At last a summer came where I didn’t break any bones, I had people to climb with and I felt a lot more like a person who knew what she was doing on the rocks. After my trad falling course I acquired some crack climbing gloves and they have made it so much easier for me to attempt jamming when jamming needs to be done. I don’t care if people think it’s cheating, old timers in hob nailed boots probably think you’re cheating, I love my gloves and I’m wearing them all the time. A fellow climber commented : “You’re not in Yosemite” but I can dream. I can hang off the delicate backs of my increasingly thin skinned old lady hands and feel no pain.
Not long ago I read an article in a climbing magazine by an man in his 50’s who was winding down his climbing and being realistic about climbing as an older person. As a late comer to climbing that’s not really an option for me, I don’t want to get worse at this I want to get better. So contrary to received pandemic wisdom I’ve been climbing a tiny bit harder, sometimes.
This grade pushing has been such a mixed bag, the climbs are so varied that it’s hard to know what you will find difficult or scary until the difficult move or scary moment arrives. In one afternoon at Froggatt I had to be rescued from the top of a Severe climb, Tinsel’s Tangle, after deciding that I really couldn’t and shouldn’t make the last move but then I did my second Hard Severe, Sunset Crack, without too much drama. Now that I feel more confident that my gear placements are generally good I find it much easier to focus on the climbing. I managed to do my first Very Severe route, apple arete at Gardoms, there was a part where I looked up, saw a lot of blank rock and couldn’t see what to do next, it felt intimidating but there is a great sense of joy to be had in overcoming the problems and working out how to progress on a new route. This route sounds very pretty and it was, no big muscles required, lots of tip-toey balancy stuff and a beautiful fluted hold right at the top. I was helped by the calm silence (mostly) of my climbing partner Rob who was very patient and didn’t even gasp when my foot slipped alarmingly mid move. Worrying about the nerves of your belayer can be very distracting.
I’ve also felt more able to go to a new place without my expert friends and to sort myself out which is a big step forward. I accidentally booked a holiday in the birthplace of Scottish sport climbing (Angus) with my mainly non climbing family. My youngest child, Cai, is luckily blessed with a good head for heights and enjoyed climbing a tiny sandstone sea cliff at Arbroath with me. It was very exciting as the tide was rising and the sea was rough. It took a while to work out how to get to this sector “popular with children and beginners” as it involved stepping around a corner on a ledge above a huge drop with no handholds. It took me a while to believe that it was wise to step around this exposed corner. The thought of small children skipping around it was terrifying. The rest of our family couldn’t watch and ran away at this point. Once on the route I tested Cai’s belaying skills and nerves by climbing terribly and falling off a few times and agreed with the guidebook that this place was “not for fragile egos”. He of course skipped up the route easily after being refreshed by a wave.
It’s been fun to go to some new places : Laddow, Dovestones Tor, Gimmer, Pule Hill, Goldsborough Carr, Arbroath, and a geological trifle that turned out to be far from delicious. I’m getting a sense of the kind of adventures that I want and am capable of with my rubbish lungs. I’ve decided that I’m a big fan of a crazy long walk in with a huge backpack followed by a bit of climbing, some eating, chatting, looking at the view, a big long walk back followed by the pub.
It’s surprising that there are no pictures here of the gloves, I feel as though I’ve had them forever, I wish that I had. Next time you will see the gloves in all their rubbery glory.
idrathereatgrass 