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.

Waiting to actually try on Bellavista

Last month after the Eiger I came to the Dolomites with Calum to have a go at Bellavista, Alex Huber’s famous 8c on the north face of Cima Ovest. We had one day on it when it was wet and then had to leave when faced with a forecast of a week of thunderstorms.

Not liking being defeated, I hastily arranged a return in September for a long shot week on it with Alan Cassidy. A long shot because it might be getting a little cold by then for alpine north face 8c. The roof pitches on Bellavista suffer from dampness a lot. Sometimes, it’s just damp, and it’s ok for getting on it, if a little slippery. But this time it’s been just wet, soaking bloody wet. And when it's not wet, it's full on winter.

On our first day it was actually a bit drier, but about minus 2 with a strong gusty wind bringing in some snow flurries. I went for a session in the roof and made a bit of progress even though I was shivering quite amusingly by the time I got back to the belay. Alan took one look at me from the comfort of the belay jacket and opted to go down. Sensible.

After that it did warm up to around 3 or 4 degrees on the wall, but the warm humid air on freezing rock made it soaking. We opted to go up and do the 8a pitch above the 8c which we both could do pretty easily despite the wetness.

Overnight and this morning the conditions have turned back to full on blizzards and so once again we are sitting it out. We have a couple more days but It’s looking almost certain that if it warms up again it’ll take longer than that for the slime to dry off that roof.

Nevermind, at least we have tried. And I have done a lot of writing...

Testing Gore-Tex Pro ME jackets on the Ben

Why we use GORE-TEX® Pro from MOUNTAIN EQUIPMENT on Vimeo.

Some filming we did on Ben Nevis on the spring talking about why Mountain Equipment use Gore-Tex Pro for it’s shell jackets and how we dream up, design and test the jackets. Interesting to hear a bit more detail about the tech that goes into fabrics and jackets.

First Alpine route - Paciencia 8a, Eiger nordwand

On the crux of Paciencia, Eiger north face. All photos thanks to the talented Alexandre Buisse

June and July were some of the most busy and challenging days of my life, none of which involved any climbing. The death of my father Norman was not a good time. Not wishing to talk about it much more on this, my climbing blog, all I should say is that at least I was able time to spend time with him first.

There wasn’t much time before other life events called for action. Claire, Freida and I moved house. Just ‘round the corner’ to Roybridge. We now have a great base for Freida growing up and it was a pleasure to put my back into working on it and preparing it for my family. Each day, I got up early, worked until the wee small hours and repeat…

So my planned trip to the alps with Calum Muskett crept up on me. I’d done next to no climbing for several weeks with everything that had gone on. A few fingerboard sessions, a couple of TCA sessions, that’s it. I could still one arm a first joint edge. But endurance was nil.

Here mate, is that the Eiger?

When I started to drive south from the highlands, the extent of the problem with this started to dawn on me, since our discussed objectives were basically a list of the hardest routes in the alps. Top of the list was Paciencia, the hardest route on the north face of the Eiger. First freed in 2008 by Ueli Steck and then repeated just once by David Lama in 2011. Reading Lama’s blog made me wince. He rated it one of the hardest routes in the alps and said he was utterly exhausted by the time he reached the top. Although the pitch grades don’t too bad; 6b, 6a, 6a+, 7c, 7c, 7a, 8a, 7a+, 6b+, 6a+, 6a+, 7c, 7c+, 7b, 7a, 6a, 7a+, 7c, 7a, 6c+, 6b, 6b, 6c+ Many of the pitches are tad on the sandbag side. For instance, one of the 6b+s we thought translated to E4 6b.

On paper it was completely ridiculous for me to go near it. However, predictably, after meeting Calum in Chamonix we decided in about 2 minutes we’d head straight to the Eiger for the first route. It would also be my first alpine route.

Another great 7c pitch, full of north face atmosphere

A day later we were scrambling up the classic 1938 route to the foot of Paciencia. It was misty, damp and cold and after a drippy bivi I woke up ready to fail. Thankfully, our intention was just to have a recce and get our bearings on the Eiger. That day we hung about on the first few 7c and 8a pitches and I tried to give myself as big a workout as possible. I achieved that goal with ease.

I wasn’t sure about going back up. Perhaps it would be better to do a few easier routes first? I couldn’t think of a good way to even suggest that to Calum, who is already an accomplished alpinist, just a couple of years younger than me at 19. So we went back up, taking the photographer Alexandre Buisse with us for the first day. After soloing back up the 38 route in the afternoon we bagged the first few 7c pitches before dark and settled into our bivi, ready to go for the 8a in the morning. The morning however, was mostly spent melting snow to fuel some serious tea drinking on our ledge. Once we got started, we both dispatched the brilliant 8a pitch with much enjoyment. What an amazing pitch in spectacular surroundings.

