The mist was misty, the sandstone sandy, the ferocious fear, well-not too bad actually! The cliff was called Schmilka, and its 90 meters high by a circuitous, and complicated border running in and out of valleys and big gullies, let's just say there is more possible climbing on this one cliff than all of the Peak District!
The Master forgot his shoes and as his feet are bigger than mine, he had to resort to bare foot climbing, something he is not averse to, or unfamiliar with. He was anxious though as a recent back operation has left him with a bit of a hic up in his lower nerves.
Bernd walked up the crack, that although I had done also, I had been afeared, due to the protection being on jammed knots! I watched his feet placements with concentration and marvel. It's an art, a great forgotten Art! I was barefoot in Gozo a week and a half ago on fresh spiky rock with blood streaming into the sea. Bare foot on grit I have done, Vector at Tremadroc in nude feet, also I have done, but a Sandstone grade 10, here I will never do.
At the feet of the Master, is a nice warm place. I feel a bit like a puppy dog curled up on his bit of carpet that he places for me to gear up on. Hopefully I,ll come back and lead a X, something Bernd has done many times, as other great sandstone Masters have done. There's an overhanging groove, and several aretes that I will be dreaming about, one is called the Dragons Back. But even if I do, I will not be barefoot, Eyless in Gazza, but not Barefoot in Dresden. The Dragon is Back!
