Scotland '15: venimus et nos vidimus fugerent

Roughly translated that means "We came, we saw, we ran away." Which is a pretty good summary of our last few days in Scotland.

Ed belays Charlie on a cheeky little 6a lead - I watched quietly

On Saturday (After I put up the last blog) we decided to take a jaunt over to Kinlochleven and check indoor ice climbing but we hadn't used the wall. Ed had also used the indoor ice wall before and we all fancied trying a bit of dry climbing after getting drenched looking for some Dry Tooling in Fort William. We decided that the only way to properly recover the day would be to try out the indoor climbing wall at the Ice Factor. Myself and Charlie had been there before last year on a day off to try the indoor ice climbing and Ed had been there with work, but none of us had tried the traditional climbing wall.

Myself and Charlie had climbing shoes - we'd somewhat anticipated this happening. Ed, on the other hand, didn't, and therefore had to climb routes (including, embaressingly enough for myself and Charlie a 6a+ lead that neither of us could manage) in approach shoes - glorified outdoor trainers really. Just as well he managed to get us in for free or we may have lynched him out of jealousy.

Sunday was going to be our last day in Scotland, and the weather report did not look favourable so we decided to head for the highest point in the hope of finding vaguely decent ice and snow condition - to the Ben it was.

Suffering at the CIC hut

We parked up and if I'm honest I was in low spirits - I had what was not quite a bad feeling, but as Charlie later put it 'neggy vibes' about the day. I didn't think we'd ever even make it to the bottom of Italian Climb as we were aiming - let alone climb it, back out and get down safely. So I set out from the North Face car park with what felt like an extremely heavy weight on my back that was a bit pointless. Nonetheless we pushed up and found that the bottom of the walk was rather warm, warm to the extent that I had my jacket undone to reveal just a baselayer with all the vents open and still I was sweating buckets, though I was keeping up with Charlie for the most part so I was at least putting in the effort.

As we came up the path to see Ben Nevis we could see that conditions weren't hot - it was covered in cloud and there were driving winds coming from the South. By the time we'd got to the snow line we were being battered by driven hail and 40mph+ winds. We did eventually make it to the CIC hut, after passing many annoyed European climbers (no doubt commenting to eachother "Zis is not at all like ze alps!") coming down the ascent path laden with gear.

Whiteout on the walk down from the CIC hut

We paused to take on liquid and food, and as we did we assessed the conditions. What we saw didn't impress us in the slightest. I voiced my concerns to the other two, who both readily agreed now that they were stationary and had mouths/eyes/necks rapidly filling with snow. So we backed off, again. And this time we got out of there fast - the weather was rapidly closing in on us and at one point we were in total whiteout with hail being driven into our faces - thank god for the sense of mind to bring goggles along.

One point of humor - we saw the SAIS guys coming up to the CIC hut to have a look at the
condition,and as they came up to us they took a snapshot of what I can only describe as the three most depressed and bedraggled looking people south of the Arctic circle. What's even more galling is the fact that the day we left it was a beautiful, picture-perfect Scottish winter's day. How terrible. I'm now back in my Girlfriend's flat back in Surrey, warm and dry. But I miss the mountains. It was a decent trip for the most part, but the backing off days were no fun.

We even got featured on the SAIS blog. We're basically famous now.

There's always next year.

Scotland '15: Two's company, three's a climbing party

Sorry this is up a day late - Friday was a late one for us, and Saturday has been a total write off! At least our hit rate is higher than last year's 4 withdrawals for 4 attempts...

Thursday was our day off - a well deserved and earned rest after two big days in the hills. We took it chill, picked up a couple of bits and bobs in Fort William and generally just relaxed. A stroke of luck hit us, however, for as Charlie went downstairs for his evening rollup, he ran into a friend from work lugging a pack into the B&B who, as it turned out, was taking a long weekend to go climbing in the Western Highlands.

I got to meet him the next morning, and after discussing the weather and the conditions he suggested we headed for a west-facing crag known as Beinn Udlaidh. The plan was to take the drive and walk in, and then see what was in condition, then head up or back off. Now, if you follow me on social media (and if you don't, you really should) you'll know that originally we'd planned to re-do Ruth on Aonach Mor and do a ski/bum-slide descent to the Nevis Range center. I don't know about Charlie but the idea of doing a new route, somewhere interesting and out of the range and of a different kind to what we'd done before was too good to pass up, so that ski descent will have to wait for another day.

Our view of Bienn Udlaidh as we came out of the tree line...

We took Ed's car (a much roomier vehicle when compared to Charlie's Mini) and made the 45-minute journey in about 40 minutes. After sorting gear out and slinging on packs we started the walk in - after being accosted by some very curious pigs - from well below the snow line. I'll admit here and now that I'm pretty unfit, or at least not as fit as I'd like to be and Charlie always seems to steam off in front of me and I plod along behind. But now this time we had Ed, who shares my lack of speed (though he's far fitter than me) so for once I had people to talk to for much of the walk in! Even so it was kind of soul-sapping, a constantly winding and climbing forest track with the next slope hidden by a corner, so by the time we topped out onto the plateau below the face my thighs were burning and I was sweating despite only wearing a base layer and shell.

...and our view about 10 minutes later of the same face.

We could see the face ahead of us - or rather the bottom shelf of the face, the rest covered by a thick, Sunshine Gully, an absolutely classic Grade III gully line.
low lying cloud. We still had to get to the bottom of it to see if it was in condition. I really hoped it was, I didn't want to get there then have to turn back because the mountain was in terrible condition. The approach walk was a bit of a slog - the entire plateau was crisscrossed with streams and little ditches hidden by an even layer of snow, so a lot of time was spent digging either myself or Charlie from waist-deep snow drifts. Eventually though we got to a safe bowl where we could gear up and have a hot wet. Once we had crampons and harnesses on and were tied into our ropes (Ed leading with both, Charlie on the pink and myself on the blue) we set off to the bottom of our route -

Charlie being fully attentive in belaying Ed on the first pitch of
Sunshine Gully

Ed led out the first pitch, with Charlie belaying and me milling about trying to look like I knew what I was doing. There was a bit of waiting around as Ed reached, then established his belay, brought up Charlie and only then was I brought up. This was repeated again for the second and third pitches (with a moment to sort out some very messy ropes on a slightly exposed second pitch belay) and soon we were all safely tied in to the belay at the bottom of the fourth (and final) pitch.

