Quick Jolly in the Dollies

Christ I'm shit at this. My feet skid around on polished limestone, the last peg is miles below me now. It's not even that steep and my arms are already shagged. It's bastard cold as well. With numb hands I haul my way up a series of flat holds to reach a ledge and a nice shiny bolted belay. I clip in and slump onto the ropes. The next pitch is the crux but that's Rich's bloody problem, not mine. Thank fuck for that...

Looking up to the Cinque Torri

Torre Grande - we climbed it via the sunlit face

We're climbing a pinnacle called Torre Grande, part of the Cinque Torri group in the Dolomites. Despite the sun it's absolutely freezing. Cold, in the mountains, in December - who knew? Rich reaches the belay. Have you given me the fucking crux pitch, he asks, and I smirk and hand him the rack. He traverses along a footrail to a weakness in the looming overhang, stuffs in some gear, grunts and struggles his way up shiny crap holds and disappears from view.

Rich tackling the crux pitch

The climbing is pretty much easy to the top now. We swing leads up blocky ground and slabs, one tricky move that I shamelessly dog on a rusty old peg. What happened to the guy who was jollying up E1s all summer, who's this fat tosser who can barely climb stairs without gasping for breath?

Nice easy pitch for me

Following slabby ground to the summit

Rich on the last bit

We soon reach the awesomely exposed summit, a small flat plateau surrounded by sheer drops on all sides. After taking some photos we begin the first of three abseils down the other side of the tower to reach the bottom again. It's still early in the day so we decide to tackle another pinnacle while we're here.

On top of Torre Grande

Rich carefully abseiling down chossy shite

We decide to have a go at Torre Lusy, one of the smaller pinnacles that we should be able to get up before the daylight runs out. We climb it in 3 long pitches, mostly following an arête with the odd detour across the adjacent face. Once again I find it nails. Not just physically but mentally, I've been out of the trad game too long, and I'm struggling to commit to moves above gear.

We climbed Torre Lusy via the obvious arête

Me leading pitch 2

Suffering horrendous rope drag higher up

We reach the summit as the light starts to go, and make a completely wild free hanging abseil down an  overhanging face. I lower myself over the edge, trying not to think about the ropes sawing and grinding against the sharp rock.

Summit of Torre Lusy, with an awesome looking peak looming in the distance

Back at the car we eat pasta then bed down for the night. I listen to Rich snore and contemplate smothering him with a pillow. The next day we go for the south face of the Lagazuoi Piccolo, aiming for a 9 or so pitch trad route that goes straight up the massive wall. The first pitch is the crux and this time it's my lead. I follow a long corner crack, steady with loads of gear, 'til I'm perched on tip-toes on top of a narrow spike and staring in horror at the bloody hard move between me and the belay. After several abortive goes I finally manage to grovel my way up a series of rubbish holds, slobbering with terror as I crank on a loose block that nearly detaches, almost sends me plummeting back down again. It feels UK 5a at least, but then I'm crap right now so fuck knows...

The south face of the Lagazuoi Piccolo

Easy cracks on pitch 2

The climbing is fairly sustained but fortunately never as hard as that one move. Rich leads a crack system to a funky cave belay then I get the best pitch of the route - traversing out of the cave to a corner crack, then following massive holds across a super exposed hanging slab, an exquisite sea of rock. I enjoy it so much I even forget to feel weak and scared.

Belay in the cave

Rich following the mega slab pitch

Piss easy bit before the second crux section

Two easy slab pitches brings us to a ledge system below the final headwall. Rich does a great job leading the second crux pitch, a grovelly wet chimney full of loose blocks and vegetation. He just about manages to squeeze through the final constriction, then it's my turn to struggle up the damn thing. Two more easy pitches and we're on top of the face. Still some way below the actual summit of the peak but this is where the route finishes, and in any case darkness is creeping in. We descend via a cool suspension bridge to more pasta and another night in the car.

The headwall of the south face

Bastard chimney crack thing

The view from the top of the route

On the descent

We're both feeling a bit more comfortable with the rock and climbing style now, so we decide to step up the difficulty a bit. There's a super classic route that climbs a jagged arête up a peak called Torre Piccola di Falzarego. Every pitch is brilliant. Rich leads up a sustained bridging corner then, after getting lost and fannying around for an hour, I climb a vague crack system that eventually leads into a good old chimney, which I wedge and curse my way up. The rock is so polished I can hardly look at it in sunlight, but the gear's good enough that I'm not too bothered.

The razor-like arête of Torre Piccola di Falzarego

Rich on the corner of pitch 1

A somewhat exposed hanging belay at the top of the second pitch

Rich leads another tough pitch, then the arête seems to lie back before us, leaving three fantastic easy pitches to the summit. We climb up juggy rock, fixed threads for gear, racing against the sun which is fast setting in the west. It's warm enough to climb in t-shirts today, but the moment the sun goes it will be freezing cold, time for down jackets and gloves.

