









French climbers….
Fashion sense firmly rooted in the eighties, strength beyond imagination and a grasp of philosophy second only to Eric Cantona’s – “Ah, for you Rosbif’s, zer clambing is so mechanical, an exercise in imperialistic domination. For ze French it is vertical poetry, an attempt to find a beautiful staircase in zer rock. When I am clambing, I am assimilated into the cosmic whole, transmuted into pure energy flowing inexorably up the cliff. When I’m clambing buildings, the sense of disconnection from ze ‘erd is complete. The wage slaves cower behind their desks as I, the true spirit of freedom and discovery climb past zem both literally and metaphysically. Did you know that Jean Paul Sartre clambed the first Fontainebleau cinq pluuus? Clambing is the physical manifestation of philosophy, truly the way to enlightenment and good sponsorship fees. A pain chocolat wizout chocolat is simply a croissant ordinaire mon ami………”
Belaying…….
Don’t get me wrong, climbing’s fine but sometimes nothing beats the self-satisfied glow of resting from the battle and belaying your mate. You’ve done your bit, fought the good fight, it’s time to let the mind wander and the Gri-Gri take the strain. Watch the world go by, smile at the belaying inadequacies of your fellow climbers, marvel at the flying prowess of the Raven as he chuckles past until the vicious tugging of the rope at your waist signals that something is amiss.
The figure eight knot…….
Imagine the matelot sitting there one day, playing with his painter, throwing a few knots until, for sheer devilry, he takes a bite of the rope and instead of tying an overhand knot, gives it an extra twist. What a eureka moment.
Travelling…….
Climbers are like Bedouin, trekking from oasis to oasis. We scuttle through the flatlands, never more anxious than when trapped in a mature landscape where time, erosion and mother nature have smoothed off the edges. We scour the horizon, searching desperately for a buckling in the land, for the earth’s bones to poke through until, finally, we see not palm trees but crags. Sanctuary.
Watching someone climb……
….and realising they’ve tipped over into that other world where climbing is easy. It may only be a subtle shift in their body language or the fluidity of their movements, but you’ll know they’ve undergone a climbing epiphany where doubt is banished and success guaranteed.
Being mistaken for
non-climbers……
Driving out of the camp site in Fontainebleau on the way to Apremont, the missus hails a couple of Scottish lads packing their pads into the back of a car, “Where you guys off to today?” she asks. “Och, we’ll be climbing in the Fontainebleau forest,” they reply, “It’s a world famous bouldering venue.” “Is that right?” she replies, quick as a flash, “Do you use ropes and that…….” The reply is lost to me as I dissolve into giggles. I manage to pull away before she asks them if they’ve ever met Chris Bonnington.
Reaching fifty three……
….and realising that ethics are now an entirely elastic concept. With advancing age comes the knowledge that rules are for bending. Yes I fell off, but I lowered to the ground, didn’t touch my zimmer frame, got back on and did the route. That’s an on-sight that is. Is it time for my biscuit yet?
Remembering why you really
climb……
In other words, forgetting the obsession, the grades, the ego. Being overwhelmed instead by the lunacy of it all, the chance to regress, to finally live out those childhood dreams of endless play, the friendships, the hilarity, the scrapes and the moments of shared pleasure. That’s why you do it, isn’t it?
Volunteer guidebook
writers…….
….and the fact that they’re still turning out fabulous guidebooks when the jeremiahs pronounced them dead as a dodo fully ten years ago. In fact, dare I whisper it, some of them beat the commercial product hands down?
Jamming…….
The Marmite of the climbing world. Where some view jamming as thinly disguised masochism, I feel it is the true way, a physical connection with the rock that is impossible to match when indulging in girly crimping. When all seems lost, when gravity is on the verge of taking over in a big way, finding a jam is like grabbing a life-belt in a stormy sea. What’s wrong with a bit of pain eh?