Deh-Shay, Deh-Shay, Bah Sah Rah. Bah Sah Rah.

Much to the suprise of my peers, friends, girlfriend, old school teachers (I imagine), lecturers and probably even dog - who've all seen first hand the bare minimum of effort I applied, I attained a 2:1 for my degree in Geological Oceanography. Interestingly, it was only my parents, who know better than anyone about my lazy, careless and hedonistic approach to life, who weren't suprised. 

Anyway, this gave me a real confidence in my confidence as I had always thought the best thing to do would be to scrape a 2:1, and having been bumped up from 59.3%, it's fair to say this was dutifully achieved. It adheres to my tenuously agglutinated, tongue-in-cheek philosophy, that the reality which pans out before you is largely and inexplicably a result of what you believe beforehand; we are the masters of our own destiny. Thus, if you want to challenge yourself, you'd better think you can do it before you try it. 

With this in mind I had a day down in Portland with Laura. After finding a crag which wasn't victim to the mud slides from all the rains we've had, I set about warming up on a few 6c's on Battleship Main. With a healthy blood flow, fluid motion, and drying rock I set about Dreams Burn Down (7a+). Mid-crux and chicken-winging like a mother, I fought hard to maintain the tenacity of mind neccessary for upwards progress. After a series of slaps of desperation I grovelled over onto a resting ledge, suprised. The same story unravelled on the adjacent Nihil (7b). Fortunately for my arms, the rains came so we scarpered.

The next day I met up with Dan Gibson for some steep shit at the most under-rated area in the UK - Swanage. We rapped down into the insanely overhanging Lean Machine Wall to be met by a centurion of riders on white horses. Taking sanctuary on a dry plinth we traversed into the meaty jug-fest, Sirius (E3 5b). Back down and Dan directed his attention towards Surge Control (E5 6b), a superb stamina test with testing moves between shake-outs. At around half height the lactic demons got the better of him, and unable to imagine recovering for a while, he returned to the deck and handed over the sharp-end. Knowing how handy Dan is, it was hard to fight intimidation; the catalyst of doubt. I breathed deep, inhaling self belief and surged up the wall, not necessarily in control. With half the gear in already, I reached Dan's high-point relatively fresh and was able to press-on to the top keeping the demons at bay.
 

Characteristically insatiable, I persuaded Dan to belay me on World in Action (E5/6 6b). Dan abbed down first, keeping quiet about the fact the wall was totally gopping, with sea-piss dripping out the cracks and undercuts. Given that the abb down is onto an isolated ledge with no other routes off it, I was left with no option. Chalk proved useful only for creating a slimy paste. I felt as though I'd been abandoned by a trusted friend.

After the lesson I'd learnt on Mammoth Direct, even after a hang I pushed on with full-bodied effort. I made it to the point where the route became vertical, where the abb rope met the wall, tempting me to grab it and haul out of this soggy cliff. I resisted, cranked on a chicken head and became airborne. Grappling at the rope by my eyes, I couldn't understand why I was still falling, until I realised that wasn't the rope I was attached to. I recalibrated just in time to get my legs out in front of me and save my face. Wanting more than ever to climb up the rope, I clawed out up the route to top-out jubiliant. I may not have got the route clean, but I managed to try hard with no incentive of a clean ascent and in terrible conditions - retrospectively, a greater feat.

Scooby graduating on my behalf whilst I was in Pembroke. Laura Perry Collection.

After a rest day George and I drove down to Pembroke intent on 'tearing it up'. The morning was drier than expected, but dampness lingered all around. After seconding Fitzcarraldo (E5 6a), I tried Magazine People (E5 6b), both in The Leap. It looked nails but Caff had said it was 'nice'. The route essentially saw me trade all my finger strength, stamina, finger-tip skin and 'toe comfort' for a bucket-load of sweaty-faced, dry-mouthed fear. 'Nice'. After seconding George on the stunning Big in America (E6 6b) on Bosherston Head, I was all but spent and managed to squeeze out Passion (E4 6a), at St Govans in one pitch and Slap up/Fitz in (E4 6b) back in The Leap. The latter of which had a superb first half, and if combined with the top half of Fitzcarraldo would provide an absolutely outstanding link-up.

