So another silent 6 months has passed, I've popped the odd thing on Instagram, but not really felt up to splurging on here. .
Rewind to October:
By this point I'm trusting my ankle, having good sessions at the wall, I even started to try this new crack project..
Then got carried away.
Basically, while I was dealing physically and mentally with my bust Achilles, I had stepped away from climbing.
This meant no maintenance, no conditioning, I needed to compartmentalize that away.
When I returned to climbing I was surprised by how little form I'd lost, possibly something to do with how long I'd been maintaining at a certain level of form. However what hadn't stayed the same was my connective tissue. 6 months of stress free living had made my pulleys soft.
Lesson learnt, a little maintenance goes a long way.
One finger max density hangs have been a real eye opener. I use bungies and a home made edge so I can just make myself uncomfortable. I consider these exercises key to my recovery. 10 seconds of pulling in half crimp, then rest a minute. Repeat 5 times.
I did this twice a week for two and a half months. Now I just do it once a week as conditioning and will do indefinitely.
In the meantime I was going for the odd adventure with the kids, like exploring the woods
I even got an opportunity to walk up a mountain looking for cracks
They're a bit tall, not sure if they will be highballs or trad. I've not really tradded for 5 year's or more, so that might be interesting.
Finally this weekend Ethan and I returned to the crack
Unfortunately, it was a bit wet and the tools I'd brought to remove the stuck log were insufficient. Even our make shift swing didn't pull it out.
Still, I had a good play, and was reassured that my fingers were back up to this sort of shenanigans.
Something for another visit.
I'm really enjoying these adventures with the kids though. They have very little filter so are quite forthright and refreshing.
So six months (ish) have passed. Lots of baby steps in physio, lots of little exercises. Walks and wanders, dreaming and scheming.
However, today I have returned to my love. Our of the asylum and back to the wilderness; boot and pad in hand.
Mr Fidler ( soon to be Dr no doubt) joined me in returning to a tentative loose end, found while on Deep Recon on the A487.The dolerite dominoes of Llyn Cymystradlyn may well be sandstone (I'm sure a geologist will tell us), but semantics aside, I can assure you of there provision of quality entertainment.
The approach for starters, takes in an inordinate array of bracken and bog. It wasn't until our retreat that the local fishermen imparted the arcane knowledge that boulder hopping the shoreline was a lot drier and ultimately swifter then balancing hummock to hummock across the sprawling bogs.
Once there, Dave got stuck into the big prize while I tentatively pulled on my comfy boots and looked for a lowball to toy with:
I was amazed how much I had to fight on the lowball, so low it probably deserved a ¡ After its lowly 6A¡.
Dave fought hard to make links on the giant roof, but settled on its soaring arete, which jutted proudly over a jumble of distant death blocks, definitely a !!
We had only taken a pad each, as we both had aspects of crippled on. These we placed under the bits where they could actually make a difference, leaving the void to take care of itself. Fortunately the finish was fairly straightforward. So he tells me. I didn't even attempt to pull on.
This became Brithyll Saithliw 6C!!
All the while I kept flailing on my slopey ground hugging traverse, eventually it relented to give the Inconsequential Traverse 6A¡
Amazed at the heady heights I had achieved after only 6 months of semi-recumbant woodlice husbandry, Dave had a go:
Both flushed with this success, we retired to the lower tier, where I quickly scored another prize.
This time it was Slopey Topscrittle; a lurchy F5
I then spent some time trying to be a wad, by brushing the holds to its right. This was mainly in vain. Although it did help to spur Dave onto furthering his efforts to cross the horizontal steepness:
Long video, but Well worth it for the banter.
In between banter, I jolly well got another first ascent- This ones called Moby Dick (there's a whale..) another 5 probably.
Laughter. That's what characterized this trip, that and joy, and bog. Plus a bit of choss.
At this point Dave pulled himself together and climbed this:
He called it Throwing Sheeps, due to my mistaking a herd of sheep for seagulls, and claimed it was 7B. I suspect he was being modest.
We finished up a delightful afternoon by hunting for signs of the mysterious G Mawr, and stumbled on this rather pretty boulder that shows signs of cleaning:
If it hasn't been done before, you can call it Eog and it's about 6Bish ( the jumble of dominoes is in the background). It was too high for me to risk, and has a bum puncher block at its base. Shame really, if it was dug out it would be 3 stars good.
A great first return, I still have to be careful, lower my expectations, as well as the risk and the height. However, I'm reassured that by keeping a steady pace I can be back to being a loon by next spring.
