Jack and Tim .co.uk - Blogs

19 January 2010
As Tim so rightly pointed out, our avid fans must be trembling with anticipation for this long awaited blog...... There was the classic Christmas lull which saw some shiny new kit and far more food than training. I also got to dress up smart for once in my role as best man at my sister’s wedding. A thoroughly awesome night was had by all, but the hangover chased me for some time.
Since then I’ve been getting increasingly frustrated with plastic walls and getting the classic winter demotivation. Strangely though, the first round of the High Sports Bouldering Championship really perked me up. The route setting was truly excellent even if they were all set for short people and the atmosphere was remarkably friendly. There was some truly epic bouldering from a lot of people but no surprises, Ben and Kris took the prizes. I finished 10th, a result I’m not especially pleased with but I found a few personal victories. My left hand coped admirably with some mean slopers: something I’m not sure it ever did before the metalwork. It’s actually put me in good spirit for the next round at the Alton wall. I’ve also decided to start cycling there. It’s 14 miles from my house, a distance I gather is nothing to any respectable cyclist. I’d best see a drastic improvement in my lungs from not smoking.
I’ve got some exciting potentials in the air at the moment. I’ve got some media interest about my “inspirational” story. Although having just read Lance Armstrong’s “It’s Not About the Bike” I feel like a complete pansy. But I’m trying to turn my winter frustration into some serious drive to train harder. This wasn’t helped by the snow. I was joking about how the country grinds to a halt in a bit of ice right up to the point where I had to shovel half a metre of snow off my path. And the fact that everyone else was too scared to drive meant that I couldn’t hitch anywhere. But I did amuse myself by making some cool snow sculptures. Although I was deeply saddened that my life size polar bear was demolished by a passing gritter.... But now the snow is all gone I can take my new shoes on good run.

In other news height remains a decent substitute for skill and “juice” is a perfectly legitimate replacement for any biological fluid, aqueous solution or suspension.

25 November 2009
Rather a while since my last blog…… Mainly because I’ve been doing so much. I think in the last six weeks I’ve nearly made up for the lack of activity in the six months before that. I have to keep reminding myself how rapid my recovery has been and not set myself unreasonable standards! Despite this I’ve been training hard and I’m really starting to feel good after doing so. I can feel my strength coming back and I’m really motivated to get out there again and raise a whole load of money for the MSS.

I actually entered a bouldering competition at the Climbing Academy in Bristol. What started as something fun engaged my competitive streak and I had to go back for the second round. I’m currently placed 14th out of 92 and with another two rounds to go I’m determined to finish in the top ten and I’m really going to push for top five. Travelling back and forth from Bristol has also been amazing. I’ve had more luck hitch hiking lately than ever before. I’ve met some incredible people to whom I’m extremely grateful and made some great new friends.  
I’m just about to head to K2. The bouldering wall and new routes there are exactly what I need at the moment and I’m nearly fit enough to start my “two days on, one day off” routine. Tom’s been really pushing me up some harder routes lately but he’s now talking about a trip to the Peak. I’ve never liked grit much and in the cold I become unpleasantly aware of the metal holding me together. But I’ve decided that I need to start scoring E points again, so I’ve bought some gloves and decided to man up.  
In other news my hair STILL hasn’t been cut (those responsible know who they are), lack of cigarettes has left me jittery, irritable and my lungs feeling big and empty and I’ve actually written a “TO DO” list…

28 June 2009
I’m really aching after two sessions in two days. This bothers me slightly as I used to quite like climbing six days out of seven. But baby steps….. I’m finding I have to stop long before I want to and really control my urges to climb something really hard. 
  So Wednesday saw me at Craggy with Tom and Lisa and for the first time ever showed the world a tanned Scotsman. I also earned myself some smug time by arriving a good twenty minutes before the Scots. We had each set out at the same time with me hitching and them driving. Craggy has remained the same with over-zealous staff, dirty holds and grading that makes one feel hopelessly inadequate, like a panda in a survival contest. And they still haven’t changed their ropes. 
  Yet strangely I still enjoyed myself. Having realised that I was never going to live up to Craggy’s unreasonable standards I resigned myself to having fun. Then was struck by the realisation that this is what climbing always should be. Fun! For reasons unknown to me this is forgotten with alarming frequency. The reason for climbing in the first place and the reason we carry on despite the risks and injuries is that we enjoy it. So although I still have lofty ambitions about certain bits of rock I have resolved not to get bogged down in the sticky mire of grades or the advantages of tying a bowline clockwise and just enjoy being off the horizontal. 
  Tom is climbing irritatingly well at the moment and apart from a couple of whiny complaints about his “tendonitis”, was a laugh to climb with. He seems to register that I exist now that I can climb again. Lisa managed to beat me up the lead wall, an experience I don’t think she’ll ever let me forget.  
  A number of people (most lacking Y chromosomes) have asked to come climbing with me.  To which I always reply that they would always be welcome to come climbing with me. I become suspicious when they ask the same question, get the same answer but never seem to get anywhere near a harness. But my faith in (wo)mankind has been restored. Briony not only came climbing but actually hitched to K2 with me. Strangely I seem to get picked up quicker when I’m with someone blonde and pretty. 
  Briony did however, neglect to tell me about her fear of heights until we were basically at the wall. This didn’t really sink in right away as I have absolutely no comprehension of vertigo. But she gets awarded serious points for effort as she persisted several times despite shaking knees. I’m also impressed by the amount of natural technique she displayed up until about 4m off the floor. Although next time I’m just going to blindfold her rather than let her join the ranks of that most evil practise: bouldering.  I had a good laugh on some of K2’s new walls caught up with some old friends and I discovered that the carpal tunnel release on my left hand means I don’t get pumped. 
  In other news my hair is still two foot in length and the debate for its demise rages, acrophobia is an innate fear unrelated to experience and falling energy drink prices have made me slightly blurry around the edges.

23 June 2009
Rehab is about as fun as the junkies make it out to be. But the thrills of physio are all part of the recovery process I suppose.  My thumb now works after the tendon transfer which is a huge relief, although my brain still has some trouble distinguishing it from my index finger. Another relief is that, against all probability, my scaphoid is healing well with no avascular necrosis (death from lack of blood). So I’ve blown the dust off my harness and been climbing a couple of times on some painfully easy stuff. It’s made me realise how unfit I’ve got from moping around for four months. But training is progressing slowly but surely. I’m starting to feel my strength return and apart from the odd attack of burning pins and needles things are moving forward.  
  I was really sad not to be able to accompany Tim on the John O Groat’s to Land’s End cycle, which was a great success. Although it was probably just as well because I’m not a very good cyclist and I certainly do not envy Tim and Hooper’s lycra induced tan lines.  Check out the photos and such at onemilecloser.com.  
  In other news I had an awesome amount of fun at Hannah and Eve’s party, which I was able to justify in terms of training by the amount of time I spent in the sea the day after. I’d forgotten how much I love swimming and it’s definitely good exercise. I did discover however, that if I’m not paying attention I swim in a big anti clockwise circle…. Also watched the birdman contest which made me remember how much I want to get a wingsuit. A lot of people have agreed that taking a parachute climbing is a good idea, but I think they may have misunderstood the principles of BASE jumping.  
  Archie tells me he’s been bouldering on the side of the Captain which made me laugh (and only slightly jealous) but also made me aware of my lack of climbing partner. It’s not a problem at the moment where I’m only capable of climbing once or twice a week but thinking ahead it’s rather worrying. Volunteers welcome.  I’m trying to make the most of this nice weather but I can’t help but feel that it’s wasted by not climbing.  
  Oh, and I’m still thinking about cutting off my hair. Voice your opinions.

