5 March 2016
2 March 2016
|Louis rising out of the heather.|
|Dave Barrans getting horizontal, Men's Finals.|
24 January 2016
We take and we take all year, January is our time to give something back. Boulderers and climbers are a crazy enough lot as it is - in a good way - so we have to do crazy things to draw out the charity money from folk. And sure, there are many crazier things that could be done for charity, but our option made sense for the charity at hand. I'm guessing (and hoping) nobody ever needed rescuing from a bath of baked beans... So, on the 10th of January, we struck out, to link four of our local crags...
Setting out from the Hunters Inn between Huby and Pool, we could see snow on the distant hills. The local h2o was flood water, and we had to make a couple of dashes along the road to avoid being drenched by splashes traffic - good to get the blood flowing early on. Up Pool Bank, we started to fill in the gaps in the landscape - four crags in isolation is all well and good, but joining the dots was a worthwhile and fascinating experience.
The Chevin was in fine fettle, with a dusting of snow to set off its tops, well earned by our ascent. However, our target was lower down - the Sugarloaf boulder, where Bryn planned for us to assemble for a group photo. I had chosen not to carry my climbing boots, but was nevertheless confident I could gain the top. So it proved, as I scampered up the left edge, with several others following. But not all. And then the downclimb proved troublesome, as hiking boots weren't ideal for stepping down from tiny holds. Cosmo had the most trouble with this, but in the end I got on the rock just below him, supported his weight a little, and braced myself to allow him to drop a hold, a maneuver which went off smoothly.
Down through gay Otley, with shop stops and coffee to go, then onward to Hunters. Shortly after leaving the road, Kathryn slipped in some mud and fell. Though she soldiered on bravely with a bit of a headache, it took her half a field to notice she had lost her glasses. I went back for them, giving her a chance to rest. For a jape, I wore the glasses on my way back to her and Cosmo, saying that I couldn't find them. Apparently they were quite a good look for me, though they made me see the world as if I were three feet tall...
Around Lindley Wood, then up through the woods towards Hunter's Stones, with a new perspective across the reservoir, and new trails walked. Once at Hunter's, we had half a lunch and more photos and took in what must have been our widest view - all under the considerate care of the Fell Rescue team (well, except perhaps the power stations on the horizon...). A steady slog through the plantation took us to the Ice-warning-sign car park just along from Little Almscliff, where Support Team Tilly provided us with.... provisions. What were they? I can't remember. Lots of useful stuff, I'm sure! And a place to sit for a bit. Oh, and Sophie's scones, yummy.
Energised, and inspired by Dave abandoning us by stepping up to fell-run mode, we picked a path through woods rutted and waterlogged, across more sodden fields. But the 'cliff, Great Almscliff itself, soon loomed over us, and text messages from Dave informing us of good conditions on the rock inspired us once more - Dave is good like that. We trekked across the middle of the crag, with many scampering up to the top. Bryn led the way to Three Chockstones Chimney in order to get a bit of actual(ish) climbing in, but stayed in his hiking boots out of solidarity when he realised climbing shoes weren't an option for me. Lots of odd jams of various body parts that wouldn't normally get involved... Mr Booth followed us up shortly after, and we shared a moment of victory.
Down from the crag, as light started to fade from the sky. And then finished fading from the sky as we entered the woods just above the pub. The path was reliable enough though, and though fatigue was high by this point, all we could do was keep going. Onwards, onwards... Things were starting to get weird - perhaps it was the exhaust fumes on the road that brought discussions about whether dolphins are more intelligent than humans... (Are they?! I don't even know... Maybe it's time to reread The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy...).
But if we were on the road, then the end was in sight! The Hunters Inn! Our cars! Triumph! (Not the car, the concept. Not a concept car.) Beverages! Well earned carbonated and fermented drinks for all, and a good spell of downtime in this homely house. And then another homely house, Bryn's, where he supplied us with delicious chilli to warm and rejuvenate us, and I lit a fire to... well, mainly to warm Shilo, Bryn and Hebe's cat, up. Like the end of some movie, in which the collection of protagonists silently acknowledge each other before moving on, we gradually took our farewells...
18 miles, job well done, good money raised for a good cause, and the chance to raise more is still there - the JustGiving page linked at the top will be open into early February, and of course there is always the Fell Rescue page itself... http://www.uwfra.org.uk/fundraising
Post script: I'm pretty sure a few of us went to The Depot afterwards. Crazy! Good crazy...
