Extracts From Newsletter 16
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The Meet List said Pembroke but with a few extra days booked off work we decided to go to Cornwall. At the social before Barney, Tom and Isobel Allen decided to join, also encouraging their associate Roger Grieves to join up and come along too.
Angie and myself journeyed down on Thursday and on Friday decided to do a recce of some of the lesser known crags, bearing in mind the limited experience of our fellow climbers - it was Isobels and Rogers first time on the real stuff and we were keen not to scare them off completely. So we decided our first port of call that day was to be Boscawen Point, on the strength of the introduction description in the guide book; "The outlook is magnificent ... Good granite ... The first ascentionist (made the routes) between bouts of chemotherapy ... Abseil decent from two rusty spikes courtesy of 19th century smugglers ... "
The crag is a short distance from Tater Du over looking St.Loy Cove. All we had to do to get there was to park in Larmoria and stroll for a mile laden down with climbing gear and food. Strangely enough and somewhat unfortunately, neither Angela or I have any concept of how far a mile actually is, a matter that we discussed at length as we looked down on Penberth Cove, four miles beyond our supposed destination! After backtracking, laden down with climbing gear but less food, we found the spot from where the descent should be made but our 19th century spike was not in evidence. Nor was any other point of reference described in the guide book. After an easy scramble down and stroll around the corner the crag came to view. We decided to climb up the way the guide book had suggested to descend and eventually found our 19th century spike, hidden amongst the vegetation and killer gorse. By now it was getting late, and we were feeling to tired and emotional to climb, so we retired gracefully for ice cream and beer and to wonder why the guide book could not have just said " descend easily from the footpath, east of the crag."
Saturday dawned. The others in the shapes of Tom, Barney, Isobel, Roger and rain had arrived. We all secretly wished that rain had an urgent appointment elsewhere but with unsuppressed enthusiasm we headed for Sennen.The passing shower passed - slowly. Eventually wet rock became damp rock and we climbed; name a V.Diff at Sennen and we slithered up it showing the new members the joys of outdoor climbing. Barney fancied something challenging and Demo Route was about to take a victim. An hour later he emerged from the off width to a round of applause from the assembled audience; shaken and well and truly stirred. By now a bank of "Cornish sunshine" told us that we should get off that ledge - NOW! We did and happy with our days achievements retired to the pub.
Have you ever been to Wicca Pillar? It's the first place mentioned in the Bosigran guide book. It's a good little place to go if you like a pleasant stroll along the coastal path followed by a collection of short routes from diff to severe. I would recommend it to any one who wants an easy day in pleasant sea cliff surroundings. The added bonus is the pub in Zennor. It serves food and entices you in before you can return to your car. Days don't get much better than this.
On Monday the sunny Cornish weather we know and love made its big entrance and the magnificent seven headed for Portguanon Cove for sea level traverses and long easy climbs. The sea was crystal clear and laden with shoals of large fish which we could not identify as they were alive and moving and not laying on a ice slab with a label. After lunch and Barney's high diving show, we all made a top roped attempt to be rock gods on "Last Days Flier" (E1 5b), a nasty and scary looking crack described as "a biceps buster"- it was. So we decided to go paddling instead, much to the annoyance of a local Otter. All to soon it was time to go home, but we will be back.
Pete
In the pub the proceeding Tuesday all seemed fine; campsites where known and directions seemed easy. However after a difficult (solo) journey to Croyde, hunger took over and I went straight to "Aunt Sally's", the only quiet eating place in Croyde at 9:30 on a Friday evening. It was a nice dinner which hid the impending doom. What I should have done was to find the campsite first for after dinner I became "Martin De Niro - the unlucky campsite hunter".
The campsite at the Baggy point end of the bay was shut (a bit of a disappointment as we were all meant to be meeting there), so I tried Ruda Bay Holiday Park, but was regarded as an undesirable (i.e. single, white and male) by the Ruda Park staff. They kindly recommended(!) a site in the next village (SHUT). So I tried Croyde village itself, but at 10:30 no further campers were being admitted. In desperation I went off to find a lay-by without the obligatory "Piss off and Die" signs that the local councils in these part are so fond of. Eventually I settled down to a rough nights sleep during which I was woken by rain, yobs rocking the car and more rain. Eventually morning happened and the campsite in Croyde village eventually let me in (at £8.50 per pitch - what a bargin).
With the campsite problem solved it was time to find some E.G.C.C Climbers. After a couple of hours of aimless wandering I found Colin, Rupert and Danny (the canoe surfer). They had been doing hard things - OOH ER MISSUS.
