After last night’s torrential downpour we woke this morning to thick cloud covering the valley. The sun was doing its best to burn it off, but by 10am it was still there (and still is now) so rather than doing a high level walk, we chose to do a low one.

After spending half an hour watching people climbing on the rocks just down the road, we ambled along the forest paths towards Les Houches, a village at the start of the Chamonix valley. The walk was fairly sedate, mostly flat and went through the forest on the side of the valley, which caused my GPS some trouble, as can be seen from the track.

Today’s GPS log is, again, included after the break, and once again LJ users should click the title to see it correctly.

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Today was exceptionally hot - the kind of day where even the slightest physical effort results in overheating and the desire to go and sleep under a shady tree. Also the kind of day where scrambling around in a river sounds inviting.

The ghyll this time was “Ruddy Gill”, at the far end of Borrowdale past Seathwaite towards Great End. Parking at the farm in Seathwaite is always a gamble as you drive down the single track road looking for any space, seeing how long your nerve will hold - can I park right at the end or will I have to do some complex turning manoeuvre to come back and then put up with a half mile walk along the road?

I managed to park right by the farm. It might have been a hot sunny Sunday in the Lake District, but it was also half five so everyone was going home. The tourists leave at five and the locals come out to play

As it was so hot I wore just a pair of shorts and a thin baselayer. Even wearing this I was getting too hot walking up the track towards Stockley Bridge. So hot that we all decided to get in at this point rather than put up with walking along the path. So without breaking pace all four of us scrambled down the grassy slopes towards the water, waded in and then proceeded to test the depth, deciding a large boulder on the left could be jumped off. It was worth it just for the look of utter bafflement on the nearby tourists faces.

And the fun didn’t stop there. Unlike other ghylls, this one had lots of pools in it. I bet many walkers have eyed the pool right under the bridge before, but few must have dared to jump off the top into it. I’m six foot four, the pool was deeper than that and from experience I know I can jump at least four metres into water that comes up to my waist.

This carried on, with some rock-hopping until finally Ruddy Gill cascaded down the steep ravine we were now in. A short scramble lead us onto some flat slabs and off up the hillside. Here’s what the guidebook says about the next part:

Quote: Scrambles in the Lake District

Traverse the guardian pool on its left wall to reach a more difficult pool. It is possible but awkward, to traverse the steep left wall, but most people will prefer to climb out of the gill and re-enter just above at the top of the cascade

Why would anyone want to climb around a perfectly good pool? Here’s what my guidebook would say:

Quote: Wet Scrambles in the Lake District

Tighten the drawstring on your shorts, close all pockets on your rucksack and attempt to climb around the left of the pool to the middle on difficult sloping holds and slimy rock. Once at the middle, fall backwards into the water and swim across it before climbing up the waterfall in front of you. If you fall off, be sure to jump backwards to avoid the shallow water where the waterfall ends

You see, my style of ghyll scrambling is different to the “traditional” version. It seems I’m supposed to scramble up these things with the aim of being dry at the top. I have no idea why, ghyll scrambling is something to do when it’s too hot to do regular climbing.

Anyway, after jumping in several more pools, almost falling over and traipsing through some small parts too shallow to mention, the intrepid (and hopefully rather wet) scrambler will reach something I call “The Slot”. It’s a narrow channel cut into the river approximately five foot wide with a bridge running over the top. At the back end is a large waterfall with a small cave. Below this is a deep deep pool that is blocked with a submerged boulder. On the left is a small ledge and by swimming across the pool and climbing behind the waterfall it is possible to get onto this ledge. Unfortunately once on this ledge it is exceedingly difficult to get out of the slot. It’s possible to jump off the ledge back into the pool though, just don’t land on the boulder.

We continued upwards with no end in sight getting tired and after having a chat with some random people it was time to turn around and go back. On the way back there was the option of jumping into some of the pools again. I had one in mind… The Slot.

