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September 2003 Other Articles
A Victorian Dad's Guild to Climbing, Part One - Duncan Lee
So you think that climbing is about enjoying yourself?
WRONG!
You think that it is about clipping chunky solid bolts in the
sunshine for pleasure?
WRONG!
You think it is about centrally heated climbing wall or being two
feet above a big fat bouldering mat?
WRONG AGAIN!
Climbing is about being able to appreciate "quality suffering" and
adversity in the mountains. In the words of the 18th century
philosopher Kant "It is by his activities and not by enjoyment that
man feels alive" or as another lesser known thinker would say "we
can't do that, it looks far too much like fun." The seeking of
instant pleasure and gratification is also almost instantly
forgotten, it is the hand sweating knee trembling epic struggles and
moments of terror that remain lodged in ones memory for ever.
Indelibly printed on ones consciousness in a way that puerile
guidebook ticking and the all-consuming obsession with grades can
never be.
The main factors that can be combined to provide quality suffering
are miserable wet windy weather, off-width cracks, slime covered wet
rock, fulmar vomit, hand shredding jamming cracks, huge approaches up
scree with ludicrously heavy sacks, belaying Chris Williamson or any
other members of team gasteropod, unprotected hold less slabs, a day
in the Welsh hills with Colin Maddison in December, Lockwood's
chimney complete with stream in January (the day Scumbag failed his
interview as a chimney sweep was a fine example) or anything else
that any droll old sage refers to as being "character building
youth." Alpine climbing is therefore perfectly suited to provide
large quantities of quality misery and rarely fails to deliver but on
occasions 30 feet of gritstone can do the trick leaving one feeling
battered and exhausted both mentally and physically. These battles
generally lead to a greater appreciation of your adversary and the
savage yet beautiful mountain environment.
Real moments of quality suffering generally occur on the sort of
route that takes you weeks (or at least two bottles of wine or eight
pints) to convince yourself that you did enjoy the experience after
all, all be it in a sick and twisted way. Having finally deluded
yourself that the experience was one that has enriched your sad
little life it is now time to recommend the little adventure in
question to all your friends and acquaintances for their own good.
With luck one of the fools will fall for it and hey presto true gut
busting pleasure can be yours at last as they relate to you every
intricate detail of their epic and call you every name under the sun.
Just ignore these trivial insults and brickbats and bask in the warm
glow of satisfaction that you have helped a wayward soul see the
light. They will remember the experience and eventually return for
more punishment that ferments slowly into pleasure and delight.
In the words of Stephen Venables "The memory of the suffering
always fades, while the fulfilment glows brighter."
Earnest J Sandbagger.
Kirkus Route Circus - Jim Gregson
Climbers of a certain generation like myself, who are also lovers of
true mountain crags, may have developed an admiration and affection
for the splendid range of climbs pioneered by Cohn Kirkus during the
late 1920's and 1930's.
Fine lines with fine climbing in fine surroundings characterise these
routes. Jaded indeed would be the mountaineer who would not enjoy
ascents of the Great Slabs of Cwm Silyn or Cloggy, the soaring lines
of Lot's Wife and Lot's Groove on Glyder Fach, the exposure of
Pinnacle Wall on Craig yr Ysfa. Kirkus's own accounts of these climbs
and others can be read in his own delightful book of 1941 "Let's Go
Climbing" or learn more from Steve Dean's 1993 biography "Hands of a
Climber".
But, a cautionary note - don't be dismissive of these routes as
belonging to history and therefore a little overrated. Hence to my
"Circus": Karabiner MC friends may know of my penchant for obscure
Welsh crags and a flick through the pages of Les Holliwell's 1975
Carneddau guidebook led my eye to alight on Craig Lloer, nestling
unseen from casual view behind Pen yr Ole Wen. And what was this? A
Kirkus's Route, given only Severe - must be worth a look, and only an
hour from the bustle of Tryfan and Ogwen. In mid-July 1979, Sandy and
I left the A5 at Glan Dena and wound our warm way up into the cwm.
The approach is very pleasant, as Kirkus described it "...a crag
above Ffynnon Lloer, a lonely little lake set deep in the wild
hollows of Carnedd Dafydd ...steepest of the three sections of the
cliff ...about 200 feet high and had never been climbed". It was
obvious what Cohn had spotted - "...a sinister-looking crack, some 80
feet up ...about 40 feet high and overhung at the top. It looked very
difficult". But - only given Severe by Les Holliwell, and looking
very inviting.
An added bonus, nobody else about, so Sandy and I could relax, so we
thought, in summer solitude. Eventually we were roped and geared up.
A 90 foot pitch took us towards the crack and a closer view showed a
leftwards lean as well as the overhung top. Onward by a steep rib
then a really awkward mantelshelf to gain a sloping ledge at the base
of the crack. Nowadays this would be called 40 feet of off-width but
then it was "This looks like a thrutch and a half!" A long pause for
breath and then into battle - my hat was already in the circus ring.
Height was gained at great expense of effort, security of tight
wedging having to be eased for the increasingly precarious business
of moving up. A chockstone high in the crack promised a runner, but
threading it one - handed and clipping it with both ropes ate deeply
into my reserves of strength. Dry-mouthed but sweating everywhere
else I squinted up the top part of the crack leaning out over me; it
now both felt and looked hard. I unwedged myself and wriggled
upwards, feeling more and more insecure as the "grip factor" took
hold of me. Now in a cold sweat I buried my right arm, shoulder, knee
and foot in the crack, desperate to stay there. My resolve for the
thing evaporated. I was too scared to try to climb down, felt I
couldn't climb any further up without falling backwards into the air,
didn't really believe the threaded chockstone would save me. Crisis.
