Great Escape. Nick Bullock.

Climbing Cracking Up on Clogwyn Du.

Winter is becoming like Christmas advertising, it appears to start earlier each year. Or does it? Does winter actually have to start nowadays before we all rush to the hills? Winter climbing in Britain has become very popular, especially with the rise in technology and the improvement of modern equipment. Everyone appears to be chomping to don bits of metal and scratch around at the first dusting.

As I sit here, tapping-away, the internet is full of North Wales condition reports and routes already in the bag. Personally it just hasn’t felt cold enough and on the QT, several people have told me of marginal, only partly frozen turf conditions. I’m not saying everything that’s been climbed over the last week or so has not been in condition – Clogwyn Du certainly looked in and reports of routes climbed on that brooding cliff have backed this. I’m not finger pointing, but climbers, try to be honest with yourself, was your route really in acceptable winter condition or are you possibly the thin edge that eventually causes winter climbing in Wales to be restricted or even banned?

As I ran up the Llanberis Pass in the pouring rain, the spray from the cars pelted and I watched the cliffs turn a darker shade of dark by the minute. Numb feet splashed through puddles, the wind sliced – I certainly had the moody blues. I knew people were out climbing, I wanted to be out climbing, I wanted that experience, but would the long term consequences of damaging the delicate have massive repercussions for everyone in the future? Feet crunched on shining, slippery slate flakes as I gasped the final rise of the Miners Track before turning around at Llyn Llydaw – I knew I could be patient.  

When it comes to keen for winter, being psyched – hanging from handles, teetering on front points and hunting for the unclimbed, hunting for another great memory of a shared experience – I think I rank quite high, but it just didn’t feel like winter, it all felt, well, soggy and marginal and in these conditions even I’m prepared to wait, but on inspection of the internet I could see there had been loads of folk out climbing in Wales and I really don’t believe, given the weather, they were all perfectly frozen.

Later in the evening I visited the Indi climbing wall where I completed an hour of chins and lock-offs, press-ups and knee raises, while hanging from Axes. Physical preparation early in the winter or even in autumn, if you want to push your grade, is, in my mind, vital. Vital not only to get to the top of something that tests, but vital for the rock and the vegetation. In Britain now we have dedicated areas for dry tooling which is a great way to prepare the body and mind and really get yourself fit.

A couple of years ago I climbed El Mancho on Clogwyn Du and I was shocked at how scratched, scarred and furrowed the soft Rhyolite was from where feet had thrashed. With good physical preparation and the ability to lock-off on placements as good as they are on El Mancho – and they are very good – there really is no excuse to be peddling and damaging.

Pushing your personal boundaries is of course what climbing is about, it is for me anyway, but there appears to be a lot of folk nowadays who think they can just jump straight to climbing VI/6 – and of course with the improvements of equipment they probably can – but maybe with a bit more patience and experience and strength they will damage the rock and the turf less and have a more enjoyable time.

I know you could say that anyone pushing their grade is going to struggle and peddle and damage, but if you have physically prepared and you have gradually built up the experience, you will know where to place your front-points and how to move smoothly over steep rock. Understanding that the pick placement is good makes you less nervous, you will be confident – which in turn reduces the doubt and the trashing of a delicate environment.  

Also the condition of the metal stuff you use is very important. It is vital to have super sharp pointy bits for mixed climbing, more important in fact than for ice, a thing that appears to surprise some people. Front points and picks need to be razor sharp. Blunt picks don’t bite and blunt front points skate. If in doubt buy new picks and front points – easy for me to say I know being sponsored, but it really does make a massive difference and in the end damages the crags less.

The medium we move across to fulfil our winter climbing ambitions is the most important part of our activity – this medium, the rock and vegetation are delicate and given the ever increasing popularity of winter climbing and the pressure on the crags we need to treat them with respect. None of us are innocent, winter climbing damages no-matter-what and on occasion we find ourselves on a pitch as the temperature increases and the turf becomes soft, but maybe on those marginal days, before you set out, before you get committed, ask yourself the question, is it worth the possible consequences?

Buddi says expeditions are run on eggs. BC Hunku Valley. Nick Bullock

The Hunku Valley Team. Buddi,Jack Geldard,Andy Houseman,Hippy,Gary Smith,Santosh,Me,Rob Chopper Greenwood.

Place a soft boiled egg in an egg cup with the pointy end up – hold – tap a few times near the top – the shell cracks. Then take the top off with a knife. As a kid I would douse the egg-filled cap with salt before scooping the white with a spoon.

****   

After walking-in for eight days which included crossing two mountain passes, Andy Houseman, the team, (also featuring intrepid doctor Tanya, Garry’s partner) Buddi and Santosh – the cook and cook hand – and me, set up BC on a dry, cracked meadow in the remote Hunku valley beneath Peak 41, Hunku and Chamlang. Chamlang, a monster mountain standing and shimmering, busting through the blue and tickling 7300m was the reason Houseman and I were there.

Rob Greenwood and Jack Geldard walked in with us to attempt a new route on Peak 41 and Garry Smith and The Hippy, Graham Desroy, hoped to make the first ascent of an unclimbed peak called Hunku. Hunku was also on Youth and my radar but the Hippy was getting territorial so we thought we would leave it alone for a while.

After about two weeks Rob, Jack, Garry and the Hippy left BC empty handed, they headed back to Blighty leaving Andy and me a further five weeks to climb a new route on the two thousand meter North Face of Chamlang.

Andy Houseman at 6200m on the West Ridge of Chamlang. Nick Bullock.