6 January 2016
But first, we needed a warm-up. The hivemind selected a route full of classic elements - the grounds of Bolton Abbey, by the Strid. The woefully named Valley of Desolation...
...the slow and ultimately foggy climb up to Simon's Seat. Down and across the valley - a fine link I had not done before - to Troller's Gill...
...which was impressive to behold, but clearly impassable. The last landmark of note was the fine pub in Appletreewick, though I was deceived by their defaulting to beef dripping chips - delicious as they were, they weren't accessible to all of the walkers present...
We got back to the cars, about 12 miles done, and darkness descended - we'll have to make a better start next week and keep a livelier pace.
More photos here.
All this, and I still had time for a bimble around The Depot with Rob in the evening. Crazy, eh? Yes, it's all crazy, but it's what we do, and sometimes we need help. So please donate. If we don't need it, someone sometime will.
Oh, and happy 2016! Here's to many ticks in all our activities.
12 October 2015
THE BATTLE OF BRITAIN
Bouldering-wise, that is. Not the whole Second World War issue of air superiority, though these boulderers would seek to fly the highest...
30 problems, just like the bouldering league, pink, just like the bouldering league, fewer points for a greater number of attempts, a bit like the bouldering league (only three attempts per problem allowed, then you're done), all crammed into a single day, nothing like the bouldering league at all. Boulderers from across the country, phat beats from DJ Notaspotifyplaylist, and tape all over the matting to show where climbers should queue for the problems.
Ah, so that's why it's the Battle of Britain, for that quintessential trope of Britishness, queuing! It just goes to show how different, how communal climbing is though, as these were not queues of awkward (or stoic) silences, but of camaraderie and banter. It started by confirming with those queuing which problem they were queuing for (I'm getting really sick of typing 'queuing' now... Still, soldier on!) and then bloomed into beta and spectatorship - watching some of the kids get the more reachy problems was the highlight. I found that a queue allowed me the chance to rest and pace myself, some found it warmed them down too much. Perhaps a cup of tea immediately before tackling the problem would have helped?
The tension was high, the fear of falling amplified by the embarrassment an early dismount would bring. Number 11 was my first, as I'm sure it was for many, and I could then relax. Except my form went out of the window at that point - 12 was the kind of corner problem I liked, but I fluffed every attempt (and then queued for more, which was how I realised that only 3 attempts were allowed...). 13 had my smack my hand on a white, leading to the fall. We weren't even using whites! 14 just didn't suit my heft, as lighter climbers flowed around an arete that I swung off. 15 though... Back roof, and it looked good. I needed a good effort here. The transition from overhang to face saw me scrape my feet along the ground before making them the platform to finish the last few swings. Was it weight-bearing? I felt I deserved it, needed it, but I turned to the crowd who were queuing behind me for a judges' decision - it was given! No-one behind me challenged it, instead piling credit on me: "Effort mate", "You deserved that" and the like. Better.
But still an ending - a couple more were attempted, but only 17 looked realistic, and I ran out of tries on that. 110 points to me, nothing to make Dave Barrans quake in his boots. Time was called, curry was doled out, and climbers retreated to the mat and cafe area to reflect on what had been. Qualifiers were announced, raffle was called - no prizes for me, at least not more than the satisfaction at having been part of such a fine festival of plastic bouldering, along with my many good friends who had been along for the ride - Bryn, Cosmo, Hebe, Sophie, Xander, Tom and Tom, with Tilly and Francis offering strong moral support.
So then, to the finals. The problems therein were already set, having been covered with paper and tape throughout the day, allowing them to garner attention in hushed tones - the Prana slab men's problem apparently one of the cruelest ever set at The Depot. So it transpired, as all of the men fell - and fell, and fell... - at this first hurdle, with only Dave Barrans even getting a sniff of the top hold. Meanwhile the women made steady progress, with several ascents between them. Problem two vexed the men again - nil points. The women, steady away, and more rousing and entertaining for it. Come on fellas...
Last problem. The women, give or take, marched imperiously through, while the men fell away like scabs scratched from so many wounds. Last year, as I recall, all the men had got both of the first two problems, but only Dave Barrans had got the third, flashing it where the others had broken upon it like waves on a particularly strong sea wall. Anyway, Dave was the force of nature here, finally separating himself from the crowd, only denying himself a flash with a curiously pitiful opening effort.
