A year ago, we posted an article 'Shaking Out: Climbing with Parkinson's' by Chris Hamper. He was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease after a long career of enthusiastic climbing and training. As a follow-up to his first story, Chris has sent in a piece about a recent sport climbing trip...

I'm going to cut a long story short and add another story to make it long again. I didn't manage the 8a I challenged myself to do post Parkinson's diagnosis. I did train most of the winter but mainly doing pullups as I was scared to tweak something bouldering. Did a lot of rowing machine, which was supposed to burn off energy but didn't work. Ended up gaining weight, a bit of research turned up the unlikely fact that Parkinson's drugs are used by some body builders because they promote the production of growth hormone. Looking good, climbing crap. Mark Stokes in the 80's.

The climbing season started well with a couple of 7b's and one 7c. OK it's not really 7c but if you're rubbish at jamming it might feel like it. I got taught how to jam by Steve Bancroft, failed the exam but I'm still better than the average sport climber. (Per + Luis)/2. I can't pinch so wild moves replaced an easy hand change on a 7b, surely 7c for me but the lads wouldn't have it. Tried an 8a and couldn't get anywhere near it, fingers too weak.

Summer holidays and everyone goes on holiday leaving me with no one to climb with. I become Gary Gibson for a month and start to brush everything in sight. Fed up with the choss, I move further afield, 10 minutes rather than 10 seconds, and find a gem. Spend every afternoon looking at it. Now there are two routes and three projects. Magnificent and too hard. I generously offer them as open projects and attract some attention from Bergen. 8b ish.

Rock is plentiful where I live but people aren't. Per is in a new relationship expecting a baby, has other priorities, the long talked about November trip to Spain is no longer talked about so I look for alternatives. Could put an announcement on UKC but what if I get offers I can't refuse but really should. Get stuck for a week with a geek. Better to ask someone to put out feelers, who knows everyone, where they are and what they are doing. Chris Gore.

Chris Gore has an encyclopaedic knowledge of world climbing between 1974 and 1991. We tested him out on the trip, none of us could catch him out, he should be on Mastermind or something.

I asked if Chris knew anyone I knew who might fancy a trip to Spain. What I really meant was did he want to go with me, but the phrasing made it easier for him to decline. He sensed my awkwardness and Skyped his reassurance. Tickets were booked. Some weeks later the team doubled with the addition of Martin Atkinson and Mark Leach.

I know Martin and Chris very well, more off the rock than on as it happens. Our wives are all good friends and our kids know each other (we have 3 each), we have gone on family holidays together and they have both been to visit us in Norway. I haven't seen Mark for 30 years.

Mark was a very strong climber from Lancashire. Used to pop up all over the place with Jerry Peel and Mick Lovatt. I first climbed with him at Pen Trwyn, at the time I had an Alfa Spider that I suaved about in. The Brat lived up to his name by telling Mark and I that it was OK to sleep in an empty room at Plas y Brenin, we did and it wasn't. The director kicked us out before breakfast. Luckily he didn't see us driving off in the red sports car, I wouldn't have been able to afford the petrol if I had to pay for accommodation. Mark seems to be able to apply himself to anything, he has a very impressive job title but I can't disclose it in case he ever wants to sue you.

At one time or another we all lived at 84 Hunter House. I was probably there for the least time. Moved into Martin's room when I moved to Sheffield to get married. He was in France modelling lycra. Too many distractions to do my marking so moved on. Andy should've been on the trip, a brief email exchange confirmed this but nothing can be done about it. We had a good time but probably not worth the cost of a flight from Oz, anyway we wouldn't have been able to tell all those stories had he been there, nooo cheers.

Chris is still climbing hard, 8a PB this year! Giddy aunt. Martin has been climbing a bit and biking a lot. Mark hasn't, let's leave it at that. Posting about the trip on FB draws lots of comments, mainly about Mark. Brits do like their banter. Having moved away 21 years ago I find it a bit harsh. In his day Mark was the best of the 4 but all 3 are legends, mixing on both the crag and the competition circuit with the best in the world. I was some way behind, enigma rather than legend. How did he get up that? I did compete twice, beat a lot of legends. Met Stefan Glowacz the day after. Said hello and he asked me who I was, 'one of the guys who beat you'. Mark, trying to make up for my non-legend status points out that I'm the only one with a part of Stanage named after me. I got the original Phil Gibson water colour for Christmas two years ago, place of pride.

When we climbed in the 80s we all climbed in lycra of course, I wonder what the boys climb in today. I climbed in Levis for a while but then discovered they weigh over a kilo, might as well put butter on my toast and drink coke. For the trip I bought some of those Ben Moon Mushing pants. Don't know what mushing is but there's a problem at the Roaches with the same name. I think they are supposed to be baggy but they only had size small in the sale so had to get them. A little small but they'll grow into me. As it happens the others all wore jeans, not Levis though these were climbing jeans, stretchy and not weighing a kilo. I was hoping my Mushing pants would make me look cool but it didn't work. I guess the 30-year-old Patagonia didn't help.

So, the only one without jeans and the only one with any hair. At least I was easy to find, the airport at Alicante is swarming with men who have exactly the same haircut as the other three. Mark was keen to point out that my hair is in two halves, the grey half and the brown half, trust a Brit to point that out, never noticed it myself.

