The Return

Looking back the last week went very quickly, at the time I’m sure it felt very slow. We were joined in Gorge de Tarn by the same Brits as from Spain, so once more our evening where spent chilling with Ben, Charlie, Gillian, Bob and Tash. We even opened out the Uno cards, although this resulted in me breaking my chair as I attempted to sneak at peak at Tash’s last card.
I learnt a lot about my climbing in Gorge de Tarn, the first was what ‘Pump’ really means, not some dull ache in your arms, but screaming muscles which uncurl your fingers on every hold. I revisited a 7a I had failed on, normally the redpoint at this grade is just a formality, but I still pulled onto the top slab with a big question mark whether I could fight the pump in my arms and reach the chains. The other lesson was that I am a good route climber, I just need to push on through and take the falls. Because of this I am now super psyched to get back into routes and have set a few goals for the summer.Gorge de Tarn
For our last few day we headed back up through France, a short stop off at the now baking sands of Fontainebleau resulted in more sitting and looking at boulders than climbing them. A quick drink with Toby and Nicky who were down for the week and it was our last night of the trip. The plan being to grab a few hours sleep before heading off at 1 a.m for the 6.45am ferry. Those few hours sleep didn’t happen, an excessively warm van when I got my head down at 9.00 didn’t help, neither did the German van with headlights on full beam taking half an hour to park up beside me, nor the massive party happening 500m down the road at the race course. By 12.30 I gave up, woke up Steve and hit the road early. It was probably lucky I didn’t sleep as my alarm was set for 1.00 next lunch time and not in the morning.
Planet Cause, one of the best 7a+ i've ever been on
So now we’re both safely back in the UK, the van’s clutch problem has nicely been covered by the warrantee, I’ve had my first session back at Craggy which felt hotter and sweater than Gorge de Tarn in the sun and been well chewed by Mello, who seems very happy to see me again.

Gorge de Tarn

We finished off in Margalef with a playful day on an amazing 7c then down to the coast and Raul and Sabina. As always Spanish hospitality was at its best, an amazing meal, good wine, a hot shower (the first of the trip) and a soft bed; if only we could have stayed longer. But the drive to France was beckoning and up we headed, the further towards France we got the harder it rained, by the time we went over the Pyrenees it was torrent, giving the van a well needed clean.

It eased off as we came past Millau and into the valley, parking up beneath a huge rock roof which kept the remainder of the downpour off us. As often happens we pumped into another couple of Brits who we had climbed with in Siurana and Margalef. Bob and Tash, who I also knew from my days climbing in Portland are just wrapping up their trip as well, slowly heading back through France to England. Other British climbers who we met in Spain are also likely to pop in during the next few days.

Gorge de Tarn is quite an amazing place, a crystal clear river runs through the centre and the cliffs rise up vertically and overhanging on either side. We only climb on one side, on routes that are often long and draining. I’ve been working on my stamina, so working on doing multiple 7a’s and 7b’s in a day. Sometimes the 7a’s get climbed onsight, but more often than not my stamina fails me and then my exhausted arm’s struggle to get me to the chains at the top. I would love to project something harder here, but without the stamina that is unlikely.

The trip is now coming to an end, within the week (depending on when I get this blog up) I will back in England with Yvette the Puppy and everyone else. I will be relieved when it’s over, I still am amazingly psyched to climb and climb and would love to stay here in the Tarn and get good on routes. But many other parts of the trip have taken their toll of me and I am ready for home.

