Chopping and changing is the best way to describe this winter. With what looks like another washed out weekend was ahead of us. So, with more flexitime stacked up than I should have, I took today off. Looking the more promising of the tail end days of my working week. I was also spurred on due by temperatures up the hill being forecast to drop below what was required to provide a frosty morning. It is rare to see everything coated in frost here, a shame as it really does provide for cracking images. As such I got myself all set for a crisp early start:
No one was able or willing to join me. Was it the thought of an early start? After all I did arrive at a time when it was so dark that I was a bit nervous to walk along the top of the crag to set up the top rope. Or was it the thought of the coldness? Numbing fingertips and toes to the point that the sensation of touch is reduced, resulting in the confidence in the holds plummeting. Or maybe it was simply that no one else was lucky enough to have the flexibility I do, and just couldn’t afford the time:
Whichever the reason, they didn’t miss out on the beauty of observing ice crystals encasing anything that had moisture on it. Before I drove out the closest telemetered weather station to Welly Dam was already indicating the temperature was rising quite sharply, from the night time low of one and half degrees. And as I left home, our local weather was already approaching double digits. I knew I was going to luck out on one of the drawcards I had hoped for, but was still committed to playing on the steep quarried granite faces, so drove on:
I wasn’t the only person to arrive as early as I did. I could see a torchlight flickering about at the worksite below the dam, and occasionally the headlights of a car driving up the valley indicated more workers were arriving. I watched the scene below unfold for a while to allow a bit more light to creep into the sky, making setting up the top rope a bit safer. The rock was still cold to touch, sucking out most of my ability to feel the holds with confidence. Resulting in me putting way too much effort into every stance and move, and puffing my way up:
Added to that, the rock didn’t have that crisp dryness about it, which it had when Howsie and I came here not even three weeks back. Today water seeped down the lichen coated blackened faces, out of the cracks and fissures, and down corners. Even the grey granite faces that were free of lichen felt damp. The above, which may be Grey Hoar-Moss (Hedwigidium ciliate), was loving the conditions. The tips of the long bristly stems coming to life with colour. I persisted, strangely enjoying myself:
Even when I was occasionally and unexpectedly spat off. It felt like hard work and progress was slow, after each ascent I needed a bit of recovery time. On the third line what I thought was the noise of the worksite in the valley below, was rain falling. The first tourists had just arrived, walking down to the lookout above the dam with umbrellas to keep them dry. The rain started wet the rock up, more than it already was. It was time to bail. Despite a patch of blue sky rolling in, when everything was back in the car the damage was already done:
Sandbagged 