My very first outdoor lead was an unmemorable afternoon on Little Tryfan a long time ago, so I will not dwell on that any more. It signalled the start of a slow, half-hearted and intermittent leading apprenticeship with culminated in 1992 when I led my first few VS 4bs. Then I had the baby.
One year later I was back with my climbing group at the Gower, deprived of adrenaline, hungry for adventure and craving the life I feared I'd left behind.
Right on the seashore is a remarkable natural rock arch that tunnels under the triple spires which give Three Cliffs Bay its name. On the left of the arch is Arch Slab; dismissively graded HS 4b in my ancient guidebook, but upgraded to VS 4c in newer guides.
As I stood at the bottom considering the route; my attention was shattered by loud shrieks from above as a girl called Moggie came hurtling down the cliff right across the route. Letting go of the rope during an abseil is a bad idea and luckily she re-grabbed it before hitting the deck, otherwise I would have been too preoccupied with the aftermath to climb anything at all. This incident triggered a fashion amongst my friends for backing up abseils.
Once the hoo-ha was over I set about the first few tentative moves up the slab. My husband Bob was belaying and I had barely left the ground when my friend Graham appeared beside him. “I think you might want this” he said, tossing up a tiny micro-wire that looked as though it wouldn't hold a flower basket. Thanking him dubiously, I carried on with the ascent. All went well until the bold rightwards step onto the arch. My fingers gripped small holds, I committed my weight to the rock over...and then I got horribly stuck. Desperate shouts of “Slack! Slack!” competed with plaintive cries of gulls. Waves crashed against the rocks and friends laughed incongruously, unaware of my plight as they played ball on the beach below.
“For God's sakes belt up everyone; I'm trying to hear my wife!” bellowed Bob.” What's up?”
“I'm stuck, I can't move, the rope's pulling me off” I wailed, struggling to hang on.
“I can see the problem; you've cross-clipped the runners” called Bob.
“Oh hell!”
I battled to hang on with one hand and free a runner with the other as the intense sideways pressure threatened to force me off, but somehow I managed, and with sudden relief the rope was free and I could get in balance and carry on with the route. It was easy after that; and placing my first micro-wire was relatively trivial as I got established above the arch and embraced the delightful and delicate climbing up the slab. I reached to top jubilant and that evening I celebrated by having far too much to drink and making myself ill. It wasn't my first lead; but it was a fantastic renaissance.
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