Me being brought up the second pitch, thankful to be moving

Charlie was to lead the final pitch, the only pitch with ice and turf to make it an actual mixed route rather than a simple snow climb. Unfortunately we weren't working in the greatest conditions - pictures of Sunshine Gully from other times and years shows a fourth pitch absolutely caked in beautiful blue water ice that clings like limpets to the rock. What Charlie faced on his lead was very thin, flaky ice that instead of accepting axe points and holding, was instead coming away in sheets and obscuring any irregularities in the rock that could be used to hook a crampon or axe point on to allow a move to be made. As such, he was very slow and methodical and due to the total lack of availability, unprotected for much of the pitch aside from the belay below and accross from him. Had he fallen, he would have swung a long way and possibly even pulled me and/or Ed off our belay stance - as I stripped the belay before I came up I found the screw that formed half the protection was rattling in its hole and wasn't really doing anything much - very confidence inspiring.

Ed leading out on the third pitch, setting his belay at the bottom
of the ice section

Thankfully though he cleared the rock band and hooked over the left shoulder of the gully, using the
well-frozen turf to great effect as he approached the last difficult section - the corner. Now, when I got to the corner as I followed Charlie's route up I was intimidated but I had a rope above me and Charlie in a bomb-proof belay stance that I knew I could totally rely on if I fell. Charlie had none of these, and yet managed to negotiate awful ice bulges and a total lack of real axe placements to get up and over the last real section of the climb. I managed it by burying my axes in the turf above the corner and levering myself around until I had a reasonable scramble up. It wasn't fun. Can't imagine what Charlie was thinking with nothing above him and nought but a shaky nut placed horizontally in line with him. To say 'a bit concerned' would probably be a gross understatement.

Charlie leading the final pitch - see how thin all the ice is, you
can see rock through it!

With the time taken to climb the pitch, then locate the belay and build it and bring up Ed, by the time I set off I'd been stood in the belay stance for an hour and a quarter, so I was very thankful to be moving. I scored lucky on the first difficult move: experimentally scraping my axe down the ice on the rock I found a solid nubbin I could hang my weight on which allowed me to lever myself up and over the ledge with relative ease. As I neared the corner I steeled myself and it took a bit of joshing myself up to get me to commit to the moves (made more difficult as my left hand had gone numb from cold) but eventually I was up and over and passed Charlie to drag the rope up to where Ed had got safe and was now donning a warm jacket and taking on board food and liquid. I pulled the rest of my rope up behind me and welcome Charlie with a well-deserved high five as we all took in the beautiful surroundings we were faced with at the summit - almost totally cloud free we could see for miles, the beautiful visage of Scottish winter around us.

Our summit selfie atop Beinn Udlaidh in remarkably clear
conditions

We sorted gear, took a cheeky summit selfie before heading back down the flank of the face in an effort to beat the storm clouds we could see coming from the South. As we retreated we encountered what I would describe as our first good condition - well packed snow that held our weight rather than collapsing underneath it and allowed for swift progress. We got down to the car in about an hour, after falling in snow a bit more, comparing Ed to Legolas (for his seeming ability to pass over shaky snow without trouble) and then a Polar Bear (when he fell into the snow and flailed around on his front as he struggled to stand) and me catching my trousers so well with my crampons I ripped a hole in the crampon-proof instep of my trousers. They were brand new, too.


So that's that. Three attempted routes, three successful climbs. Pretty good record for us.

Scotland '15: Ruth is not a Golden Oldy

I've learned three things today:
1 - It's really really easy to confuse one route with another on Aonach Mor's West Face
2 - Ski lifts are by far the best way to get up and down a mountain
3 - I really really really hate spindrift.

The view from the gondola on the way up. So much nicer

We were aiming for another west-facing route today, Golden Oldy on the west face of Aonach Mor
in the Nevis range. When we woke up the conditions looked lovely - still air, snowy mountain tops, low freezing level and, most importantly, no rain. So we left in high spirits (excepting my general ache from yesterday) for the Nevis Range Ski Center where we'd resolved, on finding out it was open, to skip the 5km walk-in and instead take a gondola up.

And oh boy was it the right decision. We could even see the path we'd have had to walk up from the slowly moving gondola and it was not a pretty sight. With how exhausted I was after our far shorter walk in, I was (and remain) very very glad that we swallowed the cost and took the lift. I'm now a strong proponent of every route in the country having a ski lift to it, if only for lazy bastards like me.

Jumping off at the ski resort we took the short walk across beautifully packed and smoothed snow until we hit the edge of the ridge, donned crampons, busted out an ice axe and headed down, following a group of about six climbers ahead of us. The walk took us about an hour to reach what we thought the bottom of the route was, but we could probably have done it quicker if I wasn't so unfit. I thought I'd improved over the winter but my legs and lungs beg to differ. Especially as the walk in was decidedly not flat - the route actually started about halfway up the slope so we had to slog up through alternating deep powder and rocky sections to where we could harness and rope up. It was terrible, but then we were on the route and everything was okay.

It looked like Golden Oldy. It was not. We didn't fancy walking
further. We did Ruth.

However, the route we ended up on wasn't the Golden Oldy we'd been planning to climb - we ended up on another Grade II, known simply as 'Ruth'. Chalk that one up to bad nav and oddly angled guidebook photos.

The route itself started out a little shakily as I followed the wrong tracks and had to backtrack quickly to catch up with an understandably irate Charlie. We quickly flaked the rope and Charlie got going, with an exclamation of 'OH YES!' as he buried his axes in some solidly frozen turf and headed up the route. I belayed him up, but quickly lost sight of him as he disappeared over a rocky crest and was left relying purely on feel. As soon as the rope started to pull through quickly I disconnected my belay plate, grabbed my axes and started up.

Charlie in his belay on the third pitch. He was very pleased
with this one.

It was glorious. Solid, frozen turf that accepted a solid swing of the axe with a reassuring 'thump', rocky ledges that served as perfect footholds, patches of deep water ice well bonded to lazily sloped rock that took crampon points beautifully. It was a lovely route, three full forty-meter pitches of purely enjoyable climbing. I was in high spirits as we set up the fourth pitch, but as Charlie crested the little ridge of rocks he found there was no further climbing. Looping the rope over my neck we trudged over the now far more exposed ridgeline which meant snow and wind blowing into my back.