From the top it looks quite high and if done wrongly has the chance of either bouncing off the opposite wall like a pinball, or landing on the previously described submerged boulder. I’d been in there before so was fairly sure where the deep part was. All I had to do was step off and in I’d go. Peer pressure from the others almost made me jump in, but at the last microsecond I stopped. How frustrating! It’s like watching the children I take down our ghyll when they almost jump. At this point a hand usually sends them on their way and all is well.

Someone dared me to jump off the lower ledge into the water. I could do that, I’d been on there before. One two three splash. Easy. Now for the higher one. There was still an air of doubt from everyone else but I had my angle and a place to aim now so whatever was gluing my feet down before had worn off. In I went into the deep water once more. It was quite entertaining sitting on the boulder below watching the others knowing what was going through their heads They knew it was perfectly OK to do as I’d just done it, but at the same time they weren’t entirely convinced.

After that we walked back down the path, the horrid paved path that jars knee joints and twists ankles, to the car.

This was one of those outings that I’d do again. I like big pools and jumps, and the shallow rock hopping provided a bit of a change and a warmup when the water started to cool me down too much. Now I need to find a ghyll with some large slides in.

If you go down through Borrowdale towards Seatoller there is a small valley that leads to the foot of Glaramara. At the end of this valley is a large crag known as “Raven Crag Buttress”. On it are several excellent climbs. These climbs are true multipitch routes that wind their way up almost 200m up the side of Glaramara.

Last year me and Paul went and climbed Corvus (Link to it) and had a great time. This year we went to do “Raven Crag Buttress” - it would seem inventive names for routes wasn’t the done thing in the early 1900’s. Enjoyable routes was though. Graded at only a V.diff (link to grades) the route wasn’t that hard with most of the holds being large and obvious. What makes it worth climbing is the whole thing right from when you leave your car to when you eventually return. It is a proper mountain route that requires an hour to walk to and therefore an hour to walk back away from. Being slightly harder than Corvus it doesn’t attract the crowds (that day there were no less than six groups queueing to go up Corvus).

The route is split into four pitches, with the first three being worth climbing, the last one being a simple scramble to the top of the crag. Each pitch is fairly straight forward with you following the lines of least resistance. Pitch three is more interesting though, as the route description hints:

30m. Climb up a groove, and either continue up the groove above, or move left and climb the groove overlooking the gully, until exposed moves up a short corner lead to a large bilberry ledge.

So as you can see, I (as it was my lead) had to climb up a groove, then go up the groove some more (as I don’t like exposed climbing) and then go to the top and find a big ledge to sit on. While eyeing up the way to go it’s pretty hard to ignore a large steep sided gully on your left that goes all the way to the bottom of the crag. It was especially hard for me to ignore as I was sat on the edge of it while Paul sorted out the ends of the rope. Eventually we were sorted and I set off, looking for the most obvious way and soon I was perched on top of a big spike of rock looking confused. To my left was a big smooth overhanging wall, beind me was air, to the right was where I’d just come from and upwards was some slanting rock - slanting rock never slants the right way when needed - suddenly it didn’t feel like a V.Diff any more. I put some gear in the handy cracks by my nose and inched my way up the crag making sure I completely ignored the big yawning chasm to my left. I managed to completely ignore it until a few minutes later I was happily stood on a small ledge. Not the belay ledge, but anything where I can get more than one toe is a great rest spot. I guess it was still V.Diff as there was plenty of protection, it was just rather exposed.

To help with our communication Paul had brought a set of two-way radios with him to save us having to yell up the crag at each other. 239These worked fantastically and I was able to let him know just how bad the midges were on my ledge. He was equally able to let me know how bad the midges were on his ledge too. We never got to say useful things through the radios though as we kept dropping the damn things down the crag. I lost one and it landed on a ledge next to where I’d attached some gear, Paul dropped one on a ledge on the last pitch. While climbing up the last pitch I picked up his radio, clipped it to my waist and carried on climbing. I’d not gone more than two metres before the pissing thing was bouncing its merry way down the crag again. Having no radio now I shouted some obscenities into the air and carried on. The climbing was easy now and I’d just have to come back and get it again. It was a good job the climbing was easy given Paul, unable to find anywhere to attach anchors, was doing a waist belay from over a big bump in the ground. I explained about the radio, left mine with him and started off down the crag again.

