Ghostly happenings

Living as I do in a very old building, inevitably noises are constantly echoing through the walls- the mice do add to this effect. But yesturday morning I had more reason to believe in the stories about this house.

The story goes that many many years ago (like 150) the house was a coach house, and as such sold beer. One cold winter night a gentleman (of sorts) stopped by at the coach house on his way past and indulged himself in a few beers, this turned into a lot of beer. As the weather came in during this bitterly cold winters night he slouched further and further into a fuggy pit of alcohol fuelled sleep.

However as the night closed in and the dawn rose the next morning. It was to his dismay that he discovered his daughter missing. Where was she? He searched high an low throughout the house and eventually found her propped up in the door way of the house, a snow drift acting as her blanket. But all was not well. Her cheeks were sunken and no response came to ease his frantic heart. She had died from his drunken neglect.

Anyway that is how the story goes. Now I'm not a massive believer in ghosts and ghouls and had always managed to reach a logical conclusion to the noises and shadows in the house up until yesturday. When I woke up I found a small hand print (much smaller than my hands) wiped down the window. A print that hadn't appeared ever before since I moved in (8weeks ago). There were no other signs.

Optimism

The past weekend has tested any of my countrymen (and women) to the limit with optimisim. Wales lost the semi-final of the world cup. Massive bummer. But from this loss already, even as the final whistle was blown thoughts turned to the next stage. The fact the team is young, the 6nations will be a time for revenge, the next world cup will be won!

All this, and then going climbing on a glorious sunny day (who would have thought it!) at Tremadog had me pondering about the Welsh (in terms of rugby) and the the British (in terms of mountaineering). In this country we get 300days of rain a year (slight exaggeration for most parts but not the good ones) and yet some how the vast majority of active climbers and hill walkers get out week-in-week-out. Trying to work out how we as a nation manage to do this, the same reason keeps popping up. Optimism. People, particularly British climbers, always try to find out where the best weather for the holidays / weekend / evening / afternoon / lunch break will be and will spend any amount of money or effort to get there. 

Its crazy really, how we'll travel for hours to get a few hundred metres of climbing in. If you told a local football team to drive from London to Manchester- as that was the nearest place they could play- I'm pretty sure the team would disband rather fast. But as climbers especially those that live in the flatlands, this is what we choose to do. And if it wasn't for our eternal belief in good fortune and optimism, our game of climbing would all to quickly come crashing down.

States of Mentality

This post will probably come out as a bit waffley but what can you do.

A few days ago I found out that a friend of mine has developed physcosis and is in intensive care after taking some unknown (to me) drugs in Amsterdam. This came as quite a shock firstly as I didn’t know what physcosis was and secondly taking drugs is part of growing up, something pretty normal amongst my generation . Testing your boundaries I guess. Ive never been a proper user, dabbling in my fresher year but nothing more. So for someone I considered mentally stable and well adjusted to basically lose the plot was quite a shock.

So with all these thoughts wirring through my head up here in the wet, lonely, empty hills of North Wales I began piecing together stuff in my own head about peoples states of mind and how they vary from person to person and that very often it is these states of mind that dictate our paths not out societal constraints (although these often affect out minds) or physical limitations. On a minibus ride to the coast on the way to work I was talking to some guys from work about stuff like this and one of them described a story which I feel helps describe how much peoples minds vary and its this variety that brings life the spice that it needs..

When he was younger he was known as a bit of a nut job, not having any fear and doing stuff for the craic. So a friend of his wanted to see if he could freak him out in his new car. He got in the car and drove around the lanes of Snowdonia at break neck speed. Pushing and pushing the limits of what he as the driver and the car could take. When both gave out and could go no further he pulled in.

 Turning to Dave he told him what his plan had been.

To which Dave said plainly “You could have crashed for all I cared”.

It was this statement that got me thinking. This was someone who had kayaked off the waterfall round the back of joe browns in capel curig, something people couldn’t understand not because of his physical state (he likes a beer and a pie) but his mental state when he did it. He must have honestly, deep down not cared whether he lived or died. And that not caring allows people to achieve such incredible things that it begs the question what could I and many people achieve if we gave up holding onto the belief that we are something special, our lives worth more than just to reproduce. To get a state of mentality where we can achieve what me most desire. Because in the end our lives can only be measured in the number of people we have touched, the memories in others we instill.

Getting back on track. Up here in the Cott I get a lot of time on my own, a lot of time to think and be on my own walking in the hills. Feeling the rain and wind lash against my skin. Something my friend probably won’t feel for a while, something that he probably won’t miss. But I hope he does I hope he gets his mind back, and gets back out on the crags soon. Theres a hole in the scene that wont be filled.

New Beginnings

Well yer, the whole more posting thing didn’t really kick off too well. In my defence I have been climbing and also moved house.

The new mansion is in the Ogwen Valley in North Wales. Its pretty ideally located and the work is not too bad either. Sound people and that.

Before actually starting work I managed to get into the cottage a few days early and so got some good climbing and bouldering in before it all kicked off. Carreg Hylldrem bouldering will no doubt become a regular place to train, its steep and full of eliminates.