When we stopped for lunch and I put away the rope, as I sat down to take a well-earned bite of my sausage roll a huge blast of icy wind carrying what can only be described as a 'ton' of snow into my face, much to Charlie's amusement, but to the worsening of my mood. I suddenly didn't want to be there any longer and stowed my remaining sausage roll, put on my back and moved off. It looked like we'd have a long slog to the summit and then another long slog along a wind-blasted summit ridge until we reached the ski slopes and the warm knowledge that we'd be in the car and home soon.

The best place to end up after a day on the mountain

Then I was over a ridge and I saw the ski resort ahead of me and I'm not too embarrassed to say, let out a bellowing 'Fuck yeah' as I realised I was home free. It's very rare I have a bad day on the hill, and looking back at it now it was pretty fantastic in totality, but at that moment I was having a terrible day and the sight of those ski lifts and the dark rectangle of the main hut below me in the distance filled me with happiness.

Within half an hour we were sat on the gondola and headed down to the car park, chatting with a guy who'd been staying in the CIC hut on the approach to Ben Nevis' North Face. He confirmed to us that the conditions on north-facing slopes are appalling. And then he convinced me and Charlie we needed to go skiing whilst we were here. Charlie has skied since he was 8. I have never even put on skis. That should be fun...

All in all, a pretty good day, even if I did lose my cool a little. It's one of those type-2 fun days. Fun to describe in the pub afterwards to make you sound nails but pretty awful when you're there.

Oh, and to show you how bad the conditions were...this is when the conditions were what I would describe as 'good'.

Scotland '15: It's Dinner Time

Dinnertime Buttress, the dip between the two 'lumps' on the left. Our
walk in took us around the right of this photo, throughthe dark patches
 at the snow line, then up the ridge

And we're into it on the first day. The avalanche and weather reports weren't looking hot - over 700m the slopes were positively lethal on North to South Eastern faces. We'd known that before we'd even left London so Charlie had plotted some decent west-facing routes that we could do even if the weather didn't improve.

Which is what led to us standing by the car at 9.30am, staring up at the west face of Aonach Dubh and trying to find our route on Dinnertime Buttress. We weren't the only ones prepping - two other teams were gearing up. We hoped they'd be looking at other routes on the face but we'd be disappointed - as you'll find out later. After taking a few photos of a glorious Scottish winter morning we set off on the walk in.


The walk in itself wasn't nearly as bad as I've experienced before - this time you could see the final route from the path, though there were a lot of false ridges which gave me and my legs-that-haven't-got-used-to-it-yet a lot of sad times as we expected easy, flat going only to see a slight dip and then more climbing. My thighs were screaming a little by the time we got to the bottom of the route. On the walk in however, I did get my first taste of what 55-75mph winds driving what Charlie refers to as 'Snail' (An evil combination of Snow and Hail) into our faces. It's not an experience I'd like to repeat any time soon, if I'm honest.

Charlie gearing up at the bottom of Dinnertime Buttress

We got to the bottom of the route by about 10.20 and geared up just as another trio of climbers (a guide and two students) set off ahead of us roped together. Initially we were going to rope together but as we discovered as we rounded the corner the terrain ahead of us was relatively easy going - essentially the same terrain that we'd just been walking up, just a little steeper. I followed Charlie's trailblazing up the buttress to the bottom of the only actual climb on the route - the rock pitch.


Unfortunately we arrived just as two other teams were ascending the route, and ended up in what
became a queue when another pair came up behind Charlie and myself. We were stuck for a good fifteen to twenty minutes as the other groups cleared the pitch. The main reason was that the other major routes over the rock band were either too exposed to the biting wind that kept blowing snail at us and driving us off our feet, or covered in windslab and unclimbable.

Charlie waiting in the queue at the bottom of the rock pitch

Eventually we got our turn on the route and I set up the belay whilst Charlie set off. Not that we needed the Belay, he didn't even place any gear. Then it was my turn after he'd built a belay at the top. It was a lovely climb - simple, accessible with good mixed sections. Then, as soon as it was started it was over, I was flaking the rope and carrying on to the top of the ridge. The final section of the climb was a short walk across a snow-laden slope to a narrow gully that led to the summit plateau. As we reached it so did another group, and as we climbed up I found myself at the back of a five-man group in a gully that was being blasted by high-speed winds, spindrift, hail and snow. Thankfully I had my goggles on but they were fogged and I was basically blind for much of the final climb, with wind seemingly howling both down and up the gully to test me and my gear. Even when we reached the summit the wind didn't abate, so after a quick break for food and drink we headed back down the descent gully. The mountains are formidable opponents.

Me soloing the last section of the rock band

The only real notable event on the descent was that we found the gully, which the guide book described as a descent route was instead filled with badly bonded windslab and ended in a sheer drop of 15 meters or more, which necessitated us swimming, then eventually climbing over a saddle and back onto the route we'd walked up. We passed a group of climbers on the way down who we'd seen in the car park and had been headed for another route - that hadn't panned out so they'd come back to attempt Dinnertime. We warned them of the conditions at the summit, wished them luck and carried on.


On the way down I paused to look back at the route and saw two climbers on the upper part of the rock pitch. As I looked I remembered a quote from Buzz Aldrin as he landed on the moon. "Beautiful, beautiful. Magnificent desolation." That's what I thought as I looked up at Aonach Dubh, it's wind-scoured, snow-plastered flanks and the tiny men on its West face. Desolate and Beautiful.

Anyway, we're back at the hotel now. It's pot noodle on the menu tonight.

I'm having curry flavour. Can't wait.


Oh, and here's an example of how bad and quick-to-change the weather was.

Same pair of climbers, seen from my belay stance on the rock pitch. There's about three minutes between photos.
Oh, and that ball of spindrift is made of little balls of icy pain.

Scotland '15: The Journey That Almost Never Was

So we've made it. I'm sat writing this blog in our B&B (in fact in the same room as last year!), with the rain hammering at the window. Oh yeah, it's awful up here.

We decided to take an overnight drive up this year to avoid traffic and give us an extra day up in Scotland. The plan was to leave between 8 and 9, take our leisurely time and arrive about 10 in the morning for check in. In the end what we had was a proper journey from hell. Between having to deal with an angry Irish woman in a petrol station on the Edgewere Road to driving down the snowiest road either Charlie or I had ever seen in a zero-visibility blizzard and the Burger King in every service station we pulled into being closed. It was terrible.

The roads the morning after we drove in. This is orders of magnitude better to what
we had on the way in.

