Refer also to htpps://talesofpro.blogspot.com
Copyright to photographs is held by the named photographers. Photographs by the author will be titled only but copyright still applies. Other photographs taken on the author’s camera by an unknown person will be credited to the Keith Bell Collection (KBC). Please request permission to reproduce.
FOREWORD
Keith Bell is a pioneering Australian climber and his unwavering enthusiasm, intensity and love of the heights are evident in the following pages. There is arguably no other Australian climber who can match his extraordinary ascent portfolio, spread over five decades. His passion for climbing is as strong today as it was when he took his first tentative (and barefoot) steps into the vertical world in the Blue Mountains in 1962. As recently as 2017, he made his third ascent of Balls Pyramid as a climbing guide for an Australian Museum expedition seeking the Lord Howe stick insect, long believed to be extinct until rediscovered by climber Dave Roots in 1964. Keith’s extraordinary drive, coupled with his high level skills as a rockclimber and alpinist, have seen him complete countless new routes (and memorable repeats) on several continents, including his homeland here in Australia.
Another aspect that sets Keith apart from others who have followed in his footsteps are his stories of the varied exploits that have shaped his climbing life, written and published along the way. Despite being the lone Australian in Chamonix in 1970, his first Alpine season saw him claim first Australian ascents of routes many of us who were climbers at that time had only read about — and dismissed as well beyond our capabilities: the Gervasutti Pillar on Mont Blanc du Tacul; the South face of the Aiguille du Midi — and half a dozen others. In subsequent seasons in the Alps, he teamed up with Australian climbers, Howard Bevan and John Fantini, experiencing terrifying classics like the Walker Spur and the North face of the Dru. Reading Keith’s vivid and engaging accounts of these legendary routes somehow makes them seem more real because they are part of Australian climbing history. In between these Alpine seasons, he travelled to Africa, reaching its two highest summits — Kilimanjaro and Kenya — and leaving behind a swag of new routes on the sandstones of Towerkop in South Africa’s Western Cape.
Not content with tilting at thunderstorms and blizzards in the Alps, Keith’s adventures took him across countless foreign borders in various motor vehicles of doubtful roadworthiness and legality under the control of climbers with questionable driving skills! In 1973 he was in Yosemite where he made the second Australian ascent of The Nose with the legendary Henry Barber, missing out on making the first Aussie ascent with Rick White by only days after being offloaded from his flight en route from Sydney. In typical style, Rick waited for no one — even old mates! But Keith moved beyond the Valley, leaving a legacy of new routes in an extraordinary climbing odyssey through the Sierra Nevada, Colorado and Wyoming.
And then there were the Blue Mountains and the Warrumbungles where he and various partners — including the inimitable Humzoo (Ian Thomas) and Ray Lassman — climbed some of the most memorable challenging, run-out multipitch routes in the country on the intimidating, steep trachyte walls. His account of the classic, Flight of the Phoenix, on Bluff Mountain is a gem. Ray climbed with Keith on that first ascent and rates this route as the best he has done — anywhere in the world!
So all this — and more — is in store in the pages that follow. Keith’s accessible style takes us into the eye of the storm — and shares with us the joy of reaching yet another summit, wherever it may be. This diverse collection confirms his place as a pre-eminent figure — as both a climber and a writer — in Australian climbing history.
Michael Meadows July 2018
Starting out.
Early barefoot climbing experiences in the early 1960's at Wahroonga Rocks - Northern Sydney.
(KBC)
INTRODUCTION
The genesis of this work can be attributed to a recent conversation with a good climbing friend when in a conversation he said:
“You know, I really enjoy reading your climbing articles, you should dig them out and put them into a book”.
At first I was not enamoured with this suggestion. Having already made a foray into the climbing book domain I had come to the conclusion that it was a ‘mug’s game’. He had, however, lit a spark and when I mentioned this to some other good friends their suggestion was to create a Blog. After ruminating on this for a while, I gingerly started digging the offending articles from the archives (*). Apart from the articles though, their retrieval also elicited a flood of memories. Before I knew it I had started trawling through boxes of climbing slides that had lain dormant for decades and unexpectedly I was hooked. Suddenly I needed a name.
Rock of Ages came to mind. Being a rockclimber I thought that the spiritual rather than religious element of this name might resonate along with the seemingly timeless and infinite nature of the medium that we climb on. I thought that it also considered the fact that we all have predecessors who have built the scaffold on which contemporary climbing in all its variants owes its existence. But climbing is many things: the trip to the rock, access, the climb, descent, the trip home, success, failure, the weather, objective dangers and most importantly, our fellow travellers. I see climbing as a holistic endeavour where the rock and climbing, although central, is not the complete story but is the stimulus for the entire journey. I hope that this is conveyed in what follows.
(*) All articles have been fully referenced below the title. The headings of recollections are printed in underlined italics.
 |
| Early days on the Second Sister - Katoomba with NZ friend, Tony Hartnett. (KBC) |
HEIGHTS & DISTANCES
Metric and Imperial measurements have been used in the following articles and have been left as written at the time.
12 inches = 1 Foot
1 Foot = 300mm
3 Feet = 1 Yard
1 Yard is approximately 1 Metre
CONTENTS:
I) Getting Ready
A. BREAD and CIRCUSES:
A1. A Terrible Tangle – What not to do with a 400 metre rope.
A2. Tales from the Crypt - Rope Dope
A3. Start the Ball Game.
B. HAVING A BALL: 1970, 1973 and 2017
B1. 1970 Balls Pyramid Expedition Report
B2. Balls Pyramid – 1973
B3. Australian Museum Balls Pyramid Expedition - 2017
C. ALPINE ANTICS: 1970 -1971
C1. Flying High
C2. Chamonix I
C3. And Then There Were Two!! An Alpine Initiation??
C4. All Quiet on the Southern Front or The Storming of the Midi
C5. The Thin Red Line
C6. Oranges and Ice Cream
C7. UK Bound
C8. Chamonix II
C9. A Grand Nightcap – 1971
C10. Just Walkering
C11. The Dru Derby
C12. FOU Man Do or Don’t? – Foiled Again!
C13. Other Routes Climbed – Mt Blanc Massif
C14. Nuts to You, or How to do a Squirrel – 1971
C15. Cutting Loose and Heading North
C16. London To Africa Via Egypt
D. AFRICAN SAFARI:
D1. Getting There
D2. TOWERKOP – South Africa
D3. Animals
D4. The Milk of Human Kindness
D5. Beitbridge Bites Back
E. STATESIDE – 1973:
E1. Consolidation
E2. Coming To America
E3. The Nose of El Capitan
E4. Other Routes Climbed – Yosemite
E5. Europe or the USA???
E6. A Spin or More Over the Sierras
E7. Deadly Rattles and Ursine Activities
E8. Sierra Nevada Routes and New Route – 1973
E9. Rocky Mountain Routes and New Route – 1973 – Colorado
E10. ‘Staggering’ Up The Durrance
E11. Our American Alliance?
E12. Pictorials of some American routes climbed in 1973
E13. More Recent USA Climbs – 2012
F. IN THE BLUIES:
F1. Fragments: Telstar
F2. Echoes of Darkness
F3. Zac the Interloper
F4. Classic Blue Mountains Trad
F5. Mt Piddington - Mt Vic
F6. Zig Zag - Mt Vic
F7. Ikara Head - Mt Vic
G. BLUFF and BUNGLES:
G1. Brewer’s Droop
G2. Flight of the Phoenix
G3. Bungles Bungles and Other Matters – Some Personal Recollections
G4. Towering Tonduron
G5. Uno Ropo Loco
H. ROAD TRIPS and OTHER PLACES:
H1. Frog Buttress
H2. Booroomba Rocks
H4. Mount Arapiles
H5. Go Climb THE ROCK
H6. Hanging Out On ‘The Coathanger’
I. COMMON CLIMBER ARTICLES
I1. Flakes and Shakes: Flake Crack Revisited
I2. From Yorkshire to Eternity
!3. Sojourn at Dyurrite
I4. Tombstone Territory
I5. Tiptoing Through some Bungles - Quicklink
I6. Quicklink to my Common Climber portfolio of articles.
J. BOOKS
J1. South Pacific Pinnacle: The Exploration of Balls Pyramid
J2. The Red Curtain: Climbing Expedition to Mars 2043
K. DEPARTED FRIENDS:
K1. Ben Sandilands
K2. Pete Giles
K3. Bryden Allen
K
Acknowledgements
1) Getting Ready
Even in primary school I was attracted to climbing and spent a great deal of time on my way home from school climbing trees in Ryde Park, Sydney. There was also a set of Monkey Bars near the swings that I often hung about on. Near the top of the park was a sandstone retaining wall and on the left and right lower wings I often tried out my climbing skills. Between the two was a much higher semi circular wall with a bubbler set in its centre. While I used the bubbler I don’t have any memories of ascending this feature. I certainly had designs on it but was probably saved from damage to the ego and body by the inevitable move to high school, which lay in the other direction from my home. Buffalo Creek and its surrounding bushland were also handy so against strict parental instructions, I often walked home through it. It also provided a theatre for leisure time activities for my brothers and our friends on weekends and holidays.
Throughout the 1950’s and 1960’s perhaps the Scouting Movement presented the main pathway to the outdoors. My brothers and I joined up and were introduced to camping and later on to bushwalking. My first roped climbing experience was on a small outcrop near Camp Crosslands north of Sydney. It was not much but I enjoyed it. For several years the Scouts and then Senior Scouts provided experiences in many outdoor pursuits, bushwalking, caving, canoeing, canyoning and some climbing. Initially I walked in the Royal National Park and Ku-ring-gai but later started doing walks around Katoomba and Kanangra. Somewhere along the line I saw an article in a magazine showing people climbing the Three Sisters in the Blue Mountains. This looked like the real deal and I was terrified, yet intrigued at the same time.
 |
| Negotiating Templetons Crossing on the Kokoda Trail - New Guinea. (Howard Bevan) |
I left school after the Leaving Certificate in 1963 and for many years a mix of outdoor activities was pursued. In 1965 a friend, Bobby Gerdes and I planned and completed a trip to the Eastern Arthur Range with the intent of climbing Federation Peak by the Voie Normale. We took the hard way by trekking over Mt Picton then returning the same way after completing the traverse and ascent. The following year I travelled to New Zealand and walked the Nelson Lakes National Park, did some easy climbing and scrambling in the Darrens and after that explored some limestone caves on the West Coast. The next year I teamed up with Howard Bevan. We organized a charter flight into Kokoda and walked back along the trail to Port Moresby. The following year I walked and scrambled in the Cradle Mountain — Lake St Clair reserve with Howard and two others.
Early days on the 'Voie Normale' of Federation Peak, Tasmania in 1965
Lake Geeves way below my feet.
(Bob Gerdes)
But climbing was already taking hold even as I ended my time at school, I had attained the Senior Scout Rockclimbing Badge in 1963 and was made an instructor in August 1966. My thanks goes to the late Rick Jamieson for providing these opportunities as he did for many others still climbing today. By 1968 I found that instructing was too restricting and started to climb for my own ends and at the same time, to try to lift my grades. My feeling is that the long apprenticeship I had undertaken with both pack and rope was to pay dividends as I broke out in 1970. Certainly, the lack of experience and a paucity of equipment available had also played its part in this evolution, as the following will show.
Learning the ropes on the First Sister of the Three Sisters, Katoomba - 1960's style. (KBC)
A. BREAD and CIRCUSES:
A1. A Terrible Tangle
What not to do with a 400 metre rope
Rock, No 48, Spring (Oct- Dec), 2001, p. 1.
This article follows on from a eulogy that I gave at Hughie Ward’s Memorial Service. Hughie passed away in February 2001; he was a talented and popular NSW climber. Rather disappointingly, the magazine left out this aspect when the article was published.
Hughie Ward at work on Wrapped Coast in 1969.
I suppose anybody who has climbed for any length of time has some skeletons in the cupboard. By this I mean an incident or decision that took them to the edge in more ways than one. I have a recurring nightmare that dates back to 1969 and it still gives me goose-bumps when I think about it. Ah 69, just by looking at the numbers you can tell it was a good year: full employment, mineral booms, free trips to Vietnam for 19 year olds, Simon and Garfunkel LP’s, and the rock opera Hair was soon to open in Sydney. Hirsute hairstyles were in vogue and while barbers struggled to make a living, the year was especially kind to Sydney climbers.
As 1969 was drawing to a close, the avant-garde artist Christo arrived in town with his penchant for wrapping things. Now, this man thought big — he wanted to wrap Little Bay, if that is not a contradiction in terms. The problem was that Little Bay boasts cliffs of more than 30 metres and is not your run-of-the-mill Christmas or birthday present. Christo had to hire climbers and he was willing to pay $20 a day for their services. At this stage many readers are probably thinking ‘ripped off’, but the average weekly wage was about $40 at the time so this little project was a genuine gold mine.
My Mate Hughie roped me in and halcyon days were spent hanging around on abseil lines firing the occasional Ramset nail powered by a heavy charge into the friable sandstone. Target practice was also on the agenda and we became adept marksman with these bulky pieces of artillery. But a more restful pursuit was to find a secluded ledge near the bottom and bask for a few hours in the sun, absently watching the waves break against the rocks.
Unfortunately, the carefree days and the lurk itself came to an abrupt end when a ‘southerly buster’ ripped through early one morning. One moment Wrapped Coast was a reasonable facsimile of a lunar landscape. The next, the environmentalist in us re-emerged as the plastic sheeting was torn to shreds by the shrieking wind. Nature had reclaimed its own and Christo (consoled by his beautiful wife) was forced to admit defeat.
A windfall for us was the kilometres of polypropylene rope that was there for the taking. Hughie and I dropped the boot lid on my Morris Minor and strapped three 400 metre coils to it. We were part of a team going onto Balls Pyramid in early 1970 and we thought that this rope might prove useful — particularly at the price.
 |
| Hughie Ward (Left), John Worrall (Right) on the summit of Balls Pyramid in 1970. Hughie is holding the ubiquitous 'Christo' rope. (Howard Bevan) |
The rope turned out to be a mixed blessing. For as we took it off the coil to cut it into useful lengths it knotted and twisted into labyrinths of rope that proved difficult to untangle. Some lateral thinking was required and the result was to be the genesis of my recurring nightmare. There are not too many climbers with a 400 metre coil of rope tucked away in the cupboard, but the following might prove instructive on what not to do if you want to cut it into smaller, more manageable lengths. It could also illustrate that simple and seemingly elegant decisions in the climbing world can lead to a lot of trouble.
After a night of deliberation we came up with the following solution to the problem: we were going to make use of geography and gravity to overcome the Gordian Knot. What we decided to do was to take the remaining coils to the Echo Point Lookout at Katoomba and toss them over. Obviously our plan was a bit more complex than that but in our befuddled, inebriated state we had not worked out all of the details.
So on a fine Sunday afternoon we arrived at the car park and struggled down past the bemused tourists with our booty. Placing one of the coils about four metres back from the safety rail I took one end, made a few loops and casually tossed them over the side. Meanwhile Hughie was enjoying the view. The rope slipped gently away, feeding freely from the middle of the coil. This was going to be a breeze. But then the rope began to accelerate. Within about thirty seconds it was leaping out of the coil, arching over our heads and screaming like a banshee as it poured gracefully into the yawning void on the other side of the safety rail. It then occurred to us that apart from not having found the other end, we had also failed to anchor it.
In moments of extreme danger it is a common assumption that the world becomes quiet and that things move in slow motion. However, I can attest that this is only half true. The noise, the speed and the height of the rope increased exponentially as our attempts to find the other end and tie the knot was played out in slow motion. We were still desperately intent on achieving the latter as the coil disappeared.
To this day I do not know who found the end and which of our four fumbling hands somehow secured our booty to the rail. The plummeting aerial cableway came to a halt with an almighty thwump. The slender cantilevered lookout was shaken violently on its foundations. Nearby tourists scattered in fear and trepidation. Hughie and I were lifted off our feet and pulled across the top of the reverberating rail. I can still remember looking directly down the rope to the trees far below as I balanced like a human seesaw on the top of the rail. Hughie had adopted a similar pose and his eyes caught mine as we extricated ourselves from our perch. We both knew that the Grim Reaper had tapped us on the shoulder but had failed to take a swing. With badly bruised hands we climbed back onto the lookout and let the Sounds of Silence do the talking. In the intervening years we have never spoken about the incident but have always acknowledged that we were climbers bonded by a special rope.
Wrapped Coast display in the NSW Art Gallery
for the 50th Anniversary - 2019.
There are many excellent images on the net of the Little Bay Wrapping as well as of climbers working on it. Unfortunately, all of them are subject to copyright.
A2. Tales from the Crypt - Rope Dope
Rock, No 69, Summer (Jan-Mar) 2007, pp. 38-39.
The famous Scottish climber, Tom Patey, did it, along with many others, and I count myself among those who have come close. Bryden Allen nearly did it when he used the handle of his piton hammer as a brake bar, then decided he needed the hammer to get a stubborn nut out — an early example of multi-utilisation perhaps. John Fantini came close high on the south wall of Bungonia Gorge as he abseiled on a double rope, one side which had just been badly damaged in its lower section by stone fall, as did Keith ‘Noddy’ Lockwood while working on a deforestation project below the south lookout of Mount Buffalo. I refer, of course, to dying or injuring yourself while abseiling, rappelling or down-roping and most likely everybody has a story to tell.
Govetts Leap at Blackheath has a disarmingly apt name for the site of an abseiling fiasco. It is also one of the most scenic lookouts in the Blue Mountains. Straight ahead, beyond Pulpit Rock, the confluence of Govetts Leap Creek and the Grose River can be seen, surrounded by mighty canyons and the rocky bulwarks of Mount Banks. To the right, the silvery stream of Bridal Veil Falls tumbles over a mighty precipice into the valley below, while on the left Horseshoe Fall is hidden by its constricted valley. Between the two, left of Pulpit Rock, is an impressive wall with a rounded top formed by two deeply eroded hanging valleys on either side. The wall is split by a soaring crack reminiscent of Mount Piddington’s The Eternity but almost six times as high and sloping the other way. In May 1970, Howard Bevan and I climbed this crack. We named it Serenity, mocking the trials and tribulations that we encountered, the first of which was access.
 |
| Directly across from Govetts Leap - Blackheath the abseil started at the creek and landed on the red orange section. Serenity is the leftward, sloping crack that finishes at the apex of the yellow wall. |
To get to the base of the crack required descending about 150 metres from the left valley through a small waterfall to a half-way ledge, the abseil hanging free apart from the initial five metres. The government department where I worked kindly donated a coil of 2-inch circumference manila rope for transport to our destination. Top ropes of the ubiquitous ‘Christo’ rope were tied into our swami belts (seat belt waistline) to give an illusion of security (See previous article). The redoubtable Bruce Rowe, affectionately known as ‘Rowetund’ on the Balls Pyramid trip earlier in 1970 was belaying. As wide as he was high, Bruce was a formidable and reliable anchorman.
Howard lost the toss of the double-headed coin and went down first without incident, and all too soon it was my turn. Now this was 1970 and there weren’t any harnesses or sophisticated brake bars: the harnesses we used required stepping into a sling and pulling the section in front of your thighs through the crotch and securing the front and back with a large ‘Stubai’ D-shaped screw-gate carabiner, the braking was provided by a twisted loop or two around the biner’s main stem. We could have also used crossed carabiners or an angle piton clipped as a brake bar across a locking carabiner. While this sounds very primitive they were probably the best systems around at the time.
 |
| Howard Bevan starting the abseil only touching the rock for the first five metres. The route can be seen bottom right of centre. |
All went well for the first 120 metres until I began coming across the kinks in the rope created by Howard’s descent. The further I went the worse it got. This difficulty was compounded by the size of the rope and the fact that it was now saturated and cold. Very soon I needed all my strength and both hands to push the rope through. As I slowly descended I was getting wetter and wetter and pushing the rope through became harder — before too long I could hang about hands free. Finally, I couldn’t hold myself upright and fell upside down. This was not helped by my much-loved Whillans pack which, although a striking orange colour, was bigger at the top than the bottom and loaded with Peck Crackers, Spuds, MOACS, Ewbank’s nuts as well as Chouinard Bongs, Angles, Lost Arrows and Bugaboos and the odd Leeper — and that was only the climbing gear! It also contained food, water, spare clothes, bivvy gear and was bloody heavy. As a result my sit sling began to ride up my thighs (we’re not talking ‘wedgie’) and any attempt to push the rope through the carabiner just made this worse. Finally the system locked up altogether and I was left dangling upside down on the end of a 120 metre metronome.
It was time to strike up the band and a play a funeral dirge as I gently glided towards the wall, then out over the ledge thus adding an additional 150 metre drop. As I gently swayed across the abyss and back towards the wall my mind wandered as it does when you are just ‘hanging out’. Somewhat crazily, I remembered a Tarzan movie I had seen at a Saturday matinee when I was a kid. The beastly natives had hung Tarzan on a rope by his heels and he was swinging to and fro across a boiling cauldron. I would have preferred this as it was closer to the deck, warmer and did not have the split-level view.
Howard had already changed into dry clothes and was reluctant to move back into the wet zone. Eventually, he realised that I was the proverbial carcass hanging in the butcher’s shop and I wasn’t going anywhere without some external help. Somewhat tardily (my interpretation) he moved back into the line of fire and starting untwisting the rope. After what seemed an eternity I started to make downward progress, albeit still head down. My head finally touched terra firma accompanied by a feeling of relief. This was somewhat short lived – the rocky platform I had landed on was slick and wet with a ski jump shape drop below leading towards the lip of the second drop. Fortunately, further aerobatics/aquanautics were not needed as we made our way out of the creek and across to the start of the climb. It was to take almost two days of free and aid climbing to achieve that end.
Postscript:
In the mid 1980’s I returned with Greg Mortimer and freed the climb in a day. We used an alternative descent that was much shorter and contained less free fall but entailed negotiating a knot, never easy when abseiling. I’m pleased to report that this descent went without incident and also avoided waterfalls.
Incidentally, Bryden Allen managed to hang on in a very steep situation on the upper wall of Janicepts (21) and reinsert the hammer and rope back into place — an early case of climber interruptus?
John Fantini was saved by the fact that both he and his belayer carried hero loops. The latter was able to put a prussik knot on both lines and secure the rope into the belay point before John crossed the damaged area of rope.
Noddy Lockwood had reached my high point on an attempted first ascent at Mount Buffalo and also decided to back off owing to the lack of a bolt or substantial runner. To save leaving gear he looped the rope around two or so ‘trees’ to set up an abseil. Ben Sandilands was on belay at the top of a chimney groove and I was near him on the ledge with a rather slack attachment. The rock above was overhanging and Noddy was out of sight. Suddenly we heard a gasp, and then another. He sounded increasingly worried. Moments later a mass of rope and vegetation came plummeting down with Noddy at its centre. As he whizzed past I stupidly made a grab for the rope and was successful in grabbing something. To my amazement Noddy swung into the chimney groove about 7 metres below like a puppet on a string and stopped relatively unscathed. I didn’t feel any strain and to this day Ben and I (and perhaps Noddy too) cannot satisfactorily explain what happened.
Abseiling is a potentially dangerous activity. From these experiences it can be seen that there are numerous factors that can contribute to your downfall, either singly or in combination. Make sure that you are aware of these, then go ahead and enjoy it or avoid it. I’ll opt for the latter on most occasions.
A3. Start the Ball Game
By the start of 1970, a few climbing goals had been kicked and others had arisen to take their place. In the Warrumbungles, Howard Bevan and I had made the fourth ascent of Lieben, and the first ascent of the Gates of Janus at Mt Boyce. Rather stupidly this ascent was made in the first wear of my first pair of friction boots, a pair of RD’s that featured brown suede leather uppers and bright red laces. The rubber on the sole was case hardened and since it had not been roughed up made the layback up the corner a very slippery affair. The ascent was also cam and hexcentric free leaving the only large protection available, the extruded aluminium hexagonal chunks that were fashioned and sold by John Ewbank.
Balls Pyramid had been climbed in 1965 and again in 1969 and throughout the early months of 1970 this became the focus of our team of six climbers. Many hours were spent collecting, packing and waterproofing food and gear in preparation for our attempt on this amazing tower.
B. HAVING A BALL: 1970, 1973 and 2017
 |
| The Western Ridge of Balls Pyramid. |
B1. 1970 Balls Pyramid Expedition Report
Part 1, Thrutch, May/June 1970, pp. 18-20.
Part 2, Thrutch, July/August, 1970, pp. 14-18.
Part 3, Thrutch, Sept/Oct, 1970, pp. 10-11.
First Ascent of the West Ridge of Balls Pyramid near Lord Howe Island in 1970.
Rather than utilize the articles above as they are too long I will use the one in the following publication that is based upon them.
Keith Bell, First Ascent of the West Ridge, Jim Smith and Keith Bell (Eds), South Pacific Pinnacle — The Exploration of Balls Pyramid, Den Fenella Press – 2016, pp. 171-178.
Balls Pyramid is shaped like a huge wafer. Traditionally, the two ridges have always been named according to the direction they point towards. In the past the simple method used was to align the ridges to the north-south axis and the walls to the east and west. However, being the remnant of a volcanic caldera the Pyramid has a banana shape. When placed on a Compass Rose the South Ridge faces southeast but the curve of the Pyramid means that the North Ridge actually faces due west. Both articles use this more recent configuration.
First Ascent of the West Ridge
(Bicentennial Ridge)
Balls Pyramid
11th – 19th March, 1970
The year was 1970 and the Bicentennial of Cook’s discovery of the East Australian Coast was being celebrated. It was at the start of this year that I began my own voyage of discovery, an event that was to resonate throughout my life. The boat, the Lulawai, hailing from Lord Howe Island was approaching a mighty pinnacle of rock rising steeply 560 metres above the ocean. I felt a wave of fear and trepidation, yet tinged with excitement as we neared our destination. Did my companions share these doubts and emotions? Had our dreams and training equipped us for this undertaking?
Balls Pyramid, near Lord Howe Island had been climbed by four members of the Sydney Rockclimbing Club in 1965. I had attended a slide show on this ascent and was determined to make one of my own. Some willing participants emerged: Howard Bevan, Ray Lassman, Keith Royce, Hughie Ward and John Worrall signed up for this venture. Our initial goal was to make a third ascent of the original climb via the SE Ridge, but Bryden Allen, a member of the first ascent team suggested that we should try the unclimbed West Ridge.
A supplied photograph showed a very steep route broken into three distinct sections rising directly out of the sea. This was not going to be a pushover as just landing would present difficulties. Shoals surround the Western End and the boat, unlike at the other end, has to stand some distance out from the rock. We were fortunate that the seas were calm as gear, water and personnel were quickly moved and stored ashore. By sunset of the first day, the 11th March, we were installed about 75 metres above the water in a small grotto-like cave with some small ledges immediately below. The weather was fine and the real climbing would start on the morrow.
 |
| The final pitch onto Spinnaker Point in 1970 with wild seas below. (Howard Bevan) |
We were going to siege the climb, which meant that two lead climbers would leave a trail of ropes fixed at intervals behind. This ended at a point just below Pelorus Pinnacle. Rather fortuitously we had polypropylene rope for this purpose kindly ‘donated’ by the avant-garde artist, Christo. The remaining climbers then ascended these ropes with food and water, which were then stored on convenient ledges. Two high camps were established at a Red Cave below ‘Spinnaker Point’ called the ‘Orchestra Pit’ and at the col formed by the same point that was named RIP Ledge owing to a huge obelisk defining its southern boundary like a giant tombstone. By the end of the 15th March fixed ropes had been set up to the base of Pelorus Pinnacle.
I have great memories of my time in what was first called The Red Cave. It was a steep and exposed climb up Oceanview Wall to the sanctuary and safety of this haven. A red arch, cathedral-like roof soared towards the point above giving good protection from the elements. From this vantage point one had a clear view of Lord Howe Island with its twin peaks of Gower and Lidgbird hovering on the horizon. At sunset the shearwaters or mutton-birds would cease their fishing expeditions and land on or near us in a most ungainly fashion as their outspread wings lost lift and they crash-landed onto the ledge. Once settled they would coo softly and this combined with the wash of the waves below reverberated gently through the roof above creating a most soporific, peaceful and musical atmosphere. It was this sound that inspired me to call this bivvy — 'The Orchestra Pit'. These memories are still pleasant, strong and remain with me to this day. (Keith Royce)
The ridge beyond the pinnacle was dominated by the Chichester Gendarmes, a line of thin tottering towers named after the famous aviator who flew his Gypsy Moth seaplane past them in the 1931. The towers were, in places honeycombed with holes or windows, a phenomenon that had been noted by Chichester on his gallant flypast. They were in a word — unclimbable!!! A convenient slot between the Pinnacle and Gendarmes provided access to the northern face, an abseil was set up to gain a vegetated ledge below.
Next day these set ropes provided a quick and easy passage for all to Pelorus Pinnacle and the ledge beyond. A huge traverse along the ledge brought us to the base of the final summit tower. A long pitch up a sinuous unprotected dyke gained a large ledge in line with the top of the Chichester Gendarmes. The team was reunited and a lunch break was called. Above lay the hardest pitches of the climb up a steep and narrow buttress. John and I swung leads up this final section reaching the amazing summit by early afternoon. We left fixed climbing ropes up this section so soon afterwards Ray, Howard and Hughie were able to join us.
 |
| Ray Lassman climbing the summit pyramid of the Western Ridge in 1970. (Howard Bevan) |
Rather surprisingly, the summit was flat and spacious and we could move about unroped. A cairn of rocks punctuated its centre and in it we found a bottle with a note on a film packet left by the 1969 second SE Ridge Ascent, which we photographed. In true naval tradition that Cook would have been proud of, somebody had secreted a small bottom of rum in his pack. After each had a tot or two, we renewed the bottle contents with our own note and consigned it to the depths of the cairn. It was the 16th March 1970. The only direction now was down.
Ray left first followed by Howard and Hughie while John and I were ‘tail end Charlies’ tasked with stripping and coiling the fixed ropes. As we went down so the sun also took its inevitable downward path towards the distant sea. We were half way along the traverse when the curtain finally dropped and enveloped us in a velvety blackness. With it came the realisation that we would have to bivouac. We found small cramped ledges about five metres apart, tied ourselves on and settled down for the long night.
No sooner had we done this light rain began to fall. On his tiny perch John was continually being assaulted by one of the Pyramid’s many inhabitants, centipedes. Fortunately, I was not as tasty and came through relatively unscathed. To add to our torment, around two in the morning, a large cruise ship ablaze with lights sailed past. We were immediately assailed with unrequited dreams of a hot cup of tea, shelter and a warm bed. It was a long uncomfortable night.
Dawn broke clear, the rain had passed and John and I continued along the ledge to the abseil line. We quickly ascended this to find Howard had come up the fixed lines on the other side to give us a hand. Long abseils sweeping down the southern face took us back to RIP Ledge where we re-united with Hughie. Howard followed by stripping the fixed lines above the ledge.
Keith and Ray had spent the night in the orchestra pit and headed down the fixed lines to the base camp grotto. They were soon joined by Howard, John and I while Hughie stripped the fixed lines. Once down all hands began to pack the gear into waterproof drums for evacuation and stored them on a small ledge just above the water line. All of the party camped on the Base Camp Grotto and ledges that night.
