-
Blog on (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/09/blog-on.html)
12 September 2011, 10:27 pm
Sat on the coach to Heathrow, it struck me that I hadn't felt so nervous since I took my driving test, ten years ago to the month. It took me some time to identify the source of this anxiety. Sure, I was worried about finding someone to climb with, staying injury free, coping with loneliness, having enough money, and turning out of LAX onto an 8 lane highway in an automatic, but even the sum of these did not explain how I was feeling. More than these, for the next 9 months I am a full-time climber. I have no job and no fixed abode.
Obviously the best solution for this upheaval is to actually go climbing. I headed to yosemite and befriended David in camp 4. David is a softly spoken physicist from Seattle. Reserved, intelligent and astute, he also makes these mini-shrieks when he's trying hard, acting as a cue to increase encouragement.
Climbing with David, it soon became clear that I am Shit on granite.I have a lot to learn. I pull too hard with my arms, but if I put any more weight through my feet, they start to creep on the slick edges. In spite of this difficulty, climbs were climbed and progress was made.
This progress culminated in one of the best days cragging I've ever had. The cookie cliff: we started with waverly wafer (5.11a), hard because of a traditional wide section followed by some laybacking, which leaves you at a ledge from which two of the best pitches I've ever done depart. First we did butter balls (5.11c). David slayed a seasons-long project in doing this splinter finger crack, which I also just scraped up. Next up was wheat thin. If this flake-line was made from anything but the soundest granite it would have already crumbled to pieces, its just so thin. Laybacking this provides strenuous and exhilarating fun, just remember to pull gently!
We finished with another finger-crack, butter balls (5.11a), and the British style crack-a-go-go (5.11c), before the rain stopped play.
Pleasure in climbing manifests from many things, but classic routes, the feeling of progress and new friends is a sublime combination.
I'm meeting Katy and Ryan off their flight to LAX tmrw. I don't know where we're going yet, maybe tuolumne and the high sierra before they're too cold, or to the needles, which every American I've asked speaks so highly of, yet no one seems to have been there.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-1982622466622407785?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
The Needles (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/09/needles.html)
19 September 2011, 10:39 pm
After suffering various flight delays, and difficulties in us communicating, Katy and Ryan picked me up from LAX, where they had landed several hours previously. Sure, they initially drove off without me, thinking I was in Pete, vicky and Paul's car, but they promptly turned around on discovering that I had been temporarily abandoned. I had the pleasure of meeting Adam 8c Jee in the car also, a fellow mental health nurse who I had heard about but never met.
After a nocturnal shift behind the wheel, Ryan delivered us to the wild camping spot for the needles. Jet lagged and sleep deprived, the other 3 occupants of the car collapsed into a 16 hour slumber.
Jee was keen to climb with me the following day. We started with the 2 pitch classic Thin Ice (5.10b). This went smoothly, Jee even seemed to enjoy the odd jam, but avoided the thrutchy b-chimney using sport climbers laybacking and knee bars.
The next route, the Don Juan Wall (5.11b), features 5 pitches of crack climbing. Jee cope well with this, but after pitch 3 he was overtly nearing his capacity for adventure trad multipitching.
The next pitch was given the easiest grade, but conversely came close to spitting me off twice, only succumbing to an exciting swing way out left to a laybacking flake. Despite his obvious discomfort, Jee cope well with this pitch too, but shortly after I topped out, things began to go awry.
Due to a double roof and insufficient extending of my runners, the rope became jammed at the first roof. To make things more exciting, at this point the sun decided to race for the horizon. I abseiled down to free the rope, and belated Jee from an intermediate relay below the second roof. I re-lead tuition top out again. The rope re-jammed, this time at the second roof. I re-ab'd. When Jee joined me on the pre-summit ledgethe rope chose to snake into a crevice and wedge itself again. Impervious to any amount of pulling, and with darkness encroaching and two abseils ahead of us to descend, I opted to down-solo tion free this third jam. This required a moment of panic and a mighty heave for success, with visions of us being trapped on top filling my imagination.
We avoided any mistakes while descending and touched down in the post dusk gloom. Our lack of headtorches (punter error!) Made the complex scramble back to the trail more stressful than it needed to be, but the moon kindly illuminated the 2.5 mile walk back to our tents.
The latter part of the experience had obviously been emotional for Jee, and I felt bad for having dragged him through it. Nonetheless I was impressed by his resilience and determination, especially while navigating the complex scree and talus using the light from his phone.
Despite my years off narrowly escaping benighted, this certainly pushed me pretty far.
My impression of the adventurous nature of climbing at the needles was reinforced the following day. Perhaps I should have heeded greater warning from the gothic names of the formations: the magician, the sorcerer, and the warlock, duo not indicate amenable days out!
Pete and I climbed love potion #9, 5.10a, an exciting but steady route up run out slabs on scoop, chicken heads and knobs. To descend, the topography showed a bolt belay to aim for, from where we could ab again to the floor. I did a 50m ab, but no belay materialized, only ancient single bolts. I spotted an alternative belay, down to the right, and decided to take a gamble that the ropes would reach.
I ran out of rope with the bolts by my feet. Without other preferable options, I undid the knot in the end of the rope, clipped into the belay,and abseiled off the end of the rope. I actually abseiled off the end of the rope! Obviously I only did this as it was adequately controlled, but the ludicrous idea of it all made my giggle, in that way that getting away with silly risks often does.
That was all the climbing I did at the needles. I can see why its a backwater, even amongst the yanks. The combination of wild camping in a forest clearing without any supply of water, unreliable topos, exhausting approaches, long rougtes, tough jamming cracks and solitude appears to repel more people than it attracts.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-3605505631061234746?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Not the B-Y (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/10/not-b-y.html)
11 October 2011, 9:41 pm
The Bachar-Yerian, for those who don't know, is regarded as the classic hard frightener of California, if not the usa. Despite some effort, Dan and I did not climb this. Which came as quite a surprise to us, given the bold wall climbing we've done and the handy supertopo grade table making it sound about French 6c. This goes to show how wrong I can be.
Persuaded by the guide that the sun would be on the wall from mid morning, we decided an early start would not provide any better conditions. The sun was just coming onto the wall when we arrived at 11.30, having evidently wasted the primo conditions of the day. Dan won paper scissors stone and took the first pitch. He split a tip (more a surgical gash than a split) and had to lower off. Using Dan's beta I got through the crux and kept going through the dangerous part, which felt a good E6 in its own right. I lowered off the second pitch, having climbed down after scaring myself high above a bolt, lost in a sea pc knobs. Some of these weird identical protrusions are tiny crimps, but most are only there to deceive you into thinking they may offer a hold. Ryan P, we later found out, took a 70ft fall from this pitch when he went off route and snapped a hold. We beat a hasty retreat.
Neither Dan nor I took this particular failure particularly well. It's obvious that failure is the essential contrast that makes success meaningful and stops victory from being hollow, but i find this cold comfort when I want to do a route. For me, post failure blues is brought on because I assessing my climbing ability as not good enough. However, sat in camp 4, I realised the futility of basing an evaluation on a route I have no prior experience of. It's a bit like choosing the yardstick against which to measure yourself without knowing how long a yard is. By getting on the route I learnt some of its idiosyncratic challenges. If the route then turns out to be too hard for you, it only disproved your preconceptions. Our perception of the B-Y was wrong from the start, and we are still the same climbers.
That route deserves some respect, and I have been left strangely proud to have been on it. It was still a great experience, but one that starved the ego to feed the soul.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-5167263075685350486?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
The 5.11c trilogy (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/10/511c-trilogy.html)
16 October 2011, 4:25 pm
It seems that a lot of climbing areas have trios of routes to aspire to. There's the Yorkshire limestone triple crown, three bold aretes at Stanage Plantation, the alpine trilogy of f8b+'s... similarly, yosemite has three long adventure routes, all graded 5.11c (as in the previous post, trying to convert this grade into British money will not give an accurate indication of what these routes are about.)
First up was the Rostrum. 8 pitches of sustained and strenuous crack climbing, with a few cruxes and two off-widths thrown in for good measure. We again played paper scissors stone for first lead. I was initially exuberant at losing to Dan, as it meant he would lead the crux and both off-widths. This glee quickly disappeared when I checked the topo and realised that actually all the cruxes abnd off-widths were on my pitches. I made Dan promise to lead the second offwidth, to give me a break.
The crux went swiftly, the harder offwidth was like watching a wild animal trying to escape from a vice, Dan got some tough pitches to keep things fair, and the top offwifth turned out to be easy (disappointing so, as I wanted to see Dan struggle like I had on the first one).
Second up was Astroman, a classic amongst classics, abnd deservedly so. So many famous pitches, with some evocative names: the endurance corner, the boulder problem, changing corners, and the Harding slot. Oh the Harding slot! Or Harding slut, which seems a more accurate name to me, given how's much of a whore it is to squirm through this narrow fissure. I am certainly no Tom Randall. I unashamedly slumped onto the rope 3 times before handing over the lead to Dan, having failed to gain entry to the narrow slot. Dan succeeded on his fourth attempt, and with a tight rope talked me through the series of jams and pressure moves to make progress. The upper part of the slot is too tight to fall out of, but almost too tight to make any measurable upwards progress. Now I'm pretty slight, but the possibility of becoming a permanent fixture seemed very real from within its confines.
The rest of the route went without incident, but continued in the vein of stout and strenuous crack climbing until you are sat on the very top of the cliff.
With 2 down and one to go, we hiked into the west face of el capitan. In some ways this doesn't feel like a proper el cap route, it certainly is not a big wall. Still, it comes in at about 600 metres of climbing, but atypically for yosemite, little of this is pure crack climbing.
Being carless, we decided to walk in and bivvy the night before. The base of the route is high above the valley floor and makes for a great spot to bed down. Embarrassing though, we were still beaten onto the route by Neil M and Hazel F. They arrived warm from the steep hike as we struggled to coordinate cold limbs. We matched their pace until high on the route where two pitches were soaked by drainage from recent rain. This wetness cost both teams time, and it was with some alarm that I realised we had 30 minutes of light left and four pitches above us. Dan and I simul-climbed to try and heat the encroaching darkness. Despite running out 100m of the route we still lost, and finished the final 100m by headtorch. My second benightment in 5 weeks.
On topping out el catp we took the 8 mile trail back to camp 4, unsure if we could find the much faster east ledges descent in the darkness.
As well as giving great climbing and a thought challenge, these routes were great training. That's a total of 39 pitches of extra granite climbing on everything from finger crack to full body squirm, thin slabs and thuggy roofs, leading I'm blocks, efficient change overs and hauling a day bag. In spite of my previous post full of amateur philosophizing about searching for lessons in failure, I've had a lot more fun improving myself whilst ticking does great classics!
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-5999762413026814843?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
NIAD (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/10/niad.html)
17 October 2011, 9:23 pm
When I was 16 I was given an old On The Edge magazine, OTE 39. Aside from a fantastic bio of big Ron, the best article in it was "you want to climb the nose in a day?". This was both a how to guide, and an aspirational peice. The same day that I was given this magazine, I was happy to climb Tiger at burbage south, which, if you know the problem may give you an impression of how far removed my ability or ambition was from being able to climb the nose at all, let alone in 24 hours. In spite of its lack of immediate relevance to me at the time, the article obviously struck a chord as I remembered to tear out the pages and bring them with me.
Dan pointed out to me that the number of pitches we were doing per day had increased, from 8, to 12, to 19. With this observation combined with the seed planted years before, it became inevitable what we would try next.
After considering almost every point over the 24 hour clock, Dan began climbing the nose at 0320. Climbing by a full moon was eerie but exciting. Making fast progress meant we passed a sleeping team in the night, and two more pairs just as they were waking on dolt tower, 11 pitches up. At this point we stashed our abseil cord on the ledge to collect it another day. No retreat would be possible from now on, no discussion was needed. We were committed to the top.
We climbed doing everything we could to maintain momentum. Free climbing, pulling on gear or bolts, aid, standing in slings or on each other, anything was fair game. By 1130 we had climbed 20 of the 31 pitches, although this point is often regarded as the half way mark timewise.
Then the sun turned on us. Every surface reflected the heat onto us, our fingers and toes stung, our mouths dried up and our progress slowed. Some pitches, like the great roof, are inherently slow to climb, but others that should have been quick free climbs became protracted frigging exercises. We lost our drive to go fast, only continuing as we had no choice. Darkness eventually gave us some respite from the heat, but we remained toasted by it. Even though the climbing looked world class, it was with a weary obligation that we continued through constant pain. Every action was coloured by dehydration. We knew at this point that we would complete the route within 24 hours due to our earlier speed, but just getting off the route was the only goal we now cared for.
We found some water, which is sometimes left by big wall parties who have more than they need. We both greedily drank a litre but our mouths were dry again within a minute. 3 pitches from the top, I told Dan that I would happily abseil 28 pitches in preference to continue, if only we had the option.
On topping out at 2300 we shook hands, out of habit rather than celebration. We descended by the eastern ledges, bitching about the whole experience. We were interrupted at one time by Dan's watch alarm, informing us that we had now been awake for 24 hours.
The next day my body was in tatters. My fingers were too swollen to make a fist. We hitched to el cap to retrieve some kit. Stood in the meadow, I could barely comprehend what I could see with the previous days experience. Features that I had seen before now had a new meaning and context. My internal monologue was screaming "i damm well climbed that!" On repeat. It was really hard to reconcile the vast scale of El Capitan with, well, me.
Dan and I had been quite coy about out objective of the nose in a day whilst around camp 4. Inevitably however, lots of people knew our plans. Their kind congratulations, and knowing that some of them had driven to the meadow to watch our progress, all helped erode the memories of discomfort, and allow their replacement with a deep and personal satisfaction.
Although the praise from others his always nice to hear, and I think it is important in itself, it also helped me to put the day into perspective. Our friends helped me to refocus my thoughts on the good parts, rather than dwell exclusively on the discomfort and pain we endured to get there.
Doing the nose was amazing. It just took a little while for it to sink in.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-7449264185258018154?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Taking it easy and some thoughts on camp 4 (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/11/taking-it-easy-and-some-thoughts-on.html)
19 November 2011, 12:54 am
No big routes have gone down since Dan and I had our NIAD adventure, certainly nothing of that calibre. Initially after this we were both content to take it very easy, until the final days of the trip when Dan managed to throw himself off a perfectly protected crack climb while clipping, hitting the starting ledge straight legged. The resulting diagnosis of a fractured heel didn't stop him from hobbling around San Francisco without the aid of his crutches, frustrated by being slowed down by them. It was amusing to see the sudden change in this attitude as he approached the check-in desk for his flight home. With his bags overweight, Dan played all his sympathy cards at once: crutches in full use, hobbling, wincing at each step. This facade, combined with his gentlemanly charm, had the desired effect, as he placed an extra bag in the hold without charge.
Following Dan's departure there was a change in my motivation, away from big routes and towards single pitching and bouldering. Dan and I had our ambitions, abilities and approach to climbing closely aligned. It was on the strength of this that we climbed a lot of our big objectives together. I guess its natural for this to be followed by a bit of a lull.
Fortuitously, the remainder of team UK were mostly happy to go at a steady pace too. Long mornings were spent drinking coffee in the lodge with Katy and Ryan, hazel and Spidey.