At this stage in the game we had already been to 5300m beneath the north face, to 5700m on the ridge opposite the north face, to 6200m on Chamlang’s West Ridge and to 6100m to Baruntse’s West Col. We WERE acclimatised – well, at least to 6000m – then the wind kicked-in. Great plumes of snow flew from the mountains and the overnight temperature at BC averaged around minus thirteen – one night it hit minus sixteen. Chilly! But we decided to have a look at Chamlang’s North Face anyway, so we walked the walk of the pointless and had a pop. Surprisingly (No irony intended) the snow on the face was perfect névé. The face was steep and complex – runnels, twists and turns, flutings, ice – Hadrian’s Wall on Ben Nevis – we were cranking – well no we weren’t, but we were making a small dent, a bit like that egg shell. At about 5700m we looked up to a maelstrom of madness happening above – happening in the just the place we knew we would be bivving. “Bugger that!” We ran back to BC to wait for another go.

Andy Houseman setting off on the North Face of Chamlang. Two thousand metres and counting! Nick Bullock.

Andy Houseman reaching the top of the snow cone on Chamlang’s north face. Nick Bullock

Andy Houseman on one of the steeper sections of Chamlang’s north face. Nick Bullock

As it happened, the winds didn’t abate and in a brief lull between gusts we decided on fall-back-option-one, a route Garry and The Hippy had looked at on Hunku, which would fill the time before another go at Chamlang.

Hunku is a long crumbing 6100m hill devoid of snow and ice for most of its several kilometre length. Actually it does look quite beautiful from the other end of the valley – all pointed and proper mountain-like – but mostly it is the slobbering bulldog surrounded by pointy beauty and its teeth are so loose a bite would not break the flesh of a baby.

Walk beneath Hunku’s crumbling walls for several kilometres toward the Amphu Labtsa Pass. And right in the middle of the dry and sunny east face there is a fault – a fold in the loose skin of the Bulldog, which, like fleas, we hoped to crawl – and this fold defends the snow and ice from the heat of the sun. And in this shivering oasis, slap bang in the middle of the barren,  there is a white streak and the streak leads direct to the unclimbed summit.              

The East Face of Hunku with the bulldog’s fold. Nick Bullock

Garry and The Hippy had bivvied beneath the fault and on close inspection found exceptionally rotten snow so they ran away. Sensible. But the day before Andy and I thought we would have a look, I had scrabbled the four hundred metre scree cone and looked up at white fingers clutching shallow grooves and thought, ‘Well if that isn’t névé I’ll eat my hat,’ and my hat was made of Gore-Tex, so I knew that would be rather chewy and nearly impossible. There was also the other benefit driving me which was the joy and satisfaction it would give me to let the Hippy know we had climbed his route. This may sound mean but I knew if we failed on Chamlang he would be on it like a rash, sending me messages with hot sweaty tapping fingers, fingers tapping quicker than a rat up the proverbial and imagine my joy to be able to say, ‘Ah well, no we didn’t climb Chamlang, but, oh, hold on a second…’ [*NOTE: Exactly this did happen! The Hippy is so predictable. ]

We left BC at 5am, on the 11^th of November and bloody hell, was it chilly. The sky devoid of moon looked like a TV set left on all night – fuzzy, a million flickering electrical stars. An hour later we reached the scree cone and an hour after that we geared up with not a lot. I took a few steps, crampons biting perfect névé, “Rotten snow my ass.” Then I proceeded to flounder in waste deep wallow. “How the fu#k is this not consolidated, it’s at the base of a massive fault that must run with spindrift and shit and all of that?”

It was light now and really bloody cold but the thrashing and sinking warmed us, and when Houseman reached the steep finger of snow and swung an axe and it went ‘THUNK’ we both warmed even more and began what turned into a great 600m climb somewhat resembling The Swiss Route on the Courtes in The French Alps. Flutings, pure ice bulges, streaks of névé and all in the most mind blowing of setting. Everest and Lhotse, black and massive with plumes pushing into the sky to our right, Baruntse, Makalu, Hunku Chuli and Chamlang behind.

Makalu and Hunku Chuli from half way up The East Face of Hunky. Nick Bullock

Andy Houseman starting up Hunku in pretty fridgid temps. Nick Bullock

Andy Houseman contemplating the second streak band of Hunku’s east face. Nick Bullock

Nick Bullock climbing the second band of snow streaks. Hunku East Face. Andy Houseman.

Nick Bullock climbing ‘The Ice Pitch’ in the centre of Hunku East Face. Andy Houseman.

Andy Houseman in the middle of Hunku’s East Face. Nick Bullock

Nick Bullock on the Summit of Hunku. Andy Houseman.

Nick Bullock & Andy Houseman on the Summit of Hunku. Nick Bullock

And at nearly 2pm we stood on the small summit, agog with the spectacle of standing amongst a thousand hills, a thousand dreams. Life was good.

After abseiling the route we trudged back to BC in the dark reaching the glowing tent at 9pm where Buddi and Santosh presented us with egg (fried not soft boiled) and chips. We would have been earlier but we had spent half-an-hour searching for my shoes, which I had stashed beneath a boulder at the foot of the scree and then forgotten which boulder was hiding my shoes.

Chamlang never happened. We waited and waited – Houseman called his Dad for weather updates from the internet – we sat and looked and waited – but the forecast was predicting high winds (70kmh at 6000m) for nearly everyday and in the end we bailed.

Now, going back to that soft boiled egg. Himalayan climbing can be cruel. No, in fact it can be a real bitch. After six weeks and loads of effort and gales and regular -15 in the valley, we crossed the Mera La and dropped into the Hinku valley. Something was missing. I stood looking out over deep valleys and pointy mountains, Mera, Kyashar, Kusum Kanguru – and for the first time in weeks it was still and warm – the weather resembled something like the Costa Blanca. Pools of glacial water sparked like the Mediterranean. I wore shorts and a t-shirt. ‘What the hell.’

