Feet in the clouds, foot on the table

The first 1.7 miles, with 1890 ft of climbing were a killer. It was hot in the sun and the sweat was soon pouring from my skin. Mr Marzipan, with a tenacity and fitness I simply could not match, ploughed on up the uneven stone steps as my long legs reverted to a walk, one powerful step seemingly more energy efficient than trying to run. The plan was nothing but ambitious and I felt distinctly under prepared, a night in my tent during a torrential downpour leaving me tired and somewhat lacking in psych. Reaching the ridge, I found it hard to regulate my temperature, my burning, damp skin rapidly cooling in the stiff autumnal breeze.  

Looking happier than I felt!

The terrain was hard and it was impossible to find any kind of rhythm, traction was difficult on the loose stones, footing awkward over uneven boulders, runnable sections gave way to scrambly rocks and the stone steps, just at the wrong height, seemed easier to attack at an aggressive walking pace than a quad burning run. Mr Marzipan, native to this place, disappeared from view as I struggled to trust my feet on the descents, frustrated that I was so frightened of slipping, I was making no headway at all.

It's a sartorial nightmare

Soon, I was flagging; 'go juice', bar thingies and marzipan seemingly unable to provide the energy I needed and the more tired I became, the more frustrated I was, my feet no longer seemingly wired to my brain. On Crinkle Crags, we finished the last of the marzipan and the sight of Bow Fell filled me with dread. As runs go, this was not going well. On the last few knolls before the col, I was so tired and frustrated, quite uncharacteristically, I threatened to cry!

Wonderful light

Finally we made it to The Band and the land consistently began to descend. Again the path felt hard to run, more steps, more stones, more gravel, more rocks. I was envious of Mr Marzipan as he seemed to effortlessly and quickly float down the mountain - there was no way I could catch him so I concentrated on making my own way down, still fighting hard to find any kind of speed or rhythm.

I might have tried to snap a leg off but at least there was a nice rainbow

Battling on, a tired, sloppy step made my ankle bend further than is comfortable, recovering and continuing for a few steps more, I suddenly felt it bend at right angles, first one way, then the other. I sank to the ground in pain. But there is little choice in these situations than, to paraphrase a friend, HTFU and sort oneself out. I started limping downwards.

First aid

I don't know how long it took us to get down, every step required thought, at times the human crutch and commandeered walking pole were needed for complex foot swaps, the pain numbed by paracetamol donated by a stranger. I thought it would never end, that the campsite would come no closer. But the kindness of strangers sometimes surprises you and limping the last kilometre along the road, someone offered us a lift.

Long Legs on one leg

Some hours later, I left Kendal hospital with a pair of crutches and a very bad sprain but I suppose that's sometimes the price you pay for getting out and doing the things that as hard as they might be, really are the things you love. For now though, my ankle is quite firmly settled on top of the coffee table...

Breathing Space

It was all too much, my brain tired, my emotions battered.  Hauling myself out of bed at 4.30pm on a Monday afternoon, it was sink or swim. On autopilot I found my way into Tesco, a robot directed by the list in its hand. I was numb.

Another list: bivvy bag, stove, petrol, clothes, food. Squashing things smaller, discarding superfluous shit. How many nights? I don't know. I don't want to come back. The bag seems heavy, I don't know what else I can leave behind. 

In the morning, all I have to do is put the bag in the car. I'm driving in a bubble. I park where has been suggested. I walk. The bag is heavy. It is hot, I am not moving quickly. I don't care about speed, I don't really care where I am going, one foot in front of the other. People say hello. I don't want to engage. Someone says 'It's a beautiful view from up there.'.

The sun on my skin, the breeze in my face, the mountains around me. The numbness begins to lift but I am tired inside. I keep walking. I am alone. I am lost in my thoughts, talking out loud in a conversation with someone who isn't even there. I have lost what I think, I'm not sure what I feel. I talk and I think and it starts to make sense. I think.

I run out of water. I want a cup of tea. So I wander across the hillside until I find somewhere to hide, sheltered and nestled amongst the rocks. My phone signal is shit. This is a good thing. I'm only staying for the night, my hand forced by external forces. Perhaps that's for the best. I put the kettle on and as I relax in my soft nest, I cry. It all starts to come out. I eat a weird dinner, I have cous cous in my second cup of tea. I don't want to eat, it's a mechanical, necessary process. It's fuel, that's all.

