Cape Raoul

I think that anticipation really adds to my enjoyment of climbing. A lot of my best days out, both at home and abroad, tend to involve fulfilling long-held ambitions, irrespective of the actual difficulty of the route.

I’m aware that I start half my writings by saying how I’ve always wanted to do such-and-such a route, which is perhaps indicative of how much it affects my enjoyment of climbing, although I particularly remember the first time I experienced that phenomenon. I was about 15, and had just fought my way to the top of Overhanging Groove at Almscliffe. This gave me a grandstand view of a particularly youthful Andi Turner, questing his way up the adjacent Big Greeny: I was inspired! E3 was talking big numbers to me, and seeing one getting onsighted really fired my imagination.

Andi is just a few years older than me, but that was at an age when a couple of years meant a lot. Andi was old enough to have developed adult qualities, like his affableness and humility, that I was still clumsily searching for, yet we were close enough in age for me to identify with him. This combination elevated him further in my adolescent eyes. I’m not one for having heroes, but throughout my teens, unbeknownst to him, I always looked up to Andi as our paths occasionally crossed. For these reasons, The Big Greeny became symbolic of both what I wanted to do, and who I wanted to be. When I climbed it myself a couple of years later I was psyched out of my mind to tick my first E3, but the experience was sweetened immeasurably because of the way in which I had been introduced to the route.

There must be countless routes that I’ve enjoyed because I learned of their existence sometime in the past. I suppose classics like say the Cromlech routes hold their aura because of the stories, photos and writings that project them into a collective-conscious. Climbing them becomes something more than just ascending an arbitrary piece of rock. I find this happens after gaining knowledge about esoteric routes too. Snippets of information can fire curiosity. Things like this, which inspire a fun day out, are really worth expressing gratitude for

My new friend, Garry, who I first met in New Zealand, has very kindly put me up in his house in Tasmania. This in itself has been a real luxury for me, but also has the added advantage of me being able to benefit from his extensive local knowledge (not to mention psych).

Garry said that we should climb on Cape Raoul. Heard of it? I certainly hadn’t. No long awaited build-up of anticipation here, just Garry’s eulogizing the night before. It sounded well up my street though, and so we went. I was completely unprepared for the caliber of this adventurous day out.

And a full-on day it is too. By no means is this just cragging, this is sea stack-eering with an alpine ridge-esque approach. The Cape is a narrow line of basalt columns protruding boldly into the Southern Ocean.

The approach would make for a worthwhile day out in itself. We walked two hours from the car to where the slender curtain of basalt abruptly departs the peninsula. From there, we ab’d down, scrambled through dense scrub, climbed a two pitch E2, walked along the top of a buttress, ab’d again did some more bush-whacking, simul-climbed a horizontal chimney / flake, and eventually completed a final diagonal abseil. Two hours of complex and engaging approach adventuring had brought us to a notch between the two most prominent columns, 50 meters above the sea and the seals. It may as well have been at the end of the world. I was glad that Garry had been there before and knew the way. I can barely imagine being the first people to try and work it out.

We summited two of the columns by existing routes, and added a new route to one of them for good measure. The quality of the rock and the varied technicality of the climbing would make these three star routes anywhere. One route in particular was really classy, sustained insecure and inventive movement, switching between arêtes as the features see fit. To cap it all, the routes all finish on tiny square summits with the sea on three sides. This is a special place.

Reversing the approach engaged my tired mind sufficiently to just about ignore the hunger and dehydration (although as usual, that didn’t stop me bitching about it). We arrived back to the cliff top with just a few minutes of daylight left, and hiked back to the car by headlamp.

For me this epitomizes the impression that I am building of Tasmanian climbing. More than most places, there are unknown adventures of the highest quality to be had all over. But only if you know where to look. It’s exciting to realize how many anonymous adventures must be lying in wait to be re-discovered, or even discovered at all.

For Cape Raoul, amongst others, I owe Garry for the inspiration.

[A few days after climbing at Cape Raoul, our attention was brought to these photos, taken by a passing acquaintance from his boat: http://www.thesarvo.com/confluence/display/thesarvo/2012/03/16 ]