County Climber Winter 2016

County Climber

Winter 2016

Magazine of the Northumbrian Mountaineering Club

MEETS REPORTS

WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?

MURIEL & JOAN

LA DEMANDE - A FATHER AND SON THING

THE LONG CLIMB CLUB BABY OVERFEEDING THE RAT PAIN &PLEASURE - A POSTSCRIPT NAPES NEEDLE

A DAY OUT ON THE NEEDLE OBITUARY - JOAN TODD WALKING IN AUSTRIA MOUNTAIN LEADER TRAINING BALANCING WORK & PLAY

CONTENTS REGULARS

About the Northumbrian Mountaineering Club The NMC is a meeting point forclimbers,fellwalkersand mountaineers of all abilities.

Ouractivitiescentreonrockclimbing and bouldering in summer, snow and ice climbing in winter and hillwalking in both.

Meets are held regularly throughout the year.

The NMC is not, however, a commercial organization and does not provide instructionalcoursesdirectly.

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A WORD FROM EL PRESIDENTE

9

EDITORIAL

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MEETS INFORMATION

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DIARY DATES

16 MEETS &

OTHER REPORTS

96 OBITUARY- JOAN TODD 102 111 Copyright The contents of this magazine are copyright and may not be reproduced without permission of the NMC. The views expressed in the magazinearenotnecessarily those of the Editor or the NMC Designed and produced

by John Spencer and Ian Birtwistle.

MORE ON BASIL BUTCHER TIM HAKIM - EIGER APPEAL

THE EPHEMERAL’ 114 ‘CHASING - BOOK REVIEW

Cover Shot: John ‘Badass’ Vaughan high up on the NE Ridge of Bear Creek Spire (5.6), California Photo : John Spencer

Background: The club celebrates another successful meet at Kyloe in the Blubell Hotel 2

Photo : Conrad Ohnuki

FEATURES

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CLUB BABY

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WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?

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OVERFEEDING THE RAT

Grace Curtis

‘Kiwi Steve’ Bate

Danny Carden

DEMANDE - A FATHER AND 40 LA SON THING Steve Blake

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STUMBLING THROUIGH THE ALPS Tim Rodgers

LONG CLIMB 59 THE Spenser Gray

65 BOLTS, GOATS & HONEYBALLS Paul Quin

69 A DAY OUT ON THE NEEDLE Felix Larrieu

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BALANCING PLEASURE & PAIN: A POSTSCRIPT John Vaughan

AND JOAN 79 MURIEL John Spencer

90 WALKING IN THE TYROL Martin Cooper

103 MOUNTAIN LEADER TRAINING Clare White

107 JUGGLING WORK & PLAY Phil Behan

by going ’. t i p e se ke n the hill i a z e l a p g e so Ma ces ‘o gazin experien a m k OUR our own details. org.u .

Y c s m i en er ty This abou for furth azine@th g n i t g i r wr : ma ove ack c utions to b e e S ib contr 3 Send

s

ticle ne ar

Scene typique in the Maritime Alps (above Refuge de Cougourde)

NMC Meets

Join the NMC

The NMC Members’ handbook (available to all members) and the NMC website list the dates and locations of all meets.

This magazine lists the meets arranged for the next few months.

You can now subscribe online which is easier and faster.

More information is available at: thenmc.org.uk

Non-members are always welcome to attend meets.

Payment Payment of fees by GoCardlessDirect Debit is preferred; it’s easy to set up, just click here.

Membership Fees • Full £23 • Prospective £15

Photographs by author of article unless otherwise stated.

You can visit our community : WWW.FACEBOOK.COM/GROUPS/THENMC

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and you can visit our official website : WWW.THENMC.ORG.UK

Wall concessions £1 off the standard entry price at: - Sunderland Wall - Durham Climbing Centre - Climb Newcastle * - Newcastle Climbing Centre

*Wednesday nights only

Guidebooks NORTHUMBERLAND BOULDERING

NO NOBLER COUNTY

The definitive and comprehensive guide to climbing in Northumberland – much more useful than ‘the other one’.

The sandstone of Northumberland offers some of the best bouldering in the Country, often in a remote and beautiful setting.

£12.50 to members (RRP £18.95) £2 P&P

£12.50 to members (RRP £19.95) £2 P&P

Celebrating the sport of rock climbing in Northumberland, from first hand accounts of nail-booted ascents in the 1940s to bouldering in the 1990s.

CONTACT: John Earl 0191 236 5922

CONTACT: John Earl 0191 236 5922

NORTHUMBERLAND CLIMBING

£2 to members (while stocks last CONTACT: Martin Cooper 0191 252 5707

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A WORD FROM EL PRESIDENTE

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ell Christmas will almost be upon us by the time you are reading this. We’ve had a very mild autumn with some cracking days. A blessing for those hitting the rocks, less so perhaps for those sharpening their tools in anticipation of winter fun. Winter conditions are becoming ever more fickle, but, as ever, those with the patience will usually be rewarded with some wintery adventures.

A number of social events have both taken place or are planned. The Christmas Ceilidh was well attended - thanks are due to Craig for the concept and execution, and to Dave Hume and his band Snook for producing the music! A total of £200 was raised for Tim Hakim’s charitable cause, Parkinson’s UK. This will be matched by funds from the club.

Tim is scheduled to attempt the 1938 route on the Eiger in March with Tim Blakemore, a guide and former member of the club. We wish him well in his efforts. Those wanting to make a personal contribution can do so at his Just Giving page: https://www.justgiving. com/fundraising/ParkinsonsNorthFaceClimb Some interesting lectures are due in the near future; John Spencer has persuaded Julian Lines to talk about his adventures (January 4th – see details on page X), and 2 weeks later (January 18th, page XX) Mark Savage and Dan Varian will deliver what will probably be an eye-popping presentation. Mark has been at the centre of recording goings on, in and around the County for years now, and Dan is one of the most prolific and modest activists in the County. It should be very interesting!

As ever it is an appropriate time to thank the current members of the Committee for their efforts over what has been a successful year. All of the meets and events through

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the year have been well attended and organised with a minimum of fuss. Those meet leaders not on the Committee also deserve our thanks.

This leads me to the Annual General Meeting. This will take place on January 25th at Hadrian Leisure Centre (8.15pm) and I’d encourage all of you to attend and participate in the event. Please consider joining the Committee, it’s not too onerous a task and it is an opportunity to get involved with like-minded people and make a contribution to the functioning of the Club.

Otherwise have a safe, but fun winter, on snow or rock. I will hopefully see you at the crag, wall or AGM!

Steve

Meanwhile, it’s a father and son thing...

In the left-hand photo Steve Blake, in his prime, powers his way up the first ascent of ‘Prime Time’ ( 7a+) at Kyloe Out, 1978. On the right, nearly 40 years later, Tim shows Dad how it’s done!

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Ian Birtwistle

Andrew Shanks

Adrian Wilson

Vice President

General Secretary

Membership Secretary

Eva Diran

John Spencer

Treasurer

Magazine Editor

Committee Members David Angel; Alastair Boardman; Sonia Byers; John Dalyrmple; Radoslaw Florczak; Craig Harrison; Peter Hubbard; Felix Larieu; Dan Leadbitter; Joe McCarty; Joe Rudin

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EDITORIAL

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elcome to this bumper Winter issue of County Climber, a veritable Selection Box of great articles to brighten up these dark, damp, dreich, post-truth days we’re living through. Hearty thanks to all contributors, and as ever to Ian Birtwistle for his technical help - - have yourselves

an extra mince pie!

I recently read this year’s Boardman-Tasker winner, The Bond by Simon McCartney, which, to quote the B-T website itself, is ‘....an epic account of two major climbs in Alaska in 1978 and 1980, and the impact they had on the lives of the two mountaineers involved.’ Apart from the gripping descriptions of the ascents, there are several themes running through the book. The most obvious is the one from which the title is derived, namely that special, often intense bond that develops between climbers, and this theme is evident in several of the articles in this issue.

‘Muriel and Joan’ describes, straight from the horses’ mouths, a relationship that started in the hills and lasted over 70 years, until long after both parties had stopped climbing. Meanwhile Grace Curtis, ‘the baby of the club’, alludes to the importance of relationships within the community that is NMC, and Club President Steve Blake describes a long, hot day on the rocks with his son Tim, ‘a father and son thing’, a very special kind of bond. The theme of companionship, with all that entails – the craic, the laughs, the support, the piss-taking – continues through other pieces, for example Danny Carden’s account of a visit to the Lofotens and Felix Larrieu’s article about an autumn assault on Napes Needle.

Another theme inevitably prominent in a book such as The Bond is that of risk and the possibility of disaster. Spenser Gray, describing an ascent of one of Britain’s alpinescale routes, ‘The Long Climb’ on Ben Nevis, reminds us that climbing is not without hazard and that when things go wrong, the outcome can be catastrophic. Tim Rodgers deals with the topic in a somewhat more light-hearted and self-deprecating manner in his account of a series of, shall we say, occurrences that befell him in the actual Alps last summer.

I’ve climbed with John Vaughan quite a lot, in many settings, and have learnt to keep

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tabs on his progress partly through monitoring the sounds he makes when climbing: a reassuring (if somewhat atonal) humming when he’s cruising; a stony silence when the going gets tough (associated with a very gruff ‘No!’ when asked if he’s OK for a photo); and a grunting when the situation is marginal (occasionally followed by a blood-curdling cry as he takes to the air). To these, over the last couple of years, has been added another sound, a sharp, brief yelp when he tweeks his knackered shoulder......and on page 75 he updates us on how he’s managing to balance pleasure and the pain emanating from said joint.

Climbing in the highest ranges is something I’ve never done, and every time I read a book like The Bond I realise I wouldn’t have been cut out for it, certainly not the totally committing, pushing the boat out, full-on suffering that McCartney describes. Neither have I ‘big walled’, so it was ‘total respect’ (as the young’uns say) to Yosemite neophyte Steve Bate when he soloed ‘Zodiac’ on El Capitan 3 years ago, not least because he did it with, indeed because of, failing vision (Steve memorably talked to the Club about his climb later that year). That he then went on to achieve another ambition, to ride for the Team GB Paralympic team in Rio, when he and tandem partner Adam Duggleby won two gold medals and set a world record, is nothing short of astonishing. But which was the harder achievement? Find out in Steve’s essay, originally written as a blog and published herein with his kind permission.

Judging from their Facebook posts, Phil Behan and Clare White get out and about an awful lot, all this crammed into busy ‘day jobs’ (Phil is a junior doctor, Clare is a full-time medical student and part-time paramedic). How do they manage it? Phil offers some tips about how to juggle work and play on page 107; meanwhile Clare describes a weekend of Mountain Leadership training at Plas y Brenin.

A big component of the buzz we get from climbing (and hillwalking, mountaineering, mountain-biking, kayaking....) is to do with the location(s). Although ‘Bolts, Goats, and Honey Balls’ sounds like a Shakespearean oath, or possibly an exotic ailment, it is in fact Paul Quin’s account of his first trip to Kalymnos, and like (surely) everyone before him, he was charmed by the general ambience of the place. As was Martin Cooper by the mountains of the Tyrol where he and Jeff Breen went hut-to-hut walking in the summer, as described on page 90.

We also publish an obituary of Joan Todd (of ‘Muriel and Joan’), a founder member of the Club, who died in May, written by her daughter, as well as a post-script, written by his wife, to Basil Butcher’s obituary which featured in the Summer issue. Finally Tim Hakim, who reviews Simon Richardson’s book about Scottish winter climbing, also makes an appeal for sponsorhsip for his audacious plan to climb the North Face of the Eiger to raise money for research into Parkinson’s disease. Please consider contributing to this noble cause.

HAPPY READING!

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WINTER WEEKEND MEETS 6th-8th January Karn House, Aviemore Meet leader Jeff Breen (breen30@icloud.com). A basic Winter Skills course is being held this weekend with the help of guide Andy Ravenhill. At the time of writing there is 1 place left – contact Felix Larrieu (felix.larrieu@gmail.com). Crampons and ice-axe can be provided.

27th-29th January Lagangarbh, Glencoe Meet Leader Radek Florczak (radof79@gmail.com) 10th-12th February The Cabin, Laggan Meet leader Joe McCarty (joseph.russell.mccarty@gmail.com) 24th-26th February, Alex McIntyre Hut, Ballachulish Meet leader Félix Larrieu (felix.larrieu@gmail.com) 23rd-26th March, CIC Hut, Ben Nevis Meet leader John Spencer (john.spencer@ncl.ac.uk). Note this is the customary long weekend meet on the Ben but this time runs from Thursday to Sunday.

Numbers are limited on all of these meets and places are allocated on a first-come, first-served basis, so if you’re interested, get in touch with the meet leader ASAP. Although winter meets fill up quickly, the meet leader keeps a ‘reserve list’; late cancellations are not uncommon, so it’s definitely worth getting your name on the list if you’re keen.

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ver the winter our meets run on every Wednesday night indoors, just turn up, bring your own gear, find a partner, and climb! Look out for our NMC t-shirts at the wall.

The ‘official’ venue is Hadrian Leisure Centre in Wallsend, which is available from 17.45 to 21.30hrs. Cost is £6.20 paid at reception, and if you are last there please tie the ropes up or offer to help this doing so.

However, on the first Wednesday of the month, unless there is a talk, we meet at one of the other local walls for variety from Hadrian, and in recognition of the fact that many members never climb there. Indeed attendance at Hadrian this session has been very low. This is not entirely surprising due to the explosion of climbing walls around Newcastle in the last 6-7 years, plus the fact that resetting of the routes at Hadrian is infrequent. We should also not forget that the club has always adjusted to new developments in the past, for example Eldon’s Berghaus Wall & Concordia Leisure Centre (Cramlington) in the 90s and Sunderland Wall opening in 2003.

However, rumour has it that the routes are going to be changed at Hadrian in the near future, which may encourage people. This will doubtless be an issue for debate at the forthcoming AGM (January 25th). In the meantime, people should feel free to post their plans for wall trips on the Club Facebook page.

The NMC Members’ Handbook (available to all members) and the NMC Facebook Page list the dates and locations of all meets.

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Climb Newcastle ClimbNewcastleisNewcastle’sfirstdedicatedindoorclimbingcentre.LocatedinByker,close to the City Centre, the centre is one of the most extensive facilities of its type worldwide.

Newcastle Climbing Centre Newcastle Climbing Centre boasts a bouldering wall, central area with 8m roof and an intermediate/instruction zone for toproping.

Sunderland Wall Sunderland Wall is one of the largest indoor climbing centres in the UK with a range of climbs suitable for new and experienced climbers, a massive 23 metre wall as well as offering over 900m2 of climbing and bouldering.

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Julian Lines Wednesday 4th January Hadrian Leisure Centre, 8.15pm prompt Julian ‘Jules’ Lines will be familiar to many for his audacious solo climbing. He’s pretty darned good on the sharp end of a rope as well, as witnessed by his most recent ascent of ‘Magrathea’ (E9, 7a, 6a, 6a) on Creag an Dubh Loch in the Cairngorms, described in November 2016 Climber magazine as ‘one of the most stunning pieces of climbing in recent weeks.’ (see also UKC report: http://www.ukclimbing.com/news/item/70623/ new_dubh_loch_e9_7a_by_jules_lines_-_magrathea). He has also contributed new lines in Northumberland (e.g. ‘Boulder Lands’ (E5 6b) at Back Bowden).

His autobiography, Tears of the Dawn, was winner of the prestigious Boardman-Tasker Literature Award in 2014. Jack Geldard described him thus in a review of the book: ‘Jules is one of those British climbers that are held in the highest regard by their peers; bold, understated and with perfect climbing technique, Jules’ reputation goes before him’ There’s also a great interview with him by Natalie Berry, also on UKC: http://www. ukclimbing.com/articles/page.php?id=7319 All in all this shouild be a most interesting evening.

Entry free but contributions to a charity of Jules’ choice will be invited. Open to non-members.

He will be selling and signing his book after the talk.

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SAVAGE

AND Varian

Wednesday 18th January Hadrian Lesiure Centre, 8.15pm prompt Mark will be well known to many as an esrtwhile ‘Coonty’ activist with many a gnarly first ascent (and/or repeat) to his name, as well as being a friendly face behind the counter at Wild Trak. Since he stopped climbing due to injury he has developed his considerable talents as a professional photographer, and is well established as one of the key recorders of local cutting-edge developments.

Dan, meanwhile, is one of the country’s strongest boulderers, and a star of Alastair Lee’s award winning film Blocheads, premiered at Kendal in November 2016, with a string of the hardest problems in both County and country behind him.

Again, this promises to be an entertaining evening.

Entry free and open to non-members.

Dan Varian on ‘Red Dragon’ (8a) Queens Crag. (Photo Mark Savage)

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MEETS AND (OTHER ACTIVITIES) REPORTS There was a full programme of evening and weekend meets through the summer and autumn. Attendance was good, helped by generally good weather and doubtless facilitated by use of social media, particularly the NMC Chat Facebook page, where FB stalkers like the Editor are able to observe plans evolving from ‘Anyone fancy a trip to XX this Sunday?’ to lifts and pick-up times arranged, weather reports posted en route, and photos appearing that evening.

Aside from the usual Wednesday night meets, there were seemingly lots of trips into the Coonty, including some headtorch-illuminated bouldering at Shaftoe, slack-lining in Heaton Park, dry-tooling at Sunderland Wall and, in October, a ‘self training, self-rescue’ night at Hadrian Leisure Centre.

