Carreg Hylldrem

My schedule this year dictated having time off during the worst times, namely January and March. Despite the forecast, we decided to head to North Wales, which was of course very soggy. The mornings were OK, but they quickly changed around noon.

We had an obligatory look the RAC’s and Cromlech boulders, but decided they were either too damp or most likely to be so by the time we got the mats out. We also scoped out Ogwen for future sessions, but the experience was more akin to winter climbing with all of the ice and snow around.

Desperation took us down the Aberglaslyn Gorge arriving at a relatively less damp Nantmor, but once again by the time we walked into the bouldering area, the heavens opened up. Determined to climb something not involving plastic, I remembered reading about a bouldering wall at Carreg Hylldrem that claimed to stay dry in all conditions. Preparing for the worst, we were pleasantly surprised.

What a cool little place. It’s steep, featured and most importantly sheltered from the rain. I can’t believe I’ve never tried it out before. There are 4 main independent ‘up’ lines which the guidebook claims all go at around V4 and a low-level traverse at about V3. Endless eliminates abound as well.

We spent about three hours working the problems and making up our own ones. It was really nice to be climbing on real rock again and I thoroughly recommend giving it a go. I would say that you don’t even have to wait for a monsoon for it to be worth it… but this being North Wales, one is often around the corner anyway.

It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was good fun.

OTE

Given the recent sunny spell and impending monsoon season, we decided that it would be wrong not to go climbing. I was still feeling unwell from my miserable cold and hadn't been training for ages so I had very little hope of achieving anything of meaning. On the drive up to North Wales I was distinctly feeling down, even for me; 'last chance syndrome' I suppose.

My negative feelings were confirmed after visiting the various Satellite boulders in the Pass and not getting up anything. Ugh, so it was going to be one of those trips… however things started to change when I basically gave up on trying hard stuff and decided to revisit a V4 that I couldn't send last time I was there since it was wet and I was being attacked by a horde of midges. It's called In the Attic. The first move is interesting then it fizzles out to random slapping and hoping. I was just glad to be able to tick a project.

In the Attic

With my new found optimism, I decided to take advantage of the deserted Cromlech Boulders, a venue with which I have something of a love / hate relationship. I dislike their roadside location. If I wanted to be regaled by randoms blasting their stereos whilst breathing in diesel fumes and standing in a queue to boulder, I would stay in London. However, they seem to be the only place where I can climb. I guess their fingery nature suits me. I always thought I was more of a power person, but looking at it, maybe I'm not?

I decided to hop on The Edge Problem because I felt like I could do it, which is odd given how I was feeling in general. I tried it last autumn and did all of the moves, baring the top one, as I was knackered after a full day's bouldering and couldn't really be bothered. I came back after my injury-induced lay-off last spring and, much to my anger, realised that I couldn't do the hard moves anymore. Given the location, it wasn't at the top of my ticklist, but I was upset by my loss of strength.

The Edge Problem

I sent it on the second go. In fact I found it so easy that I decided to try the sit start and got that on the fourth go. I should have flashed it, but I was too tired and too excited to take a break. Even that wasn't hard. I know that it isn't the hardest V6 around, but it measurably demonstrates that I got stronger.

The next day I felt pretty broken and just did a few odds and ends. Rather optimistically I tried Johnny's Wall at the end of the day and flashed all but the top move, which was a bit of a stopper for me. It will go next time.

On the last day I ventured out to just about the only remaining bouldering area in North Wales that I haven't been to, the Gallt yr Ogof boulder in Ogwen where I flashed two V4's but didn't do the V5 that was on my list, mostly as I was worried about the landing. Oh well.

The overhanging North Arête - somewhat easier for the short :-)

I was rather in awe of Sway On; the ultimate project perhaps? I was confused as to which holds are in but I tried to hang a few of them and was bizarrely successful. I fully know that being able to move between them is a world away, but I have time…

A Tale of Two E1s (by Peter)

Me rather happy at the top of Seams the Same, Dinorwig Slate Quarries, North Wales
Work has been a bit of a nightmare recently and so it has been a while since I contributed to this blog. UKClimbing.com have just posted an article that I originally wrote some time ago and (for the same work-related reasons) took quite some time to distill down to a more palatable length.

Thanks to Jack and Mick for publishing this.

Classical Elusions

Since I had an injury induced 4 month layoff from any serious form of climbing, I decided that going after all of my hard projects as soon as I felt better probably wasn’t the best strategy. Instead I decided to have a look at some of the easier classic problems that I initially wrote off because they were a. too reachy b. too high c. too slabby d. an arête e. on grit or f. all of the above. Also as I mentioned in an earlier post, when I go bouldering I normally like to find areas that indulge my sociopathic side since most of my life is spent in the company of 7 million others.

I will admit that I have an ultra-narrow focus in my climbing, that being overhanging problems with positive holds. I am complete rubbish at anything requiring technique, balance, head for heights, etc. I can pull hard on small holds; that’s about it. I’ve exploited this to my advantage when choosing problems that were at my limit, however this approach left me feeling as though I missed out on something along the way; like I was a bit of phoney.

