I've just had one of those weekends of climbing that just brings it all home and makes me super-psyched for more climbing (as long as it doesn't interfere with my sleeping).
The thing with climbing is that the reasons for doing it are so nebulous that trying to explain them to anyone is almost always futile. If you weigh up the pros and cons of climbing the table looks something like this:
| Cons | Pros |
|---|
| It's often cold and wet. | It's errr, kind of fun sometimes |
| It's expensive. |
|
| It's dangerous |
|
| You have to go to silly places to do it. |
|
| It worries your mum. |
|
| NOBODY looks good in a climbing harness |
|
| It hurts |
|
But still I (and many others) keep going back to it. The unrelenting desire to scale rockfaces, often in a somewhat unbecoming and strenuous manner, is a desire that rarely leaves once its taken hold. I have no idea why, so I'm going to write about my weekend in an attempt to express some of the allure of climbing.
Saturday saw me at Falcon Crag in the Lake District, partnered with one of the EUMC's more talented and enthusiastic climbers. I was a bit aprehensive about this because
- I'm lazy
- I'm rubbish at climbing
The first route was far harder than I'd climbed before (graded E1 for those interested), but I was seconding the route, which removes most (but not all) of the fear factor from the climb. I totally sailed up the climb, leaving me feeling pretty good about myself having pushed my own personal boundaries. Not a massive leap by any means, but enough to put a spring in my step and add a bit of cockyness.
Of course, that meant I agreed to climb an even harder route. "The Niche", graded E2, came with hearty recommendations from some quite senior (60+?) geordie blokes who's rather vocal enthusiasm and general good nature had been creating a good vibe at the crag all morning. It was, however, hard as nails and I fell off the route several times, getting increasingly more frustrated and tired with each failed move. Still, as we were walking down off trhe crag, when asked how the route was my reply was:
"Fucking Awesome"
It's actually realy cool getting comprehensively spanked off a route like that, because you know you've totally surpassed your limits. Gives you a sense of perspective and all that. And it's nice and satisfying when you're totally knackered and you feel like you've earned it.
The next day I was still pooped, so the plan was to do a nice long easy climb with nice views. Loads of us ended up at the same crag creating a really wicked 'mates climbing together' atmosphere. You know, lots of banter, piss taking that sort of thing. The sun was blasting away at us in a way we rarely experience in this country, and for those few hours, my world consisted entirely of beautiful, sun-kissed rock and the company of some great people. The world really is a better place when you're hauling yourself, a few kilos of metalware, a couple of ropes and some good mates up a pinacle in Cumbria.
Believe me, even if you get what I'm on about in my little anecdote there you're still only a fraction of the way to understanding what it is to climb. There's the 'What on Earth am I Doing Here?' feeling that marks many an epic. The taste of Pasta Splodge cooked whilst sheltering from howling gales in your tent. The knowledge that as you top out on a summit there's no other human beings for miles around. The icy blast on a winter summit.
And to think, if I'd have been any good at any other sports I'd probably spend my weekends watching telly or something. What a horrible thought.