I'm just over 4 months into my recovery from a ruptured Achilles tendon. I think I will be able to safely return to climbing in August, maybe.
It's been a bit of an emotional journey with lots of dips. I thought I'd be able to return sooner, once I could fully weight my toes. However there's more strengthening to do and a rerupture would be back to the beginning again.
Well reasoned words. What actually happened was I tried to climb, I even sneakily pulled on some holds outside
Nothing serious, just a damp visit to Porth Howel. All excited I went to my physio the next day.
"Returning to climbing would be a bad idea"
What does he know. . I'll text a bouldering physio..
"Not yet"
Next climbing physio.
"Keep strengthening "
Begrudgingly I aquiesced.
So it's been quiet on here, quiet on my Instagram too, just pictures of my distraction hobby; isopod breeding.
It's the invertebrate enthusiast equivalent of pigeon fancying, very geeky.
Other than that I've been trying to score parenting points, took one of my boys for a wild camp.
We got wet.
Other than that, micro-exploration continues. I have even made a second cleaning visit to This
I was surprised to find some of the holds still clean
Has anybody done the second ascent? I'd love to know, I've never been sure of the grade.
Well I'm now free of the boot and hobbling free. It's still early days, I'm certainly miles away from actually climbing again. However, I have discovered it's all in pretty good shape considering.
I took it for a test drive.
Turns out with appropriate footwear I can get around a bit.
Yep I also used a walking pole, and had to sit down occasionally, but with care and caution..
I even coped with a little wilderness terrain.
So early days, but the joy of going somewhere I haven't been before, (especially as it felt like somewhere people didn't go often ) Well. It made me feel myself again.
The same time I was filling in the blanks on my personal map, a good friend and wind up merchant James Caff McHaffie was polishing off the original Giveaway Project of the Month from 2009.
I was incredibly made up, as I'd been banging on about the Superprow for, well, 13years. I'd even tried it myself ( too scary) and was building a patio for future highballers. Caff of course added a couple of token stones and cracked on regardless.
Since lockdown Caff has polished off four of my "Too much for Hosey" projects.
It's been really gratifying passing them on and seeing other people catch the vision I had.
This got me thinking about how much I've explored versus either finding anything, or if I do, actually getting round to climbing these lumps.
From the new perspective of temporary crippledom I'm realising that the hunt is as valuable (sometimes more so?) Than the capture.
A bit of a Google search found I was not alone. Micro exploration has been coined to describe these events. In the past adventurers were drawn to the blank bits of the map. In the modern world, the blank bits are still there. You just have to zoom in a bit, basic chaos theory innit?
All this is weighing on my mind, as climbing seems a long way off ( my gimpy toes only can take about 30% bodyweight). I'm coping with this by concentrating on being an explorer.
My project book is all full of ticks ( mine and other people's) and some unclimbed rock has to be discovered to refill it.
Today I went here:
Random woods on the edges of the map. Not so much a blank bit, as a bit that's been doodled on, had some tea spilt on it and then dropped down the back of the bookcase.
It's these forgotten places that occasionally turn up treasure.
So the gimpy foot generally behaved, apart from when a hidden stick snapping under my heel and shocking the system a tad. I can keep exploring and finding new happy places.
Well last blog post I was exiting a low patch and combating the trials of a Welsh winter.. Spring is on its way and I'd started trawling through the memory sticks and phone caches for this year's motivation. Turns out I've got a few reasonable projects squirrelled away.
Unfortunately on a family day out I managed to perform a complete rupture of my right Achilles tendon while showing off to the kids.
So I'm now in a bit of a pickle.
Given my recent low patch, you'd think I'd be circling the drain right now, but I'm somehow feeling quite chipper.
Ok this year is written off for bouldering. I think I maybe have climbed my last highball.
But..
This is a pretty good challenge...
As someone who has always been drawn to the adventure and challenges of climbing rather than the difficulty or max gainz, my immediate worry was that my drug of choice was cut off and I was going to fall down a toilet like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting.
But adventure is in the eyes of the beholder. I'm known for the esoteric side of adventure as it is, so exploring over nice level ground and sea cliff reconnaissance in my dinghy on very calm seas should provide suitable methadone adventures.
Rehab, the process and what's ahead.
I'm 2 and a bit weeks in, I was fortunate to be seen straight away in Ysbyty Gwynedd by one of their very experienced nurse practitioner's whose expert lining up of the ducks meant I saw the specialist the next morning and was straight into a vacuped boot rather than an Equinus cast. The first 2 week's were rough with self injecting the anticoagulant meds and enforced rest.