Given my lack of strength and limited ability to send interesting, erm… hard stuff, I decided to spend my energies tackling a few of these problems as a form of therapy (or maybe self-inflicted punishment?).

First to be crossed off the list was Banana Finger. As I’ve said time and time again, I just don’t get grit. I’ve only ever been to the Peak once or twice when the conditions were good, which might of course be a large factor. I find the rock to require very subtle technique and I’m not subtle. It always happens that when I am there for a while I start to learn a bit of technique, but I immediately forget it when the next grit trip comes ‘round. Anyway, Banana Finger is to quote the guidebook “listed by English Heritage as a national monument”. I tried it ages ago, but after doing the reachy traverse gave up due to the complete un-inspiring nature and lack of bouldering mats. This time, I wasn’t going to slunk off and take no for an answer; after all it’s just one rockover and not even a bad one at that. The problem is that typical for grit, there were no footholds whatsoever to speak of, not to mention the slight issue of being unable to reach the upper break until the very last minute. I decided that I can climb something that is barely V3 no matter what and with that attitude in mind it went. I was happy to reach the break, but if it was just a few inches further away, well it wouldn’t have been pretty.

Boysen's Groove

Boysen’s Groove, the low-grade classic of North Wales which was first climbed by Paul Pritchard way back in the Dark Ages of bouldering, 1997. Although I am a huge fan of the gas-pocket ridden rhyolite found on the Cromlech boulders, I hadn’t enjoyed the dolerite problems found further up the pass anywhere near as much. After a few chilled-out sessions on the rock however, I was soon to change my mind and with this new found interest, I sought out the area classic. It packs quite a lot of climbing into a few meters, a crimpy face, an arête and finally jug hauling. It went, but not without a fight. I didn’t trust the friction on the arête, but once I committed to it, all was fine and I was left agreeing with the guidebook’s three star designation. It was nice to be able to tick off this classic.

The Ramp

Further adventures on dolerite included a somewhat-high-for-me problem, The Ramp on the Braichmelyn Boulder just outside of Bethesda. It is given V2 in the guidebook, but was upgraded to V3 in some climbing magazine. Regardless of the grade, it’s a good problem, a crimpy traverse and up. The top out was um… 'a little unnerving on first acquaintance', but it was all there. You just had to trust in your ability, which isn’t something that I am familiar with.

The Ramp served as an enjoyable warm-up for a problem that I did later on I the day. I wrote off the entire area of the Pont y Gromlech slabs as being too high and rife with polished, marginal holds born from years of groups practising abseiling down its face. After perusing the internet and much to my dismay, I found that this crag contained a must do V3 classic, The Seam. Ugh, it was reachy, slabby, polished, and high – not exactly my type of problem. I wasn’t giving up though as I was able to tick of all of the others on my list. It took a few attempts to get a reachy move up to the initial flake down pat. Then it was a matter of keeping it together at the top. I fell off the middle section a couple of times, but on about my third try I was able to make further progress and the top was insight. The only downside being of course that I had gained significant height and I was now facing a worse fall. I tried for the top only to sink the world’s most glassy, non-existent sloper. I couldn’t reach anything better from where I was. Exposing my former sorority-girl self in an ‘oh-my-god’ shriek, I panicked, then out of nowhere I heard a calm voice in my head which said to stand on the initial flake and it worked. The top was mine.

So did all off this working my weaknesses make me want to be kinder to furry animals and children – no. Have I seen the light and am I going to become a slab expert – definitely not. Was it fun and do I feel more rounded as a climber – maybe. Was it worth it given that I couldn’t do much else – definitely yes.

What’s next on the easy classics list? Well I had a fight with Joe’s Arête at the Roaches on a wet January day and it won. That’s on the top of my list. I am starting to find myself drawn to Not To Be Taken Away, but I don’t suspect it’s that easy. Mid-grade classics anyone ;-)

Success

Sending Fagin
That rare and elusive moment finally came to me last Saturday. After three different sessions spread out over two months my V5/6 project finally went.

So what was different this time, well a lot actually. I had been in North Wales for a week fitting in easy classics between rain storms and even more menacing clouds of midges. I felt that I built up a decent base over this period. My climbing was limited much more than I would have liked, but actually it was probably a good thing as I most likely would have worn myself out.

I put off trying my project until it was nearly time to leave. I don’t think that I would have coped with another failure well and I wasn’t convinced in my mind at this point that it would go, yet I still felt that I ought to be able to do it. It became something of a chore, something to be worried about, rather than enjoyed. Also running up to my trip I was in a rather pathetic state. I had the flu or something and it seemed to take weeks to get over; weeks that I could have spent training.

The time gap between my last two sessions really seemed to benefit me. I actually forgot my old sequence and devised a much better one. The first time I tried it on Saturday, I knew that it was going to happen that day. The holds actually felt less painful and I was more in control of the crux section.


