Clipping Bolts on Torquay’s Conglom Coast

Macca on the lower crux moves of Fast’n Bulbous (7c) Potato Head

Like so many Devonian climbing seeds, this one was sown by a certain Kendal Palmer, the shire-based superhero whose nose for pushing the envelope of South West climbing has been hyperactive for more decades than he, or myself for that matter, would care to remember.

Ken is a visionary, a man who deals in solutions rather than problems, untapped potential where others see insurmountable obstacles, or unjustifiable weirdness! For example, it was Ken who unlocked the mysteries of The Cauldron at Berry Head, solving the riddle of the impassable zawn by first finding and subsequently affixing a hefty piece of shipping rope to either side of the chasm, hence unlocking what is, for me, the absolute highlight of the country’s best route, Rainbow Bridge (and not just because of the name!). It was Ken who climbed the alluringly snappy Lord of the Prawns to give the South Hams shale something to really shout about both in terms of quality (***) and challenge (E7)…and all in such a beautiful location. Ken has single-handedly sorted out the Sanctuary Wall, replacing pegs and threads, whilst also adding new lines, to create the SW’s ultimate adventure sport(y) crag. He put up Devon’s first 8a DWS with the immaculate, and high enough thank you very much, Christine. He even has a few reasonably tricky first ascents at Anstey’s Cove next to his name. But pride of place in the ‘Ken Palmer as visionary’ greatest hits list must be Ginger Pom, Holcombe’s finest…well, OK, only route; as diminutive as its creator, this 12m long potatofest ends at the point the teetering three part ladder reached, the crumbling umber of the cliff’s sandstone matrix soaring a further 40m in an overhanging sea of ever more disheartening rubble. However, at its base, where the winter storms work their relentless magic on the Old Red, the rock is surprisingly solid, compact and clean…and with a generous helping of (circa 1990) homemade bolts showing the path, it’s a mystery as to why Ginger Pom isn’t regularly featured in one of those ‘best 7cs in the country’ threads that pop up every so often on your favourite climbing forum.

6c but not as you know it – the ridiculous Spud-U-Love at Potato Head. Steve Pack and Murray Dale do battle.

In so doing Ken pointed to the future of Devonian sports climbing, at least as far as I am concerned. Having more-or-less run out of untouched limestone and having eyed the series of seemingly tottering yet vividly hued and enticingly leaning cliffs that inhabit the stretch of coastline north of Torquay from the relative safety of the Babbacombe crags for many years, it took a walk with wife, kids and dog around the amazing towers at Watcombe, coupled with a thought process that ‘if the rock’s good enough for Ken…’ to convince me that this was a possibility worth exploring further. Unfortunately Watcombe Towers (Faulty Towers for some perhaps?) overhang relatively busy dog walking terrain so, even if the rock was of Taipan Wall quality, climbing there would probably not be a risk worth taking. But we headed on down to the beach and then I speculatively traversed north around the headland to a find a gargantuan yet horrendously sandy edifice that was obviously completely unjustifiable in terms of offering any climbing potential. Undaunted and ever optimistic I continued in my quest; just around the next headland the rock looked a little more promising and got me thinking that perhaps this wasn’t a such hopeless escapade after all. And that’s when I turned around and saw, on the other side of the bay, the intriguing limestone plating peaking out from behind the foreground at the top of what is now Fast’n Bulbous, one of Potato Head’s clutch of high quality 7cs. It looked as though there was a sliver of cliff, slight but intriguing and perhaps worthy of closer inspection…

Fast forward a couple of weeks and with the son in tow for a touch of ‘coastal adventuring’ with his old man (translation: out with father looking for new crags whilst forcibly being made to MOVE…AWAY…FROM…THE…XBOX) we boulder hopped along the southern edge of the beach, then clambered laboriously around the jumble of blocks, rock pools and conglomerate pinnacles (which, in climbing terms, looked promising in their own right) that form the complex headland to eventually stand underneath the 30m high, 75m wide, 20 degree overhanging crag that has since become known as Potato Head (aka Riglos-On-Sea). But then, somewhat inevitably, initial excitement turned to disappointment – such potential but just not climbable? Yet again I found myself thinking, ‘why do I live in the part of the country which must have the highest choss to climbable rock ratio in the world?’ Perhaps, it would be easier to bear if there were no cliffs at all but living where I do, pretty much every stroll along the coast path reveals another hectare of overhanging, unclimbable rubble. And, it appeared, here was another instance. However, lurking in the gulch at the base of the crag was something particularly exciting, a feature that even my downbeat state of mind could not tarnish. A perfect, meaty 12 metre long tufa system led enticingly out of the depths and was surrounded by fused limestone that had somehow encased the underlying sandstone conglomerate in what looked to be a quite convincing manner. If nothing else I could somehow equip the tufa and Devon would have it’s own little taste of Spain.

Murray Dale ‘resting’ on the flowstone plate at the top of Fast’n Bulbous (7c) – Potato Head

I enlisted local geologist and climbing guru Steve Pack, to give the crag the once over. Steve is a measured individual who keeps his ardent enthusiasm for the sport cloaked under waist deep layers of pragmatism so I was delighted when he pronounced the cliff was ‘well worth a go’, my initial pessimism rapidly dissipating with his words of encouragement. We decided to try to top rope a line on the severely overhanging right hand end of the crag because the base of the crag in this section is relatively friendly whilst also housing sandstone that seemed to be a bit more compact than the more heavily featured left and middle sections of the cliff. But with stuff to hit behind the belayer and a severely overhanging twenty metres of cliff above us scattered with ‘potatoes’, some the size of footballs, apparently willing gravity to do what it will, it was painfully obvious that this undertaking would require some careful planning and preparation if top roping it was going to offer an injury/death free experience. Eventually locating the top of the route (having abseiled through three or four incorrectly located and somewhat painfully hewn bramble tunnels first) and then peering down the line of the intended route, it became blatantly clear that a straightforward top rope would be perilous at best, suicidal at worst. A fall at the base of the climb would most likely result in the climber being swung twenty feet out from the crag; either careering through the dirt on rope stretch or, probably worse, through the air and into the rising slab of rock behind. However, in a moment of Great Egg Race like ingenuity (if you’re too young to recall it, look it up on YouTube), we stuck a low bolt into the (what turned out to be) reassuringly reliable sandstone and then dropped a second rope which we attached to the bolt. We then clipped back into this ‘guide line’ using a sling. The sling would run up the guide rope as we climbed and would arrest our swing should we fall off. A gri-gri supplied the tension in the guide rope and we were good to go. Top roping has never been more terrifying or awkward but the climbing itself was…actually really quite good, the rock much better than appearances suggested and the potatoes were, on the whole, well baked in place.