Margalef

We left Siurana and travelled across the hills to Margalef. Although Siurana was amazing for the scenery and being able to watch Steve McClure onsight his way through an 8b and and 8b+ in a day I needed something that suited me a bit more. The village of Margalef must rate as one of the quietest in Spain, a half empty store, closed refuge and the odd trickling fountain. But we’re not staying in the village but up a wiggling track with steep roofs of rock powering their way over your head as you drive through. This is what we came here for, short steep and powerful routes in deep pockets.
Waiting to Climb
The rock is a limestone conglomerate, so limestone packed with pebbles and stones, where these fall out you have your perfect lipped pockets to pull on, where they haven’t a slopey crimp or future foothold to use. The other thing which is different in Margalef is the wind! We enjoy light warm breezes throughout the day which stop us overheating on the routes. As dusk comes down these are replaced by gales which rip through the valley, changing direction every few minutes to shake the van and toss our chairs across the campsite if we’re not sat in them.
Charlie and Gillian warming up
Moving away from Margalef and back to my last post, I think I may have been guilty for using my blog and this keyboard to vent my frustrations, sometimes on a long trip when it’s just the two of you it can feel like your only outlet, hence the bit of re-editing on my last post. But moving on, Margalef might not be as beautiful as Siurana but the climbing here has cheered me up, we have enjoyed every route we have been on from pumpy 6b warm-ups to very steep pocket pulls on 7b’s and 7c’s. I still have not mastered the art of redpointing a route where you practice the moves before linking them together from the ground up; but I’m making progress. One thing you do notice on the routes here is how much your body gets pumped by them, even a warm up, although none of the moves are harder than any other place we are climbed we find our forearms screaming with lactic acid within a few clips.
We’re finding that we are strong enough for almost anything, but just lack the stamina, I cruised my way through the crux of a 7b+ only to fail a clip from the end as my stamina failed and I couldn’t cling onto the easier climbing to finish. At the moment we are just trying to climb everything we see, we have a few goes on some of the harder stuff but if it doesn’t go quickly we move on and find more entertainment.
Ben at full stretch in Margalef
We have two more days of pocket pulling to go before moving up to see Raul and Sabina near Barcelona then onwards to France for the final week and a bit of the trip.

To Albarracin

Targasonne should have been a three day stop over, but on the second day the heavens opened and we where drenched in snow. Snuggled up in a local bar over the Plat de Jour of Tripe stew (it was pretty good, only the last bit looked a bit too much like a pig’s intestine) and free internet the conclusion was inevitable; lets head straight to Albarracin. So we left those amazing lines of Targasonne and headed south through a very wet Spanish Pyrenees and down to Albarracin. Yet another massive 8 hours of driving, although this was more eventful, we had the celebrations of achieving a whopping 50miles to the Gallon, meaning the less fuel the van drinks the more we can drink. But within in sight of Albarracin we couldn’t change gear. My clutch just wouldn’t work. I managed to get the car going by starting it in gear and could just change between them, so we crawled the last miles, in the centre of Albarracin I couldn’t even change anything and we cruised to a halt in a parking bay two miles short of our goal.

The parking (camping) at Albarracin

There was nothing for it but to sleep in the van and see what we could sort out the next day, neither of us being mechanics we could only guess and hope it was just the clutch cable that had gone. The next morning our limited Spanish was put to the test, we ascertained there was a mechanic one kilometre down the road and headed off with some hope. At the garage a young mechanic asked us to wait for the boss who on arrival whisked us back up to the van to have a look. He immediately diagnosed the problem; we had a small brake fluid leak which also powered the clutch. A fill up, another bump start and we were back in business with only a thirty-two euro bill, most of which was for the extra can of brake fluid we bought encase of further leakage. Our broken Spanish had prevailed and we had a good hour of amusement watching the mechanics repeatedly getting into the wrong side of the van to drive. The hardest bit of the whole job was when the mechanic dropped the cap to the brake fluid tank into the engine and the younger mechanic was sent for to try and fish it out.