‘Official’ NMC weekends away included visits to North Wales, the Peak District, Galloway, Pembroke and Yorkshire limestone. Other outings included mountain biking at Kielder, and beyond, and an outing by an intrepid (or foolhardy, depending on your point of view) crew to climb Napes Needle at the end of October- Felix Larrieu has written an account of the trip in this issue.

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Red Wall, Meikle Ross, Galloway (photo John Dal) Most recently several parties took advantage of the brief cold snap at the end of November and headed over to the Lakes for a look at Pinnacle Ridge on St Sunday Crag (a fine Grade 3 summer scramble that is II/III in winter conditions, depending on how direct an ascent is made). Those who made it over on the Friday were rewarded with Alpine-looking conditions; Chris Haworth climbing in Pembroke (photo Spenser Gray)

by Saturday a temperature inversion meant it was in freezing in the valley, but thawing at height; and by the Monday, an intrepid 17

Pinnacle Ridge, St Sunday Crag - what a difference 3 days can make.....

Top: Friday November 25th - Joe Rudin and Chris Haworth (photo Joe Rudin collection) Middle: Saturday November 26th - the madding crowd joins in the fun (photo Felix Larrieu) Bottom - Monday November 28th - John Vaughan and Jim Rigg (photo John Spencer)

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trio were able to climb the route without winter tools – as John Vaughan wryly put it ‘We’ve done our first summer route of the winter!’

The autumn/winter ‘social’ programme has also got off to a good start.

On October 26th Staffordshire ‘gritmeister’ Andi Turner (whose Twitter profile describes him as ‘Climber and stargazer’) gave a talk at Hadrian Leisure Centre called ‘A Sense of Place’, in which he described some of his favourite (invariably gnarly) ascents, mostly on Staffordshire grit, interspersed with photos of some of his favourite landscapes, both terrestrial and celestial.

There was a ‘Members’ photos’ night at the beginning of December. Only 8 or so people showed up, but nonetheless enjoyed presentations by four of us, covering hut-tohut walking in the Maritime Alps and a peek into climbing in the Californian High Sierra Emma Smith in action at Robin Proctor’s and the Peloponnese from John Spencer; Scar (photo Craig Harrison) walking in the Tyrol from Martin Cooper (as described in this issue); an ascent of Mount Shuksan in the Cascades by Gil Roberts; and an account of a trek across the 49th parallel through the Rockies by Lewis Preston.

Finally, the Christmas ceilidh was reinstated, organised by Craig Harrison. On Saturday 10th December sixty or so people foregathered in Heaton Community Centre and, to music by the excellent band ‘Snook’, in which NMC member and erstwhile County Climber contributor Dave Hume plays guitar, attempted, quite successfully it has to be said (partly the result of very good calling), to shake their money makers in a reasonably ordered manner and the dancing became more mabitious and, errr, energetic as the evening wore on. A good time was had by all, and nearly £500 was raised for research into Parkinson’s disease (see Tim Hakim’s piece on his campaign to raise money through climbing the Eiger on page 109 of this issue).

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Energetic dancing at the Christmas Ceilidh

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Above: The Club Secretary shows how it’s done (without revealing what lies beneath....)

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CLUB BABY Grace Curtis

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ike a lot of things, climbing gets weirder the harder you think about it. When I was growing up I sort of took it for granted that this was something people did, like football or gymnastics. A lot of my Dad’s friends climbed, or used to, and when we drove out to the big wall in Sunderland everybody was climbing there too. It seemed normal.

Then one day I found myself holding the rope, not in a cathedral-like chamber that stank of chalk but at the base of an enormous chunk of rock in the middle of a desolate, windswept moor. My Dad was climbing said rock, and I was trying desperately not to forget the garbled instructions he’d given me before he started his slow ascent. It was pretty frightening. When he called down that it was my turn I nearly dropped the harness and made a run for it. I’m glad I didn’t, though. This new thing turned out to be pretty amazing. You got to drive out some beautiful patch of countryside, baa at the sheep while you got ready, and afterwards you got fish and chips. Also: the climbing was better. Way better.

When I tried to talk to my friends at school about rock climbing I was met with blank looks. This wasn’t like football: nobody cared. More often than not they’d scoot a few inches away for safety. Eventually I learned to keep it to myself.

After a few years of these infrequent trips out my Dad decided to ‘shadow’ (stalk) the NMC members during a few of their outside meets. Only then did I discover that in the right place at the right time there were dozens of people,

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herds and herds of them, all climbing rocks just like us. Eventually my Dad dropped the coquettish act and joined, signing me up too for good measure.

The NMC must be the fifth or sixth climbing club my dad has joined, but for me it was the first. At first I was lukewarm on the idea: would rock climbing become one big PE lesson now other people were involved? The answer is of course not. Though obviously we want more young members and all that, I was happy to find the competitive spirit that characterises a high school sports team was not part of the deal. In fact, the NMC is more like a yoga group then a football club in terms of mindset. They’re some of the most chilled-out people I know. Joining the club has almost been a return to the early days, when climbing was a cool but normal thing to do. We sit in the pub and discuss the evening and I think to myself, ‘See? There’s nothing strange about this’.

Then I see pictures of someone like Joan Todd, happily scaling the side of a cliff in walking boots and a woolly hat with a length of rope tied around her midriff, having about as much fun as it was possible to have in 1944. Impressive as she was, Joan Todd was also evidence of a truth I’ve avoided for years: climbing is not a sport. It’s a form of socially acceptable, collective insanity.

If I’d come into it from the outside I might have seen this sooner, but it’s hard to look objectively at something you’ve been raised with. People say the same about religion. And, like a religion, climbing is accepted by society as a unique way of finding inner peace. That doesn’t make it any less mad, though. The deeper you go, the madder it gets.

I don’t know how it happens – as if leading your first E1 gives you a Buddha-like acceptance of the inevitability of death. I haven’t reached that point yet. And, having chosen the (dim) prospect of my dream job over nearby crags by going to study in Norwich, I’m not sure I will any time soon. But I won’t stop trying, because goddamn, those people are so

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Top left: A tiny Grace at Stanage Top right: Looking cool Bottom left: An early lead at Bowden (Russet Groove, Northumberland VDDiff) Bottom right: On a meet at Scugdale 24

cool! The old hands who know everything, the young bucks who draw from a seemingly bottomless pit of talent – they’re just so cool. But I know I’ll never be that cool no matter how hard I try. Because those sort of people don’t try. There’s nothing showy or smug about them. They’re just good.

As to the point of this article, I’m afraid there isn’t much for me to say. Despite entering this club as a mere babe of seventeen, that hasn’t really affected my experience. People have been helpful, they’ve been patient, they’ve been encouraging, but not once have I detected the faintest whiff of condescension. The NMC is a yoga class, it’s a cult – those comparisons are all apt.

But you know what this club most reminds me of? A leafy Californian suburb. The kind of place where you can’t slow down when walking on the pavement because cars will just stop to let you cross. There’s no problem too small or question too stupid that somebody won’t offer help. They understand. They get it. Because though there may be plenty of pros, everybody starts off more or less how I did: standing slightly baffled at the foot of an unknown crag, listening to the birds twee-tweeting, waiting for their turn to come.

Grace and the rest of the University of East Anglia Team at a London Bouldering Event 25

What’s the Difference?

Steve Bate

I

was asked by Lee Mackenzie in the interview after the pursuit in Rio which was harder, winning Paralympic gold or climbing El Capitan? I’ve been asked this question a few times by people I’ve spoken to since returning from Rio on Victorious, the golden-nosed British Airways aeroplane that flew us athletes home. To be honest it’s a tough one to answer, and I said to Lee and the viewers that evening, that those two steps onto the podium were the hardest climb of my life. As soon as I said it, I felt I had broken the hearts of every climber watching, as El Cap is a test piece for all climbers: a dream that one day they too may stand 3000ft high in the sky after a heavyweight fight against the Capitan.

After all, how could two easy steps compare to 6 days on an overhanging rock desert?

I’ve thought about writing about the differences between the two, but my physiologist Dan Henchy asked me Adam and Steve (right), Gold Medallists out of interest what was the same. Dan is the mastermind behind our success at the games. A genuinely nice guy with a dark humour who put his heart, soul and years of research into Adam Duggelby and I becoming the best tandem pairing in Rio. So what’s the difference between solo climbing a big rock face and walking onto a podium at the pinnacle of sport anyway? For the climb, it was made easier by the fact I was already a climber. I’d had chalk under my chipped fingernails and been dangling from rock faces for a good few years, and was comfortable in the art of being extremely uncomfortable. I’d worked hard mastering the black art of roped soloing as I wouldn’t be climbing with anyone else on El Cap, which alone has its pros and cons. Climbing with a partner means you can share the mental load at the sharp end of the rope, and the back-breaking, hand-blistering task of hauling.

You take comfort that there is someone to double-check what you are doing, and helping to keep you safe. However that is easily out-weighed by the fact that

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standing on top of that rock face by yourself means you have climbed inch by inch every step of the way. It’s a fantastic feeling that slowly seeps through your tired ruined body and mind as you drag yourself onto the summit knowing the achievement is all yours. I have never felt so proud of myself in all of my life, and I’m not sure I ever will feel that proud again from an individual achievement.

With aching legs and sweat on our brow, Adam and I stepped onto the top of On Zodiac, El Capitan the Paralympic podium to be crowned the best in the world....Paralympic champions! Covering the distance of four kilometres faster than any other tandem pairing has ever gone, breaking the world record and winning gold medals is the stuff every sporting person dreams about. To have that feeling on the podium on the first day of competition, ours the third gold medal of the session in a dominant display of cycling by our team, was unforgettable.

There were three gold medals up for grabs that day on the track and ParalympicsGB had them all: it was a remarkable moment.

To come out with a statement like that and to set the standard for all other nations to follow was unbelievable, and to do it with my mate Adam only two and a half years after we started riding together was some achievement. The momentum didn’t stop there either, our team totally dominated the racing in the Velodrome chewing up the competition, 27

winning more gold medals than the team did four years earlier in London. The fantastic thing about being a part of a team is feeding off each other’s energy, and raising your level to match those On Zodiac around you. I’m lucky to have made so many life-long friends in the process, but for me cycling is just that. A process. It could have been any sport, I just wanted to see what I could achieve with my body with the full support package of coaches, nutritionists, gym trainers etc. For me, the road to Rio was like a real-life experiment.

I knew that for both goals, I had to be in the very best shape I could possibly be in, both mentally and physically. For climbing, this was the case because of the long arduous days of the climbing, hauling my food, water and hammock up the rock face behind me in the heat of the sun. I couldn’t afford to get tired and make bad decisions which could prove costly. I knew it was going to be extremely draining day after day, from early in the morning into the early evening, for however many days it would take me.

Riding the pursuit in Rio was the complete and utter opposite of this, with four short minutes of super-high physical intensity that had to be right from the first pedal revolution to the last, with little room for error. In a discipline that is measured in hundredths of a second, everything is extremely detailed, and hours of riding around in circles and training for miles out on the roads make it possible to get those pedal revolutions synced together, allowing us to be as efficient and as powerful as possible.

I trained alone for El Cap as I was going to spend days on my own having to solve problems as they arose on the overhanging wall. I was making it 28

up as I went along with the theory that the more I climbed and hauled, the better I got and the fewer mistakes I would make. I drilled these systems into my subconscious so I could run though the tasks on autopilot without making mistakes time and time again. It was mind-numbingly boring, but on the wall everything went to plan.

For Rio, I did countless sessions suffering alone on my turbo, the rest with Adam and mates from the British Cycling Team. A rich tapestry of training orchestrated by the mastermind Dan. It was much easier in that respect, having the coaching staff of John Hewitt and Dan around me to support and guide me through exactly what was needed from me and at what time. I didn’t always like the sessions they dictated, however I knew that if I followed the prescribed horror show I would be half-man half-bike when the time came to be measured. Like the days training for climbing, I often woke in the morning feeling terrible, my body aching and still feeling tired from the effort the day before, and the last thing I wanted was to go through the routine of practise again and again, whether that was hauling one Gold!!! hundred kilograms of tyres up a 30 metre sandstone quarry, or lately repeating 30 second sprint intervals on a turbo until you quite literally explode! I thought I was fit when I arrived at the base of that vertical desert, and for that discipline I was - however the fitness required for being at the cutting edge of elite cycling was a whole different drawer of knives.

Undertaking a six day solo journey on a big wall stood me in great mental shape for the qualifying ride of the pursuit at the Paralympics. Right from the start of my cycling career, I haven’t really had any issues with mind games or scary moments on the start line. That’s not to say I don’t get nervous before races, I like that feeling of the unknown when your heart is racing and your stomach feels light. To me that is the sign that what you’re about to do really matters to you, and when you’re wearing national colours, it’s a pretty important moment in your life. I’ve been offered mental support at British Cycling, but have never used the service as I’m pretty good about keeping things in perspective through all parts of my life, and the basic fact that cycling isn’t as horrible as when you’re eight hundred metres off the ground hanging on a filed-down sky hook! I think in many 29

ways, the mind games couldn’t have been more aligned in both situations. Most of the fun your mind has with you happens before you start, and after that it’s just relatively plain sailing as your subconscious takes over and all the long hours of

‘Out there’, high on on Zodiac

practice kick in.

Nothing comes easy, and even more so if you set yourself a goal that is seemingly impossible to achieve. Quite often you expect failure, and as each day gets closer, you face the fact that things are going down the drain and you can feel like giving up. Failing in front of your friends and family, and in some cases the world media can seem too much of a burden to bear. For me failing Adam was something that I simply could not afford to have happen. I would never have forgiven myself and it would have been a moment that would have haunted me for the rest of my life.

However to push through the darker days, to believe in yourself when no one does, including yourself, to hurt yourself like you didn’t yesterday, and to find a new threshold of exertion, to stick to your guns so you can fire them off once you achieved that final dream is worth every little tiny moment of the journey. Those moments when you thought it was the last time you could hit your limit, and then you told yourself just once more.

The biggest lesson I’ve learnt is to have a plan and involve the right people in making that plan. Once you have the plan, all you have to do is follow it month by month, week by week, day by day and session by session. During those hard weeks or days just focus on the then and there and get through it one tiny step at a time. This is how I’ve tackled the two biggest challenges of my life and I think it’s a formula to my success, it’s simply that simple. So was climbing two steps onto a podium the hardest climb I’ve ever done? In the moment I believed it was, however in hindsight I don’t really know? Maybe you are the better judge.

(A quick shout for my sponsors BioCare and Dirty Dog Eyewear, thanks for helping me do what I do.)

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Overfeeding the Rat Danny Carden

T

he refrozen snow made a haunting sound as I kicked at it with my soggy Anazazi Pinks. Shru-ich. Again. Shru-ich. I kick again. Shru-ich. Such an affront to my lovely new boots, and to my burning toes. The snow granules split like polystyrene, before skating off down the gully below. After a minute or so, I stopped kicking and surveyed my little snow-free runway; not with pride, but with embarrassment and nagging doubt. Would it be long enough to let me jump the seven-foot gap? What must poor Chris be thinking, belaying around a corner 40 metres down the snow slope? And why, after seeing so much snow covering Vågakallen’s famous Nordryggen (North Ridge), had we not joined Sam and Joe in retreating down the valley?

--Our trip to the Lofoten Islands had been long in the planning. Guidebooks had been borrowed. Fancy shoes bought to propel us up Vestpillaren with ease.

And anti-social lunch hours spent trawling the Norwegian Customs website to ensure not a millilitre of our ‘We can probably just walk round the snow patches....’ booze allowance would go to waste. Even near-teetotal Chris wouldn’t be allowed to slack on his share of precious liquid cargo. Months of increasingly enthusiastic emails built to a crescendo of psyche when an amazing long-term forecast popped into our inboxes a couple of days before flying out. Three sound partners… 15 days of climbing… No work or commitments... 24-hour sun… Serated islands of immaculate granite, arcing straight from the sea.......It was going to be great. The rat would be fed.

--31

Eight hours earlier, all four of us had been standing on Djupfjord’s glistening sand, next to a rustling birch wood, staring up at the distant ridge which topped an ampitheatre of granite below. Collectively basking in the warm glow of a big trip gone well, we were stripped down to our tights, doing lots of farting, giggling like schoolboys and chatting away during the beautiful walk-in. But the noise levels mostly dropped as we neared the end of the fjord, and the complete ridge came into view round a corner up to our right.

‘Vagakallen’ (photo John Spencer)

Cameras, so far focused on the woodlands and shining fjord, became binoculars, nervously zooming in on the surprisingly scary-looking North Ridge above. “It’s definitely too snowy,” said Joe, who’d been my main partner during the trip. A solid climber - never known to rush moments that can instead be savoured, or go light when heavy is an option - Joe is a man of sound judgement and an excellent antidote to my annoying, impatient optimism. His mind was made up. He was going for a walk in the sun instead. Sam, the strongest of our quartet but less accustomed to bigger mountains, wisely decided he’d join.

‘The thing is given a Norwegian grade of 4’, I thought to myself, ‘That’s about bloody Severe back home! And the hill itself is teeny, barely the size of a Munro.

We climbed Vestpillaren last week, now here we are wimping out of a Severe.’

‘Yes, maybe a bit white in places’, I had to admit, ‘but at that grade it’s bound to be wide and we can probably just walk round the snow patches on the other side’. Chris raised least objection to this ridiculous statement, so after some swift re-packing, he and I carried on up the boggy valley. Joe and Sam quickly disappeared out of sight, back down that beautiful path.