Steve Pack wrestling with Devon’s finest tufa on The Maris Piper (8a) – Potato Head

This line eventually became Mr Potato Bottom, a technical little 7a which ends at a mid height lower off; the good rest afforded by the slight easing of angle and reasonable holds being a natural place to draw part I to a close. Above, the cliff reared up – a rounded break with a huge sculpted block was tantalisingly out of reach and above this more heavily cobbled yet increasingly leaning territory offered a sniff of a possibility, ultimately heading to what appeared to be a final handball size clipping jug. Top roping this was nigh on impossible as, even with the guide rope in place, a fall left us hanging in space with no way of regaining the rock so Steve and I had to gradually bolt our way down the line of the extension, there being no opportunities available to get any natural protection and the cliff being far too overhanging to glue in more than one bolt at a time. Each bolt added meant a new section could be worked with a bit more ease than before until eventually all the bolts were in place and we were able to try the route from the ground up. Gradually the upper section of the route revealed itself; a fantastic set of varied and sometimes dynamic moves up ever steepening territory built to a final big move to the aforementioned handball. We were over the moon at both the quality and difficulty of the climbing, the moves and positions were excellent and the route’s grade resided somewhere in the high 7s, so perfect for us to have something to sink our teeth into whilst still having an outside chance of success. In the end Steve prevailed, dispatching with aplomb and Potato Head had its first full length route with the eponymously named Mr Potato Head. We graded it 7c+ but (relatively) popular opinion has meant it has settled down to a punchy, challenging 7c. Whatever, it’s a great climb and one that can be climbed in any weather, once any seepage has tried off in the Spring!

Comfy now? Ged Desforges milking the rest on The Blight (8a) – Potato Head

And from these beginnings we never really looked back. We have now started to develop two other conglomerate cliffs in the vicinity (all three are detailed below) and I was shocked to realise just the other day that I was climbing my first routes on limestone in over a year…a situation that I would have thought preposterous a few years ago. The three cliffs in question are very different in character; the rock, climbing style, outlooks and access vary considerably but they all have one unmistakable feature in common…these are not conventional sport climbing crags and they reward an open minded, adventurous spirit, despite the fact you are clipping bolts!

Potato Head

25m in and still the headwall to tackle. Macca embroiled in the upper reaches of The Maris Piper (8a) – Potato Head

The first of the three crags to be developed, Potato Head, faces north east and is in the shade from about 8am in mid summer. On hot days when shade is sought there is nowhere better in South Devon. What’s more the crag is Devon’s prime ‘umbrella crag’ so if you’re caught out in an inclement spell and your project at Anstey’s, Torbryan or Churston is out of action, try here before heading home. Potato Head has relatively easy access from the beach at Watcombe, although the boulder hopping can become a bit tricky on super high spring tides.

Once the base of the crag is reached you are well above the tide line (none of these crags are tidal at their base) and your only worry is disappearing absentmindedly down one of the multiple crevasses at the foot of the left hand part of the cliff. The number of quickdraws, belay plates, screw gates etc that have somehow slipped out of grasp to clatter down a cleft and finally plop into briny depths below is remarkable; why you are 10x more likely to drop something when you really shouldn’t than when it doesn’t matter at all is anybody’s guess, but that seems to be the first rule of Potato Head Club! On one occasion a mate of mine dropped his fleece down one of the gulches where it lodged just above the sea. He managed to burrow down to eventually retrieve it and then ten minutes later somehow did the same thing all over again!

Don’t worry if this all sounds a bit too much for you though, the right hand section of the cliff has a flat earthy base from which two of the more amenable ‘first pitches’ start – Mr Potato Bottom (7a) and Cheeky Little Blighter (7a+). Lord of the Fries (Oven Ready), a superbly pumpy 7c can also be accessed without descending into the depths although the options for the belayer are either to take a hanging belay on the suspended slab wedged at the landward end of the main chasm…or descend into its murky depths and belay as you would for the lower, ‘Deep Fat’, version of this route (still a project at the time of writing).

The far left of the crag has three routes that start off the massive free standing block that appears poised to slither off into the English Channel at some point in the not too distant (geologically speaking) future. 

When this goes, these routes will become:

a) Considerably longer.

b) Considerably harder.

c) Considerably easier to access.

But I wouldn’t hold your breath as I am sure it’s not going anywhere for a while! In the meantime, ‘the bad step’ has to be negotiated. Once you have acclimatised to the surroundings this isn’t too bad at all, but on a first visit the step could form the crux of the whole day…especially on the return journey! Top tip for the very nervous, upon completing your climb you could continue back to reverse the step whilst still being on the end of the rope!

So what of the climbing? Well Potato Head is the hardest of the three crags being steeper and more sustained in nature, but to compensate, the potatoes here are more plentiful and proud than on the two other crags. Most of the routes are pumpfests that, for me, are far more draining than the classic Anstey’s enduro route, Empire of the Sun. The central section of the crag houses five routes that are all in the mid to high 7s, all comparable to Empire in terms of quality…and all a bit or considerably harder (if you ask me). In order from left to right they are: Taters (7c), Fast’n Bulbous (7c), King Edward’s Wall (7c+), The Maris Piper (8a) and Lord of the Fries (7c). Pride of place has to go to The Maris Piper, the route that tackles the main tufa system before blasting up and R into a seemingly endless and increasingly leaning cobbled highway culminating in a potentially heartbreaking final headwall. Fast’n Bulbous has also proven popular and for the past few seasons has had a permanent line of chalk to follow through the summer months. A bit like Empire on steroids, this route has a habit of spitting off would be suitors on its very last hard move; getting established on the weird flowstone pillar at 20m. All five routes are spectacular challenges, the three on the right offering up routes that get on for 30m in length on territory that is continuously overhanging throughout.

On the left and right flanks of the crag, routes are a bit different tending to have easier lower sections that lead to mid height lower offs beyond which upper reaches that tend to test power endurance rather than stamina reserves can be enjoyed by those wanting a sterner challenge. On the far left, the crag ‘warm up’ of Spud-U-Love (6c…but not as you know it) offers a severely overhanging crack climbing ‘experience’ that has divided opinion like a vat of marmite. I love it! Next to this is the pumpy Tuber Player (7a+) which extends into Tubercolosis (7c+) via a long throw to a good flake, then straight into a (for me) debilitating and extended boulder problem on slopey cobbles. At the far right end of the crag the Mr Potato Bottom/Head combo offers a similar experience although the good rest at the mid height lower off on this route makes the upper section slightly less taxing than on Tubercolosis. Right again is Cheeky Little Blighter/The Blight the upper section of which gives the crag its hardest climb to date and offers up a relentless set of hard, dynamic moves through extremely steep ground from a less than ideal ‘rest’ at the lower off of Cheeky Little Blighter. Spare a thought for first ascensionist Ged Desforges who chose this route on which to cut his bolting teeth…on what is probably one of the most challenging pieces of rock to bolt in Devon; equipping this route must have been a painstaking and time consuming business that would likely to have been almost as taxing as the redpoint ascent itself!

The Nudey Cliff

About a mile south of Potato Head, at the point where Torquay Golf Course jarringly abuts the coast path, the large hanging valley that houses what has become known as The Nudey Cliff leads off down to the sea…and Torbay’s premier nudey beach. Depending on your bent, The Nudey Cliff either fortunately or disappointingly resides some way above the water so that sunbathers and climbers can coexist in blissful (or disappointed?) ignorance of each other.

