Monsters

Days are short, nights are long and dark. Mists mask the moors. A chill stalks the land as the long winter months spread out before us. Hope fades as successive weekends are devoured by dampness. Fear eats away at the soul: fear of inaction, fear of projects unfinished and slopers untamed.  We seek sanctuary indoors under the halogen lights.  We look for salvation under the board and grasp campus rungs in an attempt to ward off inaction, failure and weakness.  Monstrous storms stalk the land as we scurry to the soft landings, friendly holds and comforting coffee of the wall; unaware of the dangers that lie within and the peril we place ourselves in!

At the outset a visit to the wall is a simple, innocent affair; one that involves cleansing exercise and structure, mediated by a steadily controlled march towards the high-minded principals of betterment. Those who stand on the mats working problems laugh, share beta and work together with little malice towards a common goal. This palace of wood and plastic becomes a place to escape the pressures of life, shed the stresses of work and escape the greed that surrounds us all. However they are there; In the shadows, watching, waiting, unaware of what their actions may unleash upon the world.

My visits to the wall can be solitary. I spend much of my time on my own, locked into the discipline of routine, captivated by repetition and the strength this should bring. I disappear into a world governed by a steep angle punctuated by three holds.  Lock, glide, swing; this is the rhythm of my sessions. I should be swinging towards strength, little do I know how weak I am, how vulnerable I have become alone under the board, separated from the safety of the herd. They are there at the edge of sight, circling, ready to make a move. Their increasing influence allows danger to chill the air. It is easy to forget yourself, surrounded by fingerboards and campus rungs.

You are in their world, you have strayed onto unfamiliar territory, for this is the domain of the beast.

The monsters who stalk the wall are ordinary people like you and me, mild mannered and personable, unaware of the dark powers they posses. The Sheriff of the Hanger is a perfect example. I've known this particular beast since his late teens, and as far as I can ascertain no evidence has come to light to prove that he is anything but a thoroughly decent example of the human species. However when the evenings draw in, the air becomes chill and mists obscure reality hiding the sins of the city, The Sheriff and his accomplices- The Dark Knight and The D Master can, in one simple action, steal souls, devour ambition, institute apathy and leave the soft tissues of all who see them torn and ripped beyond repair.

I once witnessed The Sheriff's dark energies with my own eyes, and am lucky to be here telling this tale! I was scarred by these events; sleep evades me now and when I do slumber my dreams are dark, haunted by beings that do not conform to the natural laws that govern our universe. I was stood under the campus board at The Hanger, intoxicated by caffeine and sugar, watching specks of chalk dance in the halogen beams that illuminate the movement and determination which characterise this corner of the wall. Others were trying to engage me however their words were broken by my metronomic movements on the campus rungs. At this point The Sheriff materialised on the mat - he jumped up and caught a small campus rung with one hand, without matching he slowly pulled through and caught a rung with his other hand somewhere in the far distant future! This awesome display of one-arm, static power sucked all of the oxygen from the lungs of those who observed it! We were struck dumb; The Sheriff strode away as if nothing special had happened! We the witnesses were left in a reality where only two paths were now possible: 1. Give up trying; descend into a pit of apathy knowing that such strength will always be beyond our capabilities or 2. Be inspired to repeat what was performed on the rungs in front of us, however this leads inevitably to torn tendons, misery and disappointment broken by only the occasional, brief sniff of small victory. Both of these paths are dark, both eventually lead to desolation. The Sheriff would never understand the dark seeds his actions planted in our desperate souls;  this is the nature of the beast's power, it is unconsciously possessed and indiscriminantly expressed in ways that will encourage and stymie in equal measure. 



Only one of the three Beasts shown here is fictional.

All walls are inhabited by their own winter beasts, there shifting in the shadows, ready to perform amazing feats that you can only dream of.  The beasts are haunted by their own demons, their climbing lives are harried by greater beasts that they can only dream of matching.  The Knight, Sheriff and The Master can often be heard whispering in distant corners of The Hanger about strange, almost voodoo-like acts performed by titans, relayed to them on dancing, digital screens.  The same excitement, fear and dread exists in the beasts' eyes when they talk of the monsters that stalk the shadows of their world.  We are all caught in a cycle of expectation, disappointment, ambition, apathy, fear, strength, injury and failure. As the winds howl outside and we find ourselves in an inescapable, dark labyrinth of training, our beasts will hunt, haunt and sometimes engulf us.  However there is hope, a glimmer on the horizon, something that may save us from the inevitable march towards tendonitis and the toll it will take. Spring will come,  light and warmth will break across the land melting the ice and snow, animating the lands around us, leading all out again to real rock, to the sancuary of silica holds, beyond the dark power of the beast and the dualistic world of destruction  and dismay that it creates. 

