Freddy Spencer Chapman: A life less ordinary.

‘We Can Be Heroes, Forever And Ever’ David Bowie.

Who in the annals of the climbing world, a history that includes a Pope (Achille Ratti), a King of the Belgians (Albert 1 who died solo climbing in the Ardennes) and a Prime Minister (Winston Churchill) should we award the appellation to of being a Hero? Maybe that might be best left to others outside of the sport to decide, but someone I met as a teenager, Freddy Spencer Chapman I guess would meet any of the needed criteria? For over three years in the Second- World War he blew up trains, bridges and enemy soldiers in the jungles of Malaya. It is odd really that the name F .S. Chapman doesn’t figure higher up the roll call of great British heroes, in fact you have probably never heard of him? Two biographies, ‘One Man’s Jungle ‘, by Ralph Barker published in 1975 and a second by B. Moynahan ‘The Jungle Soldier’ in 2009 inform the reader of Chapman’s life as a guerrilla soldier, as did his own account ‘The Jungle is Neutral’ published nearer to the events in 1948. But Freddy did so much more in his life, particularly climbing, fell running, skiing activities, Greenland and Himalayan explorations, and it is of these I wish to write.

When I started to climb as an eleven year old in 1947, one of the few climbing books then widely available in Public libraries was ‘Helvellyn to Himalaya’ by Freddy which had been published under stringent war time restrictions in 1940. And though the writing reflects very much the serious stiff upper lip attitude of those times, underselling some of the remarkable events the author took a major part in; it is still a good read. The descent off Chomolhari (7341m) post achieving the first ascent is one of the great survival stories, as impressive as ‘Touching the Void’ or ‘The Bond’ but hardly now noted. Although General Bruce (leader of the second British attempt on Everest 1922 and the third in 1924)), accorded it at the time as ‘The 8^th wonder of the World!

But to begin at the beginning. He was born in 1907 in London but he was effectively an orphan from the age of two, his mother died a few months after his birth and his solicitor father went off to seek work in Canada, and on returning perished in the First War at the Somme. Freddy was brought up by an elderly vicar and his wife at Cartmel on the edge of The Lake District and after attending a Preparatory School in Ben Rhydding , he entered Sedbergh School. Where he initially ran into difficulties by refusing to take part in organised team games, cricket and rugby, preferring to walk the nearby hills and to study natural history; bird watching, star gazing, flora, and butterflies, but he gained entry to Cambridge in 1926 to read history and English.

 

It was at Cambridge he started to climb, joined the CUMC, became a night climber on the Universities spires, and met its Presiding spirit Geoffrey Winthrop Young. Other Club members were Laurence Wager, Jack Longland, Gino Watkins, Charles Warren et al. It was with Ted Hicks however that he did most of his rock climbing, their first route together being The Little Gully on Pavey Ark in shoes without a rope. They even disturbed a fox in its depths which delighted Freddy. Over the next few years he ascended over a hundred climbs with Hicks, usually with the latter in the lead; Gimmer Crack, New West on Pillar, routes on Dow Crag such as Brodrick’s and The Great Central Route etc. Freddy, dark haired having grown to above middling in height and lithe however never saw himself as an outstanding rock climber but in comparison to Hicks who was probably in that era only exceeded by Kirkus and Edwards, maybe he was being too hard in assessing his own abilities. He liked to solo and climbed lots of Severes but he avoided Very Severes as too serious to climb on his own, even though being muscular he felt he lacked the ‘genius’ to do so!

 

He writes of how solo climbing was frowned upon by some of the climbing fraternity in that era, such as when he was traversing the Skye Ridge on his own and decided to climb the Inaccessible Pinnacle. Ascending its short side he reached the summit, but as he was descending he was to be challenged by the leader of a second party, arriving onto the ledge just below the top block, led by a well known climber of the ‘old school’ Bobby Woodhouse. Who proceeded to lecture him on the iniquities and dangers of solo climbing, to which he had to give due attention as the man had taught him physics at school. Thanking him for his sage advice, Freddy immediately descended by the way he had ascended.

FSC-on left, adventuring in an unknown location: Photo British Library

 

One can imagine how ‘keen’ such a group of student climbers getting together at Cambridge would be despite how in the late 1920’s travelling would be much more difficult. And Cambridge is nowhere near the crags, but one weekend fed up with no climbing action, Chapman along with Wager, Longland, Watkins and Charles Warren decamped to a limestone crag near Matlock. Warren soloing behind Longland got into difficulties and was literally hanging clear by his hands, the latter climbed down and grabbed hold of his wrists, but just could not hold on for long and Warren fell first 20 feet to land on a small ledge, where he could not balance up and he shot off down again another 20feet to land in a sycamore tree, unhurt, with much laughter but some surprise by the others present at such an escape. You might ask as to how it was Freddy was travelling around so much in that era? He had bought an ancient motor bike and side car for £8 on which he and two other passengers made it to Ogwen, Langdale and Skye and even as far as the Alps.

Besides being active in the UK, this CUMC group were also climbing in the Alps. Chapman writes in Helvellyn to Himalaya about some of the climbs he made with a close friend of those days, Robert Chew (who later gained fame as the Head of Gordonstoun School when Prince Charles was his pupil, and it was in visiting to give a lecture there at that event I became a confirmed Republican), also with Longland plus Wager. Bad weather in Chamonix often restricted them to voie normals on the Aiguilles; the Requin, the Argentiere, and Le Tour but a highlight was a traverse they made of the Meije in the Dauphine range.

It was also during these years he started skiing, at which he found he was good at. He made several tours and climbs on ski, but he also made a name as a downhill racer. In 1929 he took part in two of the most famous such races, The Parsenn Derby and the Arlberg Kandahar.

It was to be in Davos that year two events occurred of some significance in his life story, the first an action that gives a different view of his personality than I had been led to believe, of an over serious humourless-character, and the second was to lead on to his becoming an outstanding figure in Arctic exploration. The first incident concerns a large nude statue of a naked man in the Park at Davos; about which a friend of Chapman’s had taken on a bet to paint this copper statue crimson, but found on a closer examination of this he had not the climbing skill necessary to carry this out, so he persuaded Freddy to do this for him.

He did this at night under darkness, but the next day all hell broke loose, a relative of the man depicted in the statue living in Berlin decided to come to Davos and to fight a duel with the perpetrator. And the Town’s authorities threatened the artist with dire consequences once found. Friends of Chapman were not impressed by such threats, they felt his choice of colour was inappropriate, so he went out the next night and painted the statue white. But just as he completed this the Police arrived in force; and they chased after him as he tried to run away. One caught up with him and ‘bang’ he was felled by a truncheon blow to the head, following which he was arrested and jailed. At his trial, he hit upon a novel defence; that led the court to treat him more sympathetically than anticipated. He had done this as a ‘student’s rag!’ However he was fined £30 and costs, which amounted in total to much more than he had then in his bank, but fortunately for him an English resident in Davos organised a crowd fund and between them paid his fine and costs to get him out of jail.

