English man in Font

Last year, James Pearson, Gaz Parry, and I set out on what we thought would be a jolly around Europe. We?d soak up the sun, work the tan, do some amazing 8a routes, and film the whole thing. Our expectations couldn?t have been further from reality. The reality was that we had 100 days? worth of adventure crammed into an itinerary of only 40. We expected to have fun but in the end we had an experience that was so much more than just fun, it was incredible.

Our journey took us all over Europe, from Scandinavia to Spain to Slovenia. Many destinations were known quantities but many were not. It was those unexpected discoveries that made this trip so worthwhile. Arriving in the middle of the night only to wake up and see an incredible landscape of seemingly endless rock in the morning was like a reoccurring dream! The nightmare only began when we had to leave and drive ever onward.

The film is a whole medley of different styles. It?s an eye opening tour of what Europe has on offer and I am certain there are places which you will have never seen. Further, I expect when you see just how amazing these places are you may well reconsider your annual migration south to clip bolts in Spain. Why follow the well-trodden path when you can create fresh footprints in another area full of wonderful climbing?

This film isn?t about watching some super strong dudes crushing some mega hard routes. In fact, it?s a million miles away from that. It?s a compendium of how great Europe is, what makes it so special, and I hope it shows how much fun we had whilst revealing just how close to breaking point we came. I doubt there has been a film which has featured such a wide array of climbing and I think this makes it a little bit special. It?s like ordering a sampler at your favourite restaurant. You get a little bit of everything and then next time you can go back and dine with the one you enjoyed the most. I hope you enjoy seeing what?s on offer out there and next time you have a week or two for a climbing trip you consider leaving the polish behind and seeking out a new adventure. As cheesy as The North Face motto may be (can I say that?), it?s firmly planted in truth. Never stop exploring.

Head on over to the Products Page to get your download on.

Some of the elephant brained individuals who read this blog may well remember that last year I went on a trip with James and Gaz, dubbed the Summit Series Road Trip. It was a very memorable trip for me in many respects and I have nothing but fond memories. Yes, it was very hard work at points and I spent many nights blogging or editing away, but the end result was totally worth it.

The original reason I bought a video camera many years ago was because I wanted to document the adventures I was having. I didn’t want the memories to fade away and becomes all bokeh. When I re-watch the bits and pieces I’ve filmed, I always smile. For me it’s a window into a past moment, a glimpse at myself and my friends from a time that no longer exists. The footage might not be amazing, or perfectly framed, but it is a true representation of what was going on. It feels good to watch it. Maybe I don’t have a very good memory (ok, definitely!) but when I remember past events I remember what took place, but not how it felt. When I watch the footage back I am transported to those moments and the emotion that I felt kind of creeps back into my body. I really like that.

I am telling you this because I’ve just been watching the footage from the Summit Series Road Trip and I find myself bursting out laughing over and over again. In my day to day life I don’t think about how amazing the sandstone of The Czech Republic was, but when I see the footage I can see how amazing it is! When I see James pulling his strawberry face I instantly crack up. These are the small things that bring me joy when I relive old times and sometimes that’s all there is. However, with the SSRT film there is something else. The whole film does something more than just provide me with snippets of fun memories. It has grown into a sort of compendium of European sport climbing. Whilst we didn’t visit every crag or even every country in Europe, we did cover a HUGE variety of destinations. Through 14 different countries in 40 days, we climbed on Limestone, Granite, Sandstone, and Conglomerate! In 48 hours we went from top’s off sunbathing in Spain to trekking through waist deep snow alongside a frozen lake in Switzerland.

It was an exceptional trip and it opened my eyes to just what is out there in Europe. Climbers tend to go to places they know, or places that can guarantee sunshine, but this is becoming increasingly sterile in my opinion. The multitudes of boulderers who flock to Magic Wood in the summer because that’s what everyone else does, instead of asking themselves if there could be a better summer destination… (yes, there is). The swathes of sport climbers who migrate to Spain to clip bolts for a week alongside the hundreds of other Brits… These things certainly fall under the banner of going climbing, but are they really that fun? Where is the adventure? You could get a cheap flight to the North of Italy and cross the border into Slovenia and explore the amazing crags they have there. New crags are constantly being found and developed by many people.

I realise that getting information about foreign crags is sometimes hard to come by, but this shouldn’t be an excuse, simply a challenge. But seeking topo’s is a second tier problem. The first is that of knowledge. You can’t go to somewhere that you don’t know exists. Finding out about new destinations can often be the most difficult thing to do. How do you search for something when you don’t know what is you’re searching for? That’s why I think the SSRT film is a great platform for exploring what’s on offer. It will hopefully allow you to see some of those less explored areas and I’m sure you’ll be as amazed as we were by what we came across.