There was a great deal of excitement on the Grotto Ledge the night before we exited the rock. Some of the group was waiting for the billy to boil when a mutton-bird dropped in for the night. It alighted on the edge of the billy singeing its tail in the near boiling water then squawked, flapped and upset the billy off the burner. The top group desperately tried to save the primus, the billy and the bird but only managed to salvage the former. John, the owner of the billy was too busy laughing to be of any help in any of these matters. The billy and its steaming contents plummeted towards the climbers on the narrow ledge below. They scattered as best they could to avoid either being clonked or scalded and shouted at the top group for their seeming lack of care. The melee finished with the pervading smell of burning feathers and a rather distressed bird flying off into the sunset with smoke issuing from its tail. Everybody fell about laughing, except maybe for John. This was a funny finale to a wonderful trip as this was our last night on the Pyramid. (Ray Lassman)
Next morning on the 19th March, contact was made with the boat at 8.00am as it rounded Mt Gower. The sea was calm enough for evacuation but as this progressed the swell began to break about 20 metres out. Hughie had swum the line out to the boat but the remainder on shore would have to contend with these changed conditions. It was a tough swim to the boat but we were motivated by thoughts of certain triangular shaped fins cutting through the waves towards us. Soon we were all on board, Clive the skipper did a circumnavigation of the Pyramid then headed towards Lord Howe Island. We had successfully completed the first ascent of the Western or ‘Bicentennial Ridge’ of Balls Pyramid.
B2. Balls Pyramid — 1973
Summit, vol. 20, no. 4, May 1974, pp. 2-5.
Reprinted in Jim Perrin (Ed), Mirrors in the Cliffs, Diadem Books London, 1983, pp. 141-145.
First skyline traverse and alpine style ascent of Balls Pyramid in 1973.
Balls Pyramid lies fifteen miles from Lord Howe Island, and is approximately 420 miles northeast of Sydney, Australia. Rising 1,860 feet out of the Pacific Ocean, it is shaped like a wafer, three quarters of a mile long by quarter of a mile wide at the widest point.
The Pyramid was first climbed in 1965 via the southeast ridge. A second ascent of this ridge was made in 1969, followed by the first ascent of the west ridge in 1970. An attempt on the southern face took place in 1971, the team reaching an altitude of almost a thousand feet before a retreat was sounded. All these ascents were sieged. The following is an account of the first alpine-style ascent.
A sense of isolation engulfed me as the boat disappeared behind the edge of the pinnacle. Memories flooded back as I gazed at the lonely sea. Three years before I had stood on the summit of Balls Pyramid, one of a party of six who had pioneered a new route up the west ridge. Now I had returned with Greg Mortimer to attempt the first skyline traverse and alpine-style of the Pyramid. We intended to climb the southeast ridge to the summit and then descend the west ridge. I had planned to do the traverse in 1972, but postponed the attempt owing to an extraordinary amount of cyclonic activity.
Balls Pyramid has unique approach problem. There are no bays, inlets or beaches to facilitate landings; bare rock rises sheer from the sea. The boat approaches as close to the Pyramid as the swell and shoals will allow. It is up to the climbers to swim to the rock and climb to safety above the level of the swell. Previous expeditions had members put out of action before they landed. We landed twice — on the western end to cache supplies and on the southeast end to begin the climb. Fortunately, both landings were on the sheltered side of the Pyramid and the sea was like a millpond. The windward side was a different story; fifteen foot waves were smashing against the rocks.
 |
| Greg Mortimer on the front cover of Ascent and low on the SE Ridge of the Pyramid. The landing platform can be seen below. |
By one o’clock Monday afternoon, February 26th, we had finished the preliminaries and began the long climb up the ridge to the summit. Nightfall saw us safely positioned in an incut horizontal fault a thousand feet above the ocean. The weather that day was fine and sunny with a strong northeasterly wind. Overnight it deteriorated and we awoke to find leaden skies. Towering above was one of the SE ridge’s major features, Winklesteins Steeple. Alternating leads, we were soon moving into the slot between the twin towers of the steeple. Some horizontal ridge climbing was encountered during which we were subjected to an unpleasant buffeting by the wind. The next major obstacle, the Pillar of Porteous, was followed by the Cheval Ridge that lead to the final summit tower. Some hard and exposed climbing was covered as the Pyramid threw down its final challenge.
At 3:30, Tuesday, we were standing atop Australia’s remotest summit, the greatest prize for an Australian climber: a ten-square-metre patch of real estate that barely a score of people had trodden. It felt good to be back. Little had changed in the intervening years. Lord Howe Island, now in view, straddled the horizon to the north, its two major peaks, Gower and Lidgbird rising a thousand metres out of the sea. We found the rum bottle left by the 1970 expedition, and added our jottings to the enclosed note, finishing with a confident, “and now attempting to descend the west ridge”. If we looked confident, we certainly did not feel it.
 |
| The author on the summit of Balls Pyramid. (Greg Mortimer) |
A comfortable night was spent, protected from the wind and rain by the large, arching roof of the cave. The advance of the cyclone was heralded by low-lying mist and intermittent rain. The wind had ceased blowing in gusts and bore in at a constant velocity, fetching great waves before it. These waves smashed with frightening ferocity against the base of the rock. Our contact advised us to sit tight until the cyclone had passed, but our food and water were running low. Two long rappels took us from the cave to the start of the traverse along the northern face. Four roped pitches along ledges poised above a 1,500 foot drop to the sea, led to the base of a crack system. It was raining heavily and the rock was running with sheets of water. I started up an incipient crack, bridging on minute slippery holds to a point where the crack opened up. I jammed my hand deeply into it, my first secure hold in thirty feet. One hundred feet above Greg, I came to a good ledge and set up a belay. Greg joined me. Shaking with apprehension I moved up the crack until it petered out into a bulge. I pulled out over it the top barely feet away. My eyes wandered down to the sea 1,600 feet below; fear welled up inside me. Suddenly I had it: reach for the loose looking flake and friction with my boots. The key was turned, the ridge was reached and the traverse was almost ours.
Dropping down and traversing under a huge gendarme, we then broke out onto a knife-edged ridge. It was an eerie sensation to sit astride the Pyramid with 1,500 foot voids on either side. Certainly it was no place to linger. A minute later we were off the ridge preparing to rappel. As we swung down past all the familiar places, my mind moved back three years, reliving the moments I had shared with five others on the very same ground. The weather had been fairer then, warm and slightly overcast; perfect conditions for climbing. No cyclones, no wet clothes and shivering bodies; just the sensations of a pleasant, enjoyable climb.
Suddenly I was jolted back into reality as Greg landed on the ledge beside me. Now only 350 feet above the sea we tried to retrieve the ropes. We heaved and pulled to no avail — the rope was securely jammed. Greg jumared up and soon disappeared over an overhang sixty feet above me. Minutes later the rope moved, but his descent brought another problem. Under the overhang he touched some loose flakes, causing a barrage of rocks to come hurtling towards my ledge. I braced myself as they clattered around. A stab of pain shot through my leg as a rock the size of a fist crashed into my knee.
Two agonizing rappels followed to reach the 1970 base camp ledge. It was a relief to get there, as my leg was collapsing under any applied weight. Up and twenty-five foot left was a small cave, our home for the next three days. We retrieved our ropes, climbed up to it, and collapsed, the rigours of the day having fatigued us both mentally and physically.
It was 5:30 pm Wednesday, February 28th. Already a gloom had settled over the sea. Two hundred feet below us the sea was a seething, turbulent white mass. Waves were crashing in from all directions sending froth and foam radiating out into a 500-yard circle. Right before our eyes, birds were plucked from their perches to be pushed before the wind, their wings useless appendages of their bodies. They were gathered up by the sea and drowned. Only the graceful gannets had the necessary strength to ride out the wind. The wafer shape of the Pyramid divided the wind into two streams of differing velocities. These collided violently just yards in front of us and created a vortex three hundred feet wide that zoomed up the face. We had a grandstand view of the awesome power of the cyclone. Never before had I seen such a release of natural energy.
Darkness came and clothed the drama in inky blackness. We prepared ourselves for the long ordeal of the night. Over saturated clothes we placed our waterproof vests and pants, then slipped into large plastic bags, scant protection against the rigours of the storm. Knowledge of the fact that our cached food and sleeping bags lay below us did little to humour us. As the night progressed, the storm intensified. The mouth of the cave was the lip of a waterfall. On nearby Lord Howe Island roofs were torn off houses and palm trees flattened. Many people had their sleep disturbed by the violence of Cyclone Kirsty that night.
Dawn filtered through an oppressive mist and we again resumed our grandstand view of the fight below. We felt heartened by the weak light that now enveloped us. The night had passed slowly. It was the worst bivouac that I had sat through in Australia and certainly the equivalent of the one I had previously experienced on the Walker Spur. It was Greg’s third bivouac, all of which had been on the Pyramid. At least he had probably had his best and worst on the one trip.
 |
| The shelter cave used to sit out the cyclone, sitting room for two with two packs. (Howard Bevan) |
By 10:30 am as the clouds scudded overhead patches of blue began to appear. By 12:30 the sky was almost clear, though a trace of wind remained. Thirty minutes later, I was sitting sunning myself on the ledges below. One could scarcely believe that there had been a cyclone. I was looking across brilliant blue water towards Lord Howe Island basking under a clear sky.
Late Friday morning an island fishing boat appeared, but it was too rough to attempt an evacuation. The afternoon passed in dejected silence. Whereas before we had been fighting wet and cold, the sun bore into our cave, broiling us in a natural oven.
Midday Saturday another fishing boat came into sight. We had no choice — lack of food and water meant that we would have to swim for it. We packed our gear and ferried it down to the stowage ledge. Our confrontation with the surf at the lower level was frightening. Huge fifteen foot waves were breaking thirty-five yards out from the rock. Getting our equipment off was out of the question; we would have difficulties enough without the added problem of valuable gear.
The boat stood about 130 yards out just beyond the shoals. Greg and I stood on a platform with the surf boiling around our legs, waiting for a calm moment. When I dived at a wave’s high point, the water level suddenly dropped revealing a mosaic of rock and water. Miraculously I landed in water, surfacing only when I could not hold my breath any longer. Continued diving to avoid crashing waves left me exhausted but the thought of sharks spurred me on. At last the boat, only yards away! With my last ounce of energy I dragged myself to its side, where friendly hands hauled me to safety. Greg arrived and was lifted aboard in the same fashion. We both lay on the deck of the boat like gasping fish, too exhausted to speak. The boat turned and we headed towards Lord Howe Island.
B3. Australian Museum Balls Pyramid Expedition — 2017
Expedition Leader: Paul Flemons, Other Support Staff: Frank Koehler, Hank Bower, and Kate Pearce, Photographer: Tom Bannigan
 |
| Base Camp - 2017 (L to R) Dave Gray, Tom Bannigan, Hank Bower and Paul Flemons (Expedition leader) (Courtesy of the Australian Museum - Sydney) |
Climbing member of this expedition were Zane Priebbenow, Paul Priebbenow, Vanessa Wills, David Gray and Brian Mattick. All climbers reached the summit.
Climbed SE Ridge undertaking a survey for Phasmids and other insects for the Australian Museum, Sydney. 17 Phasmids were found on the ridge and other invertebrates were also collected. A single Phasmid, ’Vanessa’ was transported back to the Melbourne Zoo for breeding purposes. Some new species of invertebrates from those collected have since been identified.
 |
| On top of that amazing summit again. (Brian Mattick) (Courtesy of the Australian Museum - Sydney) |
C. ALPINE ANTICS: 1970 — 1971:
 |
| On the NNE ridge of the Aig. L'm. The Aig. de la Republique is the tower top left with the Charmoz-Grepon on the right. (Cherie Bremer-Kamp) |
C1. Flying High
It was a Sunday afternoon in either May or early June 1970 when I flew out of Sydney on my first trip to Europe via the classic Kangaroo Route. I had purchased a Jetsetter fare for $390 one way, my wage at that time was probably $60.00 a fortnight. It cost about $1.50 to fill the petrol tank of my Morris Minor when I went climbing. I was running late and when I got to the departure counter there were about five or six airline employees hurrying me up by hollering, “Come on passenger”. This struck me as rather weird.
The reason for their concern soon became apparent as I boarded the plane — I was their only passenger! This was back in the day of the Ten Pound Poms and chartered aircraft returned whether they had passengers or not. I was the only one who had booked on the returning Boeing 707. I had the run of the plane. I played cards with the aircrew and certainly didn’t suffer from a scarcity of drink, food and service. Somewhere over Queensland the Captain called me up to the cockpit. As I was sitting there he asked me if I had seen the big hole at Mt Isa. When the answer was in the negative he motioned me to sit at the right hand window. He then started twirling a little knob and the plane started to tilt. It was finally flying with its wings pointing vertically. “Can you see it?” the pilot asked. “I can see it”, I replied as my face was plastered into a side window by gravity and looking down 30,000 feet into the mouth of a yawning hole. As we were approaching Singapore, the Chief Steward gently informed me that other passengers would be joining the flight and that I would need to act as a passenger rather than an additional member of the aircrew. Point taken. There were about thirty passengers on board when we reached Heathrow.
The other shock to the system was when we reached Bahrain for a transit stop to re-fuel. As I walked down the air stairs from the aircraft there was a guard on either side at the bottom both cradling automatic weapons. This was not something that occurred in Australia or other parts of the world at the time. However, nowadays it is commonplace and there is no doubt that people appreciate their presence.
I’m pleased to report that I made an immediate impact on climbers in the UK. I was climbing with Wilbur King in the Lakes District and it was a typical wet, cold, rainy day. We retreated to the climbers’ haunt, namely the Salutation Hotel in Ambleside, and it was packed. After a few ‘pints of bitter’, Wilbur and I were invited to throw a few darts in a corner of the hotel where a lively competition was taking place. I hadn’t thrown any arrows for years and the pub was so packed there was only an aisle the width of the dartboard for the passage of the darts. On my first throw this was suddenly widened substantially to about four metres and I thought that I might get a bill for the chipped plaster. Bloody colonials!!!
 |
| Ashes and Diamonds Swanage on the Dorset Coast. (Rick Jamieson) |
C2. Chamonix I
To get to Chamonix in 1970, I flew from London to Geneva arriving mid afternoon on a beautiful sunny day. I have memories of walking along a causeway with the lake to my left and once out of the city I started hitching. Almost immediately, Rene, a French climber, picked me up. He was going directly to Chamonix to meet up with some of his friends for a few days’ climbing. They belonged to a club that had a rundown stone building in the town centre and he said that I could stay there the night. Next morning he said he would take me to Snell’s Field where the mainly British contingent camped. Later that afternoon we crossed the Arve River and walked up into the forest on the Aiguilles side to meet up with his friends who were camping. On the way up I remember seeing a brightly coloured adder in the pine needles, the only snake that I saw in France. Rene’s friends did not speak English but they immediately broke out some alcohol that they called ‘The Spirit of the Mountains’. When it came my turn I lifted the bottle high to a horrified “non, non, non”. Too late, the burning sensation was intense; the white spirit was obviously high octane.
Next morning Rene dropped me at the campground and I set up my tent beside twins Alan and Adrian Burgess, very experienced alpine climbers. They were very helpful in many respects. The first thing I needed to attend to after shelter was something to eat. They pointed me towards the local supermarket a kilometre or two down the road in town. I eventually found it and one of the things that I searched the shelves for was oats or porridge. At the time back home this was probably the staple breakfast, a product of our British heritage I guess. But after combing the shelves I could not find it anywhere.
Eventually I saw the manager went up and asked him where I could find this particular item. He took a pace back then looked at me in absolute derision and disdain and declared: ‘Only Englishmen and horses eat oats!!!’ He then stomped off. I considered myself well and truly told and made my way to the fridge for some yoghurt and cheese followed by a baguette. It seemed like I also had a target indelibly printed on me, which was distinctly English. I came to see why the British were held in so much contempt in this part of France.
Later when buying my French cruisine at the supermarket, there was a pair of Scots with large Duvets on and a full trolley. As I passed them later the trolley contained only a few items and presumably the rest had been disposed of back on the shelves or maybe into those voluminous duvets. There were plenty of impecunious climbers in this burg. But most things were reasonably cheap. Alcohol for example, namely Vin Blanc, Vin Rouge (Vin Rough) and ‘pasteurized’ beer cost about 90 centimes a bottle. It could also be refrigerated at the back of the campsite in the Arveyron River that flowed directly out of the Mer de Glace. Buying fruit and veg was always a bit of a hoot, as the young serving girls did not or pretended not to speak English. Ordering and buying things at this counter was always hilarious.
One of the rituals in town was to check out the curbside Meteorological Station for oranges (*) and the height of the 0 degrees isotherm. On the way there several Patisseries were passed with their amazing displays of French pastries. It was sad to window shop and see these amazing morsels sitting so tantalizingly close but walled off by a sheet of glass and French people inside buying up with gusto. Another ritual adopted was to once a week buy two of these treats, retreat to the nearby park, and take tiny nibbles to prolong the ecstasy of these expensive but delicious trifles.
The French had also revalued their currency so there were crappy old aluminium Franc pieces still floating around. These were always given to you as change but when you tried to buy something with them the shopkeepers would not accept them. As time went by a pile of these useless coins was amassed. Rather than keep them a group of co-conspirators came up with a great idea to alleviate us of their presence. A bunch of us lined up alongside the Arveyron and tossed our accumulated aluminium into its tumbling waters. It gave us all a strange sense of power to be reasonably destitute and to disabuse ourselves of seemingly once valued coinage. Perhaps one day it would also provide a treasure trove of artefacts for archeologists?
At one stage an Aussie touring couple camped near me on the field. It was great to have some home company. They had the obligatory Kombi with a kangaroo emblazoned on the front. We went downtown in it and split up to do some shopping. I got back first and since it was a really sunny day rested against the front of the wagon and took in the view of the aiguilles, always rather eye catching. An old Frenchman wobbled past on his bicycle, turned around saw the kangaroo and then me. He swayed to a halt on the curb got off his bike, ran back and gave me a big hug saying, ‘Ohh Australien.’ Having done that he jumped back on his bike and rode off. It seems Australians were OK as long as they didn’t appear British, a difficult thing to do at the start of the 1970’s and without some suitable embellishment.
There were some times I even got to climb when the scarcity of fine weather and climbing partners could be overcome.
(*) Orange = Orage (Fr) = Thunderstorm (Eng)
C3. And Then There Were Two!! - An Alpine Initiation??
In 1970 I was the lone Australian climber in Chamonix. Unfortunately, Mountain magazine had just printed an article by John Ewbank describing his climb on the Totem Pole. This then was the yardstick by which I would be judged. ‘Have you climbed the Totem Pole?’ prospective climbing partners would ask. ‘No’, next moment I was speaking to somebody’s back. It did not seem to matter that the Totem Pole was over a 1,000 kilometres south of Sydney with its own particular access problems. Being an Australian coming from a reputably flat, dry, featureless country did not seem to attract too many good and reliable climbing partners in this town. Finally, I met up with ‘Binks’, a Brit climber of unknown quality given his name. Our first climb was to be the East ‘Mer de Glace’ Face of the Grepon — a long but easier Chamonix classic.
Our aim was to climb to a tiny refuge on the Tour Rouge pedestal, bivouac there, and then complete the climb the next day. All went well: Binks was a solid climber and superb Chamonix granite grooves led up to our small tin shelter situated to the right of the main route. On reaching it we found it occupied by three Japanese climbers. However, their English was good and they didn’t mind sharing the cramped, but comfortable quarters. They told us that they had travelled to Chamonix via the Trans Siberian Railway.
The morning was a hive of activity as we all ate, packed and contemplated the route ahead. The dreaded Knubel Crack lay some seven hundred metres ahead of us, the last bastion to be breached before attaining the summit and its protective Madonna. The Japanese indicated that they were going to solo back along the traverse line to rejoin the main route, and then rope up. I was puzzled by this decision but put it down to peculiar cultural practices. Maybe, it was just a simple ploy to grab the lead on the route?
From the ledge there was about a three metre climb down to the traverse line. The first Japanese started down with a heavily laden pack. He suddenly slipped but landed upright on the ledge defining the start of the traverse. Momentarily, he teetered, but his heavy pack continued to drag him backwards. To my astonishment he went cartwheeling into space. We all stood there in silence — mesmerised.
It took several minutes for us to regain our composure. A rescue or more likely recovery was required and we thought ‘Alpine Ethics’ dictated that Binks and I should take part. The Japanese set up abseils and we went down with them. Their companion had fallen into the bergschrund and was out of sight. They set up an ice axe belay and one of them descended into the bowels of the slot. A voice called out from below, ‘He deader.’
 |
| Highway to many of the climbs in Chamonix - the Mer de Glace. Montenvers can be seen ahead, the terminus of the rack railway. |
The Japanese remained on the snow at the base of the climb while Binks and I trudged back down the snowfield to the nearby Envers Hut. We informed the warden what had happened and he relayed the information onto the helicopter rescue service. He then made us a cup of welcoming tea. About forty minutes later we heard the sound of a chopper and then watched it head for and land where we had left the Japanese at the base of the climb. About ten minutes later it flew off leaving an empty expanse of snow. Binks and I looked at each: we had a long trudge back to Montenvers then down to our campsite in the valley. We had experienced a deadly introduction to alpine climbing with an oriental twist.
C4. All Quiet on the Southern Front or The Storming of the Midi
Not to be dissuaded by this tragedy, Binks and I teamed up again. This time we decided to head for the classic one-day route; the South Face of the Aiguille du Midi, first climbed by
Gaston Rebuffet and Maurice Baquet in July 1956
We caught an early ‘phrique’, plodded across the razor sharp icy ridge atop the Frendo Spur, dropped down right into the Vallee Blanche, then trudged across the snow to the start of climb. We arrived about 7:30 am to be presented with a worrisome sight. It was not the famous S crack that hovered menacingly above that worried us, but the hordes of German alpine troops that festooned the route. What’s more, there were others in ‘foxholes’ at the base of the cliff waiting to climb.
We sat down on the snow and waited, waited and then waited some more. By hell or high water we were not going to allow another Axis country to spoil our climb, particularly given that the return fare to the top of the Midi brought a lot of yoghurt, baguettes, cheese and vin rough. Unbelievably, a bit after midday one of the Germans above started playing of all things, a piano accordion. My patience at this stage was somewhat strained and I shouted up, ‘If you don’t stop playing and start climbing I’ll shove that bloody thing up where the sun doesn’t shine!!!’ Suddenly, silence reigned again across the Vallee Blanche, it seems my invocation had been instrumental in achieving this at least.
 |
| The storming of the Midi. The famous S crack can be made out between the two Germans above the lower left overhang. |
Around 1:30 pm Binks and I began to climb. The S crack was clear by this time but when I reached the ledges above they were packed with occupying German troops. In a quick discussion we cooked up a strategy to break through the log jam. It was decided that I would lead with minimal protection and move past the occupied ledges to belay in the crack or groove above. This would effectively block the route and give us the lead on the next section. I would then bring Binks up to the ledge to belay with the Germans. The tactic could then be repeated. It worked wonders and we were making remarkable progress passing the hordes of reluctant soldiers and moving up the route.
At last, a rightward sloping groove led to a shoulder, which seemed to be the end of the climb. As I was nearing the end of the groove a jackbooted German officer with a luger in hand stepped across in front of me barring the way. Well, he was an officer at least and he uttered a rather firm and guttural, ‘Nein!!!’ I glanced across at the wall on my right, it was steep and unprotected but I reckoned it would go. Anyway, my blood was up. ‘Bugger you’, I thought and launched up the wall. The officers mouth gaped as I gained the shoulder, belayed and brought Binks up.
It got messy again. A short abseil was required into a couloir that then led up to the main gallery of the Midi station. However, the system that the Germans had set up to protect it was slow and laborious and we were again caught behind another platoon. At the bottom, I organized the ropes so that the Germans could move quickly and efficiently. Suddenly, Colonel Klink appeared on the skyline and abruptly ordered his men to resume their former time-consuming system. By this time I was really pissed off and just led the couloir until I reached rock. Just above lay an off-take tunnel from the Midi station. It was large, sheltered and expended warm air. I tied off the rope for Binks as he had decided to foster Anglo-German relations. He had probably spent too much time with them in the trenches?
 |
| The Midi Station and cableway from the Chamonix side. (Tryfon Kar -Wikipedia) |
The tunnel was very welcoming. I took out some food and water to make up for the deficit of the day. Outside the light was fading fast and a storm was threatening. Soon it was dark, snow had started to fall, the wind had come up, and down below there was a kaleidoscope of flashing torches and occasionally, people could be heard shouting. It looked like mayhem and it was. Hours later a stream of tired, disheveled Germans began moving past my warm bunker up into the galleries of the Midi. Towards the end Binks was one of their number.
We were trapped for the night at the top of the Midi and were quartered in some dormitories set aside for workers. The storm intensified with thunder, lightning and heavy snow. One could almost perish just walking across the small, darkened bridge that connected the two summit pinnacles. Periodically, there was a thick stream of blue sparks flashing along the wires attached to the ceilings of the gloomy galleries and a mighty ‘baroom!’ as lightning struck the ‘rocket’ on top of the Midi. It was a fascinating place to be in such conditions.
Next morning, the thunderstorms had dissipated but heavy snow accompanied by a violent wind still whipped around our citadel. The powers-that-be had decided to run one phrique for the day to get rid on their resident ‘guests’. At the appointed hour we all packed into the cabin. As it moved from the station it was grabbed by the wind and tossed violently in every direction. From above, the ice and snow that had built up overnight on the cable fell in heavy lumps to smash against the top of the cabin with loud metallic bangs. Our climb of the Midi had been a wild ride in so many respects. But then the day before had been traditionally a day of unrest in France; it was Bastille Day. In keeping with the traditions of the day, the Midi had been well and truly stormed.
C5. The Thin Red Line
Thrutch, Vol 50, March/April 1971, pp. 19–20.
See also Wilber King, The Gnome and the Giant, Thrutch, vol. 5, no. 9, January/February 1971, pp. 13-14.
First Australian Ascent of the Gervasutti Pillar on the Mt Blanc du Tacul, Chamonix, 1970.
Standing on the summit of the Auguille du Moine taking in the breath-taking panoramic scene, I let my sight linger on the huge, white bulk of Mt Blanc. There on a subsidiary summit, I saw it, a pillar, a thin red line of rock. I was fascinated by it, the perfect line, straight as a die, but alas climbing partners were difficult to find. I returned to the valley but the thought of climbing the pillar plagued me.
Day after day of good weather slipped by and I was still in the valley. Then one day, as luck would have it, I met an Englishman (Gnommie) with the same fixation (*). He had seen the pillar from the Grande Jorasses the year before and was also entranced by the fineness of its line.
That’s how it started, however, let me fully explain. The mountain was the Mt Blanc du Tacul, northeastern face. The action and the climb involved: an Anglo-Australian attempt on the Gervasutti Pillar. The following events took place over a period of 24 hours.
It began early one afternoon at the Chamonix Telepherique Station. We stepped aboard the aerial cableway to be whisked away on the most frightening ride I have ever experienced particularly on its upper stage. ‘Instant Altitude’ they call it. Frightening? Well yes, but it sure beats walking. Towards the top of the Auguille du Midi the tension was broken by some bright Frenchman’s comment — ‘C’est le chamois.’ He had spotted some climbers steps on the snow ridge of the nearby Frendo Spur.
Once at the Midi all that remained, so I was told, was an easy 15 minute stroll to our illegal bivouac. Unfortunately, Gnommie forgot to tell me about the traverse from the Midi along the top of the Frendo Spur. He bounced off merrily down its sharp, compact ridge leaving me to my own devices. Staggering from conveniently placed snow poles to the next I made my haphazard way repeating to myself, ‘Fall left, fall left.’ The honour of making the first Australian descent of the 3,000 foot Frendo Spur into the Bar Nationale was something I could do without. Finally I arrived at the Col du Midi where the track descends right into the Vallee Blanche.
The hut was reached and after struggling through a mass of cogs, machinery and wire we finally found the cupboard where we would sleep for the night. After some food and many brews we settled down for the night. Meanwhile outside snow had begun to fall and the harbingers of an approaching storm began to illuminate the sky with celestial fireworks. As it got closer the switchboard and machinery at our feet also started emitting blue sparks as the telepherique wire it operated, collected and discharged electricity from above. Fortunately it moved on before our feet were scorched or burnt.
Early next morning at 3:30 am we set off moving by torchlight roped together across the snowy expanse of the Vallee Blanche. The scenery was incredible: to the right stood the Tacul guarding the approach to Mt Blanc; leftward stretched the ragged outlines of the Auguilles; while the Gros Rognon, the Geant and the lofty Grande Jorasses, resplendent in the moonlight towered in front of us.
By daybreak we had negotiated the approach snow slopes and a small couloir to the start of the climb. Gnommie led the first pitch, climbing 100 feet up a leftward diagonal crack to the centre of the pillar. The route then led up a shallow groove, stepped left across a smooth wall to a ledge and continued for 20 feet up a layback crack. At its top another leftward traverse brought us to an easier zone of rock. Several hundred feet of Grade III to IV climbing was covered trending rightward to the steep central section of the Pillar. A start was made by an 80 foot groove which required a traverse left at the top to the centre of the Pillar. From here a crack led up to a small roof before a fairly large ledge was reached at the foot of a spectacular yellow tower. After a short rest it was my lead.
The severity of the climbing brought me back to my senses. After shaking 30 feet up a crack, I went too high past a peg and almost fell down before I could back down. Once at the peg, a delicate rising traverse led to the right hand side of the Pillar. Hard sustained climbing up its edge led directly to the top of the step. While setting up a belay I happened to glance across at the Boccalatte Pillar. On it and level with me were Bob and Pete, two congenial Yorkshiremen. They had started the Gervasutti Pillar the day before, however, so something must have gone astray. ‘What climb are you on Bob, the Gervalatte Pillar?’ ‘No’, came the stern reply, ‘the Boccasutti Pillar, you great Australian git!!’
 |
| Pete can be seen high on the left of the Boccalatte Pillar in red, Bob's white helmet can be seen on the ridge in the bottom right third of the photo. |
After much shouting between the parties interrupted by avalanches tumbling down between the two pillars, I was out in front leading up an easy 100 foot groove to the start of the first aid section. This consisted of a short pegged up crack finishing on a large ledge. My lead again. I climbed a groove for 20 feet then traversed left and dropped down slightly over a small bulge into a chimney. The chimney was followed for about 30 feet before friction forced me to belay on some small holds. Gnommie led through up a narrow crest to a small col where 200 feet of strenuous jamming finally attained a large terrace.
Another crack led to the short, difficult second aid section, 20 feet higher up, a 450 foot rising traverse over steep, mixed ground led to the top of the final step. ‘Gnome’ led out three full pitches up this ramp to gain entry to a 60-foot crack leading to a col behind the step. It was on this ramp I nearly came to grief when a snow slope I was standing on collapsed. Fortunately, I had two good handholds and was able to continue dragging my heavyweight frame up the ramp cursing all lightweight, short-arsed climbers.