The second event was to occur again in Davos in March 1929, when he was skiing at night back to where he was staying and he met a friend from Cambridge, Gino Watkins, already well known from his explorations in Spitzbergen and from wintering in Labrador. After some pleasantries he invited Chapman to take part in an expedition he was organising to Greenland in 1930-1 as its ski expert and naturalist. Watkins was to become a legend by this expedition, which was to help plot air routes over the polar region from North America to Europe. It was successful in this and it won Watkins-The Founder’s Medal of the Royal Geographical Society. Chapman returned with Watkins in 1932-3 on a small four man expedition, to East Greenland by which time he had perfected his skills; including surviving more than 20 hours in a seal skin kayak during a monumental storm at sea, he had also learned to navigate by the stars, and he had needed to lead a small team across the lethal ice cap to rescue a colleague stranded in difficulty.

He also learned to speak fluent Inuit, getting on well enough with the locals to father a son! For his participation in these explorations he won the Polar Medal, and from this he also wrote the first of his 8 books; this about the 1930-1 expedition, ‘Northern Lights’ which was successful and reprinted several times. And Watkins, who disappeared whilst hunting seal in the Tugtilik Fjord, his kayak being found floating upside down, was to become even better known; for the mountain range in Greenland which bears his name, as do several other mountains and a glacier in New Zealand. There is also the Gino Watkins memorial fund administered by Cambridge University and the Royal Geographical Society. He was only 25 when he died but he had achieved so much including ascending over 40 Peaks in the Alps, and membership of the Alpine Club (he must have been its youngest member by far).

In between expeditions, despite his youthful antipathy to organised games, Freddy, had taken up fell running and he was persuaded by Dr A W Wakefield, Doctor on the 1922 Everest Expedition, to make an attempt on the ‘Bob Graham Round’. This set by the guest house owner in Keswick of that name in June 1932 which entailed summiting 42 Lakeland Fells within 24 hours; covering 66miles (106km) and 26,900ft of ascent. Chapman did complete the round but missed out on breaking Graham’s record by the fact that his route was more circuitous, adding quite some distance. My own connection with the Bob Graham Round is via Eric Beard who though already a cross country/track runner when I first met him in 1955, I introduced to climbing and the hills, where he was to discover that for him fell running was what he was best at. When he died in a car crash on the M6 in 1969 he held several of the major fell records, including the Lakeland 24 hour, which he had extended in 1963 out to 56 Peaks in 23 hours 35minutes.

Post the Arctic expeditions Chapman realised he needed to stabilise his life and develop a career and he took up teaching. But he could not resist accepting when invited by Marco Pallis in 1936 to travel out to the Himalaya, to Sikkim and the Kanchenjunga area to attempt an ascent of Simvu 22,360feet and its other satellite peaks. The party was made up of Richard Nicholson, Dr R. C. Roaf, Jake Cooke, Chapman, and led/organised by Pallis. Who in 1933 had led a similar size party successfully to the Gangotri Himalaya and who I believe was one of the most impressive polymath’s to have ever tied into a climbing rope; I have written elsewhere about his life and achievements and hope I have done justice to his memory. Back to Simvu, this turned out to be a more difficult mountain than they had anticipated. I will quote Chapman directly, ‘There seemed to be just one weak spot in the formidable defences of the mountain, it was a most horrible place, a vertical corner to be negotiated above which was a 20feet wall of extremely steep ice.

After climbing the corner Pallis started cutting up the ice wall, he was panting and groaning with the exertion, fashioning both foot-and-hand holds. Frightened lest I should completely fail to climb this formidable ice wall, but when at last I had to climb I found it very exposed and airy but not extraordinarily difficult. There were adequate steps, and it was simply a matter of control and balance, but for all that I should not have liked it much without the support of a rope!’ Pallis, Nicholson, Cooke and Chapman thought they had had the difficulties behind them, but once they had gained a straightforward ridge route with the summit in sight, they were stopped by a huge crevasse. Whilst trying to find a way across this it started to snow which developed into a full on blizzard, and they were forced into a difficult retreat.

The bad weather continued and they had to abandon Simvu. Back at Base one evening they held a most revealing debate amongst themselves about the merits of Private and Grammar schooling. Interesting to myself in that this illustrates for me of where climbers of their era were coming from, for all but Cooke had been privately educated. Pallis was a great believer in encouraging-an outstanding climber such as Cooke (he had also supported Kirkus to take part in his 1933 Expedition) to participate in such exploratory mountaineering. Jake Cooke a clerk in a Liverpool insurance office was one of the pioneers of the Main Wall on Cyrn Las. In 1938 he was to enjoy a successful Alpine season with Pallis, but he perished a short while later at Dunkirk.

The 1936 Expedition then broke into two groups, for Pallis had developed a keen interest in Tibet and hoped to visit that country but had been refused entry, and so with Nicholson and Roaf he trekked over high passes into Ladakh. Whilst Cooke, Chapman and Jock Harrison, who had joined up with the other two after his partner had quitted the mountains due to illness, stayed on in Sikkim to climb first The Sphinx (23,500ft) and the more difficult Fluted Peak (20,000+ ft). At the end of that Expedition Chapman was invited by the Political Officer for Sikkim, Bhutan, and Tibet: Basil Gould, to accompany him on a Diplomatic Mission to Lhasa that he was then organising. Freddy was to act as its Secretary but also to be a photographer, cineaste and make a film about their visit. This took place from July 1936 until February 1937 and Chapman wrote a book about this, ‘Lhasa. The Holy City’.

Their route to Lhasa followed an ancient trade route from India via the Chumbi Valley and as they passed under Chomolhari (7,314mtrs), they enjoyed a spectacular view of that mountain, which rises almost 9,000 ft set above a barren plain. It was known to British climbers passing on their way to Mount Everest, but no one had made a serious attempt to climb it, although Odell had scouted its approaches in1924; but Freddy on returning from Tibet was determined to ascend it. But first he had to gain permission from both Bhutan and Tibet, and a major problem was that it is sacred to Tibetan Buddhists more so than Mount Everest who believe; it is the abode of one of the five Tsheringma sisters. Chapman must have made a good impression on the authorities in Lhasa and at the last possible moment, just as he had decided to give up his plans for the climb; permission was granted by both the Bhutan and Tibetan authorities.

He recruited three Sherpas, Nima, Kikuli and Pasang. The first two had good expedition experience, but Pasang who appeared to Freddy as very young, dour and the weakest of the three, he only agreed to take him because of the pleadings of the other two. How wrong appearances can be for Pasang became one of the most experienced, successful Sherpa climbers of his generation, and without him Chapman would not have been successful in climbing Chomolhari. He had great difficulty in finding another partner for the climb, but eventually Charles Crawford, then working for ICI in Calcutta, who Freddy only knew via the Himalayan Club agreed to this, but could only manage to get two weeks leave from his workplace to do so. 