Steve Pack using the force on Jedi Wall (7a) – The Nudey Cliff

In contrast to Potato Head, The Nudey Cliff is a mid grade climber’s dream and the clutch of 7a to 7b routes here actually make this more like the rogue, wayward sibling of Torbryan Quarry than that other potato based edifice on the Northern edge of the ‘Conglom Coast’. Whilst the flowstone flutings at Torbryan are hard to beat, the grandeur of the routes on the Main Wall at the Nudey Cliff make these routes more than a match, especially if you’re looking for a long, sustained and memorable trip. Additionally, the smaller buttress of rock on the left of the cliff (Bashful Buttress) offer a number of easier routes in the 6s, all of which climb better than they look (admittedly, they do look pretty awful). These can be pretty dusty if they have been left unclimbed/uncleaned for a while but a quick brush and they are good to go. To add to the contrast with its big brother, the rock at The Nudey Cliff is much less featured than at Potato Head; potatoes tend to be set deeper in the matrix and are smaller and less obvious. The sandstone appears less stoney, perhaps even muddy(?!) on first acquaintance. If you are looking to push your onsight grade here, I would recommend you choose a route that is well chalked up…as one out-of-season visitor commented, “onsighting a 7a here required as much, if not more, effort than a 7c onsight in Chulilla”. The searing red of the rock here is often accentuated by the searing heat; a south facing suntrap (shade does, however, present itself on the east facing side wall of Bashful Buttress and in the thick foliage at the base of the cliff), this is a wonderfully relaxed place to climb on temperate or even cold but bright days. The cliff can withstand light rain as long as the wind is not from the south and, crucially, it doesn’t seep at all so the routes stay in condition throughout the winter, when the main wall holds on to whatever sun there is until about 3pm.

Alice Fuller using technique on the bottom arete of Do Ya Think I’m 6c? (6c) – The Nudey Cliff

Although far easier to bolt than Potato Head due to its less overhanging nature, working my way to the top of the cliff prior to the first exploratory abseil took a whole afternoon, two severely blistered hands and a body punctured by bramble thorns from head to toe.

Equipped only with a pruning saw and a pair of secateurs it soon became apparent that I was woefully under resourced and it was only through the creation of a sizeable ‘bashing stick’ that I was able to burrow/thrash my through the head high wall of prickles that stood between me and my goal…wherever that turned out to be (and it turned out to be in about the right place)! In the end the ‘bramble run’ is probably only about 200m long but it felt a lot longer than that in its creation. I’m not sure I have ever had so much fun!

Climbing at The Nudey Cliff began with the varied and tricky to grade Do Ya Think I’m 6c? (6c…or is it??). The name had first been posited about 30 years ago by my dearly departed (and defiantly non-climbing) kid brother and I had had it in my back pocket ever since, waiting for the right opportunity to use it. Having top-roped the line a few times, and despite my top-roping pal Bruce Kirby suggesting that it was more like 7a, I was convinced it was a more-or-less benchmark 6b+. So…a (possibly slightly undergraded) 6b+ on a cliff of the nudey variety seemed like the perfect route on which to use Ben’s inspired route name! Subsequent ascensionists managed to convince me that it was nowhere near 6b+ so I have reluctantly upped the grade to 6c, which doesn’t work quite so well as a name but is perhaps more reflective of the grade of the route. Guidebook author extraordinaire, Pete Saunders, has suggested that as an onsight it is indeed a ‘7a nightmare’ but concedes that ‘with practice it morphs into an enjoyable 6c’. Hence, he suggests a grade of 6c+!? Whatever the grade, the route offers a smorgasbord of interesting climbing – hard and pumpy arete climbing to kick things off leads to a hands off ledge, step left onto an overhanging wall, then climb the crack feature to a long move on undercuts, into potato jugs then crimps, weight onto feet…at last…and on into tricky slab section and then the pushy finish though a small roof and into a couple of vague pockets to clip the lower off at 25m!

As is so often the case, once the first route had been climbed, the floodgates opened. After all, if you’re keen to share/inflict your new offering with others you can hardly persuade them to come to a crag with only one route! So Steve and I set to work, myself abbing, cleaning and bolting, Steve always on hand as a top rope buddy, ‘beta and bolt positions’ expert and generally enthusiastic good egg. Before long the Main Wall had five glorious offerings, the aforementioned Do Ya…were joined by a quartet of low to mid 7s of the gently overhanging, sustained difficulties variety, especially on the central plum lines of Tan Solo and The Eyeful Toweller. The current last addition to the Main Wall had to wait a year; Chewbadger was named after a particularly feisty mammal that had a disagreement with a rival at the top of the crag,  fell its entire length and somehow lived to tell the tale, a little dazed and confused but with no discernible long term damage, at least as far as we could tell. We were climbing at the time but luckily not on Bashful Buttress as that was on the flight path – the sight of a kamikaze badger whizzing past whilst being half way up Nudey Wonderland would not be good for the nerves! First climbed on the day of ‘the incident’, ‘Chewbadger’ the route takes the frankly outrageous central scoop to its capping roof and then an exacting wall via a good rest on a perched and only just big enough ledge to finish at just over 30m from the floor. Watch the end of the rope when lowering down!

Not nudey at all! A fully clothed Brian Hannon styling his way up the all time classic The Eyeful Toweller (7a+) – The Nudey Cliff

Bashful Buttress is the Main Wall’s shy left hand neighbour and offers up some useful easier lines as well as a few short but sweet technical dainties, the one exception being the more substantial rising diagonal line of The Nudey Blues. This makes the most of the side wall and contains a great deal of variety in its 20m length. As previously mentioned, these pitches offer welcome relief on hot summer days whilst you are waiting for the Main Wall to lose the sun, but many are fine little routes in their own right and Nudey Wonderland, A Massage To You Nudey and Blame It On The Nudey (as well as The Nudey Blues) would all be super popular pitches were they to be transported a mile or two south!

 

Land Of The Giants

Although the Nudey Cliff’s longest routes just about make it to 30m in length, the four longest pitches all negotiate the Nudey Slab in their bottom 8m, hence diluting the effect a little. A few routes at Potato Head are in the region of 28m but the combination of chasm and complex topology means it doesn’t feel like a monolithic giant in the way that Land Of The Giants certainly does. The pitches here are monsters; continually overhanging, the seven lines bolted thus far leave very little change out of a 60m rope and 50 year old forearms! Probably my favourite of the three venues, I love Land of the Giants’ open aspect, the sun-filled mornings and cool afternoons, the vibrant tones and the flowstone extrusions. But most of all I love the climbing here – whilst Torbryan may look like South Devon’s version of the Costa Blanca, Land Of The Giants actually climbs like one of your favourite Spanish crags with nothing easy, nothing particularly hard, sapping of energy yet nourishing of spirit; these are routes to be cherished (when in condition). Imagine a cobbled version of the Oasis Sector at Chulilla and you won’t be that far off…apart from the tourist boats, gulls, potatoes; and access complications! Alright, rubbish comparison but the routes are long and pumpy, get my drift?