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--The hardest thing about Lofoten is stopping. Constant daylight and the best trad climbing I’ve experienced make for a strong cocktail that could leave even the strongest climber bruised, sore-headed and wondering what day it is. We’d heard horror stories about people spending a fortnight of daylight getting driven demented by the sound of rain battering the outside of their tent. So, when our first four days of forecasted sun brought only windy drizzle, we were a little down-hearted. We just kept climbing, and managed what was in hindsight four decent days out, ticking mid-grade classics like ‘Gandalf’ (n5), ‘Gollum’ (n5), ‘Tromsø Express’ (n6) and the wonderful ‘Lundeklubben’ (Puffin Club, n6). We also had a memorable hillwalk over in the wild west of the islands; an area which would be worthy of a future adventure on its own.

Yet deep down I think I felt a bit like we were still warming up for the big one, ‘Vestpillaren’.

Twelve pitches of E2ish perfection on a sparkling lump called Presten (The Priest) which looms over the main road to the pictur‘Chris leading Gamle Rev (Old Fox) n6’ esque village of Henningsvær; a constant presence. It didn’t help the confidence to have a large troupe of pissed-off Norwegian soldiers continually putting us to shame as they were forced to learn the ropes on the roadside cliffs of Lofoten. No matter what crag we chose on those four wet days, the soldiers would always be there before us. They looked bored, wet and angry. And they’d still be there long after we’d abandoned the crag for coffee, waffles and oogling in town. We’d try to avoid eye contact as we made our way home to our warm, dark holiday cabin.

--The Nordryggen had started with some grotty scrambly pitches, but once we hit solid rock and the real climbing began, things started to flow and Chris and I moved quickly over easy ground that felt comfortable and fun. We hit the odd snow patch, but – ha, I was right! – we were able to scamper round their rocky 33

The window pitch on Nordryggen

Snow from below

edges pretty easily. Within a couple of hours, the guidebook climbing difficulties came to an end, and we knew we couldn’t be far from the top. I led a short pitch up a tight rock gully and the summit began to come into view. I took a step higher and my heart sank. White. Dazzlingly white. A couple of hundred metres of snow fields, gullies, and arêtes broken only by occasional islands of granite.

Shit!

Improvisation would be the key. Feeling culpable, I led the way as we carefully pitched together the islands of granite by balancing across the steep, hard snow in our silly little rock shoes. At one point I found myself chipping holds into nevé with a HMS carabiner to allow placement of pink bare hands and pink climbing shoes. It was slow going on what should have been a walk - and I kept wondering what on earth Chris must be thinking. We paused to re-read the guidebook description. It felt like it was mocking us: ‘Pitch 12) 2, 175m. Follow the slabby ridge (tricky at the start), then scramble up the ridge to a gap which requires a jump to cross.’

We carried on pitching on this Norwegian Grade 2 – so lowly as to not even be included in conversion tables, but somewhere around a Mod and a Diff, in case you’re wondering. Eventually, after about four pitches of snow-hopping, I found 34

Top left: Joe coming up the rear, Vestpillaren Top right: ‘Sam mincing up the Slanting Corner with annoying ease’ Bottom: Vestpillaren summiteers 35

myself shuffling towards the aforementioned gap; a vertical trench which barred our passage. Pointlessly, I took a long look into the drop. It was fascinating to see how the ridge was cleaved in two by opposing snow gullies, falling out of sight to east and west.

I began the long process of kicking my runway. Shru-ich. Shru-ich. Shru-ich. Chris wouldn’t have a clue what I was up to. Again, a horrible feeling of lurking culpability came to mind. Best get on with it. I pulled up three metres of slack and coiled them in my right hand. My runway only gave room for four steps so I took four strides backwards and crouched slightly, readying myself for take-off.

--Quite suddenly one evening, six days into the trip, the clag cleared and the forecasts all pointed to a very definite two-day weather window. It was time for the big one, and Joe and I were up first. It is hard to quickly summarise that day with Joe on Vestpillaren, other than to say it entirely lived up to expectations. It was one of those big, tiring, golden days on rock that leave you quietly hoping a passing climber will stop to ask what you’ve been up to. ‘Vestpillaren’ has pitches I know I’ll never forget. Pitches with names. ‘The Thin Crack’. ‘The Slanting Groove’....

Perhaps understandably after seeing the state of Joe and I on our return that night, Chris decided Vestpillaren wasn’t for him this time. His partner Sam was understandably desperate to make the most of the weather window, and get up there the following day. Joe seized his chance to escape from me. I’m still not sure how it was decided that I should be the one to accompany Sam back up the 467metre route the following day.

Day two on Vestpillaren was a surprisingly different day out. I’d hoped that the route would feel familiar and easier, despite me leading the opposite pitches second time around. I definitely felt more at home on the huge face, but my feet were killing me and my weary brain was struggling to manage the deep concentration required on the tricky thin sections. But with a wee fall each, we got to the top.

Our whoops of joy brought to a close one of the more strenuous 36 hours of my life.

Whatever we climbed for the rest trip, however much it rained, it would be a success. We’d done it.

--The forecasted rain failed to materialise the next day, or the day after that. In fact, despite continued crappy forecasts, it was dry for pretty much the whole of our second week. But we were beginning to feel pretty beaten up. Upwards of 1,500 metres of climbing in a week takes its toll. For the first time in my climbing life, I

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was going to bed praying for rain. Praying for a day of fishing, booze and Scrabble. Maybe, after all, you can have too much of a good thing. The rat was too fat; paws and body beginning to ache after continuous feasting.

Yet we couldn’t stop. The climbing was just too good. We’d come too far to rest.

We spent four days ticking our way through the easy classics, often climbing sociably alongside each other in two pairs. SlowAbout to jump ly, some of our strength and enthusiasm returned, and after a fun team ascent of ‘Bare Blabåer’ (Only Bilberries, n5) I suggested that we’d one long route left in us.

Nordryggen, an easy half-kilometre ridge winding dramatically to the summit of Austvågøy island’s most famous peak, Vågakallen (943m), would fit the bill perfectly. ‘Lofoten’s Tower Ridge’, we’d heard. A relaxed mountain day out to bring a blinding holiday to a close.

---I landed with a noisy Descending from Vågakallen in the midnight sun

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jolt on the opposite side of the gap, tired legs carrying me and my heavy harness forward into a large snow pile. I waded over it to a rock belay, and slumped down in relief. Chris scampered up the snow slope towards my little runway on the North Ridge. Ever kind and forgiving, Chris didn’t even ask what had kept me.

Rather than question the ridiculousness of our footwear or my planning, he had a quick giggle about the size of the jump, then leapt across it as if striding over a crack in a pavement. My crappy route-finding resulted in three more pitches of tricky scrambling to the rocky summit. Finally we could get out of our freezing rock shoes and into our dry trainers, and begin the long, convoluted descent to the road, via some more steep snow patches and one fairly nearby avalanche.

After an embarrassing 13 hours on the teeny hill, we arrived back at the road and waited for Joe to pick us up at our agreed rendezvous point. It had been a quality, memorable day but rather than elation, I mainly just felt worn out, and struggling to comprehend how hard I’d found the whole experience. Around midnight, the car pulled up next to us and I slumped into the passenger seat.

‘Was it snowy?’ Joe asked, with a barely-discernable glint in the eye.

‘A little.’

Presten, north end

POSTSCRIPT I’m aware that this article isn’t particularly useful for anyone planning a trip to Lofoten, so I thought I’d just offer a trashy Top Ten Tips instead:

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1. Don’t camp It’ll be wet, cramped and probably cost more when you add up the inevitable costs involved with cooking, cleaning and staying dry. Share a cabin on a campsite instead.

2. Go in multiples of four It makes cars and cabins much cheaper.

3. You can have too much booze Even with the Norwegian restrictions. I thought I’d never say it, but it’s not a festival is it? You can’t really get hammered every night for 14 days, and also climb.

4. Hire a car It’s really not that expensive, about £125 each for a fortnight if split between four.

5. Stay in or near Henningsvær The other climbing areas aren’t as developed.

6. Pack a rod Henningsvær harbour is hoaching with cod.

7. Build tape gloves ‘Pack a rod’ I didn’t. Joe did. A sage chap, is Joe. 8. You will get your rope stuck on Only Bilberries This isn’t a tip, but a fact. We were lucky and got ours out. Evidence inside the crack suggests many were less fortunate. It’s a lottery.

9. Do Vestpillaren If you can climb the odd E2, give Vestpillaren a bash. It’ll be an indelible tick on your climbing soul.

10. Snow patches are bigger under your feet than from three miles down the valley Don’t get confused between small and far away.

(Editor’s note: Norwegian grading uses a numerical system, individual pitches graded for their technical difficulty, and with a sort-of average overall grade, n5= 4b/4c; n5 = 4c/5a, n6 = 5b.......sort-of)

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La Demande: a Father and Son Thing Steve Blake

L

a Demande (The Question) is a justifiably classic route, and exemplifies 70s climbing in the Verdon Gorge. At 330m it is one of the longest climbs in the gorge, and follows a continuous crack which, at half height, turns into a huge cleft. Its classic status, seemingly modest grade (6a) and accessibility mean it sees a steady stream of epics. The UKC logbook entries are well worth a read (see: http:// www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/c. php?i=41017). Over the last forty years I’ve done the climb six times - yes it really is that good! - with a variety of partners, firstly back in 1976 with Dennis Lee and most recently this August with my son Tim. I always had a plan to take him on the route, as a sort of ‘coming of age’ experience, but as we all know, things get in the way, and the opportunity eluded us until we were rained out of the Dolomites on our summer holiday.

We quickly decided the coolest of the very hot alternatives would be the Verdon, hastily sorted out some accommodation and left for La Palud. We decided to get on the climb the mornApproaching the entrance to the gorge ing after we arrived, striking while our enthusiasm was high and before we got an inevitable roasting in the August heat. Early the next morning we parked up at Couloir Samson (Bronwen, my wife would accompany us to the base, watch us start, then meet us at the top with the car and our shoes - luxury!).The climb would be a significant challenge for Tim, steeper and more sustained than anything he had done before, and it would require some ‘old school’ climbing techniques that he wasn’t versed in. He was remarkably sanguine about it all. Ignorance, they say, is bliss!

Walking through the tunnels makes for a pretty unique approach, it’s about 20 minutes from the car to the base of the route. You cannot fail to be impressed with this crag, you emerge from the tunnels really close to the base, it’s so steep that no matter how hard you crank 40

your neck, you can’t see the rim, one thousand feet above; it’s the height of the rim on the far side that gives you a reference, and puts a scale on what you’re about to embark on. Eventually the crag becomes ‘merely’ vertical to slightly overhanging and the route comes into view, forming an elegant curving slash that runs the full height of the cliff. I had reassured Tim that the route was satisfyingly long,

Gearing up

a bit like one of the bigger highballs at Bowden (!) but would not be as long a day as our last multi-pitch adventure on Snake Dike on

Half Dome in Yosemite - 22hrs bed to bed!

We geared up at the base, my familiarity with the route allows me to ‘refine my rack’; a couple of cams, a set of medium to large nuts, some slings, 10 quickdraws and some water are enough, plus an 80m skinny rope. The plan was for us to swing leads, with me linking pitches and Tim doing singles.

So Tim got the first pitch, which is probably the slickest of all - the route is polished but not so bad that it detracts from the climbing. For a boulderer he dealt with it really well, he used the two cams and they stayed put. He did comment at the stance that it was very easy to end up a long way above your gear, which it is. All of the pitches are about 30m and all have at least three bolts.

While the first stance is a flat ledge with plenty of space, and nicely aligned bolts, the next is a poor foothold, and a hang. So sticking to the plan I linked the next two pitches, crabbing diagonally up the thin crack passing the remnants of a tree. The climbing is steep but not difficult, the crack is continuous, but on these lower pitches you rarely if ever use it to jam, there are just so many fingerholds and edges that jamming is redundant. You pass the occasional tricky bit (usually where there’s a bolt) and enjoy the steepness. I eventually ended up on a generous ledge with an old oak tree offering some shade.

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Above: Tim high on the first pitch (12 to go!)

Right: Emerging at the top of pitch 4 Below: The second crux narrows

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The belay being the tree and a huge homemade wrought iron ring bolt.

Mid-August isn’t the optimal time to climb in the Verdon, it is very, very hot. But only the bottom six pitches of the route get the sun, and I hoped we would be in the shade before it got too hot and would benefit from an updraft that often appears in the afternoon. Tim made short work of seconding the linked pitches. He arrived at the stance looking quite perky. The air had warmed up enough for the vultures to appear, one passed quite close eyeing up Tim for lunch.

He set off up the next pitch, an early bolt offering some security; this pitch finishes in a striking V slot that leads to another generous ledge and he dispatched it quickly. I linked the next two, so another 60m pitch, again to a shady ledge. Tim was soon up with me and on arrival announced that he had to get his foot out of his shoe! The relief on his face was a picture. Thankfully I’d packed a wee knife, and we One more (70m) pitch to go slashed the toe of the boot which sorted the problem. We repeated the procedure on the other shoe at the next stance!

He admitted he was feeling the pace a bit now, having done the equivalent footage of about 90 problems at the Pool! I reassured him that there were only another 90 to go, and that it was a different type of climbing so he’d be using other muscles no problem!

The next pitch was his. Here the crack goes marginally beyond the vertical and leads to the start of the great chimney system. The entry to the chimney, however, is something of a stopper. The crack leads to a hanging right-facing groove, entry requires a degree of very ‘old school’ thrutching and opposition climbing. Try as he might, Tim couldn’t figure this out (he’s in good company) and after several attempts, admitted defeat. I lowered him back to the belay and we swapped ends.

I wriggled my way up the groove - for me it’s one of the cruxes - and brought him up to the belay. It was quite a fight, which involved him following some holds on the right (part of a 6b+ variation) until he could pull left into the groove and relax.

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By the time he reached the stance, which is semi-hanging, he was pretty done, so we had a drink and took our time sorting out the rope. I would continue to lead from here on, which I think was a relief for him! Here you can either follow the corner crack which is hard, or, better, traverse across the chimney and up a snaking groove in the right corner. This leads to a small roof above which you traverse back left above the belay.

It’s all honest, strenuous stuff, and at this point the chimney begins to frame your view of the gorge and river 700’ below, The shaded yellow walls, full of texture and detail, contrast The groove during a previous trip - the tree beckons! amazingly with the colours beneath.

The odd vulture floating by gives it all a very prehistoric feel. It’s a stunning place to be.

From this stance I knew I could link the next two, then three pitches, into two long ones. Tim had recovered somewhat and was enjoying the situation, so I set off to do battle with the chimney. I know where (for me) it would get hard, which was the last 20’ to the final stance. You wriggle into the chimney, right side in, and lever yourself up using a selection of polished smears and edges on the left wall. I think the brave can bridge their way up the outside, I’ve never had the courage to try, preferring the security offered by the cleft!

So I arrived at the final belay which is a comfortable enough stance for two and brought Tim up. He was fully recovered from his earlier ‘Bonk’ and had little trouble with the chimney, despite (or because) wearing the sac with some water in it.

We regrouped in the cleft ledge. Above, is what most consider to be the crux, a flared left facing corner with a wide, broccoli-lined off-width crack in the back.

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Fifty feet above is a long-suffering tree that provides something to aim for. Back in the day this was protected by one bolt and a peg. It has three bolts now and it still feels pretty bold. It’s the scene of heartbreaking failures as the bolts are too far apart to pull through on them. So if you can’t climb it, you have to bail the entire route (and some do!).

So you employ a ‘hybrid’ back-andfoot, a variety of polished broccoli smears keep you braced on the left wall, upward progress is helped by a confident approach, if you aren’t vigorous you will soon tire, knees will shake and you will grind to a halt. Much better to think ‘hundreds have done it before’, ‘there’s no reason why my feet are any less secure than theirs’ and get At the top on with it. In fact you can stop at a point below the tree and comfortably take a photo!

Above the tree the corner continues, steep, but easier with positive holds, I passed the first stance, then the second. Above the second stance, just below where the climbing eases off, you have to sort of lurch across left into a cleft. At this point you’re about 70m above the belay and a long way above the last bolt, it’s not a place to cock up! I wedge myself into the crack and can hear Bronwen above me. Stopping just below the rim, I bring Tim up, we could just about communicate. Big smiles! He jumps onto the edge - instant flatness to be faced with mum, who had been wandering the edge looking for the top.

So we were done, about 5½ hours, a very respectable time. Tim learned loads and I had a blast. We even finished with some water to spare! Shoes on, and off to the ice cream parlour!

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Above: Post-climb refreshments, 2016

Right: Post-climb refreshments, 1977 - same cafe

Below: Storm clouds gathering

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Stumbling Through the Alps - Summer 2016 Tim Rodgers

W

ell here I am once again, in Freeman Hospital sitting in front of the orthopaedic surgeon. It is time to collect the results of my MRI scan.

I sit upright when he brings my scans onto his screen. He draws my attention to some white fuzzy stuff around a dark circle.

“I am sorry Mr Rodgers, you’re going to need surgery on both your knees.”

I slump back down in my chair. Knackers!

I really didn’t need this, three weeks before my summer trip to the French Alps.

But I knew I had a problem with them, and I’d known for months. At least I had some certainty I suppose. The news was bad but at least it was news and I can begin the process of getting it sorted.

