I've had a fairly frustrating few days...
On Friday my home PC started to bork. It looked as if it could all be down to my own stupidity of keeping it next to my Xbox 360 (which up until recently has been unloved). That thing (being an early elite) kicks out some heat; in the direction of the PC cooling fan. I rescued the poor Acer from its Microsoft cell mate and lo' and behold, the problems vanished and I managed to do a successful backup. Rosy.
Last night, I took the decision to have a late one busting out some work to start on the grid computing facilities. Roughly 30 simulations each requiring about 8 hours of run time + another hour to do some post processing. I finished at 4am and tried to upload them to my ftp account. But stupid me, I'd forgotten just how long it takes to transfer files of that size and number from home. I fell into bed, exhausted. This morning, I awoke to find a PC recovery console as my desktop with a big fat 'Failed' error message. It quickly dawned on me (over my morning green tea with lemon) that yesterdays hard work was all for nothing. I wasn't happy. Then again, I hadn't lost all 'that' much and set the PC recovering from a handy system image. Its completed but no longer seems to believe it has a network adapter. It wouldn't play nicely with Ubuntu either, or MemTest for that matter. Basically, its f*cked.
A little miffed I headed into uni/work and begun re-making my files. It always feels tedious doing large batches but even more so the second time. I finished at about 7 this evening and put them onto the grid computing system to find out... that there are currently no licenses for the given software.
So since taking over Fluent, Ansys have removed my standalone license, invoked a university wide license (which isn't currently active) and transferred the grid licenses to Fluent 12, which has failed. I'm effectively a hydraulics experiemnt which is short of a fluid. Having access to three grid accounts I'm now effectively 18 times slower without it. Thats a lot and makes any effort at the minute seem absolutely futile (but necessary?).
There is an upside to this all however (in fact a few):
1. I'll finally sort out my woefully inadequate 500Gb filled to the brim passport backup.
2. I went to the Foundry tonight and tore the place apart
I know its the done thing to claim general weakness when asked but without blowing my proverbial trumpet, I feel quite strong. Not my strongest ever mind you but certainly something approaching decent. It may seem from my recent postings that I've lost sight of my previous epiphany, that is not the case. Time is conspiring against me at the moment and there's nothing I can seemingly do. Indoors will have to suffice for the most part and the nature of training goes a long way to destroying the memories of a frustrating day.
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
Monday, 18 October 2010
Got wood?
Tonight (at the Works) I decided that next session, I'll be joining the Foundry. Not simply because its closer as an in-situ wonder mule made the though of boarding it at the works actually appealing, but simply because I can't have productive sessions there often enough.
Tonight (again) as I attempted to train amidst the throngs of teenagers who thought dyno'ing and forward rolls were endlessly entertaining someone muttered "show off" as I was doing one armers on the giant scaffolding rather publically situated by the entrace. I looked stunned for a minute (I'd assume) and inwardly fought my tourretic self from screaming something involving CVNT very loudly. The very thought that I'd rather be in a dirty old building at the top of heeley as far away from this climbing reality as possible obviously wouldn't have occurred to him and I decided to just carry on.
Simply put: I long for the board back. To be able to train in relative solidarity without being angered by those around me. To be able to shout loudly when I fail knowing only that I might upset a very thin pot smoking violin maker (and even that was hard). I want problems back that highlight a lack of power, an inability to squeeze hard enough or to pull. I DON'T want to train to Kelis. I'll still endeavour to get out as much as possible but looking at my list of 'loose ends' from my research I can't see this Winter being that productive or facilitating a lot of 'extra' time. At least training hard will do something to quell the quesitons that circle in my head after a day spent staring at the same model I've been using for nigh on 3 years (the situtation of which seems to get worse daily).
As per the advice of a certain round farm animal I've been taking it easy, from a Summer of tradding and a fair break from training as I know it, my body simply isn't ready to jump back into training hard. Its gone from once a week, to two. Now it features a bit of touches and a few one armers. Shortly its time to look at whats lacking and get to it. My core seems floppy on the BM board and my fingers feel weak. Rings would be great, but I'm not going back there.
I usually find Gymjones' tweets to be a bit much but a recent quote from Ueli Steck was brilliant:
"I am not better than anyone else, I'm just fanatical about training"
Well I certainly share the sentiment about training.
(^ Proof that we actually do go outdoors still)
Tonight (again) as I attempted to train amidst the throngs of teenagers who thought dyno'ing and forward rolls were endlessly entertaining someone muttered "show off" as I was doing one armers on the giant scaffolding rather publically situated by the entrace. I looked stunned for a minute (I'd assume) and inwardly fought my tourretic self from screaming something involving CVNT very loudly. The very thought that I'd rather be in a dirty old building at the top of heeley as far away from this climbing reality as possible obviously wouldn't have occurred to him and I decided to just carry on.