19 June 2009
So after what will hopefully be my final operation I’m back in plaster again….. I had an enjoyable few weeks with a removable splint on my left arm which gave me so much more freedom and allowed me to have showers without being wrapped in plastic. But my hand wasn’t working due to my severed EPL (really important thumb tendon) and the operation I have just had, was to correct this. Unfortunately repairing a tendon isn’t as simple as just stapling the ends together. So my surgeons disconnected one of my index finger tendons and reattached it to my thumb. There are two tendons that extend the index finger so I should have relatively normal function after I’ve relearned which digit I’m moving!  
Before this op I was starting to remember what it felt like to be healthy. I was running lots and even went climbing a couple of times (don’t tell my doctors). It made me realise that although I’ve lost basically all my strength I still have some technique to fall back on. So returning to form may not be as difficult and as painful as I had initially imagined. But I’m definitely not expecting it to be easy. It’s just incredibly frustrating to have begun to focus on recovery only to go back into plaster.  
The John O’Groats to Lands memorial cycle is coming up soon and I had initially planned to break my leg muscles (I’m not much of a cyclist) but now I’ve been sliced open again I don’t think I’ll be able to stay on the bike. So hopefully I’ll be along as some kind of support team. I was thinking about riding a motorbike with a camera, Tour de France style, but as I can’t change gear…..  
In other news I’m seriously considering getting my hair cut. For those of you that don’t know I’m rather attached to my flowing locks and so this may be another way for me to raise money for MS research while I can’t climb. Interestingly this comes at a time when the number of people diagnosed with the condition has risen to over a hundred thousand in the UK alone.   

9 June 2009
Just got back from the fracture clinic yet again. I'm starting to become a familiar face, which is a bit odd. Obviously it's nice to know people but I find myself hoping I won't have to see them again... At least today it was only a brief visit to remove my right cast. So I had a thoroughly enjoyable shower and scrubbed off six weeks worth of dead skin. The atrophy in my forearm is quite horrific given that I've always been endeared with crimpy holds. It's also incredibly sensitive without the plastic exoskeleton I've got used to: everything has gone back to being hard work without the support of the cast. But at least I can work at getting my strength back in my right arm now. This is made all the more essential by the total lack of progress in my left hand.
I know healing bones takes time: I'm up to 10 I think (196 to go) but my left hand doesn't seem to be doing much other than hurt. I haven't been this long without climbing since I started. I've been running lots but it's painfully dull compared to being up a wall. I've been trying to focus on other things but climbing is such a huge portion of my life that I find myself just killing time. I've been thinking of things I normally do when I'm not climbing. These normally consist of activities like kiteboarding, playing guitar or video games. All easy and painless when you have one hand that hasn't been used in 6 weeks and another that doesn't work at all...
So, brace yourselves (I mean it), I've been trying to get a job. My plan is to make some money while I'm still broken to put me in good stead for Yosemite next year and give me something to do while I'm healing. Of course I've had my head in the clouds and had forgotten about the economic state of this country. Luckily I have a pet rock I think I can make bleed. 
Now where did I put my powerball?

3 June 2009 - Petty injury
It makes me laugh to read Tim's blog about "injury". Not because I'm cruel but because I'm beginning to lose the will to live. I haven't gone this long without climbing since I started and with the weather so nice it's more than a little frustrating. Hit the floor at 25mph then tell me about injury. I spent another thrilling day at the fracture clinic yesterday. I had my K wires removed, which is possibly the single strangest sensation possible to experience. It didn't hurt (although I'm told it normally does) but I believe Tim would describe it as feeling rather "geeurgh". There aren't any nerves in bones, only round the outside, but you can still feel it coming out. Imagine a cork coming out of the bottle, but with a radius instead of a bottle and a long steel pin instead of a cork. Twist, creak, pop!
I also had to have a CT scan of my left wrist as it looked a bit dodgy on the x-rays. Luckily it seems to have been a false alarm and strangely the shrapnel that formerly made up my triquetrum is reassembling itself quite nicely. There's still a big gap in my scaphoid but this is normal as it's a slow healing bone. So I've got my right in plaster for another week and my left for at least another month and the need for another operation hasn't been entirely ruled out.
Having had rather too much time of my wrists I've been doing a lot of reading recently and I realised it could be worse. For example Joe Simpson who crawled for 6 miles down a mountain with a shattered leg over three days after being cut loose by his partner and left for dead in a crevasse. Or Aron Ralston who was forced to amputate his own right arm after having it crushed by a boulder and lying trapped in a canyon for five days. Both these men still climb.
In other news I had a call from Delhi that cheered me up immensely. Nadeem has been having an awesome time from the sound of things and he even got my thought message to bring back a piece of Everest for me. I think I'm going to have to stick to some slightly less vertical slopes for the moment and so mountains are starting to appeal more and more. It's looking like I may well not be fit enough to get round Europe so I plan to use the time to make some money and put myself in a good position for next year and my road to the Nose.

29 may 2009
It's been over a month now since my fall and I'm really starting to feel the effects.. Those who have ever had to wear casts will know exactly what I'm on about when I talk about the ITCHING! Normally a paintbrush makes a very good scratcher, but my K wires itch all the way through my right arm (it feels as strange as it sounds) and the incisions in my left are still a bit sore for scratching. Although far worse than the itching is the atrophy in my forearms. Having spent the last five years building my flexors and extensors to the point where I can hang from two fingers, it's not nice to watch my arms reduce to twigs in a month... 
On the upside I've been getting discount in shops and plenty of time for reading which is a luxury I'm normally too tired to enjoy. I've also been having fun coming up with new answers for the question I get asked thirty times a day: "How did you break both arms?!" 
"Really kinky sex" goes down well. "Saving a baby from a car crash" was even better as the girl believed me, to the point where I was giving her the whole story but Tom gave it away when he couldn't contain his laughter. One guy didn't ask me how I broke my arms, instead he said:
"Are your arms broken?" 
I looked at him in disbelief then looked at my casts, "These? No they're just for show...." This might seem facetious but it's very depressing having to respond thirty times a day "I fell off a rock". 
Another upside to an injury is pushing the reset button on my fitness. I was chatting to Hans Florine (Tim said something about Lance Armstrong too but I thought he was an astronaut) about this and he agreed that it's possible to use an injury to your advantage. This is particular relevant to me as my build and style of fitness, most of all climbing, lends itself towards serious endurance. I thought this is what I needed for my ultimate goal of the Nose until Vaughan pointed out that it's no good being able to climb 7a for twelve hours if you can't climb 8a+ when you get to Changing Corners. So I need to work to get stronger and rely on my natural endurance. 
This has provided me some relief since I bought myself some Salamon Wings and have been pegging it round Petersfield heath. Normally I run for distance and don't worry about time but now I've been going on much shorter and much faster runs. I like running against a clock and it's great fun to run really fast and know that you can push it really hard without having to plod for hours afterwards. I've managed to knock my 5km time down to just under 20 minutes which I think is fairly respectable as I've spent the last month sitting around regrowing my bones. I've also been trying to follow another piece of Vaughan's advice and run faster if I get stitch. This really hurts.
Obviously the thing I want to be doing most of all is climbing and that's really starting to take its toll on my mental wellbeing. Although I realised I'm going to enjoy having a whole new set of challenges and I can get psyched on some easy climbs!

16 May 2009
Wow it's been a while since I wrote a blog. Now I'm stuck with both arms in plaster I don't have much excuse!
Falling is an interesting part of climbing. Everyone falls sometimes and if you're pushing yourself, you fall a lot. I'm not alone in having no fear of falling when on bolts and I see the falls as a necessary part of the progress. It's also quite fun taking the odd flying lesson when you know you're in as safe an environment as you're going to get. Conversely I do a lot of soloing where you absolutely cannot fall and the fear returns in a fairly insistent fashion. Trad tends to sit somewhere inbetween the two: theoretically you can fall safely but it's probably better not to risk it!
For reasons unknown to me I slipped off an E4 6b at Limekilns and my one piece of gear blew out. It's more than a little disconcerting to feel no resistance on the rope and have a cam fly past your head in a cloud of limestone. It's also remarkable how hard the impact is when you hit the floor. I was only six or seven metres off the floor but that was clearly enough.
Tom was an absolute star though. As soon as I hit the floor he was there: "Don't move! What hurts?" Having discovered I could wiggle my toes I did a quick self diagnosis (adrenaline means nothing hurts to begin with).
"I've broken both wrists.."
"Ah. Better get an ambulance"
I broke my radius in my right wrist although it looked much worse at the time! My left fared rather worse and there are fractures in my radius and lunate, my scaphoid snapped clean in half and my triquetrum shattered. Medically speaking this means it's f*@^ed. 
Fortunately I've been expertly reconstructed by an orthopaedic surgeon named Sophie Phillips, a woman who has my profound gratitude. But even with titanium enhancements my left wrist is still going to need a lot of work before it's back to normal. So in future I think I'm going to be rather more careful with my gear placements!