Medicinal tea

Watching the sunset, the Herdwick sheep surround me, one looks at me, its head cocked to one side, an expression of curiosity on her face. It's like a huge release of emotion. Things I've bottled up for months. It all pours out. I am still talking, having that conversation through floods of tears, alone on a hillock watching the sun dogs in the sky.

I climb into my bivvy bag, everything illuminated by the moon, I miss all this caged up in my house in West Yorkshire. I look up to the stars, I don't know what the constellations are, I think of someone who would. The wind has dropped and lying there looking up at that huge moon and those beautiful stars and planets, I am struck by the beauty of the world. I tuck my little pillow under my head and  I sleep. Better than I have slept in months. 

Dawn

The mundanities of life

It has been some time since I wrote my blog. The realities of a very large deadline and accompanying imminent cessation in funds has seen me tied to my computer for more hours than I care to think about. And climbing still frightens me and being stressed out to the point of tears currently doesn't really feel like fun.

The Simple Chick says I go in phases, which is true, and this is a running phase, if it is anything. Running isn't stressful, unless I make it stressful, and it seems the perfect antithesis to thinking and writing about complex theoretical ideas relating to prehistoric archaeology. Work hard, run hard.

Pootling about on Ilkley Moor

I stopped running for several months earlier in the year, firstly due to injury and then because my entire world seemed to be constantly revolving at 90 miles per hours as I tried to spin more plates than I could really manage. But such times are unsustainable and eventually I reached a point where something had to change. On went my running shoes.

I am unfit now and it makes me sad that I wasted all the effort of last year by getting caught up in life for so long; in the moment, it is hard to see how much you have achieved or what you have become. I am not running as often as I was, I am tired and my body needs time to regain some of that previous fitness. But with renewed perspective, I think my attitude has changed, never am I going to not push myself as hard as I can, because that is who I am, but I can see now that running makes me feel significantly mentally and physically better and that is more important than race times or distances ever could be. I have remembered how much I love running off-road and I wish I still had the fitness of last year, not because I want to race or be fast, but because I want to be fit enough to go off into the wilderness, lace up my trainers and spend all day running over the mountains.

A masterclass, a multi-pitch and a mountain

The climb wasn't hard, and I had done it before, but as we had planned our weekend, my current complete lack of confidence had morphed the 'bouldery start' described in the book into some kind of holdless monstrosity from which I would inevitably fall. Standing looking at it, my doubts surfaced again, but as I considered the options, some of Dave MacLeod's words from a masterclass a few hours earlier popped into my head, 'push yourself a little bit out of your comfort zone with each session'. Saying nothing to the others, I started to methodically rack up.

Ladies on a ledge

I don't think I have enjoyed a lead climb as much as that in a long, long time. Where there was a minor difficulty, I tried to think about protection, then thought carefully about the next few moves and when I got a little nervous, I repeated 'comfort zone' a few times, breathed and moved. At one point, standing up on a solid foot jam, I was even thankful for grit. I did not cry, I did not hyperventilate, I was not rooted to the spot for an hour  - I looked, I thought, I placed gear, I climbed.

The Simple Chick and the Original Climbing Partner sorting gear at the top of the second pitch

Reaching the top of the pitch and bringing the others up, there was something quite brilliant about being crammed on a ledge with The Original Climbing Partner (in a rare guest appearance) and the Simple Chick, trying hard to not get ropes, slings and climbers in an irreversible raffle, and there was something even better about being on a route where we each had a pitch to lead. 65m of bliss.

Having ruminated for a couple of days, I think what I mainly took from the masterclass was the idea that a little bit more effort could make a massive difference to your climbing and for me, as someone who struggles with balance and moderation, this struck a huge chord. I know I am undynamic, but I now see a way that I can begin to address this, without going hell for leather, breaking myself or scaring myself shitless. I know my finger strength could be better and perhaps buying a fingerboard would also provide a welcome break from the monotony of writing my thesis and one that doesn't involve food! But the session also taught me that if I got a fingerboard and did a little bit with it, this little bit would still make a big difference to what and how I can climb - it does not matter yet that I cannot do a one arm pull up!

