Extracts from Newsletter 17
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After scraping away the morning frost, our intrepid trio Gary, Richard and Rupert (sporting a yellow checked scarf that was surely not coincidence) set off for a days adventure at Shorn Cliff. After 4 Hours, a humungous breakfast and secret tryst with a 60 year old 'babe' at the services, we arrived and made ready for battle.
The sun shone brightly, warming the surroundings to just below freezing point. Fearless of the cold and without a 'comfy fluffy softy warm like' camper van in sight, we made our way to the crag - Are you listening Clarkey? Eh! Eh!
After the mandatory El fresco woodland dump (mine's recognisable by the rising steam!!), Gary commenced proceedings with a warm up on the Bitter Battle Tears HVS 5a. A three star route that earns its description as a Wye Valley Classic and is a must for anyone visiting. If climbing in these conditions, the ability to ascend with one hand tucked under your armpit for warmth is essential, and was mastered by all of us.
Next it was Quartermaster Groves assault on another classic, No Musketeers HVS 5a ***. After much deliberation, and the occasional crab like manoeuvre, the route succumbed. Admittedly, the crux was steep and only lightly protected, but an excellent route. Gary came up last and took a detour finishing direct on two thin, but positive cracks (E1 5c).
Somewhat naively given the temperature, we moved on to the land of nod (E2 5c) for Ruperts lead. A 55ft technical wall with a combination of bolts, crap in-situ threads, gear and a lower-off point below an obviously loose roof. Despite two gallant efforts, Rupert energy was sapped from his strained fingertips and he descended from two thirds height. Gary boldly stepped into the breach and lead through with style (you can guess who wrote this).
Finial climb of the day saw Gary lead Complex Variable (E1 5a), more of a journey than a route. Another excellent route that would have been starred, if not for the incredibly poor 'protection' offered by the weathered in-situ threads. All three climbed with aplomb. The technical problem of Gary forgetting his belay device was eventually overcome with a sort of hitch knot thingy!!
Dark descended quickly and the return walk through the forest needed torch light assistance. Quartermaster Groves of course brought two as a precaution. One was cleverly hidden in his car glove compartment and the other discreetly placed in his rucsac ......... minus a battery. We eventually stumbled out of the woods only to tackle the idiosyncrasies of Richard's car alarm.
We journeyed home warm and content at our day's activities. However, thanks to the wonder of mobile phones, whatever street-cred Gary had managed to accumulate during the day quickly evaporated as he feebly explained to his wife that it would take longer than 15 minutes to travel home from the Severn Bridge, despite the clear traffic and Richard's best efforts behind the wheel.
The back of the old Nissan estate was full of the accumulated debris needed to sustain Dave Roughley and I for a two week holiday of climbing and skiing. In particular evidence were the skis , hard to pack away discretely, and the whiskey which Dave was currently tipping down his neck as he lay in the back of the car. I was outside , gaining a little shelter from the wind swirled low grey cloud by squatting under the tailgate, scraping at the bubbling pan as the stove tried its hardest to burn whatever was in contact with the bottom of the pot. We were both exited at the thought of two weeks of exploring mountains together but I was also disappointed that since we had arrived by Mt. Ngaurahoe the view was restricted to a few metres of heathery slopes and grey curling mists that could just as well have been seen on Dartmoor as by a six thousand foot active volcano in the North Island of New Zealand. As usual the alcohol I consumed that night, once I could wrestle it from Dave who hugged it protectively as he lay in his nest, made cooking seem a joyful chore. And as usual, the alcohol also guaranteed that dinner, when it finally arrived, tasted like shit! Pans scraped, stomachs protesting, we clicked off our head torches and lay back in the muggy interior of the car to sleep and dream of sun and snow
Have you noticed that the more you drink at night the more dehydrated you feel in the morning? Weird! With woolly tongues and regular stops to pull on our water bottles we gradually developed a good walking rhythm as we stomped up the valley in our plastic boots. The wind tugged at the skis tied to our packs and started to whip loose straps into a dancing frenzy. We sweated our way up a steep rocky ridge that reared up from the valley towards the beautiful cone of Mt. Ngaurahoe. Needless to say, our view was restricted to a few metres. Just like Scotland really!