The summit of Chomolhari was reached on 21^st May 1937 by Chapman and Pasang via its south east spur. Before that event Crawford and Kikuli had descended off the mountain, from a camp at 20,000ft, both were suffering from altitude sickness and Crawford’s leave was up. Nima was at their Base, and thus there was no one high on the mountain except the summit pair and it was from that point the story really begins. Immediately they began the descent they fell 400ft down the first steep slope they had to climb down. Somehow Chapman stopped their fall with an ice axe break: with Pasang , hanging out over a 3000ft drop. They reached their highest camp, packed and started down, but a blizzard set in and though exhausted they had to climb back up and erect their tent again.

FSC fell running in the English Lake District

 

Its door opening became damaged and the snow burst in and their equipment, including sleeping bags and matches became soaking wet. Chapman had an emergency match box on his body, but it only contained six strikes, and Pasang had damaged his snow goggles, was in pain and had become blind in one eye. Next day after a terrible night they packed and set off down again, but Pasang fell once more and though Chapman held him, his rucksack burst open and they lost their only cooking pot and most of their food. From thereon, on the steep ground Freddy would descend, cut steps and climb back up and top rope Pasang down. They could not find their ascent route and had only managed a short distance before a heavy snow fall caused them to camp again. 

Next day they reached the ice fall but once again a blizzard set in, and they were forced to camp once more. They could not get any sleep for their sleeping bags were still wet through and their matches were now used up. The snow had become so deep progress became ever slower, in places it was thigh deep. They could not make any drinks or warm food; this epic descent lasted for six days/nights with matters becoming ever more serious. The worst event was when Chapman fell-30feet down, a crevasse. The story of his struggles to climb back out of this, shouting out instructions to Pasang in Tibetan, conversing with difficulty, is one of the great climbing escape stories. It took Freddy four hours to cut his way out, fashioning foot and handholds in the icy wall of the crevasse. At last they reached their Base to find Nima had descended thinking that they had perished high on the peak. Once off the mountain they were greeted almost as ghosts for most believed that they had died on Chomolhari.

Chomolhari was to be Freddy’s high point in his climbing career, but Pasang went on to almost summit K2 in 1939 with Fritz Wiessner, to make the first ascent of Cho Oyu (8188mtrs) in 1954 with the Austrian’s Tichy and Jochler and he acted as Sirdar for the 1956 Swiss Expedition to Mount Everest achieving the 2^nd/3^rd ascent and the first of Lhotse. Chapman was back in the UK teaching when war broke out, but he was an obvious recruit for the SOE and at the fall of Singapore, he was parachuted into the Japanese occupied Malayan Jungle where he was to spend 3 ½ years involved in irregular warfare. Being awarded the DSO and Bar.

After the war he was back to teaching, and he had married and fathered three sons. His work took him to Germany and Africa where he delighted in viewing the wildlife and studying the flora. In 1953 he published his philosophy of life in ‘Living Dangerously’; revealing his keen interest in the arts, music, wildlife and a remaining enthusiasm, for photography. For a period his achievements seem to have been well regarded, besides the previously mentioned Polar Medal, he also received several other similar awards, The Gill, Mungo Park and the Lawrence of Arabia medals and his story was set before the nation by an appearance on ‘This is Your Life’in 1964 interviewed by Eamon Andrews. But then as is the way with such the media lost interest. In 1971 he was back in the UK at Reading Univesity, acting as a Warden of one of its Halls. His health was becoming a problem for he was suffering from severe back pain and other difficulties, probably as a result of the war wounds he had received in the jungle, for he had been shot three times and held prisoner twice. In August 1971 he committed suicide; leaving his wife a note stating ‘I don’t want you to have to nurse an invalid for the rest of your life!’ 

 Chomolhari

There is a memorial to him on Pangkor Laut Island, off the west coast of Malaya, for it was from there he was picked up by HMS Statesman in May 1945; swimming out into the waters of The Emerald Bay. This is now an up market tourist resort, and it is replete with a Chapman’s Bar. The local authorities working with Chapman’s family also organise each year Chapman’s Challenge. A biathlon, made up of a run and a swim. Several members of Freddy’s family have taken part in this and I guess if it had been on the go in 1930 it would have been something he too would have been there keenly taking up the challenge?

Dennis Gray: 2020 

 

Rock Around the Block

Most sports have sub-cultures. It is rumoured that Subbuteo table football has a national league, and some people go canoeing along underground sewers. One spin-off from rock-climbing is the rarely publicised but much-practised art of climbing on "natural" outdoor walls. This is particularly widespread in South London, presumably to do some violence to Mallory's famous answer, "Because it is there" ("it" being the real thing, in the form of famous cliffs like the Sobell Sports Centre). In fact, the origins of outdoor wall climbing in London lie north of the river, but a combination of indoor facilities and gentrification knocked that on the head. In the early 1970s the lovely century-old red brickwork of the towpath walks and bridges of the Regent Street Canal, in Camden and Islington, was turned into a high-standard playground by legendary figures like Mickey Rock. Water Bailiffs and stomach pumps if you fell in were among the hazards in those romantic days, but the final blows to climbing were the mortar and trowels of council workmen as the canal banks went up market. 

Only faintly-painted signs like "Rouse's Climb" and "Arthritis Wall" remain today of those desperate problems. It was about this time that the Isle of Dogs sightings began. London's Dockland is the biggest development area in Western Europe, or possibly the world. When it rains you can taste the saliva from the finance houses' mouths on the drops. Chris Hoyland saw it first, and just as Elvis's "Sun" recordings fixed the definitive image of the rock singer as the half-crazed guitar strumming country boy singing his heart out, so his descriptions of the dock wall exposed by McAlpines, 40ft of dimpled granite, glistening like an Eskdale outcrop, fired the imaginations of a generation of London climbers. For years after, the Isle of Dogs Wall would surface occasionally, but like its fabled Loch Ness cousin, never long enough for those who sighted it to get an A-Z reference.

I stumbled on Cottage Grove Wall by chance, even though it is only half-a-mile from where I live. The graffiti was the first attraction. It was not quite up to the "Open the second front now" which until recently adorned a wall in Leeds, but references to "Frampton" and "Hendrix" gave it quite a respectable age. Indeed, the medieval spelling of "wancking" suggested a more ancient lineage. It lies against a railway line, 300 yards south of Clapham North tube station, 18 by 100 ft. of gnarled brickwork, Bedford best. At first the aim was upward progress, but the ten or so vertical lines are never climbed now. Rectangular holes just below the top explain why. Leaving aside the perils of dogshit, you risked your life in at least three ways: a broken back, a second later a crack on the skull, and then a pulverised wrist as the brick to which you had entrusted your weight landed on top of it. 

