Avon Gorge and The Roaches

The Friday following our trip to Wales, I was back in the car again first thing on my way to Bristol, ostensibly for a job interview.

I turned up late to the interview (thanks to misdirections from my consultant), did well enough for them to ask me back for a second interview because that's how I roll, and turned it down anyway because I'm done with the financial services industry forever.

Far more lucrative was a chat with a professor from Bristol University. Watch this space, I hope...

Naturally I used the opportunity to get a quick climb in before racing home. Idleburger Buttress was a straightforward but enjoyable single pitch, with some polished moves lower down.

The next morning I once again found myself alone in a car full of climbing and camping gear. This time we were headed to the Roaches.

In typical fashion I arrived just as Will was setting off from Bristol and so had a several hour wait. I occupied myself by taking a few pictures of a team on the lower pitch of Valkyrie, then doing a little bit of soloing on some moderate ground of the Upper Tier. Then the weather which had been just about holding off closed in properly. I ducked for cover under a conveniently placed rock with a view of the Valkyrie top-out. The team from earlier were still making their way up the top pitch. The second was apparently able to find some shelter but for the poor leader, stuck on belay, there was absolutely nowhere to hide or escape.

Wrong place, wrong time. A bedraggled climber caught out in a rain storm.

As soon as the squall passed, the patch of ground in front of the Upper Tier resembled a meerkat colony, with people popping up from various shelters strewn around. At long last the Valkyrie team completed the top pitch with a much larger audience than expected.

You'll be glad to know that the sun came out shortly afterwards, and not too long after that Will arrived to rescue me from my boredom. We climbed a few short and easy VDiffs at the right hand end of the Lower Tier, before unroping and doing them again in solo. Will then struggled his way up Sifta's Quid, his first HS. Being somewhat more lithe, I was able to follow without too much difficulty.

Easy soloing on Captain Lethargy

To round things off, I had a half arsed attempt at leading the lower pitch of Valkyrie, gave up and jammed my way up Yong, a fierce little HVDiff.

I caught this view of the Hen Cloud on the way back to the car

We were slow getting started the following morning after a few beers and a surprisingly comfy night's sleep at the Roaches Bunkhouse down the road. Adam and Rachael were already gearing up by the time we rocked up at the crag, and had done a route before I even had my harness on.

First we attempted Jeffcoat's Chimney, a classic (blank, squirmy and slimey) VDiff. First Will and then I struggled to make any decent progress, eventually leaving half our rack hanging off the route at intervals. For the second time in a week, I found myself abseiling off the top to retrieve gear, then going up again to retrieve the rope. Don't try pulling a rope through on grit, it won't work.

We now turned our attention to Blacks and Tans, a classic gritstone Severe. Will lead the first pitch without too much trouble. I carefully stepped around and over him, then gently edged out along a hand traverse to a ledge. Stepping off this ledge required a committing move up on a smeary foothold.

From here it seemed as if the hard work was done, and a few more careful moves would lead to the top. Instead, I found myself on a narrow ledge from which the only way up was an off balance mantelshelf move. There was no protection to be had at all, and nor was there any way to safely climb back down. After standing there a few minutes, and with a growing crowd peering up at me, I took the only remaining option and shouted for a rope down.

When Will finally joined me at the top, he took great pleasure in pointing out to me the route around to the left which I could have safely taken if I'd explored just a little bit further round.

My mood wasn't improved by Adam's report on all the HS routes he'd lead in the meantime. After that debacle, I'd had quite enough of climbing for one weekend. And indeed by the time I made it home, I'd also had enough of driving for a month too. Convenient, since a month is roughly the amount of time before I go stir crazy and need to head outdoors again.

Hen Cloud and the view from the Lower Tier

Evening light on the Upper Tier

A walk in the dark

The Rhosydd slate mines above Blaenau Ffestiniog have stood abandoned since their closure in 1948, but are a popular destination for mine enthusiasts and other adventurous explorers. We had been planning a through trip for a while and the opportunity arose on the Sunday of our visit.