This is a list of areas we stopped at on our tour, some of which I’m sure will be totally new to you!

UK – Lulworth Cove – Adrenechrome 8a
UK – Malham Cove – Raindogs 8a
Sweden – Hylteberget – Abstrakt 8a
Belgium – Freyr – God Save the Queen 8a
Spain – Baltzola – Black Kongi 8a+
Spain – Baltzola – Illuminatis 8a
Spain – Margalef – Sativa Patatica 8a
France – Gorge du Tarn – Barbarattique 8a
France – Buoux – Reve du Papillon 8a
Switzerland – Voralpsee – Alaska Kid 8a
Germany – Pfalz – Magnetfinger 7c/+
Germany – Frankenjura – Slimline 8a/+
Poland – Sokoliki – Hrabia Drapula 8a
The Czech Republic – Dolni Zleb – Skruti Beh 8a
Austria – Schleirwasserfall – Have fun on top 8a
Austria – Bachhexe – Electric Avenue 8a
Slovenia – Misja Pec – Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic 8a
Italy – Arco – Gameboy 8a
Italy – Val di Mello – Slot Machine 8a

The film is ready to go, I just need to tie up a few loose ends and it will be let loose so keep an eye out on the blog. If even one person gets psyched to check out one of the more esoteric areas then I’ll be happy as a “filmmaker”! That would be an excellent goal to have achieved.

I’m not sick of climbing, but I am sick of injury. I’ve tried to work around it as best as possible, and this has meant I’ve done a bit of sport climbing and a bit of power endurance training down at the wall. But when my fingers seemed to be getting no better I knew I either had to take time off or drop in switch. I probed my phone book and found the most likely partner I could for my next adventure. It was time to hit the sea cliffs of Pembroke for a bit of trad action. It’s been ages, way too long in fact, since I’ve been trad climbing. I decided some trad bumbling would be great fun and I hoped it would act as a holiday in some way. My trad hero partner of choice was none other than boulder extraordinare, Sam Cattell (a.k.a The Dog, Mule, Number 1, biggie, and other flattering nicknames). Sam is actually a very well versed climber, although he is probably most known for his incredible strength, his chronic injuries, and having the voice of an angel.

The two of us arrived in Pembroke psyched for good times. We didn’t necessarily want to climb anything specific, just to go out and have fun like two wild men let loose in a jungle of pleasure. Kind of like climbing used to be. This was my first time in Pembroke, so I had plenty to go at, and every day brought a new adventure and many laughs. I’m not going to go through a day by day account as it would be long and fairly boring, but I’ll include some of the highlights as they make me chuckle even now.

Watching Sam pumped out of his mind on Bloody Sunday, E4, at only 4 metres up, yet manage to grapple his way to the top in the most beefy of styles. It was magnificent. Also in Huntsmans was the sight of my utter dismay on The Minotaur, E5. I’d reached the crux, pulled over to what I had hoped would be a decent hold only to find a terrible wrong way facing sloper. Faced with a ridiculously hard match move or an all out throw to what I hoped would be a jug, I launched. The scream began as one of terror as I expected to come flying off and then ended as one of joy when I latched a sinker and scampered my way at warpspeed to the belay. That provided many laughs…

Also in Huntsman’s was a 10 sigma event. Sam and I, an unlikely trad pairing at the best of times were gearing up and noticed someone else abbing in down Monster wall. This person arrived at the bottom and began coming towards us… I don’t know who was more dismayed when we all realised who it was… none other than trad superstar Paul Bennet with Nat in tow! I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. Me, Sam Cattell, and Paul Bennet in Huntsmans… what have we become.

Another highlight was a solo ascent of Pleasure Dome, E3. The day before, Sam had tried to lead the route but had got so pumped that at the crux he basically couldn’t move. His mind was telling him go, but his body, his pumped body was saying noooooooo. Whilst watching him on the route, I began to suspect we’d gone wrong, that this wasn’t an E3 as the position is just so wild. The ropes left my belay device and seemingly reached the sky before they reached sam. They were blowing about in the wind, the waves were crashing underneath, and I thought it looked genuinely wild. I seconded him up it, and was surprised by just how wild it felt even on the safe end of the rope. The next morning Emily joined the party and she fancied doing some stuff as Stennis Head, so I somewhat jokingly blurted out that I would go and solo pleasure dome. It took about 3 seconds for the half joke to become a dead set reality. Once I’d heard my own voice saying that I would do it, my mind was deceived and it joined the party too. It’s hard to describe the route exactly, so a  (randomly found on the internet) picture works better here;