The problem consists of a series of pockets up a steep prow / cave thing. The pockets are decent enough, but I was struggling to reach across with my left to get the next pocket that I have in the picture above. Gaining this pocket with my left hand was the crux for me.

I found a less powerful beginning sequence and I was also able to better steady myself through the crux. This combined with the discovery of an intermediate minor sidepull led to my success.


And it felt great. Finally, I had a modicum of strength back and my shoulder injury hardly gave any complaint over the entire week.

Of course me being me, the happiness was quite fleeting and I was soon left with thoughts like ‘why couldn’t I do this last time’ and ‘I’m nowhere near as strong as I need to be’, etc.

Oh well… it has to be a step in the right direction. Even I can’t argue with that one.

Projects and Pain

The painful shoulder in action on a V3/4

Another weekend, another trip to North Wales, another session falling off my project.

The good news is that I can do every move of my current V5/6 project, except the last one (grrr). This was a massive improvement over last week. Surely I didn’t get stronger in a week. No, I think it has a lot to do with pain or tolerance thereof.

I feel that a bit of background on my project is in order. I first spotted a picture of Fagin in the North Wales bouldering guidebook a few months ago. It consists of a line of pockets up a steeply overhanging prow. It sounded like it would play to my strengths so it rose to the top of my list. I’m sure you’re painfully aware of my shoulder injury and subsequent lay off by now, but anyway, my point is that through all of this I have lost quite a bit of strength. I know that I am currently way off my best, but I thought targeting a problem that was a decent enough grade and played to my strengths was a way to make up for lost time.

My first session on it was OKish. The damp conditions were completely against me and I was knackered from a full day out previously. I always find it difficult to justify spending a whole day working on one problem. I may not send it and end up going home empty handed. However if I do lots of easy mileage, I am usually quite spent for the next day. Having more often than not travelled a long way, I feel a need to accomplish something. It’s just what strategy do you go for, lots of easy stuff or time on a project. Actually the whole concept of a project is still relatively new to me. Every problem that I sent has had no more than two sessions. I realise this obviously isn’t the way forward with properly hard stuff and sometimes just getting to the next hold is progress enough.

Back to the problem… I always seem to pick particularly painful ones. This one did have pockets but they seemed to all contain razor sharp edges on the outside and I was moving to most of them dynamically. Owch. I would go so far as to say that more than strength or technique, what I really lost that whole ’zone’ or whatever that you have to go into when climbing problems at your limit. It eluded me for the entire first session.

The next time I decided beforehand that I wasn’t going to let pain get in the way. I ended up bloodied and bruised, but I felt like I gave it a much better go this time. All of the strength training indoors will never prepare you for what you are about to tackle mentally.

If the problem is truly that hard for you, pain doesn’t even cover it. It’s not just sharp holds either. It is the ability to clutch at non-existent crimps, to make massive strenuous moves and then hold them. Indoors, I would have given up a long time ago. It’s just not worth it. You really need to want to it in order to put your body under that much pressure. I think at times I’m not merely struggling with a problem, but fighting a very physical battle with the demons in my head. At the very least I can’t hear them for a few moments. Yet new ones seem to creep in, ‘am I good enough’ and then I fall. I like to think a part of my character is born from these struggles.

At the opposite end of the spectrum are the days when you just seem to float up anything you choose regardless of the moves being limit ones or not. I’ve even had both experiences on the same problem. Maybe if I get stronger I will have fewer epic battles. Then again, I suspect I will seek out even more difficult problems.

It will go next time.

Cwm Dyli

As the April showers, which inevitably extended into May, temporarily subsided, we decided to head for North Wales and have a crack at a few of the projects we had amassed in the back of our minds over winter. Well that was the idea anyway…

We arrived late on the Friday night and subsequently had rather a restless night. On Saturday morning I felt the exact opposite of wanting to work at my limit. I wanted an easy, oh I mean ‘fun’, day. We decided upon Cwm Dyli as it was recommended by a couple of friends a while back and looked like it contained lots of easy problems in a secluded spot.

I had my eye on a particular V5, Moose’s Problem, but clearly it wasn’t in the cards for me that day. I did however manage to flash a lovely V3/4 called Gwion’s Flake. Video here:



All and all it turned out well. It was good to get some mileage in and I actually missed the crisp rhyolite flakes. Is it possible to be sentimental over a rock type? It wasn’t exactly a ‘setting the climbing world alight’ day but fun nevertheless.

Sunday was a proper project day. For this I had at the top of my list a V5/6 (why does the North Wales bouldering guidebook use so many of these split grades?) in a cave below Clogwyn y Bustach called Fagin, as it’s a line of pockets up a steep prow.

Conditions were against me, it started to thunder and pour just as we got there, but thankfully the overhang was steep enough to allow time to play on the lower section. It was greasy from the humidity, but I still managed to hit the crux pocket – holding it was another story. I reckon that with about a month of training (and slightly less humidity) it will go.