Around this time the valley emptied dramatically as autumn took hold. My days activities appeared to fall in line with these quieter and more serene surroundings.
We packed up and left for Joshua Tree early in November, a few hours ahead of a forecasted storm. After a total of six weeks in the valley I was ready for pastures new, but curiously I also felt a surprising degree of sadness at leaving a place that had begun to feel like home.
Camp 4 is a curious place. Materially, its a pretty awful campsite. No showers, grim toilets, rocky ground, and a thousand brazen critters all competing to steal your food. And if that's not enough, the greatest hazard comes from the park rangers, the unsympathetic enforcers of the national park's myriad rules and regulations.
Although I have some sympathy for the principles behind some of the rules, their enforcement by the rangers often feels over zealous. I agree, for instance, with the reasoning of having a maximum stay in the park per year, to ensure all potential visitors can visit while maintaining some semblance of wilderness without overcrowding. But enforcing this so stringently when the park is almost empty doesn't benefit anyone. I believe in operating within the spirit of the rules, rather than following them to the letter. For a ranger however, I can imagine that giving a dirtbag climber an inch frequently results in them taking a mile. Either way, the result of the current situation is a pain in the arse for everyone. Climbers inevitably find ways to cheat the system (I stayed in the park for two weeks longer than allowed, for example), and the rangers continue to have a harder job because of it. It would probably be nicer for both sides if some of the rules that inherently villify climbers were changed. The rangers could work on their sense of humour a little too.
Set against such a background, its amazing that camp 4 provides such a healthy scene for climbers. Perhaps its because of its place in American climbing history, or just the people who spend their time in the valley. The people I met in camp 4 created a kind of microcosm of what nurtures progress in climbing: encouragement, the passing on of knowledge, inspiration, and speaking to people with first hand experience of your dream route. That everyone contributes to this effect in others seems to create a sense of community.
Camp 4 also seems to act as a refuge for those who don't fit in anywhere else. While there, I met several lost souls, eccentrics, and at least one seriously deluded folk, all of whom seemed to find some temporary solace there. People who I cannot imagine being accepted in a big city were easily accommodated by the irreverent and liberal residents of camp 4.
I suppose its not a great surprise that I developed such an attachment to the place, given my lack of any other current home, the duration I was there, and the nature of the place. However there's a lot more climbing I want to see in California, and staying in my comfort zone isn't why I've come here.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-1834541678042760696?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Equinox (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/11/equinox.html)
20 November 2011, 8:42 pm
We've been at Joshua Tree for a week now, but unfortunately the team consensus isn't very kind towards the climbing here. I'd been warned that it isn't to everyone's liking here, that some find the style too old school, and others take umbrage at the stiff grades. If anything, these attributes attract me more than turn me off. However, our experience is that there is a lot of chaff to sort from the over-starred wheat. The best routes are good, but you're unlikely to do more than one each day as they're so spread out. The rock on the face routes is way below par, mostly consisting of snappy flakes. The more moderate routes look much better, on cleaner rock, and are more concentrated and numerous, which probably explains the popularity of the place. For sure though, Joshua Tree is a cool place to hang out. The desert always holds its own distinct appeal, and the five of us have had a great time together. We've spent long enough together now that we have shared stories and developed our own in-jokes, we know each other well enough for conversation to be natural, or for silence to be comfortable. It's also been great for me to climb with such talented climbers as Hazel, Katy and Ryan, and to try and absorb some of their style and skill.
In spite of the fun I was having with my friends, I also found the days pretty hard on my ego. I didn't feel like I was climbing well, and it was a long time since I climbed anything of personal significance. Also, climbing with my present company was, in my eyes at least (I'm sure they couldn't care less!), demonstrating so many holes in my ability.
Although this may seem both ridiculous and unimportant when read in the cold light of day, I had a hard time getting a perspective on this when all I did was spend each day climbing. I had nothing else to provide me with feelings of reward.
It was with this emotional baggage that I found myself roping up at the bottom of Equinox for my second attempt. Round one had involved much falling and sitting on gear, and so I didn't rate my chances of linking the several sections that I had found hard individually.
Drawing on some recent insights from having watched Katy and Ryan, and spoken with Hazel, I quickly formulated my strategy. I knew I would have to climb assertively, really making the most of marginal footholds instead of overgripping for security, which paradoxically, would make a fall more likely through running out of energy. That, and I was going to be like Jerry (obviously if I was really going to be like Jerry I would have flashed it already. Nonetheless, I scolded myself for my lack of self belief).
As I set my fingers in the first locks I was aware of the soreness caused by my first attempt. The initial part went easier and smoother than before. I restricted myself to placing pro only from the least strenuous positions, I reinvented sequences and set finger locks with more patience than before, resisting the pressure to rush.
I experienced a moment of clarity mid-route, when I became aware that not only was I embroiled in the midst of climbing Equinox, but I was engaged in this process as I had raised my game to do so. The fact that I was using my climbing resources as effectively as I ever have done should not belie the physical effort I was pouring into every moment spent on the rock. My attention had been so focussed that I only became aware of my friends' shouts of encouragement in a retrospective surge of sensory backlog, as I stepped onto the finishing footledge.
As usual, the times that success is grasped by the skin of your teeth are the most intense experiences, and so are memorable for that. But greater than that, my enjoyment of climbing Equinox was enhanced by learning more about rock climbing from my friends, which allowed me to make the most of my current ability.
The essence of my memory of climbing Equinox is more of the visceral feel of this climbing flow; the outcome, successful as it was, is a happy yet minor detail.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-7209569049141384922?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Great writing reeve
-
Yeah, great stuff, inspiring. :)
-
+1
-
+2
or at least +1 again...
-
What he, he, he and he said. Enjoying your blogs a lot.
-
Loving Bishop (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/12/loving-bishop.html)
22 December 2011, 3:15 pm
I fondly remember becoming aware of Bishop bouldering by watching the first dosage film, sat in a scruffy student house in Nether Edge. Without access to terrestrial television, Jon, Geth and I would intensely devour any DVD we laid our hands on. Perhaps through a combination of the forced repeated viewing of Sharma, Graham and Rands, and the Zeitgheist that held true in our house (Sharma was the man, Bishop was the place!) a desire to climb in the buttermilks was imprinted in my climbing psyche. Ambition and enthusiasm was then left for several years to mature.
For the first few days the climbing felt very alien to me. Weeks of primarily climbing granite cracks had left me unprepared for overhanging crimpfests. It took me equal effort to maintain the discipline to persist through the unfamiliarity without becoming discouraged, yet also to have the self-restraint to avoid going mad and destroying my body on every 5 star line in sight.
My enjoyment of the climbing in the Buttermilks was enhanced immeasurably by the company I kept while there: Hazel, Katy and Ryan (it felt sad that Spidey had left for home a few days before we went to Bishop, as he had equally been a part of the same group vibe in Joshua Tree).
Despite us having been no more than acquaintances when I lived in Sheffield, I was now spending almost all of my time with the same three people. Bizarrely I became shy when climbing in front of strangers. Perhaps a measure of how comfortable I had become around my friends.
The development of close alliances is inevitable, in part because going climbing is dependent on being with other climbers, and given the amount of time we spent together there was bound to be some degree of bonding. But beyond the practical necessity of having climbing partners, I enjoyed their companionship in its own right. As with any relationship, my appreciation of their company grew as I came to know each of them better, as I grew accustomed to their traits, their habits, and their idiosyncrasies.
As the subtle process of tacitly finding my own place in the group unfolded, I was repeatedly heartened and entertained by their openness, camaraderie and banter.
Despite recent years of indifference, it only took a few short days until I began to love bouldering again. Engaged by the novel and fun climbing style, my motivation was increased further by the aesthetic of the large round boulders sat on the desert plain, being looked over by the snow capped mountains.
I became attuned to the spontaneity and the opportunity for experimentation. My appreciation of the subtleties of climbing movement were heightened by the contrast with thuggy Yosemitie jamming. Between the encouragement of my friends, and the perfect conditions for learning through trial and improvement, I slowly refined the skill with which I moved between features in the rock.
As great as the satisfaction of this improvement was, the process of learning became an enjoyable end in itself. Rather than solely being the means to improvement, playful experimentation was becoming the purpose as well.
Although this isn't a new thing it felt like a re-awakening of that aspect.
All of these threads seemed to intertwine late one day towards the end of my time in Bishop, trying Soul Slinger at dusk. After the sun had dipped behind Mount Tom I relinquished my hopes of doing it that day, and my thoughts wandered to how many more sessions I could afford on just one problem. Despite my negativity and the failing light, I struck upon a change in foothold, a shift of my hips, and I was slapping into the huge hueco finishing hold and whooping as I topped out.
Elated, I made my way down the back of the boulder. Rather than congratulations, I was met with a tirade of comedic abuse from Hazel. A funny and well judged inversion of the expected social niceties. Curiously, it was this perhaps more than anything else, that exemplifies the fun I had in Bishop.(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-9134993344228842306?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
:-[
Thanks for your encouragement all of you! Albeit a little bit belated. I'm a little behind with writing as well as replying to threads so I'll try to sort that out too.
-
Good belated effort on Equinox and Soul Slinger beast! Sounds like a great trip; shame you won't be in Bishop when we get there :( Great blog.
-
The light of the moon (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2011/12/light-of-moon.html)
30 December 2011, 3:39 pm
(Route topo here: http://www.pataclimb.com/climbingareas/chalten/fitzgroup/exupery/chiaro.html)
Tony and I arrived in El Chalten, the gateway town for the Fitz Roy massif, a day into a veritable heatwave. The town, we were told by a local builder, has grown from a collection of 20 families fifteen years ago to its current population of about 1000. This rapid increase is in response to the commensurate increase in the number of people visiting the adjoining Parc Nacional los Glaciares for both walking and climbing. Consequently the town provides a comfortable base, with its myriad of bars and bakeries, and the chocolateria!
Tony lamented his lack of shorts in the unexpected heat. We'd been expecting to suffer through atrocious weather in our full-on hardshell gear! We organised ourselves and packed our bags on our first morning in town, wishing we had been able to leave the previous day like everyone else will have done. The few climbers remaining in the valley expressed surprise that we hadn't left by midday. The observation grated more with Tony than it did on me, my relative ignorance protecting me from anxiety about the length of the walk-in and conditions of the glacier.
I'll exhibit some restraint and stop short of describing the walk-in as hellish, but it was a pretty grim experience. Losing the faint trail early on and having to scramble across a scree slope that was barely supporting its own constituent parts was one particular highlight. Second on the list was the ongoing discomfort in my right ankle, unused to heavy mountaineering boots. The scree slope was followed by a glacier crossing, during which Tony was kind enough to provide subtle advice and instruction disguised as off-hand comments, allowing me to avoid acknowledging the full degree of my incompetence in this environment.
Arriving last, we had no choice of sites at the bivvy area, so settled for a cramped spot between a boulder and a rocky windbreak. We left the bivvy at 4am, insufficiently rested from a combination of our late arrival the previous evening, and having shared a sleeping bag inside the double bivvy bag. We made our way up the approach gully and across snow patches, silenced by the effort, our anxiety and haste. This pre-dawn quiet was broken by voices approaching from below. Even before their words were audible, the conversation was recognisably North American in its giddy excitement.
Jason and Hayden shared their bright eyed enthusiasm with us as they effortlessly overtook, directing some of their surplus energy into feeling stoked for us. I didn't have the energy to feel stoked for myself; I already felt fucked.
Burnt off already, we soon returned to our silence. I remained aware of our companions somewhere up ahead of us by their continued chattering. I continued to breath heavily in an attempt to keep up with Tony.
Tony gave me the first block of 5 pitches to lead, which included the crux pitch. I looked forward to this, as I am recently practised at granite crack climbing, and hoped that leading these pitches quickly would make up for my general mountaineering incompetence, which was all I had managed to contribute thus far. The climbing turned out to be easier than expected, lots of laybacking rather than awkward jams. We followed long corners and juggy flakes for pitch after pitch. Climbing quickly was simplified by the rough solid rock, the amenable angle, and the windless sunny weather (the calmness and warmth we experienced is almost unprecedented here).
Despite feeling that we were moving well (especially given that we'd never tied on to a rope together), Tony and I were barely over half way when we heard the whoops of team North America having already touched back down! So maybe we weren't that fast afterall. I inwardly made excuses with some vague reference to a sore ankle.
Tony soon lead us up the final chimney system. On the summit ridge he cunningly drew on all his mountain experience to beta-sandbag me in such a way that he took the final lead to sit on the summit first. I soon joined him, and together we enjoyed the experience of sitting on a Patagonian summit.
Abseiling down was as time consuming as usual, but remained mostly uncomplicated. Reversing the gully back to the bivvy was made confusing by the fact that it was now night time (in spite of the 18 hours of daylight that we'd fully used), and the manner in which features morph and distance perception alters in darkness. We walked in circles somewhere in the vicinity of where we wanted to be for an indeterminable length of time. Eventually we stumbled back into our bivvy, through a mixture of chance and pseudo-navigation.
Another night was spent struggling to rest, fighting over the larger share of the sleeping bag through fluctuating consciousness. I discreetly tried to win back my half of the bag, but had to take care as waking Tony would inevitably lead to a loss of my increased covering. From the frequency with which I woke up cold, I guess that Tony was fighting the same battle.
Walking out on the final day was a similarly long and tiresome experience as it had been on the way in, moderated by some better route finding but exacerbated by tiredness and the growing pain in the Achilles tendon.
We staggered back to the campsite and greedily consumed anything immediately consumable, before heading to the nearest shop and continuing the treat train. Unfortunately, I was unable to alight this train for the next two weeks. My Achilles had swollen so much that all walking hurt.
Thank goodness for the chocolateria!(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-3066799338452468908?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Kind of the PR (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/01/kind-of-pr.html)
30 January 2012, 2:42 pm
(Link to route info: http://www.pataclimb.com/climbingareas/chalten/fitzgroup/mermoz/pilar.html)
After climbing Chiaro Di Luna I expressed my intention to sit out my Achilles injury in the chocolateria. In the time it took for the swelling and pain to subside I also managed to visit a myriad of cafes and both ice cream parlours on several occasions. I felt decidedly more fat than fit.
Once the ankle was strong enough for me to boulder and sport climb on the outskirts of town, Tony suggested that I hire some strap-on crampons to approach routes in my trainers, thus eliminating the need to wear the boots that aggravated my Achilles in the first instance.
With good weather forecast for the Friday, we chose the Red Pillar on Mermoz as our objective. Analysing our previous route together, we felt that the rushed preparation and approach (due to having only just arrived in town) was the main factor in how trashed we had felt for the route. This time, we assured ourselves, would be different. Wednesday was left free; we would be fully prepared and completely rested.
Wednesday morning came, and over breakfast we we told of an injured climber high up in the Torre Valley. With the winds too high for a helicopter rescue, 30 climbers were mobilizing themselves to affect a rescue operation. It was difficult to not feel some level of grievance at the possibility of losing our opportunity to utilise the good weather, however utilitarianism took precedence in our minds.
The group of climber present worked well as a self-organising and motivated team. The kinship of it being a fellow climber in need creates a powerful reciprocal obligation to help, but even considering this, it was still heartening to see the gusto with which people helped. This went further still, to the non-climbers who helped out as far as they could, in spite of having a much weaker reciprocal incentive to do so. The day was a long one however. Stretchering all 95kgs of Canadian Ross across scree and uphill was not easy work. We got to bed sometime in the early hours.