Younger generation climbers would, I suppose, simply have flopped
onto the runner and lowered off if it had held - but true to my time
the fear of falling was too ingrained. Patient Sandy, belayed 40 long
feet below eventually asked "What are you going to do now?" Unable
to go up, too terrified to climb down, I racked my brain for a
solution. As my heart - rate subsided I remembered we had two ropes.
Maybe Sandy could descend the first pitch, scramble up to the top of
the crag then lower me a top rope 30 I could climb out in safety -
would that work? She was willing to give it a try.
Left-handed I fumbled to untie the knot at my harness on one of the
ropes and let it slither down away from me, through the runner and
below to Sandy on her ledge. "Off you go, lass", I said, hopefully
with the instructions firmly imprinted on her brain - "Find a really
good belay point to anchor yourself to then throw the knotted
rope-end and karabiner to me in as direct a line as possible". Once
clipped on I might then struggle up the rest of the crack to peace of
mind. Naturally all of this took a little time, mean while I welded
myself harder into the leaning crack.
After a while a thin voice from high above told me to expect the
rope. Of course, in devising the solution I had forgotten the
overhang of the top part of the crack so even when at last a cast of
the rope fell correctly in line with me, it hung tauntingly out in
space way beyond my flailing grasp. Several more goes didn't swing it
any nearer. Heart-rate back up and brow deeply furrowed I clung
limpet-like to the rock, churning the grey matter. A little later a
lamp lit up among the brain cells - an idea - but could I sell it to
Sandy?
"Anchor one end of the rope to the belay, abseil down on a single
strand so you can be sure to reach safe ground, going past me
swinging so I can grab the rope with the one hand I dare release.
Then I in turn can attach myself and abseil off too". "Are you sure
it will work?" "Got any other ideas?" Time passed some more. The rope
hung out from the top of the crack. Movement in the strand heralded
the arrival of feet then a body - "Swing in to me, you're an angel".
At last I could grip the bowstring-taut cord, 9 millimetre perlon
looking awfully thin, clamping it tight in my fist. Once Sandy was
safe I ever-so-carefully threaded myself onto the abseil lifeline,
double-checked, and relinquished my contact with the walls of the
crack and heart-in - mouth spun out into the air to slide down to
firm ground for a lie-down.
As we later walked down to the road I couldn't believe even Les
Holliwell thought that was only a Severe. Next day we sought out a
crag where the rock leaned away from us but the pleasures of the
Idwal Slabs were spoiled by a photographer's fumble which sent my
expensive camera from top to bottom in only three bounces, each one
launching fragments of glass and metal showering down the crag. So, a
memorable weekend, but not really for the right sort of reasons.
The epic failure on this particular Kirkus's Route rankled with me
for a year or two. What I needed was a good crack climber to go back
with so I could second the pitch knowing I wouldn't fly off it. It so
happened that in August 1981 I was at Ty Powdwr, the Karabiner MC
hut, sharing a bottle of wine with Bowden Black and relating to him
the tale of my attempt. Now Bowden was a great gritstone climber,
well-versed in the hand jam, probably around at its invention, so
when he said "Sounds interesting. Fancy going back tomorrow? The
weather's set fair", I thought "Why not? This might be my best
chance".
Bank Holiday Monday saw us roping up at the foot of Craig Lloer and
off I went up the first pitch. Bowden followed and at the belay asked
"How does it go from here?" "Up the rib, Bow, then a tricky
mantelshelf to the base of the crack, then you'll be in your
element". "Hmm" he said, "mantelshelves have always really freaked me
out". "Come on, man, I need you now". Three goes at the mantelshelf
were nemesis for Bowden and he slowly fixed himself to the base of
the crack, then declared he didn't want to try leading the impending
monster. "You have another go, Jim, after all you nearly made it all
the way last time and I won't drop you!"
I tried very hard to push the memory of my previous struggle to the
very back of my mind as I climbed up to Bowden and faced once more my
leaning tormentor. "Just believe" Bow breathed at me encouragingly.
Wedge, wriggle, fist jam, arm bar, pull, buttock-crush - here I was
by the chockstone again, striving to thread and clip the only runner
I remember. "Watch me, Bow - this is a once-only try!" Eyes riveted
to the top edge of the crack, praying for it to be a jug, I fought my
way upwards focussed as never before. Long reach, fingers curling
over sharp edge, match hands and heave! Both feet loose then stab
right one back into the top of the crack, forcing body and centre of
gravity over it, holding breath and pulling out onto a slab. Yes!
Relief surging round my veins; "Well done, Jim" wafts up from below.
The rest was much easier, the Craig Lloer Kirkus was in the bag.
Bowden in turn was impressed with the crack - "How anyone can give
that Severe beats me". Later on I re-read the passage in "Let's Go
Climbing" where Kirkus describes and acknowledges his own solo epic
and close shave on the "sinister crack" with the pleasurable feeling
of a now-successful joust with such a pitch.
Just about ten years further on, the guidebook team working on Ogwen
and the Carneddau appealed for photographs and comments. Remembering
Holliwell's frightening Severe assessment I wrote in to suggest a
revision and sent some photographs. In 1993 a complimentary copy of
the new guide came my way; I turned the pages to see my photo of
Lot's Wife, then looked for Craig Lloer in the Carneddau section.
Smiling, I read "One of the best routes on the crag, worthy of its
originator...Pitch 2...Thrutch up the obvious crack, 50 feet, 5a." And
clearly labelled Very Severe.
Jim Gregson 2003
September Newsletter Index.
Copyright © 2003 Karabiner Mountaineering Club
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