Monday morning was spent doing a reachy (and rather highball) V3 at the RAC boulders then followed by a trip to Cae Du, my favourite beach-side bouldering venue. Given the scorching heat we spent more time paddling rather than bouldering, which seemed like way to much work.


All and all I was genuinely happy to be out climbing again after my shoulder injury. It’s still bothering me and I remain worried that I might have a SLAP or rotator cuff tear. I have a seemingly enormous list of things that are quite bad at the moment. Each one doesn’t exactly spell doom. It is just the increasing size of the list that seems to weigh down rather heavily.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am happy…

To quote an Economist advert I saw on the Tube:

Llanberis Pass 7 + 8 List

In keeping with current fashions, Simon Panton had published a 7+8 guide to the Llanberis Pass in North Wales. As with the seminal 7 + 8 guidebook to Font, this PDF documents all of the boulder problems that rate between Font 7a to 8b (i.e. V6 – V13).

Since this is one of my favourite bouldering venues in the UK, it's sure to provide lots inspiration to train harder. Cheers Simon!

Also of interest on the North Wales Bouldering website is a Topo of the Breck Road area. This newly re-developed crag on the Ormes of Llandudno looks great for problems in the V5 to V8 category.

Now if only someone would do a topo for the new stuff in Ogwen...

Trad – An Alternative Perspective (by Peter)

Climbers on the East Buttress of Clogwyn Du'r Arddu, North Wales

Given Jenn's recent thoughts on why trad is currently not her cup of tea in Does Trad Hold You Back?, I thought I would pen my alternative perspective.

I did an awful lot of bouldering in 2007. Looking at my UKC logbook I see figures of 144 boulder problems and only 20 trad routes. 2008 is not starting that auspiciously either. The figures are 7 and 10 respectively, but that is rather distorted by UKC's insistence that 5-6m problems at Slipstones above perfect grassy landings are for some reason routes (go figure!); 17 and 0 would be more accurate as the only place I have used a rope in anger this year has been Portland. In a soon to be published magnum opus, I find correlation between the amount of bouldering I have done and achieving trad grades that I had previously failed with. Elsewhere on this blog, I describe my “coming out” as a boulderer. But I suppose at heart, despite all these examples to the contrary, I regard myself first and foremost as a trad climber. Not only that, but one who has a strong affinity for the multi-pitch climbs of North Wales. This article is my attempt to explain why.

I think I still get a frisson standing at the bottom of pitch 1 of x that is different to either single pitch, or bouldering, however hard either of these are. The feelings are different, with bouldering and single-pitch; maybe the negative feelings are ones of potential failure, or worse, not even being able to get on to the thing. With mountain multi-pitch there is the ant-like complex. What lies between you and success is not a sequence of hard moves, but an awful lot of vertical space. Mountain stuff is serious; mountain Diffs are serious when you think about the consequences of failure and potential weather issues and route-finding and loose rock and (if you are anything like me – experienced hill-walker as I once was) getting lost on the way back down!

The level of intimidation – yes that is the word – intimidation, is much higher for me. I have been a lot calmer standing tied in under single pitch E-grades than under multi-pitch VDiffs. Maybe there is more of a sense of cutting loose (no not in that way), of embarking on a voyage rather than a quick sprint. Well so far, so negative. But as with many things in life, negatives have a positive element as well. Overcoming these fears and starting. Finding the first gear placement and it being good. Getting to the first stance and thinking, only five more to go. You are committed, the scenery is spectacular, the air is clean and you begin to remember that natural rhythm that only mountain climbing gives you. Maybe the moves are well within your ability, but that is like saying that because you can run 100m you can complete a marathon; it's really missing the point. Maybe the gear is not as rich as it might be, and maybe it's a long way down, but, for me anyway, I tend to experience a calmness and even a certainty in these situations that I don't get thrashing about on some 25m test-piece or 6m problem. Maybe there is just more time to get immersed in the experience, for it to take you over, for a Zen-like state to develop.

Jenn has spoken about our joint experiences on Adam Rib early in 2007. For reasons that she eloquently explains, I led all four pitches. It's an HS, but I seemed to find lots of creative ways to turn it into a VS. These mostly consisted of rather bizarre meanderings away from the jugs in search of elusive gear. At one point on the penultimate (and allegedly 4a) pitch, as I tried to get my right foot established on a high hold for the third time, with a somewhat speculative purple Camalot as my most recent piece 20 feet below, I remember thinking “if you don't latch this soon, then you are going to fall”. However the thought was rather less immediate than on a single pitch climb, maybe detached even. A positive way of taking this is that I didn't panic or let the problem get to me, I wasn't overwhelmed by the situation as maybe I would have been closer to terra firma on a single-pitcher. I got my foot up on the third try and moved up smoothly to a bit of a ledge.

