I’m at home writing an essay. Or trying to write an essay. I had to draw the blind to stop myself staring out at the blue skies. It’s maddening that every academic year the busiest time is always the time when conditions are really good and the last thing you want to be thinking about is work.

I did go climbing once during Easter. I walked up to Pex Hill and started traversing yet felt incredibly weak. I found myself getting tired easily and the technical nature of the footwork that once came so easily felt unfamiliar as my feet scrabbled over ripples that would once have been solid foot placements. I ended up not staying for very long. It was cold and overcast and there was nobody there who I really know.

I hope my leg improves fast. The enormous motivation that I once had for climbing is waning and it seems like it will never return to its full stature. I can only hope that when I am A1 again, the weather is nice and thousands of words are not pressing on my time I will feel young and invigorated once more but until then life is fairly monotonous and though I am always happy I feel lacklustre and without that spark that climbing always provided.

I’ve got a cracking score on Geo Challenge though.

A great relief! I had been worried about the coming field trip in the Alps that I’m meant to be doing over the Summer and whether I would be fit to go but with this news I figure I’ll be able to make it even if I’m not running up hills as fast as everybody else. Ditching the Alp field class would also have meant trying to find 20 credits from somewhere for my degree which would have been a challenge!

Some people have been asking if the nail is going to be removed at all and when I asked about this is turns out that it won’t be. Apparently on the continent in some places they still do prefer to remove metalwork but elsewhere the paradigm is shifting towards leaving ironmongery in. Apparently the risks associated with removal, while still low, are higher than those that accompany leaving the nail in place. Even high risk groups such as the SAS and military forces where injuries are common are opting to leave the implant in. This was all nice and reassuring.

Never underestimate how annoying it is not to able to cart stuff about! For the past couple of weeks I’ve had to have people ferrying stuff around for me. Couldn’t even carry my pints from the bar to the table. How rubbish!

Anyway, here’s a one armed hurrah for one crutch action.

Oh God! The hospital!

If you were to ask me what part of the accident and the immediate aftermath was the worst  I would definitely say that it was my stay in the hospital. Don’t get me wrong, the nurses, doctors and staff who work there can’t be praised enough, especially the nurses, it was just a bit of a crap time. Here’s a fairly honest account of the hospital with no gory details spared. Perhaps it will encourage you to check and recheck your “bomber” gear.

I remember arriving at the hospital on my nice comfy spine board and being lifted out of the ambulance into A&E where a team of doctors and trainee medical staff were waiting.

There was a bit of waiting to be done while they decided what to do with me and generally checked me out and decided that I wasn’t going to perish straight away. There were several different procedures and my memory is a bit fuzzy about what exactly was going on. I remember getting a femoral artery block (is that what it was called?). There was also a slightly uncomfortable moment when the doc told me that one of the tells of neck and spine injuries was an inability to clench your bum. He told me he was going to pop his finger on my botty and ask me to squeeze it. This was a sentence I never really expected to hear in my life but it was a day of firsts and he is a doctor after all so I had little choice but to trust him.

“Enjoy yourself”, I said as he slipped his hand South.

“Trust me, I won’t”, came the reply. I got the impression he wasn’t too impressed with my joke.

All was well and fortunately he didn’t venture in anywhere and merely contented himself to rest his finger there. Anyway, enough of that!

The hospital was obviously having trouble finding me a bed for the night so I had to lie on my trolley for a little while. At least I was sitting up and could have a look around and it was while I was waiting that I received my first visitor. Cliff came towards me looking harassed and worn out. He had been told to drive to the wrong hospital due to a mix up but had eventually found me thanks to some help from Lyndsay and facebook. We chatted for a short while before he left for a home, leaving me with my bag of climbing gear. Eventually I was found somewhere to stay and slept through the night, occasionally being woken for blood pressure tests and the like.