Remember the big yawning chasm I was diligently trying to ignore before? The radio was wedged in some heather overhanging the drop. One more bounce and it’d have been in several pieces at the bottom.

On the walk off we had a look at Raven Crag Gully which seemed quite nice, and watched the hoardes still queueing for Corvus.

The valley of St Johns in the Vale winds it way along the bottom of a very steep valley linking Thirlmere and the road to Penrith together. Part way down this in the insanely steep hillside is a huge gorge carved from the rock. This is Sandbed Gill. It’s a huge ‘v’ shaped cleft in the hillside as if someone has swung an axe into the ground. So, given it’s so bleeding obvious, why did we drive past it twice before finding it and then almost go up the wrong river? I may have my Mountain Leader, but it doesn’t teach people how to navigate while driving along twisty roads. Reaching Castle Rock was our hint we’d probably gone wrong.

The other problem was that it contained no water. We expected huge waterfalls and running water, not a dry streambed and a few stagnant pools of green goo. It starts from the road though which is nice - just hop over the barbed-wire fence and off up the rocks.For the first few hundred metres it’s simple scrambling with a fence to negotiate. After that simple introduction the fun begins. The sides tower above and close in, and it doesn’t relent until an hour and a half later you escape its clutches at the top of the hill. I’ve seen places like this before and they’ve scared the crap out of me as I’ve always seen them from the top.

The climbing is excellent typical ghyll scrambing. That means greasy rounded rock, exposed climbing with the potential for really nasty falls into places nobody can get into. Climbing E3 might be technically hard and potentially dangerous, but unroped scrambing on loose rock in a ravine can be more fatal - as the various decomposing sheep corpses demonstrated. One sheep saw fit to decompose in a pool right at the top of a hard climb, and it wasn’t until pulling up on the large boulder at the end that we realised just why it was so sticky and slippy. Suddenly coming eyeball to eyesocket with a dead sheep is quite a surprise, not as surprising as finding a leech suckering its way up your arm though.

Some parts couldn’t be climbed directly and we had to escape up the sides and traverse along the hillside. At the time it was fairly straight forward - the simple climbing mentality of “I have to go this way because it’s the only way” takes over. Grass becomes a valid load bearing substance, loose things get pulled on very carefully and fingers become primed for the next hold. Once on safe ground it’s quite amazing at what someone clueless will totter around on quite happily without a care. It’s not that we don’t realise what we’re doing it’s more that by ignoring the obvious danger of falling off the task of staying attached becomes easier. Climbing’s all in your head - think about falling off and it probably will. Anyone can stand at the edge of a kerb with their toes poking over and not fall onto the road, so anyone can stand at the top of a 70m crag with their toes poking over the edge and not fall. The only difference is the height.

The top was interesting. Most ghylls gradually fade into the hillside and become swamp. This one ends in a small network of mini streams and then steep hillside. To get down there’s two options - go the direct route and fall down the crags around the sides of the ghyll, or walk right around the top of the hill to a large grassy bank. The long way has an exposed traverse across the top of a gully that now we know it exists, would make a good way off.

I can’t work out why I like ghyll scrambing. I think it’s the feeling of adventure. With a rock climb it’s either obvious where to go, or the guidebook will explain where the pitches go. In a ghyll I’m free to decide my own route, making it as hard or easy as I feel, getting wet or staying dry. Since I choose my own route, I’m never in a position of suddenly looking down and going “oh cack, how did I get here?”. I do like rock climbing, but again it needs to be more than wrenching myself up a hard route that I can see from the ground.

