Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Bouldering Font
Fontainebleau is a magic place for climbers. In fact, it's a rather improbable location for a climbing area, given how incredibly flat it is around here, with nothing but endless fields and lush forests as far as the eyes can see. However, the forests hide a wealth of large sandstone boulders which turns out to be an ideal playground for boulderers. Rarely too high to be uncomfortable, and more often than not with flat, sandy landings, and with an endless variety of moves. Someone called Fontainebleau a "laboratory of movement", and that epithet is apt - subtlety often gains you more than the brutishness that's rewarded in many other bouldering areas. Bouldering was kind of born here nearly 100 years ago, initially as a training "gym" for those destined for the alpine ranges, but it soon evolved into an activity for its own sake and merit. For reasons I can't quite understand myself, I'd actually never visited Font before last September when we came in a large group for a week and had a cracking time. We're making up for it this time around, hopefully. We're armed with a long list of recommendations from Will, a Font-veteran with near encyclopaedic knowledge of the forest, and some personal projects left over from last September.
Fortunately for me, rest-days present themselves naturally every third, or possibly forth day part due to muscle fatigue, but mostly due to your finger skin which wears off and starts bleeding if you don't take care. Sarah and I decided to start on a two days on, one day off schedule, and headed for an area somewhat cryptically known as '95.2', a bit of a joke referring to the maximum altitude above sea level. We'd been a bit worried that it might be cold for the first weeks, and we'd dressed up in thermal underwear, fleeces, hats, gloves and the essential downies which seemed appropriate seeing the iced-over car in the morning. However, once we reached the crag and started climbing in the sun, the temperature was soon in the teens and we had a delightful day ticking half of the problems on the easy blue circuit. Our plans were for the first few days just doing mileage to get re-acquainted with the medium, toughen up the finger skin that had now gone soft after a month of skiing and to familiarise ourselves with the area. However, it's hard not to have a go when you see something tasty and a bit harder, and I took two long lobs off the top mantle on the last of the reds, somewhat predictably.
We spent four climbing days at 95.2 working our way through all the blues and most of the reds and also a sprinkling of the whites, culminating with a tick of "La p'tit toit", an off-circuit problem given the ludicrous grade of 7A+ in the guide. Sadly, it's nothing like that hard (maybe 6B+), but a nice problem that we were nonetheless pleased to have completed. The sun was out in force, and we were climbing in t-shirts in the warm spring sunshine - the car thermometer showed +23. I'd not been to 95.2 before, but it proved to be a nice acquaintance with a good spread of problems and three very good circuits.
Next up was Bois Rond, where Sarah had a score to settle since last trip with "Le meilleur des mondes", a very nice 6A on the red circuit. She settled the score in fine style, and we wandered to the other side of the boulder for something rather less dainty and rather more butch, the overhang of "La theorie des nuages" (6A+), something I'd failed to get anywhere on last trip. Sarah and I worked it move for move and eventually I had a sequence that worked for me. Sarah doesn't normally go for these kinds of problems, but got exceedingly close. In fact, she got it fine the next day, to her credit - a very good tick. I spent most of the day trying another big overhang that to my frustration got the better of me. Sarah made quick work of the technical "Little Shakespeare" (6A) - I'd tried it the day before but decided that my finger skin would take no more punishment on the razor blades and Barclaycards that serves as "holds" on this blank slab. That was my excuse, anyway, preferring as I do not to dwell on my shoddy footwork.
The climbing in Font is really a rather large collection of disparate crags - collections of boulders - dotted around what is actually a quite wide-spread area. We decided to head for the Franchard gorge next, and the crag known as Isatis. We both had ambitions here, Sarah keen on trying "Beurre Marga", one of the finest problems in the forest, and a bit of a technical master piece, not to mention classic sand bag. Some of our friends even declined to attempt it last time, as the effort to get up it wasn't in their book justified by the grade tick. Some guides have it as low as 6A, but 6C is probably more realistic. It looks deceptively easy. It's got what looks as big ledges for your feet, and substantial runnels that although will need to be used as side pulls and gastons still look chunky. It's got an obvious "thank God" bucket for the finish. Yet, once you pull on, you soon realise that there is a lot more to this problem than one might initially think. In fact, just getting off the floor is a challenge, with the undercut starting pocket spitting your fingers out, and the side pull you use to stay up just isn't quite good enough to stop you from barn-dooring off. The "big" foot hold turns out to be awkwardly angled, and glassed over with a mixture of resin, chalk, sand and old boot rubber. Strength matters for nought here. I managed - eventually - to get up it last trip after spending almost half a day on it, and Sarah hadn't even bothered trying it that time. Sarah was unable to use my starting sequence due to her height, and instead had to work out a different way, which she initially found very frustrating. At the top, where I had done a kind of half dynamic cross-through and grab, she worked out a neat way of pinching with her left and casually reaching for the top in complete balance. A very good tick for her, and a near perfect problem. One of my targets was "Little Karma" (6C), a problem I couldn't even get started on last time. This is a long diagonal jump off a side-pull to a sloper that you need to match, and then "swimming" up a sequence of round holds. Will called it "a good intro to the harder top-outs in Font". I knew the theory - side pull, shitty foot, massive jump, wedge left big toe next to left hand, somehow bring left hand up to the same "hold" as the right, release toe and stay on during the swing, find something - anything - for the right toe, and let the fun begin. To my own surprise I managed to stick the jump second go, and found myself matched and ready to swim upwards. This is where your sharp footwork should allow you to stand up on smears and elegantly mantle your way to glory. Or alternatively, as in my case, an undignified belly-flop and a bit like a seal flapping my way to the top. But I'll take it. This problem is quite "morpho", as the boulderers say, meaning that unless you have a certain set of body dimensions it may be significantly harder, or even impossible. Even with me pushing Sarah on, she could not span between the starting side pull and the sloper, and this problem would probably be impossible for her. We moved on. I made a quick repeat of "Surplomb de la Statique" (6A) which I'd done previously (Sarah declined), and then tried a recommendation of Will's, "Composition des Forces" (6C), an undercut steep wall and long reach for a slopey finish. This problem seemed to suit me, and I topped out on my second attempt. Sarah was worn out, but quickly had the measure of all the moves, and held the finishing holds but unfortunately came off.