For a day or two reports had been filtering to us that a three man Japanese team had summited Kyashar and on the second day of our walk-out we caught up with them in Khotte Village. The sun flitted through the pines, warmth seeped into my bones.

THE BOYS! The successful Kyashar team. Nick Bullock.

Stepping into the middle of the wooden platform – kind of like a bandstand in a park – it was probably used for Maoists a few years ago to swing machine guns and charge tourists -I introduced myself “Hi, congratulations on Kyashar, I’ve tried to climb it once and Andy here has attempted it twice, which way did you climb it?” The three of them turned to look at me with puzzlement. One of them was young, really fit looking with a nasty tare in his cheek. One was mid-thirties, bright eyed and no-doubt a hit with the girls and the third guy had short, slightly thinning and greying hair, a goatee beard, a gnarler with a massive smile and a warm attitude. “Ah, you from England, do you know Andy Houseman?” Pointing at Youth I shouted, “That’s him!” Serious faces, a-million-mile-stare-faces, cracked then, huge smiles spread across tanned and we all had a laugh. “You nicked our route.” “Yes, but it was a vewy good route, vewy difficult, loose rock, sugar snow.”    

Turns out they climbed the exact line both Andy and I had dreamed, the line I picked out and raved about in 2008 when we were there for another mountain, the line which the year before we had sat and waited beneath for four weeks. The snow on that occasion had poured down the face, covered the boulders scattered randomly around the meadow, plastered the Granite and scuppered our dreams.    

I had no animosity or ill feeling, and I had no reason too, climbing is free, is open mindedness, (Hmm!) its for all and anyway these guys were cool and good fun, I was chuffed for them, but looking into their minds, delving beneath the skin, into bone, connective tissue, muscle – feeling their contentment, their weary sereneness, this is what I wanted, I craved this feeling, I crave this feeling, this is one of the reasons I climb big hills, this is the reason I push as many anti-acid tablets down my throat as possible to resolve the indigestion of repeated failure, it was like someone was scooping out that white egg cap with a spoon – a scraping-scratching, a sucking from deep inside my intestine. This is why Himalayan climbing is cruel; this is why not so many people do it – it’s an egg cap of white sucking away at you which at times leaves a void, a wanting, a craving that is seldom satisfied.

These Japanese guys were not Giri Giri Boys – they were as good though – and they were friends and climbed regularly with the before mentioned – so I asked, “Was it really windy, was is very cold, did you suffer, are you hardcore to the marrow, was the climbing nails?”

“Oh no, it was warm through the day with no wind.” Was the answer I didn’t want to hear and the climbing sounded technical and a tad scary but certainly not completely out-there.

The egg schlurrped from the side of my intestines more, I should have added extra salt to increase the burn and I had used all of my Renne as we crossed the Mera La, leaving the cold, entering Costa Blanca Hinku. We had been in the wrong valley, attempting a hill that was too big given the weather conditions.

But then another thought hit me and made me wonder. (It still is actually) When is it that climbing a beautiful new route to a previously unclimbed summit in the Himalayas can leave you thinking you have been short changed? And then another thought hit me harder. Maybe I need to stop eating eggs.

 Route Details

Hunku East Face, 6100m. The Hunku Valley, Nepal. Houseman/Bullock. 11^th November 2012.

The climb is easily seen on the left just past the White Lake camp spot as you head towards The Amphu Labtsa Pass.

Thrash the scree slope. 400m, then climb the obvious snow and ice – direct at first – then a little bit right passing the crux ice pitch, (Scottish IV) until motoring direct, via flutings, to the summit which is just over the top of the face by way of a tricky mixed step. 600m.

The descent for the top half was on ice screw threads and rock gear on the lower section.

The ascent and descent took approximately 12 hours.

In my mind, (a scary place I know) this climb deserves a few more ascents, it’s fun and high quality and lands you in the middle of some of the most stunning mountains in the world. If you can climb Scottish IV and are reasonable fit and competent, combining this climb with a trek out via the Amphu Labtsa would be a really rewarding trip away from the crowds.

Hunku East Face with the Houseman/Bullock line. Nick Bullock

Disclaimer

This climb is not the hardest, the biggest, the best – it is not cutting edge, the last great problem or worthy of a major spray, what it is, what it was, is a really good, safe, fun climb, in a spectacular situation and that is what it’s about isn’t it? 

 Thanks

Loben Sherpa, from Loben Expeditions who pulled out all of the stops to make this one work especially in the airport at Kathmandu.

Ian Wall, Steve Findlay and Chris Horobin for info, pictures and motivation.

The BMC

The MEF

The Chris Walker Memorial Fund

The Welsh Sports Council

The Alpine Club

And my sponsors, Mountain Equipment, DMM and Boreal.

Chris Walker. http://www.chriswalkertrust.co.uk/

The early morning cold-crackle surrounded Houseman and my prone forms. A cloud of condensation crawled from my mouth, dampening the fabric near my face. I rolled and pulled the sleeping bag around my shoulders and stared at the plywood wall. Outside the window, feet shuffled in the dirt and a cockerel shouted his wake-up, quickly drowned by the screech of rubber hitting the runway and the whine of a jet engine.

I lay on the narrow bed in Paradise Lodge, Lukla, feeling robbed – robbed of all our gear and robbed of the chance to climb a new route on Peak 41, robbed of an experience. I rolled again and pulled the bag over my head in an attempt to turn-off the day. Houseman, also wrapped against the cold, in the bed next to me shuffled. A voice outside, out on the lodge veranda pulled me from my miserable lethergy. The voice was English, I couldn’t place the accent but it was broad and friendly and welcoming.

