Just found another piece of ramblings from the old diaries/journals. I thought I'd put it up, as it seems quite poignant given the current circumstances of Ed Drummond. It looks like it dates from sometime around 77/78'?
Today was one of those days which started out crap, but finished as one to store in the memory.
My ears were still ringing from last nights row with my girlfriend. An attempt at a diplomatic resolution on the phone first thing, had achieved exactly the opposite. Her last words were an ultimatum - it's either climbing or me!
I was going to miss her pouting mouth, firm breasts and silken thighs!
After walking around and kicking the imaginary cat for a couple of hours, I thought 'f*ck it' and got in the car and headed out to Stanage. A few hours soloing on my beloved grit would ease the pain.
It wasn't too busy for a Saturday afternoon. I warmed up on Kirkus Corner, and then made my way down to the bottom of the slab for a second time. Flying Buttress Direct went pretty smoothly, apart from near the top, when I momentarily started hallucinating about a certain pair of silken thighs clad in sheer stockings!
As I stood at the top taking in the view, a large bear like hand, plastered in chalk, reached over the top, to be followed by a small white upturned bathtub. A big smile spread across a brown face with mischievous eyes. He stood up, and a large red stuff sack swung into view between his legs, and hung their like a grotesquely enlarged and diseased scrotum!
"Nicely done" he commented.
I recognized him straight away - it was Ed Drummond.
We both made our way back to the foot of the crag, and after exchanging smiles once more, I headed off towards The Tippler. As I started up the route, I looked down, and there was Ed again.
"Don't mind if I follow you do you?"
"Not at all," I replied - like I was going to say 'No, F*ck Off'
In reality though, I did mind. This was Ed Drummond, and I was an aspiring noddy, who's ambitions sometimes ran spectacularly out of talent at crucial moments. I didn't mind that happening in private, but in front of Ed Drummond???
As he cruised effortlessly, I started to dither. I'd soloed this before, but the presence of old Bulldog was having an adverse effect on me. Every time he smiled, I lost a grade. If he didn't stop smiling soon, I'd end up back at V Diff!
I reached the top sloppily, and watched him float effortlessly on air to join me.
In a wonderful piece of serendipity, or bad luck depending on your point of view, both our sacks were next to each other at the bottom.
After explaining the basic principles of his prototype 'water cooled' helmet (I'd remembered reading about it in Crags, in an article by John Allen I think) I started to relax, and we started chatting, like two blokes at the bottom of a gritstone crag normally do.
Hi intellect was obvious, as was his love of climbing.
For the next couple of hours, we soloed around Stanage together - although now, with him going first. I watched his studious technique, his strength, those big hands caked in far too much chalk, and at how delicate and precise his footwork was.
He smiled wryly and threw the odd sarcastic comment at me as he waited at the top of each route, but the dry barbs were tinged with warmth and wit, and I even started climbing properly again.
We finished off with Archangel - the perfect end to a rather perfect and unexpected afternoon.
And whilst I learnt nothing really about him, I felt as though I'd known him longer than those fleeting few hours.
People say that it's not always good to meet your heroes, and there are certainly a couple of cases I've had, where I would agree.
But meeting Ed Drummond today, and spending time pretending to be his young apprentice, has not been one of them.
Thanks Mr Ed, for your special piece of magic today. Maybe choosing climbing this morning, wasn't such a bad idea after all!