The next day, we carried on at Isatis - there is so much to go at here. Sarah was determined to finish it off "Composition des Forces", which she did, first go. We then decided to seek out a problem called "Surplomb de la Coquille" (6C+) that we'd had recommended from several people. An overhanging wall, but it seemed to have good holds on it to yard on - really, how hard can it be? Quite hard, as it turned out. The holds just turned out to be in the wrong places, making the crux lock-off and long reach up to a side pull absolutely hopeless. We'd run into Yorkshire legendary strong-woman Jenny Woodward, and she mentioned in passing the sequence she'd used, but somehow getting my foot up to *there* seemed improbable. Another Brit couple vaguely familiar from the Malham catwalk (Hester and Andy) joined us working this problem, but none of us appeared to make any worthwhile progress. Hester tried the high rock-over that Jenny had recommended, and with a small adjustment of where the foot went, she seemed to be able to hold the position better, although not enough for the long stretch. Hester and Andy walked off, and I tried copying her foot placement, and found that I could actually reach the lower end of the side pull, although failing to hold it. However, for the first time it felt as if it would go. I must have tried this problem 20 times by now, and my arms were aching. Even though the lower moves weren't too difficult, they were still powerful. Next attempt I managed to hold the side pull, reset to the good bit a bit higher up, and top out. Very pleased with that. Sarah had worked the problem with me giving her a little bit of a leg-up in the beginning to save her from having to pull through the lower strong moves on every go. Again, the long top stretch may prove to be significantly harder for her than for me.
Next on the hit list was "L'envie des Betes", an undercut prow given 6B, but probably would warrant 6C. Powerful stuff. From a high (shit) side pull for your left hand, and a small (shit) foot smear, boys can leap directly to a (shit) sloper on the blunt arete, and then get the right foot up on a reasonable little nubbin and leap again up to a good crimper about two feet further up. Left heel can now be positioned under the left hand in order to stop you barn-dooring off for the reach up left to a razor blade crimp. High-step left, loooong reach for another crimp up left, and it all eases off. If you're a girl, on the other hand, you won't be able to reach the best bit of the shit side pull, and you won't be able to leap for the shit sloper, nor will you be able to reach the go-again leap for the good crimp. Life is so unfair. Sarah found herself doing three extra moves for every single one of mine. We packed it in for the day, intending to come back the next for Sarah to carry on working "L'envie des Betes".
The next day we started warming up on some of the many excellent blues and reds we'd not yet done, but somehow got distracted onto "L'amoche doigt" the 6B arete of white 1. The sequence that took me to the top didn't work for Sarah, and after the problem frustrated her for a few attempts, a local Bleausard asked to have a go, and (obviously) cruised it effortlessly. As did Sarah, using his foot placements. Those cheeky Bleausards, eh! We moved onto "L'envie des Betes", but it wasn't to be this time. We walked further into the forest to seek out "L'angle de serac", a sharp, slabby arete (6B). The angles and surfaces on this block are so perfect it looks man-made. Chris (Bungle) tip-toed up it on the last trip, but at the time I didn't even bother trying. It was time to dig out my new pair of Katanas that only come out for special occasions. Six foot moves is all there is to it, one of which is a heel. But it took us a long time to work it out. Sarah latched the top jugs - at least that's what her spotter thought when he started celebrating a tenth of a second before she peeled the length of the slab and landed at his feet. She also peeled the skin off a couple of fingers on her left, so the tick will have to wait. Ego now drunk with success, I thought I'd just nip up and flash "El Poussif" (7A+) up the hill, but you know what they say about hubris. I couldn't touch it.
Irritatingly, the weather turned and the next day was a total wash-out, and the day after that some serious shower-dodging that saw us totalling three warm-up problems at Roche aux Sabots. Today more of the same - although it only stopped raining after lunch we at least managed a few hours. I really want to do "Graviton" (7A) which I'd failed (repeatedly) on last trip - unfortunately the top was sodden, so it will have to wait. We did "La Dalle de Cristal", a nice slab on the red circuit, and also the pretty butch first problem of the red circuit. Sarah also repeated the hardest grade 4 in the forest - I blame the showers that I - ahem - didn't have time to finish it. I tried "Jet Set", a 7A dyno that everyone says is a path - the liars. Sarah sensibly had a cup of tea instead. We then placed our mat under "L'angle de Jean-Luc", a slabbed, blunt arete, graded 6B+, although we had advanced warning that this is no ordinary 6B+. Will had kindly given us a whole A4 page of written beta, and we had a local Bleausard demo the problem for us. Although we still couldn't finish it before the rain set in again, this is one we both really want to come back to. Beautifully technical.