The snow and roof of Albarracin

The mechanic reckoned the clutch should now be fine till be get back to England, but to check the brake fluid occasionally. So a day later than planned we finally arrived at the bouldering of Albarracin. We thought the snow had been deep up in the Pyrenees, but here it was nearly a foot in places and very cold. We knew that Albarracin was high at 1300m, but didn’t expect this much snow, especially in April. The snow has meant a lot of the problems where wet, but we found an amazing roof section to while away the afternoon on, including the first 7C of the trip.
One thing you also start to realise about life on the road, especially a trip like this in Spring, is that when things aren’t perfect life can get pretty boring. Life revolves around sleeping, eating, climbing, eating, reading, climbing, eating and then sleeping. It’s cold and damp outside so almost all of the above except the climbing is done in the van. It’s the little things that get you through the day, the enjoyment of a good book, making sure the cheese and sausage of lunch is good and trying on a limited budget to cook a descent dinner. Tonight’s delicacy of Spanish sausages and ham in red wine and tomato sauce with veg and potatoes was particularly good. But tomorrows will be the left over sauce with some extra veg with rice and if we’re unlucky so will the next days. It’s not all glamorous on the road.

Back on the Road

Since India life’s been taken up with work and a bit of climbing, I never found time to finish my last part of my India trip for the Blog. All the time was the plan to get back on the road. Only for a short time, but back climbing properly again! I had my notice handed in for 15^th of March, but still no plans, only the week after this did things start falling into place, I got the van and with Steve on board rushed to get it done for our Thursday departure, as with all DIY I left the craftsmanship to Steve and allowed myself to do the furnishings and fittings (bits that are less likely to be bodged).

The Van under Moonlight and below Steve in Font

Thursday finally came, the van finally being completed the night before and we headed down to Dover, in Fontainebleau we crashed out at the Hippodrome, a large horse racing circuit with free camping on the side, but no facilities. It was great being back on the slopey sandstone of Font, an over confident approach with my feet left me arse down on the mat a few times, but I soon got the hang of it. For a first day back bouldering it wasn’t bad, three 7A’s and a 7A+, things felt good! Things felt better as we had joined a group of Canadians touring Europe of the winter, including Tim who I had so much fun climbing with in Magic Woods last year. To top the social gathering Raul and Sabina pitched up that night brining Johnny and her three new little baby Ferrets. Unfortunately with only one more night left in Font we never managed to fit in the regular Uno nights of Magic Wood. Our two days in Font where just what we needed, we got our eye in and got a huge confidence boost from the quick send of an amazing 7B+ roof. We left feeling really ready for the rest of the trip.

Panoramic view of Targasonne, the Pyrenees with the Van in the Foreground

Life on the road can also be pretty boring, the next day was exactly that 10 hours of driving, those pretty villages of Font soon gave way to the monotony of flat French countryside stretching for miles and miles. After 5 hours we finally hit the Dordogne, but were too knackered to enjoy it. The only highlight of the trip was turning that last hill after Toulouse and being confronted by the Pyrenees with their snow capped peaks, within the hour we were up in the snow line, snaking through the passes on our way to Targasonne at 1500m, luckily Targasonne or ‘Le Chaos de Targasonne’ as its know is south facing and the doesn’t linger for long, but it was cold enough to freeze the van’s windows in the morning.

Me taking the swing in Targasonne

‘Le Chaos of Targasonne’ describes it perfectly, from a high vantage point you have this amazing pile of boulders stretching out from you for a 1km in each direction, but beyond that is just fields and mountains, no more boulders. The climbing is on ruff granite blocks of all shapes and sizes, often following incredible lines. In the sun we climbed in t-shirts, but quickly backed out of the shade where the temperature plummeted. So far the climbing has been excellent, with two days here before we commence our journey to Albaraccin we’re seriously concerned if our finger tips will last.

Austria

I meant to stay a week in Magic Wood and ended up saying a month. I think that above everything else explains the power of the place. No place has so many amazing problems to climb as there. Magic aptly describes the climbing, although the wood is far for Magic with its plentiful opportunities to break your ankle, why this name is now being marketed for the red socks walking brigade I don’t know as for a walking place Magic Wood is probably the worst name. The company I kept was also Magical and I had many big goodbyes to make on Monday before hitting the road, and I’ve promised myself I will meet them again! I never thought I would be sad to see the back of Switzerland.

