Into the Never Never

by Nick Bullock

Picture a land in the grip of pestilence. The once carefree, green and rolling countryside turned to misery. No longer could the people wonder freely through the wide-open spaces. No longer animals aimlessly cavorting in the meadows, gambling on the Fells. The pyre’s burnt through the night. The lorries rumbled through the lanes, hooves pointing skyward. The evening news preached doom and despair, a grisly reminder to one’s own mortality. Foot and Mouth was ravaging Britain. Everyone was affected, traumatised….Distraught!

“Damned inconsiderate, do these M.A.A.F. jonnies not realise I only have a couple of months to rock climb, before setting out on another mountaineering adventure,” Said Biffa, strutting back and forth, gesticulating wildly. Dr Jon took it all in his stride, having witnessed these child-like tantrums before, many times.

The previous year it had been a regular occurrence, until finally, in the middle of the summer Dr Jon could take no more. The strain of climbing with a hyped up, on-sighting-suicidal Biffa, had stretched his nerve strings too far. The Dr’s head blew apart! He escaped the intense relationship and sought therapy, in the form of shiny bolted limestone abroad. What had possessed him to team up again with Biffa? “He’s a fu***ng nutter!”

The pair drove along the congested M1, leaving the City far behind. Industry and development gave way to the green of the countryside. Passing through Leek Town centre, the Peak District boundary soon appeared and Ramshaw Rocks came into view on the horizon.

Driving along the road and up the steep hill, the formation of the rocks, remind Biffa of a dinosaur’s back. The strange formation of sharp Gritstone points, jutted randomly from a single humped crest.

They turn from the main road onto the narrow lane leading to the large open heather strewn moor, and park in the lay-by behind the crag. Biffa had never climbed at Ramshore, always favouring the larger more spaced delights of the Roaches. There he can escape the crowds by disappearing to the Far Skyline. It’s too much of a walk for the baggy trouser, bouldering-mat brigade. Shoelaces may need tying to cover the long walk to the Far Skyline. Preferring solitude or the company of a friend, Biffa doesn’t like to perform for crowds. Competition can be with one’s self, no one else need be invited! So it was with trepidation he reversed his van into the lay-by of this small crag, one of only a handful open due to the Foot and Mouth epidemic.

“Beggars cant be choosers,” thought Biffa, jumping out into the fresh breeze, blowing from around the end of the crag. It was invigorating, nerves tingled, excitement stirred in the pit of his stomach. A Curlew cried in the distance. It’s long haunting call stirring emotions far to deep for Biffa to begin to comprehend. The sting of the breeze caused tears, blurring his vision. God he loved this life. Climbing gave him this. He loved climbing!

“That’s enough of that,” thought Biffa. Time to climb, throwing open the back doors of the van and pulling out his rucksack. Dr Jon grabbed his sack also. It bulged with monster-cams and other esoteric grit gear. Dr Jon closely studied his friend for signs of mental instability. Worryingly, there were many! He made a pact with himself to get to the phone and find a sane, normal person for future trips. He was committed now, so the only hope of a relatively stress free day would be to point Biffa at something really silly in the hope of intimidated him.

Dr Jon knew Biffa had recently returned from winter climbing in Scotland. Before that, icefall climbing in Canada and the Alps, and before that Peru. Safe in the knowledge that Biffa was not fit for rock, a relative stress free day belaying him on a top-rope was the plan, and he knew the very climb!

“Come on Dr Jon lets go, we’re wasting climbing time, loads to do, so little time and all of that!” Dr Jon shook his head and ran after the rapidly disappearing form, striding forth. “But don’t you want to lock the van?”

The pair dipped feet into a bowl of disinfectant and followed the path around the end of the crag. “What’s this climb called, you want to have a look at?”

“Never, Never Land, it’s a great line, I top-roped it loads last year but never had the bottle to give it a go, I’ve got it wired now, maybe I’ll try to lead it. It’ll be a good work-out for you.” Something to lead when you’re a bit fitter!”

