A Thorn in my Side

7 am, my ears start ringing with an alarm tone, I sit up and look around me at scattered bodies in cocoons. The morning after the night before and the effects are visible on the face of each waking person. The group split in two, those who had to work and those who had to climb, Dom, Tom, Colin and myself we went out into the misty streets bleary eyed and, then the M6 towards Lancaster, jumping ship at junction 33, then to Dolphinholme and on to Tarnbrook. The sun starting to illuminate the hills around and we catch our first glimpse or the rocks high up, nestled between the shadows and highlights over the rippled moorland.

The walking up the fresh air pulling the toxins of the night before out of us and preparing us for the challenges to come. We split off the main path and bash through 50 feet of heather to gain the first set of boulders, starting steady on 'The Crag Boulders' doing the circuits to gain the feeling in the rock, the satisfying aretes and delicate slabs which remind you so gently to use your feet to push. The aches and pains dissolving away being replaced by enthusiasm and excitement, my first time back on grit stone since being in cast, things can only get better. One of the group, Colin, has by now decided that a bouldeing mat makes a better place for a nap than a landing aid and donning a down jacket beds down for a good hour and a half. Dom, Tom and myself moved along the line to a wall that leans over you just enough to weight your fingers. A big move off the floor got some reasonable crimps and a flag gained a flat undercut, but that's when your troubles started. The right hand comes over the top inline with undercut and a small toe inviting a large barn door effect, the rest is for you to figure out.

Now we were really flying, the pains of the morning a distant memory and a blunt over hanging arete calling our name, but not before stopping at amazing ripple feature on the lip of a boulder giving a mighty little traverse. The distraction dealt with our cross hairs focused, the pads set up, the boots eased onto the back of your heal, the holds brushed and hands chalked and a tingle ran up my spine. The first move took a few goes to land, a large slap to a good slopper, miss, miss, miss, stick, breath, move, relax, move then fall. The last move, so close. After a rest, Dom, Tom and the now awake Colin all pulling on, Dom made it second time. I had to have another go, this time i took my time, I looked at the arete, sat at the bottom and watched myself climb, i saw my hands move and feet hook and toe, my hand gets to the top hold, I open my eyes and pull myself up. Satisfied I sat on the top and watched the sun start to set and the drunken ramblings of a mad man rattled around my head "tomorrow the wind will come and blow it all away".

Greetings

Salutations to all the Campfour blog reading people out there, I have been asked to add to the blog regarding my climbing exploits (mostly). My preferred climbing style is an upward one, if your going down something has probably gone wrong, though there are exceptions to the rule. Currently I'm working back to full fitness from an ankle injury (a ruptured anterior talofibulare ligament if you must know) which required 6 weeks in cast and 2 weeks in a space boot. These first few blogs will be a trip through my recovery and the adventures that go with it. As they say, 'the only way is up'

Eddy