So traversing became the order of the day. Although I say it myself the full length is a masterpiece, sustained 5a/5b climbing, never more than a few feet above the ground. Lest you be thinking that paradise awaits on Cottage Grove Estate, beware — there are some unpleasant features. Like Fair Head in County Antrim, it faces the wrong way. Unless you are in training for a winter traverse of Cloggy's West Buttress, stay away until the spring. The small asphalt playground at its foot doubles as a toilet for the local rag and bone man's horse, many dogs and the occasional human. Views differ as to whether the other users of what the local town-planners designate "a community facility" add or detract from the ambience. A variety of sports are played, often simultaneously.

Dave Cook: Photo Ian Smith

Bold spirits among the climbers sometimes enlist their players to add excitement, and then "Rollerwall" is played. The object is to hit the sideways-moving "spiders" as local legend describes us. Tennis and footballs make this a good game, but beware the local roller-skate hockey-players. Their "corkies" can maim. Further south in deepest Lambeth lie walls awaiting the next generation. At Emmanuel Road, dripping railway arches fill the sky. I hope that when the long-awaited Brixton Sports Centre finally opens, purpose-built indoor wall included, some of the young "spiders" that it trains will test their steel fingers on these sombre walls; Map Reference: 3F 77 or 89 Z8, depending on which A-Z you use. 

Stop Press: The author wishes to inform readers that urban development is now threatening access.*

* (1985!)

Dave Cook

First Published in High-April 1985 

Undiscovered Wales

Dduallt: Looking out towards the Arans

It was late one night, as I was re-checking the galley proofs of the seventy-eight chapters making up Classic Walks, when the phone rang. Jim Perrin was on the line. "Get out the Dolgellau O.S. map and look at the huge tract of mountain country between the Arenigs and the Mawddach Estuary. A walk linking the Migneint in the north with Cader Idris in the south, including Arenig Fawr, Moel Llyfnant and Rhobell Fawr would have a quintessentially Welsh flavour with all the beauties, problems and archetypal character of that country." Any recommendation from Jim is good enough for me and I hastily agreed to the last minute addition. Ken Wilson used all his persuasive powers to get Jim to extend his walk to a marathon crossing of the hills from Blaenau Ffestiniog to Dolgellau over Manod Mawr, the Migneint, the Arenigs, Moel Llyfnant, Dduallt and Rhobell Fawr. But Jim was spared — merit, not severity was our guideline, I reasoned, and anyway, the Migneint and Arenig Fach had already been admirably dealt with by Harold Drasdo. 

Jim's manuscript duly arrived and I read it with more than usual interest for I was not well acquainted with the area. My interest quickened even more when I read that Jim rated Rhobell Fawr his favourite Welsh mountain. This made it an exceptional hill for, as readers know, Jim is a most discerning and sensitive commentator on the topography of North Wales and he knows every cwm, llyn and dol in the Principality. Rhobell Fawr leapfrogged to the very top of my list of hills to be climbed and the first opportunity arose one day in early June. North Wales was suffering a heat wave and I planned my day very carefully. No thirty mile marathon of sweat and aching limbs; a mere fifteen mile hill crossing from Llanuwchllyn to Dolgellau would give me Dduallt and Rhobell Fawr followed by a gentle descent to the Mawddach. The morning was deliciously cool as, at 5.45 a.m., I left Dolhendre on the Llanuwchllyn to Trawsfynydd road and made for the hills. Whilst crossing the Afon Lliw a heron flapped loosely overhead. A good farm track leads south of the rocky bluff, Castell Carndochan, and then an indistinct path winds up through the pastures, between twisted rowans and tumbled-down walls, now overgrown and thick with moss. 

The fields were bright with harebells and heath bedstraw and my feet left a track through the dew. After half an hour the path petered out and the hillside was rough with tussocky grass, bilberry and deep heather. I paused for a moment under a line of rock outcrops falling away on the south side of Craig y Llestri and looked about. Rolling mists clung to the valleys below and completely covered Bala Lake but, rising well above the mist and already bathed in sunshine, ran the long line of the Arans. The view north was dominated by the shapely profiles of Craig y Bychan and Moel Llyfnant, while to the west Dduallt, my first objective, rose abruptly from the flat moorland belying its 2,153 feet. From the east Dduallt appears as a long whaleback, ribboned by buttresses of grey rock, and I altered course to make for the north ridge, the natural route of ascent. The high, open plateau under Dduallt has recently been fenced and drained and I suspect the conifers, at present just visible topping the ridge to the south, will soon be marching on towards Dduallt itself. From a distance the drained area appeared white with what I suspected to be lime but turned out to be cotton grass. 

Rhobell y Big Summit

My eye caught a glint in the heather and I picked up a tiny metal ring bearing a code number. It was the identity ring of a homing pigeon and a local fancier traced the owner to Ballymena, Co. Antrim. The pigeon had been released from Haverfordwest in 1980 and had almost certainly fallen prey to a peregrine falcon. From the increasing number of birds lost, pigeon fanciers reckon that the peregrine population in Wales is multiplying. The north ridge of Dduallt is quite broad, but always interesting with rock outcrops to be negotiated and ever widening views west to the Rhinogs and south to Rhobell Fawr. Ragged grey clouds hung over the Rhinogs but it was only 8.00 a.m and the sun's warmth had hardly taken effect. The way ahead to Rhobell Fawr was blocked by a huge forestry plantation filling the valley on the west side. The 1974 Landranger map showed a gap in the trees on the south side but this too had now been planted. However, from my bird's-eye view I could see an obvious broad fire-break leading in the general direction of Rhobell Fawr and I made for this. The forest was not as impenetrable as it looked from above because rocky ground prevents close packing of trees, unlike some of the dense Northumbrian forests, I was intrigued to see the smaller fire-breaks had recently been planted with cupressus. 

The Forestry Commission now realises that most fire-breaks are useless and they are filling them in with fast growing crops like cupressus. It was a relief to emerge from the trees high up on the north shoulder of Rhobell Fawr, where Welsh sheep were grazing the close cropped grass between the rock outcrops. The ewes and their lambs ignored me and I thought what clean and peaceful creatures these Welsh sheep are, an altogether superior breed to the nervous and scraggy Swaledales and Scottish Blackfaces of the north. Jim Perrin talks of a tame fox on Dduallt. I did not see it but I was rewarded by the sight of a young fox, with a white tip to his tail, watching me until, when I was within ten metres, he turned and slipped away into the rocks. Rhobell Fawr is virtually unknown and not a vestige of a path scars its upper slopes. The O.S. pillar at 2,408 feet is tastefully constructed of natural stone and in no way intrudes on the landscape. I sat down for a second breakfast by the pillar at 9.45 a.m. and although the sun had not quite dried the dew on the grass it was quickly evaporating the clouds on the Rhinogs and Cader Idris. 

