The Games

"It's really great if you do hard outdoor climbing, but you cannot say you're the best. The only way you can say you're the best is if you compete with the best and show the best - I'm the best" - Reindert Lenselink (World Cup Official)

Last night was the start of the Foundry Bouldering League. I used to love bouldering comps; I went to them religiously, got a spot on the GB team, had some mediocre international results. Hard to believe that was back in 2001. Back then Tony Blair was PM, and still the apple of the nation's eye. Many of the events that shaped the modern world were still to come - 9/11, the invasion of Iraq, the launch of Facebook. But last night there was a funny wind in the air, and for the first time in ten years I really felt like going to a comp again. I felt youthful and strong, so I went along to show them all who's best.

Well, the best stayed away (they'd probably heard I was coming), but there was a really good scene down there. Rob Napier had done a great job with a brand new set of Core holds and there was 25 problems to have a crack at and a lot of keen folk around to have some banter with. The Foundry guys had also come up with a new twist on the comp format; as well as the standard problems there was also a "Flash Problem", which gave everyone who flashed it the chance to win a cash prize in a raffle.

The best bouldering comps are the ones where you can drop the 'easy' problems. It keeps the nerves jangling. Last night was a great example of this. Many of the 'hard' problems were fine, but the easy probs were also easy to drop, with some awkward lurches, some technical grooves and some graunchy traverses thrown in to mix things up. I was quite pleased with the way I climbed. Only two problems gave me any real trouble - a desperate slopey yellow and a huge dyno to a large red ball. Both succumbed in the end, but I had to get really angry on the dyno and embarrassed myself with a bit of a roar when I caught it.

It was great to watch the other climbers, too. There were some really cool displays of technique, especially from the females. Leah Crane, Emma Twyford and some young blond lass I don't know climbed really well. These girls have really precise, and very different ways of moving on the rock; I think I could learn a lot from them, if I could get my hips to actually move more than 5 degrees in any direction. There were some great displays of tenacity too; one tiny pre-teen girl kept setting up for the dyno, even though it was much further than her body length. She never got close, but optimism like that is gonna get you up something well hard someday...

There was good cake as well. Basically I had a ball, and I won the aforementioned raffle, so went home with enough cash to take Jules out for dinner. Heartily recommended.

Damn You Evolution!

No, this isn't some anti-Darwin rant, just an outpouring of frustration about the difficulty of Jerry Moffat's Raven Tor "creation" (ahem).

I've had a hate-hate relationship with this route in the past, largely born out of not being able to do the moves, or in many cases hang the holds. Over the years I've been making creeping progress. Each year I inch a move or two closer - a reminder that I am still getting stronger, if only in certain styles and at a pace that would make a sloth blush.

This year I have returned for a dabble, making good use of the freakishly good October weather. I have reduced the "moves I cannot do" count to one, although the "moves I can barely do" count is still pretty high. Perhaps a winter's training will improve my crimp strength and hip flexibility enough to start red pointing?

When I did Make it Funky, back in the year 2007 AD, I couldn't do any of the moves at all on the crimpy headwall. By contrast, pocket power midget Ru Davies was enjoying a career break. Between law school and donning a silly wig Ru took time off to write THE peak bouldering guide, go climbing a lot and get freakishly, stupidly strong. His levels of crimp strength reached McClure-esque heights, and it is amazing (and a great shame) that he didn't tick Evolution back then. Here he is, captured in all his glory, by ace cameraman Rich Heap. Watch it and weep....


Evolution from Rich Heap.

Wall

You can't climb every weekend. This weekend the wife and I went up to the quiet county to walk sections of Hadrian's Wall with my mother-in-law. We stayed in the excellent beggar bog B&B which is o'er the wall from Queen's Crag, run by a climber and does really excellent cooked breakfasts. Heartily recommended for those looking for a luxury bouldering break.

I found the days walking along the wall fascinating. Mind-boggling to think a centurion could stand on that wall looking south, let his minds eye roam over thousands of miles to the edge of the Sahara and know it was all one single Roman empire. It struck me how much the pace of life has changed out of all recognition. The wall was built over a ten year period, by two teams starting from either end of the country. That's an average of 16 metres a day, though they would have to have gone a bit faster than that since they also built forts and milecastles in those ten years. How could they stand it? There are sections on the wall where you can see to the end of the earth, and they would have inched along those hillsides at a measly 16 metres every day. It must have felt like their entire lives would be spend placing bricks in a line.

