It is calm and still and the midges are rising. Not a breath of wind touches the great frontier of gritstone, crag of the country. Thousands of the little bastards swarm about us, getting in hair, eyes, everywhere. I lead Congo Corner while Ben belays in a nightmare haze. Steep moves up a thin crack, pulling hard, then I follow a devious line around overhangs, delicate steps, to a juggy horn and the top. Into a blur of flying ants I climb, mating season perhaps - the nuptial flight where the males fertilise the queen by exploding their genitalia inside her then die - bringing Ben up while I swat and suffer in this violent insect orgy. We skulk off to Burbage North to boulder but it's no better there.
The legions of midges win, there's always more, always more...
...Day 2, armed with maximum strength Deet and a head-net, we return for battle.
Wading through the buggers to Stanage once more, smashing out classic routes all day. I sprint up The Right Unconquerable, throwing in cams as I layback the huge flake, dragging my feet up smears as I go. Rest below the final roof (what fucking rest?) then I heave over with a face-hook and the tactful abandonment of any remaining dignity. We climb on. I grovel in Ben's wake across Ellis's Eliminate, grope for the jug on Cave Arete wishing I was just one sodding inch taller. Into Robin Hood's Cave, hikers and tourists, 'you know you can get in round the back don't you?', ha ha bloody ha. The day goes on and we earn many guidebook stars. As twilight draws near I jolly up Flying Buttress, knowing that one day I will run out of excuses, I will have to grow a pair, I will have to do the Direct.
I'd do it right now, I really would, it's just I'm tired, and so it goes, on and on, endless spirals...
...Day 3, Millstone Quarry to get the shit kicked out of us on man-made jamming cracks.
Blank faces of red rock, sharpened death arêtes, US style splitters that loom above and seem to say 'what you looking at?' Ben leads Embankment 2, parallel cracks, one's too fucking big, the other's too fucking small. I sort of fall up the crag after him. Grovelling onwards, shedding skin in Bond Street and another godforsaken Embankment route. My eye is ever drawn to the towering corner of Great North Road. Line of the quarry, it beckons me. Easy to start - it lulls you before striking out; footholds disappear, the groove twists, steepens, and I'm laybacking desperately, wondering how the hell I'm going to put gear in. Arms pump, feet edging on polished smears. Sustained to the top, a final pull around a capping roof and I'm clear, I'm free, bursting into light and the moorland panorama that opens before me.
We climb until our arms can take no more...
...Day 4, the morning is dull and murky; a heavy mist has filled the valleys and obscures the each-way horizon.
We climb until our arms can take no more...
...Day 4, the morning is dull and murky; a heavy mist has filled the valleys and obscures the each-way horizon.
We chance Froggat and are rewarded with dry rock, gentle slabs, a perfect contrast to yesterday's struggles. Quick solo up Heather Wall, then Tody's Wall, fun moves, it all feels so easy; HVS my arse. Ben is psyched for Three Pebble Slab - I hedge my bets for the lead 'til after he's done. One runner in a pocket. Sometimes it falls out, the guide says, helpfully. He commits, hard rock-over to no man's land, to a rest that gives you too much time to contemplate the nothingness that awaits. Do you trust the friction? Well do ya, punk? Inspired, I pull the rope and lead on after him, smearing, mindgames, standing on fuck all with the word 'groundfall' chattering endlessly in my head. But if you don't trust the friction what the hell are you doing up there?
Climbing is a game of contrasts, from run out slabs to the steep jamming of Valkyrie, a route without compromise. I thrash my way to an awkward belay, Ben leads to the summit, tough moves on sloping holds, I follow by the skin of my teeth. We finish on the classic Chequer's Buttress (how in gods name is it the same grade as Valkyrie?) then Ben must return home.
Nightfall approaches and I solo 10 routes at Stanage, moving serenely from hold to hold, a peace that is so rare, so hard to find...
...Day 5, Rich has come all the way from Essex, from the arsehole of the country, and it's pissing it down.
Climbing is a game of contrasts, from run out slabs to the steep jamming of Valkyrie, a route without compromise. I thrash my way to an awkward belay, Ben leads to the summit, tough moves on sloping holds, I follow by the skin of my teeth. We finish on the classic Chequer's Buttress (how in gods name is it the same grade as Valkyrie?) then Ben must return home.
