Wonderwall

George Smith in turbo mode at Gogarth:Photo Tony Loxton

There are two ways to gain the area known as Easter Island and whilst one presents difficulties that might only be overcome by hard core boulderers or those prepared to swim when the relatively easy sea level traverse below main cliff suddenly peters out, the other- although more conventional- is nevertheless not without hazard. Gaining its name on account of some massive freestanding blocks a short distance down an initial descent gully which with some imagination bear resemblance to the carved heads of their Polynesian counter parts. These quartzite cubes can be identified after descending a less distinct path a short distance beyond departure for Wen Slab. Gearing up by The Heads, the next section, particularly when glistening with dew, has on occasion proved severe enough in its gripping insecurity inclined at an uncomfortable angle with mud footholds, to force some teams back up the malevolent slope before setting out retrospective rappel anchors or simply abandoning the process and going somewhere else.

Easter Island: Photo John Redhead

 

If however the hand of success has smiled then a narrow rocky promontory is reached, from where a thirty metre abseil gains sea washed rocks before the fabulous super crack, E2, to act as a landing pad from which it is possible to explore the surrounding zawns which contain routes on excellent rock.Golden quartz streaked and white with thin cracks like Neutrino 6a, deep overhanging chimneys like Ormuzd E4 and grooved walls rising majestically straight from the sea, E1, and some way to the left when looking from a canoe, Tumbling Dice, a Jim Moran E3, all bearing an unmistakable quality trade mark.

In a narrowness opposite the promontory from which the ab is conducted, few climbers could fail to notice two striking crack lines and whilst the right hand fissure diagonals into a horizontal quartz rail, joining the arête is Phagocyte, HVS. The central thinner incursion running the impending wall’s full length in lightning strike style with an overhang at maybe three quarters height, is Wonderwall. It was for this prize that Laurie Holliwell came in April 1969 with Dave Potts. Usually partnered with his brother Les but this time with another of the London based team they would drive the A5 at breakneck speeds in order to make the Padarn by last orders on Friday evenings before climbing all weekend. Invariably repeating the process throughout the year except when venturing to the Alps or Dolomites on midsummer holidays. In this sense they were the forerunners of a tradition later taken up by Mick Fowler often with Mike Morrison or Al Baker who would also come from the south with a zeal for adventure and a legacy of serious routes such as Heart of Gold on left hand Red Wall in 1978, on Death Trap 1982, also E5 in Mousetrap Zawn, showed that they did not fall short of finding it. 

Home on the Range:The author talks down to George Smith:Photo Tony Loxton

In 1969 armed with some pegs and perhaps other rudimentary nuts and slings, generally inadequate for the task ahead, Laurie set off on Wonderwall much to Dave Potts’s amazement, “It looked preposterous to me: it wasn’t as if he was making for anything, just more overhanging rock”. Laurie was firing up cracks and flakes which did appear to close out, so thin once in the short groove barred by overhangs, that it made the climb look impossible from below. Never easy the initial section does however succumb to forceful jamming and hauling by which climbers au fait with these burly techniques can gain benefit. Somehow overcoming the awkward predicament which the tight groove had forced upon him, Laurie got  a peg under the overlap then another out on the right wall from which, with aid, he was able to grasp what ‘Smiler’ Cuthbertson would later refer to as “ A Golden Wonder flake”, and semi laybacking its edge was able to continue on improving holds. Perhaps in the same way that he’d been caught in action on Park Lane in Ken Wilson’s iconic photo.

Wonderwall thus entered the psyche of the Gogarth cognoscenti, magnificent in line this fifty metre masterpiece boxed in Easter Island’s atmospheric ruggedness had by the early 1970s gathered a reputation as a mean strength sapping stamina test which had subsequently rejected many suitors in their desperate quest at aid reduction, including Alan Rowse who after slumping onto the peg concluded “ I knew I had become a mountaineer”. Alex Sharp then a student at Bangor University who would write the next Gogarth guide eleven years after Crews’ original 1966 version was the eventual all free leader of Wonderwall which he completed with Hank Pasquill in 1974.

