tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5005646462163909542024-03-14T06:17:21.692+00:00Climb StuffCherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-54315064974338491602013-11-19T19:42:00.002+00:002014-10-04T21:09:47.294+01:00Rock Snobbery<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm a rock snob, I admit it. I look at gritstone and say to
myself “why are all these crags so short? What is the point of climbing here
compared to somewhere like Pentire?” Conveniently I forget that Pentire puts
the fear of God in me and perhaps if I felt more comfortable highballing on
slopers I might actually get on Darkinbad instead of just staring at it. The
truth is that when I say to myself that climbing on gritstone is pointless what
I mean is climbing on gritstone is hard.</div>
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<br /></div>
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‘They’ say that grit is God’s own rock if this is true God
really hates me, you see climbing wise I only have one strength – I can hang on
to small holds – a hold type that is recognisable by its absence on the grit.
My climbing weaknesses are many and varied and occur on just about every route
in the Peak: slopers, smears, arêtes, slabs, heel hooks, rock-overs, dynamic
moves, powerful moves and of course the dreaded mantle.<br />
<br /></div>
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Also a lot of grit boulder problems and routes seem to fall
into that awkward middle ground of too high for me to boulder above pads without the (probably
over-exaggerated) fear that I might break my legs and too short to ever climb
out of the ‘danger zone’. The danger zone is that section of a climb that no
matter how well you protect it if you fall off, chances are, you’ll hit the
ground. Whilst on a 40m route the odds of the hard move being in this danger zone are low, on a 10m route the odds are shifted considerable towards the breaking
your legs end of the scale. This combined with the conviction that I'm going to
fall off every move means that the concept of venturing any distance from the
ground is an alien one.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WdX1KgmnP18/Uou-G3ESqMI/AAAAAAAAAPE/WMqvJt_com0/s1600/end+of+the+affair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WdX1KgmnP18/Uou-G3ESqMI/AAAAAAAAAPE/WMqvJt_com0/s640/end+of+the+affair.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob Greenwood on End of the Affair, Curbar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<br />
<br />
To me this rock type with its subtle balance of hard and
scary has never really appealed which is fair enough considering that the Peak District
is a 4 hour drive away, enough time to get to Pembroke or be well on the way to
North Wales. But today I climbed a handful of problems at Curbar and though
in terms of grade the problems I climbed didn't do much to soothe the ego and
though I didn't attempt anything even remotely high I did a load of different
moves on gritstone. I climbed an arête and I stood on smears and I held slopers
and I topped out via something that could be described as a mantle. You know
this grit stuff isn't as bad as it looks, it might just catch on...</div>
Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-81732926183990894472013-06-05T08:25:00.000+01:002013-06-05T08:25:05.810+01:00Pet Cemetery<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life’s about good days and bad days, good weeks and bad
weeks. If I’m lucky the bad days and weeks will slowly fade from my memory but
I hope some of the best days and weeks – those filled with climbing, exploring
and learning; with bright sunshine; with perfect climbs and good mates – will stay
with me for life.</div>
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I came back from the BMC International Meet in Cornwall keen
to get back on some unfinished business at Anstey’s Cove – my home away from
home. After a week of long walk-ins with a rucksack, long sunny days at the
crag and long evenings drinking mead and making friends I was feeling fit and
well rested. </div>
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First session back at the Cove and Pet Cemetery was feeling
good; the fitness that I had built up on the starting section meant that I
could arrive at the crux feeling relatively fresh and I had got my head around
the intricacies of the crux section – which for me involves hissing “crimp,
crimp, crimp” at my right hand for the duration of the move. All that was left
was getting though the crux with enough beans left for the top 7 moves. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3ykg-IpgiHw/Ua7los-YAqI/AAAAAAAAAOc/RvqRqPJ7hB4/s1600/pet+cem+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="588" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3ykg-IpgiHw/Ua7los-YAqI/AAAAAAAAAOc/RvqRqPJ7hB4/s640/pet+cem+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crux. Photo: Justin Timms</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon I found myself eyeballing my right hand mid crux and
slapping with my left, I hit the hold and swung onto the jugs for a ‘rest’.
This was a new high point for me and I was trying, and failing, not to get too
excited; the route was by no means in the bag and I had failed on this the top
section of Cider Soak back when I was trying that route. A few moves later and
I was slapping, with rapidly fading strength, for the finishing jug. My fingers
hit the back of the hold but flatly refused to close and my body transcribed a
perfect arc through the air with the marks of scraped off chalk on my right
hand the only memento of my redpoint attempt. The rest of the day was a lesson
in diminishing returns and my next session at the Cove nearly a week later was
a lesson in how badly I can climb first day on. Rest days are the devil’s work
I tell you.</div>
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</div>
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Then I had some good days – a two day coaching for coaches
course with Neil Gresham and his Masterclass Coaching Academy. The course I was
on, courtesy of The Quay, was Module 1 of MCA’s coaching scheme focusing on
technique and learning structures of teaching technique to intermediate and
experienced climbers. Learning more about climbing, the science behind it and
better ways to teach it is always a fascinating experience and when you combine
that with learning alongside some of the best climbers and coaches in the South
West and being taught by a top climbing professional who exudes psyche it makes
for a very good day indeed. Day two of the course was even better than day one
with a focus on routes as opposed to bouldering and we spent the latter part of
the day filming ourselves on onsight attempts at our limit and reviewing the
footage as a valuable coaching tool.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I left The Quay to make my way to back to Anstey’s buzzing
with psyche and vowing to follow Gresham’s advice that I needed to train power.
It had been a great day and there was one thing that could make it a perfect
day but I was too psyched to worry about success or failure, I just wanted to
climb stuff. With a brief warm up and the luxury of someone else putting my
clips in I was soon chalking up at the bottom of the climb. A small eternity of
climbing later and my hand fell into the top jug, with the grip of someone
trying to strangle a lion I clipped the final draw and relaxed. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3CkBxvKDE6A/Ua7kWB4457I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/R3xu61Wy6eE/s1600/pet+cem+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3CkBxvKDE6A/Ua7kWB4457I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/R3xu61Wy6eE/s640/pet+cem+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jugs! Photo: Justin Timms</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A great day but t<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>hat’s enough of this
sport nonsense, sea-cliffs are calling.</div>
<br />
Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-53753046722765795542012-10-01T10:55:00.000+01:002012-10-04T07:52:33.917+01:00Avon Day<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last Sunday was ‘Avon Day’ arguably the best day in the year
to climb in the Gorge because though the routes are always absorbing, whether
technical and balancy or steep and pumpy, for me they are let down by the
continual roar of the traffic from the Portway down below. For one day a year, however, the growling rumble of the cars and lorries is replaced by the patter
of thousands of be-trainered feet and the gasping pants of 20,000 pairs of
lungs as Bristol Half Marathon closes the Portway for a few precious hours.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Early on Sunday we parked on the downs and walked down to
the road just as the leading runners passed by, we wandered on as the foot
traffic increased from the first few athletes to the many body of the race, a
colourful mass of humanity stretching back as far as we could see along the Portway.
We wandered up the Ramp to the short steep climbs that waited there, the Ramp
as always twisted the mind turning from a steep walk into a terrifying slope
and then back again in the blink of an eye. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I warmed up on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=32156">New Horizons II</a> which was as delightful as
ever and then turned my attentions to <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=32162">Arms Rac</a>e a route which, on the last
attempt, had seen me dangling from the metal spike runner as I lacked the
strength of mind to resist its tempting call. This time however I was
determined to ignore it no matter how pumped my arms would get (which, judging
from my last encounter with the route, would be a lot). It’s always hard getting
on a route after a spoiled on-sight; I had no useful information about the
route, no idea about the best sequence or where to rest or which wires to place but I had no illusions about how much my arms were going to hurt
from the constant effort of staying on the route. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe my mind had made the memory of the route more pumpy
than it was, maybe I had warmed up more thoroughly, maybe in the intervening 6
months I had got stronger or fitter or maybe I felt better knowing that the
thousands of people running below me were in more pain than I was. Whatever the
reason the route felt ok, I felt relaxed enough to rest properly, to only place
gear where I needed it off good handholds (not every 10cm off poor crimps as
before) and to take in the world around me, the sea of runners interrupted by
the occasional jogging banana or hotdog, the efficient volunteers at the water
station and the slowly growing sea of blue bottles in the gutter. When I passed
the spike I felt no desire to reach up and hang onto it, I didn’t even clip it,
smiling smugly at my past self I climbed on, placed a cam and carried on up to
the ab station. Job done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s nothing like the smug glow of self-satisfaction to
remove all desire to climb hard routes so as a result I spend the remainder of the
day belaying and observing the last few runners jog past and the clean-up
operation begin. I did persuade myself to climb <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=32160">Mirage</a>, another brilliant Ramp
route which is pumpy but short-lived, before relaxing and watching the road sweepers
sweep up a few thousand bottle caps. All too soon the road was clear and the
cars began to filter noisily past once more.</div>
Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-71995654471746075182012-08-17T09:31:00.000+01:002012-08-17T09:31:02.224+01:00Passing through Ruby CountryMy trusty van chugs through the heart of Devon countryside passing
lush green verges, fields of ripening corn and hedgerows where the trees are showing
the first hint of autumn’s arrival. We travel onwards through the heart of Ruby
Country passing Bradsworthy, Grimscott and Stibb to arrive at Duckpool where
our progress is temporarily halted by a farmer moving his ruby-red North Devons
up the road to pastures new. As we wait for his cows to arrive the farmer and I
converse about cattle and cliffs before he starts again up the road shaking a
bag of feed and calling over his shoulder to his herd.<br />
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<br /></div>
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The tides have necessitated an early start so we arrive at
the magnificent fins of Sharpnose and abseil in before 10am as the sun slowly
begins to dry the grease off the base of the cliffs. Alexis starts up <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26021">Finesse</a>
and I belay watching limpets track their way impressively fast towards the
safety of the cracks in the rock. These molluscs are pretty cool citters with
reliable internal clocks to track the times of high tide; a good sense of
direction, or memory, to find their way back to their home fissure and a
suction power of up to 80psi. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But back to the climbing... Dispatching the route with no
real difficulties Alexis lowers to the ground and I pull the ropes and lead it on
his gear creating a sport-like mental and physical warm up. For my lead I
choose <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26023">Sunscape</a>, a good looking line left of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26025">Pacemaker</a>, that doesn’t disappoint.
