the way that I can’t describe. Reading 9/10 climbers I think I may be in the dip of the curve where I can’t see where I started trying harder or where this is all going. I need to keep going even if it feels pointless and all will reveal itself. Because I believe I started climbing late on (22) it feels like a race against the clock to be at a level where I think I should be, I can’t help the feeling starting but its getting easier to dampen it by seeing how long other people have been climbed and how they have developed (I am not alone). The climbs don’t change (much) and will still be there when I am ready, and I am getting there.

Oh, my dads got a new hip and the flat is well nice if you were wondering.



Source: I know where

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dying days
21 March 2012, 10:04 am



Happy spring reader(s?) (Hi Mum!)

This weekend was a weekend of firsts, first time night bouldering and first time at the tor this year, both were great and bode well for the future.

Jo has been trying and nearly doing Dick Williams at Secret Garden for a while now but hampered by the weather it’s not been the fairest of fights. On Friday we packed my lamp and headed to chase the sunset with an ace up our sleeve. I was worried the lamp would be wack and the ace up said sleeve would turn out to be a soggy bus ticket to Wigan but all was well and it works, the pictures don’t really do it justice. Ideally you would want two and then a head torch to blow out the shadows. Its not overkill environmentally light pollution wise and pretty light. I am happy with the purchase and am glad I read the associated UKB forum thread before I made the leap and parted with my £40 http://ukbouldering.com/board/index.php/topic,8731.msg334047.html#msg334047 (cheers guys)

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Beach ball [/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Jason's Problem[/td][/tr]

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Both Jo and I were not successful, I on the first move and she on the last. We were well lit though. I have never attempted Beachball so moved onto that, I can get both hands to the first set of slopers but with left heel locked in and right leg flagged under my hip gets wedged against the lip and I can’t get any udge at all to gain the finishing flatties (positive thinking). After very nearly flashing Jason’s problem Jo came over and got to the same point using her right heel and in my opinion a lot more burl. We’ll be back but it’s a skin eater and nearly ruined the rest of my weekend’s climbing! We Blair witched it back home and had a noodle inn dinner, followed by a healthy dose of STI at the Redhouse, Bailes and Pete were super drunk for his Bailes’ birthday.. Me and Steve walked 3 miles at 4am. Not psyched.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Thomas the tanked up engine[/td][/tr]

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Sleeping in ‘till one on Saturday we nipped out to Curbar; having conveniently missed a bit of rain in the morning. Steve wanted to do Lepton ultimately so we started on ‘Thomas and the tanked up engine’ which I’d seen in the guide but not been to. It’s a lovely piece of climbing on sidepulls with the direct ‘Phat controller’ offering more of the same quality with crimps to start direct. The little quarry here at the very end of Curbar is a hidden gem and offers a great circuit of positive holds. ‘Seams simple enough’ looks hard though. Moving on Steve onsighted Lepton which looked as described, V5 hard and scary right at the top with a bouldery landing, using Adam Long’s proposed grading id say a !! rating as you could get away with falling off but really wouldn’t want to. I declined my go and was worried I had lost a bit of boldness, but any fears were alleviated as I flashed a pretty scary arête called ‘Vain’ a bit further along. After a few more climbs the rain shat it down so we left.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Lepton[/td][/tr]

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Sunday brought the first day of the Tor and official springtime. James had started work on Keen roof while Jo was working through Ben’s roof. I wanted to work Weedkiller and thanks to Shrewd beta (this is a fucking hilarious joke) for the finish I can do it in overlapping halves, thankfully I didn’t drop the first crux move once in all my goes so I am looking to end this siege in bloodshed next weekend. I think it’s a good choice as the length leads into routes nicely. To top off my weekend I finally did the direct start to Little Extra and felt strong on all my goes. Its coming together!

And now a word from our non-climbing self:



I think that I talk a lot in awkward or new situations in order to fill the silence which I am not comfortable with. Others are. As time goes by I get familiar to the person or situation and I seem to get quieter, the polar extremes of this theory being silence with my family and virtual white noise in the opening days of a new job. Is this is an excuse? Possibly this may be true that I am just lazy with my language, but lets just for a second settle down on this appealing idea. If I am quiet with you, take it as a compliment for now until I can speeka da English more.

I used to think I had low blood sugar, so I ate a bag of wine gums and nothing changed. I had an inkling I may be a ‘victim of the modernity’ and had lost my verbose posturing through the use of electronic communication, but disproved this when I realised every time I answer my phone its like someone is squeezing my bladder and I just have to go go go. “Oh no no no”, I thought, “I am depressed” so I thunk positive and it worked I was happy but still no sounds came out, just a massive grin and the same Vonnegut quote running through my mind “if this isn’t nice, then I don’t know what is”.

My ears, whilst selective, work well in normal conditions and I do enjoy stories of all kinds however minor they may appear on first recital. I enjoy what you have you say and write as long as it’s got passion (not Mills and Boon)

Source: I know where

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Beestly
28 March 2012, 7:04 am





I must have hurt my back last week as getting out of bed Saturday morning for work it had stiffened up to pensioner proportions. I couldn’t find any ibuprofen so took 3 paracetemol instead and thankfully Ally gave me a lift to work. I waddled back home after feeling a bit better so we went to meet Steve at Curbar. It was hot with insects were everywhere and the annual death of grit bouldering could be seen on the horizon. We saw what appeared to be a walrus soloing the classic VS climb The Brain but quickly rubbished this idea as they’ve only been spotted on well protected Severes. On closer inspection it was merely a topless Ramsden and holstering the spear gun we made our way across to him. “What Ho! Fellow clamberers!” Steve said as he boulder hopped towards us, “I’ve got a bully idea”. Steve’s idea was, in short, that we climb on god awful crumbly greasy grit in order to appreciate better conditions. “No” we said, “lets go home” and with intrepid expedition leader Wood at the helm we roped as a three and moved to the summit ridge path back to dear Blighty.

It was slightly odd watching Ally walk around Curbar as she, like previous non-climbing friends had been, looked really unnerved by anything other than a well maintained flat path. It’s an extreme example but it must be strange being scared so easily by so little. Don’t get me wrong I can get as scared as the next wo/man but irrational fear is crazy, I tell myself this when I go above a bolt but it still somehow creeps in “How long has that bolt been there? How will I swing? Why do I always grab the quickdraw?”



Went to the Life on Hold Premiere at the works that evening; enjoyed the movie and the lectures before. The film was different to how I had imagined it from the 2nd trailer with hardly any narration or interviews but with a lot of great footage of problems around the UK, Northumberland being a highlight (gutted footage of ‘The Young’ was not in the main film but will be in the DVD extras). Filming has always been a minor passion of mine and I enjoy teaching myself new tricks, so I have been hatching a plan for a while now (financial fingers crossed). Luckily Adam Bailes is a massive geek and is guiding me through this DSLR video path like a shorter, more flexible Gandalf.

Sunday came and feeling a bit groggy we headed out to the southern peak, getting a bit lost on the way, heading towards Beeston Tor at the base of the impressive Manifold Valley. I hadn’t been to this area before and walking along the dried up limestone riverbed it all felt rather foreign. More so when we started pulling up Buoux-like fixed ropes to the belay ledge of several routes, we were not alone here and so started a busy day of the cliff. Steve lead up the 4c approach pitch which on its own would justify every negative stereotype of UK lime trad. vegetated, polished and not cricket.

I headed up the E1 Pocket Symphony and really enjoyed the pockets with the polish not being a problem as I think I would of got lost without it, 3 star pitch.

next we adventured over the roped 'path' to the right hand hand side and Steve dispatched the E3 Majolica which gave threads galore and a really impressive set of moves for the 5c grade. I was a bit apprehensive but a little pressure helped and before I knew it I was all up in the first hard move with a two finger pocket stretching for the bottom of a big pod. this pod has a giant thread and 'pint'pot' handle to shake out on, with bad feet. A few deep breaths and it was in to the crux, with an undercut mono and shallow dish for the right hand, as I pulled up my crimps rolled on the tiny ball bearings of dirt and I felt unsteady but I pushed through with my head like I was swimming for the surface, breaking through onto jugs and an archaic lower-off. Steve then went to the classic of the crag Black Grub E3 5b looking for a battle, but didn't get one as he cruised his way tot he top, telling tales of its wonderful sustainedness. I declined the lead as I want to come back and was feeling happy with my day. I'll be back for Grub and the Beest!

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Chris locking on undercuts to crimp problem[/td][/tr]

[/table]Driving home in the sun I wondered whether I should go and try weedkiller but the long dy had taken it out of me and we fell asleep wartching a film within 5 minutes and a beer. knackered.

Guardian reader

Last night I headed out with Bob, Tash and Chris to the Tor for the first evening session and even with a late start it was chilled and getting shady. I did the last 3/4 as a warm-up convincingly and felt like it was on but after 2 attempts I had slapped the top jug twice and felt drained. Chris gave me some beta to kake the last throw less powerful with an intermediate pinch which looks good. No problems though as each go was a personal best and the power endurance is coming along thanks to the attempts. Planning to go friday evening and end my siege, feed thy people, and hopefully set Jonny up for the flash.



Source: I know where

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Momentum
17 April 2012, 8:59 am



I have been feeing lazy with regard to this blog but I’ve found some time so can update, this is basically a diary anyway with one avid reader.

I’ve had a more few trips to the Tor since my last post, Friday 30^th I finally did Weedkiller at a breezy Tor with Jonny, George and Nathan. It felt like an all too familiar evening when I slapped for the finishing jug and slipped down to earth for the second time but thankfully I had remembered Lockyear’s beta for the last throw, this being an intermediate pinch just below the jug which take the sapping sting out of throw. Next go, through the slots, through the cut loose, lock up, pinch and JUG. Drop off, excited breathlessness and post-send babble interspersed with erratic hand movements and then a happy release as I gain normality again. Bouldering really is straight out a crack pipe, quick hit shit. Jonny failed the flash at the first hard move and soldiered on into night as we climbed with lamp and head torch, however he got too tired and didn’t manage it that evening.  

The rest of my climbing has been at the Tor apart from a quick sojourn at beginners wall, I remember Jo doing Swing time and it feeling really quite hard so was happy to get it done in around 5 goes. Swing Time is a small pinch to a series of big moves on good holds, It’s down to 7A in the new guide from the 7A+ I thought I was heroically smashing in. Jonny did this, Weedkiller and little extra direct, my year’s worth of ticks so far, in a day. Bastard. Man of steel next.

Tuesday night, Chris, Oli and I did the start of Weedkiller into the finish of Basher’s left hand which felt roughly 7A+ but I tried it too many times and lost track of over all difficulties whilst over-involved in the minor nuances of beta. Its great and the moves really flow well into each other. Had a quick group go on Rattle and Hump start and can finally get matched on the crimps, whether I go up from here a la the hard way or go to the flakes out left to press out the finish is the next question. Feels harder than 7A+!!.  Other than that I went to Anston with a bunch of folk over the weekend, did a 6C called Screaming Dream on Hidden Buttress thanks to Beta from Jo which is probably the best problem I have climbed at Anston so far, starting on a tufa, getting correct body positioning into a lovely fat pinch above and dyno for a boss hold finish. Right by the railway sidings is apprentice buttress which has a great 6C+ and soft 7A+, apprentice wall and prow respectively. The prow has a hard slap start where you cross over your head at full stretch for good pocket then easy finish, though this was mired by a wet sidepull. Off to the side is high wall with Whizz Kid on it but I’ll have to ask some folk about the finish as its really high and right next to a chonking great crack you’re not allowed to use. I think Anston is soft, but its great fun feeling like a champ. James did, to put it lightly, a shed load of stuff and his 8a.nu scorecard must have looked like my electric meter.

Im bored of writing now, it appears as I have more successes my desire to lament on here recedes and it becomes grade rubbish. I cant even remember what Cloggy felt like.

NEED TO GET ON ROUTES, NEED TO GET ON ROUTES

After I’ve climbed 7B.

Source: I know where

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I new it
17 April 2012, 9:06 am

Went to the Cave on Sunday, big frickin' drive from Sheffield but the new Joble wagon was comfortable. Failed to flash Parisellas Original due to misdirection, then sent the 7A+ bust lip which was good utilising an interesting golf ball feature but didn't feel the grade. spent rest of my time memorizing left wall (this will be my redpoint crux) and failing on Lip Service 7A+ by shunning chris's foot beta (!) and trying the lank method, it will go like this and feels strong.

got a new camera finally. Forgot how little I knew about photography so I'll be nerding up on that. In the meantime I nerded up on colour presets to avoid $$ payout and I'm happy with the results.



