Finishing Up

Cam's injury would not allow him to continue climbing, and it was soon apparent that our plan to remain in Chamonix into September was no longer possible. In the meantime, Staples and I took advantage of a morning's good weather to get into the Aiguilles Rouge and climb the East Face of Le Brevent. From the valley the face looks sheer and incredibly imposing, but up close it's more broken and vegetated than you'd realise. Nonetheless, several routes have been equipped on it, the classic of which, and our target, was the Voie Frison-Roche. Somewhat ambitiously graded TD, it was a fully-equipped 5 pitch sport route. Staples was still feeling a bit sore in his rock shoes so I led the whole thing.

Waiting in line at the incredibly promising looking start of the Frison-Roche 

The first pitch had a briefly tricky slab, I lunged and over-extended through it in a display of dangling incompetence, then easier terrain led to a belay below the crux 6a(+) pitch. Every team I saw in front of us dogged it rather spectacularly, so I was somewhat apprehensive approaching what, from our stance, looked like a blank wall with bolts randomly drilled into it. But imagine my delight when I rounded a rib to find a proper hand-jamming corner crack awaiting me. I rolled up my sleeves and got stuck right in.

 

Still waiting...

It was awesome climbing. Bridging, arm wedging, a fingerlock, laybacking, everything you could possibly want. I climbed quickly and soon found myself at the anchor and bringing Staples up. He led through a pitch of scrambling to the base of a perfect open book corner that led to the summit of the mountain. Once more the climbing was spectacular, delicate and sustained, with a proper foot smearing layback sequence at the crux. A guy in front managed to lob off and there was blood everywhere, but a bit of claret just added to the atmosphere. Visibility had dropped, it was now snowing, and I was panicking we'd wasted so much time queuing we'd miss the last bin. Still, fantastic route. We legged it back to Planpraz with 20mins or so to spare.

Somewhere near the top of Le Brevent

After that we rested and sorted all the gear out, got hammered on Staples' last night, then saw him off in a fog of hungover self pity. For an alpine first-timer he'd done amazingly well. Cam and I didn't expect to stay much longer, but I still wanted to get into the mountains one last time. So on a cloudy but dry morning I got the bin up to the Midi and stomped across the Vallee Blanche towards the three summits of Pointes Lachenal. A route traversed them at about AD standard, one scrambly bit up a chimney to the last peak, and feeling good I jollied across in an hour or so.

Warmed up and confident, I walked over to the start of the Cosmiques Ridge of the Midi. It was harder than Pointes Lachenal and I felt somewhat apprehensive - but I knew I'd be annoyed with myself if I pussied out, so on I went, spinelessly giving in to my own peer pressure...

The Cosmiques Arete is the obvious left-hand ridge

The first half was piss easy, then I got stuck behind a slow guided party on a section that required abseiling. I waited, helped out when I could, then nipped past them at the base of the second abseil. From there on I managed to overtake everyone else no worries. The climbing was straightforward snow and mixed, occasional steps over blocks, but I knew the crux was waiting for me.

It was a steep slab with a flaky crack down the middle, and it might've been quite tough if someone hadn't drilled a series of perfect frontpoint slots all the way up it. I teetered my way up in seconds, vaguely amused by the whole thing. Finally the route swung round onto the north side of the peak, onto more exposed terrain above a disconcerting void, traversing narrow ledges past a short chimney that was the last real obstacle. A quick shimmy onto the crest of the ridge and I reached a wobbly ladder leading up to a viewing platform full of gawking tourists.

Aware of just how awesome I (probably) looked, I gibbered up the rickety bloody thing with all the nonchalance I could muster, saying something witty and understated like 'That was worse than the damn climb!" as I swung over the railing to the platform. Both routes combined had taken me a little over 3 hours. I suddenly saw an unnerving potential in my alpine soloing prospects, but that will be for another time. I made my way back down to Chamonix and told Cam I was happy to leave as soon as we could get ready. His accident aside it had been a fantastic and hugely successful trip.

 

 

 

The Vallee Blanche

The descent ridge from the Midi station

With the Chamonix peaks plastered in snow we forgot about rock climbing and dragged the ice tools out from the bottom of the boot. There was a three day weather window forecasted so we packed bivy kit and extra food and got the bin up to the Aiguille du Midi. From there we made our way towards the Triangle du Tacul.