Nightfall approaches and I solo 10 routes at Stanage, moving serenely from hold to hold, a peace that is so rare, so hard to find...
...Day 5, Rich has come all the way from Essex, from the arsehole of the country, and it's pissing it down.
We drive west. Somehow the Roaches is just about dry, damp but climbable. Rich ambles up Black and Tans, then I do the exact opposite up the Sloth. The roof gets bigger and bigger as you approach it, the angle outrageous; sooner or later you will bump your head on it and the game will be up. Only one way to go - outwards. I place gear, chalk up, shakeout, putting it off as long as I can but the moment comes and I must commit. Swinging on jugs, arms shaking like trees in a storm, fiddling in a hex that has to be good. A gibbering mess I downclimb the roof back to the rest and try to ease forearms of stone. But my mind is focused now, the gear is placed, and I launch out once more and this time I find the glory hold, the jug of jugs, and I burrow onwards to the top, to salvation. Easy once you've done it.
We descend to the Lower Tier, to Valkyrie - perhaps this is the most beautiful of all the gritstone buttresses? A great jutting bastion of orange rock, monolithic, it's upper slabs guarded by overhangs, a huge undercut beak that the route gains with cunning and boldness. I teeter down a flake, foot probing for the hidden hold, got the bastard! Tricky move balancing onto a ledge then I'm running for the summit, fuck gear, who cares, the rock is rough beneath me and it would take a deliberate effort to fall off now. Belaying on mysterious water-worn flutings, held fast by passageways hewn in time beyond my reckoning. The buttress glows in the late-afternoon sun.
These are the moments worth remembering...
...Day 6, we hike steep paths to the frowning battlements of Hen Cloud, a castellated edge jutting from the moors, and I know we won't have an easy time here.
We descend to the Lower Tier, to Valkyrie - perhaps this is the most beautiful of all the gritstone buttresses? A great jutting bastion of orange rock, monolithic, it's upper slabs guarded by overhangs, a huge undercut beak that the route gains with cunning and boldness. I teeter down a flake, foot probing for the hidden hold, got the bastard! Tricky move balancing onto a ledge then I'm running for the summit, fuck gear, who cares, the rock is rough beneath me and it would take a deliberate effort to fall off now. Belaying on mysterious water-worn flutings, held fast by passageways hewn in time beyond my reckoning. The buttress glows in the late-afternoon sun.
These are the moments worth remembering...
...Day 6, we hike steep paths to the frowning battlements of Hen Cloud, a castellated edge jutting from the moors, and I know we won't have an easy time here.
Warm up on Great Chimney, then I cannot resist the call of Bachelor's Left Hand. It looks nails. I climb a crack, past rounded bulges, jamming my way upwards, trying to keep moving. Place gear and go. Perched below the crux, my feet on precarious nothings. Shit this is hard. I fumble, find a pocket, crank now or fall off anyway. High foot, I lunge for the beckoning flake, fingers curl over the edge and I'm hauling myself to easier ground, elated. Every style of climbing in one glorious pitch.
Next we climb the other super-classic HVS, Delstree, a stunning line up a slim corner, rounded exit like an elephant's arse, apparently. The climbing is sustained but I feel at home on this rock now - paradoxically only at the end of the trip, but that's the way it goes. I fight to the top, one last hand jam, palming off slopers, and I'm there, bringing Rich up on an awkward belay of nuts and hexes because I used all my bloody cams on the route...A final jolly up Central Climb and we shake hands, part ways, already planning our return...
After a skin graft.
Next we climb the other super-classic HVS, Delstree, a stunning line up a slim corner, rounded exit like an elephant's arse, apparently. The climbing is sustained but I feel at home on this rock now - paradoxically only at the end of the trip, but that's the way it goes. I fight to the top, one last hand jam, palming off slopers, and I'm there, bringing Rich up on an awkward belay of nuts and hexes because I used all my bloody cams on the route...A final jolly up Central Climb and we shake hands, part ways, already planning our return...
After a skin graft.
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