I’ve never been on a meet with such a load of incompetents! All I could hear was, “Nope, I can’t do it”… “Can you pull me up?”…  “Ooh, I’m stuck”. I dunno; a fine weekend in Langdale (when did that last happen?)… dry rock, blue skies, not a slug in sight… and no-one got up a single climb all weekend.

We got to know the trees around the hut very well, though: tied ourselves to ‘em, climbed ‘em, threw ourselves off and dangled, entangled from ‘em, all in an attempt to emulate the complicated zigs, zags and arrows which our instructor drew on her brand-new blackboard. I have to say she seemed quite impressed with our efforts, but at one stage combined tactics were necessary to replicate the terrors of Snatch Rescue (or was it the Counter-balance Abseil?).

Despite all this there were no actual injuries, although a few people resorted to sitting on chairs rather than hanging stoically in their harnesses. It’s hard work having an epic, you know, though you’d look rather silly carrying a chair to the crag with you under normal circumstances.

I, for my part, successfully escaped the tangle of Hitches and Knots (French, Italian and others that sounded more akin to a Harry Potter spell) and left my abandoned partner dangling while I went back to the hut for a well-earned cuppa. I use the word ‘dangling’ rather loosely, as she was in reality laid out horizontally on the lawn sunning herself.

Eventually – oh my- we progressed to real rock and amused passers-by with our antics at the foot of Raven Crag. The by now familiar whines of incompetent seconds resumed … though we were careful to have our epics close to the ground just in case gravity proved more than our newly acquired skills could cope with. We tied-off, lowered, hauled, heaved and grunted, our hapless partners gaining height inch by inch, assisted by our impeccably set-up hoists. I may not have been the only one, though, thinking we would have been better off learning “Wingardium leviosa”1.

1 Spell for levitating objects

Rock-climbing, mountain biking, winter skills, Munro and Corbett bagging (oh, and of course, the Inshriach teashop) surely all highlights of the meet had been enjoyed… but no… the action aint over until the welding goggles have come out!

A return to colder temperatures with some fresh snow on the tops meant that a winter route could be the menu du jour for the last day of the meet and a large jolly party took to the Fiacaill ridge, an easy Cairngorm classic and superbly positioned line between the Sneachda and Lochain corries. The further you stay on the left side of the ridge the better the sense of exposure as you peer down the length of the Fiacaill Buttress. We decided the granite ridge was rather like stacking up lots of sections of gritstone edge one of top of the other, all balanced precariously on top of a very big mountain.

Good progress was made until a temporary halt in the proceedings was caused when we caught up with two slow-moving roped parties. But not wanting to miss the crux of the route (all difficulties can actually be avoided) we opted to wait…

So the Meet Cake was enjoyed with typical Pinnacle Club style and banter. It was generally agreed by all that the dense texture of the carbohydrate laden Genoa cake had extremely good properties in terms of withstanding the rigours of a route in a rucsac. In the meantime, the poor woman ahead of us being dragged up the route slithered and flailed and generally made a meal of the short pitch. However, not to be outdone we also managed to employ a variety of tactics – crampons off for all, but some ascending with axes and some without; some with a rope and some without; all enjoying the technical challenge of the snowed up rock in such a fabulous position. Then a quick romp up the final easy slopes saw us up onto the Cairngorm plateau.

Stunning views over the sub-arctic landscape were our reward and we decided Scotland is undoubtedly the best place in the world. An easy descent down Coire Cas was enlivened by the sprint finish of one member heading for the loos, Dachsteins flapping. Her face was a picture when we caught up with her at the bottom where sadly she had found them shut!

Thanks to all who made the meet such fun; I can confidently say we had a long weekend to remember.

This was a meet for those not foolhardy enough to be playing outside in -12o. Our meet leader had devised a Plan, which started on Windy Ledge at Stoney Middleton, left the Ledge through a 25m tunnel crawl, then returned via the V Diff traverse of Tiger Trot back onto the Ledge. I’d signed up for this, naively assuming the reference to a ‘tunnel crawl’ in the meet blurb was an over-elaborate attempt to ‘big-up’ some unassuming mod traverse. It quickly became clear that ‘tunnel crawl’ = ‘crawl through a tunnel’  – i.e. the sort of thing cavers do. (It’s called Bossen Hole in case you need to avoid it in the future).