Long Legs listens in

I am uber busy and my life feels like it is in constant perpetual motion, but it doesn't feel like I would add to the pressure and stress I always seem to be under by doing some small things differently. While I am climbing outside a lot, it would still be good to get down the bouldering wall once a week and to try a footless problem while I was there, trying to push that comfort zone just a little in a session, particularly indoors, doesn't seem outlandish, getting back into running, even just a couple of times a week is better than being welded to my desk chair, getting up and hanging for 7 seconds to alleviate PhD boredom is better than eating yet another bit of toast, but taken together these things would make me a little bit stronger, a little bit fitter, a little bit less scared and someone who is stronger, fitter and a tiny bit braver climbs better than one who is not.

And the mountain? My first time up Ben Nevis - from the campsite via the Ledge Route - what a weekend!

The Original Climbing  Partner and the Simple Chick enjoy Ledge Route on Ben Nevis - next time Castle Ridge!

Mission trad

This month the sun does not seem to have stopped shining and I have made the absolute most of the weather to get out and climb. There have been routes on grit, limestone and rhyolite, in West Yorkshire, North Yorkshire, the Dales, Peak District and in the Lakes. Most have been single pitch, but yesterday was a proper multi-multi-pitch adventure.

Completely uncharacteristically, the forecast for the May bank holiday seemed to keep improving as the weekend approached and the Simple Chick and I deliberated long and hard about where we were going to go for our long standing climbing date. Settling for Windgather, we set off down the M62, ropes, rack and tents packed.

Our session was about gaining more confidence to climb together and to look after ourselves, without one of our more experienced partners on hand to bail us out, if necessary. My confidence on the sharp end is virtually zero, with every single move I make, I cannot help but see the potential (serious) consequences of making a mistake. I feel like I am in a complete climbing rut and I have no idea how to get out of it. It would be easy for me to just give up and second routes all day long but that simply is not who I am, I do not want to be a follower, I want to be an independent, confident and safe climber, swinging leads on a Lakeland multi-pitch. 

The Simple Chick at the belay

So I keep on climbing and keep on trying to lead things that I like the look of. My mates, older and more experienced, tell me that plugging away leading low grade routes when I fancy them is the best thing to do, but I feel frustrated that I don't seem to be able to get over what appears to be a fear of dying. I would like to say the fear was unfounded and irrational, but it is not.

Girls who love rock!

Windgather is a friendly crag and the Simple Chick and I knew there was plenty to go at, well within our comfort zone. So we led, turn about, picking whatever we fancied, trying hard to get good gear placements and well, more time on rock. My head went a couple of times and I must have spent a good half an hour, rooted to the spot on one route, convinced that the move I knew I had to make was going to result in a foot slip... and death. So I laced the crack with gear and after about 900 false attempts ('I'm going to die!', 'You're not going to die.', 'I'm going to die!' etc), I went for it and then just kept going until I reached a massive ledge. When I stopped shaking, I wondered, as did the old boy who had been watching and listening to me, what the hell the fuss had been about.

Long Legs on Raven Crag

Fast forward a few days and my other mate and I found ourselves in Langdale, a plan for a multi-pitch adventure having been hatched over a post-climb beer. We started up Raven Crag and, after 5 pitches of climbing, walked up and across to Gimmer Crag. The latter seemed high and imposing and on initial inspection, the supposedly easy route seemed blank, but it was not. The climb was excellent, high above the valley floor, with an awesome view all around. But I was nervous, even on second, because my 'can't do' head had appeared. This was new territory and I did not know what to expect, but the holds kept coming and the more I climbed, the more I enjoyed it. After an even better second pitch, I was in love with Gimmer Crag (always listen to the Simple Chick!) and already want to go back. The top pitch became more scrambly, and arriving at the belay and reaching a wide grass ledge, my remaining cheese sandwich was very welcome indeed. 

View from the bottom of Gimmer Crag

My mate, who is a far better climber than me, led all the pitches and I think, had I tried, I would have felt under so much pressure from the following pair, that my confidence would have been even less than normal, but I can't help feeling disappointed that I didn't lead at least one pitch. This is the sort of stuff I want to do - comfortable climbing, on long routes, in amazing places - if only I knew how to sort out my head...

View from the top of Gimmer Crag

The need for rock

The Simple Chick and I made a decision a few weeks ago to make our trad season happen. Last year, as sunny days passed by, I threw myself into running, but it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it broke my heart to not be out on rock. Life and circumstances change and I now know many more safe and competent climbers to get outdoors with and, for the next four months at least, I am free to get out whenever the weather is favourable.

