friction's nob

Returned from a ski trip to find what appears to be a rash of activity in Wicklow, 25 + problems added in a week. It was interesting to see what others saw when they visited Tonduff with bouldering hats firmly on, I always felt that the first boulder set heights which the rest of the valley never lived up to. Then again I've often felt out of kilter with what others see as good bouldering spots, a prime example being Doolin, but I've had guiltily negative thoughts in the past about the Gap, the Scalp, Glenmalure etc. This from a man who rates Three Rock as one of his favourite bouldering spots.

Part of it is that I've been lucky enough be a boulderer in Ireland when the sport was in its infancy, and to be party to the exploration of some amazing places like Glenmac and Mall Hill. This means I still have high expectations of any new venue. Also I am a friction snob, I find it difficult to see past dirty, scrittly rock. And by dirty I don't mean an earth covered handhold, I can be as enviro-mental as the next Ped. By dirty I mean that under-the-surface dirt of lichen and millenia of damp, that you could take a sandblaster to and never clean. Another element is that I am more than a friction snob, I am kind of an aesthetic snob as well. I have an almost feng shui reaction to some boulders or problems, eg "Away from the numbers" leaves me cold as a line. Overly featured blocs can also make me turn my nose up and keep looking. Stupid really, but then when was the sport of bouldering ever a highly rational process.

I am also wary of falling for the first ascent fever that comes on when I find a couple of clean looking rocks. Suddenly every shitty, scrabbly shit-start-out-of-a-puddle eliminate is a line, so where there are really 2 lines, your hand scribbled topo shows 20. Part of this is simply enthusiasm, and part might be an unconscious bigging up of your "discovery". However increasingly i think part of it also stems from this second guessing of oneself after having explored an area and mentally crossed it off only for others to come along and see potential you never did. And sometimes they are right about the potential, so doubt creeps in. There's a cycle there, explore a place, write it off then after a few years you see some photos and think maybe and decide you need a return visit to really know, no, no, it is shit, rinse repeat.

Despite many hours spent searching country-wide for rock, there is always stuff that's new to me appearing. The grit in Fermanagh, the Mournes mountain top boulders, amazing stuff. And there's hopes of more undiscovered stuff out there. Rumours of some purple sandstone in the hills around Delphi had me in there on repeat trips, trudging solo into beautiful spots but just being deflated at the small sized boulders of perfectly formed rock, teasers, and still the doubts and what-ifs remain.

Also one thing I am increasingly sure of is that there was always more people out there looking than I thought, and who knows how many people have done the same unnamed problems in remote valleys, one line wonder boulders that you've walked an hour to get to. The wonderful pointlessness of it all.

Anyway good to hear people are still finding stuff, its led me down the waxing path, jealous here in my armchair.

Meet

Friday night went on a lot later than it would normally, in the pub till close then continued in the hut, with the last lads hitting the hay at about 6. It mightn’t have helped that two young ladies found their way back with us, along with a dashing young Mexican named Julio who accompanied them gamely. The phrase cock-block was thrown around liberally and young Julio was lucky to escape uninjured, though everyone subsequently strongly denied any interest in the ladies.

Some very strong lads from England were over for the meet and seemed to have set their sights on every unclimbed line in Wicklow. Their industry should have put us to shame and they were gone before we awoke on Saturday. Tim lost out in the Russian roulette that is heavy drinking for us old men, and we awoke to the sharp sound of him choking up his dinner in the bathroom. In the past I would approach a meet as a drinking session, as there was more novelty in drinking in that setting than climbing in it. Unfortunately now I’m from Brighton, the deep dark unclimbable hole. Perhaps I should have planned to change my drinking style accordingly but I didn’t. As it happens I think conditions would have pissed me off if I had made an effort to be in fit shape to climb effectively.

We got into glendo for a decent length if low intensity session. Nothing of particular note was climbed, started in the ruins and finished on chillax via BBE, black art and squamish. The usual banter was had, with meat flashes all round. I was happy to do the guts of chillax but Shane got it for the first time and its one of the few problems I’ll get proxy pleasure from someone else getting. Tim got Black Arts which was commendable considering he seemed to get dizzy sitting up. Watched second half of match in pub, the better half in terms of tries scored. The rest of the evening was very laid back, drinking in the hut. A bunch of us headed up to Zef’s boulder for a mildly drunken lamp session. The dark and drink made the climbing a little unnerving but it was a good way to close out the evening. The frictionsnob strongly approves of such perfect granite.

The smaller group freed us up from any sense of obligation to go to Glendo on Sunday and we headed to Lough Dan instead (while the English lads waded into the bog of Glenmac). The impressively hot sun meant that we were never going to have amazing conditions but a good solid day was had nonetheless. Heads were a lot clearer and we nearly all made short work of Shadow, with the top out bringing out disdain and disco leg in equal measure. I forget every time the unforgiving sharpness of Lough Dan granite. We moved lakewards along the hillside, three kings boulder’s lovely arête got a lot attention then down to karma by which time the lazy river and the heat had brought us to a near standstill. Kudos to young Dave who came on the meet having never climbed outdoors before and who brought nothing to eat for the weekend but 4 packs of Toffee Pops, like a young Ped perhaps, high praise indeed.