or, to put it another way, trying, not climbing!
Making the most of unseasonal Bank Holiday weather, Dave and I had planned a days climbing on Wallowbarrow, but, due to a bird-ban, headed toward Castle Rock at Thirmere instead. Given a lack of guidebook and familiarity with the crag, plan C saw us parking at Martin's farm under Shepherds Crag in Borrowddale. Oh how eager we were...
Kitting up below Crescendo there was a bit of banter going on, not just with the team heading up Little Chamonix, but also between us; this was our first time climbing together and, for us both, the first time climbing anything of a reasonable grade for, well, quite a while! Basing my packing on the Met Office forecast for Easter, I'd taken my kayak and paddling kit to Sue's for the weekend so to say that I was ill-prepared for a day cragging would be a little understated.
Anyways, Dave made quick time leading up the back of the big flake to the ledge half-way up the first pitch. Fired some gear in, pondered, poked, prodded and prevaricated. Then he brought me up to the ledge where I did the same. Climbing down was straightforward enough but the realisation that I was struggling at such a low grade was not! Off to Brown Slabs then for a warm up on a route that we would get up...
Straight up the middle crack; Dave led the first half, me the second. Not a problem, straight to the top. Happily I'd climbed in my trainers, so the slippy slidey descent around the back of the crag wasn't too traumatic (the rock shoes that Dave had loaned me had been trying to remove my toes from my feet until now).
Lunch over and onwards and, hopefully upwards. Ardus was occupied (plus I can remember the final, commiting move into the crack from the final traverse) so it was Fishers Folly. Not a problem; I'd soloed it and had good memories of bomber protection; good to go... Dave gave me the rope. My lead. Well; there was protection aplenty. It was holds that I couldn't find. Eventually, maybe 20 feet and 6 nuts later, I was downclimbing, protected by Dave from below. Soon Dave was up at the sharp end, finishing the pitch with a committing couple of moves and setting a belay at the top of the groove. My lead - the traverse across an overhang, long steps, little holds. It wasn't going to happen and so, after a quick(ish) abseil and packing gear, we were soon having a brew at High Lodore farm and discussing how our arms ached more than our legs. Or was it the other way around?
I knew that I had soloed it - but 33 years is quite a gap!
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