'It's strange being weak when once you were strong. My brain thinks I'm still strong, so when I pull really hard I think I am exerting a lot of force, but I'm not. I am continually boiling the kettle with no water in it because it feels full when I lift it'.

Chris Hamper writes about his experiences travelling and presenting the film The Parkinson's Project, and how his relationship with climbing continues, alongside his Parkinson's.

It's almost two years since filmmaker Jess James asked me if I would be interested in him making a documentary about my struggle to keep climbing with Parkinson's disease. I was, of course, flattered but knew nothing of what it would entail.

The filming was in three parts. An initial visit to Stanage Edge in the Peak District to try my old classic Hamper's Hang (f7A); Jess and producer Ellen visiting me in Norway, to film me at home; and a second visit to Stanage to try Hamper's Hang again. I spent a lot of the time walking through the woods while Jess scuttled about filming me from different angles while I chatted away to myself. While in Norway, Jess was keen to get some dramatic scenic shots and got up early every day to do a time-lapse of the mist clearing from the fjord. The weather wasn't good, but we managed to do enough climbing to produce a film of almost an hour.

It's not all camera and action, though, there is one hell of a lot of other stuff, most of which I had nothing to do with, such as editing the footage to make a coherent story, adjusting the colour to make the different scenes work together, and manipulating the sound to make my voice clearer and remove unwanted sounds. Interestingly, the sound team would normally have removed the rustling caused by my shaking, but Jess decided he wanted it left in.

I was, however, involved in fundraising. I had no idea how much it would cost, but it turned out to be around £20,000. Unusually, Jess started making the film before he had any money. Originally it was going to be 15 minutes, so would have been cheaper to make, but I was impressed by his confidence. The usual begging letters were sent out, but it wasn't that easy.

We worked on two fronts: UK and Norway. Norway won with donations from the local bank (Sparebank 1), the rehab centre that tried to rehabilitate me (Haugland Rehabilitation) and my school (UWCRCN), but it wasn't enough. Ellen suggested putting together a crowdfunder to raise more money. I was a bit worried about trying this option… what if no one donated?!

Target £10,000, donations £0.

I shouldn't have been so negative. With the combined friends and family of Jess, Ellen, Hilary, and myself, plus a lot of my ex-students and interested members of the public, we raised £10,000 in no time at all. WOW! With the money in place, Jess was able to employ Will to do the editing and the sound. Several drafts blew in and out, but in a little over a year the final cut was ready to be aired.

The Norway premiere was in our local cinema in Dale with cake, coffee, questions, and answers. The reception was overwhelming, tears and laughter. A full cinema was proof of the support from our local community. The UK premiere was in Sheffield, with a lot of climbers showing up. It was great to meet up with old friends. Many people comment that it was a brave thing to expose my weakness in the film. I'm not brave, just honest. The film is about me, but I didn't make it. Jess told the story through skilfully filmed pictures and well-directed verbal probing.

Viewers asked about the deeper message, but I hadn't really thought about it. If there's a deeper message then it was woven by Jess and the team, not me. There were many interpretations but I was just doing what I do. There are some bits even I don't understand. At the start of the film I say how weak I am, then pull a one-arm pull-up and a front lever. With the one-arm I was trying to show that my Parkinson's affected left side was much weaker than my right side. The front lever, though, was just showing off. For some reason, maybe my long arms or my thin ankles, front levers aren't that difficult for me.

When I try to lift things with my left arm, though, nothing happens - at first. After a while, my muscles start to work and something does happen. It's strange being weak when once you were strong. My brain thinks I'm still strong, so when I pull really hard I think I am exerting a lot of force, but I'm not. I am continually boiling the kettle with no water in it because it feels full when I lift it.

Once a film is made, it has to be viewed, and part of the process is getting selected for film festivals so the film can be seen by even more people. We were selected to show the film at Kendal Mountain Festival. I have been to Kendal Mountain Festival several times but never saw any films, I was there for the parties. This time was different, I didn't watch any films (except this one!) or go to any parties…people with Parkinson's shouldn't dance. I was filmed dancing at my daughter's wedding and in my head I was moving to the music, but in the video I was stumbling about stiffly. People try to be encouraging and say it doesn't matter, but it feels like it does.

Kendal Mountain Festival is a prestigious event, so I attended with all the family.  Even my sister, Sarah turned up, as well as one of my best friends from school, a climber of course, Paul Hughes. I haven't seen him since school, but we quickly made up for lost time. One of the "messages" of the film is how important friendships are.

Watching the touching scenes with Mitch at the end, one might think that we are best friends, but I haven't seen him for many years. The reason he got involved was because I contacted him on Facebook and needed a spotter. The other guy at the end, Dan, I had not met before. However, we are part of the same community. This is beginning to sound like a cult. Mitch gave a close spot, a very close spot, watching the footage I can see how I managed the difficult moves...