Those who know me will appreciate that I have had my fair share of injuries over the past couple of years, and I’m not talking the little niggly finger ones either. I fractured a vertebra in an accident at Bowden last summer (big thanks to NMC’s Richard and Eva who took control of the situation). That resulted in me being out of action for several months. I was also dealt a severe blow to the ribs whilst staying at the CIC hut on Ben Nevis the previous winter. That incident resulted in more broken bones. Most people presume it was a result of another climbing fall, probably trying something gnarly on the Ben, and I’m usually happy to go along with that. However, the reality is not as spectacular. I did take a fall, but it was from the top bunk inside the hut!

I spent nine months performing endless physio exercises and intense core strengthening work and then began some light workouts at the climbing wall, carefully avoiding any falls or sudden movements. Slowly the climbing fitness returned and I burst back on to the outdoor scene in Spring this year, ticking my hardest ever trad route ‘The Beest’ at Beeston Tor (E3,5c). I was elated but I knew things weren’t right. My knees were regularly sore. The pain seemed climbing-related and twisting moves, drop knees or heel hooks all hurt like hell.

So I started the process of getting referred to the knee surgeon.

I left the Hospital that afternoon with a decision to make – Alps or surgery?

After enduring such a long layoff from my spinal fracture I wasn’t keen to be 47

sidelined again so soon. The surgeon was a bit vague as to how long to expect off. I knew I could still climb some fairly hard routes so I decided to take a punt on the Alps. This could be my last trip for a while so the surgery would have to wait. If the legs do fail during my trip then two weeks relaxing around Chamonix sounded okay to me.

This is an account of some of the stuff that happened.

The Aiguille Rouges are a great place to start any alpine climbing trip. Situated at an altitude of approximately two thousand five hundred metres the buttresses and ridges are easily accessed by lifts from Chamonix and the walks to the crags are relatively short.

Approaching the Aiguilles Rouges

The first warm up route I did was a climb on L’Index, a popular buttress known by many for its South-East Ridge which is often busy with guides and clients throughout the day. I was heading for the hidden side of the buttress for a route called ‘L’an d’Emile’ (TD).

This provided great climbing over six pitches with a crack, wall and overhang – a good varied introductory route.

We joined the crowd at the summit and being friendly citizens we offered to share our ropes for the abseil descent with an older British couple, probably in their early sixties. The descent can be done as one long abseil, about 65 metres with rope stretch to a ledge, with a short scramble from the ledge down into the gully. Knots in the end of the rope are certainly required here. We descended first and waited on the ledge for the couple. The lady set off first. She looked in complete control and made steady progress all the way to our ledge. Once she was firmly standing on our ledge she took one step to the side and then in

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what appeared to be slow motion, fell over a rock and disappeared from sight. We peered over a block to find to her giggling to herself, thankfully unscathed and still attached to the rope by her descender and prussic. Life must start at sixty!

I headed back to the Rouges for a further day of multi-pitch cragging, this time ‘Poème à Lou’ (TD+, 6c) on Le Brevent which I started but unfortunately did not finish. This route takes an intimidating line up the middle of the face of Le Brevent, left of the Frison Roche. Just as we geared up and set off on the first pitch our concentration was interrupted by loud screams followed by a tearing sound through the air. A wingsuit pilot had just flown-by, swooping past us and the Brevent rock face before banking left, skimming the treeline and taking a trajectory downwards towards Chamonix town centre. The chute got pulled at the last second…then touchdown. Wow! I was checking my Facebook later that evening and saw that the pilot was none other than Steph Davis from the USA. What an incredible women she is and obviously not deterred one bit even by the deaths of her ex-husbands Mario Richard and Dean Potter in wingsuit accidents.

On the Nabot-Léon on Aiguille de Blaitière

Our climb was unfortunately cut short due to an incoming storm at the halfway point so we rigged a hasty retreat. The climbing we did was excellent and sustained. According to the guidebook it does get a little harder further up and it was disappointing to miss out on the challenge. It goes on my ever increasing list of climbs to return to.

I wasn’t sure what to climb next. Whilst out in Chamonix that evening I met a guy in a pub. He recommended ‘Nabot-Léon’ (TD, 5c) on the Aiguille de Blaitière, so

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I decided to do that.

The walk-in was across large boulder scree, the type that breaks your knees – the man in the pub had failed to mention that. I was so slow that within fifteen minutes I had lost sight of my climbing partner.

Normally we are quite a fast team (the walking part, On the Nabot Leon not the climbing) so he had genuinely thought that I could actually be ahead of him. I wasn’t. He was at the base of the route and I was long gone. I had missed a turning and was in a completely different couloir half a mile away. He had the guidebook and I had forgotten the map.

The phone rings and I answer – “Where are you?”

I pause and look around, “Dunno, lost I reckon. Where are you?”

I get given some directions. You know the type. ‘Turn right at the large boulder, up a gully, then round a pinnacle until you face a big wall and the ridge is on your right.’ I gaze around at all the rock. O-kay! It doesn’t matter anyway, I’ve forgotten what he said before he has finished. I shouldered my pack and set off in the opposite direction.

After a couple of laps around the glacier I spot some bright coloured jackets on a far-off ridge. I had virtually given up on the day so with nothing more to lose I decide to take a punt and make my way towards them. After a lung-busting fight up steep scree I reach the bottom of a ramp. The coloured jackets have gone. It looks like the ridge can be gained by heading up the ramp. I start scrambling up. After five metres I clamber over a tricky bulge. That leaves me thinking ‘this feels hard for an approach.’ There is more scrambling further ahead and then after twenty metres it starts to get really hard. The ramp has

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petered out and I stop at a blank wall on a tiny ledge.

I’ve overstepped the mark. I’m not scrambling, this is definitely climbing, except this isn’t even a climb. You complete fool, you’ve got yourself lost again!

It’s usually a good idea to get your harness on before the difficulties start. As I stand perched on one leg trying to perform a pirouette to get my legs into my harness I give myself the lecture once again. I pull the rope out and flake it everywhere. The anchor is some old tat which has been on my harness for years tied around a small loose block. I lie to myself – “Bomber!” Very slowly I lower myself back to where I started.

The phone rings again.

“Where are you?”

“Err, dunno” I answer. I make up a crap story about how I’d encountered some tricky terrain and hang up. I bet he thinks I’m a massive idiot. I reverse my steps and eventually see where I have foolishly gone wrong. Twenty minutes later and I rejoin my climbing partner at the bottom of the route. It’s one o’clock. The walk in took me four hours and my pal has been waiting sat on a rock for two hours.

Missing the last lift from Plan De L’Aiguille

Not surprisingly I spend the entire climb feeling like massive idiot. I climb so badly my partner must be thinking why he agreed to go on this trip with me. I bet he wants to go home now. Slowly the pitches go by; finally we reach the top and abseil down the opposite flank.

The initial part of the walk-out across the boulder scree ut was a painful affair.

At five-thirty pm the last lift down wasn’t looking achievable. My friend broke into a run and I began jogging with a limp. I arrived at the lift station exhausted but the lights were on and the attendant was still in his booth. ‘Made it’ I 51

thought. I approached the kiosk and using my best French – “Bonsoir monsieur, is there any chance of gannin’ doon on the last lift with you?” His reply was fairly blunt – “Non.” Buggers.

The walk of shame down into Chamonix from the Plan de l’Aiguille lift station is a long winding affair. It would probably take an hour and a half for a normal hill walker, but for me, it took four. I agreed it made no sense for my pal to endure with me so he set off down at a brisk pace and was soon out of sight. I limped my way down and as darkness began to fall I suddenly realised I had no head torch. Limping turned into stumbling and I eventually appeared out of the forest at nine-thirty pm. I found my pal sitting on a rock, chewing grass in the car park. He looked thoroughly fed up.

“How long

On the (long) walk down from Plan d’Aiguille

have you been sat here?” I ask.

“Two hours” he replied.

“Did you not fancy a cuppa and some food in the van?”

“Err yes, but you’ve got the keys!”

Oops.

By this time I had been climbing big routes every day for six days solid and my body was crying out for rest. Well, rest did eventually come, but it was rather unplanned.

The idea was to spend three nights bivouacking on the edge of the Argentière glacier overlooking the North Face of Les Droites. This would provide a basecamp for some of the great alpine rock climbs in the area.

In order to spend three nights out a substantial load of food was required 52

together with all the usual bivvy kit and climbing gear. This meant I had a fully weighted one hundred litre haul bag on my back. After a couple of hours of walking and cramponing down a big slope I finally succumbed to exhaustion and collapsed on the glacier. I laid on my back for an hour in that spot enjoying the sun on my face and the cool breeze of the glacial air.

Later that afternoon I arrived at a stone shelter which was built into a massive ‘Bivvying is cool’ - across from the North face of Les Droites overhanging boulder. My friend had already set up camp and had the stove on for tea. Great I thought, but I was hungry and I needed the toilet. I surveyed our surroundings for what would be home for the next few days – lots of rock and ice. Then I spotted a building not far away. A hut! This must be the recently refurbished Argentière Hut, with all modcons.

I started thinking I bet they have sit-down loos, and showers, and do great coffee, and homemade cake! I quietly suggested we could consider The 300m South East Spur of Le Minaret 53

Starry bivouac beneath the North face of Les Droites upgrading our accommodation. He wasn’t interested – “Bivvying is cool” he said.

I slump down on my Thermarest in the dirt and play with a couple of stones.

Despite the rough sleeping we completed three days of fantastic climbing from this location. The most memorable being a failed attempt of the ‘South-East Spur’ on Le Minaret (V+). This is one of Gaston Rebuffat’s Top One Hundred routes and a major tick. Unfortunately we made the classic mistake of setting off too late and underestimating the route. We had already succeeded on a couple of long routes close-by and had wrongly assumed this would be similar. But this was proper ‘old school’ traditional climbing. Long chimneys and offwidths are the norm here. The thrutchy physical climbing slowed us right down so it was two pm by the time we had overcome the hardest pitches. Seven pitches in and we felt close to the summit. There were three more to go to the top, but then a complicated series of about ten abseils to get back down.

There is no walk-off option on this climb. We had no warm jackets with us so getting benighted was not an option. The descent was as complicated as we had anticipated. Anchors were hard to find and the ropes got caught twice on the flaky rock. A retreat was definitely the correct decision.

The final climb worth mentioning was the infamous ‘Rébuffat-Baquet’ route on the South Face of L’Aiguille du Midi. The climb (TD+, 6a) is a classic with some

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Left: On the Rébuffat-Baquet Middle: The Midi station Bottom: ‘After completing the Rébuffat-Baquet route on the South Face of Aiguille du Midi the only food I had left was a carrot’

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of the best views in the Alps. The rock is incredible textured granite with slabs, finger-cracks and laybacks all featuring heavily. The only downside is that, to get the full experience and top out, you need to wear big boots and crampons for ten minutes and then carry them for the rest of the day; but this is alpinism – nothing is easy.

I was very excited to get started but any enthusiasm has to be postponed. The big queue which is common at the bottom of the route is the first crux.

A Spanish team in front of us set off. Their leader arrived at the first belay, made himself safe but rather than instruct his second to climb he signalled to us.

“You can climb, we are slow, overtake yes?”

“Err, okay then!” we shouted back up.

My friend led the pitch climbing over the Spanish leader and secured himself to an anchor a little higher up. We found ourselves in the unusual position of having two leaders, four ropes and two seconds – both on belay! I suggested to my fellow second that I should go first, quickly do the pitch, and clear the way for them to take as much time as they wanted. The theory of this was fairly sound but climbing is rarely that straightforward.

I jammed my way nicely over the cracked overhang and moved swiftly up the groove to gain a short traverse under a roof which led to the belay anchors. The traverse was over a large slab, no handholds and just crystals for feet. There is a clear point of aid here – a big bolt in the middle – but we don’t do that do we? It’s only 5c. I must free the route I thought. Well the result of that stubbornness was a slip and a big sideways, scraping whipper across the slab and into the other party’s ropes. Great start!

The climbing afterwards was thankfully much less fateful and the could simply be enjoyed. The S-crack pitch was as hard as people say but enjoyable. Good finger locks and hand jams are essential here as there is very little for the feet.

The final 6b+ pitch is situated in an outrageous position on a very exposed arête and provides a fitting climax to the climb.

Sitting on top of a sharp pinnacle, the summit of the climb is one of the most prominent features seen from the Aiguille du Midi lift station. The descent is even a direct abseil from the summit rocks onto the Midi platform deck. It is a bizarre place. Tourists take photographs and clap climbers as they complete routes. There is applause coming from the Cosmiques Arete and it makes me laugh.

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This particular abseil is a diagonal traverse and the kind French people have placed metal rods into the rock to hold a rope in place as you traverse and then descend. Some care is required here.

I rigged the abseil and steadily worked my way across the traverse placing the rope behind every bit of metal I could find. I then began descending. Down I went slowly, taking small steps to try to prevent the rope from moving. When I looked up I could see my attempt was failing. The rope had worked its way up the last steel rod, then suddenly, thwack‌thwack‌thwack, the rope had come off all of the placements and I was flying. Across the face I flew. My body struck the rock on the opposite side of the cliff. Whack! A severe blow to the buttocks.

I groaned in agony. I could hear lots of commotion on the tourist platform below and after swinging to a halt I was left dangling in space clutching my arse. A sorry sight indeed, and perhaps the most embarrassing moment of my climbing career to date.

Descent down from the South Ridge of Aiguille du Genepi I fumbled my way down and struggled over the safety fence and onto the

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platform. By now a large group of tourists had gathered and were anxious to see if I was okay. An elderly American lady approached me.

“I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed.

“Nah pet, I’m fine” I replied. “I’ve just buggered me buttocks.”

Be safe folks, and look after those knees!

The Argentière glacier

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The Long Climb Spenser Gray

A

s it tumbles down the Orion Face I hear the rumble of the boulder which not 5 seconds before had looked and felt solidly attached to the ledge 2 feet above me. The first thought that crosses my mind is “I’m alive.......

I think?!” Guiltily, the welfare of my friend and climbing partner, Mark, belayed below me at the bottom of the pitch, is only my second thought.

“Are you ok?” my voice echoes thinly back at me from the maze of gullies and ridges which form the north face of Ben Nevis competing with the crash of the boulders which I had just dislodged. As I see the warm glow of the orange sparks split the night in sharp contrast with the cold glow of my head torch the mountain’s true nature becomes painfully apparent. I hear the word “Yes!” shouted up from below.

Fortunately Mark was The Long Climb, Ben Nevis (photo courtesy of Simply Epic Adventures) belayed beneath a small overhang significantly to one side of me, the rockfall had come nowhere near him. For a second I close my eyes and in front of me stands a friend, her smile beaming at me from the end of a sunny day on Pavey Ark, a world away from where I am now.

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With my nerves steeled against my fears, I mantle the ledge now conveniently clear of the stacked loose blocks, a strong desire to continue living overpowering any and all doubts in my mind.

The weather forecast was amazing, the absence of Scottish climbing in my logbook woeful and I was working in Glasgow for several weeks. Mark readily agreed to go and have an adventure on a big rock route in the mountains, a lunchtime perusal of UKC yielded a list of objectives and on Saturday morning the decision was made to head for Ben Nevis to do either ‘Tower Ridge’ or ‘The Long Climb’. The latter is described as the longest vertical face climb on mainland UK, at 426m long there’s no reason to doubt this statement.

The route was first climbed in 1940

by Dr JHB (Jim) Bell and John Wilson with a hemp rope, in Woolworth’s plimsolls with socks covering them, at a standard of VS. It’s hard not to respect the climbers of bygone generations, you’re huffing and puffing your way up a route with decent ropes, proper rock boots Dr Jim Bell on FA of Long Climb and a full rack of trad gear and the first ascensionist often did it with his mother’s cast-off washing line for a rope and pebbles in place of wires! The route follows a weaving line starting just beyond the toe of Observatory Ridge and heads up into a huge grassy amphitheatre of rock called “The Basin”, a regular candidate for late season snowball fights. Once this is navigated a rising leftward traverse line is taken to reach the summit ridge (see http://www.ukclimbing.com/ logbook/c.php?i=556 for route description, also see Editor’s note*).

We pulled up by the Glen Nevis Youth Hostel at 8:45 AM and after a good old fashioned sweaty slog up and over to the CIC hut, which involved many self-

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deprecating remarks regarding my woeful lack of fitness, we stood and marvelled at the scale of the place in which we found ourselves.

I had never been on Ben Nevis before, and one of the biggest rock routes in the UK seemed like an apt way to go about it.

The game was on, any thoughts Paul Oakes on First Slab Rib (photo Spencer collection) of doing Tower Ridge were discounted and we were heading for the Long Climb.

Fortunately the snowfield which often sits at the base of the route in summer was long gone, this enabled us to reach the base of the route with relative ease, and no amusing tales of bergschrund crossing to recount. The other team which we met at the CIC hut headed off to do ‘Ledge Route’ with a passing remark that we’d probably be alone on our route.

I set off up the first pitch, noting the lack of gear. The second pitch was pleasant yielding some good moves. The third pitch again yielded good but very bold 4c/5a moves due to moss and greenery preventing access to the First Slab Rib at the point described in the guidebook. At various points on the route we had found slings placed around not entirely convincing rock spikes and nubbins which appeared to have been used in an abseil descent.

The next pitch quickly yielded an explanation, the remains of a smashed helmet, a damaged phone and an assortment of gear were strewn across the pitch.