The next morning came too early, in spite of milking the snooze button on my watch as much as I could justify. The available weather window was brief, so we had to leave that day, but we were in an even worse state of preparedness than last time! Collective psyche was low, and I sensed that both of us were on the brink of dissuading the other from even setting off. Begrudingly, we continued to pack our bags, and bitched our way along the hike to the bivvy site.
To cut a damp story short, we arrived at the bivvy late, quickly stuffed ourselves and settled down to another night sharing a sleeping bag. We rose at 2am (although only just, in a moment of weakness Tony almost switched off his alarm before I was awake) and walked the final 3 hours to the base of the route. We climbed three pitches, caught a glimpse of the splitter upper pitches, and got rained off. The conditions became properly Patagonian (well, probably not properly Patagonian in the scheme of things, but I thought it was all a bit minging). We got back to town damp and dejected.
We agreed to escape El Chalten and head to Bariloche for some stress-free climbing. Then Tony checked the weather forecast again. Another window was opening up. Unable to leave on a good forecast, and with the bitterness of unfinished business spurring us on, we walked in again.
This time our preparation was ideal. We were well rested and fed. We knew the approach. Tony had already cruised the first crux pitch, and higher up the grades eased. We felt pretty confident of fast and slick ascent. Which, as it transpired, turned out to be quite some error of judgement.
As soon as we moved above our previous highpoint, things started to go awry. Tony had to aid past the second crux, a boulder problem over a roof. The next "easier" pitches were alarmingly strenuous. Steep, butch cracks that Tony had lead with huge run-outs between his gear. Oh no he hadn't. The long gaps between peices of pro were the long stretches where Tony had leap-frogged two cams in an unashamed aid-fest. I spent the last of my fight on the supposed final hard pitch. It felt great to be trying hard and just pulling it out of the bag, high above the glacier on perfect granite with a feeling of remoteness. And the sun on my back, unreal! This feeling stopped suddenly, when the next pitches felt no easier, and became a protracted dogging session. I felt like I was working a route at Malham, rather than on our intended fast and light, alpine ascent.
Wearily, we surmounted several false summits on the final ridgeline, until we found one that lead us on to no further disappointment. Although not the fast and clean ascent that I'd envisaged, I felt no lack of satisfaction at this. One never knows how hard a route will be until one tries it. An inevitable consequence of this is that sometimes you will bite off more than you can chew.(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-4237757044015251558?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Mama mia! Looks stupendous. If it didn't look so damn cold I'd be jealous ;D
-
Chance (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/02/chance.html)
1 February 2012, 8:59 pm
Tony and I were joined by Andy, a friend Tony met in Edinburgh. We decided to climb Artebelleza on Innominata (http://www.pataclimb.com/climbingareas/chalten/fitzgroup/innominata/artebelleza.html). It was fun to climb as a three, being more sociable at belays, and Andy fitted in comfortably with our established systems. The day took longer than planned however, a due to a combination of harder climbing than anticipated, the ropes getting stuck four times, and Tony needing to replace half of the rap-stations. Eventually, we reached the floor at dusk, and hurriedly packed our bags. I was warm and no one was above us, so I removed my helmet.
We rushed to get down the steep snowy gully, hoping to reach the feint trailhead before darkness fell. Tony was somewhere ahead of Andy and me when an almighty cracking noise echoed from above. A pillar of rock the size of a row of terraces was falling away from the mountain directly above us. I yelled "oh fuck" in disbelief. It was surreal to see, and hard to believe this was about to happen to me.
The main body of falling rock impacted on a shoulder and exploded. I intuited that the largest blocks would miss Andy and I, as the topography immediately above us would carry these away from us. This still left the hundreds of fragments that were rapidly dispersing in every direction. Not knowing Tony's exact position, I temporarily put him out of mind.
Above me, the sky was now littered with detritus; some pieces were rocketing down already, others that had been tossed upwards appeared suspended in space, poised to accelerate down on us.
My first thought was to escape. I briefly considered trying to outrun the mass of rocks before they reached me. The idea's implausibility was obvious, the gully too steep and the rocks already moving too fast.
Silhouetted in the sky, one large boulder demanded my attention over any others. Its arcing trajectory appeared to terminate exactly where I stood. Having already rules out escape as an option, I took two strides to my left and dropped into the foetal position, bracing my arms over my naked head and burying my face into the ground. The image of the rock in the sky remained in my mind. I hoped I was wrong about where it would land. With nothing more within my control, I was acutely aware that my life was now left to chance.
Although unable to see the onslaught, a rapidly rising crescendo of artillery fire exploding around me signaled its arrival. Everything vibrated violently. It sounded like the world was being torn apart. I can't remember where I was hit first. The hardest of the blows made my whole body recoil. With each impact my fear of the next increased. Hands and shoulders were hit the most. The hope I still held onto evaporated as pain rocked my head. I didn't think my skull would survive a much larger impact than that. All I could see were pebbles and gravel sliding past my face, sent by impacts just above my head.
As the rocks continued to fall, the thought came to me with surprising lucidity that I just wanted an end to this. If I was going to die, let it be swift. Through this partial expectation, I wondered how much longer it would last. How much longer could it last? Normal notions of time had ceased to apply. Yet rocks still collided all around me. And with me.
In desperation I begged "please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop." I was shocked to hear my own voice, only just audible over the noise, childlike and fragile. Even as the volley of stone fall eventually slowed I remained hyper-tense. I almost expected the ultimate blow to come right at the end, as soon as my guard was down and my hopes were up. A cruel twist that could be played by fate. The twist never came, but there was a delay before I allowed myself to believe it.
I knelt up and drops of blood fell from my head in quick succession. My voice cracked as I shouted to Andy, a vague figure through the thick dust yet only 20m from me. He replied and I was he was moving. The realisation that Tony was so far ahead of us that he could well have been caught in the midst overwhelmed my mind with sudden immediacy. I screamed his name. He answered. He had been safely off to the side.
I was unable to bend my right leg, although it could bear weight. Andy was mostly unhurt, so he and Tony took almost all the weight in their bags and guided me, bleeding and wincing, down the scree. What should have taken an hour took us five. Tony and Andy never showed impatience, although I started to doubt the accuracy of them saying "nearly there now". I never doubted their motive. At the bivvy I could barely keep my eyes open. Tony cooked. I was touched when Andy, judging that I lacked the motivation to even sit up, passed me cheese on crackers so I could stay laid down.
We walked back to town the following day. Again, Tony and Andy took all the weight. I felt significantly fresher for having had some rest, but still limped behind for ten hours. We made it back just in time for the ritual pizza, beer and chocolate, only this time it was accompanied by relief rather than celebration.
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6zAZd_RKrvY/TymnQomyV-I/AAAAAAAAAAY/8adIl05bwbc/s320/IMG_1642+%25281%2529.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6zAZd_RKrvY/TymnQomyV-I/AAAAAAAAAAY/8adIl05bwbc/s1600/IMG_1642+%25281%2529.jpg)
Postscript
This happened about two weeks ago now. Just to pre-empt anyone who's concerned, essentially I'm fine. I still limp if I sit down for too long, and my shoulders seem reluctant to shed their bruises. But all things considered, I'm not doing too bad.(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-7527281570573216447?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Terrifying. Great writing. Glad to hear you are relatively unscathed. As you know, others have not been so lucky this season. Do locals think there is now more rockfall than in the past?
Thank you for reminding me why I drew the line before this kind of thing.
-
Well, that kind of thing doesn't happen on pinches wall, that's all I'm saying. :blink:
Powerful writing - glad you got away with it.
-
:agree: Powerful writing and also very pleased the consequences weren't more serious. I know the two guys you were with and you couldn't have asked for two more dependable people to help you out.
-
Chance (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/02/chance.html)
1 February 2012, 8:59 pm
Just to pre-empt anyone who's concerned, essentially I'm fine. I still limp if I sit down for too long, and my shoulders seem reluctant to shed their bruises. But all things considered, I'm not doing too bad.
/2626284412514037971-7527281570573216447?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com[/img]
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
fucking hell dude, that sounds nearly as bad as torquay. ;)
Very glad that you still appear to be in working order; clearly, the impact absorbsion potential of the fraggle hairdo is not to be underestimated.
-
Shit the bed Reeve! That is one of the most terrifying things I've ever read. Amazing writing to convey how it felt. Glad you're ok.
-
Yeah that is really well written. You could probably sell it to a newspaper or something. (Might as well make some cash out of a near-death experience?)
Get well soon.
-
Epic account Andy, really powerful.....I was gripped, and have an amazing insight into what you were thinking. :ohmy:
Glad to hear your ok. I hope its the last close shave of your trip.
-
that's a darn fookin good read mate.
thanks for the deep expression.... really *got it* from the text...
heal well!!
-
Thanks for your comments everyone, both in relation to the blog and my well-being!
Duncan: the impression I get from locals/regulars is that there rad more rockfall than usual this year. Given the weather though, maybe it isn't surprising. It was warm when we were on innominata, tony took his shirt off on the summit as he was too hot pulling the ropes up! It was way above freezing overnight too.
Iain: you're right on, Tony and Andy were great. Especially as Andy had just been through essentially the same thing, and Tony was forced to watch, not knowing what would happen to his mates.
Toby: exactly, I'm never having my hair cut again!
-
New Zeal Land (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/03/new-zeal-land.html)
23 March 2012, 6:48 am
Through a serendipitous sequence of acquatintences and coincidences, I managed to hook myself up with a climbing partner for New Zealand. As we had arranged, Tasmanian Garry collected me from Christchurch airport, despite the difficulties associated with recognising someone he'd never met.
The ten hour drive south to Fiordland afforded us ample opportunity to upgrade our email friendship to a face-to-face one. The topic of conversation steered itself from climbing, to work, home, family, romance (not that I had much to contribute about that one) and back around to climbing.
Suitably introduced, we warmed up with a couple of days sport climbing at the steep and weatherproof crag of Little Babylon. With a good forecast and a days rest, we chose a route called Labyrinth (grade 22, about F6c and 6 pitches) as our first objective in the hills. Due to the compact nature of the rock, many of the mountain routes in this area are protected by a mix of trad gear and minimalist bolting (Labyrinth was bolted ground-up originally), a bit like some slate routes, or granite slabs in the US. The topo showed long sustained pitches with run-outs between the bolts. On the steep sport routes I had felt weak, unfit, and had wanted lots of bolts. After my injuries I'd had three weeks off climbing, and I was still having trouble with a leg and a hand. Still, on the bright side, being unaware of the route's reputation as a frightener meant I wasn't as intimidated as I otherwise would have been. Ignorance of the objective dangers is bliss, so it seems.
We walked up early the next day, taking about three hours to reach the bivvy spot, on a shoulder just short of (the splendidly named) Barrier Knob cliff. I revelled in the fact that compared with Patagonia, the routes here are short yet the days just as long. We relaxed as the sunshine burnt off the early-morning chill, admired the view and drank copious cups of tea. Now this is my kind of alpine rock climbing!
We sauntered around to the cliff for midday, a tactical decision so we could climb in the warmth. That, and I objected to rushing elevenses. The relaxed and sunny ambience of it all was doing a good job of allaying any anxiety I had about climbing in he hills again, especially given my current condition. Until, that is, a rock fell from the top of the cliff and smashed to the ground five metres behind me. Understandably, given recent experience, this spooked the hell out of me. We racked up regardless, working on the principle that it was a one-off (which as it transpired, was the case) but I remained hyper-vigilant, always glancing above me and unwilling to permit myself to relax and enjoy the situation.
Garry lead first. He had intended to link the first two pitxhes, but decided that the second was too blank and too bold. He offered it to me from the comfort of the first stance.
The combination of the rock falling, my poor fitness, and Garry's assessment of the next pitch meant my confidence was at a low ebb. It was with a reluctance and little hope that I took the rack from Garry and went to 'have a look.' Usually when I use this phrase its a euphemism for "I'm going to actually commit this time but I'm too scared to admit it, so here's a bit of linguistic self-deception instead. However this time, I genuinely expected my 'look' to be a token inspection so I could confirm that Garry was right and we could retreat.
As it happened, this token look revealed an RP placement that Garry had missed. As is often the case, as soon as I clipped a runner a dozen new holds appeared and the ones I was using miraculously got bigger. I made a tentative move upwards, which lead to a second move, a third, and before I knew it the series of moves was a sequence, and much to my surprise I appeared to be rock climbing again. After my recent hiatus from climbing, shadowed with doubt and anxiety about being in the mountains, this was a awakening. I found myself immersed in the challenge and focussed on anything that would maintain my upward momentum. Everything fell into place.
The next pitches, because off their style, took us a long time to climb. Nonetheless, I felt increasing enjoyment from being fully engaged in the task. Garry lead the technical crux and I took the psychological one (not that his pitch was exactly over-bolted either, mind you). It was probably to my advantage that the style was quite British trad-esque, even with the bolts: just less than vertical, teetering up on edges, nothing too hard but with the crux lying in keeping it all together.
By the time I was leading the penultimate pitch I felt I was back in my element. Even the three bail 'biners below a blank section didn't phase me (although it took a bit of lateral thinking to avoid using them).
We topped out and rap'd the route. I was psyched. Everything had come together and I had not, as I had feared, completely forgotten how to climb. Climbing with Garry had been fun in itself, despite the route making for a tough day out.
Relaxing at the bivvy that night, my sense of satisfaction was only matched by a returning desire for more of the same, something that had been sorely lacking in recent weeks.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7PZy5H5FcJk/T2wbw2OF6wI/AAAAAAAAAAk/OcKfBJp_Q0g/s320/DSC_0852.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7PZy5H5FcJk/T2wbw2OF6wI/AAAAAAAAAAk/OcKfBJp_Q0g/s1600/DSC_0852.jpg)Garry leading the crux third pitch (Photo: Tom Griff)
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vZ0EH5B_OH0/T2wbxVyefTI/AAAAAAAAAAw/H2kc3nvyXlY/s320/DSC_0886.jpg) (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vZ0EH5B_OH0/T2wbxVyefTI/AAAAAAAAAAw/H2kc3nvyXlY/s1600/DSC_0886.jpg)The last of the evening sunshine at the bivvy (Photo: Tom Griff)(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-3390145913714224088?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Nice one, good report!
-
:agree: Made me want to get back on a rope.
-
Excellent. Glad you're back on it. :)
-
The road to recovery looks pretty good Reeve, great post
-
Cape Raoul (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/03/cape-raoul.html)
30 March 2012, 9:20 am
I think that anticipation really adds to my enjoyment of climbing. A lot of my best days out, both at home and abroad, tend to involve fulfilling long-held ambitions, irrespective of the actual difficulty of the route.
I’m aware that I start half my writings by saying how I’ve always wanted to do such-and-such a route, which is perhaps indicative of how much it affects my enjoyment of climbing, although I particularly remember the first time I experienced that phenomenon. I was about 15, and had just fought my way to the top of Overhanging Groove at Almscliffe. This gave me a grandstand view of a particularly youthful Andi Turner, questing his way up the adjacent Big Greeny: I was inspired! E3 was talking big numbers to me, and seeing one getting onsighted really fired my imagination.
