Great Escape. Nick Bullock.

Climbing in Scotland – especially in Scotland this winter –  it is something similar to being Keanu Reeves in the film The Matrix – you have to believe to be able to make that leap of faith.

My alarm shouted at 4.30 am as the beads of condensation dripped from the roof of the van. The rain had been playing a thrash metal beat for the whole of the night.

I breakfasted and left the CC hut at Roy Bridge. The rain continued and if I had been up on thrash metal it may have been Slayer, but I’m not so who knows!

I met Keith Ball who was also in a van but a van I could have parked my van inside with enough space left to have a concert. “What’d you reckon?” I was certainly looking for a way-out, in the words of some female crooner, which I also have limited knowledge so I can’t name, but Keith being of stronger, Plas y Brenan, out in all-weather stock, wittered on about it not being so bad and made me question my drive. “OK, let’s head to the dam, but I’m telling you now, if it’s raining I’m not walking.”

At the dam it was raining. “OK, I’ll put on my boots and if it’s raining I’m not walking.”

Head down, head torch on, the rain pattered against my hood, “OK, if it’s raining at the CIC, we turn around, I’m not climbing.”

The snow, driven by the wind, caught in the lee of the sastrugi and hissed and sloughed. “OK if it’s still this grim at the CIC I’m turning around.”

Keith and I stepped into the dark damp of the CIC entrance, into the quiet, an escape from the maelstrom of driving snow outside. The snow was being blown so hard, I wondered if it was being test driven by Jeremy Clarkson.

“Keith, this is shit, we should save ourselves for a big push, we should re-group, re-think, re-do anything – going out there in that, is utter madness.”

But then after some smaller climbs were mentioned the word Centurion entered into the conversation and in an instant the snow stopped, the damp stopped being so damp, and the world turned into a lovely friendly place.  And in my ear, Don Whillans whispered ‘You need to man up and get on with it… ‘

Keith Ball on the first pitch of Centurion.

Keith Ball getting involved on pitch two.

Nick Bullock following the second pitch.

Nick Bullock higher on pitch two of Centurion.

Keith topping out pitch three of Centurion. In my normal style of being unable to follow a route description, I climbed direct, as I’m sure others have before and instead of traversing to the left and climbing grooves on pitch three I pulled through a roof. Definitely worthwhile and good climbing but the rock is a tad concerning in a few parts.

The opening spread from Ian Parnell’s superb Alpinist Article. Bruised Violet in yellow and Crème de Violette in red. Credit Ian Parnell.

Seeing the pictures in Alpinist Magazine, the angles, the steepness, the flakes and cracks and then reading the account of Ian Parnell climbing the first ascent of Bruised violet, I have always wanted to share his experience. The West Central Gully on Beinn Eighe is such an atmospheric place – the lines are striking. History drips from the steep walls. Even the name Bruised Violet is fitting and evocative.

On Friday afternoon, Tim Neill and I stood at the top of the crag with wide smiles watching the sun dip and looking at the Torridon mountains – ancient white-hat wearing sentries. The route we had just climbed had been one of the most sustained and fulfilling outings ever. Well done Ian for putting that one up I said, enthusing to Tim, but I’m not very good at following complex descriptions and the line had appeared a tad undergraded.

I texted Ian as we drove back to Roy Bridge and said Bruised Violet was one of the best routes I had ever climbed in Scotland, top five for sure… “Ian must have been going well at the time of climbing Bruised Violet,” I said to Tim and continued, “I would have graded it 9 for technical climbing and maybe IX for the overall grade.” I continued, that I thought the route we had just climbed was better than Blood Sweat and Frozen Tears, the four star outing to the left. Don’t get me wrong, I think BS&FT is a great route, I just thought this route was better and harder and more sustained.

****

Run-out –  a steep groove above a roof, about 15 to 20 feet above a bulldog placed in ice while tentatively pulling one tooth pick placements and balancing on tiny footholds focuses the mind. And the climbing, it just kept coming, which was following a wide and bulging crack line.