Photo: Tony Loxton

Shortly after Alex’ s guide came out there was a blitz on Gogarth the next year in 1978 which also saw climbers armed with friend protection for the first time, the almost perfect protection device for Gogarth podded cracks and fins. Championed by Al Evans, Jim Moran and Geoff Milburn amongst others many fine routes were added all over the cliffs yet at its end even this onslaught left much untouched ground including a direct version of Wonderwall which after an ascent of the original route seemed at least worth considering. 

In good conditions I had noted that a climber in reasonable fitness with strong calves was able to maintain a semi rest position in Wonderwall’s slim groove under the overhang. From here it would surely be possible, barring bad rock, to probe over the roof searching for holds on which to pull over and, if lucky, place some micro wire protection in the form of tiny brass headed RPs that had for the last few years complemented Friends as revolutionary protection devices. Although due to their small size they never inspired as much confidence as a good Friend placement they nevertheless sufficed in hairline cracks where previously such features were deemed unprotectable. Familiar with finding suitable slots form many successful and unsuccessful slate episodes I figured Wonderwall’s extension might be better suited to ‘eat’ these mini lifesavers than soft parallel sided slate. No amount of speculation could prove if this was so and thus resolving to at least peer over the roof it was inevitable that this plan would at some point be galvanized into action.

George Smith and Martin Crook doing the bizz:Photo Tony Loxton

Although the summer of 1985 counted as little more than an unfortunate washout, Johnny Dawes had arrived on the Welsh scene by autumn and in 1986 was poised for meteoric reign not only on slate and Cloggy but also out at Gogarth and anywhere else for that matter there were tiny holds to cling. Thus the Llanberis dojo once again buzzed with expectation and many fine climbers influxed the locals to pump up the volume. If nothing came of proposals first ventured in pub talk by one half of the team failing to rendezvous next morning, it was hardly cause for concern since in a game akin to musical chairs those remaining keen simply went to Pete’s café, hung around for a while then after a meeting where the joint chiefs sat at the magic table discussing the days business, usually found themselves marching over slate footpaths bound for the quarries, or as unsuspecting passengers gripping tight in the back of the Dawes' Rascal van as it hurtled head long round blind bends and over humped backed bridges as if chasing the future on its way to Gogarth, up the pass, or Trem.

In the general melee Craig Smith had beamed down from Yorkshire, responsible for such slate enthrallment as Gin Palace in Vivian Quarry Craig would later in august partner Dawes on what most commentators would class as Gogarth's route of the year, Conan the Librarian, the obvious bottomless hanging groove which carves through the left hand side of the great sea arch opposite Wen slab which many had eyed but few had tried. Initially the top pitch had required an aid point but returning shortly afterwards a space walking horror in the form of Janitor finish was found at an equally terrifying version at E7. Before these events unfolded Craig had accompanied me in further exploring Easter Island during which he was to find intense technical challenges in the form of Boil all Irishmen E5 6b which follows incipient nano cracks in Hombres conspicuous right wall. The name being coined on the spur of a moment and refers to one Irishman in particular, who well known at the time acted as a sort of inebriated Llanberis Fagin.

Big George hanging out on Angelsey: Tony Loxton

Prone to making outrageous claims as to his climbing prowess, his only known Gogarth encounter ended barely ten metres from its beginning when, having descended part way down the aforementioned Easter Island gully the fear had come hard upon him and it was not until Stevie Haston, who he had gone to watch, emerged an hour or so later to effect kindly rescue that the Irishman’s ordeal came to a close. In his favour it must be said the Cuban heeled cowboy boots of the type worn by line dancers are not the most suitable footwear for over sea Gogarth descents. Also known as The Sex Lobster because of his reddish countenance it seemed only fair that we should immortalise him after swinging leads on the less difficult than it looks E3 arête spiralling down Super crack’s left wall termination. Marvellously exposed, the ‘Lobster’ was a route that the Irishman would later claim to have accompanied us on, and in some ways perhaps he had.

Anyone who has spent time climbing traditional routes will know there are two factors involved which influence the chosen routes outcome. One is the placing of runners and two is the actual movement upwards or sideways when facing technicalities as displayed by geological features on the rock face. Reasonable enough on paper the problem on more than rudimentary ascents is that it is very easy to become utterly pumped form placing runners especially if the correct size is not chosen first or second try. You could of course forget about a rack and tackle any given route solo, yet, as this was not my intention when setting off up Wonderwall,  I was aware that any misplacements might easily result in retreat without even getting to venture on the proposed Dirrectissima.

