Last night, I’m not sure why, hours after saying goodbye to my faithful friend of fourteen years, I got ready for bed in the same way I have done for fourteen years. Perhaps it was from habit, perhaps denial, perhaps I just needed to force myself to feel the pain, I don’t know.
I rolled myself a cigarette, put on my coat and shoes, went outside and against my better judgment, walked to the road, opened the gate and stood, waiting for her to finish sniffing and for me to finish my smoke before coming back in.
Only she didn’t come back in. Because she wasn’t there any more. I came back inside and sobbed like I didn’t know I could. It is possibly the most painful experience I’ve ever had.
Tonight, I’m not sure why, I did exactly the same thing.
Only tonight was different. Tonight there were no tears, only smiles. Smiles at the memories of the fourteen years of nightly bedtime routines. I could almost picture her complete her routine, with the smiles and waiting looks as if to say “I’m done now, are we going back in or what?”
Do you know what the purpose of life is? Memories. That’s all we’re doing: making memories. Some will be good, some will be bad but we go through life collecting them. That’s all we can do. We just hope that we collect more good ones than bad, even though we know that both are as crucial as each other.
We are all made of our experiences; again, good and bad. It is the experiences we have that shape us. It is why it is so important for us to go out and explore, to find new and different experiences that can broaden our minds and attitudes to others. A sheltered life brings no variety of experience, provides no new memories.
If there is one thing I can say of Tess it is that she brought me both. The last twenty-four hours have mostly seen me revisit so many memories, relive so many of those experiences that without her, I never would have had. It has turned unimaginable pain into quiet joy.
The pain is real and indescribable. But the reason it is there is purely and simply because of how she enhanced my life. It would be untrue to say she gave my life meaning, nobody can do that. But she drove to the very heart of what life is.
That doesn’t stop because she has gone. It continues, with new experiences and more memories to make. And I will carry the thought of her with me as I go, grateful for the man I have become because of the time we spent together.
I have spent years dreading this moment and yesterday it finally arrived: Tess passed peacefully after a short illness.
It is hard to put into words. Regular readers, friends and indeed many of the climbing community around North Wales will have known Tess; either during her time living in the kitchen of Joe Brown’s from her arrival in my life in 2012; to the five years we spent at Plas y Brenin; to the very many adventures both during that time and since.
Everyone loved Tess. I used to say everyone loved her more than they loved me, including my wife. Indeed, there’s a strong argument she was instrumental in us getting together and she has been a staple part of us building our family over the past nine years.
However, that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the impact she had, both on me and on the wider community at large. She first moved in – I’ve always maintained I don’t own her, she was never my dog, she was her own dog, she just happened to live with me – back in November 2012 and it didn’t take long before the adventures started. In fact it was that month that we attempted the North Ridge of Tryfan with Dan Hale, only to bail as night fell… down the wrong side of the mountain.
EIGHT ABSEILS later, each more sketchy than the one before, and we reached the bottom of the gully. Frozen, shaking and incredibly thankful to get away with that one, it seemed to lay the foundation for so many escapades to come.
Belgium followed in the June next and it seemed doomed from the very start. Only we could have her first camping experience in a different country and I woke that first morning to a porch notably without a dog. Frantic whistles and calls later and her face reappeared under the door, full with a smiling face that said “what? I’m out exploring!”
It became known as the ill-fated trip of 2013. She was with me for the first week when the clutch failed on the Freelander and I can still vividly picture her face as we sat on a park bench wondering how the well we would get out of there. Likewise a week later in Mayrhofen when the same fault reappeared and we were forced to be repatriated overland. She cost me three ferry trips across the Channel in a single day.
But the truth of it all became evident last year. Different trip, stranded again but this time without my faithful hound alongside me. It suddenly struck me how much I have leaned on her for support over the past fourteen years. And she has never let me down.
One of her most adorable traits was to come and check on me after every boulder fall. Lying on the pads, a wet nose, smiling face and waggly tail would soon appear to make sure I was okay. Perhaps that wasn’t what she was doing but that was certainly how it felt.
And there were a lot of falls, on a lot of boulders, at a lot of crags in a lot of countries. Eight countries in all, from Switzerland to Sweden with literally hundreds of climbers met along the way. I honestly struggle to think of a single one who was not massively enamoured with her; she made friends everywhere she went.
The mileage we covered was staggering and yet she was always so passive when it came to long drives. Almost as if she could appreciate that it would be worth it in the long run. That said, the 17 hours from the French-Belgian border to Copenhagen did push it; a drive where she would periodically sit up and stare at me for a minute or two before realising we weren’t stopping any time soon and curl up in a ball again.
That was another trip where she caused no end of upheaval, with an expired rabies certificate (clearly not her fault) resulting in us arriving at the border control in Calais only to be informed we weren’t allowed in for another week. Thankfully, my parents were in France at the time and Dad looked after her until the time limit was reached but not before Em (who had flown out to meet me in Gavle) and I spent a few days in Font.
Of course, her favourite had to be Fontainebleau. An entire forest full of sticks and budding friends, she was always at home there. I’ve lost count of the number of times we visited together but each was always as memorable. I’ve often commented that the forest there is my spiritual home but also that it was her favourite place in the world.
All of this is to neglect the countless adventures we had back home. When she first arrived, everyone was at pains to tell me how much exercise she would need. Well, after heading out every evening and both weekend days for six months, she sustained a shoulder injury and developed a limp. It turns out even Collies need rest days. That said, even that didn’t stop her chasing a ball or a stick.
Tess was always keen to play – we once played fetch with one of her favourite treats before she eventually realised she could just eat it – and wore a smile you would only expect from a cartoon. She had such personality, she almost seemed to be able to communicate with me simply with a look in her eyes.
