Its whats inbetween that counts.

Unexplored coasts full of potential.

I went to Mid Wales during my Easter break, visiting friends amongst the vivid green Cambrian corrugations that make this part of the world so special. The seaside town of Aberystwyth stands as a halfway point on my own personal timeline - looking South to my past and North to my present; as such it occupies a unique place in my personal geography.  Usually a trip to this part of the world would lead to a coastal adventure at Clarach and Borth (read about previous trips here, here, here and here) or alternatively in Barmouth or Cae Du, however on this occasion time and tide were against me.  The alternative was clear and I looked South and to the past for adventure, focussing on the county that I called home for the first 19 years of my life.  I headed back to Newport in North Pembrokeshire, to Mynidd Dinas and             the developed dolerite crags that crown the northern flanks of the Preseli hills.

The A487 coastal road draws you south from Aberystwyth to Newport; a tarmac trail that hugs the edge of civilised cultivation before it drops into the wild surf below.  Vistas of sea and cliff rob you of your conscious self, testing your powers as the mind drifts and the smell of brine hangs heavy in the air.  Villages which have fed the Welsh diaspora, depopulated by the Pied Piper of progress and urban dreams, tick by; acting as a yardstick on a journey so stunning that you lament its end.  Every mile reveals another ripple in the rocky coastline: beaches, coves and cliffs tempt you to stop to see what potential might lie there.  However time is a cruel mistress, When it is short you will always drive on to established venues, developed, described by a book leading to you to an experience that deftly fits into the few hours you have; leading you to ignore what lies in between.

Some of the unclimbed Rhyolite that exists above Newport 

Newport features highly as one of the main bouldering areas of Pembrokeshire in the new Pembrokeshire Climbers club guide (Volume 1 Pembroke North).  Above the town there are rhyolite crags such as Carn Foi and Carn Cwn, developed to an extent but with lots of potential for further lines.  Although looking at the guide, I found myself climbing the lines that existed in-between those reported, in-between the brush marks, in-between the established. And my thoughts returned to the drive: to the coast, to what may exist undiscovered and untouched in-between the pages; existing in the unwritten, in-between land and sea.  To the South of Newport the Dolerite crags of Mynidd Dinas can be seen clearly from the road.  Carn Enoch, Carn Sefill and Garn Fawr are well-known to the attentive boulderer.  Not only do they grace the pages of the Pembrokeshire Guide, they also play a cameo in Boulder Britain.  In this corner of Pembrokeshire chalk adorns rock, decorating the paths of previous ascentionists and giving a clue to the sequence that may unlock a problem.  These crags are by no means fully climbed out, but strong lines draw the eye and the question of what may lay in-between is lost in the industry of the send and intricacies of the line.  The view from these high crags on a sunny day can distract even during the focus of a send.  The coastline ripples and reticulates lazily and seemingly infinitely both North and South. A glance at the guide suggests there is nothing there, no sport, no fun; and yet you must question what lies in-between.

A strong line at Garn Fawr

Over the early summer I spent a lot of time on the LLyn, following my namesake Mr Heyward as he developed his way around the peninsula.  Porth Ysgo and Trwyn Talfarach are established locations on the British Boulderer's map nowadays giving all the rasping experience that only seaside gabbro can provide.  However Owen delved a bit deeper and unearthed unanticipated quality. Porth Nefoedd had been reworked the previous winter and new blocks had materialised further along the beach; where climbers had assumed there were none.  The Hell’s Mouth block drips with quality, wave-washed dolerite that begs to be climbed.  The walk in and the location gives you a real feel that you are 'there' -  bouldering at the edge of the map, immersed in nature, unhindered by the complications of the human world.  Individuals like Owen don’t wonder about what lies in-between, they seek out the gaps in the map: they find what's there and they fill in the gaps, increasing the size of our shared bouldering world in a time when technology seems to be making the actual world smaller as every day passes.

