It's hard to write that title out. And I think I'll
find it even harder to write this blog post. Right now I would be traveling
around the Peak District armed with a couple of bouldering pads and a rucksack
full of camping gear. It was going to be my holiday. A holiday I felt I
deserved and needed. After a week on the amazing lines of Stanage, Burbage,
Froggatt and so on, connecting with the history and culture of the Gritstone
climbing scene and most importantly connecting with the rock, perhaps right now
as I strolled through the moors of the peak and slept amongst the boulders and
caves I would no that true meaning of freedom I have only ever felt glimpses
of.
After months on end of that lack in confidence, of
seeing my dreams in front of me seeming further and further out of reach, I
thought it would be about time that changed and the answer would lie in the
Gritstone Edges of the Peak District. The place where I discovered who I was in
the middle of a time of loneliness and self-doubt. I needed that place again,
perhaps now more than ever. It had done so much for me and I was asking for a
whole lot more. I was going to the gritstone to find a motive, some
inspiration, some self confidence again, and most of all success. Perhaps that
was where I went wrong with it all. Months of trolling through the guidebooks,
looking for the right routes and lines. I could see myself on them, and I could
feel myself climbing them. I could already feel that connection with the rock
just from the photos and I could feel the success of topping out. But thats the
only thing, with the goals I have in mind, success is achieved through many more
failures, and my problem was I feared failure.
It came some
what of a shock to me when on the morning of leaving for Hathersage, I found a
public post on Evan's facebook page, announcing to anyone who stumbled across
it how he would be going down to the Peak District for '2 nights'. Perhaps it
was a misunderstanding. This couldn't be the case. We had jokingly called it 'Gritfest'
through texts and facebook messages. It all seemed amazing; a week (at one
point 12 days) of living amongst the grit, climbing and chilling. My head could
maybe reach the place I wanted it go, and I could climb to my full potential.
All self-doubt and anxiety would be a thing of past in just a weeks time. But
reading that facebook status was like having a double decker bus thrown on me
from a tall building. I couldn't describe to Evan what this time on the rock
meant to me. It didn't to him and that was that. I wanted to plead with him
even beg him to stay for longer, but my pride wouldn't allow it. After all it
wouldn't have worked anyway. Climbing was climbing to Evan, something that
brought adventure, joy, fear. Perhaps that’s the best way to have it, but to me
that was just the bit on the surface, and whether it's healthy for it to
or not, to me it meant everything. It was where I could learn the true
meaning of happiness, achieve total freedom, it was my drug, maybe even my
faith, it has become the only thing I think about and the only subject of
conversation I can concentrate on and have genuine interest for. All together
how much time on the actual rock had I spent? It surely would only amount to a
week or two if all the bits in between were taken out. Perhaps that’s why I'd
gotten so low this winter. Those precious hours of my life I'd spent on the
rock were all I had to cling onto over the season. I was scraping the dregs of
the barrel for the left over bits of happy emotions which remained from the
autumn.
I needed proof. Proof that the feelings existed and
wasn't all made up in my head, proof that I was actually a good climber and had
any potential at all. I was willing to put my all into it, all I needed was time.
Time I all of a sudden didn't have. I felt anger, rage, and so much sadness. I
couldn't believe how selfish Evan was for taking all this away from me, but he
wasn't, truth be told all he was doing was going mountain biking at the
weekend. It was me who had blown it all out of proportion. I tried to describe
what this trip meant to me, but he just said that it shouldn't. Perhaps he was
right. Then again whether he was right or wrong it really didn't matter the
fact was that it really did mean so much.
We showed up late on in the afternoon at Stanage, to
find the place covered in snow. Whole sections of the crag buried, quick easy
paths along the bottom of the crag now turned into thigh deep powder. The
routes that weren't covered now had water dripping down them. Only a few
remained climbable. Evan's morale was almost as low as mine. He didn't see
the point in hanging around with all the snow. "Don't get all pessimistic
just yet, we haven't seen the crag." I said
But he mimicked me in an exasperated tone and had a go
at my optimism. He was in a bad mood because he'd driven down a long way. Was
that all that bothered him? He was talking about going back up to the Lakes and
doing some stuff in the mountains. It would achieve nothing as far as I
was concerned, I would still be walking away with the dreadful self-doubt I
came with, but then with a new lack of hope on top of it all. I seemed
stupid to him for wanting to stay. I knew then and there he had nothing to
prove like I did, being here seemed like all I had left quite frankly, I couldn’t
leave. In reality he just wanted to make the most of his time off. To him it
was just a case of making the most of the weather conditions. To me it would be
admitting defeat and I couldn't cope with that. If he even had the slightest
idea of how I was feeling he wouldn't be mocking me for my optimism.
