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| Back safe and sound, and enjoying the sunshine. |
I've had something of a slow start to the climbing year - a result of a damaged finger ligament, holidays in the Lake District, South Africa and France, and a work trip to Hong Kong. Tough, I know, but someone's got to do it. But things kicked off in earnest last weekend, with a trip to the spiritual home of hard gritstone climbing: Stanage Edge. I have mentioned on a previous post about the unique qualities of gritstone - that it has no holds, or is one big hold, depending on your perspective. For a glimpse into the harder end of hard grit climbing, you can do no better than watch the opening sequence to the imaginatively named film Hard Grit (there's a great youtube clip of it here). On second thoughts, don't watch the clip, it might put you off your dinner.
Thankfully, I am still operating at the easy end of the gritstone scale. But the great thing about Stanage is that even at the lower end you can tick off some of the all time classic routes - routes put up in the forties, fifties and sixties before the age of comfortable harnesses and modern protection devices, when men (and it was mostly men) tied the rope around their waists and climbed in hobnailed boots (and then probably cycled 20 miles home, drank eight pints and had a fight). And so, on sunday, after a few warm up routes in the spring sunshine I tied in to my ropes for a slightly nervous attempt on the classic route The Right Unconquerable. Long thought impossible, it was first climbed by the legendary Joe Brown in April 1949. There exists a black and white photograph from the time showing Brown near the top of the route, his rope trailing downwards from his waist in a lazy arc to his belayer almost 20 metres below, unattached to anything that would stop him hitting the ground if he fell. He soloed the route first time, onsight - that is, with no prior knowledge of the route, how good the holds were, or even if it was possible.
The Right Unconquerable starts up a vertical crack before following an outward leaning flake up the steep face, to a final pull over an overhanging holdless capstone at the top of the crag. I checked the description in my guidebook: "Perhaps the most celebrated route on grit, and not without reason. Steep, and steeped in history, this climb could be amongst the finest hours in a climber's career, the heart of the gritstone experience. A superb natural line is combined with arm busting climbing, with a generous dash of history thrown in for good measure. A fraught, belly-roll onto the holdless top awaits most." This did not fill me with confidence, but buoyed by Jon, Dave and Edwin's misplaced confidence, I set off.
The climb itself passed in a blur of pumped arms, heavy breathing and a rising feeling of panic. I took a brief rest halfway up, once I'd passed the first crux. I fumbled a small cam behind the flake, clipped in my orange rope and waited for my breathing to return to normal. Before I knew it I was at the top, trying desperately to pull over the rounded capstone. I somehow got myself into a position where I had most of my upper body onto the sloping top, but in doing so could no longer reach anything with my feet. I was in limbo - unable to push myself up, but with nothing of any purchase to pull on. I stopped - half on, half off, feeling like I was going to fall, but realising that if I lay really still, I was safe. I briefly wondered how long I could lie there for. Eventually, through a combination of scratching with my fingernails and what I can only describe as humping the rock with my groin, I managed to slowly inch myself up. When I realised I was safe, I let out what was intended to be a manly victory scream. Except, of course, I was in such a state it emerged as more of a strangled squeal of relief - what my friend Ted would call an "involuntary oral emission". I'd made it! I was alive! I had lived to climb another route!
The scale of difficulty for British climbs runs from 'Moderate' to "E11". Moderate climbs can comfortably be done in a pair of trainers; a fall from an E11 might result in death, or at least a couple of broken legs. The Right Unconquerable is graded HVS, for "Hard Very Severe" - harder than Very Severe, but easier than Extremely Severe (E1). HVS sits eight grades form the bottom of the scale, and eleven away from the top. By the time I had my moment of glory it had been climbed thousands, if not tens of thousands of times. I doubt I will be appearing in the climbing magazines any time soon. Yet for the few minutes when I stood on top of Stanage Edge, enjoying the feelings of elation and relief, I felt, in my own insignificant way, like a bit of a hero. The feeling was fleeting - within a few minutes I was wondering about the next challenge. The answer is obvious really - one route along to the left, and one grade harder, sits another Joe Brown masterpiece: The Left Unconquerable.