Was this as unbearable as I think it must be, or has our modern pace of life changed our sense of time forever? If something takes me ten days I begin to think of it as a ceaseless task. On our way along the wall we met a man who was walking the route from coast to coast with two fell-ponies, descendants of the original ponies who helped build the wall. He was doing it to draw attention to the plight of the ponies who, apparently, are endangered. The ponies make slow progress on the rough terrain and he was moving at around five miles a day. We met him on Saturday and again on Sunday, barely any further on. It will take him over two weeks to complete the walk, at which point he'll turn round and start walking back...

Some shots below.

Coach Randall done good!

I'm not going to write much about my weekend, because it was wet and fairly unimpressive on the climbing front. On saturday I went to the Works with the two mini-Ruperts (age 33 and <1year, respectively). On Sunday Jules and I went back to Malham to get some pics. It was horrid, so we drove from there to the Tor, which was also horrid, so we drove to the Foundry. Which was dry, at least.


Much more exciting though, is that Coach Randall destroyed his U.S project, the only off-width visible from space! The ascent has made a bit of a splash in the news, with UKC articles, a great blog post from Alex Ekins, and some grumbling from Stevie Haston, one of the great heroes, who's lost a project to a younger man.

What I like about this news story is the backdrop of obsession and quirkiness that lies behind it. Developing an unhealthy attraction to off-widths is pretty rare behaviour for anyone, but is right out of left-field in the UK, where we don't have much of this particular type of climbing. It's so impressive that Tom and Pete buried themselves in their cellar, burdened themselves with huge weights and hung from parallel joints of wood until their eyes bled, their muscles burst and their sanity cracked. There's something oddly British about emerging from a small cellar as two of the best crack climbers in the world. As someone posted on supertopo.com -  "this is the attitude that built the British Empire". What a pair of legends!

Double Crush!

One of the great things about epic sieges is that you never have to ask "where shall we climb today?". Back from France, back to Malham. The unseasonal weather had worked its charm and the cove, which we left sulking under a coat of black is pristine again. 

Plans to climb on saturday are quickly shelved. The mercury rises to record heights, and paint peels from fences. This is not the day to be sat at the focus of an 80-m wide reflector. Instead we visit Jenny and Bruno and their new arrival Sam, who is the definition of adorable; lively and with a wide range of interesting facial expressions. Cafes and gentle walks are a perfect match for the 30-degree heat. In the evening we drive to Malham and have dinner in the Listers, where we encounter some fools who tried to climb, sitting in the shade and peeling their blistered skin.

Sunday brings rain, warm air and cloying humidity. Not perfect sending temps. On my first dog up Bat Route it is quite obvious that things are against me: conditions are gash; my new shoes feel clumpy and don't work in the crucial heel-hook. Worst of all, my hurty elbow has acquired a new trick, and my left bicep appears to have gone to sleep. It simply won't recruit, and seems to have no power. This is disappointing because if there's one thing you want on a roof full of undercuts, it's some guns to brag about.

Jules is looking in better shape on Predator. In fact I've never seen her so strong on it. It's still a bit wet, and she's carrying a towel up with her to dry footholds on redpoint, but it's game on I'd say. And so we start. 

Round 1

I fall off the roof; something I haven't done for ages. Jules cruises to the crux, but fails to get through it. 

Round 2

I fall off the roof again. Biceps would clearly be of some use here. Jules gets through crux but then gets muddled up and falls getting her feet up.

Round 3

I'm through the roof! God knows how, but still. My mum-made kneepads work like a dream and I get loads back in the knee bars. Which is a good job, because the runout above is horrendous; I smear and stab and grease my way through the pinches; I've never come so close to taking the lob. This is proving to be a massive fight; obviously I've got no chance. But here's something funny; I'm not pumped. All that French grade chasing must have done something for my fitness and I leave the rest feeling good. In fact, I fully crush my way through the crispy headwall and onto the French 6b finish. It's in the bag! Except....

