Travels and Adventures of Jon Redshaw

Business of Being at Home

2009-07-08T06:13:00.000-07:00

Wow, I really haven’t written anything for ages. The thing is life at home just isn’t as exciting as life on the road. I’ve also been pretty busy. The flat is finally sold and I move out on 13^th. It’s amazing how much stuff you accumulate over the years. It piles up in every hidden corner. Every day I cram more furniture, junk and odds and sods into the van.

With the sale is also the purchase of our new place in Godalming, the plan was to move in on the 13^th, this has been slightly delayed. First of all by us being a bit slow on some paperwork, then HSBC cocking things up and now the seller is being slow. But hopefully by the end of July Yvette and I will have a lovely new house in Godalming and I promise to put up photos.

In between this I’ve managed to get a bit of climbing in, finally breaking into the E grades with a superb E2 up in the peaks and an E1 in Dartmoor, both great outings on beautifully sculptured rock, accompanied by bomber gear and great weather. It’s nice to see the time on rock paying off.

Other than that, I’ve had a great 5 days surfing and enjoying the beach of Cornwall. Hopefully post again soon.

The Return

2009-05-27T04:04:00.001-07:00

Looking back the last week went very quickly, at the time I’m sure it felt very slow. We were joined in Gorge de Tarn by the same Brits as from Spain, so once more our evening where spent chilling with Ben, Charlie, Gillian, Bob and Tash. We even opened out the Uno cards, although this resulted in me breaking my chair as I attempted to sneak at peak at Tash’s last card.
I learnt a lot about my climbing in Gorge de Tarn, the first was what ‘Pump’ really means, not some dull ache in your arms, but screaming muscles which uncurl your fingers on every hold. I revisited a 7a I had failed on, normally the redpoint at this grade is just a formality, but I still pulled onto the top slab with a big question mark whether I could fight the pump in my arms and reach the chains. The other lesson was that I am a good route climber, I just need to push on through and take the falls. Because of this I am now super psyched to get back into routes and have set a few goals for the summer.Gorge de Tarn
For our last few day we headed back up through France, a short stop off at the now baking sands of Fontainebleau resulted in more sitting and looking at boulders than climbing them. A quick drink with Toby and Nicky who were down for the week and it was our last night of the trip. The plan being to grab a few hours sleep before heading off at 1 a.m for the 6.45am ferry. Those few hours sleep didn’t happen, an excessively warm van when I got my head down at 9.00 didn’t help, neither did the German van with headlights on full beam taking half an hour to park up beside me, nor the massive party happening 500m down the road at the race course. By 12.30 I gave up, woke up Steve and hit the road early. It was probably lucky I didn’t sleep as my alarm was set for 1.00 next lunch time and not in the morning.
Planet Cause, one of the best 7a+ i've ever been on
So now we’re both safely back in the UK, the van’s clutch problem has nicely been covered by the warrantee, I’ve had my first session back at Craggy which felt hotter and sweater than Gorge de Tarn in the sun and been well chewed by Mello, who seems very happy to see me again.

Gorge de Tarn

2009-05-18T05:54:00.000-07:00

We finished off in Margalef with a playful day on an amazing 7c then down to the coast and Raul and Sabina. As always Spanish hospitality was at its best, an amazing meal, good wine, a hot shower (the first of the trip) and a soft bed; if only we could have stayed longer. But the drive to France was beckoning and up we headed, the further towards France we got the harder it rained, by the time we went over the Pyrenees it was torrent, giving the van a well needed clean.

It eased off as we came past Millau and into the valley, parking up beneath a huge rock roof which kept the remainder of the downpour off us. As often happens we pumped into another couple of Brits who we had climbed with in Siurana and Margalef. Bob and Tash, who I also knew from my days climbing in Portland are just wrapping up their trip as well, slowly heading back through France to England. Other British climbers who we met in Spain are also likely to pop in during the next few days.

Gorge de Tarn is quite an amazing place, a crystal clear river runs through the centre and the cliffs rise up vertically and overhanging on either side. We only climb on one side, on routes that are often long and draining. I’ve been working on my stamina, so working on doing multiple 7a’s and 7b’s in a day. Sometimes the 7a’s get climbed onsight, but more often than not my stamina fails me and then my exhausted arm’s struggle to get me to the chains at the top. I would love to project something harder here, but without the stamina that is unlikely.

The trip is now coming to an end, within the week (depending on when I get this blog up) I will back in England with Yvette the Puppy and everyone else. I will be relieved when it’s over, I still am amazingly psyched to climb and climb and would love to stay here in the Tarn and get good on routes. But many other parts of the trip have taken their toll of me and I am ready for home.

Margalef

2009-05-12T09:59:00.001-07:00

We left Siurana and travelled across the hills to Margalef. Although Siurana was amazing for the scenery and being able to watch Steve McClure onsight his way through an 8b and and 8b+ in a day I needed something that suited me a bit more. The village of Margalef must rate as one of the quietest in Spain, a half empty store, closed refuge and the odd trickling fountain. But we’re not staying in the village but up a wiggling track with steep roofs of rock powering their way over your head as you drive through. This is what we came here for, short steep and powerful routes in deep pockets.
Waiting to Climb
The rock is a limestone conglomerate, so limestone packed with pebbles and stones, where these fall out you have your perfect lipped pockets to pull on, where they haven’t a slopey crimp or future foothold to use. The other thing which is different in Margalef is the wind! We enjoy light warm breezes throughout the day which stop us overheating on the routes. As dusk comes down these are replaced by gales which rip through the valley, changing direction every few minutes to shake the van and toss our chairs across the campsite if we’re not sat in them.
Charlie and Gillian warming up
Moving away from Margalef and back to my last post, I think I may have been guilty for using my blog and this keyboard to vent my frustrations, sometimes on a long trip when it’s just the two of you it can feel like your only outlet, hence the bit of re-editing on my last post. But moving on, Margalef might not be as beautiful as Siurana but the climbing here has cheered me up, we have enjoyed every route we have been on from pumpy 6b warm-ups to very steep pocket pulls on 7b’s and 7c’s. I still have not mastered the art of redpointing a route where you practice the moves before linking them together from the ground up; but I’m making progress. One thing you do notice on the routes here is how much your body gets pumped by them, even a warm up, although none of the moves are harder than any other place we are climbed we find our forearms screaming with lactic acid within a few clips.
We’re finding that we are strong enough for almost anything, but just lack the stamina, I cruised my way through the crux of a 7b+ only to fail a clip from the end as my stamina failed and I couldn’t cling onto the easier climbing to finish. At the moment we are just trying to climb everything we see, we have a few goes on some of the harder stuff but if it doesn’t go quickly we move on and find more entertainment.
Ben at full stretch in Margalef
We have two more days of pocket pulling to go before moving up to see Raul and Sabina near Barcelona then onwards to France for the final week and a bit of the trip.

Siurana

2009-05-07T07:15:00.001-07:00

Siurana; we’re parked up beneath an ancient ruined castle, its parapets straddling the small rock outcrop that makes up Siurana village, its complete with Keep, domed roofs and a tunnel underneath to sneak in by. Siurana is famous for its waves of overhanging rock and one of the world’s first 9a, ‘La Rambla’. We came here so psyched after our time in Cuenca and rest up on the beach. But so far Siurana has been nothing but disappointment. We warmed up in the sun on our first day and quickly realised that further climbing in the heat would be impossible, so we chilled till the shade covered the cliffs. We warmed up once more and I pulled onto one of the classic 7a+’s. I have nothing positive to say about the route, the bolts where all over the place, you clipped off barn door potential side pulls when there was an obvious jug below and a few feet afterwards which would have made better position for the bolt. I fought on till the 6^th clip and was then faced with a 4m run out on strenuous ground and lowered off. It put me in such a foul mood I also bailed on the next 7a, also meant to be a classic of the area.