Source: I know where

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wet.
14 May 2012, 9:48 am



Late shift week at work meant no climbing after font until the weekend, good really as my tips resembled a newspaper shredded up in the gutter on a rainy day. Even though on an evening shift I haven’t got to set off until 11 for work I have never really had the enthusiasm for training in the morning of any sort, long shower and sleeping in over fingerboarding and press ups etc. Now we’re in a new place under strict rules there is pretty much no chance of hanging my fingerboard up either. I would go to a wall as the works is a couple of minutes away but doesn’t open until 12pm, however I have just read that the worst of the bouldering walls the Matrix is open from 7.30am (!) soon so I will potentially try this avenue a few times, still no fingerboarding though as at the Matrix they’ve hung the beastmaker on the same angle as the campus board, DUMB. I don’t want to remain a night owl every other week, more the morning hawk hunting the early bird that caught the worm.

On bank holiday Sunday I went to Roche Abbey with Jo and James, meeting with Nottingham Joe and his two friends, after a drunken roller disco the night before I was feeling like a bag of smashed crabs. Jo cracked off her 7B project first go of the day, 3^rd session in all, it revolves around moving off a left hand sloper up to an undercut in a roof, I was drawn to it and surged up to the undercut in snappy style on the flash go before peeling off, each subsequent go got worse as I tried to move slowly off intermediates and other douchbaggery. Joe took an almost horizontal swing of the top of Borg, at over 6ft tall this was like seeing the inner workings of Big Ben, the BONGGG being him hitting the floor and signalling a move over to the impossible roof. James set to work on doing a standing start to Apache, a heinous and harshly graded 8A+, whereas other people have French started. He made a good link but felt a weak shoulder twinging so stopped for the day, I flashed a 6C to the left of the roof on good holds and big moves then failed on the 7A traverse with big moves and big cross overs. Jo’s second project was faith left-hand on Beef Buttress and after silent communication with the Abbey attendant we moved up the crag, Jo dispatched said king line as the sun appeared and baked us all into a simultaneous snooze. silent acknowledgement the day had ended.

I woke up on Monday feeling really bodily ruined so slept a while longer, I dragged myself to the works and promptly fell off everything I tried and had done before, I was feeling low and bored but then saw Barrows and watching him spend 10 minutes+ going up and down foot-on the campussing reminded me there is always someone worse off than you. Screw 8c for a game of soldiers.

Last night I went with Rammers to Anston and had a good few fails on Berretta, I cant be sure but all signs point to this being a rubbish problem, I am not bitter. Joble had suggested I try Fine art and after cracking it off quick smart I watched Steve fail then crack his back (result!) which I filmed (oh and another!) unfortunately he found a cheating less heroic method and the embers of my burn off were doused. This problem has wicked pinches and pockets as you can see in the video but the start is right next to a big block and below you is a back paggering block as you pull up off your heel, similar to the one found on The Nose at Burbage West, Fine Art is a non star problem with 2 star moves. I tried to do Blue Circles to finish the evening, a 6C on the surprisingly good vertical walls, but the holds were a bit too damp and I kept firing off in a strange tense agony. Went to bed too late again.

Steve on the 7A+ sidewall/arete at Anston Stones.

After big rainfall the previous night the humidity had come down and the rock was in great condition, relatively.

Music: Nouvelle Vague - Killing Moon

Source: I know where

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Font in videos
15 May 2012, 9:22 am

Tried to write, what is the point?

Music: Talking Heads - This must be the place

Tom's stag week in Font, at first the forcasted rain looked like it was set to ruin the week but we only lost one full day to it in the end.

climbers are Nathan Lee, Steve Ramsden and Lee Cooper, plus me failing on science friction.

cheers to Roo at the House for the digs and advice (Rababoum is indeed world class)

www.thehouse.fr

music by:

Beirut

evenings

ducktails

Cheers Tom, looking forward to your wedding

Stag Tom executing a perfect font top out with lots of crowd support

Lee Cooper on the 7B in Apremont, Fontainbleau.

Source: I know where

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Van Barr Peak Tours
16 May 2012, 9:42 pm

Had a big day and big night planned on Saturday, one went to plan, the other. . . .not so much.

Set off in the boulder bus with Chris Barr and heading for what we intended to be a full day of out-there trad on high tor. I thought I was going to die on the walk in, again an experience that doused any Alpinist fire that may lurk inside my soul. Walked past the High Tor sport and looked at the pillar of Endgame, an old Simon Lee route now Bolted at 6c+, which looked really good and I am keen to drag someone with me to try it. Our intention was to warm up on one of the HVS classics then crack on with the vertical, technical trouser filling/pumping run-outs. Chris hadn't lead Original Route before so we started on that, my suggestion so I do take responsibility for the failure of this week's task Lord Sugar. After some initial trepidation Chris got into the swing of things and romped up the groove. On second I wanted to take it nice and slow, savour the moves, unfortunately I went slow enough to feel and see the massive blocks coming away on this route, scary stuff, I'll never make it to the craig doris, I'd rather solo scoop wall then play roulette on that stuff. We both shared a knowing look on the belay ledge, so without further a do abbed off and heading straight to the damp polished arms of Raven Tor for a comforting hug. Only this was one of those hugs by a complete bastard who sticks a kick-me sign on your back, in short, I failed on rattle and hump start again and now realise my Noble-Method doesn't work if your piss weak so it's back to the drawing board, also Barr mashed his car on the Tor tree, doubly pissed.. Ollie youth had ticked Call of nature as we arrived, his first 8a, nice one you day-glo mammut psyche mission, speaking of psyched, met Mark Richardson climbing with Oli, that man is pure climbing enthusiasm!

As it turned into early evening we headed off to a sun baked millstone being the clever tacticians that we are, Chris fired up Technical Master a problem I had sucked on last summer and not tried since, YYFY I did it and it felt amazing and necky. After Barrows and Ramsden boasted of their one handed ascents I am determined to match this feat, right hand with a French blow to ensure a burn off.

I had wanted to do the snivelling shit for a while and with pads and excitement I set off up the slab which climbs exactly like science friction at Apremont, which Nathan Lee pointed out while I fell off the top of that problem. I had a minor jump at the start, no illusions of flashing the route, then committed to a longer getting through the unbelievably thin start to the good handhold with sloping clay death feet (give me back those matchstick edges!) I couldn't see the way and in bouldering mode jumped off again, no way was I risking my threads sliding down that shit. The jump was fine but I wouldn't want to go from any higher i.e. the crux. Ben onsighted it after joining in 5 minutes previously and showed that the crux is quite extended for men of average-ish height. I'm gunna do it, I'm gunna do it. was supposed to tonight but Barr snaked me and went out with Steve while I was still slaving away paying taxes.

anyway, to finish the day Ben and I climbed a wall left of March Hare on positive holds, felt about V2 with a longgg stretch for me. That night we went to STI who got Luke Slater down for a massive one.  He started as a slow burner for me being a techno punter but by mid-way he had me by the balls and I was in complete moron mode. Nice one STI.

I need more footage of climbing, there is only so much footage of my flat and the bus to work I can put up with.



Source: I know where

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cur with bar
18 May 2012, 9:18 am



Source: I know where

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In recent times
10 June 2012, 8:20 am

Writing has felt like a chore lately so I haven't even considered adding to this list of defeats for a while. Hard to think it now but a couple of weeks ago it got hot, really ball-breakingly hot. A weekend was spent on sport down cheedale doing the controversial method of chasing the sun rather than the shade, against all the odds this proved to be a fucking stupid idea. Warmed up on Max Wall which in my opinion is underrated as it contains interesting holds and moves with only the left-hand side marred by the breaks and rising ramp line. Flashed a 6c which I was really happy with, I felt like I had turned a corner as I really committed to it and felt in-the-flow, a rare treat. This was shat on however as I clipped up Open Gate 7a+ on two tier and quickly began to realise I couldn't do it, every move on the headwall feeing frustratingly at my limit, I was even too scared of the clip from the break to even attempt a red point, what a punter.

one evening we went to Anston in the 100 degree heat, ridiculous, couldn't even begin to climb. I am one sweaty mother, pouring sweat out on par with your average menopausal housewife. So in keeping with this comparison I bought some talcum power.

Another evening we went to cheedale again and I failed to flash either max to the wall 7a+ or max headroom 7a BUT this was a great night, pouring down with rain we could still climb and I really pushed through some mental obstacles by trying 'one-last-route'.

Now, my dear reader (Hi mum), I must talk of the weather. FUCK THIS SHIT. I know this is England but c'mon, really? This much sun and rain? Like the trees and fields aren't green enough. You enjoy it nature, soon you'll be dying because summer will be over when winter arrives in September.

Techno nodder Malcolm had a party this weekend, Lockyear and Barr mixed for the first time in front of an easily pleased public, annoyingly not as a double act.

 

Missing a night's sleep is really bad for your head and psyche, don't do it



Source: I know where

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.
10 June 2012, 8:42 am

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Climbing used to be so easy, font 5 hero[/td][/tr]

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Source: I know where

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cant train, too ill
11 June 2012, 6:02 pm

When I am ill and can't climb I wonder what its like to not have climbing constantly knocking on my brain. After careful deliberation sat on the toilet, where this illness has brought me, I began to realise I would just have to find something else. This doesn't diminish how important climbing feels to me but it does make me feel like I could try harder at other things, rather than be mediocre at a lot. I think I might just be obsessed with anything other than a work or driving. I need to get obsessed with driving. A climber without a car is like....well I couldn't work out a good metaphor but its a pretty shit state of affairs when you cant get out after work and you live in Sheffield. C'mon Guy, try harder.



Source: I know where

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First Blood
23 June 2012, 12:19 pm

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Coach Bob having it on Unjustified[/td][/tr]

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Went to Malham last Sunday with a thick head after a conventional night of drinking at the STI BBQ. It had been two years since I last visited the dales when I lived on Springbank and it was strange to think of this fact as living in Hull feels a lifetime ago. Rolling through Bradders with Hick, Tash and Barr in the boulder bus we arrived at a heaving Cove, a dry piece of rock in a sea of wet otters pockets. A large contingent of Scottish youth were making up most of the crowd on a 'coaching weekend'. It's a strange thing to watch these waifs elegantly saunter up the lime, being a cynic I was all ready to write them off as advantaged kids (weight/time/energy) but after listening to what appeared to be a real life borrower giving his mate a positive nudge to get on the redpoint I was impressed, they really fricking love climbing. Warmed up on the 'worst route at Malham' which I quite enjoy then moved over to the crowd. Chris had onsighted the Malham warm up consenting adults the week previous and was keen for me to try, so I tried and failed, beaten by a really shitty error of trying to hack my feet on to higher better feet when the move will have been easier off the lower set of feet. Frantic foot tapping had me off and I took a small lob for the fall bank. Chris then onsighted Puddle jumper and I top roped it clean, I've never enjoyed puddle jumper, I think its due to feeling too stretched out moving from the crescent hold and always cutting my feet. I'll address this but getting on the rack. Bob plowed on with Unjustified and Tash was just broken climbing the day before. Before the midges came in force to destroy the day, chris onsighted Sycophants and I retro flashed it, a great feeling.

one day Tash will snap

In sport I had turned a corner, I was climbing better, my head was in a better space and here I was setting off up free and even easier onsight, a grade I had only redpointed once. I'd love to say I cruised it but I bolloxed up the crux, another lob for the bank. Dogged up it with some really good beta, came down and waited, got tired. Chris had a few goes but i'll pull the conditions card on that one and say he was robbed. A touch sweaty and midge death. Home south.

It was a sunny day Tuesday and I was feeling my  usual self at work, distracted and rushed. I had plans in cheedale on the evening but with end of year Students as partners this is never a sure bet as they might just jet off without you if it's a nice day (can't blame them but will always hate them). Sure enough the text came in and Barr was going to snake me like the devonshire adder that he is. Luckily I have a new job at work and a new boss, I explained how it was nice day and that I wished I was out, at this she just let me go early and I got out midday. Life-goal achieved, I finnally dont have a shitty job.

max wall 6c, brilliant

Max wall, Tuesday 2pm, feeling like I was skipping school. The warm up felt ok on the patchy wet max wall. Chris and John climbed the 6c while I put clips in my PROJ the 7a+ 'max to the wall'. My first go and I had forgotten the start, got through to the crux and took a good fall, dogged up and everything felt good, I was happy. Rested I set off again and fucked up the crux. Rested once more, I set off again and climbed badly through the crux having to readdjust the press three times, got to the crimp by the clip and trekked on wanting to get a better hold to clip in the rope, unfortunately I was flailing at this point and as I grabbed the slanted jug I peeled off at full stretch. I faced away from the rock and knew this wasn't good pivoting upside down I headed back to John and took a pendulum into the rock curled up like an armadillo to protect my head. This protected my head but made a sacrificial lamb of my arse which impacted the wall with force. You never really know if it's been a big fall until you look at the people on the ground, looking at them, yep this was a big 'un. I could feel my toes and adrenaline kept me smiling before I felt down my back and there was blood on my hand. SHIIIIIITTTTTTTT. Three thoughts went through my head

A) had I shit myself/burst a hemroid?

B) had I smashed my back doors in?

C) would I be able to get another redpoint in tonight?

