Real Rock Round 2

A couple of weeks ago, during a mass decluttering of our flat we discovered long forgotten vouchers for a trip to the popular treetop adventure playground  Go-Ape, after booking online we started the more important task of scouring the area for nearby crags. A brief Google revealed that there was an epic looking set of boulders less than 10 minutes from the Go-Ape car park - needless to say my already childlike excitement at the prospect of a day out clambering around obstacles and ziplines hit a new height and I couldn't wait to get out on real rock again.

After an afternoon of flying through the forest, jumping off platforms and balancing precariously on wooden planks we refueled with a cup of coffee and slab of chocolate cake and set off in search of Bridestones.


Due to a general inability to read directions we took an unintentional shortcut, down a road that was technically closed for repairs and found the car park at the base of the crag. After scrambling up a hill we wandered through a field and found a striking arrangement of boulders catching all the late afternoon sun.

The first thing that struck me about Bridestones is that the majority of the climbs were overhanging and tall. Really tall. The Boy bounded about like an eager puppy, mapping routes and pointing out climbs that completely terrified me. As a relative newbie to outdoor bouldering I realised that the fear that often cripples me indoors had definitely followed me here. I looked at the overhanging ledges and couldn't fathom being able to haul myself up there. Indoors, I tend to downclimb from a challenging move if it requires commitment and there's a high chance I'm going to fall - and now I found that fear rendering me unable to get more than a few feet from the ground.




I persevered for an hour or so and after some initial fear and frustration I did manage to top out on a few things. This included sending a climb that I freaked out on, realised downclimbing wasn't an option and had to give myself an impromptu pep talk in order to get myself moving again. 

All in all I had a great time, and I feel that I finally made some progress on getting to grips with improving my skill, technique and learning how to adapt what I've learnt down the gym to real life rock.

Next week I'm shacking up in a caravan, dedicating 7 glorious days to getting out on some gritstone (weather pending!) and working on eliminating that fear factor that is holding me back. Wish me luck!

Bouldering - Back to Basics

It’s been almost a year since I discovered this gloriously addictive sport we call climbing and not a day goes by when I don’t learn something new. Whether that be how to use a heel hook effectively, how to move dynamically or how not to underestimate the omnipresent power of gravity; I know I’m constantly accumulating skills, experience and bruises that will allow me to continuously improve as a climber.

Recently I added yet another lesson to my repertoire of knowledge; one that I had scarcely been prepared for:

Bouldering indoors is NOTHING like bouldering outdoors.

Now I don’t pretend to be an amazing climber with epic skills, milling around the gym rocking out some Puccio style moves, but I do consider myself to be averagely ok – I practise hard and feel like I can hold my own with our regular crowd. I’ve done both Trad climbing and Sport climbing outdoors but, mainly due to trying to find a spare £150 to spend on a mat, I hadn’t taken my love for bouldering outside.  

Until now.

Due to living in the UK, the only country to of ever declared a drought whilst most of us are paddling to the post office, the opportunity to get outside does not come along often.  So as me and The Boy were returning from a weekend away in Manchester we couldn’t believe how warm it was for so early on in April. We debated for all of 10 seconds before  deciding to abandon our money conscious minds and grab a bouldering mat enroute to finding some gritstone to clamber on. 


After trying and failing to locate a Yorkshire Gritstone  guidebook anywhere within a 50 mile radius we settled for downloading some pdfs  from the Leeds Climbing Wall. We perused our options and settled on Round Hill mainly due to the quick approach and wealth of V0-V2 climbs that were available – as we regularly climb v4-v6 indoors I had assumed we would be able to climb all of these relatively easily, oh how wrong I was.

After a few map-reading domestics we finally managed to locate the ‘space for 1 car by the dam’ and in true geek style, got the directions up on the iPad and began stumbling through the fields trying to decipher instructions through the screen glare. 1 tantrum, 20 minutes and a mistaken visit to a field of confused sheep later we spotted a hunk of rock in the distance and I charged towards it with renewed enthusiasm.

We quickly identified the main rocks and decided to warm up on a couple of V0’s, I was looking at the prospective route and trying to map the climb. Hang on. Where were the reassuring jugs and ladder type moves that the gyms had promised me?  I felt sure I had read the guide wrong…nope, after triple checking the photo I was certain this was it. Oh well, let’s crack on then! I’m sure it’s not as hard as it looks.

My mind was swiftly changed when I tested the padding out on my new mat far earlier than I intended to.

This pattern continued for most of the afternoon, we both hauled ourselves up V0 after V0, honing our falling style and getting closely acquainted with the unforgiving gritstone rock until we finally felt comfortable enough to tackle a V1 as our final climb. I’d like to say I flashed it in a graceful and delicate manner; however a foot slip as I was going for the top out resulted in a wriggling bellyflop of desperation as a not so spectacular finishing move. 

