Dec 1

Posted by: Matt Spenceley
01 December 2009 

With 2 pre-expedition meetings back in the UK on consecutive weekends, I was seriously psyched to chase after some classic trad rock in the 5 days free in-between.  My similarly motivated partner Michiel Engelsman, fresh from Yosemite, flew into Liverpool to join me, and armed with a big rack, a load of guidebooks, and a full tank of petrol we set off with big plans.  Unfortunately, reality caught up with us in the form of front after front of dire weather racing in off the Atlantic.  Even without the atrocious weather, we’d planned to keep a close eye on the radar images, prepared to drive to wherever dry rock called. 

Our first port-of-call was the Cheddar Gorge where a gale-force wind driving rain up through the valley greeted us; all the lines were soaked so we retreated to sample some of the local cider and beer in Axbridge, a beautiful village nestled at the base of the hills.  Heading back to the gorge an hour later, the rain had ceased and the strong winds were rapidly drying the steepest and least-featured of the faces.  With little time left, the trad gear stayed in the car as we got onto some of the technical and precarious sport routes on offer.  Just over-vertical, crimpy and with tenuous feet, it made quite a change from the tufas of Geyikbayiri.

Michiel running for cover in the Cheddar Gorge

 

 

 

The classic E1 Coronation Street in the rain

After a cool night out in Glastonbury with my brother Ben and his wife Muriel (thanks for having us!), the dank morning extinguished any plans to return to Cheddar, so we set our sights on the grit of North Yorkshire.  The Slipstones more than lived up to their name – the rounded breaks and friction that made this remote moorland gem a sheer pleasure to me back in August didn’t give us a chance.  Back to Ellingstring and the warm  fire at my Gran’s place.  

With time rapidly running out and not one trad pitch climbed, Michiel's and my usual high motivation was starting to slip; the weather forecast only promised more of the same.  Instead of pounding the roads in vain, we’d forget climbing and head to North Wales for a holiday and a chance to check out wet crags for some distant, drier, future trip.  It was over; we were heading to the exact area continually blanketed by dark spots on the radar.

With the resolution that the trip was a firm climbing disaster, you’ll understand that we were both pretty giddy with excitement as Thursday saw us drive over the Menai Straits onto the clear-skied island of Anglesea.  The towering sea cliffs of Gogarth were as dry as a local had predicted and we were soon completely absorbed in the soaring grooves, lichen, questionable rock, crashing seas and general incredible beauty of the place – both blown away!  A steep rope-length on the shining silver rock of the nearby Holyhead Mountain finished off a perfect day.  We’ll be back.    

 

Looking from Holyhead Mountain back to the mainland

Matt topping out at Gogarth

 

Looking out to sea from Holyhead Mountain