In the morning the doctors came to see me and told me about the surgery they were going to do at around midday. I don’t remember the events leading up to the surgery very well but the last thing I recall before the operation was talking to the nice anesthetists who must have put me to sleep pretty thoroughly because the next thing I recall I was awake in another part of the hospital.

The next part of my stay in the hospital was basically one big wait. On Thursday, after the op, I simply lay in bed and tried to sleep to save myself from boredom. Any waking moments were spent trying to wee. This was incredibly difficult as weeing while sat up in a bed (albeit into a plastic wee bottle) is such an unnatural thing to do that my body simply would not let me do it. I was busting for a pee but I just couldn’t force it out. For some reason this annoyed me immensely and made me very irritable so by the time my parents arrived to visit me I was a bit narky which I now feel very bad about!

The nights in the hospital were definitely the worst times. Its a terrible thing to say but with the exception of two other people on my ward of 6 all the other patients seemed to be on Death’s door. In fact the man lying a few feet to my right would often mumble in his sleep about how he wished he could die which upset me quite a bit. He would also cry out in the night for a nurse constantly whether there be a nurse in the room or not. This kept me awake for most of the night and if I did manage to snatch a couple of hours sleep I would invariably wake up in the very early hours of the morning and then not be able to sleep again. This hellish existence of simply lying on my back looking at the ceiling listening to the distress of the people around me (there was an elderly lady in the next room who would scream at the top of her voice whenever a nurse came near her) was what made me so desperately miserable I think. On the plus side I eventually got the hang of weeing (you just need to close your eyes and relax like you’ve never relaxed before).

On the Friday the physiotherapists came to visit us and taught me how to stand up and walk around. This really destroyed me and after walking to the ward sink I had to sit down and be wheeled back to bed! I lay in the bed for the rest of the day, pretty exhausted and spent another very fitful night in Huntsman 6.

It was on Saturday that I received a glimmer of hope. I was told that if I could pass the physio test and all my medical results (a blood test and a post op x-ray) came back good then I’d be free to go home. My parents were due to come and visit me that evening and I was determined to be going home with them. When the physios arrived I told them what the score was and that I was going to fulfill whatever requirements they had for me. I felt much stronger than the day before and breezed over to the stairs on the crutches and then completed the test of walking up them and down them. Hurrah! Physio down, medical to go!

I made sure my blood test got done as soon as possible and later in the day asked if I could go down to the radiography department for my x-ray as it was the last thing I needed before I cold become a free man again. The news I received was crushing. Apparently they didn’t do post op x-rays on weekends meaning that I would have to spend two more sleepless nights in that place. I couldn’t bare it and asked to see the doctor on duty. To cut a long story short we both started crying! Obviously I didn’t demand a slot with the x-ray machine and merely asked if they had any spare spaces and told her how desperate I was to get home but she must have detected the sob in my voice and this set her off as well. She must have felt a tad unprofessional as she hurried off to finish some work and a nurse came to try and comfort me. I explained that I was fine and just feeling a bit down. Later I called the doctor back and told her I was sorry for being so selfish and of course I would wait for Monday for my x-ray to which she replied that she had already managed to find me a space. Success! Take note, crying works! Me and the doc had a chat about things. Turns out that she had been responsible for SIX wards the size of Huntsman 6 that day alone and had to deal with every patient there. I couldn’t believe how overworked she must be and felt pretty bad for being daft before when I clearly wasn’t the only one who was having a bad day.

It was at this point that Dad turned up. I had my x-ray at the hands of the radiographers who are MUCH less gentle than the nice nurses and eventually made good my escape from the hospital. I’m now recovering MUCH better at home and had a really great Christmas. I hope you all did too.

This belay was just perfect. The smooth granite slab below me; the looming roof above me and that beautifully shaped valley to my right with a view forever out onto the sea.

With the Christmas work rush (and I mean rush!) at University finished it was time for a brief chizzle before going home and setting upon some revision. Cliff Shasby, sensible man that he is, is very flexible with time at the moment and so he was more than keen for a couple of days in the Peak District. We decided to hit Froggatt on the first day and I met him just out of the Outside cafe in Hathersage.