We ended up bashing it out in under 11 hours, and being incredibly early. We took a drive over to Fort William for breakfast, but pretty much as soon as we pulled into Morrison's car park we both passed out for an hour, in less than comfortable positions that left us with what feel like permanent cricks in both our necks. But we got McDonald's breakfast afterwards, so there's always a silver lining.

To be fair, 11 hours straight would do this to anyone

Anyway, here we are now. Conditions are terrible so we're just keeping it chill until tomorrow morning, although we did get the terrible news that the pub over the road has closed, so our normal drinking/eating haunt has gone. And that's the worst news.

I'm alive, and packing for winter

It's been a while, eh?

Sorry for the impromptu hiatus but I got to the point where there was nothing really that I was doing worth writing about and filler felt pointless. Not that I've got a huge reader base but hey ho. But now the fun begins - it's almost Christmas, there is snow on the peaks and it's almost time to unleash the ice axes on some unsuspecting Scottish routes. It's time to start checking the gear for this winter.

I'm psyched.

Packing for Winter

For all his faults Charlie is surprisingly fair when it comes to complimenting me to others. When going through some of our photos from a weekend in Wales last November we came across one of us prepping to leave the hostel, with my bag neatly packed whilst Charlie's gear was literally thrown all over the car boot and the floor. Charlie chuckles, points at me and says 'he may climb like a knob but the boy knows how to pack a rucksack'.

My neatly packed bag on the left, Charlie's...pile on the right.

When going through my emails recently there were a few with a theme - people wanted to know what goes into my pack on the hill in winter. Honestly I was a little surprised because I've spent all of maybe two weeks on the hill in winter, but as I was planning on spending a day going through all my winter gear to check what needed replacing before this season, I thought I may as well blog about it. After all, if Charlie thinks I can pack well then who am I to judge? Just don't take my packing as gospel - I'm far from an expert and there are people out there who can tell you far better what you should and shouldn't be carrying!

Pictured below is everything that would be in my pack at the start of a day on the hill, minus any of the clothing I'd be wearing from the off.

1 - Rope
At the moment our main winter rope is my beast - a 60m 11.5mm dry-treated Mammut rope. It's seen constant use in summer and winter for a couple of years now, so it's almost time for retirement but it's probably got another season in it. I'll probably be replacing this with two half-ropes for next season, purely for weight reasons - it's bloody heavy!

2 - Harness
Petzl Corax 2 - simple, rugged, fully adjustable leg loops (have you ever tried getting a harness on and off over crampons? Go ahead, try it) and comfortable enough to be worn all day.

3 - Winter rack
It's not all there I'll confess - a lot of my winter gear is in storage still. Bearing in mind I'm still seconding most of the routes we do and would only be leading on a scramble, my rack is pretty pared down compared to Charlie's. In addition to the normal assortment of quickdraws, slings, hexes and nuts I've added a pair of ice screws, a bulldog and pitons (both not pictured).

4 - Hydration
Ask anyone I've climbed with - I drink a lot. In the summer I normally have a massive 3-litre hydration bladder, but in winter I can get away with a couple of litres. In the thermos is normally hot Ribena, purely because it hydrates better than coffee or tea (both of which are diuretics).

5 - Crampons
Grivel G12 C2 crampons. In a crampon bag so they don't pierce everything else in my bag. 'Nuff said really.

6 - Pack
Those of you who are super observant (and may or may not need to get out more) will notice this is a different pack to what I was using on the hill last winter - this is a Mammut Trion 35 which if I'm honest is a far better size for a one-day trip. My Lowe Alpine is great when I need to carry a sleeping bag, tent, food and water for a couple of days but when on the hill, once you strip harness, rack and crampons out of it it's basically empty and tends to flop around a lot.

7 - Helmet
An absolute essential, especially in winter when ice and rock fall is more likely. Comfortable, impact protective with head torch webbing/clips is what you need to look for. Always make sure it's CE certified too!

8 - Ice Axes
I use a pair of DMM Fly ice axes which are pretty much spot on for what I do - straight and long enough to be used as a half-decent walking axe but with its slightly bent shaft, T-rated pick and trig rest mean it can still be used perfectly well on routes well above the grade I can currently climb. If its a walk rather than a climb I'll only take one axe and replace the pick with one from a DMM Raptor which saves my palm from bruising on the Fly's raised pick when walking with it. Oh, and leashes too - dropping an axe is never a good idea.

9 - Spare insulation
Winter is bloody cold, so a decent packable lightweight insulation layer is essential. I tend to skew away from using down in anything but a basecamp jacket purely because when down gets wet it becomes useless, but a synthetic jacket will keep me warm even if it's sodden. This is a Mountain Equipment Compressor jacket which is my go-to insulation piece at winter.

10 - Camera
Panasonic Lumix DMC FT-5 - perfect for me and what I do. Crush proof to 100kg, drop proof from 2m onto concrete, freeze proof and takes decent photos. What more could a man want?

11 - First Aid Kit
A small but essential bit of kit on the mountain. I'll do a detailed breakdown of what I carry in another post but a decent First Aid Kit and the training on how to use it should be equipment in the locker of any mountaineer. I really don't want to be that guy who has to call Mountain Rescue for an injury that could be easily treated myself.

12 - Goggles
Wales last winter proved to me how essential these were. Up on the summit of Tryfan the conditions were so awful that we spent less than a minute on the summit with faces bent in the face of biting, freezing hail and/or driven powder snow. These goggles allow me to see when the going gets nasty - when it's most important! Tinted lenses help to up the contrast of colours, making it easier to differentiate areas in low light.

13 - Ice Axe maintainance kit
After a bolt fell out of my axe head in Scotland I always keep a spare pair of bolts, allen keys and tape in my pack for emergencies.

14 - Jetboil and food
A warm meal can be the difference between life and death in a survival situation. In other situations a warm lunch just below the summit is a huge morale boost. I take a couple of high-calorie dehydrated or vaccum packed meals, my burner and spare gas every time we're on the mountain. Simply melt some of the abundant snow, cook your food, and hey presto, smiles all round. Use the left over water to re fill my thermos for a double whammy of warmth. Chocolate is always essential, though.

15 - Spare gloves
I was in Snow and Rock when I first started climbing and I overheard two staff talking about spare gloves, and the phrase 'have spares of your spares' has stuck with me. At least two pairs of warm, waterproof (and importantly dry!) outer gloves are always in my pack, along with a spare pair of liners. No matter what the day throws at me (or how many gloves I drop) I can keep my fingers dry and toasty.