Luckily the answer to A and B was no, I had merely made a second arsehole in my left cheek and wacked my coccyx. There was quite a bit of blood so we headed home. I am broken and writing this from bed, while I am very lucky to be walking around easily enough I have hurt my back and there is no hiding from it. As I sit here inside my flat midday on a weekend not climbing I can't help but want to change the question of C) to whether I'll be able to get another redpoint this month? Think positive Gary. Luckily for me the weather is FUCKING SHITE. Off to the works now, I heard there is a new kids section.



from Guy Van Greuning on Vimeo.

Source: I know where

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containing frustration in the face of unchanged weather patterns
4 July 2012, 8:52 pm

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? A massive fuck load of nothing. This is also what happens when climbers are boxed in by the rain and the heat or a particularly spiteful state where it's so humid it may as well rain but the droplets just hang around like pricks on the street corner, sticking to your lower back, between your thighs and on your forehead.

Summer is the new winter and everyone is either indoors or getting fat, I am combining the two by eating a treacle tart in my flat.

Frustration is a strange emotion because the logical realist in me can see the futility of it all, there is nothing that can be done, other than leave this wet little island that is. Who I am kidding, I only say it as threat hoping that Gaia below is listening and somehow values my being in Southest Yorkshire.

THERE IS NOTHING THAT CAN BE DONE

I understand this but why is so fucking hot when it rains!! I demand a 10 degree drop the moment it touches down. Then I wont be stuck inside sweating up my arse. This is an acute pain for me as tonight at the foundry every time I sat down to start a problem due to the unfortunate shape of the arse crack I left a cock shaped sweat mark on the chalky red mat, more than one in fact, it was a veritable cock garden, I'm on the anti-art tip alright.

I have managed to get out climbing twice over the past few weeks, I am really pleased with this as I thought due to the bum smash I covered in my last post I would be out for the duration.

One soggy day at Raven tor I clipped up the popular 7c Obscene toilet, I had watched Chris and others do it months previous and was really psyched to see what it was like . Really really hard, gutted, and it's not even considered hard at 7c either. It will be interesting to speak to people of my height who have done it as I felt really stretched out at some/all points. No worries though, my aim is still 7b/7b+ by the end of the year, I just had ideas above my station on this with it being a technical wall climb. Got a slight buzz leading the run out easy bit at the top, why they don't put a bolt it i'll never know.

The following soggy Sunday I went to horseshoe quarry, fricking loose crap hole but the mainwall is actually quite impressive and solid in the most part. I failed on Demolition man, a tough 7a in my opinion, but took some falls which helped my head after the arse-whipper.

I hope the rain stops soon, its making me look forward to winter, fuck that.

from Guy Van Greuning on Vimeo.

Source: I know where

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Ain't nothing smell like two stroke...
22 August 2012, 9:45 pm

I went for a walk tonight to catch up on a bit of my past, it's the cash strapped end of the month after a holiday and with humid sticky weather climbing out was off the cards. As I turned the top of my street there was a bristly old gent cutting his hedge, the trimmer was knackered and was belching out blueish smoke at a consistent rate (not so unlike the operator, roll up in hand). I took in a deep breath and held it in, the same as I do when trucks or buses pass me within close proximity, but rather than the usual smell of guilt and fear I smelt my past. A two stroke engine. Like my Dad I used to have a motocross bike when I was just into double figures and whilst more Mr Bean than Travis Pastrana it was the first real excitement I could control. 80cc of power at the flick of a wrist, often too harsh a flick and I'd come off the back having performed half a backflip (had I landed a full one I would probably be writing this from my over-caffeinated sugary drink company sponsored mansion). Anyway, it got nicked and I found other wheels to roll around on, skating was less scary than biking and much more sociable (Hull dirt tracks are quite grim). I got to the skatepark at Millhouses and put on my battered skates, years behind in technology and culture, did a top soul and then it started raining - walked home. As I went home I waited under some trees for the worst of the rain to stop, I played make believe on the wall behind for a split second thinking I was moving between positive breaks miles above the ground. 3rd nostalgic event in an evening, the Grit. I last climbed on grit in May on a hot sweaty evening though it feels an eternity ago.

After all this humid shitty summer I have a desire for the crisp snap of a cold morning, the rock freeze dried, moving up smears or sculptured arêtes secure in it's insecurity. I know it's only round the corner so I wont rush, it's just good to know that it's there, waiting to shrug off bracken, midge and misguided punters having the most fun.

So, where have I been? I just couldn't be arsed to write, so I've been reading instead. Brave New World by Huxley. Quite a disgusting book, have a look at this piece of writing that sums up the book for me



Climbing wise I have been ticking over and have generally brought up my level of climbing, I feel far from the feeling of mastery that I so want but the improvement is noticeable.

I went to Annecy with Alisha and old house-mates/current best-mates Blez & Charlotte. It is a beautiful area nestled along side the larger peaks of the French Alps. There was some polished slabby limestone cliffs by the campsite that I spent a few mornings traversing around on but mostly we slept and drank for a week. On the last day we went out on the lake on a pedaleau to check out some of the cliffs I could see from the shore, they overhung the water and had the potential for DWS.

I had a few attempts, bimbled about on some vertical terrain but never pushed it up to the overhanging tufas. I am excited to go back, maybe as part of a Euro trip, as while it isn't going to be a standout venue it looks amazing for it's location and adventurous nature. Actually I won't say much because I'd like to save it. It's shit really, don't go

from Guy Van Greuning on Vimeo.

When I came back I went to Kilnsey with Sheffield's most hated blogger Mark, we set off early and having walked 3 miles to his house with 70m rope, draws and kit I was sufficiently knackered. Mark wanted to try Over the Thumb (8a) which sketches it's way across the friable flakes above the 8a classic. Luckily the start of this route involves climbing a 7b called WYSIWYG which I had been on years ago when I was REAL shit. After two redpoints I hadn't done it that day and we scuttled off home both having done nowt, well, Kilnsey wouldn't feel like Kilnsey if that didn't happen at least 90% of the time. That Sunday we trekked back with Jo & James and I managed to crack it off first go of the day, first 7b. I had read that people regarded it as 7b/+ but this appears to be due to how it was originally climbed going direct into the crux whereas nowadays people (me) pop out right to a mega jug and heel hook rest before coming back left into the side-pull crux. Jo flashed Smooth Torquer (7a+/b) following Noble's onsight and after a near deck out flash attempt with a pendulum into Jo I got it first redpoint, the top move is a screamer and the low boulder crux a delight, shame it's not 25m longer. Out of kindness possibly Mark was trying Perfect Storm 7c+ which also shared the 7b start, it looked a bit shit/broken which was as shame as the groove draws the eye. Noble had tried flashing Subculture but climbed ridiculously slow/static, getting it 2^nd redpoint he was nearly off the 7b+ finish all the way, good to see the man sweating. We finished the day off with a toppers on face value, an E5 gone the way of training. It scared me how hard it felt and how bold the start was. However scary it would be absolutely amazing to climb on this face with gear and knowing a few friends who have I’m really keen for things like Deja Vu (E5) though they feel a year away at least.  

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Mark starting up the Perfect Storm, WYSIWYG finishes at the obviously chunky flake below him[/td][/tr]

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I went back with Mark on a very hot day, I failed on hardy annual (7b), getting gripped by the groove and pushy end whilst Mark failed on Last Action Hero (8a) which starts up a 7c called Metal Guru I am very interested in i.e. it has a slab on it after a tough start!  

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Carl on Metal Guru 7C[/td][/tr]

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Indoors has been torture. Got to keep going.  

Going to try Wild in Me (7c) at the Tor soon hopefully, fully prepared for a shut down but I have the fight in me now, the reality of 7c feels within my grasp. Comedy, New Dawn, Biological Need, Obscene Gesture, they are not impossible for me now.  

P.S Sheffield Techno Institute 28^thSeptember YESSSSSSSSSSS



Source: I know where

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a winter in weekends is not very long
11 September 2012, 8:32 pm

Off the back of my last post's successes I've been riding the crest of a positive wave and I'm excited about winter. On the other hand - until the ground is brown, upon the Grit I shall frown.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]The 'bust' for the natural jug on Eat The Rich[/td][/tr]

[/table] At the wall I have been narrowing down my shitness on each problem and only giving in to the 'I'm not strong enough' tagline when it is the genuine reason and not a lack of technique. If it's a technique problem I'll do drills specific to that failing (unless it's slopers, slopers inside are ridiculous). Failure is easier to take when you analyze it straight away and run through what was going on, it feels like raw data for an upgrade rather than a slap in the chops.

A few weeks ago I went to Water-Cum-Jolly Upper circle with Joble, we had started at Rubicon but it quickly became 1,00000 degrees. James had a massive paddy on the 8a Dangerous Brothers loudly proclaiming Peak limestone shit, painful and that he was indoor based trip climber from now on. An hour later he was back down to earth. We moved on in search of shade and wind finding it high up the bank on the upper circle. I had never been past Rubicon up the valley before and what struck me was how much untouched rock there was around protected by legislation. It is selfish to think that climbers have a right to use all rock and I do prescribe to this hardline when the issue is land ownership but here it is simply a case of letting nature be untouched. Suck it up and move on, it's hard to take but must be took, especially when the fauna and fungi will be here long after every human being has rotted away.

Anyway, there we looked at a John Welford 7c named 'Eat the rich' and a Simon Nadin '8a' called 'The inch test', so as any rock enthusiast should know by that, it wasn't going to be easy. Well it was actually, sort of. Eat the rich is only 7b+ to the lower off, a lovely 3 bolt route (!) with big moves and a crimpy sequence to end. It has a MASSIVE glued on jug at the start but wow, what a beaut of a hold it is, sika me up, from here you gain another good hold for the LH, RH to a nasty little flake, RF into sika jug and bust for an all natural jug. LH out to finger slot, RH up into a rat's eye socket, sort feet to surge upwards with the LH into a blocky sidepull/undercut, few hand moves and a dodgy clip of belay. The 7c does a few moves from here through a small roof to match on jugs over the lip, the rock however is suspect and people have taken the tick dropping off from the jugs, makes sense.

The drop off in a blaze of glory

Sorry about that, I wrote that more for myself than anything. I can get to the surging upwards bit but it's 1/4 on actually latching the hold. I was happy with my progress though as I was hungover. I hope to go back on Saturday to tick it. Jo was getting to the same point but has better feet for the next bit, it's hard for the short as you're on the shit slot for longer and have to get more out of it, James just makes another big move from the second jug, bringing the route down to about 5 moves. I love this short stuff.

James tried The Inch Test and got very close first redpoint, failing after he forgot his foot sequence. This thing looks the absolute living end and has some serious brutal moves on it, 8a/+ seems decidedly unfair, even by Peak lime standards. We left we no ticks but were happy to have found the psyche again in the midst of the rain, sun and mud.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Noble giving a mile but getting an inch on Nadin's test[/td][/tr]

[/table] I tried another short 7c at Rubicon midweek with Jonny but got a nasty shock, 'Too Old To Be Bold' is short, sharp, polished and intense. After a minor tussle we both left it having been completely and utterly shutdown by the start. It felt exactly the same as when I try Saline Drip 7A at the tor, like I'm doing something completely wrong, how on earth can I be this shit! I'm not keen to go back on as the route/rock quality doesn't match Eat the rich but have it earmarked as one I need to see someone on, just to know. Failed on the kudos bouldering then belayed Jonny on his retro flash of Rubicon 7a. Interestingly he did this in the dark with a head torch and my lamp pointing straight upwards, he must have felt like a German Bomber during the Blitz up there, he didn't go down in flames though and slinked over the lip into total darkness. nice.

Last weekend I went to Bristol for a wedding,  really lovely city but an absolutely mental accent, people saying the Hull accent is bad need to shut the fuck up and head south west.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Jo, aka I'm stronger than Shrew[/td][/tr]

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Source: I know where

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The limes not dead
14 October 2012, 6:15 pm





got forced into the Grit on the weekend due to flooding, was ok, not lime though. I'm sure my soul will enjoy the changing seasons but my body is pissed off everything is getting wet! oh well, scary shuffling it is then.   from Guy Van Greuning on Vimeo.

Source: I know where

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Back on the wagon
13 November 2012, 8:07 pm

Winter has stuck it’s beak in and ended what was turning out to be a potentially fruitful season for me. I think the Tor is still in so not the end of the world, I just haven’t been going.   The Grit was called and we all rushed out into cold mornings, balmy afternoons and primo sunset conditions. However, Grit day one on Burbage south felt hot and walking over the sodden ground with a sweat on had dampened any spirit that remained for the scrit. What’s the point. Short days attempting tricky bollocks. Luckily, I often find other peoples psyche rubs off on me and everyone else seemed happy to be back on the brown.

Oli wanted to flash Pebble Mill, I cleaned it for him and against the odds the holds were ok, just everything else Kermit in complexion. After a brain fart on the low crux arête he was up in the Mill’s grill, with piano fingers and ballerinas toes he was through the crux. Plod over to the Knock, “it’s got crimps, fucking hell I love crimps, I am going to eat this”, 10minutes later all was lost, I just couldn’t summon the urge to rock further on the right foot with the crimped-up left hand gaining increasing distance from my center of gravity. Grounsmell flashes it, hanging back while we flail around. My 3rd time trying the knock, bastard.

