Project Fear film

Here is the Project Fear film about my new route on Cima Ovest last September. Truth be told, I was incredibly lucky that myself and Alan Cassidy were able to get the route climbed given the very poor weather in the Dolomites last season. Of course, to a certain extent we made our own luck as you see in the film, my cleaning and preparing the route through the poor weather rather than just sitting waiting.

However, the two sunny days we had were a crucial ingredient and I was desperate to make them count. I’m sure you’ll understand that my favourite part of the film are the parts playing with Freida at home in Glen Nevis. But this it is also a great memory of the adventures on that massive roof. It gets me psyched for summer's big wall expedition will be rather bigger in scale.

A special thanks to Mountain Equipment for supporting our trip and the film idea, Karl for exploring the roof with me and dodging the blocks I knocked off, Alan for coming with me on the route and the Coldhouse guys for being great craic and teaching me a lot.

A Scottish route on Cima Ovest!

A new route through this roof? Yes, let's do it!!! Photo: Matt Pycroft/Coldhouse Collective.

 I wrote the first few paragraphs below about a week ago in the Dolomites, but didn't post it up. Thankfully, I put them right out of date in the days that followed:

Sep 6th. I am in the Dolomites for the second time this summer, trying to do a new route. I’ve spent over three weeks here and had less than ten days on the wall. The locals tell me it’s been the worst summer in decades. Since there’s not much I can do about that, I’m trying to focus on the good stuff I’ve already done.

First, I came out for a week with Karl and started to try and aid climb through the immensely steep line I wanted to climb. That was a lot of fun, most of the time anyway. After a run of body weight placements on one section, I finally got a big bong fully into a pocket and shouted down to Karl that I finally had a good placement to settle my nerves and potentially retreat from. A few minutes later while sitting on a skyhook above the good peg, it came right out in my hand with the slightest touch.

I pressed on but eventually arrived at a blank roof with no holds for free climbing and realised it wasn’t going to happen. I resigned myself that the new route idea was finished and I’d try Alex Huber’s famous route Panaroma instead. On the last day I went up for a look at Panaroma’s top 8c pitch. From the vantage point of the big loops of static rope in space under the roofs, I spotted a potential other way for the new route. This continued to simmer in my mind while I was back home in Scotland for two weeks of film work.

I arrived back in the Dolomites on Aug 24th and got stuck straight into investigating the line on my own, while Alan Cassidy and Rob Sutton worked on Bellavista. I got a great start and managed to get the pegs in across the roofs and get a fixed rope in place in a couple of days. In the following week, we lost time to bad weather, but I still managed to complete the intense process of cleaning the spectacularly loose rock and figuring out which holds were solid enough.

The route looks utterly amazing. And now it’s ready for me to start working it. But it won’t stop raining and we only have 4 days left. Since I have decided to stop putting so much pressure on myself, I have already accepted that I will have to come back next summer to climb it. It’s just not been the summer for getting stuff done in the Dolomites. We saw Jacopo Larcher going through the same process on Panaroma, slipping off the damp crux repeatedly after hanging out here for the summer.

I’m still happy with the way things have gone. The route is well worth a return trip next summer.

4 days later...

Well it didn’t quite work out like that. Two days among an endless stream of thunderstorm days turned out to be ok. I tried my absolute best to make both of them count. On the first day I shunted up the lower pitches (6b+, 6c+, 7a, 6c+) to warm up, then quickly saw off the first roof pitch which was only 7b+. The next pitch, around 8a+ and the best pitch I’ve ever seen in the Dolomites was great fun to work on. First go up I worked out the moves, which were just brilliant. The pitch kicks off with a huge span across the roof to a flake and wild cut loose, followed by powerful, positive climbing in the most mind blowing situation. On my second go, I nearly linked the whole pitch, but had to give in 15 feet from the belay with terminal rope drag (just needed double ropes). At the belay I was so pumped I couldn’t imagine climbing anything else and was desperate to go down. 

At this point the route joins Alex Huber’s Panaroma just before its 8c pitch through the final roofs. I forced myself to go out and try the moves, since I knew there would be only one more day in the trip to try the project.

The next day I felt like I’d been given a good kicking. I belayed Alan while he destroyed an 8b+ in the valley sport crags, saw off yet another amazing pizza in seconds and then hit the sack. The forecast for the next day was good, and everyone knew it would be the last day for climbing on the project. They asked ‘What time are we getting up?’ Since my best effort on the top 8c was still basically a bolt to bolt, albeit while feeling very tired and shivering in the cold, I told them I would have a 5% chance to succeed so there was no point getting up early. An extra few hours of sleep would do more for my chances. So we rose at 8 and drunk a lot of tea.

The awesome big 8a+ pitch leading up into Panaroma. They don't come much more out there than this pitch. Photo: Matt Pycroft/Coldhouse Collective. Incidentally, Coldhouse filmed our ascent for Mountain Equipment. I'll post up the footage when it's released.