Colin and Rupert teamed up to do "Midnight Cowboy (HVS) using the Kinky Boots start. Danny and I decided to do Kinky Boots, but chickened out of the start so we did Blind Faith (VS) instead. Danny delicately lead the first pitch, a traverse to a hanging belay. Now I have never lead a VS before but what the hell, there has got to be a first time. The protection was poor, the holds were vegetated, one of Danny's nuts went for a swim and I fannied about in a nervous manner, but all the gear stayed in, I didn't fall off and what's more I stayed on the route despite a rising paranoia that it had all gone belly up yet again. The only way to reward such a milestone in my climbing career was to spend the rest of the afternoon surfing and visiting tea shops followed by a pub attack.
Next morning we all met up at Baggy for an assault on the Promitory Slab. Rupert and Colin climbed Undercracker (HVS) whilst Danny and I went for "Sting (VS). All of a sudden the black clouds of doom appeared to yell game over.
Thanks to Colin, Rupert, Danny and all the others I haven't mentioned for a spiffing weekend.
Martin
The plan had two major parts. One, go to Rossilli for breakfast and two ... well there wasn't actually a part two yet, but we sort of assumed that it would come together during part one. We, that is me, Angie, Marcus and Barney, decided on starting at Fall Bay because it was close. We would climb there until the tide came in and then start on plan B.
By the time we got to Fall Bay the tide was coming in fast. Marcus and Barney managed two climbs whilst Angie and I used the excuse that we climbed at Boiler Slabs the day before and could not be expected to start climbing before 12:00. Up above, on the upper tier, we caught sight of Gary, Richard and Mark. They had made their own way down, as did Martin Upfold, and because of full and overflowing campsites ended up occupying different parts of they Gower to ourselves over the weekend. Once the tide was lapping at our knees, and above, we had to resort to plan B - ice cream and then plan C - fizzy pop.
Pennard someone said. What? Pennard someone said again. Graves End Wall at Pennard. It's in the guide book. All we have to do is find it and then we have tons of none tidal climbing.
We drove to Pennard, we parked, we walked, we hunted, for hours and hours, with only a bottle of strange lemonade for sustenance. We didn't find it. Well we may have found it but, true to form the guide book was so vague it's descriptions could have been fitted to any crag! (For anyone who has struggled with the Gower and South Wales guide book the good news is it is being rewritten. And Shirecomb is tidal!) We finally struggled to a local hostelry, as the sun was setting, to drown our sorrow's and eat big time. Four knacked people and one dog-tired greyhound stumbled into the campsite and fell asleep to the sound of tribal drums. Tomorrow will be different - we will climb!
On Sunday we went to Three Cliffs on the assumption that it would be easy to find. Once there we set about climbing the all best lines with Angela leading Joggled Wall, Pete leading inverted V, Barney leading Scavenger, and Marcus being entertained by partnering Barney! And flo led her own way to each and every sandwich. It was a superb day. The sun shone; people were shiny and happy; and The Famous Five found the lost Treasure and captured wicked Uncle Quentin.
With a two week business trip to New York State planned at the end of July, a little scurfing (that's surfing badly) the Internet was essential to find out if there were any climbing venues in the area. I rooted out a climbing wall not too far from where I would be - that would be OK for midweek - and finally I found a reference to a place in New York State that I had vaguely heard of before - 'The Shawangunks'. Must be worth a visit I thought.
In an outdoor shop in Binghamton, the location of my interesting, though sluggish training course, I found a guide book for the 'Gunks' and leafed through. Tantalising pictures made my palms sweat and a day later I clicked the cruise control to 65mph (yawn) and headed down interstate 17 to New Paltz.
After getting lost in the dark (you know how it is when your in autopilot and you completely forget that you were supposed to turn right about 20 minutes ago - shit! ) I chanced to recognise the road and parking areas from the map in the guidebook and screeched to a halt beside a battered car. I hopped out all excited like.
"Hey man, (I'd picked up the lingo by then) is this the Gunks ?" "It sure is." drawled a voice from the dark.
I proceeded to have a conversation in the pitch dark with this fella and his girlfriend - bizarre !!
An offer of a climb the next morning if I got there early and directions to a motel in New Paltz and I was off. Now that's what you call a blind date - I didn't even know what Rod and Elizabeth (as they turned out to be called) looked like !!
7:30 the next morning, and with a McDonald's breakfast for three (serious bribery here) I rolled up in the lay-by to eat and look the guidebook over. Rod turned out to be 55ish, obviously extremely fit, and keen to get going. Mmm, a little early I thought but went along with it anyway.
