A splash of '08

The summer of 2008 was also pretty wet. but far better than '07. We were able to get out quite a lot. In May, I took the kids camping one weekend in the Mournes. The weather was beautiful and we went for a walk on the Sunday morning.

Climbing wise, well it was a mixed bag. For me, some climbs went really well, others felt like disasters. On some routes I really felt like I was back into it, only to really struggle on some easy route the following week. I came really close to giving it up altogether.

Undoubtedly the highlight of the year was our ascent of the Old Man of Hoy in the Orkney Islands in August. But that needs a post of its own to do it justice. The best thing about the climbing for me in '08 was visiting new areas, including Lough Belshade in the Bluestack Mountains in Donegal. It's one of the most beautiful crags I've ever been to, and as you're climbing you can hear the water lapping against the shore of the lough; very tranquil. Well worth the rather long walk-in.

We also went to Muckross Head, near Killybegs in Donegal. This is perhaps the closest thing the northern counties have to a sport climbing crag, as the climbing is five minutes from the car, and the routes are short so you can do a few in a day.

Another lovely climb was Quartz Gully at Glendalough. The crux pitch is a real corker!

I also took the kids to the Isle of Man in August; I've always wanted to go there and Nadia was due some off time after a long summer school holiday.
The boat trip over was very rough; Lara was quite sick, Jonathan and I were also quite green towards the end; only Nicholas seems to have great sea-legs! It was tough to be away with them on my own for four days, but I survived anyhow. The weather wasn't great, but the boys nevertheless took every opportunity they could to swim!

New Zealand - April 2008

In April 2008 I went out to New Zealand for my brother's 40th birthday. Paul and Heather live in Little River, on the Bank's Peninsula about 60km from Christchurch. They live on a smallholding, and keep cows, sheep, donkeys and chickens, and grow their own vegetables. With all those animals, it helps that Paul is the local vet. They also have two children, Daniel (13) and Rebecca (9). After a couple of years living in the existing house, too small for them all, they built a new one.

I was able to stay in luxury on my own in the smaller cottage.

The view down from the house, towards the sea. The name of the lake escapes me right now.

I accompanied Paul on some of his work rounds , including the castration of these alpacas.

Took a boat trip out from Akaroa, on a beautiful day.

Paul and I walked up Mount Herbert, from Diamond Harbour, and came down on the Little River side.

Then there was the birthday party, with its "mid-life crisis" theme. I dyed my hair blonde for the occasion (photo's not provided!).

A fantastic time, and good to see the old bugger after three years.

A smidgeon of '07

You wouldn't think from looking at any of these photos that we had one of the wettest summers, like, ever, in 2007. But we did have a glorious April, which is when most of these were taken.

My first time back climbing after my accident was to Slieve Bearnagh in the Mournes. Mark took me up Grand Central, the easiest line up the Bearnagh slabs. My wrist felt awkward, and was still quite skew, something that's been corrected a bit since. But it was so good just to be back climbing again.

My first lead since the accident was "Paradise Lost" at Dalkey Quarry. It's a beautiful, easy line on good quality rock.

I also led "Eliminate A". a route that looks crap from below, but it's a five star line too, one of the best routes I've ever done of that grade.

I found with leading that I was very tentative, not really trusting anything, including myself. I realised it was going to take some time to feel comfortable again, but I haven't regained the confidence I had before, even now in 2009.

One of the other highlights of 2007 was climbing "Tarquin's Groove" on Bingorm West in Donegal. It was a blistering day, so much so that we had a swim in the lake near which we had parked the car when we got down.

I got sun-burnt for the first and only time (so far) in Ireland.

In June the rain started, and didn't really stop until September. But we did manage one particular afternoon in July, to get up to Fairhead, with Pieter, who had finally come over for the weekend we were supposed to have the year before. If only the weather had been as good. But we were able to climb that Saturday afternoon, after a morning doing the tourist thing at the rope bridge and the Giant's Causeway. I bailed after the first pitch of "Taoiseach", and went to take photos of Pieter and Mark completing the route. A lead attempt two weeks later on "Chieftain" next door was similarly ignominious, I had to use aid and thrutch my way up the thing.

Pieter also led "The Black Thief" on the Prow.

Um, that was sort of it for '07.

Mark Warnock

So here he is. Mark Warnock, from Portadown in Northern Ireland. A real gentleman and a true friend. And a pretty useful climber too.

Thanks Mark, for not giving up on me, for putting up with my whinging, for those times you've fetched the packs from up a slope after we've come down another way, and I've been too wrecked to move another inch. For not getting annoyed when I ask you to repeat yourself because your broad accent is too difficult sometimes for my South African ears. For dragging me (literally) up many routes the last two years. If I carry on climbing, and don't give it up, it'll be because of you, and those like you whom I've climbed with over the years. You know who you are.

And here is the lovely Claire Warnock, with Ellie (2). There's another Warnock on the way too, congratulations guys!

Bringing me back to earth.

Tuesday, 11 July 2006. A typical day for that summer, warm, sunny, and long daylight hours. I'd had a crap day at work, all sorts of things irritating me, and I left a little early. Richenda Herzig, a friend from SA, had arrived from England the day before, to stay with us for her summer holidays. And she's a climber. So off we went, to Hen Mountain, one of the more accessible climbing areas in the Mourne Mountains.