The glorious final arête

Brilliant exposed climbing

We reach the summit just as the sun dips behind another mountain and the temperature rapidly drops. Two abseils take us into the descent gully, which we skid and scramble our way down by headtorch.

On the summit at sunset

Unfortunately the next day the universe decides to bugger us royally up the arse, and we have to cut the trip short and return home early. I can't be bothered to rant about it here, so I will instead just summarise the whole thing in two short words;

FUCK SHITALY.

Baggy Point

Last time I went to Baggy Point I dismissed it as 'the chossiest pile of wank I've ever seen'. Two years later I'm still haunted by nightmares of the second pitch of the route 'Kinkyboots', where I didn't just find myself thinking I'd die, I actually wished for it. Just to end the vegetated guillotine flake horror of the final slab. 

Against my better judgement I recently went back there to do a couple routes on the massive Long Rock Slab, and actually ended up having an awesome time. Here's a few photos of the day...

Sketchy approach 'path' to the Long Rock

The rope was just short enough to not quite reach past the really scary bit

More bloody slabs

The awesome Long Rock

45m abseil to the ledge

Funky ab in

Me leading Shangri-la

Looking back down the route from the belay

Pat seconding the fluffy but still brilliant upper crack

Posing on the finishing blocks

The mega crack line of Lost Horizon

Pat psyched for the big lead

Pat shitting himself

Pat shitting himself

Pat shitting himself

Finally at the top (but still probably shitting himself)

Long old pitch

Me seconding just before the sustained foot wedge section

Spike belay at the top

Looking back towards the promontory from Woolacombe

LLiwedd

Three tired, grumpy blokes bickering and moaning their way up the biggest mountain face in Wales...

The north face of LLiwedd

Shit hot climbing team

Staples, Rich and I all slept in our cars the night before, then wearily slogged up the road from the Cromlech layby to Pen-y-Pass. Because fuck paying a tenner for parking. We then briefly joined the masses swarming up the Miner's Track before cutting off round the other side of the lake and wading through bogs and scree slopes towards the bottom of the crag.

The start of 300m of rambling, vegetated choss

I led the first pitch. It was soaking wet, utterly miserable, and I wondered if it was going to be like this all the way to the summit. If so the other bastards could lead the rest of it. I'd already done this route a couple years ago, although my memory of it proved to be slightly less than completely useless.

Gardening my way up pitch 1

Only 11 pitches more to go, then we can just drink whiskey in the layby...

Staples led the next pitch, a vague rising traverse with bugger all gear, and belayed in the wrong place. We think. The route finding was very confusing, everything looked the same. We hung off a spike of rock, squinting at the guidebook, arguing about where to go next. Rich was next to lead so we just shoved the gear at him and told him it was his bloody problem.

Pitch 2

Fat Git Morris goes the wrong way on pitch 3

Rich climbed up to a band of quartzy rock, where we told him to go right. So he went left. Apparently the rock was loose the way the guidebook said. It was loose his way as well, but at least the climbing was harder and the protection worse.

Hanging belay god knows where

Looking back down the approach valley

The face was now more broken above us. Our target was a big ledge system about halfway up, and as long as we reached this it didn't really matter how we got there. So I ran out a full 60m rope length up easy climbing and belayed below the start of a section called the Red Wall. Here the climbing would get harder and harder all the way to the top. Wonderful.

Belay at the base of Red Wall

Staples led the next bit, which was probably the second hardest section of the whole route. We followed a series of small foot edges up a slabby rib, hands clutching ineffectively at the absence of holds. I slipped off like the sack of shit I am, and only just managed to catch myself on a crappy hold, much to the other pricks amusement. We regrouped on a very constricted ledge, encouraging each other with a never ending stream of childish, sarcastic abuse. The team behind us probably thought us a right pack of obnoxious twats.

Staples leading Red Wall

Making a moderately tricky move look completely nails

Rich led the next bit, then I took off up this slabby arête, running out another 60m pitch to reach a belay below the final, hardest part of the whole climb, a tricky slab with lots of tiny little edges and not much gear.

Me following Rich's final lead

Fun slab pitch near the top

Staples once again set off on lead, Rich and I being a pair of weak, spineless cowards, and soon he found himself perched on some disconcertingly small footholds some way above his last runner. Some final insecure moves led him to the top, us bastards on the ledge taking the piss the whole time. I'm surprised he didn't just untie the ropes, chuck them down, and leave us to it. I probably would've done.

Just as Staples reaches the hard bit, we strike up a jolly discussion about his sister

Looking towards the summit of Snowdon from the top of LLiwedd

Soon enough we were all on top, stuffing our gear back into packs and beginning the long trudge back to the car. At one point Rich became so overwhelmed with laughter he had to sit down for several minutes, wheezing and slobbering like an old dog being put down. I can't even remember what we were talking about. Wanking I think.

Thank fuck that's over, now where's the nearest pub?

FISTING! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

And on that note....