Well, Scotland is still as wet as ever. Me and Paul were planning on doing Tower Ridge on Ben Nevis. We’d planned to camp by the CIC Hut as neither of us belong to a secret cult recognised by the SMC. Gear was arranged. Vast quantities of gear - in fact so much we could have gone big wall climbing in America! A vague weather report found which indicated we’d either get wet or be alright.

I was planning on visiting Angus after, so Paul went in his car, and me in mine. My car makes weird noises, and after this trip it made a few new ones. It needs a service and the MOT is due next month. I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t moo going down hills.

The day dragged on and on, doing ever boring and mildly pointless sitework. There really is no need to mow the grass every week, it doesn’t need to look like a bowling green! The weather didn’t look too bad, and the cars were packed.

Five o’clock arrived eventually and I arranged to meet Paul at the King’s Arms Hotel at the start of Glen Coe. The way to Glasgow is rather simple, I’ve done it countless times before. The road going out of Glasgow is equally simple. There’s one and you drive along it until you hit the end or drive into the sea, whichever comes first. It’s just the whole of Glasgow which is confusing.

I now know that I should have gone down the M8 which would have taken me over the Erskine Bridge, or around the side. I didn’t know this and driving down the motorway isn’t the place to look at your map. Eventually I ran out of motorway and arrived in Glasgow itself in the nice little area of Govan.

Fantastic. I was in the middle of town, and all the sign posts had vanished. Oh well, time to look around for the large overpass that goes through the middle of town. It’s up on stilts and fairly obvious. I did find it eventually - it passed over me as I went down a road. Had I wanted to leave Glasgow and go back the way I’d just come, I could have done a dodgy U-turn and gone onto it. This bit of town didn’t have a way to get on to go my way. I drove around some more.

I drove around some more, chopped and changed lanes, hopped white lines and shot off around little bypasses. In other words I drove like most of the locals seem to do so perhaps they are all lost too!

Finally I spied a sign saying “A82 / Clyde Tunnel” on it and I followed it religiously until at last! The Great Western! Aha! No more being lost! Nobody gets lost on the A82, just drive up it!

All this had consumed half an hour so I thought it best to text Paul and let him know I’d be late. I shortly received a text saying he’d done the same thing!

Knowing of the way the local police like to trap speedy drivers down the side of Loch Lomond, I drove carefully to Tarbet, resisting the urge to jam my foot down on the long, empty straight bits of road. Tarbet approached and to remain on the A82 I turned off it and went right. This small manoeuvre always confuses people and lead many an unsuspecting soul to turn up at the Goil asking how to get to Fort William.

This road is both awful and great fun. It’s just wide enough for two cars, has a white line to separate the two streams of cars. Unfortunately, it also has real streams running down it and pools of water. One side mostly consists of small crags where the road was blasted out, with the other side consisting of the cold, dark waters of Loch Lomond. It was dark, so I could see any oncoming cars and by straddling the white lines I avoided the nasty water and made up lots of time. Arriving at the King’s Arms about ten minutes behind Paul.

Rannoch Moor was as depressing as ever, quite how we convinced people to build a road through a swamp I have no idea. The mist and rain was blowing sideways across the road giving it a desolate look and feel. We were both hungry and a bit tired from four hours of driving in the dark. Plan ‘A’ was aborted and we decided to camp in Glen Coe and do plan ‘B’ - the Aonach Eagach Ridge.

The bored, chatty man in the Red Squirrel Campsite extracted five of our English Pounds each and we set up our tent, made some food and went to sleep. In the morning we woke up to the sound of rain drumming off the tent and mist swirling around the valleys. Plan B was aborted, and plans C through Y skipped.

Emergency Plan Z was initiated involving a trip to Fort William to sit in the Nevis Sport Cafe followed by Paul going home. In Fort William the weather wasn’t too bad, we’d have probably been alright although everywhere was rather damp and wet so the climbing wouldn’t have been fun.