After these four days in the South of England and Wales I began to believe in sunshine again. Just in time for 10 frustrating days trapped inside.

June in a Nut: Part II

Back from Pabbay I was ready to go full tilt at North Wales' classic testpieces. First day back out Jon Ratcliffe and I went to Scimitar Ridge, the best crag for E5's in the pass. Jon wanted to have a look at a project arete, and I wondered about trying Surgical Lust (E7 6b) as it's similar to Pabbay; Steep.
We warmed up on The Kicker Conspiracy (E5 6a); a meaty route with varied and unrelenting difficulties. I'd struggled like hell to second George on it a year or two prior so it felt good to lead with a decent degree of control.
Jon then led Killerkranky (E5 6b), a route best attacked with a proverbial 'run-up', it seems you can hang around just long enough to place some good kit, then it's time to move again. Then the midges descended and sucked the psyche out of us. I had chance to have a quick look at Surgical Lust, and it didn't look too bad, which is never a good sign! Just before we drove off I pulled onto Roadside Full Extension (V9) and first go (I had done half of it as a V8 before) managed to do about 90% of the problem. I came back a few days later and sent the full thing as my second V9 (although they are both more 8a+ given the length).

Anyhow, the day after managing Roadside Full I went down to Main Cliff to try Mammoth Direct (E6 6b). We passed some guys on the way down who said it was suprisingly cold down there, so I counter-intuitively wore my trousers down. Needless to say before I even set off I could barely lift my legs up as a result of sweaty kegs. First go, I made it out left through the first 6b section to find myself on undercuts with screaming biceps and more unobvious 6b ahead. I made an attempt upwards, but, lacked commitment and was duly taught a lesson. I ran all the way back to the bags and changed to shorts ready for action.
Back beneath the mammoth, exhausted, I tried again. This time I got through the second 6b section, sweating like a human percolator, to be met by a third 6b section. This last one being the most awkward, the only thing spurring on my glistening, wasted meat bag was a rusty old peg. Not for the peg itself however, in the description it said 'join the original at a peg by a pocket with good holds in it, and continue up into the originals' crux'. I gritted my teeth, stretching up, ready to recieve some good holds only to be met by a fistful of sand. I quickly slapped a quickdraw into the peg and took a hang. After a brief rest, I carried on with relative ease to the belay where I suddenly realised that, until I sat on the peg, I was on for a clean lead. In the moment I'd forgotten this and felt like I was taking 'just another hang'. At first I kicked myself for forgetting it was ground-up, but retrospectively, I should kick myself for giving up, simply because I wasn't on for the clean ascent. It's something I do a lot, once I've sat in, fallen off etc I find it hard to try properly. Weakness highlighted.

After a full week of rain, George and myself headed to Yellow Walls at Gogarth for the adventure fix the weather had been denying us. After getting stuck in work until 5pm instead of 2pm it became something of a quick hit so I jumped straight on Me (E6 6a). 'Yellow Walls' strikes me as a very unassuming, reticent name for such a wild, warped, escher-esque piece of rock. Twisted, as it is, you'd imagine to personify the place would be to describe an unhinged schizophrenic; volatile, unpredictable and requiring care.
I set off from the belay with a paradoxical emotional mixture of excitement and tentativeness. Only a few metres up, on the least steep section 'the pump' was murmuring in the back of my mind. Moving further up, footholds began exfoliating, showering down on George, whilst the damp sand in hand threatened to depart perpetually. The mind-chaos began. The sounds of the sea and the birds whirred into an intimidating white noise, drowned out only by the conflict in my head; instinct screamed 'Down!' and desire whispered 'upwards' like a fork-tongued hyponotist, whilst rationality froze, insisting the only sane thing to do was to stay still and wait for help. Controlling the physical situation became an aside to the psychological, yet it was only at 'rests' where it was possible to regroup and restore sanity. After about an hour on the wall, the internal chatter began to acquiesce, this far up, the safest way was up. In a state of mental harmony I climbed into the final section, lured into a goey sequence, and yet, happy to accept the consequence either way. Fortunately this time, my body did its job and all that remained was to pass 'the suspect block'. With no visible connection to the face, it was a real 'off-the-wall' bit of climbing to finish. Triumphant and basking content, I watched George battle with his mental demons on a stage of gold, the rock, the waves, the sky all illuminated by the setting sun.