A smiling Simple Chick at Stanage

For the past few weeks, the sun seems to have just kept shining and I have actually managed to get out climbing. I was perhaps surprised to find that the events of last year are still at the forefront of my mind, even when seconding I am sometimes frightened and I am now unbelievably cautious on lead. I don't want to go above my own gear - because I have seen gear (not my own) fail, with serious consequences.  But something else curious has happened, perhaps because of the added Vitamin D, perhaps because it gets me away from my PhD, perhaps because of the inherent mindfulness of the very act of climbing, but for these last few weeks of frequent trad excursions, I have have felt far more at peace with myself than I have done for several months. The more time I spend wielding hexes, the things that have been upsetting me seem to be carried away on the ever present wind.

Trying to muster the courage to jam on lead...

And to me, climbing, particularly on gritstone, remains a challenge. I constantly have to fight my own fears, my perception of my limitations and my hands are scabbed from learning to jam, but even if I have been shut down on routes and despite having so much still to learn, of all the different aspects of climbing that exist, I know that trad is my 'thing'. The way that it makes me feel and the way I feel about climbing trad, are almost impossible to encapsulate in words - it is as if I 'need' to climb to make myself whole.

P making up another route at Almscliff

I want to spend every minute of good weather this summer out on the rock with my friends. I no longer care about the inconsequential ins and outs, and ups and downs, of real life, for me, climbing transcends it all.

As time and time again I find myself saying, 'I just want to go climbing'.

Scary Mary atop 'It's Scary Mary' (S 4a) at Stanage

The rabbit move

The Baron, drinking coffee from on high and without the benefit of sound, seemed quite amused as the Simple Chick and I apparently embraced, undertook a short dance routine and started imitating rabbits between climbs. In reality, of course, we were discussing the moves of the Simple Chick's project, going through the sequence before she climbed again.

The rabbit move

A few weeks previously, I had belayed as she climbed her hardest lead. I was so proud of her breaking through another grade barrier, particularly as I knew that she was perfectly capable of climbing the route, but that she just didn't THINK that she could do it. Following this success, and the accompanying mini high that I think all climbers chase, she set her sights on the next grade and a lovely route on the same wall. We spent a few sessions working it, concentrating on the little traverse sequence at the top.

On her next attempt, as she neared the top, I think the man next to me was quite amused as I shouted 'it's the rabbit move' and watched her execute the sequence smoothly and easily. She smashed it!

The Simple Chick post crush

Later on, I think for the 5th time that night, having taken a proper fall from the hard move, another silly fall and having backed off twice, once due to the shock of actually doing the hard move(!), I gave my project one final try. The Simple Chick said we were not leaving until I had done it (and promised me a pint if I did), but in truth, I was getting tired and running out of chances.

Reinvigorated with high calorie tiffin and yet another coffee, before I knew it, I had clipped the 6th clip and faced the hard move, now slightly refined with the Simple Chick's help. There was no choice, I had to keep going this time. Stepping up, my hand landed solidly on the triangle and I tried hard to compose myself for the final sequence. I heard the Simple Chick cheer me on as I moved my right foot, clipped, brought my left foot in and right foot out, frogged, moved my body over, stepped up and reached up for the jug, letting out a rather loud 'YES!' as I clipped the anchor.

A very happy Long Legs

I was buzzing when I reached the ground - it was just such a rush to finally get a route clean that I had been working for a while and which at times had felt completely unachievable. And for me, the most interesting part was that the very first time I went near the route, I could barely get past the second clip on top rope - at that point I never believed I would ever lead a 6c.

Long Legs and the Simple Chick enjoy a very well earned celebratory beer

And so, this all made me start to think... Perhaps I can achieve what I want to achieve if I put the work in, maybe I really can climb harder, perhaps I haven't reached the limits of my abilities after all? Clearly training and trying harder routes each week has reaped rewards, my fingers are stronger and I feel that I am getting a little better at reading sequences. There is no doubt that Main Wall Monday has paid huge dividends, steep angles that a few months ago were exhausting, seem so much easier now. 

Dave MacLeod (my hero!) talks in his book about being open about your goals so I am now going to share mine - I would like to lead a 7a indoors and a 6b on the Main Wall before the end of 2016. In the past, I would have said there was no way I could do either of these things, but now I think, why not? If I plan my approach and train accordingly, I can certainly give both objectives a damn good try.

