Thursday, 9 April 2015
Pulling yourself up by your toger. Stevie grumpy Haston
Down in the Underworld cliff, it was perfection, perfection of place, perfection of peace. Perfection until we discovered we didn't have our boots! Who was to blame? Can't be me, I am blameless, always perfect, the epitome of professional perfection. The last time there was a cock up in the Underworld, my mate tried to tell me I'd forgotten the rope. I told him that unless he wanted to swim he had to prussic up the 60 meter rope, go back to the car, and he'd find the rope where he left it on top of the car. Two hours later he appeared out of the sky with zee rope. Today I led Stix and Stoners in training shoes, dressed like a guy too old for Raves. Also my apparel was weirdly colour coordinated. I always dress this way in the hunting season, hopefully they won't mistake me for a wee harmless birdy.
This cliff is one of my favourites in the world, maybe my favourite. Huge overhangs big holds weird rock, fossils, fear, lots of fear.
Tried a huge 8a today. It was brill and conditions were really good. Did not go across the time tunnel there were some very hard to time waves which only left a 6 second gap, too whimpy.
Here I am looking for the fairway, luckily I had a few spare draws for the 40 meter length, got a little pumped, and there were the odd bead of perspiration on my slightly troubled brow by the time I finished. In zee old days I would do it with the drill or a rucksack, must be getting old. Anyway, it was perfection of place, the cave is an old stream bed with cemented in boulders. 8 grade 8s, more coming soon if I get the drill.