In moving to a new place you have to find new people to climb with which is much harder than I first thought. My first port of call was friends of friends and when that failed (they have families and are much busier than me) UKC. This is something I didn’t do lightly, there are some proper weirdos on that website. I should know, one of them went to uni with me. So I first met up with one of the UKCites, and to my surprise he was oright, a bumbly but an eager bumbly who can belay. All I ask really. So managing to get a few routes in with this guy, Sam. And also some really good hill days in (Snowdon via Crib Goch and Crib y Drysygll in 2hours then onto Moel Elio and down to Llanberis in 5hours total time, with winds at 70mph on the ridges and tops, and persistent heavy rain…its one for the logbook and sheer audacity.)

But the highlight / brain fuck was trying to solo superdirect on the Milestone buttress of Tryfan. After a training day in Birmingham (causing a 5am start) I wanted to take advantage of the first dry weather since I got here a week ago. So running to the car and nailing it down to the car park I looked up to see trees on the buttress being flung about like pieces of cloth in the wind. Not exactly ideal but I thought it would be ok. Ploughing up the first two pitches was fine, whenever the wind picked up more than usual I could hunker down or torque my arm into a crack an hold on through the worst of it. By the time I reached the final crux pitch the wind was really going for it, clouds of spray could be seen curling around the lake 100m below me. A tad disconcerting really. Never-the-less I began the crux, fingertips curling behind a thin flake, edging upwards I began to think it wasn’t the right choice. But no time for that now. Before I knew it my right foot was up high and transferring my weight onto it I edged up the wall. Just as I started inching my way out left to the blunt arête and safety of the corner (I think its safe not been up there before) the wind hit me. Pushing me bodily off the wall. I was in trouble. The ‘ground’ below was a long way off and a green corner would undoubtedly make sure I didn’t hit it pencil straight.

Fuck.

Just about clinging on I managed to swing back right and make a dash for the ledge. Sitting down looking at the route, I was being shoved with great force off the ledge! Enough of this shit, I was out of there, traversing across the VD and HS wall to the decent gully back to my bag at the bottom of the route. Fuck! Fucking Wind! I kept shouting at the air around me! Willing it to stop just for a moment for me to finish what I had come to do. But we all need to learn lessons in the hills. Having the audacity to try something out there for yourself and properly commiting yourself and reap great rewards, but the punishment for failure will be certain. Learning where the limits are is a valuable skill in the hills, when to push through and when to leave it for another day.

My aim this year is to push the boundaries I have in my mind. To climb harder, run faster and go out into the hills in the worst possible conditions I can. To test myself. To find myself wanting.

Photo: The Front garden

Photo: The Back garden

A week to remember

Well what a week ive just had!! In climbing terms it has been phenomenal. In general terms its been more jokes than live at the apollo.

Spending the week at Pembroke with a good tide and weather forecast was always going to bode well but as we left Cardiff, we were a bit hesitant as to what was in store for us. The first few days of the trip were spent hiding from the rain in the abandoned firing raid shelters that scatter the Range East coastline of St.Govans head. It was whilst walking back to the car after a pretty successfull day that the first occured. I heard a voice say my name but assumed Liam was just catching me up, but when it was shouted i stopped and turned around. Just in time not to be run over by a mahoosive bull full on charging me. It must have been my red tshirt.... a little more than a bit of poo came out and we carried onto the car park as quickly as we could without looking like weirdos running from cows.

The next day dawned clear and bright so our faces dropped when the spaz wagon refused to start. A rapid hunt around our campsite found some jump leads and a famous climber helped us jump the car. When i say helped, he did everything whilst we looked on in awe at how long his arms were and big his hands are!!

As soon as the car was back up and running we hit the road to Mothercareys, a magical place where another adventure ensued. I had just finished leading the first pitch of Deep Space and being a little pumped i wanted to just get into the half way cave and set a belay up to bring Liam up. But my plan was foiled by a fulmar in the little cave. A fulmar for those that dont frequent the sea cliffs of the UK, are a sea bird that when disturbed projectile vomit with great accuracy at its 'attackers'. I happened to be that attacked and recieved on a number of occasions a spurt of acidic fishy orange liquid fired in my direction. Wonderful! The smell stayed with us all week, mostly as Liams leg got nailed and he had trousers on so they stunk to high hell for a good while.

After a couple of days more normal cragging we headed down to Trevellan as the tide started to come in. Liam quickly dispatched the classic Trevallen Pillar. But it once again wasnt the climbing that stole the show. A pair of other climbers (a short dude with shit loads of hair on his head, back and chest - Little, and his tall, bald tin friend- Large). Little decided to scuttle around the bottom of the crag as the waves broke around him cackling in a high pitched squeal. This was just brilliantly funny and made another normal day turn into something special.

Our final escapade of the trip was a daunting one that we had postponed all trip. Preposterous Tales, is a route that begins by traversing into the mouth of a blowhole. And then with headtorches on, you venture into the bowels of the earth in search of a way out. No doubt to say that it was wet, greasy and the most awe inspiring place ive been for a while. It was crazy, the sea was crashing below us into the back of the cave and shooting water up into the void we filled beneath the grounds surface. A shaft of light, snaked its way down into the hole and this is what we followed out into day-light. If you want to understand in your adult state what beign born is like, jsut go down there. It gives you all the ingredients, wetness, dark, the foreboding nature of your setting and the movement toward light and a new life. Its fucking mental!