A Festive Frodsham Fix.

I have finally bucked the winter trend of warming up and getting chased back to the car by horizontal precipitation.  For the first time in four outings I have managed to get a full and satisfying session on a silica-rich, natural climbing medium. Where did I find a location that would be kind and cater for my complex climbing needs? Well, Frodsham of course; a feast of dry holds in the festive season.

I always seem to climb at Frodsham between Christmas and New Year. A session on the familiar holds that decorate Frodsham's buttresses can be a therapeutic experience, helping a climber to work through the angst developed at dinner in the festive season. Once all those chocolates have been digested and a spare tyre deposited, desperation and disappointment kicks in. You ask yourself how this could have happened, knowing full well that basic gluttony was the root cause. You feel heavy, slow, ambitions blunted by the thought that you will have to try twice as hard to lift all that lard up the project you had previously been training for. This is where Frodsham soothes. Working your way along its crimps and slopers helps to convince that all is not lost, you can still pull down, send the problems you did before gluttony blinded you, and even aspire to great things in the year to come. Convinced that the worst of the seasonal excesses are behind you, the walk down the hill from Frodsham's self-help circuit can be a positive affair! But don't worry New Year's Eve will knock that out of you.





Frodsham, like other venues in Merseyside, lends itself well to eliminate climbing, enabling the climber to progressively work their way up the difficulty scale, building confidence in a time of physical excess and mental frailty. If you want to find out more about Frodsham and what it has to offer then read my previous post on its majestic buttresses here. 

Thanks again to Sam for the video!

A Sense of Adventure.



Perfect Grit conditions, where the adventure begins.

I’ve been looking through old climbing magazines lately and have felt a tinge of nostalgia.  The disappearance of magazines such as, “On the Edge” and “Friction” have definitely left a hole in the scene.  These publications lived their lives on the cutting edge, they hung out with the elite and told us tales that would frustrate and inspire in equal measure.  In the mid 2000’s a few words and a glossy picture could send me scurrying to the far flung corners of the UK to try the new and exciting.  Distance and fuel costs were never a consideration when planning a trip; miles were consumed greedily and the collective carbon footprints of those imprisoned in my car swelled unsustainably, driven by an insatiable appetite for discovery and adventure.  This glut of experience had to come to an end eventually.  Higher fuel prices, guilt and commitments have led my bouldering horizons to edge a little closer to home.  I have traded adventure for focus, distance for difficulty; projects have pulled me along when it was once the joy of travel. This approach is better for the planet and my pocket, however I do feel that I have lost something; constant rounds of projecting can leave you feeling a little stale.

A recent invitation lead me to somewhere new, I had read about this venue and been impressed by pictures of it, but didn’t really had the drive to visit. It took a few well-chosen words from Fatneck to motivate me.   He got me to change my plans and choose to do something a little more adventurous than the usual lock, pull and fail that had become a weekend ritual over the last few months.  It started with an innocent enquiry about what he was up to that Sunday, he texted and simply stated that he would be going to Hunter's Stones with his wife.  That’s all it took.  I do understand that this wasn’t an invitation however it seemed to act as some kind of spark; all I needed was for somebody else to take the first step and I was off - fizzing.  I quickly texted back stating that I would meet him there!  It was at this point that my adventure genes, the part of my character that simply didn’t care about cost, pollution and consequences which had lain dormant, hidden, started to wake and kick start the same frenetic frenzy that once characterised my weekend climbing trips.  Yes I was going to Hunter's Stones.  No, I didn’t know where it was but I was going to try and find it any way!!  Frantic web searches and the judicious use of Google maps would get me close enough, the rest was up to fate. 