Late July and the commencement of high summer saw me travel back down the A487, back to Newport but on this occasion with time to explore.  I passed Aberystwyth, the centreline of my life, with its developed wave-washed shale and drove on to the in-between; where the bouldering map is incomplete and gaps exist.  As I passed Llanrhysud, Abeaeron, New Quey, Llangranog and Cardigan I thought of the way the Llyn has been developed recently and looked at this coast and the coast of North Pembrokshire with a new zeal. The bouldering map down here isn’t even a pencil line on the back of an envelope, the areas in-between undiscovered: stretches along the coastal fringe from Clarach to Newgale and then on round to the industrial bays of the Cleddau all waiting for someone to explore them, to tame them and bring them into the fold. So I explored when I was down there.  Not too far from an established bouldering venue I found a little bit of class amongst the sandstones and shales: a wall fifty feet in length, twenty feet high at its highest point, overhanging by twenty degrees and covered by enough holds to make this find a challenge (there will be more about this venue another time).  Another piece of the map had fallen into place, pushing the bouldering horizon that little bit further out for others to discover.


Doug Kerr on the boulder problem Chop which exists in the space at the edge of the bouldering map

A guide is being written at the moment that will take in some of the areas that, at present, exist in-between the known and unknown.  A dedicated group of locals are out there scouring the bays for potential, but why leave the immense task of rewriting the bouldering map to the few? We are the many and the task is large. Instead of spending yet another bank holiday weekend abseiling into an overly used coastal limestone crag in South Pembrokeshire, why not quest north with a brush and a pad? It’s amazing what you can find on that wild, deserted North Pembrokeshire / Ceridigion coastline. Be a map-maker - be creative and anchor your own personal geography to a little piece of coastline that will inspire others.

Oh I do Like to be Beside the Seaside!

New game! Best venue?

The Sun has appeared.  When I first spotted it emerging from its long slumber behind vast volumes of vapour fear enveloped me and I stood motionless, staring at the sky.  Was this strange burning ball of gas a sign of the oncoming apocalypse?  Could this really be the end of everything? No, it was stranger than that; winter, it appeared, was over and the warmth produced by this heavenly body precipitated a metamorphosis amongst the people: clothes were shed, smiles spread and faces were framed by dark glasses. This sudden change in fortunes has also lead to a change of heart in my answers in the game of Bests! (See my post - "Lists and That" if you're not sure what the game of Bests is)

Best venue? Anywhere coastal when the sun shines.

Ice Cream and Caravans at Clarach - my favourite!

The seaside - a playground for the young: sandcastles, rockpools, 99's with strawberry sauce, paddling, proms and piers. Faded Victoriana rippled with amusement arcades, shops filled with 'Kiss Me Quick' hats and postcards that make grandad laugh like a donkey. Babies wear ice-cream beards of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry; seagulls swoop - stealing your chips, and the salty smell of the sea hangs heavy in the air.  I must admit, when the sun shines there's nowhere I would rather be.
From a Bouldering perspective the coast really makes sense when the temperature tip-toes above the magic twenty degrees celsius mark. Whilst ryolite, dolerite and grit sat in bogs sweat in the sun-shrouded by midges, sea breezes and evaporating tides conspire to cool things down on the coast.  Shady cliff lines and deep sea-caves mean that even on the hottest day there will be something worth working on. I ask you- what could be more statisfying than a cool ice cream when resting, or some post-climb fish and chips? Climbing on the coast in the summer is more than the sum of its problems, it's the whole holiday vibe that makes it the Best.

I revisited Borth and Clarach in Mid Wales during my half term holiday and immersed myself in the special deep-fried world that exists on the coast! I rewalked the sinuous path between land and sea and returned to the places where monster lines of the future live. Again, I didn't try to tame the beasts, just became more certain that someone more capable than myself will bring these Titans to life.  Instead, I wandered through shady places searching for cool rock and a special breed of hold, something that only the sea can conjure - the frictionless sloper.

Slippy slopers ahoy

Slopers have been the mainstay of Bouldering since the beginning of time! To many they are like a drug; once you've learnt how to lower your centre of gravity and hold one more are needed to fulfill the physical urge to hang off things with open hands.  Websites, now sadly extinct, used to devote their entire output to the science of slopers; they invited you into a seedy world of slope coefficients and reader's slopers. When initiated into the cult, sloperism drives you on to find the slopiest of slopes- the harder to hold the better. You learn to negotiate the margins of friction and discover how much can be held by simply dragging skin across rock.