   

 A weekend ahead, nights getting darker, Barr and I head to Lawrencefield to sun bathe. I spend too long caught in Suspense and predictably fuck the last moves trying to shove square fingers into round holes. 2nd go but not so much buzz. Film Chris and Noaks on Boulevard, they veer into the crack from the left, possibly off route I can hear an old hand complaining under his breath in the background “They’re not hurting anyone” comes his partner’s reply. A nice reasoned response in real life, I remember the web isn’t real.   Big crew at a windy Curbar, Jon & Chris climb L’horla, Jon looks like an ice cube on a string seconding. The ropes get put away. Everyone runs up the slab, even part timer Billy takes time out of a busy schedule of being a Leeds bastard to get up Finger Distance. I repeat it, then Kayak and Canoe. Grit slabs are really fun, totally personal. Jon Wells, nicest boy in crookesmoore, heads up El Vino Collapso and falls upwards slapping for better holds, we all breathe a sigh of relief as he tops out (often these sighs sound like a screaming girl)

Froggatt calls, some more unfinished lines from last season call. Chris and Oli flash Long Johns while I look at rural vandalism on Joe’s slab, one day whoever did it will realise what they did, at least I hope. I try Artless again, jump, stick it, roooockkk, plummet. Jump, stick it, rooockkkk plummet. One time I get higher but forget how to climb and slide back to the bed where I sulk and try to make a sandwich out of crumbs. Oli goes up first time, back down then the descent then up Great Slab, another day not to tell his Dad about.

Looking round the corner I remember a picture on Facebook of some mates climbing hard cheddar with pads, looks all neat and quarried, the sequence obvious. Watching Oli unusually go first I flash it wondering how I would have felt reaching for the pocket not knowing it’s quality. We end on Oedipus, “isn’t the bloke who fucks mothers?”.  I’m too tired after the problem traverse, I move up from the flake and feel all but the penultimate hold, a lunge away, then drop off slowy, exhausted. I blame the booze, lack of food and don’t feel like a liar.

 A night at the works watching a new trad film, it’s really good, makes me want to try harder. Drinking more beer I get the false psyche I think many get, the excitement generated in this time is of an equal and opposite power in the morning after. I wait around for Lee, pick up the mammut gizmo and go to Robin Hoods Stride. Everyone does Dry Wit in a Wet Country, Oli does Kaluza after 10 minutes on toprope, no drama, just a whisper of “Shit” as the barn door blows in the wind. I get up Dry wit, both feet pedal and I deadpoint the summit of the Matterhorn. “so shit I thought he was taking the piss” another story, karma for laughing at Jon the week before.

   

This week I've learnt that the sun can ruin a shot if you don't think about it and that anyone can get a tripod angle, i.e. get on ab, get an angle somewhere new. Didn't follow that advice this week.

Climb in the foundry comp, hurt my bicep and lower back fighting a greasy war against cleaned holds with bad skin, leave happy.

I hope to make a film eventually, call it ‘Gritual’. At the moment I'm just learning how to use my camera and different techniques. The film I would of liked to make has already been done, much better than I ever could, so I have new ideas. I think I might just make it for myself as it’ll be too easy to take the piss out of. I don’t love my job, but I equally don’t hate it. I also don’t hate my flat, but again I don’t love it. I hate climbing, I love climbing. Peaks and troughs, shallow and deep, I know I’ll climb E7 if I'm better on my feet.



Source: I know where

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The hang man and padded grit
7 December 2012, 6:22 pm



I thought I had got over this stage of my life but staggering out onto the street into the waiting car my body held a familiar nausea deep inside. Mark and Chris had turned up a bit early on the already hellishly early start*. The night before I’d wandered out of the work Christmas party drunk off a free bar into the Harley where I enjoyed myself for 10 minutes before a hard case/soft twat gesticulated wildly in front of me with his forehead. He was asking all manner of searching questions, “whereyafrom?” and the evergreen “you a fuckin’ student?”, when I replied ‘Hull’ and ‘no’ he seemed to calm down to psycho level 2. I walked home before I became his ‘pal’ and he told me about his problems with the country.

*8.30 on a weekend, I’m not a fucking alpinist

We picked up Barrows and drove to North Wales. The cromlech boulders looked a bit damp but seemed ok. Whilst climbing on grit it’s easy to forget there are numerous types of holds on other rock types rather than subtle undulations. Warming up on the roadside even my dried-up brain was appreciating the grips but every time I pulled on I got a rush of blood to the head and a flume of sick to the throat. I couldn’t really move in a human way so as everyone moved over the Jerry’s Roof I got my camera out and filmed for a bit. No-one did anything except Barrows, nonchalantly dispatching Huffy’s Problem, however I missed this due to taking pictures of a dry-stone wall and a snow capped mountain, dewy eyed idiot. A man walked past with his dog and was asking about what we were doing, must have strong fingers etc etc I asked him what he was up to, he was at the end of a recuperation period having been shot in the knee whilst on tour in Afghanistan , the man was a very jolly Ghurkha, he said he liked these small hills and the snowy tops reminded him of home. It started raining and combined with the bitter wind we retreated to the Orme but not before I bet Chris he wouldn’t dunk his head in the freezing river, he did and I lost 5 quid – idiot.

It was dusk as we pulled up at the cave, the one problem I wanted to try had a wet crucial crimp so I filmed again, my head thumping so bad I wanted to cry,piss or shit, anything to decrease the pressure. Mark made a good link on Rock Atrocity and Barrow boy attempted knee-sex with every unwilling angle he could find. Once again Barrows sealed his own fate of us all hating him by being the only one to send something. The not so wobbly block start to Rock Atrocity after tommy dick fingers broke it some years ago. We drove home and I started to feel ok in bed.

PowerShrew

The morning was crispy and blue, like an old crisp that’d gone blue. . .with mould an’ that. I planned to get a lift out to Stanage with Oli’s dad but Chris had seen the light and decided against lime on such an obvious grit day. It seemed a bit on the busy side as pulled into the plantation car park, what did I expect? It’s a dry cold December Sunday at the plantation, the Bas Cuvier of the Peak. Jon the bastard and the Chris the Barr went to captain hook, Oli and I went to warm up the head on crescent arête. Two goes then up to Archangel, normally I leave the ‘big’ things until late in the day but Oli was keen so I decided to just go with it. Sorted the pads out and made a nicer landing, the Grounsell flashes it with a few skittering moments. Nate Dogg turns up with a crew so after putting some more bedding down I set off, make 3 or four moves and fall off. Nice one. It’s a good job I hadn’t been thinking of this route for a million years or else I would have slightly gutted! I waited for a bit then set off again, every time you looked up the sun would blind you while it warmed up the fingers side of the arête. The smears were cold though, the smears were more important. I went up in normal shit style and felt ok bar one strange feeling moving my right high onto a good edge, I never felt in danger due to the pads, just a bit excited, I wish I’d done it without pads. Everyone else goes up and we’re all happy.

We had loads of pads and after the gully of Archangel the landing on White Wand looked friendly. We put them all down and had enough for a reasonable size WWF match but before I could suggest this Nathan had set off to show us the sequence for the crux. I’d watched Steve on this before and knew it revolved around getting your foot in a pocket and matching the arête. I’d also seen Steve and Nathan fall off this quite high up without much bother so I was ready for it. I set off and used a toe round to keep me close as I reached up to a really good pocket, high left hand on the arête where it starts to get good then a right left smear combo to match right foot to right hand in the pocket, it felt like a mirror image of the same move on Acid Rain at Rivelin, as I stood up in balance I realised what I’d done and said “Shit, why am I here”. I fell upwards climbing the arête but thanks to how sharp it is and convincing myself I was safe I had my hands on the break and gave out a shout. I knew beforehand I would traverse off as Steve told me the top arête, E1 in it’s own right, was a precarious number better led for the likes of me. I wanted to top out though so traversed for a mile and went up my favourite VS Fairy Steps. I will go back and lead the whole thing, to experience White Wand the route rather than white wand the amazing highball. Happy. Burnt Oli off as well, finally.



The day was still young and I was done so spent the rest of the day milling around, chris was trying Brad pit and looked to be making progress. With the amount of pads we had it seemed only sensible for us all to try Big Air, I jumped and failed, as did Oli. Then jumped and caught the hold then failed, as did others. Ben got really close slapping(!) for the final pocket and hang back harry Nathan only went and flashed it.

A great day, only marred when I left Chris’ boulder bucket and he had to run back for it. He didn’t even call me a cunt.



Source: I know where

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When will it end, soon.
28 December 2012, 10:14 pm



Christmas is generally a time of great happiness and great anguish, the peaks and troughs of the year just gone gather up and mimic the pulse readings of a cardiac patient.  

Meeting up with my dad for Christmas number one he was sporting a full and multi-coloured beard, the spectrum going from grey to dark brown to highland ginger. I looked at it intently as I have always wondered where the tinge of ginge comes from in our family. I think somewhere in the South African and Kentish there is an Irish line.  

I spent Christmas at the traditional family epicentre, My Uncle and Aunt's in Felixstowe, South East Flatlands. I met my Cousin's baby Owen for the first time and he was every bit as brilliant as the pictures I'd seen. Pretty little chap all the time rather than parents just getting lucky with the photo. Presents were given and received, food slaved over and served, a great day and no television in sight.  

Climbing has been non-existent for a week, a strange feeling and possibly time to reflect, I'm so happy that I climb, no regrets, reflection over.  

Before I started travelling I had met up with the Barr and gone to the Foundry, everyone seemed to be climbing strong and the vibe was great, crag style wave action. It's a funny old thing feeling weak as piss in one area then better in another.

We are all plate spinners, the variables in this task are the size and quantity of plates. I don't have many so the task is relatively easy – bouldering, stamina, head. Others have larger plates – rock, winter, alpine, bouldering. These plates are expensive in both money and time but ultimately you get a big meal off each one and god damn you must feel nourished. Some have lots of little plates like 7” vinyls – aerobic capacity, anaerobic capacity, power, endurance, recovery, finger strength, core. These people dine tapas style and to feel truly full will smash in all the plates at a given point (obviously in a pre-planned frequency) . I'm bored of this metaphor I’ll go somewhere else.  



I had a plan to climb with Steve and Alex at Caley but as I arrived in a very wet Hull my bubble of positivity began to lose shape, finnally bursting when I found the lads slept in the back of Al's Van. To top it off the pair of them were absolutely ruined, they smelt like Yorvik Viking Centre on a rainy day. We went for a greasy spoon and decided a plan of action, with climbing off the menu the obvious choice was to go shoot stuff with the Ramsden Gat. That was fun for about 35 minutes, balderdash – 45 minutes. I finished my hull trip with a few pints at the Adelpi, a little extension to someone’s house that some big names have played in through the years, Nirvana, Oasis, Me, all the greats.



It is not time for new years resolutions yet, there's still a weekend between now and the end, my only friend, the end. 2013, I don't like the number, not for superstitious reasons I just think it looks naff, like an 80s film's stock future date and we sure don't have a cure for aids and jet packs yet (soon though right?)

RAIN RAIN everywhere, RAIN RAIN all the time. This is England.  

Source: I know where

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January, sick and tired, keeps on hanging on me
17 January 2013, 12:05 pm



Too found sand & fur teen, this year has a lot of potential but I just cant bring myself to write. Say what you’ve done, how did it feel, what have you learnt?

 

Went to Stanage - was cold, moist and I did DIY slab. Learnt that I’m better than last year but not good enough to get my two feet actually off the mat on Shock Horror Slab (use pocket on right for given grade). Oli put a hole in his finger.

 

Went to Rowtor – Luminous green and scrittly. Learnt that I don’t climb very much when I have my camera out, feels like an excuse to keep gloves/down on. Didn’t go down to My Apple, would have been a waste of time. Tried the Yoghurt bastard, satisfyingly crimpy but just stretched out too much, didn’t even release heel-toe. James nearly hulked out and Mark struggled on jugs.

 

Went to Almscliffe – muddy and cold. Learnt that I still cant do Syrett’s roof but can do Bancroft’s, happy. Tried Barley Mow and got further than I thought I would, will stay on this longer next time. Dolphin still piss, Gypsy top out still shit. Barrows go-go-gadgeted everything and was humbled by pebble wall.

 

It’s been a Works month again this month so I’ve been feeling technically proficient but quite weak. The circuits have been changed and feel a lot less painful than the last set, encouraging, though it’s a bit busy at the mo due to an influx of heroes training for training for training for what.

 

This will be a year of firsts, first 7C (not something short), first Alpine rock tick (Piz Badile), first time in Mallorca, Pembroke, Ariege and Catalonia. First E4. Star wars, hard technical climbing between rests and reasonable gear, yes I’ll have a stab.

