My slumber was disturbed by the sound of the pitter-patter of rain falling on the veranda, well before the alarm was due to go off. Peter, Howsie, I were heading out and while this sound may not be a good start, it was expected. I’d been storm tracking. A front was to bear down on us from the north, and the forecast for this one had remained relatively stable all week. Meaning we were likely to be in for a sprinkle, so we had to pick our location wisely, based both on when it might hit and how it would feel on rock when it arrived:
Systems from the north at this time of the year are usually driven by the remnants of tropical cyclones. Western Australia, particularly the northern half, is more prone to cyclones than the rest of Australia. The long term averages suggest Australia experiences 11 cyclones per year, with approximately half of the these being in Western Australia. My reference to cyclones may bring fearful images of howling winds and torrential rain. While this can be experienced when they make landfall. In the south west we are only getting the tail end:
These are much weaker, but can bring unseasonal rainfall. We are however blessed with a variety of geological formations. Some are better suited to damper conditions. Moses Rocks is the obvious one, and I have often mentioned the friction is still reasonable when the rock is wet. Smith’s Beach is also good. However, the way the front was tracking the further south we aimed for the better. Added to that after Peter’s delight of climbing at the more broken and adventurous traditional style crag of Lost Buttress, the obvious choice was Cosy Corner:
This is the furthest crag to the south, so a bit more of a drive. But a short walk, and lower grades so it might make it work. One of our tin pot crags, meaning a helmet is essential. It is rarely visited, and with less traffic on the routes there is a higher risk of loose rock. Plus being right on the coast with abseil access, an accident can result in the need for a serious rescue mission. The rain had woken me up at three, and I had a quick peek at the radar. It seemed to be doing what was expected just a bit early, so I tried to close my eyes for the next hour:
A little after four, driving out I watched the drops sparkling in the headlights as they seemed to dance when they hit the road. I was also trying to avoid the small frogs hopping across the road, which had been encouraged out of their burrows by the wet conditions. The thought of how damp I might get and need to meet Howsie, made me think twice about stopping and trying to get a picture of one to identify them. At the carpark I quickly checked the forecast, and the front was now predicated to track south a bit quicker than previously indicated:
Howsie and I drove on and didn’t even talk about the conditions, even as the rain persisted for more of our journey than desirable. It wasn’t until we got close to picking Peter up in Margaret River that we conceded a change of plan may be required. The other option being Bobs Hollow. Hoping the steep overhung cliffs would allow us more climbing time, even when the rain came. So it was that we changed our plan. Before the walk in we reorganised our packs for bolt clipping, as opposed to trad climbing, as the clouds looked to be were brewing:
Despite the low pressure bringing rain our way, it wasn’t a cool morning. Half an hour later we were walking along the top of the cliffs, just as the first drops of rain fell. Warm air and rain can only mean one thing, humid conditions. Making Howsie and I think of Pontus, a friend that recently shared some images of his climbing holiday in Thailand. Enjoying the spectacular scenery and limestone cliffs, in a true humid tropical climate. Our brief mini tropical period had also brought the White Italian Snails (Theba pisana) out of their aestivate state:
You’ll have to read last week’s post to find out more about the snails. We did however make like a snail and start the session slowly. Picking a few lower grade lines to see how the weather, rock, and we would fare. As I have fallen way behind the images on show, it was clear that the weather fared really well. Other than the drops that fell during our final approach, there was no more rain. The system tracked further inland and we were left with high broken clouds and a reasonable breeze. Opening up the chance to climb for longer:
The rock in places was wet. Certainly not from rain. We only encountered this on the routes where there were calcite formations of stalactites, columns, and flowstone. As such it was seepage, an essential part of their formation. Taking advantage of three of us being out, I ran about and take images from here, there, and everywhere. I watched drops form and let loose from several stalactites, but was not able to capture the moment the drops fell. It was still a little surprising, as I thought these seepages would have ceased this far into summer:
The seepage areas were fortunately relatively isolated on the routes we picked, so it all came down to how we were going. On our trip out last week Peter said he was not climbing too strong. And true to his word we didn’t hit as many higher graded routes as we did the last time he and I came here. However, like that time we hit eight routes and doing the sums it seems our grade average was only down by one from 20 to 19. Peter climbed in his usual slow and steady way, hanging on holds with seeming ease as he scoped the next moves:
We pulled the rope each time, and I managed to clean all the lines. The others commented that I looked to climb in a controlled and smooth way. However, during the leads my mind would not have agreed with them. Battling with my thoughts of wanting to let go and rest on the rope, with forearms pumping. It was certainly a physical and mental challenge, but not as much as it was for Howsie. The steep and powerful climbing here gives him a sense of forbidding, putting him on the back foot before he even ties in. And it showed:
When it looked like he wanted to falter we encouraged him to keep going. He started well. Until we encouraged, and ‘gently’ nudged, him into being the first to jump on the only grade 22 of the day. A route he had not been on before, and it worked him hard. To his credit he got to the top, slipping and falling his way up. Coming down shattered, and content to climb with a rope above him after that. It was a good move as Peter’s next choice had some spicy sections that Howsie’s forearms were simply too far gone to able to manage:
You may think that would have been it, but the increasingly clearing blue sky above us resulted in some sections of the crag still having a bit of shade felt. And Peter, of course, was keen to make use of it. Accepting that we should probably dial back the grades, which we did. Howsie managed the next line, and then tried to avoid the last route. That was however something that he wasn’t going to get away with on my watch. So being cruel to be kind we forced his hand, which he was grateful for when we he manage a clean ascent, but only just:
Sandbagged 