Thus in June 1986 suspended from hand jambs after placing two good Friends on the introductory cracks I looked down to see Craig belaying slightly to seaward as small waves rushed towards the Zawn back then disappeared on outward pull somehow controlled by the moon. Pacing the crack and soon entering groove territory aiming for wedged shoulder semi rest, I became comfortable enough to clip an old peg then place some back up gear in the form of some welded in rock placements. Definitely good enough to hold a fall. Reaching over the roof’s apex and placing RP one and two about six inches apart, I noticed a sort of goblin eye pocket above the overhangs left wing. The awkward overlap now forced me chest backwards as if straining against a powerful frontal storm, yet holds such as could be found above, although small, allowed uncompromising moves to gain a strenuous standing pose weighted mostly on the left foot beyond the overlaps wings.

While John Redhead hangs out a dead crow.:JR Collection

Reaching for the RPs I swiftly gained two good placements in the head wall seam and also gained the first of excellent fins which despite the steepness could be exchanged for footholds. Chalking them first so as not to miss,at least they became amorphous, amongst the slightly sea grassed white wall. Pausing for a moment on the better holds there came some noise from the promontory which was now peopled by Trevor Carlos Hodgson and Skinny Dave shouting encouragement.

Had they arrived twenty minutes earlier they may have gained great amusement by watching the struggling leader scuffle to gain footholds in the eye pocket but as it was saw him set up for a final run, slings on flakes and ears, coming and going as Craig paid out, the nines in time honoured ritual, and I reached belay points whilst the great inanimate heads looked out to Ireland still a rope length away. ‘I wonder why’ they had seemed to say in the metaphysical void of their silent voices. Later any notions entertaining philosophic thought were soon impaled by urgent hunger, and as if as a reality check, after entering the tiger’s den of Holyhead where architects had not been kind and people endured, local girls out hunting for husbands on a Saturday night, traffic light gnarly in karaoke death masks not being complementary about our lurid attire. “Don’t think much of yours” they had said to each other laughing.

Author Martin Crook: Photo Tony Loxton. 

Martin Crook:2015.Previously unpublished 

 

Fell Tiger....Harold Drasdo Obituary

Harold Drasdo, who died in hospital in Bangor, North Wales, last week after a short illness, was in the vanguard of the remarkable post war ascendency of working class Northern English rock climbers. Activists from the great Northern cities who challenged the previously entrenched dominance held by the middle class professionals who in the main, had had the field to themselves before the war.

Born in Bradford in 1930, Harold and his younger brother Neville, like so many northern activists, began their climbing careers by exploring the local Yorkshire crags and quarries. Inspired by  fellow Bradfordian, the legendary Arthur Dolphin, they soon began to look to the mountain areas of the Lake District, North Wales, Scotland and notably Ireland, where the challenges of the hardest routes of the era were accepted and first ascents began to fall.

As a leading light of the loose affiliation of Bradford born climbers known as ‘The Bradford Lads’ Harold began to rack up the number of first ascents in the Lake District with routes like North Crag Eliminate, Grendal, Anarchist and Sostenuto amongst his classic collection.

Despite mainly climbing within his Bradford circle, there was a friendly rivalry and cooperation with climbers from other clubs like the Manchester Rock and Ice club-of Brown and Whillans fame- and the rival Alpha Club. Activists from all over the north would  arrive each weekend-  wage slaves on Monday-Free men on Sunday- to share the same dosses, barns and huts in the main climbing arenas. Swopping tales of gnarly first ascents, irate shotgun wielding landowners and hinting at recently discovered unclimbed crags of rich potential!

Bradford Lads...and Lasses in Langdale. Photo Neville Drasdo

In the early 1950’s, Harold and brother Neville became the first British climbers to explore the great unclimbed cliffs of The Poisoned Glen, in Donegal in the far west of Ireland. At the time, Donegal really was the back of beyond and it took a great deal of planning and effort to just get there. However, their reward was several first ascents on the beetling 1000’ cliffs. Their activity piquing the interest of top British climbers like Chris Bonington and Allen Austin who came over and made their own mark on the cliffs.