The second new pitch had me pulling through a steep roof into a bottomless corner with  knees pressed to a wall and no footholds. Back-footing, burling, locking off … arms cramped. I wanted gear, but I couldn’t stop with feet smeared and locking the torqued axes … the fall was not very inviting – the gear was placed in the bottom of the corner. Pick placements became baggy and I didn’t want them baggy, I wanted solid – a front point on an edge – burl and pull… body tension, control, lock off… And there was still more…

After a phone call to Ian Parnell and Tim, and much study, it looks like Tim and I have climbed a new route and the best route yet of my winter 2014 by mistake and the in ability to follow a description, or as Tim put it in an email,

“Good work Nick….strong image! (Alpinist follows strong line in off route/new routing shocker :-O “

Crème de Violette. IX/9 FA.  West Central Wall, Beinn Eighe. Nick Bullock, Tim Neill. 7/2/14

A direct on Bruised Violet, culminating in two new long and quite serious pitches. Super sustained, burley and on occasion, rather emotional!

1 30m Chop Suey pitch 1.

2  40m Climb cracks up the right wall of the groove (as for Chop Suey) to the upper girdle ledge then pull through the roof and follow the committing groove, (past in-situ pecker of BV,) where Bruised Violet goes hard right, continue direct until beneath a roof. Carefully pull right around the roof and climb the even more committing groove above without thinking about where the last piece of gear is or even what the last piece of gear was. At the top of the grove continue direct following the wide bulging crack line. 

3 30m Climb direct to beneath an overhanging corner with a thin crack. Pull into the corner and climb it to the top to a rest and a wide crack. Climb a few moves right before continuing direct via small overhangs to the top. 

Ian Parnell’s topo from Bruised Violet, Crème de violette is the blue line.

On Saturday I returned to Torridon with Katy Forrester and we climbed Mick Fowler’s Umbrella Falls on Liathach. We were thinking of Poacher’s Fall but so was everyone else and with loads of lines we couldn’t see the point of queuing … a rather pleasant and relaxing day after the previous day.

Thanks to Tim Neill, Ian Parnell and Katy Forrester for the pics. And thanks to Ian for the info and the Alpinist pic and the inspiration.

The rain… The bloody rain … it poured. And poured.

The bloody permanent dark. The dark. Cloistering. Depressing. Invasive. 

I ran the lane from Roy Bridge heading to Glen Roy. Undulating. Ancient trees. Narrow.

The brown peaty river – flowing white and bubbly – churned its twisting way around mossy boulders. Running, sweating, steaming – the layby – The deserted layby – empty bottles – Glen Vodka and JP Chenet Blanc, soggy tissues.  Deserted.

I was running along Cormac McCarthy’s, The Road. I felt separated in this post-apocalyptic highlands. 

I had walked into four different crags in the week and walked out again. The bag remained unpacked. The most memorable and inspiring part of the week’s failures had been the 5am battle to reach the Cairngorm Plateau. Driving snow and gales. Whiteout. What the fuck had Robbo and me been thinking? In the beam of the headtorch I picked out a white carrier bag blowing in my direction. It was only when it tumbled nearer I realised it was a Ptarmigan, being beaten by the wind.  Her wings so used to being strong, carrying her body ,flapped like polythene. She clawed to snow and found purchase and hunkered down a metre away. I shone the torch. Her dark eyes blazed survival.    

I sat in my van on Morrisons car park watching people leave the train station and meet loved ones – a wet, close, loving embrace in the pouring rain. Closeness.  

I felt alone.

Heading for the underpass toward Fort William town centre – rippled and stirred by the wind, I avoided the large puddles. My mood was grey and dark. It had been too long since the last climb and hanging in wet Scotland made me dour – I had too much time to think.  

Streams of water poured down the tiles on the front face of the underpass. The inside was lit, almost dazzling compared to the nether world outside, music echoed and begrudgingly filtered outside and into the gloom.  

Buskers stress me, if I don’t add to their guitar case, hat, cup or whatever receptacle they use to catch change, generally I feel embarrassed and guilty but maybe that’s me and my prejudice – maybe busking is like writing and climbing, you need to be heard or read or actively involved no matter the pay, the piece of prose, the song, the grade…  but somehow I doubt it, I’m sure many buskers busk out of necessity?