At 11am I started leading the lower wall pitches with Alan Cassidy, which floated by without any dramas. The roof was its usual damp and slippery self, so the 7b+ around the nose felt like a wake up call and I arrived at the diving board perch belay quite pumped. I shared with Alan that I was unsure even to bother continuing since the rock was so damp. But I was just letting of steam - of course there’s no way I would waste an opportunity to try, especially as I noticed some fitness in my arms from the previous session. So, for my damp 8a+ burn, I did the only thing I could do, took out my brain and went for it at full pelt. Where the fall is scary but basically safe, I find the best mindset is to almost invite the fall by removing all inhibitions and climb with total commitment. And so, after some nervous waits at each shakeout along the way, I arrived at the Panaroma belay with a deep burning pump in my arms and stared across at the 8c. 150 metres climbed, 12 metres between me and 6c+ maximum to the top.

Staring out a wet flake on the Panaroma 8c pitch. Photo: Matt Pycroft/Coldhouse Collective.

I knew it would be wet and slippery, and I’d have to engage full on terrier mode to even have a chance. But again, what else would I do? No prizes for not giving it everything. So I shut my mind up, sat for a quiet moment in my harness, and then departed. The next three minutes were not particularly pretty. Feet pinged off wet footholds, brute force kept me on the rock and I don’t think I’ve ever had a higher breathing rate. Then I found myself hanging from a huge jug on the vertical expanse above the final roof, unable to get a word out between gasps for oxygen. After a minute or two, I’d calmed down enough to flop onto the belay ledge and grin.

So. Just two 6c+ pitches and then 400 metres of the Cassin route to go. I looked around at the sky and saw rain showers in all directions. Please don’t rain on us! It didn’t. With fantastic luck, the showers melted away into the evening as we raced higher and higher up the Cassin route, switching rapidly at the belays and speed climbing upwards. at 11pm, we strolled without our headtorches on to the summit of Cima Ovest in glorious full moonlight and a perfectly warm and still night. After taking in the incredible moonlit vista for a while and chatting to Helen and Claire on the phone, we ambled down for beer at 1am.

It was both the hardest and definitely the finest route I've climbed in my 5 or so trips to the Dolomites over the past 13 years. The lower wall free climbs the first 90 metres of the old Baur aid route (don't trust those old drilled pegs, they break!). But the best thing about it is that it climbs more or less straight up through the roof amphitheatre. As I write on September 18th, I'm hoping and waiting eagerly to find out if my country will take it's opportunity to complete it's new route and eclipse this climb as the highlight of my summer so far.

Sept 19th update: I thought of a name. Project Fear 6b+, 6c+, 7a, 6c, 7b+, 8a+, 8c, 6c+, 6c+, 5+, 6a, finish via Cassin.

Bellavista on 3.5 limbs

Cold but happy climbers after Bellavista. Photo: Alan Cassidy (you should read his blog, it’s really good)

Before my ‘long shot’ trip to Bellavista with Alan Cassidy, I had a small hiccup. I was leading Hold Fast, Hold True (E9) in Glen Nevis a week before we were leaving and didn’t quite catch a hold right after the crux, slipping off and decking out from rather higher than one would like. I got away lightly, with quite nasty whiplash and a sprained left ankle. I was able to walk, well, between the kettle and the couch anyway. So I felt it wouldn’t be a problem for the upcoming trip.

I left it 5 days and then tried to get a couple of pre-trip training sessions in TCA before we left. To my dismay, I discovered that I couldn’t even nearly get a rockshoe on my fat, bruised foot. I had a session of one-footed traversing anyway and then went for an X-ray since things seemed to be getting more, not less painful. Sure enough, a couple of bone spurs that have restricted my left ankle dorsiflexion ever since I broke it in 1997 had broken off and are irritating my ankle joint. Some day surgery awaits. I’m quite looking forward to a couple of weeks of Beastmaker abuse during the Lochaber monsoon next month.

By the day we left for Cima Ovest, I’d managed to walk round Morrison’s, take Freida to toddler group and lie on my side in bed without taking Tramadol first. Things were looking up!

Alan trying to get the psyche to rock climb in winter climbing conditions

As I wrote in my last blog, we then proceeded to spend most of the trip being hammered by crap weather. The route was soaking, it rained, snowed, snowed a lot more and then got windy and freezing. We tried to climb on the 8c pitch anyway, but both of us knew we were getting absolutely nowhere. We became totally set in the viewpoint that having been soaking all week, the chances of it drying out a bit in our remaining three days were zilch.

Being practical, or venting wet weather frustration? You decide.

But it didn’t quite work out like that. On the third last day, I went out for a look on the 8c pitch first. The first half was still wet, but the second half was nearly dry, and I could link it to the belay straight away. Quite good. Alan went for his go and was also feeling like he could get to grips with the pitch a bit more. But then, as he was out of sight near the end of the pitch, I heard an “AAAAAGGHHH!”. The rope jerked momentarily tight, then suddenly slack again. Another loud scream and Alan appeared into view, dropping through space. He stopped, dangling at least 15 metres down in the void, with quickdraws sporting ripped pegs spinning down the rope towards him.