Sam sending a 7a at Norwood

Sometimes flying blind really is the best way to travel, making it up as you go along makes you pay attention.  In this state a drive along well-worn roads will lead to multiple discoveries that had previously escaped you.  A good example is the proximity of Halifax to Liverpool! I honestly thought it was hidden deep in the Yorkshire moorland; however it is so close to the border of the red rose county that you can almost taste the Lancastrian vapours that flow over Saddleworth Moor.  Another discovery on my path to nowhere was the Masala Fishery in Bradford (this could be my version of Nirvana – spicy fish and chips). Finally on the sinuous roads of West Yorkshire I came to realise that discovery is necessarily a product of loss! Guess what, I was very lost.

I didn’t find the parking.  I knew I was close, but I couldn’t see any landmarks. There was a trig point and a pylon to guide the way, all I could see was a plantation of pines.  I parked at the edge of a forest, took a deep breath and headed in the direction I thought might yield the best return. I have a beard you see -  like all the best adventurers. I’m no stranger to mud.  I could find my way (or so my Y chromosomes were telling me), no need to ask anyone.  I could live out my outdoorsman fantasies as I went. The dog was in his element as he stalked along forgotten paths discovering bridleways, horses, ramblers, paintball camps, and eventually some boulders. 

Fatneck feeling some vibrations on Wavelength

We had arrived!!

It was eerily silent.  Where was Fatneck? Where was the famous Hunters Roof?  Why were the boulders so small? Where had my ego led me? My sense of adventure disappeared and I just felt a little sad and alone.  It was time to drop the pretence; I’m no man of the wild!!  Like the soft city gentleman I truly have become in my thirties I reached for my mobile phone.  My beard morphed from adventurer’s weather proofing back to hipster chin apparel.  I rang Fatneck.  He gave me instructions, he gave me tips, it didn’t help!!  Eventually he guided me in by bellowing my name (he sounded a bit like a musky bull attracting a mate).  Other countryside users looked scared, the dog looked happy to be saved from a directionless future; I was more than faintly embarrassed.

I may have had my initial enthusiasm blunted slightly that day on the way to Hunter's Stones, however by the end play I had redoubled my desire for adventure, getting lost, being found and eventually having an experience that may have been overlooked in search of numbers.  Hunter's Stones and the neighbouring Norwood were great venues made up of free-standing, naturally sculpted Yorkshire grit, something I had almost forgotten about when questing on the small crimps of the white stuff!!  I’ll accept that grit climbing can be a bit luck-based, but it wasn’t the moves that got my juices flowing that day, it was the devil may care, see what might happen approach to a climbing session.  There may not be much inspiration in climbing magazines nowadays, however instead of stopping the quest we should quest even harder and further for the new and exciting.  Numbers and projects have their place, but there’s nothing quite like getting lost to remind you what’s there to be found.

Pictures from the Huthwaite and McShane collections.  Thanks again to Sam for the video work!

Winter misery.

I have been rained off two weekends in a row, well drizzled rather than rained!! I have been frequenting walls rather than crags on my precious non-work days and it is all a bit depressing.  I have had an epiphany though when it comes to indoor problems, it is this:

The important holds indoors are not the ones you use, rather it’s the ones you miss out that count!!

In an attempt to lift the usual mid-December funk here’s a video from the past which quite clearly shows what sunshine actually looks like.  It also contains a nice cameo from Crouchy looking like the captain of a yacht!!  Enjoy.  Merry Christmas



Hoppo's Warton Takedown from Owen McShane on Vimeo.

Bouldering and pseudo-existential journeys

This week we have another article from Ged Mac-Daddy (daddy of the hanger in Liverpool). This time he tells a tail of trips and projects..............

‘…There is no effort with error and shortcoming…’

Theodore Roosevelt

Climbing stories often dip into the existential.  “After 563 attempts to pull onto the problem, I finally hit the pocket, in the fleeting blackness between success or failure, I saw the divine, self-actualised and finally realised the true essence of what it means to try…”  I almost walked this path.  Almost.

For months I’ve been building up to this trip; didn’t drink beer, drank more water, wore a weight vest when climbing and turned down a bacon sandwich.  I determined to try and focus my energies into climbing just a few hard boulders, I was going to climb 8a.  Yesterday, half way through my trip, I decided that I had failed.  The decision was a painful exercise in pop-psychology that I nearly turned into a dithering article, replete with pseudo existentialisms.