British Van's parked up in Siurana

I promised myself a clear head and positive outlook for the next day. We warmed up on one of the most enjoyable route so far then leapt into Bitec de Biceps a 7b+ on very steep ground. I got through the first crux and then came off above the second clip trying to dig my fingers into a shallow pocket. I gave it a few more goes before lowering down for a rest. Steve pulled on and flashed it, going through some obviously run and sketchy terrain near the top. I realised that if I failed to get it then I risked leaving at least £50 of gear in the route as a present for the next climber, the bolts being too far apart to bolt to bolt it. I had to call it a day. I am now gutted that we left Cuenca, there were so many lines that were perfect for me.

Cuenca and the Med

2009-05-04T10:01:00.000-07:00

Albarracin came to an end with shattered tips, Steve sent to amazing lines to finish off his last days. I pulled as hard as I could to nearly get my project, but was only able to tickle the hold. But we left excited for the next stage of the trip; routes! Our first stop was Cuenca, 2 hours across the mountains this larger version of Albarracin perched on top of a limestone defile is crowded with a gargoyle strewn cathedral, inquisition court and multicoloured medieval buildings and courtyards. We arrived on an over cast day and after the half hour slog uphill to reach the old quarters was not in the mood to take photos. One thing that did put us in a good mood was the routes, 30 metre tower limestone cliffs, mainly slightly overhanging or very overhanging.

We started our mission the next day with the easiest climb in the sector to warm up on a 6c overhanging crack into crimpy headwall to finish. Then the main action a 30 metre gently overhanging 7b+, not a single hard move in it, but constantly throwing you long pulls, crimpy laybacks, slopey rails and plenty of pockets. Steve made it to the 6th bolt before his lack of route fitness showed and then bolt to bolt to the top. I was determined to beat his highpoint, but as I went through the slopers above the roof greased off and had to make do with only making the fifth bolt before going bolt to bolt to the top.
Cuenca
The next day we started on other side of the river with the warm up this time having to be a 6c+. Out main candidate for the day was a seriously overhanging 7b+ on deep pockets. Every pocket was good, with long dynamic moves between, it was incredible climbing, every move flowed, your smeared your feet on small edges and perfectly stabbed your hands from pocket to pocket with a bit of extra psyche for the deep mono just before the end. Steve went for the redpoint but couldn’t find the extra energy for the first crux dyno to a large pocket. I decided to try my fate elsewhere and have a shot at a 15 metre 7b I had tried the day before. The crux moves making up the first three clips and then a pumpy finally on slopers and long reaches of under clings. I fired off the first section fine, jumping out the crux to a huge jug the reaching through the slopey rail. I was getting so pumped, a month of bouldering had done nothing for my stamina. The final move was a torturous reach from a juggy under cling to a two finger pocket. It took me three goes off undercling to reach the pocket, each time climbing down to a slopey rest to try and get enough energy. But in the end I had climbed my first 7B cleanly!

That was the end of our stay at Cuenca, we had wanted to stay for longer, but are skin was still trashed after Albarracin and neither of us liked the idea of pulling on those sharp pockets anymore. An overzealous local official had also spotted are van parked up at night and taken our details and it seemed we would struggle to find somewhere to stay for free in the area. But there is one last bit of Cuenca to pass on, my best Tapas experience in Spain. It was recommended in the lonely planet guide so we headed into the new town to check it out. It was an old, narrow, mahogany lined bar and at 8.30 already bustling with locals, are table was only a foot of the ground. Our first round of drinks came with an aperitif of chicken soup and then a plate of fried eggs, ham, crisps, bread and salad. All on the house (although the drinks are slightly more expensive here). Our first bit of Tapas was Gaspachio Pastor, a game stew with hundreds of complex and different flavours; I can’t really describe it as it’s like nothing I have had before. Almost like a risotto, but with no rice. It wasn’t a bit plate, but we couldn’t have eaten any more. Our second choice was baby squid, they where char grilled and had so much flavour compared to the usual deep fried calamari or frozen options you get in the UK. Unfortunately being skint climber our culinary adventure ended there, but Cuenca is somewhere I will have to go back to.
Orpesa del Mer
So now we’ve given the climbing a break for a few days, to let the skin recover and muscle relax. We’ve found a beach north of Valencia called Oposa, which by Spanish Mediterranean standards is fairly undeveloped. There is even a forest covered hill which they haven’t been high rise flats on. Our van is parked up by the sea and we are just doing nothing.

The Climbing

2009-04-26T06:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve tried to write a couple of blogs, the first was during a period of very heavy rain when we were confined to the van and bars of Albarracin. It had a pretty negative and whinge ring to it. It’s now been sunny for a week and so things are looking very positive. We’ve come up to our first months anniversary of sleeping in the van and Steve still hasn’t fulfilled his promise of spending most the trip bivied out.

What I wanted to write about was the climbing. There is a lot of stuff to climb here.

To start with are the roofs, there are so many roofs to yard your way across, but usually the problem is the top out, I regularly flash the 7B roofs and then get spanked pulling through the slopey mantel. There are plenty of 30 to 40 degree overhangs on positive crimps, slopers and rails, all require maximum body tension. Every move your feet swing out and are then forced back onto the rock. We have worked through almost all the 7A’s to 7B+ here, but are cut short at the 7C’s. There are plenty of 7C’s, but often they are hideous mantels, or crazy campus moves. There is almost nothing in the style of the 7B’s which we are climbing so well on. There are plenty of 8A’s which we have made massive progress on, but we just aren’t strong enough yet in our core and back to achieve the massive throws which almost always make the crux.

Steep Walls

Another technique you quickly master here is the foot cam; with so many horizontal crack and pockets, often at the start of the problem you place your foot in the hole and torque it, taking weight of your hands which crucially let you hold those small crimps and slopers. At times these can be a bit unnerving with a high foot cam and poor holds which if you ripped off would leave your leg stuck in and then probably broken. To prevent this you often need a very close spot and I’ve had to catch Steve in my arms a few times.

Sick Mantels

With less than a week left we are frantically trying to finish off projects. Steve who has spent most of the month complaining of poor skin and often cutting short our sessions on the rock has found a new wind and is pushing for his fourth day in a row climbing. I have a line which I am certain will go, but so far has eluded me and am resting up for a big effort tomorrow. Fingers crossed the rain holds off and we can finish those final problems.

Ticking on by

2009-04-14T08:25:00.001-07:00

Time goes slowly in the Van, Steve hasn’t yet ventured outside to bivy yet and so the van still feels a little cramped at night. The weather is sporadic, no sooner are you in your t-shirt then the wind makes you put your sweater back on. We seem to get two good days of climbing, then a rest day then it either rains or snows. We woke up the other day psyched for a day on rock to find everything covered in snow and the stuff still pouring from the sky. But things dry quickly and we are normally back climbing the next day.The Belgium's trying to top out a highball, the next day one broke their ankle trying it.
Easter brought the hordes to Albarracin, but the relentless rain soon drove most away, they creep back when it gets a bit sunnier, but not in the droves we were predicted. In Albarracin Easter is bit of a festival and they march their statues of various Saints and the guy on the cross through the streets with a group of drummers dressed in bright purple cassocks. We took this opportunity to get something to eat. Everything is Tapas based, unless of course you can understand the menus, I’ve only got as far as Bocodillos on that one. And everything Tapas based will have both a bit of pig and Olive oil in it. Even if its stewed beef in Olive oil, it will still have some bacon in it. Or mushrooms and beans in Olive oil, you can be guaranteed some bacon. But trying all the little dishes over a cold beer for an hour wasn’t a bad way to spend the evening and then finished off with chocolate cake.
The Snow Arrives
The climbing is still going well and the strenuous nature of the many roofs and overhangs is leaving us very sore the next day and always in need of more rest. We’ve found some amazing lines and got stuck into a couple of 8A projects which will hopefully be done this trip. Sometimes the climbing can be frustrating as we have the assistance of probably the worst guidebook ever produced. ‘Bouldertopo Espana’ by the Roker brothers must be the most poorly researched guide of all times. While there topo and directions are pretty good and you can always find the boulder whether they have given the boulder the right grade, name of both is very rare. Often they just give a 6/7? For the grade, what does that mean? The locals have great fun writing in the correct grades and names for us. It’s a shame that there isn’t another guide available otherwise this one would go straight in the bin.
Me Climbing Well on a 7B
Hopefully the rain will hold off so we can get a second day of climbing and it was be even more amazing if it was sunny on a rest day so we could actually wash and dry some clothes.

