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...