The route zigzags steadily upwards in typical Sharpnose style as the pump in my
arms slowly increases until I reach the first crux where I stall. The moves
look hard and when I try them they feel hard, I faff around trying to rest on
footholds that are all in the wrong places and look for more gear as a way of delaying
the inevitable. I don’t find anymore gear and run out of reasons to hang around
and so force myself back into the crux. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pulling with all my might on two small handholds I try to
step my feet up, one foot skates of the smooth rock and I convince myself that
I’m going to fall off but my fingers squeeze the holds with a strength I didn’t
think I had and I reach up. My left hand sinks into a pocket-like hold that
offers relief until I reach the layer of sand and shale at the bottom, I grab
something with my right and try to relax as I brush the detritus out of the
hold. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I should place some gear at this point but there’s
nothing for my feet and my hands are threatening to open out so I scuttle on up
until holds and gear placements are more obviously available. I join Pacemaker
briefly and leave it again heading left up the break until a line of small
holds point the way to the top. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mercifully I find some jugs, place some gear
and relax my body. Above the climbing looks hard and doesn’t relent until the top
of the crag is reached but it’s only a few metres away, I hang off the jugs,
shake out and weigh up my situation. I know that I don’t have much power left for hard moves but
my arms feel rested from the shake-out; the gear here is good and I can’t see
any obvious placements before the top even if I had the energy to place them; I'm
running out of chalk and with the sun beaming down on my back I can’t afford to
waste any at the rest, forcing me to fight the engrained pattern of chalking up
each time I shake out. I decide to leave the rest, chalk up and climb to the
top in one go, I don’t need any more gear and if I climb up and down again to
the rest I’ll run out of chalk.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For someone who struggles with anything approaching a bold
start I happily leave the gear below my feet and embark, unfazed, on a series
of powerful moves off small holds until the lip is within reach and I can sit
on one of the best spots in the world – the top of the ridiculously narrow
middle fin at Sharpnose.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back on the ground we just make it around the fin before the
tide cuts us off, Alexis climbs <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26012">Spoils of War</a> while I edge further and further
away from the base of the route, helmet firmly on my head and a wary eye
trained on the loose looking ground above. Seconding it, barring the loose rock
in the middle, it’s an absorbing and sustained climb. With the tide still
lapping its way up the beach we hurry over to <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26009">Out of the Blue</a> and I lead up it
revelling in the size of the holds and the delightful nature of the climbing.
At the top I haul the bags up the ab rope and belay watching Alexis perform exaggerated
dyno moves between massive holds. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tide may be in but it’s not yet 3pm so we eat a leisurely
lunch before heading for home passing our new friend The Farmer at work in the
fields on the way.</div>
Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-7054342501301709902012-07-18T11:43:00.000+01:002012-07-18T11:43:32.555+01:00Anstey's Cove<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;">Above me quickdraws swing in the gentle breeze and some
distance to my right gentle summer rain patters down on the verdant foliage. While
my brain searches for internal peace and calm I tie in to the rope hanging down
from the first clip and wipe the red dust off my shoes and onto my leggings.
Seconds later I stand at the base of the climb, chalk up and set off. I try to
climb smoothly and efficiently, I try to climb fast, I try to remember to
breathe and I try to stop thinking. My hands follow a precisely prescribed pattern;
my feet perform a continual dance of tiny subtle foot-moves that are vital yet
entirely subconscious; my body twists and turns, core muscles contracting for
each move and relaxing allowing a gasp of air into my lungs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AywbSXExnWU/UAaR9A4W5PI/AAAAAAAAAM8/TXTyuPIjGAM/s1600/tup+squonk.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AywbSXExnWU/UAaR9A4W5PI/AAAAAAAAAM8/TXTyuPIjGAM/s400/tup+squonk.jpeg" width="265" /></a>I sense my fingers slipping slightly on each hold and bite
down harder, my left foot steps up and my body automatically turns – a sort of
half drop-knee move – allowing my left hand to reach up to a crimp. I squeeze
all four fingers on and grip the edge with my thumb pulling hard enough to dig
the nail of my thumb into the side of my index finger. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next move, however, is one that can’t be overcome by subtle
changes in body position or by climbing quickly or slowly or smoothly. The key to
the move is simple - keep pulling on the
crimp, don’t allow your fingers to open even when it feels like it they will
rip from your hand. If I manage that then a quick snatch will see me to a good
hold and further series of moves that seem both powerful and delicate will set
me up for the crux. From there if my right hand pinches hard enough and my legs
power me up and left enough and my left hand reaches out fast enough, with
enough strength left to latch the hold... then the route could be over. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My thoughts drift on ahead of my body, removed from the
stubborn battle between hand and hold. I press down harder with the fingers of
my left hand, will them not to open as I reach my right hand across. The fingers
on my right just manage to curl around the tiny tufa ear when the crimp under
my left spits my still-crimping fingers off into space and a split second later
my body follows, falling backwards until the rope comes tight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anger and frustration bubble up inside me threatening to
explode; months of wet holds, of 100% humidity, of stalled progress steal my
composure leaving me swinging on the rope seething.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That I will return is a given, that I will keep bashing my
head against this particular brick wall is a certainty. Maybe if I could forget
about this route, if I could no longer see the moves in my mind’s eye, no
longer know the feel of each hold under my fingers... maybe I would give up but
I know that I can’t.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-62755339790100232092012-07-13T13:13:00.001+01:002012-07-13T13:13:32.509+01:00Sunshine on a Rainy Day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z4Y981-WIqI/T_8NqSVIgXI/AAAAAAAAAMo/2TfBZvPux4s/s1600/Vicarage+stevo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z4Y981-WIqI/T_8NqSVIgXI/AAAAAAAAAMo/2TfBZvPux4s/s400/Vicarage+stevo.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gnarly mountain man Steve and I</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;">To climb during the Great British Summer you need, more
than strength, power or endurance, an optimism unhampered by reality. Yesterday
in the company of two suitably optimistic climbers I walked to Blackchurch Rock
to find the tide in, the cliff seeping and the sky bestowing us with rain. We
turned and walked back to the car, drove down the coast and began the whole
process again; this time, however, we found dry rock, scary slabs and a
beautiful sunset.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Vicarage Cliff</b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The guys had a lead each on a pair of cracking culm slab
routes as the sun shone and the tide turned and slowly began to head towards
the beach, there was however enough time and sunlight left for one more route. The
route in question was <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=39189">Harpoon </a>and, while Vicarage Cliff may not have any routes
harder than E2 and only one of those, Harpoon packs a bold and committing punch.
My tendency to steer clear of any routes that get a fluttery symbol in the
guide or that are described as bold, scary or exciting has lead me to identify
a weakness in my climbing which can, in part, be corrected by getting on E2s
and E3s of this nature. And there’s no time like the present.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The climbing on Harpoon never stretches much past F6a in
difficulty but the gear, or absence of it, in the first few metres easily makes
up for this. A steady head, careful tapping of the footholds and remembering to
forget about the back-breaking boulder below all helped to reach the first good
gear. From there the climb bimbled on with enough gear placements and holds to
keep me happy before depositing me at the crux with good gear but no holds (not
unless you count the array of hollow-sounding footholds that flexed when hit).
After much time spent attempting to move and even more time spent convincing myself
that I didn’t need handholds to stand up on a slab I stood up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon I had reached some holds, fiddled in some poor gear and
carried on when a stern internal voice told me to climb back down to my gear
and make it better. Sheepishly I did just that and set off again reminding
myself that gear isn’t just there for decoration but is actually supposed to
stop me in the event of a fall – a simple but significant mistake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I arrived at the top and the 360 degree views of wild culm coast that it afforded as the sun slowly sank towards the horizon casting a soft glow over everything. Our optimism about finding dry rock had paid off leaving us three happy climbers to pack our bags and head off to the nearest fish and chip shop.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WCnWqjg97rc/T_8NsHn1ToI/AAAAAAAAAMw/AHMICzPF5xo/s1600/Vicarage+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="475" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WCnWqjg97rc/T_8NsHn1ToI/AAAAAAAAAMw/AHMICzPF5xo/s640/Vicarage+sunset.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photos by Mark Bullock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-28881482103531964432012-06-15T20:21:00.000+01:002012-06-15T20:21:08.138+01:00June: A Month of ContrastsThe wind buffets me incessantly, a constant assault on my
mind and body, stealing the heat out of my fingers and the joy out of climbing. I'm back at Anstey’s Cove, back on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25960">Tuppence</a> and although I have been making
progress, slowly, over the last few months today it feels harder than ever.
Each move feels at my limit, hampered by numb fingers, poor coordination and the
unrelenting easterly that tears along the coast and hassles me as I try to climb
or try to rest.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Only a day or two ago
but a world away it was too hot for shoes, the dark rock underfoot scalded my
toes and the sun warmed my back as I sorted the gear and the ropes. Stepping
into the shade I glanced up once more at the climb, scoped out the route and
set off, insecurely at first, on rock still wet from the retreating tide. Two
hundred yards away tourists licked ice creams, bought tat and paid an
extortionate price for parking but here at the Land’s End only the sea and the
seals kept us company.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sit on the rope eyeballing Tuppence’s top crux, I can do
the move but only about 20% of the time – today is the other 80%. I pull on,
slap the right hand up to a hold that looks and feels like half a marble and
try to persuade my left foot to step up. One pitiful attempt at the move and I’m
back on the rope. Figuring out this move is like trying to work out a lateral
thinking puzzle with too much going on at once, maybe I should stand up more on
the right foot or possibly I haven’t got the right hand correctly, would the
left foot benefit from being a bit further right or do I just need to man up...
Usually I have the patience to try and work out what I'm doing wrong but today
all I can think about is the wind and how much I wish it would stop.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Above the slippery
start of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=69692">Antenna</a> the rock was dry and cool, I squinted left into the sun to
work out where to traverse and then set off on crimps and fragile looking
ledges. I tested each hold with the diligence of the truly paranoid; bigger
holds I treated with more distrust and jugs with downright suspicion but
nothing wobbled or snapped when I hit it. Halfway across the traverse I fiddled
in a small wire to encourage me to continue and ignore the potential safe but
swinging fall. Soon I reached the main crack line that led the way straight up
the slab to the top; gear and holds appeared in each set of horizontal breaks
prompting big balance-y moves between them. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a couple more goes I give up trying to climb and
instead belay wrapped up in as many layers as I can find; with my back to the
wind I’m almost warm... that is until the rain starts. Big droplets of water strafe
the cliff; the roof of rock over our heads offers no protection today as the
wind carries the stinging raindrops right in to the base of the cliff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A few metres below the
top the horizontal breaks ran out leaving an absence of the big holds that I
was getting used to. I climbed up a bit, saw some hard moves, scuttled back
down to place more gear and then headed up again – I then repeated this process
a few more times before I ran out of possible gear placements and had to get on
with the route. A couple of thin moves led to a pop to the top and the relief
and disappointment that comes when a wonderful climbing experience is over. On
the top the sun shone and the bright pink thrift flowers waved in the gentle
breeze.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L-cevbE_6ss/T9uJ7sf9WsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/XTRXEvyWpTo/s1600/purple-sea-thrift-flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L-cevbE_6ss/T9uJ7sf9WsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/XTRXEvyWpTo/s400/purple-sea-thrift-flowers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Purple Sea Thrift Flowers - By Mike Coates</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Alexis finishes climbing, strips the draws and I lower him
to the ground. Inanimate objects and the wind conspire to make packing away a
challenge and lost in my own world I pull the rope, shout below and give the
rope one last tug... nothing happens. I look up to see a knot in the rope stuck
in the bolt, it seems a fitting end to the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>It was too nice an evening
to stop climbing so we abbed back in for another dose; Alexis led up <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=87668">New Editions</a> and I belayed and waited for my turn to climb whilst watching the light
from the sinking sun play on the spray thrown up by the sea.<o:p></o:p></i></div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-80717086055406677332012-06-07T11:09:00.002+01:002012-06-07T11:09:53.315+01:00Insanity<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a bizarre twist of fate the extended bank holiday weekend
wasn’t a complete wash-out but in an even more bizarre twist I was working for
all of it. Now however I’m not working and it’s raining and windy and horrible.