The last time I climbed with Mark was on Revelations (5^th ascent as always). I helped Mark with the footwork and he helped me with the belaying, 5 weekends in a row. The night after I did it we went to Barry Nobles and I met Hilary, my wife, well she wasn't my wife then but was a year later. If she had been my wife already I'd have met her at tea time not Barry Nobles. Climbing with Martin and Chris was a bit of a lottery, the winner got to drive out to The Peak in the Alfa. On one occasion Martin and I tried to repeat Eye of the Tiger, ground up of course. I fell off with the rope wrapped round a leg from about 30 feet, head inches from the ground, twice.

It's good to have a bit of luxury but we weren't on expenses so were sharing two double rooms. Chris and me in one, the other two in the other. Sunday morning breakfast and Martin is not happy, Mark snores. I snore too but had brought earplugs for Chris to wear. 'So did you get a good night's sleep?' I ask. 'It was OK'. Oh oh, the earplugs don't work. Rooms were swapped and the snorers were segregated. It's far worse trying to sleep in a room with someone who is disturbed by snoring than with someone who snores.

First day's climbing goes well, really well. I flash a 7a and lob off a 7a+. Trying hard but enjoying it. No idea what the routes are called, these were tufas, 35m long, long, long. Martin and Chris did the same, I thought Mark followed suit but maybe he followed on a rope.

We stayed at Hotel El Pozo. Half board, great meals every night, wine was included but we did supplement. I forgot to say we went to Chulilla.

At the crag there were a bunch of German kids, one caught our eye as he onsighted 8a after 8a. His name is Moritz, looks like a big version of Alex Megos. Got kicked off the team for being naughty, we liked him. I introduced the legends, he obviously had a sense of the history.

No one was impressed with our climbing but I think we made an impression with our continual banter and ever expanding stories. We spent most of the day sitting in the dust at the foot of the crag telling stories, laughing a lot. In the evening we'd sit in the dusty seats in the climbers' bar, telling stories, laughing a lot. Note to self: Don't pretend you know all about photovoltaic cells just to initiate a conversation with someone whose life work revolves around them.

Stiff arms, hurting fingers and a stiff neck. Nothing to be done about the arms and fingers, but using some of those prism glasses alleviates the neck problem. They look a bit stupid but do the job. Would be great to wear in one of those rough bars where you mustn't look anyone in the eye. Could pretend you were looking at the table whilst eyeing up the hard man by the bar. Think I might get a set, useful for looking forwards as the Parkinson's stoop develops.

Chris suggested a rest day but I wasn't into it, no point in travelling all this way for a rest, I can do that on my way home. I'm writing this in the KLM lounge at Schiphol, the others are home already, cost me 5000 miles whatever that means. By Friday my climbing had gone downhill, so ambitions were adjusted, a nice-looking 6c up a not so tough tufa. By this point certain rules had been put in place regarding my climbing. The problem is that when I get stressed I tend to freeze. Untying the rope to thread is quite stressful, so threading takes quite a long time and doesn't look good from the ground. To solve this problem, we started climbing three on a rope, so Chris put in the quickdraws, I climbed on them, Martin threaded and cleaned, perfect for me at least. Whether it's a 6a warm up or a 7a route of the day it's always a struggle. It doesn't look pretty as I puff, pant and over reach every move. People don't tend to climb underneath me.

Back to Friday. The 6c tufa started OK but the higher I got the worse I climbed. Feet on ledges still can't be trusted. Get to the top and I'm standing on a ledge holding myself in with a couple of crimps but I can't clip the belay. Luis, who is also here now, shouts up and I shout something down, Chris realises I'm in trouble. I realise I'm in trouble. Imagine taking a non-climber and dropping them into this position. They'd be scared stiff and so am I. Then I twig, I forgot to take my medicine, I'm 30m up with full blown Parkinson's. The internal jack hammer goes into action as my body shakes uncontrollably. No desire to finish the route, I manage to get a finger into the belay, clip and lower. Kicking and thrashing I return to the ground where Chris administers the patch, ('Who's Patch Hammond Chris?' Used to climb with Leo Houlding, damn) I slowly come down from the peak of resonance. Interesting how the drugs take me down not up. Martin turns up and asks how I am, my trembling lip tells him not good but I hold it together, crying at the crag is definitely not cool especially when wearing Mushing pants.

It's only happened once before, I was in the local shop and fell over twice. This was rather more serious. Reminds me that I have an illness held at bay by drugs but not cured. One day the drugs will stop working and I'll always be like this. Put a bit of a dampener on the occasion for the rest of the afternoon, but an hour in a darkened room does wonders, so was soon ready for action again. Pity it was too dark to go climbing.

There are a lot of friends that I haven't kept in touch with, school friends, work friends, random friends. When I bump into them it's all very nice but conversation quickly fizzles out. Wasn't like that with this 3. We may not be climbing so intensely any more, (although we probably are trying harder than we used to) but whatever it was that brought us together in the climbing community all those years ago is still there. Let's hope it's still there in February when we plan a trip to Font. I think they must have had another meeting, there are no threading lower-offs at Font...