It is moments like that that stand out in my mind with trad. Things that I remember when other details fade. A bit like recalling today what it felt like 20 years ago to effortlessly raise a slightly leg-side delivery up and over mid-on and one bounce into the picture window of the pavilion. I get more of those moments with mountain multi-pitch than any other form of climbing. Mountain trad sticks with you.

And then of course there is the main event – topping out 100m or 250m up and realising that you have done it. Which of course then leaves the problem of finding your way back down the other side to the campsite, but that's another story.

Does Trad Hold You Back?

A Dream of White Horses, Cemetery Gates, Comes the Dervish, Left Wall… actually Right Wall for that matter.

When I began climbing back in 2004 all of these routes were dreams of mine. Each one held a special place in my mind and represented to me the pinnacle of what was a reasonable achievement for me. It seems as though I was not alone. Indeed, looking at the UKC logbook summary these routes factor highly in the top 20 Wishlist Climbs.

Onsight trad was the ultimate to aspire to and I viewed other types of climbing (sport and bouldering) as just training for the ‘real thing’.

Jenn at the belay on the top stance of Slab Climb on the Gribin Facet, North Wales

I believe this opinion is held by a lot of the UK climbing community primarily due to the prominence of ‘trad ethic’ which in turn stems from the nature of the prevalent rock types (gritstone, rhyolite, granite, etc. which tend to have naturally protectable weaknesses, as opposed to continental limestone). Also, I suppose the history of climbing plays a part in this romanticism as well.

While all forms of climbing have an inherent risk associated with them, trad can be one of the most dangerous, especially for beginners. It makes sense to take it slowly with trad and gain a lot of experience on ‘easier’ climbs before branching onto harder stuff. I certainly learned this the hard way. After a few months of trad climbing I had a bad accident which left me in the Emergency Room questioning my motivations for climbing. I tried something that was technically well within my ability, but not within my experience of placing gear.

However is it possible that ‘the leader never falls’ mentality becomes more of a mindset which ultimately ends up holding you back?

The reasons why I chose to stop trad climbing are manifold; however the primary one was that I am more interested in the physical challenges of bouldering, rather than the mental challenges of trad. I always felt with trad routes I had to be climbing well within my physical limit. Bouldering came to be the opposite for me. It wasn’t fun unless I was pushing my complete limit and barely able to do the moves.

Surely there is room for all types of climbing, but I feel that trad is held in such high esteem in the UK for two additional reasons. First is possibly a lack of inspiring mid-grade sport routes. There is always Portland, but it doesn’t come close to venues such as the Costa Blanca and Kalymnos. Places like Malham and Kilnsey in the UK are meant to be world class, but few people climb within the grade range on offer. I’ve come to the belief that the best lines in the UK that mortals can aspire to are mostly trad lines. Surely if the UK had more inspiring and approachable sport routes comments such as “sport is artificial” would be less widespread.

The second reason is maybe that bouldering is by nature hard and this can be off-putting for some. If you weren't naturally strong, I could easily see how a beginner would get despondent. Again, there is a lack of venues with a large concentration of bouldering. While the Peak District may have a plethora of ace problems across the grades, they tend to be spread out. Indeed it is arguable that there is no one area in the UK with a critical mass of boulders to rival somewhere such as Font.

I guess in the end it depends on what you want out of climbing. For me, I find it boring spending days (years?) building up my gear placing skills on climbs that are well within my technical ability and as a result will probably never feel confident with trad. I’m much more inspired to get as strong as I can and be able to pull off moves that I thought were impossible in a relatively safe environment. So nowadays I’m inspired by Pill Box Wall, Lickety Split, Simple Simon, Lightning Strike and actually Soulslinger for that matter.

A Font 6b problem at Cratcliffe, Peak District

Before We End and Begin Again

I’ve had a rough couple of weeks. My shoulder injury is hurting again and life in general has me rather down. I’ve been questioning my motivation and self belief, in climbing and other areas.

Why do I push myself so hard? I’m not seeing much progress, the opposite actually. I keep getting ill and injured. Is it worth it? Should I just give up? I don’t feel like I want the same things that I used to want. When is it time to let just go?

Why did I ever think I could change things; what was my basis? I though a look back might remind me where my notions of climbing were born from. Maybe they will give me what I need to persevere.

I’ve had a very odd relationship with climbing. I started indoors and progressed fast. I lead a few easy climbs outdoors, but I wasn’t happy. I wanted more. I wanted to be able to do moves outside that challenged me as much as the ones indoors, but given the pre-eminence of trad in my mind, this could only ever lead to one conclusion.

Climbing was a logical progression from hiking / hillwalking / scrambling, bits of which I have been doing for most of my life. My ultimate goal was actually to get into mountaineering. I enjoyed being in the hills far away from the noisy, polluted city that is my home. Even the relatively small mountains of Wales and Scotland seemed grand and majestic to me. I enjoyed being in their company and the reassuring feeling of insignificance helped to put the difficulties of my life into perspective.