Suddenly it dawned on me that I had climbed directly into the scene of a terrible accident; I later learnt that only 6 hours before we arrived at the base of the route Lochaber MRT were completing what has been described as ‘one of their

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most difficult and technical rescues ever carried out’.

No wonder they’d left a few slings behind.

A brief discussion resulted in the decision to push on up the route as I was not massively keen on John Spencer on Second Slab Rib (photo Spencer collection) the idea of abseiling from rounded nubbins, a possibly poor decision on my behalf given that they seemed to have worked for the previous party and that whatever had caused the accident was likely still above us.

Further bold climbing brought us to the end of the ‘hard’ pitches, but unfortunately the easy bimble to the top seemingly promised by the guidebook transpired to be loose, poorly protected, and still slightly wet, despite at least ten days of good weather, and involved 4c and 5a moves! As I progressed up the first of these pitches, some 150m above the mess I had encountered earlier I passed a chopped rope, which I have since learned was likely cut by rockfall or by the climber falling over a sharp edge. The red and orange bicolour pattern of the rope sat against the grey slab of rock in front of me, its sheath splaying out like the strands of a mop exposing the clean white strands of the rope’s core. I pushed unhelpful, fearful, thoughts from my mind knowing that if I did not the consequences did not bear thinking about.

A couple of pitches further beyond this point I found myself standing in front of a shoulder-height ledge, two blocks the size of my torso leaning against a much bigger boulder. I give the boulder a tug, try and rock it, it doesn’t move and seems solid, concluding its great mass will keep it in position I go for it. Pulling on the sharp edge of one side with my right hand and palming down with my

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left I bring my feet up below me. The next thing I know I’m stood on that ledge watching sparks pierce the night as I enquire about Mark’s wellbeing.

We quickly progressed to the summit bothy. A bag of jelly babies met with no mercy.

We let Mark’s friend back at the hostel in Kinlochleven know we were OK. By this point it is 11:30 pm, the loose rock and sparse gear had significantly slowed us down on the route. We decide to head straight down to the car which we reached at 2:30 am, making it a near-18 hour day before a failed attempt to find a takeaway open in Fort William. After a brief nap in the car we drove back to Kinlochleven and fell asleep immediately on lying down.

The Sunday brought a search for a fried breakfast, a short amble up the hill above the Grey Mare’s Tail and some paddling in the stream outside the Lagangarbh hut, a much deserved period of recovery after the previous day’s adventure.

Perhaps we were pushing our luck a bit to go and do the longest conventional route on our wonderful ridiculous little island from valley to valley in a day on an unfamiliar mountain in late autumn with only one leader in the team...... No, we definitely were, but headtorches make a wonderful insurance policy when doing this kind of thing!

Should we have started to retreat from the route when the severity of the previous day’s accident became apparent? Probably, as these things sometimes impair your judgement. It’s best to take a step back and think what a climber you respect would tell you to do as you can often predict the advice which they would give you.

With solid rock, easier route finding and more easily placed gear we may well have made it down in time to get food in the pub, or at least not miss last orders. This said, I think I’ll remember this for far longer than the pub grub I’d have got had everything gone to plan.

The point of this is not to put people off climbing or to glorify climbing loose, chossy rubbish with naff gear by headtorch, but to remind them that climbing is a dangerous activity which occasionally will bite back. Most, if not all, the older generation of climbers seem to have lost friends in the mountains, and over the last couple of years I’ve witnessed several serious accidents and dealt with the casualties.

Yet still the crags, mountains and sea cliffs draw me back because of the wonderful ridiculous people they bring me into contact with. That’s more than enough of me suggesting that you do as I say rather than as I do, perhaps I should take a bit of my own advice in future and remember that the mountain will be there another 63

day.

Thank you to the many people in the club who have trusted me with their safety and who have made me feel able to trust them with mine, without that trust it would simply not be possible to have the glorious adventures which we have.

(Editor’s note: the line now taken by Long Climb took several attempts by Bell and friends to finally straighten out. A whole chapter is devoted to the exploration in Bell’s book ‘Bell’s Scottish Climbs’ and is well described in Ken Crocket & Simon Richardson’s ‘Ben Nevis. Britain’s Highest Mountain’, as it was something of a ‘last great problem’ of its era. ‘ Apparently Wilson suggested the name ‘The Fall of Paris’ for the final, direct version – unbeknownst to him, the army of the Third Reich had entered Paris the very day of the first complete ascent, June 14th 1940! In the end Bell, not given to fancy names, plumped for ‘Long Climb’.)

Jim and Mrs Bell on ‘the great slab’ an early attempt on what was to become ‘The Long Climb’ (photo by J.E.McEwen, taken from Bell’s book)

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Bolts, Goats and Honey Balls - Kalymnos 2016 Paul Quin

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n a selfless attempt to boost the ailing Greek economy, a team made up of mainly NMC members, with a Climbers Club member and a couple of other friends, descended on the Island of Kalymnos near to the end of September for 8 days of fun in the sun.

Graham Williams (appointed as meet leader by popular demand) was joined by NMC members Mike Frost, Carolyn Horrocks, Nick Steen, Trevor Langhorne, myself and Howard Adamson. Also having fun were Tony Sawyer (CC), Richard Hardwick and Goats soloing a 5c+ Clare Morley.

For some unaccountable reason Pete Flegg and his partner Liz left as the group arrived!

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In the best traditions of the 1960s Mods, scooters were hired to propel the team to various shaded crags in the morning and yet other shaded crags in the afternoon. The exceptions were Carolyn and Mike, who in a laudable attempt to save the planet, hired bikes and pedalled around in the sweltering heat!

Investigations revealed that Carolyn was carrying a sack twice as heavy as Mike’s as he’d skilfully invested in a rope bag that, he claimed, would only take the rope!

The highlight of the trip was perhaps the day spent climbing on the small neighbouring Island of Telendos. Mr Theofilis’ ‘Taxi Boat’ drops people off on the rocky shore, somewhat precariously, near to Sector Irox and Graham Williams on Sector North Cape people spent the day climbing at Irox, Pescatore and Militadis. The team then gathered at the ‘On The Rocks’ Taverna on the eastern side of the island for swimming and an evening meal before being ferried back to Kalymnos by the Taverna owner in his boat. In a typical act of Greek generosity he refused any payment.

Sector Spartacus 66

Apart from the obvious hazards of sport climbing on Telendos, one also has to deal with the very persistent goats who have clearly learned that climbers are a soft touch when it comes to spare sandwiches.

Not every day was action-packed and some lounging about in cafes was observed, as was some swimming in the wonderful sea. Nick Steen even tried the sea level traverse route at Rina named ‘Socrates’ Swimming Lesson’ and had his own swimming lesson during the Honey Balls traverse!

Each evening a restaurant was chosen for a communal meal which was invariably topped-off by large plates of complimentary ‘Honey Balls’.

My observation as a first-timer on the island is that Kalymnos really is a sport climbing ‘paradise’. The rock is clean and sharp and the work that has gone into the bolting is nothing short of miraculous. There’s climbing here for every grade with a huge variety of crags in some of the most beautiful settings you’ll find anywhere. On the whole the bolting is very ‘friendly’ and despite the fact that the rock is limestone there’s very little sign of polish and the friction is remarkably good.

There’s walking, too in the high, central part of the island and along the coastline (the Kalymnos Trail is a 100km, ten section path established a couple of years ago*) and excellent multi-pitch sport routes, for example oin Telendos, for those who want a longer expedition. Accommodation is very reasonable as is scooter hire, food and eating out and best of all the sun shines every day!

Kalymnos is a low cost, super, fun venue where climbing has been embraced by 67

the Greek people and the Local Authorities. When the whole of Greece is clearly struggling, the presence of so many climbers from around the World must come as a very welcome addition to the local economy on Kalymnos. Long may it continue. (*Editor’s note: The Kalymnos Trail – A 2nd edition of the guide to this 100km multi-day trail, written by Carl Dawson, is due in the not-too-distant future and is a sound investment for anyone visiting the island. The trail is currently described in 10 sections, each taking a day.....)

Telendos

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A Day Out On The Needle Felix Larrieu

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espite thinking the trad season was over, Craig H’s joyful appeal for a day out in the Lakes was too tempting to refuse. Nape’s Needle? My limited knowledge of the Lakes didn’t give much away about this climb. As ever, the team was completed

by Robin S, always keen for a day out.

While gathering information about the climb, alarming testimonies popped up here and there ‘I don’t think I’d fancy that top slab in the wet’, ‘Pretty terrifying to reverse’, ‘Very character building’, all of this from our very experienced NMC members, John Dal, Ian B and Tim Approaching the Lakes H. More information gathered from the web reflected this same spirit, with the ‘out of the hat’ solution to get back safely from what is just tagged as a Hard Severe – ropes somehow looped around the top to act as a belay.

Still keen, through collective motivation, we set off early towards the Lakes and along a grey, foggy, damp road. However, we were gifted with a very fine landscape on the way and, thankfully, a clearing sky as we approached our destination.

The walk is, as usual for the Lakes, outstanding and worth the journey in itself. It is so enjoyable that we decided to extend it under the lead of Robin. We leave the path to cut through the hill a bit too early, forcing us to walk through the field and streams before hitting the same path again.

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Top left: ‘Are you sure it’s this way Robin?’

Middle left: Robin wedged in the Wasdale Crack Bottom left: Robin listening to Craig’s blether Below: A few seconds before noticing the top rope is pulling one of the pieces out

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As we’re getting closer to the Needle, a very fine drizzle has appeared. This didn’t seem too bad until the thought of reversing down the polished slab kicks in. As we arrive at the Needle, the atmosphere is damp and a party is starting Needle Ridge (VDiff). We take this opportunity to have lunch and the overall spirit is oscillating between ‘I’m not doing it if it’s wet’, ‘That is very scary’ and ‘I’m not sure I want to do this.’

This situation is when all teams need a Robin, who silently sets off to lead the first pitch. Craig is belaying and we’re both raising our heads towards Robin while shivering slightly with the cold.

Robin first takes on the ‘Wasdale Crack’ until he shouts something along the lines of ‘That’s horrible and damp’. He’s then reversing the first few moves and traverses to the ‘Arete’ route; it’s still drizzling on and off.

As Robin confirms it’s also damp on the ‘Arete’, Craig looks at me and whispers ‘I don’t wanna go.’

While we’re starting to comfort ourselves into the state of mind of ‘defeated by the elements’, removing all commitment to climb, we both hear ‘Oh, it’s dry Faff on the belay ledge, all under control! on this side!’ I ask Craig if that was Robin’s voice doppelgänger – a member of the Needle Ridge team – but Craig confirms that it was our Robin. Back to the scary feeling. Craig is now on the ‘Arete’, following. I’m starting to dry my feet – I walked into various streams on the approach – and to put my shoes on.

Off I go, along the slanting crack, losing feeling in my toes and fingers hold after hold. It’s cold!

I finally arrive at the belay platform, the spirit has now changed, we’re here, let’s climb this! Craig is racked up and starts the traverse around the north face, Robin is belaying, I try to get some pictures, sat on the edge. Craig is now at the end of the traverse and begins his way up. A few moves, the last heel over and there he stands! We can actually only see his head but we believe he’s proudly standing up, especially as the girls on the ridge stopped to witness this. We don’t wait much longer to observe his display. ‘Hey sorry, can you take a picture of me?’ ‘Do

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you have a number to send me the pictures?’ …’Ok, an email is fine also.’

It’s now time to reverse. Craig decides to leave the top nut in to provide a top-rope and reverses all the way down to the platform. “That was so good! Felix go on, you can’t fall on this! Can you also check the nut when you’re there? I think it’s good but I placed it blindly”.

It’s me now! The idea is to top out individually rather than bringing everyone up. The climb is now a mix between leading on one strand while having a top rope on the second, all on the same rope. I don’t need more to mess up! As I nearly complete the traverse, we realise that I clipped one of the pieces of pro with the wrong The final abseil strand of rope, which is pulling it out.

I reverse back to unclip the culprit and return to complete the traverse.

Although it’s full of jugs, I somehow managed to miss the thin crack for my feet, and without them, it becomes very strenuous, let’s go up! The next move to stand on the handrail is balancy but very interesting. The following step requires you to partially use holds around the corner with a high foot to top out. What a great feeling to be on top! After a couple of large smiles, it is time to reverse.

The nut! Yes it’s bomber, thank you Craig.

Reversing tends to be a tricky affair. It is actually quite committing but not very difficult. However, the top-rope system makes it erratic. As there is no line of sight between me and Robin, Craig as the middle man makes the connection: ‘A bit more slack’...’Take a bit more on the other strand’.....’No, the other one!!!” A bit cumbersome but once down again on the traverse, the last few moves go well.

It is finally Robin’s turn to go on the Needle. His ascent goes smoothly, we are now better at communicating between the belay and the climbing. Before going down and stripping off the gear, Robin loops the rope on one strand to keep a top rope while removing the top piece. He’s back, we’re all made it, now is time to make our way down! First step, sorting out the belay. Yes, let’s talk about the belay.

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During my short experience of trad climbing, it’s never been so casual. I think we felt so safe on this platform – it is quite comfy! – that the belay was a mess. We removed and replaced one of the main pieces several times and had to untangle the rope another few. However we all abseiled safely down from the abseil station.

The more attentive reader will notice that this doesn’t fit the description of the original route and for sure, while we flagged up the fact that “that seems to be climbable”, pointing at the original route, we climbed the second pitch of the ‘Obverse Route’ (MVS, 4b). I think we all agreed we can still claim the climb and, honest, it wasn’t that scary!

Craig celebrating the top-out

A BIT OF HISTORY Napes Needle was first climbed in June 1886 by Walter Parry ‘W.P.’ Haskett-Smith, solo and without the encumbrance of ‘artificial aids’ such as a rope! This ascent is often cited as the birth of British rock climbing (as distinct from mountaineering).

This is how Haskett-Smith described the first ascent: ‘... the Needle itself had an attractive look about it. The main trouble lay in the cracks and crevices which were tightly packed with small stones flush with the surface of the slabs and thatched with slippery grass. The prospect from the shoulder was not encouraging.

The Lingmell face of the top block was covered with a brown brittle lichen, which concealed whatever holds there might be, and if the top of the block were rounded, things looked hopeless. The only test of this was to throw up a stone and, if it stayed there, it would be a proof that the top was fairly flat. Diligent search revealed only two stones on the shoulder, one the size of a snuffbox the other nearly as big as a brick. The little one bounded off and was lost; but the big one behaved better and encouraged me to follow it. There was no means of recording my visit except a small boss near 73

the North edge of the stone round which my handkerchief was tied with my brick on top of it to keep it from being blown away.

In the descent hanging by the hands from the top and feeling with the toes for the protruberance provided an anxious moment, but the rest went easily enough, though it must be confessed that it was an undoubted satisfaction to stand once more on solid ground below and look up at my handkerchief fluttering in the breeze.’

(Taken from an article by Edward Pyatt in the Climbers’ Club Journal of 1955: http://www.climbers-club.co.uk/journal/original/1955%20Journal-p41-49.pdf)

Photos from the Abraham Brothers’ collection

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BALANCING PLEASURE & PAIN A Postscript…

John Vaughan

N

ow where was I? Ah yes:

‘The pain is much less than it was but it’s still there, sometimes quite strong but mainly just dull and achy, although it still hurts to get that whisky bottle down off the shelf. I’m still doing the stretches and exercises, although inevitably not as conscientiously as I should. I’m still hesitant about certain types of climbing that involve high crimps and side-pulls or 90 degree lock-offs. I’m still drawn into overdoing it every so often on the wall and regretting my lack of self-control. But at least I’m ‘back in the game’, even if there are limitations on my ability and ambition.’

That was a year ago now (County Climber, Winter 2016), although it seems longer.

Slowly but surely, under careful management, a reasonable degree of self-imposed restraint on the wall and periodic supervision by my physiotherapist, my rotator cuff impingement settled down, the pain began to fade and my climbing technique started to evolve to accommodate the residual degeneration. A late spring sport climbing trip to Mallorca was planned. All was going well…

Until, that is, my wife was knocked off her bike (by a fellow cyclist), fracturing her elbow and pelvis. After a week in hospital and the addition of some internal metalwork, she was sentenced to 12 weeks confinement in a wheelchair while the bones mended and a further 3 months of rehabilitative physiotherapy. Mallorca was put on hold and my consequential care responsibilities reduced climbing and other exercise to sporadic one-hour wall sessions and the occasional short but brisk bike ride…

This enforced reduction in physical activity had the beneficial effect of speeding up the shoulder recovery process. Things went well and as I recovered my strength my grades went up and I began to move back onto some of the longer, steeper routes at Sunderland. I felt good and any concerns about re-aggravating the shoulder began to slowly recede…

Foolish boy!!!

I was on the stepped 23m panel at Sunderland about to pull onto the impending 75

upper slab. Having cruised the lower section on reasonable crimps, the remaining holds were now positive jugs. Shaking out, I moved up and left, made a crossover onto a large pinch and swung up and further left for a deep pocket. The pain was sudden and sharp, accompanied by the feeling of something slipping out of alignment on the front of my shoulder joint. By then I was hanging from my good arm only a few moves from the loweroff, so I shook out again and pushed on to finish the route.