Murray Dale on the lower section of Brechia Dance (7b) on the first ascent

So let’s start off with the access and get the tricky bit out of the way first! Getting into the crag is relatively straightforward – find what possibly might be the right tree and commit yourself to a launch into the unknown, a 45m abseil, the bulk of which will be in space should find you on the accommodatingly flat earthy base that runs along the right hand end of the crag. Simples! Extricating yourself from the crag at the end of your session is another matter and, looking back, we were incredibly lucky that we were able to fight our way out on our first foray whilst avoiding a swim or a lengthy prussik up the ab rope. 

I had actually first found the crag on another ‘coasteering adventure’ with my poor, beleaguered son, Kit (he loves it really…). So I knew that about 150m north of the crag, via some boulder hopping and a little (tidal!!!) sea level traversing was a large cone of grass/brambles/shrubs/rubble. Unfortunately this did not reach the top of the cliff line, a 15m edifice extended beyond the summit of the cone. So a straightforward, yet tiring, walk out would not be possible. At sea level, beyond the cone lay the impressive and impassable Watcombe Cave (well…impassable unless you’re going to have a swim!). It felt as though the cliff would be just too much hassle to equip, my mindset at this time vacillating between ‘what’s the point in developing a cliff that nobody will come to?’ to ‘the routes here could be absolutely amazing, this is the crag you’ve been looking for all these years’. Of course, in the end my positive angel overcame my negative demon and one torrential June day Steve and I found ourselves, once again, bashing through head high brambles looking for the top of the cliff that led up from the summit of the ‘exit cone’. And, as luck would have it, when we eventually found the spot (one busted machete later), a slender yet sturdy enough tree was perched right where you’d want it and we were able to drop a length of rope down the 15m cliff so at least we had a means of escape…provided we could get to the end of the rope in one piece!

Excitedly, we headed along the coast path to where we thought the cliff was, only to be twice thwarted by that increasingly common affliction: premature bush whacking. Third time lucky we set up a wildly optimistic top rope on the line that would eventually become Brechia Dance and once more launched up into a sea of uncertainty, potatoes perched on rubble ready to drop, ledges covered in earth and ivy, brittle flowstone edges with the consistency and reliability of Ryvita. I swear those exploratory top ropes were far more terrifying than pushing it out on lead on the clean and relatively solid line that was to come (even with Murray Dale’s ‘sporting’ bolt positions!). 

Although Brechia Dance is a fine line, it took a while before this route got equipped and led, my eyes and mind instead drawn to the unique 10m long ‘entry chute’ on what was to become Megalodon, perhaps the best place to start your relationship with LOTG. At 7a (on high gravity days it’s 7a+ though…) this route is the friendliest offering here being more featured and less pushy than the other routes. I have been climbing regularly since the late 80s and in all that time I have never come across a feature quite like that entry chute – an almost perfect semi cylinder, about 50cm in diameter, full of moulded, fused cobbles it climbs like a mildly pumpy dream working you nicely in preparation for the remaining 20m of cobbled and flowstoned delight. On first acquaintance these pitches seem to go on forever; as the cliff becomes more familiar…well, they still seem to go on forever, but it’s a forever you savour rather than endure!

Megalodon has been described by one early visitor (who was experiencing the crag in an immaculate state having just been cleaned and bolted) as possibly the best 7a/+ in the country(!) but for my money it’s not even the best route here! In my opinion, Giant Haystacks earns that accolade with its wonderful flowing crux leading up a 10m sheet of flowstone past tufa holds, crimps and side pulls. It’s one of those sequences where it’s best to switch off your mind and let your feet do what they want to do…as that will be the way! Another favourite of mine, Battlestar Gigantica feels like the most immense pitch of all and the headwall, featuring two of the biggest potatoes (read: ‘beach balls’) on the Conglom Coast. Don’t worry (ha!), they have been lustily tested and are well embedded.  

Alice Fuller on the amazing chute feature at the bottom of Megalodon (7a) – Land of the Giants

Seven lines in (six climbed and one still a project), we have only scratched the surface of the potential of this huge edifice. And whilst it’s an adventure cliff in every way but one, it’s well worth the effort, especially if the routes have been recently cleaned and the surface scrittle  removed. If you fancy an outing do get in touch via the comments section of the blog – with such complex access it’s better that way! But maybe go and try out one of the other crags first…if you don’t like them, it’s unlikely that LOTG will be the crag for you! 

Bolting

I thought it might be reassuring for the reader if I were to describe the bolts that have been used to equip these crags. Again taking inspiration from Ken Palmer, 10mm stainless steel or marine grade steel ReBar has been used, the main reason being that I am therefore able to create much longer bolts than are commonly available to purchase ‘off the shelf’. In fact the bolts placed have all been 200mm long, apart from a few extra long (I think 150mm) twisty bolts that were used as back up bolts on a couple of belays at Potato Head. Bolts have been glued in with epoxy resin and high quality Fixe or Petzl stainless steel plx hangars added.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Woodland Bouldering on Dartmoor – The Gift That Keeps On Giving

In just under a week’s time, and twenty one years on from Nick White’s quirky/seminal (depending on your point of view) South Devon and Dartmoor guide, Devon’s granite will have a new tome covering (almost) all the climbing on the tors, quarried walls and boulders of The Moor – note the capitals, this is not a typo!

Since the onset of having children (a potentially debilitating affliction), I have focused my climbing more-or-less exclusively on bouldering,  sports climbing and deep water soloing…my trad shoes have been stashed in the back corner of the attic, well out of temptation’s reach. To be honest, temptation hasn’t really reared its head for me as there has been so much development in South Devon of the three forms of climbing I have chosen to concentrate on that trad is but a dim, distant and usually terrifying memory.

As a result, much of James Clapham’s new guide will pass me by, the trad sections being solely of historical and nostalgic interest as far as I am concerned. In fact, I rarely head to the top of the moor to boulder either as I much prefer the process of exploration and discovery than the act of pulling hard on the latest link up or eliminate (not that I am able to pull all that hard either…which is another disincentive!). No, my heart and dreams lie within the woods on Dartmoor’s eastern fringe, where the landscape softens, the bluebells are rife in springtime and the biting north easterly winds of winter that presage prime conditions are blowing 200ft above your head rather than straight through your base layer. Occasionally I think how nice it must be to have a day’s climbing which does not involve coming home covered in mud and moss, hands punctured by bramble thorns, clothes needing to reacquaint themselves with the insides of the washing machine. But, when I pause to reflect, I know that if this were to be the case, it would mean the days of questing and development would be over and I would, in fact, be miserable!

I have had some involvement in the production of both James’ book and Pete Saunder’s forthcoming Devon limestone (and other rock types) guide and the work the authors have had to put in is phenomenal. Both are hugely committed, deeply altruistic, supreme enthusiasts for Devon climbing in general and the climbing in their guidebook area in particular. I am in awe of their drive and perseverance, not just in the writing of the books but also in the accompanying legwork that goes into sorting out crags, approaches, parking and the rest of it. If these are going to be the last guidebooks for Devon as we transfer everything onto our devices, who is going to be there to sort things out in 20 years time?

Nick White’s guide was hugely inspirational for many but a peek in the back of the book for the uninitiated may offer something of a surprise. Was that really all the bouldering recorded in the shire in 1995? Thirty or so problems at Bonehill, a smattering at Coombeshead and a few footnotes for other venues suggesting there might be ‘possibilities’ for further exploration. How times have changed! I am taking a guess, but I would estimate the number of boulder problems recorded on Dartmoor now to number around 2500 with roughly 1500 on the top of the moor and the rest tucked away in the woods. And there are many more to come…if you know where to look!