A pleasant walk through the hills above Blaenau leads to the mine entrance. On the way we pass plenty of reminders of the departed human presence here, including a row of barracks right outside the entrance to the mine itself.

Barracks and junk outside the mine entrance.

We waterproofed and helmeted up, switched on our headtorches and waded in. The mine entrance is via an adit, which is a straight and very gently sloping shaft cut into the hillside to allow for water to flow out. No specialist equipment or skills are required, although we were thankful for gaiters and helmets for low ceilings.
 

The first steps into the tunnel. How do you lose a boot here!?

 For the first few hundred feet the water was ankle deep and each time we looked back, the entrance appeared smaller and dimmer. To either side of the main tunnels were entrances into huge excavated chambers which are never touched by daylight. Eventually the main tunnel forked where the adit reaches the main part of the mine, and here there was more evidence of mining equipment; a set of tracks for mine carts, and various old axles and cogs.

An ancient axle looms out of the darkness

We followed the left fork. The entrance to the tunnel could now no longer be seen, and we were able to peer down into flooded lower levels. We passed by several collapsed chambers before our progress was halted at a point where the tunnel itself was completely caved in.

We retraced our steps and took the other fork instead. Not far along we reached a steeply sloping ramp which was piled with loose slate. This option looked unenticing enough without the ominous 'DANGER' daubed on the wall next to it in big yellow letters.

In case you needed it spelt out for you

 Instead we went through a narrow gap and found ourselves in the largest chamber we'd yet entered. We found ourselves on a narrow bank, next to a vast underground lake which filled most of the cavern. In the opposite wall across the lake was a doorway leading into another tunnel. However none of us fancied finding out how deep the lake was, or what might lurk in it, so we turned our backs on and headed back towards daylight and fresh air.

A boat might come in handy here!

Hint - For other would be explorers, the ramp was in fact the correct route to take to reach the exit! And according to this resource, a longer excursion is possible which includes crossing the lake in a boat! Note that more gear and skills appear to be necessary for this trip, so don't blame me when a member of your party gets themselves killed!

http://ukcaving.com/wiki/index.php/Croesor_Rhosydd_Through_Trip

Our return to the cars took us past various openings to other parts of the mine network, some horizontal and some vertical. Not a place to go blindly stumbling around in the dark. Plenty more to explore on some rainy day!

Down and up

Come August, it was about time for another trip to Snowdonia. The weekend in the middle of the month saw us gathered at the campsite above Llanberis on a Thursday evening (or 3am on Friday morning if you're Jack and Will!)

On Friday we took on Dolmen Ridge on the face of Glyder Fach. A vague tramp around the base of the cliffs led to a vague gully, above which a vague slab led to another vague gully. It started to rain quite vaguely. The route ahead seemed very... not clearly defined.

We started to get that familiar wet-loose-gully feeling, the one bordering on misery. The decision to leave wasn't questioned. We looped the rope over a convenient rock and began our orderly abseil retreat back down the gully.

It wasn't until Will had pulled the rope through that he remembered the cache of gear he had left lying up by the abseil rock. Up I went, retracing our footsteps and our abseil, only for the rope to come stuck the second time round. Clearly not our day...


On Saturday we had a much needed day at Tremadog. Climbing as a rope of three on multi-pitch trad is not efficient and it wasn't a day for breaking new ground. We first repeated Boo Boo. Then as a special treat I was allowed to lead all four pitches of Christmas Curry.

There was a lucky escape on the first pitch when, squeezing through a tight corner, I felt something dettatch from my harness. I watched in horror as my camera bounced away down the rockface. I shouted to Will who, without missing a beat, grabbed it out of the air.