Thankfully one route I wanted to do was dry. Flying
Buttress Direct, a fearsome overhang. It looked harder here than it did in the
guide. I was a bit concerned as to how I’d do. I just needed to hop on it. If
there is one bit I don't like about climbing routes it is the whole, silent
anticipation you get before the climb, when the unknown lies ahead, and success
is on the other side of a thick brick wall. I would be ok once on the rock. I
tied in and set off. I made my way up the unprotected question mark slab placed
some gear at the break and went onto the overhang, sticking the heel hook on. I
had seen so many photos and videos and read so much literature about the
position I was in. It was comfortable and easy. I placed a cam, it looked a bit
dodgy, but I went on up before the pump got to be too much. I moved up onto the
second step, and then reached for the third. What!? I couldn't reach it. How
was this? ‘I’ couldn't reach it? I made two or three lunges, but my arms gave
out, I hung onto the cam.
"I've lost the flash!"
Evan thought this was a stupid thing to say. It was
the kind of bollocks you here on ukclimbing.com and that was all. He was wrong,
it meant much more. Climbing a route first time, shows you have the skill, the
focus, the strength and most of all the ability to get it done then and there.
I was upset I didn't have that.
"I'm F**king useless and pathetic. I'm just
s**t!"
I let a glimpse of all the doubt that had been filling
my head over the last few months blurt out of my mouth in front of Evan. I felt
sorry for him, having to listen to it. It must have been sickening to hear, and
most of all made such little sense to him. I had already admitted defeat. Thankfully the joy of being on the route spoke out soon after.
"I tell you what though Evan, it's
beautiful!"
I gave it another go, placing my heel on the second
step, but pulling up I popped the cam.
"Shit!"
And what a ball ache it was. My next bit of gear was
at the break, I was now having to hang off my arms, lowering down to the first
step, so Evan could take the rope in to avoid a violent swing onto the question
mark slab below. Another attempt after that led to yet another fail, the 4th
attempt, led higher up to wet rock, above the worst cam placement I've ever
placed. It was the kind of placement you see in the text books as a bad example
of a cam placement! I started to freak out a bit, as I tried to get another bit
of gear in, on my already pumped arms. I remember wondering if that was it. The
climb was well protected, just I hadn't protected it well. Was I going to be another statistic? I decided against
the gear placement and realized I'd just have to risk the cam. I lowered onto
it with anticipation........ it held. I backed it up while hanging on the rope. I lowered down. I was
full of self doubt. After all it was only a HVS and how much of a mini epic had
I just had on it. It was now protected to near the top. It seemed ridiculous,
if there was an easy way of taking all those bits of gear out the rock and
placing them again on the way up I'd have done it, that way I wouldn't feel
like such a cheat. I was now going to give it another go. I climbed up onto the
second step and reached for the third, I missed it, I was thinking about
failing again, I was going to lean back on the rope, when I heard Evan shout.
"Go on, try again!" This is exactly why I like climbing with Evan. He drives me on while I'm on the rock. He encourages me, he gives a
confidence I often lack and he rates my climbing ability at times I don't. I
gave it another lunge, and my hand stuck. I made my way on up. After that I
couldn't remember what happened I just remember topping out. I then abseiled
down to retrieve the gear.
Evan got a lead in and his optimism soon rose again.
But neither of us were in the mood to find Robin Hoods Cave as planned. We
went down to Hathersage and booked into the Youth Hostel for a further 2
nights.
After receiving a tip that Froggat, might be a better
bet for less snow, we went down there on the Wednesday. The walk up was nice.
It went through trees and bushes and paths with roots cutting across them
at unsuspected interludes. It reminded me of the path up to my Grandma's front door. But now it didn't stop and stretched on and on. I let my mind wonder deep into the Past, as I strolled on up the hill, sweating in the morning sun. Froggatt was
beautiful. It was an escape from the busy road below. A small crag in
comparison to Stanage. It was about quality not quantity. It had lines put up
by generations of climbers. From Joe Brown’s Era to Jerry Moffatt’s. We
strolled along the crag looking for lines. I found one that crawled up the
pinnacle. Ouepidus Direct E4 6a. Well within my technical capabilities, but a
huge step into the unknown. The climb consisted of an 8 metre section of
unprotected technical climbing until a break, which will take the right cam easily (a cam we didn't have).