 

As for writing, I don’t know eh, not in the write space right now HARHAR. Filming, ah now filming will be flowing my friend, a lot of the people I know are relatively good climbers so I am excited to show this in the best possible way, even did a time lapse last night (wont be using it much as it’s been overly done really well, it’s just a piece of piss with Magic Lantern). Went insane and bought the kit lens, actually bought it, it was cheap and I’m sort of testing myself. I cant afford a zoom lens with a constant aperture right now so this will have to do.

 

See ya, fucking hate January.

Source: I know where

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Month one of nothing
30 January 2013, 9:21 pm



On Saturday I went with Joble over to Roache Abbey, the snow was already melting and soaking into my sneaks as we passed the first gate, each little skid revealing shitty brown mud underneath the snow - it probably was shit being a popular dog walkers path. After a heroic ascent of Beef Buttress Gully (III/IV with pads) it appeared the rock was dry.  Jo was trying the fool (7B+) and I simply acted one, failing to top the unusual 7A Justice,  James linked both of these with some strange and hard moves dealing some Fools Justice (8A). With power tapering off we slid back to the car.

The scene

As of late Joble have got really psyched by the Mike Adams and co. Eastern Magnesium Limestone trail and have been seeking out the ever more rare and esoteric. We trudged around crisp white fields and muddy paths in a retreat-from-Moscow style trying to find Earth Quarry. I think because I was tired and it was soaking I wasn't massively impressed but Jo and James were keen as beans. I'll hold my tongue and wait to see it in a better state.

shit isn't that?

Waking up on Sunday it was like we'd all been asleep for a week, all the snow had gone done and get goned. I was walking to the foundry to meet the Barr when Bob Dickish text asking if I was going out. Touched I'd been remembered while busy on his European climbing tour I later found out it was a group text, the scatter bastard. Being with the anti-brown rocks brigade I found myself back at Roache, back on the Beef Buttress. I wish I'd filmed Bob on the 6B, never before has such a strong climber looked so weak, past ascents in doubt etc. Speaking of weak I managed to skirt around my faults and send a new 7A+ in Faith Left-Hand. Jugs and crimps, tits and ass. Finshed the day at a busy foundry, sweaty and shaky climbing but fingers felt good.



Source: I know where

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Oh Africa, Brave Africa
14 February 2013, 11:54 pm



Fade in to colour. I had been stood in the shower for some time now, back to the wall, staring down at a near empty tumbler of wine. The embossed P on the underside of the glass, signifying an exclusive brand, had entertained me but what was the point? It’s possibly 1 of 50,000. I pictured myself, withered, bringing it along to an Antiques Road Show and the expert smashing it to pieces in front of me as a lesson, he was laughing like Jeremy Beadle. People who laugh and look around at the same time have always unnerved me. I had different aches dispersed over my mass and at this late hour I decided to conduct a damage report. Feet – slightly misshapen, corn healing well, permanent bruising under nail on big toe. Fingers - general tension and punterish callouses symbolic of a wet winter. Knees - shot. Elbows - fine. Shoulders - screaming for antagonism. Head - content with plan making.



Woke up Saturday and everything was wet. Made plans for indoors but Jonny persisted with blind hope so we went out anyway. Everything was wet. Tried Stump hole cavern but psyche was lower than Findus stocks so moved on to Chatsworth. Sentinel crack fills me dread. I'll face you one day, hopefully as part of a crack climbing campaign where legends will fall or eat my hands, totally medieval what what. I remember reading of the problem Desperot's reliability in rubbish weather and we were not let down. The starting moves felt weird and took a while to become straight forward, the side pull was vague and unlike the rest of them I just couldn't weight the left foot properly for upwards thrust. Ach nein. Great to see it cracked though, always been psyched for this since reading the segment in the BMC guide.

Felt strong at the works, well, relatively strong. Went round in circles on the circuit board and gained a bit each night.

Quite excited as I've spent a part of my/bank's fortune on flights to Zurich and Carcassonne.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]The big piece we want to chew[/td][/tr]

[/table]



Source: I know where

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A mental headpoint
27 February 2013, 4:03 pm

Cards on the table I’ve been a bit of prick recently. At work and at home I haven’t been paying much attention to anything or anyone other than the weather and squirrelling around collecting beta for Friday’s plan. On Monday and Tuesday the weather was very good with crisp conditions and blazing blue skies, or at least it looked that way seated at my desk through tinted glass office windows. The restlessness returns, resentment with employers, resentment of students and all the flexi-twats. You go to the wall and talk to people who’ve been out,  later when you’re home you flick the channels and forums endlessly never able to settle on something, what you want cannot be distracted by a movie or dulled with drink.  I realise its at those moments when it must be a real pain being a non-climber’s partner.

I hurriedly book the Friday afternoon off work, set it in stone and click send. I send a text to Oli who’s on half term asking for a belay, the reply says yes but a few days later he decides his teeth need checking. No matter, I’ll try another student, Barr says yes. Game back on. I go to the works and try moves that I think match the route before returning to foot on campusing which feels strangely nourishing when you’ve got an actual target for once (trip to Spain). I am fidgety at work and on the sly repeatedly watch a video on the internet, again and again, as if I can feel each hold. “He’s a lot stronger than me” “he looks smaller than me” “the footholds look good”

A brief respite on Wednesday evening down the Secret Garden, a lantern session with Chris but I feel awkward and inflexible, watch him shuffle up Left-Hand Man and catch a ricochet buzz when he pulls over the top.

On Thursday evening Chris bails on me, luckily Emlyn the Grit Lad says he’ll be there and I ask him to belay, phew. In the shower I’m looking up at the tiles and stretching out my arms trying to measure the distance I’ll have to jump at the top. I feel the need to do this as my confidence in jumping was shot down when I failed on Wings of Unreason 2 years ago. I jump and make my target but don’t try again, the image of the bath crashing through 2 floors below stopping me. Incidentally this did happen with my first student house, the leaking cubicle led to a rotten floor which led to a shower in the living room below (though no-one was present when the shower became a lift)

Friday. Flow through the morning’s work like an automaton and link the two buses home perfectly, briefly congratulating myself on a PB time home I read a message from Will who’s seen my requests for Burbage South devotees and says he’ll drive out. Brilliant. It’s softly snowing as we arrive and walk in, I don’t even worry when the flurry thickens as it all just tumbles off the dry rock. Will and Sean do The Knock, the final moves protected from the snow by a jumper, this is pulled away when you reach the top which gave the scene a strange vibe as if they were performing a magic trick. I fail where I usually fail but push a bit harder the next go and reach the crimp on the arête, I jump off as the left crimp begins to eat my skin, I really need my skin today.

Finally, I’m underneath Nosferatu and I’m leaning  in off the now pad-strewn boulder. The crux sequence goes by without chalking or breathing and my only memory is watching my lace perfectly nestle itself between the rock and my shoe as I roll my foot into the last move. Don’t stop, don’t falter. Before I know it I’m geared up and eyeing the top, its ok I tell myself, its only 3 tiles away. After deliberating for an eternity I set and throw upwards catching the monster rail, the awesome wave comes now and I shout out, unashamed as my voice breaks. Excitedly topping out I forget about style and simply launch myself belly first, I apologise to an elderly dog walker for shouting and skip back down fizzing with happiness. It felt like a big one.

Will and Sean flashing it after me, three's a charm

Source: I know where

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It is technically Spring
11 April 2013, 8:42 am



Everyone was out snowballing, I didn’t want to. It was strange to not have the excited feeling like I used to but I’d just come off a sport climbing trip and really just wanted to climb some routes and pull down. I did try, went for a walk and swam up to The Sentinel, it felt fun but had no spark. At the plantation it was a surreal setting and a great atmosphere of enjoyment but grumpy as it sounds, looking around at the excitable masses, it was as if the snow was to these Grit Classics what the London Riots were to JJB sports. Is this what some of the old guard feel when we do things with pads?

  I went out for some techno on the Friday evening, didn’t intend to drink as was up early for a shady Tor with Mark. I was real tired by 11pm and on the soft stuff by midnight so slumped in the corner, pint of water in hand and with my eyes flickering closed I may have looked utterly mashed to the passer-by. I took Chris’s keys and slipped out the exit. Arriving at the Tor in brisk shade there were streaks dotted around, One fist sized wet patch on the flat hold next to the second clip of my project (Obscene Gesture), though I could work around it. Clipped up bolt to bolt and felt great lowering down, thinking I’ll just work the bottom and have a redpoint, must have tried 20 times to find a steady way through the start before someone pointed out you could start from the left where it originally came from, joy! Not next month now, next week. I wonder how I’ll feel on the last stretch to the good crimp on the headwall, a warm excitement as I even type the words. It all comes down to when I get the undercuts and bridge my feet higher, slotting my right thumb into the mono and pinching upwards and across to the small crimp and then the amazing pocket with the left index. If I can get this move in motion i'm in, it's one of those strange moves which feels in micro terms like a knackered car turning over before it kicks in, always some doubt.

 The day after we went to Rubicon with the idea of having a preliminary recce of Moat Buttress and the upper circle. Millers tale felt hard and I snatched badly, never nice to have that jarring feeling. While the others sought kudos I wandered down the dale scoping out the crags as I passed them, it wasn’t too busy, there was wildlife all around and I felt really happy to be in such a place “if this isn’t nice then I don’t know what is”. I thought I could hear the rumbling of off-road bikes in the distance but upon looking into the stream it turned out to be a myriad of frogs out on the pull. I guffaw’d out loud. Eat the Rich had a single wet (not seeping) important pocket, Let the Tripe Increase was wet down low and the WCJ Cornice looked remarkably dry consdering. I hope the great melt this weekend doesn't fuck it all up.



 I’ve felt really tired since I got back from Spain, partly because I fell ill within two days of returning, but I’ve become stuck with a feeling of exhaustion that needs looking at. The wall was tough work and I felt heavy, not helped by a work colleague saying my face has filled out, “oh really? It must be the beard” I said, knowing full well I could of stopped that sentence without the letter D at the end. I haven’t been too tired to dream though, even though I haven’t completed by medium term goal of 7c I’ve started to cultivate the unthinkable thought for a Jonny Q Punter - climbing an 8a.

Since filming Oli on the Zone I haven’t recorded anything, I have a vague idea of what I’d like to do but I’ll have to either organise myself better with the good climbers I know or put the feelers out for anyone who’s got something decent going down. All this whilst juggling my immense personal climbing ambitions. It’s going to be tough to make some nice Limestone clips, it being pretty crap looking on film, but for the sufficiently nerdy it’s great to see these routes up close. If I can get someone on Evolution this season I’ll be chuffed, no pressure Bobbows. I cant realty afford any more kit but I’d love a new tripod and slider, anyone?

oh yeah, Thatcher.

Source: I know where

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Not far but away
25 April 2013, 3:04 pm



Lucky Strike, Rusty Walls at Pembroke. I had just begun abbing into the shady belay ledge perched above the sea when two thoughts occurred to me, I hadn’t been trad climbing in a year and that this was my first sea cliff. I ignored these thoughts as Tim passed me the rope ends and I tied in. I know it’s next to the sea and all but I rather naively didn’t expect it to be so wet, the rock was the colour of mud (or rust!?) as I made my first few steps above the waves and eyed up the rising flake line like a gift. “Is the foothold wet or is the rock dark brown in colour?”, check the sole of my shoe, “wet”. The route went by smoothly and aside from some cobwebs of the mind needing blowing away all was fine. Tim followed up and we semi ran back over and down into St. Govans. I started up The Arrow and after the obligatory greasy start ambled my way to the top, on the way I had turned my head for a life affirming gaze only for the view to be obliterated by a bank of mist. Ah well. We walked back round to our bags and after some gentle persuasion by Tim (he’d abbed in and flaked the ropes before I said no) I stood underneath The Butcher. Those that know me can attest to my famously wet hands so it was with an atmosphere thick with static rain and a pair of slippery kippers that I set off up the starting crack, two runners in I knew this was a piss take, as elegantly as possible I down climbed removing my placements, hopefully wowing spectators with this gallant display of tactics. Back under terra firma Tim Led us out through a steep E2 and upon surfacing we watched Dan McManus calmy dispatch The Butcher like it was type one fun. A move over one buttress or so for Tim’s main event, the classic E5 Get Some In.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Tim Lounds getting a right old sweat on[/td][/tr]

[/table]  He cruised to half height, where the duality of  good hold/not-so-good gear had him stuck in a mental loop. I asked him if he was getting anything back, he said yes but the code of the belayer had been understood. Tim found a small placement that focused his mind and he set off up into the crux, a sequency move on good holds and a slap for a ledge. With tired arms he broke through the crux and like a veritable brown shirt sieg heil’d a sinker jam in the horizontal break above. He'd definitely be getting some in later (in the pub for those who missed that  humdinger of a pun)

We caught up with Liam and Mark on Star Wars and watching from Stennis head could see El Grippo in full effect, plenty of good in-jokes surfaced from this ascent but I know from experience they sink like fibre-lite turd when retold to others, so I won't, apart from GREASY and DESPERATE. There was a queue under Manzuko so Tim guided me across his dad's route Riders on the storm, amazing rock and a proper crux above a low tide crashing away below, smiling all the way. The E1 was cool but I think if you stray from the groove you sort of make up your own line on the face, I enjoyed the line I chose. Back towards the car we met up with the boys as Liam topped out Ships that pass in the night and we watched Mark dyno his way up on second. I cant even wax poetic about the route. Stunning, fucking stunning.  