The climb took forever. A major tangle with the ropes and an extra delay to allow a faster pair through probably wasted about half an hour. Nonetheless I had great fun. On the final pitch I felt an incredible sense of elation and would have happily deroped if it hadn't left Will and Jack in the shit. I don't know why I felt so strongly - it was after all our third trip up this route, albeit the first time was on an instructor's leash and the second time I went off route and screwed up badly. So it wasn't a major milestone. The fabulously exposed topout in the teeth of a howling gale certainly gave it an epic feel!

A day out on the Sella Group

We rose early on Saturday 5th of July, stiff from the drive but eager to get our first day's mountaineering underway. Wanting to get a feel for via ferrata-ing without sticking our necks out too far, we had chosen to start with the Vallon via ferrata on the side of the Sella Group. We packed our bags (more on this later) parked up near the cable car in Corvara (again, more on this later) and took the double lift up to a huge cwm. From here a walk, scramble up scree and plod across snow brought us up to the base of the route.

Approaching the Vallon VF which meets the skyline by the waterfall

The via ferrata itself was fun but rather short lived, although some interest was provided by the sections where we had to dig the cable out from the heaps of snow, and higher up where a rickety bridge suspended right in front of a waterfall had to be crossed, subjecting the adventurer to a facefall of fresh spray!

Will getting a faceful!

Our first taste of via ferrata

Before long we topped out and despite sunglasses, found ourselves blinking in the bright sunlight reflecting off gleaming snowfields that still covered much of the upper plateau of the Sella Group.

From up here we realised that the summit of Piz Boe was neither that far away nor that far above us, and that a fairly easy snow plod would see us to the summit. I had in fact visited this summit before on my previous trip so not wanting to cut short the day and undeterred by the unexpected quantities of snow, we decided to 'give it a go'.

Adam and Will plodding towards the Piz Boe summit, which can be identified by the huge square lightning conductor

An easy snow ridge crossing to gain higher ground

Some careful scrambling and a snow ridge crossing soon brought us to the summit where I happily tucked into some strudel at the summit hut (not a phenomenon restricted to Wales!) However our eagerness to get to the summit meant we had neglected to give any thought to our condition or the way back down. By now we were getting badly sunburnt and dehydrated, and the effects of altitude at over 3000m were beginning to tell. We decided it was time to plow on and began our descent down the other side of the summit pyramid.

The going was initially easy but soon easy scrambling gave way to more snowfields, at a steep enough angle to make crossing them precarious. It's here that I began to regret my decision to save weight by wearing hiking instead of mountain boots. Eventually these flattened out and we began to look for the way off the plateau, conscious that the last scheduled time for a return lift was fast approaching.

Our maps pointed to a couple of scree gullies with paths down and we headed for the nearest one. The gullies were still full of old snow left over from the heavy winter. However there was no other obvious way down without a massive detour so we resigned ourselves and went down, ice axes out. Adam went first kicking steps down for a couple of hundred meters until he reached safer ground.

It was only here that I understood the scale of my folly in not taking crampons and mountain boots. Desperately clinging to my axe, I tried kicking it only to find my less rigid boot ricocheting off the snow. I appealed to Will who graciously agreed to rope me down. Even with the protection I was terrified, facing into the slope and kicking my boot in 5 or 6 times with each step.

Time passed at an agonisingly slow pace. Each time I stopped to look, the safety of the scree seemed no closer than before. Each kick into the snow had me teetering nearly off balance. Each step left me in exactly the same danger as the previous one. The rope came tight and now Will had to follow, matching me for pace to try and keep the tension in the rope even. A slip now could drag us both down. I gripped the head of my axe in a claw-like vice. The heat in the gully was overwhelming and while my mouth went dry, the sweat poured down the inside of my glasses and into my eyes, leaving me half blind.

At long last I stepped off snow and onto rock and was able to unrope and Will swiftly followed. We quickly packed gear up and re-hydrated before breaking into an 'Alpine jog' around the base of the cliffs back to the cable car. With 10 minutes left the station was in sight and 5 minutes later we were lining up to catch a lift, out of breath but very much relieved.