Andi is just a few years older than me, but that was at an age when a couple of years meant a lot. Andi was old enough to have developed adult qualities, like his affableness and humility, that I was still clumsily searching for, yet we were close enough in age for me to identify with him. This combination elevated him further in my adolescent eyes. I’m not one for having heroes, but throughout my teens, unbeknownst to him, I always looked up to Andi as our paths occasionally crossed. For these reasons, The Big Greeny became symbolic of both what I wanted to do, and who I wanted to be. When I climbed it myself a couple of years later I was psyched out of my mind to tick my first E3, but the experience was sweetened immeasurably because of the way in which I had been introduced to the route.
There must be countless routes that I’ve enjoyed because I learned of their existence sometime in the past. I suppose classics like say the Cromlech routes hold their aura because of the stories, photos and writings that project them into a collective-conscious. Climbing them becomes something more than just ascending an arbitrary piece of rock. I find this happens after gaining knowledge about esoteric routes too. Snippets of information can fire curiosity. Things like this, which inspire a fun day out, are really worth expressing gratitude for
My new friend, Garry, who I first met in New Zealand, has very kindly put me up in his house in Tasmania. This in itself has been a real luxury for me, but also has the added advantage of me being able to benefit from his extensive local knowledge (not to mention psych).
Garry said that we should climb on Cape Raoul. Heard of it? I certainly hadn’t. No long awaited build-up of anticipation here, just Garry’s eulogizing the night before. It sounded well up my street though, and so we went. I was completely unprepared for the caliber of this adventurous day out.
And a full-on day it is too. By no means is this just cragging, this is sea stack-eering with an alpine ridge-esque approach. The Cape is a narrow line of basalt columns protruding boldly into the Southern Ocean.
The approach would make for a worthwhile day out in itself. We walked two hours from the car to where the slender curtain of basalt abruptly departs the peninsula. From there, we ab’d down, scrambled through dense scrub, climbed a two pitch E2, walked along the top of a buttress, ab’d again did some more bush-whacking, simul-climbed a horizontal chimney / flake, and eventually completed a final diagonal abseil. Two hours of complex and engaging approach adventuring had brought us to a notch between the two most prominent columns, 50 meters above the sea and the seals. It may as well have been at the end of the world. I was glad that Garry had been there before and knew the way. I can barely imagine being the first people to try and work it out.
We summited two of the columns by existing routes, and added a new route to one of them for good measure. The quality of the rock and the varied technicality of the climbing would make these three star routes anywhere. One route in particular was really classy, sustained insecure and inventive movement, switching between arêtes as the features see fit. To cap it all, the routes all finish on tiny square summits with the sea on three sides. This is a special place.
Reversing the approach engaged my tired mind sufficiently to just about ignore the hunger and dehydration (although as usual, that didn’t stop me bitching about it). We arrived back to the cliff top with just a few minutes of daylight left, and hiked back to the car by headlamp.
For me this epitomizes the impression that I am building of Tasmanian climbing. More than most places, there are unknown adventures of the highest quality to be had all over. But only if you know where to look. It’s exciting to realize how many anonymous adventures must be lying in wait to be re-discovered, or even discovered at all.
For Cape Raoul, amongst others, I owe Garry for the inspiration.
[A few days after climbing at Cape Raoul, our attention was brought to these photos, taken by a passing acquaintance from his boat: http://www.thesarvo.com/confluence/display/thesarvo/2012/03/16 ](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-8118566690875534135?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Looks amazing. How cool (and totally random) to get those photos!
-
Sweet photos! Keep living the dream yo
-
Serpentine (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/05/serpentine.html)
18 May 2012, 5:10 am
What a brilliant route! The best route in Victoria? The sustained climbing up the 40m second pitch is simply magnificent. - Sublime Climbs guidebook I try to ignore the hyperbole that often accompanies classic routes. My enjoyment of climbing is linked to many factors, I often love unloved one star gems, and can one three-star classic really be any better than another three-star classic?
Anyway, Serpentine is sufficiently classic (oh, and notoriously soft) that I was kind of saving it for the onsight. A pie-on-the-sky dream I'd secretly fantasized over since first seeing photos of it when skiving at work. Well here I am in Australia, so we rented a car to get to the Grampians for the week. I did some other routes on Taipan wall first, great routes themselves like Snake Flake, Fisting Party and Venom.
An Aussie climber, Mike, had already had his gear in Serpentine (its mixed bolt and trad protected) for the last few weeks, including the weird first pitch and a jugging pine to the stance. I wanted to feel fitter before getting on it (as ever), but you can't put things off forever. Also Mike had ticked the route the day before so the gear would be coming out soon! His ascent sounded exciting: after climbing in control all the way to the top moves, panic and tactic acid took over and "no one will ever appreciate just how close I was to falling off the top moves". He followed this with a 40m victory whipped back to the belay!
Pitch 1 (grade 24 ~ F7a) has got good climbing interspersed with about 20m of traversing to link the only features on the lower wall. I overcame the weird blind cruxes with judicious over-use of Mike's shouted beta. Tom tried following, but excessive rope drag and hard moves above ledges didn't inspire his confidence. He wisely sought a second belay from the floor and followed using a lead / second / back clean / reverse for gear combo and joined me at the stance.
By this time I was cold but in position to begin on pitch two. It began to rain. We sat it out, relatively sheltered under a small roof, reading the 1983 edition of woman's weekly fashion knitting magazine (full of bra-less cuties in very loose-knit crop tops, in case you were wondering) which is stashed at the back of the ledge for such eventuality. I
felt cold and considered just rapping down the fixed line, but excitement, the pressure of limited time here, and some degree of pride combined to overcome thoughts of putting it off any longer. I preclipped the first bolt and readied myself for what could be the perfect experience that I'd secretly dreamt of. I set off. I fell at bolt 1. Cold. Damp rock. Misread sequence. I curse and immediately see what I should have done. I bolt-to-bolt my way to the top. The initial crux roof is followed by a technical rib and traverse. Next, extended fridge-hugging up a hanging turret. This is followed by 20m of boulder problems separated by juggy rests and jams.
I've only had the briefest play on the moves, but its obvious that its great, really great. The moves, the position, the rock. It's all as good as the reputation. I can't wait to be in amongst it all trying the reprint. We rap off as more squally showers pass over.
We're back the very next day. My excitement hasn't diminished overnight. Two others want to go on the route today too. Sure, no problem, there's loads of time. I warm up as they jug the fixed line. Julian has a strong flash attempt. Chris goes to work the moves. I do some belaying. It's been a while so I warm up again. Chris keeps plugging away at easy sequences beyond his grasp. And some more. And for some time after that. He dogs the pitch for almost two hours, and by the time he's done the day is running out. Julian despatched the route on his second go. But by now the daylight is fading. I find it hard to not feel resentment at my day being wasted.
I shout up some friendly nonsense to the guys on the stance to remind them about me. They seem to be pissing around and I'm getting more anxious. They don't seem to take the hint but eventually vacate the ledge. I jug up as fast as I can as the sun sets. I've cooled down again, but ironically, I also feel worn out from having spent sip much of the day warming up. Tom joins me for belay duty. I preclip the bolt and survey the horizon, the view over the rocky amphitheatre and the plains beyond. I try to suppress frustration and anxiety, and replace these with my previous excitement, which seems to have got lost in the wait. I don't have the luxury of taking my time so I decide to set off. If nothing else, the crux will warm me up. I set up for the big slap, hit the jug and cut loose. I move above the bolt with a high heel "Stop! Andy..." I don't need to hear Tom's explanation, I see that I've back clipped the draw. What a clusterfuck. Tom's made the right decision to tell me, but I can't help but feel I've lost my short chance because of my own stupidity. Feeling defeated, I reverse the moves. In anger, I hang off one arm from the jug, feet peddling the air under the roof, and preclip the krab. I'm about to have Tom take me tight when I realise that I haven't waited the rope yet. I may have been doing a one handed deadhang, but time is of the essence. It's still on!
Feeling pumped, I recommended climbing and slap my way through my half-remembered sequence to a good rest. Tom and I laugh at the ludicrous maneuver. I want to linger at the rest, but a quick glance at the horizon tells me that procrastination isn't an option. Again, some anger at having to wait so long permeates my consciousness so I make a concerted effort to banish this unhelpful distraction. I can't remember the sequence for the next 10m of sidepulls and heelhooks, but I have acne impression of how it should work out. What's more, I have nothing to lose. Circumstances are against me, so so what if I fall off? It goes by in a blur of deadpoints and tension. Further tricky moves pass below me. I'm continuously aware that the clock is ticking, so every move I get to make is a bonus. I play on this feeling, making sure I appreciate every moment and keep climbing with guns blazing.
Before I know it I'm at the rest before the final 5m boulder problem. My confidence grows as my arms recuperate. For the first time on the pitch, my concentration wanders and I become aware of the voices below me, as the voices below become aware that I'm still going. By now I can only see holds that have chalk on anything else blends into the night. Mike and his friends shout up their encouragement. I tell Mike that I'm nervous, as he find the top hard despite cruising up to this point, yet I've barely had a modicum of control at all! In spite of my joking, I've found a sneaky jam, so I actually feel pretty fresh.
About 10 people are watching so I play it up a bit and ask Mike for a joke to help me calm down "How do you stop a dog humping your leg" Mike asks after a pause. "Dont know, you'll have to tell me" "Give it a blow job" Laughter all round. "Is that tried and tested?" I enquire. More laughter. I'm enjoying the banter, but if I wait any longer I may as well close my eyes. Heelhook; lock; match; lock again; crimp. And jug! I top out to the echoes of my own whooping, amidst cheers from below.
Everyone wants me to take the obligatory victory leap but I'm terrified! "Can't you all just leave so I can downclimb to the bolt?" I joke with about 70% seriousness. The baiting crowd don't detect that I'm genuine. Tom tells me he's ready, meaning he must have paid out a load of slack. I'm not ready but I jump before I can stop myself. My lungs run out of air mid-flight. There's more laughter and whooping all round.
So what it wasn't the dream onsight. Was my pleasure diminished? Would my experience have been somehow greater? I can't imagine how.
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-132962403489562399?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
another right on post reeve
-
:great:
-
Great writing, and some quality predictive spelling.
Andi was old enough to have developed adult qualities,
Made me laugh, has he regressed since then?
-
Great writing, and some quality predictive spelling.
Andi was old enough to have developed adult qualities,
Made me laugh, has he regressed since then?
Goddamn predictive spelling! It's a complete labour of love typing these up onto my phone. I can't speak for Andi, but I doubt I've matured much since then.
Cheers Guy and Iain
-
Other Realms (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/08/other-realms.html)
1 August 2012, 9:44 pm
There’s an unfortunate interaction between Dan and I, that often happens when we are deciding where to go climbing. He’s better than me, and often wants to do routes that I’m intimidated by. But, here’s the rub, I’m easily persuaded. And I don’t let on that I’m too scared. We chose to try Other Realms on Cilan Head, by which I mean Dan suggested it and I failed to say no.
We’d already failed to access the base of the route last year (which had left me secretly relieved): no sign of the abseil stake and a static rope shorter than the height of the cliff putting paid to that attempt. Dan had slightly more success last weekend with Calum, actually getting to the base and doing the direct first pitch. They were then stopped by the wet second pitch.
On the Friday night, as we were being plied with rose petal wine by our friend Jess, we confidently declined her offer to check the tide times for us. We calculated that the base of the cliff is almost certainly non-tidal. We didn’t feel the need for an early start either. It’s only a three pitch route anyway.
Having sussed the ab point last weekend, I let Dan equalise the half-dozen mediocre pieces whilst I racked up. Dan refused to climb on my set of wires. Where I see as a varied and comprehensive mix of passive protection, Dan sees a tatty bunch of frayed second hand odds and ends. I anticipated his objection, so I dug his wires from his bag. Ironically, they looked no better than mine. Even after combining the best wires from both our motley bunches, we still only had one rock 1 and one rock 7.
We both ab’d down to the start of the route. I had been volunteered to lead the first pitch, given that Dan had already had the pleasure. The straight-forward chimney crack start didn’t warm me up, but this was made up for by the awkward rest before the crux, which did tire me out. Confused by the lack of holds, and completely forgetting Dan’s beta, I fell off. Lowering down, we acknowledged that the sea was starting to come over the top of our supposedly non-tidal ledge. Hmm.
My second go was a mess, as I forgot my own beta before I even got high enough to have the opportunity to mess up Dan’s beta. Lowering off again, I curtailed my rest due to the encroaching tide. Dan relocated his belay to a smaller ledge a few feet higher. At the crux once more, I still can’t make Dan’s beta work, so I improvise. An unlikely rockover leads me to the jug and the end of the good rock. The remaining few scary pulls are made easier by the presence of Dan’s week-old chalk.
Having arrived at the stance, I struggle to find enough decent runners. Eventually I settle for a wire, a cam, an in-situ wire and the ab-rope. Dan joins me and points out that I should be 10 feet lower, so if he falls off the next pitch he won’t land on me. And I’d be able to stand on a nicer ledge, out the way of falling rock. With better gear for the stance. Feeling defensive because of my own stupidity, I try to argue the point. But the in-situ wire I’m hanging off snaps, which kind of takes the wind out of my sails. It seems to take ages to fix my mistake, which is even more frustrating for Dan who just wants to get stuck into pitch two. Eventually, with the cluster-fuck mostly resolved and me at the lower stance, Dan begins pitch two.
Dan gets regular gear, and from my (now comfy) perch, the holds look like jugs. From the slowness of his movements however, I infer the gear isn’t very good, and the jugs are all loose. He arrives just below the crux overlap, which guards access to the groove above. Despite lacing his highpoint with gear, Dan is evidently having a hard time committing to the crux. I suspect that this has something to do with a loose looking block that he keeps on hitting to test. It doesn’t escape my notice that the same block has half of his gear behind it, and provides two essential holds. Eventually, Dan decides that today is not the day. Tentatively, he weights gear on both ropes whilst still holding on with both hands. Slowly at first, he commits his weight to the ropes and lowers back to the stance.
I know what’s coming, and I’m dreading it. Dan offers me the lead. And With me being how I am, I again fail to say no. Dan suggests that if I get stuck at the overlap, he can swing the ab rope towards me and I can bring out the prussiks. Suitably encouraged by this escape plan, I take the rack and prepare to set off. Just as I’m ready to leave the stance, Dan turns to me and says “there’s a vital piece of information that I’ve not shared with you about this route”
“Oh yeah?” Maybe this is going to be good news.
“When Caff did this he found it hard and thinks its E7.” My heart sank.
Suitably discouraged, I leave the stance. The difficulties are never too great, but this is compensated for by the rock, which is never too good either. To my benefit however, Dan had left me a trail of gear which gently coaxed me upwards. On this style of terrain, where every move on dodgy holds requires a real commitment, the gear (mediocre it may be, but averaging one piece every two feet) and the chalk makes a massive difference. I arrived at the pre-crux rest without having done anything too stressful, having basically piggy-backed off Dan’s efforts. I extend the gear in the suspect block so I it looks useful but is almost redundant. And I’ve just watched Dan lower off the cam on the other rope. Sure, it’s only on three lobes, but I find strength in the fact that three is one more than two. I procrastinate until boredom exceeds anxiety, and thus find the impetus to carry on. The moves into the groove go easier than I’d expected, if a little scruffily. The ledge that Dan has promised will offer post-crux salvation appears ready to fall off the cliff, but as recompense I find some decent small cam slots.