I was feeling really confident about my climbing; just 72 hours previously Mark and I had climbed a classic at Fairhead, An Bealach Runda. I decided to have a go at a short route called "Dreams of Distance." At E2 5c it was harder than anything I'd led for many years, but not that much, and because it's short, and I'd heard the gear was good, I thought I'd knock it off quickly and then we could do something easier afterwards. Hah.

A couple of things about falls; with sport climbing of course it's de-rigeur, but there's no sport climbing in Ireland. It's all traditional, placing your own protection as you go. In 30 years of rock climbing I can count the number of leader falls I've had on trad climbs on the fingers of one hand. It's just not something you really want to do.

The climb starts with a diagonal, rising traverse up to the right (shared with "Whole of the Moon", just to the right), then traverses left under the first overhang to a break in the overhangs. I had a good wire placement in a vertical crack some distance below the roof, but when I got up to the overhang I was hanging quite precariously, using up lots of energy, and found myself quite unable to place anything for protection under it. I was feeling my way around, as I was all scrunched up, not able to see what I was doing. Eventually I placed a 0.5 cam, which I couldn't see, and gave it a good tug just to check it. It held. Two moves further, and I can't remember whether I slipped or the strength just gave out, but I fell backwards. I felt the cam pop, and remember thinking "that's ok, the nut placement's good" and it was, for a straight down pull. But I had traversed across to it, and the direction the rope was running pulled it straight out to the side. Now there was nothing to stop me hitting the ground. This all happened in a split second, but it's amazing how your memory can clearly segment the different processes.

Six, seven meters, then I hit, hard. I was lying on my back, winded. Heard Richenda's voice asking me if I'm ok. Oh yes, I said. Mad. I began to sit up, realised my right arm is underneath me but it won't move. Had to use my left arm to pull it out. Took one look at my grossly mis-shapen wrist, hardly recognisable as a limb. Thought shit, this might be an open fracture; there was a lot of blood, but it wasn't. I'd just ground it into the gravel with my body, and was bleeding from abrasions. Dull pain in my back too. Richenda was trying to do the right thing, looking for my mobile to call for help. I think because I was involved in mountain rescue myself (in Cape Town in the 1990's) my mind was reluctant to accept that I was now the one needing help. In shock, and stubborn to the core, I insisted I could get myself to help; I'd only broken an arm after all. I shuffled myself back to lean against a small rock slope (which thankfully I had not hit when I fell), got her to take my climbing shoes off, put my walking shoes back on and help me get the harness and other equipment off too. Then she helped me up, and I began to walk down, holding my back with my left hand (pulled muscles I told myself) and letting my injured arm hang down, useless. Richenda packed up all the gear; I'd made it easier for her by not leaving anything in the rock to be extricated, it had all come down with me, and soon caught up with me. We made it to the car; Richenda offered to drive, but it was a hired car (I was expecting Pieter over from Holland the next weekend) and she wasn't on the insurance. So I insisted on driving too, fortunately my left arm was still fine, and in a right-hand-drive car of course you operate the gears with the left hand. Thinking about this now it's crazy, but at the time, although I knew I was seriously hurt, a part of my mind just wouldn't allow that information to overrule "normal" behaviour. Perhaps a psychologist could explain it better, but I can't.

We made it, somehow, back to Dundalk, and Nadia was waiting outside the house. Richenda (bless her) went inside to take care of the children, something she ended up doing a lot over the next few weeks, and Nadia took me to A&E. It was a slow night there for a change, and I could be seen immediately. After establishing that I'd shattered my wrist, and standing for some x-rays I was able to lie down, and I didn't get up again for another two weeks. I'd broken my back too, a compression fracture of the T12 vertebra.

After spinal fusion, and an external fixator on my arm, involving being moved around among three different hospitals, I could go home on the 26th July, and was off work for another four weeks after that.

Well that was the rest of that beautiful summer gone, from a climbing point of view.

A sprinkling of '06

I hadn't climbed for several years before our trip to Turkey in March 2006. The main event of this trip was the total solar eclipse. But it was also great to be back on rock for the first time in a while. I wouldn't take this lot anywhere else, but thanks for a great trip, Pete, Ronald and Pieter.

Back in Ireland, I decided to get back into it again, but where and with who? I was fortunate to hook up with Mark Warnock from Portadown; we met up through an online climbers forum, and we did our first route together at Fairhead in May. I also met Maciej Buhcic, Macdara O'Graham and Mark Anderson, and did some fantastic routes in the Mournes. The summer of '06 was lovely, and the long days lend themselves to evening climbing. I often went out after work, leaving Dundalk at 6pm, driving 50 minutes to the Mournes, climbing a route or two, and was back home at 11pm, when it gets truly dark in mid-summer. My climbing was going really well; I also soloed a few classic routes from V-diff up to Severe standard, including Fingerbowl and Sunset on Hen Mountain, Devil's Rib on Slieve Beg, and Class Distinction on Pigeon.

By July I had climbed several harder routes, up to E1 5b. Quare Crack on Hen, Cabin Cruise on Spellack, and The Penguin on Newcastle Beach on Binnian North Tor. At Fairhead, Mark and I climbed Burn-up, Hell's Kitchen and The Black Thief (both on my 36th birthday) and An Bealach Runda. Things were going great.

What happened next really needs a post all to itself.