The Mid Wales coastal cliffs are made up of soft shales and sandstone.  The incessant action of the waves on this plyable medium has produced slopers of such rare quality that they deserve a special slopey place in the world of Sloperdom.  These frictionless wonders are hard to hold and keep you begging for more.  In the shade of the Leviathan I found such slopers, ones so slopey that they look like mere ripples in the rock. The line they defined felt improbable and yet impossible to leave.  Working the moves involved the initiation of upward movement whilst slowly yet steadily slipping towards the cushioned embrace of my pads. Decisiveness, body tension and a stubborn streak were the key to success. The problem 'Raspberry Ripple' (7b ish) is a celebration of the tidal sloper; it may not have the grandure of the project lines that lie behind it, it may also be affected by shifting pebble levels, however none of that matters when you match that ripple with a high heel and and a heart full of hope.

The line of "Raspberry Ripple"

The ripple - every problem should have one.

So what of the summer? It's here at last but no one can predict its longevity; however to quote an old adage- we should make hay whilst the sun shines.  The coast is bursting with established cool, shady venues. However the more adventurous looking for pastures new will find plenty to go at between the tides- our coastal Bouldering resources have as yet barely been touched.  Learn about the tides, search out some slick slopers and join the cult of open-handedness; enjoy the fact that even in the hottest weather good conditions can be found! If that's not enough to feed your sloper needs,  I'm sure that a well-appointed ice cream, or a sugary doughnut fresh from the fryer, will go some way to calm the nerves until temperatures drop and the gritty slopers in the hills can be exploited again.



Raspberry Ripple 7b from Owen McShane on Vimeo.

Feel the lick of the Leviathan.

There be sea monsters down there at Borth

In Ellsemere Port over Easter bank holiday weekend they have an international sea shanty festival. I found out about it immediately after the event this year. The sense of disappointment I felt at missing this jamboree was crushing. Unbeknownst to the festival organisers I had grown a fisherman's beard and would have walked tall in this world of facial hair and cable-knit jumpers; a wasted opportunity for which a warm chin in cold weather was no real comfort or consolation. The briny, barnacled world of sea shanties fascinates me: old men in canvas coats and flat caps smoking porcelain pipes, creating close harmonies of times under the sail, stars and moon. This subculture still has a faint whiff of piracy about it, not the type that infringes copyright, rather the dastardly variety that reeks of daring deeds and rum. It's odd that Ellsmere holds this festival. Even with its estuarine position and industrial jetties the town seems divorced from the sea, held hostage by the motorway that now bisects it and provides its life blood.

Now that's what I call a sea shanty beard.

Shanties and songs of the sea were used to motivate and coordinate repetitive tasks undertaken by those who lived under the sail. The Chantyman would lead: he would call the line and the crew would echo his words as they heaved the sail or raised the anchor. In this way tales would be told, and the histories of those who existed in the space suspended between sea and soil would take on their own forms. Stories developed their own energy and life, twisting and evolving into fantastical shapes as they voyaged around the globe and through time, propelled by the winds of adventure. The Chantyman called the line with promises of beasts, battles and booty; the young and strong followed his call to the shore and beyond!

Stories of monsters have always drifted across the seas: The Cracken, The Leviathan, sea serpents and giant whales have fuelled the rhythms of the Chantyman. These beasts have poured fear into the hearts of those on both land and sea, their reputations as fierce as the stories that created them. Legends like these draw out the brave, stupid and strong; young men who set out to sea to make a name for themselves, to fight and become immortalised in the words of the Chantyman.

Whilst my stupidity is well known I am neither brave nor strong, if I chant you a line, will you follow my song?

I spend a lot of my time walking the line between sea and soil finding wave-washed gems to ascend. Ogmore, Ysgo and Dinellain have all been plundered  producing tales to motivate others. Songs of slopers and overhangs, barnacles and biceps drift along these shores. Mid Wales has been one of my main muses for some time: Clarach and Borth have both had me echoing their call, hauling me back again and again to see what new tales lie around the corner. 

A recent trip across the ancient sands and shales of mid wales revealed a terrifying secret to me, one I will share; what you do with this information is beyond my control. I was trawling the rich coastline at Borth looking for fine, slick slopers of such quality they would drive a boulderer mad. As I assessed the coastline my eyes were drawn to a darkness in the cliff line, something was brooding there in the shadows, something that did not sit well with my conscience. I went to investigate. I did not know what lay there beyond the depths of my perception. What I found filled me with both awe and dread.