Towards the end of the fifties- Harold who had trained as a teacher and was by now working as an outdoor instructor in a Peak District outdoor activities centre- took on the authorship of the Fell and Rock Club’s first climbing guidebook to Buttermere and the Far Eastern Fells. A daunting undertaking for someone who usually had to hitch-hike between some of the remotest crags in the Lake District in all weathers and often had to solo the climbs due to a lack of willing partners.

Throughout the fifties and sixties, as working class British climbers began to find the ways and means to extend their orbit to the continent, his explorations included trips to the Alps, the USA and Spain. It was while climbing in the Alps with amongst others the legendary Scottish climber Jimmy Marshall, that he met tragedy when a member of the party was killed during an abseil descent and on another occasion, he returned from a successful ascent to discover that Bradford hero and inspiration, Arthur Dolphin had been killed on a neighbouring mountain. His attendance with a handful of fellow English climbers at Dolphin’s funeral was movingly described in his autobiography, The Ordinary Route’.

In the early sixties he had secured a position as warden and chief instructor at The Towers Outdoor Pursuits Centre in Capel Curig within the Snowdonia National Park and had married his lifetime partner, Maureen with whom he had worked at an outdoor centre in the High Peak. He was to remain in North Wales for the rest of his life. Despite his demanding full time position, his spare time was still spent climbing and exploring the cliffs of north Wales, with first ascents like Traditional Route and Plato’s Cave falling to his advances. During this period he had continued to write articles and essays for magazines and journals. Usually works of rare quality and insight, for within a sport which boasts a disproportionate number of  cerebral participants, Harold was a true intellectual, refined scholar and a first rate mind. Someone for whom the Greek classics and works of politics and philosophy were devoured as enthusiastically as the latest climbing guidebooks.

During this period in the late sixties and early seventies, Harold was working on the Climber’s Club guidebook to Lliwedd.  He became the first guidebook writer to pen guides for both the Fell and Rock and the Climber’s Club. His guide published in 1971 was-he liked to boast-the slowest selling guide in guidebook history, taking 30 years to sell out! However, for the uninitiated, the grim, vegetated 1000’ Welsh cliff did see it’s heyday in the Edwardian era and had long since been considered an esoteric venue. The previous authors, Archer Thomson in 1909 and Menlove Edwards in 1936 had both committed suicide by poisoning. Happily Harold survived ‘the curse of Lliwedd’ and lived on into old age.

In this period he authored the highly influential’ ‘Education in the Mountain Centres’ A work which emphasised the positive value of teaching young people to appreciate and value the natural environment whilst using its natural resources as an arena for learning outdoor skills and appreciating it’s fragile beauty. A message which was remarkably prescient at the time.

By the end of the 70’s he had jointly edited ‘The Mountain Spirit’- with US climber and academic, Michael Tobias. The work was an anthology of writings based on philosophical and spiritual interpretations which writers throughout the ages had placed on the global mountain environment.

After retiring from his role at The Towers he and Maureen threw themselves into rebuilding their smallholding home high above the market town of Llanrwst. A beautiful elevated abode which looked  out over the spectacular Northern Snowdonia mountains. With more free time on his hands, he continued to write-finishing his autobiography ‘The Ordinary Route’ - published by Ernest Press in 1997- and explore the crags of north Wales. By the mid nineties-and now in his mid sixties- he began a climbing love affair with the sprawling south Snowdonia mountain of Arenig Fawr. A peak which had never had a chronicled climbing history and more interestingly, a mountain which had inspired a unique Edwardian art movement- ‘The Arenig School’-led  by leading lights, Augustus John and James Dickson Innes.

Over a short period he established around two dozen first ascents on the cliffs of Arenig and continued to establish new routes on previously unclimbed cliffs in remote parts of Snowdonia.

After undergoing a hip operation in his early seventies, his climbing career began to wind down although he still got out into the hills regularly. With the demands of keeping on top of a smallholding becoming more of a thankless chore than pleasure, he and Maureen retired from the country life and settled in the historic north Wales coastal town of Conwy.