I was gearing up to talk about torment, of being stood at a cross-road of identity.  There were two Ged’s; Actual Ged liked high volume, flashing hardish problems and never stayed too long under one boulder.  The Ged I fancied becoming, was patient enough to project, to try and really push himself to discover his ‘true’ ability. The holiday was about ‘the project,’ my vehicle for an inward journey to the Mecca of 8a.

So a week in, virtually no boulders climbed, demoralised, feeling stronger than ever but unable to get my body climbing in harmony, I was torn.  It was maybe possible I could drag an 8a down to my level which hardly felt gracious, or I could re-engage with climbing some blocs and raise my game a bit and return a better climber on another trip.  The crossroad was which choice represented greater weakness?  My old safe ways of lots of climbing or press on with the project of near certain failure? Both felt like a cop out.  Down this road lay the bad article. The exploration of ego driven choices, why I chose 8a, the tired rhetoric of, “it’s not about the grades, man…..”

Let’s not be shy here, it is kinda about the grades isn’t it? Tell me you are not pleased when you do something harder than before or get annoyed like my proper paddy today when I got my ass fully kicked by a beautiful 7a+.  7a+ is well within my grade, a high chance of the flash.  That’s why I had a tantrum when it kept me mercilessly on the ground. 

The 7a+: the scene of my tantrum

I chose 8a because I wanted to climb a new grade.  I was basically chasing the grade, pure and simple. The chase, the blindness, allowed me to mislead myself and ignore what I already knew, what was going on around me and insult people who project well.

Three of the climbers I am with are professional.  Shauna Coxsey (bouldered V13, British Bouldering Champion, Adidas athlete), Alex Johnson (bouldered V12, 2 x world champion, 5 x USA champ, North Face athlete) and Chris Webb Parson, (bouldered V15 and over 200 V11 or above graded problems, Edelrid athlete).  Quite the team to be climbing with and quite the people to be learning from once I pulled my head out of my ‘journey arse.’

Alex despatching: Teamwork 8a, after sub 30 mins of effort. Two days it took me to do The second move in isolation and totally ruin my skin.

The only shocking thing I learnt was that I had the capacity to ignore what I already knew in the hope I could sneak past the grade guards and get away with the 8a jewel.  All of the pros were climbing their projects quickly; resting well between goes, not getting angry, being very curious, experimenting with new beta and quitting before they were trashed, with a view to return fresh.  They were happy to say, nah, don’t like this one and move on.  I watched 8a go down in a few tries followed by 7c+ not getting climbed and people moving on.  I was falling off one move, over and over, trying again and again, getting tired, annoyed, bruised and torn skin.  I was having the least fun, doing the least amount of climbing and getting shut down hard.  Only I was on an inward journey to understand ‘the project’, everyone else was just climbing boulders. 

There is no path traveller; the way must be forged as you walk. 

Antonio Machado

What was I thinking?  That embarking on some self-indulgent inward journey to test out my capacity for patience was somehow going to let me past the gates of 8a?  That there was no specific skill set that those good at projecting possessed?  How arrogant I am!  Did I really think that with the grand total of one 7c+ under my belt that I was prepared for the dizzy heights of 8a?  I have taught the virtues of a good pyramid on which to build your peaks on, illustrated the madness of trying to leap desperately through grades to inexperienced climbers only to find I had rationalised trying to do just that under the guise of a ‘journey.’    I have played myself for a fool, moreover I had done it publicly and justified it with blinkered thinking.

Good climbers climb lots.  Revelatory stuff.  They try hard.  They try things they cannot do.  They sometimes get annoyed when they fail and are often self-critical, they aspire to be better, train and draw a line under things that are not paying out quickly.  Something I used to do.  Like a circular home coming movie, I went away to find something new and discovered that what I was searching for was what I had left behind; climbing.  I will climb an 8a, just not yet.  Why I want to climb one doesn’t need justifying any more than the desire to climb in the first place, but at least I’ve stopped ‘journeying’ and started climbing again. 

Pex Problem of the Week #9.

Sam throwing shapes on Pisa Wall.