The last few days have been spent traipsing around wet crags watching runoff
paint black lines on the orange walls of Anstey’s cove and rain turn
Chudleigh into a sparkling jungle of foliage. I have also indulged in my favourite
pastime of flicking through guidebooks and picking out lines to add to my ‘to
climb list’ – a list that is expanding at a faster rate that the Universe shortly after
the Big Bang.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the Swanage guide there is one route that sticks out more
than all the others, a route that I contemplate every time I climb at Swanage. An
impressive natural line that cries out to be climbed, that offers excitement
and adventure and really wild things... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=160070">The Boulder Ruckle Girdle Traverse!</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the name suggests the BRGT is a traverse of the Boulder
Ruckle that follows the 2 foot deep mid-height sandy, chossy break in much the
same way a lemming follows its friends to almost certain death. This is of course
the break that you reach on any given Ruckle route with a mixture of irritation,
despondency and fear. The sandy floor of the break offers no good handholds
whilst covering your arms in a frictionless layer of muddy powder as you desperately
scrabble for purchase. The back wall of the break presents precisely zero gear
placements increasing your fear and the speed at which you try to scrape your
way upwards to more pleasant ground. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whilst on most routes this section of the
climb is over soon, too soon some would say, on the BRGT the experience will
stay with you for days and days as you traverse the 52 pitches that comprise
the route and will remain with you forever in your nightmares.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The traverse hasn’t been repeated since those brave fools Richard
Crewe and Kenny Winkworth did the first ascent in 1969 and many pitches have
fallen down since then. If you’re lucky more pitches may fall down while you
are on the route!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the fact that this climb is rarely more than 10m off
the deck to get the full tick it would have to be climbed in one push without
lowering to the ground which does offer a few minor problems. Ruling out the concept
of being able to stomach all 3500m in a day you would need to sleep, eat, etc.
on the route which means that you’ll have more stuff than you can carry. On
your standard big wall this would result in a lot of hauling but on the BRGT to
be able to haul anything you’d first have to kick your haul bags out of the
break where they would pendulum into the rocks below to become irretrievably tangled
whilst probably ripping your meagre belay out in the process. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have, however, come up with a solution...</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IKAR5ZVoWL0/T9B5OwrPtLI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/jE36yw57vug/s1600/BRGT.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IKAR5ZVoWL0/T9B5OwrPtLI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/jE36yw57vug/s640/BRGT.bmp" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sense of urgency caused by a continually approaching train will serve to increase the climber's speed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The train, as well as providing an invaluable way of transporting your belongings along the traverse, will also serve as a testament to
the courage of the climbers who have gone before and will give something back
to the climbing community in the form of 3½ km of model railway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Equipment:</b> The route may also provide some opportunities for
alternative protection, for example: several cams the size of those miniature ponies, acrow props and those pull up bars you can put in doorframes without
using screws as well as your usual rack of ice screws, bongs and
deadmans/deadmen (which is the correct pluralisation?). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Training:</b> Consider practising crawling, ignoring the smell
of guano, and sleeping without rolling over or you’ll be out of the break and
dangling on one dodgy ice screw before you know it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Conditions:</b> Don’t worry about conditions as rain, snow,
bright sunshine or 40 foot waves could hardly make the traverse less pleasant.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All you need to know about the great Boulder Ruckle Girdle Traverse... who's in?!</div>
<br />Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-87873357489196315032012-05-17T19:04:00.001+01:002012-05-17T19:04:56.453+01:00"The only real failure in life is the failure to try." Anon<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like every aspiring hard climber I am constantly trying to
evaluate my performance to try to work out how to climb better and where best
to concentrate my training. I am, however, coming to the conclusion that the
main reason why I don’t get up a climb is because I don’t get on it in the
first place. That’s not to say I would get up any climb I choose to get on just
that I tend to pre-empt failure by avoiding the route altogether. Why I don’t
get on a route seems to be due to a combination of reasons: fear of falling,
fear of failing, a reluctance to put myself in a position where I’ll have to
try hard (otherwise known as laziness) but mainly because I forget that I
really like climbing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recent outings have been prime examples of this. Last week
we headed down to Swanage, to the mega-steep Lean Machine Area. Alexis lead
<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14475">Surge Control</a> first whilst I belayed cowering from the huge waves funnelling in
to the base of the crag. I set off to second it with cold hands and without a warm
up, unsurprisingly it wasn’t long before the flash-pump-of-doom and numb
fingers saw me sitting on the rope feeling generally sorry for myself. The
rational view of this would be that I fell off because my fingers and muscles
were cold and I was trying to climb the 6b crux of a pumpy E5. The view that I
took, however, was that climbing was hard, painful and unpleasant and that
there was no point in me getting on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14474">Lean Machine</a> as I would just fail and hate
myself forever. As you can tell I wasn’t in a happy place!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily I had time for my arms to recover, I managed to
encourage myself to get on the route and from there it was alright. Compared to
seconding Surge Control it was a walk in the park: lots of holds and gear and
an entirely bearable level of pump. The crux as always was the decision-making
part before getting on the route, moral of the story: I really enjoy climbing
and if in doubt should get on and lead something. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, with the memory of Lean Machine in the front of
my mind, we went to Cheddar to get on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=32019">Kephalonia</a>. As three star, three pitch
E5s go it was amazing, cold and shady but amazing. Alexis led the first pitch –
it was his birthday after all – and I seconded it cold, without a warm up and
fell off with numb fingers and toes and flash pump in my arms (déjà vu
anyone?). Despite the lessons learned from last week’s adventure when I got to
the belay and looked at the intimidating second pitch I handed the lead back to
Alexis citing flash pump, cold fingers and the fact that the first pitch felt
really hard. </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQ8Zh44tF0g/T7U8vHGcQYI/AAAAAAAAAME/m6WYGXWvWwg/s1600/kephalonia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQ8Zh44tF0g/T7U8vHGcQYI/AAAAAAAAAME/m6WYGXWvWwg/s640/kephalonia.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The other Kephalonia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sat on the belay listening to the plaintive cries of
goat kids and the unnecessary noise of boy-racers echoing around the gorge I
berated myself for not leading ‘my’ pitch. By the time I got to the second
belay I was annoyed enough with myself to make the decision to lead the last
pitch without thinking twice. We sorted out the gear and I set off, as usual as
soon as I stepped off the belay I felt relaxed, happy and unhassled by a rope
above me. The pitch started easily and then culminated in a wonderful series of
layback moves above 60 or 70 metres of exposure. It was a delight and leading a
pitch made the whole route a far more enjoyable experience.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From now on I solemnly vow to ignore the pessimistic voice
of failure and get on lead on stuff that I find hard whether I believe I can
climb it or not.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-35450439981159993912012-05-07T12:25:00.000+01:002012-05-07T12:25:46.726+01:00Sharpnose<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QABxVYIHN84/T6eq7hA5v0I/AAAAAAAAALg/RPmhbpIDlT8/s1600/sharp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QABxVYIHN84/T6eq7hA5v0I/AAAAAAAAALg/RPmhbpIDlT8/s400/sharp.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The unlikely (and unstable) looking fins of rock that make up Lower Sharpnose Point jut out into a wonderfully calm Atlantic Ocean. A light breeze blows along the faces drying out the last of the sea grease and the sun pokes his head out from behind the clouds creating a tranquil atmosphere at a normally intimidating crag. When we arrive there are already a few other parties climbing and, though I enjoy the solitude of a quiet crag, the crowd of regular Devon climbers only add to the convivial atmosphere.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o3qSu1z37-c/T6eq_y3E04I/AAAAAAAAAL4/5lb1frwIXlQ/s1600/sharp4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o3qSu1z37-c/T6eq_y3E04I/AAAAAAAAAL4/5lb1frwIXlQ/s320/sharp4.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crispin on Last Laugh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Pete and his band of ‘seasoned’ rock athletes heckle and sandbag each other whilst ticking off hard routes with ease whilst Crispin, Dave, Justin, Nick and I get on routes that have long been on our respective tick lists and for once we all succeed. Between the five of us we tally up 17 E points and 20 stars and not a single fall leading or seconding which means either we all had an awesome day or we really weren't trying hard enough.<br />
<br />
While Dave and Crispin finish warming up on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26008">The Smile</a> Nick sets off up <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26013">Lunakhod</a>, a bridging masterpiece on the North side of the central fin which offers the climber a surprising view through the metre wide fin. Although it is slightly disturbing to be able to see daylight through the cliff you are climbing; the rock (and the abseil tat) held so I really can’t complain. My lead next and we head round to the South side stopping on our way to congratulate Crispin on his first E2 onsight of the testing <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26002">Last Laugh</a>.<br />
<br />
