Slip Slap Slop

It seems like an age since Caroline and I hopped it down to Kyloe Out for some bouldering amidst all the busy-ness that was the end of June. Having got used to the fact that it would probably rain on us, we were a bit gobsmacked to find ourselves slapping and slipping around madly on greasy County sandstone. Were we nuts?? Touch of the sun maybe.

Having recently bought the new Northumberland bouldering guide, we realised there was a whole lot of bouldering to be had at Kyloe Out. Previously we'd always been to Kyloe In. Granted, In The Woods is better than Out but this year we seem to be using "try new stuff" rather than "try hard stuff" as our motto. Kyloe Out was a pleasant surprise. We picked the Quarry as our first (and as it transpired, only) stop. We had the place to ourselves, with only a wee yellow bird for company. He sang his little heart out delightfully from the very top of the crag, although we were too far away to be able to identify him with any certainty.

Caroline sitting next to the bird perch, having soloed her way there. I went up in bare feet which was both liberating and terrifying at the same time!

We spent a lot of time trying to remember how to mantle onto this slopey shelf. It isn't particularly high, and therefore one would think not particularly scary, but the angle of the slope one has to mantle onto is much more tricky than it looks. I don't suppose it helps that we're not well versed in the art of mantling, and given the heat maybe this wasn't the best day to try it!! Still we had a lot of fun - and nobody can say we don't challenge ourselves! I think we managed one mantle at the near end of this picture and one slightly further along. The problem seemed to be getting feet sufficiently high to be able to jump high enough to push one's centre of gravity over the lip. Neither of us are particularly tall, so it did seem that a little bit more height would have been advantageous balance-wise. A bit more gumption would have been good too!

After enough slapping around, we moved on to a 7a crimp-fest on the quarry wall. Again, not a good thing to try in the heat, but we gave it a good bash until the sun moved onto it. We managed about a half of it, failing every time to make the next move to cross a left foot through, and reaching for the next cubby hole in the very thin crack. The horizontal break was fine, but the diagonal crack (used for both hands and feet at various heights) proved pretty tiny even for our pixie fingers. More fingerboard training required. And maybe some cool dry autumn weather.

While Caroline is infinitely stronger than me, on this particular problem my balance appeared to give me one more move. No pics I'm afraid. It's a beautiful move though, one of those flowing movements that reminds me of the years of dancing, one that reminds me why I climb. Fantastic.

...until that inevitable gravity-laden moment of groundward motion!


Once the sun moved round it was about time to move on; no skin, hot sweaty and tired. We wandered along to the left to have a look at the other bits of crag, feeling inspired to come back again. In a moment of untold self-assurance, Caroline suddenly announced she was going to solo a route. Given the way she'd been eyeing up Birdlime Crack and asking questions about it, I wasn't surprised. She scooshed up it, no problem. So I went too.

High step on Birdlime Crack (MS)

For those who are interested in such things, we also saw some little bats squeaking away in a thin but deep crack above the left hand side of the roof on Overhanging Buttress. They sounded like baby birds, so we were looking for a nest, but eventually saw the wee things scrabbling around in the crack. I don't think it's part of a formal route or problem, but I guess it's worth noting that the crack seems to be a handy hiding place for them because it looks eminently climbable to me.

How to eat cheesecake

Have you really not harnessed the power of the cheesecake yet? You must. Here's how you do it.

Buy raspberry cheesecake and sit in the garden with it, and a nice glass of wine, on a pleasant summer evening.

Open the box, and slice said cheesecake into appropriately sized pieces. We found that starting small was pointless. You might as well just chop it in two and have half each.

Conveniently, friendly pussy cats have a penchant for raspberry cheesecake. Make sure you have one close at hand to assist. Frankie here plays the innocent very well, although he probably knows you're about to blame the disappearance of the cheesecake on him.

Unfortunately, he got caught red-pawed with the box right under his nose. Now if that isn't incriminating, I don't know what is!

