A Slick Striptease On A Windy Block

What do you get if you combine great company, great climbing routes, the right weather at the right time, and an opportunity to meet a man whom you idolised when you were a fresh faced youth ? An awesome weekend !

As a child I was told that raindrops are angels' tears. If that were true then the angels must have been watching a Hollywood tear jerker because a torrent of tears hit North Wales on Friday evening, and they were still flowing when I stuck my half awake face out of the door early on Saturday morning.

After a full fat, artery clogging carnivore carnival, and a non-too-optimistic twenty minute drive into the Moelwynion, we gathered our gear from the boot of the car and began the short walk up to Clogwyn Yr Oen. By the time we reached the crag the rain had stopped, and prospects for the climbing ahead of us were improving with every passing minute. Once properly suited and booted, with the sun peeking through the still threateningly dark cloud, Dave Walsh set about getting us up Slick. Slick is a 4 pitch (V. Diff) with a nice line in variety - good rock, good mix of holds, a delicate slab on pitch 3, and a short but intriguing crack at the start of pitch 4. Very nice !

A short recess for elevenses saw the demolition of some battered sandwiches, followed by the demolition of DW's hard earned reputation as a king among apple growers - the apple concerned tasting more akin to the fruit of a sociopathic lemon-grower's crop according to David McMeeking. With the weather still holding we then said hello to Block - an invigorating little climb at (S 4a) with more than enough about it to keep the pleasure factor high. We - or more accurately DM and DW - barely had time to coil the ropes at the top of Block before the angels let loose another barrage of emotion lotion, and we made haste back to Betwys Y Coed for the evening calorie pig-out and a few drinks.

By 9am Sunday morning the rain was going nowhere. We were in the UK, specifically North Wales, more specifically Snowdonia, in the middle of summer and it was raining. What a suprise ! Perhaps, we thought, the prospects were brighter at Tremadog. It was still raining when we parked up at Eric's cafe half an hour later, so we took the way of the wimp and headed inside for a cuppa. No sooner had our arses hit the seats when the weather did what it always does in the UK, it changed it's bloody mind. Someone, somewhere turned off the tap, and the rain just stopped. Quicker than a teenager can empty their parents' bank account we were geared up and standing at the base of the crag.

As clear as the sky now was the combination of several days of rain, and just the right wind direction, had taken it's toll. Even the normally well sheltered routes were sopping wet. Given the conditions DW decided to lead on something a little less strenuous than the route he had originally planned for us, so we headed around to the start of Hail BeBe (V. Diff) - a very entertaining line that throws up amongst other things a nice, exposed flake traverse. An hour or so later we were abseiling down a line just to the right of Striptease (VS 5a) - the route than DW had originally planned to start with. Unbelievably Striptease was now already almost bone dry, so it was good to go.

This next stage of our mini saga is where things get a little embarassing for short, bald, middle-aged me. Up went DW like the 'Rock Ninja' that he is. Next went DM. He climbed a little less elegantly than did DW, but still he managed to employ certain amount of style. Then it was my turn. Ben Heason describes Striptease thus:

"This steep and strenuous offering is a little different to the Tremadog norm. The typical method of ascent tends to be to adopt a thuggish approach, hauling oneself up a steep corner system, surpassing several noticeable protuberances on the way! However, this style of ascent can also be substituted somewhat by proficient bridging up the precarious groove."

I, with the forearm strength of a three day old Gerbil, adopted the 'thuggish' approach. My chosen method of attack would definitely not rank as the decision of the year. Things were going reasonably well until I tried to remove some protection from just beneath one of the overhangs. Legs akimbo, toes smeared on the rock and two fingers stuck in the crack, I pushed, pulled, twisted and yanked until my right arm turned to lead, and my legs began to shake like the tassles on a Belly Dancers bra. Eventually the gear popped out, I clipped it to my harness, moved to the right, and made to reach the big jug above the overhang. I couldn't reach it. I simply didn't have the strength to hold myself in a steady enough position to get my fingers securely on the hold.

DW, who by this time could see my scarlet face, gave a haul on the rope and helped my scrabbling legs to make the extra six inches I needed to reach the hold. Next obstacle please ! The bridging move. Back on one wall, feet on the opposite, slowly inching up. Things were getting easier I thought. Turn, reach up, grip on the hold and ... BOING, I'm dangling from the rope like a drunken Orangutan. Another assist from a judicious haul on the rope by DW and I eventually manage to get myself as far as the shelf just beneath the tree belay. That was as far as it went for me. I was lowered off the route and landed at the base with all the finesse of a rag doll. DW and DM went off to do another route, and I took my failing limbs off to the car park where I managed to embarass myself just one more time by asking Eric Jones if I could take his photograph. Typically he obliged without complaint.

So, we slicked, we blocked, we hailed and we stripped, and had an awesome weekend. My thanks to Dave 'Ninja' Walsh, David 'Porsche' McMeeking, Jan 'Blondie' Cookson, and of course Eric Jones for giving me a weekend to remember.