Enjoying the ride back down

On the lift I took a few snaps and internally debriefed. The lessons to take away are almost too obvious to bother typing out. Stick to the plan. Don't stick your neck out straight away. If you're going mountaineering, wear mountain boots. If there may be snow, take crampons. Duh.

We stepped off the lift only to find one final obstacle between us and a much needed shower, pizza and beer. We had earlier parked up outside a bar. Now our exit was blocked by a Hummer and as we arrived at the car, the very animated (I wonder how often that word has been used to describe Italians) bar-owner came out and started threatening to call the Carabinieri. Unsure about the veracity of his threats, we apologised and promised to bugger the hell off. This seemed to steal the wind from his sails and he moved the vehicle to let us out.

By comparison, we took the rest of the week pretty easy...

Dolomites!!!

Once Will had planted the seed of an idea in my head it wasn't about to be dislodged. I'd been hoping to make a return trip ever since I left 3 years ago, so I pounced on the idea and quickly transformed it into a plan. And so, on a Thursday evening early in July, Will and Adam descended on Watford, we packed my Skoda to the roof and set off for a 1am ferry from Dover.

Note to self - next time we're flying. The low point was being stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of Strasbourg city centre, having planned to avoid France as much as possible. But eventually we reached our apartment in Colfosco, just up the valley from Corvara and directly beneath the towering walls of the Sella Group range of mountains.

The Sella Group seen from Colfosco. The Brigata Tridentina VF skirts to the right of the series of waterfalls in centre frame

Via ferrata was the main draw of the week. The beauty of this style of climbing is that you can reach some incredibly exposed positions in relative safety and with minimal gear, and you can move many times faster than pitching as a pair and placing gear. And of course you can always haul yourself up on the cable, which results in aching biceps after a few days!

Highlights of the week include the Col dei Bos ferrata, which is also a military training ground. On our return to road level, we were greeted by a spread of soldiers advancing up the slope towards us, rifles out! Nearby are a preserved series of tunnels dug into the mountain during WWI to attack an Austrian position. These tunnels are open to explore and give a glimpse of the horrors of that war.

Adam and Will on the Col dei Bos ferrata, military vehicle in the background

Towards the end of the week we also tackled the famous Brigata Tridentina, succeeding in climbing most of the route hands on rock only, and enjoying the final climax of the spectacularly positioned and slightly rickety bridge.

Other highlights include our midweek "rest" day, which we spent downhill mountain biking in the pouring rain, and a birthday trek across the Marmolada glacier, during Will couldn't quite work up the courage to jump into a [tiny] crevasse.

A tiny crevasse on the Marmolada, which Adam and I jumped into. You can see the bedrock in this photo

The biggest adventure however was on our very first day out, still tired from the drive the day before. More to follow on that...

Unfortunately, any designs on Civetta were put on hold by the large quantities of snow which lingered from a heavy winter. Civetta is not a mountain to be trifled with. Needless to say, I will be back some day to settle this score...

Ultimately it was a thrill to be back, climbing via ferrata routes and ticking off some summits. It feels good to have our first season under our  belts and be back in one piece!

Day 1 - Vallon VF, Piz Boe summit
Day 2 - Sassongher summit
Day 3 - Col dei Bos VF and summit, Lagazuoi (WWI) tunnels
Day 4 - Mountain biking
Day 5 - Sandro Pertini VF
Day 6 - Brigata Tridentina VF
Day 7 - Marmolada hike and birthday drinks
Day 8 - Hungover hike and packing up!

Tofana di Rozes from Col dei Bos

Panorama of the Fanes mountain group

The Sella Group, seen from the flank of the Marmolada

Wintour's Leap and Avon Gorge

A brilliant sunny weekend in early May saw Will and I at Wintour's Leap in the Wye Valley. According to local legend, this was the site where royalist Sir John Winter, escaping on horseback from parliamentarian troops, leaped the cliffs and survived. The actual truth of the story doesn't seem to be quite so exciting.