Full results on The Depot's website, here (pdf).
And so, the sun set on the carnage. It had been a great day for climbers and climbing. Who's for Blocbuster?
6 October 2015
Heading out west from Prague, the waning sun is turning ultra orange and the sky fades to a deep black. This gently rolling landscape could be Australia or an American desert canyon land, yet it is only two hours from Leeds even if it's a millennia from modernity.
Pete and Kirsty have made the massive, improbable 1000 mile overland trip in a oner, but it took them rather longer than we four flyins. As we pitchup at Jesenice they are there pitching up. It will be cold tonight on our all but deserted, newly polished, post communist campsite. It's rusty chain link boundary fence keeping the forest at bay. The gin clear sky is leaking heat to the stars. It drops to near freezing overnight. By dawn it has been a long night, but it is crisp and clear, we head into the forest near Brana where there be dragons.
We eventually find their eggs in the medieval oak forest, round monoliths that look like stone boulders, a little like the sharpest greyest granite with huge quartzite crystals and rare fingertip shredding edges you can almost crimp. We know better, we proceed with caution dragons sleep lightly. You may climb a dragon's egg if you have steel fingers, rhino hide for finger skin and can squirm and thrutch over their rounded apex using nothing save belief.
We do well on the our first morning full of enthusiam and dark rye bread. After a grading misunderstanding all our imagined 7B waddage become 5 or 6, but still they are good problems, a few are great. Our mood is light, we grin and relax, it has been worth the trip.
Back in town for beer and dinner at prices that are too good to be true, perhaps I made it up. We manage to end up in a dingy bar where fat locals ring their glasses in a haze of fag smoke to persuade the barman to refill them, too lazy to get up to the bar. Dinner is memorable for the house speciality of boiled white sausage stuffed with pickled peppers that cannot be eaten with chips we are told. All this in a language we do not speak, translated by an app that provides yet more confusion.
Next dawn and we are in the forest searching for more small stones. Up a hill to a deserted chapel and a hidden staircase of a ruin that has sunlit views over endless trees on forever.
The evening ends early after pool in a bar which is a tin shed with a back wall made of beer kegs slightly menacing but we are tolerated, maybe welcome who can say. Perhaps we provided amusement?
Third dawn, I am deep in my bones tired, we make the forest again and find some more quality. The highlight the last problem a barrel rock over with only four holds. The perfect problem a haiku of a thing, everyone climbs it the same whatever their height or shape. Helen in her trainers. Pete finally declares himself broken and joins the rest of us. Now we head our separate ways. The plane team try tourism in Prague but we are beyond mere fun and culture, we fought the granite dragon in the forest and won. We were there.
That was the thing it was a trip about the we, the country, the uncompromising granite and the wonderful Czech countryside and people. It had a whiff of smoke and magic about it, It won't get much better than that.
I will be bouldering a little less now I think, but I will no more stop climbing or being in the mountains than I hope breathing. As to blogging about my escapades on here, no more I have no words, quit while you are ahead.
|Crimping the Mint Dish|
21 August 2015
And then lost again! I took to the highball body-scoop next-door, the erstwhile 'Project'. I made it up and over, but my last move and top-out were sketchier than I would have liked, a rare seal style top-out actually. Again, the reaction was to kick back - I couldn't circuit this one (could I? Will check next time...) but I took it on again and cleaned up that top, finishing calmly and smoothly. Mojo fully under control.
But I was warm, so I mooched back towards the front of the crag, hoping for more of a breeze. As I approached the path, Xander and Tom arrived, with Ellen and Emma, Dave, and then Ed and James in quickfire pursuit. As it was Xander and Tom's first visit to the 'cliff, I was trying to figure out something for them to warm up on, and I went for the early nose that is a favourite of mine. All climbed no bother, several of the others then proceeded to climb through the nearby hole in the rock. This not being a valid part of my repertoire, I once more climbed the nose with my eyes closed (with hat covering them to be sure). Next, we played on the small polished ledges that traverse into the same top-out, and the overhang opposite, which I found to be easy tonight - pleasing, as it had eluded me last time, despite having been done before. Sit-start next...
