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Sometimes you know when it's not going to be your day. Sometimes
you don't. But Fate often throws you enough hints so you can avoid the inevitable.
Ignore these hints or fail to recognize them, and you'll become much closer
acquainted with the rock than you originally wanted to be when you took up climbing.
Last Saturday [20.06.98], promised by Michael Fish to be the hottest day of the year, Andy
and I were hotfoot to Swanage and Boulder Ruckle to knock off a classic from the tick
list: "Lightning Wall" HVS 4b, 4c. The first hint wasn't taken, as
in drizzle I stepped off the boulders and up the first pitch. "Maybe it'll get
sunny out later", I thought. Anyway the climbing wasn't that hard and I soon
made the belay niche and brought Andy up. As Andy made progress, the figure in the black
hood with the scythe sat on the ledge next to me. I failed to spot him.
With Andy safe at the top, I dismantled the belay and stepped upward. This part of
Lightning Wall necessitates an exposed traverse above a large overhang. By the time I
recognized the third hint it was too late - I was still holding the loose hold as I was
propelled backward and down past the dark figure on the belay ledge, grinning at me. It
was all too quick to think or do much about it. With a thud and a scrape I was suddenly
looking out to sea.
Strange that: I was sure the sky was normally above the sea? Shit! I was obviously hanging
in space below the overhang, upside down. I grabbed the rope and righted myself. Hmmm...
about 10 feet to the overhang and another 15 feet to the route itself where I could get
back on the rock. I waited for the spinning to stop. It did, but immediately started going
the other way.
I soon sorted out my prussiks and made progress back to the route. Practicing this at
Sunbury above a blue mat is all very well and good, but 80 feet up, above rocks and
crashing waves, it soon takes the energy out of you. I was totally knackered when I got my
weight off the rope and had to wait for lily arms to stop pumping before I could continue
the climb.
Relieved as I pulled over the top, dripping in sweat (it was by now, as Michael Fish had
promised, the hottest day of the year) I was met by a completely unflustered Andy.
"It went quiet for a while there," he said, "but then the rope started
jerking, so you were obviously still on the end." For the rest of the day I climbed
like a man with no arms - the energy and emotional resolve completely drained.
We retired to the Scott Arms, at least still able to laugh at my sudden demise. Our
conversation of course drifted to the style of my fall, and I was reminded of an article
by Ian McNaught-Davis, in which lie catalogued the types of fall possible (where no other
alternative is available). Here is his list:
to bomb off: an uncontrolled free fall, with fingers or holds
giving out unexpectedly.
to flirt off: a slow, semi-controlled loss of contact with the rock. Can quickly be
converted into a "bomb".
to flash off: a rapid, showy, non-serious loss of control, usually on an outcrop.
to crater: to fall and hit the ground.
to total: to "bomb" and subsequently to "crater" from over 100
feet (not recommended).
a birdman: a prolonged free fall, where shouting "I'm off!" can be
used to prolong the experience.
to slip: to make a technical error. Can develop into a "birdman – crater
- total" sequence on the part of beginners, but better climbers can usually limit the
consequences unless tired.
to fall off: a careless, non-technical fall, usually by advanced climbers on easy
routes when bored.
to lob: a dynamic leap for a non-existent hold. Rapidly converts into a
"bomb".
It must be remembered that climbing is only exciting because it occasionally involves
falling off, and until you've experienced a major "bomb" or
"lob", your climbing will not be as potentially exciting as it could be. |