The guidebook description doesn’t really say anything about the upper part of the pitch, merely “carry on up the line”. So I assume it will be easy. In many ways this was correct. Unfortunately, the rock quality deteriorated to archetypal Lleyn standards so in actual fact it’s kind of the crux. I move upwards exceptionally slowly, thinking lightweight thoughts, separated by even longer periods spent refusing to move.
Sometime later, I made it to the second stance. Dan joined me and lead through onto easy ground. I imagine his enjoyment of the final section choss-eering can only have been heightened by the passing of a quick rain shower, as otherwise it would have been boring, right?
We got back to the bags at eight pm, half a day after having left them. Starving and parched, Dan suggested we stop for lunch.(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-1293039838106269098?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
More good writing. Is the road trip over then?
-
Really enjoyed reading that.
-
Love it!
"“When Caff did this he found it hard and thinks its E7.”" :slap: :lol:
-
Love the self-deprecation of the brits..... I can only aspire to it...
-
Quality post.
-
More good writing. Is the road trip over then?
Yeah it's over, I'm living in Hartlepool (of all places) now. Quite a come down from Australia! Although the last couple of months at Arapiles were brilliant and gave me plenty of good memories, they weren't the kind of good stories suitable for blogging about.
Love it!
"“When Caff did this he found it hard and thinks its E7.”" :slap: :lol:
Those emoticons are doing a perfect impression of my reaction at the time. It was too ridiculous to not laugh!
Thanks Sasquatch and Andy
-
they weren't the kind of good stories suitable for blogging about.
Pity. Enjoy monkeyhangerland.
-
I'm living in Hartlepool (of all places) now.
:sorry:
-
Not the shape of things to come (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2012/11/not-shape-of-things-to-come.html)
19 November 2012, 11:54 pm
Round one had taken place three weeks previously. Looking for something to do from my winter wants list, I went for what I had assumed would be the easiest one. A quick route tick to satisfy the ego, in amongst a couple of months of bouldering. My progress had faltered at an impasse which required more than I was willing to give: more in the way of commitment. Maybe due to a lack of recent time on a rope, maybe from the gear which is more ‘okay’ than ‘good’, maybe in my desire for a quick-tick I had underestimated the difficulty. As you can tell, the one thing I had in spades was a willingness to resort to a string of excuses.
I came back armed with Dan. His talent and enthusiasm tends to bring out the best in me. His superior ability provides sufficient competition to make me try a little harder, but any seriousness is avoided by the nature of friendship. The emphasis is always on fun.
Plus I had my knowledge from the previous attempt. I had already meticulously explored every conceivable sequence in the desire to avoid what had ultimately proved to be unavoidable. At least I was now certain of what to do.
As I had done last time, I solo’d up to the gear, placed an okay cam in a good flake, then a good cam in the okay flake. Not my favourite combination, but its grit isn’t it, and slightly hollow flakes are always fine anyway. That’s obvious
I climbed back down to the floor. Cup of tea, Jamaican ginger cake (very important), clean shoes, tie on. Joke with Dan about belayers wearing helmets. Back up to the gear, quickly clipped. With no reason to pause, I launch myself straight into the crux. A jump into a high left foot and I’m higher than I have been. The crimps are smaller than expected, and my hands are unhelpfully crossed. Oh dear! Having been riding on the confidence of prior knowledge, my gumption has suddenly run dry as I’m faced with the unexpected. I turn to my initiative for some inspiration. ‘Climb down’ is its best response. Very helpful, given that the climbing is irreversible. I retreat as far as possible, about half a move, and try to sag as close to the gear as I can. It’s a strange paradox, wanting to avoid a fall but pushing yourself to the point where it is inevitable. My sagging reaches its conclusion and the inevitable fall becomes current reality. I’m aware that I am falling, but as ever, it is happening very quickly and it isn’t as scary as the moments leading up to it.The next three things happen in very quick succession: My legs take up the impact as I swing into the wall, I put my feet down onto the pads just a few inches below the point at which I came to rest, and I feel the air from something moving past the back of my neck. It seems that we all look to the floor at the same time. There’s a rock on the pads. It wasn’t there before. I look up at the hollow flake. Only it isn’t there. Collectively it seems, the penny drops. I’ve just fallen to within a whisker of the deck, and the falling flake has missed us both by the most narrow of margins.
I start giggling, and can’t stop. I keep expecting a delayed dose of adrenaline-induced shaking, but it never arrives. I remain unusually calm about the whole debacle.
Although ostensibly it was a close call, it still felt like the whole situation was sufficiently calculated and under our control, in spite of the unexpected. “Safe enough, although not quite textbook” is our conclusion.
(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OoK98nfOuS4/UKrFl9ypFWI/AAAAAAAAAA4/ggiPdBMowFY/s1600/tsottc.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OoK98nfOuS4/UKrFl9ypFWI/AAAAAAAAAA4/ggiPdBMowFY/s1600/tsottc.jpg)Photo courtesy of Dan Arkle http://www.danarkle.com/
(https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2626284412514037971-2983876835283074507?l=reeveontheroad.blogspot.com)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Good writing Reeve, familiar feelings throughout all the grades. I'll always have that clip from 'Consumed' of someone shaking up the ramp on Linden stuck in my head if I ever try it :ohmy:
-
Good effort, try not to destroy too much grit tho :P
-
Slab and Crack (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2013/02/choosing-what-to-climb-with-dan-follows.html)
10 February 2013, 5:27 pm
Choosing what to climb with Dan follows a familiar pattern: I will suggest something I consider feasible; Dan will dismiss it as too easy and suggest something I consider too hard; We’ll try it in spite of my reservations; Dan will somehow drag us both to the top (or at least to a safe escape). To make matters worse for me, Dan remains happily unaware that being over-ambitious is even possible, leading to an even bigger discrepancy in our proposed objectives. I wanted this pattern to change. I wanted to out-ambition Dan.
So on a Saturday in November, Dan and I already driving towards the Peak, though not yet having discussed what to climb, I took my opportunity to think big. One route came to mind that I would love to climb, but I’ve always rejected it as being too difficult for me. Even better, I knew that Dan was intimidated by it too, and so he wouldn’t be in a position to over-rule it. Barely able to contain my fear, excitement, and smugness at beating Dan in this stupid game of route-suggestion one-upmanship (that only I was playing anyway), I put on my most casual offhand manner and I said it: “how about err, oh I don’t mind where we go really. Ahem. How about Slab and Crack?”“Ooh!” Dan looked shocked. For a moment I felt proud – I had done it. I had thought big. Bigger than Dan. Then, having recovered his composure, he got the last laugh, Dan agreed we should try it. Oh shit!
Needless to say, neither of us are Ryan: Neither of us flashed it. Indeed, we were far from flashing it. Which is fine, as that was not what we expected. Rather, I have had about a dozen goes spread over the past two weekends. Dan topped out yesterday, just before rain stopped play. Perhaps out of kindness, perhaps out of a sense of obligation, or maybe from a sense of team completion, Dan is here at Curbar with me again.
The whole process of solving problems, bantering away the other’s anxiety and pooling our collective nerve had left me with a string of memories. In the way that friendships are built out of shared experiences, and Dan and I have certainly been accruing a lot of these in the past few days. I also felt an unusual affinity for the route. Different sections of rock acted as cues for memories that were intrinsically linked with a specific sense of place. Different moves holding an emotional intonation, reminding me of snippets of chat, kind gestures or overcoming feelings of intimidation.
Finally, having already undergone a great deal of barely necessary pre-route faff, I took one last look around. Maybe the duress of repeated attempts has left me in a reflective mood, but even the ground at the base of the route brought back good memories. The joking, the gossiping, the psyching up, the piss taking, the time Dan tripped over that deceptively flat bit of grass...
Somewhat forced, I leave the ground. The first moves are close enough to the pads to be climbed more dynamically than necessary – a playful hop taking preference to a boring reach. Much to my amusement, Dan made a mess of this part every time. The easiest bit of the route, but Dan would always be in a tangle of limbs until told what to do, an unintended in-joke (it is actually really obvious how to do it, by the way).
The next part was a bit of a breakthrough for me when I first did it, as I couldn’t use Dan’s beta and I was starting to feel a bit stuck. Right now I love and loathe this part in equal measure, it’s my way of doing it and it works for me, but it leaves me with the unfortunate consequence of an awkward foot-swap. Every time I get here I’m grateful that Dan pulls the rope to the side, otherwise runs across the vital foothold. I didn’t have to ask, but the difference it makes is more than psychological.
Completing the long rock over leads me back to a familiar spot: Back to the pause just before the scary part. It’s become a familiar position, right here. It took me a long time to find that I could actually rest a little. Allowing my body to lengthen from my hands to my feet and spragging with my thumb. Breathe deeply but carefully, or the movement of my chest will push me out of balance. On paper it sounds so simple. It didn’t feel simple the first time I was here, but the holds haven’t changed.
The next part is the scary bit, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Although I have jumped off from this slight rest a few times, I wouldn’t want to fall from higher up. And I could do, it’s not consistently easy enough for me to be certain. Cruelly, it’s the most insecure of all the climbing prior to the gear. It’s all slopers, smears and a sidepull, nothing you could catch yourself with. Last time it felt great – so easy that I convinced myself I have it dialled.
I launch up into the sequence, imbued with confidence from cruising it earlier in the day. But having lulled myself into this careless mind-set, it will not surprise you to learn that it now feels much harder again – oh dear! I don’t like having to try this hard up here.
It made me think of Dan spotting me. He always looked smooth on that part, despite using worse smears on his sequence than I dare. I always feel bad when I sketch up high, it’s awful to watch when you’re spotting. I felt anxious when spotting Dan, and he never looked sketchy on it like I do now. Sorry Dan!
Now stood on a stepped edge, I’m level with the gear, cheekily still in from yesterday’s efforts. Clip clip clip. Two RPs and a crap alien. By a fluke of taking turns, Dan had always got here first, and so had to place the gear. Of course, the strategy I employed was to makesure I went last on any given day, that way it was always Dan to go first next time.
A few more moves and the wall steepens slightly. Predictably, the crux. It’s protected by another RP, a completely blind placement that again, I never had the pleasure of putting in. This suited me perfectly, as it is pumpy enough to clip, let alone place. Fortunately for me, this also meant that Dan was always the first to test it too. I’m glad I didn’t have to!
I can’t even think of this crux without admitting to our complete punter-dom. I’ll come straight out with it, I’m going to blame Dan. You see, Dan placed three RPs in the top crack, although only one of them ever got weighted. The bottom one wasn’t very good anyway. And the top one was adjacent to the crux crimp in the crack. Between us we must have had a dozen attempts each with this setup, crimping the hell out of the edge of the crack, barely cramming our fingers deep enough to call it a hold. Until Dan took out that darn top RP. He’d blocked the crucial hold with a non-crucial wire. Obviously everyone does so occasionally, but we had both persisted for two full days like this. As I said, punters! Obviously it was Dan who placed it each time. He’d have been a lot less pumped if he’d left it out too.
Kind of disappointingly, the absence of this wire is actually what made the difference. Of all the combinations of foot positions, sidepulls, undercuts, and any other trick I had tried, none of them mattered much compared with actually having the actual hold available. Ah well. I set up for the move, heavy with the emotional baggage of past repeated failure, but light with the comparative jug now in my right hand. I trusted to luck on the right foot smear, and stepped my left foot towards the good edge. Here is where I’ve fallen before, but not this time. With a foot on the good flatty, I rocked over.
Again making use of the RPs Dan had placed yesterday, I stand in balance, sizing up the final moves. The one good foothold gives some respite, but it doesn’t stop my escalating anxiety. Basically, I really don’t want this siege to stretch on any more. Fear of failure has got the better of me now, and I’ve allowed myself to get into the trap of pissing about looking for the massive jug that blatantly doesn’t exist.
Tiring forearms force me into action. Choosing the best of the bad bunch of crimps, I smear with my right, then smear with my left. A gaston is within reach, but in my urgency I mess up the slap and end up hitting the wall to the side of the hold. I’ve pushed myself outwards! I barndoor backwards, left hand and left foot arcing in mid-air. But my whole-body pendulum slows, and I swing back in. It is a slab, after all. I kind of fall back onto the hold. Compared with grasping at fresh air, it feels like a jug. No more mistakes here, I don’t so much smear on the next foothold, but weld my foot into the very grain of the rock.
With both hands on top, a wave of euphoria and relief engulfs me, although only for a brief moment. It passes and I feel strangely weak, as if my body has paced itself perfectly and now has nothing left. I wobble through the easy mantel onto the top of the crag, and standing in the wind, out of sight of my companions, everything feels slightly surreal. Not for long however, in the time I’ve undone the Velcro on my shoes the high has already passed. No more anxiety, no more euphoria, back to normal. It might sound a bit cliché, but topping out is all part of the process, and doesn’t seem any more important than the parts that came before.Topping out offered a sense of completion, but my enjoyment of the route happened across the whole four days. Memories are intrinsically anchored to the physical place where they took place, and without a doubt that is a special place and a special route, but in many ways the route was primarily a vessel for friendship and challenge.
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--zcgtXzttCU/URfXRM-UKaI/AAAAAAAAABM/vKLwLGSG02M/s320/Slab+and+crack+1.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--zcgtXzttCU/URfXRM-UKaI/AAAAAAAAABM/vKLwLGSG02M/s1600/Slab+and+crack+1.jpg) The stopping point just before the scary section (Copyright Dan McManus)(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lrAH9NH5W4o/URfXT2N_14I/AAAAAAAAABU/kc72lpceI4g/s320/Slab+and+crack+2.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lrAH9NH5W4o/URfXT2N_14I/AAAAAAAAABU/kc72lpceI4g/s1600/Slab+and+crack+2.jpg)Reaching for the good edge, at the start of the crux (Copyright Dan McManus)
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Good writing
-
Great writing... A real treat. I think that's got to be one of the best style ascents that I know of, of that particular route. Tidy!
-
Thanks both.
I think that's got to be one of the best style ascents that I know of, of that particular route. Tidy!
Ryan's flash of it is really in another league. Mind you, so is him climbing 9a.
-
Squamish 1 (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2014/09/squamish-1.html)
22 September 2014, 11:59 pm
And so a new trip begins...
(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dRW2lwiFSIE/VCCpJiGLkaI/AAAAAAAAADM/f8BE6zJro58/s1600/Squam+sign.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dRW2lwiFSIE/VCCpJiGLkaI/AAAAAAAAADM/f8BE6zJro58/s1600/Squam+sign.jpg)
...in Squamish. We have so far avoided any major epics (probably because Lindy's here), which I'm sure most people would consider a good thing. For the unfortunate reader of this blog however, no epics means no stories. As a result this will be a bit light on drama - in return for a few snaps. Until something goes horribly wrong or I get in over my head, when normal procedure will resume (by which I mean having a torrid epic and blaming it all on Dan's ungrounded confidence in my ability.)