Simply put: I long for the board back. To be able to train in relative solidarity without being angered by those around me. To be able to shout loudly when I fail knowing only that I might upset a very thin pot smoking violin maker (and even that was hard). I want problems back that highlight a lack of power, an inability to squeeze hard enough or to pull. I DON'T want to train to Kelis. I'll still endeavour to get out as much as possible but looking at my list of 'loose ends' from my research I can't see this Winter being that productive or facilitating a lot of 'extra' time. At least training hard will do something to quell the quesitons that circle in my head after a day spent staring at the same model I've been using for nigh on 3 years (the situtation of which seems to get worse daily).
As per the advice of a certain round farm animal I've been taking it easy, from a Summer of tradding and a fair break from training as I know it, my body simply isn't ready to jump back into training hard. Its gone from once a week, to two. Now it features a bit of touches and a few one armers. Shortly its time to look at whats lacking and get to it. My core seems floppy on the BM board and my fingers feel weak. Rings would be great, but I'm not going back there.
I usually find Gymjones' tweets to be a bit much but a recent quote from Ueli Steck was brilliant:
"I am not better than anyone else, I'm just fanatical about training"
Well I certainly share the sentiment about training.
(^ Proof that we actually do go outdoors still)
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
I finally managed to sell my Italian Stallion over the weekend. It's been advertised for four months with barely a whisper of interest apart from one text, quickly followed by another to tell me he'd found something better.
Being a Fiat it didn't go quietly. Having been sat in a garage for four months without being started or charged very often I felt certain that we'd be playing warning light roulette on the morning of the sale. Strangely after being on trickle charge it lept into aciton with the first turn of the ignition. Shortly after it was left ticking away on the drive to re-charge before sitting there anxiously waiting for the next idiot who fancies some budget hot (well warm) hatch diesel fun.
The viewing went fine with the guy crawling all over the car and not raising a single problem. That was until he asked me how to open the bonnet. Previously (on return from 6 months of fun) I'd found my Dad had managed to spring the cable from the release handle. It took a lot of cursing in the foot well but eventually in a cramped dark garage I had it back on and we were in business. Knowing all too well that it was a Fiat, I finger tightened the bolts as they were obviously going to need taking off sometime again.
I cursed some more, but no sweat this was a quick task out in the open and in less than 5 minutes the cable was re-attached. I pulled it. Nothing, pulled harder. Nothing, removed cable, used big pair of pliers. Nothing. Sent the viewers in for Coffee while I tried desperately to spring the bonnet to no avail. In the end it was a test drive (thank goodness it started) to the local garage who heaved on the cable whilst wrenching the bonnet upwards, managing to spring it. Phew. By this time I was heavily p*ssed off as my hopes of achieving a good price had evaporated. Suprisingly however they were in love with the little Italian despite its obvious quirks and only negotiated the negligibe cost of the cable from the price. Result.
So now we're left with this:
It has nearly a 100k on it and Nat has in her wisdom decided that the train is not for her and she's going to drive again. That amongst other things makes the van an impractical single vehicle. Its a shame really as it does look very nice. I'm trying very hard to pick a practical vehicle that we won't need to change for a while (it seems like I've bought and sold a lot of vehicles over the last 2-3 years). Despite this there's an Alfa on the list.
Being a Fiat it didn't go quietly. Having been sat in a garage for four months without being started or charged very often I felt certain that we'd be playing warning light roulette on the morning of the sale. Strangely after being on trickle charge it lept into aciton with the first turn of the ignition. Shortly after it was left ticking away on the drive to re-charge before sitting there anxiously waiting for the next idiot who fancies some budget hot (well warm) hatch diesel fun.
The viewing went fine with the guy crawling all over the car and not raising a single problem. That was until he asked me how to open the bonnet. Previously (on return from 6 months of fun) I'd found my Dad had managed to spring the cable from the release handle. It took a lot of cursing in the foot well but eventually in a cramped dark garage I had it back on and we were in business. Knowing all too well that it was a Fiat, I finger tightened the bolts as they were obviously going to need taking off sometime again.
I cursed some more, but no sweat this was a quick task out in the open and in less than 5 minutes the cable was re-attached. I pulled it. Nothing, pulled harder. Nothing, removed cable, used big pair of pliers. Nothing. Sent the viewers in for Coffee while I tried desperately to spring the bonnet to no avail. In the end it was a test drive (thank goodness it started) to the local garage who heaved on the cable whilst wrenching the bonnet upwards, managing to spring it. Phew. By this time I was heavily p*ssed off as my hopes of achieving a good price had evaporated. Suprisingly however they were in love with the little Italian despite its obvious quirks and only negotiated the negligibe cost of the cable from the price. Result.