This busker was in his fifties, a medium sized guy – wax jacket, bit of a belly, flat cap made of tweed, grey complexion and a life worn and weary face. He played an acoustic guitar and his singing and playing was really good. Emotion stirred deep into the pit of my stomach. I wondered why he needed to busk, what had gone wrong? His eyes were bright and sharp, eyes that also stirred something in me – something that punched me in that hollow self-pitying gut. I placed a few coins in his guitar case and looked him in those eyes. Swinging the guitar from side to side – strumming, singing – he gave me a nod and a knowing smile.     

Walking from the underpass, back into the rain, my mood felt lighter. I made a pact with myself to stop wallowing in self-pity and raw emotion and to cheer up – there was always a glimmer of hope and the small un-noticed things of life, like the Ptarmigan, bring some relief.

Walking back from internetting at Whetherspoons, along Fort William high street, a young boy sat in the doorway outside a shop licking a sherbet lollipop. He looked like the lad from the front cover of a Roddy Doyle book called Paddy Clarke ha ha ha – blond, skinny, very cheeky, his whole life ahead of him. ‘Lucky bugger’ I thought.

The first day of the BMC Winter International meet, the forecast was atrocious. What to do? My mood was once again sliding, but I thought of the busker, music, life, love, the cheeky young boy and the Ptarmigan and I knew life was a curve ball –  lows and highs, rights and wrongs, shit happens, sometimes times are good, sometimes it rains – this is what makes life, life, and this is what makes the good times good.

Extasy. VIII/8 Craig Meggy

Canadian, Jon Walsh and I, walked in, checked it out and the following day climbed the third ascent of Extasy on the Pinnacle Face of Craig Meagaidh. Its difficult to imaging that I will have a more compelling, engaging day of the winter than this one. We climbed the route totally on ice but the ice was less than perfect and the ground at times was steep. The gear to protect the climb was minimal and the descent ‘interesting’… All in all, a pretty full-on day.

Making the Cut VIII/8 FA, Jon Walsh, Greg Boswell, Nick Bullock. West Central Gully. Beinn Eighe.

The perfect day. Stunning settled weather, a magnificent situation and a line both Greg and I had spotted a few years back. I lost Scissor, paper, stone all day and climbed the third pitch which was still good but not as spectacular as the second pitch or as sustained as the first pitch. We called it Making the Cut after talking to Simon Richardson about the amount of entries he has on his blog Scottish Winter climbs.

For further info on The BMC International Meet the report is Here

Thanks to DMM for covering the cost of the week and thanks to Nick Colton and Becky McGovern of the BMC for the great work, friendship and help throughout the week.

Another dark start.

Greg, Will, Guy and I, just a few hours before had sat close together in front of The Kingshouse fire. The history inside these walls would have once been magic. Older now, the trick is to remember younger thoughts.

Another dark start.

I always find the stone stepped walk into Stob Coire Nan Lochan steep and miserable. It’s dark so I can’t look at the savage scenery. There are no animals or birds awake. Or if there are, they are hidden by the night.

The stream flows over ice-glazed rock and chunters its cold complaints at having to leave the hills and join ‘that’ other water.

The path is steep.

Following Guy Robertson in the opposite direction to the stream, I chunter about the rain. We sit on our bags and blather while taking a minute for a drink. This makes me laugh, when oh when did I become so laid back to stop and sit on bags and blather on a walk in?

Greg Boswell and Will Sim catch us. Greg complains that our sit and blather is an excuse now we have hit the snow. He’s wrong though.

****

Beneath the cliff the boulder field is no longer a boulder field. A field of white welds to the earth and butts against the fortress of rock we have come to climb.

Light now, one line in particular stands out. Greg and Will have also seen it, though to be honest you wouldn’t need the eyes of youth to pick this line.

“Are you looking at the Beyond Good and Evil line?” Will said to me without looking away from the cliff.

“Yes.”

“RACE YOU.” And with that Greg runs toward the cliff in thigh deep snow while laughing.

The Robbenator taking his chill pill! A new route on the left on the Creag an Dubh Loch.

Driving to Chamonix before Christmas, mile upon mile of autoroute… I smelt the desperation in Guy Robertson’s text messages… ‘I need. I want. I have to have.’

I sent a text back, ‘Chill Robbo.’

