Another year has ticked over for Craig, and that can only mean one thing. It was time for a climb. It so happened that he had just come of his shift yesterday. Meaning he was in town, available, and keen as mustard. There is no need for the gifting of gizmos, gadgets, trinkets, or other such items between us. A bit of time on rock and being in nature is all the presents that are required. It took a bit of wrangling to make things work but we got there eventually. Even the weather gods played nice today, aided by a purposefully late’ish start:
It rained for a fair bit of the drive out, however the stiff westerlies did their work and blew the gloominess away. With only the remnants of a few drops here and there, and a barely visible rainbow that adding a splash of colour in the sky as we arrived. We had picked Castle Rock for today. The reason for coming here ended up not being a reason at all, so we could have gone elsewhere. But that is another story. The routes here did however provide the perfect playground to allow us to go lead for lead, without messing with Craig’s head too much:
Another front had rolled in overnight, with near gale to gale force winds. As a result the ocean looked brown and mucky, something that I could not recall seeing here before. While I’m quite used to it at our local beach, this bay in my memory has always been blue and inviting. Even when the clarity has been a bit down the colour has still been vibrant. Delving into my image library, which includes images from all seasons spanning over a decade, I was not able to find a trip here when the water had looked as churned up as it did today:
Despite the overnight and morning dampness the rock was in remarkable condition. Quite possibly due to the stiff wind, which persisted as the morning wore on. Also the way the castle sticks out on the coast making it a prime target for even the slightest breeze. Even when the sun was on our backs the wind was biting, so we stayed rugged up for most of the morning. The good thing about the coolness being the air can’t hold as much moisture and skin is harder. Both of these result in improved friction, which is no bad thing when climbing:
I wasn’t sure where Craig’s head may have been. Especially having just come off a two week shift yesterday, and with his lack of time on rock of late. There was no sign of resistance when I gently suggested he may want to kick the proceedings off with nothing too silly, just a fun warm up. In truth we didn’t hit anything silly all morning, bar one route. For such a small crag, it is surprising how it is possible to pack in a great variety of routes with flakes, chimneys, cracks, and slabs. And all at a sensible moderate to low grades of 17 or less:
Some may disagree with that statement, but I have used the term moderate because in John’s soon to be published book of grade 17 and under climbs that is the term used. Then there was the line shown below. Graded 16, by yours truly. Slightly overhung, rounded, and pumpy. Fair to say it really is a sandbag route, and felt by everyone I bring here to be considerable harder than the two 17s that Craig led today. During my last visit Howsie was ‘keen’, with a bit of persuasion, to lead it. Craig did not feel the same ‘keenness’:
There was no getting out of it, it was down to me to take this one on. That is not strictly speaking true, Craig did say we could just not climb the line. But I could feel it calling me, then once on it taunting me, and then it spat me off. Not wanting to admit defeat, I got back on and polished it off. Craig fared better on this one with the rope above him. In fact he did really well bagging four clean leads, as well as following up three other lines all in good style. You could say the gift of his time on rock today couldn’t have gone better:
There is however the second component to the birthday gift, and Mother Nature came up with the goods too. It was Craig who spotted them. A Humpback Whale (Megaptera novaeangliae), identified by its dorsal fin, along with its calf was cruising past. You’ll have to excuse the slightly blurry image, but it was the best we could manage with our phones. Not that we really needed an image. Seeing it was good enough for us, and the sighting certainly put the icing on the cake for Craig’s birthday climb:
Sunday morning arrived and I felt the need to get out in nature, without the need to drive too far. The Capel Nature Reserve beckoned, with an unexpected fine day and the sun beaming down on the world. I hope I don’t jinx things but maybe we might start to have a few good days align with the weekend. There’s been some chatter at work about how the winter weather seems to come in that bit harder on the weekend. Not surprisingly there is no scientific evidence to support this conspiracy theory, but sometimes it sure seems to be the case:
I wasn’t feeling overly hopeful on the orchid front, so as not to be disappointed. The usual flurry of greenhood species in July, just haven’t wanted to play. Maybe it has been a tad too cool and wet for them. And today’s short burst of glory wasn’t going to make them suddenly spring out the ground just for me. But such warm weather will result in a less joyful find, or was it that they found me. We’ve got about 100 species of them in Western Australia, and this one is an Aedes camptorhynchus that can carry Ross River virus and Barmah Forest virus:
In order for the blood sucking females to infect me, they first need to have taken blood from a mammal that carries one of the viruses. In this area that is most likely to be from a kangaroo, wallaby, or possum. I didn’t however take the image to go on about one of the most annoying creatures I am aware of, other than at times humans, but the fungi that it landed on. The cup shaped body told me it was a species within the genus Peziza, which belongs to the Pezizaceae family. It took a little digging but I identified it as Peziza psammobia:
This species is native to Queensland but also found in Western Australia, which in part was why it took a little more work to figure out. The reason for the cup is to focus the force of raindrops, and this in turn helps to spread the spores. Quite literally splashing them out and into the surrounding earth. And while I am on the topic of earth, I was quite taken by my next find that looked like the globe, with landmasses and a watery ocean. I’ve pinned this one down to being a Horse Dung Fungus (Pisolithus marmoratus):
It is described as having a ‘roughly spherical fruiting-body mottled with shades of black, brown and gold and with a rough surface texture’. And is another species within the same genus as the Dead Man’s Foot (Pisolithus arhizus) that I found last time I came here, which had a very different surface pattern (https://sandbagged.blog/2025/07/26/a-winning-streak/). The next find was a repeat from that walk being a Star Earthball (Scleroderma polyrhizum), only this time the dark brown spore powder had as yet not been dispersed and filled the crater:
After the relatively dull coloured fungi finds I was hankering for a change, preferable something with a splash of brightness about it. I’m not entirely convinced about what I found, but it fitted the colourful bill. The thick stem with vertical looking stripes makes me think I could be right. That along with the flecks, almost scaly looking features, on the small bun shaped cap. And finally being found in a decomposing tree stump, makes that three traits indicating it could be a Spectacular Rustgill (Gymnopilus junonius):