A large Plateau, actually a flattened crater on the side of the hill, allowed us to catch a breath as we lightened our sacks of crampons and axes. Then it was up steep snow into the ever increasing maelstrom of cloud and wind. Kick, plant, step, kick, plant,... The snow seemed solid, good spring snow! Sounding like steam trains battling up a hill we puffed and kicked our way up the steep uniform sides of the mountain until, with a bit of a shock, I kicked through an invisible small cornice that was the on the lip of the summit crater. It was cold, the sort of cold that stiffens your gloves and makes you feel like the wind is travelling right through your Goretex and you. Without a word we fumbled into packs to replace axes and crampons with poles and skis. With a final reassuring click my skis were on and I pointed the tips downward. This was to be my first experience of ski mountaineering, an initial taster. Sure, I've done off piste blacks... in sunshine and definitely with no more in my pack than a bottle of premixed gin and tonic! So you can probably understand my nervousness as we faced an unknown and invisible run with nobody else for miles around and a heavy pack. I glanced at Dave who seemed quite confident. Then I inched those ski tips forward and started to slide down across the steep slope. The first turn is always the worst. I leaned forward and right down the hill, the turn flowed beautifully. Then another, and another. I gathered real speed as I straightened my line and screamed down the slope. Dave came alongside and we whooped and hollered as perfect turn followed perfect turn. The speed was great and the rhythm felt fantastic as we hurtled down making split-second decisions as to the line to take. A window in the cloud opened and we accelerated through it. The effort, the sweat and the cold were all forgotten as we glided to a grinning stop back on the plateau where the snow ended. This was definitely one of the very best of those mountain moments that I've ever had!
After this initiation Dave and I drove to the South Island where I learned to ski uphill using skins. We slid and climbed our way up Mt. Hutt followed by a great ski down. First on a ridge, then down a short but steep gully and then down a face of pure virgin snow with no crowds or grinding noises from telepheriques or ski-tows. On our return to the North Island we had several sunny days to explore and climb around The Tongariro National Park where Dave got the chance to see his first erupting volcano, Mt. Ruapehu. We even fitted in a couple of days diving, you should have seen Dave's eyes when he saw a two metre Stingray only an arms length away! Finally he had to return to Canada . He made a last farewell visit to a local hospital, why he couldn't have just visited the wards instead of needing the excuse that his toe was nearly severed I'm not sure. I abandoned him in Auckland as he prepared to hobble painfully to the plane. We had a great two weeks, thanks Dave for sharing such a good time and for teaching me so much. If you want to ski or try ski mountaineering just ask me or, better still, talk to Derek or Nick. Members of our club are only too happy to share their expertise and experiences, all you have to do is ask... and buy a pint or two!!
Mark Haward.
Martin Upfold, Trevor Clarke, Barney
My first time on grit, I had arranged to meet Trev at the car park at the eastern end of Stanage Edge on a damp and windy Saturday morning. The weather was nasty and was forcast tio get much worst, so the two of us got straigtht on with it. We managed three routes before rain stopped play. We beat a retreat to the cafe at Outside in Hathersage. The place was packed with the North London Climbing Club. Trev knew of a quiet if somewhat bizzare campsite near an excellent pub which provided our rendezvous with Barney. Sunday was a much better day which encouraged the climbing of many routes. A terrific weekend. Special thanks must go to Trev for his patience, good advice and for repeating lots of routes he had done before.
Martin Upfold.
(P.S I was on the August Cornwall trip too !!!!)
Six of us made the day trip to St. Aldhelms Head for the true Swanage experience. Various mutterings in the ranks showed that some of our number had had a cursory look at the guide book and noticed the word "loose" in abundance. They were placated by the off-the-cuff comment "You don't want to believe every thing you read in the guide book" (fools - believe it).