Once in the col, things began to deteriorate, namely my condition (too much Bar Nat and not enough climbing). We also found ourselves looking at the silver linings within the clouds, while snowflakes drifted gently past us. Gnommie traversed left past two towers and descended 30 feet down the left hand side of the second tower. A descending traverse to the left around the wall of a gully led to an 80 foot chimney ascending to a col formed by a now visible third tower. Once the col was gained we were on easy broken ground where we could safely move together. Several hundred feet later we found our route blocked by a huge red tower. A wide chimney split the middle of the tower and almost instinctively ‘Gritstone Gnommie’ forced a route up it — an off route. Some time was wasted at the top of the chimney traversing to and fro trying to find the route. Finally, I saw some ‘Chamois’ tracks on easy ground about 100 feet below in a couloir. We set up an abseil and descended diagonally to the tracks below.
The ropes came down without a hitch and within minutes we were off moving together over some loose tot. Further deterioration of the weather and a clap of thunder made us halt in our tracks. ‘Will we bivouac or risk going on?’ ‘Bugger it’, came the reply, ‘lets go on.’ The thought of our warm cupboard that night was too appealing.
On we progressed, moving quickly over the broken ground, not sparing a thought for the falling snow and the occasional clap of thunder. Our path trended leftward across the couloir, then up more tottering blocks to a yellow arête. The climbing on the arete became more difficult, perhaps grade III with patches of IV, but our confidence was such that we continued moving together. The rock and the situation were superb. The last 40 feet up the arête to the top of the tower (the large red tower mentioned previously) were very hard, requiring belays. Beyond the tower the climbing changed into classical easy-angled ridge climbing. The weather cleared and all worries about being caught on an exposed summit by an electrical storm were dispelled. Very soon the rock gave way to snow and all that remained was 150 feet of steep snow to the summit of the Tacul.
 |
| On the Valle Blanche with the Gervasutti Pillar behind just left of centre in photo. (KBC) |
We kicked our way up the snow slope carefully doing a British ‘Kangchenjunga’ trick by skirting the summit so as to not make the gods angry. A lightning bolt at this stage would make for heated debate. Continuing on we traversed a sharp snow ridge connecting the two summits of the Tacul, skirted it on the right then found tracks leading down a broad snow ridge. On following them they gradually diverged to the right from the ridge proper until we were descending a steep snow slope. Mist again enveloped us and the track suddenly plunged over a precipice into the murk below. Not knowing the runout of the slope we backtracked to another set of tracks that branched out to the right. These traversed gradually back onto the ridge where we found of all things — an igloo. Though it was very well constructed it was not somewhere that we wanted to spend the night. Donning crampons we ploughed on back down the slope from the frozen shelter.
Before we had gone too far, the mist suddenly lifted and the route down the snowslopes to the Col du Midi was now visible. The route threaded its way through numerous crevasses and negotiated many very steep patches of snow. Over to our left the Arve Valley was full of thick cloud and with the sun setting behind the Brevent, it made a truly spectacular sight.
More beautiful to our eyes, however, was the Augille du Midi with our little ‘niche’ nestled near its base. Not much longer and we should be there.
(*) Wilber King, now climbing and living in the Blue Mountains.
C6. Oranges and Ice Cream
In 1969 there had been a violent electrical storm that swept across the aiguilles and eventually knocked out the electrical supply to Chamonix. A bunch of British climbers in the Alpenstock, a local bar had used the ensuing darkness to strip the front counter of many of its goodies. I was to witness an encore performance in 1970 though without the success of the previous year.
After a nasty, overcast day I decided to walk down with some friends into Chamonix and partake of the beer served in the Alpenstock. As we were walking down the road lightning and thunder, oranges in the sky, was illuminating the aiguilles with a thunderous accompaniment. I remember thinking that I was pleased to be down in the valley rather than sitting on some ledge up there watching the fireworks at close hand.
Whilst in the bar, the storm seemed to intensify and then the inevitable happened. The lights went out and many shapes made a dash for the front counter. However, they were back in seconds. It seems that the French had learnt from the year before and had quickly formed a cordon armed with knives and choppers. There was nothing else to do but sit down and wait for the lights to come back on.
I quite often used to boulder with Alan Rouse on the boulders behind Snell’s Field and right at the start of the darkness he had got up from our table and slipped out of the bar. He came back about ten minutes later and breathlessly announced, ‘The gendarmes have even surrounded the bank.’ Maybe he had decided to move on to bigger game?
After waiting a while for the lights to come back on, we decided to hit the road. No sooner had we stepped outside than a furtive figure approached us and said, ‘I have some booty’ or words to that effect. It turned out that our friend had approached an obliging kerbside machine that had kindly ‘given’ him two large boxes of ice cream. Now call me a hypocrite or perhaps I had been corrupted but ice cream had been off the agenda for months. The six of us decided to take the packets back to camp but thought that we should consume our ill-gotten goods with some degree of comfort. Conveniently, one of our group had a van and we were close to a café that had alfresco furniture stacked neatly away. Fortunately, the storm had dissipated, the sky had cleared and the moon had come out as we set up our ‘borrowed’ table, chairs and an umbrella in the middle of the field. The illicit ice cream slipped down rather well but after we had finished we realized that we were surrounded by evidence should the gendarmes decide to visit. Some plans were devised to rid us of this incriminating material.
Next morning, the obligatory visit of the gendarmes to our campsite occurred at 9:00 am on the dot. Some unsuspecting Englishman happened to walk into them and was immediately vigorously interrogated by the head honcho. This went on for a few minutes but then the 2-I-C began desperately trying to get the attention of the questioning officer by tapping him on the shoulder. But the officer was not be dissuaded from his task. The poor innocent Briton was about to be clapped in irons when finally the officer turned to his subordinate and asked him what he wanted. The 2-I-C was seen to point towards the French section of Snell’s Field. The officer followed the direction of his pointing finger and there perched on the largest boulder was an alfresco table with chairs and a lovely unfurled umbrella. Problem solved, the gendarmes slunk into their cars and drove away. Later that day the table, chairs and umbrella were mysteriously transported back to their owner.
The Great Ice Cream Escapade of 1970 had ended and we were left to digest the results.
C7. UK BOUND
The 1970 alpine season in Chamonix was not a good one. There was incessant rain in the valley and oranges in the sky up high. In fact so much rain had fallen that the climbers on Snell’s Field had built some elaborate shelters out of plastic and old timbers ‘recycled’ from building sites in the town. As the days grew shorter and the rain increased I was offered a lift back to London by one of the climbers at the campsite.
This guy had climbed in Chamonix some years before but his career had been cut short by a motorbike accident in which he had lost an arm. He was on a solo nostalgia trip and therefore had plenty of room in his car. Now his car was a semi-automatic Morris 1100 which he steered with one arm by using a revolving button set on top of the rim of the steering wheel. On most occasions the car changed gear when required but the BMC semi-automatic change of the era was pretty dodgy.
On leaving Chamonix we travelled in a northeasterly direction, as my driver was very keen to check out the Jungfrau and the Eiger in particular. All went well until we reached the bottom of a pass that seemed to snake its way steeply and continuously up towards snow-capped mountains. On the first corner the first wave of concern began to hit me. By about the third switchback my concern had transformed into survival as the driver cranked the steering wheel several revolutions to take the tight corner but at some point was forced to drop the car down a gear with his only hand. We were gaining height quite rapidly when I gently suggested that perhaps I should drive. This was like a red rag to a bull. The car accelerated and the old school cross-ply tyres screeched as they were taken too fast into the many remaining corners. I was saying a word to myself, which it came to pass, was the name of these mighty switchbacks.
 |
| Part of the Furka Pass - Switzerland. (Cooper.ch - Wikipedia) |
The Furka Pass is a high mountain pass at an elevation of 2.431 m (7,976ft) above sea level, located in one of the snowiest regions in Switzerland. It’s one of the world's most iconic, exhilarating and exciting drives, through the Swiss Alps. The pass was immortalised by the Aston DB5/Ford Mustang car chase in James Bond's Goldfinger. It's one of the highest mountain roads in the Alps and is considered to be a very dangerous one.
We did make it to Grindalwald but the area was socked in. However, I did spend some time in the heath below the North wall of the Eiger eating bilberries before we continued on our way across Switzerland and France towards the Channel. England awaited, at least for a while.
C8. Chamonix II
The 1971 season began with an influx of Australians and New Zealanders so that climbing partners no longer presented the problems that it had the year before. I flew into Zurich from Africa then caught two trains to get to Chamonix. The second train was a quaint rack railway that weaved through the mountains then down through the valley into the town. On arrival at Snell’s Field after dusk, the first person that I met was Chris Baxter. He was in his small tent and came out to greet me. I watched this silhouette emerge and keep on emerging until he towered over me — and I thought that I was tall. He introduced me to his mate Mike and some days later Howard Bevan, John Fantini, Doug McClean, Richard Horn and three or four Kiwis arrived. By this time I had also met quite a few Pommies so I was largely untroubled by Ewbank’s seminal article. The weather was kinder too, the 0 degrees isotherm remained low and there were few storms on the horizon.
We were all set for a really good season.
C9. A Grand Nightcap -1971
Thrutch, Vol 67, September 1975, Page 16
First Australian Ascent of the East Face of the Grand Capucin, Chamonix, 1971 with Howard Bevan.
 |
| The Grand Capucin. (Wikipedia) |
Snow was swirling around the overhanging corner as Howard and I settled down for the night on Bonatti’s first bivouac. Below us lay the approach couloir and several hundred feet of pegged up grooves. Below too was the notorious ‘Stone’s Chimney’ and the Grade 6 ‘Guild’s Slab of Horror’*. There could only be easier climbing further on!!
The bivouac was comfortable but by no means spacious. Soon after midnight torches moving across the Vallee Blanche began converging on the Cap. These contrasted sharply with the flashes of lightning on the Italian horizon. They both had us worried. Towards morning the lightning ceased but the torches moved steadily towards us. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast as we watched the antics of the climbers far below. At least we had grabbed the grid position in the Grand Cap Derby; any other party would have to follow us.
Howard was climbing the Grade 5 corner above the bivouac as the first continentals with their tinkling aluminum etriers began to move up the vertical grooves at the end of the initial traverse from the couloir. We followed a line of grooves until a rightward traverse on pegs across a beautiful red wall was reached. Tremendous aid climbing put us at the base of strenuous Grade 5 chimney.
 |
| Climbing into the mist and overhangs on the Grand Capucin. (Howard Bevan) |
After a hard start, the chimney led to a wide, flat ledge, a perfect bivouac site. The back wall of this ledge was the famous ‘40 metre wall’, the reputed crux of the climb. A long pitch by Howard took the entire wall in a single push and landed us on a broken, shingle ledge, Bonatti’s second bivouac. A traverse left, then a short wall followed by another leftward traverse led to a stance in a niche. The next move was into the unknown.
On stepping around the corner, all of the exposure that the Grand Cap is famous for came into focus. A small foothold large enough for the toes was topped by a bulging wall leading to a 2-metre roof about 25 metres above us. Below the rock was undercut and our eyesight was first interrupted by the glacier 400 metres below.
From the overhang the line trended to the right initially but then started to sneak leftwards. Always it followed cracks and grooves, deceptively hidden and difficult of access. The route must surely be a credit not only to Bonatti’s skill as a climber but also to his genius for route finding.
 |
| Howard leading the 40 metre wall. |
Finally about 150 metres short of the summit, the line took a diagonal traverse rightwards to the NE ridge. The stance on the ridge was in a fine position under an enormous overhang. A difficult descending traverse rightwards led to a series of grooves. The ascent of the grooves put us onto a snow ramp, which led to a large ledge on the west face, 7 metres below the summit.
It was mid afternoon so we sat around in the brilliant sunshine resting and taking in the view. Finally, we were spurred into action by the sound of voices emanating from below. We scrambled down the face to a point where a long abseil dropped us into a col formed by the back of the Cap and Mt Blanc. An iced up broken gully dropped down towards the Vallee Blanche. We started down. Towards the bottom the following parties had completed their abseils and started descending the gully. The clumsy-footed bastards kicked huge blocks down making our lower position in the gully untenable.
For a long time the air was rent with shattering rocks as a succession of French, Swiss, German and god knows what stormed past. Fortunately, a large shingle ledge outside the gully provided a safe refuge. We had long abandoned all ideas of being back in Chamonix for the night so we prepared ourselves for another bivouac. We slept well on our comfortable ledge. In the morning we had to extricate ourselves from the snow that had fallen overnight. It was still snowing as we trudged across the Vallee Blanche cattle track. At least by midday we would be sipping beers in the Bar Nationale to celebrate the completion of a classic climb.
* See Mike Stone, Fiasco on the Grand Cap, Thrutch, Vol 5 - No 9, January/February 1971, Pages 13 - 14
C10. Just Walkering
Thrutch, Vol 56, June 1972, pp. 17-18.
Second Australian Ascent of the Walker Spur, Grande Jorasses, Chamonix. 1971
 |
| The Grande Jorasses The Walker Spur is the front buttress leading to the highest point. (Robin Lacassin - Wikipedia) |
Pitch after pitch of climbing had taken us over the ‘Rebuffet Crack’ and the ‘Tour Grise’, right up the guts of this 4,000 foot high monster, then up to the 250 foot couloir. The weather didn’t look good but then it hadn’t when we left our bivvy site at the foot of the face. It was my turn to lead. The guidebook said:
Move R into an unpleasant couloir of steep rotten rock. Climb this couloir for 150 feet (V and V Sup) to the foot of the smooth walls of the Tour Rousse. Traverse R for 130 feet by a slanting chimney _ _ _.
At 3:30 pm I started to lead up the couloir.
Steep ice at the start led to steep friable rock held in place by ice. Protection was scarce so I belayed at the first available peg. Jack, my English partner joined me on the stance as the weather began to break. We donned our cagoules and over-trousers. Jack led out as the first snow began to fall.
Over the next few hours we alternated pitches up the couloir but the elusive slanting chimney was nowhere in sight. The climbing was slow and desperate. All holds had to be cleared of snow and protection was non-existent. Daylight too was fading fast; a bivouac position was at a premium.
I was out in the lead and about 40 feet above Jack when the storm intensified. Snow began to fall at a tremendous rate. It was channeled into the couloir resulting in a veritable river of snow and spindrift. Balanced on tiny holds, I couldn’t move as the white avalanche began to engulf me. My gloves were in my sack and my frozen hands struggled to maintain equilibrium let alone upward movement. It must stop soon I thought to myself, but it didn’t!!
Finally I decided I had three alternatives.
- 1. Stay where I was getting colder and eventually falling.
- 2. Downclimb back to the belay and probably fall off anyway.
- 3. Keep climbing and hopefully find the bivvy site above.
It seemed like all the chambers were loaded but I settled on the latter.
Fifteen feet above I found a good peg. As I was clipping into it the area around me was floodlit. Lightning had struck the crag above me and a surge of electricity flowed through my body. Jack called out frantically from below thinking that he was now alone on the spur. Fortunately, that was the start and finish of the fireworks display that night.
Another 10 feet higher I found myself at the start of the slanting chimney. The initial moves into the chimney were made difficult by a breaking hold and a thick coating of snow on the rope creating drag. Twenty feet up the chimney gave way to a snow patch, presumably the site of our bivouac. Fighting tremendous drag I made it to the top of the snow and belayed to a good peg. When I began to take in the slack I found the ropes were jammed.
I called out to Jack through the swirling snow and gloom but he could not hear me. Also Jack spoke with a strong Yorkshire brogue and he had trouble understanding my Australian accent. The reverse also applied creating a communication breakdown. I tied off one of the ropes and called down for Jack to prussic. I called many times but the conditions made it impossible for him to hear.
With my ice axe I started to hack a platform. When this was completed I lit the stove and started melting some snow for drinking water. Periodically I pulled the free rope but it remained jammed.
It was now pitch dark, thankfully the wind had dropped and snow had stopped falling. Jack called out and I heard him clearly. Somehow, miraculously he had freed the ropes, a really tremendous effort given the conditions. Soon after he joined me on the ledge.
Since it was small, we stowed our gear one at a time then got into our pits. Some chocolate washed down by water and we were ready for sleep. The night passed slowly. Periodically snow and wind hammered against our bivvy sheets. We awoke next morning to find the Spur plastered with snow.
Breakfast consisted of more chocolate washed down by water. There was no hot brew. Although Jack and I planned the food together I had presumed that an Englishman would consume gallons of tea at every possible chance or stance. Unfortunately I was wrong, Jack was a teetotaller in all respects.
Jack struggled out of his pit first and began to pack his sack. As soon as he had finished I dragged myself out and began to do the same. The wind was still blowing and snowflakes were drifting all around us. When I was dressed for action and my sack was packed I began to put on my crampons. Unable to tie the straps with gloves on, I took the right one off and placed it on Jack’s sack. I told him what I had done and continued lacing up my crampons. When completed I reached for my glove but neither it nor the pack was there. I turned to Jack. He was wearing his pack. ‘Where did you put my glove?’ I enquired. ‘What glove?’ he replied.
At 6:30 am I led out, my crampons scratching and scraping to find purchase on the snow encrusted rock. A diagonal traverse to the left and I gained entry into a rightward sloping chimney. I belayed at the end of a superb traverse to the right. Jack led through up a wall graded IV Sup to the foot of a large couloir to rejoin the crest of the Spur at the top of the ‘Tour Rousse’. It was a tremendous lead. The wall was coated in ice, which in turn was plastered with packed snow. I led up the couloir to rejoin the crest at the top of the ‘Tour Rousse’. The first part of the couloir was iced but higher up I was ploughing through powder snow. From this point we alternate led at least seven pitches up the broken crest of the spur before breaking out onto a small snowy shoulder 25 feet below and just left of the summit proper.
Conditions on the last section of the Spur were atrocious. Our slings and ropes were frozen stiff, the gates of our carabiners were frozen shut, metal stuck to any bare skin and the white stuff heavily coated our protective clothing. All holds had to be cleared of snow and ice before use, sometimes in awkward positions. Given grade II and III and described in the guide as a ‘rock romp’ in good weather under the current conditions it presented very serious climbing — classic North Wall conditions.
Jack led up the final snow slope. At 11:00 am I pulled over the top of the slope to stand with him atop the mighty Grande Jorasses. We didn’t have much time to hang about. A cold gale force wind was blowing in from the Italian plains making things extremely uncomfortable. Jack, too, was having trouble with his feet and my right hand was slightly swollen and discoloured. In foul conditions we began the long descent to the Italian side of the range
 |
| Early morning on the North Ridge of the Chardonnet. |
C11. The Dru Derby
First Australian ascent of the North Face of the Dru by John Fantini and Keith Bell — 1971
See Chris Baxter, The North Face of the Dru, ARGUS, Issue 53, Sep–Oct, 1971, pp. 16, 18-19. Reprinted from ARGUS, August, 1971
In 1971, John Fantini and I decided to have a go at the North Face of the Dru. Soon after Chris Baxter and Howard Bevan announced that they would also climb it as a completely independent rope. Just up the road from the campsite at Les Praz there was a good view of the face so a binocular inspection was carried out. Having been there the year before when the face carried a heavy load of snow, I observed that the face was largely clear of the ‘white stuff’. However, the 0 degrees isotherm had remained low and the inspection could not preclude the presence of ice.
The Dru in 1970.
The Dru was declared by Gaston Rebuffet to be one of the ‘Six Notorious North Faces’ of Europe’ and one of the finest mixed routes in the Alps. The others are the Grandes Jorasses, Eiger, Matterhorn, Piz Badile and Cime Grande. Their notoriety is threefold. The faces are perpetually in shadow and they are also able to generate local storms and bad weather. They are also steep and big. Pierre Allain and Raymond Leininger climbed the North face of the Dru in 1935.
As Chris states in his article, the four us camped on the Dru Rognon at the foot of the face. We had a comfortable night and appeared to be alone. Then, at 2:30 am a pair of climbers appeared who seemed to presage a cavalcade of other aspirants. Lights suddenly appeared from everywhere. The Dru Derby was on!!! We were also off and running.
 |
| Keith Bell (Left), Chris Baxter (Middle) and Howard Bevan (Right) on the Dru Rognon before climbing the North Face next morning. (John Fantini) |
The bottom part of the route is mixed snow and rock and Fantini had devised a devilish plan to increase our speed. One of us was to leave our crampons behind. This would not only save weight but speed up the changeover back to ‘boots only’ when required. Of course I was to be the one to experience the deprivation. However, it meant that John could speed up the snow and ice and I would be faster on the rock sections by not wearing crampons. There were sections of ice where I needed to cut small steps but even here I was able to keep up with the masses and being on a top rope helped.
At one stage as I got to one of John’s runners, it had about eight ropes threaded through it. I unclipped them all, shouldered the sling and carried on as fast as I could. In the end the route funneled into a groove and John and I reached it first — we had grabbed the grid position on this alpine dash. As Chris mentions, ‘We had no time to look at our guide book on the climb and merely followed the lead party.’ Out in front with continentals nipping at our heels, Fantini and I were similarly placed. And so, we just kept on climbing following the line of difficult grooves — and so did everybody else.
 |
| Negotiating the 'Niche' on the Dru. (John Fantini) |
Now, it turns out that one of these grooves is the Fissure Allain (the crux) and I was lucky enough to be on the lead when we reached it. The fissure was steep and verglassed but I enjoyed its North Wall severity and climbed it well. However, Chris again points out that this section ‘is invariably avoided by an easier variant … around to the right’. The Fissure Allain had been so avoided for many years but it seems all the parties on the route followed our lead, thus setting somewhat of a precedent. The above fissure had many ascents that day!
Fantini and I topped out, completed the many abseils off the back of the Dru and made it to the Charpoua Hut that night. We had experienced a leisurely cruise up the route but were certainly kept on our toes by the parties behind pushing us all the way. Meanwhile, Howard had taken a fall en route and this resulted in an epic for his party. John and I had no knowledge of what had befallen Howard and Chris and were quite concerned when they had not appeared back in the valley the night after we got back.
 |
| The author at Montenvers the day after the climb with the Dru behind. (john Fantini) |
Early the next morning Mike (Chris’s friend) and I caught the train to Montenvers and trekked up towards the Charpoua Hut. We met Howard and Chris only metres from the hut and they were in a bad way. Although they would have made it back by themselves, taking their packs, giving them food and water as well as the return half of our train tickets certainly sped up their trip back to the valley. Mike and I walked down to our camp from Montenvers knowing that the two of them would soon be in Chamonix for some ‘food, beer and a doctor’.
C12. FOU Man Do or Don’t? - Foiled Again!
It was to be my last climb in Chamonix for 1971(*) as we were due to leave for the Dolomites via the Piz Badile (+). I had teamed up with Rab Carrington and we had done the hard yards walking up the glacier then negotiated the potentially dangerous access couloir from the Envers Hut. We had to dodge a few snowballs running down the gully but they were not travelling too fast and were small enough to be easily evaded.
Once on the rock we got into our stride. Rab led the first pitch and I led the second to a good ledge. The sky was bright blue, the sun was warming on my face — it was all looking good. We also knew that Alan Rouse was attempting to solo the South Face of the Fou, the American hard classic put up by Gary Hemmings, John Harlin, Tom Frost and Stuart Fulton in July 1963. It lurked directly across the couloir from us.
 |
| The South Face of the Fou is the diamond shaped face just left of centre. The Lepiney is the tower on the left. (Lindsay Griffin - BMC) |
When I could, I searched its triangular sunlit face but he was nowhere to be seen. Then I caught some movement — he had been lodged in a dark niche formed by the singular crack that scorched diagonally up this face. He had taken some tentative moves left out of the crack into the sunlight above an overhang but then moved back to the safety of the niche. He made a few more moves left but then I had to concentrate on our own climb as Rab arrived at the ledge. He geared up and started moving up the next pitch. Once he had a few runners in I started checking out Alan’s progress again.
This time he seemed to move quickly about 5 metres to the left of the niche then remain stationary. Suddenly he was flying through the air transcribing a big arc then crashing heavily into the wall below the overhang that punctuated the face just under his niche. There was a huge snap and he hung there momentarily. I called out to him and he replied that he had broken his ankle. I knew what was coming next.
After some desultory conversation he then asked us if we could go back to the valley and call out a rescue. I lowered Rab back to my stance. We conferred and then started organizing the only thing we could do. An abseil or two, some dodging of bigger snowballs and we were valley bound. And so endeth my time climbing in Chamonix: as it turned out for a very long time. My seasons here had begun with a death and finished with an accident. The Piz Badile and the Dolomites were looking good.
UK Alpine Journal — 1972:
Aiguille du Fou, South Face-American route:
Attempting to make the first solo ascent. A. Rouse pulled out a rurp two pitches up the diagonal crack and broke his ankle. He was stopped by his back rope and then made seventeen abseils on his knees back down the face into the couloir two pitches above the bergschrund, where a rescue party could reach him.
Colin Taylor
Peter Minks, Cliff Phillips and Eric Jones rescued him after we told them of his plight. KB
(*) East Face of the Auguille de L’epiney.
(+) We arrived at the Engadine in reasonably fine weather and walked up to bivvy in a high alpine pasture near the mountain. The clouds had cleared at sunset but around 2:00am silvery whispers of cloud started streaming across the sky lit by the moon. By the time we got to the start of the North Face of the Badile it was raining and getting heavier. The top gully of the Badile is not a place to be caught in by rain as climbers have been drowned by water collecting there from the slabs above. Sensibly, but disappointingly we retreated down to the valley. The rain was really heavy and set in so we continued out journey towards the Dolomites and the tragic end of the season.
 |
| The calm before the storm. Chris Baxter, Keith Bell, Ross Gooder and Eric ? (L—R) The Piz Badile before we were rained off the next morning. (KBC) |
C13. Other Routes Climbed - Mt Blanc Massif - 1970
NNE Spur of the Auguille de L’m 160m D Cherie Bremer-Kamp
South Ridge of the Auguille du Moine 450m AD Binks
1971
Papillons Ridge – Aig. du Peigne 200m D Howard Bevan
North Ridge – Aig. du Peigne 4 600m TD+ Howard Bevan
South West Ridge – Aug. des Pelerins 600m V Howard Bevan
North Spur – Aig. du Chardonnet 500m AD+ Wilbur King
West Face – Petites Jorasses 700m TD+ John Fantini
 |
| John Fantini belaying, the author leading the Comici Route on the Cima Grande. (KBC) |
C14. Nuts to You, or How to do a Squirrel -1971
Thrutch, vol. 58, December 1972, pp. 8-9.
First Australian ascent of the Squirrels Arete, Cima Ouest, Tre Cime Di Lavaredo, Dolomites, 1971
 |
| Diagram of the Squirrels Arete. |
The Three Peaks seem to stand on a pedestal of scree, their North Faces rising sheer out of a sea of broken rock. Many fine routes such as the ‘Brandler-Hasse’ and the ‘Cassin-Ratti’ thread their devious ways across these vertical deserts. No climb on the faces, however, seems as intimidating as the ‘Squirrels Arete’, a fearful overhanging arête bounding the NW edge of the Cima Ouest. Several hundred feet of beautiful wall climbing leads to an improbable looking arête. It is up this arête the Squirrels scorches its fearful way.
First climbed in 1959 by a party from the Cortina Squirrels, an elite Italian climbing club, it was one of the last great modern routes on the Tre Cime. Unlike the directs and super directs which were tamed by bolts, the Squirrels Arete follows a natural line won by hard pegging and free climbing. The Squirrels had to bivouac on route. They graded the climb VI Superior.
 |
| Tre Cime di Lavaredo. The Three Peaks. |
During the 1971 season John Fantini and I had climbed the ‘Comici’ on the Cime Grande and decided to scamper up steeper ground. The Squirrels fitted the bill as John had already climbed the ‘Cassin-Ratti’. We found it very sustained. The free climbing was generally steep wall climbing with little protection. The aid climbing was on in-situ mild steel pegs in many shapes and sizes and generally manky. Some were placed in small pockets of rotten limestone and wedged by pinewood and cardboard.
 |
| The overhang onto the Arete. (John Fantini) |
A few of the belays were semi-hanging with up to 800 feet of uninterrupted view to the scree below. It was at times like these that five points of attachment to the cliff were required and even this did not inspire a real feeling of security. The situations though were incredible and JF thought it was the finest route that he had climbed in the Tre Cime.
 |
| Looking up the arete from the scree. John Fantini and the author can be seen high up the route. (Doug McClean) |
One amusing incident occurred as I was leading up a short crack section. I was wearing Calcaires similar to a Robbins boot. They had a black, laced suede upper with a light vibram sole. I had the perfect foot jam and moved up but when I came to release my boot it was jammed. The top part of the rand had turned over and had effectively locked the boot into the crack. No matter how hard I twisted or pulled the boot it remained set into the rock. Dire situations sometimes require drastic actions to be made. I took out my piton hammer and carefully tapped my boot out of the crack, all the while fighting the gravity of the situation.
Once we had reached the obvious shoulder we found a convenient ledge to partake of some food and water. The ground now was much easier and soon we would be on top and starting our way down. What a great day and a great route!!
Postscript:
Next day John and I were going to head to the Civetta and have a go at the ‘Philip-Flamm’. However, before we could leave we were informed that some climbers had fallen off the ‘Comici’. Unfortunately, two of our number were the ones that had fallen. Richard Horn (South Australia) and Ross Gooder (NZ) had fallen to the scree after runners and their belay had pulled out. The 1971 season ended on a very sad and sombre note.
 |
| Richard Horn checks out the Dru from the other side of the valley. (KBC) |
South Australia
Thrutch, vol. 53, Sep– Oct 1971, p. 3.
… Tragedy struck the Australian camp in the Dolomites, Italy, early in September when Richard Horn and Ross Gooder fell 300 ft to their deaths from one of the routes. Little else is known yet of the accident but both climbers will be greatly missed by all who knew them. Richard has been a very strong force behind South Australian climbing for many years now and has done a lot of good routes in New Zealand, including a new route on Mt Darwin with Doug McLean.
Ross was one of the leading young climbers in New Zealand and already had a tremendous amount of experience on the toughest routes in the Cook area behind him. Both climbers had just spent their first season in Chamonix before moving on to the Dolomites.
Howard Bevan writes:-
“… They were on the third pitch of the Comici Route on the N. face of the Cima Grande (VI). They were off route traversing left (the old route went that way) we think. Ross was leading and fell (probably when he climbed on a piton and it fell out). One was found at the scene at the base of the climb. He was about 40-50 feet out from the belay with no runners in — the first 30 feet are easy along a ramp then it suddenly gets very hard — that’s why no one goes that way any more — Richard had almost stopped the fall when the pegs he was tied to came out and both fell 300 feet to scree below. There was another party on [the] pitch ahead who abseiled down to them. They had left at 5:30 in the morning and we were told at 8:45am that there had been an accident …”
C15. Cutting Loose and Heading North
The 1971 alpine climbing season was over for us. Ross Gooder was buried in a small walled cemetery at Misurina within sight of Tre Cima while Richard Horn was cremated in Trieste and his ashes transported back to Australia. The latter event represented the breaking up of the Oceanic fellowship as Doug McClean, Howard Bevan and I took the VW kombi back through Italy, Austria, Switzerland and into France. We headed north along the French/German border but we were to be continually dogged by the ownership of the wagon when crossing borders. While Doug and Richard had gone halves in the wagon’s purchase, Richard had arrived in Europe first and the papers were in his name only. Every time we hit a border — and in the early 1970’s they were always manned — we had to prove that we were not in possession of a stolen car.