I decided that a good foundation in rock climbing would serve as a basis for bigger and better things. Since I lived in London miles away from rock I went on an indoor climbing course at the Castle in November 2003. I quickly progressed through the grades and I remember clearly my first UK 5c top-rope one month later in December 2003. Shortly after this I top-roped a UK 6b slab on the first try. Looking back at it now, I realise that this period gave me a sense of confidence and reinforcing self belief which made climbing out to be the first sport I actually enjoyed. However, this initial period of progress also had a dark side that was about to make its self very clear. I soon grew very tired of top-roping and signed up for the next available leading course at the Castle in February 2004. Shortly after the course I led indoor routes up to UK 5c.

I've won the Boulder Ladder at the Castle so many times, I've stopped counting

That Easter (2004) I went to Portland for my first taste of outdoors and managed a few low grade routes. A desire to combine my new found climbing skills with my love of being in the mountains led me to take a week long trad leading course at PYB in April 2004. Shortly after the course I went on to do a few Welsh mountain classics. In June 2004 after trad climbing for 2.5 months I decided to tack on a bit of climbing after visiting my parents in the US.

The rock at the Gunks in New York state was nothing like the Welsh rhyolite and dolerite that I had experienced before. The rounded, horizontally broken rock was much more akin to gritstone and mostly protected by cams (which I hardly ever used before) and tricams (of which I had none). However, I liked the delicate face climbing. The features suited my style well. I did a few warm-ups and shortly afterwards wanted to jump on something more challenging. I chose a 5.8 (normally about HVS, but later I was to learn that the grades are ‘traditional’ and date from when 5.10 was the hardest grade) that I liked the look of and quickly started up. I had spied from the ground a crack, where I thought I could place a nut, however I got to it and realised that it was too shallow for gear. I continued, confident in my ability and assuming that I would find some gear soon. The crux came and I only had two dodgy cams placed near to the start. I did the crux moves, but then freaked out after realising there was still no gear to be found. I made the decision at about 35ft that I was now risking serious injury and decided the best course was to down climb. I managed to reverse the crux and made it down a few more feet to where I did a rock-over on tenuous edges. I now know the move was nearly impossible to reverse and I fell about 20ft directly onto the back of my head. The last sound I heard was my cams popping. I lost all of my vision and went through the usual ‘this is it’ type moments.

Eventually I came round and managed to walk out, however back at the hotel I became violently ill and decided to go to the hospital, where I was not surprisingly diagnosed with a concussion and received various comments along the lines of ‘we hardly ever treat women with massive head traumas – it’s normally (American) football players’.

My head CT

Very soon after, I tried to do some leading and managed a few climbs indoors and some ridiculously easy stuff at Portland in attempt to say ‘look, I’m fine’. I wasn’t though. After my accident, I got stuck in a cycle of not living up to my potential and being demotivated about climbing. I spent years getting scared on VDifs and trying to force myself to do the moves when all that I wanted was to be back on the ground. It also led me to question myself; if I can’t lead a VDiff what kind of a climber am I? I thought that if I got enough mileage at an easy grade I could slowly build up my confidence. Wrong. The easier climbs didn’t inspire me in the least and they even served to make me feel worse about myself.

Almost by chance I decided to go on a bouldering trip to Font with a few friends. I was really rubbish at bouldering (I think I managed a Font 5 on my first trip). Nonetheless I had fun and I was doing much more enjoyable moves on a Font 5 problem than I was on a VDiff route. But that was just a holiday abroad, what I really wanted to do was trad – or so I thought. I went on to do some leading indoors and made a huge amount of progress culminating in redpointing a F6c+ indoors last December. I also got a lot stronger by keeping up my bouldering.

Having fun in Font

Last spring I wanted to spend some time in the US and thought it would be great to combine this with climbing, but I didn’t want to have a repeat of my last trip so I decided on a bouldering holiday and Bishop fit the bill. As with my first trip to Font, I was nowhere near stellar, but managed to struggle up a V4 and a few V3’s. However what I did find was something amazing, something that had been shut off in my mind for years. For reasons way too lengthy to recount here, my career was basically put on hold and for a long time all that I had as a means of measuring progress in my life was climbing, but even that hadn’t been going well. I never felt that I lived up to my potential and it was very dispiriting. One day at the Happy Boulders I was climbing in a dusty cave working a V3 and I soon realised that I couldn’t span all the way across the roof to the lip, but I tried it anyway. I somehow managed a backwards dyno into an iron cross and stuck it! As is the nature of bouldering, I of course fell off the next move.

First trip to Bishop

For once I thought – maybe I can do this! Back in the UK on the first bank holiday weekend as per normal I went to North Wales and tried to do some leading. As was now the norm, I again fell to pieces on a run-out VS. This time I gave up. I finally realised that I wasn’t happy at all. While I loved being in the mountains, I hated feeling scared all of the time, looking for my next piece of gear and doing moves well below my limit.