By the top my right shoulder and upper arm had developed a sharp and persistent ache as I was lowered back to the ground. Convinced I’d re-aggravated the earlier injury I declared my session over but agreed to top-rope one of the guys who wanted to try the same route before we packed in. At that point I discovered that even the simple act of pulling the rope through a Grigri was extremely painful - I’d clearly done some significant damage…

The pain, starting in my shoulder and running down my upper arm, was severe, preventing me from lifting anything with my right arm and accompanied by a series of dark bruises down the line of the bicep muscle. Back to the physio, or rather two physios, for two slightly conflicting diagnoses that I’d partially torn either my biceps long head tendon, which attaches the bicep muscle over the top of the humerus onto the scapula, or my subscapularis, which attaches the shoulder blade to the front side of the humerus. Either way it was a significant injury which meant another break in training and began to cast a faint shadow over a planned summer climbing trip to the High Sierra…

So back to more rest, ibuprofen, shoulder stretches and Theraband exercises until the pain subsided and I was allowed back on the wall. Initial sessions were short and low-grade but confidence grew as the pain subsided, although the shoulder still felt unstable and my climbing style became significantly less dynamic…

Then one evening, after the pain had faded to a dull background ache, I was 76

tempted onto The Barrel at Sunderland. An easy route, steep but on big juggy holds. It still felt hard but I was pleased to get to the top with no more than a dull ache in the shoulder. Back on the ground I looked at my arm. It looked odd and slightly alarming - my bicep was visibly bunched up in what I now know is nicknamed ‘Popeye Syndrome’. The steep, hard moves had clearly completed the earlier damage by fully rupturing the long head of biceps tendon at its upper end, allowing a partial retraction of the muscle away from the shoulder towards my elbow…

Medical opinion favoured a strategy of rest, recovery and rehabilitation rather than more drastic surgical intervention.

Apparently if I’d been a young, world-class competition climber they might have operated, re-anchored the torn tendons and put me through an intensive rehab programme. But as I was just an ageing leisure climber I didn’t merit quite the same level of attention. Even my GP recommended on no account should I let an orthopaedic surgeon anywhere near my ‘Popeye Syndrome’ (photo: Vaughan collection) shoulder as at my age the outcome was likely to be at least a year of post-operative inactivity while the healing process ran its course…

Strangely enough, with the completion of the tear, the residual pain has almost entirely disappeared and the shoulder components have begun to reconfigure themselves to compensate. The most favourable prognosis is that with an appropriate rehab regime the injury, while it would never completely heal, would gradually settle down and the shoulder would adjust to the damage, leaving me with a possible 10-20% loss of power…

With the physio’s approval I was able to keep my appointment with the High Sierra and enjoy three weeks of immaculate and absorbing alpine-style granite climbing 77

with only a couple of painful interludes involving some awkward and strenuous hand-jamming. More recently sport climbing at Leonidio in the Peloponnese also produced only a couple of minor twinges…

Improvement has continued as the shoulder settles down although with some detectable loss of power. There are still some types of movement and some positions it doesn’t really like but it no longer hurts getting that whisky bottle down. Confidence has improved and I suspect I’m now back in the danger zone struggling to keep an old and rather worn-out body on the rock at the grade I’ve become accustomed to without crossing that tenuous line that separates pleasure from pain. Winter is just around the corner and I haven’t yet tested how the shoulder will cope with throwing the axes - let’s hope it works OK!!!

(For further information about shoulder problems see: https://www.shoulderdoc. co.uk/article/725)

Mr Vaughan experiencing only minor twinges at Skiadhianiko, Leonidio, Greece (photo: John Spencer)

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Muriel and Joan As told to John Spencer

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here’s something special about climbing partnerships that goes beyond ‘mere’ friendship. They can be some of the most enduring relationships in a person’s life, often lasting well beyond the time the participants, for whatever reason, actually stop hitting the crags. There are a number of possible reasons for this: the mutual trust and dependence, especially when the chips are down and an epic ensues; the craic, the laughter, even the arguments; and if nothing else, the simple joy of shared experiences in special places.

Nonetheless, when Joan Edwards, newly arrived on Tyneside, was placed opposite Muriel Thorpe in the tracers’ office at VickersArmstrong in 1942 neither would have imagined the friendship they struck up would be still going strong over 70 years later, long after both of them ‘We sat in fron of the fire...’ Muriel on the left gave up climbing.

Earlier this year I had the great pleasure of spending a couple of afternoons in conversation with these two remarkable nonagenarians, both founder members of the NMC. We sat in front of the fire in the front room of Joan’s rambling house in Forest Hall and over the course of an afternoon the old pals reminisced. Muriel had brought an envelope of photos and Joan dug some out as well. We drank tea and ate smoked salmon sandwiches and Battenberg cake and the stories rolled out, some of them sparked by the photos, interspersed with much chuckling and scurrilous reflection, and the odd disagreement (‘That was so-and-so at X’......’No it wasn’t, it was what’s-his name at Y’). We not only talked about the old times, but also (or

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so my notes tell me) about climbing on gritstone, jamming, falling, or rather notfalling, soloing (both of them disapproved), how today’s climber ‘starts out’ (e.g. climbing on an indoor wall, going on a course, and so on - quizzical eyebrows were raised), bouldering mats, chalk (Muriel had used it), grading....and much more.

There was so much more to tell and to hear and we agreed we’d do it again. Sadly this was not to be. Joan succumbed in May to the cancer from which she’d been suffering for a while. However I have managed to take afternoon tea with Muriel on a few occasions over the summer and autumn and have filled in some of the gaps.

There is an obituary for Joan on page 96.

Joan’s family was from the North East but she was born in Liverpool and brought up in Birmingham where she enjoyed hiking and cycling but not (as yet) any climbing.

Muriel, born and bred in the west end of Newcastle, loved shinning up trees as a young girl - she and her pals left notes for future ascentionists in some of them - and admits to getting a bit of a thrill from the potential danger.

Muriel and Hermann in Grindelwald

Thus primed she had her interest in climbing and mountaineering sparked on a family holiday to Switzerland in the summer of 1938.

Grindelwald was a sleepy little village in those days, and with trouble brewing in Europe there were few tourists around.

One day she and her sister Frieda went for a walk up a gorge. There they met a handsome young Austrian guide, Hermann Steuri, quite well known as they later discovered, and part of a ‘dynasty’ of guides headed by his father Fritz. Since he had no clients at the time (and perhaps fancied his chances!) he was easily persuaded to take them climbing, which he did over the course of the next few days. He was even going to take them onto a glacier on their last day but a change in weather unfortunately prevented that.

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Hermann Stueri

Hermann Stueri Muriel

returned to Tyneside as keen as mustard. Unfortunately she couldn’t find anyone to climb with for a couple of years, until she bumped into Arthur Edmonson at Once Brewed Youth Hostel. Also known as ‘Preston’ (because that’s where he came from!), he was to become a founder member of the NMC, and for a while they climbed together at the thenpopular venues, mainly Crag Lough, Great Wanney and Simonside - Bowden Doors, Kyloe, Corby’s and most other familiar contemporary County venues were yet to be discovered and/or developed. Meanwhile Frieda never really got into climbing although she remained a keen walker until she joined the Land Army in the Second World War. Joan’s arrival in the tracers’ office was fortuitous. She and Muriel started youth hostelling and hiking together, often joined by Frieda, and this inevitably led to them climbing together. They joined other climbers from Durham University King’s College Club (note: King’s College became Newcastle University in 1963) at the popular venues. They initially climbed without a Muriel (right) and Joan outside Blacksail Youth Hostel 81

guidebook, relying instead on word-of-mouth. Loose rock and vegetation meant that a spot of gardening on the lead was the norm. They even climbed at Crag Point (1) and lived to tell the tale!

There were also occasional forays to venues such as Brimham Rocks.

Around this time, the Northumbrian Mountaineering Club was formed in the wake of two accidents at Crag Lough. However it was disbanded almost immediately as most of the men left to join the Forces to do their bit for King and country in WWII. Climbing apparel comprised corduroy trousers, an old sweater, a cutdown raincoat, and perhaps a cycle cape when it rained. Footwear was nailed boots, and plimsolls for rock climbing. They owned a (hemp) rope but initially had no other gear, not even a sling, their sole means of Climbing on Great Wanney protection being to drape the rope over a spike or flake as they progressed. The dictum ‘the leader must not fall’ was never more apt!

Few people owned a car so there was no mid-week climbing and transport to the crags was by bike, bus or hitchhiking. The preferred accommodation was a youth hostel, but a barn or railway station waiting room or even bivvying out did the trick when necessary.

As is still the case today there was much more to their activities than simply the climbing, with a huge social dimension.

On top of Great Wanney - Joan 2nd left back row, Muriel 2nd left middle row 82

Companionship was the quintessential element.

There were few female climbers ‘on the scene’ at that time, even fewer after the start of the war as able-bodied young men went off to meet their fate. However, despite the male dominance they felt they were always treated with respect and treated as equals. Having said that, on one occasion a (male) wag filled the bottom of Joan’s rucksack with rocks to see how she would cope with the extra load on the walk back from the crag– she coped!

When the opportunity arose they climbed further afield. A Bank Holiday weekend in the Lakes might involve cycling to Once Brewed on a Saturday afternoon (they worked on Saturday mornings), an overnight stay in the youth hostel, or later at ‘Antic Hay’ the first Club hut (which belonged to Basil Butcher) near Winshields farm, then cycling on and (hopefully) climbing the next day.

The journey home on the Monday was usually completed in one push.

Later on they started to hitch-hike. They climbed on Great Gable (ticking off Napes Needle, of course), in Langdale and in Borrowdale, although climbing in the latter was Muriel leading on Window Buttress, Skye, 1945 not so well developed in those days.

In 1944 they hitchhiked to Wales in the summer holidays, managing to get a lift on an American military convoy. From time to time they had duck down and hide as they passed through checkpoints, and when they arrived at their destination they went away with a bagful of luxury items such as chocolate and tins of soup (remember this was a time of rationing). Most of their climbing was in the Ogwen Valley - they climbed on Tryfan and Idwal Slabs – but they also did the Snowdon 83

Horseshoe.

The following summer they went north and hitched to Skye where they tackled some big mountaineering routes and sections of the Cuillin Ridge, although they decided against an attempt on the Inaccessible Pinnacle; they had no guide so didn’t know where the route went, they had no gear other than a rope, and they had never abseiled...fair enough! During their visit they only saw two other climbers on the Ridge, but also met a photographer who was probably W.A. Poucher, the mountain photographer (2).

Meanwhile, the NMC was re-formed in 1945 when people started to return to the crags at the end of the war. There were 29 foundation members - Joan and Muriel were two of them - and the first official meet, at Crag Lough, was on June 23rd. The traditional venues remained popular but other venues were developed, such as the Henhole crags, and Joan was involved in some of the new routing being pioneered

by Basil Butcher and Keith Gregory.

She also did some of the drawings for the first Northumberland guide, which appeared in 1950, covering Crag Lough, Simonside and Great Wanney.

Muriel married a Yorkshireman. She had seen his photograph in a magazine and wrote him a letter in his capacity as a guide. To her surprise he appeared at the family’s front door out of the blue when he was stationed near Newcastle. They eventually went climbing, but romance followed later.

After marrying they moved to Keswick in 1946, where he worked as a teacher, and in due course had two sons. They climbed together a little bit, although there was some rivalry in the partnership, but Muriel eventually stopped climbing because of the demands of raising the children. However she was very involved in the early days of the Keswick (originally Borrowdale) Mountain Rescue Team founded in 1946 by the famous Colonel Westmorland following a bad accident on Great Gable (3). Living in Keswick raising two boys on her own was a challenging period for Muriel, and she is

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Above: Keswick MRT at Kern Knotts - Colonel ‘Rusty’ Westmorland far left, Muriel in the middle Left: Muriel as guinea pig Below: Muriel, April 1948

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grateful for the support of family and friends.

Joan, still living in the North East, continued to climb, and as soon foreign travel became possible again after the war, she and her friends’ horizons broadened. She met her husband Joan with Frank at the top of Black Adams Corner (Diff) after John through a the FA, May 1947 shared interest in the mountains, and they climbed together both at home, rock climbing, walking and even indulging in a little winter climbing, and in the Alps. As her daughter Angela writes in her obituary, they made an unsuccessful attempt on the Matterhorn, but did manage to climb Monte Rosa, albeit having a narrow escape when one of the party fell. Joan also took up skiing, initially in the Cheviots.

Eventually she gave up climbing, citing the occasion (described in her obituary) when she and John climbed at Crag Lough and left their baby daughter in the carry-cot at the bottom of the crag as the moment it dawned on her that this was not necessarily a good idea (!). They gave up climbing as partners and not long afterwards she stopped altogether. She never climbed again but continued a very active life with her family in the ‘great outdoors’, in which camping and hill-walking featured prominently. Unsurprisingly at least two of her children went on to take up climbing themselves. John died in 1992.

Meanwhile Muriel moved back to Tyneside in her mid-50s, and went to work as a drawer at Tyne and

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Joan in Cust’s Gully Great End, 1947 (note the alpenstock!)

Wear Metropolitan County Council where there was an active group of climbers and walkers, including John Vaughan, then working as a landscape architect. She bought some modern gear (a harness, some krabs and slings, a helmet, even some PA rock boots, which she still treasures) and started climbing again. She also did a bit of caving, descending around a dozen pots, which she didn’t enjoy as much as the climbing (because ‘you were always wet’), although she did enjoy the camaraderie. She gave up climbing altogether when she was 62, her last climb being on Idwal Slabs with John.

Joan’s daughter describes in her obituary how she continued to travel, including walking in the Cuillin on Skye in her 80s, undertaking a long-haul trip to Tahiti aged 90, and, despite some physical frailty, a holiday in Venice and the Dolomites aged 92, only a year or so before she died. Muriel’s travelling exploits featured in an article in a 1995 edition of the Club Newsletter, the precursor of County Climber, then edited Muriel at home, with two of her paintings

by Martin Cooper, describing her first bungee jump in New Zealand in her 70s. In the article she admitted to still liking ‘a spice of danger and adventure’; and, after the bungee jump ‘The adrenaline must have been working overtime as I was high for days afterwards’!

Throughout all their busy separate lives, although they really only climbed together for a few years, Muriel and Joan maintained their close almost sister-like friendship for over seven decades. Especially after Muriel had moved back to Tyneside, and with their respective children grown-up and independent, they spent a lot of time together, including holidays, one memorable trip being to Alaska. Joan’s daughter Angela wrote of Muriel: ‘She has been at family occasions all my life.....she is so close to the family that she said to Clare (Joan’s granddaughter) she would be an adopted Granny to her!’.

In terms of their climbing partnership, they considered it most impertinent of me

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to ask which of them was the better climber; they both insisted they had climbed at the same standard and usually alternated leads. In any case, the standard (grade) of any particular climb they tackled was not important, the satisfaction and enjoyment came from simply ‘being there’, and the camaraderie and friendship, although the thrill of a little bit of danger was part of the attraction aof climbing as well.

The afternoon finally came to an end, and we resolved to meet again to carry on the conversation. Alas this was not to be. Joan, who mentioned she was feeling a bit under the weather having just completed a course of radiotherapy, sadly died in May before we could arrange another get-together. She was buried in St Cuthbert’s Chapel, West Woodburn. A Northumbrian piper played after the burial; John Vaughan was able to attend the funeral on behalf of the NMC. Thus came to an end a remarkable friendship.

Muriel lives alone in a ground-floor flat, one of her sons living in the flat above. She gets out as much as she can, aided by a mobility scooter, and lately has also been attending a keep-fit class, recognising that the key to independence and (relative) health in old age is staying active. She took up painting in her seventies, taught and inspired by an artist called Kate Stenhouse, and several of her own paintings (and one by Kate) adorn her living room walls. However, at the moment she’s not doing any painting although she has several unfinished projects, and just needs some inspiration to get going again.

It’s hard to avoid clichés when reflecting on their friendship. Seventy years!

Muriel was of course sad to lose her dear friend, but at 94 is fatalistic about the fact that all good things come to an end, that’s life. Nonetheless, I dug around for an appropriate sentimentabout friendship and found this from P.G.Wodhouse, which I am unashamedly misquoting: ‘There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in adventure’ (he said ‘literature’)......

Editors’ notes (1) Crag Point is a crumbling sandstone sea cliff just south of Seaton Sluice described thus by the inimitable John Dalrymple on the northumberlandclimbing.co.uk website: ‘It is up to 18 metres high, so you could be forgiven for expecting it to be quite popular. However, the rock is soft and sandy, loose in places, much of the access is tidal, the landings are appalling, there is precious little protection and there are hardly any safe belays at the top for top-roping. In short the place is a death trap and NOT recommended. Indeed, it is so bad that seabirds won't nest on it.....Despite the awful nature of the place, this crag has had a history of climbing by students from Newcastle University. These hardy souls must have been early candidates for the Darwin Awards. In 1969 a comprehensive guide was produced by Steve Belk and G. Pickup. The development of this guide was done in

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true Northumbrian style with most of the routes led onsight, and must have produced some character forming moments. Since that time the crag has fallen out of favour

Crag Point - don’t bother.... and a lot of it has fallen into the sea.’ See: http://northumberlandclimbing.co.uk/index. php?v=4&s=3&sid=11&id=20&sid=11 Twenty eight routes were described in the 1979 (‘Trouser Legs’) guide in which the crag was given its own chapter. By the time of the 1989 (‘Poseidon Adventure’) guide this had been downgraded to a paragraph, and in the current (2004) guide to a couple of sentences. It is a dangerous place, indeed a night angler died there a few years ago when a section of the cliff collapsed.