Although it's now raining rather heavily, we've still only lost one full climbing day to rain over the last two and a bit weeks. Not a bad tally, even if shower-dodging soon gets tedious even with the fastest drying rock. Sarah is now talking about restricting my rest days to make the most of the available weather - it's like skiing all over again!
Fortunately for me, rest-days present themselves naturally every third, or possibly forth day part due to muscle fatigue, but mostly due to your finger skin which wears off and starts bleeding if you don't take care. Sarah and I decided to start on a two days on, one day off schedule, and headed for an area somewhat cryptically known as '95.2', a bit of a joke referring to the maximum altitude above sea level. We'd been a bit worried that it might be cold for the first weeks, and we'd dressed up in thermal underwear, fleeces, hats, gloves and the essential downies which seemed appropriate seeing the iced-over car in the morning. However, once we reached the crag and started climbing in the sun, the temperature was soon in the teens and we had a delightful day ticking half of the problems on the easy blue circuit. Our plans were for the first few days just doing mileage to get re-acquainted with the medium, toughen up the finger skin that had now gone soft after a month of skiing and to familiarise ourselves with the area. However, it's hard not to have a go when you see something tasty and a bit harder, and I took two long lobs off the top mantle on the last of the reds, somewhat predictably.
We spent four climbing days at 95.2 working our way through all the blues and most of the reds and also a sprinkling of the whites, culminating with a tick of "La p'tit toit", an off-circuit problem given the ludicrous grade of 7A+ in the guide. Sadly, it's nothing like that hard (maybe 6B+), but a nice problem that we were nonetheless pleased to have completed. The sun was out in force, and we were climbing in t-shirts in the warm spring sunshine - the car thermometer showed +23. I'd not been to 95.2 before, but it proved to be a nice acquaintance with a good spread of problems and three very good circuits.
Next up was Bois Rond, where Sarah had a score to settle since last trip with "Le meilleur des mondes", a very nice 6A on the red circuit. She settled the score in fine style, and we wandered to the other side of the boulder for something rather less dainty and rather more butch, the overhang of "La theorie des nuages" (6A+), something I'd failed to get anywhere on last trip. Sarah and I worked it move for move and eventually I had a sequence that worked for me. Sarah doesn't normally go for these kinds of problems, but got exceedingly close. In fact, she got it fine the next day, to her credit - a very good tick. I spent most of the day trying another big overhang that to my frustration got the better of me. Sarah made quick work of the technical "Little Shakespeare" (6A) - I'd tried it the day before but decided that my finger skin would take no more punishment on the razor blades and Barclaycards that serves as "holds" on this blank slab. That was my excuse, anyway, preferring as I do not to dwell on my shoddy footwork.
The climbing in Font is really a rather large collection of disparate crags - collections of boulders - dotted around what is actually a quite wide-spread area. We decided to head for the Franchard gorge next, and the crag known as Isatis. We both had ambitions here, Sarah keen on trying "Beurre Marga", one of the finest problems in the forest, and a bit of a technical master piece, not to mention classic sand bag. Some of our friends even declined to attempt it last time, as the effort to get up it wasn't in their book justified by the grade tick. Some guides have it as low as 6A, but 6C is probably more realistic. It looks deceptively easy. It's got what looks as big ledges for your feet, and substantial runnels that although will need to be used as side pulls and gastons still look chunky. It's got an obvious "thank God" bucket for the finish. Yet, once you pull on, you soon realise that there is a lot more to this problem than one might initially think. In fact, just getting off the floor is a challenge, with the undercut starting pocket spitting your fingers out, and the side pull you use to stay up just isn't quite good enough to stop you from barn-dooring off. The "big" foot hold turns out to be awkwardly angled, and glassed over with a mixture of resin, chalk, sand and old boot rubber. Strength matters for nought here. I managed - eventually - to get up it last trip after spending almost half a day on it, and Sarah hadn't even bothered trying it that time. Sarah was unable to use my starting sequence due to her height, and instead had to work out a different way, which she initially found very frustrating. At the top, where I had done a kind of half dynamic cross-through and grab, she worked out a neat way of pinching with her left and casually reaching for the top in complete balance. A very good tick for her, and a near perfect problem. One of my targets was "Little Karma" (6C), a problem I couldn't even get started on last time. This is a long diagonal jump off a side-pull to a sloper that you need to match, and then "swimming" up a sequence of round holds. Will called it "a good intro to the harder top-outs in Font". I knew the theory - side pull, shitty foot, massive jump, wedge left big toe next to left hand, somehow bring left hand up to the same "hold" as the right, release toe and stay on during the swing, find something - anything - for the right toe, and let the fun begin. To my own surprise I managed to stick the jump second go, and found myself matched and ready to swim upwards. This is where your sharp footwork should allow you to stand up on smears and elegantly mantle your way to glory. Or alternatively, as in my case, an undignified belly-flop and a bit like a seal flapping my way to the top. But I'll take it. This problem is quite "morpho", as the boulderers say, meaning that unless you have a certain set of body dimensions it may be significantly harder, or even impossible. Even with me pushing Sarah on, she could not span between the starting side pull and the sloper, and this problem would probably be impossible for her. We moved on. I made a quick repeat of "Surplomb de la Statique" (6A) which I'd done previously (Sarah declined), and then tried a recommendation of Will's, "Composition des Forces" (6C), an undercut steep wall and long reach for a slopey finish. This problem seemed to suit me, and I topped out on my second attempt. Sarah was worn out, but quickly had the measure of all the moves, and held the finishing holds but unfortunately came off.