So now we're left with this:
It has nearly a 100k on it and Nat has in her wisdom decided that the train is not for her and she's going to drive again. That amongst other things makes the van an impractical single vehicle. Its a shame really as it does look very nice. I'm trying very hard to pick a practical vehicle that we won't need to change for a while (it seems like I've bought and sold a lot of vehicles over the last 2-3 years). Despite this there's an Alfa on the list.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Roundabout
Its incredible how it is possible to go so quickly from climbing outdoors all the time, to being aware that everything that can is getting in the way of getting out and it has been almost a month since you did anything really enjoyable on rock. This isn't a good thing but as I approach thesis write up time, deadlines get closer, problems NEED to be solved and Nats new job is leaving us both less and less time, it is reality. Whilst I'm here moaning its also worth remembering that there are a great deal of people far busier than I, who have levels of psych that are just beyond me. Work, Cycling, Climbing, Family etc. I applaud you as I slump on my sofa.
Since Pembroke I've managed very little, a quick dabble up Sheperds crag with Nat and Dad which was far too easy to be anything more than a bit of fun. Climbing as a three and leading every pitch was a bit of a pain if I'm honest and protecting two seconds seemingly defeated the point of using two ropes for what realistically could have been done in one, 60m pitch without too much hassle or forethought.
Alas the day was not wasted as I bumped into one of the first people to take me climbing and teach me a thing or two. Mr 5c Senior, it's been roughly 8 years since I saw him last. Our conversation was cut short as a small child tried their best to cut short their life by taking a tumble and clipping rocks, brances and everything else in sight. The kid was ok.
The slightest hint of climbing has been indoors. Its a funny one this; as Adam pointed out (no doubt whilst smirking), I've done a bit of a U-turn with regards to training, climbing and trad. Its been fun and I hope it'll stay with me for a long time. It may be easy, you mightn't have to be 'that' strong or fit but in reality it tests a whole different skillset, requires different knowledge and ultimately leads to some amazing experiences. There are a number of places in the UK that I still haven't visited, I hope to rectify this. If you're reading this and you once enjoyed a bit of the easy stuff and have never been to the likes of Pembroke I strongly urge you to give it a go. The routes I've done this year have been some of the highest quality that I've done in the whole of the UK. From watching a number of Seals bobbing up and down as I wobble high above a wire, to catching a little bit of sea spray on Rusty Walls, all of it has been fantastic. Despite this, its time I drifted back the other way a little. Comparitively (and I say that to avoid being one of those annyoing people who claims weakness before busting out a few one armers in an L-sit), I'm weak, my fingers are weak, my core is weak and I can't pull for toffee. If i'm going to enjoy my slightly imrpoved footwork after this winter then I'm going to have to re-align the starts and put in some hard work. It seems to be hard work. This summer has left me with a disdain for indoor wallas that previously I never felt, thankfully I still enjoy the masochistic undertones that training gives. Once I get going it'll be fine. So far this has consisted of a couple of trips to the Foundry and a bit of rings. Bring on the psych, albeit slowly as we all know how my body likes to cope with intensity. Snap.
On another note; Finally, someone has contacted me about the Punto which is a good thing as I was getting edgy and the van has been at the very front of my mind as an unnecessary luxury. As Dobbin points out, when you attach a certain value to motoring (even in a van) it gets costly. Do we really need it?
I also tried my best to cost myself yet more money by smashing a few flashes off some hard concrete. They've kind of survived, but it'll definately teach me to be a little less blase with minor gusts. I have to admit, I do quite enjoy dicking around with camera's at the minute. It'd be nice if everything stayed intact.
Have a picture:
Since Pembroke I've managed very little, a quick dabble up Sheperds crag with Nat and Dad which was far too easy to be anything more than a bit of fun. Climbing as a three and leading every pitch was a bit of a pain if I'm honest and protecting two seconds seemingly defeated the point of using two ropes for what realistically could have been done in one, 60m pitch without too much hassle or forethought.
Alas the day was not wasted as I bumped into one of the first people to take me climbing and teach me a thing or two. Mr 5c Senior, it's been roughly 8 years since I saw him last. Our conversation was cut short as a small child tried their best to cut short their life by taking a tumble and clipping rocks, brances and everything else in sight. The kid was ok.