The three sheets of water visible to me, namely Lake Bala, Lake Trawsfynydd and the MawdachEstuary were beginning to sparkle. Set in an unfashionable tract of mountain country and hardly worth climbing for their modest heights alone, Dduallt and Rhobell Fawr are ringed by the popular ranges, Snowdonia and the Moelwyns to the north, Cader Idris to the south, the Rhinogs to the west and the Arans to the east. But the vast Coed y Brenin forest dominating the view west put a damper on my enjoyment and, sadly, blocks of forest were the predominating feature all round. Our mountain tops are becoming oases in a desert of forestry which goes to feed the chip board factories and pulp mills. My heart sinks when I realise that the development of new and hardier species of conifer will enable trees to be planted to a greater height. Perhaps soon even our mountain tops will be enveloped, and North Wales will become a boring switchback of green carpet like much of Scandinavia. However, the south west ridge of Rhobell Fawr is still clear of trees and provides a gentle descent. I followed a magnificently constructed dry-stone wall until, at Bwlch Goriwared, I met a good track coming over from the west. The end of a walk is important when assessing its overall quality. A long bash over miles of metalled road leaves you with bruised feet and a short temper. 

Not so today, for the descent from Rhobell Fawr continued in an idyllic manner as the path led through lush pastures, the air heady with the scent of gorse, may and foxgloves. Hazel and alder grew in the hedges and a pair of buzzards soared overhead. With the sun now high in the sky the sheep were panting, even in the shade of the walls, and the hills were shimmering. My usual haunts are the fells of the north of England and the Scottish Highlands and I delighted in the typically Welsh scenery. With small fields, woods, rock buttresses, lichen encrusted boulders, tiny whitewashed cottages with slate roofs, a proliferation of bracken and ferns and butterflies, where else could I be but Wales? We become so used to expressing outrage at erosion and litter and man's despoliation of the countryside that it is rare to have to cope with other emotions stimulated by perfection. This was such an occasion and it left me feeling quite dizzy. A short cut along a marked Public Footpath (Llwybr Cyhoeddus) took me past the farm of Cae and then I emerged above the tiny village of Llanfachreth with its steepled church and line of terraced cottages. I stopped at the tiny shop to buy a can of coke. The local inhabitants were conversing in Welsh but broke off at my arrival and greeted me in English. 

I felt totally foolish and inadequate trying to explain, with my appalling pronounciation of Welsh place names, the route I had taken and the hills I had climbed. I felt guilty, too, that I was intruding into their beautiful valley which was so far removed in distance and character from my North Yorkshire. It was Monday morning and the Dolgellau bus did not run that day but I was recommended to take a scenic route to the town along the aptly named Precipice Walk. 

This circular walk hugs the steep slopes of Foel Cynwch and returns along the shore of Lyn Cynwch. I took the lakeside section of the walk enjoying the shade provided by overhanging sycamores and oaks. The blue rippling waters of Lyn Cynwch set against the backcloth of Cader Idris maintained my mood of elevation until, at 1.00 p.m., I crossed the bridge over the Afon Wnion and entered the fine old town of Dolgellau. Dolgellau, county town of Merioneth and centre of the great Gold Rush in 1862, but today choked with coaches and day trippers and the streets littered with ice-cream wrappers. I was back to reality. ■ 

Richard Gilbert 1983: First published in Climber -June 1983 

Richard Gilbert TGO obituary

Mastermind: Mental Training for Climbers...Review

5.10 Teamsters pose in front of Gullich and Albert poster
 

‘Man knows more than he understands’ Alfred Adler.

This is the third book published by the Cafe Craft organisation covering training systems for climbing. Who are Cafe Craft in this instance? An organisation based in Germany, with ultra-modern climbing centres in Nuremburg and Stuttgart, at the cutting edge of where training for Sports Climbing and Bouldering is developing. Looming over their story are the progenitors of the Redpoint, Norbert Sander and Kurt Albert and the deceased figure of Wolfgang Gullich who despite being dead since 1992, he was the tragic victim of a car crash, was one of the first of the ‘modern’ elite to bring scientific training methods into his development as a climber. A sports physiology student at Erlangen University, studying under the famous Professor Dr Weineck, he applied his knowledge gained into his climbing and set new standards for Sports Climbing with routes like Action Directe 9A in the Frankenjura and Punks in the Gym 8B+ in Arapalies, Australia. To also note some outstanding rock climbs in the Himalaya; e.g. The Riders in the Storm.

Jerry Moffatt came into the spotlight of British climbing in the early 1980’s and for the next two decades he roamed far and wide, pioneering high standard new routes and boulder problems, participating in competitions and making early repeats in countries as diverse as Britain, France, Germany, USA, Japan and Australia.

Learning, from these experiences and agreeing with Gullich that ‘The mind is the most important muscle’ he has set down in ‘Mastermind’ what he believes are the most important elements in mental training for climbers; guided by two climbers with a Professional background in such, Professor Lew Hardy from Bangor University and Dr Noel Craine an epidemiology researcher in the NHS. This knowledge is formulated in short chapters covering such subjects as visualisation, motivation, goal setting and planning, rehearsal, plus conscious and unconscious thought etc. The books layout and setting is truly modern and is typical of the author, a ’with it’ mind set bolstered by wise sayings and epigrams, everyone from Muhammad Ali, Lao Tzu to Bruce Lee. Unfortunately there are a number of literals and grammatical errors in the text, but they do not affect one’s understanding of any meaning of the contents.

Wolgang Gullich Image and his Professor Dr Weinick,

And so for the mass of climbers who do not aim to be part of an elite performers programme, who only climb for their own enjoyment and ‘fun’ they may ask the question, ‘Why should I bother?’. Well, exploration of the mind is not time wasted, and may be helpful in facing up to life’s inevitable problems in the other spheres of our existence. Present day research into this still rests heavily on the work of three men at the end of the 19^th and early part of the 20^th centuries Freud, Jung and Adler. Each developed their own take on this subject, but the fact of all humans possessing a conscious and unconscious mind is paramount to the understanding of our behaviour. Inevitably as Psychology has developed and new discoveries have been made there has grown a plethora of specialisation; Educational Psychology, Social Psychology, Child Psychology, Clinical Psychology etc but the one of most interest to where climbing is now at, is Sports Psychology.

The core disciplines of performance are bio-mechanics, kinesiology, physiology and psychology and within climbing’s disciplines of Sport, Boulder and Competition climbers are coming to appreciate the importance of the latter, and I guess they are the ones that Moffatt’s book is now aimed at. This is bolstered by a quote elsewhere by Shauna Coxey, who has already twice been the World Bouldering Champion and is the only British climber so far, to have qualified for next year’s Olympic Games in Tokyo: ‘I long ago came to realise in this sport, psychology is way more important than physiology!’

To return to ‘Mastermind’ we learn the thoughts and how they set about to reach their goals from several of today’s leading Boulder, Sport and Competition climbers, Margo Hayes, Adam Ondra, Alex Megos, Chris Sharma etc and from Jerry himself. Winning in 1989 at the Leeds first World Cup Competition was a major achievement in his life, and this is also of some pride to myself, for I was heavily involved in organising this along with DMM and it took place in that City for that is where I live.