I'm now beginning a very tentative transition to weight bearing and leaving the confines of the crutches. I'm thinking this process will take 2-3 weeks. The coach in me has established I can currently support without pain about 3 stone of my body weight so pretty early days.
In two weeks I get to adjust the boot to allow a heady 15° of movement in my ankle.
I'm hoping to start driving again early April
Physio will start around this time.
Easy walks are tentatively pencilled in to start around May refilling the project folder.
Refilling as I've started giving away the higher or awkward to access ones.
Summer I get the dinghy out.
So yes. Chipper. New kinds of adventure, I'm even tentatively returning to my childhood hobby of exotic invert collecting, wife allowing.
Well it rained a lot. And the family got Covid (all except me bizarrely)
To be Frank, my motivation took a bit of a nose dive, I went back to Porth Howel, which was nice..
The autumn storms had brought winter pebble levels. I was pleased to confirm that it didn't really make Barcode Punk easier, and I got to repeat What a Difference a Wave Makes, which again was nice.
I also followed up a hunch and checked the prow project at the old Trefor pier.
So the big prow project is back on... There is a niggle in the back of my brain, and at this point I think the seeds of discontent were sewn.
I'll explain.
I've had a great year. Properly Stonking. The motivational boost provided by the new bouldering guide has meant that I've ticked a humongous amount of long term projects this year.
But there is still so much to do, and the wave of success has to reach the beach at some point. Fear of Failure has been a long-term foe, one I have repeatedly defeated only for it to jet off like The Claw.
Throw in some external stress, and it's quickly becoming a bit black.
Feeling burnt out is OK, feeling incapable and vulnerable is OK. Withdrawing a bit is not bad... But I'll be damned if I relinquish control.
So to try and break this low patch I went back to exploring.
A bit of Google Swooping* found me a wood with a cliff in it and an adjacent public footpath.
Path was closed due to an exciting bridge (well I enjoyed it).
Turns out the interesting path wasn't exactly public..
Proper mushroom circle
Slightly too small boulder.
There was a massive and inaccessible cliff in the wood, but by that point I'd had enough, and diverted myself along a contour to check out a dark roof in a cwm.
English Sheepdog Sheep!
Turned out to be a slatey hole..
All in all a tad disappointing. I was lucky enough to get an actually sunny day, but with little psyche I diverted to more Google Swooping and a hunt for Tone's Golden Boulder. I found it, was underwhelmed, and quested on to see these reprobates:
Not rubbish, but not enough to pull me out of my slump.
Driven by a unhelpful desire to add to the forthcoming Nwb3.2 idid a last bit of Google Swooping and decided to check out Carreg Lefain. I'd seen on ukc that the parking described in the Llyn guide was no longer welcomed by the land owner. Fortunately, the excellent work on the Mynydd Nefyn footpath network had meant easy access via a carpark just south of the crag.
The crag itself looked ace, almost tempting me to dust off my rack and revisit in the Spring ;
Slight digital photobomb.. A couple of boulder bits at the bottom, but no pot of gold.
In nearby mynydd nefyn quarry I found a cool looking crack..
And a too small but perfectly formed microgranite boulder.
So yet another disappointing ramble, at this point I swore off further Llyn exploration..
(though I might come back for Gwylwyr quarry).
What finally snapped me out of the doldrums was an indoor climbing session with my wife. I hadn't lead climbed apart for when I was setting for months, and it was fun just trying stuff and getting pumped.
It's OK to fail if you're having fun.
Find your own fun, this may not be the same as other people's fun.
That's OK too (within the usual societal boundaries ofc).
Thus I found myself going to an old venue, in an unfashionable out of the way spot. I'd told myself that I'd try some of the easy stuff I'd scoped out. However, I soon got sucked into old projects.
So I'm now looking forward to trying, Failing and maybe succeeding on random things that I find fun. I'm putting aside tick lists for a bit (save some for next year).
I hope the rest of the winter will be a bit drier, but I won't base my happiness on it.
Finally I probably wouldn't have exited this wallow quite so speedily without the support and heckling of my wife and kids, and the shadowy network of professional banter merchants known as the Pebble Helms (cheers lads).
Keep me posted on any virgin offwidth sightings..
I'll try not to leave it so long between blogs, but there's always the Instagram.
Once more I find myself poured utterly into a project. Riffing on training ideas and Macgyver-ing myself any advantage I can scavenge. It all sounds very romantic, but it's mainly blood and sweat and dribble.. However, there are worse situations to be in than sitting on my favourite beach in the drizzle.