16 May 2009
As a lot of you may have heard/seen I took a rather nasty tumble recently and broke both my wrists.... Not the best move in terms of training I know but these things happen and I'm lucky the ground was soft and it was only my wrists that broke!
I'm still set on my goal of the Nose despite the multitude of obstacles that have fallen in my way recently. Unfortunately the big climb is going to be delayed even further as it's going to take me a while to get my forearms back in shape. My left wrist is in a fairly bad way so it's going to be a long road to recovery. But as a friend of mine once said "if you just keep on putting one foot in front of the other, you're going to get to where you need to be".
I'm absolutely determined to do just that and I'm discovering that determination goes a lot further than you might think. I'm also going to be salvaging what I can of the big trip planned for the summer. I should be out of plaster in early June and so I should be able to travel and I want to use the trip to stay motivated and get back into shape.

Just in case there were any doubts: it'll take more than five broken bones to stop me!

The only way I could start this blog is by paying tribute to an incredible person whom I had the pleasure and pride of knowing: Rob inspired and awed everyone he met, he was a stoic, solid friend and an adventurer to the core. In twenty one years Rob achieved more than most could dream of in a century. The risks of our sport are given new perspective when a tragedy like this hits someone close but Rob knew the risks and chose to live every minute to its fullest. I know Rob is resting peacefully having lived the way he did and dying doing what he loved most.

The Big Morocco Epic
December 30th 2008 - January 12th 2009 

France:

      Having had Tim lend me a DVD of climbing in Morocco and become thoroughly sick of chill blains and snow in the Peak, a trip to somewhere exotic seemed like an awesome idea. And of course this had to be done in proper Jack and Tim style. We had somehow decided to hitch the two thousand miles to the Todra Gorge in Eastern Morocco. Tim made plans to spend New Year in Paris with Gilbert whilst me and Nadeem opted for a more civilised (and less expensive) option than a French party. We would travel in pairs and meet up at strategic points along the way.

      By a lucky coincidence Rosie’s parents were getting the ferry to France on the 29th so me and Nadeem stuck out our thumbs from the sofa and had a ride all the way to Nantes! I maintain this still counts as hitch hiking as it cost no extra money to have us as passengers. So I packed the pig full of gear and food, did some research and did more French revision than I ever did at school! Given that we had two days head start we decided to stop for a climb. A bit of web browsing showed us that there were granite crags not far from Nantes so we made that our first port of call after spending a night in Steve and Marji’s French cottage.

      Pont Caffino was a surprising crag near the tiny village of Chateau Thebaud. The granite was a good two pitches in height but being the only rock between Font and the Pyrenees, it was horribly polished. It was also no warmer than England but we both had shiny new gear to test out and the excitement of a new adventure. Nadeem got his first hanging belay experience and we got odd looks from the locals.We stayed a night at the base of the crag and got in a few decent routes before starting our hitch hiking in earnest. This being Nadeem’s first experience of hitch hiking I was smiling wryly at his expectations.

      Chateau Thebaud is a tiny village but it took us a strangely long time to work out which road went towards Bordeaux, our first rendezvous point. I spent some time telling the eager Nadeem to expect no lifts in the right direction and that we might make Bordeaux in a couple of days. But about twenty minutes later we got a lift to a main intersection with a big sign pointing to Bordeaux. I was impressed with French roads. Even the single carriageway routes have big hard shoulders, perfect for thumbing. So when the second car to stop said he was going all the way to Bordeaux I couldn’t believe our luck. We even had a half decent conversation with my broken French and Nadeem’s louder and slower English.

      Bordeaux lived up to my expectations of being exactly like every other big city on the planet. We checked into the youth hostel which proved to be surprisingly nice and headed out into the town centre to see what New Year celebrations were going on. After finding about ten other people in the whole city and being charged €7 for a beer we decided to buy a bottle and head back to the hostel. We bought the cheapest bottle of rum in the shop (which later turned out to be for cooking), some coke as an afterthought and watched the tumbleweed blow on our way back. There were a few other people in the hostel who turned out to be a good laugh. But alcohol does nothing for linguistics… We had a hilarious conversation about music which was to the effect of:

Nadeem: I really like Moby

French guy: Je ne le connais pas 
Nadeem: You don’t know Moby?

French guy: Ah Mo-bee!

Accents...

      So we had pretty sore heads the next morning and made extensive use of having a hot shower. We made friends with some Finnish girls who happened to also be staying at the hostel and went in search of some decent French coffee. The stuff they’d given me at the hostel was painfully like love in a canoe. So with Nadeem babbling about my chemical dependencies we wandered around Bordeaux which proved to be even more dead by daylight. We eventually found a place that was open and served the best coffee I’d had all year. We rang Tim who told us he was heading for Toulouse. We shrugged at his geography and considered getting the train but decided we were in it to hitch hike it.

      After walking a painful couple of miles (any distance with a 175l haul bag on your back is painful hence it’s name of the Pig) we sat on our bags and waited. All day. I reasoned that it was a good intro to hitch hiking having had a day of the best and then a day of the worst. We travelled less than 20km, most of which we walked. But it was New Year’s day and we were still miles ahead of Tim so we weren’t too disheartened when we had to camp by the road. Although there was point where a driver obviously saw the tent and honked madly for a bit…

      The next day had us up before dawn and hoping that we were in for some luck. The day started slowly but got better and better. French motorways are incredibly straight and incredibly flat. People who pick you up on them also tend to be doing long distances so we made excellent time through the South of France. It really made me appreciate how small England is. I used to think it was a long to the Peak being three hours up the M1 but it’s nothing compared to Europe. From Bordeaux to Bayonne is immense. And flat. In England you get a change of scenery every county, or every few miles. France is just flat. Endless plantations and agriculture without so much as a hedgerow. But we had nice weather and nice lifts. And I discovered you could get coffee for €1 at the service stations. I guess the nation goes on strike if it’s any higher.

      After a long ride in a Citroen Saxo that really struggled with two extra passengers and 60kg of extra gear we found ourselves relaxing in the sun at a service station somewhere just before Bayonne. It was a serious possibility that we could be in Spain by the end of the day but I didn’t want to jinx it by saying it out loud. We got a lift from a nice family who irritatingly dropped us at a toll station. The French are seriously anal about hitch hiking on motorways but luckily there was a stopping bay and we got a lift from two guys who had the worst taste in music I have ever encountered.

      The crappy French pop was more than worth it though. You’re surrounded by endless flat fields through the South of France then suddenly you turn a corner and BANG: there’s a snow capped mountain in front of you. The mind numbing evenness of the ground suddenly turns into jutting rocky hills and you realise it’s the Pyrenees looming out of the clouds and you’re in…. 

Spain: 

      We were dropped just across the border and we were starting to think about where to camp. We decided to hitch as far as we could and hope we spotted somewhere good to pitch a tent.We got a lift from a guy who just looked so jubilant to see hitch hikers he picked us up. I’ve never seen anyone look so happy about someone trying to scrounge a lift. But he dropped us at a service station as it started to get dark. After a quick exploration we realised there was nowhere to camp and decided to keep going.

      When a truck bearing a logo saying “Sindo shipping: France – Spain – Morocco” pulled up beside us we all but mugged the driver. I would have settled for any lift but Nadeem was bouncing at the thought of riding in a truck. He turned out to be very nice but said he couldn’t give us a lift and he wasn’t going all the way to Morocco anyway. He stayed and chatted whilst lots of cars refused to stop. It was a funny conversation as he spoke Spanish, French, Portuguese and a bit of English. So with a sentence composing of at least three different languages it was sometimes hard to get a point across. But he clearly though we were alright as he eventually told Nadeem to sit on his bed and pull the curtains across if there were any police.

      He dropped us at a big service station somewhere on the way to Burgos and well into Spain. After buying him a coffee for sticking his neck out (truckers get in real trouble for carrying passengers without insurance) we spotted a perfect place round the back to camp. After what was becoming our usual dinner of pasta with red sauce and *insert protein supplement here* we realised we had covered an entire country, nearly a thousand miles and were nearly halfway. We rang Tim from a payphone and he was still somewhere in France. I remained silently smug.

      We were up bright and early the next morning and I was expecting our luck to follow the pattern of the last few days eg. we would get nowhere. But a car with a UK number plate stopped before Nadeem had even finished brushing his teeth. The driver turned out to be a Kiwi lady who had been travelling round Europe basically on a whim. After we had chatted about our respective travels and told Courtney about our plans she thought for a bit before saying “can I come?”