Alex Meglos

Friends of mine owned the venue and I persuaded them to let us use their main hall. But Mastermind is not just about those involved in what many see as the modern disciplines in climbing, for included with their ideas and thoughts about mind control are Leo Holding, Sandy Allen, Pete Whittacker, Stefan Glowacz, Jimmy Webb, Alex Honnold and many more covering everything from an epic ascent in the Himalaya, Base and Wing Suit Flying, Bouldering, and a 24 hour ascent of El Capitan and much more. One interview that really gripped was the one with Mich Kemeter using a breathing technique and slack line walking between two balloons set at 1000 metres up in the Sky. Many of these events are included as ‘Inspirational’ stories at the rear of the book.

However talking about the use of a breathing technique to keep the level of anxiety or fear at managing levels in order to undertake a dangerous challenge like ‘Slack Line Walking’ I have to observe that this is nothing new. It is obvious that Jerry is impressed with Chinese martial artists as I. They are masters at such techniques and are common practice in some of their meditation techniques. I have visited the Shaolin Si in Henan Province, China on two occasions previously: the Monks there have developed Gong (Kung) Fu techniques for over a thousand years. Unfortunately they have become a part of the entertainment industry (and maybe that is where Competition Climbing will also develop into given time) but they can still perform some amazing feats. I also when in Jiangyou in Sichuan Province, China witnessed a Daoist monk perform a staggering feat, a one finger hand stand.

On another occasion in Northern Sichuan I observed a monk tightrope walking between two high rock pinnacles. He had no safety line and if he had fallen it would have been terminal. But finally in reporting the observing of Chinese mind training activities, adherents following Tai Chi exercises can be observed anywhere in Parks throughout China, but the one activity I have seriously studied was at a Qi Gong centre on the isle of Hainan off the south coast of the mainland, and it was most rewarding. In this one follows a strict regime of exercises, calligraphy, meditation etc. And learning how to harness the power of one’s centre using Qi is both relaxing and impressive. It is why a Qi Gong master who came to the UK sat down and challenged a group of Royal Marines to lift him. They could not, and interesting for Jerry’s benefit might be the information that Bruce Lee of ‘Enter the Dragon fame’ was taught by such a master sensai.

So humans for generations have known about the potential of harnessing the power of the mind, and though slow to accept Sports Psychology in Britain it was adopted much earlier in the USA. Coleman Griffith of the University of Illinois is credited as one of the founders of this discipline. In 1918 he began to use cognitive and behavioural strategies to improve the performance of basketball and USA football team members and in 1925 he opened the first research laboratory in ‘Psychology and its relation to athletic performance’. I was invited in the mid 1980’s to join the Board of the British Association of Sports Psychologists, and at that date we still lagged far behind Germany, who like the USA had adopted the discipline as early as 1925 led by Dr Carl Diem in Berlin, and we had hardly noted the fact that 450 Sports Psychologists from many countries of the world had gathered in Rome in 1965 for the disciplines first World Congress.

An amusing anecdote is that one of my fellow Board members was invited by the Manager of one of the First Division Soccer Clubs in 1986 to advise his players and to begin adopting psychometric methods in their training, he came back chastened for the team had ganged up on him and refused to take part in any mind training. They totally misunderstood what he was about and felt it was a dark suggestion that some of them were mentally unstable. Remember that the First Division became the Premier League just a few years later, so this was an indication of how far behind they were in adopting what are now the accepted norms in such training. Sports Psychology came of age at the Olympics in 1984, and for the summer Olympics of 1996 the USA Athletics team had a group of 20 such accompanying their participants. It is now the norm for Sports Psychologists to be a part also of our national teams, and even the Premier Division football clubs.

I am sure like me Jerry Moffatt sees climbing as a different kind of sport than athletics, although it is a sport in which I have also been involved. He started climbing as a 15 year old, and was prepared to really ‘rough it’ just to get out onto the crags. I started as an 11 year old and used to walk long distances to do the same at a time when our country was still recovering from the war. I would have suggested to him when he was putting together ‘Mastermind’ to give an indication of where he thought climbing was travelling along to? It is still a broad church, with boulder, trad , sports, competition, alpine and greater ranges mountaineering all a part of climbing. But will it remain so with Olympic recognition?, and what experience I have is that though several times in ‘Mastermind’ we learn that training and competing is all about having ‘Fun’, it does seem awful serious now with little or no hint that anarchy might still break out given half a chance to do so. So as I have observed before, ‘Quo Vadis Climbing?’ 

Kurt Albert

Finally the book is illustrated by many fine photographs, and is intended to be used as a training manual. At the end of some of the sub-sections there are blank, lined pages to write thoughts and detail as in a diary, of where the climber is at in their training methods ,and progression for example ‘In Strength’. And into the Case binding is bound a page marker and a pencil holder. I am informed that ‘Mastermind’ has sold 12,000 copies outside of the UK so it will be interesting to note how it is received here, doubtless it will be like its author another milestone in our own climbing story.

Mastermind’. Mental Training For Climbers. Jerry Moffatt

288pages Case Bound. Published by Cafe Craft GmbH. £25.00

Available in the UK via Vertebrate Publishing. 

Dennis Gray: 2019 

 

Grandad Calling

I wake up to a video on Youtube of an old pal talking about climbing the crux of one of my routes in North Wales. It amazes me that anyone can talk their way up a route, move by move in retrospect, logged in fact for almost forty years. I try to mime-climb to the spoken moves like an ineloquent Marcel Marceau, comically out of tune to the speaker. Rewind, play. Rewind, play. But I am lost. I am lost in this time because this is not fundamentally the route of my experience. This is not because my memory has ‘passed away’, although his might have, but because it failed to see the significance in the first place, at source. I would always find it hard to remember where a route went even just after the event of climbing it. It gets me thinking as to why that was? That my conscious mind never logged such information presents an interesting morning ponder.

I have just had my leisurely breakfast at Lous Manes and picked 17 figs after the early morning raid by the male blackcap. The morning dew has bathed each darkening morsel and the white sticky sap from the stem tacks up my fingers like dabs of wood glue that sticks to the coffee mug.

 

I like the blackcap; he cannot contain his excitement among the tasty, juicy figs and he ‘clicks’ constantly, thereby giving away his game and his whereabouts. I allow a modicum of dainty pecks from this fairly tame bird but keep the greedy jays out of their feeding frenzy… as much as I can, because, as crows, they have ‘the knowledge’ that I am not a morning person. The early bird may get the ‘fig’ but I defend my late starts by knowing the early ‘fig’ gets eaten. Anyway, my blackcapped friend’s clicks inform me of a ripening taking place in the morning sun, and is rejoicing. Time to get up.

I cannot know what the blackcap sees or hears upon my morning approach of “get off me figs you bastard”, but I presume it has little to do with how I perceive myself to be. I cannot say that just because the bird is among the figs that I eat, I am contingent in what I see. Where am I?

