Karabiner Mountaineering Club

April 1997 Newsletter The Spanish Section

March 8th - 14th 1997: The Mallorca Meet: Phil Ramsbottom

A week of perfect weather with one or two interesting adventures worth telling in rather more detail, however just to wet your appetites these include two separate benightments, one helicopter rescue and one national TV interview.

Mallorca - the First Adventure

On the Sunday the weather was still brilliant, so Rowena, Sue and the Daves set off to climb in the Bocher Valley where they sampled the boulders before setting off up the Sharks Fin, this proved to be an abortive attempt as someone has stolen all the bolt hangers (they were there last October), so after one and a bit pitches they decided enough was enough and abseiled off.

The rest of us went for a very pleasant walk on the Alcudia Peninsula, the plan was to follow the ridge from Pea Roja to Atalaya de Alcudia, this seems so obvious that I couldn't understand why it wasn't in the guide. We first climbed Pea Roja, something that we had all done several times before but with the views as wonderful as they are it was no problem at all to repeat it. After a bite to eat by the canon on top we descended by the normal path until past the crags, then cut back up left to rejoin the ridge, after about a quarter of a mile we were brought to a stop by a good half mile of pathless jungle stretching away into the distance. Not wishing to risk scratched legs so early in the holiday we retreated back to the normal path and continued following the route in the guidebook, consoling ourselves with the masses of wild flowers, especially bee orchids which seemed to be everywhere.

On the Monday I joined the climbers and Linda, Pam and Iain went for a walk in the Orient valley pausing for lunch in Orient before grinding up to the Castle de Alaro spurred on by thought of the bar at the top.

The rest of us wanted to climb Gubia Normal which is the classic mid grade climb of the island, "240 metres with an epic descent", unfortunately this last phrase did not register until late on in the afternoon. I teamed up with Sue and Rowena, this would allow the two Daves to go first without us holding them up. I decided to carry my rucksack and walk down from the top of the ridge, the others decided to abseil down.

The climb lived up to all my expectations, the only easy pitch was the first, this was followed by a line of eight bolts beckoning us over this steep bulge, luckily this was Sues' lead, she was soon up, then it was Rowenas' turn. Quite frankly I was shocked to hear such language from a lady but it seemed to work and it got to my turn, I found this pitch hard enough, it was 4C in the book but, not having climbed since the previous September I thought that I was just out of practice. The next two pitches were a little easier and brought us to the second 4C pitch, this time it was my lead. The problem was a steep wall about 10 metres high blocking the way between us and the crest of the ridge, we had to move left across the wall, then straight up to the crest, after clipping the first peg and looking at the next few feet I surprised myself by moving up without too much dithering to find a second rather flimsy looking peg just where I wanted it, a couple of supplementary rocks for good measure gave me the confidence to move up on to the crest where I found a brilliant thread for a belay. Rowena came up without any trouble, she had been worrying about this pitch after finding the second pitch so difficult which prompted me to read the guidebook again, all was soon revealed, on the second pitch we were attracted by the shiny bolts which were actually on an HVS 5A, our route should have climbed slightly to the right of them. Anyway back to the job in hand, we had another three relatively easy pitches to do so the climb was in the bag, but we were now starting to run out of time, the sun had started to drop quite low and had lost a lot of its' power. To save time either Sue or I would lead and the other would climb at the same time as Rowena. despite all these efforts by the time we had finished the last pitch the sun had set. We met up with the two Daves at the top, they had been there for a couple of hours but were still keen on an abseil descent. Rowena decided that she would walk off with me so we left the others preparing the abseil. When I turned round to look at the way off I was horrified, we were only half way up the ridge, the climbing was very much easier but there was still a lot of it left, the only thing we could do was to move as quickly as possible along the crest of the ridge which was about ten feet wide with very big drops on each side. It went completely dark about half way up this so we were moving by moonlight and feel.