I decide to get on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26025">Pacemaker</a> after falling off seconding it a year ago and, as is expected of one of the best climbs in the West Country, it is amazing. The route wanders up the sheer face giving 25m of technical climbing on a gently steepening wall with enough gear to keep me happy and a rising pump to keep me moving.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LYdXox9wy8I/T6eq-k-peVI/AAAAAAAAALw/RfJrpQBAnY4/s1600/sharp3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LYdXox9wy8I/T6eq-k-peVI/AAAAAAAAALw/RfJrpQBAnY4/s400/sharp3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on Pacemaker</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Back on the ground it was Justin's turn to lead and my turn to skip around the boulder-strewn beach staring excitedly at the rock like an over-eager Spaniel with a rock fetish. I mentally added to my tick list <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26022">Break on Through</a> and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26026">Fay</a> (occupied by Justin and Dave respectively), <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26023">Sunscape</a>, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26024">Dry Stone Wall</a> and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26021">Finesse</a>. I giggled at <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26029">Coronary Country</a> and tried to imagine leading it, I picked out the line of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26015">Culm to Mother</a> on the North side and shuddered at the look of the rusty pegs then turned and watched the tide as it quietly snuck towards me.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bo7H6ZrRY7E/T6eq8wL5MHI/AAAAAAAAALo/sv_z548AkOc/s1600/sharp2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bo7H6ZrRY7E/T6eq8wL5MHI/AAAAAAAAALo/sv_z548AkOc/s320/sharp2.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick smiling on The Smile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When Justin and Nick had finished on Break on Through we hurried back to the North fin with minutes to spare before the tide came in and guaranteed wet feet for anyone left behind. Justin, Crispin and Dave walked out with the bags and I belayed Nick on The Smile as the busy crag quickly emptied. The last of Pete’s merry band followed up <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26001">Misery Goat</a> and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26009">Out of the Blue</a> and the ab rope snaked silently up the cliff pulled up by unseen hands to leave me on my own at the base crag gazing out at the soul-searchingly beautiful view. Without a sound it began to rain giving the boulders around me an increasingly bad case of measles and turning the light grey pebbles a matt black. The call to climb came and I set off across the face leaving Sharpnose in peace for another day.<br />Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-67479583721705821852012-04-18T19:22:00.002+01:002012-04-18T19:22:28.438+01:00Learning to HeadpointAt a rarely visited crag tucked away on the Penwith coast
quality 3 star lines lie between sections of unclimbed Greenstone. We approach
the top of the cliff while a raging sea jostles for attention down below but for
once the rock reflects a matt dryness back to the eye. For reasons known only
to the fickle conditions gods neither condensation nor spray will affect the
crag today. We set up an anchor through which I thread the half ropes and watch them unfurl down the length of the crag, their ends slithering inevitably into a
pristine rock pool to lie patiently alongside the limpets.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oGvPWh4a11k/T48FZjY-UoI/AAAAAAAAALY/1CFESpsQnYw/s1600/DSCN2058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oGvPWh4a11k/T48FZjY-UoI/AAAAAAAAALY/1CFESpsQnYw/s640/DSCN2058.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
I abseil down, spinning slowly in the
cool air as gravity drags me away from the face and deposits me a few metres
out from the base of the cliff. Alexis slithers down the rope after me placing
gear on his way to keep his rope close to the route. He reaches the
bottom, assembles the necessary gear and sets off again, acting out the
performance of removing gear, replacing it and removing it again, re-practising
pre-practised moves and chuckling at the run-out from the comfort of the
top-rope.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon he returns to the increasingly wave-washed platform and we swap
roles. A different route but the same routine: I place gear, test it, remove
it, memorise footholds, refresh my memory of the sequence and try to stay calm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back on the ground an air of nervousness prevails, an
almost audible crackle of excitement, of fear, enhanced by the sound of the waves
pounding the shoreline. The ropes are pulled, Alexis ties in and organises his
gear into the correct sequence on his harness. He sets off and I belay standing
in close to the cliff, one wary eye on the raging sea sending waves crashing over
the platform ever closer to me. He climbs, executing the moves precisely,
placing gear and leaving it below his feet to face the 5 or 6 metre run-out seemingly
unconcerned. He reaches the top without so much as a power scream and between
waves I edge out tentatively across the rock platform to take a photo; confirmation
and a memento of his new route. After a
moment he lowers down, cleans the gear and takes the swing into space, floating
for a moment above the foamy sea before gravity swings him back onto dry land.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now it’s my turn. For a short while I can lose myself in
the comfort of the pre-climb routine – ropes, gear, helmet, shoes, chalk – and
forget about the pressure of the ‘tick’, stop worrying about how it’ll feel to
be on lead with the safety of the top-rope notable only by its absence. Then I step
off the ground and automatically relax, it’s just climbing after all. The first
section passes easily and at the rest under the roof I realise I’m grinning, I
feel comfortable leading, in control, alive. I take a deep breath and swing out
across the lip of the roof and up the moves above it, I refrain from worrying
about the potentially unpleasant fall onto the gear placed below the roof –
the decision to take the risk had been made on the ground, a lifetime ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I place a small wire, seat it, clip it to my left rope and
carry on, a few moves and then two cams, yellow one first, then red. Now for
the crux, one hard move with the cams at my feet, a blind cam slot then another
hard move but my body works on autopilot, it has done this before. The meat of
the route is now over just a few more well practised moves, a wire and an
unpractised top-out; I tell myself not to relax, not to panic, just to climb...<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
High as a kite I sit on the top and watch the waves.<span style="color: #e36c0a;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-91460700287185385532012-04-09T17:57:00.001+01:002012-04-09T17:57:42.478+01:00Penfro<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The long Easter weekend dawned bright and early as we made
our way up the M5. Being, as I am, a full-time climbing bum, who is only
employed in the vaguest sense of the word, the concepts of Bank Holidays or even
weekends are alien to me – marked only by the crags being busier that mid-week.
Justin, however, is constrained by a full time job and as a result it's Easter
and we're heading to Pembroke.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Day 1: Stennis Head<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few hours later and we were peering into Huntsman’s Leap, a terrifying
looking crag filled with routes ranging from hard to HARD! I fancied a gentler
warm up to Pembroke trad and headed down to Stennis Head to get on a truly awesome
looking route – <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24681">Pleasure Dome</a>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pleasure Dome has everything you need from a route: a
perfect line on a pristine section of rock, guaranteed exposure with a drop to
the sea beneath your feet and holds and gear galore. It was a perfect wake up
after hours in a van and the route didn't disappoint. I topped-out revelling in
the un-Swanage-like nature of the rock – it’s not even loose!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1QtGPZJ2n6U/T4MM1Lcfp8I/AAAAAAAAALI/C26wSdZrxNE/s1600/Cherry-Pleasure-Dome.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1QtGPZJ2n6U/T4MM1Lcfp8I/AAAAAAAAALI/C26wSdZrxNE/s400/Cherry-Pleasure-Dome.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying Pleasure Dome</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Justin’s lead and he picked the mean-looking line of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24671">Flash</a>. One
smooth lead later with only one, very controlled shout of ‘watch me’ and he reached at the top. I climbed it and got the fear, seconding is a scary business.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was my lead again and true to the rules of ‘Add a Grade’ I had
to climb something harder than Justin’s last lead. I flicked through the guide
looking for a low in the grade E5 that I could check out from the bottom before
committing to, that doesn’t have words like ‘<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24669">outrageously strenuous</a>’ or ‘<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24680">finger-shredding</a>’ in the description and that
isn’t accompanied by any of the following symbols in the Rockfax guide:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eacUhnTL64A/T4MQi10u95I/AAAAAAAAALQ/ztILoM5Gk7k/s1600/symbols.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eacUhnTL64A/T4MQi10u95I/AAAAAAAAALQ/ztILoM5Gk7k/s200/symbols.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unsurprisingly this narrowed the field somewhat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Trevallen<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24861">Yellow Pearls</a> at Trevallen fitted the description – apart, possibly,
from the low in the grade bit but the guide says it’s French 7a+ and I can
climb 7a+ right? Wrong! The route started well; I performed the vertical
bellyflopping move that is required when the route, and the cliff, start over a
metre off the ground, I mantled with surprising ease, I even climbed some moves
and placed some gear. Soon, however, I reached a point where I needed to place
a wire in the slot that I was eye-balling but couldn’t take a hand off to do so
due to the irritating lack of footholds. I considered ignoring the gear and
carrying on, citing the old motto ‘if in doubt: run it out’ but I felt too
close to the ground to justify it. I settled on the only option left open to me
and fell off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few more attempts later and I surrendered the lead to
Justin who found the same difficulties but reach the top via a few quick-draw
shaped holds. I seconded it with some rests and much fighting with firmly
wedged-in gear. I was annoyed at falling off but pleased that I
had got on the route to start with and psyched for some serious endurance
training.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-exJXGAO8OA4/T4MMy9xUjvI/AAAAAAAAALA/pyHWfjR1Lg4/s1600/Beer+Food.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-exJXGAO8OA4/T4MMy9xUjvI/AAAAAAAAALA/pyHWfjR1Lg4/s320/Beer+Food.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day ended with a typical camper’s diet of beer, pasta
surprise and mini eggs but I felt lost without my trusty van that, at present, is
in the garage having the engine re-attached.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Day 2: St Govan’s<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We woke to drizzle and the sounds of an entire campsite
complaining that 'this wasn’t on the forecast' but after a brief trip to stock up
on supplies of cake and tea it cleared up enough to risk an abseil. Strong
offshore winds hassled us as we sorted our kit at the top of St Govan’s Head; at
the cliff bottom it was another world, in the lee of the wind with the sun
sneaking out from behind the clouds to warm our backs and dry the rock it felt
like paradise.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Justin led first, climbing <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24764">The Butcher (E2.5)</a> a lovely climb
which made me feel that I was about to barn-door off around the arête on nearly
every move. Back down, out of the wind, I eyed up <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24777">Charisma</a>; the guidebook
description suggested that it was a bit of a one-move wonder with the move
protected by an aging peg and had upped the grade accordingly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The route went well until The Move; from a good rest I
placed some gear, ignored the rusty peg and tried to figure out The Move. I
must have spent 30mins climbing up and down, trying to ignore the increasingly apparent
fact that The Move was a big, committing slap to a flat hold. I don’t like big
committing slaps, I don’t like them above a bouldering mat, I don’t like them
above a bolt and I especially don’t like them above (admittedly bomber) gear.
Eventually I had faffed enough and had nothing left to do apart from commit to
The Move, which I did. I hit the hold and didn’t fall off, a bit of an
anti-climax really. The rest of the route passed in an over-gripped and pumped
blur.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Justin’s lead and sticking true to the game of Add a Grade, he
found a classic E5, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24794">Get Some In</a>, and set off. The route looked pumpy and
greasy, rests were taken. My experience of the route was made far more pleasant
by chalked holds and the absence of a lead-fall potential but I still fell off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We abbed in one last time to retrieve the bag and escaped up
<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24756">Army Dreamers</a>, a classic HVS, which had both holds and gear and was delightful.