The final product, everything in or on the pack

Not pictured, but always carried:

Snow shovel and probe
When going out me and Charlie always  have at least one shovel and probe between us, ideally with a probe each. The probes give us a chance of finding one another if either of us is caught in an avalanche and the shovel means we can dig out shelter in an emergency. A good metal collapsible design is the best, with a wide, flared blade for moving soft snow quickly.

Head Torch
A bare essential, but embarrassingly enough I can't find any of mine when I was setting up this photo. A good, comfortable head torch with fresh batteries and an adjustable beam is what I look for. Something like the Petzl Myo RXP is perfect. Oh, and always carry spare batteries.


So that's my gear. It's not an exhaustive list of everything I carry for every situation, it will change depending on what I'm doing and who I'm with and as I learn more about this whole climbing affair, but for now, I hope this satisfies some questions.

See you all soon! (I promise this time)

The North Face: Top Gear Mountaineer goes branded

Okay no, I haven't sold my soul. No you will not see adverts for TNF popping up all over the blog. No I'm not being paid to endorse products.

What I am doing, is through work I've been given the chance to test a load of The North Face's product range. Some of the stuff is pretty solid and has been around the block a few times, some of it is pretty cutting edge kit, brand new releases and the like. They have even leant me a brand new HD action camera to get some awesome videos of the kit on test, which is always a fun thing to have!

Most of my reviews, videos and suchlike will be going directly onto the Blacks website, but some of the better ones, or the stuff I feel is more relevant to the site will also go up here.

So keep your eyes peeled. And who knows, more freebies could come my way, and maybe I do you guys all a favour and share the love...

Bouldering Abroad: Charlie and Tom in Iledia

This post was meant to go up many moons ago; this trip that Charlie and Tom took (without me, I'll add sans bitterness) was meant to be posted just after they got back. That was in April. August isn't too long to wait I suppose...

And with that, I hand you over to the ever charming Charlie.

Day 1

After a long drive the night before (mainly as a result of my misplacing my driving license) Tom had negotiated the hair-raising hairpin bends of the Pyrenean foothills. Our base was to be Santa Engracia 15km outside of the nearest town of Tremp. This was an ideal launch site for our many jollies in days to come. 

We allowed ourselves a lie in and didn’t get going much before 1pm. Usually this would have been a source of frustration but, due to an excellent forecast and travel weariness, there was no rush. Todays climbing was to be a gentle easing into the week with a short mooch to El Niu, a sector in the Collegats Area. These limestone slabs would provide the canvas for our grunting and inelegant renditions. Neither of us could claim to be experienced sport climbers so there were a number of disciplines that we needed to get our heads round, although none of them would take us far beyond what we have acquired from our time in the peaks and southern sandstone at home. The climbing was excellent with grades ranging from IV+ to 7b. Good footwork being the key as hand holds were not always forthcoming. The crags orientation meant that we were provided with shade from the heat of the afternoon sun and allowing shares in Nivea to remain stable (I do not tan well). An evening of eating and guidebook consultation followed.

Day 2 

We had settled on Sector Cine as our area of exploit for the days climbing with excellent recommendations from the guidebook. Promising unique rock formations that supposedly inspired Gaudi architecture in Barcelona we had high hopes. Unfortunately we were to be disappointed. The walk in was unnavigable with every turn seemingly herding us into a cul-de-sac of rotten, overhanging mudstone. Upon attempting a “direct” approach over said overhang, only to have a large section fall away, we thought that we should double back and find another way. The “20 minute” walking had become a 1.5 hour mission. Upon deciphering the maze of false tracks we reached the foot of the crag slightly deflated. We roped up and I set off onto a V+.

The experience we had had with the rock on our approach did little to inspire confidence in the bolt placement let alone hand or foot. I called it quits 1 bolt from the chains just below an overhang. Tom decided not to let my wetness quash his attempt and had a go. With loud expletives he managed the move that I had wimped out of and cleaned the route saving us from leaving equipment at the scene. After a few more routes we

decided that we were “not having a nice time” and retreated to the nearby El Niu where I massaged my bruised ego on some routes next to those we had scaled the day before.

Day 3

We decided to make the long drive to Cavallers right into the Pyrenees. Upon arrival we found that the road

was closed due to avalanche risk. This felt a little cautious as our trusty Fiat Panda’s thermometer was showing 27 degrees...we were scuppered. Having committed to the longer journey we had no choice but to call this a “rest day” ate our packed lunch and made for home.

Day 4

Having spoken to our host we took her advice and travelled south near to the village of Camrasa where there is a huge climbing area right next to a huge HEP dam. Keen to make up for lost time, we roped up outside the car and set up off the first route on the Mercant Estil sector. The pocketed limestone walls were a vast improvement on the fragile muddy conglomerate of El Cine in Collegats, as was the 1 minute walk in. After a few successful climbs we found ourself at the foot of “el dedo de Satan”. Due to its relatively diminutive height we thought that this could be done.... Its a 7b+. We assured ourselves that, with a top rope, there was no way we could fail. This was not the case I managed the first 3 moves with Tom only 1 further before we decided that perhaps this wasn’t “in our locker” This was a real eye opener at the terrifying ability of those that can wriggle their way up 50 meter 9b’s. We tackled what was my favourite route so far. Miss Linda (6a) was a 15m series of honeycombed rock face which cemented this area as the best outdoor climbing experience I have had.

Day 5

Undeterred by the abortive jolly to Cavallers we decided to make another long drive to Coll de Nargo. We arrived at a crag called Gegants which consisted of towering free standing spires which looked somewhat beyond our grade. Never the less we toiled down a dirt road which was a bridge too far for the mighty Panda. After a particularly european approach to parking (fuck it, here will do) we continued on foot to find some good limestone climbing which consisted of slabby sections with tough boulder like problems thrown in. This was enjoyed with a bizarre backing track of incessant bleating of the sheep heard grazing at the foot of the crag.

Day 6

Having has such a fantastic session on day 4 we decided to return to Camarasa which would cap off the holiday. We moved ourself along the crag around the routes we had previously scaled. As we tired the approach to the routes became a little less serious which lead to many of, what Tom would refer to as, “postures sexy”...