We were all in need of a little humour and we were soon to get it. Paralleling the French border within sight of Germany we came to a little, isolated rural village just before lunch. We had a jaffle iron and one of our specialties was a jaffle of made with egg and cheese. As we arrived in the centre of the village we remembered that we were short of eggs. There, right on spec was a delightful corner store similar to what used to exist in Australia probably to the end of the 1950’s. We entered the store and saw a wire basket full of straw with some pristine white eggs gathered neatly in its clutches. ‘Six ova s'il vous plait'. The lady looked rather perplexed no doubt because of the barbaric use of her language. We thought that she was so offended that she was not going to sell us the eggs. However, she could probably detect hungry people when she saw them so she reluctantly sold them to us.
You beauty, we pulled up on a scenic hill overlooking the village and started preparations for lunch. The stove, bread, butter cheese, plates and cutlery were set up and then the various foodstuffs were prepared. Finally the penultimate moment before the jaffle iron is closed and placed on the stove — the breaking of the egg. Tap, tap, tap on the side of a billy, boy these chooks have had a shitload of calcium. Greater pressure was applied to the process with no apparent effect. Put the egg to your ear and shake it, something does not appear right. So even greater pressure is exerted and finally in desperation break out a peg hammer. All was then revealed: we had purchased candy eggs with a wrapped plastic toy inside. I still have a smile on my face even today. The poor shop lady trying to rescue us from ourselves to no avail. She must still be laughing too.
Lunch was somewhat condensed and soon it was time to move on. Further north Doug hitched into Germany to Saarbrucken in an effort to overcome our ownership problems. For some reason they gave him a new set of plates but the difficulty essentially remained. We changed the plates and stowed the old ones behind the driver’s seat. We then travelled on up through Luxembourg, Belgium, Holland, Denmark and across the bridge to Malmo, Sweden. Here we had another little incident. Howard had purchased a flick-knife in Italy and inadvertently left it in sight at the Swedish border. A customs official confiscated it, took Howard into an office and gave him a stern lecture on the illegality of this type of knife. He then said that it would be held in safekeeping until Howard returned to claim it. We drove on to Oslo.
In Oslo we checked out the Fram — Amundsen’s transport to Antarctica for his successful polar expedition. We were very impressed by the fact that the Norwegians had built a slipway and hauled the ship up into a huge purpose built building. This enabled you to walk around the ship not only at floor level but a mezzanine level had been built too and gangplanks from the latter allowed entry into specific areas of the hull. It was a very impressive piece of preserved history. In the same building was the almost intact hull of an original longship, which had been dredged from the harbor, preserved and exhibited. We also checked out the Vigeland Sculture Park and that was amazing given the sometimes grotesque and surreal stonework set against a background of magnificent autumn colours.
 |
| The Mardalfossen. Reputed to be the highest waterfall in Europe. |
After Oslo we then headed northwest to the Fjord country and were again impressed by the lakes surrounded by trees resplendent with their autumn colours. Many examples of Stave Churches and Buildings were also seen in the scattered villages set in impressive verdant valleys through which we travelled. Eventually we reached Romsdal and were able to check out the very steep, high and impressive Troll Wall and the other mighty ridges of the Trollveggen. The rockclimber in me wanted to ascend one of the latter but commonsense prevailed. The weather was cold and crappy and we were all still suffering the effects of our Dolomitic experience. We also checked out the spectacular Mardalfossen, at over 650 metres it is reputed to be the highest waterfall in Europe. After that we drove east then turned north into the northern section of the Jotenheim Mountains. During our overnight stay in Romsdal it had snowed in the mountains. As we ascended a steep alpine road coated in snow the VW finally gave up, lost traction and refused to go any further. We had reached our northern limit and we realized that a one-eighty turn was now necessary.
 |
| Desperate measures by Doug McClean (Left) and the author result in failure. The trek back south begins. (Howard Bevan) |
It being so late in the season we found that all camping grounds and caravan parks had closed for the winter. And so in the late afternoon we took a lonely gravel road to the west and camped in the forest. All was going well until about 9:30 pm. Suddenly vehicles and people approached from all points of the compass. The people were armed and dressed in paramilitary uniforms. They motioned and pushed the three of us and indicated they wanted us to stand with both hands resting on the side of the V-Dub. They then started to search our camp, our packs and the car. First thing that they found were the discarded rego plates behind the driver’s seat. Oops, that looked rather suspicious. To make matters worse it appeared that none of the invaders spoke English. The only trump card that we had was a report of Richard’s death in a newspaper written in Italian. Much gesturing and explaining, then more gesturing started to turn the tide. From what we could glean they thought that we were smugglers. Although our camp was a reasonable distance from the coast, many arms and inlets reach far inland and provide a ready path for smugglers of contraband. Suddenly peace reigned in the forest and we were alone again but remained somewhat shaken by the invasion.
We continued driving east to Stockholm. My only memory of that city is a visit to the Vasa, a Swedish warship that foundered in Stockholm Harbour in 1628. It had only recently been salvaged and all the pieces were in a large room being continually sprayed by water with cellulose in solution. If the parts had been lifted out of the mud and exposed to the atmosphere they would have shrunk, crumbled and oxidized into dust. The idea of spraying the timber was that the cellulose content of the water would eventually give stability to the bits and pieces. It now looks amazing and is worth checking out on the net.
Leaving Sweden at Malmo we now had a chance to reclaim Howard’s flick-knife. I accompanied him for moral or immoral support given that he was retrieving an illegal object. Howard gave the official behind the counter his chit and the official disappeared into a back room. Waiting there we both heard switch — snap, switch — snap, switch — snap and so on, the guy was playing with it. Howard and I were pushing to keep a straight face when he reappeared but at least our Scandinavian trip had finished on a humorous note.
Soon after our gang of three also split up and I caught a ferry to England, my sojourn in Europe was just about over as winter was fast approaching.
C16. London To Africa Via Egypt
The Mancunian winter was biting hard and I started longing for warmer climes (and climbs). Spain was not a climbing destination in those days so I started thinking about flying further south. Enquiries revealed that I could get a cheap return flight from London to Nairobi. When I arrived in London on a cold wintery day (what else is there in January) I was told that a yellow fever injection was mandatory for entering Africa. Travelling as a rockclimber is no fun: double ropes, helmet, harness (of sorts), gear and clothing for the trade combined with social clothes and other necessities made for a heavy load. I still have memories of humping two packs to the airport by foot in a biting wind with a raging fever that had been brought on by the initially overlooked injection.
Things were looking up when I got to the airport but only momentarily. Before I fronted up to the ticket/luggage counter, I craftily hid my Whillan’s ‘carryon pack’ behind a nearby column. At the counter the attendant processed my ticket and then asked me to place my trusty H frame pack on the scales. As I complied she suddenly said, ‘What about the other one?’ Gobsmacked, I reluctantly retrieved my Whillans sack and placed it on the scales. Next thing she said was, ‘That will be £220 excess baggage please.’ Picking myself off the floor I managed to splutter, ‘I have a friend outside, I will unload some of my belongings.’ Making my way to the nearest toilet, once inside a cubicle I started stashing random gear into my voluminous jacket and pants. Clanking back and putting my packs again on the scales, the lady completed the process with an air of suspicion.
I was a bit bewildered at this stage and thought that I heard a call that my plane was boarding. I rushed through Customs (No arches or X rays in those days) and was soon in the Departure Lounge when I realized that I had misheard the call. I sat down and relaxed for a while thinking that I now had a clear run. When I decided to repack some of my contraband all of the cubicles in the nearby toilet were taken. Not wishing to do it in public I started to wait but then heard the call for my flight. Making my way quickly to the gate still fully laden I found that the gate was not open and we had been diverted into a cordoned off area. My heart skipped a beat when moments later about twenty Bobbies approached the containment zone.
Now one of the downsides of flying with United Arab Airlines was apparent as this was an intense period of Israeli/Arab highjacks and I was caught in the middle. Finally one of the Bobbies approached me and started to frisk me. ‘What’s that?’ ‘Oh, some pitons and carabiners.’ Touches my shoulder blade. ‘And what’s that?’ ‘Only a pair of alpine gloves.’ And so it went on as he encountered all types of climbing accoutrements. At the same time, I was rapidly explaining that I was a climber and had excess baggage problems. When he finished he had a great wide smile and said, ‘I think I’ll need a stiff whiskey when I get home tonight.’ Still laden, I managed to shuffle onto the plane.
The plane took off and I managed to relax for a while. That was until I tried to turn on the reading lamp and use the air conditioning control. They didn’t work. It was after all an Ilyushin il-66, the Russian rip-off of the Boeing 707. I was, however, comforted by the fact that the engines seemed to be working. Eventually, it landed in Cairo for a transit stop but then some problem occurred and we were put into luxury hotel. The stay ended up being two or three days and in the meantime we were taken to see the sights of the city. The sphinx, the pyramids, the Nile, bazaars and the Cairo Museum were on the agenda. At the pyramids I was offered a camel ride and wondered what the price or tribute would be. After much begging and beseeching by the owner I finally mounted the beast and waited for the price of my stupidity. ‘Want to buy some feelthy postcards?’ At least the camel was clean but I declined the final offer.
The highlight was the viewing of Tutankhamun’s death mask in the Cairo Museum. It was in a room by itself tucked away in a corner in a glass exhibit case with taped cracks that had been caused by the Israeli air attacks in the 1967 war. It was exquisite and I was mesmerised by its beauty. All too soon a couple of a certain nationality walked in and the woman loudly proclaimed, ‘Hey Wilbur, would you take a look at this!!!’ The magic was broken and I wandered off but it will soon be in Sydney so take the time to check it out — you won’t be disappointed!!
The traffic there also made the gridlock of Sydney today look benign. I remember going into a large city roundabout in a taxi where the heavy traffic was going both clockwise and anti-clockwise. It was not for the faint hearted. The taxi was something else too. Egyptian drivers beep the horn all the time and my driver was no exception. In fact, he had used the horn so much that the whole middle section had gone and he was left with a single wire in his hand to make the connection. At one stage he zoomed up between a petrol wagon and a bus that were converging. I closed my eyes and to this day I don’t know how we avoided being crushed. All too soon I was back at the airport preparing for the flight out.
Everything went smoothly this time until I was about to board the shuttlebus to the plane. An official called me out and asked me what I had in my Whillans Pack. Before I could say ‘a bloody lot’ he motioned for me to take the pack off and give it to him. When I had done so he undid the lid and the drawstring, tipped the pack upside down and spilled all its contents onto the floor. He then rifled through it, gave me the all clear and said to repack it, no easy task. The bus left and I was stranded. It took many minutes for me to repack my previously carefully packed items and this meant that they had to order a new bus to take me, the lone remaining passenger out to the plane. The plane was held up for twenty five minutes and when I boarded I was confronted by a bunch of angry looking, swarthy, bearded gentlemen some — I kid you not — with scimitars tucked into their satin belts. I made a hurried dash for my seat and adopted a very low profile.
The Ruski jet eventually flew into Nairobi about 2:30 in the morning. I did not know a soul in Africa so thought it was wise to stay in the deserted terminal. I was also knackered and decided to get into my sleeping bag, lie down on one of the big leather lounges and get some sleep. Imagine my consternation when I woke up and found myself surrounded by a sea of legs. Looking wearily upward there seemed to be a large number of angry faces belonging to people who apparently wished to sit down. In my jet-lagged state I found out quickly that it was after 9:30 am. Fortunately, I had got into my bag fully clothed so did not make too much of a scene when departing. As I walked towards the exit a big sign said Welcome to Nairobi East Africa. Jambo Kenya, while I had my doubts at least it might be warm. I could only live in hope.
D. AFRICAN SAFARI:
D1. Getting There
In 1970, I was living and working in Manchester, England, as it was very convenient to the main climbing areas, namely North Wales, the Peak and Lakes Districts. After Christmas, the long nights, cold and incessant moisture in many forms made me aspire for warmer climes. I decided to head for Africa and purchased a return ticket to Nairobi, Kenya.
Once in Nairobi the old problem of climbing partners arose again. I went to the Mountain Club of East Africa meeting at Nairobi Airport but was completely ignored by a bunch of colonial wallahs. Iain Allen was in Australia and Ian Howell was overseas. I hitch hiked to Kilimanjaro and climbed it alone.
 |
| Original map used when climbing Kilimanjaro and the route taken. |
Kilimanjaro worked out well for me. The view of its satellite peak, Mawenzi from the crater rim with the early morning sun behind it is an unforgettable sight. The ice cliffs in the crater were spectacular although they are probably somewhat diminished these days. It also helped with my fitness and acclimatisation as my next objective was to climb Mt Kenya. Given that it was February/March the route that presented itself was MacKinders and I was keen to include both summits, Nelion and Batian. Several days passed and I was still looking for a climbing partner. Finally I got onto to an ‘old guy’ named Keith (42) who was keen to climb it. He had tried before on three occasions but failed. But he did come with some credentials, he was enthusiastic and owned a comfortable and speedy Mercedes.
 |
| Mawenzi from the barren high plain between it and the bulk of Kilimanjaro. |
 |
| Ice cliffs on top of Kilimanjaro in 1971 as seen from Uhuru Point. |
The climb itself went well. Keith remained on Nelion but belayed me across the ‘Gate of the Mists’ atop the Diamond Couloir, to gain access to Batian. Since the ice melts and refreezes so often it was rock hard in texture. It was also very exposed. Once across though, it was an easy scramble to the summit (Batian is the highest point). While I had suffered altitude sickness on Kilimanjaro having ascended it too fast, I was able to bounce around and climb with absolutely no ill effects on Mt Kenya.
It was on the way down that trouble struck. We were moving together along easy ground on the final ridge to the steep wall that led down to the Lewis Hut. Keith took a fall and hurt his back. Fortunately, he did not fall far as I had been placing sling runners on convenient bollards. Although he was in pain, it was not far to the start of the abseil point down the remaining wall.
We started abseiling down and I was doing all the setting up and retrieving. I was happy to do this, as I didn’t want any hang-ups, not at this altitude. Keith insisted he should help and at least pull down the ropes. Reluctantly, I let him strip one of the abseils. At the zenith when the end is about to fall, he let it fall gently rather than giving it a bit of a pull to help it on its way. Inevitably, the rope got hung up about 70 feet above us. The sun was now starting to disappear and the shadow of cold was starting to envelope us. We had the joining knot which was quickly undone, I tied on and led up to the other rope end, which was twisted tightly around a flake. By the time I got back to the ledge I was somewhat angry. I told my namesake in forceful terms to leave it all to me and to just concentrate on getting himself down.
 |
| Mt Kenya with its twin summits. Mackinders Route starts on the other side of the right hand ridge. The high tower on the right is Point St John. (Mountain Club of Kenya) |
A few more abseils and we reached the bottom beside the Lewis Glacier (which is probably not there now). Still fuming, I coiled the ropes and set off across the ice leaving my partner to make his own way across. However, once I reached the hut I realized I was being a bit of a ‘prima donna’ and put on a cup of tea and made some snacks for both of us. When he arrived he was so rapt at finally having climbed the mountain he could not thank me enough. It made me also realize that he had provided a passage to the mountain then to its summit and that I should be likewise appreciative. Mt Kenya with its twin summits is an exceedingly picturesque mountain and the weird plants and animals that clothe and inhabit its flanks and valleys add to its attraction. It is a fantastic mountain to have in your climbing portfolio.
Having achieved these objectives, I started hitchhiking south. I had been keen to visit the Ruwenzori or ‘Mountains of the Moon’ but the border between Kenya and Uganda was closed. Idi Amin had staged his coup on the very day that I landed in Kenya. My intention was to head for Cape Town, South Africa through Tanzania, Zambia, Malawi, Mozambique, and Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) into South Africa. It took about six weeks, lifts were few and far between and mostly on the back of trucks driven by Africans. Most colonials just drove on past. The road between Dar es Salaam and Lusaka was called the ‘Hell Road’ and it lived up to its name. It was a two-lane dirt road littered with the wrecks of trucks and cars.
Upon entering Malawi the road got worse. In its north I was forced to use the ‘African Bus’, which is an experience in itself and not to be missed. The road was a muddy track and the bus quite often got bogged. The Africans were amazed that I got out to help push it out of the bog but I wanted to get to the bus’s destination too — reasonably quickly. I still have a memory of tracking along this type of road in the north of Malawi, coming around a corner and seeing a huge sign — The M1!!! It brought a smile to my face.
 |
| Crossing the Zambesi by punt into Tete. |
Moving across the border into Mozambique I was picked up by a convoy of trucks manned by Portuguese soldiers. The lift that I got was sitting on 44 gallon petrol drums in the back. All the soldiers had automatic weapons and fortunately rebels did not attack us. As to whether the drums were full or empty I did not think that it mattered so did not enquire — it was a lift. They took me across the mighty Zambesi River on a punt and I found myself in Tete at midday. It was so bloody hot and humid. I walked down the main drag zigzagging across it so I could seek shelter in the shade of street trees that had been diagonally planted.
Eventually I got to the border of Southern Rhodesia late one afternoon. Some officers from the British South African Police who had just finished patrolling the border were drinking at a bar on the Mozambique side. They said if I crossed the border when it opened that they would give me a lift to Salisbury, the capital in the 1970’s. Not only did they give me a lift I stayed in their headquarters for 3 days. Clean sheets, three meals a day and the luxury of a swimming pool after weeks of swallowing dust, sleeping rough and living on a starvation diet; it was too much to pass up.
But climbing on Table Mountain stood foremost in my mind so that in the end I bid farewell to luxury and kept on trekking south. It appears that they also were trying to induce you to become one of their number. After a big hiccup at the border, I was allowed into South Africa and Pretoria, Jo’burg, Beaufort West and finally from the coastal mountains I could make out the outline of the Cape Town CBD after crossing the Karoo. The end was in sight.
 |
| Table Mountain climbing. |
Right from the start the Mountain Club of South Africa (Cape Town Section) made me very welcome and I was never short of climbing partners. Initially Brian and Joan Quail took me climbing on several occasions and introduced me to other climbers. Among them was Mike Scott and along with his partner Doreen (now wife), they kindly offered me accommodation for the several months that I stayed in Cape Town. Mike was also a prolific and talented climber so I was out and about with him on many occasions. Since Table Mountain is so close to the city I would often jump on the back of his motorbike and head up to the mountain after work for a climb. I really enjoyed climbing on the Tafelberg but the trip mentioned below was the highlight of my visit to South Africa.
 |
| The author on 'Bowstring' (18), Table Mountain. (Mike Scott) |
 |
| The author on 'Africa Face Chimney' Table Mountain (Mike Scott) |
D2. TOWERKOP - South Africa
Towerkop (2189m) is a peak in the Klein Swartberg range and is situated near the town of Ladismith in the Western Cape of South Africa. The town lies in the shadow of the mountain about 300km west of Cape Town. This town is not to be confused with the Ladysmith in the Natal Province.
Perched like an upturned thumb on top of a conical hill, Towerkop is famous for the split that divides its summit into two pinnacles, namely the Western (highest) and Eastern Pinnacles. Just to the south of these pinnacles is the Nel’s Cave Buttress where Nel’s Cave is located below its south face. This is a large, convenient and very comfortable camping cave.
Towerkop offers fantastic climbing and positions, the rock is a mostly a very good quality quartzite and/or sandstone.
 |
| Towerkop with its split summit. |
Towerkop New Routes — 1971
5. Bell - Scott South Face Route — 14 Mike Scott & Keith Bell +- 1971
Start to the R of the cleft, from the top of the grass steps in the middle of the face.
16. East Wall — 14 Keith Bell & Mike Scott Easter 1971
Up large open book in the middle of East Face. Two 50m pitches up, at a blockage, traverse R & continue up to the top.
21. Prestidigitator — 17 Keith Bell & Mike Scott Easter 1971
Start from a huge block to the R of the block used by Keen’s Block Route. The first pitch goes
up a fingery slab. A layback gets one into a crack. Follow the straight line to the top. (This was the hardest route in 1971)
 |
| The author leading the first ascent of 'Prestidigitator' (17) in 1971. (Mike Scott) |
26. Saturday’s Corner — 13 Mike Scott, J.Brimble, P.Attenborough & Keith Bell - Easter 1971
Up the corner in the LH retaining wall a few meters L of the huge gully, Gully D, which is to the L of Jackson’s Quartzite Face. Climb a flat face as far as a traverse line to the L, which moves into the groove. Follow this to the top.
27. Gully D — 10 Keith Bell & Mike Scott Easter 1971
Up the back of the huge gully to the L of Jackson’s Quartzite Face. Climb straight up the faces. Step to the L into the chimney & continue straight up, exiting to the R at the top.
 |
| The author seconding 'West Face Route' (14) in 1971. (Mike Scott) |
39. West Face Route — 14 Keith Bell & Mike Scott Easter 1971
Start to the R of Black Crack. Climb through the faces to the big ledge that runs from the northern side. Round the corner onto the western side. Walk along the ledge & then up a diagonal line up the west face & across into the top RH cubbyhole section. Break through the overhangs on the RH side of this line.
 |
| A big, easy slab in the Cape. (Joan Quail) |
Although I was enjoying the South African experience the call of the Alps was too compelling. I got back on the road with my active thumb and hitched up through the Karoo again, then J’burg, Pretoria across the border at Beitbridge into Rhodesia. In J’burg I met up with some of Mike’s friends and I did some really good climbing in the kloofs (canyons, valleys) surrounding the city. This time I headed northwest through Rhodesia to Bulawayo and then onto Victoria Falls and the Zambian border. The falls were magnificent and worth the trip. After having a look around I continued on to Lusaka, Zambia where I flew back to Nairobi to make use of the return ticket I had purchased with United Arab Airlines.
Africa had been a fantastic experience, one of the highlights of my life.
D3. Animals
Travelling skint in Africa had its downsides particularly when it came to visiting the amazing game parks on offer such as Serengeti and the Ngorongoro Crater. The expense of these even then was way above the meagre finances that I had available. However, I did get an opportunity to visit the Nairobi Game Park that adjoins the southern outskirts of the city. A friend who I had met let me use his car to make a solo visit.
His vehicle was an early Honda two-seater sportscar and it was only a cut above the much maligned Goggomobile Dart — and just as flimsy. It was a small, light car with perspex side windows enclosed by a black tarp canvas roof. Being tall also meant that my vision in all directions was somewhat restricted. Not only was my vision restricted, but I also found it difficult to get in and out of the car easily. I drove into the park hoping that I would not see a rhino, hippo or elephant at very close quarters.
The game park had gravel roads and while whizzing around I saw the usual zebra and various kinds of antelope all running free. But as I negotiated a corner I seemed to enter a grove of strange spotted yellow tree trunks. I stopped, put my head out of the window, looked up and found that I was surrounded by a herd of giraffe serenely nibbling the trees at the side of the road. They were totally unconcerned by my presence. It does sound like a tall tale but I swear that it is absolutely true.
Further on a car that had parked in long grass reversed back onto the road and drove off. Clearly, they had observed an animal from that particular vantage point so I drove my flimsy machine into where they had vacated to take a gander. And I was right, there was an animal there, I was eyeball to eyeball with a massive squatting male lion. I looked at the lion, then the perspex window, the ‘protective’ tarp then realized I was dead meat if he decided to take a swipe or a lunge. I made a tactical retreat and decided I had seen enough of the wild side of Africa for the day at least.
But in travelling the normal roads in Kenya and Tanzania there were always zebra and antelopes on view. As I was walking on the track across the flattish plain that formed the Horombo route to Kilimanjaro, I spied a herd of elephant in the far distance, the only ones that I saw throughout my African trip. On the way out of Mt Kenya we were confronted by a large, big horned buffalo standing in the middle of the road. It looked like it might do some serious panel beating on my climbing partner’s Mercedes but after waiting for a few minutes it thankfully trotted off into the bush.
 |
| Animals were seen even while driving along normal roads |
On my way south I passed some amazing kopjes or rock outcrops that were often patrolled by a group of baboons with maybe a mamba or two slithering around. I did see a lone baboon in the southern end of Tanzania sneak into a cornfield and have about six ears tucked under his left arm before the farmer saw him. The farmer was up and after him with his rake held high. The baboon was off but as he ran he grabbed more ears and tried to stuff them truncheon like under his storage arm. In doing so he managed to push one or two out with the farmer still in hot pursuit. It looked like a scene from the ‘Keystone Cops’ with the farmer wildly yelling and gesticulating, the baboon doing a Usain Bolt and leaving ears of corn and shattered plants in his wake.
Travelling on the cheap did not get me into many game parks but I still managed to see numerous animals as well as to take in the wild and wonderful vistas of Eastern and Southern Africa.
D4. The Milk of Human Kindness
Some distance north of Dodoma in Central Tanzania I scored a lift with three surveyors in their 4WD. All was going well until they reached a small adjoining road. They apologetically explained that this was the end of the line for me as they had a job to do about 50 kilometres to the east.
After the dust settled I was left to take in my surroundings. There was bushy scrub lining the road for as far as I could see and dark shadows were beginning to creep across it. Given that it was probably after 5:00 pm I was stuck here at the crossroads for the night. Hmmm, what to do? The thought of the lion went through my mind and I started to feel very exposed.
As I stood there wondering, three young African boys emerged from the scrub, walked towards me and started to try and drag my pack back in the direction from where they had come. The pack was way too heavy for them and I motioned for them to stop and I slung the pack over my shoulder. They indicated that I should follow them.
An unseen track led diagonally through the bush and after a hundred or so metres I emerged into a clearing. On the extreme left was a log corral for cattle, just right of that was a woman grinding corn in a huge mortar and pestle. She gave me a big smile and gestured for me to come forward, then indicated that I should take a seat on some logs that were neatly placed around a fire. Behind her was a wattle and daub hut.
 |
| I have never forgotten the hospitality, friendliness and care that this woman and her family had shown to a complete stranger. |
It soon became clear that she did not speak English and the little Swahili that I had picked up in Kenya was useless. She disappeared for a moment and came back with a large glass of milk. I knew that the Masai and other tribes in Tanzania revered their milk as a delicacy particularly when it was curdled with cattle urine. I tactfully declined this very generous offer. Given my isolation I had to be very careful with what I ate and drank. If I was not sure I did not partake. Even water was problematic as the Bilharzia parasite was endemic in the areas that I was travelling through.
As the last vestiges of light disappeared the woman’s husband turned up, downed the milk in record time and sat down with his family and I around the fire. It was a night of gaiety and laughter because the family’s very young daughter was at once intrigued and terrified by my lighter skin and fair hair. She played peekaboo around her mother’s side to everyone’s amusement. Although we communicated with smiles, gestures and laughter, it was an incredibly satisfying night. Language was immaterial and I believe the very essence of what it is to be human was exhibited in that cosy setting.
Around 9:30pm the woman saw that I was tired, walked across to me, took my hand and showed me to an igloo type small mud kraal hidden behind their hut. I looked inside, there was a lone bed made of log ends with branch stringers that had cloth bound between them to give support. I laid my sleeping bag out, got into it and dropped off into a deep and comfortable sleep. Around 8:00am the woman woke me up and indicated that I should go down to the road. I figured that she had woken me in time to catch the bus and indeed she had. I would have preferred to hitch hike but thought better of it, to do so would have been a rejection of the family’s mores and an insult to their warmth and kindness.
I caught the bus to Dodoma and it too in the end was a journey accompanied by friendliness, laughter and a joie de vivre by my fellow passengers, the very same spirit and qualities that I had found in my benefactors that night. I have never forgotten the hospitality, friendliness and care that these people had shown to a complete stranger.
 |
| The bus arrives at Dodoma. A laughter and fun filled journey. |
D5. Beitbridge Bites Back
The African countryside that I travelled through had wild, expansive and beautiful vistas a great deal of it made the Australian in me feel very much at home. The political landscapes that I travelled through were also wide but could hardly be described as beautiful or engaging. Black One-Party governments that had only become independent from European rule in the Post-War years ruled the countries to the north. The south was home to White Supremacist Governments where the ratio of Africans to Europeans was in one particular case over 20:1.
In between the two lay Mozambique, nominally Portuguese, but beset by guerrilla bands seeking its independence. All this was overlaid by African tribalism, distrust or even hatred of enterprising and hardworking Indians and Asians and tensions between the English and Afrikaans population of South Africa. It was an interesting mix which often influenced the ease or otherwise of crossing borders.
Fortunately, movement between Kenya and Tanzania was easy and this meant that I did not experience any problems accessing Kilimanjaro or on my later trip to Mt Kenya. Crossing from Tanzania into Zambia did not create any problems either. My first such difficulty was encountered at Chipita as I was leaving Zambia and entering Malawi. The dialogue between the African border official and I went something like this.
BO “Where are you going?”
Me “I going to Blantyre to visit a friend.”
BO “You are going to South Africa.”
Me “No, I am going to Blantyre in Malawi to visit a friend.”
BO “You are going to South Africa.”
Keep cool, can’t admit to that even if true or the situation would get really nasty.
After pursuing this line a little further the official changes tack.
BO “Your passport is invalid.”
Me “It is valid, check the date, my photo and the my government’s guarantee.”
BO “Your passport is invalid.”
Me Repeat ad nauseum but carefully that my passport is valid and why.
Finally, my passport is reluctantly stamped and Malawi awaits. The next border is with Mozambique. No problems here but I am told that I must report to immigration in Tete. It turns out that the address given is that of the mayor or similar official and that I must purchase a visa to continue. Ripped off but fortunately I have enough money to pay for it. Continue on to the Rhodesian border with my wallet somewhat lighter.
Again, no problems, I am after all travelling with an escort of the British South African Police. As in Mozambique though I am told that I must report to the Immigration Department in Salisbury. I dutifully turn up the next day. The European official questions me closely, stops, looks at me directly and enquires, “How did you get in?” However, before I can reply he goes on to say, “I notice that you staying with The British South African Police, I don’t suppose that you can cause any trouble with them.”
After a few days I am back on the road, picking up a lift to Jo’burg with a South African businessman in his smick Mercedes. Much bitumen is traversed and we hit the South African border at Beitbridge after crossing the Limpopo River. Table Mountain and Cape Town is within sight, figuratively anyway. I slip into a line leading to the counter and wait for my turn to be assessed. A young female official spots me, walks to the counter and brusquely orders while looking intently at me, “You, come here.” Alarm bells start ringing and she cuts straight to the chase..
Her “How much money do you have.”
Me “Not much.”
Her “Have you a return ticket out of South Africa?”
Me “No I have a return ticket back to Europe from Nairobi.”
Her “Do you have an address to stay in while in South Africa.”
Me “No, but I have academic qualifications that might be useful here.
Her “Where are they, show them to me.”
Me ”They are back in Australia, I have been travelling for many months.”
The questions continued as she was filling out a form. Finally, she stopped and handed it to me. It read: You have been declared an undesirable alien and are therefore denied entry into South Africa. It was not all bad, well sort of. She went on to say that I could gain entry by posting a 500 Rand deposit, which would be reimbursed upon leaving the country. A South African Rand in 1971 was worth AUD$1.25.