The last two bouldering seasons (for me that’s more-or-less February to May) were the first where I had left Bovey Woods behind and ventured to some of the other wooded areas on the eastern side of the moor. Although incomparable in terms of size and scope, all of the ten or so new venues I either discovered or were shown are significant on the Devon scale and they all offer a gem or ten for those willing to look a bit further than the tried and tested….bring a sturdy brush, enthusiasm, an open mind and a bit of patience and you will be richly rewarded. Here are four new venues, one of which is in the new guide!!

Cartoonlands

Midges Are From Mordor (V4) – Macca

This is the oldest venue listed here as it was first developed at the same time as the initial wave of development at Bovey Woods. Having been left to gather moss for a decade, it was given an overhaul last spring and many of the existing classics, as well as a slew of new gems, were climbed. Good rock, a lovely sunny aspect (especially in the afternoon) and a short walk in should ensure popularity, especially as it is going in the new guide!

Many great problems exist, here are the best: Fred Basset (V4), Puff Doggy (V2), Hang On Snoopy (V5), Peppermint Pasty (V3), Mufasa (V5), Mufasa Left Hand (V8), The Minion (V7), Midges Are From Mordor (V4) and Man Hug (V7).

http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crag.php?id=21937

Wray Cleave

Needlepoint (V2) – Bruce Kirby

This potentially extensive venue gets a brief mention in James Clapham’s new guide but there has been much recent development. A short (and flat!) walk in leads directly to the impressive boulders at the foot of the Central section. The rock here can be a bit chunky but there are some great problems including a brand new Kearney offering at V8. Contouring the hillside north for ten minutes (if you’re lucky) leads to the hidden Bramble Boulders which currently hold seven problems on the finest of fine grained granite.

The best problems here are: No Wray Jose (V3), The Troglodyte (V6), All The Wray Jose (V8), Motor Away (V6), Striped White Jets (V4) and Rattled By The Rush (V6).

http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crag.php?id=22983

Becka Brook Boulders

Sweet Caroline (V5) – Jason Maddick

I’m not sure whether these boulders are going to make it into the new guide…they would be a pain to describe as they are so spread out. Situated on the banks of Becka Brook near Trendlebeare the boulders on either side of the stream can be reached directly using separate approaches (one from Trendlebeare Down, the other from Water (near Manaton)), although the river is easy enough to cross. This is a spectacularly beautiful spot, especially down by the stream and would be perfect to combine with a family picnic…providing your kids can mange the walk out!

Here is the pick of the problems: Sweet Caroline (V5), Boris Sit! (V7), Truth Serum (V5), Gutter Press (V6), Zanussi (V4), The Odd Couple (V2).

http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crag.php?id=21664

East Wrey Barton

Wrey Awrete (V7) – Tom Rainbow

A small venue which, again, is relatively spread out. There are a couple of high quality problems here but be prepared to walk between boulders.

The best here are: Wrey Awrete (V7), Chompy Pie (V6), It’s A Shame About Wrey (V4), Wrey Cool (V6) and Dartmoor Splitter (V3).

http://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crag.php?id=23300

Although the new guide will, no doubt, invigorate the climbing scene in the area as well as encouraging a few more visitors to come and sample the delights that Devonian granite has to offer, hopefully it will also inspire some to look beyond its pages, to (literally) grasp the nettle and become a real woodland boulderer replete with scrubbing brush, secateurs and an overactive imagination…as, to my mind, it’s in the woods that the real treasures reside.

Churston – One Year On

Tom Newberry in glorious summer weather on Stan Coliform (7c), Sugar Mountain.

As I sit here and write this, the first of the big Autumn storms is skittering through the Devon countryside, indiscriminately battering everything in its path and reminding us of the long winter months and the probable frustrations ahead. I suppose we’re better off than the surfers, but in terms of having our (outside) fun stymied, South Western climbers have to put up with more than our fair share of annoyances. The moorland granite is pretty hopeless in the heat, yet is blustery and exposed when it cools down, often painfully so. The woodland bouldering, in contrast, is very sheltered but can get so humid if the Atlantic is feeding our air, that it can take a while to dry out.

Our limestone, is generally not steep enough to offer shelter from the rain (Chudleigh, Daddyhole, Long Quarry Point) or, if it is, it invariably seeps through the Winter months (Torbryan, Empire Wall, Sanctuary Wall, The Great Cave on The Old Redoubt). Hazard Quarry used to offer a good alternative as it is sheltered and rarely seeps but then some bright spark decided to sue the landowner and, unsurprisingly, climbing is no longer permitted there. Nice one mate! Until recently, that has left just a small part of Anstey’s as a wet weather alternative but, seeing as most of what is suitable is on the Ferocity Wall, only superheroes can take full advantage. In the past, the best advice would have been to bite the bullet and get yourselves indoors whilst simultaneously buying your ticket to Kalymnos.

It turns out, though, that there was an alternative all along….

Some old codger having just completed the lower crux on Salami Wall (8a), Redstone Cliff.

Last December I hooked up with Toby Dunn for a day’s climbing. He was keen to go to Torbryan but I was dubious that it would be in condition given the amount of wet weather we had recently had to endure. As I am lucky enough to live only a couple of minutes away, I popped down to take a butchers and, sure enough, the crag was sodden. Water was running off the flowstone in places and the entire wall was glistening or worse. However, all was not lost! I managed to persuade Toby to head to Churston instead…and we had a very enjoyable day climbing on bone dry rock. I would have been very surprised if our other options that day had extended much beyond La Creme or More Steam, Bigger Women. However, somehow (despite being only slightly overhanging), the crags in Churston seem to be remarkably well protected from the rain. I was there only last Saturday in steady drizzle, getting pretty damp on the belay admittedly, yet Krushmi Chheda was dry enough to get all the moves (re)sorted. As it takes no significant seepage either, it has become evident over the course of the last year that Churston may be what Devon has needed all along – a dry option in the winter. It is the crag that just keeps on giving, maybe someday soon it will spin round 180 degrees and face South!

On that day with Toby we started off at Sugar Mountain but quickly scooted round to the Supercaloric Quarry as I wanted to show him the recently climbed See-Saw Sundays (on the Redstone Cliff) and I was keen to check out a new line to its left. We had a play on a top rope and through the mud, sand and dust the makings of another (admittedly rough) diamond began to shine through. It was hard to ascertain exactly how the route would eventually climb as there was so much cleaning that still needed to be done on the line, but it was evident that it would not be easy. The lower crux involved matching a very unhelpful sloper through slightly overhanging rock and launching to a distant and slopey edged pocket. Movement needed to be precise yet dynamic – something I am not particularly adept at doing! Beyond this a larger bulge loomed but the holds were relatively helpful and although this section too was somewhat dynamic in nature, it was clear that the line was feasible. A further tricky boulder problem led to the top but, as there was a rest prior to doing this part, the upper section was unlikely to get in the way of a potential ascent!