Chere Couloir climbs the right-hand side of the central rock buttress

Both Cam and I had always wanted to do the Chere Couloir, and it looked in good nick, so we left our bags below the 'schrund and daggered up to the first belay. I led the first proper pitch of straightforward ice, then Cam shot up a quick mixed chimney to get a better belay below the steep bit. This next pitch was the crux of the route and Cam did a great job leading it. Although 85 degrees in places it took screws well and Staples and I both seconded it no worries.

Looking down from the second belay

 

Cam leading the crux pitch

 

Staples following the crux

 

The final hard pitch wasn't quite as sustained but still had a steep wall near the top, 80 degrees or Scottish IV maybe. I'm not amazing (ie I'm shite) at ice climbing, but I gave it a go anyway, and found it completely piss. It's all in the head (probably good conditions help as well...). My frontpoints felt solid wherever I kicked them, first time tool placements, I even started enjoying myself a bit. A final sprint up easy snow led to the belay at the end of the difficulties, and we abbed back down to the Vallee Blanche, very psyched for the next couple of days.

At the top of the hard climbing

A freezing bivy later, in my stripped out tent and three-season sleeping bags (apart from Staples, the bastard), and we were gearing up early to tackle the North Face of Tour Ronde - a relatively modest snow and ice climb up a 3700-odd meter peak on the other side of the glacier.

Our bivy on the Vallee Blanche

The 'schrund was a nightmare. An overhang of unconsolidated snow, footholds crumbling the moment you weighted them. It set the tone.

We moved together for a while but conditions were pretty bad, so we traversed over to a rock rib on the right-side of the snowfield and pitched our way up to the crux narrowing, Cam in front, Staples and I grovelling behind. Here the ice was actually pretty good, and we briefly hoped it would remain until the top of the face. But when we emerged to the final slopes it was into utter powdery toss once more. Moving together again, we thrashed our way upwards, kicking collapsing steps, comedy tool placements sliding in the mush before us. Eventually we gained the base of the summit block, looked at the direct finish, though 'sod that', and skulked round the back to find the easy scramble to the top.

On the summit of Tour Ronde

We were all tired after swimming up the face and just wanted to be down as quick as possible. Unfortunately, Cam suffered a slip during an abseil, and injured his ankle badly enough to require airlifting to hospital. He disappeared into the sky hanging from the mountain rescue helicopter, and Staples and I continued in a very slow fashion down the ridge. We were shaken up, we were exhausted. By the time we regained the glacier it was far too late to think about getting the bin back down, and the shelter had gone with Cam. So instead we trudged down the Vallee Blanche towards Montenvers, finally collapsing and bivying on choss in the region of the Envers Hut.

Looking down at the SE ridge, which Staples and I descended

The next day we descended the Mer de Glace and caught the train back to Cham to find Cam in crutches but still smiling at least. We drank much beer and tried to forget.

What next, then?

Misadventures in the Aiguilles

During a reasonable weather window we bivied a few days in the Chamonix Aiguilles, and managed some really adventurous climbing. Staples had hurt his ankle, so he opted to rest up while Cam and I did the mega classic Papillons Ridge of the Aiguille du Peigne. The hardest bits were VS or so, and the exposure was awesome. We got up pretty quick so we decided to continue up the normal route to the summit. Unfortunately our guidebook description wasn't very clear, and after moving together up some pretty steep terrain we ended up on the much harder South Ridge.

The climbing was sustained, and we knew there was a storm coming in some time in the afternoon, but we kept on going, knowing we were very close. Eventually, the top less than a rope-length away, we were shut down by an insanely steep wall. Apparently it went at A2 or something, god knows what free, but either way we weren't going any further. We began a series of 5 abseils off manky tat and old pegs to get off the summit pyramid, then shuffled back down the normal route to our tent. It was a bit disappointing to back off so close to the top, but ultimately a great day's climbing.

After waiting out the storm, reading and eating in the tent for a day, Cam and I got up super early to attempt the Cordier Pillar of the west face of the Grandes Charmoz. This epic 600m trad route was sustained at grade V rock, with a couple of VI cruxes - around HVS in UK terms.

We were both really apprehensive as we plodded up the sketchy Nantillons Glacier, the face looming over us. The second pitch was one of the hardest of the whole route, and it felt nails early in the morning with cold hands; I hung off old pegs and grovelled my way through a committing layback sequence to reach the belay. After that it never got much easier. We followed cracks and corners, split by decent ledges with fixed anchors of tat and pegs.