Dave scampered off to do Flying Arete without a mat - hopefully more on Dave and mats to come - while the rest of us had some Postman play, low and high. When Dave joined in and topped out the top of the Postman we pondered getting on Morrell's Wall, but ended up distracted by the sit-start overhang near the fork in the path that leads down to Morrell's. Previously fearful of not being able to get off the ground - and still finding that an issue 4 times out of 5 - I made steady progress, getting as far as my right hand reaching the high arete. Next move could be delicate, but I'm glad to have discovered a new project that hadn't grabbed me previously.
Hot chocolate was made, the bats came out, and the sky lowered into airy gloom. Barely half-past nine! Still, a good three hours for me, and though we hadn't moved very far along the crag, it had been a packed session, the friction had been good, and I felt like the work I've been doing at The Depot - which is to say, playing more - was starting to pay off. Onwards and upwards...
9 August 2015
Climbing has given me as much, if not more, in friendship than it has in the actual activity itself. Whilst I love rocks and the challenges and achievements they bring, I love the people I climb them with as well. It's what I love about juggling and circus skills as well, a parallel universe that often seems to merge with my climbing world. One man stands at the centre of both- a key figure in the Venn diagram as it were- my mate Louis. So when Stuart and I found out earlier this year, by text in Font of all places, that Louis was to wed the love of his life, we were suitably stoked. You see, Stu and I would never have met without Louis, nor have had our many subsequent adventures, juggling and climbing alike . So it seemed only apt that we tag on a climbing trip as a precursor to the main event, especially given they had chosen a venue on the edge of the Peak District. Cosmo was also on board as a wedding guest, and so the planning began.
Well to be fair we got as far as booking a Youth Hostel, and figured the rest would sort itself out. Having been down to Stanage a couple of times I had a fair idea of the amount of gritstone they have down there, so we booked in at YHA Eyam and took our pick. Day 1 was looking a bit miserable and after a slow and damp start we arrived at Curbar Edge carpark to grey skies but a dry road. We quickly slipped into the holiday mood by visiting the ice cream van, then crossed the road to check out Baslow as our first stop. Whilst an impressive edge with great views across to our destination for the night, and a great place to blow off the cobwebs, there wasn't a huge amount to go at in terms of boulders, and the wind didn't encourage me to check out the easier routes. We were drawn, as many are and doubtlessly always have been, to the Eagle Stone- a behemoth of a boulder that grows dramatically as your approach it. It also looked suitably nails, with slopey breaks that wouldn't look out of place at Brimham. We settled on the easiest problem, an alleged Font 3 (!), and after much struggling and thrutching Stu finally got up the bugger. No such luck for me, and a bit of a disheartening start to the trip. However, Stu looked happy as Larry up the top, so much so that he did it about 3 times. Turns out the problem is called Men Only, and it certainly seemed to be giving Stu a testosterone boost.
Given we had a few hours til check in at the YHA we reckoned on time to walk back and have a peek at Curbar, especially as the clouds seemed to be clearing. In fact by the time we arrived at the Trackside boulder we had blue skies and sunshine. Added to that was the quality of the boulder itself- it seemed to have everything you could ever want from a boulder in terms of grades, height, styles and grit. Needless to say I was much happier, and a good hour was spent working the lower grade problems, culminating in Stu expending his last reserves of testosterone from earlier by working and ticking a great looking Font 5 crack. Time was also ticking though, so we scrambled Vietnam style through the bracken up to the Edge then headed across the valley towards Eyam and our bed for the night. Turned out we had picked a cracking hostel, and Stony Middleton down below had a cracking curry house, or rather Curry Cottage, which all helped top off a great start to the trip.
For Day 2 we decided to leave the Eastern grit and drive over to the Roaches, given that it wasn't that far off and that Stu had never been. Cosmo and I had visited as part of a Learn to Lead weekend a few years back so we knew what a great place it was, though we had only bouldered as a warm up before getting laden down with rope and metal. The Lower Tier was much as I remembered, a magical glade with some quality slabs, and gave us a good morning of climbing before Jetboiling up some noodles, with the guide offering us suggestions and plenty of scope for a few more problems as well. However, I was encountering a problem the other boys weren't, on account of their long trousers- midges! Given the Roaches location above a boggy moor it seemed the midges had no accounting for the time of day and were loving the warm temperatures and lack of breeze. Heading up the stone staircase to the Upper Tier I hoped moving out of the trees might shake them off but there was no such luck. The boulders there looked amazing though, and so we decided to crack on. However, it seems that plenty of other people had thought the same thing, for many years and with bigger boots I reckon, and as a result it seemed al the best holds had been polished up a treat. I carried on regardless but was halfway up one boulder worrying about slippy smears when a midge flew up my shorts and bit me on my inner thigh. That kind of sealed the deal for me, there's a time and a place for that kind of thing and this wasn't it! Stu was flagging and needing some pop (his life blood) and so we decided to call it and head off to a midge free zone.