Something just clicked and I decided to say good bye to trad for the time being at least and got semi-serious about bouldering. I started to find boulder problems that were pretty near to my limit, but just possible. When I sent them this just feed that old confidence that I hadn’t felt since I started out all of those years ago. I wanted to see just how far I could go with it. How strong could I actually get – how far could I push myself – what could I achieve?

I’ve always been an all or nothing person. I’m not inspired by things that aren’t a challenge. What attracted me to bouldering was the ability to work at my very physical limit, but by its very nature this doesn’t come easily. I’m not happy bimbling around on VSs. It’s not my personality. I sometimes wish it was different. I sometimes wish that I didn’t always want (or need?) more.

I’m constantly hard on myself. I don’t really know any other way to be. Early on I thought that it was within my abilities to achieve a few things for myself with climbing. It’s proving to be more of a struggle than I could have ever anticipated, but what else am I supposed to do? Give up? No, I’ll keep fighting, because that’s the only other thing I know.

V5

Jenn sending her first Buttermilk's V5

It is just a grade. It’s not a particularly good grade. It wasn’t even a nice line. But it meant the world to me. It was the day I found out what working at your limit meant and climbing for me was never the same.

On my 30th birthday, I started working a V5 that I spied on a prior trip to North Wales. The line wasn’t great, but it was my type of problem, small but positive holds on an overhang. Wow, this might just be possible, I thought.

When I actually tried the problem I started to have doubts. Was I strong enough? The holds were minuscule and caused every muscle in my body to hurt. I had an imprint of one of the crimps I was trying to hold branded into my finger-tip, beneath this blood was beginning to well up. I began to think to myself, do I actually have any business trying this problem? Am I hurting myself too much? I didn’t know the answer to those questions, but still I persisted. Something was driving me. I had to have an exact sequence. One foot in slightly in the wrong place would result in too much energy wasted and ultimately cause me to fall off. I was so tired, but yet I kept on trying with only a few minutes rest in between attempts. It was an all out struggle for me. I never had to battle with something like that before.

I did eventually get the problem and it was amazing, but as with most good things, it wasn’t without its negatives. At that very moment, climbing ceased to be solely about having fun. When I realised that I could accomplish things by pushing the boundaries of what is possible for me – that old demon of wanting more appeared again.

However, the most amazing thing happened when I came back to the same problem a few months later. I got it on the first go. I didn’t remember the correct sequence. My feet were all over the place. I wasn’t feeling particularly good, but I still sent it and the difference was amazing. My limit was no longer my limit. I got stronger.

My first V5 was a major breakthrough for me. However it left me with a double-edged legacy. One part of this was the hollow question of how far I could actually take things. I've been looking for the answer ever since.

A sort of progress (by Peter)

In a Les Amants Réguliers vs The Dreamers sort of style...

There are footholds there if you look really closely.

Inspired by the photo of me puntering my way up Green Wall Essential at The Buttermilks in Bishop, California; I thought that I’d contribute a post about just how long it took me to get this problem. With apologies to Wills Young and Mick Ryan, here is the description of the problem from their excellent Bishop Bouldering Guide (page 236): -

Green Wall Essential v2 ***
A super-technical line on perfect rock: The aim is to get your hands on the first horizontal fracture in the patina at about ten feet up, and then make a couple of moves to the summit. Begin either at the left-facing sidepulls, or better, from the thin crack on the right.

There is also a photo of Tony Lamiche climbing it on page 225, so I guess that I am in good company!

First of all, let’s get some things straight. I am not a good boulderer. I am not even a semi-decent boulderer. I am however a much better boulderer than I was in March 2007. A much better boulderer than before I went to Bishop for the first time.

The now defunct (?) Gravity Magazine was kind enough to publish an article of mine about that March / April trip; it appeared in the July 2007 edition. I closed this with the following thoughts: -

I suppose what sticks most in my mind are two things. First the climbs I almost sent, top of this list is Green Wall Essential (V2) at the Buttermilks, described as an old-school technical test-piece. I had the final jugs in my grasp twice only to rather lose it both times and fall rather a long way.

I don’t know how many times I tried the problem on that first visit. We went to the Buttermilks three times and I got on it each time. Maybe I had 50 attempts in total. As the above excerpt suggests, I managed to fail it twice when it was surely easier to make the final moves. However, my glib comments in the article hide how long it took me to work out the initial sequence, and then the next one until you get a hand on the patina fracture that the guide refers to (it was long after this that I fell both times). It hides how much the quartz-monzonite shreds your skin when you repeatedly fall out of the same finger-lock. It hides the pain of thinking you have overcome all the difficulties only to feel your fingers unpeeling and the downward rush to Earth.

What attracted me to this climb was that it seemed so straightforward, but clearly wasn’t. That it was yelling out “climb me” at the top of its voice, but then turned shy when you actually attempted the climbing. I liked the fact that it seemed accessible, but clearly was a bit beyond me for reasons that I couldn’t quite fathom. It was about perfecting body and foot position on holds like polished glass. For me at that time, despite the lowly grade, it ticked the boxes mentioned elsewhere on this blog of being possible, but only just.

