In reply to Andy Moles:
"Overall, have we lost as much as we've gained?"
I'll try to keep on topic and to answer your question. I first climbed in the Peak in April 1971 at Black Rocks. Over the next few months of that year I climbed the local limestone and grit, doing the "apprenticeship" I met climbers, who told me of far-off places and wonderful adventures. I heard of Cloggy and the Alps. It was everything my 18 year old mind and body wanted. I was on the threshold of entering the greater world. I was immediately stricken. After a couple of months I had decided that the career that I had embarked upon from secondary school was too dull and predictable, so I left it to become an idler, i.e. a climber. The excitement for climbing I experienced at the time was stunning. I climbed every weekend. I thought no one else saw the magic of, and no one else enjoyed climbing as much as I did. Those first two or three years were sheer wonder
I climbed in England and Wales, and Scotland and went to the Alps every summer. To travel by car, or hitch-hike through England, North West France, West Germany, Italy and Austria to the mountains was so memorable. The newness of it all. And as each season went by I expected myself to expand my accomplishments. To go up through the grades, I expected to become a great rock climber and be a super-alpinist.
I regularly slept at the woodshed at Stoney. I knew the climber's barns in Wales, the Lakes and Derbyshire. Bless those farmers.
Wherever I went I met, or simply ran into my fellow climbers. There was never any shortage of climbing partners, and there weren't that many climbers really. The ethic was first-of-all humour, then anti-everything, especially anti people who took themselves seriously; then anti-French, except for French climbers like us; careers; except for people who had a career, but were like us and climbed. especially if they had a well-paying job and a car
I was completely transformed by my experiences between the ages 18 and 22. I climbed more frequently then than I have since. I loved those times. But I don't think it was the best time to climb, but it might have been. When the Victorian gentlemen set out for the Alps it could have been. When Hillary and Tsenzing climbed Everest it must have been the best time, for them.
Then my friends began to die in the mountains.
I've been climbing, on and off, for 43 years. The best time to climb for me is now. I climbed in the Western French and Italian Alps last summer, my first time in the Alps in 40 years.
I climbed in Scotland in 2010 and had a fantastic time. It was better then than it would have been when I was 20. I know that. We checked the weather reports, we had a car, we went to bed early enough to get up before daylight. We were not put off by a bad weather report.
I had some great days in the Cascades of Washington and BC throughout last spring to autumn.
I walked up to Annapurna Base Camp last December and onwards to meet my sister.
Today, I went to the local indoor gym. It works really well for fitness and for training, very enjoyable for movement. In a month I go to Red Rock, Nevada. There, I want to go high into the canyons for full-day adventures. I hope to be able to have a few "high-wire" adventures.
The magic of the 1970s has vanished, certainly. But those were largely imaginations. In those days I imagined more than I did. Now I don't imagine so much, I do, and I experience.
I don't think I have lost anything. I have moved on from being a crag-rat (circa '73) at Stoney and now see a much broader, (and higher, excuse me) horizon. I enjoy being up in the mountains without necessarily peak-bagging. But when the opportunity presents I'll push it. I'm forced to use a cliche, but, "it is what I do"
I hope to continue to see the world by being in the mountains with my great and beautiful friends.