The line between sea and soil

On that tranquil shore sits a beast, a leviathan of a line- monstrously steep and fantastically frictionless. Washed up by ancient storms it sits there fossilised by time. I approached this slumbering creature with caution, not wanting to wake it. I gazed upon it smooth yet scaly, barrelled belly scarred by single-pad, directional undercuts leading along its length to a change of angle and some actual holds on its head wall. Tension, strength, patience and persistence would all need to be used in equal measure to tame this animal born in the depths; if we add a less than perfect landing into this equation we are looking at an endeavour that legends are made of! Overcome by fear I turned and ran, knowing that I'm too weak of heart, mind and muscle to go even one round with this beast. I ran knowing that I was lucky to live to tell this tale; this line could consume you, devour your climbing career by placing you in a world of pain with years of fruitless sessions that would strip a man like me of strength, psyche and sanity.

The belly of the beast.

Skinny Dog gives you a sense of the scale, the beast is big!!

You may ask why I chant these lines- who would answer this call? Like an ancient mariner or a tainted trawler man I could just be deluded, lured into fanciful, tall tales by the romance and rhythm of the sea and the ruination of rum. However I have stood beneath many of the titans of Europe: Big Paw, From the Dirt Grows the Flowers, Ill Thrill, Dream Time and the Dagger. Borth's Leviathan could fight them all, go toe to toe, look these other monsters in the eye and know that it belongs in the same storybook. An ascent of the Beast of Borth would be legendary; a hero would be born, a killer line would be tamed and a new story would set sail across the seas creating a life of its own amongst those who toil rhythmically with brush, pad, and chalk.

I plan to go to Ellsmere Port next year at Easter. I want to sit amongst bearded men singing tales of adventure whilst sipping ales and wearing arran. I will listen to Chantymen from around the world painting pictures of a way of life now lost, a life dominated by sail, storms and seas. I would like to chant a song at the festival - tell a tale. My story would reveal a world where sand meets sea, where cliffs and storms collide in a titanic battle that never ends. A battle that creates and destroys in equal measure, a battle from which monsters are born! My story will be filled with a fight between the tides, struggles with slopers, battles with beasts, and the taming of the wild. I will be the Chantyman, will you be the hero?

Borth Bouldering – A Slice of Mid Wales Mystery

Sometimes when looking for gold an individual needs to look past the obvious and mine seams of desperate disappointment before a glimpse of a prize may be sighted. Prospecting for new Bouldering in the UK can often reflect the experience of mineral men, scratching for riches amongst thousands of tonnes of valueless rock. The productive, obvious seams that produced some of our proudest problems in Yorkshire and the Peak were exhausted years ago. North Wales’ boulder rush of the late 1990’s seems to have slowed from a torrent to a trickle. At times the prospector feels marooned, stuck on the slag heap of history, wishing a new gold rush would begin.

Obviously glittering nuggets of interest will be found in even the most overworked of boulder fields, particularly as new blood enters old arenas looking to accrue the riches and accolades of a hard first ascent. However we all dream of something bigger, finding a rich vein of rock that can be mined day after day, yielding gem after glittering gem as the seam is worked, refining these minerals in terms of difficulty and quality. Dreams are just that- dreams; electrical impulses of fantasy firing from our synapses. Energising, enthusing, but often for nought. Following the dream of discovery can be frustrating, leading to long wet walks around crumbling boulders, slumbering under their mossy blankets without a glint of gold anywhere. No gems, no return for all that time invested.

Dreams may just be dreams, but disappointment fades over time whilst the lust for gold always remains. New areas are out there! New boulders with lines waiting to succumb to our tools of excavation: chalk, toothbrushes, fingers and boots. People pan for gold because they think there is something to be found. If we stop walking, panning and sifting through this constantly eroding British landscape we might just miss that glimmering glint of quality - the shimmer of potential that lies around the next corner.

I have prospected in many places and beaten a solitary path through miles of mud and scree, however my thirst for discovery still continues to motivate me. This desire has taken me to seams of rock that few, if any, have worked. Wales holds many of these seams. Some I’ve exhausted, others I’ve yet to exploit. Mid Wales is a part of the Principality I’ve returned to time and time again. This area is generally overlooked by the bouldering mainstream, far enough from the mines, quarries, and bouldering melting pots of North Wales to slip under that scenes’ collective radar. Clarach Bay near Aberystwyth was the first place I unearthed potential, however I did not discover this venue - I simply sifted through what was left by others.