I made my way to visit Helen at Helensburgh, going via Glen Orchy to see the waterfalls in full spate. Lots of water churning through small gaps. Most impressive. What’s more impressive is that my car does 350 miles on a full tank of fuel, and coincidentally that was around the same number of miles to Helensburgh as I arrived low on fuel. Helen doesn’t actually live in Helensburgh, she lives across the water from Faslane on the little sticky-out bit of land. It’s a one-road affair with no petrol stations at the end.

I stayed the night, and awoke to see gales and rain beating down. Definately not a day to go outside. I’d arranged to meet Angus at the Glasgow Cotswold store, and had a rather confusing text off him with some directions in. After borrowing some of Helen’s fuel (it’s handy knowing people high enough up food chains to get some fuel) I trundled through the small river the road had turned into, refuelled properly and rocketed off to get lost in Glasgow again.

And how I got lost! At some points I was driving around places I’d been the day before! Had I been able to see in the future I’d have realised just how close to the A82 I was at times. Sometimes it was just off the side of the road I was on! It’s damn irritating getting lost in the dark. After nearly going through the Clyde Tunnel I found Angus’ shop and went to have a chat.

Originally I was planning to spend some time in Glasgow shopping, but on the way out I noticed the time and just carried on back to the Lakes. The rain was lashing down, turning the motorway into a river of spray and mist. At one point I saw a rather confused looking driver get out of his car on the grass at the other side of the central reservation. He was looking confused because his car was pointing the wrong way and had managed to get itself up a 45 degree grass slope.

Lots of cars parked on the side of the motorway too. They must have got too wet and conked out. My car decided it’d be fun to join in that game and lit its engine management warning light for me. Naturally this alarmed me somewhat, but seeing how the car didn’t seem to be doing anything unusual at the time, I waited to see if it went out. It did, so figuring that so long as the engine continued running all would be well, I proceeded to get home as quickly as was safe.

The Lakes weren’t much drier, the road down to here having some very large puddles. My car, now thoroughly soaked was acting weird, making mooing noises going down hill as the fanbelt slipped. Brakes were a bit unresponsive too.

Today was a very interesting day. It started off all damp and nasty, looking like not a good day to go climbing at all. However, we’d decided to go to Langdale anyway since it was away from the Centre and somewhere nice to go. You can always sit in a tea shop in Ambleside if the weather’s crap.

First I went to Cotswold in Keswick and dropped off my CV - I need some work for the Winter - and then off we went, arriving in Langdale about 45 minutes later, which wasn’t too bad considering the number of slow drivers who didn’t like staying in their lanes infesting the road. Really, do whatever speed you feel safe doing, but please make it so other people can at least get around you when the road is clear. Mirrors are good things to look into. Forcing me to drive at 30 in a national speed limit zone is just causing an obstruction.

Scout Crag was our destination. A mere 10 minute stomp up the hillside - if I were writing the guidebook entry it’d probably say

A ten minute stomp if you’re fit and a relation of the Bionic Man, that is.

The imaginatively named “Route 2″ was our chosen climb. It looked easy enough, lots of ledges to stand on, a rocky staircase to go up and some other people climbing on another route on the crags below us. Off we went, enjoying the large foot-ledges and amazingly useless places to put gear. Strange off-balance shuffly moves were also required to get over seemingly easy pieces of rock.

The other two people roped up and began climbing the same route. They seemed to be going really fast and heading towards my small belay ledge I’d taken root on. Maybe we’d have to let them go past, or stop and chat while I waited my turn up it.

Not so, said the gods of physics, knees and general bad luck as the lead climber in the other pair let out a lot of grunting and shouting noises. “God, he’s making that sound difficult!” I though… “No, he’s just dislocated his knee” God may or may not have said depending on if you think he exists or not. He didn’t say it to me, his belayer did though.