Albarracin

2009-04-07T05:04:00.001-07:00

We are parked up 2 miles from Albarracin in the Serrania de Cuenca. The landscape is rolling hills with dark red sandstone cliffs and boulders intermingled around a sparse pine forest. The pine trees are of the large needle variety with huge pine cones that litter the floor with the lavender bushes giving the forest a pine and lavender scent. The snow which had covered the forest for the past few days is slowly disappearing and all around us in the sound of song birds, no other animal life is visible, but the numerous tracks around our van suggest a lot goes unseen at night whilst we’re sleeping.

During the week we are virtually undisturbed except for a few other climbers and the odd tourist bus which comes to see the Stone Age paintings in some of the caves. We’ve stopped to look at a few, although very hard to see when found they are of amazing detail and complexity and not the simple line drawing I expected.

The town of Alarracin is the epitome of Spanish Medieval heritage. Originally a tiny Islamic state from 1012 to 1104AD, then an independent Christian kingdom 1170 to 1285AD it sits nestled high on the cliffs, houses perched on top of each cliff, tiny cobbled streets and stairs with houses cascading above you. Towering city walls surround the town and brightly painted cathedral spires dominate the centre. Unusually for a Spanish town the centre is completely intact, nothing seems to suggest the encroachment of modern life except a few cars and the odd washing line. New buildings are kept away from the walled city and you feel as if you could be walking through a city as it was five hundred years ago.

Having spent a morning exploring Albarracin we are now enjoying the afternoon sun and quite of the forest. There is little else to do here, a bar in town is recommended for climbers in the evening and the local campsite has free internet, although rather un-sportingly our request to buy a shower was turned down as they are only for campers and we where then charged when we tried to fill up our 25ltr water container. We will return for the free internet, but won’t be recommending the campsite to anyone else.

The climbing is often on steep roofs and walls, using pockets, sharp edges and sloppers, often some of the holds feel very fragile under your grip and there are frequent scars in the rock where holds have snapped. The problems are often dynamic and very athletic, although the problems are first class the rock is not of the same quality as Font and is unlikely to last with the amount of traffic it currently gets. Often when your grip fails you get a puff of sand ripping off the rock, suggesting its fragile nature. You almost feel selfish enjoying a rock which you know future climbers will not be able to enjoy in the same way. But hopefully with respect from the locals it will last.

To Albarracin

2009-04-03T04:40:00.000-07:00

Targasonne should have been a three day stop over, but on the second day the heavens opened and we where drenched in snow. Snuggled up in a local bar over the Plat de Jour of Tripe stew (it was pretty good, only the last bit looked a bit too much like a pig’s intestine) and free internet the conclusion was inevitable; lets head straight to Albarracin. So we left those amazing lines of Targasonne and headed south through a very wet Spanish Pyrenees and down to Albarracin. Yet another massive 8 hours of driving, although this was more eventful, we had the celebrations of achieving a whopping 50miles to the Gallon, meaning the less fuel the van drinks the more we can drink. But within in sight of Albarracin we couldn’t change gear. My clutch just wouldn’t work. I managed to get the car going by starting it in gear and could just change between them, so we crawled the last miles, in the centre of Albarracin I couldn’t even change anything and we cruised to a halt in a parking bay two miles short of our goal.

The parking (camping) at Albarracin

There was nothing for it but to sleep in the van and see what we could sort out the next day, neither of us being mechanics we could only guess and hope it was just the clutch cable that had gone. The next morning our limited Spanish was put to the test, we ascertained there was a mechanic one kilometre down the road and headed off with some hope. At the garage a young mechanic asked us to wait for the boss who on arrival whisked us back up to the van to have a look. He immediately diagnosed the problem; we had a small brake fluid leak which also powered the clutch. A fill up, another bump start and we were back in business with only a thirty-two euro bill, most of which was for the extra can of brake fluid we bought encase of further leakage. Our broken Spanish had prevailed and we had a good hour of amusement watching the mechanics repeatedly getting into the wrong side of the van to drive. The hardest bit of the whole job was when the mechanic dropped the cap to the brake fluid tank into the engine and the younger mechanic was sent for to try and fish it out.

The snow and roof of Albarracin

The mechanic reckoned the clutch should now be fine till be get back to England, but to check the brake fluid occasionally. So a day later than planned we finally arrived at the bouldering of Albarracin. We thought the snow had been deep up in the Pyrenees, but here it was nearly a foot in places and very cold. We knew that Albarracin was high at 1300m, but didn’t expect this much snow, especially in April. The snow has meant a lot of the problems where wet, but we found an amazing roof section to while away the afternoon on, including the first 7C of the trip.
One thing you also start to realise about life on the road, especially a trip like this in Spring, is that when things aren’t perfect life can get pretty boring. Life revolves around sleeping, eating, climbing, eating, reading, climbing, eating and then sleeping. It’s cold and damp outside so almost all of the above except the climbing is done in the van. It’s the little things that get you through the day, the enjoyment of a good book, making sure the cheese and sausage of lunch is good and trying on a limited budget to cook a descent dinner. Tonight’s delicacy of Spanish sausages and ham in red wine and tomato sauce with veg and potatoes was particularly good. But tomorrows will be the left over sauce with some extra veg with rice and if we’re unlucky so will the next days. It’s not all glamorous on the road.

Back on the Road

2009-03-31T03:59:00.000-07:00

Since India life’s been taken up with work and a bit of climbing, I never found time to finish my last part of my India trip for the Blog. All the time was the plan to get back on the road. Only for a short time, but back climbing properly again! I had my notice handed in for 15^th of March, but still no plans, only the week after this did things start falling into place, I got the van and with Steve on board rushed to get it done for our Thursday departure, as with all DIY I left the craftsmanship to Steve and allowed myself to do the furnishings and fittings (bits that are less likely to be bodged).

The Van under Moonlight and below Steve in Font

Thursday finally came, the van finally being completed the night before and we headed down to Dover, in Fontainebleau we crashed out at the Hippodrome, a large horse racing circuit with free camping on the side, but no facilities. It was great being back on the slopey sandstone of Font, an over confident approach with my feet left me arse down on the mat a few times, but I soon got the hang of it. For a first day back bouldering it wasn’t bad, three 7A’s and a 7A+, things felt good! Things felt better as we had joined a group of Canadians touring Europe of the winter, including Tim who I had so much fun climbing with in Magic Woods last year. To top the social gathering Raul and Sabina pitched up that night brining Johnny and her three new little baby Ferrets. Unfortunately with only one more night left in Font we never managed to fit in the regular Uno nights of Magic Wood. Our two days in Font where just what we needed, we got our eye in and got a huge confidence boost from the quick send of an amazing 7B+ roof. We left feeling really ready for the rest of the trip.