Before I crossed the border into Austria I took one last touristic opportunity in Switzerland and visited St Gaellen, a town with one of the best preserved medieval towns in Switzerland, lined with fresco’s and ornately carved balconies it was a good way to break up the journey, but already it felt very Germanic, I was vigorously tutted whilst crossing the empty roads whilst the residents waited patiently for the little green man to appear. Beside this I seemed to spent more time looking for a public toilet, something I don’t believe actually exists here, as bins seem to be seriously lacking as well (how the streets are kept tidy is a miracle).

Then onto Austria and with a few time consuming diversions as the motorway was closed I head onto Zillatal and the village of Ginzling where a free campsite beside the river will be my base for the next week. To describe the place is hard, it’s a combination of Magic Wood and Val di Mello (Italy), I am surrounding my snow capped peaks, but often the valley is to narrow to see them above the cliffs, the villages look Swiss like with their organised Chalets, but there is more happening here, more bars, information centres, the rules which seem to stifle small businesses in Switzerland are more lax here and so everywhere people opening up and selling beer and food. Almost my first port of call was the Gasthouse for the local brew, possibly slightly stronger than the Swiss beer I guess by the cross eyed effect it had on me, but the most refreshing end to a long days driving.

With my beer inside me I was able to get dinner going at the campsite, Jonny the Spanish dog from Magic Wood has been replaced by Mr Fox, a young fox with shiny coat, bushy tail and pointy nose that happily sniffs through my rubbish bag whilst I read my book. The plan then was to put down my mat and just sleep out under the stars, this was aborted after Mr Fox decided to chew on my shoe with my foot still in it whilst I read some more. I decided to put up the tent encase my nose or other appendages look suitably edible during the night.

That is pretty much it, my night sleep was on the chilly side, but I should have expected that with the snow layer only being a few hundred metres above me. The next day I went exploring and managed to get quite a bit of climbing in and finished the day perfectly with another beer.

Over the Alps and into Italy

Our last few days in France passed very slowly, we moved from Annecy to Cluses near Chamonix, a good location for me to start my journey to Italy and also to drop Yvette at Geneva airport. The bad weather continued, although we managed to get some climbing in and whilst the weather held took a scenic drive along some of Europe’s highest roads to take in the snow capped mountains.

The Mont Blanc Range, Grey and Misty

Monday was Yvette’s final day and also my thirtieth birthday, not quite the way I envisaged my thirtieth, but it was the way we planned it. I dropped Yvette off at Geneva airport and promptly had the car searched by the French police on re-entry into France. Apparently a single guy in a British car is suspicious. After numerous questions in broken French and English about where I was going and where I had been I was let go. The only good part of the day so far was that it was sunny, but as I entered the Alps a massive storm sat directly over Cluses, flooding the little campsite and making any possibility of cooking disappear. I opted for a table for one at the local pizza restaurant and then a beer in town, it was only nine o’clock when I returned; probably the earliest to bed I have ever been on my birthday.

I left as soon as I could the next day, In front of me loomed Mont Blanc, with its snow capped peaks and glaciers stretching down into the valley it was magnificent, but you couldn’t help but notice the factories and warehouses littered on either side of the road. I left the French Alps through the Mont Blanc tunnel, stunned by the scenery, but disappointed by the ramshackle towns and industrial estates in the valleys. Once through the Tunnel and Italy the architecture changed, although the industrial estates still littered the valleys picturesque castles loomed on top of hills and minareted churches clung to the side of the mountains. The driving became much more unpredictable, road works suddenly loomed up without warnings and you always had to be alert to what lane to go in. Drivers tended to start their manoeuvres without looking, although they always seemed to notice you before causing a collision. My Sat Nav worked perfectly until I had the only tricky section around Milan, somehow I scrapped through.