This at one point involved what is likely to be the first use of a “tree hook” (the arboreal descendant of a heel hook). We spent the rest of the afternoon pootling up 6a’s and V+’s and headed home for some grub and packing :(

Summary

This was our first taste of outdoor sport climbing which is remarkably different to those gritty trad offerings of the peak district. We found that once we trusted the reliability of bolts and suppressed the terror of re-threading the rope through the chains, we could start to really push our grade without the nagging doubt in that marginal wire placement in a crumbly crack. Lleida was a beautiful place with a huge range of routes for all abilities (despite what the guide books would have you believe. I cannot recommend it highly enough!

I would also recommend our accommodation which was very plush for the tiny cost and comes with its own, very knowledgeable, host and mother of one of the GB bouldering squad.

http://www.ownersdirect.co.uk/accommodation/p8001114?uni_id=2

Top Gear Mountaineer goes to the Movies

As I've mentioned previously, back in March I did some work for a brand on an advertising campaign. I couldn't say who, what or where or who with but I can now reveal all. What I was working on was the campaign for new releases in the Adidas Terrex footwear range: the Solo and the Scope.

We spent three days filming in the Snowdonia mountain range, and it was a really interesting experience to be in front of the camera. Watching the final piece was really interesting, especially being able to piece shots together and knowing what was filmed where and when and how.

I also had the very special experience of being able to work alongside some genuinely famous people: Al Humphreys, adventurer and adventure writer par excelence; Alex Messenger, climber, BMC officer and editor of the UK's official climbing magazine Summit and Shauna Coxsey, International Gold-Medal winning boulderer. I was brought along purely for technical knowledge and if I'm honest it was kind of intimidating working with such big names in the industry.

Anyway, less of me, more of the videos.


Oh, and there's this one. I get to talk in this!




So that's it. I'm now famous.

I'll have my people call your people.

The Nature of Danger

As a climber, young person and general man-about-town I often get or overhear comments about climbing, such as 'oooh isn't that dangerous' or 'oooh I couldn't do that' or 'wow that looks dangerous, you're so manly' (well...sometimes). It makes me sad and a little angry when I hear these comments, because they make me think about something that honestly doesn't enter my mind a lot - how dangerous is this sport that I enjoy so much? So I decided to write about it, and see what you guys think.

I'm going to start with a fundamental truth, from which no one can escape: Climbing is dangerous. There, I said it. Don't come and yell at me; everyone knows and acknowledges this. If they don't, then they are certifiably insane. Those lovely folks at the BMC posts massive info graphics at every climbing center in the country, reminding participants that climbing carries risk of injury or death, and that we all take on those risks by participating. It's even on the footer of their website. That isn't to say everyone who climbs will lose a limb or die or get mangled; incredibly few do, for a sport that has such high participation numbers and takes people to such extreme places as the Swiss Alps, the Peruvian Andes and the exotica of the English Peak District. And that, dear readers, is due to a recognition of risk.

The happy notice in the footer of the BMC website

No one, not even the absolutely mental free-climbing highballers would say that climbing isn't risky; it's one of the reasons we invest eye-wateringly large amounts of money in the latest protection and gear and (some of us at least) will quite willingly spend hours in Snow and Rock, Cotswolds, UrbanRock or any of dozens of other climbing shops picking the strongest, or the lightest or sportiest quickdraw or cam. It's because we're all absolutely terrified of falling and we want to know that the gear we just placed into the wall is the best it can be, to make up for our relative ineptitude at actually placing the stuff. It's why we spend loads of money on Winter Skills courses - we don't want to guess at how to do it and get it wrong.

Danger attracts many of us to climbing in the first place, for at a base fundamental level most of us are massive adrenaline junkies. You only have to look at the top-level climbers and mountaineers such as Berghaus primo Leo Houlding who, once the buzz of going up things has worn off, decide to take up paragliding or wingusit skydiving or any number of high-intensity extreme sports. For most of us, we never reach a level at which climbing cannot provide a buzz - we're never quite good enough. But it must be said that it's the danger of it that makes it fun; that enormous endorphin rush that hits you when you top out of a climb or pass a big crux without falling to your demise. And it doesn't matter about objective risk; in terms of thrill it's the perception of risk that makes it so much fun.

It's accepting and embracing of risk that I believe inherently makes you a safer and better climber. Its
accepting risk that means you have the fear that makes you cling like a man possessed to the rock with massive run out and shaky protection. It's also the accepting of the fact that there is risk that makes you cautious and aware; its what makes you back off a route when the surrounding slopes are aching to avalanche, or the sky is dark with heavy storm clouds and you're approaching a big multi-pitch sea cliff. It's also what makes me buy bright coloured jackets - if I get lost out on a mountain at night, I want Mountain Rescue to be able to find me. I mean it might also be an aesthetic choice but there's logic behind the decisions. No mountain-ninja melting into the darkness for me.

Honestly I believe it's the existence and recognition of risk that makes me a safer climber; if I didn't recognize it, I wouldn't prepare for it. Plus, it makes this stuff fun enough to keep coming back to.

Here's to a summer of safe climbing, but make sure it's fun.

More Internet Housework

Facebook
I'm finally embracing social media in the way I should; Top Gear Mountaineer now has a Facebook page! I'll be using it to keep everyone updated with blog posts, sling up funny or interesting things I find on the internet that are a bit too small to make a post and more up-to-date news and photos. A bit of something for everyone.

Find it here, click the link, like it and share posts with everyone who matters Top Gear Mountaineer Facebook Page !


Alex Jones's Moonlight Buttress bid
Some of you may know, some of you may not know but Alex Jones (off the One Show and other BBC goodness) has completed a big-wall ascent of all 1,200ft of Moonlight Buttress in Utah. the BMC has been supporting her, and in respect of her climb, they have decided to donate all the profits of their new beginner's magazine 'Get into Climbing' to Sport Relief until 1st April.

So go out and buy it - the money goes to a good cause and it might just get you into this climbing lark, which is never a bad thing. Find all you need to know here: Alex Jones Completes Moonlight Buttress




Twitter So I've been getting more active and vocal on twitter; if you want micro updates as to what I'm doing (and general rantings and angry posts about pushy people on London trains...) follow me @jimmydoodoo

Film stars and ultimate primadonnas

Where I've been... Those of you who DO follow me on twitter will know I've been away for a few days in Snowdonia on a little project. I can reveal that what I was doing was filming the advert for the new Adidas Outdoor Stealth range of shoes. A very fun project that got me into contact with a personal hero and some fantastic people, including Shauna Coxsey (World-ranked boulderer, professional climber, Adidas Athlete and good egg), Al Humphreys (Adventurer, author, blogger and cracker-outer of excellent cheese-based jokes) and Alex Messenger (An important man to British Mountaineers...) I'll let you find out who they are in detail, but definitely check them out! It was a pretty unique experience, in some ways good and some ways bad - seeing behind the lens does kill some of the mystique of cinematography, and trying to avoid looking directly down the lens when having a closeup is nigh-on impossible. But then I got a trip to Wales, and that's always good in my book!
The campaign (and shoes) goes live on the 5th May, so keep your eyes peeled and you might just see me hovering in the background of a film over Shauna's shoulder... Oh, and the shoes aren't bad either!