I pulled myself up, turned and looked down to the table which filled the veranda near the entrance to the lodge. And just for a second it was my first time here, here in the thin smoke filled air, here at this lodge with Jules Cartwright and Al Powell and I was sat there, just there, where the English guy sat smoking a cigarette and drinking a mug of milky tea. He reminded me so much of Cartwright, tall and gangly, an unruly mop of hair, unshaved, smoking and emanating an air of this is where I belong. I quickly got up, grabbed a cuppa and went to speak to the guy outside.

His name was Chris and he was guiding a group, but unlike some of the ‘guides’ I had encountered in the Khumbu, it was obvious Chris was very much at home and experienced and in the place he wanted to be. We gelled immediately – shared stories, another brew and more stories. Houseman turned up and joined in the conversation. It turned out we had mutual friends and had climbed some of the same climbs. Houseman and I were both fed up having had most of our gear robbed from our BC, but talking to Chris, feeling his enthusiasm and excitement from being amongst the mountains, a place he obviously felt comfortable and at home, rubbed off, it reminded us that we would be back – we would once again feel a similar excitement to that of this gangly Cartwright like figure now stood in front of us.

I never met Chris Walker again, Chris died in the mountains of Scotland two years later. I remember when I heard about the accident, it took me immediately to that morning in Lukla and how speaking to Chris had lifted both Houseman and me. But this time, instead of gear, something so easy to replace, I knew the climbing world had been robbed of a great inspirational character and a lovely guy. Whenever I think of that morning I still feel robbed of the chance to get to know Chris but I know my loss can be nothing to that of those that knew and loved him.

Andy Houseman and I leave for Nepal on Sunday for an attempt at a new route on Chamlang’s North Face which is situated in the Hunku Valley. Our starting off point will be Lukla and I’ll make sure to have a brew and sit at that table and take the time to remember.

Amongst other very generous grants from The BMC, The MEF, The Welsh Sports Council and The Alpine Club we have also received £1000 from The Chris Walker Memorial Fund, thanks, I hope we can do Chris’s memory proud.

Chamlang North Face. Credit Cory Richards.

Al Powell on Jirishanca’s summit slopes.

Before I started climbing I would watch documentaries or read books about individuals who had forsaken the ‘normal’ path and chosen something different. While watching or reading, never once did I think these individuals were arrogantly looking down their noses at me or smugly shouting about how good they were. Their stories inspired, they gave me a brightness on the horizon to dream, even though, at times, where I dreamt was very different from their choice. And if they had not told their story, well how would I know about it and how would I be inspired?

In making the short film Echoes. Outside is hot and sticky with Lukasz and Wojtek, two very talented and inspiring people, we set about to make a film that would hopefully inspire others with their choice, it was never intended, like some have said on UKC, to be a slight on people who have chosen a different way from that which I have taken.

I have been accused by some of being arrogant and smug, I am neither. I am an average bloke who climbs average and I have never said anything different, I am certainly not cutting edge and have never described myself as such, as suggested by one person. Some have suggested that the story, giving up security is not a story. I suppose that maybe it isn’t for a bolder or younger person than myself or for a person with a family security-net, or for someone who has grown up with the confidence a privileged homelife can give, but for me, and I’m sure for many in in the middle of their lives, giving up everything you have grown up to believe life was about was terrifying and certainly not easy.

I always knew by making the film I would open myself up to ignorant comments from some, not all by any means, but certainly some – comments that would be so far off the mark as to be laughable, if they were not so hurtful – but that I suppose is the nature of the beast of todays instant button hitting and if by making this film we have inspired one or two people well that’s OK, job done.

If nothing else comes from writing the book – meeting, getting to know and having a great laugh with this truly inspirational and brave guy, who was/is definately one of my inspirations, climbing and writing, will be enough. John Coefield http://www.v-publishing.co.uk/

Echoes and Beyond. I think that’s what I’ll call this lecture, although it will no-doubt change with each airing. You may think I’ve written the dates below to advertise, but actually its to remind me when and where I need to be.

If you’re interested there will be more info I’m sure on the links below and on http://www.mountain-equipment.co.uk/home.asp or http://www.v-publishing.co.uk/ I will not have anything on the blog I don’t think because from the 30th of September I’ll be in Nepal for two months.

What the talk will include (Some of this could/will change as I’m putting it together now) is a couple of stories from the book, possibly a reading from the book, some anecdotes about the writing procedure, then I’ll cover some more up-to-date stuff, possibly new routing and climbing in Scotland last winter, featuring a bit of film by James Dunn, The Slovak Direct in Alaska, some music to Canadian ice and mixed and I’ll have a 12 minute film put together by Ray Wood and Ray Saunders about climbing Melody, a hard rock climb on the Lleyn Peninsula in Wales.

Please don’t ask me to do any lectures in February or March or April or May… Well, in-fact for the rest of the year until November, I’ll be out climbing, after all, that’s what its about innit 😉

December 6^th Plas y Brenan, for the Diploma for Mountain Medicine Course.

December 11th, Bryanston school, Dorset.

December 13th for The Alpine Club. AC Clubhouse, 55 Charlotte Road, London. Library open all day, bar opens at 6pm and the lecture starts at 7.30pm http://www.alpine-club.org.uk/

January 8^th, Shrewsbury for www.highsports.co.uk, High Sports, 51/52 Wyle Cop, Shrewsbury, SY1 1XJ

January 9^th, Lutterworth College for The Bowline Climbing Club, Leicestershire. http://www.bowlineclimbingclub.co.uk/

January 10th Harrogate Climbing Centre http://www.harrogateclimbingcentre.com/

January 12th BMC Expedition Symposium Plas y Brenan. North Wales. http://www.thebmc.co.uk/   

January 17^th to 20^th London Outdoor Show for DMM. http://dmmclimbing.com/

January 24th Solihull Mountaineering Club. Old Edwardians Rugby Club, Streetsbrook Road, Solihull, B90 3PE  http://www.solihullmc.org.uk/index.html

January 29th Manchester climbing Centre http://www.manchesterclimbingcentre.com/

February 1st – 3rd Mount Washington Valley Ice Festival, New Hampshire, USA.  http://www.mwv-icefest.com/

On the summit of Denali after climbing The Slovak. One of the best moments of my life. Nick Bullock.