      It was really awesome to have someone else join us on the way. After all the whole point of the trip from the beginning was that anyone was welcome (but I think people find it hard to drop everything without a package deal and insurance). We then realised we had a lift through pretty well the entirety of Spain as well as someone to talk to in English. I always maintain that I trust my luck more than anything else but this was getting a bit silly.

      Spain is possibly more vast than France. But it’s so much moodier. I was quite appalled by Madrid. The town centre is very chic but it’s surrounded by miles of high rise flats and sprawling landfills and scrap heaps and chimneys belching black smoke. We were also stopped and frisked by a “policeman” who was basically claiming to be a wallet inspector. But apart from making us feel slightly violated he left is unharmed and unhindered. I think it was actually worth it for Andalusia. The countryside rolls and bucks with hills and small mountains. Pretty well every patch of arable land is taken up by olives. It was incredibly surreal to be on this dead straight road in the middle of nowhere with nothing but olives. Literally as far as I could see in every direction was olive groves. And the weather. Brooding rain clouds would suddenly drop buckets of water for five minutes then pause for brilliant sunshine. The road would start to steam then it would rain again.

      We ended up in Gibraltar to discover Tim and Gilbert were still in Barcelona. Gibraltar is one of the weirdest places I’ve ever visited. It’s like a little patch of South London in the med. You can pay for things in pounds and there are pubs. There are also monkeys but they remained on top of the rock, which is sadly much too chalky to be climbed. So we decided that rather than hang around in England we would go and find some rocks to climb. A slight backtrack took us to the climbing haven of El Chorro. The massive limestone crags more than made up for the overpriced camping.

      Nadeem had a proper introduction to multipitch although much of the rock was still unpleasantly damp. In addition the multipitch there was also some hard single pitch stuff. A particular interesting 7a was basically a well protected boulder problem with four clips and a strange arcing route. After I struggled up it Nadeem said he would follow suit and proceeded to do a Tom and left my quickdraws on the route… So I had to struggle up it again. But it was a still a good laugh.

      We also felt we should in someway repay Courtney for driving us through most of Spain. The perfect opportunity arose in El Chorro’s massive gorge that has a via ferrata all the way round. Some very exposed walkways have decent safety wires so we traversed along the massive faces. The scenery is totally awe inspiring. Courtney was pretty scared for the most part I think, having never done any kind of climbing before but she was buzzing by the end. She even said it was better than sky diving. So we felt happy that we’d been able to give her a taste of the sport that we love so much and repay her some of the kindness she’d shown us.

      After two days at El Chorro we headed back to the coast but this time to Algiceras. It was at the ferry port where we FINALLY met Tim and Gilbert. Although they had bottled out and got the train due to their inadequate hitch hiking abilities. We had discovered that the ferry was half the price of one from Gibraltar as well as leaving five times more frequently. Although we did have a hairy moment when the guy at the ticket office vanished out back with all four of our passports. He eventually gave them back but not before we’d decided he was making illegal copies… Soon we were on the ferry to Morocco. When we docked it began to sink in that we were now in a different continent.  

Morocco 

      Our first taste of Tangier was a crowd of locals all heckling us, claiming they could get us the cheapest taxis to Marrakech. Many of them had hand drawn ID badges which they brandished with great authority. We tried to make a subtle exit although this is difficult when you’ve got a 170l bag on your back bearing the slogan “OINK” in large black letters. We walked to the bus station whilst the call to prayer was sung over the loudspeakers at the port. It really made it clear that we were in a different country and culture. So we soaked in the exotic atmosphere and went to find a bus.

      I had read that we should pay no more than 90 dirham for a bus to Marrakech and I was keen to try out my bartering skills. Although this caused much more of a stir than any of expected. We were quickly mobbed by representatives of about ten different bus companies all claiming they had the best price. Unfortunately they all ended up arguing with each other rather than actually giving us tickets. Eventually we got a half decent price by going to leave altogether. It was quite a shock to cause such heated arguments but I’m sure it’s a practised technique for fleecing tourists.

      The bus was crowded but better than I’d expected and I sucked in my cheeks as Nadeem said the bus would take about 3 hours to Marrakech. A long ten hours later we were in Marrakech (I’d done my homework as to the distances) and decided to jump straight on the next bus rather than hang around. We got a much better price this time but this prompted the locals to try and charge us extra for our bags. After some commotion (and threatening to leave again) we were on our way to Tinerhir. This bus would take us across the Atlas mountains and almost to our final destination of the Todra Gorge.

      This bus was rattling and had no heating. Not a problem we thought, being in Africa. Wrong. It was chilly when we left and as we climbed higher and higher into the mountains it got no warmer. I did think the stunning scenery was worth it though. When we stopped at a tiny village in the highest point of the pass we all jumped out to try and warm up. I also saw a vat of what looked like hot soup and ordered a bowl and a coffee. I have no idea what was in the soup. It came served with a huge blob of oil on the top. I think it was mostly cornflour and goat’s milk and it was pretty foul. But it was hot and I didn’t want to be rude. The coffee was also about 90% milk and tooth rottingly sweet. But I felt like I was getting some authentic Moroccan experience.

      We eventually arrived in Tinerhir, the closest town to the gorge and after being accosted by drug dealers and drinking some of the local mint tea (a million times better than the coffee but still too sweet) we found a taxi going to the gorge. A winding road with massive potholes climbs into craggier terrain and then the sides of the road just keep rising.

      We stepped out of the taxi, craning our necks and almost falling over at the sheer size of the walls. It was such an incredible feeling to have got to where we set out to go and for it to be even better than we had ever hoped. The sides of the gorge are massive. And there are routes up every bit of rock. We walked past a handful of shops and hostels and it just kept going. After a section where the gorge is only a few metres wide it widens out and here we met some nomads at a stall. Given our previous experience of the locals we were cautious when they asked us to have some tea but they were genuinely being friendly and weren’t after our money.

      They also showed us a good spot to camp, although our pegs weren’t happy in rocky sand. We set up camp and put the pasta on as it was getting dark and the moon rose of the edge of the gorge. It was stunning. We sat and looked and gaped and periodically high fived and laughed at how amazing it was. Me and Nadeem had travelled more than two thousand miles having paid about £30 for transport and having had a new adventure each day.

      We got up early to find some good climbs and after a deceptively long walk in we were on our first multipitch. The red limestone in the gorge has barely been climbed and unlike any I’ve come across elsewhere is wickedly sharp and textured. This means your shoes stick like glue, as do your hands but with more blood. It was so refreshing to be on some amazing rock so far from home. All my despair left over from my frozen fingers in the Peak was gone, although it was surprisingly cold even in the sun. The bolts were all a bit suspect though so we climbed more on trad than sport. Which was a great excuse to play with my new gear. Until halfway up the fourth pitch when the rock became dangerously loose. Luckily the gear beneath me was bomber and the route had traversed away from the anchor so Tim and Nadeem were safe from the falling rocks.

      After a good days climb we decided we wanted some local food and to find Hassan, the local climbing guide who we had read about. We ended up staying in the hostel where we ate as we were sick of lugging our bags up to the crags. The food was awesome and the locals great fun. Everyone seems to carry a set of bongos and whip them out at any opportunity. We got good, cheap rooms and had planned our route for the next day. We were up early again and on the rock as the sun hit it.

      The pig got its first experience of being properly hauled, although we couldn’t be bothered to take it with us up the whole route so we left it on an anchor above a 6c pitch. (Any thieves would need to be seriously ambitious). The climbing was harder and higher than any of us were used to so it was an awesome route. Unfortunately the rock got loose higher up again. I think it’s because it’s climbed so little that loose pieces just remain undisturbed. So we decided to ab off before an incident. At this point Tim dislodged a fairly sizable chunk that bounced and headed straight across the river towards a woman doing her laundry. Tim had time to yell twice as we were so high and it seems tone of voice crosses language barriers. The woman looked up to have the rock land pretty well in her laundry, spraying her with water. We were so relieved: it was very nearly a lot worse.