That is just after the crux, after a long juggy traverse to get you nicely pumped. Soloing for me is a really nice activity, as I feel so sharpened, like my senses are heightened. I definitely don’t climb as relaxed, I’m not sure many people do, but I like that I have to be aware of that. The necessity to measure your own ability is something that is tested to the extreme when soloing. When you’re sport climbing, or trad climbing for the most part, you can just try hard without knowing exactly where you are in your performance level. It doesn’t matter if you’re at 78% energy or 80% energy when you reach the crux move, as there is no need to be that aware when a fall will only clock up some airtime. When soloing, you have to know EXACTLY where you are at all times. As you push further out, your ability to reverse to safety becomes less and less likely. When you stare up at the crux moves, you need to know for certain that you’re going to arrive there with enough energy to be able to do them comfortably. You have to know how much energy will leave your body between now and then. All of these things are subconscious routines that go on whilst I’m soloing. I like to try and be aware of them though, as if I’m monitoring an oscilloscope of power. Trad climbing this week also reminded of “how” I climb when I’m out on the cliffs. I look up and see nothing except the next handhold, and when I look down I see nothing except the foothold I want my foot to be glued to. I don’t hear the sea crashing down below or the seagulls whining over head. There are no what if’s, there are no umm’s or ahh’s, there are only definite movements towards the top. Soloing an E3 is really no big deal, but soloing pleasure dome gave me a great feeling. It reminded me of an aspect of climbing with I dearly love. Some might think it’s foolish, and that’s fair enough, but for me it contains an intrinsic reason why I love climbing. It also means I won’t get Parkinson’s. The feeling when you arrive at the top is incredible, breathing just a little bit too hard, taking in nice deep lungful’s of air, and letting your body relax back into the safety of terra firma. There are some other routes I’d like to solo in Pembroke, although it’s always a strange situation doing it with other people around. I don’t want to make other people feel uncomfortable, so perhaps I’ll get to them on a lonely day at the crag when it’s just the sun, the sea, and me…. which reminds me of something I muttered to myself as I ab’d in alone to Stennis Ford one day “If a rope snaps and a climber falls into stennis ford but their’s no one around to see him, does he really fall?”. (N.b. I hate abseiling.)

The days at Pembroke have invigorated something really deep for me. I forgot how fun trad climbing is. I’ve been so focused on the move, on the difficult, that I forgot it exists within a much wider sphere of “climbing”. Climbing is many things to many people and trad’ing it up in Pembroke just reminded me of another side to the dodecahedron. I’m mega keen to go back for more, to make the most of summer, and the most of easy access throughout the whole of August. There is plenty there I’d like to do, but the bottom line is that I’ve found a new challenge and can see so many avenues to improvement. Yes, trad climbing is ridiculously easy, but it feels so complete. It’s great to bring it all together, and I think that’s why I had so much fun. Plus I didn’t fall off, which means I definitely wasn’t trying hard enough…

I’ll keep this as short as possible, in an effort to be succinct rather than the usual verbose nature of my words. It’s all chronological.

My fingers hurt a lot after the BBC’s. I needed to rest. I trained twice. My fingers hurt more. I did the world cup. I did very badly, but it was still good and certainly motivating. My fingers hurt much more. I iced them lots. I rested for 1 week. I went to Anstey’s Cove on Monday. I had high hopes for my fingers. They hurt. I flashed Empire of the Sun. It is pretty cool. Certainly one of the better routes I’ve done in the UK. Perhaps I think it looks better than it climbs. Then I fell off Just Revenge. My fingers hurt too much. My phone was stolen. I attempted to go after the thief. I discovered what had happened from some witnesses. I ran into town after the guy, still wearing my harness and lacking a t-shirt. I would like to apologise to anyone who was shocked by my bulk running at them only to stop and say “I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen someone matching this description…”. I didn’t find the guy. I did know he had spent the night on the beach in a tent. I went down there. There was lots of alcohol, some still unopened. I approached the tent with a rock in hand. I opened the tent and inside there was a midget! Just kidding. I wish I was R. Kelly. The tent was empty, apart from a sleeping bag, pillow, and large machete. I suddenly became a little worried and backed away trying to appear as if I wasn’t at all scared. That was my day out. Then my fingers hurt some more.

