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 ]

New Zeal Land

Through a serendipitous sequence of acquatintences and coincidences, I managed to hook myself up with a climbing partner for New Zealand. As we had arranged, Tasmanian Garry collected me from Christchurch airport, despite the difficulties associated with recognising someone he'd never met.

The ten hour drive south to Fiordland afforded us ample opportunity to upgrade our email friendship to a face-to-face one. The topic of conversation steered itself from climbing, to work, home, family, romance (not that I had much to contribute about that one) and back around to climbing.

Suitably introduced, we warmed up with a couple of days sport climbing at the steep and weatherproof crag of Little Babylon. With a good forecast and a days rest, we chose a route called Labyrinth (grade 22, about F6c and 6 pitches) as our first objective in the hills. Due to the compact nature of the rock, many of the mountain routes in this area are protected by a mix of trad gear and minimalist bolting (Labyrinth was bolted ground-up originally), a bit like some slate routes, or granite slabs in the US. The topo showed long sustained pitches with run-outs between the bolts. On the steep sport routes I had felt weak, unfit, and had wanted lots of bolts. After my injuries I'd had three weeks off climbing, and I was still having trouble with a leg and a hand. Still, on the bright side, being unaware of the route's reputation as a frightener meant I wasn't as intimidated as I otherwise would have been. Ignorance of the objective dangers is bliss, so it seems.

We walked up early the next day, taking about three hours to reach the bivvy spot, on a shoulder just short of (the splendidly named) Barrier Knob cliff. I revelled in the fact that compared with Patagonia, the routes here are short yet the days just as long. We relaxed as the sunshine burnt off the early-morning chill, admired the view and drank copious cups of tea. Now this is my kind of alpine rock climbing!

We sauntered around to the cliff for midday, a tactical decision so we could climb in the warmth. That, and I objected to rushing elevenses. The relaxed and sunny ambience of it all was doing a good job of allaying any anxiety I had about climbing in he hills again, especially given my current condition. Until, that is, a rock fell from the top of the cliff and smashed to the ground five metres behind me. Understandably, given recent experience, this spooked the hell out of me. We racked up regardless, working on the principle that it was a one-off (which as it transpired, was the case) but I remained hyper-vigilant, always glancing above me and unwilling to permit myself to relax and enjoy the situation.

Garry lead first. He had intended to link the first two pitxhes, but decided that the second was too blank and too bold. He offered it to me from the comfort of the first stance.

The combination of the rock falling, my poor fitness, and Garry's assessment of the next pitch meant my confidence was at a low ebb. It was with a reluctance and little hope that I took the rack from Garry and went to 'have a look.' Usually when I use this phrase its a euphemism for "I'm going to actually commit this time but I'm too scared to admit it, so here's a bit of linguistic self-deception instead. However this time, I genuinely expected my 'look' to be a token inspection so I could confirm that Garry was right and we could retreat.

As it happened, this token look revealed an RP placement that Garry had missed. As is often the case, as soon as I clipped a runner a dozen new holds appeared and the ones I was using miraculously got bigger. I made a tentative move upwards, which lead to a second move, a third, and before I knew it the series of moves was a sequence, and much to my surprise I appeared to be rock climbing again. After my recent hiatus from climbing, shadowed with doubt and anxiety about being in the mountains, this was a awakening. I found myself immersed in the challenge and focussed on anything that would maintain my upward momentum. Everything fell into place.

The next pitches, because off their style, took us a long time to climb. Nonetheless, I felt increasing enjoyment from being fully engaged in the task. Garry lead the technical crux and I took the psychological one (not that his pitch was exactly over-bolted either, mind you). It was probably to my advantage that the style was quite British trad-esque, even with the bolts: just less than vertical, teetering up on edges, nothing too hard but with the crux lying in keeping it all together.

By the time I was leading the penultimate pitch I felt I was back in my element. Even the three bail 'biners below a blank section didn't phase me (although it took a bit of lateral thinking to avoid using them).

We topped out and rap'd the route. I was psyched. Everything had come together and I had not, as I had feared, completely forgotten how to climb. Climbing with Garry had been fun in itself, despite the route making for a tough day out.

Relaxing at the bivvy that night, my sense of satisfaction was only matched by a returning desire for more of the same, something that had been sorely lacking in recent weeks.

Garry leading the crux third pitch (Photo: Tom Griff)

The last of the evening sunshine at the bivvy (Photo: Tom Griff)