Of course her propensity to play made it difficult when I wanted to do my own thing. I wonder if my ability to teach independence to a collie may be my greatest achievement. It probably says more about the testament to her that she was able to learn and adapt so amazingly well.
Her intelligence and obedience were often commented on by anyone we came across. Very rarely was she on a lead (to the point she often behaved at her worst when on it) as she was always impeccable to voice commands. With help with friends from the rescue team during my short tenure as a trainee, she was trained to behave in exactly the right way around sheep to the point I once walked the entire Llanberis Path with her a yard behind me.
Of everyone who knew and loved here, there were a special few. My parents always held a special place with her but there were two others – Ruth Harland for the first few years and my wife, Emily Slater for the past ten years of her life – that really got her tail going. Of course Tess was at the wedding, (how could I marry someone who wouldn’t have her there?!) nearly stole the show and appeared in my wedding speech. It really is difficult to explain the impact she has had.
One thing she was not keen on was small children (although she was always impeccably behaved around them) and she did not seem impressed with me when I introduced not one but two into her life. Yet, over time, I could see the relationship between her and the kids grow. I’m so grateful it did and the girls have been able to begin to understand and benefit from Tess being around them.
Possibly the best memory for them with Tess may be the ‘snail camping’ trips. Starting two years ago, I took Tess, Rosie and Hannah for one-night wild camping trips, first up Moel Eilio and then further afield to Beddgelert Forest and then twice this summer to Gladstone Rock and Llyn Llagi. It speaks volumes that they almost seemed not to notice her presence, it was just normal that where we went, she went. By our side the whole way.
In truth, looking after Tess was probably the best training I could have for raising children and there is no way I could possibly wish she was not present for the first years of their lives. As our circumstances changed, so we adapted but never stopped. The adventures continued, merely different. More Font trips, with Rosie at least before Brexit’s fallout put paid to a return trip, as well as a jaunt to Ireland.
However, our family travels became more domestic regardless and that meant Tess along for the ride. It became quite literal towards the end with the famous dog-in-a-bag bike rides through the New Forest, Winlatter and Kielder. Two sounds will live with me forever: the amazement of every other person we cycled past; and the sound of her whining in my ear. Even when it became apparent to everyone, including her, that she was not capable to keep up, she was still determined. Nothing could lie her down.
Only something would one day and after fifteen long years, filled to bursting with tales, tails and tribulations (but no sheep dog trials thankfully) time caught up with her. A tumour was detected last year, though she continued through it in a way that only Tess could: with smiles and energy in abundance. Only two weeks ago, we were playing football in the village she’s lived all this time, with two mixed teams of adults and children and one perpetual doggy-defender stopping anyone getting anywhere. She ran more than any of the kids.
Alas, as I say, one day we must all call time. It seems frivolous to focus on the end when the journey has been so good but I cannot at this moment escape the fact a part of my soul has gone. I’ve never cried so hard or for so long before, cursing her for being such a seminal part of my life for so long that she has had this much effect merely by not being here any more.
There is no way she could be erased. I mean, apart from anything else, she appears in the majority of my climbing films and pictures, even when I’m working. And it’ll doubtless take us months before we’re not finding her fur all over the house.
In beginning the tidying process today – stopping to spontaneously burst into tears – I stumbled across a collection of Orders of Service from various funerals I’ve attended over the years. My ‘Great Men’ Collection, as it were. In there I found the eulogy I delivered at my Grandad’s funeral and a phrase struck me. I will close with this amended quote:
I will miss her greatly but if that is the price I have to pay for the pleasure of her company, the adventures we shared, the memories we made and the lessons she taught me, then I think it is a price worth paying
I’m not entirely sure it’s a sabbatical if it only lasts for six weeks and I continue to work sporadically during that time but the point being that, as I did last August, the school holidays have become a time that I step back from Prowess for a while. More importantly, I take a break from climbing too.
People are always shocked at this but quickly come to understand. Honestly, we all need a break every now and again and with my New New Years concept, it works well.
Only a ‘break’ stretches the moniker yet further. This summer has been anything but. Indeed, as much as I don’t like to compare myself to others, I can’t imagine most people doing what we’ve done over the past couple of months in a year.
To add some perspective, I counted up and the kids have spent a total of 20 nights away from home during their six weeks off school. That’s about half. But as much as I seem to be complaining, I am most certainly not.
So in this post, I’m going to quickly run through some of the highlights (you don’t need to know about a day trip to Chester for example) and what’s been occupying my time, if not my arm muscles.
I did actually start a live post when we were in the far north of England back in July but didn’t get very far. I think I got distracted with a more ‘Philosophy’ page explaining the bigger picture instead; a page that will hopefully appear at some point.
The short version is that we’re trying to take a trip to every National Park in the UK. We got our sixth with that weekend in Pembrokeshire (the one that spurred me to return and develop Garn Fechan) and this summer saw us on a trip to Northumberland. With me, my wife, kids and parents, this was a full on family gathering.
Staying in the furthest southwesterly tip of the park, one could easily claim we didn’t really visit the park proper and most of our time was spent cycling in Kielder Forest (just outside the park which became a running joke). That being said, a day at the excellent Vindolanda and a quick visit to the Sycamore Gap, erm, stump as is now, both meant I’m counting it. We are all keen to return and check out further North though.
Another summer tradition is what has been dubbed ‘Snail Camps’. Really it’s wild camping but not your modern influencer wild camping. No, this usually involves some kind of mountain walk, an overnight stay and this year, cooking.
