This week I have been mostly listening to......

This'll be a new regular feature for my blog. I love music almost as much as I love climbing. So here's what's been going through my ears while I've been jogging for the past week:

Langhorne Slim: Americana at it's best. Music snobs please turn your noses up now (I heard it on an advert for Pedigree Chum)

The Bronx: My favourite band. This vid is hilarious. Best dancing since Napoleon Dynamite....

Ghost of a Thousand: The greatest punk rock band in Britain, bar none. This is their new single.

Risky Business...?

I had a cheeky day off work so took the new climb-mobile on a day trip to north Wales, and baked in one of the hottest days of the year so far. Which is great if you're sat on your arse, not great if your slogging up scree slopes. Especially not great if you're a fucking idiot like me and decided to NOT bring enough water, but also to only include the 'feast' of five Jaffa Cakes, having reasoned on the way out, 'it won't take me long and they sell pasties at Ogwen Cottage...'.

I ended up climbing/scrambling up Waved Slab in Carnedd y Ffilliast . It's a Mod climb, looked easy in the guidebook AND on the walk up to it from Ogwen Cottage, so I gave it a go.

Knackered at the bottom. Changed walking boots for rock shoes. Looked up. No rope. Bash on...

It was a superb route, and exhilirating without belays: despite the fact that the climbing was straightforward and the angle was easy, it's easier still to look down and think, 'One false move....' and imagine your body cartwheeling down the face.

Which brings me to the crux of the problem. I went to visit a friend in Brighton this weekend and got into a heated debate with his girlfriend about the merits of climbing/scrambling without a rope. I reasoned, without bragging 'cos I'm not a knob about things like this, that because it was easy and I was relatively experienced that it was a calculated risk, and one I was prepared to take. But her - very good - point was that YOU'RE ENGAGED - it's not just about YOU any more. If you mess it up everyone pays, not just you.

And I sort of agree with her. You can be Tenzing Bleeding Norgay and still pull on a crumbley hold. But will I carry on enjoying myself when the limits of what I'm 'supposed' to do are drawn in around me? I don't know the answer yet, but I guess it'll come to me the next time I'm out on my own and I see a buttress to have a play on.

In the meantime, here's the vid:

Sun, booze and bouldering.

Bloody sun. Never thought I'd say that but there's something about being hot that makes me wanted to drink cold lager until it comes out of my nostrils.
Hence, I've not really been doing much climbing to speak of, other than the odd session bouldering. But I have been feeling very hungover for a very long time. Need. To. Stop. Drinking. In. The. Week!!!!

Anyway, one session that warrants a mention is a recent return to Pex Hill, one of my favourite old stomping grounds when I lived in Liverpool.
If you've not been, go. And be prepared to have your arse kicked. Not by the hoodies who seem to like smashing glass bottles there, but by the routes. I could barely get off the ground. My fingers ached like a bastard and what I did do was by far the easiest stuff there. But fucking hell if it's not good practise. I'm going to make it a priority to get back there and do as much as I can to improve my strength.

Also, and whisper it quietly so JT can't hear it, may have spotted an E1 potential. Although it'll probably chew me up and spit me out if I ever got on it, as most Pex routes do.

Even more exciting, though, is the fact that I've got a car! I had my last one nicked by thieving scrotes in Manchester when I was in LA with work back in July last year and replaced it with a motorbike. As I've discussed before on this blog the bike, while awesome for commuting, isn't really the best for carrying heavy climbing kit. Or ferrying girlfriends around. But, and this is typical of the truly amazing people I share a street with, my next door neighbour GAVE me her old Volkswagen Polo! GAVE me it. Unbelievably generous.
Sure, it stank of sweaty dog, it's R-reg, the red paint is now a weird off-pink colour, it's only one-litre, it needs new tyres and there's a massive sticker in the back of a smiling pooch's face which never fails to make onlookers do a double-take, but I fucking love it! It's like when you're a teenager and you've got a shit car, but that little chugger will completely broaden your horizons. And keep you dry when it rains, unlike anything with only two wheels. Plus I couldn't give two shits if I pranged it, which is a pretty liberating feeling too.

The good news continues: JT and lovely woman friend are back from holiday, which means he's keen to get out climbing this week. Awesome, can't wait.

The only down side to the past two weeks is that I played badminton twice this week with the following results: Played seven games - won two, lost five. And one of those was to my missus, who won't fucking shut up about it. And no, I didn't let her win. Going to have to seriously reconsider the sports we play together. Anyone for boxing?

engagement vid

Engaged....

It's been a while since my last post, but there's a good reason for that: I've just got engaged and have spent the last two weeks fretting about where/how/and when to do it.

She said 'yes'. Which is good. But now I'm bracing myself for the reality that every spare penny I have will now go into some sort of wedding fund. I guess that trip to the Himalayas will have to wait....and so will the new motorbike. Ah well, it's nice to see her happy.

