In reply to Rob Greenwood - UKClimbing:
In 2016 I was confidently leading VS and at the start of 2017 I was working hard to get into better shape to push the grade. One week in April, I got the chance for another early finish and I found myself planning a trip to The Roaches. I had been climbing better than ever before, leading a couple of HVS onsight in the previous weeks. Could The Sloth be on the agenda? Facebook chatter on the LCCC page was encouraging and the consensus on the UKClimbing forums was that this was VS climbing that could shut down E2 leaders. I knew physically I could do it but could I overcome the mental challenge?
We talked about what we were going to climb on the journey down in the car. Tony, a regular at The Roaches heeded a warning that we should use this visit to get used to the different climbing style of natural grit, afterall we were used to the Lancashire quarries. Elliot and I decided to warm up on Valkyrie. I led the first pitch, 4b. Tony was right, the natural grit was totally different to the quarried grit I was used to. Rounded and high friction versus square cut lower friction. It took some getting used to and it felt hard for the grade. Following Elliot up the crux pitch felt desperate; it knocked my confidence and I all but ruled out The Sloth.
As we looked at the guidebook to choose the next climb, I thought about what I would feel like if I didn't at least look at The Sloth. Staring up as we approached the overhang looked immense. A party on Black and Tans asked what we were going up. “We're having a look at Sloth” I said, giving myself a get out of jail free card. Despite trying to stall, I found myself gearing up and setting off up the slab and flake. The climbing up to the pedestal felt very easy compared to last time I was here, a good omen I hoped. I got to the pedestal, placed some gear and started to assess the situation. Inside I felt very vulnerable given the struggle on Valkyrie. I decided to go up to the roof, place some gear and down climb to the pedestal; it wasn't too late to back out. The moves to the roof were quite technical but I soon had the cheese block in hand, which I protected with a sling, trapping and backing it up with a good wire. I then went back to the pedestal to rest my arms and psyche myself up.
Breathing deeply, I studied the features looming out over my head. A large black flake system to the right, bearing the scars of previous attempts; bright orange broken holds contrasting against the remaining good rock. A deep groove, disappearing into the darkness, the now dried bright green algae, telling tales about how the groove was channeled. On the lip, to the left of the groove was a further series of flakes but quite a reach from the right flake. Playing the moves out in my head, it appeared there were two options for turning the overhang; a solid fist-jam in the groove or a toe-hook and mantel over the left flakes.
Back on the ground, encouragement was shouted up, breaking the silence. It was time to move. I decided I'd go up and try to get some protection in further out on the roof before coming back down. I moved out from the small flake onto the right flake and got my feet up. The void behind the flake was deeper than I expected, providing a great rail for footholds. My mind was briefly cast back to the guidebook description (keep your feet on the rock at all costs). There was nowhere obvious to get any gear in other than right at the nose. What should I do? A jolt of adrenaline surged, I couldn't do it. My mind told me I couldn't do it.
When leading, I find that in serious situations climbing just takes over and it all just comes naturally. In spite of my mental anguish, I found myself moving out to the end of the flake; the holds were very positive. I had spent a lot of the winter at West View climbing wall and the training was paying off. It felt amazing jugging my way on such steep terrain, something I'd never encountered on any other route before. Although the sling and nut were bombproof, a fall from this position would mean a 5 metre plunge onto the 70° slab and the risk of serious ankle injury. Time to get some gear in! The 3.8 HB quadcam I had preselected was too big but I managed to reach higher and fit it in a widening above. I felt like I was running out of steam but downclimbing was out of the question. Instinct took over and I reached for the large left flake and moved my feet up further - totally committed now. The flake was brilliant and I moved further left, toe-hooking where my hands had just been. I rolled my body over, mantelling with my left arm while trusting the friction of a grit sloper with my right. From here I pulled myself up over the nose and jammed my knee in the crack to rest momentarily and to take it all in. I was going to do it, the worst (or the best) was over.
At the top, as I belayed, I replayed the climb in my mind, moving out along the magnificent flake. In this position with my fingers hooked around the lip of the flake I felt like a Sloth. I wondered whether this was the reason behind the name or maybe it was because of the Sloth’s ability to hang indefinitely without expending energy, remembering the picture of Whillans dangling nonchalantly from the fist-jam in 1956.
The Sloth, a twenty year dream, ticked. Was it hard? Not if you use your loaf.