The first was back in 2024 on Moel Eilio, while last year we headed up to Beddgelert forest. Well this year, we took to the mountains more. And what’s more, did it twice.
The first continued our mini tradition of just me, the kids and the dog. We’d been up the Watkin Path on Snowdon/Yr Wyddfa not long ago and I spotted a great opportunity and so this summer, we returned. It was an eventful night, being sporadically buffetted by wind before running out of gas; no bacon butties for breakfast. But I made up for it with chocolate pancakes at the local cafe instead.
Then, as we crested into September, we all went together. With an extra adult to share the load, we could take a little more and did indeed have dinner and breakfast this time, although did run out of water and didn’t get morning tea… Oh and cutting my head open on a branch on the walk out didn’t help either.
But overall, it was a great experience and one I’m very pleased Em joined us for. The hope is we can combine the National Park challenge with some small camping at some point, so it’s a move in the right direction.
This is where the sabbatical title falls apart. I have done some work this summer, mostly in the Midlands. It combined nicely with the kids visiting grandparents for a week.
The first weekend joined a drop off with a coaches’ meet. We’ve begun to develop a group containing many of the best climbing coaches and professionals across the country and have been putting on occasional meets.
This one was not particularly well attended (you could argue there were only four of us) but was a good opportunity to catch up with some good friends, including Ben Brooks, down at 270 in Gloucester.
The following weekend was then 270’s annual festival and I went to deliver some workshops. They were excellently subscribed this year, giving a nice shot in the arm to my confidence.
As it was last year, it was a fantastic event and there’s already talk of going back next year.
All that might have been enough but we’ve squeezed in so much more. There was a day/few days (the kids stayed, I came home) in Bala involving some SUPing.
Then there was the bike ride along Lon Las Ogwen, which might not sound like much until you know that we cycled the full length. From Bangor to Idwal Cottage. And back. That’s 23 miles, in a day, with a 7 and 9 year old who died not complain one bit. In fact, it was them that persuaded us to finish the last little bit.
There was the day wandering Parys Mountain on Anglesey; an old copper mine and excellent day out.
Two visits to the local sauna, both involving a dip in the lake in between. It was genuinely amazingly refreshing and I owe old friend Fredrik a huge debt for getting me over that threshold when visiting last summer.
And honestly, I’m starting to forget. There’s been courses run, two boulder bash days, days out and so much more fit into a manic, magic summer. Honestly, now it’s over, we all need a bit of a break!
In 1991, my parents moved us from Kent to Birmingham. I’d have been about 7 so even if I did have any strong opinions (which, other than not wanting to leave my friends, I did not) I wouldn’t have been voicing them anyway.
I stayed here until 2002, when I left for University in Lancaster. I’d dabbled in climbing and other outdoor sports in that time, getting a bug for it by the time I was 18, but it was at Uni that I sunk heavily into climbing, not just as a hobby but as a lifestyle really.
In 2005, having failed my degree after spending far too much time going climbing, I returned to Birmingham and honestly, unless they’d moved us to East Anglia, there’s not many places in the UK that could’ve been worse. As someone now mostly obsessed with the idea of clambering around on small bits of rock, there is no rock to climb for miles around!
Only, maybe there was after all…
Biblin Under the Surface
A couple of years ago, my wife and I headed down to her hometown of Worcester to celebrate her 30th birthday. I’d intended to do some grand gesture but after one thing or another, we ended up going for a short family walk around the Symond’s Yat area, walking to King Arthur’s Cave.
As we walked back to the car park, there was a young lad sat on a bouldering pad. Now, it’s the old joke among the uninitiated that bouldering mats are largely elaborate sit mats but once you consider it for more than two minutes, it’s more than a little far fetched to lug one of these things around just to sit on. So it was unlikely.
Me being me, it probably took less than a second for me to start towards this unwitting fella and ask him about local bouldering with a quizical look on my face. It turns out there is indeed a crag within easy driving of my old family home in Birmingham! And it’s name is Biblins Cave.
Better still, I’ve already got the guidebook for the crag as well (although this is less surprising, given I own almost every bouldering guidebook for the UK). The only issue is access, which is denied outside of September-May. So all I needed now was a free day/evening in the summer to go check it out…
On the Road (for Money)
Immediately following my Pembrokeshire trip my diary exploded into action. Within the rest of the week, I’d had a half day of outdoor bouldering back home and two courses in the Beacon, my home wall.
Two days of courses in Liverpool followed on the following Monday, home again for a night, then down to Gloucester. It was nuts. Indeed, I drove back from 270 straight to my family camping on the Lleyn Peninsula, swapped vehicles ready for another day of outdoor bouldering on the Saturday, then went to join them for the night.
Other than four nights in the middle, I didn’t spend more than two nights in a row in the same bed for about a fortnight. [Incidentally, it’s part of why I’m documenting a single evening bouldering about two weeks later]. But this was my chance.
Staff at 270 during the training, knowing my background and experience (not to mention my recent exploits in Pembrokeshire) were a bit confused as to why I wanted to head to Biblins; especially once I went into my little rant about how dual-tex holds replicate polished rock, the worst type of rock to climb on. Still, I think they grudgingly accepted once I said I’d never been.
But it was more than that. Biblins was not established at all back when I lived in the Midlands. If it had, I’d have visited. A lot. It might’ve even changed the trajectory of my life back then. Now, I’m comforted by the way my life did pan out but still, there was an element of me going “erm, excuse me?! There’s a crag a little over an hour from my old house?!” It wasn’t as much exorcising demons, more wanting to see what I’d missed out on.