He continued to send texts, each becoming more desperate sounding and including bigger and bigger, more difficult to understand adjectives.

I replied… ‘Are you pissed?

Truth be told I’ve always worried about Robbo’s sanity, that’s possibly why we get on so well, but he was worrying me more than usual.

****
I returned from Chamonix keen to drive straight to Scotland to meet my slightly emotional, disturbed friend but two weeks had passed since the original texts and he was still devoid of that first success of a Scottish winter season. I now had more chance of sense from a daffodil.

“We meet Monday, we meet Tuesday, we meet Wednesday… I’m not meeting you now, I’m going out with Greg, with Pete, with anyone on Saturday, Sunday, in the day, the night, the never world… ”

I drove to Wales and the texts continued…

“Bloody incompetent weather forecasters.”

I surmised that the weekend had not gone to plan and now imagined my slightly off the wall friend turning into a camouflaged vest, combat trouser, Bandana wearing, AK 47 toting, Robbenator, who screamed lines from Rambo while lying in wait on the top floor of the multi-story car park outside the BBC weather centre.

The text messages continued…

“Get ready. Meet on the Spittal of Glenmuick car park on Friday.”

The messages told me what gear to bring including a map and compass. I knew then he had lost the plot completely!

The next text spelt all change once again…

“I’m not climbing with you, I’m climbing with Greg, you can climb with Will.”

The Greg in question was Greg Boswell and Will was Will Sim … No problem at all as I had climbed with Will and given the state of Robbo I did not have the correct drugs in my medicine cabinet required to bring him down to the same planet as the rest of us.

Will texted me then asking if I was free to climb at some point? I sent a text back saying I thought we already were?

It was finally decided that Greg, Will and I would arrive at the car park with a rack of gear each, push bikes, ropes and sustenance to climb in the Dubh Loch and as many chill pills as possible and fit with whatever plan the Robbentaor came up with.

At 9pm on Friday evening a small group huddled around my van and a plan was eventually made…

As I lay in the back of my van waiting for sleep to come, I said a prayer for good weather, favourable conditions and success for the following day as I feared for all our sanity and safety should Robbo fail once again!

Guy Robertson on his and Greg Boswell’s new route.

Iain Small climbing the first pitch of his and Simon Richardson’s new route on the right!

Will Sim setting off on our new route up the middle and into no-mans land!

Will Sim on the first pitch having just climbed the crux and wondering which way now?

Nick Bullock setting off on pitch two and regretting only having one stubby screw and a borrowed screw from Iain Small.

Into a world of thin…

Looking up to me on the belay beneath pitch three.

Will Sim at the top of pitch two.

Three dimensional on the start of pitch three which leads into thin and steep ice dribbles.

Boom… And relax!

On the eve of travelling to Scotland, where hopefully, in this winter of discontent I will climb something other than the walls of the CC hut in Roy Bridge, I thought I would post this review of Echoes.

I first read the review before flying to Canada and my initial impression and feeling which was one of enlightenment is intact.

Virtually all reviews of Echoes have been favourable but this one, more than most is  important given the credentials of the reviewer Terry Gifford.

Nemesis on The Stanley Headwall in 2013 form.

At the moment I’m fascinated by the movement of time.

And as the trip to Canada comes to an end it’s quite fitting that the last route was Nemesis, an ice-climb I climbed first with Dave Hunter in 2003 and at a time when Greg, who I climbed Nemesis with on this trip, was only twelve years old.

****

With each placement, pick into hard frozen, the ten previous years splintered. Shards – some clear, some smoked, some big, some small – splattered and flew to the snow at the base of the climb.

And what have I done in those ten years? Where will the next ten years lead?

I climbed Nemesis with Dave Hunter in March 2003, and it was later that year I left the Prison Service to become a writer and full time climber.

I have not seen Dave since. I wonder where he is and what he is doing with his life.

Time moves. Seasons change. Waves and tides turn.

The night turns to day, temperatures rise and fall. Water drips, freezes, drips and freezes.

Ice forms.

And with the forming of ice, people will climb it in whatever form it makes that year.

