I suppose by todays standards I was lucky to grow up somewhere fairly rural in Surrey. Behind our house were miles of woodland to explore, get lost in, climb trees and build camps! Maybe this gave me an appetite for adventures, as my brother shares a similar passion with the outdoors too.
I suppose the whole climbing thing started at school. Our tutor, Mr Richardson, was a stereotypical blonde haired beech 'dude', in to such things as surfing and climbing. He started a climbing club at the school to teach us the basics when it came to belaying etc. This was good fun, and one of the things that really sticks out from my memories of school. It got me hooked to climbing. I remember Mr Richardson let me solo the 30ft wall to rig the ropes up for him. Certainly a risk assessment would have to be done today!
Where I lived at the time, there was a large oak tree at the bottom of the garden where my friend and I would rig up ropes, and practice such things as belaying, abseiling and prusiking! My Dad would 'borrow' old rope from the ships at work that we could use (thanks Dad!).
Being a young teen with a small income of pocket money, I would buy the odd bit of climbing gear from Cotswold in the village (another bonus!). At the time I couldn't afford a proper harness, so made do with a 120cm nylon sling wrapped it around my legs and waist clipping the three ends together to make a sit harness. Eventually I did persuade my Dad to get me a real harness (thanks again Dad).
My Dad and I started going on two week long summer holidays every year. We went all over the country - Wales, Yorkshire, Lakes, Peaks, Scotland - all over! This is when my appetite started to grow more for climbing.
One memory I will never forget is the first time we drove in to Glencoe across Ranoach Moor. The huge buttress of Buachaille Etive Mor towering up in front of us really inspired me. I remember that holiday, dragging my Dad to the bottom of the buttress and finding a route up it to climb. We climbed up and up until it started getting pretty vertical, to which we both decided it was a bad idea. On our decent we bumped in to another bloke, who I think was a mountain guide if I remember, and followed him up a scramble which I think was Broad Buttress (Grade 2).
Another time I remember soloing up some slabs somewhere on Great Gable I think, then getting myself stuck and a bit exposed. I believe I traversed off in the end.
The only piece of protection I owned was a Camp 4 nut I'd threaded myself. One time on Dartmoor, after climbing to the top of Vixen Tor via the gully, I used my single nut under a flake on top. I tied my rope in to it and proceeded to abseil over the edge and down the steep 60ft wall. I'm glad it held, as it was the first time I had placed it in anything!
I wonder now why my Dad let me do such things. But I believe you have to explore your own boundaries and get scared sometimes. It makes who you are as a person I feel.
I've just had a rumage and pulled out some of my old gear. In the picture below you can see my Camp 4 nut, Troll granite harness, figure of eight, stitch plate and some old karabiners with straight and locking gates.
Hopefully some of this nostalgia will help motivate me and get me inspired again.
Had a good 45 min session at the wall last night. Think I'll go again tomorrow too.
That's all for now!
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