Valkyrie was a dream. Well, not really the first pitch but my pitch was nice although a little short. We abseiled off the pinnacle and searched the guidebook for what was next. Cliff fancied “Beech Nut” a reputedly short but savage crack on the far right of the crag given E1. We headed over and the route was dispatched in fine style, much easier than that first crack of Valkyrie!

My turn and I had a toss up between Chequer’s Crack and Stiff Cheese. Both technically 5c but with CC being HVS and SC being E2. I fancied pushing myself and had found Beech Nut to be fairly straightforward so I set about my attempt on the line.

Stiff Cheese takes a short but steep and thin crack. This is only a mere 20 feet high before it joins a large groove which is scrambled up to the top with ease. Oddly it was less focused on fingerlocks and was more a layback effort which suited me just fine. Climbed up placed a bomber wire and inspected the moves above. Climbed down, rested. Up again and another bomber wire just before the crux.

The sequence of moves on the climb is fairly obvious from the ground so during my last rest I had a good ponder about the moves and think I had it all worked out. Simple climbing up to a small overlap, layaway off an undercut crimp on the overlap and stretch up with the left to a sloping looking hold. Don’t stay long as it looks bad. Right hand up to a similar triangular slot which looked much better before firing up to the top using a few holds which looked pretty reasonable. Having done the route next door I knew the topout into the groove was not going to be as positive but I was just going to have to figure it out some how. That gears going nowhere anyway and it’s well within range of the floor even with rope stretch.

Right then. On with it! Cleaning my shoes one last time I set out upon the climb. What I believed to have been the crux went well and the two triangular slots were both really good holds which was a pleasant surprise. The mantel getting into the groove was proving to be the real difficulty and as I stared at the top I knew I couldn’t stay and think for long on these holds. I ended up making a decision to really throw one on and jump for the top.

“Watch me, Cliff. I’m going for it”

Jump.

Hand hits the top.

It really is quite slopey.

Peel away.

Fall.

Down down down.

Wait for that feeling as the rope takes your weight and you hit the wall.

Twang! What’s that?! SHIT! The gear’s fucking ripped! That fucking bomber fucking nut has fucking ripped on me. Shit shit shit shit sh….

CRUNCH! Impact. Feet and legs crumple and I hit a boulder at the bottom of the route hip down.

AAARRRRGGHHHHH!!!!!!! SHIIIIIIIIT!!!

I screamed and screamed and screamed for what seemed like an age. And this wasn’t just your normal cry of frustration and annoyance that usually comes with failing on a route. This was a scream. Fueled by pain. Powered by shock. Driven by pure fear.

I remember seeing Cliff’s face a mask of fright, shock and panic as he tried to remember his first aid from his days as a snowboarding instructor. Then some folks came running round the corner to see what had happened. I sat where I had fallen. Cross legged next to that accursed rock with the rope snaking away from me, the traitorous Black Diamond Stopper still clipped to it.

The following events are hazy but after a few minutes I pulled myself together and calmed down. I remember the relief as I wiggled my toes and fingers and felt the sensation as they were pressed. I remember the pain as I tried to move my leg, it was useless, I just couldn’t bear to straighten it out.

Cliff, Stu, Tom and Ri had done all they could for me and I can’t thank them enough for their quick and thoughtful actions. Safely shrouded from the cold in assorted belay jackets we discussed the plan. I couldn’t move and we had an hour of light left so it became obvious that we needed to call the cavalry and Mountain Rescue teams from Edale and Buxton were as quick as ever to arrive on scene along with Les, a paramedic.

I won’t bore you with the details of the rescue but I did not need to ride in the big yellow taxi in the sky which was fortunate. I also remember being given a combination of morphine and Nitrous Oxide which made me “merry” to say the least and took away the pain. I was stretchered off to the ambulance and taken to Sheffield Northern General hospital.