The slightest hint of climbing has been indoors. Its a funny one this; as Adam pointed out (no doubt whilst smirking), I've done a bit of a U-turn with regards to training, climbing and trad. Its been fun and I hope it'll stay with me for a long time. It may be easy, you mightn't have to be 'that' strong or fit but in reality it tests a whole different skillset, requires different knowledge and ultimately leads to some amazing experiences. There are a number of places in the UK that I still haven't visited, I hope to rectify this. If you're reading this and you once enjoyed a bit of the easy stuff and have never been to the likes of Pembroke I strongly urge you to give it a go. The routes I've done this year have been some of the highest quality that I've done in the whole of the UK. From watching a number of Seals bobbing up and down as I wobble high above a wire, to catching a little bit of sea spray on Rusty Walls, all of it has been fantastic. Despite this, its time I drifted back the other way a little. Comparitively (and I say that to avoid being one of those annyoing people who claims weakness before busting out a few one armers in an L-sit), I'm weak, my fingers are weak, my core is weak and I can't pull for toffee. If i'm going to enjoy my slightly imrpoved footwork after this winter then I'm going to have to re-align the starts and put in some hard work. It seems to be hard work. This summer has left me with a disdain for indoor wallas that previously I never felt, thankfully I still enjoy the masochistic undertones that training gives. Once I get going it'll be fine. So far this has consisted of a couple of trips to the Foundry and a bit of rings. Bring on the psych, albeit slowly as we all know how my body likes to cope with intensity. Snap.
On another note; Finally, someone has contacted me about the Punto which is a good thing as I was getting edgy and the van has been at the very front of my mind as an unnecessary luxury. As Dobbin points out, when you attach a certain value to motoring (even in a van) it gets costly. Do we really need it?
I also tried my best to cost myself yet more money by smashing a few flashes off some hard concrete. They've kind of survived, but it'll definately teach me to be a little less blase with minor gusts. I have to admit, I do quite enjoy dicking around with camera's at the minute. It'd be nice if everything stayed intact.
Have a picture:
Monday, 6 September 2010
Nat managed to scrape an extra week off between changing jobs (she now gets the train to Leeds) which teamed with her remaining holiday allowance gave us 12 days to enjoy. It was all a bit last minute and after failing to book onto Lundy we weren't quite sure what to do. Europe seemed like a safe bet, after all we'd been fairly lucky in our last trip. However, the Jura looked wet and would be undeniably hard, the Verdon looked great but its so far away and Calanques?... well we were faily sure our van would be stolen, or smashed in. Or maybe both and then burnt out.
Various discussions had us leaning one way or another until a few days before where Pembroke seemed like the future. I've been working on my head, not my finger nor my core and the other trad venues all seemed to have poorer odds with regards to the weather.
Arriving in Bosherston the place felt familiar, I know where to eat, sleep and buy food and by now I'm actually getting a feel for different areas. Much in the same way as the previous trip the climbing all went well, Nat led some more and we continued pretty much where we left off. One thing we failed to do was check the firing times for Sept and as luck wouldn't have it the MOD had big plans for playing soldiers as soon as the 1st arrived (which it did), Mother Careys was an option but having now done most things at our team limit (or Natalie imposed ceiling).
We sacked it to North Wales via the Osprey project. We've driven past this a number of times before on the way to Tremadog and carried straight on, this time we chose to take a look, approximately two days after the birds had migrated. Great.
North Wales was Scorchio and a few days were spent between the Cromlech and the stream in the pass where we sat with our stinky feet in the nicely chilled water.
The last few days were spent back in Sheffield carrying out 'necessary' tasks so that Nat was happy when she started her new job today.
Tonight, complete with Man Flu (Tm), I was coerced into a session at the Works. I can honestly say I haven't had the desire to go indoors for a while and tonight was no different. The works had an unusual scene, the amount if ripped up, hungry looking storng people was frankly shocking. The women were tearing the place apart and I fell off the first problem I pulled onto (a jug romp). That pretty much set the tone for the evening. People kept interjecting with comments such as "Don't worry it'll soon come back" to which I stared back blankly. Basically everything I've been doing of late is at odds to climbing hard and bouldering. I climb statically on trad, I'm careful, considered and faff around looking for jugs that in bouldering don't necessarily exist. I've got no snap, no pop and my tendons seriously did feel like they might crackle as I pulled on anything smaller than a finger bucket. It didn't bother me all that much. Ok, I'll fully admit that I don't really like a public ass-kicking or feeling weak but it wasn't at all suprising and isn't what I'm after at the minute.
What bothered me slightly was the fact that I didn't or don't have that 'will' anymore. The will to say no to chips, beer and gin and to hang off a wooden edge repeatedly instead. To try hard, eat clean and put everything I am into climbing. I'm more psyched for enjoying other aspects of life, trying to improve at photography and reading anything I can get my hands on.
But it'll change, it'll come back one day... I think.
(Random photos stuffed in from the Hols and the weekend. Some Rubicon shots (Nige) using flash which I 'think' ended up being quite subtle)
Various discussions had us leaning one way or another until a few days before where Pembroke seemed like the future. I've been working on my head, not my finger nor my core and the other trad venues all seemed to have poorer odds with regards to the weather.
Arriving in Bosherston the place felt familiar, I know where to eat, sleep and buy food and by now I'm actually getting a feel for different areas. Much in the same way as the previous trip the climbing all went well, Nat led some more and we continued pretty much where we left off. One thing we failed to do was check the firing times for Sept and as luck wouldn't have it the MOD had big plans for playing soldiers as soon as the 1st arrived (which it did), Mother Careys was an option but having now done most things at our team limit (or Natalie imposed ceiling).