Panoramic view of Targasonne, the Pyrenees with the Van in the Foreground

Life on the road can also be pretty boring, the next day was exactly that 10 hours of driving, those pretty villages of Font soon gave way to the monotony of flat French countryside stretching for miles and miles. After 5 hours we finally hit the Dordogne, but were too knackered to enjoy it. The only highlight of the trip was turning that last hill after Toulouse and being confronted by the Pyrenees with their snow capped peaks, within the hour we were up in the snow line, snaking through the passes on our way to Targasonne at 1500m, luckily Targasonne or ‘Le Chaos de Targasonne’ as its know is south facing and the doesn’t linger for long, but it was cold enough to freeze the van’s windows in the morning.

Me taking the swing in Targasonne

‘Le Chaos of Targasonne’ describes it perfectly, from a high vantage point you have this amazing pile of boulders stretching out from you for a 1km in each direction, but beyond that is just fields and mountains, no more boulders. The climbing is on ruff granite blocks of all shapes and sizes, often following incredible lines. In the sun we climbed in t-shirts, but quickly backed out of the shade where the temperature plummeted. So far the climbing has been excellent, with two days here before we commence our journey to Albaraccin we’re seriously concerned if our finger tips will last.

Paddy Fields

2009-02-10T04:15:00.001-08:00

Please enjoy these shots of Hampi's Paddy Fields by clicking on the link to my other blog below

The Camera and I

Hampi, Climbing, Temples and Peace

2009-02-10T04:00:00.000-08:00

Our Bit of Paradise beside the Paddy Fields

We’re in Hampi, India. The one thing that strikes you about India are the colours, every dresses in bright oranges, pinks, blues and greens. It’s a delight to stroll along the river and watch these colourful sarongs drying in the breeze, columns of pilgrims trekking to the temples seem to shimmer in the sun. We have settle in very quickly, taking in the local temples and ruins on our first morning, then venturing over the river for some bouldering in the afternoon.

The other side is quite a contrast to the religious hustle and bustle of Hampi, here its quite paddy fields, a few guest houses and the boulder fields. The rock here is ancient granite boulders, smoothed by glaciers (if you think how long ago glaciers where in central India it gives you an idea of how old they are), they are marked with tiny sharp crimps and positive flakes to cling to. The landings where very good, although a mat was needed as the boulders perched on the granite plateau and wouldn’t have been too pleasant to hit from high up. The only downside was having to dash back before 6.00 to catch the last ferry over to Hampi.

We should have moved over to the other side of the river sooner, when we finally packed our bags and headed over we swapped our creaky room and shared bathroom for a bungalow, backing onto sparkling paddy fields which lead down the river and even had the luxury of our own bathroom, even thou the shower was still cold. Everything was better over here, less busy, our guesthouse had the best restaurant we had eaten at so far and we didn’t have to dash back for the last ferry.

During the day we could cross back over the river to wander round the vast Royal palaces with their Elephant stables or the Temple complexes with their Bazars and ornate pillars and statues. Then when the day got cooler head into the hills from some bouldering. The potential here for new lines is endless, you could even bring a small rack with you and put up some routes. We are even starting to get used to the climbing with both Yvette and I climbing well, other climbers can be found in the popular spots, but head further in and its just you, the odd goat and holy man and the rocks. A nice Spanish couple have taken us under their wing to show us some of the best problems here and I’m starting regretting not staying here longer. All the problems require strong fingers and mine are slowly getting used to the tiny holds, another week and I really feel I could climb something hard here.

But with the bus to Goa booked it was all rushing to a close far too quickly. Both Yvette and I really fell in love with this place, it’s so peaceful, you can’t help but feel relaxed as you waste a couple of hours swinging on your hammock outside the bungalow or wandering around the ancient ruins trying to take in every detail around you. But move on we had to, hopefully some of the photos will do the place proud.

India. Mumbai to Hampi

2009-02-07T11:42:00.000-08:00

I haven’t blogged for ages, and a lot’s happened since that trip to Spain, also a lot hasn’t happened. The flat is still on the market and I’m still stuck in the UK. The changes, I now sell nice cups of coffee at Cafe Nero and we have a puppy, Mello. Yes obviously named after the valley in Italy we fell in love with. She is an 11 month old Staffordshire bull terrier and we adopted her after she was abandoned by her owner. She is adorable and great fun.

The main reason for returning to blogging is our trip to India. Stuck back in the flat, with no money to climb and nothing to look forward to I had to plan something. India was the cheapest place to fly to and stay in, with cash tight it was the only option.Yvette, chilling outside the Taj Mahal
Once we had spent a small fortune on those extra injections and Visas we flew out on 15^th of January. The heat of Mumbai immediately removing all memories of cold and damp little England, the second thing that hits you is how busy the roads are. The most densely populated city in the world is chaos, 30 year old black and yellow taxi’s jostle for position, two lanes quickly become four as road markings are ignored. Drivers concentrate on the feet in front of them, no cars have wing mirrors, crashing is avoided my excessive use of horns to alert other cars to your presence beside them. The taxi from the airport was a real eye opener, your only confidence in the driver being that you’re not going very fast, so a crash shouldn’t be too bad.
Entrance to India
Our plan for the trip was to catch the train from Mumbai in the direction of Hampi and then via other trains, buses and rickshaws make our way to the religious (and climbing) heart of India.Hanging around outside the Taj Mahal hotel trying to kill time till the train we quickly became the centre of attention. Streams of locals asked to have their photos taken with us, kids sent over to practice their English and the odd tout or shoe cleaner trying to sell their wares, but a breath of fresh air compared to the hassle you would have got in Africa. Due to a lack of places to leave our bags we headed to the station a few hours early. A lucky choice as the 5km journey took nearly 2 hours in the worst traffic I have ever seen (traffic jams might become a bit of topic in this blog).Dadar road station is huge, with heavy packs on our back we felt over whelmed, how the hell are we going to find out train in all this. Simple really, ask the nearest India and he will point you to the platform. Then just walk down the train till you find your name on the print out on the side and take your seats / beds.

2nd Class, 2 tier AC
There is something about train journeys that make you sleep, maybe the same rocking motion as in a hammock or boat. It’s a very civilized way to travel, we left on time, arrived on time; our fellow travellers where friendly, breakfast wasn’t bad and we felt safe. Hubli was our exit, 4 hours from Hampi, by train. Our choices, where the train which only had 3^rd class wooden benches to be shared, this left late in the evening, not getting us to our destination to late at night. A rickety bus with no suspension to bounce us slowly down the road, or the best option to reach into our wallet and get a taxi and arrive a bit more relaxed. I think you can tell we went for the final option. It should have been 3 hours, but thanks to elections and the ensuring chaos as an entire district was bussed out from the election centre it was nearer 6 hours and arrived only just before the train. But that’s India roads for you, and the main reason everyone goes by train.The Train
Our first night at Hampi was fairly mundane; we booked into one of the cheap guest houses recommended in lonely planet, a basic room, shared dropped toilets and cold showers, but right in the centre. For dinner a night out at Hampi’s premier restaurant the Mango Tree, situated beside the river and in a beautiful Banana plantation. Great curry, in a great location and our first introduction to the Lassi....a fruit and yoghurt (bit like a smoothie) concoction, perfect to end a meal, preferably not on a straw mat on a concrete floor. You also start to trust India, the walk through the dark banana plantation felt safe, something I wouldn’t have done in Africa, the food was good and we had no worries about being poisoned. We headed back through the incensed stalls selling cheap clothes, carvings cushions, bags and almost anything you might need for your stay in India. After a long day of traveling we where more than happy to crash out under our mosquito net and blaring fan.

Boredom then Spain

2008-10-15T07:00:00.001-07:00

Four weeks of sitting around being bored, can’t climb as wrist is injured, no money to go anywhere, just me, the laptop and the t.v. Relief was in the wings in the form of Yvette’s birthday present, a trip to Kalymnos. Only thanks to XL airways going bust this was canceled with a week to go. Luckily we were covered and we spun the dice and picked a new destination; Spain!