In the 80s, whenever I climbed at Stoney, I would spot sorry-looking muddy orange overalled types crawling out of the undergrowth and feel sorry for them. Now I know what they were doing and realise my pity was misplaced – they brought their misery on themselves.
On the plus side, the tunnel was dry and out of the wind. On the downside, it forced you onto hands and knees, getting narrower…can’t turn round width … breathe … can’t see round the corner… how much narrower … breathe… breathe. By now I was at risk of hyperventilating so I insisted that H. in front of me kept talking (I needed on-going evidence that she was not stuck or suffocating which would have meant crawling backwards … breathe….).

 
Having survived that, I noticed that everyone else, as they emerged triumphant into daylight, had a beaming expression of relief on their face. As a reward, next came our very own via ferrata, which our meet leader had set up in advance for our delight and delectation. Now this was more like it! Heart rate back to normal, we set off on a wonderfully high traverse, with juggy, pockety holds and positive footholds, although a bit skiddy in big boots. With12 of us, progress was slow enough to allow time to enjoy the view across the valley of the snowy fields and roof tops.

Back down, a spot of lunch at some Roman/ Mediaeval baths, then a walk to Eyam the plague village, visiting the church and other significant landmarks, and back to the Moon at Stoney for beer and chips. Perfect.

I am a beginner at this game and found this climb (Crollo di un Mito * III, Cogne, Italy) steep enough.  But conditions were good and I became slightly more proficient as the week went on, even leading a couple of pitches.  I wore my skiing goggles all week – falling bits of ice are a recreational hazard.

Here are two more photos taken on the superb ice climb – Cascade de Lillaz Grade 3 .  An early start meant we were first on the route, it’s a popular climb.  Park in the centre of the village of Lillaz and it’s a ten minute walk upriver to the first 100m pitch which we soloed.  To reach the next pitch we skirted round the edge of a frozen pond as water was visible through the ice.  On the second pitch you can choose where to climb as some parts are steeper than others.  Then there is a few hundred metres walk to a corner pitch (that’s me leading it in the bottom photo) – really enjoyable with places to stand for putting in ice screws.  On the final pitch (middle photo) David took a steep line and I struggled to find a foothold in the icicles.  The climb finishes with an easy 50m traverse to a footpath in the sun!  A gentle downhill stroll takes you back to the village.  A deservedly 3-star Italian classic.

Well, just a quick report and a few pix from a very pleasant Christmas week spent in the French Alps. Not a lot of ice formed (due to the unseasonably warm November) but enough for a bit of fun. And, LOADS of snow… so lots of opportunities for XC skiing, falling over and getting back up again. When it all started hurting too much, the gentle pursuit of snow-shoeing was enjoyed – except by those who moaned it was just a glorified form of walking. You’re right, it is just a glorified form of walking but it does stop you getting buried up to your neck in powder snow. Highlights include: the President’s return to the Ecrins Alps 16 years after her first appearance on the Alpine scene as a young debutant (you really need to ask her about that trip…), mass falling-overs on our bad weather day and the fantastically furry dog sledding team.

So now thoughts turn to 2012 and all those exciting opportunities to terrify yourself in your chosen medium.
‘May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May the next hold always be just within reach.
May you live long to retell all your climbing tales with a pint in your hand.’

Happy New Year!
PS: Question. How can you tell when you’ve got a sports climbers on your winter trip? Answer. When she arrives at a foot of an ice route with a cherry tomato and tortilla wrap for her packing-up

Hartside Pass in winter

“Snow is falling, all around us, children playing, having fun…”. Oh no they’re not, they’re all in school and it’s my afternoon off so a quick trip up to Hartside Pass for the first cross country planking of the season. Lots of fresh snow on a nice base of deep wet bog made for entertaining going. Plus deep drifting (this is the Pennines) led to the opportunity to bury one’s skis in waist deep snow holes. A white-out developed as we skied back heading into the next rapidly encroaching Atlantic front, unsurprisingly no-one else out on the hill. Combined with a finish in the dark and one headtorch between us the afternoon made for a typically character building experience; I love winter! But hey, before you start to get envious, it’s raining now.

You may have surmised from all this that the Lake District was wet – again. Very wet. Trousers-falling-down-because-they-are-so-heavy-with-rain wet. Too wet for slugs! The only thing you can do when it is like that is get in the water straight away and keep laughing. This time we were scrambling up Tarn Crag Ghyll, heading up towards Stickle Tarn. We shuffle-hopped bronco-style across jammed trees, edged our way side-stepping above a ravine, plunged through waterfalls and swung from tree roots to emerge on the hillside into a side-swiping gale that had us crouching down at times to avoid getting blown back into the river on our way down the hill to the valley. We spotted a troop of helmeted, life-jacketed schoolchildren waving excitedly up at us from the stream-bed as we reached the bottom. Prospective Members in the making?