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]pure buzzin mate[/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]no contest[/td][/tr]

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We knew bad weather was due on the Sunday so it was little surprise in the morning when the pitta patter of raindrops could be heard on the kitchen window. We decided to outrun the weather and move to Avon where the rain wasn’t due until 4pm. Sad to leave Pembroke, not a goodbye just a see you soon.

I’ve never been to Avon Gorge, I knew it was close to Bristol but this is definitely urban cragging, multi-pitch at that, whereas the last urban crag I went to was Bell Hagg so quite a difference. Tim had said good things about the routes coming up into and out of the ‘ramp’ feature, a slither of an Idwal slab. The bottom tier had suffered rock fall and had been shut off so I started up Banshee a relatively short offering about midway up the ramp. After Tim supplied me with gear beta I set off into the crux and with high feet caught the flatty at the bottom of the groove, the crux was supposed to be the mantle just after this move but thankfully it doesn’t feel so bad after the grit. Tim’s lead and he opts for the route Them right at the end of the ramp where one step off the belay puts you 30 metres up, he weaves his way up cursing shit pegs and praising technical moves. I had initially looked at this entire wall with disdain due it’s sandy/snappy appearance, but nearly every move on this E3 was sublime, dinky nodules for feet and technical cross overs on crimps for crux’s. Highly recommended. Topping out over a fence into a busy park on a Sunday was a new one for me and felt very alien, though all in all I was just doing exactly the same thing as the joggers, cyclists and ice cream eaters were doing, enjoying their waste of time.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Massive head on Banshee[/td][/tr]

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The weekend had felt like a little holiday and I glow about it now. Now I’ve had the most fun it’s time to actually try harder, the weekend approaches.

Went to Garage Buttress at Stoney on Tuesday night, wanted to try the getting-classier 7b+ but it was busy so belayed Oli on Jerry’s Little Plum, did half of some sketch 6c then watched Ben and Will try that extra bit harder and both climb King of Ming one after another. When I look up I’m really impressed with this sweep of rock, great colours.

Last night we were running over to the WCJ Cornice, Oli talked me through Brachiation Dance and I had a fairly good flash go, dogged to the top then ran out of light, felt reasonable even with some wet holds to manage. After the one move on the slab it’s big holds all the way and can see it being a good warm-up in future though shouldn’t get ahead of myself. Oli set off up Free Monster with my head torch, though he would have been better off with a fan and some tin foil.



Source: I know where

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warm up for your warm up before you do the warm up
7 May 2013, 9:20 pm



Blimey, this seam is thin, I’ll just hack my foot up onto this hold and. . . “oh no”. A dull cracking sound, like a pencil being snapped underwater, precedes a sense of foreboding gloom, there is no pain right now, only instantaneous grief.

Skip back a few days.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Liam, baskin'[/td][/tr]

[/table]We’d been to Rhoscolyn, I bottled Electric Blue, I got cold and scared filming the fun time boys.  It’ll be better in high summer, making a deal up there on the cliff top. Early morning boldness on Savage Sunbird and moving fast on The Sun, I kept repeating the same Alan Partridge joke while I was on the sun, everyone got it but I persisted, ARE YOU NOT AMUSED. Liam did warpath, Tim did Magellan's wall , Mark did the route I should have done, Centrefold, and I boa constrictor-ed myself on our hanging belay, wrapping the ropes around my legs. Al put in a good show, running it out above my head on Dreams and Screams with Jemma  belaying from somewhere inside my lower intestine.

from Guy Van Greuning on Vimeo.

 I had plans on going back to my home town so had to duck out of a bank holiday trip to Wales, I consoled myself with the fact I’d still get 2 days climbing in the beautiful weather the peak was currently having. Home was good, my mum had bought me a headband from Norway, grit chic. Due to a lack of licenses Jon and I were going to catch the bus over to Millers dale and if the tor was a furnace walk the nice walk over the cheedale. Wake up on Sunday morning at 8am, pack bags and grab some food. Walk up the hill the bus stop, 9.43am Jon rings from further down ecclesall road and says the bus just went past him without stopping, full to the brim. Next bus at 2pm. Fuuuuucccckkkkkkkk. Semi-Contain adult tantrum and decide to catch a bus to Matlock. 1 hour 30 minutes later we arrived in the town and walked over to Long Tor, admired the admirable High Tor. “it's ok I’ll climb there tomorrow” I told myself. At the crag Jon brushed his way up the 6c+ Jade. Pulling the ropes I headed up after him, two moves in and. . .see top. It’s most certainly the A2 pulley on the ring finger of the right hand, bog standard injury. Your time has come, grab a ticket, get in line. I don’t have an ice pack at home and the peas aren't working so I freeze the tomato purée tube and wrap it round my finger. I know what’s needed, I've read enough online. I need an ice cube tray and diligence   peas (frozen) out, I'm off to do some sit ups and drink some wine, more of one.

Chris is sponsored by the material, leather.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Zippy's Traverse, Crag X[/td][/tr]

[/table]

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Moffatrocity, Crag X[/td][/tr]

[/table]



Source: I know where

[comPiler]

132 calories in a 330ml can of Heineken
15 May 2013, 10:11 pm

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Chris trying trying to Free the Monster, please stay dry![/td][/tr]

[/table]

10 days since the life ruiner, everyone's been real nice knowing it's my first. Iced/icing it to within an inch of it's life, hand buzzing with blood like it was cartoon radioactive (waa waa waa). Easy climbing and iBRUprofen gel. Tonight I climbed with some tape on and did some yellows at the works, absolutely buzzing (could it not even be a partial?). last night I went shoe-less to the Tor with recent Hull evacuee Lee Cooper, got him on the classics and tried to force him into loving it, he'll come round soon enough. Distracted from staring at potential filming positions I made embarrassing orgasmic noises encouraging some lad CRUSH Mecca sans knee-slags. Seems strange because it's obviously eliminate but it fits in with other anecdotes I hear "James flashed Rock Atrocity the Malc way", "Barrows did bear claw with a pad".

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]going once, going twice, and not sold to the paper boy in the green. Auctioneer 8a+.[/td][/tr]

[/table]

Did a bit of filming on a rope at the WCJ cornice, need a seat or access harness as it was a complete bastard on the old pins and the spine-in-a-bap.'Trad man' Oli has forgot his roots and been sports climbing. More films soon, hopefully not just of Oli though as yewtree will be all over me. 

from Guy Van Greuning on Vimeo.

When I try to express what it is about climbing I've become so obsessed about I write-then-delete write-then-delete, the space bar a game of pong with words like deep and simple appearing then gone. When I try to express what it feels like to climb the words bubble up from my stomach rather than the head, that's not a metaphor but how it actually feels. The metaphor would be that there is a cork in my throat preventing this lexicon vomit, a cork that can dissolved with beer, or something, I don't know....what is the cork made of? 

A great writer, and drunk, once said "you lose it if you talk about it", god knows what he meant I never met the man, but to me it can work in two ways - 1) a release of trauma or 2) a warning, to keep the indescribable exactly that and keep a fire in the belly. My favourite writing is one that puts you in their position, palm sweating. Unclesomebody's minute detailing and Alex Mason's grand missions. It feels as if the movement and action is put across but the reason for it is silent but shared, in Mason's case not so silent screaming FUCK YOU at Gogarth's coastline. 

http://www.unclesomebody.com/blog/?page_id=742

http://alexmasonclimbing.blogspot.co.uk/

I like this song, painfully hipster name AND it's a remix but when the real deal kicks in it's great. i'll try to use this in a video, however the start sort of hurts my ears? 

STI on saturday YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

In Your Room (Golden Ages Remix) by Ghost Animal

Source: I know where

[John K]

not quite there
23 February 2012, 9:45 pm





We spent another sunday at Anston one weekend but unfortunately it was just a tiny bit too wet to be able to climb properly without undeserved pings. I find these times the most frustrating as you can get by and bimble on but when you’re trying hard the scales just tip over into unusuable.  I would rather have a clear cut wash out then this to be honest because when we did eventually head to that beautful crag the Wave, dans le vallee du foundry, I had a doubt in my head that maybe I could of perservered in the damp.

In the time we were out of the inside James had a few goes on White light direct 8A+ which looked utterly beyond my comprehension, poor feet and poor hands at full extenstion, poor James. He made good progress and hopefully he’s done it now and just not told me yet. I have some footage from his Vanilla Sky send a few weeks back that I can put up once I have time.

Jo had done the 7A+ Berretta since my last trip so gave me some advice on the end. By using this and working my own bunched cross over for the mid way point I can do it in overlapping halfs. As far as bumscraping traverses go I quite enjoy this one, just don’t look down, the last big throw and thumb sprag ear being the highlights. The crimps on this problem were suffering badly with the humidity and I took an impressive spine first lob from the top move on more than one occasion. Im glad I have a pedigree in falling over in my skates as these tumbles don’t affect me much (they do later though, when im alone in the shower, crying)

I had last weekend free and both days pencilled in for rock action, however lady luck spat on my rose tinted glasses and it rained Saturday. Steve had nearly died at our house two days previosly in some form of fevour so was still completely quadraspazzed needing a lifeglug. He gave me a lift to the works and after meeting the annoyingly good Johnny and Gav climbed the new comp well set. Which is too hard and just too comp wall, y’know? Needless to say I sucked a fat one and went home. That evening had dinner with my dad for his birthday at the York in Broomhill and met his hypnotist girlfriend, he made her fall asleep at the table, im not sure I believe it as to me its like WWF wrestling, a slightly strange inclusive lie.



Sunday looked like a perfect Grit day and I was excited so shunned an offer by Chris Barr to go to anston and headed off with Joble to the west side! Jo wanted to do the 7A Too drunk at the Roaches and it after warming up we wandered over. It was bloody hot and the grit felt minging, still Jo nearly nearly did it but couldn’t keep her heel from popping off which led to a knackering cut-loose. James flashed this and did the 6C+ to the right in his trainers (naughty boy). We quite litterally hot footed it over to ramshaw where my dreams of grit evapourated trying a stupid bloody shit pointless sit start to an otherwise great right to left traverse under tierdrop. I had it and apart fom an enjoyable slope up Ossie’s Bulge cut my losses. James flashed tierdrop from sit and my camera ran out of battery as he did the heroic last move, I cant prove it but I blame the grit for this event as well. On the way home we went to the Gibb tor  and tried the 7A arete Stall. No exaggeration needed I think this problem is 7B or above, lovely arete but so very technical and hard to get established. All three of us felt a bit disheartened from the Grit so on the way home (actually we drove back on ourselves!) we went to Raven Tor which was dry and beautiful. Not long now you savage bastion of strength and I’ll be back again, safely suffering the delights of limestone stockholme syndrome.

GET IN!



Source: I know where

i always wanted to do that. i don't know when will get the chance..

[John K]

not quite there
23 February 2012, 9:45 pm





We spent another sunday at Anston one weekend but unfortunately it was just a tiny bit too wet to be able to climb properly without undeserved pings. I find these times the most frustrating as you can get by and bimble on but when you’re trying hard the scales just tip over into unusuable.  I would rather have a clear cut wash out then this to be honest because when we did eventually head to that beautful crag the Wave, dans le vallee du foundry, I had a doubt in my head that maybe I could of perservered in the damp.

In the time we were out of the inside James had a few goes on White flashlight direct 8A+ which looked utterly beyond my comprehension, poor feet and poor hands at full extenstion, poor James. He made good progress and hopefully he’s done it now and just not told me yet. I have some footage from his Vanilla Sky send a few weeks back that I can put up once I have time.

Jo had done the 7A+ Berretta since my last trip so gave me some advice on the end. By using this and working my own bunched cross over for the mid way point I can do it in overlapping halfs. As far as bumscraping traverses go I quite enjoy this one, just don’t look down, the last big throw and thumb sprag ear being the highlights. The crimps on this problem were suffering badly with the humidity and I took an impressive spine first lob from the top move on more than one occasion. Im glad I have a pedigree in falling over in my skates as these tumbles don’t affect me much (they do later though, when im alone in the shower, crying)

I had last weekend free and both days pencilled in for rock action, however lady luck spat on my rose tinted glasses and it rained Saturday. Steve had nearly died at our house two days previosly in some form of fevour so was still completely quadraspazzed needing a lifeglug. He gave me a lift to the works and after meeting the annoyingly good Johnny and Gav climbed the new comp well set. Which is too hard and just too comp wall, y’know? Needless to say I sucked a fat one and went home. That evening had dinner with my dad for his birthday at the York in Broomhill and met his hypnotist girlfriend, he made her fall asleep at the table, im not sure I believe it as to me its like WWF wrestling, a slightly strange inclusive lie.



