Ill Concieved Plans Poorly executed

EGCC Newsletter Twenty Six

Cover 26

Martin’s Big Swing

As we absailed into Boulder Ruckle at Swanage the imposing sea cliffs loomed above us daring us to climb our way out. We stood under "Cloud 9" and geared up, all the while eyeing up the cliff to look for clues of what was to come. A final look at the guide book to burn the details into the brainand it was time to go.
“O.K Martin?”.
“O.K matie”.
I started up the first pitch, pretty straight forward, up a crack line and traverse left to the belay ledge, easy. And soon after Martin joined me on the ledge. Which meant that now comes the hard bit, I started up the edge of the arch moving slowly to the roof above. Everything was fine, Holds made themselves available, the gear slotted into place and the sun shone. Next the traverse. I knew Martin did not like the look of the traverse. A seconds nightmare he had said, almost like leading it he had said. I made sure that the gear would protect him as well as me. Now the crux, a crack for hands, nothing for the feet but to swing them across aiming for a rock over with nothing but air below. Getting some good gear in dominated my thoughts. How good was that last bit? Foot across, hand up, pull (dear god let it be a recess and not another over hang), And I am there,leg dangling into space but at least its a recess, now I need some gear. Brilliant a crack. A size 1 friend, that will do nicely, and then ..... I’m standing up, and the top beckons, now where were those pegs?.....

At the top I settle into the belay and watch the waves.Martin started the climb and I started to climb it with him, up the side of the arch steady progress faltering to remove the gear. At the traverse now, a pause for thought, slowly across the traverse. He must be going for the rock over ... TWANG!
"Bugger he missed it"

And the rope went taught. He must be hanging in mid-air, what is he going to do? Can he prussik? has he got his loops? I can’t hear him. After what seemed an age there was no movement. I banished all ideas of doing a “Simpson”(well we where climbing on my rope!) and lowered him down. Once he was on the ground I slipped back down the now familiar rope to check that he was alright. At the foot of the climb Martin explained that he had slipped on the rock over and had been left spinning in space and disoriented. by the time he had got his wits together I had started lowering.

Now that we where back on earth the thorny problem of removing the rest of the gear reared it’s ugly head. Martin was clearly not going to attempt the climb again but volunteered to prussik up the line if I moved the rope. So I prussiked up my old friend the ad rope and set everything up for him. I even managed to borrow a set of dumars for him. How kind can a leader be? Martin started up and there was nothing else to do but wait. eventually Martinshelmet appeared at the edge.
“Eddie?”
“Yes?”
“I couldn’t get the gear out”
“@@###@@##’???!!!!”

For the third time that day I slid into Boulder Ruckle and for the second time that day I prussiked out stopping only to remove my gear.

We drove home in silence.

Eddie Church

Gates of Eden

After ticking off classic granite routes at the Dewerstone, and then more classic limestone routes at Red Wall on Berry Head, we were looking for somewhere else to visit during the early May Club trip to South Devon. Nobody seemed to have visited Daddyhole near Torquay before (or Red Wall for that matter), so several of us settled on that. Gates of Eden, the 130’ three star HS running up the centre of the fractured cliff seemed an obvious starting point, and good value it was too. The first pitch starts up a wide chimney formed by a separated block and the main cliff, and after a short scramble leads to a steep wall. An awkward, but well protected, left step is required to gain a ledge and corner, and climbing this for about 10’ then leads to a rusty peg and the first belay point.

After bringing up Rob (Jenny having decided this pitch was not to her liking), the corner was climbed until the prominent overhang and an airy, poorly protected left traverse led round the arete to a step up into a triangular niche – the second belay. As everything looked rather hard at the start of this traverse, help from below in identifying where you are supposed to be heading is certainly an advantage, and one that I made liberal use of! With four rusty pegs this time one would have thought this the ideal stance, but with cramped conditions on a steep ramp with no really good footholds ten minutes here was ten minutes too long. By the time Rob had arrived one foot was numb and the other was making a good attempt to follow suit!

A quick reorganisation of the rope and I was off for the third pitch. An exposed downward step to the left allowed the corner of the niche to be turned and a pull up led to the final wide corner crack. Easy going from here to complete a truly brilliant three star HS in atmospheric surroundings. Exiting from the top of the route was an unpleasant experience that seems rather typical of the Torbay area, but to miss the route that put Daddyhole on the map would be a real shame.