Eventually we climbed over a wall which surrounds the trig point at the top of the ridge. It was now so dark that I did not risk changing my rock boots for the comfortable walking boots which I had in my rucksack, there was every chance that I would loose one of them, there was no chance of reading the guidebook so I had to remember the description of the descent. I could remember it saying that from the top a path lead to a track in five minutes. After about fifteen minutes of zigzagging round trees, shrubs, rocks and drops (some real and some imaginary) Rowena said to me 'tell me honestly Phil do you have any idea where you are going', I replied 'Put it this way, if we don't find that track in the next couple of minutes we are here for the night'. And then there was a faint grey area in front of us, then it got clearer and we knew we were safe. It still took us about an hour to walk down it as it zig zagged all over the place but we eventually got down to a farm where there was a mad donkey sized dog chained up at the side of the track, we know now that the chain does not reach across the road but at the time we couldn't be sure. We edged slowly past, with first the rucksack, then me between Rowena and the dog, not that the sack would have made much difference, from the sound of it could have swallowed that whole. In another 50 metres we were on the road from where it was about a mile to the car. But it still wasn't over, as we started to walk along the road chatting happily about how we both love dogs (but that one was the exception) when only about 10 metres further on, Rowena just wasn't there anymore, she had fallen into a drainage ditch completely invisible in the dark, she was very lucky as it was a good four feet deep so she could have been seriously hurt, as it was she just got a very bruised hip which she insisted on flashing at everybody she met for the rest of the week. We got back to the car at ten past nine only to see the car belonging to the abseilers was still there. I took one look at it and said 'well that's them out for the night', we got into our car and drove back to the flat arriving at just turned ten.

The next morning, when the abseilers hadn't turned up by 9:30, Linda and I decided that we had better go and look for them, we weren't worried as we were confident that they knew what they were doing, but we felt that we ought to go back (just in case you understand). Luckily we spotted their car on the road when we were about half way there so we could turn back with a clear conscience. When we all met up at 11:00 they told us the full story of the ropes jamming and getting caught on shrubs, Dave Whittingham merited hero of the night for his climb in the dark in an attempt to free the rope but when it got to 1:30 they decided to give up. They were all OK despite having spent a very cold and uncomfortable night.

To be Continued.........

Mallorca - A Hard Day's Night

Five of us set out on a bright sunny morning to climb the Normal route on Sa Gubia. This is a superb 9 pitch 4+ (VS) following a soaring ridge, and almost entirely bolt-free.

We climbed as two teams, myself with Dave Shotton, and Phil with Sue and Rowena, two non-KMC guests. Sue, a Rucksack Club member, is an experienced climber. Rowena's outdoor climbing experience was limited to Windgather, so this was to be her introduction to multi-pitch routes.

Dave and I topped out at 5pm, and waited for the others before we abbed back down the route to our rucsacs. We waited and we waited. They eventually arrived at 7pm.

Phil had planned to walk off along the ridge and through the aggressively prickly Mallorcan vegetation, and had brought his 'sac up with him. Rowena by this time had experienced quite enough of her first big route and determined to follow Phil, in rock boots!

As they set off into the gathering gloom the other three of us set up the first abseil. I went down first and, after pausing several times to disentangle the ropes from big, prickly, stinky bushes that I hadn't even noticed on the way up, found a good solid thread for the next belay. Sue and Dave joined me at the belay and clipped in. Sue did mention that it would have been more convenient if I had found a belay near a ledge. We then pulled the rope through, about the first ten feet of it, and not an inch more. It was stuck! There was only one thing to do. I tied a prusik loop to the ropes and climbed back up, pausing whenever I could stop with both hands off to slide the prusik up to join me. Have I mentioned that by now it was dark? Well it was - very. I never ever want to repeat that experience. Eventually I reached the top, freed the ropes, re-rigged the abseil and slid back down to the others.

I clipped the belay and slumped in an adrenaline-overdosed heap. Dave volunteered to take a turn at the vertical battle of the bushes, and started down the awkward crucial diagonal abseil. Now as you may know Dave has to wear glasses, but since we had started (and fully intended finishing) in bright sunshine he only had the dark pair with him. Feeling his way down near-vertical rock apparently entirely covered in spiny malicious vegetables Dave eventually belayed after about half a rope length. We joined him tied to a large spike, still no ledge.

My turn again. We were definitely not following the line of the route. At last I identified the next belay, with ledge this time. I'm sure the bushes were tangling the ropes deliberately. Pausing only for an extended bout of reverse knitting with the ropes, I slid down to the ledge and clipped two shiny new bolts.

I shouted the good news to Sue and Dave who hurried to join me. The worst was now behind (above) us. Just pull the ropes through and three or four abseils would see us reunited with our rucsacs, with food and drink. Just pull the ropes through; what do you mean they're stuck? Not again! The tail end had disappeared into the darkness above and was still up there somewhere. I tied on to the one end we had and started back up, again. I knew I had reached the vertical section when my toes and nose were touching the rock simultaneously, and that was as far as I did get.