Eventually popped the question in north Wales, near the lovely village Beddgelert, which is famous because of a dog (look it up on the internet...) Walked to the shores of Llyn Dinas, up onto the mountain to a disused copper mine, then down into the gorgeous Cwm Bychan. There's a little waterfall in the valley so got down on one knee there. The weather was baking. We sunbathed. I had a swim in the river to celebrate. It was, in fact, perfect. Couldn't have been more relaxed. It's an odd feeling, having done it. But you're filled with a certain smugness for a good couple of days.

It was a tough weekend, if truth be told. I'd worked two weeks straight and I could feel my body shutting down before we'd even set off to Wales. By the time we got to our accommodation - an awesome tipi near Carno - I was already coming down with flu. The Saturday morning was like waking up with the mother of all hangovers even though I'd only had two beers, then had to drag myself up and somehow turn my rotten mood into the best day of my girlfriend's life. Felt like utter warmed-up, two-day old shite, but think I convinced her otherwise.

Anyway, now that's over I can concentrate on climbing again. So I'll hopefully be out again this week, just as soon as I've shaken off my man-ebola-plague-swine-flu. Urrghhh.

Hobson's Choice

We had a baking-hot day on Tuesday but, thankfully, by the time we'd cropped up at Hobson Moor Quarry there was a light wind, and no midges. Result!

After Saturday's demoralising demolition at the hands of Mersey sandstone I was looking for some decent climbing and, more importantly, to have a laugh again and not worry about an early grave. 

Thanks to Jen, Helen and Simon (the belay AND camera monkey), it was job done. That and the fact all the routes had bomber gear.

I lead Crew's Route, a brilliant crack line VS 4c, with no dramas whatsoever. And Jen also pissed a VS with a tricky top section.

Also glad the motorbike CAN, in fact, accommodate all my gear, albeit with panniers that I was convinced were going to fall off and wrap themselves around the back wheel for the entire journey. It's the first time she's been on a climbing trip (she's a silver and red Kawasaki ER6n. bless her) and she loved!

A friend had previously pointed out Tighe's Arete as a potential first E1. It's the video on the right. After sizing it up, here's my thoughts: It looks do-able, there's a huge pocket for a friend, but other than that not a lot else. It'd be bold, but within our capabilities. Will keep it secret from JT so he doesn't snaffle it first....oh wait on, he's probably already read this. Bugger......

Fear and lotion in Helsby.....

I've always said climbing is all in the head. When you tie in, threading the rope through your harness, you've usually got a good inkling of how you're going to perform. And it's not down to how many hours you've spent in the gym, or knowing you said 'No' to that extra doughnut at work, or even if you've climbed the route before. It's because there's a little voice in your head that either says, 'Piece of piss this, I don't even care if I fall off today' or it tells you, 'Steady on, sonny Jim, you fall off that and you're toast'.

Saturday's outing was all about having the latter phrase swimming through my head. I knew it was going to be hard - I got to bed late on Friday - and I proved myself right. (It's never helped through alcohol, is it!? But the girls in our street decided to throw an Ann Summers party, meaning the boys had to evacuate the mews and seek refuge in the pub. Which is never perfect preparation, but at least it stopped me having to endure double-ended dildos being waved in my face by drunk women. So, in a round-about way it wasn't my fault I had a hangover....)

Helsby, just off the M56 in Cheshire, is a devious little shit of a crag. I'm a local, I know how scary sandstone can be, and I know that if you pull too hard on a flake it's going to come off in your hand and leave a brown stain in your pants.

But for some reason my head just wasn't in it. I don't know what it was. I had a brilliant time. The sun was out, the shirts were off, and there was a smell of sun lotion and insect repellent in the air. It was as enjoyable as it ever is - especially when a perfect stranger started handing-out free, fresh pineapple. But when I got on the sharp end of the rope I just didn't feel confident. My afternoon was summed up perfectly by a gibbering wreck of a lead on Dinnerplate Crack, a Severe 4b. It's one that I've lead twice before now, and I should have known better, but I went to pieces.

It's essentially a huge roof, followed by some easy jugs, then a nice sloping finish on shite holds. The climb itself is straightforward, but for the life of me I couldn't find any protection, save for a cam right on the lip of the opening overhang. I committed to the move, pulled over and expected to find a nice big slot to ram a load of gear in. But I couldn't see anything except a highly dubious nut slot near my left foot. It was like balancing a pebble in the mouth of a beer bottle. It would probably have held a fall, but I don't ever want to find out.

By this point I'm twitching like a shitting dog, knowing there's another committing move before I reach a crack that offers some hope of protection, and in the back of my mind there's a voice going, 'You'll hit the deck if you fall off from here. And if you're REALLY lucky the first bit of gear you placed will have you pendulum-ing into the rock face like a champagne bottle on a new ship'. Shut up, brain!

