Our first attempt
at the route had ended with a quick abseil down and a long prussic back up
after finding a metre or two of water on the ledge at the base of the climb. The
next time we didn’t even get that far thanks to a cunning plan of checking the
state of the ledge before starting
the ab. Much consulting of incredibly complicated tide tables followed and we
reached the conclusion that the combination of a proper low tide and enough
hours of daylight to climb the route wouldn’t happen until:
a.)
April when, conveniently, the bird ban kicks in.
b.)
Someone moves the Isle of Wight.
This left us
with a few options including:
·
Bivvying on the route
·
Swimming up the first few metres
· Highly trained dolphins
Or more
sensibly
·
A hanging belay a few metres above the sea
A pleasant
traverse along a sandy break with some comedy gear involving a knotted piece of
rope wedged in a crack which could have been there since the first ascent in
1978.
Pitch 2: second
This is
where the fun began, I swung around the arête glad of the rope above me and not
having to hang around and place any gear. A steep few moves up a crack led to a
“wild hand traverse” (the guidebook’s words) across a steep wall with very
little for your feet. The traverse ended in a graceful step, or in my case a
desperate thrutch, onto a hanging slab and a wonderfully exposed belay above
the sea.
The
guidebook also uses the words “very exposed” and “highly committing” to
describe the route as escape from this point would involve:
·
a free-hanging abseiling into the sea followed
by a long swim to safety
·
reversing the first two pitches and climbing an HVS or prusiking out
·
Aiding the final pitch
Or
·
Deciding to man up and climb out.
Pitch 3: lead
Perfectly
warmed up (pumped!) from the last pitch I set out up the initial steep section on
reasonable gear and rusty pegs past a few hard moves to a “thank god” perch.
From there the route continues up an overhanging corner that looked like it
could be climbed in a relaxed and comfortable manner if you had the nerve to
bridge out across the void. I didn’t and climbed instead like a small mammal trying
to escape from great peril (which was basically the case here). I made it and
scampered up the final slab attempting not to dislodge too much rock in the
general direction of my belayer. All that remained was a fight through a small blackthorn
hedge to the abseil stakes leaving my legs looking like they had endured some
new beauty treatment involving enraged porcupines.
We had climbed Polaris; not only had we made it to
the route but we had also made it out again. No falls, no abseiling into the
sea just an awesome, adventurous route with breathtaking exposure.
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