That’s about all I have to say about what happened at the crag. I do remember a few of the names of the 18 people who helped me – these comprising of 12 Mountain Rescue team members from Buxton and Edale, 4 climbers at the crag (including Cliff) and two paramedics. The sheer force of Nitrous Oxide makes my memory a little hazy but I will try and thank as many of these people by name as I can.

Cliff, Stu, Tom, Ri – Thank you all for the support you gave me both during the accident and in the following days. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. I have thanked those of you who I have contact details for over the phone. If I haven’t spoken to you yet please get in touch.
I should also thank my other friends and relatives who have offered their support and best wishes in the days since the accident. It really is a great feeling to have such a group of friends who are so concerned about me.

The paramedics – Excellent folks. I’m afraid I don’t remember the drivers name but Les, who helped at the crag, was very professional and arrived very quickly. Thanks for help!

The Mountain Rescue teams. I am forever indebted to Matt, Caroline, Ian, Miles and all the others who turned out to help me. I was told later that I had lost an “impressive” amount of blood internally and without the fast and efficient actions of these guys I guess things could have gone a lot worse for me. What’s more is that they volunteer for this work and the Mountain Rescue service is run entirely on charitable donations. I’m sure the walkers and climbers reading this always pop a bit of money into an MRT collection box when they see one but if you’re glad I’m still here and would like to make a special donation then information on doing so can be found Here and Here. The MR is an incredibly worthy cause and it speaks wonderful things of the characters of those involved that they give up their free time to help those in need. Thank you all.

It all felt a bit unnatural. Sure I could do the hard problems like Hart’s Arete eliminating Mark’s exploded cam slot and I felt OK on Breakaway and I didnt even feel tired when I got to the end and crux of the Pisa Traverse, I just fluffed the all important sequence but something just didnt feel right. I’ve been away too long. I’ll have to get back and sort this out. Pex is special. I’m not going to deteriorate here in favour of grit. Not for shit.

It was in the middle of my exams that I was busy doing some hard procrastinating and I came across an advert for a lift share. A couple of lads were having a trip to the Isle of Skye in North West Scotland and were stopping off to climb in the Lakes and Glen Nevis on route. In the interests of sharing the cost of petrol they were advertising the two spare places in the car and asking if anyone wanted to come along for the ride. I pounced on the opportunity and Jamie Goodwin was keen as well so it was on the day after my final exam that we got the train to the Lakes to meet Chiz and Ed.

Day 1 – Dumbarton Rock
Its well known that the hardest rock climb in the world is at Dumbarton Rock in Scotland and that a visiting Canadian, Sonnie Trotter, is currently attempting to repeat the climb. We popped in on the way and managed to bag a climb while we were watching him. A bagpipe festival was playing across the water and it was an amazing introduction to Scottish climbing. Climbing an HVS jamming crack completely devoid of friction with the sound of hundreds of bagpipes playing across the water is truly a memorable experience.

Day 2 – Ben Nevis
After a days drive we arrived in Glen Coe and retired for the night in the Glen Coe campsite, the following morning we walked in for 3 hours (!) to the North Face of Ben Nevis to climb the Bayonet Route on the North East Buttress. The climbing was good and the face was very intimidating but we eventually arrived in a pretty tired state on the summit of the highest mountain in the UK after about 600 metres of rock climbing.

Jamie on the summit of Ben Nevis

Day 3 – Sligachan
The next day saw more driving and we eventually arrived in Skye. The weather was stunning. Cloudless sky gave us perfect views of the incredible Black Cuillin Ridge for which the island was famous for. A stroll down the Sligachan Valley and a sighting of a pretty cool looking crag which we found an obscure reference for in the guidebook. A short drive to Glen Brittle and it was time to say goodbye to our new chums who were staying in the Sligachan campsite before moving to Coruisk. We arranged to meet in Broadford on Saturday and set up “Base Camp”.

Cooking up a storm in Glen Brittle.

