Extracts from Newsletter 2
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It was about 2.30 am when the Diesel duke box arrived at the imaginatively titled Gower Farm. We did our best to avoid waking Pete, Angie and Alison by circling their tents several times with full beam and left Shirley giggling hysterically in the back seat while the "men" struck camp.
Morning, a cold wet hairy nose greets us through the partially opened zip of the tent, it's Pete. Flo the greyhound gives us a far more civilised greeting and offers her paw for a shake. "Where's Derek?" we check and check again our grid position with the compass, stars, sun and G.P.S, romours abound, "Hotel", "B&B", "Whimped out!". We needn't have worried Derek, Jill, Robert (not that one, Derek's son) and Nick were camping down the road, having noticed that the campsite we were on was actually closed.
A collective decision was made to go to Tor Gro (later blamed entirely on Derek). This is a slabby area inland from a desolate sea marsh. Various routes were taken - central slab (VS 4b), Sycamore (VS 4b) gave fairly poor pro but the down route was much more exciting, being the mud equivalent of the Cresta run. With the sun coming out the convoy headed for Rhossili and the Fall Bay area. El weather eth, eth, eth, a SCORCHIO! Wales in March - Sun? Before most of us had put down our rucksacks Derek was heading head long into Osiris (VS 4b), me, Nick and Ali thought we would follow him up. When it became clear that Capt'n Keen was struggling me and Ali whimped out. Ali lead me up the garden of Gethsemane (S) instead.
Meanwhile Gary was having a storming day with an impressive lead of South East Diedre (HVS), Richard was knocking off lots of VS's (the epic brothers in fine form). Nick made an interesting lead of an adjacent VS by missing out the easy arete and taking the lay back flake (graded How Fucking Stupid?). Pete followed up the sensible way. Back to Rhossili for large amounts of Guinness. After a dinner of Squeezy cheesy peas we R.V'd at the local pub. The local Young Farmers were having a disco, this ended at 9:45 and a severely pissed tosser came flying into the pub convinced that the chair that had just floored him was put there by me, he then threatened me with the aforementioned chair (luckily for him I did not have to unleash the power of my turning kick) Gary gave him a Rupert Bear stare and he sodded off (another victory for SOUTH LONDON!). Back at the campsite, smokes and dreams of green plastic watering cans.
Sunday, cold and windy - all round to King wall and a race against the tide, not wishing to be the loser Shirly elects to lead me up Vorder (S), after what seems like ages she starts hauling me in from the clutches of the tide. It's raining by now, I sensibly decide this will be a good time to lead my first ever VS. So clad in Gortex rather that fig leaves Shirly and I do Eden (VS 4c). "Arn't VS's brilliant?", I reckon that this one is a bit over graded but I was happy as a pig in shit when I got to the top. Gary pilots us back down the M4 while M.C WAGDOGGY spins the C.D's
"Climbing, forever climbing" we scream along with Paul Weller as we arrive home, ears bleeding. More weekends like this one please bartender.
Ian.