The next day, we carried on at Isatis - there is so much to go at here. Sarah was determined to finish it off "Composition des Forces", which she did, first go. We then decided to seek out a problem called "Surplomb de la Coquille" (6C+) that we'd had recommended from several people. An overhanging wall, but it seemed to have good holds on it to yard on - really, how hard can it be? Quite hard, as it turned out. The holds just turned out to be in the wrong places, making the crux lock-off and long reach up to a side pull absolutely hopeless. We'd run into Yorkshire legendary strong-woman Jenny Woodward, and she mentioned in passing the sequence she'd used, but somehow getting my foot up to *there* seemed improbable. Another Brit couple vaguely familiar from the Malham catwalk (Hester and Andy) joined us working this problem, but none of us appeared to make any worthwhile progress. Hester tried the high rock-over that Jenny had recommended, and with a small adjustment of where the foot went, she seemed to be able to hold the position better, although not enough for the long stretch. Hester and Andy walked off, and I tried copying her foot placement, and found that I could actually reach the lower end of the side pull, although failing to hold it. However, for the first time it felt as if it would go. I must have tried this problem 20 times by now, and my arms were aching. Even though the lower moves weren't too difficult, they were still powerful. Next attempt I managed to hold the side pull, reset to the good bit a bit higher up, and top out. Very pleased with that. Sarah had worked the problem with me giving her a little bit of a leg-up in the beginning to save her from having to pull through the lower strong moves on every go. Again, the long top stretch may prove to be significantly harder for her than for me.
Next on the hit list was "L'envie des Betes", an undercut prow given 6B, but probably would warrant 6C. Powerful stuff. From a high (shit) side pull for your left hand, and a small (shit) foot smear, boys can leap directly to a (shit) sloper on the blunt arete, and then get the right foot up on a reasonable little nubbin and leap again up to a good crimper about two feet further up. Left heel can now be positioned under the left hand in order to stop you barn-dooring off for the reach up left to a razor blade crimp. High-step left, loooong reach for another crimp up left, and it all eases off. If you're a girl, on the other hand, you won't be able to reach the best bit of the shit side pull, and you won't be able to leap for the shit sloper, nor will you be able to reach the go-again leap for the good crimp. Life is so unfair. Sarah found herself doing three extra moves for every single one of mine. We packed it in for the day, intending to come back the next for Sarah to carry on working "L'envie des Betes".
The next day we started warming up on some of the many excellent blues and reds we'd not yet done, but somehow got distracted onto "L'amoche doigt" the 6B arete of white 1. The sequence that took me to the top didn't work for Sarah, and after the problem frustrated her for a few attempts, a local Bleausard asked to have a go, and (obviously) cruised it effortlessly. As did Sarah, using his foot placements. Those cheeky Bleausards, eh! We moved onto "L'envie des Betes", but it wasn't to be this time. We walked further into the forest to seek out "L'angle de serac", a sharp, slabby arete (6B). The angles and surfaces on this block are so perfect it looks man-made. Chris (Bungle) tip-toed up it on the last trip, but at the time I didn't even bother trying. It was time to dig out my new pair of Katanas that only come out for special occasions. Six foot moves is all there is to it, one of which is a heel. But it took us a long time to work it out. Sarah latched the top jugs - at least that's what her spotter thought when he started celebrating a tenth of a second before she peeled the length of the slab and landed at his feet. She also peeled the skin off a couple of fingers on her left, so the tick will have to wait. Ego now drunk with success, I thought I'd just nip up and flash "El Poussif" (7A+) up the hill, but you know what they say about hubris. I couldn't touch it.
Irritatingly, the weather turned and the next day was a total wash-out, and the day after that some serious shower-dodging that saw us totalling three warm-up problems at Roche aux Sabots. Today more of the same - although it only stopped raining after lunch we at least managed a few hours. I really want to do "Graviton" (7A) which I'd failed (repeatedly) on last trip - unfortunately the top was sodden, so it will have to wait. We did "La Dalle de Cristal", a nice slab on the red circuit, and also the pretty butch first problem of the red circuit. Sarah also repeated the hardest grade 4 in the forest - I blame the showers that I - ahem - didn't have time to finish it. I tried "Jet Set", a 7A dyno that everyone says is a path - the liars. Sarah sensibly had a cup of tea instead. We then placed our mat under "L'angle de Jean-Luc", a slabbed, blunt arete, graded 6B+, although we had advanced warning that this is no ordinary 6B+. Will had kindly given us a whole A4 page of written beta, and we had a local Bleausard demo the problem for us. Although we still couldn't finish it before the rain set in again, this is one we both really want to come back to. Beautifully technical.
Although it's now raining rather heavily, we've still only lost one full climbing day to rain over the last two and a bit weeks. Not a bad tally, even if shower-dodging soon gets tedious even with the fastest drying rock. Sarah is now talking about restricting my rest days to make the most of the available weather - it's like skiing all over again!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Summer season starts here
Two manic days of unpacking the winter stuff and locating and packing camping + climbing stuff ensued. Our poor house sitter Vicky must have thought that a tornado had struck, and upended the whole house. We'd had a curry with Cath and Dave on the way home and ended up arriving back in Bristol around midnight. Sarah couldn't resist rifling through the last month's post, and discovered that we'd been slapped with a rather substantial parking fine that had rapidly escalated with a matching escalation in rhetoric - from bloody B&Q of all places. It was currently standing at £110 + legal fees, which seemed a bit harsh as we'd been in B&Q for legitimate reasons, purchasing some materials for building some bookshelves in the spare bedroom and lounge. Apparently, you may not stay any longer than 90 minutes in B&Q - and if you've ever shopped with Sarah, you know that this is bound to be tight. Sarah was fuming with frustration, and consequently couldn't sleep. Take note - never open the post on the night of arrival, as there inevitably will be some item of bad news ready to spoil your night's rest.