Sometimes it will form easy to climb. Sometimes it will form thin, brittle, chandeliered and stringy. It will be difficult to protect and difficult to climb, it will be difficult to see yourself ‘up there’.

But hopefully, the ice will continue to grow.

Nick Bullock on the first pitch of Nemesis 2013. Greg Boswell.

Greg Boswell, pitch two of Nemesis.

Nick Bullock, pitch three of Nemesis. Greg Boswell.

Another sun sets on our final visit to The Stanley Headwall 2013.

Raphael Slawinski from my previous trip to Canada. He is approaching the belay after Rob Greenwood, Raphael and myself had climbed the second ascent of Exterminator on The Trophy Wall, Rundle, which was actually a Slawinski route! I had belayed using an ice V-thread Raphael had made three weeks earlier on the first ascent and a stubby screw. He saw the screw belay and said, “Ah, a stubby in the belay, novel”

Walking the zig zagging snow trail into The Stanley Headwall, a trail that has become almost as familiar to me as The Ben Nevis track, we pass through the burnt husks of pine scorched by summer fire.  Greg Boswell and I, each in thoughts of our own. A head torch existence.

The massive silhouetted baulk of The Headwall dominates to our right.

The Headwall for me represents big multi-pitch adventure. This is my favourite type of winter climbing. But today in the lean ice conditions we are after a two pitch variation on a climb I still long to complete, Uniform Queen. The climb is Victoria’s Secret Deviation, first climbed by that man again, Raphael Slawinski. I know this line appeals more to Greg than me because of the published pictures of Raphael on the route and I’m sure because of the reputation the climb has for technical and sustained difficulty. This must inspire a young driven mind?

My interest in climbing Victoria’s Secret is not as piqued as Boswell’s. Even so, I am not out for an easy ride today. I have already said that I would like to lead the main pitch as the style of climbing sounds everything I relish, so who-ever goes first, will then abseil and strip the pitch in preparation for the second round.

I suppose my interest is even more heightened knowing Slawinski and knowing how well he climbs. He gave the pitch a grade of M7++ and basically what that means is, difficult. The fact Slawinski fell three times while attempting to make the first ascent, on the on-sight, is particularly daunting, but anyone who is a part of this totally irrelevant and somewhat pointless practice knows, the person up there the first time has a whole load of voices and barriers against them.

In winter climbing on traditionally protected routes and certainly routes that heavily feature cracks, it is easy to forget that as the climb becomes more travelled it also becomes easier. The gear is easier to spot and place, the pick slots clean out and the mono-point placements become worn and easy to see. Victoria’s Secret Deviation has seen some action but not a lot by any means, so it would be an interesting exercise. And in a way, for the first time on this trip, that was how I was looking at the day, it was exercise. Certainly for me, climbing a two pitch route was not going to compare with the likes of Rocketman, but to be honest, after Rocketman, I was relishing the thought of not climbing the whole day and into the dark and into temperatures of minus 18.

Standing beneath the route Greg and I scissor, paper, stoned for who was to be first up on the main pitch. Greg won. This was the best result I think as like I said, I was not that bothered. This has generally been a theme of my climbing, summer or winter, because in a way I’m quite laid back and there will always be enough to go around in the long run.

Victoria’s Secret as far as we both knew had only had two ascents, one by Slawainski of course and the second by that winter hard hitter and under the radar,  well as far as Britain is concerned, Jon Walsh. Walsh had fallen at the very top of the main pitch so the route had never had an on-sight ascent.

Greg took to the challenge well and soon was half way up the pitch that reminded me a little bit of Left Wall on Dinas Cromlech in the Llanberis Pass, North Wales. (Don’t worry, I’m not about to try this in winter people)

And after an hour or so, maybe it was more so than an hour, Greg made it to the top for the first on-sight and third over-all ascent.

This is possibly the first time in my life I have been involved in something like this in winter. My head was shouting insistently and saying what it usually does in similar situations but these situations are normally in summer, it was saying, ‘oh don’t be so petty, just second the pitch to save time and effort, you will have climbed it no-matter whether on lead or second’. But for once I refused to bow to the more sensible voice and allowed Greg to strip the pitch.