Recently, while listening to the news on radio 4, a report piqued my interest. The broadcaster was playing an interview she had introduced by saying ‘Not everyone was happy about the Olympic Games.’

“The Olympics is a waste of money.” One man said.

I focused on this comment more than the others because on the run up to the opening ceremony of the 2012 games I shared a similar thought. Britain, in my opinion, has become land of those with and land of those without and the gap between the two appears as big as Yosemite Valley. As usual the politicians are telling those without, to tighten belts; be frugal.

When the Olympics started I found it quite ironic the National Health Service played a big part of the opening ceremony – I couldn’t help wonder if the money that had been spent on the Olympics was invested into the health service, what a difference it could make to relieve some of the deficit and help the people who need treatment.

The Olympic stand is a tremendous building, it’s bright and shiny and spectacular, but it must have been like a taunt, erected so near a rundown council estate where people live in poverty. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind of living in one of the flats, struggling to feed my family and looking from the window to watch millions of pounds being lavished on this building.

As a mountaineer I have been fortunate to go on expeditions to the greater ranges every year for nearly twenty years. I have received money from several grant bodies including the BMC. The cash available from the BMC came from The Sports Council, but when Britain won the bid for the Olympics, The Sports Council withdrew funding from the BMC to fund the Olympics. I felt a little hard done to, why was my choice of activity less worthy?

I’m a fan of cycling, especially the Tour de France, so after Bradley Wiggings won The Tour and Mark Cavendish, David Millar and Chris Froome won stages in The Tour, I was interested to see how they fared in the Olympics.

Wiggins stormed the time trial winning gold. I was so chuffed for him, a more down to earth, devoted guy I don’t think you can find. I then turned to watching cycling in the velodrome. British cyclists dominated. It was obvious with lottery funding, support and coaching and a massive amount of dedication, great things could and did happen. Watching the British cycling success made me feel humble knowing how much time and effort the people involved had given and when they were interviewed it was heart-warming to see their joy and pride and relief.

I turned to athletics – sitting in front of the box on what became known as Super Saturday I didn’t know what was about to unfold and as the evening progressed I became more and more involved. I watched Jess Ennis win the heptathlon. What an achievement for such a ‘normal’ working class woman who has given and dedicated so much for her sport. A massive smile and tears told everything. I connected, I knew what it was like to risk and sacrifice and suffer. I watched Greg Rutherford, a gangly red-head who I had never heard of. He stirred the crowd by swinging his arms and clapping before winning the long-jump. I discovered Rutherford had had his troubles – lack of motivation through serious injury had held him back – but here he was a fighter who had decided, ‘I am good enough, I will do this – this is what I want.’ His determination, coming back from injury is admirable – proof, that if you want something bad enough it can happen.

Inspiration for the ‘normal’

The highlight of the evening though was watching Mo Farah, an unassuming Black Muslim guy who had grown up in Somalia until he was eight when he left to live in Britain. (Wish I was a fly on the wall of the Daily Mail offices when this unfolded, “Erm, we have a problem.”) I sat on the sofa bouncing and screaming as Mo, (I felt I could now call him by his first name as I had known him all of ten minutes) sprinted the final corner of the track – he was in the lead, sweating, fighting-off the opposition, eyes as big as Pond Lilly leaves, dwarfing his gaunt face – breathing, sweating, fighting… Crossing the line first, he must have heard my scream even though I sat on a sofa in North Wales, he had won the 10 000 metre race. What guts and effort from all of the competitors, but Farah’s quiet and almost serene demeanour had made him my favourite. He was a fighter, one of life’s survivors.  

Yesterday was the final day of the Olympics and over the past seventeen days my opinion and emotion about the event has been up and down as much as Tom Daley in the diving competition. What a great achievement for any person, no matter what nationality, to dedicate so much time and effort into becoming skilled and fit enough to be selected for the Olympics – what a feeling this must be for the individual. I can only relate it to standing on Denali’s summit after climbing a route I had dreamed for so long, The Slovak Direct – it made the running, circuits and years of training worth the effort. Several times while watching the TV I heard, “This is the best moment of my life.” And as someone who has trained hard for my chosen activity, watching and seeing these people, knowing how much they had given is humbling. Who can complain about that? Well Rupert Sawyer can here

Sawyer actually makes some interesting points that I agree, although his acerbic style makes me feel ill. I suspect he has lived a life without feeling passionate about anything. He says that British athletes do not give value for money. I would disagree.

The way I see it is many of us are born and grow up to live a certain life – follow an expected path. Unfortunately this path for the less fortunate, less privileged, is something similar to Neo, the character played by Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, who is kept alive in a glass jar to give the intelligent machines a source of bioelectrical energy, or in real terms, those of us who are brought up (it could be called brainwashed) to believe we were born to do manual work to keep society afloat which in turn supports the privileged – before we are drained of power or in real terms, die. If by watching and being inspired by Ennis, Farah, Wiggins, Ainslie or Hoy, some kids, or even adults realise they can break that glass jar and pull out that controlling cable plugged into their brain and live a life less ordinary, well, in my opinion every penny paid to athletes is worth it and if Rupert Sawyer can’t see this maybe it’s because he didn’t grow up to be a battery.    

The ‘normal’ folk of Britain deserve something to make them feel good about living in double dip Britain, but let’s hope, like eating chocolate, we don’t have a sugar low as real life, post Olympic euphoria kicks in.