I think it was Green Wall Essential that finally confirmed my journey to the dark side and becoming an apprentice boulderer. I began to understand people trying the same problem for years. I began to understand the thoughts that plague people at night; that if they just shifted their body weight to the right and then reached through all would be well (only for this latest scheme to lead to ignominious failure yet again). I began to understand throwing yourself at something until your fingers bled and you couldn’t pull any more. I left Bishop in April 2007 frustrated, but hooked and with a patina-broken wall on my mind.

Luck had it that a work trip to the US in October offered a cheap way to fit in a return to Bishop. It was a bit too early in the autumn season and it is was a bit to warm even for the time of year, but it is always great to be in Bishop and we weren’t complaining at this unexpected bonus. Anyway Green Wall Essential is in the shade most of the day right?

The first Bishop trip had acted as a real spring-board for our climbing season. We had spent time on mountain multi-pitch (Adam Rib comes to mind, but then so does our first climb on Cloggy), Peak and North Wales single pitch and a ton of bouldering all over the place. My thesis is that the Bishop trip was the catalyst for a chain of events that led to me claiming my first E1 onsight. Returning to Bishop, I felt that I had unfinished business, that I had grown as a climber and that a certain V2 was now mine for the taking.

Until I repeatedly fell off the first couple of moves…

But I eventually managed to piece the sequence back together, got up to the first patina-fracture and failed and failed and failed again! My mood plunged from confidence to abject despair – had I not improved at all in six months? Was I fooling myself that I could actually climb on occasion? I sometimes still dream about going into a University exam and realising that I had revised the wrong subject. It felt like that again; a recurring nightmare from which I could not escape. A terrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Until I moved my right foot two inches to the left and six inches up that is. I got the patina fracture, but much less extended and much more in balance than before. I was set for stepping onto the non-existent, glassy edges that you convince yourself are there and pulling up and lunging right to a goodish hand-hold (which felt much juggier than earlier in the year). But I had been this far before and still not tasted success. I think that it was at this point that the maturity gained in all the intervening climbing came to the fore.


In March I had the Wile E. Coyote experience of suddenly realising that I was in mid-air and that, unlike Road Runners, I couldn’t fly. Maybe I didn’t fully believe that I should be there. Panic followed, accompanied by heavy breathing and heavier falling. This time I was composed enough (and my fingers strong enough) to take a pause, have a think and relatively calmly send the easyish moves to the top.

Latching the final hueco jug felt very special, probably up there with my best climbing experiences. It is so much more rewarding when it has been such a struggle – maybe something that I miss in my onsight approach to trad.

But, in common with those other experiences, it was soon replaced by the next challenge. Do you want to know how many times I fell off of Birthday Problem at the Buttermilks, and after I had my hand on the juggy nubbin as well…

Finally, no way is Green Wall Essential V2!

The Fear of Falling

Adam Rib HS 4b 120m. Pitch 1, 45m, Scramble easily upwards to reach the foot of the rib proper.

Sounds easy enough and the next pitch involves a ‘wide groove’, hmm, yes, best avoid that one - my lead!

Racking up takes longer than usual since we are climbing with rucksacks – argh, I have gear digging into my waist, painful ankles from trying to ascend a miserable scree slope with a sprained ankle and lump in the back of my throat. Ever since my accident trad climbing has never been fun. Nonetheless, I take a deep breath and begin, after all how hard can ‘easy scrambling’ be and this is what I want to do, right?

A few meters up there is an ‘interesting’ lunge for a hold, oh to be a few inches taller, but still, this doesn’t count as a difficulty, since the average size guy would find it easy. I keep moving, hoping for the best, and maybe – um, wait I don’t have any gear! I go over the route in my mind while clutching a dirty hold. Nope, no gear at the start, or the lunge bit or here! I am now about 20 meters up and all that I see is solid, compact rock with no cracks whatsoever. I throw a sling around a slight protrusion in the rock to assuage my mind. OK, well I’ll keep going, how hard can it be. I then come to a very precarious rock over with a handhold well out of reach. Assessing the situation, I think I’ll be OK, but I don’t know. I look around, am I off route, nope. The dank void to my left makes the ancient Welshman's belief in dragons seem reasonable. OK Jenn, you can do this and I’m sure when you do it, there will be some proper gear. Ugh, but what if… my legs begin to shake. ‘Take’, oh god, there is nothing to take me on! Well it’s now or never and you want to do trad climbing, so best get to it. I make myself do the rockover and there is still no decent gear!!

Right, time to down climb… your lead!

This situation was to play itself out time and time again. It’s not the falling that worries me. I actually enjoy lobbing off overhangs at the wall. It feels like and amusement park ride. It is the impact with the ground caused by the lack of gear that does.