Other good routes do exist at Daddyhole, Tobacco Road (one star VS being one that others climbed) but to my mind this is a short day venue, but one that is nevertheless well worth the effort. Less energetic folk could always sunbathe on the large flat rocks bordering the sea and simply imagine their climbing experiences!

Derek

Little Miss Tor

Little Mis Tor, it sounds like a character from a Mr. Man book but it is actually a small lump of granite just outside Princetown in between the road and (unsurprisingly) Great Mis Tor, Just inside the army live firing range (open to the public at weekends, don’t touch anything metallic) the guide book claims six routes from D to HVS all about 20’ in length. It seemed to be an excellent venue for a few hours play.

Once we had made sense of the guide book Trev and I started on our first route Hacking (VS) whilst the rock chicks (Angela and Sarah) started on ponytrek (HS) on the other side. Trev struggled up this route via some very tricky moves, he put his lack of poise down to having a cold coming on (any excuse in a storm). I thugged my way up behind him to the troublesome last moves, a flared crack, full of spent cartridges. Suddenly it all went wrong. The holds where in the wrong places, my sticky boots turned to oil and I was off. Trev started to giggle. On the second attempt the same thing happened. We both started giggling. After the fourth or fifth attempt I landed in a hysterical heap at Trev’s feet. From the noise we were making the rock chicks thought that we hadn’t left the ground.

To try and settle the score I attempted to lead the next route piebald (VS). The first move was a bastard. Grab a giant crack and swing my legs out sideways to gain a ledge. Needless to say as the mirth level rose the ability level dropped After the fourth or maybe the fifth attempt I lead up the Diff. route Palamino which started in the same place but for prides sake we called it the easy variation of the VS.

After our overwhelming success on the VS routes there was only one thing to do, have a crack at the HVS, by now Angela and Sarah had successfully completed their climbs and had come round to offer advice and encouragement. Well I got to half height, placed the gear and reached up to find, well nothing. I tried to the left to find a viscous sloping hold, pulled up and, well fell off. I repeated this combination maybe four or five times before it became apparent from the giggling below that this was just not going to be. Manfully I retreated from the route to the scorn and derision of the crowd below.

Little Mis Tor had won the day by spitting me off 3 out of the 5 routes I tried and will now be known (by me at least) as little miss indignant. On the other hand Angela and Sarah got up every thing they attempted and had a good laugh at my pathetic attempts. Maybe I had a cold coming on?

Pete

In Touch with the Feminine Side ?

Recently I have been very concerned that climbing is losing its macho image and the “new man” touchy-feely phenomena is overcoming some members. And from the following overheard conversation I think the day is fast approaching leader and second hug each other like they've scored a goal when they have completed each climb. I’ll let you all be the judge ......

'Well done mate, brilliantly led'
'Aw, thanks - it was nothing. You belayed a treat - made that crux far easier!

'To tell the truth, I didn't think you even realised it was the crux. You made that complicated leg-jam mantleshelf seem so simple. Nearly gave birth myself, but then I don't have your natural agility and understated rock climbing talent'

'Well I wouldn't say that. It's not everyone who can savour moves like you do, you really relish a challenge. And I get such confidence knowing you can remove gear like no second before you and no second after'

'It's nothing, just a little technique I picked up from you'

'Oh no, I picked it up from you'

'No I definitely saw you do it first'

'Bollocks - it was that piece you sat on for eighteen hours I knew it had to be good'

'That's complete crap. You did it on that 150 foot run out E6 you led at the Wye. One piece of gear, but so well placed'

'Well if you're going to argue I'm going down'

'No wait for me, it might be slippy'

'Well you should have thought of that. Don't get my T-shirt dirty. Or my matching shorts'

'Oh I'm sorry, give us another hug. don't lets fall out'

'Alright then. It's wonderful discussing our emotions and fings isn't it.'

'God yes, such a relief. What did we talk about when we climbed before'

'I really don't know. All that rope this, harness that - so distracting.'

'yes I had never realised the beauty of bird song and the wind of the trees'

'I'm so glad I found my feminine side. I'm going to encourage everyone to show theirs. Shall we hold hands?'