More than anything, I am really looking forward to the fun that the Simple Chick, and my other friends and I, are going to have, as we work our routes, get outdoors and train hard for the rest of this year.

Climbing is always a very, very serious business

A pictorial multi-pitch (mis)adventure

I think the highlight of my trip to Spain was our day of multi-pitching at Sierra de Toix. The routes were easy, but the whole situation of the climbs, the views we were afforded out across Costa Blanca and the Mediterranean, the abseil retreats and the inadvertent detour, made the whole experience pretty unforgettable. More than anything, it was damn good fun!

We started with Esplon Gris:

The Baron de las Bends at the first stance

Long legs ready to belay

Top of multi-pitch selfie.

Long Legs enjoying the second abseil retreat

Long Legs abseiling in an awesome location

After a walk(!) and our lunch we moved on to Chabito where I manned up and decided to lead the first pitch:

The Baron belays Long Legs as she leads her first sport multi-pitch pitch

Long Legs on the sharp end - the pitch was a bit run out but she was too busy singing to notice!

Long Legs feeling particularly pleased with her rope management skills!

The Enforcer waves from an adjacent single pitch

Sitting happily at my stance, the Baron seemed to have been gone for some time before there was any hint of him reaching a belay. Eventually following behind, it transpired that the 15m second pitch had somehow became nearer 50m...

View from the alternative top...

Still stunning despite the modern development

Long Legs watches as the Baron starts what was to become ab 1 of 3!

Reaching the top, we realised that we had had a bit of a misnavigation and set about deciding upon a plan of retreat - at the bottom of the second abseil, it was quite a relief when our bags, still some metres below, honed into view. Some time later, when finally reunited with my jumper(!), I felt like we had definitely got value for money on our day out - and of course, had most certainly had an adventure!

Climb it because you hate it

At the end of January, I was in such a low place about my climbing that I nearly cried in the middle of a session. My debilitating fear of falling had returned and I felt I wasn't getting anywhere, however dedicated I was to trying. Something had to change.

Although I am something of a climbing obsessive, I have come to realise that if I don't have goals and direction, I become very frustrated and unhappy that the hours I am willing to put in do not appear to be paying any dividends. I think though, sometimes (all the time!) my progress is actually hampered by my now famous 'can't do' attitude which stops me trying and when I do try, prepares me to fail.

And so it was, while stuck in the miserable climbing doldrums, that I became curious about the Enforcer's training plan, which as far as I could see, mainly involved warming up on what was pretty much my top grade! It transpired that the plan actually involved easy mileage and more difficult routes in decreasing frequency. I picked the place where it seemed wise to start and cracked on. 

Playing on the main wall at the end of a long, solid training session. Only counted as a 5 though!

Having now reached the end of month one, I think the biggest difference to my climbing has been mental. Because the training plan tells me I have to do a certain number of a certain grade of climb, then I do it. Because it tells me I have to do oodles of low grade routes, I am forced to climb the ones I don't even like, to the point that I now actively seek them out. It's like I am forcing myself to do things for the very reason that they make me uncomfortable. But more than anything, I think my perception of difficulty has changed, perhaps in part because I often climb with someone who is much, much better than me and I have come to realise that things that to me were once impossible, might actually be achievable, with a little effort.

The maximum grade of route I am willing to try has increased exponentially and strangely enough, when I try those routes, although they are most definitely absolutely nails, the whole thing is not the unmitigated disaster I would have previously assumed that it would be. But I am still scared of falling and probably still more scared of failing and I often second or top rope the harder stuff because I am wimp. I have a fear of missing the first clip and ground falling and, after the accident last year, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people I trust enough to belay me on my hardest leads.

Training works, Main Wall Monday works and pushing yourself outside your comfort zone can reap huge rewards, but until I overcome my fear of failure, deal with the two serious accidents I have witnessed and push myself on lead to the point of falling repeatedly, I'll never be the climber that I could be. Or perhaps more accurately, I'll never be the climber that I want to be.

Zig-zags and pink skies

Standing on the upper slopes of Zig-Zags, I felt totally at home in my environment. The steep slope, the weather, the ground conditions - none of that bothered me, as I had expected it might, and instead I was filled with a warm sense of what I can only describe as belonging.  It felt as if we had 'mountaineered' to get there and that seemed special - using my climbing skills to go somewhere, to be able to take the more adventurous line up the hill, that's what it's all about for me. 