Tom Newberry on the upper crux of Salami Wall (8a), Redstone Cliff

I left that day feeling excited that See-Saw Sundays would be gaining a companion of similar quality in the not too distant future and soon returned to give the route a proper clean. A couple more top-ropes and with the positioning of the bolts worked out I was feeling more and more confident that the line would go pretty quickly…and then I pulled the right hand hold off the bulge on the upper crux. I was gutted. What had previously been a nice positive gaston was now a rounded, slopey edge – still technically a gaston but only if you used your imagination! The route now seemed miles away (just like the hold you need to latch from the gaston!). I tried the move maybe a dozen times on the top-rope and managed it on one occasion but I knew that I had had a significant amount of tension in the rope and that I hadn’t really been close.

But, unusually for me, I didn’t give up on the route and gradually, over a few sessions, I began to get the move to work. I could hit the hold maybe once out of every four or five goes and admittedly, that was straight off the rope, but there was hope at least! And as my muscle memory kicked in, my success rate increased to maybe one in three and I began piecing together the redpoint…the problem being that I now had to do the move having done about 15ft of hard climbing below it. However, as is so often the case, the little refinements and adjustments you make as you get to know a route well (and just feeling comfortable and calm in what becomes familiar surroundings) makes such a difference that it wasn’t all that long before I was through the crux and excitedly pulling the (still demanding) last few moves to the lower off. With a whoop of delight, Salami Wall came into being and, although I initially gave the route 7c+ (limited) consensus seems to be that it’s nearer to 8a…I still have my doubts but the grade will settle down with repeat ascents and, regardless, it’s a fine piece of climbing and a worthy neighbour to See-Saw Sundays.

Still the best…See-Saw Sundays (7c), Redstone Cliff

Whilst Salami Wall has been the undoubted highlight of the year’s climbing at Churston, a few other pitches have also been added, the best of which is the R side of the arete of Aretez-Vous on a new cliff in the Jungleland Quarry to the east of Sugar Mountain. Metalwasp (6c+) is a fine addition to the climbing at Churston and heralds the opening of another sector. Churston now has 21 sports routes (not including Roar Like Sushi, Warpath, The Invisible Man, Aretez Vous, There She Blows and A Moment Spent Talking – these all currently have ancient fixed gear but are all ostensibly sports climbs already and will all, hopefully, be restored to their former glory in the not too distant future, although the first two may have to wait a little longer due to a pair of nesting peregrines setting up camp just above the wall).

The climbing developments at Churston have been hugely exciting to be part of over the last year and a half, but the renaissance of the Seven Quarries does not end there! Duncan Kenny has recently taken over the role of custodian of the quarries and his tireless and visionary approach has begun to transform the place. Alongside Colin Pottinger, Adam Kent and, no doubt, a band of others, ivy has been stripped off some of the other cliffs and trees, litter has been removed, designated fire areas have been set up and a shelter has been built complete with solar lighting and, to cap it all, a pizza oven made the very finest Torbay mud and stone. The Tide project as it is known is a really positive initiative and will lead to a managed, clean and safe (but still wild) environment which everyone can enjoy and, hopefully, respect! Amen to that!

Oh To Live On Sugar Mountain…or Churston (My Latest Obsession).

Early doors – still a touch of ivy on the right hand wall!

Happenstance – it’s a funny thing. Thinking about writing this blog has made me realise just how tenuous the path of life can be. To quote George Michael, ‘turn a different corner and we never would have met’. Don’t think he was referring to climbing at Churston though!

About a year ago now a series of events began which have led to me having, debatably, the best and, undoubtedly, the most exciting, climbing year of my life. It was at the bum end of Summer 2013 that I re-visited Ash Hole in Brixham to have another look at the climbing possibilities hidden within its dank interior – checking it out once every few years had become a pastime for me and I vaguely remembered some grimy potential for those with sufficient time, vision…and cleaning equipment. Ash Hole is, to be honest, a pretty grim spot. Not only is it usually green and often dripping, it seems to attract people who are far more interested in bringing their beer along to the venue than removing the cans afterwards! To compound matters, the posh house overlooking the venue seems to think (or, more probably, their gardener seems to think) that its OK to chuck garden waste over the balustrade of their perched decking into the depths below. Add a comprehensive smorgasbord of rotting in-situ gear from the early 90s, a thriving ivy plantation and a sticky toffee pudding base and you have the makings of first-class Devonian esoteria – catnip for weirdo South Westerners looking for fresh challenges, probably less enticing for those travelling over from their base in Catalunya.

Matt Cooper making an early ascent of Bob Handhold.

Once inside the cave, however, the true potential of the venue reveals itself. Tufas abound, rock is sound, the angle is perfect for overhanging jug fests. Having made relatively short work of Dave Henderson’s thread protected Wayne, I started to consider other lines in the roof and my eye was immediately drawn to a point of entry just down and left (as you look out of the cave) that led from one funky feature to the next right up to the apex of the roof – 12 metres of roof climbing heaven…potentially.

Unfortunately there was only one way to protect the line and, in that respect, I was significantly lacking. However, I happened to know a friend of mine was looking to sell his drill and glue gear so I quickly contacted him and, before I knew it, the two of us were teetering up his three part ladder, Ryobi in hand whilst we guessed at the rough positioning of the bolts, hoping beyond hope that ladder, drill and ourselves were not going to head off down the mud slope that leads from the back of the cave to the entrance 10m below. The bolting process was absolutely exhausting (God knows how those Spanish rock stars manage to bolt up their caves – no wonder they are so strong) but we got it done and, barring a few falls – from the rock as opposed to the ladder – and a few redpoint nerves, Dream River (7c) came into being. Although it still needs a bit of traffic in its middle section, it’s a great addition to Devon sports climbing being highly unusual – climbable in the rain (as long as there is no seepage), bring a head torch in the Winter months and enjoy the experience of climbing on severely overhanging tufa holds in South Devon!

Expecting to fly!! Matt Cooper about to perform the crux of Gene Parmesan.

So, for a brief while, I became Mr Ash Hole (although some might have mispronounced this) and, as a result, Pete Saunders contacted me to ask if I would write the section on it for the forthcoming South Devon Limestone guide. Having had extensive experience of the venue (well, I had climbed two routes there!) I was only too happy to help…and why not chuck in Churston too – keep me off the streets and besides, it might actually incentivise me to get over to the backwater to end all Devonian backwaters (and that’s saying something!).

The side wall offers very different climbing – Mark McManus on Billy Crystal Cluster.

Up until this Summer I had only climbed one route at Churston, although I had been to ‘snoop’ on a few occasions. In one of those interminably sodden winters a few years ago, Murray Dale and myself decided to check it out…mainly because the alternative was to go home or to the cafe or something equally uninspiring. So we climbed a soaking Supercalorific and had a nose around. We couldn’t have been looking very hard, however, as we failed to find any of the cliffs I have spent the last six months climbing on. That was that until the early Summer of 2014 when, upon finding myself at a loose end, with no-one to climb with and it feeling a bit too chilly to don my waterwings and go deep water soloing, I decided to have one last look to see if there was any potential left at Churston that I had, somehow, missed from my previous visits. I hoped to find the odd unclimbed line; y’know, direct finishes, eliminates, that sort of thing. I didn’t expect to be sitting here half a year later, having put up a dozen sports climbs from 6b to 7c+ on crags that had, until now, been left unclimbed and with my mind full of future lines and possibilities. How the hell did we miss these cliffs?

