The Last Rhino, by Stevie horny Haston.

 Paul escaping from the clutches .

Back in the groove, back in the swing of things, all excited, ready to boogy. This route is very good, in 3 short pitches it takes you through the whole gamut of excitement. It is of course Mini golf compared to high standard himalayan alpinism, but you know we lack spiky snow encrusted spires in Gozo, so we make do with sand stone sloping roofs!

 A pink Northen redskin extends his arm to his brown cousin.

I like this photo of my royal pinkness. It's funny who we think we are, and what we look like, self image is a weird one for sure. So the route has been there all this time masquerading as a big gloomy cave, when in fact it was a pandoras box of special delights. It's been taunting me for years, but now I understand her angles, some of her defences have fallen, and I look forward to a long lasting relationship where she will be my dominatrix.

Simon on his very own  mellow route.

This cliff is now home, what it lacks in stature, it makes up for in tone and feeling, it is Fruit Cake Land, many layered, many facetted.

1000 routes?

The life force when the sea is choppy is good at Fruit Cake Land. When the sea is raging, so is your life, the bongo drums of your own destiny are loud and clear, and then of course you return to the domestic scene at home, and things become somewhat humdrum, and dumb. So life is flat, the age of Northern red skinned berserkers is over, the age of the domestic humdruminity is apon us. Thank god we have Fruit Cake Land.

Inner sanctum of Hell, by Stevie Haston.

 Calm day, calm mind.

So it's not calm but we go anyway. I need to get in to the Inner Sanctum, I need to get to grips with it's chamfered  singularity. Done a few new routes here at this cliff,  7 and one half done. But the half done one doesn't really tell the tale.

 cousin Paul being offered as sacrifice.

The sea was booming, and some of the spray and plumes were going 80 foot!  We still did 3 routes, I did another two, one with a rucsac full of equipping gear. Still can't believe the quality. I managed to get along, and down a weird narrow ramp that angles thru the last roof. The idea is to make a route that goes thru the maximum amount of roof with a little bit of pulling on bolts, so everybody can get maximum thrill. Plus obviously the route will probably go free at some stage.

 cousin Paul before he lost his hat.

Cousin Paul from New York,  had a good day and was patient when I did some equipping. I should have listened to him when he wanted to call it a day, and I went down to put a rope from the right hand side to a big chimney. "It'll be all right" I said, and the seas got heavy, and I did very little except get soaked, and scared and then had to do Union City Blues with a rucsac. Man was I glad to get up! 

ambiance.

I felt like I had a high powered colonic irrigation at one point. But the routes are so groovy. Got to get some equipped, go working, and come back fit, and do the hard ones. Mojo rising, rising. Might have to get super strong again, oh dear.

Gozo Climbing Goes Atomic. by Stevie Radiating Haston.

Fragile gout d'eau, dangerous to climb.

 Stefan Glowacz, and a big Photo shoot were at the Gozo Fruit Cake Cliff yesterday! It was a surprise to see them I thought they were coming in a couple of days! There they were, Stefan was calmly belaying his fit friend up Fade Away and Radiate -one of my little 5 star routes.

 Slouching  towards a crack Stefan says I should bolt, I am listening.

Stefan is an ex international champ at competions, he's a great all rounder, and someone who is unperturbed in fairly series conditions. I admire him and his climbing. He was Rock Master at the Arco Comps three times!

Big photo team.

 It's good to know that our climbing is what these guys were looking for, interesting rock for adverts and promotion. It was good to see the climbers themselves enjoying our climbs, which in my opinion, are as good if not better than most in the world.

eating dust after equipping another classic, in need of a beer.

I asked about the grades on Gozo 'they are correct' Stefan said, 'if a bit stiff'. "Quality excellent", Stefan is one of the first to onsight 8b years ago in Spain.
Gozo has had Americans, Canadians, Spanish, French, Germans, Italians, Hungarians, well everybody lately. Lots of UK people. Please enjoy our climbing remember to donate to the BOLT FUND.  

Rough Beast, by Stevie gentle Haston.

You go through life with few friends, or indeed enemies who can entertain. Well, perhaps it's just you who do not have the ears to hear. Or eyes to see, or sword to thrust, or head to bash the thick walls of your servitude to dust.
So you do a bit of climbing, don't you?

Betwixt a mans span lies a life wanting to be spent. 

But then one day you enter the Lost Castle of your Desires, and  with open arms and tears,  you come to terms with your authentic desire. You want to ascend to heaven, you want the good fight, you need to vanquish incredible foes, and stand triumphant at the pinacle of all glory.You might pause to take a small bow, and with a sly modest grin, say, "it was nought, anybody could have done this thing".

Pull bonny lad.

This new bit of cliff, is it any good? "Was Helen beautiful, was she heavy maintenance?" As you traverse around the bay clutching huge water warn flutes, your eye is drawn into the Widening gyre. The ceiling is full of Gozitan colours, the sea tones reverberate, almost causing sounds, and your senses broaden and morph to encompass it's majesty.

 

A sky boat, the gozo ferry, very furry in the pastel clouds.

So all other climbs seem 'mere anarchy', this climb is the great dictator! And you are at once reminded of your mortality, your weakness, your pathetic ordinary lack of conviction.  Surely Shirly, this route is the Second Coming, the dawn of the new Jihad, The Eternal War, never ending, the route that overhangs forever. 

 And if you pick up this heavy gauntlet, this terminator arm of such dreadful heaviness, what kind of beast will you become? A steroid stuffed Lemur with hands covered in scars, or something stronger?   