Now that the boring bit is out of the window I can write about something far more interesting. For a long time this blog has been exclusively climbing, which is what it started as and it’s what I intended it to continue. However, I do a lot of other things which are way more interesting than climbing. I don’t visit climbing websites any more, as I’m a bit bored of them. I like climbing, that’s certain, but I just want to enjoy it by going climbing, not to be saturated in it. I like reading about other things, things which inspire me, expand my mind, and increase my sphere of knowledge. I recently read something which I thought was worth sharing. It made me step outside of the box. This example is not mine, it’s Nassim Taleb’s (although perhaps he took it from someone else – I don’t know). I think he’s a smart guy.

You have Tim. He’s a statistician, who works for a giant financial powerhouse, and works with complex mathematics and statistics every single day. He’s done this for over 30 years. Then you have Tony. He’s a wheeler/dealer. He doesn’t work in an office, but he is very well off, making money here and there without being particularly technical in any field at all. You invite Tim and Tony to play a very simple game. You tell them that you have tossed a coin 99 times and that it has come up heads every single time. You tell them it’s a fair coin. Then you ask both of them the probability of the coin coming up heads on the 100th time. Tim smirks, as he knows the answer. Tony laughs, as he knows what’s probably going on here. Tim replies with a half. This is basic probability after all. It’s a fair coin, the past tosses have nothing to do with the 100th as they are all independent events. Tony is shocked by this answer. He knows some basic probability theory, enough to know that a coin can only be heads or tails. However, he doesn’t give you the same answer. He tells you that the game can’t be fair, that you are having them on. If the coin really has landed heads for 99 times in a row then it’s far more likely that you are cheating (ie. using an unfair coin or lying about the coin landing 99 times heads up). To me, this is such a clear example of thinking outside the box. Tim is right ofcourse, IF the underlying assumptions of the game are correct, but why has he assumed that rather than thinking there might be something dodgy in the game itself? [If I have presented this badly or incorrectly then it's due to my haste, so forgive me. It's worth reading more about such things and a good starting point would be to Google Nassim Taleb]

Personally, it’s always worth questioning your assumption, and trying to view everything from an angle slightly further back than where you think you are. Never be afraid to take another step back. After all, you can always take a step closer again if you want.

addendum. The reason I was reminded of this little anecdote was because of a track I was just listening to, in particular the lines; “If you’re not sure who not to believe, Who has better reasons to deceive”.

Perpetual underachievement. What does that mean? Surely there comes a point where your actual potential is better represented by your track record than by what you perhaps thought you had the potential to achieve? Perhaps that potential was a mistake? How many years can a “good” climber still fail to do anything “good”? At what point do they become a “bad” climber?

This sounds ever so serious, and perhaps somewhat bleak, but I can assure you this is not my attitude or current state of being! The British Bouldering Championships were at the weekend and I was there to try my luck. I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t exactly do a lot of training in the last couple of months for this competition. I was struggling to sleep at night and in constant pain, so thoughts of training hard weren’t exactly at the forefront of my mind.

Returning from Sonar and having 4 days of training before the competition, it would obviously make no difference to my overall state of strength but it allowed me to practice a few of the things that always come up in big comps (like double dynos!). On Thursday I was climbing at the wall, feeling pretty good and feeling as though my shape was perhaps not as bad as I had feared. Then I pulled on to another bloc and suddenly my middle finger was exceptionally painful in a crimped position. Hmmm. I’d just done another bloc and felt fine, not felt anything pull or tweak, and now it was too painful to hold on. Not really understanding how it had happened, I decided to get it on ice. The next morning it was obvious that my finger was tweaked, as putting it in even a half crimped position and loading it even very gently was painful all around my second joint. Great timing. I was a bit annoyed but also very bemused. I wasn’t annoyed because of the upcoming competition, but because I’m sick of going from one injury to the next. I was just starting to feel like my snowboarding injury was subsiding and now I have a finger tweak. I know it’s not serious and a bit of rest and ice will probably fix it in a couple of weeks, but it’s so frustrating. I haven’t been able to climb continuously since last year!

I decided I may as well head up to the BBC’s as it is a good excuse to see some friends and after warming up I’d decide whether or not to do the comp. On the day it was hurting, but after warming up it hurt less whilst climbing. It seems to be the case that if I warm up thoroughly then it doesn’t hurt too much to climb on but it does then hurt afterwards (which probably isn’t a good sign).

I had expected the BBC’s to have the normal array of weird problems, many volumes, and many odd moves that I find so hard. I knew I would struggle with them, but at least they wouldn’t be bad for my finger. What I saw was the total opposite. Every single problem featured crimps. A crimp here, a crimp there, a crimp everywhere. It was ridiculous to be honest. The winner would definitely be the person who could crimp the hardest, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would not be me. I didn’t even know if I would be able to do the easy ones! I tried though, and in the end I was somewhat expectedly disappointed with my 16^th place result. I don’t know why I was disappointed, because I went there not knowing if I would be able to climb and I did manage that. But I don’t measure my satisfaction on that, I measure it on what I know I could and should be achieving. Then again, maybe that is a ludicrous way to do it.