Mark McManus on Mackerel Stevens – the first of the 7cs climbed at Sugar Mountain.

Well, Nick White is partly to blame seeing as he claimed that the quarry just east of the Supercalorific quarry housed no potential for the climber in his guidebook of 1995. So was that you, Nick, who placed those pegs at the top of Sugar Mountain? Hidden high on the slope behind a wall of ash trees, Sugar Mountain is almost impossible to spy in high Summer and I guess Nick (assuming it was him) counted on this, thinking that natural camouflage and a diversionary comment in the guidebook would be sufficient to keep all but the most inquisitive eye at bay. And so it had proven for almost twenty years.

One of the warm ups – Matt Cooper on Powderfinger.

In fact, on that first foray I didn’t really find Sugar Mountain as I only had a momentary glimpse of something white up through the trees just as I was leaving. I had, however, found the even more impressive but very rough around the edges Redstone Cliff. A real curio, the Redstone Cliff consists of bullet hard limestone which is covered, in places, with a strange patina of sandstone. I was excited by my discovery, but somewhat dismayed at the state of the cliff – this was going to take a lot of effort to get into a climbable state. It was obvious from the examples that were in reach at the foot of the cliff that much of the sandstone could be prised off relatively easily but there was a lot of it and the limestone underneath was invariably pretty dirty. I was frustrated that I had found an overhanging, unclimbed twenty metre high cliff that was in such poor condition.

Steve Pack on Krushmi Chheda, the devious and balancy upper crux.

Undeterred, I decided to grasp the nettle and come back for a better look. And while I was at it, what about checking out that glimpse of white cliff I had spied in the ‘middle’ quarry? So I laboured up the slope, more in resignation than expectation. How many hillsides had I trudged up in my time only to find the boulder I thought would house the next Dreamtime was actually only chest high or that the cliff I was convinced would be the next Ceuse was, in fact, a slab you could walk up. So I was blown away on finding a sheet of pretty much perfect, gently overhanging white limestone. Whilst the right hand section of cliff was hidden under a vast sheet of ivy, the left hand half that now houses Mackerel Stevens and Krushmi Chheda was pretty clean, and obviously classic route territory…if it was climbable at all, that is. Added to this was a further steep and ivy shrouded side wall that looked just as enticing although the rock was much less predictable being sandy and soft in appearance.

John McShea trying hard on the upper crux of Stan Coliform.

No matter, I enthusiastically started purging the crag of its ivy, running back and forth like a dog with two tails, not really knowing where to start. But start I did and thus began a wonderful six months of discovery; each pull of ivy revealing yet more potential, each exploratory top-rope creating probability from possibility, each hour spent with the drill providing a permanent path where before there was a temporary line of speculative chalk dots.  There is nothing quite like the thrill of looking back at a newly dressed line that has been transformed from a lump of enticing vegetation to a pristine wall of sheer limestone proudly awaiting the ‘proper’ battle to commence; the one with rope heading off between legs and adrenalin pumping wildly as you realise that once again you have completely overestimated how brave/strong/composed you are.

The winter solstice and dry as a bone! John McShea on Ragged Glory.

There are currently eleven bolted lines (and no link ups!!!) at Sugar Mountain. They go like this: Arete Butler (6c), Billy Crystal Cluster (7a), Stan Coliform (7c), unclimbed project (7c+/8a), Mackerel Stevens (7c), Krushmi Chheda (7c+), Bob Handhold (6c), Macca’s Route (7a+), Powderfinger (6b), Ragged Glory (6b), Gene Parmesan (7b+). They are all between 15m and 18m long, gently overhanging and on generally excellent rock (although there may still be a few loose holds remaining). The first four routes listed are found on the side wall, which turned out to have rock that was, on the whole, much better than it looks, and they offer very different climbing to the main wall being generally more sustained and pumpier. The routes on the main wall tend to have well defined cruxes and are steeper than they look. I think they are all great, but I would, wouldn’t I – they are my children after all! Come and have a look yourself and see what you think…at the very least, it is somewhere you haven’t been before and, what’s more, unless there is a strong NW wind blowing rain in, the main wall remains dry in all but the heaviest rain (and the side wall is pretty good too in this respect) and is in deep shade throughout those sweltering Summer months (some irony here, admittedly)!

Not actually on Sugar Mountain but *** quality – Murray Dale on See-Saw Sundays (7c) on the Redstone Cliff.

So Churston – the new Torbryan or a pile of choss by the sea? There’s only one way to find out, right?

Yard Trimmings – My Relationship With The Empire Wall

On the Empire crux section of Fusion Reactor

I can still vividly recall the moment, back in ’87 I think it was, when I sat in my parents’ car clutching my brand new, just purchased, copy of the Littlejohn and O’Sullivan South Devon And Dartmoor guide – the one with Andy Meyers on the cover, hanging from Caveman’s roof whilst bedecked in his old blue Levis (funny how things come full circle – his attire seemed really dated back then in those lycra worshipping days) . Having only recently fallen under the climbing spell, but still hugely and wonderfully ignorant, I flicked through the pages, my mind conjuring up images of the immaculate Ceuse like South Face of Chudleigh and the Siuranaesque rockscapes of The Old Redoubt. In my imagination Hay Tor was only slightly less impressive than El Cap, Foggintor Quarry’s soaring aretes and technical faces akin to Millstone at its best and Anstey’s Cove was basically an earlier (and better) version of what Kalymnos has become. It turns out that most of these mental images were about right and in some cases it transpired that the Devonian version was superior to my wild imaginings. But, to be honest, the only venue of those listed that has held my interest, the one that I keep returning to, no matter how bruising our last encounter has been, no matter how much I manage to convince myself that we are totally incompatible bedfellows, is…well no doubt you’ve already guessed!

I think it’s probably fair to say that Anstey’s Cove is the beating heart of hard climbing in Devon. The Cove has evolved from a curious mess of slabby nonsense, loose trad and a smattering of aid pitches – as it was in the 1985 guide – to what is, ostensibly, the sports climbing epicentre of the South of England. Although that crown is nowadays challenged by the likes of Cheddar and Portland, the benchmarks – Empire of the Sun, Just Revenge, Cider Soak, Tuppence, Poppy and Brian – all reside just above the mediterranean waters off Redgate Beach – and few would argue that the routes listed would justly hold their own when compared with the best of the grade in the country. Admittedly Anstey’s is not perfect and it has a frankly embarrassing lack of choice for those operating between easy and hard but once the breakthrough has been made (more often than not with a successful ascent of Empire) there’s no looking back. I remember meeting a young Mark Campbell at the Cove way back in the early 90s as he struggled up The Lynch. Next time I saw him, he was lapping it! Similarly myself and Tim Emmett had a fun hour or two trying to boulder out the start of American Express (I recall him eventually being successfully…the first time (of many) he burnt me off!). The next thing I knew he was clipping the chains on The Cider Soak. As a forcing ground Anstey’s Cove has been one of the most important crags in the country for the past three decades; as a place for new talent to hone their skills, it’s second-to-none.