Once the climber reaches this spot they no longer have the concern of the ankle
snapping drop below them. Easier climbing on safer ground leads to the top of
the pinnacle. I looked up at it. I had two crash pads laid out below. This
would obviously reduce the seriousness of the ascent but to what extent. It
would reduce the impact of a fall but would it make it safe. I spent the
morning bouldering it up to just above half way, it then started to seem like a
long fall to take, so would jump off before it got too much. I was nervous
about the climb. It seemed out of my league. Then some other guys came along
with an interest in the route too. We put a top rope on it. I fell just above
the flake, due to the wrong choice in sequence, but got it after a rest. I
never did string all the moves together on the top rope, as they had left
before I came back. I didn’t give it a second thought after. It seemed very
doable and that was all I needed to know. I went of to do a climb called
Bacteria Cafeteria graded E1 5b, an incorrect start, missing out possibly what
was the mental crux (I found out later), and a couple of falls due to getting
pumped, wondering off route, didn’t give me any of the proof I was looking to
get from the week. But there were two gains to be had from it. I had no fear
about falling on it. And although I fell twice, the climbing felt really easy,
though what route I did I do not know. I had gained confidence on the lead and
that was all that mattered. The day was rounded up with a tricky, wet HS led by
Evan. We then went to the Little John for tea.
The next day we went to Stanage. It was my last day to prove myself to myself. I’d had no successes over the week and perhaps doubted myself even more now than when I came. I had the wrong attitude. I chose a climb called Black Hawk Bastion E2/3 5c. I spent the morning on it trying to psyche myself up to do the crux move, which would have lead to a nasty fall against the rock. I didn’t commit and bailed out. Looking back on it I don’t know why I did. I could have probably done the move quite easily and the fall although not very nice wouldn’t have been too bad. Perhaps I was looking at the statistics, the failures of my week. The evidence would suggest I wasn’t ready for this climb yet, so I didn't climb it.
It was then off to look at the Right Unconquerable.
The first 6 feet buried under snow I was reluctant to climb it as it wasn’t the
whole route. I then decided that the first 6 feet probably wasn’t a
particularly challenging part anyway and I liked the look of the route. At HVS
5a it would be the easiest climb of the week. It looked so easy. I got on it. I
had seen Geoff Birtles climb it on a video. I knew how it should be done and
that was how I did it. It flowed so easily, the moves felt so natural and at
ease. It was one of those climbs that had the elegance and rhythm of a dance. Before long I was up
below the final ‘Belly flop finish’ I started to place my last piece of gear
before the top. It took longer than expected. I was trying a few nuts, when I
dropped my set. I then got the other set of nuts off my harness and tried to
fit one. I got one in, but it was at a weird angle. I was already starting to
feel the pump before hand but now it was getting bad. I finally managed to fit
a better nut in but I was now ridiculously pumped. Lactic acid was filling up in my
arms and I was struggling to stay on. I looked down at Evan who was attentively
belaying. I mouthed to him “PUMPED”, as if I didn't want to say it a loud, revealing my weakness to the route. I was trying to shake off. Switching hands,
hanging on one while giving the other a rest. It wasn’t working I would just
have to go for it. I knew I didn’t have the strength, but all I knew was if I
was going to fail on this route I wanted to fall, rather than hang. I moved my
hands up onto the top ready to pull up, they slipped off. I couldn’t believe
it. This had beaten me too. I ignored the dreaded feeling of failure. It was a
beautiful route. I’d climbed with not one thought of fear and all the moves
were well within my capabilities. At one time (though very long ago) this climb
was one of the hardest around. Attempted by many, it was the legendary
Joe Brown who climbed it finally in 1949. Having got up it with no gear in.
Perhaps that was my problem, hanging around placing gear. Well it saved me then
anyway it was worth it most the time. I waited till the pump went before
executing the final top out move with the belly flop. It was a beautiful route
and I was glad to have climbed it. I would move here one day. And I’d climb it
again and again, it was that beautiful. How could that have been a failure it
felt so good. It felt so right. Is it possible to fail on a route you found
really easy? It seemed so. I was confident that I could have climbed it again
better. If I could just do the Left Unconquerable perhaps I could go home
having gained something. But we were out of time, I couldn’t. That was that. We
racked up, and walked down off the crag. Evan went home.
With out any further thought I booked another night at the Youth Hostel. I couldn’t leave. I
would leave with nothing. But there was nothing to stay for. I had no one to
climb with. The next
night the hostel would be booked up and I would have to spend the weekend in
Robin Hood’s Cave on my own. I’d made my decision to go back tomorrow.
I walked up to Millstone Edge alone. I gazed at some
of those classic hard routes, as water pored down them. I looked across the valley as the sun set, just about holding back from
tears. The results were in. I had failed. But it was how I chose to cope with
it that really mattered. I started to contemplate it. “Failure.” I let thoughts
of failure fill my head, I stopped fighting them, I just let them role in from
every direction. I started rubbing noses with it, I began accepting it as a
friend of mine, I held out my hand with dignity welcoming it further into my
life. I would have to get to know it well, so when we cross paths we greet with
a smile, and I feel no fear. It can help me if I let it, for it takes me to my
other friend every once in a while who perhaps I don’t know quite as well ……
“Success”.