I am haunted by waters (well, I’m not really; I prefer warm, dry rock or frosty, sunny gritstone, but it’s a fine line to end a book, isn’t it?)

The start time was brought forward because of a poor weather forecast and by mid-morning a large party had amassed at the bottom of the route. Three different examples of hawser-laid technology were brought out and women in strange dress reacquainted themselves with the intricacies of tying a bow-line. Modern gear included a couple of ropes, a few slings and krabs but there were no helmets, harnesses or rockboots. It was either walking boots or trainers, the soles of brown brogues considered too smooth for safe passage.

I’d never previously climbed the route but I knew in my bones that Lockwood’s Chimney would be the direst of experiences for someone of my elegant slab sensibilities. With the certainty that the rain was a’coming I expected a few to drop out at this point but by heck – a forest of eager hands went up for the ascent. Maybe they didn’t realise at this point that while the chimney itself would stay reasonably dry, they would get utterly degged on after leaving it.

I was in a quandary. My absence would now be more obvious than I’d planned for so I was becoming concerned about being given the white feather. However, a dent in my personal reputation seemed as nothing compared to a pathetically bad climbing performance recorded for posterity. Once everyone was safely ensconced on the route in the perfectly-timed rain, I hot-footed it back to the hut under an out-of-period Decathlon brolly. In the company of the equally wise Official Photographer, I enjoyed hot coffee in the dry whilst others suffered.

As the whole soggy experience was visually recorded I was able to establish that the cream of the Pinnacle Club had huddled in the confines of Lockwood’s Chimney like French aristocrats before Madame Guillotine. Questions were asked of those who had gone before and the replies duly came. “Best to face left” (Experienced Climber One), “Best to face right” (Experienced Climber Two), “Chimneys are an individual thing …..” (Experienced Climber Three).

Fellow blogger, Deidre O’Caunagh (see left), stomped up and over a newish club member to surmount the crux chockstone in a fine display of combined tactics and disdain for the pain of others. Twelve more followed, all inadequately clad for the conditions, each demonstrating the fine arts of thrutching, sling-clutching, and scrabbling. Some of those pristine outfits were irrevocably damaged and bruises were sustained that would last for many, many days.

Am I sorry I missed it? Given my primary aim on this meet had always been to be theatrical (not battered and wet through) I have to regretfully regard my decision as a sound one.

Just what is the definition of ‘short’ in climbing terms? At a smidgin short of 5’4” (162cm) I think of myself as short-ish, as most of the women and all the men I climb with are taller than me. I shy from leading routes with ‘long’ or ‘reach’ in the description; if your average guidebook writer thinks you need to stretch a bit I am quite likely to find it necessitates the kind of telescopic manoeuvre where you can’t actually breathe anymore because your ribs are so extended. I do remember though, years ago, a 6’ friend asked how I was able to climb Billingsgate at Millstone Edge, as he found it reachy; my response was that I just climbed between the holds.

This is about a route where there is no ‘in-between’.

Trepidation, then, as ex-President orders me to do Kinky Boots at Baggy Point, one of those classic Devon routes everyone should do, but no-one could ever assure me I would be able to do (and it’s not the grade I’m talking about). You know the one: “fall across the zawn…”. My beta is that instead of falling with both hands you can reach with one hand, follow with one foot and the second hand, then ‘just step over’; except for me the holds I can reach are not the large, chalk-covered ones, but some about 8 inches lower and to the right and rather less useful; and once one toe is (just) touching the opposite side my balance is quite wrong for ‘stepping over’. It’s going to have to be a definite upward pull using side-holds at full-stretch – all over that sea-churned gap.

After several teetering retreats, either succumbing to the nerves or needing to relax the overstretched groin, I eventually fling caution to the winds and launch myself across. Surprised to find I do, in fact, stick to the rock the rest of the pitch follows enjoyably. However the next problem is finding someone to second the pitch. The first contender is only 5’1” (155cm) and, despite having the annoying habit of out-bouldering me on moves I say I can’t reach, is literally doing the splits when her foot is across and can’t move to reach anything to pull across on. In fact, the only way she gets back is courtesy of a heave on a back-rope. Eventually conceding defeat the rope is passed on to contender no. 2, towering above her at a lanky 5’3” (160cm). Those 2 inches prove decisive, as she can just get her hands on the same holds as me, makes the move and the route is in the bag.

So there you have it, the minimum height for Kinky Boots is empirically tested by the Pinnacle Club as 5’3” and aspirants of 5’1” needn’t bother tying on the rope. (Sorry, no.1)