The businessman departs but gives me his address in South Africa. I walk back across the bridge into the town on the Rhodesian side. I turned to my old mates — the local police and they generously let me doss down in a quiet corner of their station. A few days later a young insurance salesman who had befriended me had to travel and let me stay in his motel room while he was gone. The people in the town and the shopkeepers also went out of their way to befriend me and look after me. For the many days that I was trapped there I felt like a part of a very friendly community.
Next morning I rang the Australian Consulate in Jo’burg and explained my situation. He cut to the chase quickly. “What side of the border are you on?” “The Rhodesian.” “Tough.” End of conversation. Ian Smith’s government was subject to worldwide sanctions and Australia was a participant. I was in reality trapped on a desert island with no means of communication to the outside world. I had substantial savings in Australia but they were like being ‘On the dark side of the moon’.
Travellers today have a myriad of means of communication at their disposal, mobile global roaming, telephone, email, Skype and so it goes on. In 1971, there was only the ubiquitous aerogramme and a dodgy international telephone system. The latter was slow, expensive, unreliable and prone to language difficulties. South African remained the only country that I could contact and the shekels were running low.
In the end I could only think of one way of getting out of this corral and it was a desperate one. I had met a South African guy at Arusha and camped the night in a local park with he and his friends. They were heading to Ethiopia to the headwaters of the Blue Nile to check out Lake Tana and Tissisat Falls. It would be some months before he got home so he asked me to call in and see his parents to let them know that he was OK. Being South African, he could not contact his parents from the Black Nationalist countries and was travelling on a British Passport.
In desperation I rang his parents in Jo’burg and told them of my situation and the need for a loan of 500 Rand. Somewhat shocked, they asked me to ring back in ten minutes. I gave them thirty. When I called back they said that they would help me as they had found out that the money would be held in trust and returned to them upon my departure from the country. Even so, I was amazed that they consented and was very appreciative of their generosity. The deposit paid I strolled back across the Limpopo River and thankfully did not see my ‘girlfriend’ at the SA border post.
Finally, I was entering the weird and bizarre world of South African society. Separate lifts, Post Offices, Train Stations, segregated buses and even Nie Blanke (Non White) and Blanke (White) benches in the parks. I was left wondering how a nation could sustain the economic and societal costs of the Apartheid Policy (*). On one occasion I accidentally walked down the ramp into a Black Railway Station to the horrified and angry looks of the assembled commuters. I made a very quick exit back up the ramp. My time there was in great contrast to say my experiences in Nairobi where all queues and services were mixed with no apparent problems or difficulties arising.
But Cape Town is a beautiful city and Table Mountain and the surrounding coastal mountains provided fantastic climbing. The weather was warm too and a dream that I had carried for a long time had been fulfilled — to see the tablecloth spread on top of the mount. On the way down I had spent some time with my friend’s parents and caught up with the businessman with the Merc again. On my way back I was given the names of some climbers so was able to spend some days climbing on the cliffs around Jo’burg. The movement back into Rhodesia did not present any problems as I had worked for several months in Cape Town so had accrued some cash. My office was on the 12th Floor and I had an unimpeded view of the impressive Table Mountain frontal.
My main concern now was to cross the Rhodesian Border into Zambia at Victoria Falls. Before doing so I spent several hours checking out, ‘The smoke that thunders’. The mist, the rainbows, the sound of water crashing into a deep and elongated canyon, its rim surrounded by verdant rain forest on a beautiful clear day was an amazing experience. I finished my trek more than impressed but also in a saturated state. It was time to cross the Rubicon via another bridge.
 |
| 'The Smoke that Thunders' Victoria Falls from the Rhodesian side. |
I had a conversation with the Rhodesian border guards and asked them how things were on the other side. They said that you might get across straight away, have to make multiple attempts or never be given permission to enter Zambia. “Just go ahead and test your luck.” So I strolled across the mighty Zambesi and was lucky if you can call it that. I arrived at the border post the same time as an Indian family attempting to enter Zambia. They were on the next counter and the official who was looking after me was intensely interested in the grilling that they were receiving from his colleague. He absentmindedly read my entry application, stamped my passport then pushed it towards me across the counter. I did not wait, I grabbed the document and headed for the door while the family was still being harangued and harassed. I could not believe my ‘luck’, I was on my way to Lusaka, then Nairobi, Zurich and back to Chamonix.
The 1971 alpine season awaited.
(*) While I was in South Africa ‘The Battle of Brisbane’ took place with protestors causing the cancellation of the Rugby Union test between the Springboks and Australia. Anti- Apartheid sentiment soon after saw Australia also place sanctions on South Africa.
E. STATESIDE — 1973:
E1. Consolidation
After arriving back in Australia at the end of 1971, I resumed rockclimbing mainly in the Blue Mountains and Warrumbungles. For most of 1972, I climbed with Ray Lassman who only lived about 300 metres from my home in Ryde. In fact, it turned out that we had been in rival gangs that patrolled the banks of the nearby Buffalo Creek. I once recounted to him how we had found a rusty old rifle and had filled the mechanism with dust and pretended to fire it at a marauding rival gang. Our ruse was successful and the others retreated quickly. It turned out that Ray was one of their number.
We spent a great deal of our weekends climbing at Porters Pass, Shipley Lower and the cliffs above the Mt Blackheath Fire Trail. Perhaps our major coup was to bag the first ascent of Clockwork Orange at Shipley Lower. Ray led the first pitch with an overhung delicate start onto to an equally delicate wall, which finished up a strange awkward wide groove, the only protection provided by small nuts. My pitch left a good ledge to ascend a slab to a vertical wall with a crack on the left hand side. Above this was a strenuous overhanging smooth crack with two hidden jugs that led to a small ledge. The last pitch looked really easy; we both thought that it was probably 14. Ray started up but was soon in all sorts of trouble. He was about five or so metres above me when he fell off and as the rope was taking up he crashed into my ankle. As I was trying to ease the pain he politely said, ‘You’d better lead it.’ Thanks Ray, it was one of those deceptive pitches that looked much easier than it really was and having two healthy ankles would have helped.
Later in the year, I teamed up with Greg Mortimer and we climbed Icarus and Bastion Buttress in the Bungles. At the same time that I was climbing, I was also saving my pennies to head back to Europe again. Early in 1973, Greg and I had completed our skyline traverse of Balls Pyramid and afterwards I travelled to Victoria and South Australia. Somewhere along the line Rick White heard that I wanted to head overseas again and suggested that I join him in California to make the first Australian ascent of the Nose. Only a slight diversion, I thought, so I gave the idea the nod and the rest is history.
E2. Coming To America
I don’t know what it was about my Whillans Pack but it seemed to attract the attention of customs’ officials. Maybe it was the bright orange upper with the glossy black leather base that exuded the necessary magnetism.
Landing at LAX is never fun but again I was signaled out for attention. Was it the pack or long hair or perhaps both? Well, they always wanted to check out my pack and so I steadily unloaded it and showed the contents to the official. A great deal of it was climbing equipment much of it looking like instruments of torture, probably not a bad description for it at times.
Patiently going through my gear, carabiners, nuts, slings, ropes and finally some pitons. Now a really large one seemed to attract a great deal of attention as I had put smaller nuts inside it and wrapped some tape around it. ‘What’s this?’ demanded the official. Given the gravity of the situation I thought that I could only give an honest response. ‘It’s a BONG!’ Boy, had I hit the jackpot. Several other customs officers moved into position and I thought that I could hear the clanking of the manacles and the scratching of the pen on the deportation certificate.
It was obvious that some fast-talking was required as suspected drug mules and users are certainly not welcomed in most countries particularly in the US of A. While the offending bong did have apertures I was able to show that they were too big and numerous to be used for that particular purpose. As they backed off I was able to indicate how it was placed into the rock and the origin of its name: Bong – Bong – Bong – Bong – Bong – Bong The increasing pitch of the noise as it was hammered into the rock. With my explanation the impasse was breached, my passport stamped and I was allowed to make my way out of the airport. Several buses later saw me enter the Valley via the Wawona Tunnel albeit far too late to climb the Nose with Rick.
 |
| El Capitan |
E3. The Nose of El Capitan
Rock, Summer (Jan – Mar) 2010, no. 81, pp. 34 -37.
2nd Australian Ascent – With Henry Barber (USA) - 1973
It was mid afternoon when the bus entered the Wawona Tunnel and I knew I was nearing ‘the Valley’. Emerging into the sunlight and catching my first sight of El Capitan was a revelation: the sheer beauty of the Nose was both nausea inducing and fascinating at the same time. I met up with Rick White only to be informed that he had already climbed the Nose (as well as the Salathe). Being offloaded in Tahiti had had its compensations, but it had prevented me teaming up with Rick for the first Australian ascent of this stunning line.
That afternoon, Rick, Henry Barber and I drove down the valley to climb Butterballs (5.11c/24). Henry glided up it, Rick went quite well and I failed miserably. Several days later Rick’s trip came to an end and I was left amid a sea of Americans who were indifferent to ascending the big routes, and were instead concentrating on smaller, unclimbed outcrops. They were also indifferent to Henry who had marched into the valley and made a fast solo ascent of the Steck-Salathe (5.9/17) on Sentinel. Somehow, within days of Rick’s departure, Henry and I teamed up with our sights set on the Nose. Our intention was to make a rapid, pitonless and essentially free ascent. Neither of us had climbed the Captain but we trimmed our haul bag so as to facilitate a fast ascent.
It was still very early morning as I made the exhilarating swings across the face to reach the Stovelegs. Hand over hand jamming followed, as the rope now snaked to the pendulum point, my only runner, still above me and way out left. The Stovelegs ran quickly beneath our legs and we soon caught up with an American pair on El Cap Tower who had started several days before. Kindly, they let us through, but not before one of them remarked, ‘We’re only on vacation.’ For some reason I felt somewhat uneasy about this remark.
 |
| Henry Barber on belay on our ascent of 'The Nose'. |
Henry completed the King Swing off the top of Boot Flake, a double pendulum that traversed to a good crack system down and left around an arête. He called out to me to climb but the haul line was wrapped around the main rope. Henry became impatient so I gave up before the ropes were full untangled and started my descent. However, when I reached the small, soft iron peg (the anchor point of the second pendulum) the entwined ropes jammed and urgent action was required. I clipped into the manky peg (probably dating from the first ascent), trusting my weight on it. Perched perilously some 500 metres above the ground I untied the ropes, untwisted them, and then retied. After what seemed an eternity I slid with great relief around the arête to Henry’s stance. A long crack system loomed above. That night we reached Camp V — a long, narrow comfortable ledge.
I can still remember the serenity of looking down on the Merced River, a thin stream of silver snaking through the lighter hues of the meadows and the darker pine forests. Every now and again the headlights of a lone car punctuated the scene as it made its way either up or down the valley.
Dawn arrived, and tranquility was dispelled, and we again contested the polished granite and the constant drop beneath us. Around midday I negotiated the Harding Ladder and stood at the very edge of this mighty precipice. Looking upwards was a slab that led to freedom; looking down was a sickening vertical sweep of rock disappearing into the pine forest 1,000 metres below. It was no place to linger. Once on top we began the long trek down beside Bridal Veil Falls to the ‘comforts’ of Camp Four.
 |
| On the Harding Ladder with the summit in sight. This is where the climber fell from. (Henry Barber) |
In terms of our stated goals, I had placed two pegs on the Great Roof and Henry later trumped me by placing four in a thin crack above Camp VI. We had climbed about 70% of the route free and completed it in a day and a half. For both of us it had been our first El Cap climb and for me it lived up to all of my expectations.
We had been back for several days when we heard that someone had died on the Nose within sight of the summit. He had slipped out of his jumars on the Harding Ladder, fallen to the end of the rope and it had snapped. It was the climber that I had spoken to on El Cap Tower.
 |
| The 'Incomparable Valley' viewed from the Wawona Tunnel Portal. |
Yosemite Valley
Summit, June 1973, p. 22.
Henry Barber free-soloed (without a rope) two difficult routes in the valley. He climbed the Steck-Salathe on the North Face of Sentinel in two and a half hours and Midterm, a 5.10 classic in the Arch area.
On the 4th and 5th June, Henry Barber and Keith Bell made an almost piton-less ascent of the Nose Route on El Capitan. Previous Ascents of this style were made by Rick White, Doug Scott, Jim Denini and Peter Minks. All climbed between 50 and 70% of the route free.
Peter Thompson, Tragedies in Yosemite Valley, Summit, June 1973, p. 2.
On June 7 two climbing parties on the Nose (VI, 5.8 A3) heard and watched a very young man fall from above them to his end on the rocks 3,000 feet below. While cleaning the bolt ladder at the top Mike Blake made an error. Using one, maybe two, jumars as his belay, a tieoff loop on a bolt slipped off, or failed. He was fifteen feet from the end of the pitch, the jumars failed (or he clutched them in desperation opening them), and he fell 150 feet to the end of the rope. The rope broke on impact 16 feet from the anchor and he was gone. …
 |
| Leading the 'White Flake' pitch high on the East Buttress of El Capitan. (Peter Giles) |
E4. Other Routes Climbed - Yosemite:
Steck-Salathe Sentinel Rock 5.9 Alan Dewison
West Face Sentinel Rock 5.9+/Aid Jay Jenson
East Buttress El Capitan 5.10 Pete Giles
Direct North Buttress Middle Cathedral 5.10 Vern Clevenger
East Buttress Middle Cathedral 5.8 Alan Dewison
NE Buttress Higher Cathedral 5.8 Mark Chapman
Braille Book Higher Cathedral 5.8 Alan Dewison
Snake Dike Half Dome 5.7 No records
Royal Arches/South Dome 5.6 Lew Warden
Nutcracker Ranger Rock 5.8 Galen Rowell
After Six Manure Pile Buttress 5.7 Royal Robbins
Shorter climbs such as Moby Dick (centre), Midterm, Sacherer Cracker and several others.
Several climbs on the Glacier Point Apron.
E5. Europe or the USA???
Henry Barber had really put the collective noses of the Yosemite Camp Four residents out of joint and after the Nose it seems that I was also somewhat on the Nose too. For a while I climbed with British climbers but then through Doug Robinson and Galen Rowell was introduced to other Sierran climbers. At the same time I started to recognize the amount of rock both crag and alpine that the States offered. All considerations of returning to Europe were shelved as I thought I could spend my time more profitably swinging through the western states until I reached the prairies in the mid-west and head back to Yosemite for the autumn. Thus began a great climbing and sightseeing odyssey as I hitchhiked to uppermost Oregon, turned east along the Columbia River to Salt lake City, then into Wyoming, South Dakota, Nebraska, Colorado then west across the lower states back to California.
It turned out to be a good decision as I met many people, saw many sights as well as getting in the occasional climb.
E6. A Spin or More Over the Sierras
It was a great day for a flight. The sun was out; the sky was blue and it was virtually cloudless. Doug Robinson and I had stayed the night at one of his friend’s house in the Mojave Desert. This was no three bedroom bungalow. It was a huge citadel surrounded by square miles of desert. We had been sleeping under the stars on the grass in a huge central quadrangle. Our sleep had been somewhat interrupted when the sprinkler system came on early in the morning. However, the day was to get more exciting. Doug’s friend’s younger brother offered us a spin in his single engine Cessna, wheels up from Bishop Airport at 9:00 am.
After lift-off, we flew east over the White Mountains then turned south to overfly Death Valley. Using this as staging point we then flew west over Zabriskie Point to the relative flatness and bareness of the Mojave Desert. Turning northwest we then tracked back towards the High Sierra. As we were approaching the scarp of the mountains at the Wheeler Crest, I suddenly noticed that we were a hundred or so feet too low and destined to ‘buy the farm’. Having repeated Doug’s two routes on the Rabbit Ears, Wheeler Crest I thought it would be a novel experience repeating them in a light aircraft. However, before we were due to hit, the plane was suddenly lifted several hundred feet by the strong thermal generated by the hot Mojave Desert below.
Phew!!! Wipe away the beads of sweat, exhale a welcome sigh of relief, take a deep breath, and resume enjoying the magnificent scenery sweeping past below us. Only just ahead, we could make out the east face of Whitney, with the Keeler Needle flanking its south side and Mount Russel an isolated rocky guardian to its north. Jagged outlines and scattered lakes, the ‘Gentle Wilderness’ of John Muir country slips past beneath our wings. And then finally, the Incomparable Valley, Yosemite sweeps across our vision. We fly up the middle of the valley but are slightly disappointed by the altitude restrictions that have been imposed. Whereas we were hoping to be enclosed within its walls it was mandatory that we remained several hundred feet above the rim.
Sweeping over Half Dome the pilot again headed eastward across the Sawtooth Range. As we were passing over this Doug noticed a peak with a sheer triangular sweep of wall. He identified this as Blacksmiths Peak and said that it was unclimbed. We both filed that away for future reference. Our eastward track finished when we reached Mono Lake with some rather intimidating maneuvers in the making. Square in the middle of the lake our pilot put the plane into a vertical climb.
Beep, beep, beep; the stall warning rings in our ears. The plane hangs momentarily in the air then the pilot drops the nose and it falls down vertically picking up speed. The stall warning ceases but the sound of air brushing along the sides fills the cabin. Suddenly, we are climbing steeply again, beeping assails our ears, this time he drops it forward but lets the wings slip sideways a little. We look at each other; we know we are in for a wild ride with a wild child. The performed stall outs gathered intensity; finally he was stalling, flipping the plane onto its back and then dropping and spinning 360 degrees in all directions. One moment Mono Lake would fill the windscreen, then the western horizon, then blue sky, the eastern horizon and so on. My thoughts as we were tumbling through the air, climbing never seemed safer. It was exciting, exhilarating though bloody scary.
A short flight down the Owens Valley took us back to Bishop and normality. It had been an unforgettable experience in so many ways but terra firma never looked so good.
A few days later Doug and I were trekking into Blacksmiths Peak. There was still a great deal of snow along its base but we found a place where we could access the rock in line with the summit. Many pitches took us up steep slabs on good rock until we reached about two thirds height. Here the rock became steeper with many bulges to negotiate. We also started hearing voices but thought that we were being influenced by the isolation and rarified air. Nobody would be out here in the early 1970’s and midweek at that. But as we were nearing the summit a couple of climbers were sighted on our right. Both parties reached the summit at basically the same time and exchanged greetings. It turned out that it was Chris Jones and Lito Tejada Flores (*), both Sierran pioneers and good friends of Doug’s.
We had lunch together on the summit. Chris, an expat Englishman said that he was amazed to hear an Australian accent on the climb. We were all amazed that two parties had chosen this particular day to go onto this unclimbed face. Since Doug and I had been spinning around the Sierras in his VW Kombi with ‘The Stones’ ringing in our ears, we decided to call our route Ruby Tuesday.
(*) Lito wrote the seminal essay “Games Climbers Play” in Ascent, 1967.
E7. Deadly Rattles and Ursine Activities
A long, steep, rock strewn gully provided the access to the Rabbit Ears on the Wheeler Crest. Two long columns of granite formed the ears and Doug Robinson and Galen Rowell had climbed them some years earlier. Smokestack on the left and Adams Rib on the right soared up their respective columns for 300 metres at a grade of 5.10. Doug had pointed me in their direction and so I began the long two and a half hour haul up again to their base from the Mojave Desert with Vern Clevenger. I was about half way up the chute when there was a large flat rock with a void underneath to be negotiated. As I stepped towards it there was an ominous rattling sound emanating from the hollow and this could only be one thing. In fact there were two of them, their distinctive triangular heads clearly visible when I peered into their refuge. A few quick steps to the right and around onto the top of the boulder provided an improvement in my situation.
 |
| 'Rattlesnake Gully' leading up to the Rabbit Ears — Wheeler Crest.
We continued up the gully without further incident, climbed Adams Rib and descended back to the gully. All that remained was the trek down the access gully, then a short walk across the desert to the car. Fortunately, there was not so much of a rattle as we negotiated the gully. All was looking good, we should be back at the car soon, only the flat desert through the occasional grass and stunted bush patches remained. Now I am not usually all that worried about snakes in Australia because while venomous and dangerous, they usually slither away silently. Rattlers are an entirely different kettle of fish. Seemingly sluggish they use their rattle to give you a very effective ‘beware and avoid’ warning. All well and good when you are some distance away and can see them.
|
However, I was walking through a patch of short stunted grass and shrubs underlain by rock when I heard the ominous sound of a rattle directly below my feet. No joking I leapt about twenty feet in the air and seemingly landed about thirty feet away. I could almost imagine a cartoon being made illustrating this very situation. Surviving a bite from one of these mothers usually involves necrosis of the skin and flesh leaving nasty holes and scars so the performed airtime was a necessity.
 |
| Vern Clevenger climbing the 1st pitch of Adams Rib — Wheeler Crest. |
It was not my first encounter with a snake in America. While climbing Braille Book on the Cathedrals in Yosemite Valley with Alan Dewison, an Englishman, we encountered one on the last classic corner pitch. I was leading this with about 40 feet to go and was searching for a runner in an upward sloping crack in the right wall. There, just near the main crack and tightly enclosed in the subsidiary crack was a brightly coloured Coral Snake with its bright bands of red, yellow and black. No noise from this one just a flashy warning from its coat of many colours. So just move quietly on up the crack and belay at the top of the corner. Alan starts coming up. When he reaches the spot I can’t help myself, I tell him to take a peek into the offending crack.
On sighting the reptile his reaction is massive; he lets out an incredible scream that echoes around the valley and he does this massive pendulum outwards from the corner with at least five hundred metres of clear air below him. I ponder why the Poms are so scared of snakes when they have three species of slitherers on their isle. In my dotage I can now see that it was a bastard of an act but it was pretty funny at the time. And yes, we remained friends although he was a bit snakey for a while?
 |
| Looking down towards the start of Snake Dike - Half Dome. (KBC) |
Another sinuous form that I encountered was the climb, Snake Dike. It seems that it had been put up with longer ropes than usual. Perhaps mine was somewhat short, too, as I had lost part of one end owing to stone damage. Runners were scarce and the bolt belays were well spaced. I can remember having to ask my belayer to unclip from the belay and climb about 3 metres so that I could reach the next bolt belay on several occasions. The climb ascends a wonderfully and unusually elevated dyke through a slab that leads to the amazing summit of Half Dome. While it is a long walk there it is well worthwhile experiencing the charms of this particular snake.
 |
| Leading one of the upper pitches of Snake Dike with loads of protection. (KBC) |
But the main animals to be concerned about in Yosemite are the raccoons and black bears. These are great foragers and can rip a tent apart if they can smell the slightest aroma of food. The Yosemite climbers used steel ammunition boxes and chests for food storage when I was there but the blow-ins like myself had to hoist their storage bags up over a convenient tree branch.
Ed Ward-Drummond, the English climber, was camping near me and over breakfast told me that he had had a broken sleep. It seems that during the night while semi comatose he heard a scrambling, then silence, and then the ground shaking like the San Andreas Fault had been unleashed. Another moment of silence then scrabble, scrabble, scrabble. silence, then the ground shaking again. This happened about three or four times before he decided he should leave his warm pit and investigate. His food store was hanging about 25 feet up and 5 to 10 feet from the trunk of a tree. It turned out that a black bear was scrabbling up the tree trunk until it was level with his bag, and then it launched itself at the bag, missing, falling to the ground right beside his tent — an American version of the ‘Drop Bear’ perhaps? Fortunately, they are fairly timid and easily scared away.
Now it was the 70’s and there were plenty of illicit substances floating around the camp. There was another bear that was hanging around looking for trouble. A climber left a peanut butter sandwich on a table for the bear to snaffle. It was also laced with a tab of LSD. The bear eventually went crazy; it went to the back of a VW Kombi, underclung the back window with its claws and reefed it open. It then reached in, grabbed a can of baked beans and bit the top off and then licked the contents from the can. Californian black bears are basically small and look very friendly. On witnessing the power of this one, it provided an important warning never to meet up with one of its cousins, a grizzly or a polar bear in the wild.
So who said the excitement of climbing is confined to the rock. There are plenty of ‘wild experiences’ to be had just camping near, accessing, climbing and departing from the rock that we love to savour. I bet every Australian climber, if they have been climbing long enough, has a ‘wild’ story to tell. Maybe leave that one to another day though?
E8. Sierra Nevada Routes and New Routes - 1973
1. Cardiovascular Seizure
East Face of Mt Whitney – Iceberg Spire
Sierra Nevada Mountains
T, 5.10+
Trad, Alpine, 700 ft, 6 pitches, Grade III
Vern Clevenger and Keith Bell, 1973
Description:
This worthwhile route climbs the right most dihedral system.
P1: varied cracks 5.8,
P1: varied cracks 5.8,
P2: right leaning crack system up toward corner, switch to higher of two cracks midway then up to ledge with 2 piton belay- 10a.
P3: unusual double cracks at 90 degrees inside corner (side by side foot jams and bilateral gaston)- 5.9 belay on small pillar with gear,
P4: steep flared hands with poor flaky feet 11- to chimney and ledge on right. This cruxy pitch could be avoided by staying in corner to the right at probably 5.9
P5: varied cracks to chimney to big ledge- long pitch 5.8
P6: step right from ledge then up steep clean corner (small gear), then hand traverse right to next corner to small roof/ledge then up final chimney to summit 10b.
2. Ruby Tuesday — Blacksmiths Peak 5.9+ Doug Robinson
Other Routes Climbed – Sierra Nevadas - 1973:
Keeler Needle — Mt Whitney 5.10 Vern Clevenger
Swiss Arete — Mt Sill 5.7 Doug Robinson
Sun Ribbon Arete — Temple Crag 5.10 Vern Clevenger
Crack of No Hope — Cardinal Pinnacle 5.10 Vern Clevenger
Cucumbers — Cardinal Pinnacle 5.9 Doug Robinson
Stonehouse Buttress — Lone Pine Creek 5.8 Doug Robinson
Smokestack — Wheeler Crest 5.10 Jay Jensen
Adams Rib —Wheeler Crest 5.10 Vern Clevenger
Also climbed at Joshua Tree in Southern California.
Also climbed at Joshua Tree in Southern California.
E9. Rocky Mountain Routes and New Route – 1973 – Colorado
Religion
East Face of Notchtop
Rock Mountain National Park
T, 5.8 R
Trad, Alpine, 800 ft, 9 pitches, Grade III
Larry Hamilton and Keith Bell, August 1973
 |
| East Face of Notchtop. Religion goes up the left hand buttress. |
Description:
The big corner on the first pitch, and the two traversing pitches (up left, then back right) that zig-zag through overhangs above the grassy ledge at half height, are particularly good. The rock quality is generally comparable to that of Hallett or the Petit Grepon, although much less climbed. Below is the original FA route description.
Begin slightly left of the center of the main E face of the Notch Spire itself, in the leftmost of three prominent roofed dihedrals.
P1: From the left end of a huge, flat flake, leap across a moat and into a lieback on the main wall. Proceed up the dihedral for a long, strenuous pitch. Exit left near its top and belay. 5.8.
P2: Starting from the right edge of the belay ledge, climb right-facing flakes and dihedrals to a large grassy ledge. 5.7.
P3: An easy chimney, face and corner pitch leads to a meadow. 5.4.
P4: Wander up right to another meadow. Walk up to a large block leaning against the upper wall, and belay atop this. 3rd-4th class.
P5: Make a rising traverse across the smooth face to the left, and belay on an uncomfortable grassy stance at the base of a vertical corner-crack. 5.8.
P6: Climb the crack and make a long exposed traverse back to the right, below a long narrow roof. Belay in the bulging gully that forms the right boundary of the upper wall. 5.8.
P7: Follow this steep gully. Towards the end of the pitch, wander out onto a nice belay ledge on the left. 5.6.
P8: Climb up and right into an overhanging, dihedral system that is followed to an adequate belay area. 5.8.
P9: Continue up the bulging gully to the summit of the Notch Spire.
Begin slightly left of the center of the main E face of the Notch Spire itself, in the leftmost of three prominent roofed dihedrals.
P1: From the left end of a huge, flat flake, leap across a moat and into a lieback on the main wall. Proceed up the dihedral for a long, strenuous pitch. Exit left near its top and belay. 5.8.
P2: Starting from the right edge of the belay ledge, climb right-facing flakes and dihedrals to a large grassy ledge. 5.7.
P3: An easy chimney, face and corner pitch leads to a meadow. 5.4.
P4: Wander up right to another meadow. Walk up to a large block leaning against the upper wall, and belay atop this. 3rd-4th class.
P5: Make a rising traverse across the smooth face to the left, and belay on an uncomfortable grassy stance at the base of a vertical corner-crack. 5.8.
P6: Climb the crack and make a long exposed traverse back to the right, below a long narrow roof. Belay in the bulging gully that forms the right boundary of the upper wall. 5.8.
P7: Follow this steep gully. Towards the end of the pitch, wander out onto a nice belay ledge on the left. 5.6.
P8: Climb up and right into an overhanging, dihedral system that is followed to an adequate belay area. 5.8.
P9: Continue up the bulging gully to the summit of the Notch Spire.
 |
| Larry Hamilton getting some Religion. |
Other Routes Climbed in Rocky Mountains - 1973:
Petit Grepon —SW Corner 5.9 Billy Westbay
Northcutt-Carter — Hallets Peak 5.7 Ben Mc Clure
The Flying Buttress — Mt Meeker 5.10 Larry Hamilton
Other routes climbed on Lumpy Ridge, Boulder and El Dorado Canyon.
 |
| Devils Tower - Wyoming The Durrance Route is in a gully on the left hand side. |
E10. ‘Staggering’ Up The Durrance
I was hitching east across Wyoming when I got picked up by the type of lift that did not come my way very often. Most of my lifts were in Kombis painted in psychedelic colours and motifs driven by hippies (It was 1973 after all). Man, did they attract the police. I lost count of how many times we were stopped, thrown against the side of the Kombi and questioned by law officers wearing Stetsons with two pearl handled pistols loosely strapped to their sides. Not this time — it was in a well-appointed, very comfortable van with a well-stocked fridge driven by two young guys who were prepared to take me all the way to New York. I wasn’t going that far but they kindly went out of their way to drop me at my intended destination.
Devils Tower beckoned and although on a side road, it was great to be delivered directly to the campsite. Next morning I made my way to the Rangers Hut to register for a climbing permit. The ranger told me that there were really only two climbers around at the time and they were both greenhorns in his stateside parlance. On the understanding that beggars can’t be choosers I looked these guys up and after some more than gentle persuasion managed to sign them up for the climb. As it was reasonably early and given their experience I suggested that we tap our way up the Durrance.
Jack Durrance and Harrison Butterworth first pioneered this route in September 1938. It was the second free ascent on the tower and was graded 5.7, now largely considered a sandbag at that grade. Its six pitches features stemming, handjams, off width, chimneying and pulling up on flakes and is therefore an interesting and varied climb with good stances and solid rock. Its pitches included the Leaning Column, Durrance Crack, Cussin’ Crack, Flake Crack and Chockstone Crack, all classic and enjoyable sections. The route is quite rightly featured in the historic climbing text, Fifty Classic Climbs of North America.
 |
| Heading up the first pitch on the Durrance Route. (KBC) |
As we arrived there my two companions seemed to be puffing a little too much so when they put their packs down I decided to check the weights. Maybe this is something that I should have done before but I was surprised by their heaviness. The question begged; what did you guys bring up? Lobster Thermidor, champagne with matching sets of crockery, cutlery and glasses? They sheepishly opened their packs to reveal the contents; copious amounts of pitons, bongs, carabiners, slings and even etriers.
 |
| My seconds for the Durrance Route on the summit of Devils Tower. The sign says 'No climbing beyond this point'. |
The next question of mine was obvious, ‘Why did you guys bring all this shit?’ Their response floored me. Let it be said at this time I had reached the grand old age of 26. Their reply, ‘We thought that you were really old and would not be able to climb it, so we brought this along just in case.’ Pronounced old before my time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
While it illustrates the perils of climbing with randoms when I look back now it brings a wry smile to my face. A climbing career is an amalgam of many people, experiences and places and that is how it should be. It also got me thinking that if I was transported back and teamed up with them again they would probably furnish a wheel chair or call out the paramedics.