'Yes, let's be careful. Now we're so openly thoughtful and considerate of each other I feel fine about demonstrating my previously hidden concern to a hitherto unsuspecting climbing public.'

'We'll show them the way. Climb in pink and never mind your perm!'

And so the happy pair led another twelve routes in fine, superb style evenly sharing out the best leads and worst seconds and not nicking the others Lion bar from their rucksack when they weren't looking. Never was a more attentive belay seen and a more appreciative lead safely and securely set up at the top! Ah life on the feminine side!

Sarah Chandler

It Could be You

Climbing dangerous? Just a bit. Russian Roulette perhaps but with one live round in ten thousand. The savour of that slight but real danger makes for a disproportionally exciting and deeply rewarding pastime which mere gymnastics can never approach.

The game looks wicked and feels wicked but most of us play it with a stacked deck. The thrill is largely illusion, pornography except that sometimes, somewhere in that stacked deck is a wild joker. It turned up in the hand I was dealt last Saturday.

A small rock hitting my helmet got my attention. Another on my shoulder got me moving undercover. The big one smashed onto the ledge where I had been belaying.

So why did it make me so angry? On a mountain I would be mentally prepared for rock fall. You try to balance the risk and the reward hoping that you have chosen the lesser evil you either get on or back off. but at Swanage you are hardly out of suburbia and stone fall comes as a shock on a popular and easy route. The price of that hand could have been the rest of the chips that I’ve carefully accumulated over the years. All of them. The lot. The end. An exorbitantly high price. I felt that I was almost a crimeless victim the counter part to the victimless crime.

Irrationally I felt that my partner had conspired with gravity against me. He had been careless and unlucky , the torrential rain the day before had loosened the turf and rocks at the top of the cliff, but there was an element of contributory negligence on my behalf in allowing a novice to lead off into unknown ground. I won’t do that again. And I’ll continue wearing a helmet despite looking like a nerd with his head in a basin. A cool, free wind-in-the-hair image is great but when the chips are literally coming down 3mm of hard reality is better. That layer of plastic between the rock and the soft place where your remaining brain cells huddle together had better be in place before the trouble starts

It was nearly me, It could be you.

John Temple

In Dartmoor

On the first day of the weekend we went to the Dewarstone rock where I climbed Holly Tree Wall (Diff) with Stuart leading. This was my first two pitch climb. Then I climbed the Pinnacle chimney (V. Diff). First I thought I would not climb it because of the high reach, but I got my feet in the right place at the right time. The chimney was very narrow so I had to take my helmet off to get up (but SHHH don’t tell Stuart).

On the next day we went to Sheepstor, the sun was shinning a lot and Dave Hodgson was unstoppable and my mummy (Serena) had her first lead fall. Luckily the number 1 nut stayed in and also I climbed Play Crack (Diff) and Workers Wall (HS) for both of the climbs I used a top rope with my sister .

We all hope that Dave Tilley gets better soon

Ami Reeves (age 9)

Ludram Bay

The idea was to have a reccie of Ludram bay climb a classic route - “The Big Picket” - and be home in time for tea. I forget quite how we had started on this roller coaster, it may have been a picture in a book, but it had slowly gained momentum with Trev and I firing up each others enthusiasm for a little bit of sea stacking. We checked tides and available weekends found a suitable day, lit the blue touch paper and stood well back.

Trevor, it has to be said likes his Alpine starts, which meant that we arrived at Ludram Bay at high tide. Some how we had managed to get straight there which was a major achievement in it’s self. We parked at the caravan site and went for a bit of a look about. The guide book says that the stacks are made from Young Red Sandstone. This is guidebook speak for mud. The bay has two of these mud brown monsters sitting just out to sea - we needed a small boat for these as the tide is never low enough. Looking down into the next bay from the huge mud cliffs we could see four more of these monsters sitting in the bay like silent muddy icebergs with the sea lapping at their feet. Right at the end was Big Picket Rock.

It was time for a strategic planning meeting; the cafe at the caravan site was open the bacon was on. We questioned the locals about the access in to the next bay and found we would have to wait a long time. We had checked out the coast from Sidmouth and that looked to be a better bet. Once full of healthy bacon butties and tea we headed east to start the walk in. With high spirits we where already planning the purchase of a small inflatable dingy to do the stacks in the bay, maybe we could persuade the committee that it was a vital bit of kit that the club needed to purchase, we where even planning the launching ceremony.