Sunday looked like a perfect Grit day and I was excited so shunned an offer by Chris Barr to go to anston and headed off with Joble to the west side! Jo wanted to do the 7A Too drunk at the Roaches and it after warming up we wandered over. It was bloody hot and the grit felt minging, still Jo nearly nearly did it but couldn’t keep her heel from popping off which led to a knackering cut-loose. James flashed this and did the 6C+ to the right in his trainers (naughty boy). We quite litterally hot footed it over to ramshaw where my dreams of grit evapourated trying a stupid bloody shit pointless sit start to an otherwise great right to left traverse under tierdrop. I had it and apart fom an enjoyable slope up Ossie’s Bulge cut my losses. James flashed tierdrop from sit and my camera ran out of battery as he did the heroic last move, I cant prove it but I blame the grit for this event as well. On the way home we went to the Gibb tor  and tried the 7A arete Stall. No exaggeration needed I think this problem is 7B or above, lovely arete but so very technical and hard to get established. All three of us felt a bit disheartened from the Grit so on the way home (actually we drove back on ourselves!) we went to Raven Tor which was dry and beautiful. Not long now you savage bastion of strength and I’ll be back again, safely suffering the delights of limestone stockholme syndrome.

GET IN!



Source: I know where

i always wanted to do that. i don't know when will get the chance..

Actually Climbing is really interesting,but it requires huge efforts.

[comPiler]

The Alps: Being tired in scary situations
6 August 2013, 9:44 pm





First things first -

(Start with a bang, an exciting first delivery sentence to draw the reader in)

This was my first trip to the Alps and I shat myself, both figuratively and literally (you'll have to ask me about the latter when I see you)

It started off with a rush to catch several connecting trains after landing in Zurich, it quickly became apparent I would be playing the uncultured Englishman on this trip as my German and Italian were based on war films and the sopranos respectively - I couldn't order food but I could tell them to PUT UP YOUR HANDS NOW QUICKLY!

It was raining as we spiralled down the Moloja pass with clouds leaving us only with a view of wet pine trees. The bus took the corners in fine style, the Mercedes buses steer with all four wheels so you whip round them like on  a ride. Arriving is Vicosoprano campsite we realised we had no gas or the correct plug converters. Cold food and no brews ahoy, a theme set for the remaining weeks.

The next morning we headed up to the cable car at planzaira, in retrospect this spoiled us as we didn't realise the amount of leg work it removed by gliding up the sheer valley walls. Within minutes we were at the cable car terminus, the bottom of a relatively big damn, not golden eye but still impressive. The first climb I had a planned for us to warm up on was 'Via Felici' on the Spazzacaldera, a 9-pitch 'plasir' climb. Plasir means leisure and signals that the route has some bolts and bolt belays. The climb felt like cragging all in all but still felt a bit spicy on licheny granite with no gear. On pitch one I dropped Oli's camera, on pitch 6 I dropped my watch. I found his camera but my £8 Tesco investment was nowhere to be seen. The crux 6a pitch was a curving jamming crack that felt straight out of Almscliffe, so I found it desperate and cut my hand open just to make the comparison more valid. The route ends at the top of a detached pinnacle about the size of high tor, we abbed down into a notch and moved around to a loose gully to gain the summit jenga jumble. We were looking for the famous Fiamma, a needle-like tower on the summit which you climb then perch on while you bray your chest like the bloody adventurer you are. We couldn't find it and then in rained hard, finding shelter on the summit I thought we'd fucked up out first climb as we just couldn't see a way down through the mist. Thankfully it cleared just enough that we could see the exit gully and slid our way down the mountain  (well, spiky hill really, compared to what was to come)



The next day the Ol' Spazz was really busy so we moved further down the Albigna valley to Piz Frachiccio, expertly gaining height then losing it as we blindly headed across the boulder fields. Topos aren't great at features when the route is hundreds of meters long so after failing to find the start we took a gamble and decided that as the route was in a selected guide it would be a classic, as such we chose the route which had two parties just starting. All was well, yes the 3a felt 5c and the 5a - 6b but we were on our way in roughly the right direction. We were actually on the Kaspar Pillar (6b) it involved a steep, wet and loose corner filled with tottering chock stones (Oli's lead) and a beautifully long and easy bolted slab taking you direct to a second summit (my lead). As we were off route the descent notes made no sense and so it was time to fulfil an Alps rite of passage and abb off some shit. The threaded and loose boulder was just too shit though so we down climbed, running the rope through as we descended. This worked for the next abseil as well and it didn't look much further, ah no but the next ones steep as fuck and oh look it's now raining. 3 pegs, one good, two shit. I back up Oli with a wire and off he goes off no problem, I take out the nut and set off down then realise I weigh about 2 stone more than the youth. "It's all a game, just a game". 60 meters down through mist, nicely atmospheric, to a snow patch in trainers.



Catching the peasant wagon further down the valley we arrived in promotogno, stepping off the bus you look up and see first the mass of the Cengalo, with it's giant all seeing eye, then the jaw dropping Piz Badile which deserves a much better name (Badile meaning spade or shovel, to me it looks like a dorsal fin of a shark)

As I had read before from this viewpoint it looks so steep that even the ridge seems barely climbable and I felt a predictable knot tie itself firm in my stomach (this firmness would prove truly metaphorical later on)



The bondo campsite is under a school and has a nice a relaxed vibe

feel to it, i.e. no one about. Being Sunday we couldn't get any food so had a meal at the hotelin the village for a price more associated with anniversary dinners than a place where ants run over your knife and fork (great food though)

We were moving onto warm-up climbs stage 2, the Flat Iron ridge  on the Piza Gemelli. The walk up to the Sciora hut was brutal, unrelenting, torturous - all that stuff. In between weazing like a golden retriever in India I could see what a beautiful walk it was, you were walking with butterflys all the way, of all sizes and colours (disappointingly only one shape though). As the height increased so did the amount of mountains we could see until after one particularly painful set of switch backs we were greeted with the whole Sciora group, pleasingly pointed looking and Patagonian in their spikiness. There was lots of snow around still and I got to see my first glacier, I hadn't known they were that blue, positively glowing! After setting our bivy, lovely views, converted cellar etc, we made plans for the Flat Iron. We woke at 4.30 to some god awful song Oli chose and were on the glacier within an hour, all went fine aside from exiting the glacier onto smooth granite running with water which was bloody terrible in boots. The route itself went by smoothly, 13 or so pitches of flakey granite up a giant rounded arête, after abseiling down we spotted with envious eyes two dots on the 6c Iron Heart, a line striking through the middle of the big, clean but dark face. Stellar. While watching the Cengalo shrug off rock and snow at regular intervals in the morning we decided we would head back down in the morning for a financially advisable shopping trip to Chiavenna just over the border in Italy. Walking back down and spiraling through the switchbacks it felt as if you were a turd and the mountain was shitting you out, constantly moving at half-jog to save your knees.







Refuelled and now with charged up electronics, still no gas but heroic portions of tuna we set off up to Laret again but forked right for the Sasc-Fura hut. A steep steep chain featured walk brought us to the charming hut, it felt like an expertly maintained peak cottage, clean and spotless in comparison to us knackered and gopping. After eating Rosti, cheese and bacon it was still another hour or so to our bivy under the Badile's notch in the ridge. On the recce the approach ledges for the north east face routes looked really hazardous and even the Spanish Wads looked unsure of themselves. Talking it over we made a choice to leave the Cassin and do the North Ridge in consolation, deciding to be cautious being our first time in the alps.

4.30am and shook ones part 2 starts playing (yes, cool) but we're already out of our sleeping bags and hurriedly putting on harnesses like on a game show. Hiking up through the first snow patch we are caught up by two British lads Rick and Tom. There ensues a race to be the first on the ridge, it gives us a great pace and by the time the sun breaks over the first distant peak we are all on around pitch 4. This worked really well and made the whole climb a much more social affair, after the initial rush we just pitched together, pooling knowledge and sometimes leap frogging each other as someone dared to run a few pitches together. The climbing was interesting, especially the 'difficult slab', but nothing to write home about, however the position was outrageous and you really felt the exposure. After a while an American Guide and his clients caught us and we slipstreamed him for a bit, he pulled away but we caught up with him later on on the summit ridge as it weaves through and around towers. Though I did feel an achievement at the summit it felt odd because I had always pictured us getting there via the Cassin route, after saying goodbye to the Americans we reversed our steps to the first abseil ring and a long but smooth journey back down the 20 or so abseils. Adhere to the guides suggestion and you won't go wrong, "stay as direct on the ridge as you can, the rings are every 50m" they proved to be closer together than this so we skipped plenty. Upon reaching the notch of the ridge we went and had a look at the ledges across to the face routes, the blocks had broken up and had slid somewhat creating a pathway through to the other side. We sat down and stared for a long time, without much further discussion it was decided we'd attempt a crossing early the next morning to try Another day in Paradise. I went to bed after a 14 hour day knowing the day after was going to be even harder.









We gave ourselves a lie in 'till 5.30 but were woken up by the weekend masses heading to the mountain through the boulders. The steeper snow patch  was much easier with the pre-kicked steps and before any time we were making a small abseil from the notch down to the ledges,  dawn broke on the tip of the Piz Badile. Eyeing up our intended path we snaked in between the sleeping giants and made it through, breathlessly running up a slab it felt like running from the police. The second snow barrier would need to be tackled internally and without much thought Oli crawled through and I followed, the tunnel proving only just big enough as while you slid along the wet on your belly your rucksack scraped away at the ice above you. We emerged from a hole in the middle and traversed the rock underneath, victorious, the climb felt inconsequential now these obstacles had been crossed after months of doubt. Identifying the quartz vein that symbolised the start of the route we roped up and tried to relax. I had a pang of jealousy looking across a little further to the teams starting up the Cassin, later this would turn into pity as they got caught up in queues and almost certainly wet chimneys.







The first pitch also brings with it the first crux, the crux pitches are graded 6b but we thought them between 6b+ - 6c+, however we may have lost perspective with the added variables of gear etc. Oli cruised it like an 8b climber on 6c should, following up I was less smooth but just as happy to be executing actual moves rather than shuffling up easy angled terrain. I lead through onto a 5c+ pitch and was almost stumped by a move through an overlap, thankfully a 5 inch adjustment on an undercut gave my tips just enough purchase to pull up but not before the first 'watch me' of the trip. The route is bolted well, especially on the crux pitches, but throughout the 5 and low 6 pitches you are faced with heroic runouts between bolts with gear a concept rather than a reality. Helpfully these runouts didn't really dawn on you until you were stood on nubbins with wet hands. The climbing style, intricate slab, you could really climb anywhere so just followed the bolts. Some people wouldn't like these line-less pitches but I do like them, really like them. I have often felt hemmed in by the tramlines of more traditional features like corners and cracks. Basically - You're fingermantelling onto a flake as wide as your nail and as long as your middle finger, concentrating and breathing hard as you try to get a big toe anchored to this feature, weight it and roll upwards. You then stand up on this tiny perch and look up at the next bolt glinting in the distance then down at the billowing arc of your ropes to the last one you've clipped 'was it an old one, I can't remember'. Sometimes you look beyond the bolt, past Oli hanging on the belay and down to the cracked glacier, your eyes sweep along this feature as it ramps up the neighbouring mountain Cengalo, as you do this your vision zooms out and bit by bit you realise where you are. A speck of dust on a towering giant. You look down at your toes, 'fuckin' hell my bastard feet hurt'. Repeat.



As we came up to the final easy pitches my feet gave way and the boiling pain flooded in with every step, barefoot on hedgehogs. I started cursing Oli, why wasn't he destroyed too??? Thankfully he wasn't and could lead the tottering choss pitches while I slipped on my trainers. Apart from my feet I was just totally and utterly exhausted. The Ab down was punctuated with sleeps at every station, with a final lie down at the notch, my body was shutting down and I couldn't even speak. I had my last energy gel (some shit from Holland and Barrett, avoid) and put my boots on we'd stowed away. I won't dwell on the descent as I'd like to learn what I can and forget that feeling, stumbling dangerously, unthinking and wild. At the bivy we just sat there panting like dogs, I had no appetite and just patiently waited for the chlorine to work on the melt water, my head was empty and I was thinking of nothing.









Later in the evening while sat there with a thousand yard stare a spaniard walks up on his recce of the 'spiggolo' and quizzes us for info, I get the distinct feeling we look rough as fuck and it feels like that scene at the start of Platoon (you know the one). We've had our turn, and now it's someone else's, individual battles in team after team.



For the rest of remaining days we ate lots and tried to avoid walking uphill at all costs. The airport sucked, all the flies were attracted to us and the Swiss cleaned allllllllllll night.





Source: I know where

[comPiler]

The onset of ADHD in adulthood
6 August 2013, 9:44 pm

I haven’t been able to write, I had wrote bits down here are there but linking them together felt tiresome and boring, bored just reading ‘what I gone and done’. I’d like to just put the various pieces on the table, they wont fit or be in the right order but it doesn’t matter as the game got played and everyone left happy.