More beer, pasta surprise and mini eggs followed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Day 3: Stennis Head<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Easter Sunday dawned grey and cold, we started the day by a recce
of a couple of committing routes that Justin and I had our eyes on: <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=157119">Out of my Mind</a> at Stennis Head and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24657">Star Wars</a> at Bosherston respectively. We managed to talk
ourselves out of both routes due to the lingering sea grease experienced on our
first climb of the day, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=98074">Stuntsman</a>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Trevallen</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A wee while later and I was staring at the bottom section of
<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24890">Trevallen Pillar</a> eyeing up the grease and psyching myself up. The grease didn’t
prove to be problematic and the first half of the route (originally the first
pitch) went well; technical climbing, enough gear and a pleasantly committing
crux. Then a ledge offered a welcome rest and a slab above offered a far less
welcome series of unprotectable, unreversable moves on spaced crimps. I tried,
I failed, I got scared and ran off, sideways, to belay around the corner
leaving a 5b pitch for Justin.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QxhCL_rXThY/T4MMvvXg3vI/AAAAAAAAAK4/0YBVX2lEfII/s1600/contemplating+Barb....JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QxhCL_rXThY/T4MMvvXg3vI/AAAAAAAAAK4/0YBVX2lEfII/s640/contemplating+Barb....JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Contemplating Barbarella</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Justin’s lead and after a brief contemplation of the horrors
of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24863">Barbarella</a> he led the neighbouring <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=24859">Sunlover</a> and we skipped away over Pembrokeshire
moorland to the promise of tea, warm showers and a real bed.<br />Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-84102765794842379672012-03-22T21:49:00.001+00:002012-03-22T21:49:25.313+00:00Days That Dreams Are Made Of<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’m sitting on a
grassy slope, a cliff-top at my feet and the sea far below, ropes trail back
from me to a stake and a fence post and down in front of me to my partner
climbing up. The sun is shining brightly in a clear blue sky and a gentle
breeze is blowing along the cliff carrying with it the smell of gorse flowers and
the sea. At my waist my battered and bleeding hands, aided by protesting arms,
control the rope though the belay plate. Out to sea four sea-kayakers fade to minuscule
dots in the vast ocean and the occasional hum of a passing motorboat replicates
the lazy drone of a bee on a hot summer’s afternoon. I feel alive, content, sated.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Earlier today I stood at the foot of the cliff and stared
up, the line of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14444">Ocean Boulevard</a> looked awesome from the ground, an obvious
crack line slicing through the wall liberally strewn with massive holds and
perfect tapering cracks for gear. I bounded over to the start eager to get my
teeth into the route, eager to get absorbed into the climbing and to let the
noise in my mind fade to silence. The climbing was as good as it looked; big
holds all the way, steep enough to remind me to keep concentrating whilst still
allowing time to relax and enjoy the exposure, the view, the uniformly haphazard
cliffs stretching away on each side. All too soon it was over and I was
standing on a ledge at the top with only the typical Swanage top-out still to
climb wishing the route was longer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I belayed Justin up and we grabbed some food and abbed back
in, it was Justin’s lead and what a route to choose – <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14447">Wall of the Worlds</a> – a name
which, like the route itself, both inspires and intimidates. I sat and belayed
in the sun dodging the falling chips of rocks which seem to find me wherever I placed
myself. After an impressively calm and smooth lead Justin reached the top and I
set off after him fighting a rising pump and the few hard moves thrown in along
the way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Such a route called for a celebratory picnic which gave my
arms time to recover before ‘Round 3’. The route I had scoped out for my next
lead was <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14442">Barracuda</a>, a beast of a line up a steep section of rock which the
guidebook says “never lets up” (they weren’t wrong). At the bottom I ditched as
much unnecessary clothing as possible, partly because I didn’t need to carry
the extra weight and partly because the last few days of climbing had worn
through much of my skin leaving only the layer that constantly seeps moisture
and glistens in the sunlight, the cooler the skin the better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a cursory look at the first bulge I set off and found
steep rock, poor holds and equally poor gear. A hard-looking move not far off
the deck made me feel the need for a decent bit of protection that was only
achieved one downclimb and two painful knee bars later. Excuses gone I had no
choice but to get on and commit to the move and the route, I just managed to reach
the good hold above when my foothold crumbled quietly beneath me injecting a
shot of adrenaline into my lactic acid infused circulatory system. On the
better holds above I tried to regain some sense of poise and control however
the clock was ticking and my arms were tiring fast. A few more moves and gear
placements later and I was properly pumped, so much so that I could only watch
as my fingers tried over and over to clip a quickdraw onto the cam and clip in
the rope. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4pZEJRq93EI/T2uctTAx4JI/AAAAAAAAAKw/n_DnZ0207Og/s1600/Photo-0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4pZEJRq93EI/T2uctTAx4JI/AAAAAAAAAKw/n_DnZ0207Og/s320/Photo-0048.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cost of learning to jam mid-route.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pumped I reached a vague corner that I wedged my body in and
desperately tried to teach myself to jam, being from the south I am hopeless at
jamming but I knew that you can get a good rest on jams and I really needed a
good rest. Even more pumped I grabbed at the break above which didn’t provide
the sinker jugs I was after but instead provided a selection of rounded holds
covered in sand. By now the pressure was off, I had given everything I had and
at some point I would reach the top or fall off, I didn’t really care which as
long as it happened soon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found some sort of a rest in the break which involved a
heel-hook and a lot of hope, the angle of the wall above looked like it eased a
little and I convinced myself that there would be a perfect rest above 5 moves
further up. This gave me just enough encouragement to leave the break and carry
on, needless to say the rest didn’t turn out to be restful but I told myself
there were good holds just about 5 moves further up and so it went on. I was
now just climbing on auto-pilot (the pilot had given up some time ago) and,
with enough hand swaps, I could place the odd bit of gear. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The angle slowly eased as the pump in my arms continued to
rise, the sinker jugs never appeared but eventually I found myself standing on
a ledge at the top that I had stood on four hours earlier, this time I didn’t wish
that the route was longer but I have never felt more alive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>At my back the sun shone
in a cloudless sky and the smell of gorse wafted gently down from the cliff-top
above.<o:p></o:p></i></div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-72720812483105065342012-03-08T17:52:00.000+00:002012-03-08T22:41:32.590+00:00Before the Bird-BanThe last couple of weeks have been spent, beside the regular
trips to Ansteys’, climbing on cliffs shortly to be bird-banned. Last week, on
the 29<sup>th</sup> of February, we sneaked in one final trip to Guillemot
Ledge, the highlights of the trip were falling off the awesome line of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14739">Fly Crazy But Free</a>, not falling off the no-less-awesome line of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14748">The Spook</a> and watching for
pirate ships lurking in the mist out to sea.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, however, we headed north instead of east as the
bird-ban at Baggy Point doesn’t start until the 15<sup>th</sup> of March (I
hope someone has told the birds). A short visit to check out the new-born
livestock on my parents’ farm allowed the slabs time to dry out after the
morning’s rain. By the time we reached Baggy Point the sun was nearly out but unfortunately
strong winds were battering the coast; great for drying out the slabs, not so
great for any feeling of psyche or motivation. A good friend once told me that
you can estimate the speed of the wind by comparing your ability to walk in the
wind with your ability to walk after a few pints; 1 pint equals about 10 mph. I
reckon we were at least 3 pints down and well on our way to another pint and a
kebab. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway we unpacked by the top of the slab trying to stop our
stuff blowing away and noticed the conspicuous absence of one of the half ropes
(my incompetence). Luckily we had a single rope with us and figuring that lines
on slabs were straight-ish we abbed in. The wind was calmer near the bottom of
the slab but still strong enough to whip up the waves and occasionally send the
foam circling into the sky in crazy maelstroms.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The angle of the rock at Baggy Point is always surprising,
from a distance it’s hard to imagine a truly hard move, and in most places, if
you just believe, you can move up on nearly nothing. However the gear, or absence of it, the state of the pegs and the friable nature of the rock balance
out the fact that you can get a hands-off rest at any point.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried, without real intent, to find the line of an E3 which was described differently in both guidebooks, neither of which seemed to bear much relation to the cliff. Instead I ran away up the beautifully obvious line of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=383">Undercracker</a>, a route which follows the edge of one of the sheets of rock that make up the slab. Having only one rope, limited extenders and climbing a slightly
wandering line concentrated my mind to place only bomber bits of gear and a
restrained number of those (as opposed to my usual tactic of shoving in gear at
random in the hope that some of it would hold).The moves were wonderful
requiring poise and balance in equal measure along with a strong belief in the capacity
of rubber to stick on lichen-covered ripples of rock. I restrained myself from
placing cams behind dodgy flakes and avoided using a massive balanced block
which looked like it had the capability to kill both me and my belayer and
arrived at the top laughing and singing to myself like a mad-woman. I composed
a belay out of dodgy bits of gear and a general belief in the structural stability
of the cliff and then sat and watched the gulls soaring as Alexis skipped his
way up the slab.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We abbed back down for round two as the tide worked its way
up the belay ledge, Alexis debated briefly between <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=388">Soft Touch</a> and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=390">Urizen</a> and chose,
due to the rising tide, the latter. I sat below the towering, tottering cliffs
to the right of the slab and watched the waves crashing in, the sun highlighting
the plumes of spray. By my feet the water kept creeping up the ledge but Alexis
crept higher faster; soon the call to climb came but not before I had moved the
rope out of the sea’s determined reach. I set off up the long clean corner of
Urizen and remembered the last time I climbed this route five years ago, when I
was learning to lead climb and Baggy was my nearest crag. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the top we gathered our things and set off up the slope
and into the still raging gale spurred on by the thought of home-made Eccles cakes
and the squalls bearing in on us from the Atlantic.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-20394928388544346872012-02-23T11:09:00.001+00:002012-02-23T11:09:41.225+00:00Pigs and Pixies<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s 7.45am and I prise myself out of bed; my body aches and
my mind protests against movement after the 13 hours of work yesterday and the
four days of climbing before that. I stop making excuses and get up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I step outside and the warm air feels strange and unnatural,
the ground is wet and condensation could well be a problem but I’m only heading
to Pixies’ and it’s worth the 10min drive to find out. The world-famous Pixies’
Hole is a squalid cave at Chudleigh which epitomises all that I need to improve at. The angle, somewhere between vertical and Ferocity Wall steepness won’t succumb
to my usual technique of turning sideways and throwing in a drop-knee instead you need to climb square-on using strength, power and accuracy, three of my major
weaknesses. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I park up and walk in, the crag is silent and deserted which
is unsurprising as it’s 8.30am and the whole crag is dripping with condensation.
Pixies’ is normally festooned with bright white chalk marks but today it’s dark
and damp and slimy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Climbing is clearly out of the question but I can’t bring
myself to turn around and head back home. I dump my bags and wander on down the
crag, past Pixies’ where many a happy hour has been spent in the company of
good friends, past Combat where I scared myself silly 1<sup>st</sup> time round
and Tendonitis where I felt calm and collected despite dropping some crucial
gear. I pick out lines I’ve led, lines I plan to lead and lines I haven’t
noticed before. I look up at Hot Ice and remember top-roping it many years ago
and hoping one day I’d be brave enough to solo it... then remind myself to get on
and do it. Past Cow Cave, past some of my first climbs nearly ten years ago, Wogs
and Barn Owl Crack, exciting outings that I loved and that got me hooked on
climbing. I look up at Black Death and White Life and mentally bump the latter
up my to-do list of climbs for this year. I wander on past Scar and The Spider
and Great Western, so many climbs and so many memories of great days out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turning away from the crag I meander back through the trees
breathing in the warm air and the scent of spring, I see snowdrops pushing
their way through the mossy soil and watch ravens soaring and cackling overhead.