Other Routes Climbed Elsewhere in USA – 1973
Upper Exum Ridge – Grand Teton – 5.6, Wyoming with Galen Rowell
Climbs at Beacon Rock on the Washington State side of the Columbia River
E11. Our American Alliance?
Pete Giles and I made quite a few American climbing friends while in Camp Four. There was one guy who we got on really well with and for no particular reason we started calling him ‘Septic’ as in Septic Tank — Yank. Now while he was quite good humoured about this he obviously wasn’t going to take it lying down. On the Friday he announced he was going home to LA for the weekend, then he turned to Pete and I and said.
‘I’m going to do some research, I’m going to get you guys. I’m going to come up with a name that you guys will hate. You just wait until Sunday.’
He seemed to have taken this all rather seriously so Pete and I spent the next few days quaking in our boots wondering what epithet he would dredge up. While we did wonder we really did not lose any sleep over it.
Just after sunset on Sunday ‘Septic’ turned up, fronted us, and began a long dialogue.
‘I have done my research and you guys are going to hate this. You are really going to hate this. You guys are going to take this so badly. You are not going to like this at all.’
And so it went on as Pete and I quaked in fear waiting for the denouement. And then it came.
‘From now on I’m going to call you guys — DIGGERS!!!’
What could we do but explain to our friend with a smile that it really was a complement and that he might need to dig a little deeper with his research.
Having lived through Conscription and the Vietnam War, I remember Australians being told ad nauseum by successive Federal Governments how much the Americans had appreciated our involvement and participation in this conflict. So much so that PM Harold Holt had loudly trumpeted ‘All the way with LB’ when the US President had visited our shores. While hitching and climbing around the States in ’73, I was amazed by the number of intelligent and seemingly aware Americans who would ask me quite seriously if Australia had an army. I could only say that we did and had been in the Vietnam jungle side by side with their troops.
Lies, damned lies and GOVERNMENTS
But the question remains, has the situation really changed on either side of the Pacific since the 1970’s?
E12. Pictorials of some American routes climbed in 1973
Upper Exum Ridge — Grand Teton — Wyoming |
| Galen and the author on summit after soloing route. (KBC) |
 |
| Galen Rowell on the Upper Exum. |
 |
| The Grand Teton |
Petit Grepon — Rocky Mountain National Park — Colorado
 |
| Billy Westbay seconding a lower pitch. |
 |
| The author leading with the summit lurking above. (Billy Westbay) |
 |
| Billy Westbay on the narrow summit of the Petit Grepon. |
 |
| The Petit Grepon - Centre. |
The Flying Buttress — Rocky Mountain National Park — Colorado
 |
| Larry Hamilton leading the first pitch of the Flying Buttress. |
 |
| Leading the third pitch. (Larry Hamilton) |
 |
| Larry nearing the top. |
 |
| The summit. Mt Meeker |
 |
| The Flying Buttress Mt Meeker |
Keeler Needle — Mt Whitney — California
 |
| Vern Clevenger seconding on the Keeler Needle. |
 |
| Vern higher on the 'Killer Needle'. |
 |
| The Keeler Needle - Mt Whitney. |
E13. More Recent USA Climbs -2012:
While on the trip back west in 1973 I had sighted many of the amazing sandstone towers but did not climb any much to my chagrin. On this recent trip I managed to climb three – part of my Bucket List could now be ticked off.
1) Independence Monument — Otto’s Route 5.8+ Grand Junction — Colorado
2) Ancient Art - Fisher Towers 5.9+ Moab — Utah
3) Castleton Tower —North Chimney 5.9 Moab —Utah
Regular Route — Fairview Dome 5.9 Toulumne Meadows — California
Great Pumpkin — Fairview Dome 5.8 Toulumne Meadows — California
Montezumas Tower — Garden of the Gods 5.7 Colorado Springs — Colorado
Many climbs at Lovers Leap — Lake Tahoe — California
Independence Monument
Independence Monument, Colorado. Otto's Climb is around on the right hand side.
Approaching and tackling the summit cap.
Ancient Art Pinnacle
Ancient Art starts around to the left and summits on the obvious corkscrew up high.
Climbing the Corkscrew
Summiting. (Brian Mattick)
Castleton Tower
Early morning trek up to Castleton Tower on the right.
Starting up the North Chimney of Castleton Tower.
Pete Cunningham leading, Brian Mattick belaying.
Looking up the line. (KBC)
Fairview Dome
Regular Route on Fairview Dome
Toulumne Meadows
Peter Cunningham on the 1st and 3rd Pitch of the Standard route.
Peter up high on the dome.
The author on the summit of Fairview Dome.
(Peter Cunningham)
Montezumas Needle
Montezuma's Needle in the Garden of the Gods, Colorado.
The tower is the second from the right.
Warwick Williams on the awkward start to Montezumas Needle.
Lovers Leap
Bears Reach - 5.7 - A classic climb. (KBC)
Looking up 'The Line' - 5.9
Another Lovers Leap classic.
Leading the first and and tackling the overhangs on the last pitch of 'The Line'. (KBC)
Looking Glass Rock
Unprepossessing from this side
but the top and the other side is an experience that should not be missed.
Regular Route (East Rib) 5.4 (10)
Near Moab – Utah
Looking Glass Rock is located on the way to Indian Creek. Its not a 32 but it is an experience that is worth indulging in. The temperature was over 100 and we had two to three weeks of climbing under our belts; this was the perfect solution to the above.
The rock is shaped like a tadpole and the route ascends its tail. Maybe rope up for the first pitch but the climb is essentially a doddle. The wide, flat summit is located at the head end of the said tadpole. When descending trend right and about a third of the way down a hole is found. Set up double 50’s or a 70 (just reaches with stretch) on the bolts and so the fun begins.
The hole is long and narrow, the belay is in the middle of this split necessitating a drop through the hole to start – very exciting. When your heart stops palpitating you are freely hanging engulfed by a massive open sided cavern. The twist in the rope now takes over and as you spin clockwise the view morphs from the back of the cavern to its side, then a magnificent desert vista with a distant broken range to a huge window in the rock on the other side. And so it goes as the revolutions mount (again very exciting). And so to the momentous moment when you land on the sloping, friable landing area; you need to take care that you don’t land on a resident rattlesnake (even more exciting).
This is a really novel experience so make sure that you don’t miss it if you get to Moab.
The other side showing the window, cave and slot on its top right. (KBC)
F. IN THE BLUIES:
F1. Fragments: Telstar
Rock, Summer (Jan – Mar) 2010, no. 81, pp. 34 -37.
‘Climbing would be a great, truly wonderful thing if it weren’t for all that damn climbing’
John Ohrenschall
 |
| Leading and freeing the second last pitch of Genghis Khan at Echo Point before the light faded. Chris Peisker on belay at bottom of photo. (KBC) |
A friend recently mentioned that he was about to celebrate fifty years of climbing. This set me thinking, as I was just a few years short of that milestone. Where had all the time gone? What had I achieved? Would I be able to blow out all the candles? Too much reflection and introspection is probably a bad thing as you grow older. Old friends, places and incidents flash through your mind in a random manner creating a rich mélange of climbs, climbers, grades, pitches and experiences. What if I had to choose my five most significant climbs from this chaos?
I started climbing around Sydney in 1962 and it was not until 1964 that I climbed in the Blue Mountains. My first climb was Giucco Piton (9) at Narrowneck on a cold July day, in bare feet using a manila rope tied around the waist with a bowline secured by one or two half hitches. A few steel ‘biners’ and spliced slings completed this high-tech picture. Giucco Piton was a stepping-stone but it is not a climb on my list. In many ways we are captives of our time and perhaps my choices will reflect this. That said it is difficult to sift through five decades and select climbs without omitting many worthy ones. Anyway, here goes.
1. Balls Pyramid Lord Howe Island, 1973
2. The Walker Spur, Grandes Jorasses Chamonix, France, 1973
3. The Nose of El Capitan, Yosemite Valley, USA, 1973
All of the above have been dealt with in previous articles
4. Telstar (19), Ikara Head, Blue Mountains, 1974
See Article below.
5. Flight of the Phoenix (18), Bluff Mountain, Warrumbungles, 1974
Please refer to Section G Article 2.
Telstar Stars
Ian ‘Humzoo’ (‘Zoo’) Thomas and I had been living at Mt Victoria and had stumbled upon a climbing El Dorado at the head of the Grose Valley when we visited a coal mine near Bell in order to keep the home fires burning. Examination of a map revealed a convenient fire trail that wandered towards the crag — Ikara Head. While we put up several lines including Caladan (19), a long abrasive jam-crack, the best line was to its left: a long wall capped by a monstrous roof with a chimney through it, which led up to a steep headwall rent by what looked like a good hand-crack. It appeared to be three pitches long. I scored pitches one and three, ‘Zoo’ scored the chimney. However, there were only losers in this draw.
The bottom pitch was a series of groove and wall climbing neatly bisected by a large protruding block. It was well-protected and on good rock. It went at about 18 and led to a good cave-like ledge covered in fine silt, with the jutting brow of the overhang lurking and obscuring the sun. I can remember looking at a small inner roof with a crack either side that provided some holds, temporarily, in this wide-jawed, undercut monster. Charitably, I can also remember being thankful it was not mine to lead, forgetting it is often worse to follow this sort of pitch.
Zoo came up, sized up the pitch and started leading out. A line of small, incut footholds on the right wall (looking out) took him to the end of the small roof. Once he launched out from here the only protection was a number five tube chock until some small holds were reached when the chimney closed in. Zoo set up a hanging belay there. Since the ground fell away from the bottom of the climb, the belay felt as though it was hanging out over the Grose River far below. This feeling was compounded by the crack as it continued to bulge above the stance.
 |
| Zoo came up, sized up the pitch and started leading out. |
I followed Zoo’s lead over the ever-deepening abyss. It was a scary pitch. After swapping the gear, I now had to fight past Zoo to get into the crack. Once there, the crack was dirty and vegetated for a few moves and I had to blast up on face holds until I could get a hand jam and some pro. At this point the rock dropped to vertical and beautiful hand jamming led to a slot. Once out of the slot, easier ground led to the flat top of Ikara Head.
The climb had a ‘big wall’ feel to it and for the time contained three difficult and scary pitches. We also climbed it well, without any need for aid. Although it was scary, the mixture of moves, protection and views was sublime. We thought the climbing was ‘out of this world’ and named it Telstar, it was not named after a car made by Ford.
F2. Echoes of Darkness
Rock, Autumn (Apr – May) 2011, no. 86, p. 19.
HUMZOO — a name that fairly or unfairly resonates whenever and wherever old-school climbers gather. Reputably he’s a ‘nasty and cruel dude’ a master of the dark arts who sends deadly spiders to absent arachnophobic mates overseas, feeds a neighbor’s pet mice to his tiger snakes and places ice blocks of a dubious nature into the pockets of pretentious and overbearing associates. Rumour has it he has even derailed a train or two when he was young, but I can’t verify or deny the veracity of that or any of the above. Apparently, he is a ‘much-feared turkey’, but I have always enjoyed his company and its associated wit, wisdom and irreverent sense of humour. However, given the passage of time I feel that I should ‘fess up’ to a few black acts done with him.
 |
| The Giant Landslide or Dogface. The Landslide Chimney is to the left of the yellow face. |
A series of high and forbidding walls festoon the southern scarp of the Katoomba plateau stretching from the Giants Landslide to Echo Point. Our first black act was to climb the Landslide Chimney (18). It was an overcast, humid day and we had negotiated the initial open pitch and entered the stygian zone within the bowels of the chimney. Threading around chockstones and negotiating avalanches of sand, we made our way through the damp, black confines of the fissure. As we entered the zone of light presented by the last wide chimney, it started to rain lightly. We decided to coil the ropes and solo this last section. As we seemingly erupted out of the earth in a dirty disheveled band thoroughly disreputable state near the Landslide Lookout, a group of clean and respectable tourists were frightened witless by the sudden appearance of two uncouth troglodytes emerging magically from the soil into the strange, misty surrounds. To our amusement the tourists rapidly fled the scene.
Having got the hang of climbing in the area, our next excursion was to be an ascent of Charlemagne (18). We had a late start after imbibing quite a bit of red the night before. Given our state we made good time up to the last pitch. It was my lead and a long corner hand-crack seared its way to the top. After a few metres I started encountering dirt and small rocks, which blocked the crack. This got worse the higher I went, until I was continuing excavating impacted dirt and rocks with my piton hammer before I could make any movement or place protection. The earthworks went on for quite a while and as the sun slowly sank below Narrowneck, the long black shadows of the approaching night slowly engulfed us. Less than 10 metres from the top we finally decided to beat a retreat.
A few disorderly abseils later we were swinging our way back towards the Scenic Railway and our escape route up the tourist track beside Katoomba Falls. However, at the base of the railway we had a Comician brainwave. Why not take the direct? So we started ascending the railway sleepers like a ladder and soon entered the velvet blackness of its tunnel, which seemed to stretch on forever. It was bloody steep and even steeper than that in some sections. My mind began working overtime on what to do if a train came but decided in the end that I was in good company on that score. Finally, we emerged intact into the welcoming light of the long deserted top station. Throwing the gear into my Mini, we jumped in and headed home. In the light of day it was revealed that neither my car nor we would need another grease and oil change for at least a year. A very black act indeed, almost a Grecian tragedy.
In the game of us versus the cliff, it was now one-all. After a few more flagons of red as part of our training, we drunkenly but confidently decided to break the nexus by having a go at Echo Crack (now 25) — free. I had climbed the bolt ladder on several occasions and knew the route well (this was of course before the mountain zealots chopped it). Just before first light we left the desolate and windswept carpark. After speeding down the Giants Staircase and around the base of the Three Sisters we began staggering up the vegetated talus slope through garbage cans, Climber Below signs and other human detritus to the base of the climb.
The Three Sisters - Katoomba
The Giants Staircase starts in the gap of the nearest sister and winds down the other side then comes
around the block on the right then along a path to the bottom of Echo Point below where this photo was taken.
 |
| On the Echo Point bolt ladder - Late 1960's. Echo Crack is just to the right of the climber. (Howard Bevan) |
While initially we had been quite keen to do the climb, feelings of lethargy, lassitude and languor had overtaken us by the time we had geared up. What’s more, the closer we got to the start of the crack the deeper our depression and melancholy became. We seemed to be surrounded by an inexplicable aura of enveloping blackness and sadness for which we could not account. It was like a sullen, spiritual presence had sapped us of all our energy, motivation and resolve. Were Zoo’s innumerable black acts coming back to haunt him (and me as well)? When we reached the shale band we did not need to converse with each other, we set up the ropes and headed down. We had cracked before we had even tried the crack. Dejected, we dropped back down to the track and retreated to the car.
Later that night, as we were despondently downing yet another round of red, our hair stood on end when we heard the following radio announcement: ‘Earlier today a woman parked her car at Echo Point then leapt to her death off the nearby lookout. Police recovered her body from the base of the cliff late this afternoon. Her name has been withheld until relatives are notified’.
In the intervening years Zoo and I have sometimes discussed that day and we always agree as to how eerie and profoundly inexplicable that experience was. Do we have a heightened sense of awareness of the paranormal when we climb or are we just reacting to the cues and situations around us? Maybe we respond to both or is it some sort of ‘sixth sense’ that is developed? In the mountains I have experienced on at least three occasions feelings of impending danger where friends in camp, associates in a hut or people that I have met on a climb, have suffered a serious or tragic accident. Speaking of experiencing feelings of impending danger: I did not run this article past Humzoo before I submitted it. In the future I will need to be cautious when I retrieve my mail, guard my pet mice carefully, wear shirts with zippered pockets and not to travel by train under any circumstances.
F3. Zac the Interloper
Common Climber, June 2020
In a 50 plus year career there are many candidates for my best ever climbing buddy. A man’s best climbing friend; I’m doggoned if I could make a choice. In the early 1970’s on return from overseas my partner and eventual wife moved to Mt Victoria, then a sleepy little village central to the Blue Mountains climbing scene. My partner had invited an interloper to share our two storey sandstone dwelling
Two doors away lived Ian (Humzoo) Thomas, a very good friend and my usual climbing companion. Our interloper, Zac not only had appalling table manners but insisted on accompanying us whenever we went climbing. He always sat in the middle of the back seat of my Mini so my rear vision was obscured by his batman ears. When we set up for climbing, he would lie on my pack, ropes, shed clothes and then often dropped off to sleep and started snoring. But what really got to us was when we topped out on a climb was to be lashed facially by his long, wet tongue. Zac, the black Labrador/Kelpie just loved to go climbing with us.
We had also discovered a climbing El Dorado called Ikara Head in the remote, wild Grose Valley. On our first trip we walked from the roadhead to the crag with Zac in tow. On the way out we had to negotiate a 6 metre cliff and wondered how he would get up this. At the base as we pondered, Zac chimneyed between a tree and the rock, leapt onto a slabby area landing on four paws, then clawed his way up this and the steeper rock to the top. Doggoned!!!!
At home if he misbehaved, he was put in the backyard. Often on these occasions I would visit Zoo and find Zac nestled by the fire. Windy days were not unusual at Mt Vic and one day I walked out to see Zac swinging though the air with his teeth tightly clenched to the bottom of a blanket hanging on the line. He really got into a shitload of trouble when my parents visited, my Mum cooked a roast then left it to cool on the back windowsill. The inevitable happened and he learnt that my mother could be a formidable woman.
Zac came climbing for many years into some steep and broken country. No matter where, he was always waiting for us to arrive at the top. Eventually age wearied him and he became the constant, gentle companion to my young daughters. In 1990 he passed away. My ephemeral companion is sorely missed but his exploit at Ikara has attained legendary status and his reputation as a climber lives on.
F5. Classic Blue Mountains Trad
For many years I had a stack of B&W negatives stashed away in a cardboard box. As a result of the great Corona Virus Pandemic of 2020 I suddenly found myself with time on my hands. The resulting ‘lockdown’ enabled me to get my scanner working overtime and then to develop these photographic essays.
The Blue Mountains lies about 100 kilometres west of Sydney and has good road and rail transport. It is an uplifted sandstone plateau and climbing areas are usually based around the towns. Because of this it is best to have, or have access to transport. Unusually too, most crags are accessed from the top and once a climb is completed only a ‘flat’ walk out is required.
The areas covered will be based on the towns of Mt Victoria and Blackheath.
Mt Piddington - Mt Victoria
F5. Janicepts (21) 27 metres
Mt Piddington
“The hardest climb on the cliff. Strenuous, exposed and sustained. Excellent protection all the way (jambs), if you can hang around long enough to place it”. (1967 guide)
Bryden Allen venturing out of the 'resting space' onto the top wall.
As he was removing gear from the top wall, he experienced problems getting a nut out. Bryden immediately whipped out his piton hammer to aid with the extraction but then realised he had uncoupled himself from the abseil rope. For a very fraught moment or two Bryden hung onto the ropes and fumbled getting them back through the carabiners and secured. Finally, he was able to do this and then for the rest of his descent removed all of the remaining nuts by hand.
Bryden, you are a legend!!!
F5. Gemini (20) 51 metres
Mt Piddington
"Really hard. Sustained".
The author approaching the crux on Gemini in 1970. (KBC)
The ascent shown was early 1970’s. I have always found the transition of the crack from sloping to vertical provided the crux. Maybe this can also be attributed to the change from ‘hand’ to ‘fist’ jams when making this transition.
A later ascent of mine brings forth the old adage, “That it never rains but it pours”. Steve Anderson and I decided to have a go at Gemini on a warm, humid but overcast day. I was not that far up the crack when it started raining. Stupidly, I wiped the rain from my eyes and kept on climbing. But way before I reached the transition the rain intensified into a tropical downpour. By the time I reached the crux I was ascending the Gemini waterfall rather than a crack. Breaststroke was almost in order as I kept on swimming/climbing upwards. I finally made the belay block and almost miraculously the rain ceased. The rock was drying out as Steve started climbing. I rate this rather confusedly as my best and worst ascent of Gemini made in one fell sweep.
For the fashion conscious, the climber is wearing a scarlet seatbelt webbing ‘swami’ with an attached ensemble of a red British proprietary sit harness with a small sling of white 9mm perlon flexed with blue through the two harness tabs and then looped over the swami. This is overladen by a leather belt with attached metal tabs upon which the ‘Crackers’, MOAC and other sundry ‘pro’ is carried. The fashionable shoes are either stunning black and red PA’s or brown suede (with red laces) RD’s all topped off by a red ‘Joe Brown’ helmet.
F5. Amen Corner (18) 33 Metres
Mt Piddington
Mt Piddington
"A very inspiring right angle corner. A great climb".
The author on a wing and a prayer about to enter the sentry box, the scene of most falls.
The Janicepts can be seen lurking on the left. (KBC)
Australia's answer to Cenotaph Corner. A lovely line, it was a little dirty and slightly vegetated towards the top when this shot was taken in the early to mid 1970's. Sinker nut protection abounds on it although when first ascended in the early 1960's by Bryden Allen it had 6 bolt runners that have now been removed. The sentry box above the climber provides the most excitement and many a climber has fallen out of it.
Another Bryden Allen and Mt Piddo classic!!!
F5. The Minatour (20) 49 Metres
Mt Piddington
'High technical difficulty, lack of resting places and poor protection, reserving this climb for the unfortunate few who are capable of, and willing to lead a climb of this type. A very exciting lead taking a forceful line up an imposing wall".
The author on The Minatour early in 1973. (KBC)
More often called Minatour Wall today, the half bull, half human has always been a handful. It is a steep, rightward traversing journey across an intimidating wall with sparse protection. The triumvirate of Janicepts, Amen Corner and this climb lie in spitting distance of each other in an elevated secreted position slyly overlooking the access track along the base of the cliff.
In March, 1973 there was an Australian Climbing Meet held in a meadow below the town of Blackheath. My NSW friends were hanging around with the Queenslanders, Rick White, Ted Cais and Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas. Ted was keen to pit his skills against the Greek Maze Monster and did so in fine style. After witnessing Ted I decided also to take on the 'raging bull' and did so a week or two later.
F5. Flake Crack (17) 53 Metres
Mt Piddington
“Just another great climb. Fine line on good rock”.
Author on an early ascent of Flake Crack laybacking the flake on the first pitch.
The climb is now free from vegetation. (KBC)
Belayer on top of the flake with the leader heading towards the roof and crux. (KBC)
The flake is also very sound and is a delight to climb. However, a climber from another State found the 'earth moved' when he was on it and walked out declaring that he would never return. We always wondered what he was on {about}?
F5. Tombstone Wall (15) 30 Metres
Mt Piddington
"A very aesthetic climb taking a fine line up a grand black wall".
Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas leading Tombstone Wall in fine style.
And it is a grand black wall that I probably climbed on every occasion that I visited the crag. A steep rounded step leads to an incipient crack which requires a fairly difficult mantle to gain a ledge. A good nut runner in a shallow crack and some diagonal moves follow to another runner. Diagonally again to the hand traverse, from here start moving right towards the distant range, another runner in the slot and then end up where the climber is in the photo. Breathe a sign of relief then pull up onto the wall above. Many people move further right to the arete here but I have always preferred doing the wall direct. At the top of this section are some steep to slightly overhanging ironstone holds. Pull up through them and move slightly left to gain another breather on sloping but good ledges below the final overhanging finish. There is an obvious scoopy passage through this steeper rock but I have always preferred the excitement of climbing a little bit further left of the original finish. Large thank god holds await at the top.
Move a few metres left to a chain belay for the one abseil required down the Angular Crack corner.
F5. Joseph (14) 46 Metres
"A very enjoyable climb. Take jamb protection".
The first short pitch as it was climbed back in the day. (KBC)
Belayer in position and leader starting the second pitch of Joseph. (KBC)
A very popular easy climb at 'Piddo' Joseph was usually climbed in three pitches. I always found that while the lower pitches are good the higher one was a little dirty and vegetated. As I have not climbed it for a long, long time this might not now be the case. As it is a reasonably long, well protected climb it remains to this day a very popular outing.
F6. Zig Zig - Mt Victoria
Fer-de-lance (18) 30 Metres
Zig Zag
"A nice and varied crack followed by a slabby traverse".
A very early ascent of Fer-de-lance.
(KBC)
Cylvie Frechette jamming her way to glory on Fer-de-lance.
(Dave Gray)
F7. Ikara Head - Mt Victoria
Blast Off (22) 80 metres
Ikara Head - Grose Valley
"An amazing line and excellent climbing".
Hugh Ward at grips with the second pitch of Blast Off: Marty Doolan belaying.
(Jared Anderson)
... 5.4.3.2.1, If it’s not a jug – BLAST OFF.
In line with the ethics of the day it was cleaned and climbed from the ground up. There had been a few attempts at the climb which failed at the small roof. My first attempt was with Rob Staszewski and I managed to break through the roof to the continuous crack in the wall above. Cleaning dirt and vegetation while leading took its toll and we rapped off after burning out still short of the summit.
After this misfire I teamed up with my brother, Kevin; fortunately most of the hard work had been done and we managed to top out. We thought the first short sculptured pitch topped by a thin crack threading through the roof and then sinuously to the top was a bit of a BLAST, this then was the derivation for the name.
First ascent: 1979
Hugh Ward looking intent on staying on Blast Off.
(Jared Anderson)
 |
| Contemplating the crux and the crack above. (Enmoore) |
F7. Telstar (19) 80 Metres
Ikara Head - Grose Valley
'Still crazy after all these years".
See F1. for a description of the first ascent with Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas in 1974.
Daniel Tureo at grips with the intimidating 'Bombay Chimney' on Telstar.
(Jared Anderson)
Andy Harvey leading the 3rd pitch of Telstar;
Daniel Tureo belaying.
(Jared Anderson)
F7. Caladan (20) 35 Metres
Ikara Head - Grose Valley
"The climb that Ikara is famous for and the only one that most people have heard of" - Andrew Penney 1982
A long searing jam crack.
Bryden Allen leading Caladan, Pete Giles belaying in mid 1970's.
Bryden Allen demonstrating his jamming on Caladan.
Dave Gray leading Caladan.
The author on Caladan 45 years after the first ascent.
(Dave Gray)
Still under construction
G. BLUFF and BUNGLES:
 |
| Bluff Mountain - Warrumbungles. |
G1. Brewer’s Droop
Keith Bell and Greg Mortimer
Thrutch, vol. 61, September 1973, pp. 26-27.
First ascent of Icarus, Bluff Mountain, Warrumbungles, December 1972
Keith:
It was Bryden’s suggestion really that we have a look at Bluff Mountain. One could hardly refuse the invitation after Bryden had sportingly lent us his well-fondled super postage stamp size photo of the mountain with all the exciting routes marked.
Greg:
Keith had the photo so we drove up a few Saturdays before Christmas. No one else had time off, but I was able to go. The drive, and the walk into Balor ultimately turned into a blur but the climbs and heat are worth remembering.
Keith:
Access was a real surprise. Even from the Balor (Breadknife) Hut, Bluff Mountain is really no more difficult to approach than Crater Bluff. The only hardship was the 3am start and the already pressing heat.
Greg:
I can’t say that I’ve had breakfast by candlelight before. It’s no wonder I suppose, as it seemed an ungodly hour to be up. I must admit the Breadknife looked weird in the early morning light and the sight of it almost made the trudge worthwhile.
Keith:
We had checked out the face the previous afternoon making good use of Bryden’s photo. Two lines seemed feasible both being just this side of bloody desperate. An obvious groove leading up to an overhanging wall on the right hand side of the face seemed to be the plum.
Greg:
The walk from Dow was a nuisance more than anything and of course the route lay on the extreme end of the face. Bryden’s rotting PA’s (*) gave us a bit of an idea as to where we were and in the end the route was much easier to locate than we had expected.
Keith:
The first few hundred feet of climbing looked easy so we started to solo up. Overhangs above and below forced us slightly left to a vague ramp. The grade and exposure increased as our lack of resolve decreased. After 150 feet we geared up on a 6 inch wide ledge.
Greg:
The first roped pitch was much easier than it looked and once around the corner a superb, easy angled crack led to a belay in a little uncomfortable niche. Thank Christ I got that pitch – it turned out to be, by far, the easiest on the climb.
Keith:
A beautiful traverse across an easy slab led to a groove cutting through the overhanging headwall above the slab. Once over the headwall some dicey slab climbing leftwards led to another steep section. By traversing right a few feet I pulled up through this section and climbed a small scoop to the start of our obvious groove. So much for the ‘easy’ slab climbing below the groove, our reconnaissance of the previous day had been a load of balls.
Greg:
From across the valley it appeared as though we could go straight up the groove. However, the pitch went up only slightly and then out to the left on the wall. It was beautifully exposed climbing up over bulges to some big blocks and hence back into the groove until the crack petered out – it was a foretaste of things to come.
Keith:
The distribution of pitches was certainly to Greg’s liking, but was not favouring me at all. The next section was no exception. The crack burnt out 15 feet above the belay forcing me to traverse out onto the left wall. It was steep, delicate and unprotected. About 20 feet out, I was almost like ‘Icarus’ plummeting to the ground wingless when a large foothold broke. Gravity lost out, but the next few moves up a steep wall were covered in record time. Some more slab moves led to an incredibly small stance projecting out over the wall below.
Greg:
I was glad to climb past Ding Dong’s scrape marks with a rope from above, but none too happy to lead again. Thank heavens it was just a small traverse to a big ledge on the right.
Keith:
An overhanging wall loomed out above. By traversing diagonally left I managed to reach a fine groove that was not as steep. It took several goes before I could start up it. Typically it ran out into a small roof. Once over the roof another bulge over loose looking blocks appeared. Above that just plain vertical stuff led to a resting place. A hand traverse left and a pull into a shallow scoop provided the belay stance. Two bolts provided the belay
Greg:
Surely this next pitch must lead to the top, so pull up and out right it was – but that stupid wall kept going and another full rope length lead into an open shallow groove before the final summit corners. Now I was all tuned for a simple second to the top and a welcome drink of water.
Keith:
The climb wasn’t going to give up easily. After climbing beautiful orange ‘steps’ the grade of the climbing increased in proportion to the length of the pitch. An awkward hand traverse supplied the thrills. Fortunately the end was in sight.
Greg:
I suppose it was a good view but big deal. You could even say it was hair-raising but this was more likely due to the thunderstorm, which passed us on the summit. Anyway, we were down to Balor hut as fast as you could say, “Chris Baxter is Australia’s best climber”. It was a wonder the hut hadn’t melted into the ground but fortunately the Park Board had painted it a lovely dark colour so that it would be hot in hot weather.