Biffa, thoughtfully and forcefully, strode on, admiring the sculptured beauty of the rough unforgiving rock. Turreted Gritstone battlements dramatically rose from the steep heather hillside on his left. The chuckling male Grouse interested only with the continued pro-creation of their species, strutting from the purple heather, clucking and puffed up. On the right, ferns with new unwinding fronds, intense green, sprouting from a tangled dead thatch, covering the hill dropping steeply away to meet the road.

The wind didn’t abate, but the combination of exercise and the weak mid-morning sun of March, worked its powers enough to warm Biffa, as the steep track running the length of the crag was followed.

“This is Dangerous Crocodile Snogging,” said Dr Jon, standing beneath a large fin of un-featured rock. “Its E76c, first climbed by Simon Nadin in 1986.” The Dr was getting into the zone now. Biffa’s obsessive enthusiasm started to draw him in. ”Look at it, look at it!” The Dr danced, and stroked the rock.

“It’s a pissy little piece of rock, for heavens sake show me something I can get a work-out on!” Secretly Biffa was impressed by the line, but needed more from the day than belaying practice, as the Dr perfected his quirky, jerky, 6c, Jonny Dawes death-defying style of climbing! Biffa thought that Dr Jon and Jonny Dawes were very similar in looks and stature, he suspected the Dr had a bit of a Jonny Dawes-fantasy thing going on.

Moving farther along the crag the path they followed became steeper and the rock higher. Passing beneath a great jutting prow, split down its middle with a wide crack caused Dr Jon to salivate and Biffa to feel nauseous. “Look at that, Ramshaw Crack, its only E4 6a, how do you fancy that?”

“Not at all!” replied Biffa, moving quickly around the corner, to look at Never Never Land, the climb they had come for.

“Wow it looks Great, its got holds and edges, ledges to stand.” “It’s a Wall climb, a steep one admittedly, but definitely a wall!” “Hmm, where’s the gear?” The excitement suddenly drops into the pit of Biffa’s stomach.

“It has got gear, but not a lot.” “Its quite low down!” Dr Jon replies, scuttling up an easy corner to reach the top of the cliff.

“LOW DOWN.” Biffa yawped, “its only just off the floor, what’s that flake like in the middle?”

Dreading the answer, Biffa covers his ears and begins talking to himself. “Its good you say, brilliant, no need to worry then.” “With bomber gear behind that flake a ground fall may just be avoided!”

On top of the crag, setting the anchor for a top-rope, Dr Jon suspects Biffa has now gone deaf, joining the long list of ailments he already suffers, shouting very loud he answers for the second time.

“I said the flake is hollow and expanding, not much good at all.” As an afterthought, building the case for a stress free day, Dr Jon continues, “it may just take a weighted Sky-hook and a couple of RPs, but I doubt they will hold a fall.” “Even if the flake was solid and the gear good a ground fall is one hundred percent if the final gnarly mantle-shelf move is fluffed.” Out of sight from Biffa, he punched the air repeatedly secure in the knowledge he had done enough to intimidate him. Even Biffa wasn’t stupid enough to attempt this without mileage in his arms!

Below the secret celebrations happening in the wind, on top of the crag, Biffa decided to set up camp in preparation for a long belaying haul. At the base of the climb the overhanging wall was under-cut, forming a small, long cave. He stuffed the contents of his rucksack into the cave to prevent clothes getting wet, should a spring shower burst from the cloudy sky. There was still enough room to sit and chill out between top-rope attempts. Tucked away from the elements wedged in his steep-floored cave, out of sight of the menacing dark wall above, Biffa felt secure. The ground was muddy, clods of earth sodden from recent rain dripped forming puddles in the deep boot shaped steps, kicked into the steep hill. It was dry in the cave. It was dry and safe!

Dr Jons little legs swung into view from above the roof of the cave. A couple of bouncy moves placed him on the ground after abseiling the line taken by the route. Worryingly he landed quite far out from the base of the crag, confirming Biffa’s suspicions that the wall was very steep.