Rodellar Village, perched on top of the gorge

This was going to be Yvette’s climbing trip of the year and we flew into Barcelona, jumped into the smallest hire car available and started out tour. First stop Catalonia and the caves of Santa Ana and Santa Linya then Rodellar with its steep gorges and wildlife. Then finishing off doing the touristy thing in Taragon: so here we go, a few sound bites of Spain.

Architecture: Rolling hills, medieval fortified villages, all with their church spires watching for marauding Moors. Some with castles perched right at the top. But this is where it goes wrong. The Spanish aren’t very good with their planning regulations, often after hiking up to look at the imposing castle you find a nasty little red brick house stuck on the end and any deteriorating brick work daubed with cement. Rodellar was better, being in a national park they at least ensured all new buildings where built out of the local stone and came with traditional features.

Some of the Wildlife of Rodellar

Food: Spanish food is generally simple and easy to prepare, eating at the social clubs we gorged on deep fried squid and octopus, chorizo and other sausages, cheese and ham. Unfortunately if you’re on a budge this is often where it ends, after a few days of deep fried Squid, only to find on the fourth you have ordered it again because the new item on the menu was just Squid, but written in Catalonian, not Spanish.

Olive Groves of Catalonia

Tourists: Am pretty sure for the first stage of our holiday we were the only tourists the village of Castillonroy had ever seen. We had the Alberg all to ourselves and we met with blank stares from the locals. Although to be fair as soon as we appeared lost the redirected us to the interesting sights of the village.

Village of Catalonia

Student: How much is it to look around that bit of old ruin? The bad part of cities, you have to pay to see anything that is worth seeing. At least in the countryside it’s all free. I managed to get around this with my local mountaineering club card, which usefully doubles as a student card. At least it does if you are Spanish and can’t read much English.

Climbing: There is so much rock in Spain that needs climbing. All around Santa Linya are amazing cliffs, often we would have the whole crag to ourselves on some of the most perfect routes I have ever done. Rodellar is more, but much more popular, unfortunately this means a lot of the easier routes are polished. The hardest bit was often just getting off the ground. But new routes meant there was always something great to climb.

View from our Hotel in Taragon

Wildlife: No were else in Europe have I seen so much wildlife, Rodellar was packed with birds, butterflies and even a snake with coursed through the river after small fish. At times when you looked up you could see up to twelve vultures circling around the thermals, mostly Griffin Vultures, but, I am pretty sure I also saw a Golden eagle as it swooped over us.

Onto Germany

2008-09-15T04:03:00.001-07:00

I wasn’t sad to leave Zillatal, the place had much to offer, if only I wasn’t traveling alone. The best of the bouldering lay on a toll road and €8 was a bit excessive for a day of climbing. Although everyone found the mountains scenery to be amazing it didn’t feel a touch on Val di Mello, after 3 months of the Alps suddenly the steep valleys become claustrophobic and you yearn for a plain where the highest thing is a tree or house. The area also had the feel of a winter resort in summer, populated by ageing and overweight Austrians and Germans and stuffed with snowboarding shops now selling skateboarding gear and walking boots.

On from Zillatal I crossed out of the Alps and into Germany, speeding along the Autobahn to the Frankenjura just above Nuremberg. This area of Germany is famous for two things, its beer and cakes, gently rolling forested hills are zig zagged by small country roads and here and there are short and small limestone cliffs. It reminds me a lot Fontainebleau in appearance. The villages in between the forests are all traditional German with large brightly coloured houses supported by ancient oak beams. Maybe it’s what it doesn’t have that makes it so attractive, no snow capped mountains for the bus loads of Austrian hikers to attempt, no never ending roads winding up hills that the masochistic cyclists love, no steam train to take you from shop to shop if your too lazy for either of the above. It’s the simplicity that makes this place beautiful and in that it somehow manages to keep away the busloads of tourists wanting to see something special.

Beer, Cake and Climbing

Luckily for the climbing a German is also at the campsite on his own and needed someone to climb with. I had heard a lot about the badly bolted and pocketed routes of Frankenjura, but nothing prepared me for the reality. After months of bouldering my stamina in poor and in all the routes you have a vast number of pockets to choose from. Normally most are dreadful. Trying to climb everything clean first attempt here is very tiring and I’ve dropped my grade a lot to allow for this. The bolting is all over the place, I’ve managed to choose routes which are reasonably well bolted, but some might have the first bolt at 8m, and then only one more before the finish at 20m. Luckily the guide books show you where the bolts are, so you can select carefully which routes you wish to do.

Frankenjura Village

My time in the Frankenjura wasn’t long and for most of it I rested as my body ached after the last 3 months of bouldering. To finish off my trip I joined Yvette who flew into Frankfurt for my last few days in Europe. First stop was the imperial German city of Wiensbern, with its wide roads, opera houses, lakes and cathedrals its closest to the Georgian architecture of London and Paris, but with a lot more German pomp. To finish off our day’s stay we went to the yearly music festival, apparently the best bands had played the night before so we were greeted by heavy German rock, a bald wrestler in dungarees and a collection of unfunny comedians, poets and writers, which was all in German, a language I speak pathetically little of.

Germany Party Time

Our next stop was Aachen via the Rhein, this major trade route through the Germany is teaming with castles, both strategic and fancy, many looking like a Disney creation, built with the riches the river brought them. Aachen, Charlemagne’s capital and centre of the Holy Roman Empire boasts the oldest cathedral in the world, but outside of the pretty ancient centre is a grim industrial town with little to offer compared to our last venue, Brugge.

Castles of the Rhein

Brugge, famous for its Lace (now made in China) and chocolates, sitting in the North of Belgium this small town just oozed charm at us. As soon as you cross the canal/moat surrounding the town you are met with pretty multicoloured houses leading you into the city centre. Once inside its magnificent squares and waterways quickly mesmerise you. It’s a place to relax and gently walk around in with magnificent rows of windmills to say farewell to you as your tour ends.

Windmills of Brugge

Then that was it, the next day we were on a very rough English Channel crossing to home. It’s weird looking back on the last 3 months. They definitely have gone quickly, but it’s what you remember that surprises you. Gone are the memories of mountains, food, streams and forests, those are saved neatly on my camera. Perfectly archived forever in me are all the hundreds of faces and people I met. That is probably the one thing that made the trip; humanity! From the locals of Val di Mello to the climbers of Magic Wood, hundreds of people I have met on my way. In a very un-English way I know I will meet them again. The goodbyes where never sad, as only half the story had been written and I always knew there would be another chapter.

Austria

2008-09-02T10:51:00.001-07:00

I meant to stay a week in Magic Wood and ended up saying a month. I think that above everything else explains the power of the place. No place has so many amazing problems to climb as there. Magic aptly describes the climbing, although the wood is far for Magic with its plentiful opportunities to break your ankle, why this name is now being marketed for the red socks walking brigade I don’t know as for a walking place Magic Wood is probably the worst name. The company I kept was also Magical and I had many big goodbyes to make on Monday before hitting the road, and I’ve promised myself I will meet them again! I never thought I would be sad to see the back of Switzerland.

Before I crossed the border into Austria I took one last touristic opportunity in Switzerland and visited St Gaellen, a town with one of the best preserved medieval towns in Switzerland, lined with fresco’s and ornately carved balconies it was a good way to break up the journey, but already it felt very Germanic, I was vigorously tutted whilst crossing the empty roads whilst the residents waited patiently for the little green man to appear. Beside this I seemed to spent more time looking for a public toilet, something I don’t believe actually exists here, as bins seem to be seriously lacking as well (how the streets are kept tidy is a miracle).