      That evening we returned to the hostel where they got the drums out again. Gilbert had even gone for a climb with some other English climbers we had met earlier. They were doing single pitch and Gilbert had declined the offer of a three hundred metre introduction to our sport. Can’t see why. We even offered to strap him into the pig and just haul him up so he could enjoy the view. It was after dinner that Tim switched on his phone and we heard the tragic news. We were all struck dumb but resolved to get back to England as quickly as possible. The coach ride back to Marrakech proved intolerably slow but Tim and Gilbert managed to get a flight the same evening. Nadeem and I spent a surreal night in the airport before leaving the next morning. It was incredibly strange to spend a week travelling and then cover the return journey in a few hours. It was raining as we stepped out of Gatwick and were home.

The Peak Episode II: Attack of the Cams
After a couple of days chilling at my mother’s I got another cheery phonecall from Nadeem to the effect of “I’m going back to the Peak. I’ll pick you up on my way past” So back to the Peak we went. Although this time we were going to be staying with Tom in a warm flat! It was great to see him after what seemed like ages since his move to Rotherham. To celebrate this reunion we got suitably beveraged and kept Liz up till the early hours (oh dear). It was at this point that Nadeem pushed me to the floor into a pile of jingly gear. A number 3 camalot got me square in the forehead and left a cam shaped imprint (although I’m still telling people it was the cam that I ripped out of Moon Walk).

So with rather sore heads we set off to Curbar again the next day. Nadeem lead another HVS and proclaimed trad to be no scarier than sport. Tom and I exchanged glanced but said nothing. I felt slightly better after Tom fell of Moon Walk at the same place I did but I still wasn’t performing anywhere near my peak. I was cheered up though when Sam Whitaker turned up and toproped End of the Affair like it was a staircase. This in itself was amazing but what really made me laugh was Nadeem. Being the pansy sport monkey that he is, he failed to recognise one of the UK’s top grit climbers despite him being on the covers of several DVDs and magazines. So it went like this

Nadeem: So what sport grade d’you climb?

Sam Whitaker: Shrug (flashes End of the Affair)

But as Nadeem is a pansy sport monkey we’ll forgive him. Also the fact that he only had good intentions and no offence was caused. I was probably worse when I started.

Unfortunately Tom had to work the next day and despite our invitation Liz declined to join us. So it was just Nadeem and I who headed to Millstone quarry. Quarried grit is totally different to the natural stuff. Crimpy holds and sharp edges were much welcome but I still felt off. And having looked at the weather forecast we decided to head back South. All in all it was a fun trip if not for the climbing I got done. I was also presented with a big box of shiny gear from DMM when I got back to Rosie’s! Nothing like retail therapy! Thank you Steve!

The Peak Episode I: The Phantom Sloper
Nadeem rang me up with a cheery “You’re coming to the Peak with me and Séan!!” How could I refuse? So with Nadeem’s car packed to the brim (this involved the person in the back being packed under a bouldering mat. Luckily I called shotgun in time) we set off for Hathersage. It was snowing lightly by the time we had set up our tents. My tent takes half the time and effort to put up but apparently it fails against Nadeem’s in built lighting system. So we went to the Pub where we met Tim who had sent me text earlier that read “Can I stay in your tent tonight? OK rhetorical question but I thought I’d let you know” Luckily I was glad of the warmth and this time Tim didn’t spoon me in his sleep.

We were up bright and early to find a thin but even coating of snow. But the sky was clear so we headed to Stanage anyway. Although getting Nadeem’s car up the hill proved rather more difficult than expected. So after some interesting skids and lots of flying snow we decided to walk. Stanage was wet and cold but we still had a laugh. This being Nadeem’s trad trip, his pupils were dilated and his jaw slack at the sight of lots of jingly gear. He amused himself for some time by walking along the crag and periodically shouting “Bomba!” and pulling on a cam. During this I made a snowman, Tim practiced abseling and Séan managed to use 35m of rope on an anchor…. So we decided after a while to head to the more sheltered crags of Froggart.

Unfortunately the light was failing and apart from a bizarre solo up an enclosed crack only Nadeem got a lead in. But we had discovered that Froggart was free of snow and we also realised that it wasn’t from some of the infamous climbs at Curbar. Although Tim had to depart that evening (something about learning or lectures or something) we headed back the next day. Nadeem led an HVS which had cries of “BOMBA!” echoing across Hope Valley. I threw a toprope on “End of the Affair E8 6c” to see if it lived up to it’s reputation. And having caused all the fingers on my left hand to bleed on the top crux I would have thought twice about leading it even if falling from said crux didn’t result in a definite introduction with the ground.

Having smeared blood on a lot of gear I taped my fingers and hopped onto “Moon Walk E4 5c” The guidebook described it as having “brilliant onsight potential” and committing on the top move resulted in “success or flight time”. Never wanting to back down I committed. Guess which option I chose? It was quite a flight. Luckily Nadeem’s belaying was absolutely professional and despite a long fall, ripping out two pieces of gear I wasn’t too worried. I couldn’t say the same for Nadeem though. And I don’t blame him. As a climber you don’t really think about the fall that much. The noise of gear crunching out of the rock is absolutely gut wrenching but it’s down to your placements and it’s your neck on the line. As a belayer you have someone else trusting you completely with their life and you have much less idea of what’s going on above you. He also doesn’t appreciate the fact that I’m very quiet when I’m climbing hard. A lot of climbers really yell when they’re pushing through a hard move or coming off. I think I just whimpered…

But having realised I wasn’t going to deck it I went for the crux again. For some reason I couldn’t see the sequence. Having got to a horrible sloper I couldn’t find anywhere for my feet or my left hand and came off repeatedly. After giving up I spotted a crucial sloper from the ground which would have been well within my reach if I hadn’t completely overlooked it.

Feeling totally demoralised I spent the rest of the trip belaying or seconding. I did climb a nice E3 that was horrific to protect as my nuts were too big for the narrow cracks. But I don’t think it really counts as I used a big hold off route. Climbing is so much about headgame and despite remaining unafraid (some say there’s a fine line between courage and stupidity) I couldn’t find the thrill or even the ability to get up the rocks.

I was sick of being cold and waking up to a tent buried under snow and having numb feet and numb hands and numb ears and I didn’t even have any good climbs to show for it. I think it was the first time I’ve come away from a climbing trip without that Zen buzz….

Jack’s scholarly Cambridge social
Hitching up to Cambridge meant a large portion of my journey followed the dreaded M25. With so many junctions and possible destinations people that do eventually pick you up never take you very far. But I ended up getting a lift a rather bizarre way through central London. With some slightly confused directions from Will and quite a long walk I made it to central Cambridge. The city is almost entirely university and very turn has another college or institute or lecture hall or laboratory. My rather neglected brain began to remind me that I like learning and after a pint and a catch up with Will I decided to steal some education.

I thought I’d need some cunning to sneak into lectures but no one batted an eyelid at an unfamiliar face. It was refreshing to absorb some knowledge but the density of the lectures is somewhat overwhelming: I see why Will has so much work. Because of this I couldn’t persuade him to check out the local climbing wall. Although I can safely say he didn’t miss much. The sports centre has a dingy bouldering wall with no discernable routes and several years worth of chalk and dirt. There is a good reason for this though. Most of the climbing in Cambridge takes place at night on the rooftops. The ancient stone buildings just ask to be climbed so I rapidly developed a stiff neck from staring at some awesome buildering routes.

Although I decided that it wouldn’t go down to well if I broke some priceless gargoyle or fell to my death in front of a college dean. So I had an excellent chillout with Will, reminiscent of CH days although I think we bemused his flatmates somewhat.

For my return journey I decided to head back via the Castle climbing centre in London. My luck decided this was a good idea and my first and only lift took me from Cambridge to within a few of miles of the Castle. It was a very surreal walk though. Having come from the academic decorum of a university the contrast was stark and more than a little depressing. Seven Sisters crawls with police and is covered with sprawling council flats whilst billboards proclaim “a new, brighter, safer Seven Sisters”. These were often next to photographs of hooded children proclaiming they “say no to knife crime”. So I was glad of my long legs and my lack of anything valuable.

My good fortune meant I had arrived hours before Nadeem and Séan. So I had a wander around Finsbury Park which was a pleasant patch of green in the city. The Castle is a massive centre with huge lead walls and huge amounts of bouldering. It’s also home to Urban Rock: an awesome shop with helpful staff. Which was a pleasant change from a certain shop I’m used to dealing with…. Although one of the staff did seem to be a little slow of speech and smelt of rather fragrant “cigarettes”. After a seriously knackering session I made it back to Rosie’s for a much welcome rest.