One of Harold's last climbs;The verdant Canyon Rib in Aberglasllyn Pass

A lifelong political anarchist and environmentalist, Harold’s attraction to the movements were based on an intellectual affinity to progressive ideals and a natural distaste for top down governance. He had penned a number of articles over the years for political journals based on his beliefs. As the new century progressed, his outdoor essays and articles became rarer and were generally limited to club journals.

Suffering a series of niggling health problems in his latter years, his activities by now, were restricted to less demanding coastal walks and his nightly visit to his local pub. It was after suffering a fall outside his local that complications quickly set in and he died a few days after being admitted to hospital. He leaves behind a rich legacy of rock climbs, writings and of course the gratitude of thousands of youngsters who had thrived through his enlightened approach and instruction in outdoor education. He is survived by his wife Maureen.

Born Bradford 1930- Died Bangor, N Wales 2015.

Pen Trwyn Patrol....1983

John Redhead on Bittersweet Connection.Original Photo Keith Robinson/JR Collection.

When the rains came central Snowdonia might lay cloud banked and brooding for weeks on end. Its inhabitants displaying a type of innate pagan madness rarely seen in city dwellers; at parties people quasimodoed through slate lintelled lime washed doorways, questing along uneven passageways- searching out warmth from the hot knife stove.

Teams looking for rock action migrated from Llanberis to escape the debilitating drizzle, taking solace at Tremadog or Gogarth and whilst each of these enclaves retained a particular allure there was a growing realisation amongst climbers that the limestone crags surrounding Llandudno’s Great and Little Ormes situated within what Andy Pollit called ‘the rain shadow’, had slumbered largely unnoticed since the 1970s when some spirited exploratory probes where instigated by the Rev Bob Shepton and Rowland Edwards respectively. In particular Edwards’ routes on the Little Orme including Detritus and Wall of the Evening Light although largely aided, these where unquestionably big adventures. Out there on guano lashed 100 metre or more sea cliffs beyond the ken of twitching net curtains on local housing estates. At times alone except for the changing tide.

Looking in from sea it would become clear that the Little Orme crags rise dramatically from undercut caves towards grass embossed summit slopes reaching termination at a forlorn lookout bunker. They are, it would appear, colossal in comparison to the crags of the Great Orme maybe a mile a way to the right, yet this contradiction in terms is subdued in part when the eye rest on Castell y Gwynt nestling aloof in steepness sandwiched between almost vertical bank strata, off sided below the lighthouse.

Here Edwards embarked on a mostly free climbing campaign producing the spectacular New Dimensions with a few aid points before freeing it in 1976 at E3 5c 6A. Before this came Central Pillar in 1972, which eventually gave Ron Fawcett a testing E6 when he freed it in 1983. In 1977 with Paul Williams came Psychic Threshold. Again with a few aid points which when eliminated by visiting Australian Kim Karrigan in 1981 weighed in at E5 6b. Taking a continuously overhanging prow defining the edge of the buttress this phenomenally impressive route was thought E10 for position. For those who valued such positions the Gwynt exerted a magnetic pull drawing those with the necessary credentials in technique and psyche to further extend the Gwynt’s repertoire.

There is a photo a lean man in Helly Hansen fibre pile and EBs, bearded, his countenance reflects concern, the torso almost horizontal he is reaching over a roof high on the crag. Seldom seen, this image was taken in September 1979 by Keith Robinson and shows John Redhead on the second pitch of The Bittersweet Connection. That same autumn this team- on occasion accompanied by the Buddhist chanting of Malcolm Boater- also climbed Plas Berw another E5 on this steep testing ground which as the year rolled over into the 1980s firmly cemented the crag’s reputation as one of those places that went to the heart of the matter, which despite varying amounts of fixed gear could in any way be confused with a sport climbing venue. Such a factor could be easily discerned by standing shivering below New Dimensions in a light rain, taking care not to glissade wet grass slopes below the towering world of elephant tufas and confusingly angled grooves.

Such a slope, it should be mentioned, appears to end in an abrupt horror drop whose termination although concealed from sight nevertheless further imbues an all ready charged situation with an initial sense of lurking fear, especially if considering climbing here in less than ideal conditions.