Being the resourceful climbers we expected them to be, they began trying to extract themselves from the large belay ledge below me. Deciding they could manage, I carried on up to the top of the route. By the time I’d reached the top they’d decided they couldn’t get off the ledge and could we come and help them when we’d finished. Of course we could, helping injured people is what you do - after all, one day it might be you needing help and it’s just the right thing to do anyway.

By the time we’d got to the bottom of the crag they’d phoned Mountain Rescue anyway. We decided the best thing to do would be to stop and watch. Mostly out of interest, but “just incase they need extra help” being our justification for watching.

The Team were pretty efficient, sending a man within half an hour of them phoning for help. He began striking purposefully up the hillside, arriving as a wheezing gasping definitely non-bionic person and proceeded to sort things out and have a chatter on his radio to everyone else who soon arrived in various vans and ambulances with flashing lights.

They strapped his leg up, removed him from the ledge by doing a tandem abseil (exactly the same way I would rescue someone who’d got stuck on an abseil) and then securely attached him to a stretcher. I’ve done stretcher carries before. They’re Not Fun. People Are Heavy and you need at least six people to carry someone more than a few metres.

As far as rescues go, it was the kind of thing you could write a textbook on. The casualty was tandem-abseiled off the crag, popped into a nice, warm bag and put on a stretcher. The stretcher had to be carried over scree, steep grass, boggy ground, two dry stone walls and a field of sheep. About the only thing missing was a river-crossing, but that’s only because the river had drained.

Now I need to remember to find the 2005 Langdale Mountain Rescue Report when it’s been made to see what they wrote about the incident.

Oh, and we got back in time for tea. I phoned Orange, and after getting lost in their system, was told how to retrieve my voicemail and discovered Cotswold want to interview me. While I was on the phone, the Keswick Mountain Rescue Team drove past in the general direction of the mountains at the back of the valley.

Went climbing this evening. For a change we went into Buttermere to the top of the Honister Pass. There is a 95m Hard Severe called ‘Honister Wall’ on the crags opposite the mine on the other side of the valley.

95m, six pitches. It gets dark at half eight now, and we began climbing at five. There were also three of us. Climbing in a three is a pain in the arse and usually avoided. Doing it just before it goes dark on a long route isn’t the sanest of ideas.

The route was great. The rock is natural slate, and full of ledges and pointy spikes. Lots of irritating outwards-flaring cracks as well. Very steep too, lots of climbing up steep walls with a view right down to the valley floor below your heels. The traversing was especially delicate while I worked out how to subtly alter my balance to “fall” onto the next hold while twisting a hand to pull sideways on a previously useless crack line. The trick with a traverse is to be balanced, but then to put yourself off-balance so you can move sideways again where, once the leading foot is placed, you’re in balance again. At this point it’s a good idea to recompose yourself and look for somewhere to place gear.

We made the route in good time, getting back to the car before it went totally dark. Even got to sit on a nice belay ledge and watch the sunset develop. It’s really nice sitting on ledges like that. Sometimes you have to belay on an exposed ledge that is just large enough to hold one foot and half a toe, and other times there’s a nice grassy bit to sit on, a tree to hide behind and just enough to make you feel secure. There’s something about sitting on a ledge that can only be climbed onto. It makes the route feel more like a “proper” mountain climb. From this little ledge of security the only options are to be lowered to the ground - which can be tricky if you’re more than a rope-length from the ground (or half a length if you like getting the rope back!) - or to climb onwards. It can take several hours to climb these routes too, so it’s not like the top is just above your head.

Being my day off, I went climbing with Paul at Castle Rock, just outside Thirlmere.

The day was sunny and dry with a slight wind. The rock was warm, dry and because it seemed to be made from lots of small stones, quite grippy. This increase in the friction coefficient of my climbing was a good thing given the way the crag is a bit lacking in good cracks to wedge things. Things like fingers, toes and more importantly bits of gear to catch us when friction is pushed a bit too far.