I really should have written a blog sooner… I’ve had several awesome trips that I haven’t written about so now you all get to read an essay! But I’ll put them in bitesize chunks for ease of digestion. My last entry saw me in Manchester with Tim.

Since then I’ve been to Cambridge, London, back to Horsham, various crags in the Peak, my mother’s, back to the Peak and finally ended up in Petersfield.

17th-20th November
After Tim's brief visit South I realised it was time to head North again and make a trip of it. I planned to meet up with Rob first whilst Tim was in lectures then swap Gauntletts for two rounds of climbing. I'd also expressed confidence in my hitch hiking abilities the previous evening. Normally a mistake but I got lucky with my lift. An aging hippie in a camper van who was heading for the Lake District gave me a lift to within a few miles of Manchester. He was also kind enough to give me coffee and biscuits making it one of the best lifts I've had! Unfortunately between Rob and Tim's directions it was a wonder I found the climbing centre at all and I lost the race. I was also slightly disappointed to find Manchester almost identical to every other big city in the world but with more curry houses.

Normally a session with Rob then a session with Tim would barely have me sweating but it was my fourth consecutive day climbing so I wasn't quite up to scratch. I also think Rob has been putting some work in as he's been putting me to shame rather too much recently. I find it particularly shameful being beaten by a hill walker.. But I was altogether too tired to care and welcomed Tim's floor and dirty sleeping bag. The next morning I discovered Tim and his flatmates were determined to fulfil the student stereotype. I don't think the washing up had been done since they got there.. So I felt right at home!
I was still aching despite a good night's sleep so we decided to have a rest day and go out with some old friends. It was great to see Kiko and Rose (there's your mention woman!!) although there was rather too much reminiscing about CH for my tastes. But it's always good to see friends when there's a lot to catch up on and hear new stories. True to form Rose scrounged my cigarettes but surprised me by giving me the fare back to Tim's. It was only £2 but I couldn't afford it and coming from Rose (more so than most students) it's a big deal!

Feeling thoroughly refreshed I was up for a monster session on Wednesday at the MCC. And I got what I wished for! Most of the climbing is on the lead and at 20m is good endurance training. That in itself would have made for a good day but the routes were beautifully set, spot on the grades and with superbly flowing sequences. And if that wasn't enough I met John Dunne and James Pearson. I was rather too star struck to give them my card, or even congratulate James on the first ascent of "The Walk of Life" E12 7a, although I did chat to the staff who were incredibly friendly and encouraging.
I thought Tim was joking when he said he was tired after only a few hours of serious climbing. I was buzzing after onsighting some pretty mean routes and taking a nice whipper on the dynamic crux of a 7b+ so was ready to climb till we were kicked out. But he wasn't joking and it was all I could do not to have (another) go at him. I've been manically stressing about Changing Corners and I'm terrified I won't be strong enough so having Tim bottle out after the equivalent of a couple of hundred metres most of it below the easiest grades on The Nose didn't exactly inspire me. But everyone has off days and I think it's the student diet. So I'm really hoping he's practising his jugging.

I must have used all my luck on the journey North because the journey back was a pain! It took me over two hours to even get to the motorway. I also made the classic mistake of not declining a lift even though it wasn't really in the right direction. So I ended up heading down the M1 and all the way round the M25 to get to Horsham. I did however meet another hitchhiker at a service station. Unfortunately he was the kind who gives hitchhiking its bad press: Of indeterminate age but wrinkled complexion, beard and hair worn to waist length and not washed for apparently (judging by the resident flora) several years. But for want of something to write about I said hi anyway. He told me he had been standing there for about eight hours and gave me a very strong viewed account of living "on the road. And I mean ON THE ROAD" So I wished him luck as I sidled away slowly. I did feel slightly bad as I got picked up ten minutes later but his beard had hidden his sign. At least I now know how I'm going to turn out if I fail at everything else (or carry on as I am according to my sister).
Hopefully next time I visit Manchester we'll be able to get outside on some gritstone: it was raining not snowing. And I'm sure I'll be back soon. If not to visit Tim or the climbing centre the fact you can get two pints and change from a fiver will pull me back.

Wednesday 12th November
I get the feeling I’m quite lucky these days. I went to stay at Rosie’s for a night or two and ended up staying for a week (without outstaying my welcome). One of the innumerate awesome things about staying with Rosie is the close proximity to K2 climbing centre. (Other awesome things include mayonnaise on tap, beautiful views, cats, Rosie’s dad wanting to build me a bouldering wall, pancakes, oh and Rosie (I’m gonna get in real trouble for this (overuse of brackets?))).
I’ve rested for a day and I’m still aching as my new K2 partner, Nadeem, drives past Rosie’s lane on his way to the wall. So after several consecutive days of climbing where about the only route I really succeeded on was the crack I was starting to steam lightly. Unfortunately climbing doesn’t yield to frustration so I’m having a couple of days off and religiously watching Dosage IV, which Rosie bought for me. Watching it made me realise a few things: firstly that I’m a shit climber and need to train like I’m climbing the Nose next week, secondly Chris Sharma has inhuman powers, but thirdly and most importantly I got to see Tommy Caldwell climbing Changing Corners.
The most difficult pitch on the Nose has been haunting me for some time but until now I’d only seen rather sketchy photos of people aiding past it. Now the demon in my head has a face! A really, really, REALLY blank face with no holds whatsoever…. But it is safe. There’s a lovely belay stance and a very new expansion bolt as soon as the pitch begins in earnest. So technically I could fall off it as many times as I like till we run out of water. The grade is somewhat debated as it’s only been free climbed four times by climbers of very different statures and styles. It’s reckoned 5.14a, which for the English is E8 7a and for the French 8a. For me (and for those who know nothing about grades) this means I need to be bouldering all day, then going climbing in the evenings, then eating a pile of scrambled eggs, repeating this five days a week and maybe going running or cycling on the sixth if I’m more than just a sack of lactic acid…

In other news I finally got the tattoo I’ve been talking about for something like two years, I’m still looking for a job which in the current economic climate is like looking for bacon at a Bar Mitzvah and I’m deciding whether ice climbing is the best way to escape christmas.

24th-26th October

Recently I’ve been trusting my luck more and more so I was still optimistic when I overslept. I packed my bag, coiled the rope and walked to the end of my road. I couldn’t believe it when the second car to go past stopped and told me he was going all the way to Bristol! I say car, it was actually a massive cement truck but that’s half the fun of hitch-hiking. Although I think Tim still holds the record for getting a lift in an ice cream van.

So even though Archie was only coming from Bath I beat him to the Clifton suspension bridge by about 20 minutes. After looking at the routes from the ground, discovering how hopelessly inadequate Archie’s guidebook was we decided to just solo the whole face. (I say decided, we each thought the other was bringing a rack). So 60m of perfect, unquarried limestone with no protection whatsoever made for some serious adrenaline. I thought the climbing was actually pretty chilled: big holds and a nice rest half way up (it’s a two pitch route). Although having found a better guidebook I realised we actually onsighted an E2 6a called “Oblivion”. I’m quite glad I didn’t know that at the time!

So we headed back to Bath where I got a taste of student life. Which confirmed my opinion that you’re all drunken layabouts!!! But it was excellent fun and it was refreshing to have a night out and meet some new people. The drinks were cheap and the trivial pursuit machine stole lots of our money. So in our slightly beveraged state, the seemingly appropriate revenge was to steal some unguarded cake! A very late night and sleeping on Archie’s floor had me with a raging hangover, combined with the horrible weather meant we decided to go indoors. Archie lost his hitch-hiking virginity and we made it to the Bristol climbing centre half an hour before it closed. This was alright as they let us in for free!

We also re-encountered an obnoxious man we’d met at one of the Avon crags, who clearly thought he was Dave Macleod (God) because he’d lead an E4….. It always frustrates me when people in the climbing community seem to think that grades mean something. It crossed my mind that he thought our soloing was irresponsible, but what he actually said was “I suggest you buy some gear and work out how to use it”. At this point I realised he didn’t think we were irresponsible at all: he just thought rather too highly of himself. Climbing really isn’t a competition (I know I joke all the time) but the grades aren’t important. Whether you’re indoors trying for your first lead or halfway up an E8 the buzz is the same. Most climbers realise this, remember how shit scared they were and enjoy sharing a passion for a truly epic sport, at whatever level. So we remained aggressively polite and hoped we didn’t see him again.