Next up was a sustained corner which i led in a huge 50m pitch. It looked mental from below but there were loads of small edges you could bridge off, hidden crimps and flatties that just about kept me going. The scale of the wall, the unrelenting steepness was incredible. We climbed on, following crack systems, until it all went wrong.

Above us was a mess of overhangs split by micro-seams, a series of corners all leading into dead ends. I thought we'd followed the route pretty well, there was tat and pegs everywhere, but there simply wasn't a way through that looked feasible - for us, anyway.

We tried the three options we could see. I climbed up, hard free moves, aiding off cams when it all got too much. Each time i was shut down and had to do exposed pendulum abseils to get to the next stance to try again. Eventually we threw in the towel and started abseiling off. I don't think we were that far below the big ledge system 2/3rds up the face. Had we reached it we would've had a clear run at the summit.

However, not long after we finished the last abseil and reached the Nantillons glacier, the weather came in, and in just a few hours the peaks were plastered in snow. We would've been caught out right in the middle of it had we not descended when we did.

We headed back down to Chamonix to regroup. I managed to send a 7a pitch at Les Gailands that i'd had a play on a few days ago. Once I figured out the hard sequence linking two pockets the rest of the route was pretty straightforward.

Now the mountains were covered in snow, and any rock climbing was out for a while, but maybe ice higher up would be coming into condition. We kept an eye on the forecast and waited...

The Frendo Spur

The Frendo Spur from our bivy

When Cam, Staples and I arrived in Chamonix the weather was pretty unstable, so we spent a few days sport climbing and drinking whiskey, waiting for a good window to get on something big. We decided to have a go at the Frendo Spur of the north face of the Aiguille du Midi, a 1200m rock and ice route that we could climb in 2 days with a bivy near the top if we had to. It would be an insane thing for Staples to do as his first ever alpine route, but the forecast was good and we just couldn't resist it.

Just like a hut, only cold

So the evening before we got the bin up to the Plan D'l Aiguille and hiked up to the bottom of the face. We bivied on top of a flat boulder and spent a fun evening eating cold pasta and getting drizzled on. I slept fitfully, getting colder and colder as the night went on. Eventually, 4am came round, and we munched on some Cliff Bars and got going. A short trudge up a snowfield led us onto the spur, via an easy slanting ramp system. Soon the climbing got harder, maybe UK Severe standard, but we carried on moving together in big boots to save time. None of us wanted another freezing bivy on the mountain if we could do the whole route in a day.

Typical climbing on the spur

 

Lovely lovely choss

 

The first crux was a grovelly overhanging crack that I aided up as quick as possible. The plan was to play to our strengths, with me leading all the rock, and Cam leading the steep ice pitches at the top. Once established on the crest of the spur things were pretty steady, easy scrambling. Some awesome exposed shuffling on a proper alpine ridge led to the second crux, a tricky corner system. Off I led, finding things OK until a stupid move saw me wedged in a chimney with all my weight on my balls, screaming my tits off in agony. After scraping my way out, minus most of my sack, I hauled myself up on fixed gear to a belay.

Awesome exposure on the crest

 

Crossing the col before the second crux pitch

 

From here the climbing got really sustained. Never super hard, but it was constantly stressful smearing on small edges in mountain boots. We followed a shallow corner system, maybe HS in places, to another ledge below the final rock crux. It was basically an overhang formed by a fallen block and I aided the whole thing with a bit of a struggle. Cam and Staples took a far more sensible alternative route to the left, and finally we were at the top of the rock section.

Turd ledge below the snow arete

 

We had originally planned to bivy here but we were much earlier than expected and didn't fancy hanging around for hours and hours waiting for the next morning. So we carried on. Which was probably a good thing considering the whole ledge was strewn with turds and stank like an open sewer.

Moving together around the rognon

 

My job done, Cam took over the lead and we plodded up the easy but exposed snow arete towards a rock rognon. The angle steepened gradually to 55 degrees or so, but the snow was firm and well stepped-out, so we kept on moving together.

One of the steeper pitches just below the top

Finally the angle kicked up again, and Cam did a great job leading the last steep ice pitches, probably Scottish III or so. It took the odd screw in places and made for an awesome finish to the route. A last wallow up unconsolidated snow and we were on top.

On the Midi plateau

 

Job done!

The Grochan (Even more North Wales...)

With David Gainor, things are possible...

After being variously mangled and terrified at Tremadog Cam and I felt well prepared for a hard day climbing in Llanberis pass. We settled on Clogwyn y Grochan, an accessible but intimidating crag that I'd never climbed on before and was very psyched to check it out.

