Two’s company….

My recollection is of a steaming day spent on the cool flanks of Dinas Mot.  The Missus and I were engaged on The Cracks while nearby a party did battle with Lorraine.  To be exact, they were doing battle with each other, squabbling like an old married couple.  “Will you give me bloody slack when I ask for it?” was met with the riposte, “Sorry, I’d fallen asleep you’re taking so flippin’ long!”  Every comment was dripping with sarcasm, not jocularity but contempt, not banter but bilious antipathy.  I tried to ignore the sound of their bickering, but it poisoned the atmosphere and I virtually ran up the crag in an attempt to distance myself from the fray.  However, when they arrived at the belay not far from me, I was astonished to hear peace break out.  “Well done mate, good lead!” to which the other replied, “That was superb, thanks for holding my rope old fella!”  It was as though their climbing relationship thrived on the conflict, that the insults merely contributed to the creative tension that drove their partnership.  As soon as the climbing was done, normal gentlemanly conduct was resumed.
Which just goes to prove it’s trite to liken climbing partnerships to marriage, they’re much more complicated than that.  The fellowship of the rope runs the entire gamut from one night stand to lifelong relationship.  Climbers can be sluts at times, tying onto a rope with the anyone who demonstrates familiarity with a bowline.  Apparently, climbing is all that matters, not the fact that you might end up entrusting your life to someone who has an attention span of a gnat and the dexterity of a hand-cuffed crab.  Act in haste, repent at leisure though.  You only have yourself to blame when you find yourself sliding inexorably off both hand and footholds to the sound of your second yelling, “Yah, I’m at the crag!”
Most of the time, thankfully, we’re more discerning and treat our choice of ropemate with due reverence.  Come to think of it, if we treated marriage with the same respect, the divorce rate wouldn’t be so high.  Many climbers find in their climbing partnerships a rare depth of friendship.  The process of coming to terms with each other’s foibles, of achieving the instinctive understanding that marks out the best teams is both rewarding and enlightening.  Few of us reach our climbing potential without the penetrating insight gained from hours spent in the company of a kindred soul.
Which must also have been true of the tigers, of Brown and Whillans, Peck and Biven, Whillance and Armstrong, Redhead and Towse.  A driven Brown allied with combative yet insecure Whillans enjoyed an ambivalent relationship,  but it still resulted in such tours-de-force as Cemetery Gates and The Rasp.  That their partnership petered out into indifference and distrust matters little given their legacy.  Whillance and Armstrong were all but inseparable in the 70’s and 80’s, pushing the boundaries and putting up climbs matched only by the likes of Fawcett, Littlejohn and Allen.  A Lake District Bonny and Clyde, they raided far and wide, snatching plum lines with glee from under the noses of locals.
And now?  Where have all the great teams gone?  Where once we had Allen and Bancroft, Crew and Ingle, Lawrence and Price, we now have the era of the lone pioneer.  Macleod, Pearson and McClure seem to plough a lone furrow, undoubtedly supported by numerous willing belayers, yet happy to persevere without the kind of symbiotic relationship that was so common in the past.   The general

fragmentation of society is irrelevant to climbing, we still crave company at the crag.  Perhaps the remaining unclimbed lines are simply so hard that only an individual, obsessive effort can overcome them.
Which, if I may be allowed state the bleedin’ obvious, must be daunting.  The mental toughness required to return time after time to a project, to unlock its secrets and eventually triumph is the most impressive element of the top climber’s arsenal.   To achieve miracles without the kind of supportive brains trust of yesteryear makes it even more impressive.
Which is kind of sad.  I remember how inspired I was to read about Whillance and Armstrong’s new routes and their piratical attitude, it was a huge influence on my early climbing because I could relate to it, it reflected my own experiences of climbing as a team, of shared endeavour.  Now, the gap between the very best and the rest is more pointed than ever.  The latest super routes are so far removed from the general experience that it’s difficult to feel anything other than awe.  The lone pioneer will elicit a wistful shake of the head from the average climber, rather than a desire to emulate.