Nostalgia

A friend of mine used to say that failing on a climb was good for you. Later on I realised that this was easy for him to say because he never failed.

Nostalgia..

The other evening, whilst sitting in front of the fire, wishing I could afford to light it, (sorry!), I was reflecting on how much my favourite pastime, rock climbing, has changed over the last hundred years or so.

In the early 19^th century if you climbed at all then it was probably in the Alps and with some sort of scientific purpose in mind. Measuring barometric pressure on the top of a mountain was a favourite. Climbing for its own sake whilst it was not quite a certifiable offence could certainly be social, if not literal, suicide. But, towards the end of the century, attitudes began to change and climbers no longer felt obliged to carry several tons of equipment up a hill to investigate the effect of altitude on goldfish. People began to climb rocks for fun and in some cases even to admit this. The Alps was still the place to be seen at but at New Year, Easter and Whitsun they would congregate at their favourite hotels to practise their craft on the smaller British crags. They had their favourite hotels such as the Wasdale Head in Cumbria and the Pen-Y-Gwyrd in Snowdonia and these places became and still are to some extent hallowed places to the rock climber.

By today’s standards, their equipment was minimal. A tweed jacket, plus fours, a sixty-foot rope, nailed boots and a packet of sandwiches were all they had. A list of the equipment available today would probably fill a good-sized novel. The golden rule back then was “The leader must not fall”. It was also a pretty good idea if no one else in the party fell off as well. Nowadays a fall is nothing more than a good laugh for your mates. In the old days the only person likely to have a smile on their face was the beneficiary of your will.

For the gentleman climber of the 1890’s, modesty and self-effacement were the orders of the day, when the pioneers of a new route might debate long and hard about recording it because they feared that less experienced climbers might get injured or killed on it. Well that hasn’t changed, has it?

Today’s climbers favour routes on open cliff faces of solid dry rock on warm, sunny days. The pioneers’ idea of fun was climbing up dark, dank, slimy, vegetated rock chimneys and gullies, in weather that was, more often than not, monsoon like or arctic in nature. These confined gloomy places gave them a sense of security that the open exposed rock faces could not, mind you, this security was often more apparent than real. As you will find out if you ever venture into one. It wasn’t until the turn of the 19^th century that they began to see a little sense and move onto decent rock!

It was whilst researching this article that I stumbled upon a journal kept by of one those early pioneers. I was even more surprised when he turned out to be a relative of mine. Isn’t it amazing the coincidences that happen in literature? This then is the story of a fairly ordinary day on the hill at the turn of the last century

For the Easter break Scott and I decided to forego the dubious pleasure of climbing on Dow with its attendant crowds, (Scott swears he actually saw a lady climbing there last Easter!) and opted instead to visit the ill frequented outcrop of Great Blake Rigg. So it was that the Good Friday of 1899 saw us toiling manfully up the short steep slope to the bottom of the crag, hoping for some good sport of a non-too serious nature. These expectations, it has to be said were not to be matched by the reality of the situation we subsequently found ourselves in.

Scott, it has to be said is a gentleman who likes to think of himself as a climber of the modern school. Whitley Bay Grammar, to be precise. Thus I was not overly surprised when he eschewed the possibilities presented by a pleasant looking vegetated gully in favour of an attempt on a rather imposing grayish looking rock wall on the left-hand side of the crag. Well, as they say “de gustibus non est disputendum” and despite my protests about lack of practice and form, to which he rather unkindly added ability, he graciously gave me the opportunity of making the first attempt.

In point of fact, the initial moves actually went rather well, involving as they did some scrambling up a wet moss covered slab, before culminating in an irreversible move to surmount a near vertical grass covered wall. Once these rather nice problems are overcome you reach the start of the climb proper and again initially, all went well until a small overhang forced me out onto a ledge on the left. Up above loomed a steep wall of uncompromisingly smooth looking rock and despite some well meant, but not I am ashamed to say, well received encouragement from Scott it soon because obvious that this was a route I would be leaving for another day. Ideally one that was already in the past.

Scott said he would have given it a go himself but was unfortunately suffering from a recurrence of an ailment he had contracted on his last tour of duty on the Indian sub continent. This fever like affliction, which frequently seems to trouble him on these occasions, has long baffled his doctors, who will insist that there is absolutely nothing the matter with him. I have to admit that the cold sweat that he was now suffering from seemed to justify his viewpoint whilst seeming to suggest a failing in the professional capabilities of the medicos of Harley Street.

Thus it was that, not without some difficulty, I reversed the irreversible move and traversed rightward into an inviting looking green, slime filled gully. This proved to be much more amenable to all concerned and provided some excellent sport, not to mention botany, up steep grass interspersed with soil and rock whose state was best described as transitory. Scott, who had by now made a recovery that was little short of miraculous, evinced a desire to attempt to lead an easy looking section of the climb. This very easy looking section surprised Scott by being unexpectedly tricky and for a while I feared for a recurrence of his ailment.

I need not have worried, for after calling upon all of his not inconsiderable experience he was able to force his way to the top where a convenient rock bollard offered a good belay. In all modesty I found this part altogether too easy. It was obviously one of those climbs where the confidence of having a rope and (in this case a literally) stout fellow on the belay above made all the difference to the apparent difficulty. After a small cairn was placed for the edification and disappointment of any other would be first ascentionists, we smoked a well-earned pipe or two and relaxed in the early afternoon sunshine.

Several variations on our chosen route could be made; indeed Scott was convinced that a route could be made going straight up a steep looking corner to the left of our chimney. I was however unwilling to put another one of his theories to the test and insisted that we ended our climbing day in the time honoured fashion. Thus it was that after a brisk twenty-mile walk we returned to our hotel with just enough time to change before joining our companions for a well-deserved repast.