If you were the type of climber daunted by high E grades but still comfortable within the VS range, it is likely you would ignore the Gwynt and gravitate towards The Little Orme’s great zawn in pursuit of imagined lengthy slab climbs (as long as Cloggy’s great slab it was said) since by the early 1980s Roland Edward’s interim guide, innocuous enough in it’s green cloth cover, presented such offers. One route, Rabble Rouser, involved the climber in depths of unstableness rarely plumbed, and after committing to marginal unpleasantness shared with the first few pictures of the great flake, becomes a sustained unrelenting grass nightmare where, despite it’s intention, the original description seems reluctant to divulge information. Looking up it could just be that the ground above appears so uninviting that it is difficult to match reasoned documentation with territory encountered by the eye.

Experience on this territory requires a certain type of mindset and a great deal of steadiness by both members of the party lest the outcome descend into quagmires ordained by awkward retreat. It seems just to balance any merits apportioned during overall ascent if indeed they exist so that in so far that Rabble Rouser is concerned it might be said that all action takes place in a fantastic situation with degrees of exposure well loved by most exponents of this remarkable craft, yet here the plaudits end, and when embarking on pitch six I recall that we had recourse to using a peg hammer as if it were an ice pick, since in order to ‘send’ the last forty metres it seemed in survival’s best interest to treat the green severity now confronting us as a hybrid ice climb which when considered in the amber glow of hindsight, would probably benefit from the grade of hard very marvellous!

In essence it would be the places in between Little Orme’s adventurous great zawn and Great Orme’s wind blasted gothic sentinel at Castell y Gwynt which would receive most attention and occupy the thrust of much single pitch and new sport climbing on the Ormes in the 1980s. Entering climbers’ psyche most immediately in the form of Parisella’s Cave, Pen Trwyn and then of course the underworld in waiting hidden below the marine drive L.P.T..

“The Great Orme – with Pen Trwyn – is undeniably Britain’s most extensive roadside crag with nevermore than a five minute stroll to any particular buttress.” Andy Pollitt 1987.

There was however a toll gate at the beginning of the one way road Marine Drive so that if arriving by car a fee was extracted by eagle eyed attendants manning the booth who could rarely be persuaded to extend pity on impecunious climbing teams by waiving the extortionate ( as we saw it), levy of a few pounds. A few minutes after the toll booth was Parisella’s cave, then Mayfair Wall, which, containing some old bolts and pegs had obviously been the scene of practice aid routes before the appearance of Mel Griffiths and Lee McGinley in 1981 who started a new wave of free climbing with their now legendary Axle Attack at E5 6a. Prior to this, a couple of 16 year old schoolboys from nearby St David’s College had attacked the same wall by the line of a 1972 Roland Edward’s aid route, Mayfair, which they freed except for a couple of rests. Their names Andy Pollitt and Jerry Moffat. In July 1982 Pollitt would join forces with John Redhead for the D.S. Machine which they found right of Mayfair and on which they were forced to use one aid point until Pollit returned with master of ceremony’s Paul Williams in the next year’s boom to eliminate this slight flaw at E6 6b.

By 1983 there were people bivouacking in the caves then climbing all day, sometimes for weeks on end. Their yellow tattered karrimats adorned with names of their hitching destinations in big letter black and red marker so that one side might read Llandudno, North Wales, Llanberis, whilst the reverse, revealing their supersaver return choice typically signalled Sheffield or Leeds. Fully extended these scrolls often contained evidence of climbers pilgrimage and, if you understood the hieroglyphics that read Boux, La Pallud, Provence, their names might trigger memories of wine soaked toking scenes in star swept croissant mooned camp sites after days spent in opera vertical Edlinger dreams, pumping sun bleached white stone, Luna Bonged under the Ctullah cool Necronomicron rim. 