I hate being bad at something. I don’t hate it because it means I am worse than someone else, far from it. It has nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with me knowing that I’ve tried my hardest. I know that if I try my hardest at something then there is no way I will be bad at it. That may sound ever so slightly arrogant, but I think it’s true. If you want to be good at something, and you are willing to put in the effort then you will eventually be good at it. Therefore, if you aren’t good at something which you want to be good at it stems from laziness, and I loathe laziness. I know that I’ve been battling injury and that for me is frustrating. I just want to be fit again, climbing well, pulling as hard as I can without pain. I know that time will come but for the moment I’m in a rut of frustration.

For now, I’m not frustrated because I did badly in a comp, I’m frustrated because I want to go out on real rock and climb some cool stuff, but having fingers which hurt is a nuisance. I want to make the most of being in Bristol this summer and check out places which I’ve never been like Ansteys Cove, Pembroke, and Portland. I don’t want to go and punt it up though.

The outlook is still positive, as it always shall be. I know this odd finger injury will soon pass and I’ll be able to go climbing without pain or hesitance. Hopefully then I can find my flow and start swimming with the current instead of against it.

“I don’t remember the games I won, only the games I lost” – Boris Becker

Arriving in Barcelona I was definitely ready to swap a tent for a real bed. We had one day to rest before the parties began, and then I saw very little of the bed I so much desired. The week of Sonar sees an incredible array of world class music descend on Barcelona, so each night you are presented with a plethora of difficult choices. Our first night was a wonderful aural treat, with Anja Schneider and then Pan Pot playing out wonderful music. Hearing such good music after a prolonged absence only made it sound even more amazing.

The following night was a Tresor label night, and then the next two night were Sonar by night events.The great thing about Sonar is that it is not a pure techno festival. That’s also the worst thing about Sonar. I want to go out at night and listen to amazing techno/mnml/deep house. I do not want to see the likes of Dizzee Rascal. It was a great disappointment that Magda only played an hour and that Richie only played as Plastikman for 1 hour. It was far too short a time, but likewise listening to Plastikman for 1 hour was by far the highlight of the whole party experience. Having listened to Richie do a mini talk the night before about how technology and innovation were working for and against him it made me appreciate what he’s doing a little more deeply. Of course, just hearing an amazing sound that makes your body move is great, but knowing that the person you’re listening to is trying to push the envelope of what is possible is also really cool.

I don’t think I’ll ever go back to Sonar. I’ve done it 3 times now, and it’s changed a lot from the first time I went in 2005. I want to go and explore other festivals like mutek, timewarp, exit and DEMF. Going back to a good thing is always comfortable, but how do you know if it’s really that good unless you go out and try something else? Life is all about variety, seeking out new lines, and exploring new terrain. That’s what I’m trying to do in climbing and outside of climbing. Soon enough we’ll know how that worked out. For now, click the photo below to go to a gallery or sonar images.

A couple of weeks ago I boarded a plane with Emily and headed off to Spain. The plan was to head to Rodellar to seek revenge on a 6b+ I had failed on a couple of years ago. It sounds like a joke doesn’t it, but it’s true. I’d also managed to climb 8a on the same trip, but that wasn’t the lasting memory… it was having to grab quickdraws on a 6b+ because I couldn’t hold on to the holds. I laughed it off as you would expect, but it ate away at me day and night.

The eve before leaving I checked the weather forecast for rodellar and it looked something like this;

I didn’t fancy spending 5 days in a tent waiting out thunderstorms, so another plan was hatched. I’d wanted to go and check out Gaz’s house (and surrounding crags!) in the Costa Blanca and this seemed liked the perfect opportunity. The 6b+ at Rodellar would have to wait… but that score is not forgotten. Watch out!

Gaz’s house is located amidst a sea of orange groves and from the rooftop you can enjoy beautiful sunsets, which is exactly what we did on our first evening;

Gaz informed us that due to the heat climbing was only possible in the shade and this meant going out early in the morning. I’m not exactly a morning person, and so I jokingly suggested we should leave at 8am which was non jokingly agreed to.

Our first engagement was to get some pain au chocolat, which might sound totally ridiculous as we were nestled in the heart of Spain. I’d been assured that I wouldn’t be disappointed and somewhat amazingly, I wasn’t. My expectations were low as I (and every sensible person in the world) know that it’s impossible to get a good pain au chocolat anywhere except France, so it was a pleasant surprise and a good start to the day.