Other than the polish, it is indeed an excellent small crag. Reasonably sized and home to around 35 problems ranging from a Warm Up Wall 5+ to Ambition 8c, although heavily swayed in favour of harder climbs, it’s easy to see why Biblins is so popular. You know, other than being the only bouldering for miles. But honestly, even if it was smack in the middle of the Peak, it would still see some decent mileage.
When I arrived, a young couple were working The Bulge 7a. In hindsight, it might’ve been a bit of a dick move to jump straight on their project, seemingly with no warm up. After all, they weren’t to know I’d been running BMC FUNdamentals 3 (Dynamic Movement and Advanced Technique) all day. With their help for the beta, I promptly flashed it.
I’m not sure how much I influenced their decision to leave, they had been there a while and did seem pretty spent. Whether my flash had any bearing (probably not) I soon found myself with the place to myself. The downside was that I lost not only the extra pads but also any help with finding the routes.
Limestone caves of this nature – especially popular ones – have a tendency to be tough to figure out. Significant features in the rock are almost too abundant and climbs tend to be closely packed in. Meawhile, I was hamstrung by lines that primarily went straight up, or face a choice between protecting the start or the end but not both.
Still, it was a good little session in the end. Would I ever be keen to head back to Biblins? Probably not, it’s not my type of venue. Unless I was living in Birmingham, of course.
In hindsight, staying up until the early hours (even if Scotland were passing the ball around themselves casually valiently battling Brazil) before one last hectic day of first ascenting was probably not the wisest idea. Still, I wanted to get the previous post completed actually on my birthday, hence the late rush.
Did it matter in the end? Well, kind of. I did, indeed, get one more quality climb in, plus two more around the corner from the slab I’d been on the day before. Two more 6b and a 6c+. Or at least I think that’s how hard they were.
QUICK NOTE: Following the Pembroke trip, I became so insanely busy that it took several weeks to finish this post; indeed, to catch up on all the goings on in between. More on that in the next post.
The Final Line
The problem is – and it may seem like I’m getting my excuses in here but honestly, this is completely true – that by this point, in these conditions, I was finding it incredibly difficult to give even ballpark figures on grades. My skin was shot, my body utterly destroyed after several days of intense bouldering/rock moving and the heat was making it very difficult to gauge the effectiveness of the holds.
I’ve never been one to judge a climb’s difficulty based on how hard it feels for me to climb it and have always tried to be slightly more scientific based on the wall angle, hold size/type, complexity of moves and so on. Still, that’s all well and good but there’s always a feel element.
Pete Rocks finished off a sublime set of 18 lines! over the course of four intense days. Whether these climbs do indeed turn out to be firsts, or whether the grades are even vaguely accurate, is largely irrelevant.
There are bigger discussions to be had, surrounding documenting crags and ascents or leaving others to have that sense of discovery for themselves. Indeed, conversations came up after I’d begun to publicise my efforts, including this post from Ben Williams on ukclimbing.com which largely leaned into this point:
If it seems like a hippy gesture (in line with the yurt-living communities that have sprouted up across north Pembrokeshire) not generally to name or map these routes, then it’s only to encourage the exploration that seems in keeping with the nature of the place. Perhaps, also, the routes aren’t all that worth claiming. Moreover, the area is so beholden to the elements that nature has strong priority, and will claim these lines back before long
While I understand the approach, I know personally how much of a paradigm shift exploring new venues is for most climbers. The idea of simply seeing where things go is fine for the few but can be a very elitist attitude. That is not to attack Ben Williams, more to offer a counterpoint.
I have many years experience climbing all over Europe and beyond. I know full well the desire to have information before visiting, if only to know if it is worth the trip. There is an issue here in that Williams and my attitudes are mutually exclusive and that I possess the upper hand insofar as once I’ve publicised the crag, exploring becomes almost impossible. And for many areas, I take his point.
In this case, though, I could see something here that was more than Williams. I felt it required the word being spread. That and I had the support of the landowner, which I was determined to reciprocate.
The Best Crag Landowner Ever?
I’d like to dedicate a bit of time to Johnny, the owner of Hillfort Campsite and landowner for Garn Fechan. He truly is a wonderful man.
When we were there back in May, I told him I would be back to develop that crag of his. He was very keen, as you can imagine but I’m not sure he quite believed me. He certainly expect me back so soon.
Part of the reason I have always wanted to travel – and a big part of the reason for wanting to go to places less travelled, such as more obscure climbing destinations – was to be engrossed in local culture. Granted, Johnny is Irish but he’s still local to Pembrokeshire and he’s certainly a character. Over the short time I was there, we certainly became friends and I was incredibly grateful for his hospitality.
I stepped out of the car only to be presented with a beer almost instantly. With that one gone, I was given another (which I didn’t drink in the end, wanting to get some problems done that evening). Throughout my entire stay, Johnny was the most friendly, amenable and warm host I’ve ever known.
On my birthday proper, I wanted to repay at least some of the hospitality and offered him dinner. It’s a weird quirk that I can recall what I had for dinner on almost every birthday since 2010, thanks to the birthday tradition and so I wanted to do something a bit different. With me now staying in a static caravan, on the decking I noticed a barbeque pit and so offered to make burgers.
Easiest way, was to simply make a wood fire to cook on; harder to achieve but not something new to me, even if I was a little rusty. Soon enough, we had superbly cooked burgers, accompanied by sweet and sour peppers that left Johnny amazed at my apparent cooking skills (which largely result in this one single trick…).
I’d like to thank Johnny one last time and encourage any and all of you to take a trip. Hopefully it won’t be the last one I take.