Cam leading pitch 2 of Nea

After getting started on an easy route called Nea we abseiled back to the deck and jumped on the Phantom Rib, VS. I led the first pitch up some parallel cracks which was a right awkward bugger. Just before the belay ledge was a pair of trees which I swung around on monkey style for a laugh, no doubt tempting fate to tear the fucking things from the crag and send me hurtling down with them.

This guy can't climb!

The anchor was built out of several small wires, something the guidebook said was essential for the next pitch. But this didn't matter because it was Cam's lead anyway. He stepped out bravely onto a thin, crimpy arete, microwires popping out of flared seams, feet sketching on polished smears to eventually reach the next belay. I found it pretty hard going on second and was glad to be on the blunt end. The third pitch was not without it's interest either; I found myself on a small ledge utterly stumped by a short groove above me, which, surprise surprise, succumbed to a good old fashioned footless grovel. Who knew?

Cam on the sketchy crux of Phantom Rib

Much more relaxed with a rope above you

There was one more VS listed in our guidebook, called Brant, which also had a direct start that was a bit harder. We weren't sure which to go for, but in the end there was another team on the direct, so we settled for the easier version. I led the first pitch, up to a big niche then traversing leftward across a steep wall on huge jugs. Great fun.

Getting photo-bombed on Brant

Cam was up next, finding himself faced with a disconcerting bum-slide into the base of a thrutchy groove then back across to belay pretty much right above where he started and not a whole lot higher. I must've found my grovelling mojo by this point because it all felt rather easy. We then abbed off some tat because the next pitch looked like a big pile of wank.

Spectre goes up here. Somewhere

We had enough time for one more big one, and settled on a mega-classic HVS, Spectre. There was a team on it already so we chilled out at the base of the crag, drinking whiskey and psyching ourselves up. All three pitches looked to have their own difficulties, so we decided that Cam would lead the shorter, sharper first and third pitches, leaving me with the big one in the middle.

Getting psyched for the big one

As the team above set off from the first belay we began. Cam led up a tricky thin crack, back-footing off very polished edges, finger jamming, to reach easier ground leading to the belay. Supposedly the easiest pitch of the route but it was still pretty tough for a few moves.

I grabbed the rack and bridged up a steep groove toward a capping overhang. It was much easier than it looked and the gear was bomber. A couple of pulls led me to a small ledge and an old peg. From here I had to traverse leftward on small holds, somewhat comitting, to quickly reach an awkward rest on a super exposed perch. The gear wasn't ideal, I went for the last tricky moves; pockets, a mono, into a short hanging groove leading onto a massive slab and the next belay. Above the crux awaited, the infamous 'Harding Slot'. Basically a wide, overhanging chimney crack that you just knew was going to be a complete arse. And it was. Sort of.

Your lead mate...

Cam contemplates the overhanging off-width horror that awaits

Cam gave it a real effort, twice getting up to the hard move and managing to get a decent nut in as well. However, with daylight starting to fade, we swapped over the belay and I racked up a couple of bits of big gear and waded in to battle. I was still really stoked from the last pitch and knew I'd get up the bastard as long as I just went for it, no fannying around. And...

The Harding Slot

 Bridge out wide, shuffle up, reach the gear, arm wedge, quick breather and go. I smeared my feet high and swung into an all or nothing layback off the edge of the crack. I scuttled upwards, skidding all over the place. One last heave, burrowing deeper, and I found myself almost disappointed to reach a hands-off rest in the notch. Is that bloody well it? I thought. Very unusual for me, normally I'd sell my soul for 'easier-than-expected-bomber-gear-lovely-rest' style climbing. And that's just while I'm grovelling and pleading my way up VDiff chimneys.

I chucked a cam in and a couple of easy fist jams saw me to a massive ledge and the belay. Cam smashed it on second, and we abseiled off rather than repeat the last pitch of Nea to the very top. Although I expected more from the 'Harding Slot' given its reputation, I was hugely psyched to do the route, which ultimately had been fantastic climbing from start to finish. Good times. Can't wait to get back there...

Incredibly manly pose of triumph

North Wales (Again)

What do you do when you arrive in Snowdonia at 1 in the morning and it's pissing it down with rain? The sensible answer would probably be 'go to sleep', but Cam and I decided to put on waterproofs and headtorches, slog up to Idwal Slab, and do a route instead. Fortified with a rather middling blended whiskey we kicked steps up the big trough that runs up the centre in a couple of long pitches. The atmosphere was awesome; all around us the dark walls of Cym Idwal, black clouds filling the sky, the distant lights of the Ogwen Valley below. Not a bad start to the trip.