“Come on then, lets get something done.” Biffa yawped, fed up with all the inactivity. Dr Jon grabbed a few bits of gear from the massive metal mountain strewn all around and tied on to one end of the rope. Threading the other end of the rope through his belay device Biffa wondered why Dr Jon carried so much gear for a climb only twelve meters high. This obviously is one of life’s great climbing mystery’s, to go along side others such as, what is the grade of a climb with a mountain of bouldering mats beneath it? And, would climbing up one of the foam-mountains constitute a new route?

Coming out of his imagined boulder-mat first ascent-scenario Biffa quickly takes in the long loop of rope formed by the speed Dr Jon has sprung up the crag. Several steep pulls place him at the top of a wide flared crack. This is the original start of Ramshore Crack. Pulling a monster cam from his harness he stuffs it into the wide grateful-gobbling jaws of the flared off-width. A couple of graceful foot placements to the right line him up for a long reach to the middle of the wall onto the creaking flake. Smoothly taking the flake top, which is good for curling fingers around he swings little legs right and places a little foot with the precision of a ballet dancer onto a sloping hold. “Take there please.” The Dr politely asks, with controlled breathing and grace.

“The long move to the flake must be an optical illusion.” Biffa thinks, “After all, Dr Jon’s reach is about the same as an Action-Man doll!” “BRING IT ON.”

After placing two small RPs, that pull out every time he weights them, and a Sky-hook on an angle, balancing precariously on the rounded side of the flake, Dr Jon continues his top-rope warm up.

Grasping the wobbly flake little legs scamper up the steep wall to be placed in a shallow depression at it’s base. Both Dr Jon’s hands on the top and side of the flake are only inches from his right foot. One quick, springing-twisting-unfolding-balanced move later, he hits the hold aimed for perfectly. A loud slapping noise and a puff of chalk emanate from the sloper he is hanging from. Both feet dangle into space until a smear is sought and a left leg brought high and placed onto the top of the flake, along side the Sky-hook.

It doesn’t take an expert to realise the sequence of moves just completed are highly technical, very skilled and very, very well practised! Biffa watches carefully and without a moment of hesitation comes to the conclusion that this climb is obviously an easy touch, ripe for the taking!

Dr Jon makes another long move (“for him!”) onto another large hold, “it must be massive, look at the way he’s hanging there and shaking-out,” until the final mantle-shelf move is staring the Dr in the face. Biffa is bouncing around now at the bottom of the crag, overcome with excitement unable to contain the welling feeling of emotion brought on by the thought of an easy-touch Simon Nadin E7.

“Come on get it done, you’re at the top now, it’s all over”

“NO IT IS NOT!” Dr Jon replies in his curt and correct BBC newsreader style of talking.

“It is for a 6 footer!” Biffa excitedly, but quietly says.

The compact form of Dr Jon carefully places one hand onto the large flat sloping ledge above, then the second hand along side the first. Friction is all that holds him. Both hands flat pressed hard against the rough rock. He scampers legs up the rock and in one smooth movement first his head, then shoulders and chest move above the hands. Now his arms push down holding him in a precarious position. Leaning one way a foot is brought along side the hand and he attempts to stand. Suddenly without warning he pops back. The rope takes his weight and he hangs.

“BUGGER!” Dr Jon’s controlled standard curse.

Biffa, holding the locked off rope below thinks he must teach Dr Jon some more manly swear words. Imagining the ridicule and sniggers from the hard core bolt clippers up north, as the plummy cry of “bugger” floats around the cliffs of Malham Cove. “At least kick the rock in disgust and demand lowering down!” Biffa thinks while looking around making sure there is no other climber in the vicinity to witness this feeble attempt at a hard-core climber’s tantrum.

Regaining the sloping holds beneath the mantle-shelf move, Dr Jon swings a little leg up to draw level with a little hand for the second time. Once again he pushes hard onto the leg, the whole of his nine stone is held, then a slow cautious reach to the rear of the ledge is made. A second tear of rock rises to the crag top and hidden out of sight from below, the final hold is grasped. Standing, Dr Jon turns and asks politely to be lowered.