The next day we had a million and one little admin tasks to see to, the extra one being the B&Q issue. However, Sarah straightened that one out by a phone call and a subsequent trip out to Filton branch with a print-out of a bank statement. Apparently, they're plagued by students using their car park. We're plagued by the fact that our car insurance will run out half-way through this leg of our trip, and this needs sorting before we go. Our rode-side assistance scheme has European cover, but only for so many days. Oh, and washing. Packing for two months on the road. We took over the newly refurbished lounge as our gear central, and with everything laid out on the floor it seemed implausible that all of that stuff would actually fit in our rather modestly sized car. The boulder mat alone swallows most of the boot space. Add therma-rests, sleeping bags, tent, camping gear and our winter duvet - we camp in style & comfort - ropes, two foldable chairs (wedding present, much appreciated), a cool box, stoves, slow-cooker (top idea from Kate) and we're talking a snug fit. Yet fitted it did, and we made our Dover mid-day sailing with time to spare.
After about four hours of French open roads, this time robustly instructing the sat-nav to avoid the Paris Peripherique, which is almost as bad as the London orbital, we made it to our camp site in Boulancourt, where we have hired a static caravan for the first bit - happy not having to pitch the tent in the dark and rather chilly evening. We seem to have scored on the accommodation front so far, from the lovely, brand-new apartment in Andermatt to the spacious hytte in Rjukan, and now a well-equipped, roomy and price-wise very reasonable static here. Only drawback seems to be that the floors are absolutely freezing. I will need to invest in a pair of cosy slippers.
We've planned to hang around here and boulder for about four weeks, and then head south to Provence to clip bolts for the next four. However, our plans are flexible, and given that we had similar ideas when we were traveling around in the States a few years back, yet never managed to go anywhere beyond the bouldering Mecca of Bishop, who knows - we might not leave Font if we're going well.
Our days in the UK were totally manic, and we didn't seem to manage much sleep, so we took a long morning without an alarm set, went shopping and simply chilling, flicking through guide books over a glass of Bordeaux and forming a plan whilst the slow cooker is making us dinner.
The next day we had a million and one little admin tasks to see to, the extra one being the B&Q issue. However, Sarah straightened that one out by a phone call and a subsequent trip out to Filton branch with a print-out of a bank statement. Apparently, they're plagued by students using their car park. We're plagued by the fact that our car insurance will run out half-way through this leg of our trip, and this needs sorting before we go. Our rode-side assistance scheme has European cover, but only for so many days. Oh, and washing. Packing for two months on the road. We took over the newly refurbished lounge as our gear central, and with everything laid out on the floor it seemed implausible that all of that stuff would actually fit in our rather modestly sized car. The boulder mat alone swallows most of the boot space. Add therma-rests, sleeping bags, tent, camping gear and our winter duvet - we camp in style & comfort - ropes, two foldable chairs (wedding present, much appreciated), a cool box, stoves, slow-cooker (top idea from Kate) and we're talking a snug fit. Yet fitted it did, and we made our Dover mid-day sailing with time to spare.
After about four hours of French open roads, this time robustly instructing the sat-nav to avoid the Paris Peripherique, which is almost as bad as the London orbital, we made it to our camp site in Boulancourt, where we have hired a static caravan for the first bit - happy not having to pitch the tent in the dark and rather chilly evening. We seem to have scored on the accommodation front so far, from the lovely, brand-new apartment in Andermatt to the spacious hytte in Rjukan, and now a well-equipped, roomy and price-wise very reasonable static here. Only drawback seems to be that the floors are absolutely freezing. I will need to invest in a pair of cosy slippers.
We've planned to hang around here and boulder for about four weeks, and then head south to Provence to clip bolts for the next four. However, our plans are flexible, and given that we had similar ideas when we were traveling around in the States a few years back, yet never managed to go anywhere beyond the bouldering Mecca of Bishop, who knows - we might not leave Font if we're going well.
Our days in the UK were totally manic, and we didn't seem to manage much sleep, so we took a long morning without an alarm set, went shopping and simply chilling, flicking through guide books over a glass of Bordeaux and forming a plan whilst the slow cooker is making us dinner.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
Ice ice baby
Oslo Torp Airport isn't really anywhere near Oslo at all, despite what Ryan Air somewhat fraudulently might want to claim - however, as a stop for us heading for Telemark and the ice climbing Mecca of Rjukan it's the nearest airport. Or 'airstrip' might be a better word for it. It's tiny, and the plane after landing has to do a three-point turn, and go back whence it came to head for the shack which serves as a terminal building. Still. We picked up a rather snazzy 1.0 VW Polo Diesel, which at least was 'Winterised' - meaning it had snow tires, bum warmers, a scraper with integrated brush and the traction control disable button disabled. The amounts of snow here means we're grateful for any winterisation the car might provide. The sat-nav says it's about 180km, but having driven in Norway before I know how much the roads bend, and in the snow conditions, this could have been an arduous drive, but was actually surprisingly ok.