For More Information
If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read and are tempted to take a visit:
Full topos of all 18 of my lines are available on The Topo. Access information as well as full topos can be found here
Crag information, including a list of all possible climbs to date, is available at ukclimbing.com and I suspect new lines added by other will likely appear on here too
Bouldering in Pembrokeshire is currently documented in Eliot Stephens South Wales Bouldering guidebook. I’ve updated Eliot and hopefully my lines and the crag overall will appear in future editions of the guide
An alternative guidebook entitled South Wales Bouldering by Julian Sykes is also in pre-production at the moment and again, information on all lines was sent to this author as well. Hopefully lines will appear in here too
Thinking back across the past sixteen years, it occurred to me that, while the original premise was to ‘spend my birthday in a different country every year’, the vast majority of those places were actually places in which I’d climbed before.
Only Val Daone (2010), Canada (2011), Wicklow (2017), Garmisch (2018), Helsinki (2019) and a couple of years staying local took place in areas I’d not visited previously; not many over such a time frame.
And so, considering I’d not been to Pembrokeshire until about a month ago, climbing here this year is oddly sticking to the essence of the tradition while drastically breaking it at the same time.
Finances and logistics had eventually forced my hand. My ever-wonderful wife had arranged time for me to head off months ago (I really did marry the right woman) yet finding people willing to come along and having somewhere suitable to visit has proved too difficult.
Instead, returning to Pembrokeshire rapidly gained traction. The teaser? The idea of developing an entire new crag…
It was only five weeks ago that I had broken my Pembrokeshire duck, visiting with my family. I didn’t blog about it as it wasn’t really that relevant. I didn’t bring any climbing kit, deliberately as that wasn’t the point at all. It was a chance for us to go away as a family, not for me to play on my own.
My host, the campsite and landowner Johnny, is genuinely the salt of the earth. On hearing my plan, he has bent over backwards to accomodate me. In turn, I have made it a bit of a personal mission to do everything in my power to encourage as many people as possible to come and visit. In my defence, it’s because the place is actually incredibly good.
Is it the new Stanage? No, nor will it likely hold it’s head among the flagship crags around the Pembrokeshire National Park (not that I’m aware of what they are, as they’re mostly trad). To be honest, I’m not even sure it’ll hold it’s head against the other major bouldering crags in the area: Preseli and Mynydd Dinas. However, I only say that as I’ve visited neither yet. All I can say is that I really like this place.
I arrived late Sunday and leave tomorrow. Here’s what I’ve been up to over those few days.
Lighthouse Wall on the West Buttress
Sunday, I rocked up, met up with Johnny and almost instantly headed out to the crag. Even at the weekend (before the weather hit the headlines) it was hot in the day and evening temps were much more amenable.
When I’d gone to scout out the crag with the kids, the first area we’d stumbled across was a section of broken ground with some interesting lower sections. North facing, both the views and the shade were very welcome and so it seemed like a good place to start.
Indeed it was and while the climbs won’t be going down in history, it was nice to get the ball rolling with six quick lines on the board. None of them were particularly hard but the central line Who Nose 6a was of note. Tempting as it was to complete each and every link up, I’ve learnt to leave some crumbs for others to come and have a nibble at.
Not that they should need it. The West Buttress is indeed extensive, certainly on it’s southern side. Indeed, the Instagram post at the top of this post shows images taken on the Tuesday afternoon of much of the potential of this Buttress; certainly the largest of the three.
Yet, this was merely me getting started. From that first visit, my attention was always to be the central boulders lying below the crag proper; an aread I’d dubbed The Quartet.
The Quartet: Boulders In Their Truest Sense
As a boulderer, you cannot beat a true boulder. A standalone block of rock, that is topped out before finding a way down. You know, as opposed to a craglet or escarpment.
Sitting below the crag lie a small collection of just these types of rocks. And what has made them even more remarkable is that they are:
Just the right height
Just the right angle
Without any major ledges or outrageously large holds
With just enough to make them climbable
Yes, it’s nice to fine good, clean lines on good rock. But to find just the right challenge? Yeah, that’s the dream. And I’ve lived it.
Monday primarily saw me shuffling rocks around the floor until the evening. Knowing the middle of the day would be too hot to climb, I’d gone out in the morning to prep before coming back for life admin and rest and then returning in the evening to send hard. It worked a treat and Mwynhau 7b was the result. Such a striking line – even including a tough thumb press in the middle of an otherwise blank face – it almost made the trip worthwhile on it’s own.
Thankfully, it wasn’t alone. Tuesday, birthday, and the same tactic was employed. Chatting to my friends had added some pressure but thankfully, it all came good; ten minutes of England’s match against Ghana enough of a sedative to give me the rest I needed to get my second really good climb on the Quartet: Meaning of Life 7b.
I still have tomorrow morning. I HAVE to go back over there to at least collect my pads again! If all goes well, I’ll be heading up fairly early, before the sun heats it all too much. A few more lines would be nice to pull me off 13, but I’m not super fussed now. I’ve got three tough, excellent lines and various guidebook authors and local climbers have been informed too.
My only hope now is that I have indeed inspired someone else to come and add more. I’m optimistic though. I might even have to come back again.
The problem with working away on courses is that work stuff doesn’t stop coming in while I’m in the middle of working. The upshot of that is that, once back, I spend a lot of time dealing with things in the week following and in this case, that was once back from Kendal.
Kendal had been fantastic and I’d managed a couple of really good evenings out at the crag while away (see my last post Work is Play, Play While Working) with a reasonable energy level throughout. Then life got in the way and aside from the occasional indoor blast, I didn’t get chance to get out for about two weeks. When I did, it seems the high energy levels I’d been feeling had waned slightly; but more on that later.