(2) WA ‘Walter’ Poucher was one of the leading British mountain photographers and guidebook writers in the period during and following World War II, and well into the sixties. In his pocket guides to mountain walking he pioneered the use of ‘topo’ photographs (usually black and white), providing route instructions, the routes clearly marked in white, as well as advice on navigation, equipment, weather and so on. On the basis of the guides’ success, apparently, Poucher encouraged Constable, his publishers, to produce selected rock-climbing guides, in a similar photographic format, paving the way for Rockfax! Poucher died in 1988 aged 97.

(3) Westmorland’s full name and title was Lieutenant Colonel Horace ‘Rusty’ Westmorland and he was awarded the OBE for services to mountain rescue. A particular view from Great Gable, thought by him to be the finest, was marked by a cairn, now known as ‘Westmorland’s Cairn’. His ashes were placed there.

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“Where are you heading for today?” I asked.

“We are walking to the Neue Regensburger Hutte. And you? You are leaving, I think?” He paused. “No, I am sorry. Too early in the morning for that joke”, he said, laughing at me.

It was early September and the Dutch guy sitting opposite thought it was very funny that we were leaving. It was ten weeks after the EU Referendum Vote and we had spent more than a week amongst Austrian, German, Dutch and Belgian mountaineers. Jeff and I didn’t think it was funny at all that we were leaving. We were climbing the Rinnenspitze.

I will admit straight away to sentimental bias. I lived in Austria for a year when I was eighteen, met my wife there and have returned as often as possible. I have climbed individual Austrian mountains and have driven the Grossglockner Hoch Alpine Strasse, with forty two hairpin bends. However I had never attempted a high level hut-to-hut walk before. On August 31st Jeff and I set off to walk the Stubaier Hohenweg in the Tyrol, a 75km walk taking eight to nine days and ascending and descending approximately 5,000metres. It was a wonderful experience, but not without its moments. Discussions about Britain’s place in Europe were mostly open and constructive. We had feared the worst, felt embarrassed even. We had both voted to remain. Travelling in Europe was painful. We did not complete all of the Hohenweg but we did make it to the summit of the Rinnenspitze, a steep 3,000 metre peak overlooking the Lusener Ferner Glacier with fantastic views across the Tyrol and beyond.

The full diary version of our trip will be available later. In the meantime, a few things I will remember about the trip. Being high in the Alps for eight days is an amazing experience, one of stunning and breathtaking beauty. Try it. However, close proximity to the glaciers day after day 90

The Stubai Hohenweg and an Ascent of the Rinnenspitze Martin Cooper

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brings home the enormity of what we have done to our planet’s natural environment through climate change. Some of the glaciers we passed will not be there much longer. Whether this is entirely for bad or good may be debated. What you cannot miss is the scoured rock from which the ice has recently retreated.

My map fell apart but Tribuaun Gruppe from Innsbruck Hut

it was hardly needed.

Although the paths are occasionally faint, red and white paint marks the way throughout, alongside posts with yellow signs, just one indication of the level of organisation in the Austrian Alps. The huts, run by the OAV and the DAV, are clean, friendly, extremely well organised, historically interesting and are, with the exception of the Bremer Hut, a delight. The Bremer Hut was crowded and far too hot at night.

You need to carry little, not a sleeping bag, as I discovered. The food was excellent and good value for the money.

Our favourite hut was the Franz Senn Hut, the top floor of which, Jeff observed, was like the mighty wooden deck of an enormous

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Leaving the Bremer Hut

sailing ship. I’m not exactly sure what was in Jeff’s Apfel Strudel that evening.

The route of the Hohenweg is a devious path, staying well above 2,000 metres and linking a series of valleys around the head of the Stubaital, each day crossing one or more high passes, before plunging steeply into a Hochalm where sheep were to be found, alongside incessant, gushing Alpine streams and stunning blue green glacial lakes. On the one day when the cloud dropped, we felt like we were descending into enormous Scottish corries. We weren’t. Steep rocky sections requiring scrambling were equipped with cables and iron rungs, not all of which we needed. We encountered little or no damp rock. The sun shone from a brilliant

Towrds Schrankogel - a long way to go blue sky. Not Scotland.

After four days we had completed five sections and opted for a rest day. Next day, thwarted by low cloud, heavy rain falling as snow higher up, we descended to the valley. We had been forced to miss the high point in altitude of the Hohenweg, the Grawandubernieder (2,885m) and two days later, when settled weather returned, we no longer had enough days left to complete the route.

Now destined (perhaps) to no longer be members of the European Union, we considered that no Faragegovejohnsonmonster was ever going to take

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membership of the NMC from us, and so we would climb a mountain.

The Rinnenspitze required a long walk from the valley to the Franz Senn Hutte, from where a steep but easy ascent of the mountain was made. The last fifty metres called for some exposed scrambling and the cables and iron rungs were, for once, very welcome.

The view extended towards the Zillertal, with a faint glimpse of the Grosser Venediger, Austria’s second highest summit; a fitting end to ten days in the mountains.

Personally, I would recommend the Stubai Hohenweg as an easy way of staying high in the Alps, really getting a The Nurnburger Hut.jpg feel for the mountains, improving your fitness and avoiding the need to carry a big sack. We thought we would be able to comfortably do the whole walk and tick off a few peaks. We were wrong. You would need to be fitter or have more time.

On another occasion we would go with the intention of doing some higher peaks.

There are some excellent objectives from this valley, for example the Wilder Frieger or the Zuckerhutl. Other options include a good range of Klettersteig routes (i.e. via ferrata), accessible from the huts and sport climbing in stunning locations. Follow the signs to the Klettergarten.

The huts were busier than expected for September but there were next to no Brits. We met two Scottish guys who were almost literally running the route.

This makes for an interesting experience when meeting other mountain walkers. Here my observations are based on a very

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Apple juice isn’t this good in the UK

strong data set. Older Austrians say, “Gruss Gott”, younger Austrians say, “Gruss dich” or “Servus”. Germans say, “Hallo”. There are no Italians. Austrians meeting an old friend say everything, “Servus Johann, Gruss dich, Gruss Gott, hallo, wie geht’s n’ dann, gruss dich Gott.” (roughly translates as, “How y’ deein canny lad, d’ ye knaa Tommy Smith?”) If you happen to The author on the summit of Rinnenspitze meet a nice woman from Ireland who says “Hello”, don’t tell her the truth about how far to the next hut. When you tell her the truth she will have a real go at you, telling you how you will never be a successful motivational speaker at corporate conferences.

Funny that, I never wanted to be a motivational speaker. I do like walking in Austria.

Rinnensee from the Rinnenspitze 95

Obituary Joan Todd, nee Edwards, 1923 – 2016

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orn in Liverpool, the second of three girls, the family home at the time was in Birmingham. Her first memory was running in the garden of the new house (built for war veterans) and the grass tickling her legs, hence she was interested in the natural world from the beginning. She was educated at Birmingham Junior Art School as a teenager as her mother wanted to encourage her artistic talent. One of the teachers at the school drew a cartoon strip called ‘Jane’ which became well-known – Joan’s hair was the inspiration for the cartoon character’s!

She left school at 16 and worked in a dress shop, then for a curtain manufacturer, and finally as a tracer of Spitfires at Castle Bromwich Aerodrome factory. ON several occasions the air raid sirens were activated and the workforce ran to the shelters through a hail of fire from enemy aircraft, as naturally the factory was a target.

At this time her cousin was a pilot for the Royal Fleet Air Arm and landed Swordfish planes on an aircraft carrier. After one memorable occasion when the wire used to brake the plane snapped, and the plane was tipped up in the air, she used her sewing skills to make a mascot which they called ‘Griff the Gremlin’.

Griff went everywhere in the Swordfish and on the aircraft carrier and became a mascot to the ship, with his own number from the Admiralty and his own paybook. He became very important for morale for the entire ship, and survived the war.

In 1942, at the age of 18, the family relocated to the North East and lived in Whitley Bay. Joan went to Joan in October 1941 work in Vickers Armstrong as a tracer where she met Muriel Thorpe, and after working Saturday mornings often went away to the countryside for the rest of the weekend. She sometimes barely had enough money to pay for a night in a Youth Hostel and remembers often being given a penny by her friend’s grandfather so they could, for example, cycle to Wallington and stay in the bunkhouse there. Each weekend they would try to get away, sometimes to the Lakes, the Wanneys. Crag Lough, etc, by bicycle.

When finances permitted they took the bus to Thropton on a Saturday afternoon. From there they walked into the Cheviots, navigating by compass and moonlight. Occasionally they went on a longer trip, for example hitch-hiking one time to Inverness in a lorry, at a time during 96

At Loch Ossian - from left to right, Frieda and Muriel Thorpe, and Joan

the war when petrol was rationed and only service and military vehicles were supplied. They arrived in the middle of the night and were trying to get to Skye. A local let slip that the postman would be leaving in the middle of the night, driving through the Great Glen, and he kindly took them amongst the mail in the back of his van.

As soon as foreign travel was permitted, a few years after the end of the war, she went with a party of friends to the Alps to climb. The group attempted the Matterhorn, but after the Hornli Hut one of the party had such severe mountain sickness that they all had to descend. They did climb Monte Rosa, however, although they had to put into action the agreed plan of how they would cope if one of the party were to slip off the ridge – as they were all roped together they had to jump off alternate sides of the ridge to stop the entire party pulling each other off, one by one.

During the next few years Joan spent a lot of time climbing both in the UK and the Alps, and several close friends were killed in the mountains. Equipment was rudimentary by modern standards, and climbing often involved unexplored routes. She climbed in hob-nailed boots, the exact opposite

Joan on Donkey’s Ears (Hard Severe), Shepherd’s Crag

to modern climbing foot97

Above: Joan in the Cheviot hills Top right: Joan leading at Great Wanney Right: In the Cheviot hills Below: Joan and Muriel Thorpe outside Black Sail Youth Hostel

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wear. She was a founder member of the NMC before her marriage to John, also a climber (he climbed the Eiger around this time), with whom she camped in Chamonix on many occasions.

With another group of friends she started to ski in the Cheviots. There were no ski lifts, so this involved carrying heavy (wooden) skis up to a patch of snow in a corrie. Purpose-designed ski wear was several decades away, boots were made of inflexible leather and the bindings were leather straps. The group struck up a friendship with a local shepherd and his family in the College Valley and he lent them a barn in which they slept in the hay. During the severe winter of 1953 they skied to the farm with provisions for the family who had been cut off for some time. The cold was so severe that a bull died in a field from exposure and a lot of the sheep were lost.

The birth of her first child did not initially spell the end of these adventures.

Gillian was wrapped up and carried in a backpack (the first child carrier!) while the couple went skiing on Cheviot. On another memorable occasion Gillian was in a carrycot and left at the foot of the climb at Crag Lough. John was leading. Joan followed, and was halfway up the climb when the baby started to cry. Joan heard a walker stop and talk to this ‘abandoned baby’. After this episode she decided to modify her adventures and as the family grew – she At Crag Lough, Joan climbing with Charlie Gosman & Syd Walker. The top eventually had 4 children – she and block later fell off!

John concentrated more on hill-walking.

Each summer the family spent three weeks touring Europe in a VW camper van.

Most of the time was spent in such locations as the Alps, the Jura, the Dolomites and the Tyrol, in fact anywhere there were mountains. Climbing was impossible with a young family, but hill-walking was always a big part of the holiday. Unable to afford to stay in a hotel in Zermatt, the whole family camped out in a makeshift shelter so they could see the sun rise on the Matterhorn. Weekends back home

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Top left: Joan’s husband John climbing at Kern Knotts, Gable (note lack of protection) Top right: Outside the Solvay Hut, Matterhorn Above: ‘Loch Coruisk Dubhs Expedition, L-R Bill Robson, Frank, Joan, Butch (eating live mussels) ‘Keith Gregory and two King’s climbing club bods Right: Joan and John on the way to Monte Rosa, 1947

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were often spent in Northumberland or further afield, other holidays in the Lake District, in the Borders, Scotland or Wales, always camping or walking. For Joan it was always all about the mountains and the view from the summit.

When John retired they spent more time travelling further afield. After John died in 1992 Joan stayed in the family home and spent more time in her large garden. She continued to travel widely, to Alaska, Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, as well as Europe. Her last long haul trip to Tahiti was at the age of 90! She was always keen to travel and never said No to a holiday, visiting Venice and then the Dolomites when aged 92.

Her philosophy, which she certainly practised, of ‘You have to keep going’ meant she was independent in her own home to the end. The Grade 1 listed church at Corsenside, West Woodburn, adjacent to the Wanney Hills, is her final resting place.

It is a simple stone-built church dating from the time of St Cuthbert. A church was built at each of the places where the monks rested overnight when taking his body from Lindisfarne to Durham Cathedral, and this was one of the stops.

She is survived by one of her sisters, three of her four children, and 7 grandchildren.

Angela Montgomery

Birthday party (Muriel Sauer on the right)

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More on Basil Butcher ‘As Steve Blake says, Basil and his peers provided the shoulders for later climbers to stand on and, of course, he stood on the shoulders of others. Far from the early details of his climbing career being unknown as stated in his obituary in the Summer 2016 issue, Basil always paid tribute to Mike Roberts, who inspired his passion for climbing. Michael Roberts (19021948), the alpinist, earned his living in the 1930s as sixth-form master at the Royal Grammar School. A charismatic teacher, he introduced many boys to climbing, taking them to the Lake District and even to France. At the same time Roberts was earning a literary reputation as a poet, editor and critic, and encouraged his pupils’ interest in literature. Basil treasured his copies of Roberts’ Poems (1936) many of which refer to mountains, The Faber Book of Comic Verse, edited by Roberts (1942), and Mountain Holidays. (1946), written by Michael Roberts’ wife, the equally-talented Janet Adam Smith. Mountain Holidays described pre-war climbs she and Michael had done in Britain and abroad.

Michael Roberts used to take a party of about 12 boys from the RGS, including Basil, to camp and climb in Langdale, where they ate their evening meal at the Dungeon Ghyll inn. Basil continued visiting the Dungeon Ghyll where he enjoyed the company of climbers of an earlier generation, and climbed with some of them.

Among those Basil remembered were the alpinists Neville Finzi, an x-ray specialist whose hands were deformed by radiation, and Geoffrey Winthrop Young, who climbed with a tin leg, while other guests included Peter Scott (at that time he shot birds rather than conserving them), Professor CEM Joad (of radio Brains Trust fame), well-known as ‘an old goat’ who chased the girls haymaking with Basil on the landlord’s farm. As recently as 2014 Basil went to a lecture at the Lit & Phil by Durham academic Abbie Garrington on mountain literature, which featured his revered Michael Roberts.

By the way, I should also point out that Basil was born on 1 December 1920 (not 1921 as previously stated).

The photo of is club members with their skis. Immediately after the war they acquired army surplus skiing gear and many club members went skiing in Weardale etc. And of course, helped with the Relief of Allendale in winter 1946/7. In the photo Basil is in the car, though it was not his. I am not sure who the other members are.’

Margaret Maddison

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Mountain Leader Training at Plas y Brenin Clare White

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rying to make the most of being a student I applied for a subsidised place for Mountain Leader Training and in late August I turned up at Plas y Brenin. As the course started the next morning I made myself at home in the bar and flicked through several mountaineering books found on the shelves there.

Contour navigation practice

The next morning we met our instructors and introduced ourselves to each other, the group comprised predominantly teachers or D of E leaders. After a briefing of what the course entailed we were split into two groups of six for an afternoon of micro-navigation. Three of my group were D of E leaders who all worked together and within 10 mins I already felt I was behind - they were busy discussing

‘catching features’, ‘counting features’ and ’hand-railing’ - all buzzwords I was totally unaware of. However I needn't have worried, I found all my contours pretty easily and had a successful afternoon realising I knew more flora and fauna than I thought. After tea and homemade cake we spent the next couple of hours in the classroom interpreting synoptic charts and how this Campsite effects planning journeys.

After a huge dinner some of us watched a talk from one of the PYB instructors about her trip to Morocco - including Moroccan tea!

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Day two looked very wet and cloudy. This day was designed around a mountainous journey including some steep group. After a very wet walk-in with minimal visibility giving us some navigation practice and some unplanned river crossing practice we stopped at the bottom of Crib Lem - a classic Welsh Grade 1 scramble.

Apparently it was somewhere up above us in the clouds! A younger lad in our group had never heard of scrambling and thought the path up to the rock was the route. The route was great fun, we each took it in turns to be the ‘leader’ and guide the group up the route including route choice, spotting and helping other members over awkward steps. I was very much in my element! One of my group was very unsettled on this ground and needed a lot of support from the rest of us, another group member had sore knees - this meant we were two hours later back to PYB. Despite only being day two I had already earned a reputation for my apparently overenthusiastic bilberry foraging.

Day three was spent around the centre doing some very basic first aid (the instructors banned me from answering questions at this point!), improvised lifts and ropework within the ML boundaries. Out of the 12 there were only two of us that climbed, so naturally we found the overhand knots pretty simple. In the afternoon we practiced river crossing in PYB’s canoe river which for most was about knee height and for the rest of us well over knee height! Luckily the weather was boiling so it was an excuse for a swim. More tea and cakes then we were set a route planning exercise - I had to plot a route for a Bronze D of E group practice expedition and present this to the instructors the next day. I was the only person on the course to have never had any contact with D of E so was pretty blind, however they felt my plan was good and allowed remote observation, easily accessible checkpoints and plenty of escape routes. After more tea, cakes, dinner, pudding and a pint we headed for a winter climbing talk by one of the instructors in the ‘All roads lead to Scotland’ film.