The rest of June was wet.

Here's a little video short from the International meet a few years ago with Nico Favresse on 'Me' and off Nightmayer (E8 6c).
                                   

June in a Nut: Part I

Blogging came easier when I had uni work. The moment I walked out my last exam, I went straight to North Stack Wall, Gogarth. The verbal diahorrea brought on by post exam ecstacy was duly corked as I started up the snaking line of The Cad (E6 6a), but, after a few deep breaths I found myself a third of the way up the wall with un-tieing shoe laces. I was in two minds as to whether I should reverse to the deck, or press on to the foot-ledge mentioned in the guide at two thirds height. I reversed.

As I rocked through the crux, I could see no sign of the supposed ledge and the moves forced me onwards. Eventually I got stood on a 5cm by 5cm square block and began to relax, totally thankful that I had reversed to tie my laces. I stood facing an old bolt stud which can be threaded with a wire, a bolt stud which I'd been told was no longer neccessary as there was a 'bomber' skyhook.
I looked at my skyhook swaying in the wind and at the moves ahead.....
I fiddled about trying to loosen the heads on my wires to thread the bolt, but, none of them would free up, so I was left with some very thin moves to do with only a wobbly skyhook between me and a 90 foot ride. A few tense and tenuous moves led to a mindfuck of a final move, with no other options, I stuffed all my eggs in one basket and piano-played up the wall with my left hand, as my feet were creeping beneath me. Suddenly, time warped back to its usual pace, the calls of fulmars could be heard once more and the sea returned to flagellating itself on the rocks beneath as I grabbed a proper thank-god hold. A final few moves went by, then I sat on top and gratefully appreciated the strength of flaky quartzite.

Well, I'm still over a month behind and If I carry on at this pace, and you read as fast as myself, you'll never catch-up, so here's some delights for your delicate, multi-layered, light sensitive membranes.


PABBAY (Probably About as Brilliant and Beautiful Area as You'lleversee).

Duncan warming up on the ferry. Photo: Gwen Lancashire

Trying to get the burnt bits out the sun on the exposed P3 belay of Prophecy of Drowning (E2 5c). N.B. we were so far North that the horizon can be seen to curve dramatically, the sun doesn't set until midnight either! Photo: Duncan Campbell

Home. Photo: Duncan Campbell

Seconding George on the awesome Johnny Scuttlebutt (E5 6a), Banded Walls. Photo: Will Nicholls

Starting out my short-lived attempt on Every Cormorant is a Potential Shag (E7 6b). Photo: Ben Alsford

Setting off on P2 of Perfect Monsters (E7 6b), Dun Mingulay. Photo: Duncan Campbell

Pabbay and Mingulay from callum coldwell-storry on Vimeo.

Perfect Island, perfect weather, perfect holds and gear, it's just a shame about the company.

My last day of climbing as a student.

I wolfed down my Morrisons breakfast buttie because I couldn't wait to get to Gogarth this day.
I was climbing with Martin Haworth, a old friend from when I lived in hull. Last time we climbed together was on the winter route Bowfell Buttress (VI, 6) where Martin had taken over the lead on at least one of the pitches and essentially dragged me up the route (This was, by no coincidence, the last winter route I did). Today was my chance for revenge.
Duncan went off to Yellow Walls to do The Savage (E2 5b) with Martins mate Andy, whilst we were the first ones on the busiest cliff at Gogarth; Castell Helen. The sun hadn't come round yet, the usually grey-white walls were knocking on the door of black, a pretty good idicator of greasy, damp conditions, but we were down now. I looked to Martin for signs of hesitation, I can only get out of this one if he cracks first. Instead he began nonchalantly spooling out the ropes, unphased by the sub-ideal conditions and soon we were tied on beneath the synonymous with the eponymous, Kalahari Highway (E5 6a).