Yes, it's as easy as that. Open box. Eat. Delicious. And who knows how hard you can climb using the power of the cheesecake? ;-)

High Peak? Wet Peak!

I forgot to post this at the time, but now I've time to write, I might as well post it now....sorry for the delay!

Do you remember that weekend a few months back, when everyone said "ah, the weather's going to be rubbish this weekend, let's go drinking" (or somesuch)? (Er.. which one? I hear you say) Well, we decided to go to the Peak District instead. To be fair, Tamsyn had booked a train ticket from London (some nonsense about it being £256 on the day or £60 booked in advance) so we couldn't leave her stranded at the station just because the forecast looked a bit rubbish.

It didn't start well, and continued in that vein for a full 48 hours, right up until we drove home in scorching sunshine. It took us 6 1/2 hours to drive down, through horrific rainstorms, flooded motorways and squeaky windscreen wipers. We were down to 20 mph on the M6 at one stage, from the rain, and then to 10mph because of the large number of vehicles inconsiderately taking up space in every lane. At one point we crossed a spaghetti junction, and every road we could see from the upper bridge was nose to tail traffic. Ah yes, this was the weekend the English school holidays started. Why oh why oh why.......

Having awoken to standard northern grey drizzle we opted for some tourism. We headed down into Blue John Cavern with our friendly guide, Brian. I don't know how long he'd been giving that tour, but I really hope he has a very high boredom threshold!

So we took lots of pictures inside the cave and marvelled and oohed and aahed at the water-worn rocks. It was pretty big, and for us climber-types the standard tour wasn't enough. We wanted to see more. But they don't let you, and I must admit to being a little claustrophobic so maybe it was fine (for once) just to stay on the tourist trail. Other tourists are funny sometimes though...

By the time we emerged above ground again the rain had (almost) stopped. So we cruised over to Stanage Plantation.....the long way, because I got muddled over which road to take. Ah well. By the time we got there the rain had stopped and the sun had come out and it was dry enough to climb! Probably a worthwhile diversion.

This was Tamsyn's very first foray into outdoor bouldering, and with hindsight, maybe the Plantation wasn't the best place to start. Some of the boulders with the easier problems on them are pretty high, and if you've been used to big squishy mats to land on indoors, the prospect of even a flat but hard landing isn't enormously encouraging.

This picture was taken on the south face of the Pebble Boulder. Tamsyn's face says it all!

Having pottered around here for a bit, we decided to try Burbage South. Caroline and I had been there in March and really enjoyed messing about on stuff when we didn't have a guidebook. After another small detour on foot (my fault again), we reached some good easy-looking boulders with lots of shot holes in them.



We pottered around here for ages, Caroline and I trying to teach Tamsyn to trust her feet and realising it isn't really something one can teach. It has to be learned. Trying to do things "hands free" seemed a good way of starting that learning process!



Needless to say, we wore our skin out pretty quickly and were mindful that maybe the weather would be better tomorrow...

It was and it wasn't better tomorrow. We took our time packing up, had a leisurely breakfast and headed for Cratcliffe and Robin Hood's Stride, on another promise of some good low-grade bouldering. We were hopeful. It was a bit showery, but the sun was strong when it appeared. We trekked up the hill with fingers crossed that the heat would dry the boulders fairly quickly, while we had some lunch and figured out the guidebook. Alas, it was not to be. No sooner had we reached the top of the hill, reminisced a bit about Font and bouldering in forests, than the hot sun was blotted out by the most torrential rain. We sheltered in a cave hoping it would pass and the hot sun would reappear. To start with it was funny - one of those downpours that doesn't quite seem real it's so heavy. We watched the rivulets washing acorns down the slope and waited. Then the rain penetrated our cave and we realised we were sitting in puddles. So we had a cherry stone spitting competition (in which Caroline and Tamsyn were neck and neck, and I was lagging way behind).

Our cave got wetter, so we moved (mistake - we'd have got less wet sitting still) to the hermit's cave lower down the hill. It continued to pour. Eventually we got bored. If it stopped raining, it wasn't going to dry in time for us to climb. Tamsyn had a train to catch and we had a 5 hour drive north.