Powered Out
As is typical, the next play time was after work and while working over at Plas y Brenin for the day, I headed straight out into the Ogwen Valley. I honestly didn’t know what I’d wanted to try but as I drove down the valley, I suddenly remembered an old roadside project from a video old friend Jack Pearce had posted several years.
I’d tried it a while back but hadn’t got that far, though I did remember wanting to go back and give it another go. Maybe I was having an off day, maybe there was some sneaky beta I’d missed, it was worth another shot. While I did do a bit better, it still wasn’t great.
There’s a peculiarity with Welsh bouldering whereby the style of the climb often impacts on the accuracy of the grade. Let me explain with what I think has happened over the years. Bouldering in North is not new, with problems being put up, mostly by experienced trad climbers, since the late 90s. Those climbers had a very particular skill set: vertical, technical climbs that were of their age. Where they struggled was what has now become modern, steep, board-style climbs that rely more on power than precision.
The consequence of this is that some climbs can feel incredibly difficult for their grade (often if they are technical or sloping lip traverses) while others can feel incredibly soft (if they are steep or may result in a wild fall). While this one was climbed by Jack, it was apparently first done by Jon Ratcliffe many years before – unsurprisingly, given it’s roadside location – and was originally given 7a+. Yet I could barely link any moves at first.
All of this is said in the complete understanding that it might just be me. On that day, I might have simply been too tired, too weak and incapable of any climb at that grade. But this explanation makes me feel better and is certainly the case for several climbs in the area (The Big Smile, Nick’s Sexual Problem and so on) so I’m sticking with it.
I did make progress in the end, albeit from the stand start not the sit. And it has now gone on the List for the future.
Can I Still Kick It With the Steep Stuff? Oh Yeah!
Fast forward to Saturday gone and I was coaching a family of four on their first outdoor bouldering day. It was a great day, they were smiling almost from the moment they arrived to the second I left them with a nice litany of lines completed along the way.
It was one of those days that I was able to play too and while there’s not really anything left for me at Caseg Fraith, it was nice to very quickly repeat some of the old classics. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually done Caseg Fraith Arete 6b and it is indeed a classic; one of those that can be sandbag if you lack the requisite skills that in the past I’ve struggled to dredge up. Saturday, I sent it first time.
So too did I complete Ogwen Jazz, Oh Yeah and almost Boneyard too. More importantly, I felt I was moving well, felt strong and even managed to sneak in a missing link up from my ticks here by completing Skunk Yeah 7a/+. There’s even a sneaky hold one of the lads found that may mean a very eliminate and very hard variant for the future.
So it seems my Wind Power exploits may not have been all doom an gloom and that my efforts are indeed fluctuating quite a bit lately.
All this leads nicely into my latest hair brained scheme designed to prevent me from doing the tried-and-tested method of periodised training plans: Train-Cap. The idea is fairly simple: spend a few weeks measuring how hard you work in any given week using RPE Points for each session, then feed the weekly average back in as a target.
It was always going to be a little speculative and the only way to really know if it would work would be to try it. I’m currently deep into Phase 2 and you know what? It’s working quite well! And that assessment includes my typical British understatement.
With one eye on my weekly effort points, I am now adjusting my sessions accordingly; working a bit harder when required and potentially easing off a little as needed (though the latter has yet to happen).
Moreover, chasing effort points over sends has certainly changed the value of my sessions. Prior to starting Train-Cap, that session at Wind Power would’ve been quite demoralising. The idea of going to get a quick win only to find myself shut down and leaving with nothing tangible to show for it would ordinarily be humbling and leave me in a mild sulk.
This time, though, I could comfort myself with the thought that I’d at least hit my effort point total. Yet I’m still obviously trying to get the send as well. It seems it’s become a win-win.
There is an issue around scoring individual sessions and it is proving difficult to be objective and unbiased, considering I know I’m aiming for points. But that’s part of the process, I’ll fix that in due course. For now, my Train-Cap programme is indeed doing exactly what it was designed to.
In many ways, it is a strange job I’ve carved out for myself. On the face of it, the hours aren’t too arduous, often becoming sporadic and regularly clumped together into several days of courses working away from home; especially over the summer.
But then just because I’m home, doesn’t mean I’m not working. Such is the nature of the recent courses I’ve been running, resulting in the past week being a largely empty diary but not a spare moment. Five days of BMC coach education courses in Kendal was fantastic but with my standards driving me to try and deliver the best quality I possibly can, it has resulted in a lot of time since staring at my laptop, at PowerPoint presentations that are being either slightly tinkered or having wholesale changes ready for next time.
This past month, Kendal hasn’t been in isolation either. In May alone, I found myself waking in Bristol, Pembrokeshire, Birmingham and then Cumbria, all of which resulting in exactly the same reflection and adjustment of my offering to clients.
Is any of this a complaint? Not in the slightest and I’ve commented to several people recently (and may have said on here previously) that my current life is the perfect mix of a throwback to the carefree years of my twenties and my button down, family life of my forties; the biggest advantage being that my 41-year old body can no longer sustain the level of intensity (nay abuse) that I put it through decades ago.
But I can manage a week of it! Indeed, that’s exactly what I did for the last week in May and given this blog is more focused on climbing exploration than personal circumstances, I still have plenty of excitement to share.
I was struck while away of the really clear and obvious parallels between Llanberis and Kendal. Both are iconic climber’s towns/villages, both nestle just outside one of the countries biggest National Parks (Eryri and the Lake District could both easily make an argument for being the biggest and best Park in Britain) and both provide a stable home for budding adventurers.
