Finale Groove

The fun thing with owning an iPod is that one discovers music one had forgotten that one had forgotten. So now I find myself listening to Cure's excellent live album 'Concert' from way back when. When I was writing up my PhD I went through phases of listening to Cure and other cheery bands like Manics, which didn't exactly do my mindset any good at the time.

Quite a few years back now, my first time at the Ruckle. I'd been a few times at the friendly Subluminals, but as any connesseur knows, this isn't where it's at. We'd driven down the night before and stayed with Sarah's parents. Finale Groove had been on my hit list for some time - a long single pitch, beautiful strong line bridging up a gradually narrowing corner. At HVS it should be within my grade, but my lime stone experience at the time was limited, and just the thought of Boulder Ruckle scares the bejeezus out of me. We eventually locate the abseil point, a long, freehanging drop onto a tidal rock platform. I rig a prussik backup, and spin my way down after Sarah's landed. Committed. Easiest way out is now a notoriously nasty 3-pitch VS, 'Tatra'. This place spells epic. We walk around the corner to the base of the route. The corner stretches into the sky. At least the weather is nice and sunny. I psych myself up and set off -- it's steep, but briding takes the strain off the arms. Gear is everywhere, and the holds are sinkers. I move quickly, remembering the similar 'Cenotaph Corner' -- the drain sneaks up on you. Suddenly, up by the small roof, the route swings out slightly to the left, up the suddenly very blank-looking wall. This is clearly the crux. My calves are tired, and my arms are drained. A few sketchy moves sees me at the small 'cave', where I can take a cramped semi-rest. I look down and see -- nothing. From out of nowhere the sea mist has rolled in, and is sitting like a fluffy lid about ten metres below me. I shout down to Sarah. She's cold. I assure her she'll soon be warm. Above, the corner narrows, and although I have about a third of the route to go, I know that it's in the bag. I carry on, and soon scramble my way up the shelving, loose finish in true Swanage fashion. Slinging the stakes, I shout 'SAFE' at the top of my voice and start pulling in the ropes. Communication is virtually impossible. The sound of the sea drowns out voices, and the mist below means that visibility is zero for Sarah. I'm cheesily pleased with myself, and above the mist, I'm enjoying the sunshine.

Sarah takes an eternity, eventually weighting the rope. The mist is gradually burning off, and when she comes into view, I can see that she's not had a good time. At all. She's flash pumped from cold starting after belaying me, and having done battle with several stuck pieces of gear, fighting valiantly to maintain style. She wants to head back. We wander back to our sacks, and have some food and water. Sarah's never done anything of this magnitude before, and rarely anything of this grade. I lay out some second's tactics. Of course, it's preferable to try for good style even on second, but pragmatism is important especially on big, inescapable routes. Don't burn yourself out trying to dislodge stuck gear whilst holding on. Ask for a tight rope, or if that's impractical, attach yourself first to the piece, and then place another one if possible so that you can rest when getting a stubborn piece out. And judge when a piece is actually irretrievably stuck. It happens.

We decide to have a go at Tatra. It's a real biatch of a route, and I wouldn't hesitate to say it's actually harder than Finale Groove. I wobble my way up the first pitch, an overhanging but juggy crack, and Sarah takes the second - a slopey traverse with dubious gear. I think to myself that I wouldn't like to be a freshly baked VS leader on my first Swanage visit on this route. The last pitch is an overhanging, smooth corner with an uncomfortably wide crack in its apex. Yup, sure - VS territory, this. Not. I udge my way up to what seems like a wide ledge, when I hear an unsettling noise. I poke my nose over.. two mahoooosive seagulls complete with chicks three feet to my left, and shall we say they're not exactly impressed with my presence. Not one iota. I creep down the crack a few feet and wish I'd placed an extra piece of gear below me. The crack's too wide for what I've got left. I realise this will have to be a sprint, but the mantle required isn't exactly conducive to sprinting. I remove my #10 hexentric on cord and hold it in my right hand, poke my head over, and swing the hex. The gulls take off, for a second, but then come back. I swing again, and go for it. The high-speed mantle goes, and I leg it to the top, the angry gulls cackling loudly below me.

"When you get to the ledge, don't stop to think, just move" I shout down.

"Why?" comes the puzzled response.

"You'll see" I say.

Wouldn't want to spoil the Swanage experience.