Still, the slabby severe we did wasn’t impossible, it just required a lot of careful footwork and shuffling around to stay balanced. You climb with your feet, your hands are just for balance - these are words I tell the kids that I take climbing, and today I had a practical demonstration of it working. I think at one time I was using my nose or chin as balance.

The route starts off fairly innocently with a climb up a tall flat slab to some big footholds that take you to the bottom of a V-shaped groove. This groove is quite a sod since it’s just a smooth corner quite like the four that most rooms have. Most corners have a crack running down them that fingers, bits of metal and the occasional arm or head can be wedged into. Not so this corner, it could have been carved out of a solid piece of stone.

Not letting this lack of anything to hold onto stop me, I pretended there was a very good finger-crack running down the corner and just held on. It seemed to work quite well and was rather enjoyable shuffling up the rock with nothing more than a few bumps to hold onto and even less to stand on… somewhere a layback was used, and at another point I’m fairly sure I just willed myself to stick to the rock until I reached the big flat ledge near the top. I did a textbook mantleshelf onto it - even remembering to put my foot down and not use my knee.

The best part? This tricky part of the climb was only about three metres high. If you climb enough, the frustration of being an arm’s length away from a really good hold and unable to get to it becomes something that can really wind you up. You almost consider jumping for it, but only boulderers and gritstone (which is just bouldering but higher up) climbers do dyno moves

What is it with that place? Every time someone from here tries to do it, something happens to them.

I’ve been there twice. Once I forgot the rope, the seond time the queue of climbers on the route caused us to turn around at the farm. Other people I know have gone there, done the first pitch and dropped things off the route, meaning they’ve had to abseil back down to collect their belongings. Then there was that incident where bags got stolen.

It took two people from here five hours to do the route! They said the sunset was quite nice, around the second to last pitch, the moon coming out was interesting on the last pitch, and that climbing without torches is tricky. Not as tricky as belaying twin ropes with no belay plate due to it being dropped down the crag.

I went to Brown Slabs on Shepherd’s Crag with Paul to try the nasty little VS in the corner of Brown Slabs. He made it - just - and I fell off at the tricky bit. The tricky bit is a blank section of rock that’s been polished by people scrabbling their feet up it. Evidently my feet scrabbling abilities aren’t that good since my foot popped off the rock while trying to set up a layback and I went sliding down with the rope stretch.

After collecting the gear, coiling the ropes and realising the other VS on Brown Slabs is a nasty mess of shiny rock and mud, we buggered off to jump into the river at the China Bridge. Much more fun than slipping about on rocks in the heat. We got to watch some other poor sod get scared on the slippy bit of that VS while jumping off the bridge. It took him a good fifteen minutes to get around it.

The most interesting thing was watching other people jump off the bridge while we were still at the crag. From the crag to the bridge is probably only 500m. It was enough to demonstrate that sound travels slower than light. You saw people jump off the bridge, saw the big splash as they landed and [i]then[/i] you heard them splash into the water. It was like watching a pirate DVD where the sound is out of sync with the video. There was a good two or so seconds lag.

It didn’t rain yesterday so we did go climbing. We went to Twistleton Scar which is in Ingleton. And what a nice place it is too, it’s like Stanage but without the hoards of other people and the nasty gritstone.

Limestone is a funny rock, it’s either smooth and quite grippy, polished like glass, or razor sharp. When it gets wet it’s lethally slippy - afterall, as we all learnt at school - limestone dissolves in water.

Topping out on the routes (which were all quite short 10m efforts) was a surprise, there’s so much choice to belay from. You can pretty much climb onto the top, sit down and within arm’s reach are enough knobbles of rock or holes in the rock to tie yourself and the rest of the planet down.

Different climbing techniques though. Lots of laybacks and mantleshelf moves, but hand-jamming wasn’t always necessary.

New group of kids arrive in 20 minutes, I’d best go and get ready…