 

And as my old friend’s memory chalks the holds like a ghost in the ether, I am nestled in something that I feel innately as ‘other’ and prior to what I hear. There is remembering here in a way that I cannot associate with. Where was I?

 

Fundamentally I know that the landscape of the blackcap and my friend’s narrative amount to a morning encounter, a connection, and I say ‘prior to what I hear’ because I feel there is a deeper, greater, older resonance to seeing and feeling. As I pause and look around the vast woodland that surrounds me I am often consumed by a blind potential…an infinite relationship to the animal…kinship…a simulacrum of a darker, dirtier arena and meaning. But this fullness is a momentary flash and then vanishes, and I fall back to an empty rationale, an invasion almost, increasingly more like a show than real life.

It is not nearly enough to appreciate in wonder the visual nature that surrounds us as if ticking an i-spy book of ingredients.
 

I think this a tangible premise and part clue to a previous life juggling moves on rock and memory loss. Another fully-loaded coffee offers no comfort. It is obvious that I cannot remember the moves because it was the moment that was moving me. This is a language greater than me, and as I have said many times there is greater significance to the experience than just a route. Climbing is nothing but a format for another encounter that collides dramatically with the force-fed, force-dripped, craft-manual ‘approach’, ecclesiastical in doctrine, colour-coded, institutionalized and authority-ridden; a pack-led approach that has become omnipresent in the world of sport climbing. But I am being far too polite.

Climbing walls are packed with believers singing hymns to a materially-sunk Demiurge whose teachings wrack the body with obediently followed codes of practice. A breeding ground for future robots and a training camp for the death of spirit as I know it, the world surely suffers in response.

John Redhead on his 'Demons of Bosch'

When tumbling joyfully through this loud, physical playground, there can be no ‘otherness’, the fulfilling essence for us to experience. That playground destroys, anulls thousands of years of potential… so who gives a flying fuck when we are strangers in a strange land? Nature is the urgent piss you have to stop climbing for. When we try to remember who we are and protect that which grows around us, climbing walls are a disease of the mind, denoting suffering and death. Adults should know better than to encourage children in a pursuit worth little more than colouring in with primary felt-tip pens, or chasing sweets.

‘When I take my kids to the wall, we take a few lego men and I put them on holds about ten feet off the deck. They have to climb up and save them. This way they are climbing, and learning how to move, without realising it. Quite a good method for getting kids climbing for fun and not just for the sake of climbing, which may seem quite pointless to some.’

 

“That’s my little Mimi up there. She’s only eight. She’s on a 6a. That’s the red one with the awkward sidies. So much faster than her friends. She refused to warm up and that’s my girl. I’m so proud.”

 

‘But enthusiasm is often fostered when there are games and prizes involved. Kids can pretend there are dinosaur fossils at the top of the wall or parents can hide treats in some of the holds. One of the reasons George was so excited about his project was simply because the holds looked—with the power of his imagination—like Mickey Mouse.’

Coaching kids by Ary Shreider.

To me this is abuse. It is conditioning. This is no ‘power of the imagination’ but corporate Disney getting you hooked like addicts on garbage and consumerism. This is Daily Mail climbing, dumbing down the senses to simple soundbites, so indoor climbing walls, UKC, the BMC and narcissistic coaches and sport psychologists can extract your money. Sign up or fall short of fame and ‘fitness’. These are economic considerations that need a healthy consumer base and local government support. The truth of ‘sport’ is the age-old, usual propaganda system of control, where the fears, stress and injustice of a disordered society create and encourage the appetite for a belief that we exist as beings in and of ourselves…the selfies are a creed of ghosts and you cannot see yourself, because you are kept in the dark, performing in bright lights, collecting holds and sequences you remember. No wonder we are paying lip-service to nature deficit disorder. This is toxic thinking.
 

‘Competition doping in ‘gym climbing’ comes with Olympic glory, money and prestige’. Well, Fancy that! But of course, these arguments go a lot further than the nonsense of simply climbing for your country. They are manifest in every aspect of society.

 

‘when the rock climber understands the nature of ascent he will have no need to climb rock…’ …and one for the crow.

Red Croc Rebel

I hope I have passionately articulated my response to not remembering moves on a climb? That the climb has a physical nature does not mean that the moves cannot take you to that blind potential, to another more ethereal connection. There is no manual for this apart from the words pause in nature by getting out into it.

 

I guess what I am saying is to never base your identity on this pursuit, because if you do, you do little more that ‘hire’ yourself out of yourself…pimped to the highest bidder.

 

I can have a laugh and play and work out in the gym but my challenge to others is how seriously they take it. That the psyche can fill up with this shit is worrying. Make no mistake there is a voracious, malevolent background, bankrolled, sitting in high-rise offices planning another wave to suck you into and dumb you down in.

 

Authentic Desire, Margins of the Mind, Shaft of the Dead Man, were stalked through as if behind enemy lines. One was prepared to die. I cannot remember the moves but there are paintings to prove I returned to my studio. Almost ‘indigenous’ in its primary impulse, nothing but ones own volition energized an ascent. Nobody could take an advantage, or seek to control, or make money from such nature inspired endeavors. The body and soul and psyche are so repleat and nourished there can be no opportunity for ‘foreign’ takeover, they have native immunity. This I call divine and I feel lucky to have experienced and survived it. This approach, almost like an erotic sacrament, sustained a life, is not in the least romantic, it is more pagan in its sensibility. But make no mistake, I am not in the ‘adventure’ game either. This stalking was not adventure. The adventure waits in the studio terrain.

 

On my third fully-loaded coffee I am well enmeshed. The clicking is persistent like a ticking clock. Again I call, “get off me fucking figs.” I pick another five as they seem to be ripening in front of my eyes. I think of Father Time. I am reminded of my Grandad who instilled a very spiritual respect for all that we share the planet with. But I always criticized him for trying to get me to learn the piano. ‘I don’t care’ I would retort. And to take up his passion for golf; ‘I don’t care’. And walking long distances; ‘I don’t care’. Growing tomatoes; ‘I don’t care’. Card games and crosswords; ‘I don’t care’. Everything and etc etc; ‘I don’t care’. I am my grandfather’s age when I rebelliously and petulantly refused to acknowledge his offers of advice and caring. He is here now smiling, looking at the woodland and appreciating the vegetables growing on the reclaimed terraces. Of course I care. I always did. And now I have become my ‘own’ grandfather, and still as angry as I was at six, concerning the way the world moves. Fighting on the side of ‘otherness’ came early.

 

It is very hard in this verdant, green wilderness that blesses me each morning, listening to the living earth, to imagine the extreme decay and negligence that humankind have allowed their psyche and the planet to be infected by. That the ‘dark ages’ are still upon us is obvious, that we have fallen and are failing as a species is undeniable. The Kali Yuga, in Hindu mythology may be near its end with a new consciousness, but it wrestles with what I see as the genocide of humanity with…

‘a hundred generations of dominant pathological affliction and perpetrator religion in global society’. John Lamb Lash.