Day 4 – Sron Na Ciche
It was at 5 that my alarm went off on Day 4. Today was to be a big day. We were going to walk up to Sron Na Ciche, arguably the most famous cliff on Skye and climb three routes to the summit of Sgurr Sgumain. The routes are incredibly popular, hence the early start to avoid queues. The walk in was spectacular, our first glimpse of the cliff was terrifying and awesome at the same time. Despite setting off at 6 there were already a couple of parties on the cliff and it dwarfed them like no other cliff I’ve ever seen. They were truly tiny, barely visible as they moved over the huge rock walls. It was with trepidation that we approached and started off. After a short foray on the wrong route we found the start of Cioch Direct and begun climbing. The first pitch of this classic rock route is notorious for separating the men from the boys with many people coming away with horror stories of torn clothes and skin. Many find themselves being dragged further and further into the chimney until it becomes a battle to move but an inch. Determined to keep my dignity and new coat intact I stuck religiously to the outer chimney and swarmed up this perfect pitch. It was beautiful. Another great thing about the route is that the guidebook only gives a few sentences of description about the route and certainly doesnt tell the reader where to take a belay as so many others do. It was both a good test of intuition in where to take a belay at a sensible point and also a great exercise in route finding and on emerging from the chimney and following an easy groove I found a delightful small ledge to call home. The belay went in smoothly and the ropes were taken up quickly, it all just flowed. Jamie followed and led on to the foot of the crux chimney which proved a tight fit even without the bag on. The Weeman, following with a rucksack, could be heard high above swearing and cursing as he tried to fit both himself and the bag into this tricky groove. A few more astoundingly nice pitches of climbing brought us to below the cioch. It looked huge! The arrow route passed with little incident other than a bit of worry over the lack of protection. A 40 metre pitch second pitch and the only protection being available within the first 15 made for jarred nerves and much focus. Arriving above we walked to the Cioch and had lunch gazing out to sea from this incredible feature. Integrity was the next route on the cards and shook me up so much I ended up dropping half a set of nuts! Thankfully they were returned to us later. Must practice keeping a cool head under exposure more!
A swift ascent of Vulcan Wall (HVS 5a) topping out into acres of loose rock and scree followed before sleepwalking back to the campsite. On the way down another party leaving the hill remarked on how tired I looked and even took a picture of me as I looked so shattered! Upon arrival at camp we descended upon the chocolate cake we had bought for dessert which gave us just enough energy to fire up the stove and cook up. It was 11 o clock at night meaning we had been on the hill for near 17 hours, climbing for 15 of those! For those who would call us slow coaches its worth mentioning that we spent a long time relaxing on the Cioch and waiting for the return of the gear I had dropped.

On the approach to Sron Na Ciche.

Jamie stands atop the Cioch.

Standing at the top ramp of Sron Na Ciche.

Jamie descends the Sgumain Stone Shoot

At the first belay on Vulcan Wall.

Sunset from Sron Na Ciche. McLeods Maidens sea stacks are just visible.

Day 5 – Rain
Rain rain go away, come back another day.

Rained in.

Day 6 – Marsco
The rain really brought out the midges and we though a change of scenery was in order and so we begun hitching to Sligachan. We arrived about half 12 and while deciding what to do with the rest of the day remembered that we had seen a crag mentioned in the guide book that was about an hour and a halfs walk down the valley. After a bit of persuasion we set off and arrived at the foot of the rarely-if-ever-climbed Marsco crag. Climbing at a crag with no topo and only a hazy route description was a new experience but we soon found the route and set off up The Snark (VS 4c/5a). The second pitch was a bit runout and had loose rock abound but was really great fun. The climb had charm and the crag had character. Jamie then bagged himself an awesome pitch on pitch 4 and proclaimed it one of the best climbs he had ever done. I was inclined to agree. The cracks were positioned so precisely it was as though it had been made for climbing! Topping out Marsco and slogging up the hill to the summit was worth it just for the views. A great climb on a great crag.

