Main Wall

I wake up in a car in the Cromlech layby, the wind howling and the sky filled with ominous black clouds. But it's not raining. Fuck me it's actually not raining, this is as good as it gets in the bloody Pass. Staples and I lurch into action, knackered from bugger all sleep, stuffing gear into packs and stumbling towards a crag called Cyrn Las. It's high and north facing, it never sees the sun. My logic is that if it's horrible everywhere in the Pass we may as well be on a crag that's horrible all the time. Plus there's a super classic route called Main Wall somewhere up there...

Main Wall goes up the really wet bit in the middle, of course

God I'm unfit. The walk up kills me. We gear up and scramble to the base of a somewhat damp slab that apparently we're supposed to climb. Staples takes the lead...

David 'everything that kills me makes me feel alive' Staples about to sack off pitch 1

He fumbles around at the wet holds, walks back and forth along the ledge for a while, then eventually gives up. I'm taking the piss the whole time. What a fucking pussy. So I grab the rack and have a go, christ it's hard, and immediately I begin a shameful grovel off to the right up a sort of waterfall. Staples justifiably tells me what a hypocritical prick I am. Easy but hilariously wet climbing sees me reach a belay on a spike. Staples then leads a short traverse to a hanging belay on another spike, and we hope that now that's all over we can actually start climbing this bloody thing...

Staples looking psyched for what's to come

Just follow the vertical stream

The next pitch is wetter than a mermaids twat. I make a hard traverse along an ice rink foot-rail to a decent sling runner, then into a disgusting corner chimney crack bastard thing. A vast and delicate ecosystem of slime greets me. I sling a block, squirm my way higher, skidding all over the place. There are no holds. Well there's loads, but they've all got enough water to flood the Sahara running down them. I aid off a nut, slippery hand jams, power screaming as I mince onto yet another godforsaken underwater ledge...

Main Wall holding a gun to my head and saying SMILE BITCH

Staples has a great time seconding the pitch. We hang off the belay and gaze about the grey expanse of the Pass with thousand yard stares. It's fucking cold up here. Very very occasionally the sun pokes out from the mass of death clouds, just to remind us how cold it is without it...

Another wet pitch

At least it's getting a bit drier now. The next pitch is easy enough, it leads to a massive ledge. However there are no decent anchors, so it takes Staples a while to fiddle in and equalise a load of shite, and I'm slowly getting hypothermic at the belay, waving my arms around like a complete spanner. I finally shiver my way up to Staples and tell him I'm giving up climbing...

Setting out on the second 4b pitch

At this point every hold either moved, or moved

After this pointless hissy fit I rack up and strike out towards a pinnacle. For no apparent reason the rock suddenly decides to massively deteriorate in quality, and it now feels like I'm playing Jenga for infinite stakes. I gibber into a notch in the rock and onto a steep arête. My god the holds are massive, and sort of attached to something. I'm actually enjoying myself again, I run it out for fun up to the next belay and bring up Staples for the main event...

The penultimate pitch is fucking amazing, you climb across this hanging slab to a knife edge arête, and the exposure is insane, everything dropping away to the valley far below...

The money pitch of Main Wall

Gaining the super exposed arête

Just about making up for the soaking horror of...pretty much the rest of the route

Staples leads the pitch, loving every move, and I follow slowly, wanting to enjoy the position as much as possible. It transforms the route from a grotty piece of shit to a grotty piece of shit with one good bit near the top. Stick that in the next guidebook.

Can we go to the fucking pub now?