Calum on the rather thin first 7c pitch

Our clear objective was for both of us to free the entire route with no falls, whether leading or seconding. All of the many 7b and 7c pitches were very hard to onsight, as we already knew from reading David Lama’s account. So we decided to give ourselves three full days to climb to the top since we would need the extra time for both of us to succeed on each of the 23 pitches. When we reached the second bivi below the Czech Pillar, we spent the following day both climbing the hard pitches that followed, before descending for one more night on the ledge. Both of us were tired that day, and I almost fell right at the end of a 7c+ pitch, where I knew Lama had also fallen. I knew I didn’t have the energy for another go within the hour, so I just held on like my life depended on it when a foothold broke 4 moves from the belay ledge. While Calum worked on the pitch, a helicopter appeared, hovering close by. The door opened and a long lens popped out and took some pictures of us. I thought to myself, that doesn’t happen in Scotland.

8a, or more tea?

We rose at 6am the next morning both feeling rather better than anticipated. Just as well, since the first task was to jung and haul the bag back to our highpoint before commencing the final 8 pitches, including one more of those nasty 7cs right near the top. We both climbed strongly on that pitch and we carried on that momentum all the way to the end, pulling into sunshine at 6pm on the top. The crux was yet to come for me however. I’d had blisters on my toes from wearing boots that didn’t fit my feet on the recce day. Nearly 4 days in my rockshoes had made them considerably worse. The walk back down to Grindelwald was a teeth gritter. Of course, now I’m sitting in a cafe the next day, everything feels better.

I learned a lot some new beta on big walling tactics from Calum, and was certainly inspired by his confidence, backed up with skill and problem solving ability. He took the route very much in his stride, as I’m sure he will many more harder routes. Thanks to Ueli Steck and Stefan Siegrist for opening the route. It must’ve taken a lot of effort.

So, where’s my boulder mat...

Summer adventures

Sticking to warm slopers on Pallet Knife, Font 7b+, Torridon

After I got back from Pabbay, there was only a few days before the West Highland Way race I had entered. I had spent most of the spring thinking there was no possibility whatsoever thatI’d be able to do it. My ankle had progressed a bit, then got worse, then much worse, then a bit better again. I’d get a few runs in for a couple of weeks, then have to stop for a few weeks, then attempt to start again.

My total mileage from January to the start of June was only just double the length of the race. Oh dear. However, during June I did manage a couple of weeks running 60 miles a week, so that was better than nothing. I mostly did shorter runs because that’s all my foot would allow me to. The longest was only 25 miles. But I could do 10K in under 40 minutes so I was definitely better than couch potato standard. I figured that even if I could only run 40 or 50 miles, I’d walk in the rest and call it a success under the circumstances.

However, on my last run before the race, I realised I was about to pay for trying to go from zero to fit in a few short weeks. The plantar fascia I tore in last year’s accident started to burn sharply and I knew it was over. Nevertheless, I showed up at the start line and ran the first 20 miles before limping into Balmaha, not leaving any doubt in my mind. I was upset. The experience has left a bigger scar in my mind than in my foot. Perhaps after another year, my foot will be in better form for running. At least I can give it a break and start from scratch again. 

The trouble with these sorts of experiences is that they are a storm in a tea cup. In one part of your mind, it's really pretty upsetting. End of a little dream and all that. But to everyone else, it's no big deal. Life goes on. Lucky to be alive after the accident anyway etc.. All true. I guess I just haven't grown up enough to deal with such little frustrations. The scary thing is, I don't always feel like I want to.

So with that, my little diversion was consigned to the past, and two days later I was tied in at the foot of Conquistador E7 7a at the Loch Tollaidh crags. After a quick abseil brush and check of the gear, I decided to go for a flash attempt. I got through the initial boulder problem without any trouble. I felt pretty relaxed, and so I didn’t really notice the pump creeping in as I worked my way towards the second crux high on the route. This also went by without much trouble, but a sense of urgency suddenly hit me as I hung from a sloper trying to fiddle in a small RP. There were no footholds and so a bit of a grunt was required to pull over the final bulge into a face full of drizzle. The buzz was enough to clear some cobwebs and remind body and mind that it’s built for climbing steep rock.

Alicia enjoying some perfect sandstone in Glen Torridon

The following day myself and Alicia toured the lovely sandstone of Torridon and worked projects in the Arisaig Cave. I went back just afterwards and found a kneebar which changed a Font 8a project into another classic 7Cish (it was pretty damp when I did it so maybe it’s be easier in fresh weather).

After that, A period of three difficult weeks began. More about that in a separate post.