The area of cliff closest to the road was The Trapps and Ron led up the first pitch of Modern Times. It was not until I started climbing, from the shady belay into the sun, that I realised that an early start is pretty well essential, unless, that is, you are the descendant of a scorpion and are used to the blisteringly blazing sun !! Still a little unsure of the grades, Rod points me up the second pitch of High Exposure. A 5.6, I thought this must be about VS, but I didn't really want to work it out on the live end. Still I was out to impress - I was edging for climbing partners afterall. A short step up a slab led to a wide break under a roof. Here, under strict instruction I buried a No.5 Camalot and linked four slings together to reach the base of the impending wall above up which I was supposed to scuttle, ant like, to the top. Scary man. Creeping out from the shady confines onto brightly lit open space - nothing below for 150ft and just an overhanging wall above and line of good holds all the way. Cracking stuff.
Rod, a staunch traditionalist climbing in bare feet and no chalk (on hands or feet), then led Cascading Crystal Kaleidoscope, a 5.8 wall with thin technical moves on small holds. How he did it I have no idea. I had trouble enough with an over used chalk bag, what with every bit of me sweating like crazy, dripping into my eyes and stinging like shit, feet swimming around in boots, etc., etc.
In 90° heat dehydration was a serious problem. In one day on the second weekend of the trip, I drank about 8 litres of water as the heat, humidity, exertion and by no means least fear all took their toll.
In all I climbed for 4½ days and did about 2500ft of classic rock. Memorable climbs were Outer Space an outrageous line up slabs and niches to pass through a system of massive overhangs that jutted out about 35ft to a hanging belay right at the apex. Crowded for two but positively perverse for three. After swapping the gear over to me and giving me vague route instructions, I climbed around Rod and Jimmy (literally) to venture into an adventure all of their own making as I traversed around the corner into my own lonely world. Moving across distressingly lichenous rock (just like dried ears actually!!) to an overhang, things took on a more serious note; a slab, committing hand traverse to a corner, another overhang up through the corner and finally to a belay. Fook-in-ell what were they trying to do to me ? As Rod finally pulled up on the belay in his own inimitable style, he grinned sheepishly...
"Gee, I'm sorry Trevor. I think I sent you around the corner at the wrong level. Still you did pretty well there you know !" Bloody right you did chap. Still at least traversing across the lichen 'ears' must have hurt his feet - BIG TIME.
Anyway, I could drivel on about this route and that route, and bore you all totally to death - so I will. Na. Lets just say that if any of you are heading out that way, TAKE a couple of days out of your schedule and I'll put you in touch with a few ageing but absolutely great bunch of climbers who will be delighted to give you a tour of one of the best crags in North America. And best of all, they'll give you all the scariest, hairiest leads on all the best pitches of all the best climbs. Shame it is such a long drive - it could be worth a club trip.
Trevor
I just don t' fookin know what things is comin t' these deys. You go on t' lads weekend away up North, t' Peak to do some t' 'ard t' rock, and you expect hard t' men. Well, don' ya ?
Not so with 'em poofs Gary, Mark n't Richard. Droolin' t' way over Mark's pa's camper van. All cumfy flufy softy warm like. Poofs the lot, man.
"NO !" say's I. "Tents are for MEN!"
"Ooo !", say's Gary. "Look at that lovely little sink. You could do your washing up in that! All lovely and warm too."
"Fook off. Fairy n't froth, scowra n't' cloth.". "NO, NO ! say's I. "That is not wot us Crawley Climbers are like !".
And just a little later when me blood pressure is comin' dearn t' bit.
"Hey man, just luuuurve these curtains" says smoothy Mark.
And wots 'e doin' ? 'Es only pointin' eart t' 70's chintz ! "The 'angin's from t' string, t' stop folk from lookin in !". "NO, NO, NO !" say's I. "That is not wot 'ard climbers are like ! Specially supa 'ard ones from Crawley - git it ???"
"Simply wonderful recreational storage areas all over the place, you could loose yourself in these darlings you know" says Richard.
So much space in t' 'hole bloody place, you wudnt knowt how t' find owt. "NO, NO, NO, NNNnnnoooooo !!" says I in utter fookin despair. "'Ow will ya ever get t' be t' supa fookin 'ard climbers from t' fookin Crawley, wot with ya carrin' on like this. Man?". "Think y' long n't 'ard abeart it fella's"
(Happenings as observed by Trevor, the serious, dedicated 'ard camper with the super deluxe cumfy rumfy sleepy snory therm-a-rest. 'Don't leave home without one" he says!! "Just the right thing for doing your spuds on." Or was it the stove 'e was mutterin' abeart ? Or was it something else ? Who fookin cares.)
((Er, any chance of a lift lads ?))