Death by Water, by Stevie thirsty Haston.

So Solomon,  and Stevie went climbing, sounds a bit like the Chuckle Brothers play politics. The result was both spectacular, and hilarious.

 Solly after taking a whipper.

Solly wanted to get involved, he wanted to dig deep, he wanted to feel the rush, etc. What he got was really high blood pressure, massive bulging biceps, veins looking like twisted knots, and a heart that I could see from the belay stance threatening to blow its way out of his chest. 

 Houston we have a problem.

Solly's first fall nearly broke his legs, he was jumping for a big water warn bucket, when the majority of his body seemed inclined to remain where it was. The result was a stutter just a half inch before the bucket, then an infinitesimal static shutter frame of a man poised, with the guillotine starting its decent towards his neck! I quickly took a bit of rope in, and lent as far back on the belay as I could.  It was close, he bounced onto the ledge, I was a relieved, impacted femurs into the pelvis are not my speciality.
 

 Solly begging me for a rope to be thrown to him!

After Sollys heart rate came down from over 200 beats per min, or was that a second,
and I stopped laughing, he went back up! I had naturally told him off, and this time he put a few more wires in! He did the jump, and proceeded into, or should I say voyaged outwards in a Bomb bay chimney of infinite beauty. 

 Stevie checking it out.

The route because of it's nature and gear, was more than problematic, the rock is so rough that rope drag became an insuperable problem. Solly was boxed, beaten, bruised, and actually relieved to come gliding down the blue line to the inky silken convoluted wateriness  which was a bit out in space, but away from the muscle busting torture device.  He did look like he needed a nap.

Stella routes here there are in abundance.

I had a go, and it was much harder than it looked, bridging, changes of positions, and slow climbing, were something was always maxed out, and tense. The escape out of the top of the Bombayment was tricky, and had a distinct lack of footsies! The remaining easy bit took familiar ground on large but sometimes suspect concretions of  fossilised sea gull shit and vomit, or was that frozen Nouvelle Quisine spray painted gray with sand on top. Anyway I opted for no protection to lessen the mounting rope drag. At the horizontal top, taking in the rope was like a heavy gym session, bent over rowing with a sandy thin tope is not nice! Anyway to cut a long palaver short Solly survived, and we drank a lot because we were very strangely thirsty after our salty experience!