  

 If "twenty centuries of stoney sleep" suffice for the design of a new body and structured mind  to "Slouch" up this route, a new birth, a rebirth, to emerge in the "pitiless sun".
You will be the "Rough beast", and you will be full of "Passionate intensity". If you haven't twigged, this is a little appreciation of W.B.Yeats who wrote the poem Second Coming, I have plundered it for words, and lines. 
I thank him for breathing poetry into my soul, and possibly saving my life.

He also wrote the song "A DJ saved my life", but not many people know that.   

Trad versus Bolt? by Stevie Haston.

 Will Trad climbing survive? Is it what people want? Is it any good? I have asked myself these questions for years. I'ave looked at the other side of the coin too. Is bolt climbing any good? Will it survive. Well bolts, apart from a problem of corrosion are the preferred mode of transport over rock. More importantly  for me (and I say me, you are not me and are allowed an opinion) bolts provide less faff, and more pleasure. Without the huge quantity of trad gear, you climb more, and spend less time messing, around, placing gear, dropping gear (expensive), or just mashing your fingers in gear!

 So we went Trad climbing today, it just used to be called climbing, notice we are already in opposing camps. Why Trad, well because it was an exploration, to have a look, prospecting for golden routes. And yes Trad was the way, cos it was quick. It was the method that worked. But will some one bolt what I climbed on trad? Maybe yes, and Maybe no!

 Looking up this beau groove, it's magic. Protection was two huge Sky Hooks, two pegs, one of which pulled out in the second persons hand, and a couple of other crap pieces. But what a gothic, groovy groove. It would be much better if it was bolted! People come to my island, famous climbers, and they come here to enjoy themselves. But if they are very famous, they come here to promote themselves, their companies, and to make Dosh, money Denari, they don't necessarily care about the wonderful thing that is peoples special joy of moving over special stone.

This belay high above the sea, in a hole, is on slings over soft sandstone, and a peg that will rust behind an acoustic flake, the next two bits of climbing will require three set of friends, which will rot, and seise up in the salt laden atmosphere. Yes it could be Trad, and maybe it should be as it follows solid cracks, but it is also impractical, the only people who will venture onto it will be pro climbers making money! If I turn it into a superb sport climbing, safe journey, other people than prima donnas will enjoy it. What to do? I am a bit stuck because I love modern climbing, you don't have to carry loads of rotting metal around the world and you do lots of good stuff safer. But, and it is a big but, climbing on Trad gear is a skill that should be kept alive. To be honest, climbing with a small set of friends, a peg hammer, pegs, a set of wires, hooks, felt awful. I got badly cut, hooked myself in the ass, bumped my head cos I was in a panic all the time. Fun? Not really, Adventure? Certainly! Will I emasculate it, and make it more enjoyable, quite possibly.    

Gray Matter, doest matter. by Stevie Haston.

 50 shades of Grey, or should that be Gray. I opened a route the other day that climbs to an eyelet, and thought it might be easy, and then of course it was not. We are not talking 9a here, we are talking like 7a, or something lowly like that. Anyway I couldn't work out whether it was me in my new seal skin clothes for the terribly fridgid waters of Malta, or whether it was actually hard. it gently overhangs, and starts off greyish, which is good -strong rock. Then it deepens into a lighter gray-which is bad, as it becomes more like weak pumice stone. Then it goes into a sponge like yellow, and how can I put this, it's as weak as a frozen sponge at this point. Em. The route is called Gay Matter, and is brilliant, beware however as it's malevolent nature seems to be controlled by the climbers' equanimity, or lack there of.

 Colours are not restricted to gray. The sea is 20°, and is ok if you have a little neoprene layer like me. Climbing is good, but it's a bit clammy when the wind is from Africa.

I am going slowly black, or is it a reddish brown. I am not sure of these racist colour groupings we use. I am only sure of the colour of rock, and the colour of the sea. And possibly the colour of happiness, is not the chalk like gray of my last few new routes, which are like Goethe badly translated into Chinese, you know "hard to read", or as they might say with London accent "hard to leed". A very nice Canadian boy was climbing on the cliff recently, Marc asked me what kinnda rock it was, "Chalk and rice cake", I said. He gave me a polite quizzical look. He should be in Chamonix now, caressing that lovely golden, very solid, caressed by the dying embers, of a rose tinted sunset, granit.
Oh yes the colour of happiness is …... 

King of Bongo, by Stevie Boring Haston.

 The diversity of climbing on Gozo is "nae bad", but it is hot now, so the sea cliffs are gaining my attention more. It's funny how some people seem freaked out by being above the sea, and others just become mellow. I suppose it's all relative. I have certainly felt the cold tight hand of fear, but the twisting narly grip of terror that I used to feel in North Wales, doesn't seem so frequent here.

Some of the texture here is a bit over the top, we seem spoilt sometimes. What need of Art when Nature  is so exuberant? The rock is carved, coloured, sometimes it's shaped by the wind, sometimes the sea, sometimes it's coated, sometimes it's jewelled. What a gift! Anyway to day I feel Ok, and will endeavour  to be content. Why not? 

 The locals make all kinds of things out of these reeds. Sun blinds and flutes, they make a horrible screechy bag pipe out of a hollowed out goat. Funny, in my old home in France they had a bigger bagpipe made out of a year old sheep! A truly horrible noise is the bag pipe, only Scots deserve it.

Ah rock, what would my life be without it. It would be Merde, sheeet, and I would certainly be the King of Bongo, for there is too much nonsense in modern life, so you must be the King to float above it all. Fade Away and Radiate. When I die, I want some of my ashes in this pocket.