Unfortunately the escapades ended here as Liam had a coach to catch but what a trip. The people we met were amazing! And really did make a climbing trip into something more!

Liam fiddling in gear on Bloody Sunday (E4 6a, Huntsmans Leap)

Large getting his gurn on (Fascist and Me E4 6a, Trevallen)

Bird puke belay (Deep Space E2 5b, Mothercareys Kitchen)

A pleasant E1 arete at St.Govans

Space Cadet (E3 5c, St.Govans)

Psyced for Preposterous Routes (Preposterous Tales E2 5b, Bosherston Head)

Entering the Blowhole (Preposterous Tales)

Rebirth!

Domesticity or my lack of.

Over the past 10days ive been house sitting for a friend, with this house comes 2 dogs, 2 cats, 2 horses and a snake. Its not your average domestic setting but it does represent the standard. Now up until now I assumed I wasn't the kind of person to enjoy normal life with 2.5 kids cats, dogs, house plants and neighbours, and i was right. Its been a good learning experience, I definitely don't want to do all this in the near future! Since my relationship broke down with my now ex-girlfriend, I've been able to go climbing, take pictures, go running and listen to music. But my god its good to be able to have a simple life. So the plans for the next few years (a good 5 or 6) is to try and maintain this simple life, maybe introduce some responsibility towards the end but nothing as hard-core as kids, mortgage and pets. Our generation can't do what the previous ages have tried, we don't live in a world with an economy to support us buying houses and still living a life worth living.

And so we come to the crux, a life worth living. We all could try and jump on the property ladder, pay our wage to the banks and have a 'settled' existence. But that is not something I can see me doing or something I would be proud of doing if i looked back on my life on my death bed. I want to hobble into the light of death, with new knees, hips and a mind full of memories of stuff I have achieved in my life and people I have met. None of this try and preserve myself for old age, fuck that. Old people should be fucked, they should have lived a full life! (This sums it up).

Annyyywwaaayy, my cameras coming out of the cupboard soon so hopefully ill be posting some good pictures of my travels and a life lived, not endured.

Edit Note: After writing this post i came across this article which claims that many people being born now will live until they are 100. Is it just me or is this a bit disturbing. We often see our relatives getting a bit old and decrepit at the age of 75 onwards. Our medicine may be improving so that people survive longer, but it does seem that after the age of 80 people are just surviving, there aren't many elderly people who are rocking the boat. They seem to be just there. Now I'm not proposing euthanasia, that would be ridiculous! But would more people reaching 100 be a good thing? For me I don't want to live that long, becoming a burden on my family and most probably the only one of my friends left alive. No friends and subject to mind-numbing day time TV, no thanks.  Going out with a bang, yes please.

Once again lack of posting....

Once again, a lack of posting on my part. What can i say, its summer, ive been climbing...and drinking. Mostly drinking to be honest....whoops.

Managed to get over to the Frankenjura for a couple of weeks before my graduation which was jokes. Got some good routes in and keen to go back for a longer stint next time, project some steep bouldery limestone. The 'jura is really really cool to climb in, its all reasonably close to the campsite (Gastof Eichler) and so we managed to limit driving to every other day when we visited some further away crags or we were feeling uber lazy. Climbing wise managed to get a few 6c+'s done and a 7a second go but as they use the UIAA grades they were all 8- until we got home to check. Anyway here's some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

When it rained, it rained....(Photo: O.Burrows) 

Steep pockety limestone...gorgeous!! (Photo: O.Burrows) 

Paul hanging out on a F6b+ (Photo: O.Burrows) 

The Team Assembled on the Ferry before the 15hour drive......Autobahn!! (Photo: O.Burrows)

Since the 'jura ive managed to get to Pembroke a couple of times, hitting up the North for the first time. Carreg y Barcud being the highlight. However the South still holds my heart with the proper routes, steeper limestone, bigger seas and awesome beer in the Inn. I can also finally understand peoples enjoyment of coasteering on the North. Its the perfect setting, loads of little islands, clear sea, reasonably sized rocks to jump off and obviously the sun. Still shit myself when i jump in, not from fear of hurting myself (although it does hit a chord with this time last year) but because of the fucking seals! Saw a couple and their HUGE! I know they wont eat me or anything but my god they scare me. Massive pussy but hey we all have our weak points, mine is animals, especially those larger than me that are in water (this includes sharks especially basking sharks, they have massive mouths!).

Back to life, I'm house/dog/cat/horse sitting at the mo (yes a bit ironic considering the last statement I made) to earn a bit of dollar so i can go back to Pembroke and have some petrol money for my new pimp mobile (M-reg astra thats literally amazing!) when im in North Wales in september! Life is looking up, how does the saying go.....Young, Free and Single. But instead of chasing girls perpetually i think my heart lies in chasing routes and the 'buzz' of being alive.