There was something strange about Trollers Gill with it being a dried up riverbed. It didn’t feel like a place where you could stay long as the river felt just around the next bend, hushed up and waiting. Although it’s an oxymoron the stones really did look freshly water worn. This and the fact it was my first day back sport climbing after fingergeddom made me tense, I was going to get wet or broken. This narrow ravine nestled away in the Yorkshire dales has a compact and undercut sidewall with lots of good 7s and if I spied the line right a stellar hard route of Nik Jennings’ recent creation, the classic 7a Jim Grin was polished and had smooth climbing, it must have been an amazing trad route . The climbing was good and everyone had a great time, you should go. That evening we went to Gordale , being my first time I couldn’t contain an excited "fuuuuckkkinn’ hell" as rounding the corner it came into view, this has to be one of the best crag-reveals ever as until the very last moment you don’t know what’s coming*. Oli set off up Cave Route right hand in gusting wind,  so much so that him calling down for slack was met with the wind taking him in tight. I wish I could blame all my short roping on nature. Save one fist-fight in the upper crack he blitzed it and it was a shame he’d completely fucked it up the week before. Tim and I did Last dog, an hor dourve 7b on the bottom of a big wall with a big route on it called Pierrepoint. Tim led it the strong way and I the way where I desperately try to put my toe upside down in a peg scar to get any purchase. To the left of the cave routes there is a massive route called Supercool. That’s the one, that’s the dream route right there, 40m or so of technical 8a+ climbing in a setting that makes climbing look like warfare, on horseback.

*a technique normally attributed to sea cliffs, when you’ve abbed in and can’t swallow the frog in your throat as even the HVS looks steeper than hunter house road **

**where Jerry lived

With sport and bouldering off the agenda for a time I embarked upon a sort-of-easy trad campaign in the last month, starting off with a day in the shade of Millstone. I hadn’t done Great North Road before which seemed a glaring omission for a climb so close to home.A big grit pitch and a proper route. Emlyn and I then headed down into the sweltering hole of Lawrencefield, suffice to say Emlyn spent 30 minutes on the suspense crimp rail seeing how long it takes for different things to melt, things like rubber and belayers. I couldn’t say for definite but I’m sure the pool was bubbling.

10 meters in I’d used all my slings. 35 meters in, having placed shit gear, I realised I hadn’t brought up any medium wires. 40 meters in beneath the crux I realised I didn’t put in any gear before the insitu ‘bolt’ and thread. 45 meters in I slowly slid off, grating down a small bulge before finally taking a diagonal running flight waiting for a museum piece to hold my fall. I’d just fucked up Darius, a climb I’d been waiting years to try. Escaping off to the debauchery belay I lowered down on Simon’s victory ropes grumbling like a schoolboy with bad vibes , I then abbed off the end of the rope...

If this was the lesson, consider it taught. I don’t need any replays or more realistic injuries, this will do fine. 10ft and a commando roll is enough to make me daydream of ropes slipping through belay devices and bodies tumbling through space. No matter how high you’ve been riding it does always come as a surprise when a bad day knocks you on your arse. Exciting plans feel like scary prospects and improving injuries become stagnant ailments. Of course everything is the same, I’ve just cracked my head, but there is nothing like a cathartic blog spew to clear the rumbling grey matter; with that I WANT YOU TO IMAGINE STORM CLOUDS

As far as I can tell the human desire to wonder, speculate and discuss is crushed by daily work. I am now a basic trio of action, sleep, work and play. In an attempt to reignite a part of the brain long gone I send waves of nostalgic thoughts down through the synapses, however these sparks are dampened and become squibs with the main-brain counterpointing this expedition with brutally real questioning, “how will you ever pay rent?”

You can see yourself on the bus looking out of the window and actually sense you are thinking of nothing, unfortunately not in any meditative way but rather like the beady-orange-eyed pigeon perched on the bus stop. You cannot force character into pidgeons like you can with other creatures, they seem to deflect all personification in their desperation. Except woodcots, woodcots are little priests.  

     

Source: I know where

[comPiler]

...and then he poured another drink
21 October 2013, 9:24 pm

I look up and notice that the popular talent show is on, I look back down at the computer screen and continue to tongue at the pain on the roof of my mouth, this being the better of the two options. Craning my neck over I hear that noise again and let out a child size sigh. One of the drawbacks of having a skylight is that you're painfully aware of when it's raining, especially that heavy globule type rain. It's hard to not get down when both your hobbies rely on okay weather, not even great weather just run of the mill average weather (average for Southern France maybe). I check my log to see what I've been doing, bring up some memories and ground myself.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Context[/td][/tr]

[/table]

After the Alps trip I was at a loss as to what I was doing really, I took so much time in planning it feels like an empty void where all that excitement was now it's over. I knew what to do, head out to the grit and find some local soul, get psyched by home again. After a quick trip to Minus Ten and Stanage I was happy to be back in Sheffield again, sure it was hot as hell but the crags were dry. If at the start of the week I was beaming by end I was melancholy, a trip to Gordale and attempts on Pierrepoint had left me terrified with every clip feeling like a gripper. I was climbing like Pinocchio before the cricket got all up his grill. I wouldn't have felt so bad but Shrew was climbing annoyingly well, the antithesis, the bastard. Our parallel lines only meeting upon an inspection of 'Green Lipped Muscle' (climbs through a hole above a waterfall) both equally fazed by the position and state of the river we scampered back down the Tolkien steps, wild just doesn't cover it.

Back at home and work I thought about my terrible mental state in Yorkshire and put it down to being scared of falling again, on the Badile slab it meant potential 30 metre falls so this must have reinstated old fears of falling onto bolts, or I just didn't trust Shrew. It got me thinking about the trust we place in each other and also equipment, I reasoned no one really thinks about it too much and just gets on with it, with that I stopped looking at my quickdraws, tapped up well known' bold alpinist Malcolm Scott' and went to Raven Tor. My sort-of-siege-but-not-quite project has been the route 'Obscene Gesture' straight up the perma dry wall. The sequence felt familiar and Malcolm liked it too. First go I felt diazepam chilled but dropped it out of shock at nearly cracking the crux. So I sit down and cool my hands, talk about cheese or something and belay Malc, it will go next time, I don't even dwell on it.

Gurning at the undercuts again, stood on a belay ledge I stick thumb in the hole and pinch, move feet on smear and the little edge take the weight off your left hand by pulling in with the thumb/pinch, release from undercut and reach out for small layaway, pull on this to move weight onto left foot letting the right foot leave the smear and flag, reach up for good hole with left hand and then tinker around connecting dots of footholds until the crux is finished. There you go, now imprinted on my mind for who knows how long, I do wonder what useful memory nugget has been pushed out of the grey mass to make room for that now redundant sequence. I've since been back to try Obscene Toilet but didn't like the crux, the tor feeling fades...

After that I went to Majorca with my girlfriend, fell off 7as into luke warm bath water then boiled any internal water out of my skin sleeping in the hotel room. Once they stopped us on our sly booze runs it was just a fancy prison with less desirable clientèle. I enjoyed the beach party though, sand and drink is like rhubarb and custard.

On the filming front I got to watch/badly film Nathan nonchalantly cruise the second ascent of Inspiration Dedication in the Burbage South quarries, amateur media circus in effect. A heavily padded trip to Baslow/curbar provided some out of condition sends of Grand Potatoe and White Water. Unfortunately I puntered my preparation and ran out of batteries before I could film Mark of El Vino slab running fame perform some modern day dawesism on the crux of white water, 3 times in a row. Momentum is where it's at on that angle, sort of cheating when you can control gravity (you do it through stern looks apparently). A visit to hen cloud with ex-never-was-a-patriot Steve Ramsden and Oli Gunner grounstar saw me not even tie on for borstal breakout and film them gently climb the scary looking B4 XS. My first trip to the Churnet yielded no ticks but some lovely footage of  Thumbelina and Inaccessible. In between filming other things I'm slowly collecting footage for Gritual and as long as I can hold back from making an edit I should have a nice haul by the end of the season. I just like the idea of small edits with good feeling, it might just be my short concentration span.

As for the blog title, Hemingway drank didn't he? He was a dick too though, right.

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Emlyn with stirrups on[/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]A commited slimline whale on B4 XS [/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]looking for spare change to supplement his paper round on White Water [/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]he has bad days but on his good days everyone wants to be him[/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]John on Thumbelina (video still)[/td][/tr]

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[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]Second pitch, Inaccesible, not really but fuck! how good would that be![/td][/tr]

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Tubthumpingly good

Source: I know where

[comPiler]

I've had 2 over 57
26 February 2014, 4:47 pm

When I lived in Hull our nearest crag was Almscliff and as the nights grew longer we'd head out after work in Lee's van. Normally I'd end up in the back for the journey and rolling around would try and construct a fort out of pads and down jackets to avoid death by plain saw. Over the course of the years heading to the cliff for these sessions it produced three prominent Nemesis' that bobbed above the waves like seals in an ocean of failed projects.

The Gypsy top out

Syrett's Roof

Pebble Wall

None held mighty grades and i'd climbed harder on paper but each problem with it's own peculiarity would knock me down and leave me gasping, scared, or scared gasping.

Four years down the way i'm in Sheffield and visit the cliff only once a year like a relative. This year due to the rainageddon it seemed inevitable we'd head there and sure enough a large contingent waded over the tribal barriers into yorkshire and headed across the muddy entrance as a roman padded tortoise, hoping to break the ramparts with pads and chalk.

The last time I was on the Gypsy I slipped off the undercut with my heeltoe in place, reeling back my ankle clicked through the upside down spin degree by degree, Lee pulled me up and we laughed at the prospect.

"Can you spot me close here, i've got a thing about this move"  

The problem felt easy and flowing around the arete at the top I held the jug and lunged for the rounded hold, right at the back in the sandy gutter, high left foot and in one swift movement you are saved from power and lumped with balance. playful slap for the top I know is good and I'm running up the slab, lost as to where to go.

"Bob, Bob guess what I did?"

At Syrett's roof I could see the old game being played out, rock rock retreat, rock rock repeat. Internal worries can be seen on the face of those present, weighing up desire to finish the problem with the level of gas left in the tank for other tricks. I wasn't bothered, I'd REALLY had it with that roof but Duncan had just his own first session so wanted more, the sapling. The first go felt the same as always bar feeling stronger through the roof, another 4 goes with the same result but each time the potatoe hold felt better, like someone has shaved it's rounded top (not chipped). Rocking around the final time I looked back under the roof and plonked my redundant left roof on the other side of the undercut, bounced back into the rock over and felt 3 feet higher.

"Bob, Bob guess what I just did?"

I was happy enough at this point and just had the annual flash go on the Dolphin's belly, I only made it giggle the first time through but slapped it proper to seal the dolphin for a whale of time. hmm.

Pebble Wall, you'd cut me up and spat me out more times than i've cooked the mrs dinner (achievable in one session I should add). But not this time! I remember Sophie's beta from 2008 or something and this time I was going to use it. left hand jam in break, step through right foot, heel into cup, point toe out and towards the cow shit and break this scrum surging upwards tweaking the crag grabbing the crescent.

"Bob, Bob guess what I've done?"

"Shut up Guy"

The camera stayed in the bag all day so for this day of days that I will always remember I'll have to try and do just that.

In the pub a few weeks later Bob was worried about about the action of people consuming problems, on this day I didn't feel like a marauding tick artist it was more like saying bye to old friends.

Source: I know where

[fatneck]

Great stuff! 

[tomtom]

Remember Guy - one day the cliff giveth.. for the next year it taketh away

[comPiler]

Redpointing at various bars and clubs
28 May 2014, 7:28 pm

It began innocently, a brief introduction by a friend, both of us just out of short term relationships. Neither of us knowing how it would end or if it would become anything serious, just a play. As time went by I got to know her better, gaining ground and making progress. There was just one part of her I couldn't figure out, I was stumped and after one evening where I threw all I had at her I was left broken, she just stood there resolute. I tried to put her to back of my mind, there were so many others in this country, with a different style and character. I went to Wales and forgot about her, played with the locals who scared me but never hurt me. It was some time later that I found myself back around her place, the venue buzzing with people, then I saw her with another suitor. I can't say I wasn't jealous, they were getting on really well but sure enough they began looking as confused as I had been, when they eventually slinked off I couldn't resist. I reintroduced myself and we quickly made up, got back to where we were but this time I knew how she worked, had her all figured out before I set foot near her. I was a different person and for this one time everything clicked, she let me move and our feet moved in time, no fumbles or falls in the silent music.

It's over now, nothing serious, been over for a while but I still think of her.

I walked past a few days later and saw her with another, a young girl from the south, while I looked at them doing the same dance we'd enjoyed not so long ago, I noticed her friend to the side. She looked a touch more difficult and with a blanker expression. I needed to know more, I need to figure her out.

"Malcolm, what are you doing thursday after work?"

[tr][td][/td][/tr][tr][td]a crag for punters[/td][/tr]

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Source: I know where