Finally, Gear Reviews It seems a lot of people have been enjoying the couple of gear reviews I've put up; with that in mind, Gear Spotter is going to expand and have far more attention over the next few months. If there is any gear you want me to review, or a category of kit to explain, let me know through the Facebook or Twitter pages and I'll see what I can do!

The Gear Spotter: Lowe Alpine Alpine Attack 45:55 Backpack Review

Introduction

I've seen in my time outdoors and in retail that packs, especially small-to-mid size packs are often underanalysed, when in truth they should be the cornerstone of a climber's gear. After all, they carry all your gear to and from the crag or up and down the hill - if they're badly designed or uncomfortable they can turn a good day bad and a bad day utterly awful.

Lowe Alpine is a solid, well-respected brand in the Outdoors world, building packs and clothing (intermittently) since the mid 1970's, drawing on experience gained by the Lowe family in climbing and alpinism. Today it's owned by Equip, a UK based company but still churns out extremely high quality gear for both outdoors people and photographers with their Lowe Pro range. Everything is designed to be sleek, go-faster, no massive frills and functional.

The Review

In use as a daysack on Etive Mor, Jan 2014

This pack has been with me everywhere since I bought it in mid-2013, from simple weekends at music festivals to carrying all my gear in Scotland and Wales. It's been used as a shopping bag and a haul sack, a pillow and a seat,as well as its intdended use as an alpinism pack. And after all this use and abuse over almost a full year, it barely looks used a day. The build quality and resilliance on this is absolutely astounding - even for a Lowe Alpine product. I had an Airzone 35:45 before that started to give way after about a year of continuous use - I've used this the same, if not harder and as I said, it barely looks like it's been taken out of the packaging. It's been used to carry gear and rack for a day on Ben Nevis and everything I need for a weekend's climbing and camping in Froggatt - there's nothing I've thrown at this that it hasn't been able to do.

The overall design of the pack is simple, streamlined and functional - a single large sack, a lid with two pockets and an excellent back system. The back itself isn't adjustable, so I'd recommend trying on in store before you buy - the 45:55 is longer and wider, for larger backs, whilst its smaller 35:45 brother is far more suited to narrower, shorter backs. If that doesn't work, they do a 'women's fit' ND version, try that on for size, it's just harder to find in store. On the standard size fits like a glove and I can honestly say it's never given me any kind of back pain, even with heavy weights and long distances. The straps are a little narrow, especially higher on the shoulder but give good stability when on the move, and the chest strap on the new (2014) version is, I think, far more prone to failure than the tried-and-tested version on my (2013) model but that's the only gripe on the load-bearing system I can think of. I'm yet to find anything that matches it as an alpinism pack. I would have preferred some extra external storage - some pockets or somesutch so I don't have to dive into my actual pack for a thermos or gloves, but I know why they haven't and I can live without them.

The headlocker system in
play - beautiful and simple

The buckle design, whilst not being ground breaking and innovative is extremely strong and effective. Unlike quick-release buckles that tend to have a tendency to fail at the worst time and let all the stuff stored under the lid spill down the side of a crag, the solid metal double-back buckle is absolutely bombproof and even comes in handy as an emergency bottle opener for summit brews! The webbing that makes up the rest of the buckle is solid, as would be expected, but the stitching and attachment points are all absolutely fantastic - almost up to the same kind of standard as used on climbing harnesses, so you can yank it down as hard as you want and it'll just ask for more - a good thing to have in a pack with floating lid capacity.

The lid itself is another work of simplicity and genius - a total floating piece, adjustable to an enormous degree to allow for the stuffing of those jackets, ropes, racks, shoes, small children and baguettes that just won't fit in the main sack. It could be potentially improved by making the lid totally removable without extensive fiddling to act as a simple sack, but that's a tiny gripe for such an impressive pack.

One item of note is the headlocker ice axe attachment system - it's simply brilliant, yet such a simple system that I'm honestly surprised that no one thought about it before. A single attachment bar passes through the leash hole that's found in the head of every axe and two attachments higher up. No matter how technical or simple the axe it'll fit, and it's not going anywhere unless you want it to. Tighten the pack up and the system is tight. Simple but brilliant.

Conclusions

Huge recommendation for the Alpine Attack packs - the one thing I'd say is to check what size you're using at the moment and work out if you need more, less, or the same space. They swallow a surprising amount of kit and when under-loaded the straps can sometimes can lack a bit of adjustment. But for the sheer amount of stuff you can...well stuff into one of these and the load remain stable and comfortable, I'd say it's definitely worth the investment. And just like any gear, look after it and it'll look after you - but this one can take a hell of a beating

Pros

+ Excellent back system for alpinism and climbing - hugs the load to the body

+ Fold-away waist strap padding makes it comfortable with and without harness

+ Headlocker ice axe system is both simple and incredibly effective

Cons

- Simple sack system lacks any exterior pockets

- Shoulder straps are a little too narrow for those with wider backs

For more in the Gear Spotter range of reviews, check them out here

What a difference a year makes

For those of you who have followed this little corner of the internet since its birth, it will be common knowledge that this blog is now a year old. So too is my love affair with climbing. A chilly evening in late January, my boss (at the time) and a measly £25 joining fee and gear rental was all that it took to spawn what is, at its barest an obsession with going up things and being extremely cold.

I would say I've done quite a lot for only a year's climbing - I've gone from top-roping 3's and 4's indoors to comfortably leading 5+ and attempting 6's indoors and  VDiff outdoors. I've gone from absolutely no knowledge of technique both technical and physical, to at least a solid base understanding of knots, their uses, weight transfer, footwork, body positioning, crampon use, ice axe technique and all the other things fundamental to climbing and mountaineering. I can build a safe belay and bring up a second, rig a recoverable abseil and use it safely, I can front-point, plunge step, (just about) climb Scottish mixed and navigate my way off a mountain relatively safely.

