The course of gritstone love never runs smooth...

Dear reader of this blog, there is something I must confess to you. There has been alot going on in my life recently and regrettably I have done things I am not proud of. To be specific, I have been cheating on my first love. Now before you begin calling me all the names under the sun let me go into more detail.

After returning from my recent trip to Spain I had learnt alot of things but the one thing I learnt that stood out was how much I missed trad climbing. Whilst I enjoyed the cheap and easy thrills of sport climbing, I couldn't help but think of the home comforts of gritstone back in Yorkshire. Sport climbing in Spain was exciting, hot, sexy and fun. It felt like a steamy affair. The feel of exotic Spanish limestone against my fingertips. I couldn't resist grabbing her jugs and playing with her tufas. It was simple, quick, satisfaction without any commitment. As long as you were careful you didn't get hurt. Trad climbing was the neglected relationship back at home thinking you were away on a business trip. I thought of my rack sitting at home in my crag bag gathering dust, my camalots playing the part of the children who wonder when daddy is coming back to play with them.

When I got back from Spain after my illicit liasons I knew I had to give some attention to my loved one. I had to make it up to her. I had seen her friends, Almscliff and Caley on the bus back home from the airport looking at me and I'm sure they knew what I had been up to.

So that's how the last few weeks have been. We have been spending some time together. We started off slowly, getting to know each other again gently. We had a day at Almscliff together. We even took the kids (sorry I mean the camalots) and they enjoyed it also. Since then we've been out on dates to lots of local crags. On the way we have learnt alot more about each other and had some wonderful experiences.

I will stop sounding like a mad person for a while and explain. After getting back from Spain I came back with the opinion that I am definitely a trad climber at heart. I enjoyed clipping bolts but I missed the feeling of placing gear, the increased risk and the abrasive/abusive nature of Yorkshire crags. So when I came back I was determined to get out and enjoy some trad.

First was a nice visit to Almscliff with Emma. Then I went out with another partner, Tommaso. Our first day out was a wet Saturday at Brimham Rocks. We managed to get some stuff done though including the classics Pig Traverse and Fag Slab. We then got sick of the awfully cold wind and occasional drizzle and decided to visit nearby Eavestone. It was more sheltered and was deserted compared to Brimham which was extremely busy. It was a crag I had visited previously and always enjoyed climbing at. We had an excellent evening there which rounded off a great day.

We then met for a climb the week after and climbed at Ilkley Quarry, a place I had visited a few times but never climbed at properly. We ticked off S Crack and Josephine Super Direct both great routes. I was enjoying my own little gritstone odyssey and falling in love with trad all over again.

Looking up at S Crack

Then I was to have the best trad and best gritstone day since I got back from El Chorro. Me and Tommaso had arranged to go climbing on the following Tuesday and even though it was still a while away, the weather forecast looked promising. We had discussed possible destinations. We mentioned Crookrise, Embsay amongst others but there was one place I had always wanted to climb that drew me in. Simon's Seat.

Simons Seat was a crag that had been on my wishlist ever since I had seen it from a distance a few years ago. I had seen the pile of silvery gritstone on top of the hill in the distance beckoning me to explore. I later had the opportunity to go up there walking whilst working with groups and I wasn't disappointed when I saw it close up. There were loads of awesome lines and boulders, a variety of cracks, aretes, slabs and everything in between. The gritstone was unique, abrasive and silver in quality which had been blasted and sculpted by mother nature. Its best feature though was definitely the location. At 485m above sea level it was open to the elements and also a bit more effort to get to which meant you were pretty much guaranteed to have to yourself.

So to my surprise, Tuesday's weather stuck to its word and me and Tommaso decided to go for it. We got the drive over and done with then began the 45 minute slog up the hill to the summit and the crag. Upon arrival and gaining the ability to breathe again we cracked open the guidebook and got our bearings. We decided to go and have a look at Arete Direct (VS) which is the classic of the crag and one we really wanted to do. The wind was blowing strong though and we decided to give it a chance to decrease before we attempted it. We did a route to the side instead to get warmed up.

After finishing the route we topped out on the summit and felt the sun warm our cheeks for the first time. We looked back down at where we had climbed from and realised that we had pitched ourselves in the darkest corner of the crag so we agreed to head over to the south facing side to warm up and get more shelter. The wind felt like it was coming from every direction though and sometimes, even through the crag itself.

We did a few routes on the south west side and it felt nice to get some mileage under our belts and soak up the infrequent sun shine.  Upon looking in the guidebook over a brew I found something surprising. There was a crack on the wall we were climbing on that wasn't in the book and had no routes on it. After inspecting it I decided it was a worthwhile route on its own and went for it. It wasn't a hard lead as there was good gear at the bottom but the top section was bit blank so I just ran it out for a direct but airy finish. When I got back later and did some research I couldn't find any evidence of it being done or recorded before so I decided it was a new or unrecorded route and named it Sargy's Crack (S 4a).