Not seen one of these for a while have you? (If you've never seen one before, the links to the previous Pex Problems of the Week can be seen below).  It's been some time, so why now I hear you say. Pex Problem of the Week was meant to help prepare you for the grit season, get you ready for the crimps and slopers that sit there just waiting for attention up on the moors. Well it is grit season and we did try to get out on the moors, however it's November and we live in Britain which means the best intentions often lead to naught. The forecast was set fair and the rock was dry but the mist and drizzle rolled menacingly up the Calder valley leaving Pex the only outdoor option on a short winter's day. Pex, and more specifically Pisa Wall at Pex, is a perfect quick hit in the winter; it never gets wet and there is plenty to get on with if you are happy to be creative. This problem of the week is something I came up with to spice up a session that should have been on grit.

Idiotic Man V7.

Remember you will need to refer to pages 178 and 179 of the Cheshire and Merseyside Sandstone guide and the eliminates diagram therein for the holds used in this problem. Essentially this is a stretchy sit into a harder version of Silly Boys Direct. Contrived difficulty? Well yes - it is an eliminate after all, and it will get you strong! Start sitting with both hands on hold number 2, left foot in a deep, low pock mark and right foot on a smeary dink. Drop your left knee and reach up with your left to hold 7. Now move your feet and body weight up and left, flick the right hand up, nestle a three finger stack in hold 21 (the top of the Vitalite constellation of holds) and hold it like a gaston. Move your left foot up to hold 1, lean back, make space and swap feet, bury your left foot into hold 6 and start to rock over. This move will feel like an attempt at contortion (your left knee will feel like it is wrapped around your left ear) however, as you move up and left with you weight being held up by the tension created between you right hand and left foot, it will start to make sense. All that is left to do is go for that bucket in the break with your left hand, match, and victory is yours! Pex saves you yet again from those drizzle-infested moors.

The video shows two problems: the first is the Idiotic Man, the second is Small Snick Sit Down which was Pex Problem of the week #5.



Thanks to Sam from downstairs for the video!!!!

If you are up for following the nine step path of Pisa wall power then the links to the first eight problems can be found below:

Week 1
Week 2
Week 3
Week 4
Week 5
Week 6
Week 7
Week 8

A blast from the past! - El Cogul.

This week I have decided to reprint an article that was published in Friction Magazine in May 2006.  The recent deluge has had me thinking of methods of escape; dry climates and specifically climbing in Spain.  The article below refers to the last time I actually did just that and reminds me exactly how good that experience can be.  A second reason for bringing this article to life is that it works as a neat little snapshot of what bouldering was all about in 2006.  I'll accept that it is a poorly written article and is at times quite naive, however I think it does capture the spirit of adventure and discovery that cheap flights and articles in climbing magazines engendered in the climbing community at that time.  It wasn't so much what you were climbing but rather which exotic new location you were headed to that seemed to count.  I could have spruced this article up, revised or even rewritten it, however I have posted it here, warts and all, more than anything to give an indication of how much I, and  bouldering, seemed to have changed in a very short time.

All Photos in this post are from the Tony Simpson Collection.

El Cogul.

Apparently there was a sixty present chance that we would have a really cold winter.  In my mind cold means dry and we were in for a good season.  So what do we get – snow, mist, fog and clag, injuries distilled from the frustrations of training indoors and an overwhelming feeling of dread every time there is a mention of the weather.  We heard about bouldering in a desert near Barcelona.  “Pardon?  You mean in a desert where you have no moisture, rain, or wetness – winner!”  Tickets were bought, a car was hired and off we went.  We headed out to Spain in mid-February after several weekends of mist and misery.  Bird flu had just hit Europe, so we were under strict instructions not to lick any birds.

El Cogul is dry! Very dry.  However it is nowhere near Barcelona.  The bouldering is found near the Catalan city of Lleida a place best described later.  It is easy to find El Cogul on the tourist maps.  It is actually a world heritage site due to there being some ancient graffiti on one of the boulders (a fact that escaped us until after our visit) so be careful around the caves.

Our trip took the standard format of bouldering trips worldwide, four men driving around in an overly packed car shouting enthusiastic nonsense at each other.  Loud music was blasted around the car, lard based food products were eaten in large quantities, catch phrases were found and overused and we all climbed ourselves into oblivion on a daily basis.  It could be said that this is really living, but the diet alone could seriously challenge your lifespan.

Most of the bouldering is found along a dirt track between the villages of El Cogul and L’Albages.  Like most European venues each sector of climbing corresponds to a car parking space, so walk-ins are minimal.  The climbing encapsulates everything that is good about sandstone.  Slopers, huecos, roofs, palm down mantels and the judicious use of heel and toe hooks.