This led us to Crag 4, by which time we were seriously starting to flag. Luckily Robin Hoods Stride is the sort of place you'd go to even if you had no idea climbing even existed. A crazy jumble of rocks that appear to have been dropped in a pile in the middle of pleasant rolling hills, many of the rocks seem to have rolled off to create some great bouldering spots. We managed a couple of these as we dug deep, Cosmo in particular getting a second wind as he discovered the art of traversing slabs by running at them as fast as possible. However, the chips in Stony Middleton were starting to smell pretty good and so we headed back for sustinence, a power nap, then a pleasant walk up onto the hills above Eyam to end the day.
Saturday arrived, the day of the wedding, and although we had a good few hours til the reception that could have been filled with more climbing we reckoned it would be best to save getting hot and sweaty for the wedding dance. It would have been rude to leave the Peaks straight away though so we chose to park up on Curbar Edge again and a mosey along it, taking in the views. We picnicked by Smiling Buttress, wondering at the tiny size of the holds and the horrendous landing. Just watch Tyler Landman swinging out on the last move and try not to catch your breath at the drop below. Then go and have a look at the landing for yourself and try not to swear just a little. All that remained for us was to change into our finest garbs in Chesterfield Tesco toilets before heading for a wedding.
I'll save you a blow by blow account of the wedding, save to say that Louis is now an honest man, and future trips with many buddies were planned and discussed over many an ale. I feel like I've only tickled the belly of the beast that is Peak Grit, and am thoroughly looking forward to heading back down soon as I can. Or rather, as soon as we can.
29 July 2015
What a horrible dilemma to have to endure! For whatever various reasons, we swung toward the bouldering option. Bryn picked Thorn Crag from the multitude available. This would take us into Lancashire, and various names lined themselves up to attend, and various of those then dropped out due to illness or logistical challenges. My own travels, given the proximity of the crag to the route to my brother's house, would see me meeting most of the rest of the gang there, and parking considerations would make getting up on the Saturday morning challenging... How best to cope with all of this and make the most of the time and space available?
With a bivvy.
I put the word out in the group to see who might fancy it, but, again, logistics and illness ruled all but one out - Xander. Relatively new to climbing, Xander was unsure what he would get out of the trip to the crag, but felt that a bivvy would make something of the trip either way. For me, it would be good not to have to worry about getting out of the house at home and get to the parking spot in good time.
Xander met me from work and we headed west. I would have made this trip alone, though I was pleased to have the company. We caught the sunset as we finished the drive, twilight as we took on the long walk-in, and dusk as we settled down, having found some small boulders to call home for night.
|They're down there somewhere.|
26 July 2015
We were back there the next day, straight from work. I made it there first, and I fancied the teaspoon area. Matless, I tackled the problem next to the wall, and enjoyed getting reacquainted with it. I headed upwards from there, for a play around in a green and pigeon-infested gully. Back to ground, and the next problem along, the old project, the one with the body-sized scoop. This had also been a while since an ascent, and I was a little unsure about finding the moves again. With good reason, it turned out - I completed the problem, but with a lower, smaller and less positive hold to take me to the finish. Well, okay. I guess that's progress. Of course, I had to then do it the original way...
Bryn rocked up, then Ed, and we took it to the outlying boulder, left traverse to be specific. Ed took it on and made it look like the rock was moving under him, his limbs delicately prompting the inertia-less rock along. I took a punt on the same line, and got it, but somewhat more clunkily. Ellen joined us, despite illness, figuring if she was going to be ill she may as well be on the crag. I like the cut of her gib. We made our way over the top of the crag's lower half and its esoteric boulders...
19 July 2015
Saturday the 11th of July 2015, Tom and I collected Helen from her place, then made for Bryn's. We hopped to his car, and made for the Lakes. The wrong lake, at first, but soon back on track, the track (road) being the epic Kirkstone Pass to Glenridding. Epic by road, but we'd soon learn that on foot was... even more epic. Parked up, on out of the car park, and Helen's navigation skills were soon getting warmed up, taking us by pleasant stream and campsite to Mire's Beck, which would form the first part of our ascent. Steady, not too troublesome, and levelling out onto the common below Helvellyn in good time. We took lunch at the hole in the wall (it's a hole in a wall, not a pub, or a cashpoint) to ready ourselves for Striding Edge.