We sacked it to North Wales via the Osprey project. We've driven past this a number of times before on the way to Tremadog and carried straight on, this time we chose to take a look, approximately two days after the birds had migrated. Great.
North Wales was Scorchio and a few days were spent between the Cromlech and the stream in the pass where we sat with our stinky feet in the nicely chilled water.
The last few days were spent back in Sheffield carrying out 'necessary' tasks so that Nat was happy when she started her new job today.
Tonight, complete with Man Flu (Tm), I was coerced into a session at the Works. I can honestly say I haven't had the desire to go indoors for a while and tonight was no different. The works had an unusual scene, the amount if ripped up, hungry looking storng people was frankly shocking. The women were tearing the place apart and I fell off the first problem I pulled onto (a jug romp). That pretty much set the tone for the evening. People kept interjecting with comments such as "Don't worry it'll soon come back" to which I stared back blankly. Basically everything I've been doing of late is at odds to climbing hard and bouldering. I climb statically on trad, I'm careful, considered and faff around looking for jugs that in bouldering don't necessarily exist. I've got no snap, no pop and my tendons seriously did feel like they might crackle as I pulled on anything smaller than a finger bucket. It didn't bother me all that much. Ok, I'll fully admit that I don't really like a public ass-kicking or feeling weak but it wasn't at all suprising and isn't what I'm after at the minute.
What bothered me slightly was the fact that I didn't or don't have that 'will' anymore. The will to say no to chips, beer and gin and to hang off a wooden edge repeatedly instead. To try hard, eat clean and put everything I am into climbing. I'm more psyched for enjoying other aspects of life, trying to improve at photography and reading anything I can get my hands on.
But it'll change, it'll come back one day... I think.
(Random photos stuffed in from the Hols and the weekend. Some Rubicon shots (Nige) using flash which I 'think' ended up being quite subtle)
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
Preopsterous Tales
If I took you blow by blow through the last few weeks this would be a very long post indeed and to be honest I can't be bothered and I'm fairly sure anyone reading this can't be bothered either so I'll be brief and stick to the highlights.
Firstly, I can't believe its taken me this long to remember another aspect of climbing that is so enjoyable. Furthermore I can't believe that I've been climbing for this long without being dragged in some way shape or form towards the bottom end of wales.
Before leaving the forecast looked, lets just say; British. A quick check of other euro-destinations showed the South of France to look incredible. Somehow I held my nerve and decided we'd go to Pembroke.
Basically, we worked our way through our tick list (courtesy of UKB regulars) and rarely strayed from the Rockfax top 50. The tone was set early buy ensuring Riders on't storm was the first route we got on and the second was Bloody Sunday. The leap is fantastic and I can't see myself from running out of challenges down there anytime soon!
I was absolutely shocked when I abbed in down the Monster Face (it looked wet, it wasn't) to find Keith and Mule underneath Minotaur. We both respectively set off on different minor epics. When I got a little lost I asked Nat where the belay was. She promptly picked up the guide, read a different route description and sent me off on what turned out to be an interesting linkup of most routes within the central section.
We made it to Mowing Word and all the way up to St. Davids, which whilst a nice setting, seemed a litte boring compared to the more imposing routes at Pembroke south.
I've been trying fairly hard to work through the grades and try and build myself a somewhat solid trad head/foundation with which to build on and its going fine. Nat seems able to follow happily up to about E3 as long as the route isn't too steep but on our next visit the going WILL get tougher. I've got a few routes in North Wales I'd really like to get on this season and hopefully a few more in Pembroke and one on High Tor. If these all get ticked then I'll be happy and my short term goal will be ticked/realised/sent.
All-in-all my head seemed pretty solid up until the last day. A few too many in the St. Govans left me with the hangover from hell and the smell of fear (or maybe beer?) escaping from me at every possible point. Abbing into a calm, almost serene Mother Careys I inexplicably became intimidated by my chosen routes and tried to find every excuse under the sun to avoid them. That was until a little voice clicked and after bitching at Natalie for what was clearly my head issues we got sorted and had a whale of a time on the almight Zeppelin. The territory is outrageous (a bit like Rock Idol on steroids) and the climbing fantastic. It would have been a little better if there hadn't been a communication error that left me off belay for a moment on a less than solid finish.
The weather was generally kind to us but as the tides starting playing up a shower had us packing up and heading North for what turned out to be a lot of driving for a day trip to Tremadog. Twas a successful trip however. Nat did her first lead, the first pitch of Christmas Curry shortly followed by her second, the final pitch of vector (namely one step in the clouds).
Sorry if this is all a bit vague, there's a lot to cover.