With a degree of reluctance we opted for coffee and cake in Bakewell. It continued to rain, and we felt a bit better about bailing. We've always said that no trip is a wasted trip and now we know that Cratcliffe and Robin Hood's Stride are worth visiting.....when they're dry!

Memories

Home alone Saturday night so was flicking through photographs of various climbing trips. I couldn't resist publishing these ones. They will only be funny for those who were there (and maybe even then only after a couple of glasses of wine!), but there you go. I write this blog as much to amuse myself as anyone else!

Rehabilitation

No matter how many additional hours I do at work, it always feels like a treat to leave early, especially when the weather turns in my favour just at the right moment.

Martin agreed to pick me up at 4pm so I was anxiously watching the clouds all day. Between the time I left my desk and the time I reached the front of the building, the sun came out and there was blue sky! We headed out to North Berwick Law, where I still had my project, Law of Gravity, to go at. Martin has said on many occasions that he used to do reps on this route by way of training, so I reckoned that I might learn a thing or two from him.

Although it was still sunny when we got there, it chilled off pretty quickly by the time we'd warmed up. Martin went up and put the clips in, seemingly cruising the long reaches and waltzing past the finishing moves which I find so precarious. Even the crimpy start to the 7a+ version is considerably easier than the top 3 moves.

When he had reached the top, he lowered down to the highest big ledge (the one on the left that you stand on in order to reach the two undercuts for the top move). Then I said, can you see the tiny hole in the wall by your left knee? The response to this was "yes, but I don't fancy it for my foot". That's what I have to use for my left foot, because I can't reach the right hand sidepull/undercut.

I went up bolt to bolt next, and showed Martin my non-lank version at the top. I'm not sure whether I felt a sense of trepidation or vindication at his proclamation that clearly these moves are much harder for me than they are for him.

The next bit is for those of you who know this route well. If you don't, apologies, this bit is geeky and boring!


Here is a bit of a fuzzy image showing where my hands and feet go in order to reach the top. It's a bit too zoomed in to be clear. This is definitely the crux for me. I put my right foot on the big ledge(RF1) and lay back (as much as I can, given the hold is level with my face) off the big hole with my left hand (LH). With my right hand on the low ledge (RH) I have to out on my left toe in that tiny hole (LF) and pull my right foot up onto a tiny smeary chip (RF2)and then slap with painful precision for the top hold which everyone else uses as an undercut (RH2). If I catch it wrong, I'm off. After that, it's a simple step up and through with the left foot and reach for the top edge.

Pulling faces at the prospect of the crux on another previous redpoint (September 08)

So first time, all the moves felt very reachy, unusually so, so I shook out for ages at every opportunity (while Martin chilled off below! What a saint! Thanks Martin). I was surprised to find myself facing the top crux, never mind finding the energy to do it! I faffed around, started the move, backed off, started again, backed off again, feeling that my left foot and left hand were both very precarious. When I did go for it, I didn't catch the right hand properly, and gravity took over. I have to say, that would have been a good day if I'd left it there. It was a new high point.

A previous redpoint in September last year

But having a long rest, some magic dried fruit stuff that Martin offered me, a bit of a run around and I found myself in the same place on the second redpoint. Cool! I was in danger of repeating the faffing, but all the previous moves had felt easier this time: less reachy, less effort generally. Having tried to rush the crux moves to start with, I composed myself and tried again only to slip and scrabble to a recovery, hanging on only by fingertips and willpower! Phew. That was close!! A bit more composure and I just went for it, remembering that I didn't want to have to do the whole lot yet again!

Whoops of glee echoed round the small quarry, and fortunately only Martin to hear them. With hindsight probably a bit embarrassing to have made so much noise about a route that people used to lap, but it was something of an achievment for me, and after all, we climb for nobody but ourselves. A lovely evening, and some success to boot. It's nice to feel good on a route given my recent bout of apathy, nonchalence and gloom. Maybe this is the start of my climbing rehabilitation? Here's hoping....