I made my way back to Rosie’s in pretty good time (I’d forgotten about the clocks changing) although rather damper than I usually like. I was again stunned by the hospitality I receive in that house, although I can’t say I appreciated being beaten over the head for not killing myself. Apparently Rosie thought the risk was too high but she did concede it was quite impressive. As the Captain gives me the willies I don’t know what she’ll do!

15th-20th October
Buoyed by the blinding success of my previous climbing trip (and having reread The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, purely by coincidence), I packed my bag again and set off in totally the opposite direction to Dorset. Getting lifts down South is a lot harder than I'd anticipated and it was several very dark hours on the road before I'd got the 30 odd miles to Rosie's house. But it was more than worth the effort. I still hadn't really chilled out since my last adventure and with Rosie's insistence on cooking me bacon and eggs after climbing I could hardly refuse!

So we set off for Dorset early on Saturday morning with heavy packs but high hopes. It seems people round the nicer, prettier parts of Sussex people really wont pick up hitch-hikers. But the further West we got the faster progress we made. It was much nicer having company whilst waving my thumb at cars too. And I think people are more trusting of couples. By the time we'd been going a couple of hours Tom had given us a ring with a raging hangover and said he'd get the train and meet us in Bournemouth. This quickly became a race. We had the slower means of transport but we'd had a head start. A lift in a very smart BMW driven by a racing driver saw us to Southampton where Tom called to check our progress, with 20 minutes till his train to Bournemouth left Southampton. We were sure the race was fair so placed the bet of the loser buying coffee on arrival (by this point it was imperative we won as I had literally no money). Moments after I put down the phone we were given a lift miles past the finish line to Poole and had a pleasant wait in the cold. The car's heater was broken and stuck on full blast so I was roasted even with the windows open.

So with the addition of a whinging and rather grey looking Scotsman in tow we got a bus to Swanage then walked to Worth Matravers: a typical, picturesque Dorset hamlet that revolves around the pub and the crags. Rosie and I had previously visited the Square and Compass for a beer festival with James on a weekend too wet for climbing. We resisted the call of the pub and walked straight to the quarry where, despite the rapidly leaving light, managed to squeeze a route in. We then found a cave that looked designed for camping, set up the tent, lit the stove and opened the bottle of wine. I couldn't think of anything more perfect as we sat on a candlelit ledge watching bats catch moths, eating from mess tins and drinking wine from a thermos.

We were up at dawn and had the beauty of sunrise over the sea while we drank our coffee. It was pretty chilly so we set to climbing straight away. Tom complained constantly about the nature of limestone and sport climbing and how superior gritstone is to all else and how in Scotland there are four star routes and how lanky my climbing is... Those who don't know Tom might think he was thoroughly miserable but he revels in complaining and proceeded to whip me up harder and harder routes whilst his grin got wider and wider. Tom proved the guidebook (and me) right by falling off the crux of "Pump me Tenderly" so I gangled up the blank arête. Admittedly I've climbed that route before so had a slight advantage, nothing to do with my extra reach..The effect of Tom swearing at me and Rosie watching soon had me muscling up the monstrous overhang of "Avenging the Halsewell" a 7b+ with some superb moves and bizarre no handed rest. Needless to say I took a couple of big falls and lost a lot of skin. The great smear of blood I left on one section made me feel like I was trying hard enough. I was buzzing like a hive of bees and by this point the sun was shining and we were all grinning.

"The Ancient Society of Freemarblers" 7a was another fantastic line up the overhang, requiring less reach, more muscle and a love for deep cracks. The first section made the grade with a lot of power required before perfect finger crack allowed for a layback all the way to some sharp and rather loose holds leading to the finish. Although next time I'm back-cleaning the route: having pulled the rope through leaving the quickdraws in the rock, Tom barely made it to the third clip and declared that he could go no further. So I ended up leading the route twice to get the gear back. Blitzed it the second time though! And I can hold that one over him for a while!

Having pretty well burnt through all my energy and muscle fibres we chilled out for a bit and Tom headed home. Whilst chilling I noticed a climber in a Portsmouth Uni top and scored our lift home. Or so I thought. I warmed down with some easy solos, we packed everything away and had a thorough litter pick around the crag. Our driver was still climbing so Rosie and I went for a very pleasant coastal walk. Eventually we were on the road again but the driver and his friend were stopping in Bournemouth. "No worries" we thought, swapped phone numbers and agreed a meeting place. Everything seemed great when we passed a Wagamama and I remembered the vouchers gathering dust in my underused wallet. So a full on meal with drinks and dessert came to a grand total of £2.55. However by the time we'd eaten, walked off our meal, explored Bournemouth, bought sweets, scrounged cigarettes, been harassed by drug addicts, given them sweets and ended up back where we started we were started to get pissed off. We'd left our stuff in the car which meant we couldn't get another lift.

Eventually we made it to Fratton long past sociable hitching hours and past even the last trains.. A very long walk, a dark and scary (but mostly empty) motorway saw us eight miles from home calling for a taxi. I felt slightly defeated by having to get a taxi but I was too tired to care and, as Rosie pointed out, it was still cheaper than getting the train. I'm stunned. I can't think of anyone else (sorry Tim =P) who'd be with me at stupid o'clock in the morning, miles from anywhere, lugging heavy packs and still grinning back at me from the fun of it! We eventually made it to bed about two in the morning, having been up for slightly over twenty hours. I realise now I should have stayed up a bit longer and showered: my sheets have picked up a road's worth of dirt and 7b+ of dried blood... So another superb adventure under my belt and I still know where my towel is (although I think it needs a wash now too!).

8th-14th October
What an adventure! So I left Petersfield last Wednesday and I've only just returned. My first port of call was K2 in Crawley where I had a nice evening session with Tom, although I was having a rather serious off day: struggled with some of the classic routes which I'd previously flashed. Thursday was much more of an improvement and made all the more fun by Rosie's company. I was severely impressed with her enthusiasm and the speed at which she picked up climbing. After some chilling and a stop over at my mother's I stuffed my bag with everything it would hold, buckled my straps and stuck out my thumb! My first lift was from a graphic designer who took me as far as the Birmingham junction. After standing on a slip road for a while I was preparing for a long stint but a white van pulled up and asked if I was going to Sheffield. Couldn't have asked for better. And with the driver's total disregard for the speed limits I was standing in Sheffield about three hours after I'd set off. A short bus ride took me to Hathersage and was my first payment for transport, but at £2.60 it didn't break the bank. By the time I reached Hathersage it was dark and looking like rain. But my luck rose to the challenge and I was offered a lift as I was stepping off the bus!

Having pitched my tent I chatted to some fellow campers (everyone at the campsite was a climber) a couple of whom had just got back from Yosemite. They said there was more incredible climbing than you could cope with in a lifetime. The more I hear the sooner I want to get out there! Shortly after Tim and Keith arrived. We had shared some beer and had a good chat to catch up. Tim it seems has been training but he's also been indulging in serious amounts of wine, women and song.. I thoroughly approve! After a good night's sleep (you were right about the trousers Tom!) we made an early start for Stanage edge. We had coffee before it was light and we were rewarded by an absolutely stunning sunrise as we walked the couple of miles to the crag. The mist cleared as we reached the car-park and we realised we were the first there. Quite an experience for Stanage on a Sunday! So we warmed up with Flying Buttress Direct which I fell off (again). I maintain that route is E1 not HVS!

The day just got better and better, with the weather proving perfect for grit: sunny enough to be bright and pleasant but not so hot the rock was greasy. Took me a while to get re-acquainted with gritstone but later in the day both Tim and I were getting up some nice routes! Took a huge whipper off the pumpy overhang of the Tippler Direct. A sketchily placed 0.5 cam gave a crunch that nearly gave me a wet leg, but it held as I swung. And just for style to finish the fall, I grabbed the rope to try and stop my swing resulting in a full forward flip round the rope and a very near miss between my head and the rock. I'll remember my helmet next time! The day continued to get better although the crag got incredibly crowded. Although for the most part people are incredibly friendly when they share your passion.