Next was a common Scarlet Bracket Fungus (Pycnoporus coccineus), another decomposer fungus. It was found to secrete enzymes that aided the degradation of softwood, in a study in 2015. The bright and vibrating younger specimens were no doubt enjoying slowly breaking down the fallen limb, but it was the older specimen that I focused the image on. Rather than having a bracket shape it was like a plate. Having dulled with age but still showed the radial pattern, and underneath continued to display the same orange colour of the younger ones:
At the end of yet another fallen tree I found a third colourful display. Not a fungi this time, but a Red Raspberry Slime Mold (Tubifera ferruginosa). Found across the globe it is reputed to be the most widely known and distinct slime mold. While it resembles a cushion made of bubbles, it is actually constructed of gelatinous rods called sporangia. Tightly clumped together each rod is no more than 0.5mm in diameter and 3-5cm long. While called Red Raspberry, specimens can be a wide range of colours including silver, black, gold, or pink:
The last fungi is from the Crepidotus genus. Seven species have been identified in Australia and this one is Crepidotus eucalyptorum. Rightly or wrongly in England these were sometimes called slipper mushrooms. While I’ve read the Latin word crepid means slipper, but can also mean a base or shoe. Some say it can also refer to something being burst or cracked. The verdict on otus being more conclusive meaning ear in Latin. Despite so many options for a fun common name, like my first find today this one does not seem to have one:
All in all it was a pretty good wander, no orchids were out but I spied some nice finds nonetheless. I was kind of hoping that a scaly friend might be tempted out of brumation by the sun. Despite scouring the ground, trees, and especially fallen logs and hollows none were to be found. So instead I’ll finish with something that does have a common name, and that is aptly called a Snakebush (Hemiandra pungens). A prickly little plant, so one I had to careful walk round in my safety sandals:
Now I know one reason the snorkelling was particular pants last summer. It is due, in part at least, to the moon’s 18.6-year wobble. This may sound like something out of a science fiction film. However, unlike those films where the moon is either at risk from an asteroid strike or breaks its orbit to commence on a collision course with earth, this wobble is a natural phenomenon. All the moon does is tilt slightly, and the effect of this changes the gravitational pull on earth. During the peak period tides can increase by as much as a 30-40% in our local area:
The moon’s wobble is predicated to reach its peak in 2025 for Western Australia. Hopefully, after this year, the summer snorkel seasons may start to improve for the next nine or so years. Noting of course there are other contributing factors at play. Why am I talking about this? Well we are assessing why the sea grass in an estuary may not be doing so great over the last year. Sea grass being critical for the ecosystem. Being a habitat, food source, and nursery for many marine species. And it seems the moon’s wobble is likely to affect sea grass health:
Next question is why are we doing this? Well, the general populations memories are short lived, too short to be able to recall impacts from cycles that last nearly two decades. As such and as a result of recent observations by citizen scientists, things are stirring in this space. Our role is to objectively understand and respond to these claims, based on science and facts. In other studies they have identified the moon’s wobble can play a significant role in the health of mangrove wetlands. And like sea grass meadows, they too are also critical for marine species:
It would seem that I myself have wobbled off the path for this post. Not surprisingly I was not heading out snorkelling, at such an early hour nor as we enter the last month of winter. I went off track because the waxing gibbous moon was so intense, as I was driving out. It was providing 99.5% illumination only just shy of a full moon, which is due tonight. The glorious sight stayed with me most of the way to my destination. With approx. 10km to go the moon slipped behind a cloud bank. So extensive and filled with moisture that there was no trace of the moon:
It was a gamble heading out, and I had ummed and ahhed about where to go. Only making a decision after being on the road for half an hour. The charts suggested I would be alright till mid-morning. The clouds told another story. While the second image shows a relatively cloud free sky to the east, back home, the next image shows Moses Rocks. Taken a mere half an hour after getting to the cliffs. If I had gone there I would have got wet from early on. The lights of a car perched above the beach, 4km north of where I stood, was probably a surfer checking the conditions:
You may not be surprised to hear that I was flying solo today. Plumping for Wilyabrup for ease of setting up. Thinking there would not be time to faff about, plus the longer lines appealed. With no time to mess about I set my schedule during the second half of the drive out. Two set ups, six lines, twelve laps, average grade of 15, and bang on 300m of climbing. The only other thing I focused on was watching the clouds. Switching from threatening to clearing several times. Not until I had completed what I had set my mind too did it come in. Catching up with me just before I got back to car:
The title may suggest to some that I am being contentious, but that is not the intent. Like most outdoor pursuits there are many forms of climbing. Speed, sport, and bouldering have being brought to the attention of the wider community through inclusion in the Olympics, but there is also trad, aid, soloing, mixed, ice, alpine, and more. I’m certainly not putting one above the other, so what is this all about? Well blame John Morris, who has very kindly allowed me to review and provide feedback on every word in a climbing book he is writing:
If you want to find out about the book, you’ll have to check out a past post called The photo shoot. As this post evolves there are likely to be a few more links, as I dip even further into the past. Other than that catch up with John back in April 2022 for which I have Howsie to thank, and I mean thank in a positive light, John and my paths have not crossed physically. Until the end of July 2025, when he was in the west for work. I drove to Mandurah late one afternoon for a catch up, and we whiled away a few hours talking about climbing, family, and life:
But mostly climbing. If you had not guessed both John and I have rocks in our blood. One of the last subjects was me reliving an epic experience I had, courtesy of Howsie and Kym. The term epic being relevant to John’s book, and is a word that I do hope will get used. Reliving that unforgettable experience set my mind thinking. And it is for that reason I am writing this post. But before I let slip what the purest form of climbing is for me, it makes sense to go back to where it all started. And for that I have Andy Bulgin to thank, again in a positive light:
You’ll see a young Andy in the first image of this post Part 1 – North Wales – were it all began. He introduced me to climbing, specifically trad climbing. This was the major form of climbing at the time in the British Isles, and it probably still is. The ethics of the people I climbed with were simple, ground up ascents and have fun. We didn’t chase grades or glory, we relished the situations. And since my first climb on rock in April 1993 with Andy I have been lucky to have had a huge amount of awesome experiences, mostly on trad:
There are more great times ahead to add to the memories, I am sure. While there is always that thought that we could have done more in our past life, there is no point in looking back. But on occasion our eye’s will flick a peek at the rear view mirror. I have been guilty on occasion of having done this, which has taken me back even further to late 1986. I had just arrived in Coventry to start student life. Bringing a new meaning to freedom. And this of course included house parties, and at one I remember people climbing all over the stairs:
I heard they were ‘climbers’ and it came across to me that they were just showing off. I paid them no heed. Fast forward to 1993, after Andy had unwittingly changed how I would live my life. When at a party at our house I was the one ‘showing off’. Traversing across the second storey of the front of the building, reaching between and pulling into each window recess. Finding myself completely unaware of anything but the movement. Totally absorbed and if I am truthfully happier in that moment, than I was at the party itself. I finally understood:
Like I said, for me, it is not the glory nor is it the desire to climb harder. There are no goals, the only wish is to be on rock. If I had understood all that back in 86’ I might have had another seven or so years of enjoying being on rock, but I didn’t. Having started climbing in England, ground up trad is what I knew. I very rarely dipped into sport climbing. It just didn’t have the same draw. Trad offered an added component of placing protection. Needing total and utmost confidence in your skills, honing the mind even more than when there is preplaced protection:
It is true that soloing hones the mind even further, and I have been known to solo some climbs that people have thought were a little silly. However, I am always drawn back to trad. With its rich and long climbing history, my time in England was spent climbing routes detailed in guidebooks. As such I knew it had already been climbed and what grade people have given it. Step back in Andy. On a trip to Skye, we had an experience that he was lucky to survive. This has been detailed in this post Part 6 – Scotland – the long road:
After that, the big mountainous routes we had driven so far to reach were not so appealing to him. He was still keen to visit a much smaller crag. One we had no knowledge of whether there were even any routes on. Walking along I spied a line, and was deadest that it would go. It felt tough, and going up not knowing what may lie ahead added a whole new dimension. Would there be any gear of worth, would it even be climbable, are there any loose sections? Andy below waived and tried to get me to come down, but I continued upwards:
So became my first ever first ascent. The Freezer, which I think was 15-20m tall and we gave it HVS 5b (Aus 18/9). Done with the ethics that had been etched into my very soul, ground up. It was the only first ascent I did in England. And not until I moved to Alice Springs in 2000, did I started to bag more first ascents. A playground with more rock and opportunities that you can poke a stick at. Other than the harder routes we established on Left Wall, where I even placed a couple of hand drilled bolts, all my new routes were established ground up:
Some people liked to inspect the lines first. After all the Heavytree Quartzite rock in the centre may be incredible hard but it is also at times very brittle and broken. My ethics weren’t swayed by this. Navigating the rock quality on top of finding gear, while figuring out how to get up the line, merely added to the experience in my mind. My near five years of climbing in the great Red Centre is well documented here Part 11 – Alice Springs – rock, rock and more rock! And I’ll likely need to refer back to this post a few times:
In late 2005 Lisa, Elseya, and I arrived in the South West of Western Australia. Before we left Garn Cooper told me that we were moving to the place in Australia with the least amount of climbing potential. Having had the chance to read John’s book I am beginning to understand why he said that. However, there are pockets of joy to be had here. My energy for discovery has been satisfied, as I found new lines and a few new areas. Also delving into sport climbing a bit more, even establishing a handful of routes with this one in my view being a standout:
The Northern Territory and Western Australia may not have the abundance of rock to match other states. But they both have relatively small climbing communities, and that has offered me the opportunity feast on bagging first ascents. With well in excess of a hundred to my name, which is more than most climbers could hope for. Many may fall into oblivion, while some will live on. I may even find one day that some have become highly regarded. Being sought out by climbers who seek the classics that have been awarded a healthy dose of stars:
So where does this all lead? As you may have been able to unpick from this longer than expected introduction, the purest form of climbing for me is a successful trad on sight first ascent. There is no better feeling than looking up and not knowing, but having the confidence to give it a go. Pushing fear to the back, living in the moment, becoming one with the rock, and blocking everything else out. A healthy mixture of adrenaline and fear helps, to both get you through and keep you safe. And if all goes well you’ll reach the top with an ear to ear grin:
This resulted in me reflecting on routes I’ve established, and which ones stood out. Within minutes and not needing to try too hard, I had scribbled a selection of eighteen on a post note. There was no turning back so next I scoured my images to find choice shots, avoiding repeat uses from past posts or guides. Preferable of the first ascent, which was not always possible. The images used so far have all been on sight first ascents, other than one solo first ascent, one sport climb first ascent, and two I was not successfully on the first attempt but the images were too good not to use:
Direct Crack Line 125m 14 (UK VS 4c), Dan Ewald and Krish Seewraj (alt) Apr 2000
Listed in chronological order, the first nine are in the Red Centre. For more background and images on all of these check Part 11 – Alice Springs – rock, rock and more rock! Dan Ewald was one of a few that took advantage or my unwavering enthusiasm. This route is special being the longest route in the centre, other than an obscure line on the remote Mt Zeil. Unbeknown to us we were not first, finding an aging piton. Despite that it still warrants inclusion, with three divine pitches of equal grade and length. So good I took Lisa up it soon after, and here she is perched on the second belay:
A Most Unlikely Journey 50m 17 (UK HVS/E1 5a), Krish Seewraj, Mark Rewi (alt) Aug 2000
I did many stunning climbs with Mark Rewi. He had more go-go juice than me, so pushed me to test and go beyond my limits. Any route on Mt Gillen, overlooking the town of Alice Springs is worthy. This climb being no exception. A true alpine style ascent with route finding being worked out along the way. It doesn’t always go as you planned, and the rock can quickly turn to choss. But with a level head it will always result in an epic, in a good way. The line provided a wonderful meandering adventure up the red stained Heavytree Quartzite:
Batten Down the Hatches 15m 19 (UK E1/2 5b), Krish Seewraj, Jason Geres Mar 2002