The first moves from the belay were tricky and insecure. The thread of doubt needled through my brain, but once I pulled onto the wall the fears subsided as the hooks were solid and the gear was good. Footholds, pick placements and planning was obviously going to be the way too getting up this thing clean and soon my mind warmed to the situation. Greg shouted beta, in a way he didn’t need to as it was obvious what to do, but I didn’t mind and there was no way I could call my ascent an on-sight anyway.

I steadily made move after move. Most of the climbing was very secure but there was a point at about half height where the good feet placements ran out and the pick placements were first tooth torques in the shallow crack. This in itself would not have been bad, the wall was just off-vertical, but the wall bulged and for the first time, hard pulling with feet on small edges and placed high was necessary. Several times through this section I pulled my head level with the pick imagining it exploding and hitting me in the face.

Moves had to be constantly planned and the higher I climbed the more scared of falling I became. It wasn’t because I was going to fall a long way, I just didn’t want to mess it up and the thought of Greg down there, wrapped in two jackets and glowing from his clean ascent, made me even more scared. It wasn’t a competition thing, he felt great about his climb and rightly so but possibly, if I fell, it would dampen his celebrations.

Tiny calcifications for feet, single tooth torques, cross over axe moves, balance, balance… time ticked, the climbing left to the top decreased and the more embroiled I became. Snow was falling, sticking to the rock, resting on the tiny edges.

At last, the very last move before a low angled snow gully and it was the typical Headwall scrape, catch, pull and pray with knees pressed to a ledge. This move was so easy to blow. My body trembled. There was so much tension running through it and the tension running through my brain was more. Three times I went to make the move and reversed, I was so afraid to mess it up but at last I committed and by good luck and maybe some skill, I didn’t fall and the groove was under my feet.

Walking out, the dark was engulfing once again and the snow steadily falling settled. Inside the yellow beam of my head torch I was contemplating.

No, Victoria’s Secret was not a nine pitch adventure, but it was an adventure and such a beautiful technical climb, which thanks to the vision of Raphael by not bolting it, it would stay up there in the memory as if it were something bigger and longer.

For more info on Victoria’s Secret Deviation on the Alpinist site click here

And for Ian Parnell’s take on the route and one of the pictures of Slawinski on the route click here

Nick Bullock starting pitch one of Uniform Queen.

Nick Bullock higher on pitch one of Uniform Queen with the wall looming.

Greg seconding the first pitch of Uniform Queen.

Greg on his way to making the first on-sight of Victoria’s Secret Deviation.

Nick Bullock on round two after Boswells successful third ascent of Victoria’s Secret Deviation.

Nick Bullock trying not to shake, or breathe. Getting more nervous with every move up!

Rocket Man: M7+, WI5+, 350m. The line of daggers running up the centre of the cliff to the right of the serac.

Once again I sit looking out of the Canadian Alpine Clubhouse window. A red squirrel, slim and elastic, bounces youthfully along the wooden decking. A freight train trundles the tracks that run parallel to the road leading into Canmore. Row after row of old hoppers are dragged behind the two tractors. Some are painted, but most are rusty.

Limbs ache.

An eighteen hour day has taken its toll. My body feels as rusty as a hopper and as drained of cargo when it is emptied at the port. But my mind is loud like the freight train horn.

Dave Thomson, Kefira Allen, Eric Dumerac and Raphael Slawinski’s Rocketman on Patterson, first climbed in March/April 1999, is up there with some of the most sustained climbs of the type I have been fortunate enough to climb. Sitting here in the warmth of the hut, looking out across the pine, the roads, the hills, the snow – my mind flits from Sea of Vapours, Man Yoga, No Use Crying, Riptide, Nemesis, Polar Circus, Whiteman Falls and Terminator. Each of these climbs has a place in my memory.

Sleeping in the car, the night before the climb, I listen to the wind. I sense the emptiness of The Icefields Parkway. The long icy road is running away from where I lie. The road is always running away.

****

A three-thirty start.

We crossed the river by hopping on icebergs. Stepping over fallen trees. Breaking the perfect cover that insulates the meadow. And the steep snow moraine which is a bastard – one hour and forty-five minutes of walking. I remember the five and a half hour thrash from 2008 when Parnell and I climbed Riptide, but this time the walk is soon over. Following the Youths steps in the snow helps.