Back on the ledge it seemed to have shrunk. About 6 inches wide with a short undercut slab below, then space and blackness. I suppose the blackness was only to be expected, it was past midnight. With no rope there was no choice, we were here for the night. Mallorca is not just cold at night, it is noisy. There were squeaking bats, birds that went dong (frequently), screeching owls, rusty clockwork birds and even, at one point, mysterious heavy breathing. A game of I-spy didn't last very long. After s-for-stars and d-for-dark- everywhere-else we ran out of ideas. We just perched/hung there, the synchronised shivering team waiting for the dawn.

Eventually the sky began to lighten. Now that we could see, it was obvious where the rope was jammed. A little judicious flicking and it was free. We were on our way. The descent passed uneventfully, daylight making all the difference. We would be reunited with our rucsacs, and I was looking forward with eager anticipation to the cheese sandwich in mine. Thoughts of that sandwich had sustained me through the long, cold night. Whiz down the rope, unclip, and run to the 'sac. Oh no. The final straw. Some Mallorcan critter had chewed through my 'sac and eaten my sandwich, adding insult to injury by leaving the crust.

Thus far we had borne up pretty well but this was too much. I cracked, and was only restored to calmness and sanity when Sue made the ultimate sacrifice: she gave me half her sandwich. It seems the wildlife preferred brown bread and cheese to pumpernickel and lettuce.

The walk out and drive back to the apartment passed in a daze. No more climbing that day. The rest of the week was spent in clip and cruise mode. We even went back to Sa Gubia, but this time spent the day on fully-bolted single pitch routes with lower-offs. We had had our epic, now it was the walkers turn, but Felix Roberts can tell you about that.

David Whittingham.

Calpe and Surrounds - One Man's Birds Eye View

Having studied in depth every nuance of the emergency card, calculated which exit would give me the greatest hope of escape in the unlikely event we landed on water, and the size of the people I'd have to trample to get there first, it was time for another white knuckle flight of the Valkyries. You see, I hate flying, ... either by plane or on the end of 10 mm of Mammuts finest.

But that's what the next two weeks were all to be about -- or so goes the theory of KMC 'ard men, Ian P, Simon M, and Goose. Head south to Paella land for a pre-season taste of sun- drenched rock, bolts and gravity, whilst folk at home freeze their pinkies on grit, uttering vague and unconvincing myths of improved friction in the cold.

Just three of us (Joan, Chris Ivory, and me) boarded the 6.45am Napalm run that Tuesday, the others having, landing gear permitted, arrived the Saturday before. Anyway the Gods were with us, we were disgorged shaken but not stirred into Alicante airport, where, in true RockFax style (p.9), we successfully commandeered a Vauxhall Corsa for a miserly £120 for the fortnight. Leaving the carnage of burning plane airframes behind we headed North for 15 km to a free flat Joanie had managed to wangle from one of her patients who desperately need pain killers, though she insisted it belonged to her friends, parents, -a likely story.

Despite plans of rock in the afternoon, the day passed with a long beach walk beneath a strange (at least to those in Manchester) golden orb thing in the sky, dipping toes in the sewer sea, and gradually forgetting work, commuting, bills, and the election. The following few days saw us at Cabreras and Sella where we met up with the A team and Chris (Williamson) and Vinny. All were climbing in there inimitable style: Linda doing her vertical version of Darcey Bussel, Julie gliding ethereally to distant echoes of Bob Dillon and Joni Mitchell, Lucy all enthusiasm and gusto, Mike eyeing up the potential for ambulance chasing should anyone's gear fail, Chris W (sporting a struck match haircut) grumbling about late starts, the weather, the rock, the water ....... and Vinny practising for the onset paraplegia - all arms and no legs. Us three in the mean time pottered along: Joanie (my missus as 'Chris I' continually referred to her) sporting a fine pair of electric blue lycra shorts (ask me for the slides) and cursing at me for any well meaning advice I offered at times of vertical difficulty - oh how the path of true love twists and turns. 'Chris I', on the other hand, demonstrated the failure of the Geordie mind to grasp even simple concepts like fear as each time we unleashed him he hurtled up anything with the vague glint of a bolt only to be followed by the inevitable winger.