On the walk in, Jules asked me if my route stayed dry in the rain. "Of course", I answered. I should have thought about that a bit more. The top wall is soaked. Naturally, I keep my cool, which is to say I wobble and scream my way to the ledge. My screams of "Oh christ! It's so wet!" cause much mirth around the cove but it's done. Finis. Nothing to do but lower off and enjoy the exposure one last time.

Back down to earth and I am ecstatic. But, poor Jules. How many more people must she see complete their projects before she nails hers? She congratulates me, of course, but the disappointment and sadness shows through, and I feel crushed. She deserves it so much more; why did it have to be me to tick today?

She still has a chance though; her third red point sees her through the crux again, and in cruise control this time. She looks strong and composed and she falls from the moves at the first chain again. No! How can she do this? No-one falls there. Certainly not twice. Certainly not three times! How can she be so cheated? Obviously, at this point Jules is pretty angry. It's not helped by the fact that the damp is coming through; holds on the start are wet. The top tufas are slimy. Will she get another chance this year? Amid all this pressure, she dusts herself down, and sets off for

Round 4

Shaky and wheel-spinning through the start. A bad sign. Leaving the half-height rest she looks good but stalls on the traverse; feet shaky and a few wild slaps. I hold my breath. She makes it, and powers through the crux and onto the easier headwall. Surely this time? You can't drop it from here four times, can you? I hold my breath. She does not; aggression and power screams pouring down the wall. She's there! Across from the first belay and into a monster rest; one bolt from the chains. The cove is crushed into silence. I glance across at Keefe and raise my hands in silent prayer. Aeons pass. She sets off and cruises to the chain. Clip. Silence. I think she's a bit confused by what just happened. Then it hits, and her face is split by a grin of pure joy. 

Double Crush! Chapeau Team Littlefair! It goes without saying that we celebrate with a massive McDonald's blowout. Today I feel a little queasy. But dead chuffed.

Operation Grade Chase

8a. It's a grade. It's the grade, if we're honest. It's not 7b.nu is it? I've been slogging up the steep hill of progress for many years now. A few years back I reached a bright and sunny plateau, where on sighting 8a felt like the kind of thing I could do pretty regularly. I've never reached that beautiful spot since. But I've been slogging around the hillside some more since then and I reckoned I was ready to try again. So. 6 days. South of France. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to onsight every 8a you can find in the guidebook. This blog post will self-destruct in five seconds...

Day 1

Jurassic Park. Grade chase status: total failure. 

Our ex-pat hosts take us to meet other ex-pats Mike and Elaine Owen at their favourite crag. Everyone is english, just like the costa del sol. Don't even get on an 8a, but do fail to redpoint 8a+. Chapeau Monsieur Littlefair.

Day 2

Jurassic/Cayenne. Grade chase status: dismal failure.

More classic tufa action. I don't understand tufa. There seems to be jugs everywhere but I just end up getting massively pumped and baffled. More brits at the crag today, including Al Cassidy, who floats up Diplodocus (8a). He makes it look so easy I get on after him and totally balls it up. Redpoint yesterday's 8a+ to make me feel better. Go to nearby Cayenne; looks awesome. Fail to get on an 8a. 

Day 3

Deverse. Grade chase status: almost successful (i.e failed again)

Really psyched. Today is the big one. Deverse Satanique; the best 8a since they were invented. Snaky tufas snaking up a big overhanging wall. I'm so psyched for this one I watch videos of it all night, and bring them to the crag. Nothing's gonna stop me here. I pull on, cruise through the bottom and balls up the first hard move. I see a theme developing here. Balls up another 8a on the RHS, even though it would get VS in Cheedale. Not a happy bunny.

Day 4

St Martin Vesubie. Grade chase status: are you still even asking?

What an amazing crag. Really; it's completely incredible. Cool features. Enormous routes. Beautiful locations. There aren't any 8a's here. I don't even know why we came.

Day 5

Jurassic/Cayenne. Grade chase status: I'm so depressed.

Actually tried an 8a today. Fell off it.

Day 6 

St Cezaire. Grade chase status: YYFY!

This crag is British. It's got crimps and everything. Finally, finally I onsight an 8a. I think it's soft. It gets 7c+ in one guide. I'm taking the tick though. In fact, you couldn't prise the tick from my cold dead fingers. 