Rjukan is a very narrow gorge cutting a swathe through the Telemark mountains. I won't bore you with its claim to fame from the war - I'm sure you've all seen the film. Rjukan was 'discovered' as an ice destination for non-locals some years back. Partly due to the damming of the river, and partly an accident of nature, both sides of the gorge are essentially one frozen waterfall after another - literally hundreds - of different sizes and shapes. Combined with the fact that Norwegian winters are long and cold, and that the sun rarely reaches the ice due to the depth, shape and orientation of the gorge, this place is pretty much ideal for ice climbing, with very stable and predictable conditions. UK guide book powerhouse Rockfax recently brought out a guide to the place, which in equal measures opened the eyes of the UK climbing community, and pissed off the locals.
Neither me, nor Sarah has ever ice climbed before, and this trip should actually have taken place last Easter, but at the time the ice had actually started to go due to unseasonably warm spring weather - probably due to climate change stemming from all the UK climbers flying here, lining Ryan Air's coffers. Sarah gave me four guided days as my 40th birthday present. We're staying in a traditional Norwegian 'hytte' - mountain holiday hut, apparently a reconstruction of the workers' accommodation from when the dam was built. There's quite a few of them here, all in different pastel colours - our's is blue. It's rather spacious for our needs, it has another three beds, but was actually the cheapest option (not that that means much in Norway, with the pound to the krone ratio as it is).
The idea was to climb Monday and Tuesday, and then have Wednesday and Thursday free to do something else, or recover, and then climb again on Friday and Saturday. Unfortunately, our designated guide had sustained an injury whilst skiing the week before, and we had to move the Saturday session to the Thursday, which in retrospect was probably a better plan anyway. We'd failed to notice that there is a very nice ski centre just up the road - had we known we'd probably brought the skis with us that are now occupying space on the floor of Cath and Dave's spare room.
We met Andreas at the office of Rjukan Adventure on Monday morning to tool up - I'd brought a pair of crampon-compatible boots I had stashed away in my man drawer, and we'd also brought various climbing paraphernalia that might come handy - harnesses, belay devices, screw-gates, a few slings and a pair of tiblocks. Sarah borrowed a pair of boots, and we fitted crampons and chose tools - Sarah a pair of Petzl/Charlet Quarks, and I picked a rather tasty pair of Black Diamond Vipers. We drove up the gorge for about 5 minutes and walked down to the bottom of Nye Vemorkfoss, a three-pitch tasty little number. There were two parties on it already, and the Brits to the right had laced it like a sports route. Andreas muttered something about the freak-show being back in town. This 'foss' (waterfall) was on the right side of vertical all the way, and Andreas set off and set about excavating a belay bolt behind the ice at the first stance. As Sarah and I set off on the first easy pitch it became clear that there are advantages to being first, seeing the amount of ice that each climber dislodges pretty much continuously. As the belayer, compared to rock climbing it's much more vital to stand in the right place. I managed to rip my Arc'teryx Gore-Tex trousers twice, one per leg, with my crampons pretty much on the off. Joy. I wasn't sure what I had expected out of ice climbing. In theory, it ought to be easy. Not being restricted to existing holds, as a climber of many years I should find it a path. In practice, it's different. Swinging the tools - although very satisfying - soon tires triceps and forearms, and apparently my left arm is much weaker than my right in that I found getting solid placements off the left much harder. Second pitch was longer and slightly more sustained. What makes Rjukan so good for ice (it never sees the sun) also makes for cold hands when belaying. Three pitches saw us walking off the top around 3pm and the route had been what seemed to me to be a great introduction to waterfall ice. The next day followed a similar pattern - but this time on the sunny side of the gorge, just above the town itself. Four pitches, the two first very long, and slightly steeper than what we'd done before. Andreas demonstrating how best to use ice screws on belays, and also, somewhat disturbingly, showing how they occasionally melt free and may need replacing.
Wednesday was our rest day, and we drove up to the ski centre at Gaustablikk some 20 mins down the road. Half a dozen lifts, and a very large mountain to the side which looked ideal for touring and off-pisting. Shame we hadn't brought our kit. We were keen on some cross country anyway, so we drove on to Kvitåvatn next door where Andreas had recommended we rent cross country kit. We were met by a friendly man speaking a curious mixture of Danish and Norwegian, and when he heard Sarah speaking English he switched to a flawless English. Turns out that he was from Norfolk, but living and working in Norway for the last 25 years. Married to a Danish lady. Like most places in Norway there were oodles of prepared cross country tracks of varying degree of length and difficulty. Trevor recommended we started with the 10k green, and if we wanted more we could tackle the reds, either 6, 10 or 15k after lunch. The day was perfect for it - 5 below, blue skies, searing sun, no wind. We did the green, as Trevor had suggested, and had lunch in the snow. We then carried on with the red 10k and were rewarded with breathtaking views of Gaustatoppen and the remote expanse of the Hardangervidda, the central highland plateau. Although I cross-country skied a lot as a child, I haven't done it in anger for decades, and I'd almost forgotten how much fun it is, and even small down hills are exhilarating. For Sarah, this was probably her third time, but having done plenty of touring she seemed to have it licked. It was a very nice day out.