Then onto Austria and with a few time consuming diversions as the motorway was closed I head onto Zillatal and the village of Ginzling where a free campsite beside the river will be my base for the next week. To describe the place is hard, it’s a combination of Magic Wood and Val di Mello (Italy), I am surrounding my snow capped peaks, but often the valley is to narrow to see them above the cliffs, the villages look Swiss like with their organised Chalets, but there is more happening here, more bars, information centres, the rules which seem to stifle small businesses in Switzerland are more lax here and so everywhere people opening up and selling beer and food. Almost my first port of call was the Gasthouse for the local brew, possibly slightly stronger than the Swiss beer I guess by the cross eyed effect it had on me, but the most refreshing end to a long days driving.

With my beer inside me I was able to get dinner going at the campsite, Jonny the Spanish dog from Magic Wood has been replaced by Mr Fox, a young fox with shiny coat, bushy tail and pointy nose that happily sniffs through my rubbish bag whilst I read my book. The plan then was to put down my mat and just sleep out under the stars, this was aborted after Mr Fox decided to chew on my shoe with my foot still in it whilst I read some more. I decided to put up the tent encase my nose or other appendages look suitably edible during the night.

That is pretty much it, my night sleep was on the chilly side, but I should have expected that with the snow layer only being a few hundred metres above me. The next day I went exploring and managed to get quite a bit of climbing in and finished the day perfectly with another beer.

Supernova

2008-08-14T03:41:00.000-07:00

Everyone seems to be grumpy at the campsite, I’ve so far born the brunt of an American doctor with the personality of the Amoeba, look down his nose at me as I talked about my nutritional work in Kenya; A sort of ‘I’m a doctor, what possible good is nutrition’ look. An angry Argentinean asked me when we are going to give independence to the Falklands, and to top it off a Spanish girl (sorry Basque) tried to give me a lecture on the wrongs of the British Empire. Something which is fun to talk about when everyone has an opinion they would like to express and listen to others opinions, but a horrible conversation normally as it seems to galvanise people to extremes. Her other favourite conversation is the moans of the wronged Basque country and their demand for independence. I think England has probably got more rights to parts of France than Basque have for independence. God I wish for long nights of just playing Uno.

'Right Hand of Darkness' my new project

Back to the mish mash of other things I’ve been doing, I’ve pushed the climbing a bit further with Supernova a Font 7C. Considering that when I first got here I couldn’t pull the first move on this problem on sick slopers I am very impressed with myself. I also seem close to other 7C problems and have started work on an amazing 8A. Whether this is possible for me, who knows, guess only time will tell, with only a week left here, probably not possible this trip. Between writing this and publishing it I also managed another 7C, although the guide gives it 7C+.

Bellinzona

Tim left and needed a lift to Bellinzona, as good an excuse as any to enter back into civilization. We entered civilization, whether we looked civilized is another matter. I’m not sure I’d washed very recently and we both sported a thick beard. Compared to the glitzy Italian/Swiss residents we looked a mess. Even with my uncivilized looks I could appreciate Bellinzona, no longer the mundane imperial Swiss towns, this was a taste of Italian renaissance. Frescoed houses, large squares with fountains, gargoyles, gelateries and cafes: If all with Swiss prices. I sat myself down for my first meal out in 3 weeks, unfortunately my taste buds could still remember the food of Italy and it was close, but not close enough. Although the service was more Italian, my cheese starter arriving half way through my main course.

Back to the beard, everyone tells you how itchy a beard is to grow and I can agree. I kept it up to the point when the moustache kept attracting everything I was eating and drinking and then decided it had to go. What no one tells you is how hard it is to get rid of a beard, no simple shave! My Gillet razor worked so hard, every square centimetre clogged the blades, I had to re-soap three times and the ordeal took a good half an hour. But it was worth it.

In this last week here I’m looking back on what i’ve done. Climbing wise a lot, culturally very little and linguistically nearly nothing. Being very international everyone at the campsite speaks English, occasionally a German speaks to me and I just look back blankly, considering how well I was getting on with my Italian, it’s a shame to have been able to keep the languages going. Occasionally Raul and Sabina teach me new Spanish words and I can speak to Jonny the dog fluently in Spanish. Well, as fluently as you need to get a dog to drop the stick and come here and not get run over on the road. Although I did manage to practice my Italian a bit in Bellinzona. I also looked back on a few of the savings graces of staying here in Switzerland, yes almost everything is expensive, except Petrol which is under a £1 a litre, good chocolate is also very cheap and my daily treat, a 100g bar which would cost over £1 in England is 50p for the Coop own brand and 25p if you go for the supersaver, both very good and surprisingly unsickly, where in England a large bar would leave me nauseous here I find myself almost immediately reaching for the second bar. Enough talk of chocolate, hopefully next time I write I will have some more interesting explorations, unfortunately I think the most interesting part of the trip will come in the last 5 days as I cruise through Germany and Belgium then France back to the UK. Probably too much to remember all the details to write it up, but should get some good photos!

Magic Wood

2008-07-31T04:10:00.000-07:00

I settled in pretty quickly to the daily routines of Magic Wood (Averstal), the cheap campground by the side of the road, with its 4 portaloos (for around 100 happy campers which are changed once a week....) and a stream which is now reduced to a trickle that provides us with the water for drinking, washing up and washing ourselves. The inhabitants are a mix of various nationalities, my first friends two Canadians travelling alone, Tim, whose stopped over for a couple of weeks whilst travelling Europe this Summer and Etienne, a ridiculously strong climber who is touring the main bouldering destinations this year. The Spaniards are the next bunch I spend most of my days with, with their tanned skin and long black hair they look gypsy like and would be given a wide berth by your xenophobic Brit, but in truth they are the most friendly of all nationalities. Number 10 Magic Wood Crescent the home of Raul and Sabina is the usual evening destination, in their camper van we relax and watch slide shows of the latest climbing photos or play Uno, a game Rauol is particularly fond off. Next come the Austrians with their thick banana pancakes that they cook up and share around every morning. Mixed in with this we have small groups of Dutch who come over for tea in the morning or borrow a stove when their gas has run out. The favour is quickly returned with bread and cream cheese, chocolate and even once a beer. Although the beer was more of a celebration as Suzie had climbed her first 7B. The Eastern Europeans stand out from the crowd with the neo-nazi style shaved heads, while the Germans stick rigorously to the rules, ensuring their tents fill up the smallest gaps in the campsite, rather than the nice open spaces on the sides. More than once I have had to suggest that half a metre between their tent and my front door is just a little bit to close. But, apparently this is the norm across Europe and every other nationality has their German jokes. The only nationality really lacking here is the Swis.The Campsite

Campsite routine seems to be to get up as the sun turns your tent into an oven, hope Bella and the other Austrians are up and already making pancakes. Make myself a coffee and pull up a chair outside Raul and Sabina’s van. Breakfast is usually a long affair and usually blends into lunch, if Pancakes aren’t on offer than its scrambled eggs. In most other climbing destinations everyone would be rushing into climb by now, but here we would rather wait till the cool of the afternoon and evening. Lunch isn’t often till 2.00 and any time in between is given up to sunbathing and reading. Only at 3.00 do we venture into the forest, returning at 8.00 to cook then retire back to the social centre of Rauol’s van or the Campfire if one has been lit.

The Social Centre of Raul and Sabina's Van

Unlike any other campsite I have been in this one exudes respect, although packed with an age group of 18 to 30 there is never trouble or cause for complaint. No screaming children at 7.00 in the morning, music is kept to a bit of quite guitar playing and singing some evenings, a stereo is unheard of and at 11.00pm everything drifts nicely into silence.

Damon on a more vertical problem

But Magic Woods gives me a conundrum, I am travelling for a few reasons, the first to improve my climbing, for this Magic Wood is unequalled in its numerous steep and hard lines which leave you exhausted after every session. The second was to travel and explore. Switzerland and this area offers little for this unless your bank balance has more zero’s after it that mine. The final reason was photography, although much of Switzerland is full of amazing scenery, this area, stuck deep in a valley offers few opportunities and my collection of Landscape photos is already numerous and I need to move into other areas. So I guess the conundrum is, what to do, do I stay and get better at climbing, but sacrifice the travel and photography or travel more and sacrifice the climbing. At present I am unwilling to depart the social scene of this campsite.