Our group was now down to five as the man with sore knees could not continue. The next day we headed to a small rocky crag to practice rope work. The remit of ML is that a rope should be carried but not planned to be used. We practiced confidence roping walking up and down a steep slope with our eyes closed. We then protected a ‘client’ in ascent and descent before having to use a rope-only abseil to protect

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ourselves - classic abseils are painful but South African ones work surprisingly well! As a climber it is difficult to get your head round having to follow the ML remit when a sling, carabiner and Italian hitch would be so much easier than body belaying! However extra skills in the toolbox are always good. This evening we packed for our ‘expedition’. There was an assessment course on at the same time - the guys on this were panicking as they had been told for overnight expeditions their bag should be no more than 15kg, some had even gone to buy lighter kit.

Smugly my bag was 11.5 kg (thanks to using Phil’s kit!!).

And so the next morning with tent etc packed we set off, not due back until

Panoramic view from Snowdon summit, 8am! the next afternoon. The day was much the same as the other days, taking it in turns to navigate the group to a given point and the rest of the group having to locate where we were. We had a little scramble up to Moel Siabod and ate more bilberries. Crossing several bogs later, with only one person face-planting, we arrived at our campsite where we met the other six. Always nice to see you have the same tent as one of the instructors! This evening was night navigation. At about 8pm we set off for a lap of the nearby llyn. It was a fun few hours of wading through neck height bracken, multiple bogs and crossing many little streams - for the first time I think, ever, I had very wet feet with a day still to go. One rocky step was dubbed ‘night-time deep water soloing’ by the instructor and at least he got a laugh from me with the others not getting the reference. We successful got back about midnight and into sleeping bags. At this point I slightly regretted my light summer bag but a down coat later I was asleep.

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The next morning we set off for our trip over Glyder Fawr only to be walking back down to the road an hour later with a sore ankle - the same person who didn't like heights had his boot rubbing against his ankle and also dropped out.

We took him back to the centre, had a sneaky change into dry boots and set out for another afternoon of micro-navigation - now down to just four. More tea, more cake and then a debrief.

It’s a busy week, and a full week outside, but I was sad to go home to work in an office for the weekend - there is certainly some appeal to having the mountains as your office. The course was well structured, not as complex as I expected, and confidence-boosting. The instructors we had were approachable, knowledgeable and just nice people to spend time outside with. There was loads of opportunity for feedback and I was pleased mine was to crack on and get the assessment done! I hadn't initially planned to take the assessment but with the learning opportunities available it is something I am looking to book for next summer. Until then more mountain days to fill in the log book - if nothing else it’s an excellent excuse to get out more!

Lliwedd 106

Juggling Work and Play

I

Phil Behan

n between a job that works out around six working days a week and being in my bed there isn’t much time to enjoy life. Much of that time is taken answering messages from John asking me to do something for County Climber, but a decent amount of it is spent having fun. I’ve found over the past few years that it’s that little bit of time where my quality of life comes from. It’s really not much and I cherish making the most of it. John wants me to tell you how...

Make the most of every day I freely admit to being the least organised person in the world. To combat this I have a wall planner and have all the days I am/am not working are marked on it. The point is: I know when I’m off and can plan to use that time.

The Lakes I’m lucky enough to Camping in the Lakes have grown up in the Lakes. My parents live in the fells just outside Shap. Much of my childhood read like Swallows and Amazons: with dog in tow I’d disappear for hours at a time, ranging miles into neighbouring valleys, hunting unsuspecting insects, upsetting farmers and waving at jet fighters (they wave back). Nowadays if I only have the one day off I go home. It’s just about an hour to Penrith and if you know the roads you can be on the fells, crags and tops in less time than most Londoners’ commutes. That’s top notch climbing and walking a stones throw away so what’s the excuse not to go? The same goes for the North Pennines and The Cheviots.

Vary your playground Not all of us have a home in the Lakes. Even then going further afield or staying away for a couple of nights is tougher. It’s easy to get stuck in a rut and go to the same old places, but that doesn’t help you get out of bed. I actively look for new places to visit and stay: the spirit

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of adventure is a brilliant motivator. Glen Coe is only four hours away, but if you’re walking you could be in the Crianlarich or Loch Tay hills far sooner. I get easily bored of Glen Coe after a day now, so when I’m in the area I try to take a trip down Glen Etive or to Kinlochleven instead.

Don’t limit your thinking to the UK. When I was a student I used to spend a lot of time booking A morning above the clouds, Glencoe cheap flights and travelling for very little... Keep an eye on Ryanair, Easjet etc. I had eight trips to Italy one year and spent less than twenty quid on almost all my flights. Once you’re there do as you would in the UK, just with better weather.

Don’t be afraid to drive Okay so this isn’t so great for the planet, but if you’re going to get any distance then get used to being behind the wheel.

You can’t rely on lifts or force yourself on others all the time so even hiring a car, joining a car club, getting the bus or train is worth thinking about. If you’re aiming to get somewhere like Skye then break things up. Rather than wasting 8-9 hours in the car stop on the way to use the day and do a route or two in Glen Coe. Two four hour drives are much easier and you can have some fun. Take the road less trodden to avoid the traffic if you have the time and enjoy it. The Borders and Trossachs have great roads if you like driving... Try a new route to make the most of your time on the tarmac.

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Blame the ‘rents - Mum and Dad at Kendal Wall

Think outside the box I like staying in hostels and have a few favourites. Two are in the middle of nowhere. Glen Afric or the hostel at Loch Ossian are in truly wild locations. I try to do through-walks rather than circuits to kill the boredom. Occasionally dropping in a scramble or two on that boring walk makes the day worth it. Rarely I’ve set up a base camp and done day hikes from the tent. Some hills and routes are miles from

Selfie (with Clare) somewhere in the Lakes

the road so biking in makes them more viable for the day. An area you could try all of these ideas are the hills around Ben Alder.

Mix it up Climbing is great fun, but if it’s just you then bouldering can get a bit old pretty fast. Walking is the other side of the mountaineering coin so I do a lot of it. There’s no point climbing a route if you can’t navigate off the back of it or aren’t fit for the walk in. I can’t say scrambling solo is a great idea, but I feel safe weighing up the risks and taking on routes of varying technicality. Ski! There’s five decent sized resorts in Scotland and you can ski in pretty much any weather other than a whiteout, so rather than hiding in the hut get out! Walk to camp rather than camping to walk: the rise of the micro-adventure may seem a fad, but it gets you out of the house and is actually fun. As I mentioned earlier, getting on your bike also opens up new areas.

Accommodation Okay so we all know the basic options of tent, B&B and hostel, but you can change up all of these. If you’re on a budget or looking for adventure look for wild camping 109

spots. There are plenty of threads online about where to try. There’s also plenty of spots you can straight from your car! Airbnb has been a game changer and makes it really easy to find cool places to stay. It’s well worth a look next time you’re struggling for somewhere to.

Staying in a hostel can be an adventure in itself. Getting to Loch Ossian SYHA is not that easy: you either need to get the train into the middle of nowhere, walk or bike in. Another point on hostels is that I always have a copy of the Independent Hostel Guide in my car as it gives me the ability to change up my plans without internet. Don’t forget the humble bothy. I love bothies: they provide shelter and space in a way a tent never will. They often force you to meet new people and learn to share the outdoors. Most of all though they offer refuge in some awesome spots. One last little thing to consider is the humble hire van: done it and can vouch for it as brill.

Know the world you play in “Planning” seemed to dull a heading and didn’t quite get there. Preparedness is the essence of what I’m going for here.

I have a massive collection of guidebooks and maps that I use. The basic aim is that I can know exactly what I’m doing before I even leave the house. Just as importantly I keep a close eye on the weather forecast (including MWIS) and SAIS. That way I’m ready to go when I have the window of time and weather.

On Curved Ridge

Be flexible It seems obvious, but don’t put all your eggs in one basket. The weather in the UK is fickle and can really get in the way. Be ready to move on to another area and know what you’ll do. Likewise have a backup plan for a different activity in the same area. Most of all be ready to call it quits if you need to. The mountains will always be there another day.

For the most part a lot of how I get out a lot is just down to pigheadedness. I’m prepared to drive to Scotland for a day. I’m prepared to set off from the car in awful weather. I’m happy in a tent. I’m happy soloing easy mountain routes. Why? Because I love it. That’s how I really do it.

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Tim Hakim’s appeal

T

im Hakim, who is well known to many both in the Club, and in the wider climbing community writes:

‘When I was a child I saw a feature on John Craven’s Newsround, a children’s news programme in the 70s, about the North Face of the Eiger. This struck a chord with me and ever since I have wanted to climb it. Despite climbing and mountaineering for over 30 years in the UK, the Alps, Africa, North America and the Himalayas I have never yet managed to do so.

However, since being diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s disease in October 2013 I realised this would make a real challenge suitable for fundraising a significant amount to help find a cure.

For a long time climbing the North Face of the Eiger was considered impossibly hard but eventually it was climbed in 1938 by a team of talented and determined Austrian climbers, as described in Heinrich Harrer’s book The White Spider. Like climbing the Eiger’s North Face, finding a cure for Parkinson’s can also feel impossibly hard at times but with dedication and determination a cure will be found.

With your generous donation that cure will be sooner rather than later.

In preparation for the attempt, I’m doing pretty much the same training regime as I would for normal Scottish Eigerwand winter except that I have analysed (photo: Trek & Mountain magazine) where my weak spots are in relation to the Eiger climb and have incorporated some additional elements. So, on top of the usual training to increase CV capability (always a good thing Scottish winters anyway), I’ve been doing heel raises to increase my front pointing stamina; using the auto belays that the church to climb up and down on continuous laps

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to increase my upper body strength and stamina; and going dry tooling at Sunderland wall to increase my stamina, confidence and technique ready for the mixed climbing I’ll encounter on the route.

I’m also taking every opportunity to get out walking with a pack, even if it’s walking back from the supermarket with a pack full of groceries (and if you know Hexham, it’s very hilly, so this is good training).

Lastly, I plan on getting up to Scotland at least every fortnight between now and mid-March - conditions permitting!

So please visit my JustGiving page at https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/ParkinsonsNorthFaceClimb to help raise money to find a cure for Parkinson’s; a disease that affects 1 in 500 people of all ages, not just the old.

Thank you for your support. Tim’ Berghaus are one of Tim’s sponsors and he recently wrote this on their FB page: http://community.berghaus.com/your-adventures/taking-on-the-eiger-in-aid-ofparkinsons-uk/#.WFP_4guP0Do.facebook

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After an NMC T-Shirt?

We’re cooking something new for 2017 Stay tuned....

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“Chasing the Ephemeral” by Simon Richardson Review by Tim Hakim We’ve all done it: excited at the prospect of a winter weekend away, booked well in advance and financially committed, and made the long trek north, only to have a weekend of anything but ideal conditions. Dripping ice, thigh-deep powder or soggy turf have led to much flailing (and failing) on routes and ultimately a washout weekend only to get back home, log on the Internet and find, elsewhere in the country, winter routes were getting done in style and in condition.

Just in time for the new winter season comes Chasing the Ephemeral

by Simon Richardson. For those that don’t know him, Simon has been at the forefront of the Scottish winter scene for decades whilst holding down a responsible job working as a BP oil engineer based in Aberdeen.

As he himself notes in his book, with responsibilities of a high-powered job, wife and family he has been limited to only climbing on Sundays.

Despite this, he has had a remarkable winter career with a new routing success rate pretty much 2nd only to Andy Nisbet. This success he attributes to careful analysis of the weather forecasts, conditions and cunning planning. If you have ever had the privilege of tapping into Simon’s encyclopaedic brain on an iffy winter’s morning he will give you advice in spades about where to go and what to climb.

The book lays out his strategies, how to select your route then go and climb it with 50 routes given as illustrative examples. It is more than a selected guide, it’s a distillation of that Encyclopaedia Scotia tucked in his head. As winter climbers we are very fortunate that he has committed it to print.

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The introduction starts with the reasons for writing this book, a brief word on mountain conditions and styles of winter route, a section on how to use this book including a route suitability table categorising the route’s style and whether it’s likely to be in condition.

Unsurprisingly, there is a long section on strategy regarding choosing a route and weather forecasts. There’s an explanation of the difference between rime ice, hoar frost and verglas: which is a confusing topic for many people and is clearly explained. The pros and cons of using the Internet are spelt out - I liked the slightly tongue-in-cheek comment on the websites hosted by guides and mountaineering instructors that are ‘refreshingly upbeat, and typically provide an enthusiastic view Jim Rigg chasing the ephemeral in Deep Cut on the current conditions in the Chimney, Glencoe (IV,4) April 2013 local area.’ Simon makes some very good points about learning from other people’s experiences on the Internet. Even if you can’t get out that weekend, go through the process as if you were going to then compare your decision-making with the reports that are posted at the end of the weekend to see whether your choice of area or route was actually climbed by other people and what they reported they found.

Again, due to the emphasis of this book, there is generic advice around things such as ropes, gear, rucksack packing, avalanche etc. But as it modestly says in the introduction, for more detailed advice there are plenty of other books written by far more suitably qualified people than Simon. Where this book is particularly strong is in the tips and tricks to help speed things up, make things more slick and generally get the best out of the day.

The introduction also includes a long section on the layout, approaches and descents for Ben Nevis, paying particular attention to navigational hazards.

The rest of the book is split into 5 chapters, each focussing on a particular winter condition and outlining 10 or so routes that are suitable for that condition. The chapter starts with an introduction which gives an overview of the sort of routes 115

will come into condition in the prevailing conditions for that stage in the season and help with understanding Simon’s approach. Then onto each route in the section: starting with grade, location, altitude, aspect , rock type and 1st ascent details. There is also half a page of scene setting, either some history or personal anecdote that gives a bit of context to the climb. The featured route then continues with a description of the approach, descent, conditions, top tips, and route description. There is also a pull-out box listing alternative routes and the relevant guidebooks.

Each route section also has graphics with the obligatory map, photo topo and inspirational photograph. Some of the routes chosen aren’t obvious choices. For example, ‘Wobble Block Chimney’ on Stac An Fharaidh is not in the same class as ‘Orion Direct’ but the point is that Simon has climbed and enjoyed each of them. Either may be the best possible route climbable on the day taking account of the conditions prevailing. By taking a more flexible approach, Simon calls it ‘taking a more opportunistic approach’, you will have a far more productive Scottish winter climbing season than waiting for the perfect condition days. Unsurprisingly, the 50 chosen routes are scattered throughout the length and breadth of Scotland. However, certain areas are missing. Most notably, the mountains of Skye, the An Teallach massif and also the Torridonian area. As Simon puts it himself, ‘although other authors may have included a quartzite route on Ben Eighe in the Early Season Routes chapter, for example, I don’t feel I know the mountains there well enough to make an informed choice.’ The climbs vary from grade III to grade VI with a couple of low-in-the-grade VIIs to which to aspire.

Overall, the book is an inspiring read. The collection of photographs from many different contributors, both well-known and less well-known names, make for an excellent showcase for the Scottish Highlands - and the full range winter conditions.

It’s not just all blue skies and sunny days. The layout is logical and it’s easy to dip into. The book is suitable for all Scottish winter climbers, not just those who already have some seasons under their belt. Even people in their 1st winter season will learn masses and improve their success rate for future years. There is hardly anything negative to say about this book. It has been well thought through, executed and is, consequently, well laid out. It contains 35 years’ knowledge based on Simon’s extensive new routing winter climbing career and lessons learnt from other winter activists.

The only real downside to the book is the price: £25 seems a bit steep given the size of the book (256 pages). However, put into context, if that saves even just one weekend’s wasted trip north than the price seems very reasonable for a lifetime’s experience. And it will save you many wasted trips and frustrating winter days failing on out-of-condition routes due to a lack of foresight or knowledge. This book is an excellent addition to any winter climber’s library and I, for one, will read it from cover to cover more than once.

Chasing the Ephemeral: 50 routes for a successful Scottish winter Simon Richardson (2016) Mica Publishing, Glasgow & Edinburgh. £25

116 ISBN: 978-0-9560367-9-7

Have you sent us a ‘postcard’ yet?

EVERYONE HAS SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT, WHATEVER THEIR LEVEL OF EXPERIENCE AND ALL CONTRIBUTIONS TO COUNTY CLIMBER ARE WELCOME!

Whether about rock-climbing (trad or sport), bouldering, winter climbing or hill-walking, or indeed anything to do with ‘the great outdoors’, especially Northumberland. Contributions from new members are particularly welcome.

It doesn’t have to be a ‘story’ either, so for example a report about a visit to a new location, or a new take on an old one would fit the bill. Reviews of guides or books, films or festivals are welcome. From time to time people submit mainly photographs (see below) accompanied by only the briefest of text, and these can be published as a ‘photo-essay’. And don’t limit yourself to prose in responding to your inner muse - poems are also welcome.

The Editor would be happy to discuss ideas for articles, comment on rough drafts, or work with you to produce the finished article. You could even send us a real postcard if you wanted!

Regarding photographs, please send as high a resolution as possible, although photos, depending on format, may need to be resized. If you are using other peoples’ photos in your article, please ensure you have sought permission.

Please contact the Editor at and/or send submission to: john.spencer@ncl.ac.uk 117

Le Gateau de Riz on Aiguille du Refuge (photo Tim Rodgers collection) twitter.com/The_NMC www.facebook.com/thenmc www.thenmc.org.uk magazine@thenmc.org.uk