Squamish seemed to be a slightly strange blend. On the one hand, the town is surounded by rock. Crags sit all around it. The other side of this however, is that the crags are surrounded by the town. Which also means buildings and roads all around. Surprisingly we became well accustoned to this accustomed to this after a few weeks, so even the noise of the highway and the docks of the logging industry fades into the general background mileau. This is with the exception of the slow bellow of the trains' horn (every 15 seconds, throughout the duration of its slow passage through town, at any time of the day and night), which is somewhat more difficult to become accustomed to. This proximity to civilisation, whilst making for a considerably less wilderness-like experience, brings with it a lot of convenience: supermarkets, friends, a friendly climbing community and 1 dollar samosas.
Climbing wise, the Stawamus Cheif's Grand Wall is the area showpiece. The crux pitches are graded 5.11a (about E3) so Lindy made me lead them. In return, I made her carry the bag (I definitely got the better deal).
[tr][td](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vO7BvZhkqnM/VCCpFnzaQLI/AAAAAAAAADE/mDTR3CfCB2I/s1600/Split+Pillar.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vO7BvZhkqnM/VCCpFnzaQLI/AAAAAAAAADE/mDTR3CfCB2I/s1600/Split+Pillar.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Lindy on the Split Pillar pitch of the Grand Wall[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Lindy's big lead of the route was the Split Pillar, a 40m jamming corner which she climbed steadily and confidently. This same level of composure and fluidity was slightly lacking later in the trip when Lindy lead the classic Exasperator. Finding herself psyched out by the crux, only by verbalising her inner dialogue could she muster the gumption to keep going. All I heard from the base of the route was Lindy mumbling to herself; it later transpired that her words were "come on you stupid cow - just get on with it". I suspect that this would not have worked so well had I offered her the same advice.
[tr][td](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MgZ-A-JD5nM/VCComr9J25I/AAAAAAAAACc/m1EHQRaEHaA/s1600/Perry's+Layback.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MgZ-A-JD5nM/VCComr9J25I/AAAAAAAAACc/m1EHQRaEHaA/s1600/Perry's+Layback.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]
Lindy seconding Perry's layback. With rucksack, obvs.[/td][/tr]
[/table]
My favourite memory of the Grand Wall is the escape across Bellygood Ledge, entirely because of Lindy's shriek when she saw how narrow the ledge gets. Her initial words went along the lines of "Reeve... I'm not doing it". Faced with the stark choice between completing the crawl or staying there for the night... well her choice was obvious, as below
[tr][td](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MNXK0bRecu8/VCCogsQvlEI/AAAAAAAAACU/Xvmu1uJQYzY/s1600/Bellygood+ledge.jpg) (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MNXK0bRecu8/VCCogsQvlEI/AAAAAAAAACU/Xvmu1uJQYzY/s1600/Bellygood+ledge.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Lindy feigning having fun[/td][/tr]
[/table]
and finally
[tr][td](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RwCyNqsXfXs/VCC11-DzVwI/AAAAAAAAADk/XU2MWcnUXGo/s1600/Scimitar+(1+of+1).jpg) (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RwCyNqsXfXs/VCC11-DzVwI/AAAAAAAAADk/XU2MWcnUXGo/s1600/Scimitar+(1+of+1).jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Me on the Scimitar (11b)[/td][/tr]
[/table]
[tr][td](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iCnxqqXJcvU/VCC1_v3HcDI/AAAAAAAAAD0/Puy71HMh7Yk/s1600/Scimitar+me.jpg) (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iCnxqqXJcvU/VCC1_v3HcDI/AAAAAAAAAD0/Puy71HMh7Yk/s1600/Scimitar+me.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Longing for the chains[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Having mocked Lindy enough for one post, here's a picture of me in uncomfortable extremis (read: struggling embarrasingly on an E3) to make up for it. As you can see, I found this desperate, but all the same my efforts were put to shame by Lauren, who tried so hard that her shouting even drowned out the noise of the train.
[tr][td](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-403aj8eeGPo/VCC18lqjZvI/AAAAAAAAADs/1r_Ud2-CPaQ/s1600/Scimitar+Lauren.jpg) (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-403aj8eeGPo/VCC18lqjZvI/AAAAAAAAADs/1r_Ud2-CPaQ/s1600/Scimitar+Lauren.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Lauren, not trying hard enough[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Freerider 1 (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2014/11/freerider-1.html)
14 November 2014, 1:27 am
For me, free climbing El Capitan is such a horribly obvious big ambition that it has probably been lurking at the back of my mind for the last 18 years, pretty much since I started climbing. Three years ago I had a really good trip to Yosemite with Dan which only made this ambition more immediately obvious. And now I've had the past two months climbing on granite, I'm in the Valley with Dan, and the forecast is for 30c and full sun. Good enough.
Tuesday
Today we pack and pre-haul the bag to Heart Ledges up the fixed ropes. A pair who are also hauling up the fixed lines drop their spare hauling device (who carries a spare hauling device anyway? only people who are likely to drop their hauling device...), and a team on an aid route above us knock off a basket ball sized rock which explodes into gravel just above us, but the trip to stash our bag is otherwise uneventful and we return back to camp 4 for a days rest.
Wednesday
The days rest is actually a days dread. I'm nauseatingly aware that in twenty four hours time, we'll be part way through a rather big day. Our plan is to climb 20 pitches tomorrow. This includes the slick slabs of the free blast, a bunch of chimneys, a couple of long down-climbs which connect features on the wall, and finishes off with the monster offwidth. The Monster Offwidth. That's right, as if a 50 meter offwidth isn't bad enough as it is, it is named to intimidate. As Dan has climbed it three times already he kindly offers me the priviledge of leading it. How can I refuse? (I didn't mean that rhetorically, I desperately searched for a way to refuse but the only words which left my mouth were 'yeah, great'. Idiot.)
In the village store I bump into Andy, one of the pair who was dropping gear whilst hauling yesterday. I ask him what he's doing down here, as they are meant to be aiding their way up Salathe and should be halfway up El Cap. Andy shakes his head and explains that his partner dropped their entire rack down the hollow flake as he was chimneying! Unbelievable. So they have temporarily retreated to collect their spare rack. Yep, an entire spare rack. Who owns an entire spare rack anyway? oh...
Thursday
Today is the day. It doesn't feel like any exaggeration to say that the combination of length, difficulty, and how much I want to do this route will make today the biggest day out climbing I've ever tried. Dan seems much cooler about it all than me, but then he's free'd El Cap twice already and knows most of this route already.
Despite all this talk of dread, as soon as we start climbing at 3am I'm immersed in the fun of it all. The freeblast goes smoothly except for a slip at the crux on my part (bloody granite friction slabs) and we even manage what James Lucas calls "the hardest move on rock". By 10am however the sun comes round onto our face, and for the next 6 hours we get fairly fried, drink more than our ration of water, and climb a lot of chimneys.
[tr][td](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y_uowN4Z5VU/VGVXvcgJNMI/AAAAAAAAAE0/7yHdeHvDQno/s320/Freerider+(3+of+6).jpg) (https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y_uowN4Z5VU/VGVXvcgJNMI/AAAAAAAAAE0/7yHdeHvDQno/s1600/Freerider+(3+of+6).jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dan leading the Hollow Flake pitch. There's a whole rack wedged somewhere deep inside El Cap there.[/td][/tr]
[/table]
I'm surprisingly successful at blocking out the thought of the M.O., and so I feel a little surprised when I find myself racking up for it. My preconception is of its notoriety, but this is to miss out the fact that it is also an incredibly cool pitch. I step off the ledge and straight into a wild undercutting down climb to access the crack proper. Much of the route to here has been slabs, chimneys and grooves, which all offer protection from the feeling of height or exposure. No such protection here though!
[tr][td](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mTQuI9Rw2X8/VGVaCBZqwmI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0jt6OPHqYmk/s320/IMG_6609.JPG) (https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mTQuI9Rw2X8/VGVaCBZqwmI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0jt6OPHqYmk/s1600/IMG_6609.JPG)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Getting psyched just before the M.O. Climbing with Dan is always a serious business, and no pitch should be taken more seriously than this one[/td][/tr]
[/table]
I feel so hyped up I just punch out the moves until I reach the edge of the crack and can throw myself as far inside the crack as I can fit. And so it begins. 50m of struggle, broken only by a few footholds. I find the first section a real battle, but Dan tells me to not worry as that's how it is meant to feel. Great. It's a beautiful evening, with the whole West side of El Cap glowing orange as the sun sets. For a short while things seem to go well. Painfully, laboriously, skin shreddingly and slowly, but enjoyable because of this. I get to the final rest foothold, but I know I'm tired. I'm really tired. It's getting dark, the moment of enjoyment has passed, and I'm scared of the possibility of failure. There's no such thing as trying again if you fail at the top of a 50m pitch which has just taken you over an hour already. With the dusk turning to night, I set off on the final few meters. The foot cams which seemed secure when I was fresh start skidding. I over grip with my arms, pushing and squeezing ineffectually. Panic sets in, and I helplessly slide out of the crack. Almost as a passive observer, I see my chance at climbing Freerider slip. I sit on the rope in partial disbelief. The exhaustion, tiredness, pain and dejection mix together. I don't want to be here any more. I hate this stupid crack. I want to be back in camp 4 with Lindy. I want to swear my head off but it takes a while before I can catch my breath and muster the energy to do so, but when I do, I start in earnest: "You BASTARD stupid fucking good-for-nothing piece-of-shit crack!!".
It takes me a long time to frig my way up the final 5 meters, and it's definitely nighttime as Dan seconds the pitch cleanly. One more half-pitch sees us at the Alcove, where we'll bivvy for the night. We eat and go to sleep straight after, but I wake intermittently through the night, usually having slid down the ledge into some rocks. It's a clear starry night, and the moon partially illuminates the Cathedral rocks opposite El Cap. It's a beautiful place to stir intermittently, but I can't escape the thought that I've fallen off the Monster and screwed it up.
[tr][td](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vW-8Tw1u-wk/VGVYjox7fQI/AAAAAAAAAE8/_9g0DDSHDcE/s320/Post+monster.JPG) (https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vW-8Tw1u-wk/VGVYjox7fQI/AAAAAAAAAE8/_9g0DDSHDcE/s1600/Post+monster.JPG)[/td][/tr][tr][td]My elbow the day after the Monster - ouch![/td][/tr]
[/table]
Friday
The dawn of a new day brings with it an acceptance that I'm not freeing El Cap, a multitude of aches and pains throughout my body, and a dearth of skin on my elbow thanks to the M.O. Fortunately however, today only has 5 pitches to the next bivvy. These are mostly straight forward (although of course, they don't feel it to me given the beating I received yesterday), except for the crux of the route, the boulder problem pitch. Dan flashed this pitch when he was here in May, but today, in the scorching heat, he can't even redpoint it. Dan gives up on his all-free ascent of Freerider and we continue to the Block, where we chill out to the entertainment provided by Team Butterfingers, who are having a tough time aiding the pitch above us. We hear a warning shout of "rock!", but in actual fact it's just another cam being cast earthwards. Later, shouts of "man, why don't we have enough small cams" can be heard. It might be uncharitable, but I can't help thinking that the reason for that is pretty self-evident. Whilst chaos ensues above, we sit out the head wave. Later, as if we needed any confirmation of the suitability of their nickname, Butterfingers drop their hash pipe onto the ledge. The last we hear from them is a distressed shout of "man I don't know how to clean a pendulum, this is the kinda crap I wanted to practice on the ground!" followed by a whole lot more yelling.
Saturday
I'm still dehydrated and my finger skin is trashed, but we'll top out today. I pull on at least one piece of gear on almost every pitch. Free'ing an isolated pitch doesn't really matter to me right now, and my elbow is in a bit of a state. I just want to get down to drink some water. Where Dan is still energetic and pulls out some tough leads, I manage one of my worst ever on one of the enduro corner pitches.
We top out in the late afternoon. Frigrider it may be, but we've still topped out on El Cap, so despite my disappointment at not freeing the route I'm still chuffed.
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
:popcorn:
-
Freerider 2 (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2014/11/freerider-2.html)
14 November 2014, 8:30 am
A week and a half has passed since we got down. Waiting for my elbow to heal and the weather to cool down. We were in no way certain of trying again when we first got down, but slowly the thought grew into an idea, and then a plan. Yesterday I experienced the now familiar dread and ate too much, and then my alarm woke me at 2am. This time we've packed an extra few litres of water and some food, which allows a contingency day if we need more time on any pitch. And most pertinently, the forecast is about 20 degrees cooler. The familiarity of the first pitches helps speed things up, Freeblast goes smoothly and we both manage the 'hardest move on rock' first go, and make it up to the Monster in good time. Unlike on our last attempt we have plenty of time here, so I eat drink and carefully tape the fresh pink skin on my elbow.
| (https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BD8mYQWh60U/VGVbwQXrpxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/rjUIxHchL_Y/s320/Monster.JPG) (https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BD8mYQWh60U/VGVbwQXrpxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/rjUIxHchL_Y/s1600/Monster.JPG) |
| On the M.O. |
Once again, Dan has lead the last 6 pitches and hauled the bags so that I can be fresh. With a certain inevitability, the time comes. The traverse goes well and hurl myself back into the familiar wedge shape inside the crack. I don't know if it's my memory, or if I'm doing something wrong, but it feels even harder than last time. I'm wasting energy and before I'm even at the first rest the familiar panic sets in. The ratio of udging up versus sliding down passes a critical point and again I fall out of this goddam stupid crack. "This goddam stupid crack!" I vent. "Why am I so crap at climbing this goddam stuid crack!" I lower back to the ledge and we discuss options. We can either aid our way up, I can have another go, or Dan can try and shimmy his way up the Monster. This will be Dan's fifth time climbing this pitch, and he's got it well dialled. My previous highfalutin ideals of leading the pitch myself in order to settle a score can get stuffed. I hand Dan the two big cams and put him on belay. I might have made him do all the strenuous hauling already today, but in spite of this he gets stuck in and wedges his way up in about twenty minutes - pretty slick!
Which means its my turn again already. Oh dear god I hate this. Dan puts me on belay, and I start climbing. The traverse in goes well, and pretty soon I'm uncomfortably wedged at the bottom of the next 50 hellish meters. I look up the length of the pitch and ask aloud "how on Earth am I going to climb this?" It's a fair question I think, based on recent experience. I consciously decide to avoid thinking of anything more than what's in front of me, and climb to the mantra of 'one move at a time, one move at a time'. This frees me of the intimidation and pressure I felt last go, and so slowly I make progress, eventually making it to the final rest. My anxiety is high as I start the final section. My tiredness from the previous 19 pitches, and worse, the last 40 meters catches up with me, and I can see the rising tide of panic is only a few moments away. My ankles are tired, and my feet are slipping. I know what this means... not again. Just before critical levels of exhaustion I lean out the crack, there's nothing for it now... I'm going to have to layback. The passive observer part of my mind can clearly see that this is a stupid idea which will work for al of ten seconds then I'll fall off with no way of getting back inside the crack, but such rational thinking is being overwhelmed by fatigue and panic. Just before I commit to laybacking the crack, with almost comedic timing, Dan shouts down "stick with the technique!". Part of me just wanted to fall of, to put an end to the physical pain, the strenuous climbing, everything horrible about it. But Dan's clear sound advice forced me to keep going. In that moment I despised Dan. The brief pause half out of the crack has rested my ankles. Back in the crack I go, back into pain on my shoulder, elbow, heels, toes, ankles and shins, heavy breathing and slow incremental progress. But given sufficient time, slow and incremental progress is all it takes. Finally the crack gets easier and wider, until eventually I'm on easy terrain, still panting and struggling, having fought harder than I can honestly remember fighting before. It takes me a while for it to sink in, but I'm at the belay with Dan, and Freerider is still on. "Take that El Cap!" I yell, my body full of adrenaline and my mind full of hubris.