Keith:
Howls of laughter greeted me as I arrived at the hut. On inspection it turned out that our new breakfast candle had inscribed a gentle curve down the side of the bottle and then turned horizontally across the table. We continued on down to the car and drove into Coonabarrabran. Here the locals told us that it had hit 116 degrees F in the town that day. Well, the candle had suffered brewer’s droop, now it was our turn.
(*) Bryden Allen’s old friction boots (Pierre Allains – PA’s) hung for many years by the bootlaces from the base of Elijah until they disintegrated.
G2. Flight of the Phoenix
Thrutch, vol. 67, September 1975, pp. 12– 4.
First ascent of the Flight of the Phoenix, Bluff Mountain, Warrumbungles, Easter 1974
Painful jams squeeze vice-like on my hands while gravity tears at my whole being. Ray (Lassman) on belay twenty five metres below looks up with fearful gaze. He is tied to another team’s failure. A rusty, blue painted relic of a previous attempt by the powerful Allen-Ewbank combination. A cold wind howls around the face, blowing my fears away with it. Resolution comes as one hand follows another sneaking into the bowels of the crack. An automaton in motion, fifteen metres to go. Finally heave onto the wide sloping ledge, cracking the buttress and opening the way to the diagonal overhang.
It came to me as I was reading ‘Ascent’ in the book section of Steve Komito’s shop(*). Customers came and went but I didn’t notice them. My concentration was fixed on a photograph, a shot of a climber on Stonewall Jackson. I didn’t really notice the climber — to his right was a section of rock, architecturally beautiful, seductively attractive. I felt sure that a route could be made to go and carried the dream half way across America. Over the Easter of 1974, the opportunity presented itself and the challenge was taken up.
 |
| The photograph in Ascent that inspired the climb. There is a climber in the bottom left hand corner. (John Davis) |
I took in the rope. Ray started up. The initial easy groove to the blocky overhang, a line of defence guarding the savage pleasures of the crack above. The key was not to attack it but circumvent it. Swing out left, finger perched on tiny holds, feet flailing helplessly in the air. I arrived below the crack with ebbing strength. It would take a knifeblade but nothing else. Desperate face climbing leads to the crack. I relive my moments as Ray duplicates my moves. The crack beckons. Ray arrives at the belay exhausted and cold.
The sun in a clear blue sky shines above but is negated by a chilling wind. We briefly entertain the thought of retreat, but bugger it; the hardest pitch must lie below. It can only get easier. The wind mocks us as we arrive at the bottom of the ramp. Ray unties a rope from his harness and retrieves it from above. We sacrifice a sling to the god of security. The wall is now in view, a vertical sweep of rock violated by the overhang above. An uneasy feeling forms in my stomach as I gaze upon it.
‘Watch me!’ I launch onto the wall fully aware of the void below. Slick yellow rock presents itself and steep at that. My arms take a pounding. Thank Christ the protection slots in easily. Keep moving right; have fun Ray. The yellow rock gives way to rough reddish brown and the angle eases. Beautiful gymnastic moves come to hand. I move on up. Incredible. An unusual hole above a ledge takes a bomber number 10 hex. ‘On belay,’ call for Ray to come up. The wind is dropping. Rays from the sun etch and caress my skin. We are in for a fine day.
 |
| "The yellow rock gives way to reddish brown and the angles eases." A pitch below the eagle's wing. (Ray Lassman) |
Two of us stand on the ledge. Above, the overhang broods in silent shadows while the rock around is a sea of shimmering crystals. I lead out and spoil the illusion. Shimmering crystals coalesce into jugs. I am bewildered by the array of holds on the wall. Random thoughts flash through my mind. ‘The volcanic conception of its birth, convulsed by heat and pressure, then slowly cooled, has left large hexagonal prisms. Solid rock and good nut placements are its legacy’. Profound. I ascend hoping the pitch will not finish. A perfect pitch, a magnificent position, alas, too short, as a small ledge steps across my vision.
Ray on the march, ecstatic at what he finds as he joins me on the ledge. Twelve metres above the diagonal overhang reaches its zenith swooping rightward across the face in its dying movement. An impasse? Only one way to find out; on the move again. Still the same holds, protection and incredible position. Reach the roof near the transition. Move right and belay in a small niche below the overhang. Reflect on the previous three pitches as Ray comes surging up. Must surely rate as the best sequence of pitches I have climbed in Australia. Poetry on rock.
The overhang goes easily. I feel relief. Steep, blank rock rises melting into a sea of blue. Flaws in the rock lead us rightwards for a number of pitches: Rightwards into an overhanging amphitheatre of rock. The orchestra is struck up and heat emanates; the atmosphere is charged with oppressive heat.
Bryden’s words come ringing through:
‘One is likely to freeze in a biting wind in the early morning and suffer from heat exhaustion in mid-afternoon.’
The author leading out from a belay higher up (Ray Lassman).
Suddenly the world is in shadow and I look over my shoulder to determine its cause. A messenger of death; the phoenix arisen from its pyre of ashes. Golden feathers gleam in the sun as a huge wedgetail soars gracefully behind me on the thermals created by the face. We watch how effortlessly it ascends the face and then compare our own clumsy efforts. Wings or the tourist track make easy alternatives to our tinkling pile of aluminium and coloured slings. Terray was right, we are indeed ‘Conquistadors of the Useless’.
 |
| Ray Lassman on an upper pitch of Flight of the Phoenix on its first ascent in 1974. |
Lethargy strikes. Our lips are flecked with the white phlegm of heat and exhaustion. Move up fighting the climbers arch enemy g equals 32 feet/sec squared. What’s that in metric? Who cares? Move left. Swing up around a bulge, our salvation is in sight. A groove cleaves the final headwall. I move on up and belay at its base. A stairway to heaven.
Indolence, sheer indolence. We sprawl among the rocks on the summit. Gear is scattered but our feelings remain alert and intact. Crater Bluff, a tombstone of trachyte lies to the east. To the north, the Pilliga Scrub. Westwards, a billiard table. Probably like that all the way to the Indian Ocean. There’s always the Darling to look at en route. Must give up this craziness and get out there sometime. It’s a question of extremes I suppose.
(*) Rob Taylor, Climbing Down Under, Ascent, Vol 1 – No 5, July 1971, Pages 2 - 9
 |
| Ray Lassman on the summit of Bluff Mountain after the first ascent of Flight of the Phoenix. |
G3. Bungles Bungles and Other Matters
Some Personal Recollections
Thrutch, Special Commemorative 50th Anniversary Issue, 2001, pp. 20-22.
It seems only yesterday that as a scrawny teenager I was dragged kicking and screaming up Giucco Piton at Narrowneck on a rather crisp July morning. As I moved into my twenties, climbing had become a lifestyle, an addiction and all of my weekends and holidays were spent in the pursuit of climbing and still more climbing. Intrastate, interstate or overseas, as long as it had footholds and handholds. First ascenting had also integrated itself into this obsession and a multitude of names drawn from mythology, pop songs and science fiction were inflicted upon many a creation. By thirty something I had become more circumspect and in recognition of my advancing years had started calling routes Dad’s Army or Confessions of an Over the Hill Climber. This predilection became even worse in my forties and names like Jurassic Park, Last Chance and Senile Dementia underlined my descent into decrepitude. I’m sorry that I would rather not report on the fifties, I’ll be the one looking after the keg at the SRC 50 reunion. All this begs the question; when does an active climber become a bar room mountaineer? You know the type who would rather talk about than do it and regales those gathered around with tales of yesteryear. I thought that this article could be the beginning (or the end) of my metamorphosis.
For as long as I can remember the telling of tall tales and true in the pub or around the campfire has been an essential element of Australian climbing. Mark Colyvan, in his Warrumbungle guidebook, spoke of the joy of sitting around the campfire listening to the stories and tales associated with this area. The Bungles has always had a rich lode of stories and perhaps this is related to the distances that need to be driven, walked and climbed in order to bag a route or two on its magnificent cliffs and peaks. As this area has been my touchstone for over thirty years I would like to embroider the following stories into the rich fabric already sewn by such luminaries as the late Dr Eric Dark, Dorothy Butler, Bryden Allen, John Ewbank and many others.
My first trip to the Bungles took place in Easter 1965. About twelve of us piled into Rick Jamison’s utility with its makeshift galvanized roof over its tray and headed west towards the setting sun. I was lucky enough to score a seat in the front with four others and it was sheer luxury to that which confronted the remainder in the rear. As we were chugging up Kurrajong Heights I remember Rick making the observation that there were no cars around as the road in front was devoid of traffic. The intense glare emanating from the rear came from a conga line of cars that snaked back down the hill and across the plains towards Sydney.
"Without a doubt we were vertically challenged on all of the routes that we climbed ..."
A contrived photo of the author at the base of the Belougery's Spire abseil in 1965 having
the type of lunch he would not even look at today. (KBC)
We arrived just before dawn and several of us decided to walk up immediately to Balor Hut. Rick’s instructions were succinct, ‘Just follow that path up the hill and you’ll find the hut on the right of the Breadknife.’ Unfortunately, he omitted to mention that the path split and it naturally followed that we walked the West Spirey Creek trail, the longer and steeper of the two. The only concession, although it was lost on me at the time, was that the trail offered excellent views of Bluff Mountain. Although tired and burdened by a heavy pack, I can remember the awe inspiring sight of this elephantine formation as it was caressed by the pink rays of the early morning sun. When we finally arrived at the Breadknife the hut was now on our left so we spent some time circumnavigating this spectacular feature before we found the galvanized iron oasis hidden in the bush on a small side track.
Apart from doing some climbs on Belougery’s, the thing that most stands out is our ascent of the Green Glacier Route on Crater Bluff. While the details of the climb are hazy, I can recall climbing with a little guy who lent credence to the prevailing maxim of the time that the leader must never fall. It didn’t occur to me that he might be thinking along the same lines since he was required to belay somebody nearly twice his size. Twenty years were to pass before I found out the name of this midget with glasses. Without a doubt we were vertically challenged on all of the routes that we climbed as they required long lead outs on manila rope with only manila slings and steel crabs for running belays. Everybody just tied directly into the rope and sandshoes were the standard foot attire. In spite of this we still managed to accomplish some modest climbing on the soaring brownish red and orange walls of these volcanic peaks.
On the way home we took a break in Mudgee. Rick had only just parked when a policeman zeroed in on the overladen condition and sagging tires of the ‘Jamomobile’. He began compiling a comprehensive list of defects and violations. Fortunately, we had all descended on a nearby milk bar leaving Rick to face the music. Just as the policeman was about to tell Rick the bad news one of the guys came running around the back of the car and collided with the man in blue. What timing, he would probably double the charges now. But the two of them looked incredulously at each other and then recovered. ‘Hullo Uncle Bill.’ ‘Well hullo Allen, are you with this lot?’ What luck, nepotism was alive and well in Mudgee that day and good old Uncle Bill let Rick off with a verbal caution. Needless to say we got out of town as fast as we could at snail’s pace.
This was not my only encounter with the police. Before the end of the sixties I made a trip with Howard Bevan and George Harrison in the former’s Ford Zephyr although it was later to be the latter’s before it disintegrated, a gas guzzling monster to be sure. It is also well to keep in mind that during this period it was difficult to get a drink, food and petrol in any country town after 6:00 pm. On this particular occasion we arrived in Coonabarbran sometime after midnight with the petrol gauge perilously low. As expected nothing was open so we decided we would enlist the help of the local constabulary. We walked into the brightly-lit station until we found ourselves in the lockup but the place was deserted. Given that there were plenty of vacancies we exited rather quickly before we were invited to stay the night.
Howard and I decided the best way to find the police was to look suspicious, something that is not hard to do in a strange country town after midnight. Alternatively driving slowly and stopping down the main street then peering into shop windows had the desired effect. A blue light came careening out of a side street and drove across the front of us forcing us into the gutter. We stepped out of the car and before you could say ‘Californian Cop’ we were both plastered across the bonnet and being frisked. Howard being the driver had to produce his licence and was asked the particulars on it. Meanwhile the other cop started to search the car for contraband and stolen goods by torchlight. George who had been asleep on the back seat woke up and wondered what all the commotion was about. Now George waking from a deep sleep is an awesome sight and as his face and the cop’s torch touched the window in the same place in perfect synchronicity the cop let out a scream, jumped in the air and dropped his torch probably in that order. Howard and I just about wet ourselves trying not to laugh. The cops were not amused and quickly pointed us towards an early opener on the Narrabri side of town.
In 1969, Howard and I made the fourth ascent of Lieben on Crater Bluff to a gallery of Victorians, which included Keith Lockwood, Roland and Anne Pauligk as well as their menagerie of parrots. Now one of their feathered friends wanting to get a closer look at the action flew up and perched on an important handhold just above me on the crux pitch. Each time I reached out to use the handhold a slashing beak would nip at my hand. Was this the harbinger of the interstate war (Victoria versus the rest) that raged through the seventies? As I hung about a crazy thought went through my mind. What if I pushed the parrot off and it fell to its death at Roland’s feet some 150 metres below. Tangling with Roland made me think I would be better off going tandem with the bird. In the end it was going to be the cocky or me and stuff the consequences. I took out my peg hammer, reached up and gently but firmly pushed the bird over the precipice. It fell completing a neat somersault before it unfurled its wings and thankfully flew away without sustaining any damage. Next day Roland and Keith did the fifth ascent and I was pleased to see the parrot sat on the former’s shoulder as he climbed the crux pitch. At least he had a feathered handicap too.
The Bungles at Easter was a popular climbing destination in the sixties and there were always heaps of climbers there. One year, George Owens and a swag of his pommie/celtic mates were among the many groups climbing the peaks. Some of his group were on Crater and they were whingeing about the state of the rock, the number of tourists, the hot weather, the food and just about anything that they had forgotten to mention. Now Crater, Lugh’s Throne and Belougery’s Spire are all within shouting distance of each other. After putting up with this tirade for some time an Aussie voice from Lugh’s Throne yelled ‘Why don’t you go home you whinging Pommie bastards, I’ll pay half your fare.’ An eerie silence ensued while everybody waited for the response, which was sure to follow. Suddenly from the direction of Belougerys came a riposte in a lilting English accent, ‘And I’ll pay the other bloody half.’ Everybody just fell about laughing. It was a great day to be in the hills.
 |
| Out and Beyond - Belougeries Spire. (KBC) |
By the end of the sixties Ted Batty’s sandshoes (and mine as well) had been put into retirement and RD’s and PA’s had replaced them. During my climbing career I had progressed from bare feet to sandshoes, kletterschue and then RD’s (friction boots). Laid nylon ropes had also made their appearance in the form of BS 102, 103 and 104, the BS standing for British Standard and not what you originally thought. Most people climbed with 103 doubled. Harnesses had evolved from a simple bowline around the waist to a swami belt of light manila thence to 102 nylon and all points to seatbelt webbing but still using a bowline to tie in. The Whillans ‘nutcracker’ though was standing in the wings ready to make an appearance.
Nuts had gone through a similar evolution starting with drilled out machine nuts and the middle ring of ball races to the range of solid hexagonal aluminium sections manufactured by John Ewbank. British nuts such as ‘crackers’ and ‘spuds’ were also attaching themselves to climber’s belts and the consummate original MOAC chockstone was close to making its appearance.
Most of the pitons available were of European origin and made from soft steel. They were only suitable for picking your nose, posing and acting as body ballast. Steels crabs had also seen their heyday and most people were purchasing the alloy D’s made by Cassin-Bonaiti. The helmets available were largely ‘Joe Browns’ and complied with the UIAA standard of being able to withstand a tonne weight dropped down the equivalent height of the Eiger without sustaining any damage to the shell. In short, they were bloody heavy.
Chalk was only used at schools, bolts were largely confined to the construction industry and all climbs were still an adventure. Sadly, the end of the sixties also witnessed a decline in the popularity of the area and in the following decades visits were largely restricted to a small cadre of Bungles enthusiasts, a situation that probably prevails to the present day.
As the seventies began long hair, paisley patterns, flower power and peace signs as well as chromoly pegs, hexcentrics and stoppers gradually permeated into the Sydney scene. It could not be said that any of these exerted much influence beyond the city boundaries. In 1972, Greg Mortimer and I drove my Mini Minor to the Bungles and encountered the hottest weather that I have experienced there (See Brewers Droop). Bryden Allen had loaned us a photo of Bluff Mountain that made it look smaller than Mount Piddington. Although this was comforting, I knew from my earlier encounter that it was big and only three routes had breached its defenses, all by the powerful Allen/Ewbank combination.
As the seventies began long hair, paisley patterns, flower power and peace signs as well as chromoly pegs, hexcentrics and stoppers gradually permeated into the Sydney scene. It could not be said that any of these exerted much influence beyond the city boundaries. In 1972, Greg Mortimer and I drove my Mini Minor to the Bungles and encountered the hottest weather that I have experienced there (See Brewers Droop). Bryden Allen had loaned us a photo of Bluff Mountain that made it look smaller than Mount Piddington. Although this was comforting, I knew from my earlier encounter that it was big and only three routes had breached its defenses, all by the powerful Allen/Ewbank combination.
We started out before dawn in oppressive heat having sussed out two climbs the day before (*). Our goal was to climb to a pedestal, which went up one third of the way up the right hand side of the face and then strike for the summit up a blank, featureless wall. Icarus was punctuated by steep rock, scant protection and enervating heat all the way. There was little respite on the summit because as we removed our helmets our rather substantial hair reached for the sky. It was too dangerous to be static so we were downward bound in a flash. When we got back to Balor Hut the heat had caused the breakfast candle to look like how we felt. We dropped our gear and continued down to the car and onto the delights of Coona. On arriving at the local watering hole we were informed by the locals how hot it had been in town that day — 47 degrees Celsius.
Next day was proclaimed a rest day so we decided to spend it at the local pool. After a while we noticed that although the pool was crowded we always had plenty of room. Why were they treating us with such deference? Was this the famous country hospitality that we had heard so much about? The answer to these questions came in the shape of a twelve-year-old boy. No doubt echoing the prejudices of his parents he strode up and bluntly asked, ‘Are youse blokes poofters??’ We probably did not help our cause by saying that we did in fact climb together. From then on I kept a wary watch for my police mates of yesteryear.
Speaking of mates, in the early to mid-eighties after Ray Lassman and I had put up a route on Bluff Mountain, we decided to climb Lieben the following day. The climb was parrot free and the weather was superb so we lingered on the summit. I started absently flicking through the summit register and came across an entry that piqued my interest.
Ray Lassman
Keith Bell
Green Glacier Route
Easter 1965
At last I had found the identity of the four-eyed midget. And I thought that I had first climbed with Ray in 1971. We both laughed as we recounted our feelings of fear and trepidation that had been associated with the stature of our respective partner and our lack of climbing experience on that earlier climb.
 |
| Ian (Humzoo) Thomas leading a pitch on the first ascent of Antares, Tonduron, Warrumbungles |
 |
| Ian (Humzoo) Thomas on top of the 'booster' of Rocket Ride Tonduron, Warrumbungles. (See G4.) |
In 1987, John Fantini and I arrived at the Guneemooroo (Tonduron) campsite at about 2:00 am after a long drive from Canberra in John’s much loved old Holden — read squeaky and very noisy. We had hardly pulled up when another car appeared and parked nearby. We were incredulous: two parties of climbers arriving at this isolated spot at exactly the same time. As our eyes became accustomed to the dark we could make out the other car was some sort of ute. More tense minutes passed and finally a figure got out and walked over to us and asked in a stern, unfriendly voice, ‘What are you blokes doing out here this time of night?’ We explained that we were going into Tonduron to climb. At this the silhouette breathed a sigh of relief. He went on to explain that he owned the nearby sheep station and that he thought John’s car was a sheep duffer’s truck. I could sense John was rather indignant about this slur on his machine and remembered the fate of an errant climber who dared to spit on his car outside the Newnes Pub. Fortunately John displayed great restraint by not reacting to this affront because as the farmer opened his car door the light revealed his mate sitting there holding two rifles. What excitement and we hadn’t even reached the crag. This incident is remembered in stone by naming a new route on Tonduron — Starlight Express.
Early days on Tonduron Spire - 1974
(Greg Mortimer)
The Bungles and indeed the climbing scene are littered with such stories and incidents. Rick White sending his mates to climb in the Bungles Frog Buttress style with a single 11mm rope. The group from Sydney who thought they would bed down on the oval at Dunedoo only to find lights turned on and the local footballers starting their late practice session. The climbers who imprisoned a bunch of noisy hymn singing religious zealots inside Balor Hut by sliding the outside lock then leaving. Bryden Allen on lead belaying John Ewbank when he fell off the belay and their story of the farting dog when they were hitch-hiking back from an early foray on Bluff Mountain. Dorothy Butler setting fire to the summit of Crater Bluff. Whenever a group of climbers assemble the embellishments, exaggerations and repartee are always forthcoming and the Bungles have always been fertile ground for these deliberations. The SRC 50th Reunion will probably see more hot air expended than ropes uncoiled but isn’t that the way it should be, particularly for those of us who are older than the club.
(*) The other climb was Bastion Buttress. We chose to do Icarus first because we thought it might be easier!
G4. Towering Tonduron
A pictorial presentation of the tower climb on Tonduron - 'Rocket Ride'.
The Rocket with its Booster.
The author starting to lead up the initial groove.
(Ian Humzoo Thomas).
Getting swallowed. (Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas)
Disappearing, but getting higher. (Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas)
Almost topping out. (Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas)
G5. Uno Ropo Loco
The title sounds like the name of some Mexican rock band but the band it refers to is made of nylon and used by rock climbers. Mention was made in the last article of Rick White sending his ‘mates’ down to climb in the Bungles with a single rope. The Brisbane climbers were camping with a bunch of us Sydney climbers at Balor Hut. Ray Lassman and I had climbed Flight of the Phoenix the day before and decided to have a rest day. Since it included walking around to the base of Bluff Mountain again we kindly donated one of our double 9’s so that Rick’s mates could climb safely.
This seemed a reasonable thing to do, as the descents off Belougeries Spire and Crater Bluff require double ropes. Even though one can walk off the back of Bluff Mountain and Tonduron Spire, doubles are useful if a retreat from the face is necessary. The routes also tend to wander from side to side so having left and right placed runners on separate ropes is good practice. Besides, given the nature of the rock there is an added safety feature in using two ropes against the danger of abrasion, cutting and friction. In the early to mid 70’s ropes were either 40 or 50 metres compared to the 60 to 70 metres used today so the potential intervals of descent and ascent were smaller. The distance given by a then contemporary single doubled abseil rope was minimal.
Having done the right thing for interstate relations, Ray and I set off for Bluff as we had another route in mind. The idea was to suss it out and leave our gear there in readiness for an attempt the next day. But when we got there the siren call of the rock, the clear blue sky and the fact that we were there, albeit late in the morning, played on our minds. And so we made the crazy decision to sally forth and begin our upward journey. Another of my tenets relating to the Bungles was always to have an early start so that much of the chosen climb could be completed in the cool of the morning and a bivouac could be avoided. Most of the ledges on Bluff Mountain are small and steeply sloping resulting in uncomfortable hanging belays, bivouacking on them doesn’t bear thinking about. Flight is an exception in that it provides flat ledges at every belay. Luxury!!!
We racked the gear, unfurled our single 9 and started up. We were oblivious to the fact that it was the 13th April but at least it was a Saturday. Climbing on the single 9 made rope management easy and added a large degree of spice and excitement to the ascent. We both felt really good and nine pitches later our journey was finished as the sun dipped behind Mt Exmouth. It was dark by the time we wandered up through the heath and reached the summit.
Getting back to Balor Hut became a bit of an ordeal as the moon had not risen and we tripped over rocks, roots and took many false leads. We eventually got back to Balor sometime after nine o’clock and the others fortunately had a cheery fire burning. A cup of tea, some food and we were feeling very satisfied. Ulysses, graded 20 was the result of our day’s exertions. With the benefit of hindsight I look back now at times and think that the one rope trick was rather foolish hence the title of this piece. Maybe though it is best not to go there and just do as we did, Carpe Diem.
A Victorian party on a subsequent ascent placed the poor bolt belay on the top of pitch 4.
Two badly positioned bolts with an assortment of tat have been placed just below the top of the first pitch of FOTP. Why were they not placed above the small ledge above so that they could have reinforced the original piton or better still, the drill kit could have been left at home?
H. ROAD TRIPS and OTHER PLACES:
 |
| The second ascent of Ozymandias Direct - Mt Buffalo. |
While during the 1960’s many climbers owned cars they could not be considered reliable beasts. A trip to the Blue Mountains from Sydney could require either the brakes to be bled, a new fanbelt or clutch cable fitted or even some time sitting beside the road working on the timing. Things more serious often occurred, a blown head gasket or a displaced welsh plug and once going down Victoria Pass in convoy with one of my friends he had a back wheel come off carving a great furrow in the bitumen before the car came to a halt.
Let it be said that cars became more reliable in the 1970’s so that longer trips could be contemplated. Since I was in the Alps in 1970/71 it was not until 1972 that I started visiting climbing areas beyond the Blue Mountains and the Warrumbungles.
H1. Frog Buttress
In 1972 I flew up to Brisbane and met Rick White for my first trip out to the Buttress. As a result of my flight we arrived at the plateau late in the morning. I suggested that for the first day grades of 15, 16 and 17 would be good to hone me in on the feeling of the rock.
The first climb that Rick selected was Blood, Sweat and Tears. As he was preparing to lead he casually turned around and asked me if I would like to do the honours. ‘Why not,’ so I turned to get the lead gear. He reached into his sack and handed me a #7 hex and a double sling. Err, thanks Rick and so I started up. After about thirty of so feet I thought I should put in a runner and started to place the hex. ‘Don’t put that in yet, its your belay.’ ‘Thanks for the heads up Rick,’ keep on climbing. At a little more than half height I finally reach the fig tree root that utilizes the sling. Sling it and keep on moving. And Rick was right, the #7 hex provided a bomber belay so we head on down the central gully for the next route.
Smoked Banana is Rick’s next selection. Grade seems fair enough, yeh I’ll lead it. Rick smiles. Unfortunately, he was to be disappointed as I managed to climb past the rotating block without it doing so. Why don’t we look at a really good 17 I foolishly suggest to Rick. ‘Yeh, got just the one,’ replied Rick.
And Rick was right it was a good 17. Piranha is now graded 20/21. At least I had a bit more gear and managed to climb it without incident. Great day Rick, however, I was left with the distinct feeling that I had been sandbagged.
What would the next day bring?
H2. Booroomba Rocks
Ray Lassman, then a Canberra resident took me on my first trip into Booroomba in 1972. This was in the day of the Honeysuckle Creek Tracking Station and a flashing red signal light roadblock was often instituted if the dish was in operation. The road into the crag from near the tracking station was entirely gravel and many a car laboured to get up the steep section that now has a layer of bitumen. My Mini uses to claw and slew with its front wheel drive so the passengers were ejected at the bottom to help by pushing to overcome this. A logjam across the road indicated that the lower campsite had been reached. Many a fantastic night was held here beside a cheery bonfire given the abundance of fallen timber.
Ray once went out at about ten o’clock to get some firewood. He was away for well over half an hour. We heard loud noises emerging from the forest but ignored them until Ray shouted, ‘How about you lazy bastards come and help me?’ Now Ray like the rest of us was slightly inebriated and after he was soundly ignored rejoined us at the inferno, not a happy boy. Next morning we checked out the Sequoia like log that he was attempting to drag to the altar of degeneracy, it took about 5 of us to get it the rest of the way.
 |
| Tapping up Deep Space at Honeysuckle Crag - ACT. (Brian Mattick) |
The trail started out the back of the camp then turned right and was reasonably flat for about 250 metres before it did a sharp left and started climbing the hill. This area used to be marshy and boggy and was a menagerie for native fauna. There were frogs, kookaburras, kangaroos, echidnas and many native animals all purloined from the suburbs of Canberra. The derring-do of the unnamed culprits in ‘capturing’ these animals from their suburban homes was often breathtaking. On a big boulder there was for a long time, a tall indigenous person holding a spear overlooking the expanse of the campsite. There is even a resident gnome still lurking in his sentry box on Hortensia at the beginning of the South Buttress.
Once at the top of Hurricane Cracks with Ray we looked across to see a climber about to negotiate the Hermes roof. As he started to move Ray said, ‘This is the point where they all fall off — and he promptly did. The climbs remain the same. Jetts Sett, Indecision, Fiasco, Outer Limit, Counterbalance, Equilibrium, the incomparable Integral Crack and oh so many others but it has largely become the crag of the one day visit or no visit. Many are put off by the lack of bolts and others spend their time staggering around the bush trying to find climbs as it is not an easy place to navigate. Legal camping is now confined to a specified campsite below the location of the removed tracking station. It is shared with the public.
 |
| Contemplating the crux on the Girdle Traverse of the North Buttress, Booroomba. (KBC) |
So while Canberra was once a five or six hour trip from Sydney along a narrow and often dangerous two lane road, it has now become a jaunt that can be done safely under three. The bushfire in 2003 also made the climbs more accessible by searing off all the trees and undergrowth with only minimal affect on the rock at Booroomba. The nearby Mt Gibraltar suffered badly with many large shards of rock shattering off due to the severity of the blaze. Unfortunately, the ease of movement around Booroomba ceased several years ago as the bush took back its own by regenerating a green, almost impenetrable armour.
But it is hard to go past the delightful slabs with their amazing friction, a quality that once you get used to it, supplants the need for bolts — almost. And there is plenty to do there for the crack and wall aficionado. Integral Crack should be near the top of their list or aspirations. And even if you don’t climb the view from the lookout above the rocks is well worth the walk.
So if you are sick of clipping all the bolts that inhabit the Blue Mountains, I suggest that you go and lie like a lizard on a rock on those brownish-red fine granite slabs that frequent the Northern Buttress and look for handholds and footholds, never mind the bolts.
H3. Mount Buffalo
I have memories of turning up at Buffalo late December 1971. The only climb I can remember climbing is Where Angels Fear to Tread and I swung leads on it with Andrew Thompson. It was as I recall its second ascent. Dire warnings had been given about the ferocity of the rock and the effect it had on friction boots and the feet. Being reasonably fresh from the Alps I wore my mountaineering boots — end of problem. They worked a treat on Buffalo’s abrasive rock.
'Climbing'Dirtbags' at Buffalo in the early 1970's.
(L-R) Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas, Keith Bell, John Fantini, Peter Jacobs. (KBC)
Easter 1972, I was back with Jeff Morgan (The Mighty Morgue) and we teamed up to make the second ascent of Ozymandias Direct. Jeff was an acerbic North Country Englishman who never ceased telling us colonials how much better everything was back in the Olde Country including the weather. I made up that last bit, I think. We fixed several pitches above ‘Big Grassy’ before we settled for the night. Next day we finished the climb at a reasonable hour. It was a great climb and a credit to the Gleddie’s skill and determination.