A gentleman's belay halfway up Idwal Slab

The next day we had a bit of a jolly climbing something on the east face of Tryfan. There was a tricky little slab around halfway up, and then it started raining again just as we reached the summit.

The East Face of Tryfan in all its rambling, vegetated glory

What happens when you take more whiskey than water on a mountain trad route

So we stomped back down and waited around in Llanberis, hoping it would clear. And it did, so we went over to the slate mines and wandered up a nice VS called Seamstress.

Demonstrating my slate gear paranoia

This was fun, despite it basically consisting of the same move over and over again, as well as all the usual slate mindgames of snappy rock and dubious gear placements.

One of many hands-off rests available

There was an E1 next to it that looked to be very similar, albeit with worse holds and less gear, so we manfully decided to skulk off to a lay-by and consume large amounts of spam for the remainder of the evening.

Meal of champions

Morning came, and with it good weather. The plan was to allow the pass a bit more time to warm up and dry off, so we headed out toward the coast and had an awesome day climbing at Tremadog.

Cam bridging up the first pitch of a cool severe I have forgotten the name of

A funky exposed arete on pitch 3

First up was Craig Pant Ifan, where we ambled up a severe in a few pitches, then tackled the classic HVS Scratch Arete. Cam did a great job leading the first pitch up a steep corner. Following, I smeared and struggled round a bulge, flopped onto the belay ledge, glanced up and saw to my dismay the bit I was supposed to lead. A thin slab wandering over to an arete with a bloody great overhang looming above like a guillotine waiting to fall. Marvellous. I minced my way up the slab, steady but fairly sustained, and eventually found myself on a small footledge on the arete. Here I clipped a rusty old peg and placed a few fiddly small wires that didn't inspire much confidence. Then there was nothing to do but carry on.

Over the crux on Scratch Arete

I committed, matched on a finger edge, smeared high, lunged upwards, missed the beckoning jug completely.

Oh bugger.

Awesome route

But instead of lobbing onto the peg I hung suspended, somehow managed to grow just enough to curl my fingertips over the jug and gibber onto the slab above. Cam used an intermediate sloper that apparently made the move a bit easier, so there you go. After that we ambled over to Craig Bwlch y Moch and selected a cool looking route called Shadrach. The first pitch featured a narrow chimney that could be climbed with equal desperation either outside or in. I opted to take off my helmet and squirm inside, because of reasons.

My god, the horror, the horror.

Yes let's climb in there it will be fun

It was so tight I could hang there just by breathing in a bit more air. Upward motion consisted of a sort of snake hip wiggle to slither between the crushing yet slippery walls. There was loads of gear. No wait, what's the one that's like loads of gear but not? Oh yeah, no gear whatsoever. It hardly mattered though. I knew, instinctively, that a fall would merely leave me wedged in chimney for ever; an in-situ corpse, whose skeleton could perhaps be clipped as a useful runner by generations of troglodytes to come. Scraping all my lovely gear on the rock, I burrowed higher, feet uselessly slapping below me like dying fish out of water.

Snobbling my way out of the chimney

And finally I saw the light. Both in the actual and the figurative 'what in the almightly fuck am I doing with my life?' sense. A horizontal slot beckoned to my right, I poked my head out and saw that my problems were in fact only just beginning. The slot was too small to do anything other than wriggle out head-first, which unfortunately meant descending a vertical, featureless slab in said position, like some great, hysterical, shrieking lizard. Clinging to the last hold with my left hand I went further and further down, expecting to plummet at any moment. It was literally the stupidest move I've ever done. Soon only my legs remained inside the chimney, and I was pretty much left dangling upside down. Inch by inch, I swung them round, teasing them out the slot, then suddenly they shot free, I cut loose onto the hold, just about managing to cling on and hang there, weeping softly all the while. Shakily I gained a ledge and spared a moments thought for Cam whose own torment had only just begun.

Objectively the greatest climbing photo ever taken

“Grovel when ready, mate!”

Having somewhat wider shoulders that me there were a few moments when he became well and truly stuck, and was only saved by some desperate survival instinct that enabled him to thrash his way free minus a lot of skin and all the expensive anodised coating of his gear. Rather like an animal gnawing it's own leg off to escape a trap.