He was just sitting on a peg, brushing another damp hold when it ripped and the previous one ripped too. It must have been an exciting journey into space! After having a good laugh about Alan’s trip, we had a think about where this left us. There was now a big section near the end of the pitch with no gear in it. We were on budget flight mode and hadn’t been able to bring any pegs or aid gear in case we needed to re-equip. 

In the end, we managed to borrow a hammer from the lovely folk at Rifugio Auronzo and I set up a tension traverse to back-aid and free climb back along from the next belay to the bit that needed re-equipping. I managed to get a sketchy cam in a pocket and gingerly sat on it and proceeded to fail to get the two ill fitting pegs to go in somewhere other than where they’d been before. After an hour, I had it sorted and the route was back online.

However, we had one day left. I just wanted to get the gear back and get home. Everything  was wrong and I felt a bit fed up to be honest. My ankle hurt on the walk-in, I couldn’t do certain movements with it on the rock, I’d had my fill of climbing wet rock or frozen rock, we’d not had even one good day to try it properly. Worst of all, it was baltic.

Shall we go climb an 8c north face route today?

We’d not seen a single other party climbing on the north faces all trip. I’m not surprised. On the last day we wandered up, both of us ready to strip it and get on our plane home. Alan climbed the first three pitches (7b, 6c+, 6a+) in one big pitch again. He was clearly struggling to get any feeling from fingers and toes. It was well below zero and blowing a bitter wind. Seconding him, I felt like a frozen robot, clawing up the rock with zero feedback from my digits. Leading the next two pitches (7a, 7a+) I still couldn’t even get my core warm despite climbing in my Arete jacket. However, by the time a freezing Alan joined me, the wind had dropped a bit and I was feeling more myself with the full belay jacket and trousers armoury on.

I went out along the start of the 8c and was most surprised to find a special scenario of feelings come over me that doesn’t happen every day. The pitch was the driest it had been all trip. First, there was the sudden rushing feeling of being confident flowing through the moves rather than constantly expecting to ‘ping’ off wet holds. ‘I can still climb!’ Second, the ‘last day’ go for broke mentality clicked into place. When all the preparation has gone so badly, what do you have left except to see what can happen if you just don’t care anymore and go for a good fight with the pitch? Finally, I knew I was going to have one link attempt, so I might as well get it over with as quickly as possible and get home to see my family.

Alan drying holds on one of the 'warm' days

So after the five minute warm up burn, I blasted off at full tilt, through the crux and onto the weird back-and-foot rest at the block above. I wasn’t that pumped. So get going! Up through the mono move and onto the big traverse. I was breathing hard but forearms were absorbing the hit so far. At the undercut move I decided to start really trying and grunted through. But I was able to rest each hand on every hold. I got down to the move before a rest at a huge ‘Hueco’ pocket. My sequence is to fling my feet up into the hole first, have a rest in the bat hang and then flip round and throw my whole arm into it. My ankle was so weak I couldn’t pull up on the toehooks and nearly fell off. I took a few seconds more to figure out what to do, before resting my left foot once and then trying again. It worked and I hung from the arm-bar for five minutes, breathing slowly calming down. The final ten metres was a pure exercise in relaxation. I knew I could get to the belay if I didn’t make a mistake. The only way I’d make a mistake would be if I started to anticipate success. So I just switched off and pneumatic-ed through the holds with no emotion until the belay suddenly appeared in front of me.

Switching off completely means that when you do wake up and realise it’s done, it’s quite a shocker and the emotion comes flooding back. Alan wasted no time in gathering every down garment we had assembled at the belay and jugged up to join me, already shivering. I thawed out a little in the duvet while Alan cruised the 8a pitch above. I still had to jug up the rope and be lowered back down to do it myself, just to get the blood moving. The wind just kept cutting through me and in the next two pitches (6c+, 7a) I got really pumped on what should be easy ground. There just seemed to be no blood going through my forearms. We both had to second the remaining pitches to the Cassin ledge in the big jackets and duvet trousers! Never done that before, even in mixed climbing. There was just time to strip our gear out of the roof as it was getting dark and made it down to the base to find everything was frozen solid. We packed, rushed back to the car, then Venice for three hours sleep before boarding our flights back to Scotland.

It was really interesting for me to share the experience with Alan, who hasn’t done a great deal of mountain big wall climbs. Failing when the route is hard is something most climbers can deal with pretty well - why else do we try such hard climbs except to feel pushed and feel uncertainty? But failing through not being able to properly try can get under your skin. I certainly still find that creates a lot of restlessness in me. Last week I channelled it into finishing a draft of my book while the blizzards raged outside. Alan took it all really well and was able to keep turning on 'mission mode' all the way on the last day redpoint, despite the scary fall the previous day. His blogs through the week are a nice illumination of an adventure unfolding, the final twist coming right at the last hours before the flight home.

Even now I can’t believe that came together.