|
Saturday, 14th April 2001. James Boyle
On arriving we were met with the usual drizzle, but decided to continue on anyway. First off, Frankie showed us one of his newly found jewels: a crag on the beach near the thatched cottages, which promised many new bouldering routes. After a bit of messing around there, it was time to get on to the real stuff... Frankie led the way running and screaming his way around the island in his usual manner, up to a little inlet packed with loads of lovely unclimbed routes. Myself and Andy spotted a good line running up from a shallow cave and up around an overhang to the top. Who could resist? What follows is to counter the many vicious rumours that have been surrounding the event in question. I spotted an injured bird, obviously in great pain, on a ledge on the route we spotted earlier, so myself and Andy felt bound to come to the poor creature's aid- as you do in such situations, so it was onwards and upwards for me, who tried to lead the new route. Before long it was realised that it was to be a lot more difficult than previously realised (!). The rock was soaking, crumbling, and huge lumps of granite were being dislodged as soon as they were touched. I managed to get a couple of pieces of gear in, including a good cam placement, but after this there was nowhere around to get gear in. Realising the state of the rock and the amount of foul language coming from myself, Frankie and Pete decided to rig a top-rope, fearing what was to happen. Not five seconds after offering me the rope, my handhold crumbled to dust - sending me polishing 40 foot of granite sea-cliff with my hands, followed swiftly by the rope catching the inside of my leg and jerking my heroic self upside down a few feet above sharp jaggy rocks at the base. Luckily my cam held and I walked away to nurse my wounds - rather like John Wayne, as the rope caught in a rather delicate area... lessons were learned, that's all I'll say on that one!!
|