On Saturday the A team (plus C & V) departed and we spent three lazy hazy days visiting Roconco (good for tanning) and the beautifully situated Salinas. But our halcyon days were to be short lived. On Tuesday another silver bird miraculously dumped a replacement cargo of slightly bruised climbers (used in its widest sense) on to the Alicante tarmac. Within a couple of hours the sleepy spring resort of Calpe was experiencing Dante's Inferno (usually saved for Benidorm's summer) as the Team from Hell roared into its tranquil streets. Throwing petrol onto the fire 'Chris I's geordie drinking buddies also landed on Tuesday and staggered north to Calpe leaving a trail of parched Spanish towns in their wake. And so began our contrasting second week.

I joined up with Pete an education psychologist, and together, with improvised clip sticks, we laid siege to a selection of routes. The others alternated partners depending on consciousness, but still managed to drag themselves out of bed for the odd spot of climbing. We re-visited Sella, called in at the picturesque El Aventador, visited Feradao, a whizz bang all singing all dancing mohican haircut of a crag, and pottered at the local Jalon valley. Much frivolity was to be had, interrupted occasionally with a spot of the vertical stuff. Mary, never afraid to put her head on the block (surname Stuart - say no more!!) was to be spotted trashing the nerves of those around her as she launched up under graded route after under graded route - and all in amazingly good humour considering it appeared to those of us on the ground that her maker was uncomfortably near at hand. Levi in typical US style tried to conquer everything (especially small undefended routes) and in untypical US style was surprisingly successful. Cathy only donned her harness as an alternative to here bikini so as to avoid obvious tanning lines. Anne pushed out the boat culminating in a fine F6a lead, and Al miraculously completed all routes with glimmers of daylight still in the sky (though perhaps this was sunrise rather than sunset??).

In addition to these fine KMC folk, Old Nick's team also included Cathy's Dad and a party of more mature (in age only) climbing exponents who, according to their behaviour and with a few dour exceptions, were all well ensconced in their second childhood - at around the fresher just left home stage. 'Chris I' and his mates spent a couple of days on the crags with us all before declaring they were ready to move on to the big stuff - heading off to the hills in search long walks and quiet villages where they could pass from alcoholic haze through to oblivion. They returned several days later with tales of adventurous mountain treks, festivals and sultry, but amenable, senoritas - though, going by there newly acquired 'kiss me quick' hats some of us doubt that they actually progressed beyond Benidorm and various Tracey's from Essex.

And so the final day of climbing arrived. Some set off for a day of gentle recovery at Sella, whilst others headed for an epic ascent of the Puig Campana (with Al Metelko!!!!!!!); meanwhile Pete and I took in the sun on the spectacular Costa Blanca route up the Penon - a climb with cream on it as Joanie met us at the top with shoes, sustenance and a patient ear as Pete and I childishly relived, enthused and exaggerated every move up the cliff.

The following day meant yet more aerial antics as Dan Dare aided by Biggles wrestled another rusting wreck across the sky before lumbering earthwards towards Manchester. Two weeks of clipping bolts in the sun with friends over (and with no falls or submissions), just memories now to help lift the spirits of ailing grey days before the British summer sets our souls free to soar once more.

Tips for Costa Blanca Climbing

Don't stay in Calpe when just a few klicks inland there are beautiful villages offering cheap accommodation, with cafes, tapas and friendly locals, all nestled in mythical valleys belonging more to S. America than Europe. Taste Spanish culture not just their rock - you could even try a walk in the hinterland ('Chris I' reckoned it was "some of the most beautiful and spectacular trekking I've done - and the scenery woz good too" [outside Levenshulme]) Don't pre-book a car unless your flight arrives on Saturday evening, - you'll save £30+. The Rock Fax guide is excellent and gives good descriptions of how to get to even the remoter crags- though a reasonable Costa Blanca map is very useful (buy it in Spain rather the UK - more recent and half the price).

Don't just stick to Sella, Toix and Gandia - get to Ferada, Salinas, El Aventador, Puig, and according to the locals there's a really good multi-pitch crag near Polop - possibly Echo Placa. Asparagus are cheap in Spain at this time of year - so indulge yourself. SAFETY: Don't trust all the single pitch lengths, - someone, not in our group, went over the end of their rope whilst been lowered off!! You've been warned

The Labour party (New Labour to you older members) are promising to provide 95% subsidies to all British climbers visiting foreign crags, -- so you know where to put your X.

April 1997 Newsletter Index.

Copyright © 1997 Karabiner Mountaineering Club