The smell of the woodland and the sight of the old twisted oaks remind me of
walking through the wood on my parents’ farm, following dear tracks and
disturbing magnificent stags. I remember being sent with a bucket of pig food
to find an adventurous pair of pigs that we brought for the autumn; the pigs where
free-range throughout the whole farm but had a penchant for exploring and
finding gaps in the boundary fence.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cN3YQjd5HBE/T0YbZu2-J0I/AAAAAAAAAKg/pqMzbgE-Lm4/s1600/pig+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="467" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cN3YQjd5HBE/T0YbZu2-J0I/AAAAAAAAAKg/pqMzbgE-Lm4/s640/pig+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As happy as a pig in...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walked through the wood calling and
rattling the bucket until eventually there was a rustling in the undergrowth and the
two pigs trotted over for some food and a good scratch. On the way back I disturbed a pair of stags fighting in a pond in the centre
of the wood, the image of them is framed in my mind with sunlight streaming
through the trees and catching on the droplets of water thrown up in the air.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in Chudleigh I see no deer or pigs but the wood is
beautiful nevertheless and the morning spent wandering around a damp crag doesn’t
feel wasted at all.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-1895661962019385582012-02-16T11:10:00.001+00:002012-02-16T11:10:34.102+00:00Training<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
For some climbers training is the bane of their lives, a
torture they endure occasionally and only when circumstances force them to. For
others it’s the reminder of a climbing lifestyle in an otherwise busy life, an
escape from their commitments for a precious 30 minutes spent hanging off a
fingerboard or training wall, memories of past climbs and future plans are all
the motivation they need. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For my part I enjoy a good training session, I love turning
up to the wall with a plan and sticking to it, I love walking away 4 hours
later with tired and aching muscles and a very real sense of achievement but
most of all I love the focus it requires.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I warm up at The Quay, traversing and climbing some of the
easier boulder problems then I head to the 40 degree wall and work out a ten
move problem that’s near the limit of my ability. It’s strange to be climbing
in a busy climbing wall instead of at a quiet crag, people and their
conversations distract me; I climb the problem for the first time, feet skating
everywhere. At the last hold I jump off, a 30 second rest and a quick chalk up
and I’m back on the board. This time the concentration comes more easily, my
footwork is more precise, each move is carried out more efficiently. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jump off, rest, chalk, climb. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The third go and I start to feel tired, the pump in my arms
won’t shift and I feel like Popeye just without the spinach habit. Fourth and
fifth goes are a trial, the last move nearly gets me each time but I stick it,
just. Five bolts stand in a row by the entrance to the boulder room, each one symbolising
a go on the board and an inability to count whilst tired. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I take a rest then head to the other boulder room and repeat
the process on the roof section then back to the 40 degree wall for round 3 on
a new 10 move problem. Time for a break and some food and renewed psyche from
an old edition of climb magazine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back on the floor I warm up again and head on to the
auto-belay for laps on some longer routes. A slopey 7a is perfect for the
challenge, only one positive hold on the route and hard moves requiring locking
off and reaching. Five goes later and I don’t want to stop, my arms are tired
but the moves are so absorbing that I don’t seem to mind. In the break between
goes my mind wanders, in the lull between focusing hard on the route it
explores the reasons why; why I’m training, why I enjoy this, why I keep coming
back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SA3inHwB3d0/TzzjjuzI74I/AAAAAAAAAKY/Td95hLb3s2w/s1600/sacturary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="417" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SA3inHwB3d0/TzzjjuzI74I/AAAAAAAAAKY/Td95hLb3s2w/s640/sacturary.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sanctuary Wall - it's time to get strong!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I’m addicted to the feeling of moment, of freedom, of
pain and resistance, of power and strength, of muscles working to their limit
and my mind fully focused on each hold, each move. The beauty of it is that
while my mind is full of climbing it is empty of everything else. The absolute commitment
to each move requires rules out thoughts of anything more, of life and people,
of the ever-changing future or the unchangeable past. My life, and all of existence with it, shrinks
to a heart-beat, a burst of power from my muscles, a single focused thought. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of the session when the outside world returns to
crowd out my mind I miss the feeling of being lost inside a move but the memory
of it is as powerful as a drug, calling me back time and time again. </div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-36382287848018812532012-02-08T10:29:00.001+00:002012-02-08T10:29:27.491+00:00Early-Morning Blues<i>I wish I was still in
bed...</i><br />
<br />
My thoughts are slow and sluggish but it’s 7.45am, I’m at
the cove and it’s one of those days when everything feels like hard work. I try
and wake up by getting on the traverse but after yesterday’s dawn session at Chudleigh
my skin feels like it’s on fire. I move round to the sloper traverse in the
hope that it won’t hurt as much and that I’ll warm up, which I do, slowly.<br />
<br />
<i>... my skin hurts...</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though it's gloomy over Anstey's the view out to sea takes
my breath away; a container ship sits out in the bay silhouetted against the
early morning sunshine that breaks through the layer of cloud in rays
covering the scene in a soft orange glow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>... it’s beautiful
here...<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Under Ferocity Wall the cold easterly wind whips
along the base of the cliff stealing the last of my psyche and body heat but we
set up anyway as there’s not a lot else to do. I put the clips in Tuppence trying
to link sections of the route but the moves feel hard today, especially compared
to my last session. On Sunday, back on the project after 3 weeks away I felt fit
and strong, possibly the strongest I’ve ever felt on the route; today, however, every
move is a challenge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>... but so cold...<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a stint of belaying I’m climbing again, trying to
ignore the pain but each hold bites into my skin like a piranha, if my fingers
pop off a hold the pain increases leaving me hanging on the rope cursing
quietly but the move at the bottom of the route is the worst. The big slap to a
razor sharp hold requires all-or-nothing commitment, I settle for neither and
my fingers catch but don’t quite hold the edge...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>...*&@%!...<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thought it feels unusually hard and painful today, somehow
it’s still worth it; every move I try and make with tired arms and worn-out
skin will feel easier next time, at least I hope it will! Despite it all it
feels great to sneak in a climb before a full day’s work, like I’ve manage to
cheat the system just a little.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>... I wouldn’t miss this
for the world.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-49208728083059128112012-02-05T19:41:00.001+00:002012-02-05T19:41:41.587+00:00España<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve just returned from two weeks in El Chorro climbing sunny
sport climbs, absorbing a much needed dose of Vitamin D and accidentally
believing that summer had come and winter was over for the year. My return to
England and its rain, snow and sub-zero temperatures quickly disabused me of
that notion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stayed in the Olive Branch, the perfect hang-out for any
climbing bum, and our time there fell into a regular pattern; days spent at a
local crag either baking of freezing depending on its aspect, evenings spent in
the strange improvised dance that happens when half a dozen people attempt to
cook in the same kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UrAq8irbV8U/Ty7VTWuvZNI/AAAAAAAAAKA/sL6gMMVStx0/s1600/402460_3117720065026_1325225201_3090105_351638931_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UrAq8irbV8U/Ty7VTWuvZNI/AAAAAAAAAKA/sL6gMMVStx0/s400/402460_3117720065026_1325225201_3090105_351638931_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makinodromo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">The highlights of the trip were:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -18pt;"> ·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Bouldering in Malaga Airport with John
Mcshea, we found a traverse around a pillar which involved wide spans and then
matching on sloping side pulls. We got a few strange looks from the other
tourists but it was worth it for our first bit of Spanish climbing.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -18pt;"> ·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Climbing in Poema de Roca, a massive cave in the
side of an immense expanse of rock that puts any cliff in England to shame. We
went there on our first day as, much to our disgust, it was raining (and there’s
me thinking that the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains). The routes in
the cave vary from wall climbs to tufa-laden endurance routes to horizontal,
and frankly ridiculous, roof climbs. I had a go on </span><a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=112603" style="text-indent: -18pt;">Swimming Through a Shark Attack</a><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">
partly because it looked crazy and like nothing I’d ever climbed before and
partly because it had the draws in as I didn’t fancy the logistics of stripping
a nearly horizontal route on petzl bolts. The route consisted of swinging
between stalactite blobs, finding knee-bars and leg-locks and trying not to
become disorientated in a world that is 90degrees away from the norm. I had a
few goes on the route but didn’t get further than halfway, I’ll save the route
for another day when I have learnt how to roof climb and have the endurance of
a chimp.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IERwehmXQWY/Ty7Ur3F9rOI/AAAAAAAAAJo/nWtQHJkeaNc/s1600/poema.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IERwehmXQWY/Ty7Ur3F9rOI/AAAAAAAAAJo/nWtQHJkeaNc/s400/poema.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Redpointing <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=112600">La Villa Strangiato</a> in the Poema de Roca cave.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6E218t7atXU/Ty7VQ4xowoI/AAAAAAAAAJw/TR7DNzsoz2s/s1600/427397_3117727065201_1325225201_3090112_639615033_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6E218t7atXU/Ty7VQ4xowoI/AAAAAAAAAJw/TR7DNzsoz2s/s400/427397_3117727065201_1325225201_3090112_639615033_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing high above the cloud inversion at Desplomilandia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BGlKwbajz_c/Ty7VUC74PfI/AAAAAAAAAKI/kQcGHbxKS2s/s1600/404844_3117714544888_1325225201_3090100_1310178271_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BGlKwbajz_c/Ty7VUC74PfI/AAAAAAAAAKI/kQcGHbxKS2s/s400/404844_3117714544888_1325225201_3090100_1310178271_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justin figuring out the crux of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=112686">Arabesque</a> at Escalera Arabe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -18pt;"> ·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Visiting Desplomilandia, a shady, north-facing
venue perfect for any sweltering climber unsuited to the temperatures of the
Spanish Winter. We spent most of our time on the El Triangulo crag, the angle
was just what I am used to (cheating really) but some of the routes were 25m
long, approximately 10m longer than my stomping-ground Ferocity Wall (and to be
honest I spend most of my time there sitting on the rope or possibly linking 2 or
3 moves). Good days were spent there trying the moves of the marvellous </span><a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=113538" style="text-indent: -18pt;">Mar de Ortigas</a><span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> which consists of 25m of pocket and tufa climbing – exactly the sort of
route I came to Spain for.</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VK40UoD9dbU/Ty7ZnIL2JeI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/CFDaVvA3nZo/s1600/408869_3117722185079_1325225201_3090107_1745661633_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VK40UoD9dbU/Ty7ZnIL2JeI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/CFDaVvA3nZo/s400/408869_3117722185079_1325225201_3090107_1745661633_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John on Mar de Ortigas at Desplomilandia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amongst all this bolt-clipping I did have a yearning for
some trad climbing, a yearning which was at least partially sated by our ‘rest-day’
climb <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=113190">Africa</a>. Just the approach to the climb was an exciting and nerve-wracking
affair; after walking to the start of the gorge you embark on El Camino del
Rey, a dodgy concrete and metal structure that traverses the entire gorge made
somewhat safer by the via ferrata set-up that accompanies it, although the locals
bimble along the walkway with the nonchalance of a French Guide we edged our
way tentatively expecting it to collapse at anytime. The base of the climb is
then reached by crawling through a tunnel and abseiling 50m down the side of
the gorge to a committing position where escape is either up the cliff or an abseil
into the river below. The route is partially bolted and gets 6b+ in the guide
which makes it easy to forget that you’re embarking on a 4 pitch E3/E4. The route
was great though our route-finding towards the top wasn’t and as rest-days go
it wasn’t particularly restful leading me to take another rest-day just to get over
the first one.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-55812352609788226212012-01-09T18:04:00.002+00:002012-01-09T18:04:56.185+00:00Dawn Missions<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s 6:30am and my alarm wakes me up with an unnecessarily cheery
tune. For a second complete confusion reigns, I have no idea what day it is or
what I’m supposed to be doing, no daylight creeps through the curtains
convincing me that it’s still night. The word ‘climbing’ permeates through the
fog in my brain encouraging me to get out of bed and get dressed, in the cold
dark I layer on clothes to make up for the warmth of the duvet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Breakfast eaten and tea drunk and I’m on the road,
headlights cutting a swathe through the winter morning darkness. The roads are
quiet and the dance tunes on the radio help to wake me up. The reason for this
early morning activity is simple; I work four days in a row but don’t start work
‘til midday and I don’t want to go without climbing for four days. The answer –
dawn missions; if I arrive at the crag at first light I can get a decent
session in before work and finding a partner for such an ungodly hour is no
trouble as Alexis is just as keen/stupid. We meet at the car park at 7:30,
shoulder our packs and walk to the crag in the half-light. Our destination (as
ever) is Anstey’s Cove where even a short session is bound to be exhausting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The crag is quiet and still, a beautiful place to be at any
time but all the more so this morning. In the cold air my duvet jacket reminds
me too much of its namesake and I’m loathed to take it off, instead I warm-up
wearing it feeling like the Michelin Man with about as much co-ordination. The
sun sits like a ball of gold above the sea turning the wispy clouds pink, it
brings comfort but no actual warmth at this time in the morning. We’ve been
here on early-morning missions in the summer when it’s too hot to climb by 9am
and in the autumn when drizzle and rain makes the whole idea of climbing a
challenge. Today however, on this cold crisp morning it feels perfect: a
sunrise in a bright blue sky, a wood pigeon cooing and the sound of the waves
drifting up from far below on the gentle breeze.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The moves on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25960">Tuppence</a> feel as hard as ever but I’m climbing
and I can’t bring myself to care. My fingers slowly warm up and my muscles wake
up, I link moves that I’ve linked before and fall off moves that I’ve fallen
off before. As I sit on the rope, my back slowly being warmed by the sun, I can
see clouds moving in to cover its brightness but for now it’s just perfect.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-63286303603832516632012-01-01T10:59:00.000+00:002012-01-02T19:35:16.003+00:00Escape!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Christmas passed in a blur of food, drink and wrapping paper.
