The weather forecast is wrong again, my Dad and I are crouched beneath a small, low overhang at the base of the lower tier on the Roaches trying, unsuccessfully to avoid the August rain and wondering where “cloudy with sunny spells” has gone. There is probably a good reason why we have the whole of the Roaches to ourselves. The proposed route is a HVD, prow corner twin cracks, its only 12m high yet I am determined to carry my whole rack, so arm myself with two sets of old style nuts, ten shiny new nylon quickdraws, some worn slings and an assortment of karabiners. The nerves would show if I wasn't shivering so much with the cold.
Eventually I leave the relatively dry overhang and venture to the base of the route. My Dad just says “get on with it,” he too is cold and doesn't particularly enjoy belaying but my brother has already retreated to the car so he has to. My harness is unsafe, at its maximum width due to the number of fleeces and waterproofs I am wearing, but I start anyway. There is a small river running down the rock which immediately floods my sleeves as soon as I attempt the first move. The first few moves feel very strange, almost confused, why is there no rope above me? This is followed by sheer fear, which reduces to a dull terror over time. I place my first bit of protection, a dodgy nut, and pray I never need to put it to the test.
My rock shoes are soaked and have the grip of a bar of soap. The crux would be easy in good weather, with a top rope, but not now. Half an hour later and after extensive use of knees and elbows I am just a metre higher, but above the crux move. A few more moves later and the top is almost in reach. I place another nut and haul myself over the top into a puddle, flooded with relief at being off the climb, any feelings of pride at my first lead are subdued by the weather. There is an unintelligible grunt from below, hopefully meaning “well done”, but more likely something along the lines of “can we go home now?” A glance down shows that my dad has already soloed up to remove my first piece of gear, and that my second piece fell out anyway, I get the message, he isn't going to second the route.
Only when we retreat to the car and turn on the heater do I feel any pride, my brother simply says “cool, you led.” Praise indeed. A few lessons noticed if not learnt, like how protection is a good idea, even better if it is placed properly, and climbing in the rain is miserable. But I still climb in the rain, although my gear is better, but I am still alive, though one day I will learn the hard way...
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