Other highlights include over filling my coleman stove, pressurising it and priming it which then led to it heating up and forcing petrol out of the filler cap. This then took light and a self perpetuating petrol fire ensued.
I had a mission trying to get on Mother night. The stake seems to have disappeared thus making the rockfax high tide access descriptions no longer valid. I still tried. Raining blocks down on myself, lowering in and then top roping out of 'Just Klingon' to pull into the final groove, a bit pissed off and quite pumped to be chucked up at/on by a Fulmar. Two washes later and my trousers still have the tell tale oily stain.
My old cams ceased due to the sea air, an obvious sign that they needed some TLC.
...and naturally we went for 'Preposterous Tales' only to find someone had taken a shit down the exiting chimney. Nice. This would make for a good DWS for the first two pitches should anyone fancy it. After that you could easily reverse it and finish up high life.
As Nat has taken a new job she finishes in Wakefield on Tues leaving her another 12 days off before she starts in Leeds. Currently its destination unknown but its not as if Pembroke isn't a strong contender after this trip.
Firstly, I can't believe its taken me this long to remember another aspect of climbing that is so enjoyable. Furthermore I can't believe that I've been climbing for this long without being dragged in some way shape or form towards the bottom end of wales.
Before leaving the forecast looked, lets just say; British. A quick check of other euro-destinations showed the South of France to look incredible. Somehow I held my nerve and decided we'd go to Pembroke.
Basically, we worked our way through our tick list (courtesy of UKB regulars) and rarely strayed from the Rockfax top 50. The tone was set early buy ensuring Riders on't storm was the first route we got on and the second was Bloody Sunday. The leap is fantastic and I can't see myself from running out of challenges down there anytime soon!
I was absolutely shocked when I abbed in down the Monster Face (it looked wet, it wasn't) to find Keith and Mule underneath Minotaur. We both respectively set off on different minor epics. When I got a little lost I asked Nat where the belay was. She promptly picked up the guide, read a different route description and sent me off on what turned out to be an interesting linkup of most routes within the central section.
We made it to Mowing Word and all the way up to St. Davids, which whilst a nice setting, seemed a litte boring compared to the more imposing routes at Pembroke south.
I've been trying fairly hard to work through the grades and try and build myself a somewhat solid trad head/foundation with which to build on and its going fine. Nat seems able to follow happily up to about E3 as long as the route isn't too steep but on our next visit the going WILL get tougher. I've got a few routes in North Wales I'd really like to get on this season and hopefully a few more in Pembroke and one on High Tor. If these all get ticked then I'll be happy and my short term goal will be ticked/realised/sent.
All-in-all my head seemed pretty solid up until the last day. A few too many in the St. Govans left me with the hangover from hell and the smell of fear (or maybe beer?) escaping from me at every possible point. Abbing into a calm, almost serene Mother Careys I inexplicably became intimidated by my chosen routes and tried to find every excuse under the sun to avoid them. That was until a little voice clicked and after bitching at Natalie for what was clearly my head issues we got sorted and had a whale of a time on the almight Zeppelin. The territory is outrageous (a bit like Rock Idol on steroids) and the climbing fantastic. It would have been a little better if there hadn't been a communication error that left me off belay for a moment on a less than solid finish.
Sorry if this is all a bit vague, there's a lot to cover.
Other highlights include over filling my coleman stove, pressurising it and priming it which then led to it heating up and forcing petrol out of the filler cap. This then took light and a self perpetuating petrol fire ensued.
I had a mission trying to get on Mother night. The stake seems to have disappeared thus making the rockfax high tide access descriptions no longer valid. I still tried. Raining blocks down on myself, lowering in and then top roping out of 'Just Klingon' to pull into the final groove, a bit pissed off and quite pumped to be chucked up at/on by a Fulmar. Two washes later and my trousers still have the tell tale oily stain.
My old cams ceased due to the sea air, an obvious sign that they needed some TLC.
...and naturally we went for 'Preposterous Tales' only to find someone had taken a shit down the exiting chimney. Nice. This would make for a good DWS for the first two pitches should anyone fancy it. After that you could easily reverse it and finish up high life.
As Nat has taken a new job she finishes in Wakefield on Tues leaving her another 12 days off before she starts in Leeds. Currently its destination unknown but its not as if Pembroke isn't a strong contender after this trip.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Nightmare of Brown Donkeys
The irony continues this week as once again my good lady is further North than usual and I am armed with four wheels and yet unable to use them with an impending deadline this Thurs.
The weekend wasn't looking too great further afield and over the phone I crumbled and agreed to her family popping in for dinner (a long way from Watford, non?) one evening either Fri or Sat. They plumped for Sat and on waking in the morning after sampling some local ales at the Riverside, it was plain to see that the flat wasn't going to be in an acceptable state to have guests if we went climbing. Reluctantly we both sorted the mess out and vowed to be more organised next time, with me silently cursing my moment of weakness.