Time to back off?

I love Siurana. There isn't much to do there but climb, but that doesn't matter. It feels comfortable and familiar now. I hope to go back, sooner rather than later, too, but for now I'm left wondering whether it's time to give climbing a break for a while. I've been to the wall only a couple of times since we came back, but haven't felt inspired to even try. I'm wondering what's wrong with me, wondering why something I have had such boundless enthusiasm for is now almost doing nothing for me. In the same millisecond, I think about how not climbing will leave me with no strength, back on the bottom rung of the ladder, out of the gang. I remember the frustration that causes, and how soul-destroying it is to be relegated to the second XI when all your mates are still in the first XI. Climbing at North Berwick a couple of weeks ago was fun, despite the post-wedding fatigue. Our trip to Helpburn last weekend was also fun, despite the coffee-shakes I had. I realised then that already I am out of practice. Tenacity seemed to take over, replacing all traces of technique and strength with lots of wild flailing and slapping. Training indoors just isn't happening. At all.

I keep thinking of those sunny days we had in Font on September 2007, and the routes we cruised in Orpierre and Siurana, even the warmth of Northumberland the other weekend, and I wonder whether it's about the weather. Maybe I'm just not into sports climbing for now? Maybe I just want to climb outside and the incentive to train indoors has gone? Maybe a trip to Font would sort me out? Then I wonder whether there's something else wrong that I haven't managed to identify yet? Do I need to change jobs? (yes) Do I need to move house? (no) Would retail therapy help?(no) Should I get my hair cut?(ummm) Do I need a holiday?(always, but who doesn't). Other Things seem to be taking over so much time at the moment, maybe I just don't have the energy to climb right now? So many ridiculous possibilities. I never ever thought I would be bored with climbing, never. Could I be? I don't want to be....

Is this normal?

Soggy Siurana

Having just returned early from a wet and disappointing trip to Siurana, I am struggling to maintain any enthusiasm for rock, plastic or pulling hard.

Our first day in Siurana was beautiful and we were pretty excited to be back in such an inspiring place. I had my eye on Mandragora at Sector Espero Primavera, a long striking orange streak visible from the road. I'd had a bolt-to-bolt effort on it in November and managed all the moves at least, albeit feeling a little lacking in strength. But for our first day back on the limestone we stuck with easier stuff.

Lucy Creamer on Kalea Borokka (8b+), El Pati

The following day required a trip to the supermarket (we were pretty hungry, having arrived late Saturday night and everything in Spain being closed on Sundays), so we only managed a couple of routes later in the afternoon. Then the heavens opened. Tuesday was torrential rain; Scottish rain. We'd inadvertently brought the damned stuff with us. We walked around the reservoir, got soaking wet, skimmed stones, took pictures of various bits of vegetation. Siurana has never looked so green, or so soggy. Over the next few days the reservoir filled up; rivers appeared where no rivers have been before; amorphous piles of rocks and earth slid onto the road; routes were put through the car wash.

Can Melafots in the damp mist. This quickly turned into Can Megaflops for us.

We entertained ourselves bouldering under the very narrow overhang at Can Melafots, inventing eliminates for feet, and eventually taking up Dave's idea of ledge crawling, also known as the Belly Traverse. Yes, we were frustrated, not to mention cold and damp.

Dave doing the horizontal version of the traverse

Diff bouldering under the mini-roof

We had a beautiful sunny day at Margalef, confined to the road-side of the river, because the river had suddenly appeared with a vengeance, asserting it's right to roam in no uncertain terms. The 7a tufa route over the road I tried in November was running with water; driving the car underneath it was like driving through a car wash. I held out little hope for it drying within the week.

Then it started to rain again. To cut a long story short, between rain showers, we searched for dry routes between the wet patches, and ate a lot of pancakes. Brief trips to Mussara TV, El Falco, Arboli and Margalef gained us about 20 routes over the 10 days.