A good time was had by all but after four days of not climbing I was starting
to get withdrawal symptoms and desperately needed to spend some time in the
company of people who knew , for example, the importance of the onsight and the relative
merits of single vs twin ropes in a trad climbing environment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fmyYaB07p5I/TwIEO3RkbYI/AAAAAAAAAHA/hZyvoMqwTbQ/s1600/IMG_0685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fmyYaB07p5I/TwIEO3RkbYI/AAAAAAAAAHA/hZyvoMqwTbQ/s200/IMG_0685.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justin and John</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The promise of a days’ climbing at Portland shone like the
light at the end of the festive tunnel and when the day arrived, with good
weather forecast, we were waiting for it with rucksacks packed and down jackets
on. John came to pick us up and bounced out of his car like an overexcited
puppy; this man is the embodiment of psyche, a couple of hours talking about
routes with him and you’ll be itching to quit your job, sell your cat and
CLIMB!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon we were on the road and it felt good to be heading off to
Dorset after being stuck in Devon for the last couple of weeks dodging showers
and Christmas obligations. I have a mixed relationship with climbing at
Portland: I love the idea of attempting to onsight endless sport routes in the
sun in beautiful Dorset however when I go there I remember that I find the
routes hard to read, dusty and weird and that Portland isn’t Dorset’s answer to
Kalymnos but a windswept spit of land with a prison and some moorland on it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rGalqYcLp4w/TwIERqN7I7I/AAAAAAAAAHM/Yd1r6HVoaL4/s1600/IMG_0684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rGalqYcLp4w/TwIERqN7I7I/AAAAAAAAAHM/Yd1r6HVoaL4/s320/IMG_0684.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to figure out the crux of Julie Ocean</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Nevertheless, it <i>was</i> a good day. The warm up route, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14088">Wonderlust</a>, was
excellent, big moves on big holds to a thin cruxy section at the top and with
only one loose block which when tapped made a noise that made me want to run
and hide in a very safe place. The second route, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14090">Julie Ocean</a>, was one of two halves, the
first was a gentle romp on good holds while the second half consisted of a
wonderful sequence of improbable moves which would be very satisfying to
onsight... I imagine. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next we headed up the coast to <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14099">Drowning on Dry Land</a>, a route on a cliff that
bears a striking resemblance to the piles of rubble you have to walk over to
get there. The route itself was surprisingly solid with a beautiful flowstone
section that made a pleasant change from the sharp limestone crimps of the rest
of the climb and was long enough to allow my fingers to go from numb to sweating
with only a modicum of hot-aches related pain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-swDHvu7YFbw/TwIEP1siqgI/AAAAAAAAAHI/hv9gHwYFtiI/s1600/IMG_0681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-swDHvu7YFbw/TwIEP1siqgI/AAAAAAAAAHI/hv9gHwYFtiI/s640/IMG_0681.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The scary looking Cheyne Cliff. See what I mean?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On up the coast to <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=14108">Road Rage</a> - a 3 star classic of Portland and
a route we all wanted to get on. John set off for the onsight and I watched
trying to memorise his sequence with the desperation of a prisoner trying to
memorise an escape plan. However the conditions got the better of us with an icy
wind freezing our fingers and sea-grease making the middle section unpleasant
and insecure. Excuses aside it was a great route with hard moves, small holds
and an unrelenting angle, definitely one to get on next time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Darkness was creeping up on us and it was time to head back.
The journey home was filled with talk of dream routes, trips to plans and
adventures to be had in the New Year. Bring on 2012!</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-57978726791336991302011-12-14T21:13:00.000+00:002011-12-15T09:19:52.707+00:00WinterIt seems to be winter. I don’t know why I’m surprised as it
comes around with a startling regularity but it takes some getting used to all
the same. Finding somewhere to climb, and actually climbing, over the last few
days has involved tea, down and an unwavering belief that there will be some dry
rock somewhere.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Monday<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anstey’s Cove was Monday’s choice as it never rains at Anstey’s, true
to form the rock was dry(ish) and the weather warm(ish). Having spent a couple
of weeks of staring forlornly at <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25960">Tuppence</a> like an puppy denied a treat I took
the decision and declared my finger well enough to get back on the route. Much
pulling on, falling off and checking my finger was still attached followed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily my hand survived the experience and I was reminded of
the fun in trying funky moves on pristine limestone overlooking the ocean unfortunately
the route hadn’t got any easier or I any stronger and the rain was moving in...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tuesday<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the forecast for the day looking bad, Alexis and I did
what proper Devon climbers should do: we went to Chudleigh to boulder in the
steep, wonderful and only slightly squalid Pixies’ Hole. Had we had bottles of
meths instead of bouldering mats we would have looked like hobos instead we probably
just looked like crazy people. Pixies’ never disappoints; with endless problems
to create on slightly polished crimps, pinches and slopers it’s every climbers
dream (as long as your dreams feature cold damp caves in Chudleigh... mine don’t).
We bouldered until our arms were sore, our feet were frozen and darkness had
returned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Wednesday<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
20 hours later and I was back at Chudleigh staring up at the
wall of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26037">Combat</a> and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=35086">Tendonitis</a> psyched for some hard-core top-roping. The warm up
consisted of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=26038">Oesophagus</a> followed by Combat, a wonderful route which I hadn’t
climbed since leading it a year and a half ago; needless to say it feels like a
very different proposition when top-roping. Winter tactics came into play by climbing
a few routes in succession and then belaying for a few to prevent constant numb
fingers. Three laps up Tendonitis later and I could definitely feel my
fingers... and my pumped forearms. Next go I had a play on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=51847">Obstreperous</a> which
looks like an awesome route, a pumpy start pulling up on crimps and peg scar
pockets to a bit of a rest then a big move before the route merges with the top
of Oesophagus; with enough gear all the way it’s one for the ever expanding
list of routes to lead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rmJxJoRSUB8/Tumvqyj2XTI/AAAAAAAAAG0/q3rNne4kpgc/s1600/davestorm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rmJxJoRSUB8/Tumvqyj2XTI/AAAAAAAAAG0/q3rNne4kpgc/s320/davestorm.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local hero Dave Henderson at the groove of Combat.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;">© </span>Chris J</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vI7-l83JTEA/TumvnorW4VI/AAAAAAAAAGs/ZadpnSvhPFQ/s1600/domten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vI7-l83JTEA/TumvnorW4VI/AAAAAAAAAGs/ZadpnSvhPFQ/s320/domten.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dom on Tendonitis in sunnier times.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;">© </span>Chris J</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Three days of dodging showers, dancing around in a down jacket
and belaying with climbing shoes down my top to keep them warm. Three days of
hard moves, dry limestone and increasingly tired arms... the rat is fed, it’s
time for a rest day.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-69130127770758637542011-12-03T16:41:00.001+00:002011-12-03T16:52:54.927+00:00Rehab<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My finger’s getting better but it’s still not quite right,
rehab at the moment seems to consist of sessions at Anstey’s Cove where I
manage to not get on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25960">Tuppence</a> (as just about every left hand hold is a crimp) and
instead I look at other, less crimpy lines on the wall.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25966">The Lynch</a> was Wednesday’s choice, a route that I’ve been on
once before and hated it due to its painful, brutal and generally thuggy style
of climbing. I felt sure this would change after getting on it again...but I still
hated it, not only was it painful and thuggy but also damp; citing my injured
finger, and a general hatred for the route, as excuses I backed off and ran
away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday’s trip to
the cove was a brief one as just about everything was wet (apart from Tuppence...grr).