This is the only climb I have not been able to find an image of a climber on. Jason Geres and I made an effort to have midweek climbs, allowing time to explore many areas. Some were obscure and we never returned. Not this small face. High on the range, it diverted us from getting to the Garden Wall. And this was the first route I established on it, following the slanting crack in the middle of the face. Steep, sustained, and with bomber protection. Also the only route I’ve ever found a bat on. We managed to leave in peace, and I can still hear it squeaking:
Where’s the Gardener 25m 18 (UKE1 5a/b), Krish Seewraj, Jason Geres Mar 2002
Here is Jason himself, at the Garden Wall just a week after we put the above route up. Never overly keen to lead but always happy to give me a belay. No matter how sketchy things became. Doing ground up first ascents meant you might need to do a bit of cleaning as go. Not only checking for and removing loose rock, but at times clearing naturally formed mini garden beds to enable protection to be placed. This route had the most gardening required of any route I put up, but it was oh so worth it. I hear it is now considered a must do route:
Pear Drop 20m 20 (UK E2 5b/c), Krish Seewraj, Pat Spiers Apr 2002
This image was taken on Jason’s birthday, and is the first ascent of pitch one of Mee-Gwitch 50m 19 (UK E1/2 5b). Just over a week later I returned with Pat Speirs. A master of keeping a calm head in some of the most ridiculous situations. After leading the first pitch, and where the route heads right up a bouldery mess, he looked up and suggested a different path simply saying ‘your lead’. I can’t recall the width, but the roof felt huge. With no way to see the headwall above I climbed out several times before committing. Truly exhilarating, an absolute must do for those seeking a real out there experience:
Avoiding a Greek Wedding 25m 23 (UK E4 6a), Krish Seewraj, Pat Spiers, Jason Geres May 2002
It felt like I put a new route up most weeks. So it is interesting most of the standout lines are from 2002. Granted, thanks to Mark and Pat, it was the year I climbed with more confidence than ever before. Maybe that is why these ascents stick in my mind more than others. This route is by a long way the leader of the pack and not because it’s the hardest. Utterly, utterly absorbing due to its position, steepness, sustained nature, and at times barely sufficient gear. Words will never do justice in explaining my feelings on the route. My most impressive on sight first ascent, without doubt:
Stitching Time 22m 19 (UK E1/2 5b), Krish Seewraj, Dan Ewald Jun 2002
I am usually the one taking photos. But as I climbed this beautifully blocky looking chocolate mudcake wall, three cameras followed my every move. At the start, and despite being careful, a big block came away in my hand. Big enough to do damage, but it fortunately didn’t. The scene was set. Not a word was ushered as I went on. I didn’t even hear the shutters of the old film cameras taking enough pictures to give me a catalogue of every move, some from several angles. From my time in the Alice this comes in at number 2, and is now another sought out route:
This route typifies how Jason would calmly, or was it out of ignorance, accept that if I said something would go, that it would go. I could have been torn between this line and Block Head 25m 19 (UK E1/2 5b) just to its right, but that route had a big, scary, and stubborn block that thwarted the first attempt. While the bottom half of this line may be considered a little scrappy, the top half is sublime. Thin for holds and on gear, delicate and technical, and hugely committing. Plus any route that makes Pat need to consider his next move has to be worthy:
A Matter of Time 14m 17 (UK HVS/E1 5a), Krish Seewraj, Mark Rewi Aug 2002
Technically some may say I did not climb this route as a true on sight first ascent. That is because for four years Jock Morse had called dibs on it. He and others had top roped it, so I knew it would go, but he never had the gumption to lead it. That said I had no idea what grade he thought it may be. When I did lead it, which happened to be by accident as I didn’t know exactly where it was, I did so with no prior information. It really was so worthwhile, being the best line on the small scattered crags on Blatherskite Range. Jock missed out:
The Beach 10m 16 (UK HVS 4c/5a), Krish Seewraj, Ryan Doe Dec 2010
Having climbed in the South West of Western Australia with its limited number of areas and routes for nearly twenty years, some ask if I ever get bored. Every time the answer is no. Something is always different. Ryan Doe and I happen to be in the right place at the right time to witness conditions only seen once in two decades. There’s an image of me on a new route to the climbers left in the introductory ramble, with no beach. We bagged a route each on rock normally waves washed, thinking they will never be repeated. Howsie has repeated mine, having to contend with a damp start. Man it felt tough:
Billowing Sails 15m 17 (UK HVS/E1 5a), Krish Seewraj, Craig Johnson Jan 2011
I’ve been lucky to have established a few new areas in the South West. Smith Beach is my favourite. I love every route here even though some scare me, more so with age. It is the place that tested my resolve to maintain an on sight ground up first ascent ethic more than anywhere else. Images I have of Craig Johnson’s facial expressions coming up on second during my ascents, shows the intensity required. Rounded holds, steep lines, flared cracks, and a flaky coastal granite feel. Quite a few people who come here do not return. A traditional style trad climbers place, requiring true grit. This route won out due to its epic position above the ocean:
The Unbolted and The Beautiful 20m 16 (UK HVS 4c/5a), Krish Seewraj, Andrew Malone Mar 2011
I like to stay away from politics, including climbing politics. However, this line dragged me into the great bolting debate. Anyone can bolt, many do, and at times in places and on routes that do not need them. This occurred here, including a retro bolt of a trad line, just before I put this route up. It was created a little out of protest and to make a point, hence the name. What transpired is a wicked route in its own right, a very direct and well balanced climb. Enough gear to be sane if you know how to use trad, after all it is an art form. Although one runout may make some think twice:
The above three lines in the South West were established before I started writing up my adventures. From here on in, if you want a bit more information I’ve linked the related post in the title to each blurb. In England I was accustomed to seasonal climbing bans in areas where seabirds frequented. Being relevant when Howsie spotted a nest on a face we wanted to climb, in which we saw two fledglings being fed. This resulted in us exploring and finding another wall with two hidden gems, one each. Both beautiful clean lines, a reward for respecting nature:
Wilyabrup is visited by many. The vast majority of those who come here flock to the main area, unaware or not interested in a number of great neighbouring outcrops scattered along the coastline. For me these tend to have a more trad feel to them. Not having been climbed as much, care is required. This route typified that need, which is why it appeals to me. Before trusting them I knocked on every possible hold, as did Chris Wiggins when he followed up. Every time I have repeated the climb I have again felt the need to check each hold. Despite the care taken, the last time I led it one popped off sending me flying:
While a trad line, this is on a quarried face. The original routes here were all bolted, then someone put up a trad line that followed a blast hole. I was a bit miffed that I hadn’t consider trying this before. Where the cylindrical blast holes were intact enough, meaning anything more than half, cams fitted perfectly. Now that my eyes had been opened to this possibility, I found two more blast holes that I thought may be OK. This one is my favourite of the two, and it not only sticks in my mind due to the pure novelty factor but also because the climbing is great. If not a little intense:
Of all the other crags neighbouring Willyabrup main cliffs, the Terrace and Northern Blocks see the most action. Kym Hartley loved this area and I helped him put up a few serious additions. In truth I felt the walls were climbed out, until Mario De Decker pointed out a possibility. A link route, but different enough to warrant giving it a go. Mario doesn’t have the same desire for new routes, so encouraged me to go for it. The long traverse was exposed with just air below, getting pumpier and harder. Finishing with a big move into the final corner. I was exhausted, but pleased that both Rongy and Mario were equally stuffed when they followed:
I would have plumped for the Traditionalist 20m 19 (UK E1/2 5b), but Kym felt the rock was too suspect and wanted to top rope the line first, so it wasn’t on sight. But before bagging that route, I jumped on another potential line. Up steep to slightly overhung twin cracks on a boulder, above a wave washed platform. From below Kym and I thought it may be grade 17, but looks can be deceiving. It turned into one of the best climbs I’ve done in terms of having to focus on body position for each and every move. Only just managing to deal with the pump, before topping out:
This is the route I relived when I caught up with John, which initiated this post. Kym says that whenever we head out on rock together ‘great things happen’. He’s not wrong, and great things happened during our last catch up. Wicked ground up on sight ascents for Howsie, Kym, and me, it’s infectious! As soon as we walked up to this wall, I saw the line and knew I had to climb it. Howsie and Kym looked a little less certain, and despite it raining when I started I refused to back off. Skies cleared, gear was found, and I slowly worked out each move to reach the next hold. It went on, and on, and on. This successful trad on sight first ascent deserved a huge whoop and holler when I got to the top:
Looking out and seeing a blue sky as I type this makes me think that maybe I should have gone for an afternoon wander. Or possibly even a climb, not that I would have had success in convincing anyone to head out. It had looked like we would be blanketed in clouds and rain all weekend, to the point I didn’t bothered to try and organise anything. Having resigned myself to not touching rock, I knew there was no way I would stay sane if I didn’t at least go for a stroll. And knowing I would get wet I also realised it would end up being a hike:
As opposed to a wander or stroll, that meant getting on with it and putting some miles under my feet. It was no surprise to see my car looking lonely as I headed off on the 10km loop at Crook Brook. Lisa hadn’t joined me today. She also hadn’t gone down the beach for a plunge, which would have happened just before I arrived. No one had. Like me not touching rock on a weekend, this was a rare occasion for the Peppy Plungers. But justified as the rain was lashing down, the wind was near gale force, and the ocean was a messy surge of water:
Inland however the wind was way more sedate, and the rain remained relatively light with only the occasional heavier spell. In such situations it is a tough call as to whether to wear the waterproof. Today the decision wasn’t hard. I was travelling light, with only my phone and a muesli bar for company. The jacket stayed on, and I accepted I would get a little toasty as I moved quickly. I still kept my eyes peeled despite the pace. Noticing the flecks of pink, white, blue, yellow, and red of the few natives that were in flower speckled here and there:
The one that really caught my eye was the above Hairy Jug Flower (Adenanthos barbiger). With fine white hairs on the perianth, a fancy name for non-reproductive parts or petals and sepals, clearly visible against the deep red. These filaments are where it gets its scientific name, with barba meaning beard in Latin. An endemic plant that flowers from August through till December, so it had started flowering right on cue. Unlike a few orchids I could mention. Initially I only saw Banded Greenhoods (Pterostylis vittata), which flowers from April:
Although his year I felt that they had started late. I have also only seen spikes of the Jug Orchid (Pterostylis recurve) that is supposed to flower from August. I may be impatient, but the above Slender Snail Orchid (Pterostylis crispula) have only just started to appear, despite having been known to flower as early as May. Distinguished from other snail orchids by its narrow flower and small basal rosette. Most others species in the local area don’t have a basal rosette. Sadly I also stumbled across a South African Weed Orchid (Disa bracteata), with its spike forming and will no doubt bloom on time, which normally happens in October:
It is likely the only invasive orchid in Western Australia. Having arrived as far back as 1944. Since then it spread to South Australia in 1988 and Victoria in 1994. It has now also been sighted in Tasmania. Relishing the conditions here, that are similar to South Africa, and forming quite large colonies. There’s no getting rid of it now. Back to the natives, I found a few Hare Orchids (Leporella fimbriata) still flowering, as shown above. Blooming from March, the flowers can last seven months still being seen and recognisable as late as September:
There wasn’t much fungi to see, and the above was the only one to draw enough of my attention to warrant a quick stop from pounding the track, to snap an image. I’ll stick my neck out and suggest it may be a Beefsteak Fungus (Fistulina hepatica), which can also be known as a Beefsteak Polypore, Poor Man’s Steak, Ox Tongue, or Tongue Mushroom. While closely related to gilled fungi the fertile surface, being the underside, has smooth cup-shaped elements instead of gills. Forming what looks like a solid base, a bit like fungi in the Boletus genus:
I wasn’t too concerned about the lack of fungi, as orchids kept popping into view. Stopping to check the Slender Hammer Orchid (Drakaea gracilis) Lisa and I found a few weeks back, there were now two spiking. And above a Reaching Spider Orchid (Caladenia arrecta), being my favourite of the spider orchids. Both of these species are known to flower from August, but as alluded to above seem to be another couple of species that may delay their bloom. Happy with six good and one bad orchid species, it was time to drive back only to find a few roads were now flooded:
True to her words, on Sunday last weekend, Lisa and I headed to mini Pear Mill as it will be known from now, but only by us. Here we enjoyed a taste of decadence, played a game of scrabble, and were surrounded by a diverse range of antiquities. The latter distracting our attention when the letters on our boards were proving just too tricky. It is a chilled spot and we spent a very relaxed hour or two there. While it has its differences, the true Italian style food for one, it did so remind me of Pear Mill. So much so we told the owners:
Keen to see images of the original Pear Mill we dug some out and they were tickled pink when they saw them. Sure the UK version is way bigger, but the similarities in style, look, and feel are uncanny. It also seemed that it was a place where Lisa gets good Juju because not only did she win the game, but she completed trousered me. Something that doesn’t happen too often. After the owners congratulated Lisa, and we got home, she was not sure about my idea of a wander on the beach to stretch the poodle’s legs. It was pretty wild and woolly:
A break in the scattered showers seemed likely. When we got to the top of the beach we were hit by the winds, almost resulting in Lisa wanting to do a quick U-turn. The poodles were however too excited, undeterred by weather unless it is chucking it down. If we had any cobwebs hanging about in our heads they were certainly blown far away. Being a very invigorating walk for all the senses, to the point that we decided to take the more protected way back. A narrow path that leads through the dunes pretty well to our backdoor:
As Lisa and poodles went ahead, I did a slight detour to see if a small orchid spot was yielding anything yet. It wasn’t. I did however spy the above Rooting Shank (Oudemansiella gigaspora), and the below Parasol Ink Cap (Parasola plicatilis). I really liked the second find for which the common name is very apt. It is a very delicate species, and is only out for a short time. The body will come up at night after rain, and during the day it has one of two fates. If it is sunny they will dry up, and if not the weight of the cap will eventually make it collapse:
Fast forward to Saturday, and like my morning out to Moses with Craig and Howsie it was another cool start. Yesterday was so cold that Perth, some 200km to the north, had recorded it’s coldest morning in fifteen years. Images of frozen lawns accompanied the news article. I had checked the grass as I drove out yesterday, but the dew hadn’t become ice. This morning wasn’t as cold, although it was barely above four degrees as Lisa and her Peppy Plungers entered the water. Meanwhile my legs, not the poodles, were getting a stretch at the Capel Nature Reserve:
Donning my walking boots as I was going off track, and not just that but also wanted to explore the wetland area of the reserve. Not always able to avoid a short patches where I had to go through water, I was happy to have my toes covered. Still unsure that I would enjoy going in for a full body winters plunge, as Lisa does just about every Saturday morning. The sun had just started to poke its head over the horizon as I started the walk. Signally the coldest part of the day was upon us. I did wonder if this was more of a physiological thing:
But no, it does in fact take a moment for the sun to get high enough before the heating effect can take hold. Until then the surface of the land is still radiating out and losing heat, as it does all night long. This prolongs the cooling effect until after sunrise. A reason for wanting to explore this area is to see if I could find any fungi that may favour the wetter areas. The path I wove attempted to follow the goat tracks left by kangaroos, which criss-crossed the area. Walking somewhat taller than the average kangaroo this didn’t always work in my favour:
Stands of the above dense Variable-Leaved Hakea (Hakea varia) with its stiff prickly leaves, were not very pleasant to push through. Not fancying getting down low to crawl through the soggy based, low tunnels the kangaroos had made I had to find alternative paths. This shrub is a widespread endemic species of the south west. Preferring winter wet areas, it can survive without. Obviously loving the wetlands here, where it was thriving. As were the frogs, unseen but their ‘bonk’, ‘tok’, ‘quacking’, ‘dripping tap’, and ‘rattling’ calls rang out:
I wasn’t so lucky with the fungi, or not as lucky as I had hoped. Still I did enjoy the ramble not really knowing where I was going, what I might come across, and soaking in being surrounded by nature. I did stumble across a couple of gasteroid fungi, which the informal name for the group called Basidiomycota. As the common name kind of suggests, these do not have an open structure under which their spore are grown and dispersed from. Instead their spore are grown inside them, and when ready to be released the body will wear away or open up:
Two images up I was pleased to finally find what has numerous common names across the globe including Dead Man’s Foot, Dyeball, Pardebal, and Bohemian Truffle (Pisolithus arhizus). It’s scientific name has also changed over time. Containing a black viscous gel early specimens were collected for use to create dye for clothes, hence the common name of Dyeball. I’ll skip past the above, which has alluded me and even Howsie was unable to assist. Below, is what is known both as a Star Earthball and or Dead Man’s Hand (Scleroderma polyrhizum):
This was some time after I had left the wetland area, being back in the drier sandy soils that most of the nature reserve comprises of. These tend to stay buried until it is time for the spores to be released. Pushing up, the outer surface cracks to expose the powdery spore mass that is dispersed by the wind. The spores from these specimens had since been blown away, leaving what I feel resembles a flower like appearance. Like the previous fungus it can be found in many places across the globe, and has even featured on a Libyan postage stamp:
Wandering through other parts of the reserve I hadn’t been too before, the change in vegetation make up and land form was quite extreme. In part due to land of plantations, agriculture, and sand mining 50 years or so back. It does however provide for the opportunity to spot different things, such as these tiny Golden-eye Lichen (Teloschistes chrysophthalmus). Not a fungus granted, but lichen are a symbiotic relationship between a fungus and an algae. The former provides the structure and the latter the food through photosynthesis:
This is why lichen often resembles a form like a fungus. This is a twig lichen and likes areas exposed to sunlight. Found in small clusters, and rarely see in abundance. The bright ‘cups’ with ‘eyelashes’ were less than a centimetre wide, some barely a millimetre, so you need to get close to see the detail. Time was moving faster than I was, so I had to put on a bit of pace with one last pit stop for this fungus. If I am right, having multiple names of Hemispherical Stropharia, The Dung Roundhead, or Halfglobe Mushroom (Protostropharia semiglobata):
A hint my identification may be right is that it was growing out of a decomposing wallaby or kangaroo scat. Now I really needed to get moving, as I also wanted to check in on this cluster of Glossy-leafed Hammer Orchids (Drakaea elastica). In looks like only one plant may flower, so I do hope it survives and isn’t trampled. I’m not sure where the two and half hours went, but now it was time to get home. As this post started today we were going back to mini Pear Mill, where Lisa’s winning streak continued. Not that it is a competition, so we say:
After having missed out on joining me at the Northern Blocks last Saturday, Craig was keen to make appearance on rock this week. Something that has sadly become a rare occurrence in more recent years. His tea delivery service has been sorely missed! David and Howsie were keen to, so we set up a chat group in which I gave daily updates of where we would have most luck in staying dry. It’s been another fickle week. Heading inland to Welly Dam looked the most promising, for which the closest weather station predicted a cold and crisp morning:
Craig isn’t overly keen with being cold, he doesn’t function too well in it. Added to that, having not climbed a whole heap, his sights were set on something more relaxing. As it was the mercury dipped to minus 1.5 degrees up the hill this morning, feeling like minus 3.7. So we may have been lucky to have seen ice encrusted vegetation if we had gone inland. Something Howsie agreed with me as being a rarity in our general area. But it was not to be. Late Friday the synoptic charts went from predicting a slightly sodden to mostly clear coast:
While the coast was clear the only question left was which crag. Craig got dibs, picking the friendly Moses Rocks. Keen for a bit of ‘atmosphere’, which we were likely to get seeing the swell was again up there. I wondered at this point if I should have got Craig to bring his rack, so his gear instead of mine could get salt encrusted. However, the two flasks of tea that filled his pack were more than enough forgiveness. The waves may have been, as Lisa would say, very crashy. Fortunately for my gear the spray was kept at bay by a light offshore breeze:
We didn’t completely escape the cold, if you ask Howise and Craig. They were both rugged up to the nines, from head to foot. Like onions they were wearing layer upon layer, and only I braved the elements with just one layer on and my toes fully exposed in sandals. It may have been in the lowly single digits as we walked in, but it really wasn’t that bad. And better still the rock seemed to have held on to some heat, meaning our finger tips never numbed. Craig was however not too impressed with the wet rock, as can be seen a few images up:
Mind you the route was the one he chose, after I had strongly encouraged him to take the first lead. He seemed hesitant but I didn’t give him a huge amount of choice, and was pleased that Howsie didn’t step in to save Craig from his nerves. After all they say that the best way for ‘getting back on the bike’, is to dive straight in. And that’s what he did, needing to have a little talk to himself a few times as he navigated his way round the wet holds, as much as possible. Afterward saying that at least the rock on other routes we hit would feel great after that:
It was indeed the only wet line, which Howsie was also pleased about as he was hoping to take on a few of the more testy lines. For his first route he needed to keep a calm head and maintain focus on what were drier but far smaller holds. Thinking I might get away without leading, it seems what goes around come around. When Craig hinted, not as strongly as I did to him, that it was my turn. Nursing my tendons after last weekend I picked a sensible route, and as I climbed I looked down and hinted to Howsie that it was time to pour the first cuppa:
Not just a hot brew was served up, but they came with biccies. How decadent! It was all too easy to slip into chill mode and kick back. This certainly happened for a while, until I made use of a few broody looking clouds that seemed to be inching their way towards us. Getting Craig to step on it and bag his next lead, so Howsie wouldn’t have to climb on wet rock. It worked a treat, as Craig sailed up feeling much more relaxed and in control. This was when David rocked up, with errands to run he decided a quick drop in for a chat was all he could manage:
It was however timely, as Howsie was about to do something only I have done. Climb a particular bolted route in true gritstone style. This meant avoiding the bolts and only using what little trad gear is available. It goes, and I know as I have done it several times. But it is a real head test, the sort of situation that I knew Howsie froths over. A couple of images up you’ll see him working his was already a good distance above his gear, with still several delicate moves and meters before better holds and gear arrives. Froth he did, and loved it:
I snuck in a quick easy line, which didn’t leave Craig much choice for his third climb. He wasn’t keen and walked away from the only obvious choice. That was until I sneakily did a stick clip of the high first carrot bolt with a wire, while standing on a boulder. A trick Rongy had to use many years back when we climbed in the Blue Mountains, and one I didn’t think I would ever need to use until today. I wasn’t sure if Craig was pleased with me, but he went up all the same. Making a bit of a meal of the top out, until he found the big holds that lay out of sight:
As David had to leave us, we still had time for one more line. Howsie was keen to jump on a very unusual climb for our area, and as he had done all morning lapped it up. In fact I can say the same for Craig. It is no mean feat to come out and jump on the sharp end for three worthy lines after such a long absence on rock. The weather held off, the tea and biccies went down a treat, the atmosphere was epic, and the company was great. So while the friction of the rock lived up to what we expect of Moses Rocks, and despite my at times slightly forceful nudging, there was not even a hint of a fraction too much friction between us:
At work on Friday the district and local emergency management committee for the South West called a meeting for that afternoon. Hinting that a significant front may roll in over the weekend, and there was a need to be prepared in case things got nasty. Then just hours before the meeting was due to kick off, it was cancelled. The forecast was downgraded, and everyone could look forward to a more relaxed weekend. The change in forecast not only came with a reduced threat over the next two days, but also a clear spell for today:
While I had suggested to Lisa that we could head out for a walk, I wasn’t getting the sort of excitement she may normally show. Being a Saturday she understandably does not like to miss out on her ocean plunge. During winter more so, this comes with a bit of a routine. After the plunge and coffee on the beach, its back home to hit the sauna to heat up, and then a period to chill. Allowing the benefit of the cold dip and sweat box wash over her. Also, I got the feeling, seeing it was back to school next week, she was happy to just kick back after that:
So it was that I drove towards the crag in darkness for the second time in three days. The roads were littered with kangaroos, and I had to stop quite a few times to allow them to hop off. However, on the final dirt track where I expected to come across mobs of them, there wasn’t one to be seen. It was still dark, so dark that I had to use a head torch for the walk in. Technically I didn’t need to get out quite that early. And I could have been out for the whole morning. There is however something about early mornings, such as this, that appeals to me:
Rightly or wrongly I had picked the Northern Blocks of Wilyabrup for my solo mission. The swell was up again, and these faces are set back from the ocean. After having to wash all my gear to get rid of the salt residue, kindly provided by the epic conditions at Moses Rocks last weekend, I didn’t want to recoat it quite so soon. I also fancied a change, something different to the main faces at Wilyabrup. The climbs here offer that, being steep and pumpy. In addition it is easy to set up on them, and it is rare to see anyone else here. Lots of positives:
The negative, being that there is not much that isn’t steep and pumpy. I started up the first line bang on 7am, just as Lisa would be heading in for her plunge. It feel like it had been a long time since I had been on these routes. The lack of familiarity, steepness, and rounded holds put me a little on edge. The morning dew also made the rock feel a little damp. As a result I yarded too hard on that first line. Did I hear something twang in my elbow? In my mind I said… ‘well it is a little tender now’, and then ‘bah, toughen up and climb on’, so I did:
The face I had set my mind to climb on only had one line that provides a more relaxed experience, shown above. This was my fourth and final climb, so climb on I did. Hopefully the twinge was nothing too serious. Although, I should probably dial back on climbing twice a week for a bit longer. Of course I hit each line twice, and wrapped up the eight laps in two hours almost to the minute. And then messaged Lisa to see if she fancied meeting up for a bite to eat. Having only just got out of the sauna, her morning routine was still going:
As I walked out we agreed to head out tomorrow morning instead. She’s found a spot that looks a bit like a mini-Pear Mill. I’m really keen to check it out. For those scratching their heads as to what I mean by that, Pear Mill is a place that we go to nearly every time I head back to see the folks in England. This post has a bit of detail about its history and set up: https://sandbagged.blog/2022/08/01/time-to-head-back/. For now however with a bit more time on my hands, I stopped in at a place just off the dirt track before the main road:
Since my last trip to the UK, from which I returned five week back, I haven’t had a proper orchid walk. Things were looking promising, lots and lots of tell-tale signs that we might be in for a bumper orchid season. Unlike my rapid session on rock, with a climb every fifteen minutes, orchid walks slow down to snail paced. Some may say appropriately, I stumbled across a single Red-sepalled Snail Orchid (Pterostylis erubescens) in flower. There were some interesting fungi too, and I wonder if the above is a Ghost Fungus (Omphalotus nidiformis):
I might have to head out for an evening climb one day in the next few weeks to see if it emits the famous phosphorescent light, which is where it gets its common name from. However, trying to find it could be tricky, other than seeing it in the dark. I do not tag my images with a location, and during these wanders in the bush I literally have no idea where I end up. After an hour I found my way back to the car and seeing it was still dry I drove to the Ruabon Nature Reserve. Again there were heaps of leaves, reinforcing a potentially good season was ahead:
Another successful hour of treading lightly. Lots King in his Carriage Orchid spikes (Drakaea glyptodon), two images up. There was also a patch of Mosquito Orchids (Cyrtostylis robusta) not far of flowering. The star of the show was however the above Variable Waxcap (Hygrocybe polychroma), with its stunning deep red colour. They also come in orange, yellow, and white, and the scientific names mean ‘moisture – head’ and ‘many – bright colours’. I did not salivate over the last find, which the local fungi guide tells me is a Dog Poo Fungus (Pisolithus species):
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:
David has been a little absent of late, but jumped at the chance of a Sunday foray this weekend. I’d heard that he has been frequenting a new boulder gym in the area to pull on plastic, and has even been out for a few top rope solo missions on real rock. Understanding that there is a huge mental difference between that and leading; I did however think that with all of his extracurricular activities he may have got his mind more in tune for tying into the sharp end. I kept this thought under my belt, and I left him to choose our destination:
Moses Rocks it was and more specifically he was keen to check out the southernmost cliffs, Rumpoles Rocks. The weather for the whole weekend has been looking hit and miss. There was a glimmer of an opportunity for Sunday morning, but with it there was still a chance we may get wet. Sometimes you just have to chance it, so we locked the day in. As it got closer, the forecast looked to become more settled and quite possibly dry. The swell was also much lower than my last trip here, by three meters. Making me think Rumpoles should be fine:
It seemed however that the size of the swell wasn’t the only thing to dictate the size of the waves. The sets were clean and crisp as they came in, and when making contact with the rocky land mass we saw some shoot twenty meters in the air. David looked uncertain of our predicaments to start with. To ease him into it we stopped just short of Rumpoles, where we would be a bit further away from the water. I left him to look at the lines and decide what drew his attention. Once he had been drawn in, I suggested he rack up and tie in:
After all he had brought his new gear, a set of tricams that had not yet made contact with rock. It seemed logical he took the lead and then the next. Nothing too serious. He only had a slight stammer on the first climb. Then just before the moves shown a few images up, on his second route, I eventually had to give him a bit of a talking too. Once he committed he romped up. However, what with the waves booming behind us, the occasional spray hitting us, and the next routes being a notch up, he decided he would rather come up on second:
David only brought his tricams, as I had offered to bring my gear today. What wasn’t used and lay at the base of the climbs and this slowly on got a good soaking. Not from rain, as nothing came from the clouds. It was all the spray from the waves, which never relented. We could have avoided the smothering of salt by going to the higher walls, but what would have been the fun in that? I took a couple of leads, by which time we had cleaned up the small buttress. And while he looked nervous, it was agreed that we should head to Rumpoles to give it a go:
We watched for a bit before committing, in fact we did a lot of watching as nature just got on with putting on a spectacular show. Knowing the area well enough I knew that while the belayer may get a little damp, this wall was protected by a huge boulder so it was safe enough. I headed up leaving David at the base, anchored in just in case. Several huge sets came in and water burst over the boulder and boiled at his feet but he never got wet. Well no wetter than we had at the other buttress despite being much further from the action:
David made his way up, away from the excitement below. In the above image, he is already half way up the climb. Reaching the tope he was buzzing from the sheer exhilaration of the situation. Stating that one belay in those conditions was enough, and there was no way he fancied taking on a lead. Maybe on a calmer and drier day. He was still keen to jump on some dry rock, so it was time to walk back to the northern end. Here we were high and dry, the waves seemed nowhere near as intimidating, and there was not even a hint of any spray:
Even the sun made an appearance. And while we got to see a rainbow created in the drops of a light shower out to sea, those drops never fell on land. The rock here was in perfect condition. I’ve often said the rock at Moses holds its friction well when it is wet, this means it is super sticky when it is dry. Regardless of this, being a bit steeper and more sustained, David was happy for me to be on the sharp end for the three lines we gobbled up. No complaints from me, but next time I’ll leave the pointy end for David to tie into a bit more often:
Sandbagged 