Phil Lee and I teamed up to knock off a few routes starting with One Nut Route (HS 5a). The grade should have warned us that this was not a walk over. During our various fumblings up this route Lynne and Harvey scaled Little Corner (S 4a) and Tom and Barney arrived, complained about the walk from the car park, scaled Gardeners Question Time (S) and realised that climbing with hangovers and severe dehydration was hard work. Eventually Phil and I managed to top out in a not quite pure style ascent, decided that would be much better on a climb with a higher grade and set about a VS (Claire's Brother VS 4b). This cured our early morning ineptness and encouraged us to move on to Coccyx (HS 4c) a wonderfully obvious line starting on solid rock and then moving though loose, unstable and dangerous (Lynne was inches from a large block, dislodged by Harvey, hitting her square on the head) culminating a classic Swanage finish on to a pile of scree. Now that's a true Swanage climb.
Now truly warmed up Phil and I took on Cabbage Patch Kids (VS 4c) another obvious line starting on solid rock but soon reaching some scary climbing over large poised blocks hanging a insane angles and threating to join their friends down below. This is what it's about progressing upwards trying to suppress the feeling of rising panic - The Swanage Experience.
Barney had given up leading due to the evil forces of the hangover allowing Tom to be top roped up Seriously Short (E2 6a). Phil and I had a go but the rock was much too solid ...........
The Xmas meet was as popular as ever (26 made the long, dark journey), and Wales was as wet as ever. And still the die hards of EGCC were out climbing (6, at the last count).
Firstly, there was James (of climbing wall fame) pissed as a newt (that's a newt that's spent all day in a bath of Jack Daniels and then had a couple of doubles on top for good measure) on Friday night. Andy - shame on you leading the young astray like that. Puddles of puke inside and out and a new line in sleeping bags developed - both legs rammed as far as possible to a sleeve of a fleece jacket and the rest all green, shivering and snoring.
Then there was Barcode, in fine fettle despite six weeks of knackered wrist, winding people up in true style then using his arm as an excuse for not getting hit back. "Bad arm, bad arm, bad arm" he gleefully yells waving it about in triumphant fashion in front of The Frustrated One.
And then there was Graham's earth shattering snoring. Almost clearing a whole bunk single handed apart from the dedicated (Daniel) and the stupid (me). The curses and under-the-breath mutterings the next morning had Graham feeling a little nervous about the lynch mob planned for the next night.
And then there was the rain. Some climbed, some walked, some drank, some talked - the rest did naff all, but some did all four. Idwall took a hammering with myself and the Thompsons taking the soggy challenge on ordinary route and Andy, Gary, Jo and possibly others doing an even soggier v.diff - all good clean fun.
And then there was the swimming. Don unintentionally, in Lanberis pass, a mere minute after leaving the car. "Well it was raining so I was going to get wet anyway and I thought I would run across the river to save walking 100 yds up to the bridge. Then suddenly my foot slipped and I hit the water head first with my eyes open and hit my nose on the bottom." A delightful spectacle enjoyed by rows of cars parked at the Cromlech Boulders. Andy, James and possible other mad individuals went for an intentional dip in Lake Idwall - apparently it was pretty warm, and I'm sure had anyone else in the club been around at the time they would have joined in the fun. But no one was... except Barcode... and what was his excuse ?? You got it. By popular demand these dedicated wallowers in water will be appearing at a charity gig at Bough Beach Reservoir on New Years day. See Pete for tickets.
And then there was the nosh. A curry of superlative quality, skilfully prepared by Toby and his girlfriend and a barrage of willing helpers who would do anything to get out of the washing up. For the second year running none of it was lobbed around afterwards it was so tasty. Either that or fact that the naked chillies would have peeled the white wash off the walls. "Hot, damn hot", I said with sweat on brow (skilfully persuading Lynn to polish all her little naked chillies off on the threat of what happens to Those Who Do Not Finish), whilst Gary poses manfully by relishing the really scary little naked chillies and rubbing them all over his lips (you can't kid me - I saw the tears in your eyes Gary).
And then there was the teaspoon... and the nose, the bottles... and the bunk bouldering, the broom stick... and the mindless apprentice who kept drinking from two cans of beer at once, standing out side in the rain staring through the window at anyone - veerrryy strange.
And then there was even more rain. It just wouldn't go away either. So to Pete's Eats closely followed by The Beacon and then home.
Cracking weekend.
Trevor