Instead the day was spent drinking tea and pulling on steep hard boulder problems
in a garage or steep juggy routes at The Quay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back to the cove on Friday and, with The Lynch being wet
(and horrible), the next route to try was <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25959">Postman Pat</a>; a fine route that traverses
left to right with a couple of killer moves involving a pencil thin tufa before
finishing up the wild top section of <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25962">A Fisherman’s Tale</a>. It was great to get stuck in to a route even though the killer move is properly hard and I’m not sure I can reach the
span on the Fisherman’s move; but these are just excuses, it’s great to be
climbing again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My recent excursions at the cove have given me feeling a zen-like
understanding of the place and its routes and have led to the following diagram
of Ferocity Wall in all its splendour:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9t6kPPlp7gM/TtpTANMAnII/AAAAAAAAAGk/lj-vs4hTVPg/s1600/F2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="488" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9t6kPPlp7gM/TtpTANMAnII/AAAAAAAAAGk/lj-vs4hTVPg/s640/F2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-78529296986709745912011-11-25T12:13:00.001+00:002011-11-25T13:01:54.166+00:00Kernow<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The planned three weeks of rest shortened into one week
after the pain in my finger disappeared and the psyche returned. However, during my week of rest, in proper injured climber style, I turned up at
the local crag where my friends were climbing to heckle, belay and dead-hang off the other
arm. When all your mates are climbers what else is there to do?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With no work for a few days it was time to head down to Cornwall
in The Van (yes, the capitals are required) to see how the injured finger would
cope with trad. The weather forecast looked good but a big swell was predicted – surely not a problem for Cornish sea cliffs!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tuesday – Sennen<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heading down to Cornwall at midday gave us just enough time
to get a route in before sunset; we walked down to Sennen with the idea of
checking out hard stuff but were put off by clouds of spray thrown up by the
massive waves. After seeing a wave crash over the rocks we had just walked on we
decided to run away up <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=35948">Monday Face</a>. I topped out with my finger still
pain free and we sorted gear as the sun set from a clear blue sky whilst the
waves crashed on the rocks below – a beautiful place to be and a long way from the bustle of everyday life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Wednesday – Bosigran<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bosi, being as far from the sea as West Cornwall crags get, seemed like the perfect place to
go to escape the waves. Alexis got on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=827">Saddle Tramp</a>, a rarely climbed route in the Raven Wall Area, which I seconded falling off only when I
realised I was trying a hard move from a very similar set of hold to the ones I
had injured myself on only this time with numb fingers and feet on lichen-y
smears. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Following on in the spirit of climbing underrated two star
lines we got on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=829">Dominator</a> which did involve climbing up a small stream but
finished in ape-like fashion swinging from massive holds on steep rock. Another
day of pain free climbing and another beautiful sunset... time for another
dinner and pint in the pub.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Thursday – Carn Barra<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day started by tramping over heathery moorland, looking
down fenced-off mine shafts, staring in turn at massive waves and inspiring route-lines
and fighting the urge to quit work, move to Cornwall and climb quality routes all day every day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The guided
tour of Penwith complete, we ended up at Carn Barra, a sheltered choice for a windy day
but a very wavey one when there’s a big swell. We abbed down to the Northern
Platform and looked at a couple of damp E2s until a particularly large wave
sent us scurrying up a V Diff like rats fleeing a sinking ship. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--GEWYbpb4kU/Ts-HDi5SjfI/AAAAAAAAAGU/LzRbI0zA_Hc/s1600/Photo-0036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--GEWYbpb4kU/Ts-HDi5SjfI/AAAAAAAAAGU/LzRbI0zA_Hc/s400/Photo-0036.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the belay ledge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not content to find somewhere sensible to climb we abbed in
to Central Wall where the cliff and ledge below the belay prevented us from
getting soaked... most of the time. I led first, turning occasionally to see a
curtain of water at eye level and an excited-looking belayer cowering from the
spray. The view from the top was awesome, massive waves crashing against the
rock on all sides and in the middle of it all a seal bobbing around without a
care in the world (at least I assume that was a carefree expression, I've never
been very good at reading seal body language). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We abbed back in for another route, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=1597">Dialectic</a>, and I belayed on the ledge watching
the waves send plumes of spray higher and higher as the tide came in, feeling glad I was still attached to the ab rope but certain that there was nowhere
in the world I’d rather be. I seconded the route trying not to barn-door off, unable
to feel my fingers or drag my eyes away from the sea. One final VS, <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=1599">Axis</a>, to tick off
and it was my lead again. Chalk by this point was only of psychological use and
the gear was dripping with condensation but the granite provided enough
friction and big holds to prevent any problems. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon we were tramping back over the heather towards the van
thinking of hard routes and inspiring lines to get on next time... my name is
Cherry and I’m addicted to Cornish Trad.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-79328291610283975642011-11-17T10:21:00.001+00:002011-11-17T11:11:43.544+00:00Bad Days<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The week started well with a trip to Avon for some bold
balancy climbing on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=31420">Krapp's Last Tape</a> and an ab off the nearby ‘Abseil Station’ –
which definitely doesn’t merit the title ‘Station’ consisting as it does of old
bolts, old rusty snap-gates and some faded tape – but it didn’t fail so I can’t
complain!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Down to Anstey’s on Tuesday, the rock was nearly all dry and
a cold easterly was blowing bringing with it strong waves, heaps of seaweed and
cold fingers to anyone who stood still. The warm up traverse is tucked away
from the wind and I did laps on it until I could feel the blood pumping around
my body. Feeling suitably warmed up I got on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25960">Tuppence</a>, limiting myself to 5 goes
on the inital crux before moving on, this allowed me to try the rest of the
route with some strength left and not to waste the whole day repeatedly falling
off the same move with no noticeable improvement. The middle section felt good
and I managed to link the hardest move through to the jug, progress! I played
around on the top section trying to figure out a way to do the move before heading
back to the ground for a rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next go went well, I found out a way to eyeball the hold
above the top crux though I couldn't seem to be able to move any limbs to hold
onto it, the route felt a step closer nevertheless.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Third go of the day, just one more crack at the bottom
section after this then home. I start off with 5 attempts at the bottom crux
then up to the middle crux which I can’t do at this stage of the day as my left
hand’s getting tired. The top section still looks like it should work; a few
more tries pulling off a small left hand undercut crimp and jumping with my
right and I might figure it out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pull on, push through my feet and reach out with my right
hand when I hear a pop from my left and a line of pain shoots through my hand.
For a split-second time stands still and I can see two futures stretching out
ahead of me: One of my normal life, climbing every day that I can, getting on
Tuppence once a week, trad epics and adventures. The other of injury, pain,
weeks or months of rest, rehab, getting weak and frustrated. I slump onto the
rope clutching my hand and look up, only one future remains.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pain is in the ring finger of my overtired left hand,
too many weeks of crimping and trying to get stronger have taken its toll. I
belay Alexis on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25962">Fisherman’s</a> and again on Tuppence where he kindly takes my
quickdraws out for me, he doesn’t even claim them as crag swag!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-19x1tK0qWjg/TsTp7rKc_XI/AAAAAAAAAGE/81blFMHt64M/s1600/lady-slack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-19x1tK0qWjg/TsTp7rKc_XI/AAAAAAAAAGE/81blFMHt64M/s320/lady-slack.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slacklining - a great rest day activity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I drive home trying to change gear with my thumb and the
depression sets in. It may sound clichéd but climbing is everything to me: it’s
the reason why I get out of bed in the morning, the reason why I go to work,
the reason why I eat breakfast when it’s far too early to eat anything that isn’t
chocolate. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time passes and the shock fades, I see a doctor who knows
little about tendon injuries and a climbing physio friend who knows a lot more,
I vow to rest properly and let it heal. I make a list of things I have been meaning
to do but never get round to because I’m always climbing and a list of easy
slabs to try out some one-handed trad climbing. Life goes on.</div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-500564646216390954.post-20340544167976442772011-11-09T19:03:00.001+00:002011-11-09T19:04:00.700+00:00The Tricky Part<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In summer I find the best way to improve is to go climbing
everyday that I can, get on the routes I’ve been putting off and keep on trying
the ones I’m falling off. As a general rule this tends to work quite well and
the best part is that it’s exactly what I want to do. However it isn’t summer now
and ‘just going climbing’ is no longer the answer... it’s time for the tricky
part... training. This way if the routes I want to get on ever dry out I might
stand a greater chance of getting to the top.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That said for the last three days I ignored my own advice
and used the dry days for bimbling on easy routes and the wet days for hanging
around at wet crags feeling sorry for myself:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k7evq_Z65gI/TrrNM8rdV-I/AAAAAAAAAFs/oFp6RgLqZOE/s1600/Cheddar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k7evq_Z65gI/TrrNM8rdV-I/AAAAAAAAAFs/oFp6RgLqZOE/s400/Cheddar.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheddar Gorge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Sunday: Cheddar<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sunday was dry but colder than my fingers can cope with (this
isn’t saying much as my fingers and toes tend to freeze and the merest mention
of chilly weather). Of course the sensible thing to do would have been to climb
on the north side of the gorge in the sunshine; instead we opted for a freezing
‘warm up’ climb and then wandered up to the start of the spectacular <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=36592">Space Tourist</a>. I can’t help but enjoy multi-pitch sport climbing; it feels like a bit
of guilty pleasure to climb without the usual trad-induced fear but it’s great
fun nevertheless. We reached the top of Sunset Buttress as the sun set behind
us and abbed back down to warm socks and a fish-and-chip-based dinner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<b>Monday: Daddyhole<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Another dry day and I had promised to take my visiting
brothers, all three of them, out climbing. I wanted to choose a crag and a
route that summed up what’s so great about rock-climbing and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=33990">Gates of Eden</a> at Daddyhole
seemed to tick most of the boxes:</div>
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</span></span>Adventurous setting</div>
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</span></span>Abseil descent</div>
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</span></span>Sea cliff</div>
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</span></span>Exposed location</div>
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</span></span>Multi-pitch trad.</div>
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It turns out that a four person stacked abseil does work quite
well and they all reached the ground laughing and not shaking too much. I
showed them the route, explained how it all works (emergency exits are situated
here, here and here... if someone shouts “below” don’t look up...) and set off
up the first pitch. At the belay I brought two of them up together with one
trailing a rope for the third brother, only the stopper 5a/b move seemed to
cause any problems. Much faffing with gear, ropes and the belay followed and I
set off to the top. They followed using a combination of technique, brute force
and desperation borne of an innate distrust in the whole system. A good day was
had by all.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Tuesday: Anstey’s<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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A rainy drizzly day. It had been at least 5 days since I had
been to Anstey’s and the desperation to return ate away at my gut like a particularly
unpleasant virus. It was also our only hope of dry rock, a hope that was
cruelly dashed upon arriving. For once The Cove was almost entirely unclimbable
apart from the first few bolts on <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25960">Tuppence</a> and <a href="http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c.php?i=25962">A Fisherman’s Tale</a>. As these are
the routes Alexis and I are working we spent the afternoon, hanging around in
the rain, falling off </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X9e8rgT9alY/TrphbkjM6jI/AAAAAAAAAFk/c2Hvi_7U5Hk/s1600/dartcam.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X9e8rgT9alY/TrphbkjM6jI/AAAAAAAAAFk/c2Hvi_7U5Hk/s320/dartcam.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time to get inspired: The Dartmoor Webcam</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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damp holds and eating malt loaf.</div>
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<b>Today, Wednesay: Training</b></div>
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Rain, rain and more rain. Time to engage the winter training
plan I think: train on wet days, climb on dry days. I hope the sun doesn’t
shine too much during the next four days at work or I feel my work-life balance
may undergo some irreversible restructuring! </div>Cherry Bedfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03794756789647932267noreply@blogger.com0