Since Kendal, the film has toured many cinemas and indoor climbing centres, here in Norway, in the UK, and in other countries. I retired from teaching two years ago and was at a bit of a loose end. The film has given me purpose, enabling me to travel around with my wife Hilary making people cry. But what about the climbing? In the film I say there is more to climbing than climbing rocks, meaning that the friendships one makes are more important than the climbing itself… but I still have to climb rocks.

Parkinson's is a progressive illness. It just gets worse. But it's not getting worse very quickly for me. This is partly due to getting better at managing the symptoms, but I also believe that the physical activity of climbing actually slows down the process. I joked to Jess that I would announce after the film showing in Kendal that I had given up climbing. He laughed, but added, "Don't even say it as a joke."

I haven't given up climbing. but it is getting more difficult. Actually, that's not true, the climbs aren't getting more difficult, I am getting worse. If I choose my problems carefully, I can still climb the occasional 6C boulder, but I rarely climb with a rope now. Almost all of my bouldering is done on a Kilterboard. This has a variety of holds, but the best ones for me are the ones with a lip on them. This enables me to hang on with the last joint in my fingers. Slopers and pinches are the worst.

I have very long arms with an ape index of 18 cm. My body is shrinking as my back becomes more curved. This increases my ape index, but I can't take advantage of it because my shoulders are too stiff. When I first became affected by the illness, I would jump a lot to make up for loss of strength, but coordinating my legs and arms is becoming more difficult, so I am climbing more slowly. The most important thing is to keep trying, and I do still try hard. The other day I was working a 6c on a rope, and it occurred to me that I was trying just as hard as I would when working an 8a ten years ago. I could do the moves (just) but had to try many times before I could link them. I'm probably just a 5a climber trying very hard! I recently went to a climbing gym and was horrified to find that I couldn't do 4a slabs. I got thoroughly burnt off by my son, Rowan. Even though I am no longer as strong as I used to be, it seems that my remaining strength is still my strength.

If you have read any of my previous articles, you will have come across the name of Steve Bancroft. He was living in Leeds when I was at university. Leeds University had an early version of a climbing wall. It was in a corridor, free of charge and open every day. I was a very young 18-year-old and, although I had been to a rough comprehensive school, I wasn't at all streetwise. At school, all my friends were also climbers. I would think about climbing all the time, even dreamed about it. Steve looked after me.

Steve now lives with his partner Nicky at Riglos in Spain. I have several friends who have decided to make their home in climbing areas. Martin (Basher) Atkinson lives at Kalymnos, and Chris Gore lives in Sardinia. Gone are the days of dossing on windy ledges and free camping in Font. Now I stay in centrally heated houses.

Many years ago Hilary and I were roughing it in Font and drove past a posh-looking hotel in Barbizon. We went into reception and took a card announcing that one day we would come to Font and stay at that hotel. Last autumn we did just that. The hotel was great, but it rained the whole time. Walking around the forest in search of patches of dry rock, I discovered that I can no longer follow a map. I'm not sure if this is anything to do with Parkinson's or if it's just because the guide book maps are crap. Why don't they mount the maps posted in the car parks so that they are in the right orientation (pointing north)? Very annoying.

I have been promising to visit Steve for many years and thanks to some vouchers received when the flight home from my mother's funeral was cancelled, I was able to book some tickets to carry out my promise. Hilary doesn't know Steve so well, so I was travelling alone. This went fine until I got to the train station in Barcelona. When I get stressed my symptoms get worse. This sometimes plays to my advantage, enabling me to jump queues and get given seats. On this occasion I held it together, and eventually met Steve at Huesca station. I came bearing gifts of chocolate. Fortunately, Nicky and Steve don't eat chocolate, so I ended up eating it all myself. I wake up every hour during the night and always feel like it's breakfast time. I have an uncontrollable urge to eat chocolate, so my gifts came in handy. Steve and Nicky run a bed and breakfast called Casa Fiesta, named after the iconic route Fiesta de los Biceps (La Visera) (7a) — Casa Bicep being deemed too pretentious. I have mentioned my obsessive behaviour, and model making is another of my obsessions. We have run out of window sills to mount all the boats I have built, so I have moved on to houses, the idea being to gift the models to the house owner. Here is the model I made for Steve and Nicky, I hope they like it.

I don't sleep well, so got up at 6am to see the cliff become visible as the sun rose. I used to live in the student flat that was nearest to the climbing wall; Steve lives in the house closest to the cliff. I was keen to see the rock close up, so went for a walk. Riglos is well known for multipitch routes on strange-looking pillars. I haven't done a multipitch route since I fell asleep on a ledge whilst doing the first free ascent of Holy Ghost (E2 5c) on Scafell.