We have been hammered. How can we reclaim what we have lost when we are so full - full of dubious outside influences that seem joyful and life affirming? What a privileged life. We are not fleeing slavery in Africa or paying human traffickers for a better life somewhere else. But wait! As the media pumps out the horror from the world stage, another, unknown, silent horror that writhes in everyone, slave, migrant, banker, is the ignorance, the fatal ignorance of having forgotten how to read ourselves in the planet and the cosmos which is our home.
 

We climb out of ourselves and home.

We run out of our selves and home.

We work out of ourselves and home.

We escape out of ourselves and home.

The anchor was severed long ago by serpents unknown.

Do not believe, but know, you are the craftsman of yourself…

John Redhead

Talywaenydd, N Wales. October 2019

All Images JR.

Roger Hubank's North Wall...Reviewed

140pages: Perfect Bound Paper Back £12.99; e-book version £4.99.

Roger Hubank is one of those seminal figures whose writing en-riches the climbing scene. He has published five novels so far, and North Wall which was his first such, appeared over 40 years ago. His greatest success so far as a climbing novelist was Hazard’s Way, set in the mountain fraternity at Wasdale Head in the early years of the 20th century, a volume which won both the Boardman/Tasker award and the Grand Prix prize at the Banff Mountain Festival.

I had read Hazard’s Way before I was invited to review the re-published edition of his Alpine climbing novel, ‘North Wall’ and most interestingly in this he has penned a Foreword explaining the stories genesis. And how it is actually set in the Bregaglia Mountain Range, and that the fictitious village of ‘Molino’ is actually Promontogno at the foot of the Piz Badile. I found resonance in his story as to the actual happening during the first ascent of the North East Face of that mountain, which was led by Riccardo Cassin. They were caught high on the face in a terrible storm and two of those who joined up with his party they met on the climb, whilst pioneering the route, died in similar storm conditions to those faced by the main characters in North Wall.

The author also explains in this Foreword why because his novel contains a certain autobiographical element, he was persuaded that his two main characters, Daniel and Raymond should be French and not English, lest the originals be too recognisable. Although the mountain Piz Molino does not exist, at the preface to the novel he has also included a topo and route description for ‘the direttissima on the north-east face of the Piz Molino’. Sufficiently like the real thing for some to have claimed to have ascended this climb!

The story appears to be well set in its era of Alpine exploration, now changed beyond recognition by the advances in equipment and technique. To fully appreciate this one has to know that the author began his climbing career in an era of moleskin breeches, jammed knots and long run outs. And though some of today’s super Alpinists may find the whole premise of such a climb too far-fetched, the plot is sound; two climbers, Raymond a hard case professional mountain guide and Daniel a talented amateur set forth to take up the challenge to climb the 1200metre north-east face of the Piz Molino; a fearsome route that has not been repeated since its first ascent twelve years earlier in 1954, by a team of four Italian climbers, two of whom perished on the descent in the inevitable bad weather of storm conditions.

Though in the story of the climb, four climbers are involved, for they meet up with two Czech climbers, Tomas and Jaro on the face, only Raymond and Daniel really matter to the story. I found it difficult to get into the story, which starts during the two climbers walk in to the base of the climb. Within these early Chapters we learn something of their characters; Daniel a practising Catholic but confused about his beliefs, a pious domestic orientated man, who when not climbing attends at Mass on Sundays, and who worries about his wife and child back at home, with a partner who has never understood his need to go and challenge himself in the mountains. Raymond is the wise old guide, who has seen it all, but is haunted by his previous participation in a Himalayan expedition, during which several members of their party were deceased in an avalanche, and the death of his brother whilst climbing on the Aguille du Plan.

 

Once the climbing actually starts it does become page turning, the mountains face is split by a huge diedre, and the line of the ascent is always obvious. Access to this feature becomes one of the cruxes of the ascent for it closes above the first bivouac and necessitates a daring pendule across the face to reach a parallel flake crack. This is followed until it is possible to regain the upper diedre, which once achieved it is better to press on to the summit than to attempt to retreat. Unfortunately during this Raymond is hit by stonefall, which shatters an arm and renders him unconscious. The Czechs catch up and help all they can and eventually agree to climb on and go for assistance. However once Daniel is alone with Raymond he begins to realise how serious their position really is. Retreat is not possible and the weather is closing in, their food and fuel are running out and though Raymond is now conscious he is limited by his injuries and cannot lead on up the climb.

So the scene is set for a climbing epic, for above Daniel and Raymond are several hundred of metres of difficult climbing some of it grade six, and in part with sections of high standard artificial ascent. But with no way of communicating with anyone else, and believing that the Czechs must have perished high above in the storm, after a couple of days waiting they realise they must try to ascend to be saved. Daniel must become the leader and Raymond with his one good arm must somehow manage to follow him.I will not describe the climbing further but I believe the story from thereon, written in short sentence syntax, is carried forward by some truly, great evocative writing. The perspective in this is also enhanced by moving from character to character. You get to know what Daniel is thinking and likewise Raymond.

 

North Wall is much more than a gripping survival story; it is one that examines the nature of climbing itself? Why trade earthbound comforts for the allure of the mountains, risking all to achieve something in climbing terms which might be extraordinary. But which to the average none climber could mean something akin to a madness. As an aside is it now Quo Vadis for climbing, set against such as an ascent as described in North Wall? Will new generations of participants be more enamoured of relatively safe and cosseted gymnastic performance, via artificial walls, and competition climbing and its outstanding ‘winners’ at an Olympics, than my generation were of the ascents by Bonatti, Cassin, Heckmair, Robbins and our own Joe Brown?

I have already noted the quality of Hubank’s writing in ‘North Wall’, it received many plaudits on its first publication. It achieves something extraordinary in its relationship between the climbing and the writing, highlighting the mental impact on its participants of dedicating one’s life to such an activity as North Walling! However in this it exemplifies that mentally there is no way you can ‘method’ your way out of such a predicament, you adapt as you go on. Interestingly someone who really knows about such is Mark Twight. In his collection of short stories/articles which also won at Banff; ‘The Confessions of a serial Climber. Kiss or kill’ he notes this aspect found in the pages of North Wall and quotes from these.

Roger Hubank: Image-Boardman Tasker

Expanding on such the book highlights more closely the context within which climbing takes place, the lives of parents, wives, girl, and or boy- friends. And families as well as the larger cultural, social and political worlds, for often they do not appear in the pages of mountaineering books. Finally, Vertebrate are to be congratulated on the re-publication of North Wall, for it has brought to attention once more the writings of Roger Hubank, a former Loughborough University English literature lecturer, who is heading the judges this year at the Boardman Tasker award; an outstanding commentator on our sport. 

Dennis Gray: 2019