The thousand mile of roads leading to continental lavender scented Nirvana did not come with a guarantee of safe passage and indeed might involve hitchers in realms of hassle rarely imagined before setting out, including bizarre sexual interviews whilst drivers ascertained their chances of re-enacting subtitled Midnight Cowboy scenes behind lonely Autoroute du Soleil services beyond the glare of heavy goods wagon trains. Then there were tales of cruising Mrs Robinson style femmes fatales seeking favours from robust youths and hasty marches via wrong turned slip roads escaping Moroccan sailors after dope deals gone wrong on the outskirts of Marseille. Such episode were not of course the special preserve of Europe and whilst relatively rare, incidents of a similar ilk also occurred or were alleged to occur in the UK.Presenting hitchers in general with greater or lesser degrees of inconvenience in their time on the road.

Whatever the travel arrangements, by 1983 Pen Trwyn’s growing reputation as a hard climbing venue with plenty to go at together with it’s alternative status to Gogarth or Trem, drew various teams to what Paul Williams dubbed ‘ the Pen Trwyn patrol’, as they walked the ten minutes or so back and forth along the Marine Drive for rendezvous or refreshment at Parisella’s café where in their Italian welsh glory Mrs Parisella and her twin daughters were to become part of the scene and that least as sought after by some protagonists as the harsher technical challenges encountered on precipitous unstable top out limestone.

In contrast to generally secluded climbing experience within Llanberis slate enclaves, Pen Trwyn rendered climbers’ actions continually open to public scrutiny so that dog walkers, courting couples, strolling pensioners and bored children strapped back seat in curb crawling family saloons regarded or ignored climbers antics with equal measure. Such exposure led at times down roads of fanciful interaction, ‘why are you going up that rock?’ Reply, ‘It’s the first step in our Everest training’. Ludicrous and amusing as these interludes might be, all routes climbed or attempted above Marine Drive place onus on climbers to maximise extreme caution when encountering any loose rock or vegetation lest passers by suffered unexpected bombardment a scenario inevitably resulting in an all out climbing ban, Everest training or no, initially many lines were done without lower offs , involving leaders in heart stopping finishes over treacherous grassed mini tiers seldom less than ninety degrees with poor on non existent protection and inventive belays well back.

Once atop the cliff, teams either abseiled down or walked a ways off to find convenient descents which in the Trwyn enclave were unfortunately a rare commodity. This time consuming procedure pointed towards climbers’ traditional backgrounds where these tactics represented the status quo, so that for reasons best left to psychiatrists, lower offs either from makeshift loops in abseil ropes ( the cleaning of routes from the top down was not unusual) or strategically positioned bolts did not become the norm until a major crag overhaul spearheaded amongst others by Steve Mayers in the 1990s. Some early routes did however benefit from the odd bolt runner which marked a departure from purely traditional values whilst at the same time providing quality climbs where leaders still generally relied on natural ‘pro’ and personal involvement on Firefly in March 1983 proved this to be so.

Paul Williams

Having made initial Trwyn acquaintance with Mel Griffiths, where after discussing bolt strength under various forces, we had conducted an experiment whose simple principle relied on clipping a 50 metre rope to a bolt on Mayfair before attaching its free end over a tow bar then driving off along Marine Drive so producing a sort of high tension catapult which amazingly did not pull out and decapitate onlookers- it was with some relief that a far less dangerous enterprise later that day culminated in an ascent of Plumb Line. Prior to this two climbs with John Redhead, the first an unusually loose flake line in a sheltered cave complex, The Separate Elephant would, I speculated, be rarely repeated and another all together more conventional though excellent quality fingery E5 6a near the remains of an old pillbox. The Homspunk was a ground up stamina test forced in bitterly cold January conditions when, on a day remaining strange from sunlight, a severe wind had chastened the crags which had unsurprisingly become our sole preserve.

Born on a steel blue sea these gales soon blew in the Ides of March and once subsided allowed hibernation release for candidates suffering winter withdrawal symptoms from the cult of the steep. Dave Towse had already placed a bolt on a line that cuts through overlaps and headed towards a fascinating groove which looked possible to fill with good wires. In exchange for belay penance on another project merely a two minute walk along the same terrace, Dave handed me the lead on the one bolt eyed undercut groove. Fantastic was the undercling that a climber could grasp, bouldery and bunched up at first but with just enough edge where it mattered. The rough limestone could be trespassed, despite initial seepage, by forceful pulls and careful foot tricks so that once beyond the double shot espresso start, a sort of swaying movement twisted sideways and reaching up as if to layback, found holds better suited for simple pull up, which drew me into the shallowness of the groove’s narrow finale. Here after placing bomber runners amidst the faintest hint of a pump, I carried on in finishing mode just as a car drove by, it’s stereo maxed out with Spandau Ballet’s Chant No1, such was the scene on Firefly which opened an account soon swelled by a gathering pace as teams keen on crimping down hard began making their mark.