Sargy's Crack  S 4a

After this we did a couple of more routes then decided to visit the nearby crag of Lord's Seat which was a short walk away across the moorland. When we got there we found a number of good quality routes. They were all quite short mostly eight metres in height so we thought it would be a good way to get more routes done. We started on a VS called Wallbanger that didn't even feel like a severe followed by an actual severe called The Crack. Whilst these routes were pleasant they didn't really challenge us. That was soon to change.

We headed over to the other part of Lord's Seat called Wall Buttress which was situated on its own over a wall away from the main crag. We found a nice looking crack route called Layaway which was graded MVS and only 6 metres according to the book. It was Tommaso's turn to lead and it looked fairly straight forward. The gear placements were obvious. What could go wrong?

Well it turned out to be one of those routes with a sting in the tail. Tommaso got off the ground but struggled to hold such a strenuous position and get the gear in. He carried on trying to get further up the route for some time until he admitted defeat and handed the lead over to me. I thought I had figured out the sequence from watching Tommaso but after getting on it I realised why he had been struggling. I was hanging on one arm and trying to get a hex in the top of the big crack. I could feel the route trying to spit me off and the strain in my arm getting more painful as I faffed with the hexes. I eventually got the right one in and this gave me enough confidence to go on. Now I felt like I had it pretty much sussed and I carried on, enjoying the movement. The top looked tricky so I got a size 3 camalot in to protect myself and had a look. I decided to place something else since I was near the top and I got my size 2 cam in as well.

As I got to the top, the topout proved harder than I thought and I struggled to find anything to grab onto. The crack was full of greenery and I started to pull handfuls of it out to try and make a decent hold. My feet were positioned on less than negative holds and I was now getting tired. I looked down at the two cams below them and started to get pissed off. I just wanted to get off this route now.

My prayers were soon answered but not in the way I wanted. I fell. My feet had been scratching around trying to find better foot holds and this caused me to fall. I felt myself slip and before I knew it I was hanging in the air a couple of metres off the ground and wondering what had just happened. I looked up and the size 2 cam I had placed as a back up had held my fall. My hand had scraped the sharp silvery surface as I fell and I was now bleeding all over my right hand but more importantly all over my gear. I didn't care. I was too busy thinking about how much I now loved that size 2 cam. It was now my favourite child.

We both finished the route and decided that we had had enough. It was pushing 6 o clock and we had been at the crag nearly 10 hours. It had been as epic as I thought it would be and more.

The day was like everything I loved about trad climbing condensed in a day. It reminded me of one of those football matches that had everything including penalties, a sending off and a shitload of goals of every kind. We had fought, battled, grunted and swore. We had trusted gear and not trusted gear. We had climbed and we had fallen. We had paid for it in blood and skin.

By the time I got back my fling in Spain was now a distant memory. I had been forgiven. Redemption had been found on Simon's Seat. Trad climbing had taken me back with loving arms and held me in her hard bosom. The climbs were the cheeky flash of cleavage to entice me into her bed. The fall had been the slap on the face just to let me know how angry she was and how she could hurt me. "Don't you ever do that to me again!"she was saying. That day she was showing me that she was all I would ever need. Nothing else could compare to her.

But I can't ever say that I won't ever cheat on her again. As much as I love her, I don't think I could resist a quick fling in Kalymnos or some philandering in Paklenica. I enjoy it too much. She can never know. And god only knows what it would do to her if she knew about the bouldering...

Two Idiots Go Ice Climbing

It's the early hours of Easter sunday morning. I am half asleep enjoying the last few hours of slumber until I have to get up. I need to be out the door for 5am. Then my phone starts ringing. The bright flashing light dazzling my eyes in the darkness. It feels early like I knew it would but it feels too early. Something is not right. I answer the phone. It is my climbing partner Ben. I get that dreaded feeling that he is cancelling our trip. I answer.

"Hey man I'm about 15 minutes from your gaffe!"Ben tells me. So he is not cancelling. Quite the opposite. I give a half concious muttering reply saying that I'll be ready and I'll see him shortly. I begin to think about how I'm going to get ready in fifteen minutes when I see the clock on my phone. It's only 0345. Thats why I still feel knackered. Ben has not put his clock forward and has got up an hour earlier. I can't ring him and tell him because he is nearly here. I staple my upper eyelids to my forehead and go downstairs.

I get my gear ready in record time and feel pretty pleased with myself.  My phone rings and lets me know that Ben is outside. Suddenly I remember that I havent made a flask up and panic. If a situation ever called for caffeine this was it. I quickly boil the kettle and it seems to take longer to boil than usual. I beckon it to boil faster like a crazed kettle coach. Boil bitch boil! It finishes and I run out of the door with the flask in my hand and the teabag still inside. Something tells me we are going to need it.