Biffa takes up the slack and starts to feed the rope through the belay device. Having belayed for an inordinate period of time, at least fifteen minutes, he allows the rope to pass through the belay plate as speedily as he dare. Attempting to get Dr Jon on the ground before he can have another go, or check a piece of gear, or brush a hold, or generally waste Biffa’s precious climbing time. This is his plan anyway. Unfortunately, the Dr susses what’s happening and before reaching the base of the climb and asks to be held, so he can practice the crux moves for a second time.

Grumpy and feeling hard done too, Biffa locks off the rope and looks for a dry spot of ground to sit and belay. Blood flowing, moves remembered, crafty energy saving tricks remembered, Dr Jon easily completes the whole climb without stopping or falling. This time even before Biffa has the chance to drop him, he asks for a slow return allowing holds to be cleaned and gear inspected. Trying to disguise his impatience Biffa reluctantly agrees, knowing what is about to happen.

Enlarging water-filled footsteps by kicking the earth repeatedly, paranoia simmers just below the surface. Biffa is certain a Dr Jon climbing conspiracy is a-foot! An attempt to restore the power-balance and prove superiority is obviously a sub-plot to this climbing trip. Biffa had stolen the cragging-crown the previous summer. Prising the Dr away from his beloved Grit and onto some long welsh rock. The top-rope, headpointing style of ascent is not as effective on the longer climbs. Being less skilful than Dr Jon but with the advantage of little between the ears and a high pain thresh-hold, Biffa grabbed the on-sight advantage. The support roll fell to Dr Jon. “Dr Jon didn’t like that,” he was too polite to let it show, and they never talked about Biffa’s superiority, but as Biffa basked in his glory that fabulous on-sighting summer, he knew Dr Jon must have been distraught to lose pole-position. After all, it would have tortured Biffa, and he wasn’t even competitive!

Finally with gear checked and holds cleaned Dr Jon touched down. Turning to Biffa he popped the obvious question, “do you mind if I lead it now?” Biffa new it was coming, he agreed for an extended belaying session without too much grumbling.

Dr Jon wasted no time. Preparation was everything for him. Moves practised, gear placed, body warm and no distraction. The headpointing style of ascent worked well for him. Movement, skill, strength were the important factors. Risk and chance were practised until at a minimum. The lead happened only when the climb was ready to submit. Biffa respected Dr Jon's professional approach, but this style of climbing wasn’t for him. He loved the challenge, the risk, the uncertainty of the on-sight. Admittedly he worked routes, pre-placed gear, top-roped. Generally though, Biffa used this tainted approach as a stepping stone for a more satisfying style of ascent later in a season.

Dr Jon fluently breezed to the top of the climb, an outstanding achievement of control and belief in one’s abilities. A slick lesson in the art of the headpoint. Making the climb look simple, it would be easy to fall into the trap of believing the climb easy. But only the foolhardy would be tricked by the ease of ascent from this unassuming chap.

Biffa came to the conclusion the climb was definitely an easy touch and ripe for the picking. A veritable walk in the park! Excited, he scampered around collecting kit and preparing for his turn. No sooner had Dr Jon reached the floor Biffa was practising the first moves.

“Come on, hurry up and untie, I can remember every move, maybe I should try for the on-sight.”

Realisation hit Dr Jon hard, like falling from an E8, his cunning plan had failed miserably. Forgetting Biffa’s drive and obvious limited life expectancy, it was with great reluctance he untied.

“At least try it once.” He pleaded.

Biffa had bouldered out the start of the climb to warm up and stared longingly right toward the flake in the middle of the wall.

“Hmm, some of them holds don’t look very positive.”

Dr Jon seized his chance.

“They aren’t, slopers all the way, please come down and tie on.”

Reluctantly Biffa reversed, tied on and accepted a tainted top-rope affair was probably best. Breathing a sigh of relief Dr Jon settled in for a relaxing session of belaying, and after three attempts Biffa was able to complete the climb without falling or stopping.

“Well, it looks like it’s on then,” said a determined Biffa.