The Great Arch, Pabbay, finally free

Donald King and myself, enjoying the boat ride back from Pabbay. The mugs were the boatman’s by the way.

June is often a time to get on a boat and go and find some amazing new sea cliff climbs to be done in the Hebrides. I’ve been lucky to have done more than my fair share over the past ten years. Yet they just keep coming! One place I’d never yet been was Pabbay. The obvious target was the Great Arch project.

The arch is of course the most striking and obvious challenge on the island. And like other lines of similar calibre such as the Longhope Route, it’s also going to be the hardest. Great! It was first tried by Cubby Cuthbertson and Lynn Hill while they were being filmed for a BBC TV programme in 1997. On that trip, the route didn’t go free although they did record it with a rest/aid point. With better weather and a bit more time, I’m sure they’d have done it. You don’t get a much stronger team that those two! Talking of strong teams, the next party to attempt it was Steve Mclure and Lucy Creamer a few years ago. Steve inspected the line on abseil and then made a great attempt to flash it, getting through the first crux. He fell in the roof, pulled back up to his highpoint on the rope and carried on to the end. He opted not to come back and make the free ascent. So, after all these years, it still needed doing. The projected grade I'd heard for the free ascent was E9 7a, but in the end E8 6c was more like it.

That is a roof that needs climbing.

I headed over with Donald King to see if we could do it. We had a good window of time to cope with the usual sea cliff problems of sea spray dampness and bad weather. So I was quite relaxed and excited about getting on it. On our first day I abseiled down the crux top pitch through the huge horizontal roof. It was totally damp with sea spray so all I could do that day was pull on and try a few individual moves in the roof on the GriGri and then do the first couple of wet pitches for something to do, abseiling off into the sea around midnight in fading light.

Next day I waited until the evening to even go on it in the hope the sea spray might dry out a bit more. It was fortunately drier when I arrived. I went down and played about a bit more on the abseil rope for an hour or so and had that feeling that maybe I ought to stop there and have a good go at the whole route the next day (and last before a big rainy front arrived).

On day three we were disappointed to find the dreaded sea spray hanging like a mist under the great arch. It was a roasting hot sunny day, but the route was dripping. All we could do was lie and sleep in the sun on the hot boulders at the base for four hours. Hard life eh?

Pitch 2.

However, sunbathing was not what I traveled all that way for. So at around tea time, almost without speaking, we got ourselves together and just started going upwards. Pitches 1 and 2 round the first pitch flew by in minutes. The big third pitch was a grunt with still wet holds lurking in the big roof, but it also went fairly smoothly for both Donald and myself. The infamous offwidth slot of pitch 4 was only a few metres in length, but my first experience of ‘scapular walking’. I have no idea if that is a climbing technique, but it worked. Pitch 5 was the most gloriously exposed and finely positioned 5a pitch I’ve ever climbed. It was so relaxing. A cool breeze began to blow as I started it, and became more and more noticeable as I shuffled across the brilliant incut flakes of gneiss, a huge roof below my feet, another looming directly overhead.

The roof of pitch 3 looming overhead. This pitch was about E5.

By the time I reached the belay below the crux 6^th pitch through the great arch, the breeze was chilling me, and I could see the colour of the gniess turning before my eyes from a that familiar flat grey of dampness to the crisp white of dryness; and friction. It’s been a wee while since I’ve had that great feeling of ‘now is the time to go for it’. Simultaneously feeling a little queasy in the stomach, and anxious to release the physical energy and adrenaline which is bursting to get out.

The next thing I knew I was 10 metres up the pitch, leaning back with my hands off with double knee bars behind a huge undercut in the most outrageous position. The first crux was right above. A full stretch reach from the undercut to a tiny crimp and then a boulder problem to get to the break at the back of the arch itself. In the space of ten minutes I’d gone from a bag of nerves with a stomach full of butterflies, to feeling totally relaxed and just eager to go for it. So the first crux felt easy. 

Unsurprisingly, the transition to completely horizontal roof climbing felt a bit of a shock to the system, and I fumbled with two cams, and then decided not to even bother with the third. I was getting too pumped. I got really excited about the next seconds as I’d find out whether I had enough power to do the crux, or fling myself into the huge space below and test the cams and wires in the creaky roof flake. So I realised I better move it before excitement turned to nerves. What followed was a classic climbing moment of a blur of slapping hands, quickly made up sequences on the hop when I did it all wrong, and a bit of aggression. In no time I found myself stood above the lip, panting to catch my breath.

The great thing about roof climbs is once you get over the lip, it’s usually over and you know it. All that was left was to fully soak up the spacey atmosphere as I abseiled back down to strip the roof and dangle around on the rope waxing about the route just climbed as the sun finally sunk into the sea.