Lesson learnt? Bouldering outdoors is a whole different ball game; I found myself looking at tiny ledges and exclaiming ‘look at that awesome starting hold’ with complete sincerity, I felt like a complete beginner all over again and was humbled by the entire experience.

As I trudged back to the car, sweaty, dirty, mentally and physically exhausted I hoped the weather would hold out next weekend so I could head out and get my arse kicked all over again.

And in typical English fashion, it began to rain.

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Motivated People Only

As I lie on my sofa a quivering, sweating mess, barely able to stop my fingers from shaking long enough to type this blogpost I can't help but feel truly awesome. Just 30 minutes ago I was lying on a rubber mat in a puddle of my own drool as I struggled through my 57th pushup, my legs/arm/chest/lungs were burning after completing a 400m sprint, 60 squats and 60 sit ups but I had a room of people cheering me on - just 3 more pushups, another 400m run and it would be over! I heaved my body up one last time and stumbled out onto the track willing my jelly-like legs to move one in front of the other. 

I feel the need to express how much of an achievement this 400m stagger was - I hate running. I was famously beaten by a man in a wheelchair in a 5k race, to say I suck at it is an understatement. So to push myself through this last 400m where every breath felt like acid being poured into my lungs took enormous amounts of motivation on my behalf and I finished in a not too terrible 13 minutes.

As a fiercely competitive person (I have been banned from playing Monopoly in over 3 households) I amazed myself by recognising that even though I was technically last, I didn't care. I had pushed my body to its absolute limit and tried my hardest in every single pushup/squat/situp, I was doubled over in pain, fighting the urge to be sick and I had never been prouder of myself. 

The next session is on Wednesday and even though I know I will be hobbling around tomorrow complaining about my crippled muscles - I can't wait.

The 1st time I went climbing

I can still recall the first time I went climbing. The excitement, the curiosity, the sheer terror that pumped through me as I stood wondering how was I going to navigate these alien, multi-coloured holds and get to the top, what would happen if I fell?  And how on earth, if I managed to reach the top, was I going to get back down?!

All these questions were undoubtedly explained to me by my instructor and might of offered some level of comfort to me if I hadn't been distracted by thinking of all the ways I could meet my untimely end. I had never realised that I had a fear of heights and/or falling to my death until that day and the sudden awareness was not at all welcome.

Nevertheless I had nodded my way through the safety instructions and was all tied in and ready to go. I approached the first hold, said a silent prayer and began my ascent in the graceful manner of a floundering, hyperactive elephant.

The more I climbed, the more worried I became that I would fall. My feet had decided that the wall might look better with a few more holes in it and my fingers tried desperately to bury themselves into each piece of rainbow plastic that I made a panicked lunge for. It was noisy, clumsy and fraught with fear.

  After a lot of coaxing, shouting, bribery, 'there's a beer in it for you' and begging I finally reached the top! I had done it! I was a panting, sweaty mess but I was clutching this beautiful, reassuringly massive, juggy hold in victory! Check me out! 

Wait a minute... now I had to come back down!

"Now just lean back in your harness, feet flat against the wall and let go of the hold"

"Ermmm... you want me to do what now?"

Let go. Not really the words you want to hear when your 15m up and clinging onto a hold so hard your knuckles are threatening to tear through your skin. Tentatively I straightened my legs, which had severe disco fever, placed my feet flat against the wall...but couldn't bring myself to let go of the hold. 

I stayed in this flattering pose for a good few minutes yelling at my instructor that I was going to fall if I let go.

"You will not fall, I promise you"

"I'm going to fall, I'm going to fall and I'm going to DIE"

On the word of a promise from a man I barely knew I did eventually relinquish my iron grip on the hold, letting out uncertain yelps of distrust as I did so. I proceeded to stumble down the wall in an ungainly abseil and took that time to reflect on the past 30 minutes.

 Sure I had been annoyed, terrified, frustrated, terrified, embarrassed, terrified...but boy, the rush when I had made it to the top! The adrenaline, pride, sheer happiness and sense of achievement had been worth the trade in sweat, tears and terror - I felt amazing.

And just like that I was hooked.

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Chulilla - My first experience Sport Climbing

Chulilla was undoubtedly the best holiday of my life. Granted, it was the first rock climbing holiday I've ever been on and in comparison my past holidays have consisted of cheap, party hotels in scruffy touristy destinations where culture consists of serving you sambuca shots in a sombrero, but still! It is beyond comparison to anything I have ever experienced before.

Chulilla is a small isolated town an hour car ride from Valencia airport

It's postcard perfect but be warned this place is untouched by tourism, and consequently finding an English speaker is next to impossible. We got by with a lot of miming, gesticulating and saying English words with a Spanish accent "Uno cheeekan *flaps arms in chicken type manner* sand-weech por favor?" - no-one seemed to mind our ignorance and we became affectionately known as the English people who speak with a strange accent and enjoy doing chicken impressions.