Martin nipped up the first 4b pitch and I was soon on my way. The first half of my pitch is shared with the original Kalahari (E3 5c) providing a bit of a warm-up. By this point my hands were slick with the slippy bacteria that haunt the shady sea cliffs and my chalk laid waste to the old addage by being very much like soft cheese. 'You sure you still wanna do this Martin?' didn't get the answer I was hoping for. Committed.
The crux pull over a small overlap felt committing as you can't make out any holds coming up after, fortunately the move was ok, and it led straight to good holds and an awkward set of resting positions. From here an impressive traverse on undercuts and smears (exactly what you want in damp conditions!) lead out from under the big rooves. Then at the end of the traverse you're left hanging steeply at the edge of everything on jugs with an exciting blind finale. As I got halfway through the final moves rope drag became terminal, I couldn't move. I didn't feel in balance enough to pull at them without peeling off and in a heart-stopping moment I squat-thrusted upwards feeling the full resistance of 40m of friction. Phew!
Martin seconded the damp journey, dissapointingly, without issue to emerge from the labyrinth of rooves pumped and grinning.

We then swapped partners and me and Duncan went over to North Stack Wall to escape the wind and get gripped. By the time we arrived the sun had come off the wall, the wind had changed direction now blowing straight onto the wall and the tides were too far in for The Cad (E6 6a). So Duncan went first on Blue Peter (E4 5c). He seemed more than a little nervous as this would be his biggest lead to date. I laid down on a nicely inclined slab and got progressively colder. Duncans first steps were tentative, but with every metre of height gained, with every runner placed he got more and more confident, and I got colder, and colder. By half height he was flowing and yarding away as if on his local warm-up, and I was fucking freezing. As Duncan topped off a fine effort with a few squeals of delight I began plucking myself, limb by limb, from my ice-pop polymorphic state ready to second. First move, strained bicep. Second move, stubbed toe. Third move, knee pain. The Cad was off the cards.
When I topped out from the 40m of vertical wall climbing I finally regained some feeling in my fingers and the idea of trying The Cad re-gained credibility until I looked down into the zawn and the tide was STILL too high to gain the bottom of the route. I racked up to go do 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (E3 5c) only to encounter a bird-ban sign at the top of the route. All my enthusiasm was lost, I was uninspired to try anything else around and so we set off home. Then it occurred to me, surely it's a good thing that I've done an E5 and it feels like a bad day.

Every cloud.

Sprechen sie Dorys

For the last few weeks I've been really enjoying the trad, but, it's felt like an uphill struggle trying to get the fitness/competence/confidence back and after reversing away from the crux on Fiendish Beanish on Sunday I was just about to start feeling disheartened. But during a brief session at The Indy Wall on Monday afternoon, I managed the '7a+'! traverse for the first time and with relief I could begin to see some improvement in fitness.

On Tuesday, Tom Livingstone and I went to Craig Dorys. I think the crag is made of sun-baked mud, or shortbread. It persistently exfoliates the outer layer, after fiddling with a bit of rock whilst belaying I realised you could keep picking away at the rock until you're left with just a pile of muddy flakes. Anyhow, it makes for some mightly absorbing climbing.
Tom kicked off with the classic Cripple Creek (E3 5b). Uninitiated to this kind of terrain, the usually gungho Livingstone adapted well, taking his time and employing a more considered approach.
We abbed back down and I scoured the guide for any hint of persuasion towards a particular route. With so many gobsmacking lines to choose from I got overwhelmed and characteristically indecisive. In a moment of haste I opted for a drop of the big, bold, Honeydew (E5 5c/6a).
The first few moves leave you at a ledge with good runners and a junction with the Knowing Her (E2 5b). From here a high rockover commits you to the route. Setting up to get on with it, the internal chatter went into overload, doing this move would lead to success on the next 10m of flaky wall climbing, or, a horrendous, maiming fall. I grabbed myself by the mind balls and thrust into 100% commitment. From here the climbing edged out above the lip of a cave on small flakey edges not beyond suspicion. I was no longer scared like I was on before committing, it felt natural to be there and I had total confidence in success, having said that the return to normality came with a shocking wave of relief as I gained the juggy, cam-gobbling break. I proceeded up the 2nd half of the route with much gusto now I was safe and revelled in the mudstone roulette.
At the top there were loads of loose blocks, we cleared off all the rubble resting on ledges which must have totalled about 4 tons, a new passtime I hope.

