I don’t have anything to add regarding RS, but it reminds me one episode in my formative years.
I started climbing at school, we had one of those DR walls: rocks cemented into blocks in the wall and a pocketed concrete overhang. There was also the Nottingham wall, which was a more modern affair. After a couple of years I was getting reasonably proficient at this climbing thing. A new guy joined the school in my year, a strong climber apparently. He’d sometimes come and hang out at the DR wall and shoot the breeze on climbing – or rather, regale us with big talk about the things he’d done down at the Nottingham wall. He was getting a bit of a reputation for tall tales in other areas of school life, but I didn’t have any reason to disbelieve his climbing claims, after all he’d never actually pulled on to demonstrate his abilities to us. Tired from one of his cellar sessions at the wall, I suppose.
Yes, the cellar in the Nottingham wall was where the real connoisseurs dwelled. A basic steep board down in the dark, dusty bowels of the building. The kind of board with holds fashioned from bits of old chair leg, all varnished, pulley-busting globules. Climbing to the top of the thing by any means was desperate. Amongst the problems recorded in the cellar’s crinkly notepad, one stood out that was given the barely imaginable grade of English 7a. The physics of it looked impossible. But our new school colleague had repeated it – amazing! In fact, he bragged, it had only had two ascents: one by him and one by his mate – I shit you not – Si O’Connor.