Jamie finishes The Snark.

Part of the Red Cuillin Ridge as seen from Marsco

Day 7 – Elgol to Glen Brittle
Another early start saw us on the road and surrounded by midges. The goal today was to hitch over to Elgol, catch a ferry to Coruisk and climb the Dubh Ridge. A 950m tall moderate! Eventually we were picked up by a pair of climbers and dropped at Broadford from where another climber gave us a ride to Elgol. He worked on one of the boats that dropped people at Coruisk and as a resident of Skye was very knowledgeable. We told him of our plans for the day and he gave us loads of advice on what we could do after the Dubh Ridge.
Getting the ferry to Corusik was grand indeed. The bloke running the boat told us loads of interesting stuff about the surrounding islands. Its crazy to think that people actually live on them! The island of Soay has three residents! And the school on Muck, a tiny dot in the ocean, has seven students and recently advertised for a new head teacher! Arriving at Coruisk we were treated to watching a small colony of seals dossing on the rocks at the side of the sea. They looked pretty lazy.
Half an hours walk brought us to the Dubh Slabs and after about 2 hours of soloing covering nearly a kilometre in height from sea level to the top of the mountain we arrived at the top a very tired pair. After a brief abseil off the summit we headed along to the rest of the Dubh peaks whose names are far too complicated to remember. By this point the scrambling had begun to intimidate me with sheer drops of hundreds of metres on each side I was feeling mentally drained but Jamie pushed me onwards. We eventually reached the main Black Cuillin Ridge and arrived at the TD Gap, a notorious basalt notch. After abseiling into the rift Jamie led out and we continued onwards to the summits of Sgurr Thearlaich and then to Sgurr Alasdair, the highest point on Skye whose peak is over a vertical kilometre above sea level. I was truly exhausted in every way and it was with aching limbs that we descended the Great Stone Shoot to Coire Lagan and then on to Glen Brittle where we stood in the sea to confirm our sea level to highest point to sea level again day.

The view of the Black Cuillins from Elgol.

Soloing the Dubh Ridge.

Exhausted on the summit of Sgurr Alasdair.

Scree surfing down the Great Stone Shoot.

Taking a moment to relax in Coire Lagan.

Back at sea level.

Day 8 – Home!
Time for home, we met Chiz and Ed in Broadford and set off for home. What an amazing trip to an amazing place. Its a shame this blog has been so rushed and it really cant hope to convey the scale, and intimidating grandeur that Skye represents. A few thank yous are in order. Hopefully I wont miss anyone out.

Sonnie Trotter – for his recent efforts at Dumbarton Rock.
The pipers of Dumbarton – for playing such great music and accompanying me on my first scottish rock climb.
The guy who lent us a lighter in Glen Brittle so we could cook at 11 at night – you diamond!
The girl climbing on Sron Na Ciche – thanks for returning our nuts!
Bernard and Jan Newman – for being really nice folks and for encouraging me when I had a mare on Integrity.
The guys who we just beat to getting onto Vulcan Wall – thanks for not being mardy.
The lads who gave us a lift to the Slig – nuff said.
The SMC guidebook writers – for a fab guidebook and for including Marsco where others would have left it out as pure esoterica.
The guy who donated us some anti midge candles – they really seemed to work!
The folks who gave us a lift to Broadford from the Slig – thanks for letting two midge swarmed and smelly boys into your nice clean camper.
The guy who worked on the Bella Jane who gave us a lift to Ergol from Broadford – your knowledge of the ridge and surrounding mountains is second to none and we probably wouldnt have had such a great day without it. Thanks for the lift.
The Misty Isle boat company – for a fantastic service including free cup of hot chocolate!
Dave Wearing, Chrissy and party – for letting us ab on your rope so we didnt have to dig out ours and for giving us a lift to Broadford the next day.
The most laid back ridge attempt ever - setting off at 10am and being at the TD gap at about 6pm looking for a place to bivvy and still aiming to complete the full ridge traverse in two days. Thanks for bringing a smile to my face. Are you still up on the ridge? Remember, Fail to Prepare – Prepare to Fail!