I googled single pitch climbing, but most of the posts said that there is no point in going to Riglos to climb single pitch routes. The first few days we did the first pitches of some long routes, but Steve wanted to get me on top of one of those pillars. I wasn't so sure. Would I freak out? How would I manage the ropes? I refused to abseil, so Steve found a route that we could walk down from.

The first 5m are easy, but I wobble my way up. In some ways, my ability to scramble has been affected more than my ability to climb at my limit. It's rather off-putting to almost fall off the easy start, but I assure Steve that I just need to warm up. It's only 6a, but after about 50m I'm in trouble. Confused by all the holds, I get myself into a difficult position. I don't hesitate to grab the quickdraw — and another, and another. It just doesn't seem to matter. Getting to the top is more important than ethics.

Nicky and I seconded simultaneously, and we made rapid progress. Steve is a gritstone god, but he was forced to learn big wall techniques when he made the first free ascent of Troll Wall, an ascent that was shown on the BBC. I watched the video of his ascent on YouTube. An impressive ascent given Steve's lack of experience. The sack-hauling technique proved very useful. We got to the top and I had a genuine feeling of satisfaction even though I hadn't actually done the route.

We didn't need rest days — I can climb badly every day — so we did a lot of climbing, but there's more to climbing than climbing rocks. What is it that makes climbing friendships so special? Is it because we trust our lives to each other? Steve was belaying me the first time I fell off leading. It was on Wee Doris (E4 5c) at Stoney. Steve only let me place one runner. I had terrible stamina, so climbed fast to just below the top and fell off. I went miles. At this time I was trying to get my brother, Tim, into climbing and he was there watching as Steve's waist belay stopped me hitting the ground.

Tim was more shaken than I was, and Steve was instantly elevated to hero in his eyes. Steve had just saved his brother's life. I wasn't so grateful. "Why did you let me fall so far?" Steve was also belaying me the time I fell off Circe (E5 6b). This time I fell so far because I had only tied into one rope.

Yes, it's not only about climbing rocks. Steve and I spent a lot of time doing crosswords. But actually the two aren't totally unrelated. We found that we both know a lot of words only through route names. Ichabod, Abraxus, Nexus, Shibboleth, and Llehctim are all words that I know only through route names. A fairly useless way of gaining knowledge, especially in the last example, which isn't a word but Mitchell spelled backwards. I would have been much more interested in literature if it had been presented in this way.

I flew from Spain to Sardinia where I met up with Hilary, Chris, and his wife Judith. Thirty-odd years ago we all lived in Sheffield, where Chris and I climbed and Judith and Hilary had babies — three each. (I should also point out that Hilary and Judith did a lot more than just have babies when we lived in Sheffield).

The babies are now grown up, and are still in contact with each other. The weather wasn't brilliant but we needed to climb, so one day we drove an hour and a half to a rather scrappy climbing wall. If I don't climb for a few days I get restless. It's also important for me to do exercise because I am addicted to cake. One of the side effects of the medication I take is obsessive behaviour, and one of my obsessions is eating cake. I also like making them, and couldn't resist using some of the lemons in Chris and Judith's garden to make lemon meringue pie and lemon and polenta cake. I should mention that Judith also made a very nice apple cake too.

The climbing was good, but I realised one big difference between my climbing now and what it was like in the past. I used to have goals, a sports plan of routes that I wanted to achieve. Routes with a reputation, king lines. Autoroute du Soleil (7c) at Buoux, Surveiller et Punir (7a+) at Verdon, Chimpanzodrome (7c+) at Saussois. Now I just follow lines of bolts. All routes seem the same. At Riglos I would have loved to have tried Fiesta de los Biceps (La Visera) (7a), but it's too hard. Are there king 6a lines? What are the top 10 6a's in the world?

I must admit to feeling like a bit of a fraud. The film portrays me as a super keen, totally obsessed rock climber but I don't always want to go climbing. Take now for example. It's beautiful weather and I am sat inside. OK, so this morning I was brushing a potential new boulder, but everyone's going climbing in an hour or two, and I don't really feel like it. I feel shaky and weak. It's a strange feeling that I can't explain. I want to go climbing but at the same time I sort of hope it rains so I don't have to. I used to get this feeling a lot when climbing dangerous trad routes, which is more understandable. If I am such a keen climber why do I eat so much cake? Why don't I train more?

Well, it didn't rain and I did go climbing. I tried to top-rope my old warm-up route but I can't use the gaston. Maybe I should chip a better hold (just joking). My friend, Per, had a hard time too. He managed to do it, but had to try hard. The new boy, Kendall, showed us that it is indeed only 6b with his fluid ascent. I'm glad that I made the effort. No more cake.

To find out more about the film, heck out @TheParkinsonsProjectFilm on Instagram, or take a look at www.theparkinsonsprojectfilm.com for regular updates and screenings.

If you would like to organise a screening of the documentary in your local community, please email [email protected]