Onwards through the orange groves towards L’Ocaive. The crag has an impressive orange overhang on it’s right hand side, and that’s where we were heading. Day 1 is always a warm up day. I’ve spent too many trips trying to do something hard on my first day and inevitably failed which can have negative effects for the overall psyche. Success begets success, so I try to do everything I can to get on the wave of success. First up was a 6b+ which was pleasant enough all the way to 2 metres from the top. At this point you suddenly have to do what is quite a hard move in order to reach the chains. If a 6b+ climber reached this point I can only see one outcome… falling off. It’s somewhat ridiculous. Why are the chains placed at that exact point? Why add 1 move which is 50x harder than any other move on the route previously?

I felt warmed up enough to have a punt on a 7b which took a cool looking line up an overhanging orange wall, on pockets and a bit of a tufa. It’s essentially a poor man’s version of the cooler looking neighbour of this route, an 8a that I most definitely wasn’t ready for trying. The 7b proved a bit of a battle, and I combined all of my skills to push upwards. I screamed, I cut loose, I got wrong handed several times, and I was laughed at by Emily. Every time I reached for a hold, I was disappointed, each time I had to put in a quickdraw or clip it I was sure I was going to fall off. I don’t know the number of times I shouted “watch me here” and then lunged for a hold only to miraculously find myself still hanging on. I reached a point whereby the shock of still being on was overtaken by a desire to succeed, and various motivational excerpts left my mouth. I was shouting at myself not to fall off, not to screw it up. I really didn’t want to have to do all this again. I reached a jug and the overhang went into a more vertical-ish section that thankfully contained a wide crack into which I shoved a kneebar. Now I concentrated on depumping my arms as my leg began to get pumped and very sore in the kneebar. I plodded on up the jugs in the crack, fought some guano, and clipped the chains. What a fight… on a 7b! I’m such a punt. It came as a great consolation when I found out Gaz had done a few of his trademark power squeals on his ascent too… and he’s definitely not a punt!

After this I did the 6c+ and 7a in the middle of the sector. The 7a was one of the better routes I’ve done as it featured really fun tufa climbing, so it gets my recommendation. Emily was feeling quite sick, having to fight to keep any food down, but somehow managed to get to her feet and crush the 6c+. I was impressed, proud, and could see the sunshine breaking through the clouds.

The next day we arose far too early again, and headed off to Gandia. The plan was to warm up at sector Hidraulic then go to Bovedon. The first route of the day was a 6a+ which felt easy as it should. Then a 6b+, which felt utterly desperate. It was so desperate that I feared Emily wouldn’t be able to do it. The holds had been so bad that I had to pretty much try as hard as I could to do the crux, which involved a terrible sloper/crimp and a bad 3 finger pinch. I didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t think she could do it as it was pointlessly negative, but I did say I thought it was hard. She set off, cruised upwards then arrived at the crux. I fully expected her to fall off but what happened next was truly amazing. She walked up the crux section as if someone had just been up and made every hold a jug. She didn’t scream or struggle, she just got on with it. I was speechless. I was feeling dismayed but also totally impressed. It was amazing! I would like to say she used different holds or a different sequence, but it wasn’t the case! I just put it behind me and moved to the next route. I felt warmed up, so decided to do an 8a at the left of the cave. It looked like a boulder problem, so I figured I’d just put the clips in it then despatch first go. Arriving at the first quickdraw, my words were “I’m coming back down”. There was no way I was going to do this today. Knowing when to turn around is an important asset in every walk of life, so I moved on to do the 7b next to it as a consolation tick. Then I felt as though I was in Groundhog day. I was at the first bolt trying as hard as I could to pull on to do the move and couldn’t take my weight off the rope. This is no joke. I couldn’t pull on. I climbed back to the ground dismayed, confused, but laughing. This was truly hilarious.

I needed to do SOMETHING, so moved one more route rightwards, to a 7a+ that was literally covered with jugs. I set off and immediately dipped into the power scream tank. At the third bolt I admitted defeat and slumped onto the rope. I was laughing, telling Emily that I couldn’t hold on to these jugs, knowing full well that she would be able to do this route! I went up the rest of the route bolt to bolt. I was screaming whilst moving from one jug to another. It was as if I had never climbed before, that was my level of strength! Perhaps less! I wasn’t willing to be totally defeated and lowered down to the ground, then set off on a redpoint attempt. Had it come to this? Redpointing 7a+ routes? It seemed that way. Desperately, but also thankfully, I made it to the top, using up my final reserves of power screams. I was done for the day! The rest of it was spent swimming and sunbathing which provided welcome respite.