In the mountains I've experienced the highs and the lows - from seeing the sun rise over the Western Highlands from 500m up Etive Mor to suffering debilitating wind and rain on the summit of Glydr Fawr. I've learned success is never guaranteed - you're at the mercy of the mountain, the weather and your own physical condition. Self-reliance is a huge part of climbing - knowing that you set that bomber anchor, you placed that cam properly, you tied those knots right. There can be no space for 'that'll do' or 'I hope this works'. It must be perfect every time. The responsibility is huge, lots of the time even as a second you're attached to another human being by two dozen meters of 11mm dynamic kernmantel climbing rope, and if you fail for a split second that could be game over. It also teaches you maturity - the mountains are no respecter of manliness or drive - if it's time to back off you pay attention and listen. It's not a game for those of a nervous disposition.

The people I've met have been amazing - from building a solid friendship with Charlie, my climbing partner (who will hopefully start to contribute to this place soon enough...) to industry reps, professional climbers and enthusiastic amateurs. Being a climber is like being in a massive extended family - everyone knows what you've been through or are going through, or are looking to you for guidance. Everyone has a story and most everyone is willing to share. Even those not of the climbing fraternity, but those who support them like the lovely staff at Pete's Eats in Llanberis or the lovely couple who put us up for a whole weak in Strathssynt, Glencoe. Everyone has a part to play and I can say I'm very glad I got to meet them.

It's also shown up flaws in myself - arrogance, impatience, lack of physical condition and a penchant for obsession I didn't know I quite had. Before I started climbing I would occasionally browse motorcycle websites, glance at properties to rent or browse 9gag. Now my internet history is filled with endless climbing blogs, route plans, gear offers and inspirational videos. Hardly a day goes by when I don't think 'hey, that looks fun to climb', even wandering around the artificial landscape of London. I'm forever annoying Charlie with pipe dreams of Alpine glory or a daring first ascent in one of the unconquered ranges that still exist in the world. He quickly brings me back to reality but it doesn't last long - I'm soon dreaming again.

I've been climbing for a year and I've had a wealth of experiences that some climbers wouldn't have in their entire lives - indoor, midlands gritstone, bomber indoor ice, patchy neve, powdery welsh windslab and slabby scottish mixed. The plans for the future go even further and farther afield - Finnish waterfall Ice, French Granite and hopefully even some Alpine routes. The training is upped, but so is the interest - I've gone from having a casual interest to seriously considering this as a career. I could quite happily spend the rest of my life going up and down mountains in all conditions and sharing that with anyone who wanted to listen. There are even first steps of that happening already.

I hope you've enjoyed being with me on the trip so far, and I hope you'll continue to follow me for a long time to come. It should be a blast.

Winter in Wales - Glydr Fawr and Crib Goch

There's an old adgage that I've stuck by all through my time in the outdoors, one my father told me. "Any fool can rough it, but it takes a skilled man to make himself comfortable in any situation." This has resonated with me; where others will take only the bare essentials and suffer the consequences, I've been happier to carry a little extra weight for a lot of extra comfort.

However, there are times when even the most prepared man has to rough it. I had to do it, in driving horizontal sleet on Glydr Fawr. In winter. Boy was I roughing it.

The storm that the UK's been suffering for several months showed it's teeth whilst we were there - on our first day we started out on a bleak, damp midwinter's day which quickly developed into the worst conditions I've ever experienced on a mountain. Horizontal, 45 mile an hour driven sleet, rain and hail greeted us in different stages. The wind was just about bearable, but me and Charlie are both 100+kg and it was giving us difficulties, especially on the higher slopes. Whilst it didn't make the ascent any fun per se, it did make it a challenge. Even putting crampons on was sketchy, as everything threatened to get blown over the ridge line at a moment's notice. It was even windy enough to affect the outcome of an HDR shot I took of the mountain.

After we crossed the snowline (which was only around 200m below the summit) the ascent got nice and fun.
With crampons on we tramped up the approach slope, careful to give a wide berth to the cornice sat in the nearby saddle. It wasn't technical, it wasn't difficult but it felt fun to front-point up the last of the slope, haul myself up onto the summit ridge and then tramp the last few hundred meters up to the summit.

The decision on the summit was that we really didn't want to hang around - when you have to bellow to be heard and can barely open your eyes because you've got vicious winds being driven at you, you don't want to hang around on the most exposed bit of mountain. Not to mention we were both soaked to the skin having forgotten to bring waterproof trousers. We thought we'd make a swift descent to the car, dry socks and warmth. Charlie, being more sure on his feet than me in the deep powder snow we were encountering trotted down rapidly, whilst I took the slow, steady 'plunge step' approach.

All in all, though, it only took us 3 hours to go up and down a 1001m mountain - a massive improvement on my pace from Scotland, which is a positive. However we were absolutely drenched - I had pools of water in my boots and I stretched my softshell trousers beyond their elastic limit - they went all baggy! I'll tell you something for free - the drying room at the hostel was very well used that night, and I was very, very thankful we decided to stay in a hostel rather than camp. We'd have had a mare of a time if we'd done that...

Day 2 was to be a winter repeat of a route we'd done the last time we were here - the Crib Goch route up Snowdon. Whilst you might say what's the point, it's something you've already done, it's a totally different undertaking when covered by a thick blanket of snow and blasted by icy winter winds. Especially when that snow is poor condition, thick, deep and exhausting. Much of it was the same, yes - but much of it was different, and it was an interesting approach. It took longer than last time, and we had some whiteout, which was an interesting experience. Everything just dissappears and you lose all perspective of distance, space or even direction - thankfully I had a massive yellow lump to follow who knew the ridge and the line we had to take. At least there was one of us...


The walk off Snowdon, however, was the most difficult bit of the day. The snow was terrible - incredibly deep and seemingly hollow underneath - me and Charlie both repeatedly fell into the snow up to our crotches, but only one leg at a time, so the other would fold comically underneath us as we struggled to use our axe and hands to stand up. I even snagged some pleasant holes in my softshells, including putting my front points through the back of my knee, which wasn't too much fun. It's just another thing to buy, I guess...

All in all though, this trip was more a battle with poor conditions and exhaustion than a technical challenge, orfun per se. But hey, you've got to have the bad days to make the good ones worth it. Hopefully a period of calm some time in the next month or so will allow us to have some fun before this winter season ends. Having said that though, a good portion of me is excited for a summer's climbing. I graduate university in May, and after that all I have to do for summer is find a job and climb.