This weekend we'd managed to get ourselves a little more organised which meant a quick and efficient start to the weekend.
Saturday we drove down to LPT after being tipped off by Mini-pick that the tides were right. We spotted an alarmed Doylo as our little Punto casually passed the cave. After Natalie faffed around for what seemed like an age we were trundling back along the road towards the LPT descent. A quick stop and chat in the cave to assure Father Doyle that I hadn't come all the way for Parisella's and then I pointed Nat down the death slope approach.
The crag seemed fairly popular and given the lack of sun and a strong breeze it threatened to be painfully cold. We warmed up on Kaffee something which wasn't the best of choices at which point the sun turned the corner and turned the crag into a great place to be. I know LPT can be a little funny with conditions but things didn't feel too bad. A little soapy in places but nothing to moan about. Anyway back to the climbing; God knows what it was but I climbed the warmup in terrible style. My feet felt like planks and I just wasn't moving nicely. On return to sea level I realised why; having cut my monsterous toe nails the night before and being lazy with my laceups my toes were nowhere near the end of the boots.
Nat had a tussle but inevitably found it hard and again the wrong choice for a warmup. We moved rightwards onto the other easy lines and picked them off one by one. All nicer and all with just enough clips to keep you happy (or one too few for my better half). I gave her a nudge in the right direction and got her back on the sharp end, after that she seemed to get more confident with the runouts and showed a glimmer of the determination she pulled out now and again on her best efforts.
At this point I noticed the crag emptying. I'd only finished warming up and I was damned if a minor thing like the sea was going to stop me climbing more. We both did one more route at which point the sole remaning team left. The ominous froth deposited by the incoming tide was perilously close but once again I decided there was time for one more. The crag was now empty, all other climbers were long gone, even the peeking heads from the cave had disappeared. One more? why not, after all its only a 7a+ and I've done it before. Nightglue it was (what a fantastic route). The start was wet, so too was the undercut seam but that didn't detract from what is a fine set of moves. A quick blast up to the angular jug before a shake out of Spanish proportions. A quick move right which highlighted just how weak I was. Its not a massive move or a terrible hold but I had to try worringly hard. Again a stupendous shakout at the next jug (as I did so I tried not to take in just how close the sea was. All that remained was the final spring up the headwall where the last small hold threatened to re-tweak my finger. Above this are three strikingly similar moves and a lower off.
Back on the floor we made our exit in a wild scrabble vowing never to do "one more" again.
Sat night we had a B&B in Llanberis (twas my birthday after all).
Sun we awoke and drove up the pass to see the sunshine hitting Dinas Mot. The original plan had been the cromlech but the sun hitting the north side quickly changed our minds and we ran up Direct Route or something similarily easy. It again became evident that my rack is too small as I fished around on stances for placements that fit my remaning gear rather than the other way round. We abbed back down the western gullly and then spent 20 mins tugging on a stuck line. Nat had misinterpreted my "when you come down just move the knot out of that channel", inevitably lots of bickering ensued.
Back in Llanberis we had a rushed late lunch (chip butty) whilst weighing up whether or not we had time to find Rainbow Slab from the bus stop parking or whether we'd just walk around for hours getting lost until dusk.
I really wanted to find it, Nat was knackered and had little psych. This time I won (twas my birthday the day before) and rather painlessly I found myself at the top of the rainbow staring at one of the most hilarious bolts in the world. It was place in a block the size of which dictated that it can't weight more than 30kg, in the bottom of a collapsed building. I didn't want to ab the cystitis line as with the minimal rack I really did want a look at what was on offer (Fail).
Abbing down the rainbow slab is an atmospheric experience. The slab itself is so blank on your right and above all you can see is tier upon tier of destruction caused by man. Behind, a more natural view and inbetween a power station offering a mild hum broken only by the sound of clattering slate.
We were both glad to have bothered at the end of a long weekend, the climbing on Pull my Daisy (a lowly E2) is stunning. Nat flew up it like a rat up a drainpipe and told me she'd found her calling: Slate. I think she might change her mind when I pass over the wires (or lack thereof).
Yesterday, I (or we) bought a caddy. I still stand by the decision to sell the T4, its far too big. But this isn't much bigger than a golf, you can sleep in the back and comes with the same (if not more) creature comforts up front. Add to that the stunning R32 rims and I couldn't ressist.
Unfortunately this now means the Punto must go.