Trudging down the beach enclosed by the sea and the mud cliffs Big Picket Rock grew before us. Until now all we had seen of the thing was one photo in a book and a view from high up above it. Now its strangely rippled and sculpted form was in front of us. This was what all the planning, chatting and e-mail's where about, the excitement was palpable.

We decided the first lead in the time honoured fashion of Scissors, Paper, Stone. I got the first lead, Trevor had already snapped a hold off on the scramble up to the ledge. This was getting serious. I took the first pitch carefully, If this had been, say limestone, I would have romped up it, but it was mud. It crumbled to the touch it offered little security and even fewer gear placements. I got to the ledge to find some fixed gear, well three or four six inch nails to be precise. Time to take apart some quick draws and tie them to the nails. Just along the ledge was a small cave with a loose mud floor, more nails and metal bars all festooned with climbers tat. This must be the belay. I tied on and tried to make myself safe or failing that comfortable. I failed on both counts but belayed Trev up all the same.

The next bit was the hard bit and Trev was having problems, he was stringing up more tat to the fixed gear, the holds where dusty and slippery, brushing them just made them dusty and slippery. I was feeling quite smug that the scissors option had lost me this lead. Finally Trev threw himself over the corner with the assistance of a cats cradle of slings. Up on the ledge and out of sight he was not moving. There was some cursing and swearing. Through the rock I could hear a steady thumping, the whole stack seemed to vibrate as he put in a warthog after one of the nails had broken. Once the thumping stopped there was still little movement. I waited, still nothing. Then Trev reappeared. “I’m coming down”.

Getting round the corner was hard, I resorted to the slings for aid. I tiptoed across the ledge to the place where the belay ledge had been. A few nails stuck out of the rock but I had nothing to attach to them. Quick draws where no use, bits of tape where too wide. I had a go at the move. Feet on two lumps of mud, a crumbling jug high up left and a poor hand hold on the right whilst leaning backwards over the sea. The exposure, lack of protection and a sense of self preservation got the better of me after the third attempt. Next time with the right gear (this needed a tool kit and string not a climbing rack) we’ll get up here and sign the visitors book, the one stuffed in a crack at the top. Suddenly I realised that neither of us had a pen so no matter what, we would have had to come back.

We spent the rest of the day wandering round the other stacks looking a routes and making plans for the next visit, Next time we will be prepared

Pete.

Seneca Rocks

With the weather warming up in the USA Jill and I took advantage of a recent business trip to Philadelphia to meet up with Nick and Alison King, who have been in the Hershey area of Pennsylvania for the last two years. PA is not renowned for its mountains and crags, so we chose to visit Seneca Rocks in West Virginia; a 400’ fin of quartzite sporting routes of all grades. We were not disappointed. This unusual outcrop was described to us as an upended slice of bread, and if one imagined that a giant had taken a bite out of the middle (the Gunsight Notch) then this seemed an appropriate description.

Climbing is possible on both sides of the fin, although most are on the western face that is clearly visible from the local camp site. The walk in is short too, so this crag has appeal for those that like to climb within 30 minutes of leaving their tent, and prefer not to take their car.

Our first route, Conn’s East (US 5.5, UK Severe 4a) was typical of the climbs that we made and was a superb outing. Pitch one took a rising traverse across the steep east face, exiting via a chimney onto a large crevassed ledge belay. Nick then led the second pitch, which continued the traverse for a short distance before climbing steeply on good holds to an airy stance. Taking the lead again I completed the diagonal traverse to belay on a deep depression in the ridge itself, with magnificent views down both sides of the fin. The final pitch followed the ridge line to finish on the south summit some 360’ above our starting point. A little further on we reached the ideal plateau on which to have lunch before rapelling down the west face to the start of our second route.

The hardest route that we climbed was The Burn (US 5.8, UK VS 4c), but as the rock is sound and easily protectable with natural gear, keen rock jocks could keep themselves amused on this crag for a very long time. No doubt I will be back at Seneca before too long since there are lots of recommended routes that we simply did not have sufficient time to attempt.

Derek