Our third day of climbing was another early start. I wanted to check out a cool looking crag called La Murla. Gaz had said it was good and Leah had told me about an amazing 8a which was supposed to be bouldery. That translates to having harder moves but less of them… which was worrying as I couldn’t handle the jug to jug moves of 5 bolt 7a+’s! My psych was still high, as always, and it only went further up as we walked towards the crag. It’s a short crag, with a Bombay wave of orange rock that curves around the hillside. I couldn’t find much of a warm up route, so ended up going up a 7b covered in bolt on’s. Quality wise it wasn’t up there, and I didn’t manage to do it onsight, but it served it’s purpose as a warm up.

Then on to the 8a, La Chaqueta hidraulica. I really didn’t know what to expect, but I was positive. I went up it bolt to bolt, and every time I stopped Emily would ask me what the holds were like and I could only respond with “they’re jugs”. I couldn’t understand it. Every hold was a jug. I began to think I was on the wrong route. The way I was climbing it didn’t really match the description Leah had given me. I was just jumping between jugs. I got to the final bolt, looked up and saw the chain and decided there was no point going up to it as I knew it would all be jugs just like the rest of the route. I lowered down, and shared my confusion with Em. The clips were now in, so I might as well do the route, but what was it? We checked the guidebook again, and it did appear that this was the 8a, but I still decided to reserve judgement until I could ask Leah. I went for the redpoint, got up to the last bolt and decided I wouldn’t bother clipping it as the chain wasn’t too far away. I pushed into unknown territory and all of a sudden the holds went from jugs to small slimpers. I was a bit shocked but had something left in the tank so quested on, crimping as hard as I could to make sure I didn’t fall off. I was a bit surprised by the hardness of the moves here, but made it through to them, reached a glory jug next to the chain and went to clip. As I wrote, I hadn’t been up to the chain before and I also hadn’t realised until this exact moment that there was nothing to clip on the chain.  I reached down to my harness to get a quickdraw but then I saw that there was no quickdraw on my harness, as I’d ditched them all for my redpoint. Now I was up here at the end, unable to clip the chains and due to skipping the last clip I was facing a ground fall. Great news! I was mildly panicked, as was Em, but she offered some sage advice which was “CLIMB DOWN!!!”. I started reversing the moves, getting pumped exponentially quickly now that I was a bit scared of hitting the ground. I reached a point where I couldn’t reverse one of the moves off a small crimp, so I had no choice but to jump. I was still above the last unclipped draw, but I thought I would be ok and Em was reassuring me. I took the lob and ended up level with Emily about 6 feet from the ground. WOOOOOOOOWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

In the evening I went through the sequence with Leah, and she confirmed it was indeed the 8a. She was quite surprised that I had used my sequence rather than matching, toe-hooking, releasing and leaping into a one armed swing. I hadn’t fallen off the moves and I thought my sequence was really good, but perhaps I’d got really lucky with conditions that day as the supposed crux move/hold felt like a jug. Regardless, it was a fun route and one that I would recommend (which is a rare thing)! In fact, La Murla is a pretty cool crag so if you’re in the area it’s worth checking out. Plus, if you’re feeling cheeky, there are plenty of empty holiday homes just next door and every single one has a nice blue swimming pool…

The following day was our final day and we headed back to Barcelona to shift from climbing to clubbing. The blog post for party time will follow…

No one seems to have taken me up on the money back guarantee which I offered on all purchases of Between The Trees. All I had requested was that you had seen every boulder problem in the film climbed (either in real life or in a video)… how hard could that be? There weren’t any first ascents, so it wasn’t a trick… but no one has come forward to claim their prize. Why? Roll up, roll up… I can think of at least one person who would have seen every single thing in the video climbed (although I could be wrong about this!).

The DVD sales have gone really well, and after the initial surge they have been trickling out. As time passed the downloads somewhat took over from the DVD sales, but the DVD’s are still being sent out. In fact, they are very nearly sold out. Once they’re gone they’re gone. If you’ve been waiting to order one, then wait no longer. I think there are approximately 40 or so left, so if you do want one then head on over to the order page. If you don’t want one, then soon you can relax as it won’t be possible to get inebriated and accidentally purchase one, only to wake up the next day and find the very object of your hate in your hands…

I hate when people start blog entries with lines such as “It’s been a long time” or “It’s been ages since I’ve been on here”, so I’ll spare you the rage and simply say “errr, well, I don’t know. I haven’t posted in ages and I’m not entirely sure why. That’s the truth”. One thing is for certain, change has been abundant in my life.