Dave’s new line Flakeaway at E5 6b could be found on the wall right of Plumbline and involved tenuous climbing on roughly the same micro edges as those used for footholds. Harsh though this proved, we had far more trouble on it’s sister route which defined by a squiggle shaped groove,halfway, also attacked the wall right of Plumbline but this time starting only a few metres from it’s parent. Rappelling the line I took advantage of a small thread in an undercut flake and equipped it with a yellow taped sling (the canary’s tail). Kev Howitt had joined us in Bangor then had driven to the Orme as if an invisible lead weight was somehow gluing his foot hard down on the accelerator and though climbing well, neither he, Dave nor I could fathom out shapes required on the wall above the midway groove cracks. Lowering off small wires each climber in turn supported by shouts of encouragement and banter during their attempt, found themselves back on the ground. Desperate for a brew I resolved for one last try before café break and dispensing with the now practised lower section more easily found myself eyeing the thread with triple paranoia ( from the safety of the ab it had looked quite decent).

From here perhaps driven by fear of taking a big lob and closing on quality first ascent I somehow fluked over less than easy exit ground that had it sustained itself longer, may have rewarded onlookers with the spectacle of a long plummet.  Easy to name The Scary Canary settled down at E5 6b and after several ascents it was perhaps inevitable that the thread runners holding power would be tested by flyers. In one such episode destruction was the result so that future ascentionists were rewarded with a more encouraging bolt runner in the placing of which our original team played no part yet hardly had cause to contest.

As the year wore on and the Pen Trwyn patrols extended their remit routes, doubled then tripled on both Ormes as climbers including the local Lyon brothers Dave and Chris, Norman Clacher, Jerry Moffatt, Ron Fawcett, Andy Pollitt, Bill Wyman, the Midlands based Crook brothers, Mel Griffiths and of course Master of Cermonies Paul Williams without whom no proper climbing scene in Wales during the 1980s could be complete, mingled with other brethren producing classics and pushing standards the likes of which had hitherto only been known in Roland Edwards’ dreams and as Menlove observed many years earlier, was in any case where all great climbing took place.

In a very real sense what few would dispute that great climbing took place that 1983 summer in a number of locations.Chief amongst these in Wales was Jerry Moffat’s solo visit to the ultra traditional walls on Dinas Cromlech in the Llanberis Pass the day after his contribution to the Master’s Wall saga on Clogwyn Durr Arddu’s hallowed alter. By the time Jerry descended the squeeze below the great open book on Cenotaph Corner he had soloed seven extremes including Right E5 6a and Left E3 5c wall, declaring that the Cromlech was ‘an old and outdated crag’.  Whilst such immodesty could be ascribed to the confidence of youth there was a portent in Moffat’s words, serious or not, that left those firmly entrenched in traditional values asking an obvious question. If the Cromlech was old and outdated how then was a new crag defined? For the answer apart from the man made quarry arenas, we had only to hop over the wall opposite Parisella’s cave in the June of next year, descend a steepish path at low tide then traverse the pock marked natural pavement below LPT where Ben Moon had recently completed his superb 8a project Statement of Youth.

Fully bolted, it was as if the cliff was made for such athletic action, where the climber could concentrate entirely on intense moves, clipping secure in situ protection on the way. Whether you valued such action or not, it was clear that to complete such an ascent without recourse to hanging on the rope, even after much practice, presented impressive rock climbing challenge for which severe training regimes would probably have to be undertaken.Realising that French style sport climbing had come to Wales we looked up and gazed into the future wondering what the rising tide might bring.

“If you know how to whistle just put your lipstick together and blow.” I had said in soliloquy.

Martin Crook:2015 (previously unpublished)