Eben Myrddin Muse writes about a familiar favourite, High and Dry (E1 5a) at Trebanog, Rhondda Cynon Taf, Wales.

How to choose a favourite climb?

Thinking about this question as a prompt for an article, I realised that I'm a creature of habit. When I was growing up, I thought I'd follow in my father's, my grandpa's, my great grandpa's footsteps and fly the roost, move around a bit. I never did and these days I feel pretty at-home in my small Cardiff corner of Splott, surrounded by local projects and home comforts. I haven't changed my hair much or the clothes I wear since I came to uni a decade ago. I've had the same favourite meal (steak and ale pie with apple crumble for dessert) since before I can remember and from time to time I enjoy the familiarity of an item of clothing so much that I order another for when the first one wears out so I can keep wearing the same thing for longer. What climb is like that, I pondered? Something more like a well worn pair of shoes than a roller coaster ride… And then it came to me: 'High and Dry', at Trebanog. 

I don't care that in a recent mapping exercise by Natural Resources Wales they scored the area distinctly 'amber' via their carefully combobulated metric for natural beauty: the Rhondda Uplands are lovely and so are the villages scattered across them. The strip of marginal land in which Trebanog quarry sits functions as a mix of village green, public playground and cherished climbing spot. Evidence of its lived-in status litters the place, literally, along with plenty of foxglove, gorse, and blooming heather. In summer it's a sight to behold. Graffiti, fresh and fading, adds another splash of colour. As well as historically producing vast amounts of coal, Trebanog also produced the iconic voice of Cliff Morgan, commentator of that try ("Oh, that fellow Edwards!"). Not a bad contribution for a small village. It also features the finest solo circuit in South East Wales (no, really).

High and Dry is a short, approximately eight-metre-tall, vertical E1 with few gear placements. At the time of writing I have climbed it nine times over nine years. It doesn't officially get any stars (although the votes say it deserves one), and I think it's my favourite climb. 

A barely-recognisable figure from the past, on 'High and Dry'.

Why reach for the familiar over the memorable? The question was 'favourite', not 'best'. I first climbed this thing when I was nineteen years old, new to trad, then new to soloing, then really into soloing. This was the first E1 I'd led, then the first I'd soloed. It felt like a big deal back then and time after time I've found myself returning. Not to try and catch lightning in a bottle again, but like some kind of ritual. 

Re-climbing old familiar routes like this, dutifully plugging them into my UKC logbook, reading the diary entry the me of my past has chosen to share with the me of the present gives me a sort of sense of communion with that person; as if I've found a time capsule I buried in the garden even though the message is always pretty mundane. I like to think of who I was last time I climbed it — occasionally I feel envious of him with his slightly fewer grey hairs, his nearly-visible-six-pack (I swear) and his enormous amounts of time. It's easy to feel nostalgic about times that were special in a different way to now, with so many forks in the road not yet taken. More than once I've felt very sentimental staring at my logbook after repeating a route that I'd done with friends who have passed away now — it all comes crashing back. I'm sure I'm not alone in that. Mostly though, I'm grateful for the experiences and good company I've got to enjoy between then and now (and for all that climbing). 

There are other climbs that I've returned to over and over again. Some of them feel like a tradition or a homecoming, or nearly a kind of emotional labour — like stopping by an elderly relative who's started not to recognise you anymore. Some of them feel like I'm sticking a finger up to all my busted fingers, broken pulleys, and sore elbows. Canine Crack at Wynd Cliff Quarry is one of these — 'there's still life in this old dog yet'. Others give me the same feeling that allowing myself to buy and devour a multipack of Snickers ice creams in the car does: a day salvaged from the garbage heap: Butterfly at Wintour's Leap has often done that for me. Neglecting to visit Christmas Curry on a sunny day without stopping was always impossible for me on the way home to Dyffryn Nantlle for the holidays. A little hedonistic thrill before the old regime of family walks in the rain begins.

Other routes are like sitting down for a familiar pint of brown ale with old friends, spinning the same yarns again, making the same pilgrimage around town, relaxing into the same old vernacular we grew up speaking. Climbing High and Dry feels like I used to feel, a child asleep in my Mam's space wagon, face pressed against the cool window as she go-carted us down the lane to our home in Bryn at the bottom of the hill. Weaving around the potholes and over the narrow bridge, the nudge of the twisting steering wheel was always enough to let me know I was nearly home.

As for the climb — look away now for spoilers — it involves a juggy groove leading to a slightly baffling mantel, while resisting the temptation of the incredibly loose jug. Find the alternative holds and high-foot onto a shelf (in summertime remove dandelions from the essential hold here). You're nearly there. Carefully test the crucial holds to see if they've gotten any looser since the year before. No? Good. Trust the best crimp on the face, remember which footholds move, and go for the jug-to-jug finish, rock over into the heather. Enjoy the view and field the barrage of questions from passing youths. Nice one.

I wasn't sure whether a short, fairly mediocre climb at a crag people crack jokes about was a good choice for an article in a series which will likely feature some genuinely world-class routes. This isn't one of those. In climbing we rightly celebrate the new, the pioneering, the onsight, the first of the grade. The highest, the steepest, the fastest, the strongest, the held-on-for-longest. But sometimes it's fine to just write about how much I really love this solidly mediocre climb at Trebanog and how much joy it's always brought me. This climb, and others like it have never left me high and dry — they provided me with what I needed when I needed it. Cheers!

Back again at 'High and Dry'

Add it to your UKC Logbook Wishlist: High and Dry (E1 5a)