So what else can go wrong?
Anna Blackburn
Lee was looking for someone to climb hard routes with on the south coast and as he
didn't seem to be meeting with much response, muggins here volunteered, "I'll come!".
Never averse to a weekend of terror, (we'd had an epic on the worst HVS in the world
at the Dewerstone the previous week), I looked forward to some adrenaline at Berry
Head. Then Lee realised how far it was and the plan modified. Yes, Swanage again!
You'd think we'd know the way by now, but early on the Saturday morning we managed
two wrong turnings through gossiping too much and took a very scenic route to Worth
Matravers where we discovered Tom's Field campsite absolutely heaving with
holidaymakers. Definitely a good plan to arrive early. Luckily we got the last
tent space, so in record time we pitched camp, chucked the sleeping bags inside
the tents, picked up our rucksacks, and set off, to the bemusement of the adjacent
tent where they were still having their early morning cuppa.
As always at Swanage (yes, really!) it was hot and sunny, the sea was like a mirror
and not a breath of sea breeze - no chance of cooling splashes from the waves that
day! We abb'ed down the cliff into Guillemot Ledge East and tried to identify a few
routes. I wasn't very convinced. As Lee retreated behind a boulder to do his bit for
the environment, I looked more closely at the guidebook. Turning the pages I
discovered that we were in fact at Guillemot Ledge West. This made choosing a
route rather easier and we began with Valkyrie (yes, there's one here too) VS
4b,-,4b. As I squirmed along the faultline traverse I felt rather cheated that
they hadn't bothered to grade the middle pitch. The crumbling holds added to
the interest, as did the copious loose material which made me glad of my helmet
as Lee climbed on. This was the first day free of bird restrictions (1 August)
and all the routes held the pebbles, dust and guano of the previous few months.
Preparing to repeat the free-hanging abseil and about to launch myself into space,
I sensed that something was wrong. krabs done up? Yes. Knots tied? Yes. Anchors
secure? Yes. ?? ... Oh dear: just in time I realised that the climbing rope still
lay in a neat coil on the clifftop before me.
Equipped with the rope we approached Tensor II VS ** 4c, 5a. I led up an easy
crack straight past the traverse and had to down-climb to a point where I'm afraid
I stayed for several minutes making abortive sorties then retreating to my perch
where there was a hold which, albeit damp and greasy, was much better than anything
I could locate out to my left in spite of much groping. At length the embarrassment
factor took over ("it's only a b... VS!"), forcing me to continue on rubbish
footholds to a perfectly adequate belay some metres away. Lee finished the route.
Then - shock, horror - it rained!! At Swanage?! This was a new experience for me.
We abb'ed back down and ate our sandwiches in a cave whilst this aberration of nature
passed. We moved on to tackle Robud HVS * 5a, 4c. This is a good route but for the
belay after pitch one. In fact Lee felt it was so crap that it was safer to lead
through. Of course this meant we ran out of rope and since we were out of sight and
earshot of each other some telepathy was required as we climbed together for a while.
But by the time I topped out he was securely fastened to a fencepost so that was OK.
To make up for missing out on "my" lead on Robud I took both pitches of Cormorant
Buttress West, S *** which, at 4a, wasn't particularly hard but enjoyable anyway,
hence the three *s of course. The only problem was the lack of anything to tie to at
the top: the fence was miles away even when I'd strung my remaining slings together
to form a rather dubious looking extension to the rope. Anointment of the sunburn and
a few pints in The Ship with Paul (T) completed a pleasant day, and as usual we were
first up the following morning, clattering the Trangia to compete with the small
children in nearby tents. Paul dealt with his hangover and Lee and I went eagerly
to disperse the gulls at Marmolata Buttress.
This time my abseil was sabotaged by a totally jammed prusik. I tried every thing I
could think of to get my weight off the rope and loosen it, but when I felt the
rope jerk from above - Lee was getting bored waiting - I admitted defeat and cut it
(luckily the trusty Swiss Army knife was attached to the back of my harness).
This time I had remembered the rope but each of us thought the other had the
guidebook....
Having previously read the description and studied the photo we knew what we were
looking for and soon found a likely candidate for the route we sought: Tart VS
("at the top of its grade") 5a, 4b, 4b. By the time Lee was halfway up the first
entertaining pitch hoping it wasn't about to turn into an E4, some other climbers
had arrived on the scene and I was able to consult their guidebook and confirm that
we were on the right route. As I followed up in the increasing heat I was glad I
wasn't leading that pitch. My pitch was another faultline traverse which I chose
to follow on a friendly ledge underneath. Unfortunately this necessitated thugging
up a crack in an otherwise blank wall to regain the fault and subsequently reach
the belay. Pitch 3, I am told, was another nightmare to lead. It certainly kept
coming at you and just below the top one is faced with an apparently blank corner.
If there were any holds I couldn't reach them. To give the solution to this problem
would only spoil your fun so I'll leave it to you to work out. Once I had
successfully got on to the blocks at the top almost the first thing I saw was
the guidebook!
You certainly get your money's worth from Tatra and we came away from it thinking,
well, we don't have to do that again, making a mental note not to try a repeat. We
were both absolutely exhausted, baking hot and dehydrated, and made a rather feeble
attempt at another HVS before admitting that ice-cream sounded like an attractive
prospect. The easy way out from this section of Boulder Ruckle is Larus HS 4b, 4a.
"Not too taxing, a Hard Severe", I thought as I geared up. Wrong again, my grade was
obviously slipping as the weekend progressed and the lack of a proper breakfast and
lunch was making itself felt in twinges of the dreaded disco leg and the effort
involved to overcome gravity. Trying to surmount a bulge on the first pitch "I
need some gear!" I wailed as, suspended by a couple of fingertips, I tried to
encourage a recalcitrant nut into a cranny. Faced with a mega-rockover I thought
of Steph and went for it. Then it was back to the bloody faultline again, but
at least this marks the level of most of the belay spots around here.
Lee nobly led the final pitch of the day, and as we sorted the gear out an
elderly couple engaged us in conversation. "Isn't that terribly dangerous?"
they asked. We assumed heroically nonchalant expressions and tried to look well
hard, ignoring our ignominious defeat on the penultimate route.
An adjournment to the kitsch surroundings of the Durlstone Castle bar wasn't a
highlight of the day and, as this was followed by an extremely long wait for
the Poole ferry, in order to avoid fainting with hunger we were "forced" to stop
for a pint and meal at a Hampshire village. Thank goodness for the Good Pub Guide
- who needs a crag guide after all?