Both are gateways into the wonders their respective parks have to offer, yet also provide easy access to other, more local areas that many would neglect. Both bridge the gap between the urban and the truly rural (even if Llanberis is very much the rural Welsh version and thus far smaller).
Both are places I’ve called home in the past as well; well kind of. Technically I lived in Lancaster between 2002-05 for my undergraduate degree, an hour down the road, but in reality, a vast proportion of that time was spent around the South Lakes. Thankfully, this time, I could reside in the town of Kendal itself, thanks to friend and colleague Andy McVittie. I cannot offer enough gratitude for his hospitality in providing me a flat for the week; somewhere that is exactly the type of place a 20-something me would’ve lived.
One crag I would doubtless have frequented had I lived in this flat is an old haunt I did indeed regularly frequent at the turn of the century: Woodwell.
Woodwell has several sectors, one of which is named O’ert Road in a nod to the distinctive accent of the north west of England. The issue for me, though, has always been access, which was specifically denied while I lived up this way, meaning I never managed a visit. Access was opened up in recent years, in time for my last visit to Silverdale back in 2022 but with Tess in tow, I was still out of luck thanks to no dogs allowed at the crag.
Woodwell O’ert Road was the one place on my hit list that week that I was desperate to visit and it felt so good to do so. Ticking off Angel Deelite 7a really was the icing on the cake, even if it did require a tougher beta to keep me upright and remove the worry of landing on my head on a large rock.
That being said, I’d already managed to get some climbing in on the way north in the first place. Wanting to make the most, I’d decided to leave earlier on the Wednesday and stop somewhere in Lancashire, making the most along the way. The obvious choice was Craig y Longridge but a south facing, open gritstone edge in the blistering heat didn’t appeal. Instead, I’d read through the guidebook to find a shady crag, only to change my mind at the last minute and head to Anglezarke.
Everyone I’d spoken to since has raised an eyebrow at my choice of venue but honestly, Anglezarke was a regular haunt for us back in the day and I wanted to go back. There was no bouldering there then – there still isn’t much – but it offered tree cover and enough to scratch that itch.
What I had forgotten – or rather, had neglected as I definitely knew this – was that Anglezarke is a big swamp in the bottom of a quarry, with the moorland above carrying any wind right over your head. So yes, I had a little shade (that said, the one area with the problems wasn’t shaded after all) but I was accompanied by a swarm of midge that revelled in having a nice, fresh person come visit for lunch.
Sick Of All This Rubbish
A couple of days in, I’d become quite sick. Like really sick. Very unlike me yet totally my own fault, having not dealt with an issue immediately like I should’ve done, instead leaving it for later; exactly my behaviour in my twenties!
The result was an incredibly difficult day of teaching, followed by a lost evening. While I’d never have planned it this way, a night off from climbing wasn’t necessarily the worst thing and did allow me to recover for a night of bouldering with John Kettle. John and I have often been in touch over the past however many years and while I’d not exactly class us as close, John is always there when our paths cross.
I’d told him I was up, asked if he was keen for a catch up and he told me of a new crag he’d been developing at the top of the Kirkstone Pass, near Ambleside. I was keen to check it out (you can too, clicking here) and was glad I did, having a great evening.
John had found some absolute gems, with The Kilnshaw Press 5+ being particularly outstanding and worth the trip on it’s own. However, regular readers will know my currency tends to be in the 7s and while some of the taller slabs didn’t appeal as much, the one jutting prow was simply too aesthetically pleasing to be ignored.
I honestly felt I could’ve beaten him to it but I think part of me was holding back. Perhaps I’m kidding myself and it was only ever going to take me longer than John but I felt very close and did indeed send on the effort straight after him.
The road leading up the pass is literally named The Struggle and John had used this as a theme for the names of the problems. He asked me for name suggestions, having already got a climb called The Struggle Is Real 7a, and my brain simply chucked out The Huggle. I may not have claimed the coveted first ascent but I left my mark in some way. And the line was absolutely brilliant.
It was going to happen eventually but that never makes it any easier. After a slew of hugely successful days, packed with strong sends, I’ve finally come up against the rule of thirds.
The Rule of Thirds – told to me by friend and noted climbing coach Ben Brooks – says that a third of your sessions are great, a third are terrible and a third are ‘meh’. And I know this, I’ve experienced it plenty over the past 25 years (long before Ben told me) but honestly, it’s the type of thing you only remember when you have a bad session.
Which is exactly what happened this week.
No Hitching A Ride This Time
Now that the weather has turned, and with work having calmed right down (probably not coincidentally), I’ve been making the most and getting out a fair bit. Granted, not on Monday though.
Still, after recent visits to Northern Soul 7b and Cromlech Roof Crack Flake Start 7b+ – both with much success I might add – getting out again this week was more of a continuation of that trend.
The company may have been the same but the venue this time was different; trekking all the way over to Dolwyddelan to Rhiw Goch for a resumption of hostilities with Ride the Wile Smurf sds 7b+. With all the moves now dialed and (mostly) completed, there was reason to be optimistic.
Or so I thought. Things started slowly but well, filming another Instagram video and getting in the zone. Only once I started getting into the swing of things, I simply felt drained.
I couldn’t get my head around it, I’d done everything right. I’d had some snacks, I’d been drinking squash, I was fit and firing. So why was I struggling so much? It was frankly a little soul destroying.
It was only after quite a while that I realised my issue. The thing to remember, at this point, is that I have next to no natural insulation; I am incredibly slight. In winter, this results in me spending months in a thermal (I change them, I don’t wear the same one) and often in multiple layers. But in summer, when the sun beats down as it did this week, it results in me suffering in the sun.