The evening itself went off fairly well, her mother deposited some matching cushions (I shit you not) for the van made out of scraps from the upholstering. Leaving it too late again we scrounged a table at Zeugma 2 for what turned out to be a frustratingly average meal and one of the first her family have let us pick up the tab for.
Sunday came and I'd like to say we jumped out of bed and got going bright and early. The reality of it is Natalie woke early and I slept like the student that I am. After midday I surfaced, ate and plotted a course to Matlock.
Ever since abbing in to High Tor the first time I've eyed up the lines that break out of the Castellan cave, they breach some impressive territory and I can remember thinking on more than one occasion that it was unlikely I'd ever have the balls to do any of them.
After consulting the guide it turned out that many not so desperate routes forge their way through this steep ground. Circumnavigating the steepness with devious lines. Nightmare of Brown Donkeys (sadly I've not been dreaming about an ethnic neurotic version of the wonder mule, or is it the paragliding mule? You never know these days) was the route of choice. Mainly picked for line but backed up by stars and a recommendation from Mr. Littlefair. What I should have learnt by now (but sadly I haven't), is that Natalie is very happy to follow me up anything I should choose (that puts a sensible cap on it anyway!). However, if there is any form of sideways component to the route, she instantly becomes unhappy, and 'touchy', not to mention her movement slowing to a glacial pace.
The ab went fine although some fat b*gger has removed the spiky foothold I use to get past the first bit. All that remains is a brown hole where it once was. Abbing the line I pulled in on various bits of tat to ensure I had a fighting chance of ending up in the Castellan cave and thus avoiding the first pitch of loose VS crap that is skylight. Success was had and I was glad to be in the cave as Natalie rained down a block or two whilst abbing in. Good skills.
The first pitch is pretty fun leading you out of the cave on the RHS along the lower break to a stance below the groove.
Following this is one or two tricky (slightly bold) pulls into a dirty crack after which you climb up until you see a large peg, down climb a bit and then try and fathom whereabouts you actually turn the corner to the obvious ledge on Laurin. This took a while as there wasn't any chalk, and more to the point, there wasn't much for your feet. Especially if you've been an idiot and are now suffering the consequences of breaking in new boots in the most undesirable manner. After what was likely an age I found the traverse line and scrabbled my way across to the ledge via a piece of tat that looked bomber. Looking rightwards my error was clear; tat may look good on the outside but sure enough the bit inside the rock is probably not that confidence inspiring (exposed core and not much of it). A breather was had before eyeing up the various bits of tat, snapped bolts and wooden blocks and opting to belay under the big roof (not advised in the guide). Once again this had so much rotten tat that it was hard to pass my sling through the fair sized pocket in the back of the birds nest.
At this point my earlier identified issue came into play. Nat struggled with the initial pull into the groove, fought her way up to the peg then rat crimped her way over to the ledge looking non to happy. At the belay I gave her the option of backing off (I'd managed to lean out and grab the ab line on the aforementioned ledge and trailed it with (I really thought she'd want off at this point). My offer was met with a resounding "NO!" so once again the ab line was freed to hang in space.
The next, and final pitch has to be one of the finest positions I've climbed in thus far in the UK. Traversing on undercuts and poor feet underneath a roof to its edge and then making some fantastic moves around it and into a groove above. Sadly this is where my delight ended. Rock quality from hereon was poor to say the least and each path I attempted to leave the groove left me on holds that seemed more inclined to part company with the rock than I care for! Lower turned out to be the way, with an old peg marking the path that some fool must have picked out many moons ago.
At the top, boots off, life returning to my toes ever so gradually, Natalie began what was to be an entertaining pitch. Having placed two runners fairly early on the traverse, the first easily visible, the second somewhat buried, I made sure to explain that if needs be she should clip into the first bit, lean across to strip the second and then unclip from the first, remove it and continue. This almost registered but not in its entirety. From what I gather, she did indeed clip into the first, and then succeed to remove the second. However, she failed to remember to unclip from the first and thus began a process of moving the nut and then re-weighting it in exhaustion. This process was repeated until the inevitable happened; she'd moved it enough that it wasn't good enough to sit on. A little shriek later (enough to stop walkers down by the road), a lot of cursing, and a quick top rope of a dirty (harder) route and she was into the joyful world of loose rock for which I was blamed.
On summiting a quick glance at my mobile showed that it'd taken us a whopping 5 hours. I still can't quite fathom where the time went but considering you can get a meaningful value in mm per minute and that people climb El Cap in less time it was seriously slow.
