I picked up a rope and some gear to set up an abseil to clean and inspect the line. Andy walked past without looking over. He didn’t look happy. It was his third visit to the Lleyn Peninsula that year, which may have accounted for his mood. He’d quite liked the idea of having a look at the Tyn Towyn Quarries when I’d first suggested it. He was even willing to came back a few months later when I was fit enough to climb the line I’d shown him. He’d led a new route of his own that day.
That was when I’d first really noticed the wall. A steeply angled slab with a series of ripple like wave formations which may allow progress by rock overs and high steps between them. The slope of the ripples would demand careful footwork and frictioning. A drainage line to the left offered protection, although it would be distant. The lack of gear prompted a remark about bolts. The wall would have been a suitable target for a bolt. The thought made me break into my repertoire on the ethical decline of British rockclimbing, the demise of boldness due to bolt placing by Anorexic Weirdos, the last phrase being borrowed from Livesey’s column seemed to sum up the whole status quo. Hence we dubbed the line Anarexic Weirdo. The Sunday had been a disappointment when after extensive cleaning and inspection I failed to climb a small section of the wall. I felt sure it was due to the warm afternoon sun having moved round, and was eager to have .html go. I would have left it to someone bolder than myself, but was reluctant to see it fall to a bolt when there was some protection. Andy had seemed decidedly fed up when he left that afternoon after the mornings wait proved fruitless.
It hadn’t taken too much persuasion to get him back this time. But since he wasn’t willing to climb anything himself for fear of injury, only days before his departure for the Antarctic, he’d agreed to drive us where we wanted. With Richard and myself in the car the long drive over to Lleyn was inevitable.
Richard passed in the same direction, to look at the other quarry bays as I lowered myself dawn the slab, hoping it wouldn’t take too long to decide if I could do the line or not.
The climbing was hard and friction climbing, which I don’t like, what I liked even less was the lack of protection. I swung over to the seeping crack on the left and cleaned out more grass and mud. Water flowed down my arms and over my newly purchased Fires. My old boots hadn’t returned from being resoled so I’d forced my feet into Fires. I’d never used them before and had doubts as to the suitability of this as a preliminary trial.
I stood in the middle of the wall on the last of a series of ripples. This was the largest, almost a sloping ledge. Unfortunately, a sloping ledge which tapered to a point. With protection in the crack several feet to the left I was sure a fall from the blank section above would cause me to slip past the point, cutting myself open. At least I wouldn’t hit the ground, though it would be close.
I brushed off a few more small loose flakes and tried the moves. After a few attempts I could do them. I now had to decide if I could repeat it under the mental pressure of leading. I looked down at the ledge. It seemed to grow and sharpen to a tooth like stake. Visions of being ripped open as I swung past it flashed through my mind, as I let my imagination loose on the idea.
I glanced up at the top wall it didn’t look a doddle, with long runouts over some hard ground. Before I could dwell further on this the lads returned. Andy’s mood didn’t seem as though it had improved. He’d been very patient all summer as we’d toured the country looking for loose rock. Now his interest had wavered, in favour of self-preservation as his leaving date approached. He’d quite justifiably lost his nerve and didn’t went to take any risks. I recognised the symptoms, I’d seen them myself the year before. As the time approached for you to leave for the Antarctic, it seemed silly to push it for that one last climb. You’d kick yourself if you got injured so close to leaving, and had to miss your season south.
I didn’t want to keep them waiting so said I was ready to give it a go. While Richard got me some gear and Andy removed the abseil rape I bouldered out the first few feet to keep myself occupied and prevent the onset of nerves.
As I pulled out on the flake it parted with the rock and I fell backwards. I landed on the sloping belay ledge and the flake crashed the remaining few feet into the bushes. A rash move on my behalf, to have pulled outwards on a hold. After all this was the Lleyn, renouned for its loose rock, even though the wall itself was reasonably solid. As I lay looking up at the underside of the lower ripple formations, a collection of blocks bonded together, where a little leverage in the right place could pull the lot down. I’d have to be careful on the start.
I stood on the grass and stretched up. I slowly started loosing height as the small lawn of grass I’d so carefully left in place slid to the edge of the ledge and fell the twenty feet to the ground. I forgot any notion of keeping dry and rammed fingers into the crack to avoid following the grass. Water flowed down my arms and the Fires didn’t seem quite as sticky on water and slime, as I tried to gain the few last inches to a good runner placement.
Eventually it was done. I felt safe even though I was now soaked through. Richard sent up his jumper to allow me to dry off my hands and feet. No chalk used on this ascent, but I wondered if wool could he considered unethical.
A few moves and I was onto the ledge looking up at where the ripple formations restarted after blanking out. A quick check to be assured of attentive belaying and I set off before nerves allowed my imagination to rerun visions of disembowlment and entrails, I hate repeats. A high rock-over onto the left foot, my right hand searching above, palm flat an a sloping ripple. One more high step and I could rest. Next the problem of a long fall as I delicately moved along a ripple, my feet slowly sliding off as I edged my way to the crack and more runners. Groping at the crack I blindly placed a runner, then performed a ritual wiping routine to dry off my fingers.
Reversing the traverse seemed easier with protection, pity I had to move away from its safety. I knew the next moves were hard and I was worried about one of the holds. I wished I’d looked more closely at the top, it seemed a long way to the gear as I looked back down the rope. I tried a sequence and rejected it, the side step was too long. Standing on the ripples I had time to reflect an the moves to the next set of ripples. Not the type of climbing I like, I should stick to roofs. They’re usually protected and once you’ve started you don’t have time to hang around contemplating alternatives, you get on with it, or off.
Pushing off the hold my outstretched fingers momentarily buckled under the strain, the palm of my right hand pressed hard on the rock as I moved my body-weight right to centre it over my legs, I was safe and one move nearer the top. A few more cautious moves and I was within reach of comforting grass and bilberrys at the top. At least I’d have something to graze on as I belayed the others.
Returning to the car we were greeted by the tins and wrappers of its edible contents strewn across the ground. Mary having just returned from India had broken her fast, after a bout of Delhi belly, and was on the road to recovery.
As he drove away I thought I detected an improvement in Andy's mood. I wondered if it was due to success on the route, or the fact that in departing to Antarctica this would be his last trip to the Lleyn for some time.