Roof-tastic at Mussara TV

Wet pebbles on the riverbank

As the weekend neared, Kev decided he was heading home a week early along with Diff and Andrea. On Friday, Dave and Mike decided they too would head back, both happy to sit out the rain, and Dave even working 8c in a downpour (reason no.1 to climb hard - steep overhangs are more likely to stay dry!), but both also having other things to pull them homewards. With half our party disappearing, my psyche to climb plummeted. I resigned myself to just trying to keep my leading head together, aiming for mileage rather than meeting goals and hoping to spend some dry time outside. Eventually, Caroline and I also decided to bail early and switched our flights to the following Tuesday, leaving 4 days earlier than planned.

Mussara TV... with wet streaks

Hiding from the rain at Sector L'Olla

One last thing. What on earth persuaded anyone that it was a good idea to have "Pure Dead Brilliant" written everywhere at and about Prestwick Airport?? There's nothing pure about an airport; dead certainly isn't a word I would want to associate with an airport; and Prestwick sure is not brilliant. It's a phrase which doesn't translate south of the Border, let alone into Spanish, German, American, Swedish, Hungarian, Swahili or any other language! It means nothing to the people who pass through the place, and even those who do "get it" are wondering why the hell it was used as a slogan for an airport. Maybe there is something to be said for a BAA monopoly after all......

Time to change

I had no idea that changing the clocks could change the weather in quite the way it did this year. It was as though somene flicked a switch, quite literally.

Having decided that it was asking a bit much of myself to fit in two days climbing and all the other things I needed to do, we took a decision to climb one day and do other stuff the other day. Dithering, as usual, I opted for Saturday at home and Sunday out on the rock......until Guy phoned. Our lazy morning in bed was interrupted by the dingly ding of text messages and phone calls. Guy said he was going to Kyloe, so I said, could I go too, Guy said yes, then Diff said he might come too. Suddenly we had a little party going!

We scooshed down the A1 and got a bit of a shock getting out of the car. How cold?? Bracing? More than..... it was baltic. Hard to believe that it was nearly April and we had travelled south. What a day to choose trad.....

Climbing in duvets. I was very glad of my down sweater.

I am ashamed to say that the last time I attempted any trad was a couple of weeks ago at Bowden I fell off. First lead fall, and I'm so ashamed of it, I'm refusing to divulge the grade. This time, I think the only reason I didn't bail this time was Guy and Diff egging me on. First up was Tacitation, a classic of the crag. Diff talked me through the gear placements just by looking at the route from below (I have very little trad experience, unlike him). Despite being pretty gymnastic, the first move wasn't that hard. A little tricky for someone my height, maybe, but nothing to complain about. Guy put on some fantastic faces when he came up second. Chin out and, trying hard, he complained loudly - lots of hot air as far as I could see. He had no trouble at all.

Guy hopping up the first move of Tacitation VS 4c

We did have trouble staying warm, so next up was some soloing of Severes. We couldn't (or wouldn't or just didn't) make sense of the guidebook other than to establish we were on on of Eeny, Meeny, Miny or Mo. It was nice to trot up something very easy. It's very satisfying, and probably pretty good for your head. I opted to go up with the rope so I at least had a backup plan if I freaked. I didn't freak and, after chucking a couple of cams in, even went adventuring up an overhanging crack. I had no idea what grade it was, and no idea what I was letting myself in for, but went for it anyway. There was good gear and the holds were all decent. Even more satisfying! I think it was the top half of Christmas Tree Arete Direct. Who knows. Who cares. It was fun.


Finally deciding it was too cold for much more, Diff hopped up Gagarin's Groove. Guy picked out an MVS somewhere close to the holly tree, which looked pretty straightforward from the ground, but was green and slimy and off balance when we got on it. Nasty.

Eventually we gave it up for being too cold when it started to snow, and headed home via the Bluebell Hotel in Belford.

That night, the clocks changed...... and so did the weather.

Amidst car troubles, and a lot of rearranging, six of us paid a visit to the Dovehole boulders on the Sunday. It could not have been more different from Saturday. Balmy sunshine and a warm spring breeze made it warm enough to climb in t-shirts. It was blissful.