We climbed Corner Buttress Route 1, or possibly 2, or a bit of both. The routes seem to cross halfway up so it's not clear.

We followed this up with the severe Central Rib Route 1, which has an excellent vertical corner groove. At the top I tried to lead the VS variant and spent quite a long time sitting on gear, so I don't think that really counts.

Heroic pose at the top, with the impressive cliffs in the background

Wonderful Wye Valley scenery

The following day we headed for the Avon Gorge in the heart of Bristol. I lead The Arete, a pretty tame scramble with one viciously polished mantelshelf move at about half height. This leads to Bob's Climb, which finishes with an impressive and thankfully well protected pull up through an overhang.

Thus concludes a fairly quiet first half of the year. June was a bit of a down month, apart from a trip with the family to Snowdonia, where Charlie impressed us all by tugging at the lead all the way up and down Snowdon.

However, the important business of June was turning the idea of a return trip to the Dolomites from a vague idea into a definite plan...

April...

It seems an awfully long time ago now, but April was a pretty interesting month. I actually went on some holidays that weren't climbing related for once!

At the start of the month I went with Carl and James to New Orleans for Wrestlemania, obviously...
 

The famous Superdome, home to the New Orleans Saints

Pleased to report that New Orleans is also a wonderful city.

Towards the end of the week, we took a trip out of the city to go on a swamp tour. Quite refreshing to visit a beautiful natural environment teeming with life which is the complete opposite of my natural habitat. It was also fascinating to witness some of the damage wrought by Katrina nearly a decade ago.

A turtle chilling on a branch

9 years on...

Shortly afterwards, Will, Jack, Andy and I descended upon Newquay for a few days. A couple of wild, hazy nights out and a couple of days attempting to stand up on a surfboard and not submit to the freezing Atlantic chill.

We managed to snatch a couple of hours of climbing on perhaps the most unique crag you will ever chance upon. Roche Rock is a tiny crag with an ancient ruined chapel perched on top and partially delved into it. A series of rungs leading up into the chapel form the walk off. And the rock has a strangely grit like quality! I lead South East Buttress, a steep and enjoyable VDiff.

Roache Rock, a unique crag

Finally it was off up to the Peak District with my dad and Anna for a third failed attempt to go hot air ballooning. Instead I showed them around The Roaches and we explored up through Winnats Pass and hiked up to Mam Tor to make the most of the disappointing weather.

The view across the Hope Valley from Mam Tor

So not much climbing this month and the hot air ballooning trip still proves to be elusive, but plenty of new places visited. Meanwhile, bigger plans were beginning to take shape...

Oops...

I've been meaning to update this for months now, but somehow never got around to it. The longer you put something off, the harder it is to start. This was never supposed to be a chore though!

The effect is to make it look like I've had a pretty boring year. The truth is just that I'm just a hopeless procrastinator. There hasn't been quite as much rock climbing as 2013, and very little grade progression. However there have been adventures and set backs, days of glorious sunshine and torrential rain, triumphs and horribly close shaves. Over the next couple of days I'll provide a summary of the year's trips and highlights, and tell a couple of the more interesting stories.

From now on I'm also going to try and write a little bit more, both about our trips and adventures and about my inward discoveries.

Chasing the light... The view southwards towards The Mamores from the Càrn Mòr Dearg Arete

March 16 2014. Craig Yr Wrysgan, Blaenau Ffestiniog

Looking down from Y Gelynen, the first VDiff of the year. Small holds and long runouts with high exposure made it pretty bold for the grade. Will was threatened by a wayward sheep stuck on a grassy ledge on the route!

Scattered detritus left over from the quarrying around the back of the crag. The way down is through the tunnel in the background which used to service the quarry. An adventurous descent!