I now don’t mind losing funding for my expeditions from the Sports Council, mountaineers in Britain have grants such as The MEF, The BMC, The Mark Clifford, The Nick Estcourt Award, The Chris Walker Memorial Trust, The Shipton/Tilman Award, The Alpine Club Grant, and the Welsh Sports Council – we are very fortunate. (links to these grant bodies are in the friends link on this blog) I suppose my only wish is we remember that there is a country outside the Olympics which is in dire need of similar support and maybe if some of the banks, supermarkets, oil industry and businesses who make billions and billions of pounds profit each year could only see a way to share some of their wealth and put it into events like the Olympics, then money from tax could be used for things where it will help everyone – the sports people, the people on the NHS waiting lists, the unemployed, the people in poverty, the homeless, the abused, the untrained and the mentally ill. Then with this extra support maybe more people could become gold medallists in their own right and getting that job, having that operation, sleeping in that bed, eating that meal will be the best day of their life. 

Echoes front cover @ Vertebrate Publishing

In my final few days as a PE Officer in the prison service I visited the staff accounts office. The accountant, a somewhat forthright lady had the reputation of Rottweiler and after working at the prison for over three years I knew why.

“What are you going to do?” The Rottweiler growled as we talked about my recent resignation.

“I’m going to climb.”

“But what about money, what are you going to do for money?”

“I’m going to be a writer.”

“But what will you write about?”

“I’ll write about climbing, my life, the prison, there’s loads of stuff to write about.”

The Rottweiler’s solid head tilted, she looked over the top of her glasses in an admonishing school mistress way.

“I look forward to reading it.”

For over 15 years I had paid – compulsory – into the widows and orphans fund even though I didn’t have anyone who was going to benefit from my death and be a widow or an orphan. I was asking for the money back, and the Rottweiler informed me that I would get a full return but only when I was sixty years old and only after I personally showed up at the prison. Disappointed, I walked toward the door, “Good luck with the writing.” The Rottweiler barked – she looked sceptical.

I stepped down the narrow spiral stairwell of the stone turret, (HMP Welford Rd was built to look like a castle) while walking away from the administration offices and replayed the conversation, I heard my own voice say, ‘I’m going to be a writer’ and I laughed and thought, ‘Yeah, of course I am … What a pillock.

On September the 3rd, nearly nine years to the day after that conversation, Echoes will be published, so I suppose I’ll be a writer then but I’m not really sure how much of a proper writer I am – I can’t spell, I haven’t a clue where commas are supposed to go and I really have no idea about grammar – but to tell the truth, I don’t care, I just enjoy writing.

Not long after the Rottweiler conversation, three years into my ‘writing career’ I wrote an article, also called Echoes, which was published on UKC, some of the comments this piece of writing received on the UKC forum are priceless and one of the more interesting posts was from Andy Kirkpatrick who generously offered advice and writing rules for me to take on-board. Here is Andy’s post, 

“Hi

I’m very critical of peoples writing (including my own), and having spent 3 weeks solid working on one chapter in the Banff writing program, I thought I’d pass on a few thoughts I have on writing, to anyone who’s listening.

NEVER talk about grades.

NEVER use the word ‘Suddenly’.

NEVER use exclamation marks.

AVOID similes at all costs (1 per chapter – not one per paragraph).

Keep your writing simple and as short as possible (500, 1000, 2000 words).

AVOID blow by blow accounts of moves etc.

DON’T try and impress people by how hard you are, or what a good climber you are.

Never tell anyone how you’re feeling (I felt…ect), only tell them the situation you’re in.

Find a good editor and listen to them.

Don’t listen to the 85% of people who tell you your writings good, rather take notice of the 15% that tell you it’s crap (it probably is).

I don’t like Nick’s style personally (it’s hard to digest and I always feel he’s trying to impress me to much, and for far too long), but he has four star adventures and combines them with four star ideas. I think he could come up with a really great book – but without a very strong editor and a willingness to learn and change his style, I can’t see it.

Of course the hardest thing is to write something interesting, moving and valuable, which can be understood by non climbers.

Andy” 

Cheers for that Andy, I look forward to your comments on whether you think these rules still apply and what you think about this more up-to-date version of Echoes?

For me I find rules of any kind are generally, to use a cliché, made for breaking. The original piece of writing Andy’s comments were written about was experimental, it was about me finding a way, finding what works and what doesn’t, and yes, several years down the line I think some of Andy’s comments were correct and valuable, but come on, NEVER and DON’T and ‘rules’ of what to do and what not to do in writing, the day I follow rules is the day I give up writing, climbing and anything else that insists I conform.

Writing will always be a personal thing, some people will hate with passion while others will love and that’s fine. I just wish folk would appreciate this before writing some intelligent comment along the lines of “This is shit.”  Comments like this make me want to shout, no it isn’t, maybe its not to your taste, but it isn’t shit. I personally dislike Thomas Hardy’s writing, but there are a lot of people out there who will disagree and obviously, it’s not shit, it’s just not to my taste. I hate the writing of Dan Brown, I think the book The Da Vinci Code is really bad – in fact so bad I couldn’t finish it when I was stuck in a tent for nine days in Alaska in 2005 – but there are millions and millions of people who love it, so obviously it must have some redeeming factors. Cormac McCarthy is one of my favourite writers, he breaks so many of ‘the rules’ it’s a wonder he hasn’t been executed by the literary police. It makes me wonder what advise the literary pundits on UKC would have given Cormac if, in the early days, he had published Blood Meridian on the site. “But he wrote a whole paragraph without using one comma, unreadable flowery shit!” (Whoops, sorry Andy, there is one of your rules broken – heaven forbid!!)    