A special thanks to Chiz and Ed who without their car this trip would not have happened. Thanks for passing on all your knowledge on the island which you have accrued over numerous trips and for sorting out accom at the bunkhouse and glen coe. Great lads.

Most of all thanks to Jamie. For putting up with our occasional domestics, for insisting we walk to the summit of Marsco to see the view, I dont think I have ever seen anything like it and for pushing me forward through the TD gap and to the summit of Alasdair when I would have escaped before. For keeping me focussed when I started making mistakes on the Dubh – Alasdair section of the ridge through complete exhaustion.

The daring duo of Dave “The Dart” Smith and Will “The Whippet” were scheduled to raid Stanage today and arrived at the train station in good time for their 9:10 train.
It was in due time that we arrived in Hathersage (but not before a brief encounter with an utter chav who demanded we buy her cigarettes and who called us “cunts” when we refused. Charming girl.)
The thumb was in play on the walk up to the crag and our luck was good as usual. A car came to a halt and we hopped in. There was rope on the seat “Going climbing?” I ventured. Our cabby told us that he was in fact acting as a safety man while some filming was going on on the edge, something to do with a car advert. I couldnt resist, “what’s your name?”, “Andy Cave” came the reply.
After picking my jaw up from the footwell at finding myself in a car with such a legendary alpinist (read “Learning to Breathe” if you havent already) I made more pleasantries. It turned out that the filming involved “Leo” soloing around the crag.
On arrival, we said thanks and goodbye to Andy and made our way up to the popular end. I figured there would be enough time to get in a warm up route before we got stuck into Flying Buttress Direct. After Dave struggled up Via Media (tough start for a VS!) we moseyed on over to Flying Buttress only to find it was being hogged by none other than Leo Houlding and his film crew
I opted for Leaning Buttress Direct and set off, taking pictures of Leo cruising Flying Buttress Direct from a ledge at about 10 foot.

Leo Houlding flies up Flying Buttress Direct (E1 5b)

We chatted to Leo for a while as he rested between ascents and he remarked that conditions were “sticky” which was promising. Dave lead Right Hand Trinity and since it was quite cold, blowy and Leo was still having fun on FBD we made our way to the plantation.

On rounding a corner The Unconquerables reared up at us. It was my lead and my mind was made up in an instant. “Lets get up it then” and a swift ascent proved to be the most mind blowing single pitch I’ve lead anywhere. Truly the best grit route Ive ever done. Usually when topping out a route Ive found hard or scary or really enjoyed or all three I will have to release the pent up emotions with a whoop of joy but this climb stunned me to silence. If you’ve been thinking of doing it and haven’t yet done it then, for God’s sake go and do it. It is truly sensational.

Dave remarked “The fuck I’m seconding that” and the rope was pulled and the climb was relead with the gear in place. A first grit HVS lead for Dave, bon effort! He was similarly blown away. We moved further on and found Telli, an old nemesis. After setting off on the lead and placing a few dubious cams in the break I decided that today was not the day. I escaped up right on the descent route and Dave seconded the route nicely.

A quick trip to the Plantation Boulders was in order and after agreeing that maybe Deliverance doesnt look as easy in life as it does in pictures we moved over to the Not To Be Taken Away boulder where Leo was treating the signature route like a Diff. Truly inspiring to see a climber so at ease in a situation I would have struggled with.

A failed attempt to climb Crescent Arete was shortly followed by the discovery of an obvious pocket and a successful ascent while Leo borrowed Dave’s chalk bag to try Careless Torque before home. Leo’s film crew were a thoroughly nice bunch and gave us a lift to the train station.

I’ve never had such an incredible day on gritstone. Possibly even the best days climbing Ive ever had.

Mid crux on Leaf Arete (E1 5b).