Next up was more ice, and we dedicated Thursday to some actual instruction at Krokan, home of stacks of short, steep single-pitch routes. This time I'd been given a pair of Nomics. Andreas quickly soloed up and set up a top rope. The first two days had felt comparatively straight-forward, but this was a different kettle of fish. I was first up, and the ice was rather beaten out, so I tried to re-use other people's placements rather than banging in my tools. My arms were burning when I reached the top, and it had felt utterly desperate. 'NOW CLIMB DOWN!' shouted Andreas from the bottom. He must be joking, clearly. I reversed about 4 metres, and then slumped, spent, onto the rope. Sarah managed up and down. Andreas patiently explained the basics: top tool and feet should form a balanced triangle. Arm straight. Look for next placement. Stand up, remove, and place the next tool. Straight arm, feet up onto the same horizontal line. Kind of obvious, when explained. I tried again. Felt better, but still pumped silly from the previous attempt. Couldn't get around the top bulge for ages, axes glancing off the ice uselessly. When I eventually pulled over, Andreas shouted 'REMOVE YOUR CRAMPONS!. CLIMB DOWN!'. To my own surprise, I actually managed to reverse the route without crampons.
We had some lunch. Andreas then gave me two ice screws, and said that he'd give me a shout when to place them. Getting a screw in whilst hanging from one arm on steep ice turned out to be a rather pumpy affair. My first attempt went in only half its length due to the ice being uneven, so I had to unscrew it and move it. My left arm wasn't happy, but I managed it and carried on. Andreas later pointed out that in that situation you just clear the ice with your tool instead. Placing one higher up was even harder. Sarah was up next, without the benefit of crampons. She was swearing at her "spazzy" left arm, refusing to get the tool in, and also refusing to wind the screw in. One small slip, and she boshed her head against the blunt end (thankfully) of one of her ice tools - a nice gash resulted. Andreas shouted - 'IF THERE IS BLOOD SPLATTERED ON THE ICE YOU CAN HANG ON THE ROPE, OTHERWISE CLIMB ON'. A hard task master. I had one more go to take down the rope, and suddenly it all started to come together (on my 8th attempt). Hook the tool, straight arm, legs up, stand up, next tool. Almost easy :) - I could get used to this thing.
Next day was our last climbing day with Andreas, and the plan was to tackle some 'proper', steeper classics, perhaps Sabotorfossen. However, come the morning there was quite a bit of snow in the air, and a bone-jarringly cold -13 which apart from anything else would make the ice brittle as bone china. Andreas seemed unperturbed, and suggested we tried to reel off 'Host', 'Vemork Brufoss East' and 'Vemork Brufoss West'. We abbed off the road railings to the base of 'Host', and my fingers were already hurting with the cold. Andreas ran the two pitches into one, and Sarah set off first. Due to the brittle ice, Andreas had to work for it, and actually placed some gear for once. Sarah did not have a good time, with tools shattering the ice, requiring eight or more swings to get a solid fix. Adding to that some twists in the double-ropes didn't help, and several times she had to creep under or over my strand to untangle herself. Thanks to her, my path was more unencumbered, and I could focus on the climbing. It was a really good route, and suddenly I felt I was on a proper ice climb. When I pulled over, my arms still felt fresh.
Brufoss West was unfortunately heaving with climbers of varying degree of ability ('bloody freak show', Andreas said), and we walked across to East instead. Worryingly, I couldn't see the ice from the top, but the instruction was to ab to the bottom and climb up. As I abbed down I was confronted with 70m of frozen waterfall, rather steep in places and with runnels, massive icicles, the works. Very steep to the right, marginally less steep to the left. I quickly decided to award myself the luxury of the easiest line. I soon got absorbed in the flow of the climbing - not a single person in sight, a neverending sheet of ice, and the chunk-chunk of solid placements. It was as these things go a pretty memorable climbing experience, and I was cheesily pleased with myself and how I'd climbed the pitch. Pulling over, my smile dimmed somewhat when I was greeted by Andreas complaining about me having dodged the meat of the pitch, the vertical ice runnel to the right. Sarah abbed down and set about the 'proper' way. Andreas ran off to take some photos of Sarah off the bridge, and when he came back he said that she was doing well, but looking a bit tired. When she pulled over, she was smiling, but looking slightly worn. In retrospect, I think that ice climbing favours the brute-force and ignorance approach of a man, rather than the technical subtlety and foot wizardry of a woman, and Sarah occasionally found it difficult to get her tools to stick. As I'd gone left, Andreas sent me down the rope again to do the right-hand variation. Another 70m.. The ice architecture was spectacular - organ pipes, and very steep, but in the back of the runnel some good hooks, and some bridging - awesome. Sarah dropped down to try the left variation.
And so for the last day - we'd said that if the weather looked nice we'd return to Gaustablikk to do some more x-country, and it'd dawned clear and very cold. We packed our sacks and headed back up to pick up some kit - and this time we'd attempt the long loop around the main mountain peak, nearly all of it above the tree line, 23km in all. Trevor pointed to a map and warned us about a particularly steep downhill where to make things worse an avalanche had slid over to the right. He suggested we might want to take our skis off and walk rather than to zig-zag down in the powder to the left like some people did. Toothpick-narrow x-country skis, powder and steep down hill is a somewhat sub-optimal combination. We picked up the track and it was glorious. The first 5 or 6k was a steady, but never arduous gentle climb working our way up the contour lines of the mountain. As we reached the steep downhill Trevor had mentioned, there was never any question and we removed our skis and walked down - at the bottom of the hill we decided to have a cuppa and enjoy the scenery, and it turned out to be a choice spot for people watching. Quite a few folks out and about, and some were ballsier than others and a few people actually attempted the drop on skis, but as long as we sat there no one managed to remain standing. One lady dusting her self off exclaimed that such down hills were 'special interest only', which made us smile. We set off, an as we came around the mountain we were hit by a rather persistent wind which made conversation hard - and unfortunately it would seem we'd have to do most of the remainder with the wind in our faces, which took a bit of the enjoyment out of it. Some long downs took us out of the wind and back onto the frozen lake, and we found a secluded spot in the sun to finish our thermos and our packed lunch and thaw up a bit.