Routes in Sasso Remano, the largest boulder in Europe

Next was lake Como, with the mountains crashing down into its shores I made a note to get back here on a rest day to have a look around. Soon I was winding my way up the mountains to San Martino and the Val di Mello. This is what you want alpine valleys to look like. Lush flowering meadows, a mountain stream cascading through the middle, steep granite cliffs on either side and in the distance snowed capped peaks with their Glaciers winding down to the ancient villages in the valley. Suddenly everything felt good again, and it was sunny. This is going to be my base for the next month, climbing the boulder fields on the valley floor and chilling in the alpine villages. I’m enjoying it already.

Bouldering in Val di Melo

The Different Faces of France

My big road trip of Europe has started and has so far been a wet one. Yvette has joined me for the first 10 days of my planned 3 month expedition and our first port of call was a return to Fontainebleau, a month earlier it had been almost too hot to climb. Now it was too wet, our first day was almost completely rained off and we had a forced tour of the herb market at Milly la Foret. At least the evening cleared up, allowing us to cook dinner in the dry. Unfortunately the next day was more of the same, although we did get a bit more climbing in as the sun finally came out in the afternoon.

Sleepy Little Bourgogne and then Busy Bourgogne

Our next stop was a couple of hours further south at Saussois in the Bourgogne (Burgundy) region. Just near Auxerre this is sleepy little France, a France where everything opens and closes on the whim of the shopkeeper. Villages which in England would be guaranteed at least one Pub or bar are ghost towns, you have to travel through a few villages till you find one which has a bar open to wait until the rain stops. Shops might open for a few hours in the morning, just enough time to get your groceries or a baguette. Saying goodbye to sleepy France was a relief after our one night stop. We now headed south to the Cote d’ Or, the heart of Bourgogne wine production with names such as Nuit St George, Gevrey Chambertin, Brochon and Fixin. Acres and acres of vineyards stretch from the dense forests towards the distance horizons, chateau’s peep out from in between vineyards and this is definitely not sleepy France. Everywhere is busy, the vineyards are constantly being checked, tractors and even horse drawn ploughs are in action everywhere. You get the impression of everyone working hard to produce their world famous wine.

The Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy and Cafe Culture in the Centre of Dijon

We take an afternoon off and head into Dijon the regions capital, famous for its mustard and wine. This is the heart of trendy France, the wide medieval street are lined with all the latest fashions, the roofs of the buildings are tiled in bright colours and in the centre sits the palace of the Dukes of Burgundy with the city laid out neatly around it. The wealth of the city is portrayed in the vast number of churches and cathedrals , some dating back to the 13^th Century and some of the facades designed to rival the best in Italy. To me I find churches depressing, reflecting to me the persecution and psychological imprisonment that religion brings to the world. With the touristy bit out the way we treated ourselves to what the French do best, food and Yvette had her first taste of Snails! Although for all those who have eaten then they tend to just taste of the strong garlic sauce they come in.

The next day we managed to squeeze in a bit of climbing and then headed down to the capital of the Cote d’ Or, Beaune, this walled Medieval town is the heart of Pretentious France, the patisserie owners looks down their noses at our dirty (climbers) attire and we feel very out of place amongst load Americans and the dressed up French. I was relieved to escape back to our campsite.

Our time in the Bourgogne finished we headed on down to the Alps, to Yvette’s final port of call before I drop her off at the Airport and I head into Italy to continue my tour. The trend of this trip continues. Rain blocks out all views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. We arrive at lunch time and find all the shops closed, preventing us from getting more gas for our cooker and a guide for the climbing, encase its stops raining and we get the opportunity. We’ve opted to have a few nights of luxury in Annecy, with its fast flowing canals and tall ancient buildings it is beautiful and would be impressive to see it on a sunny day. As I finish writing this I have my fingers crossed hoping that this crap weather will blow over us and we can get on with the job of having a holiday!

Historique, Wet, Beautifull, but some how Soleless Annecy