 

The boulders are perched on hillsides above terraced olive groves and vineyards.  Some of the sectors are actually on the terraces themselves, giving the feeling of bouldering in someone’s garden.  Don’t worry though you obviously have the right to trespass.  The local farmers did not take any notice of us no matter how loudly we shouted at yet another failed attempt at a project.

The Sectors.

The topo for El Cogul shows twenty one different sectors of bouldering.  Each sector has on average three to five good boulders of varying sizes.  Rock quality can vary.  Generally the higher up the hillside the venue is the better the sandstone.  On our trip we visited all of the sectors bar two.  Five sectors stood out each serviced by a car parking space.

 Sector 1 –L’Universitat.

 

This is a sector of steep rounded walls on the left, and a long roof with big huecos on the right. At the transition between these two angles there is a magical sit down crack line which goes at a ferocious 7c.  Other stand out problems include a dynamic 7c through the bulge on the left hand end, and any of the longer roof problems emerging from the right.

 Sector 5 – Mestre Mutent.

 

This is probably the best warm up venue in El Cogul.  The climbing is best described as technical wall climbing on crimps and shallow pockets.  Problems from 5+ to 7a exist and they are all good.  If you like Pex Hill (which obviously everyone does) you’ll love this sector.

 Sector 6 – Beer Action.

 

This is the most obvious sector from the road and it contains El Cogul’s most famous problem.  Beer Action is the long curving, sloping arête you can see from the road (7c from standing, 7c+ from sitting if you fancy a go.)  Lots of other problems exist here, however the area is marred slightly by a sloping dusty landing which induces bouts of impromptu mat surfing.

Sector 11 – Pallars.

 

A great venue which is a short drive up a bumpy farm track.  This sector has rounded boulders plucked from Font and deposited on the terraces. One of these boulders has a 7a arête (7b from sitting) which begs to be climbed.  Around the corner is a huge boulder steep roof.  Problems range from 7a through to 8a+, with what looks like more to go for the keen and the strong.  Believe me when I say this boulder is world class.

Area L’Albages – Sectors 16 to 19.

 

To get this area you need to drive towards the village of L’Albages, and at the end of the dirt track turn left up the hill on the paved road.  Follow the s – bends passing the indoor poultry farm.  Remember, no licking the birds, you’ll be shot at customs on the way home if you do.  Park on the outside of the last s – bend near the brow of the hill.

 The bouldering overlooks the cultivated vineyards and is obvious.  This area has the highest concentration of good problems in El Cogul, and if you only have time for one day of bouldering this is the area to come to.  From sector 16 to 19 there are walls, traverses, mantels, roofs and huecos.  The grades cross the spectrum and the good problems are to numerous to highlight one or two.  Just go for them and enjoy.

The Weather.

It was snowing in Blighty.  I got a nice tan!  It was dry enough to make my lips peel, and some in our group took the opportunity to run around in just a pair of shorts, rude not to in February. Conditions were excellent, it tried to rain one day but failed miserably.  The best times to boulder were early in the morning and late afternoon when it was pretty cool; but to be honest you could climb as hard as you liked all day.

 

Topos.

According to some people, topos for the area can be found on www.nice-climb.com. However information about El Cogul like other Spanish bouldering spots is very hard to find, many frustrated web searches have proved this.  (Update - I think El Cogul has been included in the bouldering guide book E - bloc you should find it here just click on link for Boulder Guidebooks when you get to the page).

Flights, Accommodation, and Food.

Ryan air flies to Reus airport which is an hour’s drive from the bouldering.  The airport has the usual array of car hire establishments, and we found car hire very reasonable indeed.

Lleida is the nearest big town / city to the bouldering and you’ll rely on this place for your day to day living.  Lieida is best described as a place to send your enemies to teach them a lesson.  The road system is difficult to navigate; there is nowhere to park, and virtually nowhere to eat out.  We stayed in a Formula 1 budget hotel on the outside of Lleida, my advice is - don’t.  There are camp sites, use the excellent supermarkets (the food you buy in these actually taste of something, unlike at home)  cook your own food on a camping stove whilst sitting under a huge hueco – it will give you piece of mind.  Foraging for food on the streets of Lleida may give you an ulcer.