Just some photos by Paul from a very successful Christmas Meet
Just some photos by Paul from a very successful Christmas Meet
Following on from our last adventure I’m just going to run through the final days I had in Camp-a-rooney.
The Saturday was spent on a via ferrata with Derek and Wendy, but I have spoken of that already.
The Sunday, World Cup Final Day Alan and I went to explore some of the single pitch across the river. Everyone had tried some of the single pitch alongside the camp ground before I had arrived and had declared is ‘stiff for the grade’. This was much more amenable; short, rounded and balancey…basically grit routes with more bolts and less friction. We did 3-4 routes from 5 to 6b and they were OK, nothing great, just OK. The bolts were sensibly spaced, not run out but also not a clip ladder.
We then had to head off to visit the patient. Funnily enough, driving in France while France were in the world cup final meant there was very little traffic. However on the return, Alan was finding it quite difficult. Driving someone else’s car, on the wrong side of the road with lots of people beeping their horns…. were they doing it in celebration or because he was doing something wrong. We plumped for the former and waved at lots of happy french people
That day Rob & Dec and James & Derek decided to do one of the most prominent lines that could be seen from the camp ground… Little Palavar (5c). 7 pitches and 3 abseils. They seemed to have fun.
Monday…. after a morning described as “Peak Faff” Kirsty Forder (2018) James, Rob, Alan and Dec headed back up the mountain to do Roche Paillon. I borrowed Derek’s bike and had a wonderful ride, with some questionable route finding and long climbs but pretty exciting single track type stuff. Definitely worth taking your bike with 3-4 marked trails with one using the lift system if wanted.
Tuesday, me and Derek headed for Snoopy (5c), 7 pitches which gave some really interesting and varied climbing, some slab, some layback, a bit of chimneying. Luckily Derek messed up and missed the belay on pitch 4 meaning he got the awkward pitch requiring 1 bit of aid. Even with aid I would not have liked it…. he did really well.
It was great to swing pitches having not climbed for most of the year and we gained height over the camp ground really quickly…seeing the valley from the other direction from Ecrins Total.
The ‘walk down’ was pretty iffy at times… not one to do in the rain or the dark!
Wednesday was my final day and I joined James and Derek on Cascades Bleu (6a), so named because you cross a waterfall (twice). I took the first pitch…and we swinged leads pretty much from then on with me and Derek leading 3 pitches each and James 2, though James did get the main cascade crossing. This route meandered more than snoopy with a couple of traversing pitches but was still a lovely route with excellent pitches.
I decided half way up that 3 belay plates between 3 climbers was extravagant and decided to dispense of mine somewhere…. which meant the abseil down was harder than it should be with Derek having to lower me down (sorry Derek). Some of the ledges had also eroded meaning very high anchor points and James managed to abseil below the path requiring a top roped scramble back up through the trees… but we made it unscathed and all thought it was a great route.
So my trip was over… and I was heading back on the train (well the first train turned into a 130km repalcement bus service) but it all went to plan. 8 days, 9 trains, 2 minibus shuttles and one replacement bus journey ….. all went to plan, mostly.
The club made a welcome return to Stoney Middleton on Tuesday. in recent years the Stoney meet has usually come with a ‘softer’ alternative of Froggatt or Burbage North… but this year it was an ‘all in’ approach. I think we had 12-14 people there sampling the delights of traditional peak Limestone.
Stoney Middleton comes with its own place in the history of Peak (and UK) climbing with the stories of Windy Ledge exploits by Whillans, Brown, Allen, Birtles, Proctor and later hard bouldering by Moon and Moffatt. BuxtonMC would be following in their footsteps once again, but maybe at a more leisurely pace… and with probably less smoking.
Our trip to the Emily Kelly Hut in North Wales was like a drop of pure, refreshing water in a vast desert.
As Britain baked in the harshest heatwave since the famed summer of ’76, a small band of merry mountaineers headed to the northern Welsh countryside. Despite weeks without rain and day after day of hot weather and cloudless skies, I packed my usual rain gear. After all, we were still in Britain. How long could this anomaly last? Another several weeks, as it turned out….
In North Wales, gone were the usual grey skies, wind and rain. Gone were the usual lush green valleys and fields. The sky was cloudless and bright blue. The sun beat down and left nothing but burnt, yellow ground. The hut, usually a refuge from harsh weather, was instead a heat trap, the upstairs sauna-like upon our arrival. But who am I to complain? This was going to be a brilliant weekend.
Emma and Paul cycled on Saturday, enjoying a long tour through the hills and to the coast. Despite the burning sun and exhausting heat, the two cyclists were able to survive, buoyed by numerous ice cream and pizza stops. Paul also credited his survival to powerful sunglasses, so new, he didn’t even have time to take the label off! They returned sweaty, tired, brown, and oddly not hungry.
Jo and William went on a long walk. I don’t know what they did or where they went, but I do know that William returned tired, but carrying a McDonald’s shake cup.
Robert and I took the most sensible approach in a heatwave, venturing out in the unrelenting sun and following the water pipeline up the steepest hill behind the hut. Two hours later we arrived at the foot of Lliwedd, our shirts and hats completely soaked through with sweat.
I had already drunk one litre of water. We climbed 10 pitches of enjoyable Welsh rock and then walked back. Our glory and feeling of triumph were only increased when we learned along the way that Belgium had defeated Brazil and France had beaten Uruguay to make an all-European World Cup. Take that South America!!! Also, apparently England did well. Or something.
After the usual rounds of beer and white wine, which (exceptionally) we were able to enjoy outside in the warm evening, we managed to get to sleep. Sleeping bags seemed completely out of place, like umbrellas in the Sahara. A single sheet was all that protected me from the midges.
On Sunday most of us expected a quiet, relaxing day. We all started down toward the lake to relax. Instead we ended up plodding for some time through the heat, until we decided to wade back through the water. A boulder field on the route back served to justify our swim, as if it was instead a minefield, and only Robert had the ability to cross it. I expected we would just go in up to our knees or so. How naive I was. The lake quickly drops off from ankle deep to chest deep. Soon, we were all swimming, fully clothed, packs on backs, along the coast and through clouds of marijuana smoke, people on kayaks, and birds protecting their nests. Luckily at the last minute before going in, we had realised that wallets and phones do not dry out as well as other things, so Robert saved the day by taking these and walking back over the scary boulder field.
We thought we had seen Britain at its yellowest, but the heatwave continued for weeks after our trip. The Buxton Swimmaneering Club may yet return to swim again.