Lake Como and Onwards

2008-07-20T06:31:00.000-07:00

Me in Val di Mello
I think I have been spoilt in the last few months when visiting cities, so many had kept their original medieval and Georgian sectors that Como after which Lake Como is named just felt more of the same. Narrow pedestrianised streets with tall thick walled buildings, many with murals and sculptured facades, small cafe lined squares surrounding elegant drinking fountains. The centre piece of the town was the Duomo, this cathedral built over many centuries, its interior features dark gothic designs with a renaissance exterior. The Roman writers and residents of Como Pliny the Younger and Pliny the Older guard the west facade.
Lake Como and the Duomo

But this is all that really captivated me about the city. The cafe’s charges extortionate prices for their coffee and waiters looked bemused at my lack of tipping. Accustomed as I am to the refusal of any tips up in Val di Melo; Yvette tried to tip a Euro for a lunch we had and ended up with a one Euro postcard. The waterfront of Como was rammed with tourist boats and whilst still pretty and elegant didn’t hold the charm of the Canals and water ways of Annecy. But this is all partly my fault, I chose Como as a stopover on my way to Milan to pick up Yvette and could have easily chosen Belagio or some of the countless prettier towns on the western shore, although these would have been a bit of a drive.

The Gothic Interior

With Yvette’s visit came the end of my trip to Italy, I showed her the boulders, routes and beautiful valleys and she fell for this little bit of Italy as well. Dropping her off at Colico station I headed north to the Splugen pass. This tight mountain road, zig zagged up snow capped mountains, cars going up with their engines over heating in first and second and clutches stretched to the max and cars going down with burning brake pads. At the highest point you pass over the border and into Switzerland, waved through by a Swiss border guard whose only English was “Bye Bye”.

Rainy Como

But Switzerland immediately makes me yawn, good roads, quite ancient mountain villages with not an inhabitant to be seen and not a shop or cafe in sight; expensive food, expensive everything and completely lacking that atmosphere that you get in almost all other European countries. On the plus side the campsite is cheap at €3 a night, whilst for that you just get a porta loo and a small stream to wash yourself, clothes and dishes and drink from and with everything so expensive you quickly stop spending anything that isn’t necessary, well maybe a bit of that Swiss Chocolate.

The bouldering is just across the river on a steep mossy forest, the boulders are jumbled all on top of one another, making the landings generally awful. Walking around is a bit dicey with lots of holes to fall into and slippery slopes leading down to the river. The boulder problems are in general excellent, if all in the higher grades. The quality of climbers here is amazing, so many strong Euro Wads, climbing in the 8’s. I was invited out with Katy Whittaker and Ryan Pascal for a session, being joined later by Tyler Landerman. This was my first taste of really hard climbing, Katy ticked an amazing 7C, while I pulled through most the moves, needing to come back for the last move which apparently shouldn’t be the crux. Ryan and I pulled onto Jack the Chipper a very hard 7C+, and was quite pleased to see us both failing on the same move, although I’m sure without a dodgy finger he could have cleaned up.

The bad part of the area is the landings, being on my own there is little for me to do and I have to team up with other climbers and join in what they want to do. Being one of the weaker guys here that generally means throwing myself at seemingly impossible problems. It’s hard to find a project that I can work on my own, but have set my sights on Supernova a hard 7C on the Bruno boulder beside the river. One thing this place has done is to raise my game up to the next level.

Mountains around the Splugen Pass

Thunder and Lightning

2008-07-10T02:06:00.000-07:00

It’s been getting hotter and hotter here and the freezing glacial streams look more and more tempting for a quick dip to cool off. I’ve been introducing some visiting Brits and Swedes to the boulders and managed a huge sessions of repeats and then worked a 7A in the cool of the forest of Bagni until a crystal slashed my finger tip. I was so close and a new sequence discovered by one of the Swedes am sure would have guaranteed success, but with a 7B in the bag a couple of days before I am feeling quite content about how my climbing has improved.

The hot days have produced an incredible violent reaction from the surrounding mountains, vast thunder and lightning storms. The current one has raged for two days, at night the pour of the rain drums constantly into the tent and flooding the campsite. The lightning comes in blinding flashes, piercing sealed eye lids and preventing any sleep, outside the flashes can be separated into blues, reds, oranges and brilliant whites. Inside the tent it feels like some strobe lighting. You find yourself counting the seconds from the lightning flash to the thunder which machine guns around the valley its cracks echoing off the Granite walls. You count not because of some school boy science experiment, but because you earnestly want to know how close the lightning is, feeling incredible vulnerable inside the tent, unable to sleep from the rain, thunder and lightning you try not to even reach up, hoping the insulation of your rubber mat will be of some use. Even with my rational brain telling me that there are plenty of other higher and better conductors out there, your brain still goes around in circles. Suddenly those long hot and greasy days when climbing seems almost impossible seem a blessing to those longs days stuck in the campsite bar, trying not to spend anything and playing Monopoly against the computer.

With the thunder and lightning hopefully ending Yvette is coming over for a five day climbing trip, this gives me the opportunity to take in the shores of Lake Como as I head down to Milan to pick her up and with her departure my time and Val di Mello ends. It’s on to Magic Woods and those magic grades and the tedium and organisation of Switzerland.

Some Bouldering Photos from Val di Mello

Stephan on a 7A dyno

Stephan on a powerful 6B crack climb

Raphael on a roadside 6c

Sam on the first 6C in Val di Mello

Chris warming up on a 5C

Val di Bagni

2008-06-30T01:53:00.000-07:00

It’s hot here, so hot. At weekends it gets busier and busier as the crowds escape from Milan which apparently is even hotter. The rivers still carry some of their glacial cool with them and plummet the temperature by a good 10 degrees, making bouldering next to them a pleasure, but away from the rivers you can’t last more than 20 minutes. I have taken to starting climbing at 5.00, just as the evening cool comes in.

Val di Bagni

But there is one hidden gem, Val di Bagni, breaking west out of Val di Massino instead of east to Val di Melo this Valley is the opposite of Melo, where Melo is wide meadows, with stone villages, sporadic forests and boulders catching the full glare of the sun. Bagni is tall dark Beech and Pine forests, glacial streams pouring through it off the alpine summit of Piz Baldie into a raging torrent at the bottom. The forest floor is covered in moss and the forest is dark and very cool. The boulders are often very high here, making a fine line between a boulder problem and a solo. As with much of the area many of the problems are reverting back to nature, simply not enough boulders to keep the moss at bay. The best problems tend to remain clean, but I would bring a wire brush next time I visit.

More Val di Bagni

The cool of the forest has allowed me to release a bit more energy into the bouldering and feeling back on form managed a 6c+. It was typical of the local problems, low sit start with one tiny foothold which this time was in a position I could use. One hand on the sloping arête and other crimping a small undercling, then a lightning slap up to another crimp for the right hand, reposition my body and throw again with my right for the finishing hold and topping it out. The perfect combination of static control from my left arm and dynamic snatches with my right!

Unfortunately I don’t have any photos of me in action on the boulders as it is hard to climb and take photos of myself. I thought of getting the tripod out and using the self timer, but this would look blatantly posed. So I’ve only got more photos of the scenery, sorry for yet more alpine streams, but hopefully this set of photos will illustrate the difference between Bagni and Val di Mello.

I seem to have written this blog in two parts and haven’t been able to think of away to link them without rewriting the above, so just going to launch into the next section.

