And so it came to pass that the people of East Grinstead Climbing Club, with many among their number from Oxted, did make a pilgrimage to the Peak District. Legend has it that the tablets of stone were carved from grit. It is also said that Moses reckoned that parting the waters of the Red Sea was easier than stopping the rain in the Peak. Moses stayed well away and became one of the first desert climbers, bagging an early ascent of Mount Sinai. Noah, however, was renowned for his skill in bad weather and claimed the first ascent of Mount Ararat, although the use of an ark during the ascent was widely considered unethical.
But I digress: the early Saturday morning starts went well for some and disastrously for others, and so it was 1pm before everyone was being drizzled on in the same place. Some went to Stanage, and others went to Curbar. Apparently, Stanage was OK but Curbar was covered in slime and so that party went to the Foundry in Sheffield.
Parts of Sheffield seldom seen were visited by the small convoy of cars until eventually the wall was found. Two camps formed – one bouldering and the other going for the routes, with both parties growing shy and holding back when a recognisable star came into view. By about 5pm everyone was trashed and as it had been dryish most of the afternoon, it was felt that a spot of bouldering outside might be on the cards.
Darren, Mark and I therefore went to Burbage. This was a very necessary venture because Mark had acquired a bouldering mat of magnificent proportions, rather bigger than Stone Farm Rocks. It is so large that you may plunge fearlessly from the final moves of a problem and it will absorb the impact with a little sigh of contentment at a job well done. It fills the entire back seat of a family car to give admirable safety in the event of a shunt from behind. But it needed to be christened – and so it was cast into a large and very muddy puddle at the foot of some classic problems. The mat went in, and the water went out. No room for both you see.
Darren also had a more modest mat, and so ultra-comfy landings were the order of the day. The day was very short, though: 5 problems, 9 feet each – 45 feet of rock – not much to show for all that driving.
And so to the pub: later, those still able to focus could tell that the stars were out and that the sky was clear – a dry Sunday was in the offing.
On Sunday morning it was actually dry! A small flock of ducks was led by a trail of breadcrumbs into Egan's tent – little things do please little minds! Breakfast was a very comfortable affair as Mark's bouldering mat demonstrated its versatility by performing admirably as a sofa. Then, it being Sunday, we received a sermon from Attila the Hen (the campsite owner), with instruction on which bin we should use for each kind of rubbish and which drain to use for hot water, cold water, dirty water, or soapy water. It was just like being ten years old again.
The rain started the moment we moment got in the car to go to Stanage: Mark and I went on a crag tour of Millstone and Lawrencefield. The slime was so thick you could push your finger into it. Then to Outside in Hathersage – "Never, in the field of human misery, has so little, been bought, by so many, from so few……" That left the Foundry as the only serious option. The convoy was even more shambolic than usual, including a failure to collect all of the passengers before departing.
Sunday afternoon turned out much as Saturday, except that there were more stars to avoid. A valuable tip was overheard during a Johnny Dawes masterclass: apparently, the thing to do is to talk to your arm if it is pumped and it will tell you when it is ready to climb again. You can now therefore expect the EGCC to become a crowd of muttering eccentrics, all talking to their limbs in times of crisis. Me? I must be particularly advanced – I'm always muttering to myself, and one of these days I'll give myself a sensible answer. All I get at the moment is 'You are old and knackered and will fall off before you recover'. Ho Hum!
Adrian