All in all a great trip. Thoroughly recommend the area to all looking to fall off 8as. One thing puzzles me. Every day we drove past the "Easy Love, Love shop". Looks like a classy establishment, but can any of my worldy wise readers tell me what the duck is all about?

The Circle of Life

The death of the humblest creature may provide sustenance for the King of Beasts. And so we mourn not the passing of any creature, because all creatures are connected by the great Circle of Life (apart from Jellyfish).

As with nature, so it is with climbing. I have returned from my self-imposed exile in the Canary Islands, and am eager to begin battle proper with the mighty Bat Route, which soars imposingly up the centre of Malham Cove. Regular readers of this blog will note that I was having a little trouble with squatters on this route. I was sure that with the onset of Sendtember, the nesting birds would have begun their flight to Africa, and I could destroy their home whilst they weren't looking. I was a little sad to see that the Peregrine had beaten me too it; the nest was in turmoil, and a suspicious looking hole had appeared in the front of the outer wall. Sad news for the swifts, good news for me!

And so the siege begins! Bat Route consists of a short 7b into a orgy of thuggy undercut moves through the main overhang. These bring you, panting, to a perfect double knee-bar rest. Whilst hanging upside down in the middle of the cove you can wave to the tourists and contemplate the next section, a bouldery runout on terrible smears. If you have recovered enough, then a tenuous layback move, miles above a pathetic rust-stain pretending to be a bolt will bring you to another great rest, this time on enormous jugs with poor feet. From here you have only the final 7c/+ section on smee smears and tiny crimps between you and the top. It's just that this last section is about a million moves long.

Day 1 sees me get much higher than I thought I would; through the pant-filling runout and into the good rest. From here you can kid yourself that you're going to crush the headwall but most goes see me fade out by a hard move halfway up the headwall. This is a move that tall people can lank past, but most will have to pull on a despicable side pull, rendered useful by dint of a tiny tiny thumb-catch. When I get here I feel as if all strength has been sucked form my arms, and I can't even crimp up. I leave the crag psyched to get this high, but wondering if I'll ever have the stamina to pull through this move.

Day 2, Go 1 answers that question with a resounding yes! Everything goes wrong on this go; the holds have filled with mud and water, and I have to clean them off after each jug. Worse yet, my feet pop on the runout, draining my bowels along with my reserves of stamina. Nevertheless I manage to shake out a little before the hard headwall move and cruise through it. Suddenly there are only three moves between me and glory! Move one, piss. Move two is piss. I feel strong, quite fresh and the sound of angels singing Glory! fills my mind. I get so excited I miss out the little intermediate crimp I always use, which turns out to be an appalling mistake. Disaster! My left brain is pleased to reach this highpoint, and cooly logs it to feed future optimism. My right brain has a proper paddy and spends ten minutes shouting and cursing, before sloping off to its room for a sulk. From this point on, things go from bad to worse. The sun comes out, instantly turning the cove from a piece of rock into a creeping wave of slime. Worse still, I am struck low by the worst migraine known to man. Instead of dusting myself off and finishing the route I am left to lie on the catwalk and gently whimper.

So now the wait begins. Will it stay dry for a whole five days? Who knows - the forecast is for rain and I may yet see my victory snatched from my grasp....

And what about Jules, I hear you ask? Well, Jules is still trying Predator. Despite having made it through the hard climbing about a month ago, wet rock and life have got in the way and she had yet to regain that highpoint. On Sunday, despite poor conditions she was determined she would at least make it through the crux again. Four red points later and she had failed at the last move each time. At this point other people would see sense and give up. Indeed, everyone else had gone home and dusk was falling as Jules tied in for an epic fifth go. Obviously tired, she fought her way to the last hard move and strained through it, finding herself on the easier headwall for a second time. Cool and collected she cruised through her previous highpoint and was looking good for the tick when a flash pump threw her confidence and her right foot slipped! She was robbed!

In fact, we were both robbed and on the same day.  Climbing can be a cruel mistress sometimes; run a good time in a 100m race and you go home feeling happy. Yesterday Jules and I were a whisker away from our best climbing performances ever, and we go home totally empty handed and with 'what-if' ringing in our ears...