After seconding Toms rapid ascent of Byzantium (E4 6a) my arms were feeling weary but it was still light so I went for a go on the phoenomenally well named route; Noble Savage (E5 6b). It takes the proud headland face on up an uncompromisingly steep crackline. We got on to the route's tidal belay plinth, knowing if I didn't manage it, we would be wading back to the beach. The first few metres went in a flash past the best line of the biggest jugs ever, to a hands off rest. From here the most perfect fist jam in the world plonks you at the crux. A big, bouldery slap sees you through it and then it's just precarious blocks to the top and a belay from a decaying spike and an overhanging earth mound on the otherside of the headland. I'd already belayed off a threaded rabbit hole earlier so this felt bomber.
I can't wait to get back there and roll the dice with Dorys.

Climb Fast, Climb Free

From the familiar racking-up roost, the big cheese, Jon Ratcliffe, and I spied some tasty looking prey. We swooped down past the small fry of Upper Tier to get involved with The Rat Race (E3 5c). The Rat went at The Rat having been deprived of any Gogarthian delights for a year. The sun hadn't come round yet so it was freezing cold and the rock was pretty slippery from the morning moisture.
Jon plugged away steadily all the way passing a particularly wet looking section around the crux. On second I couldn't feel my hands until I got to the end of the pitch after getting pretty pumped from not being able to tell what I was holding onto.
It was my pitch, the pitch. A loose, overhanging chimney! Although technically easier that the first pitch it packs quite a punch, if only visually. At first I tried to climb it straight on pinching some wobbly fins of quartz, but I soon realised this wouldn't go at anything like 5b. Only one thing for it; to get right in the back of this sandy cleft. A long rockover onto a big foothold signified commitment to the traditional approach. Back and footing up, I looked down between my legs at the Atlantic sloshing away at Main Cliff, even the powerful pounding of the ocean can't bring this mother down. Talking of 'ard bastards, Joe Brown, the first ascentionist is one gnarly legend. With all my modern kit, the knowledge of difficulty, and even knowing that it was even passable I was still intimidated. Acknowledging this act of heroism, and feeling dwarfed by my position with respect to both the cliff and my predecessors, I surged on feeling like a determined cartoon mouse.
As I neared the belay I bumped into Duncan and Bubbles on the sight-seeing tour; Cordon Bleu (HVS 5b). We shared a huge belay plinth in the sun, and with only a long 5a pitch to go I felt at one with the Main Cliff.

I mentioned in my last post about going to try Dreams and Screams (E6 6b), well being a notoriously seepy venue, we gave it a miss, but I still wanted to get a pump on. I tried Run Fast, Run Free (E5 6a) early in 2010, but ended up pumping out ripping my highest runner, blasting a chunk of rock of in the process which stoved me in the face. The route has a reputation for being very pumpy and after my last attempt, I felt nervous about this go. Also by the time I got to the base of the route I was cold and tired, but, I was there, so I got on with it. The first few metres were wet but I managed to dodge around the worst bits, moving about as well as I ever have. I made it to my previous high-point feeling fresh. The stopper crux from last time was passed in about 3 minutes, to a slick flattie. Having assumed it was 5b jugs from this point, I got a slap in the face when I was still crimping and the feet were shrinking into greasy, glassy nubbins. The pump came on thick and fast, and all the holds were very blind sidepulls. I wanted to press on up, but everytime I did I could feel my arms wilting immediately. I hung around shaking out my arms and legs, but was barely getting anything back. I figured I would have to go for it and hope I got lucky and hit the good bits on the blind sidepulls. I got lucky twice, making it to the final impasse with about 30cm of rock, covered in jugs,  between me and the top. Blinkers on, I surged up trusting my feet to some poor, anti-directional edges. I grabbed a handful of mud-topped quartz on the top, it offered no purchase and a fleeting moment of panic gripped me. My elbows were ticking upwards, counting down the seconds I had left. I scrabbled out left gaining a, fortunately, juggy pinnacle and heaving over on to the top.
It would definately have been screams.