The last time I wrote anything beyond 4 lines I was in Innsbruck, enjoying the amazing powder that seemed to suddenly arrive just when it was needed. My boarding was going really well and early April provided some of the very best days of the season with a load of powder opening up opportunities for proper all mountain riding. I was psyched, but it wasn’t all sweet scented roses.

I was overjoyed that my mysterious hand injury disappeared overnight, but this was balanced with the fact that I couldn’t use my body to climb because it was in pain from my snowboard crash. Most moves would hurt and I felt so weak in the body. My hands and fingers did feel ok though, which was the positive aspect I was holding on to.

Since my crash back in March, I haven’t actually recovered. The initial breathing problems subsided, but I still had pain in my chest, lower back, and neck. I’ve been injured before and I know that given enough time the pain goes away and your body fixes itself. It’s an amazing thing the human body, and perhaps I haven’t given it the respect it deserves.

Now, over 2 months on, I still have to take pain killers to sleep at night. I’ve seen 2 Doctor’s, been told to just “see how it goes”, seen an Osteopath who couldn’t really tell exactly what was wrong or why it was wrong, and also seen a Sports Injury Therapist who I have no doubt is working wonders on my body but the original problem isn’t changing. My body is clearly in some fubar’d state, and I can’t find anyone who seems to know anything about the symptoms I have. During the day, the pain is manageable, with only specific rotational movements of my chest causing sharp pain in my ribs. However, upon lying down the pain spreads instantly. Lying down on a hard surface causes instant pain in my lower back, my chest, and depending on the position, my neck. As you can guess, this makes it hard to sleep and most of us generally try to sleep lying down. Well, I used to anyway. Recently, I’ve had to sleep sitting upright on the sofa as the pain from lying down is too great… even after taking prescription strength painkillers. It’s ridiculous.

The worst part of it is that it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I’m just living with this pain. Every night I go to sleep and know that I’m probably going to wake up in the early hours either in an amount of pain I can just about tolerate, or in agony and thus be forced to sit upright and try to sleep. I am getting sick of it to be honest. I just want to be well again, to climb at my hardest, and to “feel my body move” (without pain). I don’t know what I’m going to do to get there, because I seem to have tried a lot of avenues. I think the next move is another hospital visit and a scan that may tell me more than an x-ray.

There has been more change occurring, beyond going from a pain free to a pain managed lifestyle. Towards the middle of last month I packed up my car and made my peace with Innsbruck, then drove away from the Alps for the final time. The decision to leave has been a complex one, with a lot of shifts in my life pushing me down new paths. Life is an interesting beast, and just when you think you can see a way forward you’re propelled at c toward an entirely different goal. At the end of the day

I never do too well when I’m not challenged, and perhaps it was this lack of challenge since releasing Between the Trees that has prompted me to undertake a new adventure. I guess I’m a bit reticent to disclose all the details, but I do know that if each piece falls into place and life once again deals me AA preflop then I’ll have good news to write home about. I’ll know soon enough. An attitude which I think I have been raised with is that of being able to detach attachment from desire. Sometimes I think I really want and must travel down a certain path, but then it all appears to go wrong and at some point down the line I realise that the big wrong was actually a big right. Perhaps this is some psychological condition of convincing oneself that it’s all working out ok, but I’m certain that I’ve had every major life decision propel me down an amazing path. I’m hoping that regardless of what happens in the next few weeks, I’ll be propelled down some amazing path (one of which I can see and one of which has yet to be revealed!).

Since being back in England I’ve been mainly climbing at The Climbing Academy in Bristol, as well as the surrounding areas. It’s a major shift from the granite of the Zillertal, but look hard enough anywhere and you’ll find something cool. Proust was right. I’ve done some cool routes and some bad ones, realised I still can’t pull on small holds but that movement can sometimes get you through, and also gained a little bit of power endurance. I’ve done very little pure power bouldering as there is nothing really hard down at the wall (well, there wasn’t until a team setting session forged new ground), so I’m not sure where the max level resides. The other reason is that my body still isn’t up to it… I’ve got my project for the summer lined up now, black pinches, pockets, and undercuts up a steep board. Back to the old school (R.I.P). In fact, one of the best problems in the school was a black pinchy thing… ok, I better not start to reminisce. There are also a few choice routes on real rock (I know, shock horror) that are going to see a bit of my attention if all goes well… mainly the classic sport routes that Ian Vickers dismayingly crushed many moons ago. The more I learn about climbing the more I find that dismays me.

So here I am, stood before a fork in the road. It’s all looking exciting in every direction, so I’m holding nothing back and pushing on forward. As ever, I’m intrigued as to where I’ll end up.

680. 6.0.

It is not the strongest species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change.

- Charles Darwin