Dan, Sarah and I had a good crack at an undercut problem on the Monkey Face boulder. Dan and Sarah made short shrift of it, but it took me a little more effort than that. I put it down to my advanced years, although that's possibly the lamest excuse I could have ever come up with.


Dan then came rushing over saying he'd found a really good problem for us. Unfortunately, it was a little bit heightest, but with some growing, I managed it.


Roz, who has a significant height advanage on me, had a bit of an issue with this problem. Her chin had a close encounter of the scraping kind whilst getting to grips with the top out.......


So much so that she needed a lie-down afterwards.

Collectively I think we wore through a lot of skin, but we had a great day. Spring finally seemed to have arrived, a real turning point in the year. I can look forward to not worrying about being freezing cold the moment I spend more than an hour outside.

Team Sunshine at Dovehole

Mad March

It's hard to know where March has gone. The weather seems to have been all over the place, as have we, and there has been little time to sit still and take stock.

I've had another few trips around the country for various things (avoiding those dreadful train journeys, thank goodness), and have therefore encountered another hiatus in the training schedule (what training schedule?!).

My weekend started on Thursday. Hurrah! A good thing, surely. Well, not necessarily. It started with an impromptu post-work drink (or four), which blurred Friday quite considerably. Having scraped through the day, I managed a few routes at Alien 1 and finished (just about) in time to jet off to Tom's party. Everyone who's anyone in the world of normal strong climbers was there. This was the place to be and the place to be seen. Having escaped the party with only fizzy pop damage, I crashed into bed and had a night of weird and restless dreams. Serves me right for having pasta and goats cheese as my post-midnight dinner.


On little sleep, and an early start to make cake, we headed to Raven Crag, scooting past all the crowds at Bowden, slipping just over the hill to peace and tranquility and a better view of the Cheviots. Granted the climbing isn't quite world-class, being a bit on the sandy side, but it faces the sun, dries quickly in the breeze and best of all, nobody else seems to go there! Given our approach to Saturday, this was ideal.

The (pretend) hard core boulderer in me acknowledged that those elusive good conditions were definitely not going to appear today. Temperatures went beyond warm and well into the sweaty zone. Nice. The more realistic part of me realised I was just up for some time outside, soaking up some sunshine after what seems an interminably long winter. We did, of course, agree (tongues firmly in cheeks) that since we were only going to be messing about it would be bad form to do so on quality problems found elsewhere in the County. No sense in wearing out problems we hadn't a hope in hell of ticking today. Northumberland sandstone is soft, after all....ask Sam.

Caroline pulled the biggest flapper I've ever seen off her little finger on the very first move of the very first problem. She's too strong for her own good!! It was nasty. Blood welling up under the torn skin. Lots of chat about superglue ended with an elastoplast and several rounds of tape - a professional job.

Caroline's flapper - bad pic, but now she has her own blog I can't nick her good pictures any more ;-)

We started on the Meadow Wall, working along the problems right to left. Stuart was enjoing his first day out on real rock and with his long reach he managed a number of moves we birdies struggled with. Like this one, which was a definite dyno-for-small-pocket-off-non-existent-smears for us:

The move above the dyno....

It took a while for us to remember how to do each of the problems, but since we had taken the pressure off, it was fun rather than frustrating. We went back to the scary slab too - I was impressed that I managed to do it first time in spite of very sweaty hands. I even managed to chalk up half way. Didn't manage that before!

This picture looks pretty vertical; the only down side is that because you can't see my right hand, I could be holding a massive jug. You'll have to take my word for it that there are no crimps on this problem, let alone jugs! All just little tentative smears for both hands and feet.

Scary biscuits! And a welcome bigger hold at the top....not that much bigger though!

The sunshine was wonderful, but just as we reluctantly decided it was time to head back to the city for our evening engagements, the clouds gathered and it started to rain. We didn't feel so bad about leaving after all. When you have to, it's nice to be given another excuse to leave.