We load up Chi Chi the van and blast off towards Scotch Corner through the empty sunday morning streets. We reach the motorway and engage warpspeed. Ben hands me some indecipherable directions he has written on a piece of paper the size of a postage stamp and we are away. Borrowdale or bust.

On the way we stop at a garage near Penrith to get some supplies. We get out of the van and whilst Ben disappears for a call of nature I stand at the serving hatch/window of the garage staring at the shop assistant who is stacking some shelves. I carry on waiting and staring. The shop assistant just turns around and stares at me with no intention of serving me. What the hell is he playing at? As I begin to get cross I see another customer walk up to the automatic door, which magically opens and he steps inside. It then dawns on me at that exact moment how much I must resemble a crazy person. It also dawns on me how dodgy it must look, me staring through the window for the last five minutes, a van with the engine running behind me and my mate running out of sight. The shop assistant probably thinks we're going to do the place over. I go inside to make my purchases and make it clear that I'm not there to rob the place then quickly scurry away into the night.

We reach Borrowdale as the sun is rising to reveal the tops of the fells, their silhouettes shaped against the blue morning sky. We leave Chi Chi in a National Trust Car park and after gearing up, we start out on the approach to Raven Crag. The walk takes us about an hour and we can soon make out another team at the bottom of the Gully getting ready to start as well as one already on the route.

At the bottom of the crag we have a quick brew and put on our crampons. The first pitch looks interesting but we get cracking and Ben sets off on the lead. The pitch has some awkward moves but we soon pass the difficulties and start moving up the route. On the third pitch I make the schoolboy error of dropping an ice screw. As it bounces down the gully out of sight I practice my swear word pronunciation and hear a reply come up the gully. "Someone owes me a beer!". The ice screw has been rescued. My wallet has been saved but not my blushes.

We carry on up until we reach the final pitch which is supposedly the best on the route and one of the best in the Lakes. Judging by the evidence we can see of recent traffic its not hard to believe. It does look immense. At the top are fantastic ice umbrellas which beckon you to climb up to them and see what is beyond. We are going to enjoy this.

The pitch is as good as hoped for and we soon reach the top. The view is awesome and the fells go on for miles in every direction. Buzzing from our achievement we head down the hill back down into the valley hoping we can still make it home to spend some of the remaining Easter sunday with our neglected other halves.

Ben on the awesome last pitch

 

We make it back to the car park which is now full with visitors in stark contrast to the hour at which we arrived. Whilst we sort out gear the National Trust volunteer manning the car park appears to use Jedi mind tricks to make Ben buy membership. He is soon handing over nineteen of his English pounds. I am stood looking at the NT guy and thinking to myself "that guy is good".

We hit the road once more and on the way we call at the same petrol station we had visited earlier that morning. Ourselves and the van are in need of fuel so we pull up. Ben fills the tank whilst I locate the toilet.  I have a look around the shop then see Ben stood in the line for the bog. Eventually its my turn and after spending a penny I emerge to see Ben walking away from the counter having paid for his bits. I grab myself a drink, pay and get back in the van.

We get about an hour down the road when I tell Ben that I have the money for the petrol that I owe him in my pocket. The response I get isn't what I expect.
"I thought you paid for it at the petrol station before dude"
"So you didn't pay for it back there?" I ask, starting to realise what we may have done or more appropriately, not done.
"No". Ben informs me.
"Fuck". I reply.

We try and think how we ended up driving away from a petrol station with £30 worth of petrol and not paying. Then it dawns on us that the police might be after us. Shit shit shit shit shit!! We both check our wing mirrors out of paranoia. In five minutes we have gone from all conquering ice climbers to wanted criminals. We are a pair of fucking idiots.

We start to think of a way to solve our problem.We can't drive back because it would be a massive detour. If we can get in touch with the petrol station surely we can pay by card. We try and remember the name of the petrol station or where exactly it is. Nothing comes to mind. Ben gets an idea and rings his mate who amazingly gives us the name and a quick google later we have the number. I ring them and get through to the counter assistant. I tell him what we have done, how sorry we are and that he can call off the taskforce.  He tells me not to worry and that he didnt even know we hadn't paid until we rang him. Fucks sake.

I finally pay for the petrol a hour and a half after it has gone into the tank and we relax. Our reign of terror is over. I promise myself to stay on the straight and narrow.  No more thuglife. We soon reach familiar surroundings and eventually my house. I drag my kit from Ben's van and say goodbye to my partner in crime.

I get in the house, ditch my kit to sort out on a later date and stick my cold roast dinner in the microwave. After inhaling every morsel, I climb into bed to recharge and think about how I'm going to make it up to Emma after not spending Easter sunday with her. Then I remember that I have work again tomorrow. I think about the long awesome day I've had today and try not to think about the day I've got tomorrow. I pull the duvet over my head and go into a coma.