Dom and Sally also turned up in their own good time, still looking a little fragile from the night before. But Dom proved he does know his way round a camera and took some excellent photos. He also proved he doesn't know a thing about climbing, and several of his comments had us in hysterics whilst drawing some odd looks. I'm sure the guest blog we've asked Dom and Sally to write will give the idea...

On Saturday evening I decided to stay at the campsite another night. So I sat munching pasta and drinking Guinness whilst watching the packed campsite empty itself of weekenders (to their credit I was offered a couple of lifts which I politely declined). Monday morning proved much murkier, to the point where I couldn't see the crag from the path a few metres away! But I'd packed all my gear so I was prepared to wait, and a hot coffee made it go more quickly. Once again my luck held and as I downed my coffee the mist blew away and the sun came out! I practiced my solo technique which got the adrenaline flowing nicely. A 5c solo also earned me a round of applause from some people who had just led the pitch. I really find soloing so much simpler and more exhilarating. All the faffing around with gear is removed so there's no break in the flow and the knowledge that if you fall, you REALLY fall makes for an epic buzz. I also find there's something primitive about pitting your body against the environment, with nothing more than a pair of shoes and a chalk bag!

I left far later than I intended as I was having such a good time. But a couple of climbers I'd befriended kindly gave me a lift to Sheffield and I made it back to my mother's in Milton Keynes in very good time. By this point a hot shower and a soft bed were seriously welcome. After a good lie in and some breakfast I stuck out my thumb for home. For some reason, the further you head South the harder it is to get lifts! All my hitching North was thoroughly enjoyable, but it got stranger and stranger down South. My lift from the A41 and luckily all the way round the M25 was a white van driven by a couple of builders. The passenger smoked weed the entire way whilst the driver who called himself Scouse was basically like this: (click here) But I was happy with less than 40 miles to go. How wrong I was.. Getting a lift down the A3 was cold and wet and seriously hard work. I eventually (over an hour) got a lift from some very strange guys heading to Portsmouth. The passenger I was sat next to was half Irish half Portsmouth and in a suitably beveraged state. His general conversation went along the lines of: "Rock climbing?! What a fookin waste of time! Fookin waste of oxygen aye! You're a right fookin weirdo, you are! D'you want a beer? You're alright you are you fookin weirdo. You're a right fookin weirdo but I like you!" So I sat and sipped my beer whilst this guy streamed swear words and offered me cigarettes. I was somewhat grateful to get out and walk the last half a mile home. But having travelled nearly 500 miles for basically nothing I would have been grinning even if I hadn't had a weekend of stunning views, truly epic climbing and some great company!

Sunday 14 September
So it seems I haven’t updated my blog in a while. This is probably out of fear: I’m not exactly a technophobe but the whole website and lines of code makes me feel like I’ve taken the red pill…..
I’ve become chronically addicted to running. This startles me as much as anyone else but it’s awesome. Buying a decent pair of shoes made a hell of a difference. So I’ve been doing around 5 miles a day and I’m trying to crank that up a bit. This where I need Tim to whip me on a bit more but if he’s not lounging on a French beach, or selling ice creams he’s being taken to court by Network Rail. (Long story but Tim misplaced his young persons railcard and we had an encounter with the “undercover ticket inspection squad!”). So this means I’m doing most of my training solo and my doorframe is starting to buckle: I don’t think it was designed for pull-ups.
In other news, we’ve had our first taste of “fame” in the local paper with a nice spread on page 3 (although I wasn’t topless) but they didn’t quite manage to spell my name right. I’m still waiting for replies from many of our possible sponsors. Several of whom have sent us vaguely interested emails but nothing more…..
Following our blossoming celebrity status, there have been several requests for mentions on the website and blog. Although I think in order to get a proper shout on the world wide web you have to earn it (that means you Rose!) although that doesn’t necessarily mean financially. Also it’s looking like a vague semblance of a support team is appearing, so if you feel like you can contribute and can manage the gruelling time off to California drop us an email!

18 August 2008
Went climbing at Craggy today which reminded us how cool the routes are but how anal the staff can be.... We understand the need for health and safety but we didn't appreciate the staff putting up our poster, and then complaining about Tim keeping a slack rope at the third clip. Never mind, we had a good climb and I'm sure Tim will remember to keep the rope extra tight on Changing Corners.... He hasn't dropped me yet so I say if it ain't broke don't fix it.
In other news, emailed Lynn Hill (first person to ever free the Nose) and got an awesome response. It reassures my faith that the vast majority of climbers, no matter what level of ability, are friendly and happy to chat and give advice. I think I'll be watching the DVDs of the hardest pitches till the moves are totally ingrained.
I've just turned around and seen that Tim has a picture of me as his desktop background. I'm quite flattered but I sometimes worry: we do spend a lot of time together and I'm concerned he might want more.... (Sorry G we aren't actually gay) Speaking of Tim he's changed profession. Rather than follow me in all out climbing and generally bumming around, he's gone for more chilled approach. Yes, he's now an ice cream man. I'm not quite sure how this came about. It involves a strange story about hitch hiking in an ice cream van and having experience in squirting.... ice cream.
Our next event is going to be a meeting with the MSS at their HQ in London. We were slightly worried about this (us in suits: bacon at a Bah-Mitsfa) but it turns out they want us to bring climbing gear and have a play for some photos! Thanks again to everyone who has donated or sent us support messages, we really apreciate it, even in these early stages there have been daunting moments.

17 August 2008
So it seems everything is swinging into motion. And the enormity of this challenge is beginning to sink in. And it's really very scary!! But our press is starting to grow. We have shiny posters and flyers and it seems like people are starting to take interest. The most exciting thing though has to be the possible sponsorship from Boreal. They have expressed interest but, being Spanish, they're taking the next three weeks off for lunch. So fingers crossed till then!!! I like the idea of becoming completely professional!!
I've been working, training, planning and just about finding time to sleep. I'm actually starting to feel quite fit and flashing a couple of 7bs made me realise that the training is paying off. Although the list of gear with accompanying prices and weights is less inspiring..... So next on the list is a big wall course and serious practice of the techniques that are new to us. We need to get completely slick with hauling, anchors, stances and a fair bit of other stuff so we can really concentrate on the climbing. Also looking into aid and self rescue techniques: just in case........ Not stuff we want to be doing but there is a fair possiblity of falling past the belayer, no chance of hitting the ground after the first pitch, but it means serious swinging. So we're hoping for the best but planning for the worst.
The rest of the time I'm swinging from sheer excitement to absolute terror and sometimes I think I might actually be as crazy as you tell me I am!!

4 August 2008
Thought I'd see if I can actually work this strange web based journal wihout Tim's help...... I'm a mac user I'm used to being spoon fed! Just a short entry, more to prove to myself that I actually did get out of bed before seven. The coffee should keep me going! Actually I'm surprised how little my legs ache from yesterday. Better try harder next time.

3 August 2008
Just been for a long run with Tim…… I was only sick twice..… I’m not that unfit but I’m not at all used to running. It’s something completely different from the quick burst and sustained tension of short climbs. Still, after a good lunch courtesy of Mrs Gauntlett I feel awesome and only a little achy. I do feel good having pushed myself as hard as I can go. I’ll be cycling to work from now on. It’s a nice hilly road and a twenty mile round trip so should form the base of my cardiovascular training. My lovely steel framed bike should make things a little more interesting too!
Tim’s off to Verdon tomorrow with his brother (jammy git!) which means sun and deep water solos. My eyes aren’t always this green, I’m sure he’ll get plenty of exercise lifting those heavy beers to his mouth. But seriously, I couldn’t keep up today so maybe he deserves a tan.
With regard to everything else, it’s just so exciting! It’s so nice to get a positive response from so many people right from the start. Things are just getting started and it’s amazing to actually see our plan begin to move forward into reality. In addition to the training we’re focussing on making checklists for everything we’re going to need and then scrubbing half the stuff off it because it weighs too much! We will be hauling most of our gear behind us at the end of each pitch, but we want to avoid this wherever possible. So for the easier pitches both leader and second will be climbing at once with a few bits of protection in between. But the more gear we can stuff in a backpack and still climb with, the better.
So next on the agenda is looking for gear and practicing on some more local big walls. We plan to start in Cornwall and then have a more serious road trip to Skye in order to practice consecutive days of climbing and getting smooth with setting up hanging camps. In the mean time, there have been murmurs of various publicity stunts.