The Climbing

Chulilla was phenomenally popular in the 80's and 90's and believe me you can tell, a lot of the routes are marked up harder than the guidebook due to the amount of polish on the rock. The word with the local climbers is that this is what makes Chulilla great 'as it forces you to climb more technically' - as a newbie to Sport Climbing I have to say that at times it forced me to climb like a flailing octopus.

Our first stop was to drop by the local climbing hostel for some tips about the area, the recently renovated El Altico looked great and the owners were incredibly helpful and friendly - when we go back we'll be booking rooms here: http://www.elaltico.com/albergue/

They advised us on crags to climb if we wanted sun/shade at different points in the day and gave us a rough idea of where the easier climbs were. With this information in hand we went back to our apartment to consult the climbing guide that we had been provided. This 'guide' became the bane of our holiday, a photocopy of a photocopy had rendered the pictures so unrecognisable that we used markers such as "if you squint your eyes and tilt your head left, whilst hanging from this tree upside down that ridge line sort of resembles the horizon on this picture don't you think?" (We discovered on the last day that in a tucked away obscure shop you could buy a full colour copy for €15 - top tip!) It was this sort of logic that enabled my friend Alex to struggle up what he though was a 6a but turned out to be a 7b. Good times!

When we managed to decipher and identify crags the climbing was incredible, and the crags were very well cared for - all the routes had recently been rebolted and some had the name of the climb painted on at the bottom which was an invaluable aid. Granted the polish threw us off at times and caused more than one dangling tantrum of frustration but the beautiful climbs and views more than rewarded us for our efforts.

Most of the crags were within a 20 minute walk from out doorstep, however one day we decided to branch out and hike through jungle like territory to seek out some shaded climbing. After negotiating boulders, chain bridges and suffering more than our fair share of bug bites we stumbled into a paradise clearing featuring a shaded jutting rockface that made for a spectacular afternoon. 

 As a grand finale to our holiday we decided to tackle an 80m 6b 4 pitch via ferrata, it was the most enjoyable yet mentally challenging climb I'd ever done - the rungs were sometimes 2-3 metres apart and required some tactical mantles/desperate lunges of faith in order to progress. It topped out right next to the hostel where we stumbled chalky, dusty and bleeding into the bar for a well deserved beer.

I couldn't recommend Chulilla enough as a destination for beginners and advanced climbers, it was clear (well as clear as it could be) from the guidebook that we had barely scratched the surface of what this great location has to offer. There is a wealth of climbs from 4-8a to keep you busy for an eternity and a gem of a climbing community to inspire and learn from.

Check out the full album from Chulilla on my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/EatClimbLove - all likes greatly appreciated! 

This message will self destruct in 10 seconds...

Mission accepted.

Update!

Mission completed 06/03/12

Located subject: Box of chocolates

Mission report: Upon entering the designated building I proceeded to pull on my climbing shoes and approach the chimney. Abandoning all skill, technique and training I scrambled up the wall in a manner not dissimilar to an excitable, blind walrus. I located the mystery item, considered my escape options and then discovered that downclimbing with a box of chocolates in your mouth is not the ideal choice.

A most excellent birthday surprise! 

What do ordinary people do with their time?

So due to The Boy being injured and me generally being the best girlfriend in the world we decided to have a weekend off from climbing. A very long two whole days. Saturday was fine as we consoled ourselves with the fact that the blustery weather meant we couldn't of gone outside even if we wanted to and although there were brand new shiny routes up at the wall they could wait. 

I mean they will still be there on Monday. 

I don't need to climb them right now.

 At all. 

Maybe just a quick 30min blast session?

NO! Rest rest rest rest.

This inevitably led to the question; What do normal people do on their weekends? Which reminded me of a very fitting quote I read on the UKC website:

So you've entered the world of rock climbing now and you can't shake the urge to go climbing more and more. I am sorry to have to tell you this... but it's over... your life as a normal, everyday person has gone! Climbers come in many shapes and sizes, but they are far from normal. The only thing you can do now is sit back and watch as your life slowly becomes engulfed by this crazy obsessive activity they call rock climbing! full article

Yep, that about sums it up!

In the vain effort to ignore the overwhelming craving we embraced our (not so inner) geek and played Kingdoms of Amalur into the early hours of Sunday morning. By played I mean argued over whose turn it was and clubbed each other into submission with PS3 controllers.

Then rolls on Sunday. A glorious gritstone perfect day. Great! My fingers itched to be chalked up as my gear called out to me from its forgotten corner and just as I had fathomed a passable excuse in my head to abandon The Boy and feed my addiction he reminded me that we already had plans. A rare and torturous occasion know as an Enforced Family Sunday Dinner Get Together. Visions of face smearing, rip flapping fun vanished and were swiftly replaced with monotony drowning in gravy and soggy cabbage. 

On the bright side there was plenty of wine to numb the pain.

Life lesson - rest days are not to be taken at weekends. Ever.