[tr][td](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Abho2sAJQFE/VGVclHeNuYI/AAAAAAAAAFY/wdeIaUaiqdw/s320/FR1+(1+of+1)-3.jpg) (https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Abho2sAJQFE/VGVclHeNuYI/AAAAAAAAAFY/wdeIaUaiqdw/s1600/FR1+(1+of+1)-3.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Monday morning oats at the Alcove Bivvy[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Monday
Today is all about the Teflon Corner, which we've decided to try as an alternative to the Boulder Problem pitch. The first pitches are straight forward enough, and just like last time, we get to the hard climbing just as the sun comes onto the face. Quite unlike last time however, it's about 20 degrees cooler and windy - great conditions. The Teflon Corner is slabby on one side, steep on the other, and unsurprisingly, quite slick. There's not much in the way of pure stemming corners in the UK, but this evidently doesn't concern Dan as he onsights it. This is a brilliant effort, and fills me with confidence that I'll do it in no more than just a few goes. I fall off on my first go, and my second. Then the third, and the fourth. After that I lose count. Eventually I pull on gear past the crux to join Dan and the haul bag for a rest, food and water. I'm starting to get a bit concerned - what if I just can't do it? I borrow a left shoe from Dan. He thinks that it'll help as it's so soft for smearing, but I'm just banking on his shoes being imbued with some kind of mystical McManus footwork magic. I lower back in to the pitch and sure enough, whether its the rest or the shoes, something is working. I surpass my previous high point, karate kicking footholds and falling into presses, lucking out and skidding upwards with my heart in my mouth. Yet again, it's still on!
A dirty pitch takes us back up to the Block. We reminisce about the entertainment provided by Butter Fingers, while Dan makes us liste to political and economics podcasts.
[tr][td](https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEdtPMI4ni0/VGVdYYojlwI/AAAAAAAAAFg/JG0Zzd_cxsc/s320/FR1+(1+of+1)-4.jpg) (https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEdtPMI4ni0/VGVdYYojlwI/AAAAAAAAAFg/JG0Zzd_cxsc/s1600/FR1+(1+of+1)-4.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dan on his way towards the Teflon Corner[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Tuesday
The past two days have each had their main event, their big pitch which either makes it or breaks it. Between them I've had to put in a full-on effort, and I've fluked my way up a slippy corner. I've been kidding myself that today is without any major obstacles. Although we're above the two cruxes, the reality is that today still has 7 tough pitches followed by another two more moderate ones. There's a whole bunch of pitches which could give us a hard time today, but fortunately they're all classic bits of granite climbing in their own right, so I decide to think about this instead.
Dan leads us off for the first three pitches. Sous le Toit goes well, then he fights his way up both enduro-corners. I use the time-tested strategy of getting all the beta I can and then leaving all the gear clipped to the rope as I take it out, unable to take a hand off for long enough to put it on my harness. I'm nervous because a slip would mean lowering back down, and the resultant waste of time and energy. I don't normally suffer too badly from a fear of failure, but I'm find every pitch up here stressful. This is what it's all about!
We have a quick break at the Round Table ledge, which I can only assume was named ironically as it is neither round nor a table. This part of Freerider stays in the shade for much longer than most of the face, and up here the wind has picked up from the afternoon thermals caused by the sun. The past 5 weeks in California has obviously left me soft, as I lead most of the next pitch shivering. These top pitches are blighted by fixed ropes from top-roping scondrels who have ab'd in from the top, tick marking each jug and generally getting in the way. This not withstanding, one more short pitch brings us to the most exposed belay on the route, and the start of the Scotty-Burke offwidth. Last time around I didn't even try this pitch, given that my red raw elbow and psyche deserting me.
[tr][td](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aPrlpR5dqM8/VGVdqqV5A2I/AAAAAAAAAFo/N-YXbf0Jk6c/s320/FR1+(1+of+1)-5.jpg) (https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aPrlpR5dqM8/VGVdqqV5A2I/AAAAAAAAAFo/N-YXbf0Jk6c/s1600/FR1+(1+of+1)-5.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dan finishing off the traverse pitch which takes you to the Freerider variation pitches[/td][/tr]
[/table]
This is the last tough pitch, it's an offwidth (not again!), and a number of people have core-shot their rope by falling off laybacking the first part. Oh God! There's no way on Earth that I'm laybacking this, I'm too scared. So I get inside and reqacquaint myself with the same technique I used two days ago. But I don't get past the bulging part. This is for the very simple reason that it is an offwidth, and it is overhanging. There's no way on Earth I can avoid laybacking this. Throwing caution to the wind and clipping a long sling onto my cam, I lean back and layback up past the steep part as quick as I can, until at the earliest opportunity to get back inside the crack. Then once again it's time to recommence shuffling. And this is where the fear of failure crescendos. How would it feel to free El Cap to here, then mess it up? I decide against answering my own question. Fortunately this offwidth is more forgiving than the M.O., and with my anxiety mounting I manage to bridge across a three-way chimney system and onto the top. Much to my embarrasment I appear to have picked up some American vernacular, and announce to myself that "Yes! We are sending". Ironically, Dan decides to make a mockery of this statement by falling off the next pitch even though it's the easiest one all day, its 8 grades easier than the Teflon Corner, and he hadn't fallen off at all in the past three days. Needless to say, he got straight back on and within an hour we were topping out as the sun went down.
We bivvied on top and descended the next day, kindly picked up by our own welcoming party. Then we drank beer. Lots of beer.
[tr][td](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sswvHonVbJw/VGVd-nAeFDI/AAAAAAAAAFw/_rwSCUpcN0Y/s320/FR1+(1+of+1)-6.jpg) (https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sswvHonVbJw/VGVd-nAeFDI/AAAAAAAAAFw/_rwSCUpcN0Y/s1600/FR1+(1+of+1)-6.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dan bivvying on top of El Cap[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Cheers Toby!
-
Good work Reeve.
-
Great to read the last post after reading the one before it. :2thumbsup:
-
Hi reeve, I've not seen your blog before, but have just read it from start to end. Some great writing, your descriptions are really vivid and easy to relate to. Thanks a lot for sharing :2thumbsup:
-
Well done reeve! Cracking writing as per.
-
Thanks a lot all - kind words
-
Great stuff. Going back up again less than two weeks after getting spanked is really impressive.
-
Just caught up with this Andy, congrats to you both. sounds an awesome adventure. Certainly keeps me inspired while sweatin it out in t'Works!!!
take care mate
x
-
Not The Avellano Tower (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2015/05/not-avellano-tower.html)
11 May 2015, 10:13 am
I first met Dave about 5 years ago. Our conversation skipped any niceties beyond the briefest of introductions as he cornered me by the desk at the Works and started telling me about a 350m sea cliff off the Shetland Isles that had only seen one ascent. Despite our position causing an obstruction to anyone wanting to actually pay to enter the wall, Dave's description piqued my interest. And I felt slightly intimidated by his wild-eyed gaze, an expression I would come to know all too well. He invited me on holiday with him to try and climb this cliff. Not knowing any better at the time, I took the immediacy of his invitation as a compliment and reciprocated this warmth with hearty agreement. Had I known (or more precisely, had I thought more carefully about this) that this "holiday" would involve climbing the loosest terrain (I can't bring myself to use the term 'rock' here) I have ever encountered, whilst taking direct hits to the face from fulmars, and being soaked to the neck on an insufficiently tensioned tyrolean whilst accessing a virgin sea stack, I may not have been quite so fast to agree. By the end of two weeks with Dave, I had already become accustomed to, and to slightly fear, his wild-eyed look. Subsequent days climbing with Dave proved that this first impression of him was not atypical. It has since occurred to me (actually, I think he just told me straight) that the main reason he invited me was that he thought I might be foolish enough to say 'yes', whereas everyone else he knew had already been wise enough to say 'no'.
[tr][td](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjmxA3y5JYY/VVBpCWt3JnI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Z9eRKAQCZtU/s200/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-12.jpg) (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mjmxA3y5JYY/VVBpCWt3JnI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Z9eRKAQCZtU/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-12.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dave demonstrates his wild-eyed look even whilst dancing[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Now that you are privy to the nature of how our friendship began, it may surprise you to hear that when Dave told me about an unclimbed 800m high tower in an unexplored corner of Patagonia, I unquestioningly agreed to join him in returning to the region to try it. The more shrewd readers of course, will not be surprised by this in the slightest, recognising as they will, that I am still foolish enough to say 'yes'.
Dave had attempted the North face of the Avellano Tower in January 2014 with his friend John, but they had underestimated the difficulty of the climbing they would encounter, and been unprepared for the scale of the thing. John is made of the same adventurous mettle as Dave, but as he also got Will (who is a bit more sensible) to join us, which goes to show that Dave definitely has the knack of persuasion.
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VJPabuYx4Yk/VVBpGsO7BDI/AAAAAAAAAHU/8VSqlDW1jK4/s320/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-7.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VJPabuYx4Yk/VVBpGsO7BDI/AAAAAAAAAHU/8VSqlDW1jK4/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-7.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]The Avellano Tower, with Will and John[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Dave and John had previously taken a day & a half to approach from a valley extending to the North-West, but described it as tough and time consuming terrain. As we intended to take pretty much everything we could think of (three weeks of food, aid racks, portaledges, kitchen sinks...) this would make their original approach impractical. Dave conceived of an alternative approach, by getting a boat across a nearby lake on the South of the valley and casually wandering up what Google Maps promised to be a gentle and pleasant stroll. We had no idea if this would work, because as far as we know no climbing team had ever been up this way. Two days before leaving the UK Dave and John were put in touch with Pascual, our local fixer.
I met John and Will at Santiago airport and we traveled onwards to the town of Coyhaique. Dave had meanwhile managed to commit himself to life-stuff at home and was going to join us a week later (by walking the original way on his tod, in order to avoid a costly boat trip on his own), by which time we should be established underneath the wall and raring to go. Whilst in Coyhaique we added a ton of food to our already excessive pile of gear. Given the plans for the coming days, I tried to avoid verbalising the phrase "enough kit to sink a boat". We waited for Pascual to collect us (he was only late twice for one pick-up, however that works) and were kindly driven down to the edge of Lago General Carrera, from where he would take us over in his boat to be met by a pair of local gouchos he had contacted via radio.
It is no exaggeration to say that Lago General Carrrera is a big lake. It would be even bigger except that half of it lies within Argentina and half in Chile. The Argentine part is named Lago Buenos Aires. Despite having two names, to me it just looks like one big lake. It is at the confluence of a myriad of mountain valleys, all funneling a turbulent set of winds across the water. Patagonian winds, of course. Suffice to say, it is not known for its millpond-like qualities. Which partly explains my surprise at how small Pascuall's boat was when we arrived at the shore at 6am. This didn't seem to perturb John however, who busied himself by bailing water out of the boat. It had only been used the previous day and it hadn't rained overnight, so I opted to not think too hard about where this water may have come from.
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3l5aBDSPJwc/VVBpJAMr83I/AAAAAAAAAHw/HNU8XWQD09w/s320/Pata+blog+(1+of+1).jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3l5aBDSPJwc/VVBpJAMr83I/AAAAAAAAAHw/HNU8XWQD09w/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1).jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]John bailing out the boat whilst Pascual attaches the outboard motor[/td][/tr]
[/table]
With all our bags and four people in the boat, the bottom of the hull now bottomed out in the small bay where the boat was moored. Pascuall handed out long sticks and so began some enthusiastic punting (although in all fairness, this phrase could be used to describe pretty much all of my climbing activities). We go nowhere fast, and it feels like bedlam as Pascual's manner escalates from incomprehensible instructions to barked commands. None of us speak Spanish well enough to understand a word. Pascual knows this but it doesn't seem to stop him from shouting at us with increasingly frantic orders.
Eventually we're in water deep enough to start the large outboard motor. Which Pascual did with great success for about two minuts, when the engine stopped. Despite Pascual's repeated pulls on the starter cord, nothing happened. Now I'm no mechanic, but I know how what to do in this kind of situation. I told John to fish out the duct tape, which was passed to Pascual. Within two minutes we were going again.
For the most part, the journey across the lake would have been a very cold, wave-soaked, windy and nauseating journey which took us about 2 1/2 hours, but fortunately there were some memorable moments to break up the monotony. As well as taking turns to bail out water from the boat, Pascual also needed help refueling the motor. The tank read "turn off engine and remove from boat when refilling" but as this was written in English it was of little concern to Pascual, nor was the copious amounts of diesel I spilled into the water sitting in the bottom of the boat as I poured from one container to another and the boat bounced over the waves. We managed to test Pascual's calm exterior some more when Will offered to help Pascual fish out whatever it was that he was trying to find in the murky water by his feet. Will's hand landed on an object, which he helpfully pulled out. Pascual's expression turned from that of appreciation to curiosity, to abject panic. The reason: Will had just handed him the drain plug from the bottom of the boat. Needless to say, water was pouring in from under the hull. I watched, slightly speechless, as Pascual quickly reinstalled the plug. Oh how we all laughed! Will went back to bailing out the water, a bit more urgently than before.
My feeling of nausea, caused by the boat's incessant pitching and rolling but added to by the exhaust of the motor, was disturbed yet again when the motor fell off. It didn't take me long to work out that we were too far away from either side of the lake for me to swim, so instead I just sat dumbly as Will dived across to help Pascual wrestle it back from the brink and reattach it to the edge of the boat. It was slightly unbelievable to watch, and it occurred to me that I would have found it very funny if it wasn't that I was in the boat and I thought I might drown. But again, after the event, we were all very amused.
Eventually, upon reaching the lake-side end of the Avellano Valley, we were greeted by Louie and his son Christian, with half a dozen horses. It was only 9am but I felt like I had aged 3 years already in that day. We were fed "chiva" from their stove in a hut, and John used an advanced form of charades to determine that we were eating goat (John's translation skills involve a replacement of a broad vocabulary with enthusiastic acting and making animal noises, which was surprisingly successful). Louie loaded up the horses whilst his son, excited by the fact that we were the first visitors to their valley since 1992, entertained us. Most unexpectedly by beat-boxing.
