Another early 4am start, which is just under two hours before first light. But you would never believe it looking at this image taken a short fifteen minutes into the journey. For these starts, I’ll endeavour to get an early night so I’m not too tired in the morning. Last night however my sleep was broken as lightning and thunder rolled in, bringing with it rain. From the sound of it I didn’t think it was too much rain. I was meeting Howsie in Boyanup, not our usual place to meet but today we were heading south:
For much of the journey, at least until light crept into the sky, we were entertained by amazing lightning strikes streaking across the skies, coming down to earth and at times just lighting up the night sky for just a few seconds. We pondered whether our decision to keep heading south was sensible, checking the radar and in the end just deciding to go for it. During the two and half hour trip and the further south we got the weather seemed to cleared up. Even better the road and fringing vegetation, as we approached, looked bone dry:
Mount Frankland stand tall and proud in the landscape, at 411m above sea level. This may not sound very high by global standards, but for the relatively flat landscape of Western Australia it is pretty impressive. This prominence does however come with an uncanny ability to have its own weather systems, and on most of my more recent trips here over the last few years that has resulted in rain. Today was no different, and with only 5km of our journey left the rain came down and we were greeted with a soggy path and wet rock:
My last climbing trip here, as there have been others, was just before the boarders were closing. Not just with the world and the rest of Australia, but also across regions within Western Australia. That was on the 21/03/20, two years back almost to the day. It was wet then too, so I already knew which line was the best to start with. Having already climbed it in these conditions I was happy for Howsie step up to take the lead. 17 Burmese Tiger is a sustained fun slab. Made all the harder today by the conditions, so it was a slow and tenuous lead:
I was very grateful to have the rope above me, and as we sat some 45m above the base of the crag we could see across the tops of the towering Karri forest. Our reason for coming here was to allow Howsie the opportunity to climb a classic grade 20 slab called Hannibal. While the conditions were not ideal, there were elements of hope in that we could see dry rock. This meant the dampness had likely come from the overnight and early morning rain, as opposed to seeped in moisture over a longer period. With a good weather window the rock may dry up enough:
It wasn’t looking too bad as we wandered along the terrace, pondering what our next move would be. There’s a whole section of rock that I have hardly touched, 45m routes that are said to be great. But it all seemed a little too damp for my liking and I was more than happy for Howsie to take another lead. He couldn’t recall previously climbing Three Sheep Twice a Day, and didn’t even know the name of this grade 18 line. It was the features that appealed to him, they are a little unusual and to some extent can lull you into a false sense of security:
He did remarkably well. The start was soggy but higher up the route veered away from where the water flows down the rock and there were patches that we could almost call dry. Hope was with us still. That was until he was two thirds up and, after watching all the birds catching insects on the wing, I looked behind me. Promptly suggesting he may want to climb a little faster. He did, and I followed up with a level of urgency aware of what was brewing in the sky. A weather cell in which lightning strikes could be seen was rapidly moving towards us and we were 90m off the ground:
We managed a quick rap down the first 45m and quickly set up the second line. That was when the drops started to fall, not small gentle raindrops. Big fat meaty drops, ones that you can immediately feel soaking everything they make contact with. By the time we got to the base, neither of us had a patch of dry clothing on us. Then it started to hail. Fortunately the hail was short lived and was over by the time we had coiled the ropes. No need to discuss what our plans were now, it was time to get the kettle on:
The rain continued to pelt down, the view across the valley was a blanket of white. Water streamed down the granite slabs, splashing at the base and then continuing through the vegetation. The footpath became a creek line with water splashing and gurgling over the rocks. There was no need to rush back, we were thoroughly soaked. Instead we took our time and relished the amazing sight of water everywhere. Laughing and enjoying a spectacular that neither of us had seen before:
We arrived at the shelter by the carpark and draped our gear over the rock walls. Here we found three bikers keeping out of the downpour and having the very same idea we had. It was time to make a brew. The rain looked to be easing a bit, but it was pretty clear that there was little point in racking up for any more climbs. We were not upset by that, having bagged two great lines, had been privileged to be in a beautiful location, and to boot the rain had made it a great adventure:
As we looked out from the shelter, the bikers pointed out a few waterfalls they had watched appear as the rain belted down. Neither Howsie nor I have ever noticed the rock before, and we assume it is what is referred to in the climbing guide as the Carpark Crag. Claimed to be a bolt free crag, so the routes here are basically solos. Neither of us felt the need to come back to climb here, but we are keen to come back to Mount Frankland in search of some better conditions. Hopefully, one day so Howsie will get to climb Hannibal:
Sandbagged 