One blissfully warm evening last June I went climbing for the very first time. Being a coward at heart, and not that keen on heights, I had been keyed up all day. My nervousness reached dry-mouth and cold sweat proportions as Karl and I drove through Ilkley and up to the Cow and Calf. I remember my first route vividly. The climb was graded severe, but it had obvious chiselled holds and was therefore ideal for the beginner. As I made my first very shaky ascent I couldn't help gazing with awe at a group of climbers nearby, cruising effortlessly over the rock with no rope! All they had was their Ebs and chalk bags.
'Fairy Steps' was my next achievement - not a very appropriate name, I don't think I looked very fairy-like! Half way up the route I suddenly wondered what I was doing perched on a rock, a dizzy 30 feet from the ground. For a novice, one of the hardest things to do is to convince yourself that you are perfectly safe – the cope really will stop you smashing into the ground below. But even with that comforting piece of information I couldn’t help getting gripped. Still, that’s not altogether a bad thing; it’s amazing what you can do when you’re terrified!
Later that night, after a further two successful routes, I clasped my first, well-earned pint of ’Old P’, which made it all seem worth while!
The next evening my new-found confidence soon evaporated as I struggled on an appropriately named route, ’Long Chimney’, in Rocky Valley. What a disaster! It turned out to be a very long chimney indeed, as I got completely stuck several times and was shamefully lowered off more than once. Poor Karl; how he remained so cheerful and encouraging, sat on such a cold, exposed belay, I can’t imagine. My language deteriorated markedly as the climb progressed and I experienced little elation when I finally crawled over the top.
The next trip was make or break for me. Karl made me climb ’Long Chimney’ again. This time I cruised it – perhaps climbing wasn’t so bad after all, given a little determination!
Over the following weeks we visited Ilkley many times, and I experienced the delights of bouldering on the Chevin. Shortly after being dragged up my first VS I realised that I would not improve my climbing ability unless I did something to increase my physical strength. As a consequence, my parents soon became resigned to finding their daughter dangling from convenient doorframes.
I had my first taste of longer routes during a holiday with Karl and his family in the Lake District. We did a couple of climbs on Scout Crag in Langdale, and became well acquainted with the Old Dungeon Ghyll and Sean, its immense barman. Later in the week we "climbed" Jack’s Rake, on Pavey, to win a breathtaking view from the summit.
As autumn loomed nearer and the weather became more unpredictable, our horizons narrowed to the Rothwell climbing wall and an exterior gritstone wall at Leeds University. The latter was known by the local climbing community to be excellent for building up finger strength and it was there that I first learned the teal meaning of being pumped!
One evening, late in September, my friends and I paid a very cold visit to Almscliff. This crag introduced me to the varied delights of hand-jamming. My first attempts at mastering this technique, on ’Fluted Columns’ and ’Stewpot’, led to much loss of skin. Yorkshire gritstone is highly abrasive stuff! Soon it was too dark to climb, so we gazed with mixed emotions at routes such as ’Great Western’ and discussed the reputedly tricky moves under its overhang. This was to be the last of our evening climbing expeditions, as the nights drew in.
And now, at long last, the new season has begun. Baggy Point was sunny and the feel of rock under my fingers was good. Who knows, perhaps this summer I might even work up the bottle to get out there on the sharp end!