[tr][td](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lVWMUp5Jibo/VVBpEGUp2KI/AAAAAAAAAHE/Uv0cYRvy7w8/s320/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-4.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lVWMUp5Jibo/VVBpEGUp2KI/AAAAAAAAAHE/Uv0cYRvy7w8/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-4.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Louie, some horses, John and Will, heading up-valley[/td][/tr]
[/table]
We walked the rest of the day to their farm part way up the valley. It looked like a picture-postcard idyll, especially as the sun was out and by now I had recovered from the trauma of the morning. Louie asked what we wanted for dinner, and having no other vocabulary to rely on I suggested more chiva would be wonderful. I thought that giving the easy answer would save John from having to engage in more amateur dramatics. Ten minutes later John strolled round the corner of the barn "they're killing your goat" "I beg your pardon?" "The goat. They're killing it." Within a few minutes it was skewered and the fire was burning down to coals nicely. Louie managed to commandeer a box of our wine that had been damaged in transit and together they wasted no time in getting pissed to celebrate the presence of the first foreigners in twenty years. Despite the language barrier we learnt a bit more about their life in this valley. Louie has a wife and daughters but they opt to live in a nearby town, which leaves only three other people in the whole valley. We asked if they ever feel lonely here. Louie pointed at the incongruous Stihl calendar replete with semi-naked model brandishing a chainsaw. "Christian" he said, "he wanker!"
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ysRTyo1ionI/VVBpDm7X--I/AAAAAAAAAG0/GJZBKa8RcFE/s200/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-2.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ysRTyo1ionI/VVBpDm7X--I/AAAAAAAAAG0/GJZBKa8RcFE/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-2.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]You better watch out goats, you might look cute but you're pretty tasty[/td][/tr]
[/table](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q-j9-RdEUqs/VVBpD6kT6HI/AAAAAAAAAG4/0UlmsfIePUk/s200/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-3.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q-j9-RdEUqs/VVBpD6kT6HI/AAAAAAAAAG4/0UlmsfIePUk/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-3.jpg)
The next morning was a typically slow South-American start, so by late morning we left the farm with just Louie leading our pack-horses today. We walked for several hours along well used single-track horse trails, used for cattle herding by the valley's five inhabitants. Unprompted, the ever adventure-thirsty John said "these trails are nice to walk on but it would feel much more adventurous if they weren't here". With prescient timing, Louie rounded a bend and proudly announced our arrival at the end of the line. We were still 7km from the base of the wall, but this was as far as the horse trails would go. Darn. We waved good bye to Louie and hoped that he wouldn't forget about us in the next three weeks, and spent the next day and a half ferrying heavy sacs up-valley, mostly through rivers and smelly bogs. It was whilt re-packing the bags to leave behind anything that was not entirely essential that a major split in expedition philosophy became apparent amongst the team: Will wanted to leave behind the rum. He tried to justify this policy by stating "look, no expedition has ever failed due to a lack of alcohol". Fortunately John was quick with his riposte "And I don't want us to be the first!" We packed the rum.
(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aEpsJI3OSn4/VVBpCKbNi2I/AAAAAAAAAGc/IQKtlhdCiPA/s200/GOPR2402.jpg) (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aEpsJI3OSn4/VVBpCKbNi2I/AAAAAAAAAGc/IQKtlhdCiPA/s1600/GOPR2402.jpg)(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oUyP5j0LIFY/VVBpGPNIiNI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/JQNA_zPRalc/s200/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-6.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oUyP5j0LIFY/VVBpGPNIiNI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/JQNA_zPRalc/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-6.jpg)
We made our basecamp amongst a big pile of rocks a short way from the wall. So far the sun had been shining almost all the time since we had waved good bye to Pascual. We spent a day getting our climbing gear to the base of the wall and scoping out a line. With only a little faith for blank sections we could make out a continuous series of features from bottom-to-top on the proudest part of the tower. This was exciting and intimidating in equal measure.
We were joined by Dave who wandered up to the tents one morning, having had his own adventure walking into the valley on his own over two days. It took us three days to fix all of our static ropes 250m up the wall, slowed down by surprisingly slick Yosemite-standard granite, muck-filled cracks and occasional drizzle. At the highpoint the crack had run out and would require some free-climbing to reach the next crack. Dave and Will believed it to be un-aidable but probably free-able in dry weather.
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g98qVzbPZuc/VVBpH2IwcTI/AAAAAAAAAHk/3DFB-jVkiOA/s320/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-9.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g98qVzbPZuc/VVBpH2IwcTI/AAAAAAAAAHk/3DFB-jVkiOA/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-9.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]A token climbing shot. John leading and fixing rope.[/td][/tr]
[/table]
We had our haul bags packed at the base. I made one quick call on the sat-phone to Tony, sat at work in Sheffield. He checked the forecast. It was bad. But it's Patagonia, so of course it's bad. We'll just sit it out.
And that's pretty much where the story ends. We stayed in the tents for two days whilst it rained and snowed, the river rose, and the tent leaked. When the maelstrom abated and we could sneak a peak at the wall through the clouds it was hard to see any rock for the amount of snow left on the face. The snow stayed there, too cold to be melted off fully, but warm enough to make the face wet for the remainder of our time. We played chess, or at least Will and I played chess. When Dave had previously asserted "I'm not playing chess, the only thing I'll do is listen to techno!"
A big rockfall came down on our fixed ropes and damaged them one night. Obviously we were all pleased that we weren't on the face when it had come down, but Dave was particularly proud that his plan of bringing me along as the 'rockfall magnet' had kept him safe. Dave and John retrieved our fixed ropes the day before Louie duly returned, and we retraced the route back to civilization.
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sgpZsERI074/VVBo_x3lqSI/AAAAAAAAAGU/HIC_gwPkpwk/s320/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-10.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sgpZsERI074/VVBo_x3lqSI/AAAAAAAAAGU/HIC_gwPkpwk/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-10.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]It wasn't always sunny like this, honest! Will and I hanging out in between rounds of chess whilst Dave and John listen to techno[/td][/tr]
[/table]
In the UK I have had the experience of 'taking my rack for a walk in the rain'. This seemed like the Patagonian version of this: 'taking my portaledge and every conceivable piece of outdoor gear I own for a walk'. Nice views though.
[tr][td](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlstFAx1SSY/VVBpCY3BXLI/AAAAAAAAAGk/rjsxXOoYauM/s320/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-11.jpg) (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GlstFAx1SSY/VVBpCY3BXLI/AAAAAAAAAGk/rjsxXOoYauM/s1600/Pata+blog+(1+of+1)-11.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]The South Avellano Tower at dusk[/td][/tr]
[/table]This trip was very generously supported by grants from the BMC and MEF, and with some excellent gear from Rab (http://rab.equipment/uk/).
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)
-
Runners up on El Piramide (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/2015/05/runners-up-on-el-piramide.html)
19 May 2015, 11:03 pm
After gallantly retreating from the Avellano Valley, it was time for Will and John to head for home. Dave and I had another week left in Patagonia and Dave had a suggestion. I was starting to feel pretty burnt out with adventure, having been away from home for 5 months at this point, and so I was looking forward to some nights sleeping that were not in a tent, eating lots of steak, and whacking the thermostat up so that I no longer had to wear multiple layers of coats every evening. Conflicting with this, I also desperately wanted to do some climbing, as the nearest I had come to doing any proper climbing was a bit of ledge shuffling at the bottom of the Avellano Tower. Dave craftily exploited this thread of motivation and suggested that we go for a four day visit to what is colloquially known as The Pyramid (I say colloquially, but what I really mean is that is what Dave John and Jim Donini call it, as they are the only climbers who know about it. The locals undoubtedly call it something else). I was promised good quality rock, splitter cracks, lots of new route potential, and guanacos set in the "semi-desert" to the west. "Semi-desert?" I enquired. Dave assured me that there are "only three days of precipitation per month", and when he was there before it was always sunny and warm. I tested this guarantee by asking him what clothes he would pack, he replied "definitely my light gear, I'd bring some light-weight trousers but I only have these thick ones with me". If you have been following, you will already know my answer by now. I said yes and packed my light-weight trousers.
We did a brief tour of the mini-market in town, although I had to make all the boring decisions (such as those relating to how much food to take) because Dave was in a grump as he needed a poo. In all fairness though he did busy himself though by picking up some rum and a bottle of cheap tequila (the reason for which will become apparent shortly). We arranged for an adventure company to taxi us by 4x4 to a specific although seemingly arbitrary point along a minor road heading into nowhere. Our driver did seem a little concerned at this, but Dave managed to persuade her that we were indeed "experts" and we definitely "knew what we were doing".
[tr][td](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IkCSAMnIxTc/VVun4p34d5I/AAAAAAAAAJk/lwwxhASK3IU/s320/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg) (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IkCSAMnIxTc/VVun4p34d5I/AAAAAAAAAJk/lwwxhASK3IU/s1600/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dave walking in to the Pyramid[/td][/tr]
[/table]
The walk along the track was uneventful for the first couple of miles until we made it to a gate. As I have found to be par for the course when climbing with Dave, there is a clandestine element. Dave had already briefed me that the landowner had previously appeared a little displeased at the presence of Dave John and Jim when they had set out to climb here the previous year. Well, displeased or confused, Dave was not quite sure. Either way, the farmer had been successfully won over by John's enthusiastic explanation of what on Earth they were up to (in miming format, of course), and a bottle of tequila. In lieu of John's charm, we just had a bottle of tequila as a bargaining lever. Fortunately it seemed that no one was home as we passed. We walked a further two hours to just below the cliff, which indeed did look stunning. We settled down to bivvy on a nice flat spot next to a spring and after a quick dinner went to sleep.
It rained overnight. This seemed a little bit at odds with Dave's cast-iron guarantee of good weather, but as the morning brightened I decided to let it go. My legs ached from yesterday's hurried approach and a general weariness from too much walking with heavy bags in the past month. But today, for the first time in ages, I would get to do some proper climbing. We hiked up the final slope to the cliff. Given the fact that we couldn't really remember how to do rock climbing, we decided to warm up on a couple of single pitch routes that end on a large ledge with a lower-off. Dave had already explained to me the precedent of bolted-belays at this otherwise trad-protected venue: It is intended to make sure that any sport-climbers who might find it realise that its been climbed by some proper-climbers already so that they don't go and bolt it. Of course it feels great to be climbing again, although the wind is taken out of my sails slightly when I remove a brick-sized lump from a crack. I keep my calm and casually tell Dave that I'll just throw it out of harms way. Fortunately Dave has little faith in my throwing ability and moves well to the side. This is just as well as it lands just where he was stood and chops through the neatly stacked rope. I boldly claim that climbing on a 40m rope is way better than a 60 anyway as there's way less rope to pull through. We're both feeling the cumulative effects of the past few weeks so after a couple of routes we decide to play the tactical game. We're both experienced trad-men, we know how to make the best of the time available to us, we'll play it savvy... we'll scope some potential new routes then get a good rest for the remainder of the day - no more climbing - so that we'll be fresh to cruise our new route tomorrow. We find what looks like the best unclimbed line here (Dave has climbed all the existing lines already, usually on the first ascent), up the front of a leaning prow part of the face. Excited for tomorrow, we head back down for an early dinner. As a remote precaution, we relocate the bivvy to a steep sided boulder.
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xl_GcAxQC_U/VVul5QR8MYI/AAAAAAAAAIk/Wlw48RpRKoU/s320/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-3.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xl_GcAxQC_U/VVul5QR8MYI/AAAAAAAAAIk/Wlw48RpRKoU/s1600/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-3.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]The view from the bivvy on evening [/td][/tr]
[/table]
It rains overnight, again. By the morning it has turned to snow. I curse Dave and his warm trousers from the discomfort of my light-weight ones. The wind whistles through my insubstantial rocky wind-break. Dave keeps warm and jolly by moving loads of rocks to build up his bivvy site followed mine. I just sit in the cold, wearing every item of clothing I have with me, feeling ill-tempered. Dave jovially advises that "you should move some rocks around, it'll warm you up." He might be right, but I'm too cold and grumpy to acknowledge that he's right so I sit still and glower at the snow and at Dave's feigned high spirits. Dave eventually finishes our new deluxe bivvy site and I get into my sleeping bag and bivvy bag, still wearing everything I have. Dave goes round the other side of the boulder to read in his warm trousers. Eventually the skies brighten although it remains cold. It's new years eve so I feel compelled to drink lots of rum and stay up until midnight, but in a flash of genius Dave realises that it is the turn of the new year in the UK at 9pm local time, so we tunelessly sing Auld Lang Syne three hours before midnight then go to sleep.
[tr][td](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UfK9pOMoqCM/VVuneLPEmdI/AAAAAAAAAI8/aHD9uaaROgQ/s320/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-2.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UfK9pOMoqCM/VVuneLPEmdI/AAAAAAAAAI8/aHD9uaaROgQ/s1600/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-2.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Bivvy bags in the snow[/td][/tr]
[/table]
The next day dawns much brighter and warmer, so we stick with the plan and hike up to our new route-to-be. It's our last day before having to walk back down and make our way back homewards, so the pressure is on! Dave leads first, initially up easy ground, and then he finds a bolt. Which came as quite a surprise to us both. He thinks the next bit looks hard so takes a belay on the bolt and a wire and I come up to join him. We discuss our situation. Given our failure to climb anything in the past month and our imminent departure we decide to push on with this route rather than waste time changing objective, accepting that we will have to abandon our first ascent hopes. It seems that Jim has probably told one of his friends who were here last week about the place so we have been beaten to it.
I find some holds to climb the tricky section and after just a few meters arrive at a bolted belay on a ledge. The next pitch looks quite intimidating, so I tell Dave that I'll just belay here. We have only got 40 meters of rope after all. The next pitch did indeed have Dave's name all over it, being on crusty rock and requiring a bit of a maverick attitude. I got the pitch after that, which was a 40m stunner (although I was glad it wasn't much longer) of cruxy moves between good footledges, alternating between a left arete and the groove on the right.
[tr][td](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajN31hSVf-4/VVunpGsjU7I/AAAAAAAAAJM/6VdGF8Wtut0/s320/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-4.jpg) (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ajN31hSVf-4/VVunpGsjU7I/AAAAAAAAAJM/6VdGF8Wtut0/s1600/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-4.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Dave on the third pitch[/td][/tr]
[/table][tr][td](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rGBwCyAFaJM/VVunz0HNDBI/AAAAAAAAAJc/K6-SgeHNhuQ/s320/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-8.jpg) (http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rGBwCyAFaJM/VVunz0HNDBI/AAAAAAAAAJc/K6-SgeHNhuQ/s1600/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-8.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]Again Dave on the third pitch[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Dave lead a good steep jamming pitch, and then for reasons which can only be described as 'mischievous' (actually, then can be described in far stronger language than that although I'll leave those words to your imagination) he opted to belay beneath a nasty offwidth. The alternative belay was beneath climbing which looked much nicer and much easier and would require no deviation in line. You know the game he's playing. I grumble and grunt my way up the offwidth, which at least justified us having carried our friends 5 and 6 all this way. We tag the summit and surf the scree back round to the bottom. It was great to do some climbing, which given the dearth of information (or even knowing if it was possible) felt akin to the excitement of doing a first ascent but with the convenience of bolted belays. Pretty ideal really.
[tr][td](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5rjNRePCLLs/VVuns9bbbYI/AAAAAAAAAJU/SY1JuZT0qQQ/s320/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-7.jpg) (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5rjNRePCLLs/VVuns9bbbYI/AAAAAAAAAJU/SY1JuZT0qQQ/s1600/Pata+%25281+of+1%2529-7.jpg)[/td][/tr][tr][td]The Pyramid on our last night: In a valiant attempt to finish the rum I was pretty pissed, so fortuitously I woke up in the middle of the night to see the sky like this[/td][/tr]
[/table]
Source: Reeve's Roadtrip Blog (http://reeveontheroad.blogspot.com/)