I have written about my experiences at Clarach before, and you can find this here. However I always felt that Clarach was the beginning. The problems I climbed were not part of the major deposit of bouldering on this coastline. Rather I suspected that this was merely the glimpse of glitter that pointed to riches hidden elsewhere, a waymarker on to which hope and enthusiasm would be built. Somewhere on the headland that lies between Clarach and the huge expanse of sand that frames the Dovey estuary to the north (Borth,) there had to be something hiding, waiting for its potential to be unearthed.

Every Celtic nation has its own Atlantis story. Tales of a land that lies to the west under the waves, submerged due to man’s careless nature. An ancient land, the loss of which lamented through the ages in myth and song, warns of the destructive force of the sea. The stretch of coast between Clarach, and Borth is the gateway to Wales’ own Atlantis “Cantref Gwailod.” Evidence of an ancient land litters the local beaches. At very low tide a now Petrified Forest lies mangled and buried by Borth’s shifting sands. Stepping over these mighty tree stumps who have witnessed many millennia pass, you get a tangible sense of the age of this coastline. Untouched and unfazed by the hand of recent human history, standing watch over a civilisation lost. Walking from Borth, south towards Clarach sifting through the series of shales looking for climbable lines, the ancient echoes of this coast haunt you. Borth quickly disappears from view and you feel alone, far from civilisation, transported back into a more elemental time populated by Gulls, water and rock.



At first this journey feels futile. The rock is fractured and friable. However lines do begin to appear, rock hardened by the destructive forces that engulfed Cantref Gwailod. The constant attack of the waves and the metronomic motion of the tide have sculpted this malleable medium, hardening it into the occasional gem. These stop you long enough to break out brushes and shoes to pan for the riches that these minerals can give. These gems seem like rare, precious anomalies in the landscape; however they are enough to motivate, to drive you ever further from the bustle and safety of the beaches and closer to the now silent peal of Cantref Gwailod’s warning bells. The journey continues around this shore line, the sound of the lapping waves sooth as the lack of major discovery jarres and disappoints. However, another headland, another bay, the cliffs build, the rock bands thicken, the frequency of discovery increases, as does expectation and enthusiasm.

An hour into the journey, an hour from people, cafes and cars, I stand speechless. I’ve never won anything in my life, however stood there looking at these boulders, some of which are as big as houses, I had a real sense of winning the jackpot, winning the bouldering lottery, gaining riches which would sustain my climbing life for a substantial period of time. The gem- like problems here and there along the coast lead me to this place. No need to sift and pan for gold now, rather an opportunity to exploit a rich seam, where problem after problem has succumbed to this industry between the tides. Wave-washed shales, greywhack, overhangs, mantels, prows, campuses and technical walls climbed at a range of grades have been excavated from the rubble. Others who want to join this gold rush must time their journey well. The long trudge through these ancient stones will bring you to these boulders, however they can only be exploited for three or four hours before the merciless tide rolls in again, engulfing the boulders and everything that lingers there.


Borth Bouldering from Owen McShane on Vimeo.


I’m not going to tell you where these boulders are exactly. Grid references, GPS, and satellite images that lead you like the Pied Piper to this destination would detract from the adventure, discovery and magic that permeate the climbing experience on this coastline. I have included some videos, and photos that document some of the developments far, this should whet the appetite. This is enough to get you started. Suffice to say, walk along the coast at low tide, follow the base of the cliff and search for the riches. Pick off the problems and let them lead you south to the mother load, the rich seam of wave hardened rock that lies around the headlands out of sight of all save the lost souls of Cantref Gwailod.


Borth Bouldering Continued from Owen McShane on Vimeo.


The bouldering on this neglected piece of Mid Wales coast line, populated by fishing boats and sea gulls will not be to everyone’s tastes. The ambitious power athlete will find lines that suit here; however the effort that needs to be taken to enjoy these golden problems will put many off. Those who enjoy bouldering within a landscape, not just using it but interacting with it will enjoy this venue. Pulling down on slopey crimps with the smell of brine in your nostrils, the call of the sea birds in your ears and the warmth of the sun on your back is a hypnotic sensory mix that will leave you eager for more. I believe there is more to be mined here. I have only prospected part way round this stretch of coast. If you too lust for the rich experience of hidden lines in Britain’s mineral mix then see what you can find between Clarach and Borth. At low tide with the sun high in the sky the bells of Canterf Gwailod may sing to you from the depths, revealing the secrets held within the shales.


Me scoping the line that became "A Skinny Heel" V6

(Appologies for the rough video edits, but I just wanted to get this information out there, it has been a long time comming)

Cheers Owen