Every fourth day I have as a rest day, this rest day I should decided I should be a bit more active. With so many mountains around there is loads of good walks. So up I headed to Bagni after a sleepless night thanks to the tent load of kids and a dog which are camped feet away from my head. I soon found a path signposted to the refugio of Omio, a nice trail with the odd painted boulders so you don’t get lost and even a time estimate on a sign of two and a half hours. For those of you who know me, years of canoeing and climbing have done a tremendous amount to unnuture my legs, and bean poles is an apt description. Unknown to me this hike took me nicely from the valley floor of Bagni as 1200 metres up to the refugio Omio at 2500 metres; it was one long hard slog uphill the whole way. I only made it by sheer will power as my fitness and muscles had given up somewhere down in the forests. The estimate of two and half hours was spot on for me, although someone with legs could probably do it in half the time.

The Refugio at 2500m

My only saving grace was the walking poles I had bought last year when Yvette and I went to Switzerland. They helped a tremendous amount to pull me up the hills and even more to soften the impact on the long two hour descent. I probably won’t do this sort of masochistic exercise every rest day, but for a one off, being able to walk through forested valleys, into the alpine meadows then into the rough highlands and see the nature slowly change is quite remarkable and probably only possible in a walk which increases in altitude so quickly. On route it is pretty much just you and nature, the odd ‘fitter’ walker would amble past and apart from a long green snake which slithered out of my way and one herd of cows I was pretty much alone.

Walkers approaching the Refugio

Enough of the romanticisms! Reckon my legs are going to ache something terrible tomorrow.

Climbing in Italy

2008-06-25T01:38:00.000-07:00

So i’ve been calling myself and Englishwoman for the past two weeks, but it seems no one under standards my Italian anyway, so probably went unnoticed. My efforts to find out how to order things in Italian with the staff at the campsite ended up with an unwanted cappuccino. To combat these problems I am keeping things as simple as possible, and just getting the names of items I need.

But I wanted to write a bit about the climbing here. The rock is Granite. Depending on where you are in the valley this can be packed with finger slicing crystals or smooth and more similar to sandstone. The problems come in all sorts, overhangs, slabs, headwalls and lots of arêtes. Being glacial formed they have one key feature! Holds get bigger as you go up. This means that top outs are great, but finding footholds to start the problems can be a nightmare. This is the place to come to sort your footwork out.

A lot of the problems have been set for the Mellobloca bouldering competition they hold here every May. This is good and bad, hundreds of new boulder problems are made every year, but the route setters seem to be mainly on the short side and love adding heinous sit starts. Being 6’ 2’’ and not 5’ 5’’ I can have enormous struggles get my arse of the ground, often not helped by the tiny crystals that are available in always the wrong place for your feet.

Regarding climbing for everyone the majority of climbs are in the sixes and above. Although there are plenty of great fives you would probably run out or be pushed into some of the highball ones if you were here for over a week. My climbing has gradually improved and have ticked a few 7a’s and a 7a+, am close on a couple of 7b’s and put together the moves on a 7c this morning, but now need to connect it. On the other hand there are still quite a few 6a’s which I haven’t completed.

As an overview most of the problems require quite a bit of effort and thought to get. There are very few which are a give away at the grade and you will almost certainly find some where your morphology will help (read I managed to lank my way through a couple of problems) and many where your morphology will be the biggest burden in the world. But in the end every problem is very rewarding and satisfying, whether it is 6a or 7a.

Scenic Val di Mello

2008-06-17T02:55:00.001-07:00

I sort of told a half truth when I said I was staying at Val di Mello, I’m actually about a mile down the valley next to the Sasso Remano boulder. I took my first proper trip into Val di Mello today as a rest day, hiking up the valley as the road runs out pretty early on. Now, I know I made a big thing about how amazing my current location was, but I think the actual Val di Mello has come up trumps. I don’t think I need to go into detail after my last post, it’s just more of the same, rivers, waterfalls, meadows, cliffs and mountains. But wow, I’ll let the following photos do the talking. You might want to click on them as I don’t think they appear very small in the browser and you might want to appreciate them a bit larger.

But enough of the scenery, the people here make it just as much an amazing place as the views. On my first night I wandered up to San Martino for a beer at the local bar, unfortunately my small change didn’t quite reach the needed €2, and the bar didn’t have change for €50. It was simple to them, just pay tomorrow. So up I went the next evening to pay back my debt and visit another cafe. Unfortunately I timed my trip dreadful and the skies completely opened. I sat there hoping for a gap in the rain to dash the mile back to camp, but it never came. As always the locals had the answer, an umbrella, I was on my, return my umbrella the next day.

My rest day hiking up the Val di Mello also couldn’t have been made more cheerful by the locals, everyone stopped to chat in broken English and Italian (my Italian is slowly improving). Lunch was at a refugio where I just ordered the local food with the help of my phrase book. The local stonemason told me I had to have the local wine with the meal as it was the best and he nosed through my climbing guidebook through the meal pointing at climbers he knew and areas which were very good. The meal was exactly what you would expect, nothing fancy; a starter of cheese and salami with bread and a main of thick creamy / cheesy polenta with a bit of meat on the side. The wine was coarse and acidic, helping me not to drink too much and cutting the richness of the Polenta which was so filling I had to leave some. So as not to upset the cook I made sure to learn ‘very good’ in Italian. To finish the meal the Stonemason who seemed to live at the refugio gave me a climber’s rate of €10 for the whole meal of starter, main and half a litre of wine. Might have to make this trip part of the weekly regime!

Over the Alps and into Italy

2008-06-13T01:50:00.000-07:00

Our last few days in France passed very slowly, we moved from Annecy to Cluses near Chamonix, a good location for me to start my journey to Italy and also to drop Yvette at Geneva airport. The bad weather continued, although we managed to get some climbing in and whilst the weather held took a scenic drive along some of Europe’s highest roads to take in the snow capped mountains.

The Mont Blanc Range, Grey and Misty

Monday was Yvette’s final day and also my thirtieth birthday, not quite the way I envisaged my thirtieth, but it was the way we planned it. I dropped Yvette off at Geneva airport and promptly had the car searched by the French police on re-entry into France. Apparently a single guy in a British car is suspicious. After numerous questions in broken French and English about where I was going and where I had been I was let go. The only good part of the day so far was that it was sunny, but as I entered the Alps a massive storm sat directly over Cluses, flooding the little campsite and making any possibility of cooking disappear. I opted for a table for one at the local pizza restaurant and then a beer in town, it was only nine o’clock when I returned; probably the earliest to bed I have ever been on my birthday.

I left as soon as I could the next day, In front of me loomed Mont Blanc, with its snow capped peaks and glaciers stretching down into the valley it was magnificent, but you couldn’t help but notice the factories and warehouses littered on either side of the road. I left the French Alps through the Mont Blanc tunnel, stunned by the scenery, but disappointed by the ramshackle towns and industrial estates in the valleys. Once through the Tunnel and Italy the architecture changed, although the industrial estates still littered the valleys picturesque castles loomed on top of hills and minareted churches clung to the side of the mountains. The driving became much more unpredictable, road works suddenly loomed up without warnings and you always had to be alert to what lane to go in. Drivers tended to start their manoeuvres without looking, although they always seemed to notice you before causing a collision. My Sat Nav worked perfectly until I had the only tricky section around Milan, somehow I scrapped through.

Routes in Sasso Remano, the largest boulder in Europe

Next was lake Como, with the mountains crashing down into its shores I made a note to get back here on a rest day to have a look around. Soon I was winding my way up the mountains to San Martino and the Val di Mello. This is what you want alpine valleys to look like. Lush flowering meadows, a mountain stream cascading through the middle, steep granite cliffs on either side and in the distance snowed capped peaks with their Glaciers winding down to the ancient villages in the valley. Suddenly everything felt good again, and it was sunny. This is going to be my base for the next month, climbing the boulder fields on the valley floor and chilling in the alpine villages. I’m enjoying it already.

Bouldering in Val di Melo