Climbing begins at eight, like getting up for school.

Nine pitches – fat ice, thin ice, cruddy ice, unconsolidated snow, hard dry tooling, dripping daggers of clear frozen water, rotten rock. Images of Jon Walsh ripping a bolt when he pulled a hold are strong in my minds eye … and that descent –  that descent had too many sideways abseils over hanging cliffs. Shining the beam of my headtorch while spinning on a thread my body aches with tension. I’m unable to see the end of the rope.

Back at the bags at the base of the climb for nine pm.

And arriving at the quiet Canmore hut with lights left on at one-thirty.

Bed at one-forty-five is to the sound of heavy freight trundling along the tracks.

And I fall asleep wondering where and when those rusty hoppers will reach the end of the line.

For a description of Rocket Man click here

A good account of the first ascent from Raphael Slawinski and a return visit with Jon Walsh is here

And to get Greg’s account of Rocket Man click here

Thanks to Ian Welsted for the picture of Rocket Man that fired us up.

Rocket Man. “The ice is as fat as it gets.” Raphael Slawinski.

Greg Boswell getting us going at the start of the 350m route. Its like getting up to go to school.

Nick Bullock climbing the second pitch. ‘M3, a good warm up!’

Greg Boswell following the second pitch. I climbed too far but given the quality of the ice, I’m glad I did.

Boswell strapping it on to the M7 mixed pitch 3.

The icicle was good for a rest, well until you had to pull onto it, but the knee bar behind it made it even better! ‘A route with a knee bar is a righteous route.’ George Smith.

Nick Bullock setting out on pitch four. The Ice was a tad rotten to start but breezy after.

Nick Bullock climbing thin ice which by-passes some of the mixed. It was ok as long as gear is not your thing.

No gear! Greg Boswell following pitch five.

Nick Bullock climbing pitch six. Superb un-hooked ice in a less trod situation.

Here we go again. Lets play to the teams strengths, I do run-out ice while the strong youth does, strong! pitch 7.

Pitch 8. It was now dark but with only two pitches left we couldn’t just stop. Nick Bullock about to head left.

The moon looks on as Greg Boswell climbs the final, ninth pitch of Rocket Man.

In today’s instant online access it’s easy to lose some of the adventure, the unknown, the mystery. The forums abound with accusations of spray and hype and grade inflation for recognition. It’s true, climbs are hyped sometimes, but I’m pretty sure people generally see through the chaff and appreciate the crafted stoneground at the end of the bake.

If it wasn’t for inspirational writing and pictures and films how would we know about some of the climbs and the inspirational people out there?

Thanks to Jon Walsh and Jon Simms for putting up a world class climb in one of my favourite places in the world, The Stanley Headwall and thanks to Joshua Lavigne for filming an ascent of the two Jon’s. It was this film and the pictures that inspired me to climb what is a truly great and memorable route.

An account with all the gubbins needed to climb Man Yoga is here from Jon Walsh’s website.

A link to  Joshua Lavigne’s  film of Man Yoga is here.

For more pictures and Greg’s take on the day click here

I would normally lapel all pictures but there are too many and fighting with WordPress is not as much fun as climbing, so here they are, some with, some without captions.

Nick Bullock, the first ‘proper’ pitch after the intro solo pitch

Greg Boswell setting out on The Slab pitch.

Nick Bullock seconding The Slab pitch.

At the end of the exceptionally technical second slab pitch.

Greg lost the scissor, paper, stone which meant I climbed pitch 1 and 4 while he climbed pitches 2, 3 and 5. This is Greg setting off to climb the easiest and shortest pitch of the climb, pitch 3.

Setting out on pitch 4.

Nick Bullock climbing pitch 4.

Going through the roof on pitch 4.

Greg Boswell seconding pitch 4.

Greg cautiously climbing the groove above the roof on pitch 4. Tricky!

Greg Boswell climbing pitch 5. There should have been more ice! We met Jon Walsh at the base of the route, he was climbing something else with his partner Michelle. He said he thought the top pitch could be thin and spicy without the normal ice. He wasn’t wrong.

Nick Bullock seconding the final 5th pitch.

The end of another glorious Headwall day.