And I lost it. My arms tensed up, I could hear my own labored breathing, and that awful metallic taste of fear began to rise at the back of my throat. Then it was a case of warning JT, 'Watch us here...there's nothing....I'm losing it....tell my mam I love her!!!'

And this was a Severe. For those of you who don't climb, please have a look to the right-hand side Jargon buster and realise how far I am off climbing an E1.......... If I AM going to do it by the end of the summer my grey matter needs to get with the programme.

Anyway, after having the piss ripped out of me by the rest of the group when I'd eventually topped-out and stopped swearing, things seemed to settle down, and I eventually got back into the rhythm of things. I'm hoping that as this is only my second leading session, outdoors, of the season, things will get better. And they'd better bloody had do.

JT and I alternated leads up the likes of Little by Little (VS, 4b) Twin Caves Crack (S 4b), and The Overhanging Crack (VS 4c), which was admirably led by JT. Good work, fella. Hats off, seriously.

And we ended the day with a top-rope session on Golden Pillar (E1, 5b).

Top-roping basically means we set up an anchor at the top of the route BEFORE we'd actually climbed it, meaning any falls would be embarrassing, rather than life-threatening. And having been up my first E1 this year, albeit through 'cheating', here are my thoughts on the subject:

a) The moves were superb. The holds were all positive and it was an utter pleasure to be on. I couldn't stop grinning.

b) But....it's anyone's guess how I'd cope having to place gear all the way up it. I imagine it would involve stopping, faffing around with an un-ordered rack of nuts, swearing like a drunken sailor, attempting to put a bit of gear in a pocket, more effing and jeffing when it doesn't fit, feeling my arms pumping, and then fall off.

There's a long way to go, methinks. But at least I've got the early summer nerves out of my system now.

Next stop Hobson Moor quarry on Tuesday night. Not the most beautiful place in the world but it's God's honest gritstone and I'm looking forward to being able to trust the gear .Here's hoping my head's not up my arse this time.

I'll end with this vid of JT leading Twin Caves Crack. Good route, and a good lead made to look easy. Note the use of slings......would never have thought of that!

technical crap - just ignore this!

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E1: The Hallowed Grade

Climbers are like train-spotters. 

There's an massive amount of list-ticking involved in the sport: First climb on gritstone, first winter route, first lead (ie going ground-up, placing protection as you climb, rather than having a rope safely positioned at the top for you), or even your first fall.

But there's one tick that seduces more than any other: and that's E1.

Take a look at the 'jargon guide' to your right. You'll notice that E1 is the first of the grades labelled 'extreme'. And that's for a reason. E1 seems to separate the wheat from the chaff. Climbers in the E1 club can consider themselves pretty decent. These are sustained, technical climbs where a fall is going to have your sphincter twitching and your belayer wincing. To me, at least, it feels like you have to earn the right to jump on an E1. And if it spits you off you're going to know about it.

I'm not in the E1 club. I've been leading VS confidently for a couple of summers, HVS sporadically. Just when I think I'm making progress I'll have two weeks off for weddings, parties, piss-ups, work, then it'll rain, and when I finally get out of a weekend again I'm crap again. As weak as a kitten.

But that is all going to change this summer, though...........or that's the plan anyway.

Me and JT, my climbing buddy, have made a pact with the devil that we will have both lead an E1 climb, 'on-sight' (which means we don't practise it first, or read lots of instruction on it from guide books) by the end of the summer.

I'm 29. I'm settling down. I'm not the mentalist I once was. Life and work is starting to get in the way of my dreams. I'm 30 next year. I've had a few career set backs this year and I need my E1. If I do it, it'll open a new chapter and make the dirty thirties seem less terrifying. Or so I hope. Either way it'll be fun finding out what happens.

Here's a couple of my early E1 contenders: 

Looning the Tube, E1 5a (Australia quarry, Llanberis, North Wales)

Shivers Arete, E1 5b (Wilton, near Bolton, Lancs)

The Tippler E1, 5b (Stanage, Peak District)

The view from the top......and the road to my first E1 graded climb!

As I write this I'm sitting in my office nursing a hangover, drinking coffee and thinking about going for a climb as it's my day off. This is pretty much how most days off begin for me.

I. Love. Climbing. 

It's an addiction worse than smack. Once you've caught the bug it'll never loosen it's grip. It drives my ladyfriend bonkers. 'Quality time together' for me is down the crag with JT, my climbing buddy. And that creates some problems....

I'm not a particularly good climber. In fact, considering how long I've been doing it I'm a bit bobbins. But show me someone more passionate about the sport and I'll show you pig with wings. 

This blog isn't designed to educate, or inform. It's not a training guide, a crag database, or hint sheet - it's for the sheer hell of it. If one person reads this and thinks, 'f**k yeah, I'll give that a go!' then that's one more person to hold the end of the rope for me.

This blog is for all those climbers who, like me, have conceded they'll never be a rock star. And it's for everyone who uses climbing as a tool - a gateway - into the most beautiful places, not just in Britain, but all over the world.