Yesterday, Duncan and I headed for the Orme for some sport action. In Llandudno we got stuck in an hour and a halfs worth of traffic because of some ridiculous parading of steam engines. It never cleared and the mechanical monsters kept steaming on by. We gave up in the end and tried another approach going the wrong way down a one-way. When we got there, evidently other people had tried and some officious penis had taken it upon himself to stop us passing through. I was already pissed at the delay so I grabbed him by his jacket and pulled his head in through the window, rolled the window up, trapping his head and set off at a considerable pace. Once he'd stopped screaming I dropped the window sending him spinning off into the roadside railings. We'll I wish I'd have done that, instead I just did as he said and turned around.
Then we remembered you can't even climb on the upper Orme on bank holidays anyway, so saved by the bellend, we drove straight over the top to try Red Meat (7b). Met with further adversity in the shape of a bird-ban we left the Orme after wasting nearly 3 hours and made a bee-line for Noticeboard Crag.

Noticeboard Crag from the caravan site. Duncan Campbell Collection

I'd driven past hundreds of times and always fancied going to try the line of the crag; Fiendish Beanish (7b) which takes the line straight up the middle though the sheet of perfect orange, pocketed rock. We did the airy Leaning Jowler (6b) to warm-up, then I went for the onsight. I made it to just beneath the 5th bolt giaing an isolated pocket with my right, but couldn't figure out what to do. Feeling run-out and pumped I reversed to the deck to let Duncan have a burn. He surged up to my high point, matching the lone pocket and throwing out right for another pocket. He pulled up a load of slack to clip the bolt, but had to drop it and grab the draw as he began to peel off the rock. After a quick rest he climbed to the top ticking some hidden holds on the way.
I went for it again, armed with knowledge. This time I got the isolated pocket and rocked straight up to a flattie. After a couple more steep and brilliant moves I was at the chains. Almost seconds later Duncan had knocked it out 2nd go for his hardest ever sport route. It's an absolute gem of a route and well worth seeking out. There's also some old trad routes on the cliff which I think should be retro-bolted up to give a fine set of steep routes perched above gypsy heaven.

On both these ascents I think I could have moved quicker, as soon as I was pumped I became very hesitant. I need to climb faster and with less care about falling off. So a bit of falling practice is in order, but perhaps first I will get a new harness.

Bring the Pump

The suffocating smog of deadline pressure has lifted and with just one assignment and one exam left, visibility is at 99% giving almost perfect climbing conditions. This has come with some relief as the last few weeks have been very slow on the climbing front.
Four weeks ago, I was down in Dorset for Easter eating heartily and plugging away at my dissertation. Me and Laura made it out to Portland for the day for a spot of bouldering at The Cuttings and despite the perpetual eating of late it turned out to be a pretty good day.
We had a quick warm-up on some greasy classic called Nu-Breed (V4) then I spotted this steep looking wall coming out of a pit with a perfectly spaced set of edges. It wasn't in the guidebook but it looked really cool. I couldn't really tell how hard it was from skegging it. It could have been anything from V4 to V10 but I managed to crank through it nicely first go after spending the time figuring it out, so it could only be V6 at the most.
We moved on and I got frustrated at a bunch of poor quality problems with horrible holds and unpleasant moves Then it started raining and my brush snapped punctuating the mood. I realised this had been my only day out in ages and I wasn't enjoying it. Then I realised this had been my only day out in ages and I should start enjoying it. It worked. I flashed Petty Thief (V6), Neil Armstrong (V6) and Death of Kings (V6). We went over to the Relativity block and I managed the eponymous V6 3rd or 4th go, but only just as I was getting pretty powered-out.
We bumped into a group of locals who told me the unidentified problem I'd done earlier was Terminator (V7), and off the back of this confidence boost I scraped my boxed carcass up Lightning Strike for my second V7 flash of the day! I wonder if I'd have flashed either, if 'd known the first one was a V7?
A week later, after much pleading for a partner on UKC, I went to Swanage with Luke Tickle. We planned to go to The Promenade for some sport climbing, but with really rough seas we were confined to a small, frequently wave-splashed platform. We knocked out Flail Trail (6a) next to the abseil, then I tried the bouldery Violent Breed (7b+). Needless to say it was a poor warm-up and after managing to onsight the roof problem crux, I pumped out on finger jugs above. By this point the sea was tickling at Luke so we decided to bail out for somewhere less tidal. Luke led Eskimo Nell (E1 5b), a rather fine scooped wall reminiscent of an easier Wall of the Worlds (E5 6a) just along the coast.
Then I looked at doing Zoolookologie (E5 6a). I'd read that it was hard and pumpy for the grade so had no idea how I'd get on as my fitness had been long neglected. I'd also read that you should preplace a rope to escape up past the top band of mud/rubble. It took a while to locate the stakes to hang the rope off, then a hail storm came.
I'd been dying for this day for ages and after getting two buses to be here, I was relucant to turn away despite the hail, the thunder, the abiguity of access and the explosive seas. Fair play to Luke abbing in with me as it was harder than anything he'd been on before, the route was frikking steep and the atmosphere was wild. I was pretty nervous at the bottom with Zoolookologie looming out over me and the sea, but through a bit of  re-thinking and whooping I channelled the nerves into excitement.
The route was pretty goey with less places to hang around than I expected. I managed to sprint it well though and pulled through the top bulge with only just enough juice left in the tank. I do love Swanage.