And so all that remained was to get back, pack up and head back to blighty. Some friendly Brits in the hytte next door had kindly donated four bottles of Tuborg on their departure the night before, which will certainly earn them some good karma points. With the Norwegian prices, we'd not bothered with any alcohol what so ever for the whole week, and probably as a consequence, those beers must rank as some of the best ever.
Anyway - ice climbing, in summary - I loved it, whilst Sarah remains less convinced. I would certainly like to do it again. As an ice climbing destination, at least from as far as I can tell, the Rjukan hype seems to be true, and the best climbing is to be had in March, whereas all foreigners seems to insist in coming in December or January - the two coldest, darkest, most miserable months. As mentioned, it is worth noting that there is an excellent ski area here with awesome touring and off-piste options for a few days if you want a break, and endless x-country tracks. Norway's spectacular scenery is hard to beat.
Friday, March 05, 2010
End of a fantastic month.
The last few days in Andermatt past in a blur - on the tuesday we'd planned to do a tour from the Guspis valley up to two conspicuous rock towers, and down the other side down to a dam to pick up the Hospental summer road, but as we booted up (in knee deep again, where does this stuff come from?) to the col, we could see that our objective was totally enveloped in cloud, so we decided to carry on up left and do some of the colouirs on the other side like we'd done before. Question was, skins or carry on booting? It'd taken us no more than 10 mins last time, but now there were no tracks and deep snow. We opted for the booting, but soon wished we'd skinned, as breaking trail in thigh deep powder soon got tedious, not to mention sweaty. Two unhinged Swedes on teles were already eyeing up the steepest part of the drop when we got to the top - they'd skinned up, and overtaken us. They dropped in, but actually seemed to have quite a miserable time - crusty hard-pack, heavy from the morning's sun exposure. We traversed to the right, into the colouir we'd followed previously, now seemingly gloriously untracked again. However, it was one of those feelings - "if it looks too perfect..". We took all the precautions we could, and I was first. It was harder skiing this time, with the snow heavy, but from what we could gather, a lot better than that which the telemarkers got. Crossing over to the less steep part, it was perfect, with the bit in the shade proper fluffy powder. Where previously we'd donned skins and gone back upwards, we carried on down towards the Vermigel and the long, tedious pole-out along avalanche alley. The afternoon was spent pottering around in the main bowl.
On the Wednesday the weather was stunning, and although we were tired, it was just too good for another rest day, Sarah said. We did a couple of runs and then pulled into the avalanche rescue training area - pretty cool, just punch in the number of burials, and the number of minutes, and get searching and probing. We have Barryvox Pulse transceivers, digital and capable of giving both estimated distance and direction, and also the ability to mark and ignore already located signals. Compared to the analog models that only gives to an estimated distance, it's a lot easier. Both me and Sarah found a single burial within 4 minutes, and three within 15 - the time after which survival becomes more hypothetical. Of course - on nice and flat ground, sun beating down, and no lives actually at stake, it's rather different from the real thing, but training is essential.
We then channelled our 'inner Angus' and sat ourselves down on the sun deck and had a long lunch in the sun.
We were back at Oberalppass Thursday to attempt one of the tours that Krister had recommeded, with 1000m of ascent. Unfortunately, once at the usual col, the weather had drawn in again, and we were umming and aahing what to do. We decided to carry on a bit further, and ripped the skins off the skis and put them on our backs, and scrambled up along the exposed ridge. Visibility was poor. When we came to the next col the plan was to drop down left, and then carry on up to another SAC hut, but we could see not much at all. We dropped down right instead, and skied down towards Andermatt - what turned out to be a lovely run in improving conditions.
And so, our last day was upon us - with crazy snowfall during the night and morning we weren't in a hurry, until suddenly the heavens cleared, and we had ourselves a rare combination of clear skies, fresh powder and barely any people. We had possibly our best day's skiing - kick-ass runs down an untouched Felsental, and the main powder bowl.
Now all that remained was the packing and cleaning. Strange how quick a month flies.
On Saturday morning we ferried all our kit down to the station and headed for Zurich airport and onwards back to Blighty. Our good friends Cath and Dave had kindly allowed us to leave our car on their drive for the month, and Dave came to pick us up from the airport. We had a nice dinner at theirs, and Sarah and I quickly re-jigged our packing from skiing to ice climbing - we had a total of 14 hours on UK soil, and without Cath and Dave's kind help it would have been much more of a painful experience to turn around. We'd really missed them - we have skied a lot with them, but as they're now new parents, they passed on the snow for this season. We've actually seen Cath and Dave quite frequently as a consequence of this trip, and baby Jessica is growing visibly between visits. We drove from Cath and Dave's up to a hotel near Stanstead where we were on the 6:30am Ryan Air (yes, I know..) flight to Torp, Oslo the next morning.
In summary, Andermatt was great. We'll definitely be back.
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