March 15 2014. Cwm Glas, Snowdon

Will walking past the evil looking Cyrn Las on the way up to the Clogwyn y Person Arete. In big boots and with strong winds, he got stuck on the first pitch of the Parson's Nose and we had to retreat.

 On the way back down. Me looking a bit grumpy but thankfully warm again, Will quietly contemplating the bitterness of defeat.

January 19 2014. Y Garn, Ogwen Valley

 Lord of the mountain, completely un-phased by our presence.

Looking down the shoulder of Y Garn to Llyn Ogwen and Tryfan.

June 2013. Stanage Edge, Derbyshire

Stanage on a glorious early summer day. Why would you choose to be anywhere else!?

Black Hawk Hell Crack. My first Severe!

March 25 2013. Snowdon

After three days of howling blizzards and neck deep snow, these were the views that mocked us on Monday morning at the start of the drive home.

October 14 2012. Snowdon

The mighty peak of Yr Wyddfa rising over Glaslyn, the final resting place of the sword Excalibur.

 Looking back at the Snowdon Horseshoe.

Moel Siabod reflected in the still waters of Llyn Llydaw.

August 23 2012. North Face of Ben Nevis

On the way down following an aborted attempt to climb Tower Ridge. The most sobering mountain experience to date.

August 20 2012. Glencoe

 Descending from the Aonach Eagach Ridge. A ray of sunlight briefly pierces through the gloom.

August 2011. Mont Civetta, The Dolomites

A somewhat foolish attempt to climb the awe-inspiring Mont Civetta. Slow progress, worsening weather and the warnings of other climbers who were actually equipped for this sort of thing forced us to abandon the idea a long way from the summit.

July 31 2011. 2650m, Karwendel Alps

Day 4 of our trip. A high col just beneath the highest summit in the region. We didn't go to the summit but continued down the screes on the other side. Not a bad start to a 'walking' holiday!

First post

I'm Matt. I'm 24 years old. I live with my parents and work in an office in Central London on a healthy wage for someone my age. I have a great bunch of friends and a good masters degree from a good university. I also suffer from cripplingly low self esteem.

This has simmered under the surface throughout my teenage and adult years. It has infiltrated every aspect of my life, filling my head with evil lies that I came to believe because there seemed to be no alternative. I've never felt myself to be good enough, often in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, never been able to take pride in my achievements, and never really felt that I've deserved any better. Self destructive thoughts have led to self destructive actions, which feed back into my self perception. The vicious cycle seems inescapable and at times throughout my life bitterness and despair have threatened to consume me. It is only now, approaching the age of 25, that I've realised the full extent of the problem and decided to get professional help.

But that isn't what this blog is about. This blog is about my love of life and the world around me.

I graduated from my masters degree in July 2011. It ought to have been one of the proudest days of my life. Instead it was lost to regret for everything that I didn't do during what were supposed to have been the best four years of my life, and fear about the future, which didn't possibly seem like it could be worthwhile. But I had this one opportunity left to me... I was heading to the Alps for a trekking holiday, between Bavaria and the Dolomites.

Having never set foot on a proper mountain before, this was a massive culture shock at first. It soon developed into the greatest adventure I've ever experienced. Storms, encounters with Alpine ibex, exposed paths on cliff edges and a chance ride on the back of a tractor, all set in continually magnificent scenery. On returning to the UK I found I wanted more of the same, and soon found myself scrambling up Tryfan and crossing the exposed knife edge of Crib Goch. One thing led to another, and I now find myself regularly tied in to a rope in positions I never would have thought I could get myself into (or out of)!

I'm not going to wax lyrical and claim that climbing has turned my life around, or helped me overcome all my other fears. But it has given me hope, and something to be excited about, and will hopefully be a catalyst for change. This blog will be about my adventures, routes climbed, summits reached or missed, photos taken, good times had.

I'm going to start things off with just a few or my favourite photos from the last few years. When this is up to speed I intend to use it to log my climbing days out.