I've just had a gruelling fortnight of university hell, handing in my dissertation and giving a 10 minute end of year talk consisting mostly of opaque bullshit. I was supposed to sit and listen to my peers talk's for the next 6 hours after, but the sun was shining and I am, at least a little hedonistic. With a face saying 'ill be back' and a gait projecting purpose I walked out the door and jumped in the air for a fist-pump freeze-frame with the equally bored and disrespectful Tommy Cole.
This signalled the termination of 'the thick of it'. To the slate!

Riding a high from 'winging it ' through the talk and then escaping, I went to go try The Rainbow of Recalcitrance (E6 6b) with Jim McCormack. It was all wet so I tried what I thought was Splitstream (E5 6b) instead. I was revelling in the movement on rock and couldn't stop exhuberating about the quality of the moves and the hair-raising run-outs. I popped off the crux first go but got straight back on and did it getting sucked into a sustained and exciting run-out, which I was pleased about as usually I lose my bottle once I've come off.
From the halfway point on the rainbow the line became totally ambiguous and I felt like I was doing some scary moves which felt harder than what was supposed to be the crux. Fairly mentally spent and in fear of being on one of the E7s hereabouts I backed-off. It turns out I was on The top of Cystitis by Proxy (E5 6b) so maybe I should have ploughed on. I really, really, really enjoyed it though. Bring on the summer of trad.
The next day I went to Gogarth with Bubbles. I led up Park Lane/Doomsville Connection (E2 5b/c) in one big pitch then Tom tried his nemesis; The Strand (E2 5b). At half way it looked like it was in the bag for him, moving well and and not pumped. He got above his high point and I think expectation got the better of him. Next time Tom! I led it with pretty much all the gear in place as a clip-up. Fantastic. Might as well bolt it up as its got a lower-off at the top already!
Then I tried Energy Crisis (E5 6a). I'd had a go about a year ago and gone up and down three times from half height to preserve my arms and the onsight. This time armed with the crucial cam (3.5. You could also get a bomber 5 even higher) I was glad to have not committed before. Some unique moves got me through the crux and led me into a spectacular monkey-up-a-stick sequence with a solitary rock 3 on the last 5-6 metres. We did the recently cleaned Crowbar (E1 5b) to round off the day and on the top crux pitch I got struck my an ironic energy crisis. I felt like I was falling upwards, like I was going to faint, scrabbling through the moves desparate for the horizontal. I made it onto the top slab and managed to paste a rainbow of seagull fluids all over myself by building the belay in an unfortunate position. Crowbar was great and certainly deserves attention along with Fifteen Men on a Dead Mans Chest (E5 6a) since Rob Greenwoods cleaning escapades. We made it back to the bags and refuelled just in time to wait for an hour and a half for a lift home.

 Yesterday I had a brief window between handing in an assignment at 1 and working at indy at 6 so me and an on-form Gwen Lancashire bombed over to Gogarth to go for a high-speed, top-down burn along the Kalahari Highway (E5 6a).  We abbed in to see the route's imposing, stacked rooves... and Tim Neill already halfway up it. After waiting a while to follow them up it Tim had to take an intermediate belay because of savage rope drag, and time pressed it's smug, governing thumb into my face like a bully with the upper hand. We did Kalahari (E3 5c) instead, but it was still awesome with great climbing and a summery atmosphere.
I've got two rest days ahead now, after which I intend to try Dreams and Screams (E6 6b). With a 75% chance of the latter, I'm gonna give it absolutely everything. Can't Wait.