My conclusion was that I was simply sun-battered. Had we gone somewhere else, somewhere shaded and sheltered, I may not have suffered as much. As it happens, Rhiw Goch is indeed a sun trap: great for a winter day but not at noon when it’s hot.
Still, such is the nature of the rule of thirds and I did get the pleasure of seeing Aidan tick off his first outdoor 6c, not to mention hanging out at a crag on another glorious day. After all, a bad day in the mountains is generally better than most other days.
I will finish on a slightly more uplifting point. A couple of posts ago, I declared I was embarking on a new training plan: Train-Cap.
Three weeks in and it has actually proven very successful. With three weeks of data behind me, I’ve got an average Train-Cap of 31 with a pretty random spread of activities, as was to be expected. But already, it is driving me to adjust what I do, based on what I’ve managed this week and what will likely happen over the next couple of days.
Yesterday proved a good example. After finishing my session at the Indy and with little to no opportunity to get outside to rock with my available time, I opted to stay. Usually, I woud’ve simply ticked off the new climbs but with them being all fairly easy, I knew it wouldn’t get me the desired points.
So, despite my staunch feelings, I decided I’d go on the gym equipment. I’ve got my Foundation Strength exercises to guide me – very useful – and despite being a bit bored, it worked a treat. Time-efficient training indeed.
At the time of my last post, I’d just finished the first week of my new Train-Cap Plan. The idea – during this Phase at least – is simple: go do whatever I’m keen for, whenever I can, and simply rate an overall RPE for each session as either 3, 6 or 9. Total up for the week, average it out over the course of several weeks and you have your Train-Cap: an idea of how much effort your body can sustain.
That first week concluded with a sub-par session on Friday (circumstances didn’t allow me to pick up the points I was hoping for) and the week finished at 21 points. This week? Yeah, it’s still only Thursday and I’m on 39… Thirty nine!
But, despite my lethargy while typing, clearly my body can handle it. Good job, too, as I’ve had two great bike rides and two outstanding outdoor sessions this week. It seems this plan is, erm, going to plan.
Project 1: Northern Soul sds 7b
Work usually quietens down this time of year and 2026 has been no exception. I don’t tend to do too much outdoors (though I can run outdoor bouldering sessions, hint hint) so tying the quiet spell in with some personal climbing makes total sense.
So despite my two-wheeled exercise on Saturday, on Monday I decided to make the most of the good weather and a clear diary and head out. I didn’t have long; roughly the time between school drop-off and pick-up so wanted something nearby. I also hadn’t arranged anything with anyone, so was going alone.
Consulting the List suggested Northern Soul sds 7b would be a good option. I’ll let this little video set the scene:
The post script kinda gives the game away a little. After being so close in the past, suddenly I was on the ball and did indeed get the send.
It didn’t come easy though! There’s another video below but don’t let that fool you. The major element you don’t get from the send video is how poorly I hit each hold. Nothing came together, every hold was proper skin-of-my-teeth stuff but once I’d stuck the first sidepull, I simply wasn’t letting go. It was dry fire off the holds or get to the top. No other choices available.
The emotion at the end spoke volumes; literally. I’m not one for making loud noises lightly but when such a gutteral roar comes over me, it’s coming out. I’m not entirely sure why but the send felt quite emotional, as if it felt like a bit of a right of passage. Again. I seem to say this often. Still, clearly it seemed to stir something deep inside me.
I’ll gloss over Tuesday and the ludicrous idea that I’d ride my road bike – complete with it’s lovely high gearing that meant I could overtake a car on the way to Welsh lessons – up over Clegir on the way home. I wouldn’t say I’m bike fit at the moment but even so, it is incredibly rare for me to get off and walk. This time, I simply couldn’t handle the steep uphill. It nearly broke me, for the third time in four days.
Wednesday was a much needed day off (from exercise, I’ve rarely been so grateful to work for a break) but some this morning (Thursday) there was another gap and more sunshine. This time, I had company too.
My school-hours-bouldering-session pattern continued unabated and once again, I headed up into the Pass. I did make one small miscalculation, not realising my wife was working and thus, I’d need to take the dog with me; meaning the Cromlech wasn’t ideal. Still, we made the best of it.
I wanted the two sends, finishing up both the Roof Crack proper and the Original finish but I was satisfied to get one of them; especially given the effort it took. I cruised through the early moves, kept feet on to join in the stand start but then had an epic getting my feet sorted, crunching forcefully while I hung from bent arms. I’m sure there are coaches out there that would tell me to have straight arms. They’re wrong, sometimes it’s more complicated than that.
Anyway, somehow I clawed my way to the daylight at the edge of the cave, determined not to have to do this again to get the tick. Now on the relative sanctuary of vertical rock, two crucial aspects suddenly dawned on me: that the exit is remarkably tricky to get right; and I really should’ve rehearsed the end of the climb before this moment…
I’ve no idea where I summoned the strength to cling on but even once I’d climbed myself into a trap, I managed to reverse three moves, rest on the good holds at the lip before adjusting, going again and getting over the lip. With Tom yelling encouragement, I stopped, leaning against the wall and panting, waiting to catch my breath before wandering off the top of the boulder.
I’m not proud of it but just as with Northern Soul, the emotion kicked in and as I completed the last hard move, let out the most colossal expletive that must’ve resonated throughout the valley. Not my finest moment but symptomatic of how much these climbs seem to mean to me lately. This one was partly through sheer exhaustion, coupled with the mental exertion of not giving up. In hindsight, a video would’ve been brilliant.
Sadly, I seemed to have one last decent effort in me which I fluffed before powering out. One out of two ain’t bad! Besides, it leaves me with another option for another day.