The edge had loomed long in our vision, zig-zagging across the landscape to meld with the bulk of Helvellyn itself. 'Stay high', I'd heard someone advise - there are a couple of paths along the ridge, and the top was rocky while the lower path was a little more soil based - I'll stick with the rock, thanks. Well, I say 'stick', but there were occasional jumps to make... Overall, it felt like a bridge over the world, and soon led into a more vertical... well, steeper scramble that saw us up to the peak, where trig point antics abounded, obviously.
|Helen is on a trig point. I forgot you couldn't see it when I decided this would be the perfect picture.|
Catstye Cam was ahead of us, so it would have been rude not to... Great views from thence. We traversed a sheep trail down to the main path, and took up the descent in earnest. I couldn't help plotting the various routes a unicycle wheel might have taken, and I wouldn't be surprised if Bryn was thinking the two-wheeled equivalent. We levelled out by the stream that would take us to Glenridding, past an old mine and along videogame style paths back to complete the loop near the campsite. To our distress, it turned out there was no chippy in the clearly rather small town, so we hit the road. The journey back was quiet conversation-wise, as everyone breathed deeply to recover, something we had well earned.
A big day out bouldering is on the menu next, but more mountainous scrambles will surely follow before too long...
3 June 2015
|The relaxation part.|
|Geoff trying to split the rock in two so that sleepy Bryn falls down!|
It didn't work.
|I make no apologies.|
26 May 2015
And there we were, mine and my brother families in North Wales looking out over the Rhinogs from our cabins and not a cloud in it. All is crisp blue and brightly lit a proper result, let us make hay.
We scream to Ogwen to get into the Lay-by before the masses. We are a party of eight aged from 4 to 46 with snack food, the north ridge of Tryfan will do for us. Me and my brother figure we will be down for 1 ish, off we plod.
Tryfan's North Ridge is the quality grade one, roadside, mountain experience in the UK. No preamble you get out the car and start climbing. You can keep your hands in your pockets for 20 minutes and after that the craglets start. You can avoid some by slithering up gullies and outflanking where you can, but after an hour the ridge is narrowing from a broad rib to a rocky crest and you are mostly scrambling.
Trying to persuade the youngest two to use their hands becomes a relentless mantra as we watch their backs and lift them up the bigger steps. You can look down now, towards Little Tryfan, a rock slab below with some easy bits of multi pitch on. We watch people playing their games with ropes and runners and apply (whisper it) sun screen, in Wales, in April.
Lunch is eaten with 200 metres still to go where the ridge narrows even more. 12 O' clock and our time up and back looks laughable. Still the sun beats down and there is not a breath of wind, perfect.
We all pop out on the ridge and scramble the last 100m to the summit where a throng have gathered. All four boys having climbed their first mountain (more on this opinion later).
Summit pics and a rocky, painfully slow descent down to Llyn Bochlwyd which is shaped like Australia but smaller. We dip our toes in, my youngest dipping in to the knees. An hour later we are at Owen Cottage eating Lamb and Mint pasties, a mere 7 hours after setting off, the last food having been eaten four hours ago. Me and my Brother run off for the cars in the lay-bay, as everyone else sunbathes.
All good, a perfect day and yet the autopsy begins. My Eldest won't have it, mountains are apparently 1000m high Tryfan is no mountain says he, just a big hill. My definition has always been rather more generous, if it is pointy and rocky and quite big it is a mountain. I take to social media and the wisdom of the crowd on the book of Face. A couple of Mountain Instructors and a cast of thousands, tell him it is indeed a mountain. Alas like pharaoh he hardens his heart and will not listen.
But you can see it in his eyes, he knows and only his 9 year old pride will stop him admitting it. I think he is pleased and maybe he will climb another. He is building a scale model of Mount Olympus at the moment and suddenly it is on his brand new mountain tick list, which bodes well. I hope I will climb many more with my family it was fun.
21 May 2015
4 pm I'm leaving the madness of central Leeds on my bike, pedalling away from all that humanity and towards the trees and the green.
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