The following was written live from the trenches, as it were...
Once more I lounged below the roof of the Idiot Kings, watching the drizzle turn the grey beach into a riot of colour as the pebbles gloss and shine. For a moment it was like a Kevin Lowery painting. It's never a chore at Porth Howel, although getting out the car into drizzle was an exercise in will power. However, there was beautiful sun over Trefor, and it was dry in Pistyll. Yr Eifl was just toying with the clouds that's all. As I write this the birds shrill out and the drizzle clears. Hope springs eternal.
The rake works well on the smaller pebbles, but it's length (breadth?) means big pebbles can dislodge it from its path. A change in grip and some close work soon deals with this. The traverse is excavated, all is required now is the connies.
I was very close to packing it in, in fact I'd packed up and was just noseying around the other side of the bay which I'd yet to focus on. Walking back to the bag I saw the pebbles were starting to grey again.. Let's not jinx it, time for lunch.
The drizzle returned. I packed it in.
Next visit I returned rake in hand to be greeted by a lack of rain and unfortunately a lack of breeze.
My previous work with rake (my Macgyver-ing outside the box) seems to have stuck.
I still set about improving the crater around the lowest foothold, chuckling that by Christmas it would be 2 foot up the wall. The traverse project on the Wall of Something Dead is something I'd toyed with for years, always trying left to right. The moves through the alcove were nails and I never really got that far. It wasn't until earlier this year that I tried it right to left and the moves unlocked.
The subsequent burying of the footholds by the summer migration of the beach (something that I had initially reconciled myself to) had niggled at me following success with the Tosheroon. Hence my purchase of the uber Rake. It was soon altered to my needs; chopped to fit better in a pad, and a rubber foot so it could be used as a walking pole /crutch.
This first dry visit back was a bit of an eye opener, as it all felt loads harder. Basically I'd spent the intervening months climbing on my fists, and I now had to remember how to use my fingers. It wasn't a complete waste though, as I was able to throw myself repeatedly at the crux and work out exactly what was required for success.
The traverse is about 23 hand moves long, with a jug one third in. Past this I've never really been able to Chalk up, so took my bag of at this shake point. Leaving the jug the moves get steadily more dynamic and powerful switching from crimps to pinches to fat slopey layaways. The key was positioning your body to enter the next move, and that meant foot work. Footholds required attention.
Brushing off the sand, Washing off the salt crystals, squeaking the hell out of them. Triaging their value, and marking the important ones, tactics and tricks, trying really hard.
Having exhausted my time there I trudged back to the car, past some walkers with a dog, who started barking excitedly. I commented that he must have loved the cows further up. The owner replied it was fine with livestock, it was that I was walking up the hill with a massive rake..
The following week and a half I bouldered lots at the wall, crimping and pulling and throwing myself around. Of course this hurt, and I overdid it, causing various old man issues. However, it did leave me feeling a bit more prepared.
When the next session opportunity presented itself, I decided to instead take a small hand fork.. It was very effective, and could be hidden from canines. The opportunity was more driven by availability than conditions, as it was still unseasonably hot, and the tide was large and swiftly encroaching.
Confident that the actual traverse would be non tidal I set out to have a play, give my fingers a workout, and continue my footwork on its journey from pantomime horse to primo ballerina.
The waves were gently lapping over the Seaward wall as I did my little pilates session. The beating I'd given my body during the week was proving to have been positive as I flowed through my little crimpy set pieces. Although after these preparations I still took 8 or 9 goes to latch the crux.
I changed the foot positions for an earlier hard bit on a whim and found it made it much less dropable. After this I had exhausted all my little bits of noodling prep, and it was time to set up the camera, stare at the sea for a bit, an then have a proper go.
Dab.
Following that I had a bit of a digging session. I was feeling OK, and keen not to loiter too much at the jug. Rather than dragging my chalkbag to this point, I just put a little pile on the jug itself. Tadah!
Flushed with innovation I rubbed some into my trousers like the cool kids.
I'd deliberated over the name as most of the wall was Ramones themed, and I was initially keen on R.A.M.O.N.E.S. for the songs energy. In the end it was Milky Wimpshake's word smithery that won out. I'd convinced myself that it would be 7A+, on the day I'd thought no way I could have done that grade in these connies with this body. However, subsequent ascentionists have nudged it to a plus.
Another tick on my post lockdown To Do list. Might have it finished by Christmas.