(I really wish I had a compact to carry on routes like this)
The weekend wasn't looking too great further afield and over the phone I crumbled and agreed to her family popping in for dinner (a long way from Watford, non?) one evening either Fri or Sat. They plumped for Sat and on waking in the morning after sampling some local ales at the Riverside, it was plain to see that the flat wasn't going to be in an acceptable state to have guests if we went climbing. Reluctantly we both sorted the mess out and vowed to be more organised next time, with me silently cursing my moment of weakness.
The evening itself went off fairly well, her mother deposited some matching cushions (I shit you not) for the van made out of scraps from the upholstering. Leaving it too late again we scrounged a table at Zeugma 2 for what turned out to be a frustratingly average meal and one of the first her family have let us pick up the tab for.
Sunday came and I'd like to say we jumped out of bed and got going bright and early. The reality of it is Natalie woke early and I slept like the student that I am. After midday I surfaced, ate and plotted a course to Matlock.
Ever since abbing in to High Tor the first time I've eyed up the lines that break out of the Castellan cave, they breach some impressive territory and I can remember thinking on more than one occasion that it was unlikely I'd ever have the balls to do any of them.
After consulting the guide it turned out that many not so desperate routes forge their way through this steep ground. Circumnavigating the steepness with devious lines. Nightmare of Brown Donkeys (sadly I've not been dreaming about an ethnic neurotic version of the wonder mule, or is it the paragliding mule? You never know these days) was the route of choice. Mainly picked for line but backed up by stars and a recommendation from Mr. Littlefair. What I should have learnt by now (but sadly I haven't), is that Natalie is very happy to follow me up anything I should choose (that puts a sensible cap on it anyway!). However, if there is any form of sideways component to the route, she instantly becomes unhappy, and 'touchy', not to mention her movement slowing to a glacial pace.
The ab went fine although some fat b*gger has removed the spiky foothold I use to get past the first bit. All that remains is a brown hole where it once was. Abbing the line I pulled in on various bits of tat to ensure I had a fighting chance of ending up in the Castellan cave and thus avoiding the first pitch of loose VS crap that is skylight. Success was had and I was glad to be in the cave as Natalie rained down a block or two whilst abbing in. Good skills.
The first pitch is pretty fun leading you out of the cave on the RHS along the lower break to a stance below the groove.
Following this is one or two tricky (slightly bold) pulls into a dirty crack after which you climb up until you see a large peg, down climb a bit and then try and fathom whereabouts you actually turn the corner to the obvious ledge on Laurin. This took a while as there wasn't any chalk, and more to the point, there wasn't much for your feet. Especially if you've been an idiot and are now suffering the consequences of breaking in new boots in the most undesirable manner. After what was likely an age I found the traverse line and scrabbled my way across to the ledge via a piece of tat that looked bomber. Looking rightwards my error was clear; tat may look good on the outside but sure enough the bit inside the rock is probably not that confidence inspiring (exposed core and not much of it). A breather was had before eyeing up the various bits of tat, snapped bolts and wooden blocks and opting to belay under the big roof (not advised in the guide). Once again this had so much rotten tat that it was hard to pass my sling through the fair sized pocket in the back of the birds nest.
At this point my earlier identified issue came into play. Nat struggled with the initial pull into the groove, fought her way up to the peg then rat crimped her way over to the ledge looking non to happy. At the belay I gave her the option of backing off (I'd managed to lean out and grab the ab line on the aforementioned ledge and trailed it with (I really thought she'd want off at this point). My offer was met with a resounding "NO!" so once again the ab line was freed to hang in space.
The next, and final pitch has to be one of the finest positions I've climbed in thus far in the UK. Traversing on undercuts and poor feet underneath a roof to its edge and then making some fantastic moves around it and into a groove above. Sadly this is where my delight ended. Rock quality from hereon was poor to say the least and each path I attempted to leave the groove left me on holds that seemed more inclined to part company with the rock than I care for! Lower turned out to be the way, with an old peg marking the path that some fool must have picked out many moons ago.
At the top, boots off, life returning to my toes ever so gradually, Natalie began what was to be an entertaining pitch. Having placed two runners fairly early on the traverse, the first easily visible, the second somewhat buried, I made sure to explain that if needs be she should clip into the first bit, lean across to strip the second and then unclip from the first, remove it and continue. This almost registered but not in its entirety. From what I gather, she did indeed clip into the first, and then succeed to remove the second. However, she failed to remember to unclip from the first and thus began a process of moving the nut and then re-weighting it in exhaustion. This process was repeated until the inevitable happened; she'd moved it enough that it wasn't good enough to sit on. A little shriek later (enough to stop walkers down by the road), a lot of cursing, and a quick top rope of a dirty (harder) route and she was into the joyful world of loose rock for which I was blamed.
On summiting a quick glance at my mobile showed that it'd taken us a whopping 5 hours. I still can't quite fathom where the time went but considering you can get a meaningful value in mm per minute and that people climb El Cap in less time it was seriously slow.
(I really wish I had a compact to carry on routes like this)
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