Leaving Empire on Fusion Reactor

My own relationship with Anstey’s has, I imagine, followed a very different trajectory to most. You see, I always fancied onsighting Empire and so I saved it for years thinking that, at some point, I would get fit by projecting Just Revenge in preparation. So eventually that’s what I did. Of course, by the time I came to do Empire it was nowhere near an onsight but flashing the route has undoubtedly been one of the highlights of my climbing life.

However, I have always harboured a little pang of regret when reminiscing on the approach I took to climbing Empire because at around about this time…2005 or so…I had spotted a monster unclimbed diagonal running from the bottom right to top left of the wall. I knew I couldn’t do it without climbing about one half of Empire and therefore blow the flash so I mentioned it to my good friend Jon Wilson who was unencumbered by such ridiculous, self imposed, restrictions. He promptly set to work on the line and, before too long, the wall had another route to add to its ever growing list of link ups. Helium does have a really cool 15 foot of previously unclimbed traversing that links Empire with Oozy, especially if the unnecessary friend placement is eschewed and the ride is taken – it’s about the most fun you can have whilst failing on a route! Jon opted to finish up Heathen Man which gives a tough final couple of moves and caps off a fine 20+m of sapping, but nowhere too hard, climbing.

And that’s where Jon’s line differed from the one I had originally spotted. The natural sweep of the rock on the Empire Wall, and the curve of the line climbed by Helium up to Oozy, draws the eye up and left from Heathen Man and it was always my intention to follow this sweeping line and try to finish up the short and obscure crack of Avant Garde….

On new ground, just leaving the rest on Heathen Man.

Fast forward eight years and now in a position to do something about it having both climbed Empire and acquired a drill, I decided this Summer to check out Avant Garde on a top rope. Really unpleasant, fingery and hard, it seemed way out of keeping with the rest of the route. I was getting pretty dejected when it occurred to me that a line of unclimbed rock existed between Avant Garde and Heathen Man. It looked like there were holds and the line seemed independent…and so it proved. So I added a couple of new bolts and a new lower off and within a week or two I was hauling my unfit frame onto the finishing ledge of Fusion Reactor to surely close proceedings on the development of The Empire Wall. Fusion Reactor has about 27m of climbing on it – just under half the route contains moves that are only shared with Helium or are completely new. Harder for me than Helium but not hard enough for an increase in grade, Fusion Reactor must be the pumpiest route with no real hard moves on it around. I’m sure if you’re super fit it will feel like a path, but it certainly pushed me right to my limit and, as far as I am concerned, there’s no better place to be in climbing, especially whilst voyaging into previously unchartered terrain!

 

 

Off The Beaten Track – A Decade Of Bouldering In Bovey Woods

Mark MacManus on Jilted Tart (V4) – Northcombe Copse

Around 12 years ago now, the woods above Bovey Tracey began to be developed for bouldering. On Friday the 550th boulder problem in the woods was climbed. I often ask myself whether I would still have the same enthusiasm for climbing if I hadn’t discovered the woods – I count myself extremely privileged to have had the opportunity to find, explore and climb in such a special place; it’s something most climbers these days can only dream about as the unexplored corners of our craggy little isle become ever smaller and more remote. The fact that I can still be climbing first ascents on virgin boulders less than five minutes walk from the car gives me great pleasure and I know how lucky I am.

Murray Dale on Heroes (V5) – Shaptor Rock

Yesterday I took Dan, Lee and Annette on the guided tour. They are all relatively new to the bouldering in Bovey Woods and got in touch for an orientation walk – a perfect activity for a typically damp April day. This last Winter has been particularly depressing – mild and wet beyond our worst imaginings and it has been so frustrating; dry rock has been hard to find and those crisp, biting East winds that lead to perfect climbing conditions in the South facing bowl that houses the bouldering just haven’t materialised.

Jon Wilson on the easy start of The Modern Dance (V8) – Bearacleave

One thing that has surprised me since I started climbing in the woods is just how reluctant the majority of climbers are to put in a bit of effort and have an explore. The woods can be a bewildering place to navigate but there is plenty of information available (try googling ‘Bovey Woods bouldering’) and those who have taken the time to download the topo seem to work it out before too long (although in this day and age I recognise the maps that are available could be improved). My reluctance to put the woods in a printed guidebook stems from my concern about the possible initial inundation that this would lead to and the probable accompanying problems with parking and litter rather than through any selfish motives – I love seeing other climbers enjoying the woods and would prefer to have more people using them…just not too many! So come on down whilst there are still a few weeks left of the current season (the woods become hopeless once the leaves come onto the big trees) – there are currently about 50 three star boulder problems in the woods and many others that contend with the best on offer on Dartmoor granite. What’s more, at the moment the place is heady with the scent of bluebells – there’s no better venue for a quick couple of hours after work or a half day at the weekend.

Dave Westlake on the magnificent The Jungle Book (V8+) – Lower Shaptor

Land’s End to John o’Groats – 2011. How was it for me?

God! The Summer has been a long one, six weeks of holiday feels like a lifetime. They say time flies when you’re having fun, so either I haven’t been having fun, or ‘they’ don’t know what they’re talking about….because it’s been a blast.

I thought, unlike Rob (my cycling buddy… hell… I’d even be prepared to drop the ‘cycling’) I’d give the ride time to percolate before writing up my thoughts. Now that the bum is more or less untainted, the muscles reverting back to normal size and the tiredness due to lack of sleep as opposed to turning peddles endlessly, the ride has assumed a warm glow in my distant memory and that, for me, is a better place to write my thoughts from than the raw mess of my immediate post match ruminations.

Obviously people have been interested to hear about the trip. I have found it really difficult to talk about it. Not in an ‘oh my God, it’s too emotive’ kind of way. I just find it hard to encapsulate such a huge undertaking in a snatched conversation over the garden fence or the like. I have been asked on many occasions (almost as many occasions as we heard ‘you should have done it the other way round…it’s downhill that way’) whether it was as expected. That again is difficult to answer. As a repressed optimist I often find myself picturing a forthcoming experience in the best possible light. Before setting off my mind was filled with sunny days, cycling carelessly through idyllic British countryside on quiet roads with great people. And that’s exactly what happened – the weather was fantastic, only half an hour of proper rain in the 12 days and the route exceeded expectations, every stage an unfolding beauty (with the exceptions of Avonmouth and Irlam). I am happy to report that the country is in very rude health indeed and I can not praise the route highly enough…whoever put it together must be a genius!

But naturally this is only part of the story. Physically we coped well (although Rob pretended to find it hard at times I know it was all an act aimed to elicit sympathy from the groupies), but there were times when I had my worries. In fact, if I hadn’t been told at the end of the second day that underpants were a no-no when cycling, my bottom would have disintegrated long before the borders (certainly Scottish, possibly Welsh) had been reached. Mentally the ride was much more draining for both of us.  I cycled a 100 mile ride in the Autumn with Rob and on that occasion I trailed in his wake.

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