I was filled with pride as I watched the Simple Chick ascending, roped together with our instructor, Jamie. Her learning curve had been steep but she had risen to the challenge and there she was, approaching the top of her first graded winter route.

Jamie Bankhead leads the Simple Chick on the upper slopes of Zig-Zags

It had all started a few months ago when I turned to the Simple Chick during one of our tea drinking sessions at the wall and simply said, 'Winter mountaineering. Thoughts?'. Soon we had booked two days with my go to MIC, Jamie Bankhead of Glencoe Climbing, who was willing to have me back, despite my turning the air blue on Dorsal Arete last year! The Simple Chick needed an introduction to the wonders of winter with axes and crampons and I was keen to have a go at a little light leading.

Our two days were incredibly different, both in activity and weather conditions, but were both equally amazing. The pink sky seen from Buachaille Etive Beag could never truly be recreated in our photographs, while the whole experience of being there, in those conditions, felt like one of those days that you remember for the rest of your life. What a day for the Simple Chick to do her first winter Munro!

The view from Buachaille Etive Beag

Conditions and avalanche risk dictated our choice for day two, but I had my Main Wall Monday psyche on (well it was Monday!) and led two little easy pitches. The venue was so lovely and friendly, it was a perfect choice for learning in and I think only having two pitches to do meant that my appetite was whetted, not only for more winter climbing, but also for multi-pitch mountain routes on warm summer rock. 

Long Legs gets prepared

We returned via the route we had climbed, which meant the chance to abseil. I was in my absolute element, having been forced to learn to love abseiling in preparation for CWAA (JJ has a lot to answer for!) and was loving the addition of crampons and snow/ice to the mix. It was good to learn about the safeguarding of the party at the anchor and to see a stacked abseil in use and not just in the pictures in Libby Peter's book. The Simple Chick was less comfortable, but once again, she just got on with it, even though I knew she was finding it really stressful. She rocks!

The Simple Chick bosses the abseil

Both the Simple Chick and I came away having had a great two days and it is a credit to Jamie that he ensured that we both got what we wanted out of the experience. On the way home in the car, the Simple Chick asked me what crampons cost - I think we are going back next year!

Wonk the elephant

This is Wonk:

Wonk

Wonk was a present from my friend, and former lodger, Cat. She came in an envelope all the way from Orkney, it must a have been a long journey for such a tiny elephant... Mammoo, official tiny mammoth of Main Wall Monday, was quite taken aback when Wonk arrived - he had never seen such a lovely, colourful and sparkly Elephantidae as she, he was glad to have found a climbing partner his own size.

Mammoo gets a surprise...

Wonk, loves climbing, and Mammoo, even though he never says so, loves climbing with her. She's taken him up routes he never managed before and, under that dark, furry, brooding exterior, he's always really happy to see her achieve in the way he knows that she can. Sometimes he thinks her stuffing must be made from 'crush'. Wonk doesn't think she is very good climber, in much the same way she worries about her wonky trunk and slightly lopsided eyes, but when she climbs with Mammoo, she feels the confidence to try.

Wonk is my lucky charm. But I suppose the moral of the story is this: every climber deserves their own Wonk or Mammoo - a climbing partner who you trust implicitly, who fills you with confidence and always encourages you to try. And when you find them, get out there and get crushing. But don't be like Mammoo, if you've got a Wonk, don't forget to let them know that they're awesome!

Having a well earned tea break

Logbooks and leg warmers

I have often written about the difficulty I have in quantifying whether I climb better now that I used to, but the other day, the curse that is the Facebook memory showed me a picture of my climbing leg warmers and old climbing shoes, and I became curious as to exactly what I had been doing one year ago.

21st January 2015

My logbook tells a story of fear. Easy routes rested on, panic attacks and a strong desire to vomit. There were no overhangs, grades were low and sessions were short. There was clearly not enough tea.

Logbook entry for 21st January 2015

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I also went climbing on the 21st January 2016. New routes had been set in the gully and my climbing partner and I, together with half the Leeds regulars, were on those routes like Winnie the Pooh round honey. Our session was long, there was lots of tea and I felt like I was climbing pretty well, but was there any demonstrable improvement?

I think I'll let you decide that for yourself.

Log from 21st January 2016