But nevermind all that bollocks, the second pitch was probably the harder one. Cam once again stepped up for the lead and climbed it no problem. There were some tricky moves gaining the steep headwall from atop a pinnacle spike, and a tough final section up a slab. Truly a route with a bit of everything.

Shattered husks of the men we once were

To finish off we did Grim Wall, a super-classic VS which rates as one of the best routes at the grade I've ever done. The start was a bit scrappy but the climbing got better and better all the way up, past a funky little traverse, sustained shuffling, big moves, climaxing with a glorious jug romp up an imposing rib. Top hob indeed. And the weather looked even better for the next day...

North Wales

We rocked up at the Cromlech lay-by in Llanberis pass around 1am, put the tent up, and I found I'd forgotten my sleeping bag. Fantastic. After a cold night huddling under towels and half of Dan's unzipped bag, we got up early, ate some unheated beans straight out the tin, and drove round to the Ogwen valley and the base of Tryfan. The weather was looking very promising. Eventually we reached the Heather Terrace at the base of the East face, and started up a route called Gashed Crag. We climbed in mountain boots, placing little in the way of runners and utilising alpine (ie shite) belays. There was a horrible, polished chimney halfway up that provided the crux, which I sort of fell into and upwards, then some pretty cool, exposed moves on a ridge just below the top.

We got down quickly and made our way to Capel Curig for the start of the work training course Dan and I had come up for. Over the next few days we had a bit of a laugh, got drunk, did some table wrestling, and even managed to learn a fair bit about climbing as well.

Afterwards we were left with a hire car and a whole day to kill in Llanberis pass, and more importantly the forecast was good. So we slogged up to Dinas Cromlech bright and early, with the intention of warming up on something easy then smashing out one of the harder classics. I'd never been up there before and was super keen to see it up close. The crag was actually a whole lot less imposing than I expected. Dan and I made short work of a fun VDiff called Flying Buttress, but it was still cold and windy, the forecasted sun nowhere to be seen. Everytime I took my gloves off my hands went numb, so it was fairly apparent we weren't going to be doing anything hard. Instead we descended to the lay-by and caught up with Joe, another guy from the course. He'd being working the insanely difficult boulder problem Jerry's Roof, and we hung out and spotted him on the problem for a while.

The holds were so bad I got pumped just looking at them...

What to do next though? The wind was whistling through the pass, it was too cold to get psyched for harder climbing but neither of us wanted to fart around on easy stuff either. So after another tin of beans we left the pass and headed for the more sheltered slate quarries. We decided to go to Bus Stop Quarry, which was right next to the car park and had some nice-looking mid grade trad lines to play on. First up was a HVS called Solstice, which followed an obvious line of flakes all the way to the top. Seeing as this was slate they were all incredibly suspect and made wonderful hollow noises when I tested them. And of course all the gear was behind them. So I was fairly nervous as I climbed, placing as many runners as I could and trying not to pull on anything. This all went out the window on the crux though - footless grovel for a jug, frantic slapping to get stood up on it before I lobbed off, which probably would've brought the whole route down on top of me. The rest was much steadier, and Dan did a great job seconding his first HVS.

There was only one route to go for after that; the classic of the crag, an E1 called Fool's Gold. It had a very hard but well protected crux, and after dithering at the bottom and making all kinds of excuses I thought 'fuck it' and had a go. Easy climbing up to a comfortable niche sadly gave me too much time to faff about placing gear and get intimidated by what was to come. Finally, fortified by about 17 bombproof wires, I went for the crux. Move right around a small roof, gain a crack system. Nothing for the feet whatsoever. I smeared into a layaway off fingerlocks, grabbed a loose flattie, swung my left foot almost level with my head. Sliding around all over the place I lunged for a jug, just caught it as my feet pinged off the polished nothingness. It was so good I hung one handed for a moment in celebration before mantleshelfing onto it and getting some more gear in.

But the climbing was still pretty sustained all the way to the top, and there were several tricky moves and lots of hand and foot jamming. Fortunately the gear was perfect. One particularly awkward section where I shamefully resorted to an alpine knee, and it was in the bag, no wait, this bit actually looks quite hard, there we go, hang on, watch me here, etc etc, you get my drift. Finally I got to the top, really psyched. Dan once again had to push himself into a new grade, climbing the crux clean first attempt, which was super impressive. We then finished off an awesome day with a burger in Pete's, before reluctantly driving back home again.

I fucking love North Wales.