“Do you not think a little more practice will help?”

“Maybe practice clipping the gear, and decide which of the three sequences you have works best.”

The strain was clear to see on Dr Jon’s face.

Biffa’s reply didn’t help to resolve the rising feeling of panic

“No, I’ll be rite.”

“Why take away all of the uncertainty!” A resolute Biffa answered.

The top rope was pulled down. Rucksacks stuffed and placed over bulges on the ground should the ascent go awry. Climbing shoes cleaned. Rock brushed. Biffa was as ready as he could be. Shoes donned, chalk bag filled. Sequence sorted (in a fashion). Three top-rope dry runs completed, (with one clean!) What could possibly go wrong?

Biffa started to climb feeling slightly nervous and under prepared but in control. Delving into the depths of the dark crack the monster cam was clipped at the top of the wide fissure. Voices from behind startled him bringing him out of his trance. Pulling his nose out from the crack turning to look behind he was shocked to see the well known features of grit guru’s Seb Grieve and Neil Bentley striding around the corner and immediately recognising a lead of one of the crags more challenging lines in full flow.

“Oh Bugger” thought Biffa to use one of Dr Jon’s stronger curses; there won’t be any backing out now. That really wouldn’t be good for the reputation. After all here were boys who had balls of steel, bottle in abundance. No way would Biffa be able to live with himself if he wimped out now. Adding more pressure Grieve then asked if he could take pictures.

“Aye go for it” the nonchalant reply from a head of turmoil.

Without anymore ado Biffa set out into the middle of the wall aiming for the flake. Sensing all eyes on him did nothing for his confidence and the whirring of the camera shutter broke his concentration. Reaching the flake the gear was clipped in a fashion. With no practice at clipping the gear the order of which quick draw to clip, allowing the rope free passage through the four quick-draws hanging from hooks and brass blobs was too much for poor Biffa to work out in a hurry. The caribiners confusingly hung at different levels so with burning forearms no more time was wasted and everything was clipped as it came to hand. The rope made a cats-cradle running through the assorted gear. The powerful move right and then left to stand on top of the flake was quickly executed.

One foot on the flake and one bridged wide across the wall pushed on a rugosity, fingers of both hands on sloping holds, eyes glazed, head in space, this was a mission doomed to failure. The rope leading too the monster cam pushed into the back of the crack pulled on Biffa’s waist, he felt like a child on reigns near a busy road. Dr Jon intently watched. Head tilted back holding tight on the rope, the concerned parent. The camera whirred.

A high foot smeared. A long dynamic slap. Full stretch. The rope resisted each move. The rope insisted and Biffa, the child running for his ball, paid no heed. The camera whirred.

Hanging bodyweight from sloping holds the feet were released from weight reducing holds. Legs wung free. The left foot was raised high and pushed onto an edge level with Biffa’s waist. Rocking over onto this leg some of the weight could be reduced from burning arms. The right leg flagged behind acting as a counter-balance. The whirring camera burrowed, like a maggot through the Pink Floyd screaming that filled Biffa’s tormented thoughts.

“Oh shit, I’m totally pumped.” Biffa yawped.

One more move up he would hit the floor for sure. Looking down the gear balanced on top of the flake and wedged behind the flake started to look very inadequate for the fall he suspected was about to happen.

“I’m going to try to reverse.”

Biffa dropped to a hold then another. Pumped, he jumped. And fell!

The camera whirred wildly, the sky-hook ripped roughly. The brass-blobs pulled. Biffa plummeted, snagged, inverted. Dr Jon flew upward. Biffa flew downward. Swung upside-down inward. Head brushing the wet grass, into the cave. The safe cave!

With a crash and a smash, a gravel rash scrape, Biffa hung laughing demented inches from the ground.

“Lower me down then.” He demanded.

“There’s time for another go now I know its safe!”

Walking from the crag in the cool af ternoon sun Biffa promised himself a return visit soon.

Walking from the crag in the cool af ternoon sun, Dr Jon promised himself a new climbing partner!