When I write I set out to be honest – Echoes is an account of growing up, finding my way, working in the prison service and trying, after attempting to fit in, to live true for me and with integrity. It’s about finding climbing which massively changed my life and its about learning how to stay alive when climbing and how to get through life when not climbing. Echoes is about growing up to live one type of life, but finding something that opened up a whole different path which possibly saved my life. I would prefer for people to love it or hate it. (“Ah, you want a Marmite book.” – Ed Douglas) I will have failed if it falls into mediocrity. Hopefully people will not say its shit, but there is one thing for sure it breaks a few rules.

A link to a short film on Vimeo about the book and to Vertebrate Publishing for more info is here

A link to the book bumph is here

I have just finished five days of filming with the Polished Project guys, Lukasz Warzecha and Wojtek Kozakiewicz. The film has been commissioned by Mountain Equipment and will have direct quotes from the book and give people more of an idea of its subject matter and the author (me). The film, which is a stand-alone piece of work and not an advert, will also have great imagery, straight talk and will hopefully inspire. It is due out at a similar time to the book, the 3^rd of September.

On the BMC International Meet last winter I climbed a new direct finish to the route Pic and Mix. James Dunn has kindly put this teaser together and a longer clip of film to be shown at the following lectures listed below. Mindless Finish to Pic & Mix

I intend to give some lectures which will include readings from Echoes, stories of some of the climbs and the people included in the book and film and pictures from some of my more recent climbs in Scotland, Alaska and Wales. There will be more info about each talk nearer the time. The dates so far are

Tuesday September 4th, 7.30pm, Outside Cafe, Hathersage. Book Launch. Info here

December 6^th Plas y Brenan, for the Diploma for Mountain Medicine Course.

December 11th, Bryanston school, Dorset.

December 13th for The Alpine Club. AC Clubhouse, 55 Charlotte Road, London. Library open all day, bar opens at 6pm and the lecture starts at 7.30pm http://www.alpine-club.org.uk/

January 8^th, Shrewsbury for  www.highsports.co.uk, High Sports, 51/52 Wyle Cop, Shrewsbury, SY1 1XJ

January 9^th, Lutterworth College for The Bowline Climbing Club, Leicestershire. http://www.bowlineclimbingclub.co.uk/

January 10th Harrogate Climbing Centre http://www.harrogateclimbingcentre.com/

January 11^th The Epicentre Ambleside. www.theepicentre.co.uk/

January 17^th to 20^th London Outdoor Show for DMM. (To be confirmed)

January 29th Manchester climbing Centre http://www.manchesterclimbingcentre.com/

The Review Copy. vertebrate Publishing

Andy Houseman lost amongst the situation, day 2 of the Slovak. Nick Bullock.

Houseman and I left 14000-camp on the West Buttress by down climbing and jumping the crevasses of the Wickwire. If the weather forecast had been correct we wouldn’t have gone…  

Sprinting beneath huge smiling seracs, lung skin ripped raw. Sleeping on a snow-step beneath the Japanese couloir on the Cassin, until, in the frigid early morning air, we climbed onto the crest. Abseils onto the east-fork glacier beneath the objective – The Slovak – A feeling of being a long way from anywhere. Committed.

The sun shone. Unbeknown to us it was the final day of the settled spell – rocks rattled, seracs collapsed … we sat and wilted like fresh cut flowers while water ran down granite. We waited.

In the night, already withered, we packed, but Big Bertha, that hanging ice monolith half way up the face which separates the 58 technical pitches of the Slovak from The Cassin Ridge carved. “Shall we run?” Damn right we shall. Grabbing bags, and crampons and water bottle and boots, Houseman being younger got the better start. I stood watching billowing snow-cloud eating up distance like the sea on a spring tide and accepted. Bertha’s freshly cut finger clipping lost power, but the wind and the dust, like the destruction of a tower block blown-up, hit and shook.

Again we set out, but this time a serac above the beginning of the climb crumbled and so we slid into sleeping bags and gave it an hour more.

The wall was big. Jesse Huey’s words rattled my mind, “From half way it’s only one way, over the top, reverse is not an option.” Over the top – knackered, in a storm, out of food, out of energy – Over the top of the highest summit in North America. Maybe this whole outing was over the top, approaching the climb had already taken two days… Over the top?

The wall was quiet. 

 I stood … in silence.

 ****

Ever since reading Mark Twight’s account of climbing the Slovak in a single push along with Scott Backes and Steve House I have dreamt about attempting this climb. It’s one of those rights of passage routes – five thousand, five hundred feet of technical climbing, three thousand five hundred feet of classic mountaineering – nine thousand feet in total (included for those whose maths is as bad as mine). Climbing the Slovak was a realisation of a dream, thanks to Andy’s sponsors The North Face for supporting this trip and to Andy (Youth) for talking me into going along, commiserations to Andy Nelson for not getting the time (I was set on rock climbing in Wales and Andy Nelson was Youth’s original partner). 

The climb took two days to approach by down climbing from camp 14000 via the crevassed and threatened Wickwire route and then by crossing the Cassin Ridge and abseiling the original 1961 start to the Cassin. A day was lost sitting at the base waiting for the face to cool.

A false start when the seracs woke-up high on the face, led to the actual start at around 2.30am on the 23^rd of June. The frosty coating from Big Bertha’s dusting was still attached to our outer layer

We climbed for nine hours on day one until reaching ‘the bivi in the schrund’ Most of the climbing on the first day was reasonable although one steep hanging icicle provided spice.

Day two provided the raw flesh of the Slovak, twenty seven hours in a single push reaching slopes at the side of Big Bertha and then on to the Cassin. The climbing was similar to The Colton/Macintyre on the Grandes Jorasses but on steroids, there was just so much quality. Runnels, goulotte, icefall, Cairngorms mixed, Canadian waterfall ice, and all in an amphitheatre that large we were insignificant insects. I attempted to free climb the A2 crux first climbed on the second ascent by Gilmore and Mahoney but  five metres short of easier ground with biceps cramping I ran out of gear. Being no place to snap an ankle I lowered and allowed Youth to get up by any means, not to say he couldn’t have freed the pitch, but time had been wasted and there was still a long way to go. The weather deteriorated through this second day to the point that the spindrift was nearly knocking Youth from the wall on the last technical pitch leading to the Cassin. I would have chosen to have settled in for some R&R but Youth was keen to escape the face.