After a 1am dinner of curry, rice pudding and cups of tea at the tents, the rain started. 36 hours or storm later, the back of the great arch had become a waterfall which would have taken days to dry out, and we got on an early boat home. On the ferry back from Barra, we were suitably inspired to seek out some more obvious great lines to point ourselves at in the Hebrides in the not too distant future. A good start to the summer, which has come seriously late in the highlands this year.

Well happy abseiling back down to strip the runners from the roof.

A happy rock climber

A still happy rock climber abbing in to do Prophesy of Drowning, E2, just before getting the boat home. If you climb E2, you must do this route.

Smiles are a running theme for rock climbers on Pabbay. It’s pretty good!

Do you need any more convincing that Prophesy of Drowning is a very very good E2?

Hebridean sunsets on the ferry home. A good moment to dream up new climbing plans.

Coooold rock climbing

Little video by Hotaches and Epic TV with me climbing on a somewhat chilly day on some Glen Nevis classics and talking about British climbing. 

More training ups and downs

My fortune over the past wee while hasn’t been great. I’m just back to being human after losing just short of 2 weeks in bed with a virus which floored me. Normally with most bugs I just reduce my training a bit and get some work done while I’m ill. This time I couldn’t do anything except lie in bed and shiver. 

Not to dwell on the details. But it obviously meant no training was done apart from ab-busting cough workouts. After I finally exited the other side, I was overflowing with eagerness to get going again, so jumped straight back on my board and onto the trails. After three days straight of bouldering and running, I could feel every muscle in my body. 

Unfortunately, on the 4th day I was booked to jog up Ben Nevis with Michael for the end of his city to summit race (swim the Forth at Edinburgh, cycle 110m to Glen Coe and then marathon finishing up and down Ben Nevis). On one hand, if it hadn’t been Michael’s race day, I would’ve probably moaned about just going to the kitchen to put the kettle on, never mind putting my running shoes on. On the other, if you can’t run up the Ben with a man who’s just come from Edinburgh under his own steam, it doesn’t look great, even if he is a machine.

So we had a nice jog up and it wasn’t so bad after all. Just inspiring. Over the past few months I have at various points given up on running due to continued ankle pain, only to start again a couple of weeks later. Changing my running gait to account for the ankle damage had caused knock on effects - an annoyed tibialis posterior tendon. It’s a bit of a tale of woe, but I’m beginning to think I could start a little gentle regular running again. Tomorrow I’ll maybe try something a little longer and see how it goes.

At the tail end of my virus I put in some productive days on my book, which inches ever closer to a finished first draft. Just a bit on shoulders and we’re done. Then on Friday I was at the opening of the new ice wall in the Snow Factor in Glasgow. It was pretty weird moving on ice and dry tooling boards. By the end of the day I was quite sad that winter is finally over.

In the coming week, I shall be climbing, running, route setting, book writing and then off for the first climbing trip of the summer. Exciting times!

Black Diamond video of Fight the Feeling

The video of my 8c+/9a from last autumn ‘Fight the Feeling at Steall is now up on the Black Diamond digital catalogue here. It’s on page 9. While you are there you should check out some of the other videos and articles from fellow BD climbers. There are pretty damn good. My favourite has to be The Wheel of Life footage of James Kassay. Would LOVE to go there sometime soon.

Arisaig Cave revisited

Getting a full body workout on the project, Arisaig Cave

In 2011 I last visited the Arisaig Cave and kind of felt I’d run out of things to do there. There was one big line left for me to do, a fantastic line following undercuts up a big diagonal flange in the middle of the cave. However, after a play I just couldn’t figure out how to make the feature work as a hold and gave up. It was just too hard for me.

It was only when I showed the palce to Flo last month I had another look and had an idea for a sequence that could work. I’m glad I gave it another chance. On that day I couldn’t try it as I’d just injured my knee , but yesterday, I had a good session on it and did all the individual moves. There are no ‘low percentage’ move on it for me, but about 9 or 10 in a row that are all powerful on burly undercuts and pinches. So I have a feeling that trying to link them together will be a good workout.

The nice thing is, the normal start should go at something between 8A and 8B, but climbing into it from the cave entrance (about 30 moves of 8A+) will make a very fine climbing challenge indeed to keep me busy, and fit.

Short Side Traverse, low version F8a

Today, I feel like I’ve been dragged along a cobbled street on my back. But looking forward to getting back on it. While I was there I also did a great variation to the short side traverse. The original version (about F7c+ since it’s 15m long) goes quite high along a slopey break near the start. There was an obvious low version on fantastically shaped edges, rounded by the sea washing in winter storms of aeons ago. It sussed it out pretty quickly for my warm-up at about F8a. I’ll make up a proper topo for the place shortly.