It was the first attempt at via ferrata for 5 out of 6 of our party (we started as an 8 but more of that later). I had a bad feeling about this the night I borrowed a via ferrata kit, a thing that looks like a mutated octopus, or as Dave said, an afterbirth. The kit came with strict instructions not to “open the package”. The package was a small box with a zip that opens if you fall off the rock and hopefully lets out some tape to absorb your fall and stop the whole thing from breaking and leading to disaster. After my introduction to this rather unconvincing kit I had a nightmare about via ferrata and wasn’t massively looking forward to it.
A couple of weeks later we were all having a lovely time climbing in the Costa Blanca when it was suggested that we might want to try a via ferrata. There was a discussion the night before about the grades: 1,2 3, 4 and 5. I made the mistake of being very unassertive about my desire to start on a 2 as we’d never done it before and more vocal members of the group decided a 3 would be better because “we’re rock climbers, holiday makers do this, we’ll have no problems” we/they chose a long and involved route called El Cid but we decided to call in at a place called “The Orange House” on the way.
After a rather stressful trip in the car (too many alternative attitudes to navigating all competing for world domination) we found the orange house which is a climbing lodge run by an ex marine called Rich. He looked fit in both senses of the word. We told Rich our plan and he made it pretty clear that he thought it was beyond us/daft. Maybe we looked too old, small, female, incompetent for such an ambitious undertaking? Maybe we were giving off an air of unprepared innocence? Rich proceeded to tell us that he had tested these kits and they were no good for very small people (one of us) and that if we attached them with a karrabiner they would fail, if we threaded it as we were intending it might fail and that there was a fair chance of massive internal injuries or death. He stressed that El Cid would take too long so we decided to head to Ponoch which promised to be shorter.
By the time we found Ponoch: look for a green building, a car park and a helicopter pad I felt like I was in a James Bond movie. A pretty amateurish James Bond movie at that. Two of our companions decided to go for a walk, one of these had not only opened the package but he’d left the package back in the villa and had had to bundle the life saving tapes together with a hair band. Not the most auspicious start to the day.
It was a shame to lose Martin and Dave because they were really fun but I admired their good sense in deciding not to participate in a potential disaster. I was semi tempted to join them but they seemed happy to get away from the rest of us as soon as they could.
We walked through some woods and up a steep rocky path until we reached the start of the via ferrata. The more experienced climbers told us that the intimidating runged rock we were about to ascend would only last 30 metres. We embarked on our mission looking like space men with our curly lanyards. Getting used to clipping the lanyards for the first time in an extremely exposed and steep position is something I would advise you to avoid.
The rungs were very widely spaced and sliippery so I braced my feet sideways and used the rock as much as possible. I reassured myself that this would only last for 30 metres. This turned out to be an absolute load of bollocks, every time I looked up there were more rungs. I had left my jumper on and began to boil but there was no way of taking it off. We had to swing sideways a few times which felt quite tricky and on the very steep bits I just climbed as quickly as I could and didn’t look down. Eventually I caught up with the rest of the group having a break on a tiny ridge, I thought it was nearly over, but then I looked up and saw yet more rungs going up the crag.
At the top of those rungs was a scree ridden slope that my dear friend Sharon did not like at all. She was tied to a rock with a sling while we had lunch. I was enjoying my vertiginous sandwich when my rucksack suddenly started to roll down towards the edge shedding flasks as it went. It came to a rest extremely close to the edge and I resisted the urge to run towards it, unlike my climbing friend Rob who hastened to retrieve it. I thanked him profusely but he insisted that people do not roll uncontrollably like rucksacks because our arms and legs get caught so it was fine to hasten to the edge as he had.
We then traversed along the edge, down climbed a little with the aid of more wire and came to the abseil point. Our more experienced friends set up the abseil and we took it in turns to go down to a ridge. This ridge was advertised as being roomy enough for 4-5 people but we had 6. We had some very small people, some smallish people and two “normal sized” men who redeemed their relative largeness by being very useful in the abseiling knowledge department.
We all fitted on the ledge but I was concerned that we only had one rope between all of us (take more if you ever do this) as we’d been having a lot of issues with stuck rope. Happily the rope came down and the second abseil was set up. The rope got caught but our super calm friend Howard sorted it out. When we got to the bottom and said how much we’d enjoyed abseiling he told us that was because we didn’t understand it. Ignorance is often bliss.
So all 6 of us survived the Ponoch and walked back to the helipad feeling extremely glad that we had. It was a top day out if you enjoy a bit of fear with your picnic.
Thanks to Henry for taking the pictures
idrathereatgrass 