Sat in a tent/bag (the wind and snow were so much we couldn’t erect the tent), we still had approximately four thousand feet of The Cassin to climb. We ate our final freeze dried meal at around 6am. Climbing the upper section of The Cassin was purgatory, deep snow and poor weather and we stopped once again in strong winds at approximately 18000ft. The following day after what felt and sounded to be hurricane force winds from or little crisp bag tent we traversed to Denali Summit (20,328ft, 6194m) at around 4pm on June 27^th four days and three nights from starting to climb. After the obligatory summit shots and celebrations we descended the West Buttress and reached our 14000 camp at about 9pm after receiving drink and food from well-known Denali guide Verne and his clients at 17000.

Although I have climbed extensively in the Himalayers, the feeling of being ‘out there’ has almost never been so strong as on this climb.     

Slovak Direct. AK Grade VI WI6 M6+ A2 2700m. Adam, Krizo and Korl 1984.

Andy Houseman has now written a more factual account with a plethora of images here

Andy Houseman day one of the Slovak. Nick Bullock

Andy Houseman on one of the ice crux pitches, day two of the Slovak. Nick Bullock

Nick Bullock climbing one of the steep ice pitches, day two of the Slovak. Andy Houseman.

Andy Houseman on the traverse pitch above the crux, hour twenty-two of day two. Nick Bullock

On the Cassin Ridge in the crisp-bag-tent, hour twenty-seven. Nick Bullock

Nick Bullock feeling the strain? At 18000 on the Cassin, knackered, storm force wind but still Denali to cross before respite. Nick Bullock

Andy Houseman nearly at Denali summit. Nick Bullock.

Happy on Denali summit after The Slovak. Nick Bullock.

Shopping for essentials in Anchorage. Andy Houseman

Delayed in Anchorage waiting for Houseman’s gear to be delivered before heading to Talkeetna and then flying in to Denali I’ve suddenly got the urge to write, good things often come from the flames. And delayed time in Anchorage has at least given me the opportunity to see this, the Echoes book blurb just released by Vertebrate and it’s also given Houseman time to hire a sat phone for tweeting from the glacier … Oh deep joy 😉

Down Time Anchorage. (A work in progress)

Airports, walking on the side of the freeway, bundling big bags, Armenian taxi drivers who are ‘living the American dream’, crushed beer cans in the gutter, pit-bulls and pizza …  an insight into a different way.

“Can I buy a cigarette from you?” A Native American woman waiting for a bus asks. Holding both of my hands up in a ‘don’t shoot’ I reply, “Sorry I don’t smoke.” The woman turns away, looks for her bus. I associate with her craving.

Hurrying, heading for Spenard Building Supplies in need of a file for sharpening picks and crampon-frontpoints, the rain darkens my jacket, sweat stains my t-shirt – a blotch in the centre of my chest like a gunshot, patches under both pits. 

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” The workers behind the WINGS counter doling out deep-fried, breadcrumb-covered-pieces-of-chicken, packed-in-polystyrene, sing – the woman with black hair, standing next to a string of helium filled balloons, poses for a picture. I wait for Houseman to get his order. A guy with an arm full of tattoo sits opposite, his overweight girlfriend alongside him eating greasy bird parts that add to her condition.

The hand, lit up orange by electric on the sign at the road crossing, indicates STOP … don’t walk, don’t walk, don’t walk … a white hand beckons … walk now – a line of metal boxes speed past, an exhaust-fume parade containing lives. A guy with a long black plat carrying a cardboard sign thanking God and begging for food, pleads with blurs behind the rain-smeared glass. Light turns green. Metal box with blur drives away. Man is forgotten.

Aircraft hangar superstores – feels like I’ve walked a million of them over the past two days -Walmart, Fred Mayer, REI, Costco – Retail therapy buying dried food and energy bars, gels, jam, dehydrated, desiccated – monster bottles of Australian red.  Houseman buys meat strips called jerky; it makes me think of an animal carcass torn clean by birds. It makes me wonder if the food we buy would be better used to feed the starving.

Tattoos, piercings, big bellies, beards, Harley Davidson, wood-shutter housing, pawn shops, porn shops, drive through cashpoints, trailer parks, automatic assault rifles sold along side Doritos, fishing rods.

Come on UPS, bring Houseman’s gear. Ancho-rage. I’ve seen enough now.   

 *******

Epilogue:

Houseman has now escaped Anchorage via Talkeetna Overland with the bags and boxes and gear. UPS turned up half an hour after he left with the offending items (Thanks BD!). I’ve booked a train for tomorrow leaving at 8am to reach Talkeetna in time for the national park interview which everyone has to attend. Only problem is, I booked the train ticket from the date on my computer, which is still on UK time for the 26th and tomorrow in Alaska is the 25th!  

TAT plane in the Katchatna's, Alaska.

On Monday morning Andy Houseman and I will catch a plane to go and climb in Alaska for 6 weeks and return to Britain on the 5th of July. We will have no twitter feed, no facebook feed, no blog linked to a laptop, no filmmakers on hand to record our every move, instead all we intend to do is hopefully have it!

So, normal service will resume from the 5th, maybe the 6th allowing for jetlag.

Go strong and enjoy the good weather you will all no-doubt experience while Houseman and I are sleeping on ice. (This sounds like a new TV reality show but I can assure you it isn’t.)

Later

Nick