The fingers on my left hand were slowly sliding out of the crack as my right hand desperately tried to find anything that I could hold onto. The wind was whipping around me and I looked down through the mist at the rocks eight feet below. If I could not hang on I would fall - not in a dramatic, call the helicopters out way – but in a painful and embarrassing way. How the bloody hell had I got myself into this position?
I came to climbing late through a 6th birthday party. I arrived at the climbing wall with my daughter and a present and I watched as the children clambered up the slopes on top ropes, had jelly and cake and then clambered some more. It looked fun. Later, on a rainy summer afternoon I took my daughters back to keep them occupied. As they excitedly put on their harnesses, the young man looked at me and said “Aren't you having a go?” I was hooked.
The kids got taken climbing a lot that summer. In the end I had to bite the bullet and go on my own without a six year old to hold my hand. I did a lot of traversing and bouldering and ate a lot of flapjacks until nods and smiles became “Are you climbing with anyone?” I quickly progressed from top-roping to indoor leading and realised that next was... outside.
It was a Sunday in July. My last three attempts to go climbing outside had been rained off. I knew the cafes and the gear shops well, but had yet to lay a hand on real rock. The weather was bleak and most of the group had decided on a walk – more gear shopping and tea, but two blokes who I knew by name but not much more announced that Holyhead was often climbable even on bad days. I could not resist – “Mind if I come along..?”
I found myself on the side of Holyhead Mountain in mist with what felt like a howling gale, when I heard the words “Do you want to take the first one?”. The sensible answer was of course "No – I have never climbed outside before" not “Yeah – but I've not led before and I haven't got any gear”. They looked at each other. “Up to you lad – piss easy with lots of gear on it” “Yeah Ok for a first lead, and if you get stuck just come down and one of us will get the gear back”.
I was soon standing at the bottom of Pigeon Hole Crack (S 4a) festooned with borrowed gear and thinking “I've climbed much harder at the wall”. I wasn't worried or nervous, at least not until I was eight foot up. “I would have put a bit in lower down” said a distant and useless voice.
I can honestly say at that point I knew that I would never again in my entire life venture outside from my nice safe indoor climbing wall. I could not imagine what possessed people to do this. Why drive for hours to sit in a café looking at the murk for the off chance of frightening yourself silly.
My right hand suddenly found an edge, a good edge. I still remember the relief flooding through me as I moved up and the exhilaration of getting to the top.
Now I climb outside as much as I can. I love leading and don't really feel like I've done a route if I second it. I have fallen off in the dramatic call the helicopters out way as well as the painful embarrassing way. I still find myself half way up a route thinking how the bloody hell have I got myself into this position. But whilst I still enjoy climbing indoors I know the place I'm going to have most fun is leading outside.
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