Many years later I was roped in again by John Fantini to savour again the joys of Ozy D’s impressive features. We had put in quite a few days of hard, hot climbing in the Warrumbungles then motored down through Western NSW to bow before the ‘King of Kings’ in his mountain hall at Buffalo. John had a big program in mind.
 |
| John Fantini (Top) and the author on Caligula. (KBC) |
Kirsty Hamilton, Rock, Autumn (April-June 19997) - No 30, Page 38
The fall occurred on the pitch above Big Grassy where the crack thins down just before the belay. The sun had just come over the top of the cliff and all around me there was a haze of white light — a veritable whiteout (*). I had placed a small stopper by feel only but when I shifted my weight onto it, it popped. Rather than falling free one of my ankles got caught in the step of the etrier and it was my leg rather than the rope that stopped me falling. I was left hanging upside down by the ankle and the sudden stop had damaged my hamstrings. Getting back up into the etrier the phenomenon of light quickly passed and only one or two free moves were required to attain the belay. My leg was OK while I stayed mobile but I knew the next day might be a different matter.
The rest of the day was uneventful and John and I finished the day sipping tea before the sun set.
(*) Would be interesting to find out if another climber has experienced this ‘whiteout’ on the route. I can assure you that no drugs or alcohol were taken at the time.
H4. Mount Arapiles
My first visit to Arapiles occurred in late December 1971. My travelling companions were Ray Lassman and Dave (Nippa) Shirra. Dave pointed us towards Euridyce and Trapeze. After the latter climb Nippa took us up into the nearby Voodoo Buttress where the three of us put up Wurlitzer and Spyder. Later on in 1974 ‘Noddy’ Lockwood and I wandered up there again and put up Wasp, a climb with a real sting in its tail.
The road into 'The Mount' and a Climbing Utopia.
About ten years ago, I was climbing with some Canberrans and a group of them went to do a climb on the Voodoo buttress. They returned to camp and were laughing their heads off. It seems that they had come across a climber on Wasp experiencing all sorts of trouble trying to lead it. She became so exasperated that she finally loudly exclaimed that she would do all manner of dire things to the first ascensionist if she could ever get her hands on him. ‘My mates’ promptly invited her to come down to our campsite and meet me. Fortunately, it seems she declined the invitation.
In the early to mid 80’s, I was heading to Portland via Arapiles. I had a few days climbing before proceeding on for our family holiday. I walked up into the Pines and upon meeting a climber asked if there was anybody around to climb with. He was prompt in his reply, ‘Nobody to climb with here Mate.’ I thought perhaps that having my five and seven year old daughters holding my hands might have had something to do with the rapid reply in the negative. On seeing a few more climbers and receiving the same response I finally came across two young guys. They weren’t very sure of themselves and were even less sure of me but agreed to let me climb with them.
The climb that they had chosen was Red Parrot Chasm, hardly one that I would have chosen but beggars can’t be choosers. So I traipsed up Central Gully with them and found the start in the dark confines of its surrounding bush and the deep black gash that characterized the climb. It turned out to be ‘Shades of the Durrance’ on Devils Tower because for the next one or two hours the two lads flung themselves valiantly at the start but could not get off the ground. Finally, one of them realized that I was still hanging about resting against a comfortable tree and said in a rather skeptical manner, ‘Do you think you can do it?’
 |
| The author on the first ascent of Wurlitzer - Mt Arapiles. (KBC) |
Since I was climbing 20+ at the time I did not think that a grade 11 would cause too many concerns even allowing for the fact that chimneys are not my forte nor my favourite style of climbing. I F-sharped the guys up the internals and eventually onto the summit. By the time we reached there the sun had vacated its position in the sky to be replaced by a dark moonless expanse. I guided the lads down Central Gully and back to camp for a very late finish.
I have made many road trips to Arapiles as you do from either Sydney or Canberra. Climbers often ask what is your favourite climb. Let me say Auto-Da-Fe owing to its long slab but then other climbs start crowding in until just about every climb that you have done there flashes through your mind creating a kaleidoscope of grades and rock that induces a headache of monumental proportions. Better just to savour the plethora of mind-blowing routes that you do there no matter the grade and look forward to the next climb or trip.
To conclude I will give an account of one climb that I avoided for many years because I thought that it was too easy. About ten years ago I was helping my mate Dave Pitchford on an instructional course for senior students from our respective Canberra schools. Ray Lassman and Norm Booth had also turned up to help and augment the instructor/student ratio. After the sessions had finished Ray and I teamed up, grabbed our boots and headed for a climb. It was to be a memorable experience for me unencumbered by ropes and gear. I remember looking over my shoulder about half way up and taking in the pastel yellow tones of the grass below illuminated by a fast disappearing sun and seeing the moon ringed by a velvety blue sky above the far horizon. A warm zephyr of a breeze was blowing across the face from Tiger Wall and the joy of climbing with an old friend was intense. The amazing pinnacle that we had also surmounted contributed towards this sensation. The wall above was steeper but it provided great climbing. Stopping at the top to chat to a couple of climbers who had topped out just before us we made it back to camp as the last vestiges of light were fading. Our climb of course was Tip Toe Ridge and it deserves every accolade that it is given in the guidebook. Another absolute Arapalian classic!!!
H5. Go Climb THE ROCK
Canberra Climbers Club (CCA), website, archives
Another logo written on a T-shirt in Yosemite? Well, maybe. Rather than reading or wearing it though, how about doing the real thing?? It lies about 40 kilometres south of Wagga Wagga and only about 3½ hours travel from Canberra. The Rock is situated a stones throw from the township of The Rock and has the shape of a squatting lion proudly surveying the southern inland plains. Need a change from Booroomba, sick of the sea view at the Point, tired of the speed boats at Thompsons, want a change of diet from Blue Mountains sandstone, then this compact quartzite crag might be the place for you.
I had first heard about The Rock when I climbed with Jeff Boynton in the mid 1980’s in the Blue Mountains. Jeff spoke highly of the crag, as he was one of the areas earliest developers. A chance presented itself to visit the area in 1990 when Fantini and I passed through the town on the way from the Warrumbungles to Buffalo. One look at the head of the lion was enough and we were speeding along the trail with our ropes and gear in readiness. However, the distant view is tantalisingly deceptive. Close up its clean profile was punctuated by blocks that rivalled in size many of the whitegoods sold by Harvey Norman. Unimpressed, we continued to the summit, took in the mighty view and then continued our southern push to the smooth, but coarse delights of Buffalo. But the idea of climbing there festered in my mind and over time I gleaned where the best climbing was located. It is not a bum steer to say that it is located at the arse end of the lion!!
In order to extract ourselves from our Canberran winter torpor, Brian Mattick and I rocked down there in mid October 08. While towering it is not, this leonine glutinus maximus of the climbing world has been called ‘The Towers’. Access is easy, just turn right off the Olympic Way into the ‘main street’ and then keep following it for about 3 or 4 kilometres until a signposted gravel road is reached. Turn left into this and park at the top right hand side of the parking area. Walk diagonally towards the mountain from the top corner boundary posts and after moving through undulating mullock heaps of gravel for about 100 metres or so a track will be reached. Turn right and follow it for about twenty minutes to reach the base of the crag. Just before reaching the crag at the top of the upward haul there is a plaque and a visitor’s book. It is worthwhile reading the plaque and having a look at the book before moving on.
There are 40 climbs at The Towers, most of which are single pitch with many some 35 to 40 metres in length. Easy grades through to harder ones are available and many are nice if not classics. Once topping out, move leftwards for about 100 metres to where an easy scrambling gully descends to the base of the cliff leaving a straightforward walk back down to the packs. Some of the climbs have been marked and this allows the positions of others to be ascertained. We did not have a guide; just a list of climbs and their grades from crag.com but this was sufficient to ferret out most of the climbs. Protection on all of the routes that we ascended was good but bolts are very scarce and the NP&WS prohibits their placement. The cliff has a northerly aspect so it gets very hot. Even in October, it was getting towards the upper limit of discomfort from mid afternoon onwards. Make sure that water is taken, as there is none available near the cliffs.
In two days we climbed about 10 climbs, the hardest of which was Lest We Forget, a 17. It starts out of a groove and moves across a wall to a fine rightward leaning crack, which was capped by an intimidating roof. This was the highlight of the trip and was an absolute classic. It is worth making the trip just for this climb.
Angie at 15 was also very good but was marred by two ‘loose’ blocks underneath the roof traverse. These required some tentative and delicate moves to negotiate but if this was solid rock it too would be another classic. Even so, it was very good.
Scratched Knees was another classic that we climbed graded 15, 35m. It went up an acrobatic, groin stretching twin crack then through some beautifully sculptured bulges to the right. Now being in receipt of a guide book it seems that this route goes straight up but the detour that we made featured some very pleasant steep climbing.
Other routes that we climbed were Virgins’ Crack 14, Honourable Harry 12, Jammer’s Delight 9 and Mrs Fairy 12. All were good and followed crack systems, which largely, but not always, became slabby towards the top.
A shelter shed with tables and a BBQ is located at the parking area. From memory, water is available here but to be on the safe side it is best to bring your own supply. The Yerong Trail to the summit of The Rock also starts here. While camping is not allowed on the reserve, a camping place is available closer to the township. This is on the right as you move out of the ‘main strip’ towards the reserve. Make a right turn at the bowling club and the camping area is at the back of the park behind the swimming pool. The allotted area is not an organised site and although level and grassed has very basic amenities. Water and toilets are available at the adjacent park.
We can recommend the ‘tin tents’ at the Uranquinty Caravan Park 15 kilometres back up the Olympic way towards Wagga and just north of the little township. The caravan was clean, cheap with a good amenities block nearby and the proprietor and his wife were very friendly and obliging. The Uranquinty Hotel was a convenient watering hole that also provided an excellent meal with very friendly service. For the well heeled, there is a motel on the Olympic way immediately at the turnoff to The Rock.
So there you have it. Not an area that provides a week of non-stop climbing but there is enough to keep you going for two to four days. While very convenient to Canberra it could also be visited en route to or from Victorian cliffs such as Buffalo or even Arapiles. We had a very pleasant weekend of climbing and would recommend others to ‘Go climb The Rock’. We will certainly return to tick off some good (and perhaps harder) routes that escaped our attention this time.
The photos accompanying this article can be viewed on the following website.
The photos accompanying this article can be viewed on the following website.
http://www.canberraclimbing.org.au/~canberra/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/go-climb-the-rock.pdf
H6. Hanging Out On ‘The Coathanger’
Throughout the 1970’s the Hero of Waterloo Hotel in the Rocks was the main meeting place for Sydney climbers. On any Tuesday night there could be twenty to fifty climbers gathered there. While it was essentially the Sydney Rockclimbing Club meeting anybody was welcome and many got their first start in climbing there. The conversation and beer flowed quite freely that is until the clock struck ten. Then the beer ceased and the conversation became kerbside on the portals of the hotel. Sometimes we were moved on by the police but on other occasions somebody would suggest that we do ‘The Coathanger’.
So anywhere between three to ten climbers would head across the bridge to Milson’s Point just down the road from Luna Park. A few surreptitious looks about then clamber up the slabby corner on the inside of the west abutment landing one at a security fence surrounding a workman’s hut at the foot of some access stairs. Once over the fence with its sloping, barbed wire strands it was then an easy stroll up the stairs to the underside of the deck. Here, the access hatch to the upper deck was closed and locked; the crux of the climb was upon you.
A slender beam for the feet led out to the exterior of the bridge but before reaching it a laced column provided a devious entry through to the upper deck. One needed to pull up into the bowels of the column, it was very tight, the feet came free and it was fifty metres down to the ebony water below. In the 1930’s when the bridge was being built only one man had survived this fall but did so with a few broken ribs. Pulling up inside the column things get worse; an escape through a rat hole lands you on the bare and coarse timber deck right beside the railway line. If you are unlucky enough now to have a train go past heading towards Central you would ‘shake, rattle and roll’ until it passed.
The next section did not improve. Look right, look left, and look right again to make sure that a train was not in sight. All clear!!! Sprint 10 metre along the deck to the bottom flange of the lower main arch. By using the web rivets for balance you could make your way up it until below some anti-personnel bars are reached. These provided perfect hand holds to pull up and around onto the top flange of the beam and a quick scoot to another staircase which after five metres admitted you into secure shadows of the surrounding columns. From the rat hole to here train drivers could easily see you as well as any eagle eyed passing motorists. On one trip I remember that a climber got caught below the anti-personnel bars as a train passed by; another of the objective dangers of the ascent.
Once in the shadows it was difficult to be seen and an easy run up the stairs brought one to a set of ladders which led to the summit of the bridge with its flashing red light. The view was fantastic. The lights of Sydney are laid out before you and you have an uninterrupted view to every horizon. There is also plenty of room to move about. Getting down one reversed the ascent again consulting the train timetable? No mobile phones or appropriate apps then and we never considered carrying a paper timetable.
Now I once took a certain young climber from the Victorian countryside for a jaunt up the Bridge. Although we carefully explained the section from the top of the rat hole to the secure shadows a spatial and/or temporal anomaly somehow occurred. We waited patiently in the shadows for ‘Vic’ to appear but after about five minutes thought one of us should check his progress. So, he hung out over the A-P bars to see that ‘Vic’ was making excellent progress — he was halfway towards the Milson’s Point Station. A loud call stopped him in his tracks and he came back towards the sound. Minutes ticked away and still nobody wrestling the A-P bars. Check again, this time he is halfway towards Central. Fortunately, no trains appeared, which is not unusual for the NSW Railways and by posting someone on the bars we homed him in on the ‘sweet spot’. Welcome to the big city.
Another time about five or six of us had just got down when two or three squad cars came flying around the corner and abruptly pulled up under the bridge. Almost immediately the police had spotlights searching around the understructure of the bridge. Finally, the policeman in charge turned to us and said. ‘You haven’t seen anybody climbing the bridge, have you?’ The obvious answer was in the negative. The policeman then looked at our clothes, our dirty faces and said, ‘It wasn’t you blokes was it?’ Being close to Luna Park was a real bonus. Our girlfriends while they were waiting for us had gone there and purchased some fairy floss. We were able to look the cop in the eye and say, ‘No, we have been to Luna Park with our girlfriends.’ The fairy floss provided the perfect alibi. The officer was not impressed and motioned for his squad to leave. A minute later we had the spot to ourselves as the police drove away somewhat crestfallen.
For many years, the nanny state, CC-TV and sheer economics have made it ‘A Bridge Too Far’ for impecunious climbers driven by the spirit of adventure. Indeed, what self-respecting climber would want to wear a fancy party suit with a safety line and pay almost three hundred dollars for the ‘privilege’? My nefarious bridge activities potentially put almost two thousand dollars into my bank account but I still miss the panoramic view with its possible high dive, nocturnal illegality, the dodging of suburban trains and chatting with the police.
I. COMMON CLIMBER ARTICLES:
Common Climber is an on-line magazine published monthly until the end of 2021. In 2022 it will be a bi-monthly publication.
Refer to F3. for Zac the Interloper - Common Climber June 2020
I1. FLAKES and SHAKES:
Flake Crack Revisited
Common Climber - September 2020
https://www.commonclimber.com/flake-crack.html/
The term "Mount" usually brings to mind a high snowcapped place with steep sides. It is usually on such places that climbers play. This is also true for Australian climbers who live on an eroded, sun-bathed island continent. Mount Piddington, in the Blue Mountains, 120 kilometres west of Sydney, is one such place. Except Mt Piddington is a miniscule pimple on the mountains' western edge, sardonically described by a leading climber as “the fearsome unclimbed summit …which, even in summer is capped by perennial swings, see-saws and a shelter shed."
It is also used as a climber’s car park.
The key to its climbs is a subtle, descending road off its back, leading eventually to the base of a western facing sunlit cliff. Strung out along it is the so-called Mt. Piddington climbing area, but most Australian climbers, in their abbreviated vernacular, just call it "Piddo."
Piddo is a varied amalgam of black, grey, orange, red, and yellow sandstone that is interposed with climbs, many of which are the jewels of NSW climbing. This is the home of Blue Mountains trad in its many guises. John Ewbank, in his 1967 seminal guide, described its bounty thus:
"The cliff is uniformly steep, in the form of flat buttresses, slabs, walls and aretes split by fine cracks and corners. Most of the climbs lie up these, taking laybacking, hand, finger, fist and boot jamming, bridging and chimneying techniques to a highly developed art form."
Early pioneer climbers scampered up Blue Mountains walls in the 1930’s, they were affectionately but incorrectly called the "Katoomba Suicide Club" after a nearby town. Piddington would have to wait a further 30 years for its day in the sun.
Although others had climbed there first, it was Ewbank, a young lad of British origins, who took the place by storm. Teamed up with an equally young John Worrall, they slowly but surely, ticked off most of the plum first ascents. One that escaped this team was Flake Crack (17/5.9). Ewbank climbed it with Eric Saxby in October 1964, adding it to his formidable list of first ascents.
"An awesome climb and still a lead I’m proud of.
Near the top of the flake I remember looking for my larger cam only to find I’d left it on the ground. Realising this, I decided to commit and was very relieved when I pulled up over the top of the flake!
I enjoyed the narrower crack system above. This was a welcome surprise as I was rather intimidated by it from the ground. While I was pushing my grades, I felt safe and secure here and across the roof. I was stoked afterwards.
All in all, a superb climb!”
(Catherine Dawson)
Catherine Dawson in classic layback mode surging up the flake.
Sitting proudly in the middle of the crag, Flake Crack is a hypnotic route with its initial flake giving access to a crack snaking through a steep wall to the final crux, a small exposed roof that has caused many a suitor to spill "blood, sweat, tears and fears" before it submitted to their advances. Given a grade of middling number, it has been a "rite of passage" for many climbers.
"Flake Crack was the first “real” trad route I led. The few routes prior were easy rambles.
Flake Crack is a different beast and a route I’ll never forget. Laybacks, hand-jams, and an exposed little rooflet guarding the anchors.
For me it earns its classic status because it’s a 30 metre journey with a distinct beginning, middle, and a powerful finish.”
(Phillip Booth)
Phillip Booth is now a professional climbing photographer.
Here he photographs Maxwell Cullen tackling Flake Crack.
Photo Credit: Phillip Booth (IG: @splatterflower)
Phillip Booth: http://www.phillipboothphotography.com/
Flake Crack was first climbed in three pitches, as ropes in the 1960’s were only 40 metres (120 feet) long, compared to the greater length used nowadays. The climb also has a large, flat, convenient ledge at the top of the flake, and a comfortable stance at the base of the final corner chimney. As the last pitch is an easy ramble it is hardly ever done, and climbers escape by using a loose, fragile ledge that leads right to a convenient abseil station. An easy abseil down the corner below lands one within metres of the start of the climb and stowed gear.
Flake Crack was three pitches but makes an awesome mega single pitch. I have no idea how I did it when I was 18, I was lucky to own a single cam. This time I slid the 4 up as far as I could before gibbering above my gear. I have always been crap above gear, but maybe I had some youthful infallibility when I did it with the meagre rack of a uni student.
So glad that I climb in the era of modern gear, Flake Crack would have been more exciting with old school boots and homemade chocks”.
(Wendy Eden)
The author, Keith Bell, on flake crack in 1973.
Keith Bell on Pitch 2
I first ventured upon Flake Crack in the late 1960’s, early 1970’s and I have a few memories of that reckoning. My laybacking skills were good, so the flake went easily to its belay pedestal - a spacious ledge on the top of the flake. The crack and wall climbing that followed also went well, until I moved into the shadows of the dreaded roof. While I remember climbing through it, it was surmounted with very little style or grace. In subsequent ascents, I managed to ferret out its secrets and to move more easily over the roof, onto the wall, and into the sunlight above.
"Any aspiring crack-addict will be keen to jump on Flake Crack. The initial “flake” is dispatched with ease - it’s scary, but you can use arm strength and no technique. The middle bit is more complicated, but its five or so metres is well protected.
But then you arrive at the rooflet. The crack is WIDE, the gear is there but it’s not spectacular. The moves through the roof and onto the wall above are surprisingly bouldery - grade 17 – seriously?”
(Frothy Thomson)
Located in the middle of Piddo, Flake Crack has a large sandy area at its base - a rather convenient place to deposit your gear for racking up and having lunch. Just left of this spot are easier beginner's climbs and many guiding companies also use this area as a convenient base. Countless eyes are then directed longingly at this particular route, which probably accounts for its popular status.
It is a well-worn classic and the loss of the tree near the bottom of the flake is testimony to this.
"Pitch 1 Saxby's Flake. Up to bush runner and up even thinner flake above."
Ewbank’s original route description
Considering the traffic that Flack Crack takes - apart from the loss of the tree - the route is in remarkable condition. Even so, legend has it that a prominent interstate climber reckoned the flake moved while he was on it. He immediately descended, walked out, never to be seen at Piddo again. The locals at the time wondered what he was on apart from the flake.
"I had been climbing all morning. I was tired and expected the flake to get the better of me.
An experienced friend gave me some beta to find the friendly foot jam which gave my arms a rest. I felt so satisfied at the top of the flake, such beautiful and rewarding climbing.
Then the crack. I felt relieved that the pressure was off my forearms - interesting smears and jams followed.
I was intimidated by the overhang but each hand snugs into the rock and feels bomber. I was surprised and inspired how the climb flowed, and my body seemed to know what to do. Such an exciting and satisfying route! My favourite crack to date."
Tasha Samara
For any climber who needs a break from the ‘dark side’ of modern sport climbing, namely the continual clipping of bolts, then Piddo is the place for you. Although some infiltration of the latter has been made upon its finer walls and aretes, there are still many classic climbs, such as Flake Crack, where nuts, hexes and cams of all types and sizes still rule - allowing the climber to use style, stealth and cunning in the placement of his/her pro.
Let me finish with the words of Ewbank who stated that:
"Climbing there on the firm rock on a sunny day with a light breeze and the beautiful KanimblaValley stretched out below is indeed a delight in itself, be the climb 5 or 20".
Amen to that brothers and sisters!!! So many other fine cracks and even walls await the discerning climber at "Piddo."
The author's friend Harry Luxford climbing in the 1970s
blasting up the top crack towards the looming rooflet.
I2. From Yorkshire to Eternity
Common Climber - October 2020
https://www.commonclimber.com/from-yorkshire-to-eternity.html/
"There are climbs and there are climbs: [This climb] is surely a route that will rise above the pack in years to come. A wonderful combination of excitement and steep clean [crack]."
Chris Baxter, adapted from the Arapiles guide.
Nathan Mas-Stephens checking out the start of The Eternity.
A well-trodden and eroded track leads to Eternity. But fortunately, it does not go on forever and you know when you have arrived. The track has been flat for a while, but then suddenly turns right at the end of a buttress before sidling the talus towards a steep, smooth grey wall. Look up, and there it is – an absolute splitter – Eternity, reached at last. Hardly the never-ending journey expected. The route lies close to where the walkdown reaches the base of the cliff. Described in John Ewbank’s 1967 guidebook as:
“One of the most impressive and aesthetic lines on the cliff. Sustained climbing on good rock.”
The cliff is of course “Piddo,” essentially the home of trad in the Blue Mountains, Australia.
Mt Piddington’s development started in June 1964 when Trevor Westren and Margaret Hallstrom climbed the easy but classic Hocus Pocus. This started an avalanche of routes, initially most of them the easier ones, such as Faith and Angular Crack.
The great assault of the harder lines started in October of that year with Ewbank in the vanguard. One crack stood out. Ewbank thought it was reminiscent of the English rock where he had started his climbing and named it Yorkshire Crack. Young, talented, ambitious and impatient, he presumptuously top-roped the first pitch and thereby sowed the seeds of doubt as to whom could claim its first ascent.
Righteousness returned in February 1967 when John Moore, a climber from south of the border, a Victorian who had been climbing with Ewbank, led the climb protected by the odd piton and probably (for the time) relatively worthless nuts. There was also a bolt on the first steep vertical crack section, but I’m not sure if it was placed for the first lead ascent or a later one. The climb also had to be abseiled down and cleaned.
I first climbed Eternity in late 1969 with Hughie Ward, we were part of a team heading for Balls Pyramid (a massive, isolated rock jutting sharply out of the ocean) and were working on our fitness. On Eternity I lead up the diagonal “ramp” to the left to gain the first initial steep crack. Although reputably it had been cleaned, this section was full of dirt and ferns; It could only be climbed by opposing hands on the lips of the crack with the feet precariously touching the sides. Dirt and ferns prevented fully jamming and the ferns added slippage to boot.
A climber moving left towards the final rightward soaring crack. Photo taken by Angus Farquhar
from the first pitch of Joseph, a nearby climb.
"One of the most fun cracks I have ever climbed as it was very varied and kept you thinking from the bottom to the top!”
Hans Bräuner-Osborne – Danish climber
Hans Bräuner-Osbourne leading the first vertical section of The Eternity.
Photo Credit: Elvira Bräuner
Mid way up this section is a tenuous resting ledge and the lone “carrot” could be clipped (A “carrot” is uniquely Aussie invention where a filed down tapered bolt is hammered into a drilled hole in the wall. The climber slides a keyhole hanger over the bolt, which is then secured by clipping a draw to the hanger.) At its zenith, a few moves left on a broken crack leads to steeper ground where the final crack begins its majestic sweep up and right to gain a narrow belay ledge with an overhanging wall above.
"I have a vivid memory of the first time I saw Eternity. It was a late Spring afternoon; the crack was lit up like a lightning bolt by the setting sun. I couldn’t hand jam then, but months later I lead it. The tight hand jamming after the left leaning start still gives me goosebumps. As the crack veered right and narrowed, the solid foot jams became smears and the hand jams less secure. After delicate moves and placing a dodgy nut, I pulled onto the ledge and clipped the chains. This was the first splitter in the mountains that I ticked – such a beautiful route."
Vicky Chen
Exquisite hand jams, locks, and face holds help to transcend gravity as the crack narrows on its upward trajectory. Excellent protection abounds. On my initial ascent, and the one following, at this point I departed from the crack and blasted up the left hand wall. Maybe this had something to do with emulating Ewbank who stated that “the central focus of my fetish was how far back the last runner was,” but perhaps my departure “off-route” and away from the crack was only a sign of the times. With maturity comes wisdom and I have steadfastly followed the crack on any ascent since.
Marìa Lastra Cagigas enjoying the hand jams.
Photo Credit: Phillip Booth (IG: @splatterflower)
"The Eternity is a lightning bolt crack splitting a steep and smooth grey sandstone wall at Piddo. The jamming is delightful with good hands and gear as the ever-thinning crack tapers to a pleasant seam taking wires near the top. It is a must-do Blue Mountains route – enjoy with an appreciation of the crag’s history and quality Trad climbing. Simply superb!"
Bradley Cameron
Some changes have occurred over the passage of time. The dirt and ferns have long since disappeared, as has the bolt, leaving the crack clean and inviting. Protective devices have also improved significantly since the 1960’s/70’s and, as a result, the grade of the first pitch has been downgraded from the original 19 to 18 (5.10b to 5.10a). Ewbank also climbed the bulging wall above the belay a few weeks after Moore’s ascent and renamed Yorkshire Crack, The Eternity. I climbed this upper pitch a couple of times in 1974/75 but after the first hard moves it becomes a fairly nondescript wall, not doing justice to its lower reaches. Nowadays the top pitch is a largely neglected relic of a bygone era.
"When I did Eternity, I was told to save my second #0.75 and #1 for the narrowing crack near the top. So, I saved them, using every single large nut… then suddenly the climb backed off, I was looking at the anchors, cams still on the harness! If I hadn’t had doubles though, I probably would have bailed due to running out of gear. So glad those extras helped me climb such a beautiful and iconic crack."
Josephine Roper
Also, given the penchant for fellow Aussies to abbreviate just about everything and to reject affectation, the definite article “The” is more often than not disregarded, leaving the singular name Eternity to stand alone. Many other climbs at Piddo such as Spartan, Kraken, Pharaoh, Banshee, and Carthaginian are similarly treated.
An interesting aside is that the word Eternity has a particular resonance in Sydney. An illiterate former soldier, battler, and “Born Again” Christian wrote “Eternity” in beautiful copperplate script with yellow chalk on the pavements of the city between 1932 and 1967 in areas very close to the suburb where Ewbank lived. I can remember seeing his beautiful script many times and it is interesting to speculate whether the graffitist, Arthur Stace, is partly or wholly responsible for the name of this beautiful climb.
Photo Credit: By Sardaka https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3976888
Eternity, then, is a climb with a chequered beginning but a brilliant history. It has risen to become one of the most sought after climbs on the crag, if not in Australia. Ewbank was at the forefront of its establishment so perhaps the final words should be left to him.
"Climbs achieve their own market value within the psyche of each new generation. Personally, I believe that the wheel will turn a full 360-degrees and that the most valued climbs of the future will once more be routes where all that exists is the illusion of the absence of previous human passage."
John Ewbank
While some climbs come in and out of fashion or drop forever out of sight, The Eternity, or certainly its first pitch, will always remain high on any climbers hit list.
Natalie Tan on Eternity.
Photo Credit: Phillip Booth (IG: @splatterflower)
Phillip Booth: http://www.phillipboothphotography.com/
I3. Sojourn at Dyurrite
Common Climber - November 2020
https://www.commonclimber.com/sojourn-at-dyuritte.html/
This poem was written to celebrate the many times that I travelled to Mount Arapiles (Dyurrite) by car from Sydney and Canberra to climb at this special place. It is written as climbing bans, with probably more to come, threaten like storm clouds that have appeared on the horizon.
Dyurrite is the accepted traditional owners name for Mt Arapiles.
Hours of plains, hum of wheelsGreat distances, how time stealsTravelling for hours, westward ho;time for a meal stop in BendigoWheat fields and silos pass on by,as the sun sinks low in the sky."Conquistadors of the Useless" that’s us twobound for Dyurrite with my mate ZooHorsham, Natimuk speed on by,Then the horizon, brown crags high.Tree lined boulevard leads the way;to the crowded campsite in which to staySolitary telephone signals the turnThe Pines, The Gums, no fires to burnOnly a wash shed, and a tap, that’s all,Camping amid pines standing tallSlack lines, tents, climbers surround,Conversations and friendships, they aboundShining moonlight lights up the sky,The Bluff dominates all that is nigh.Dawns rays filter past needles of pine,Awakening the sleeping hordes supineSleepy bodies rise up with the dawn,Getting ready for the call of mornQuick repast and then to pack;Jangling items within their sack.Decisions, decisions, what to do?Maybe Diapason or the Didgeridoo?The Organ Pipes nearness, clarion callWhy not the Watchtower after all?So many climbing areas at ‘The Mount’,on its facade, too many to countCastle Crag, The Pharos and Tiger Wall;All too many here to name them allClimbs of all grades from easy, medium to hard;Muldoon, Brolga, not forgetting the BardYesterday, India, Punks in the Gym,Harder ones too if you are feeling trimSo, unfurl your rope and slot in a nut,hexes, cams, there’s more than enough.Quartzite, smooth and bulbous skin,Ample protection and holds hidden withinCracks, walls, slabs and chimneys too,such a diverse range of climbs to do.Just follow any line to the top;Mitre Rock and the lake, you are sure to spot.Cradled by grass and wheat fields below;the climbing at Dyurrite will surely glowAll too soon it comes to an end;Homeward bound, it’s time to wend.
I4. Tombstone Territory
Common Climber - December 2020https://www.commonclimber.com/tombstone-territory.html/
The names of first ascents have been drawn from many and varied sources although one area of fertile ground has always been of a funereal, elegiac nature. High and brooding above Llanberis Pass in Wales are the legendary climbs of Cenotaph Corner and Cemetery Gates. The USA probably has its share too but my knowledge of them is somewhat on “The Nose.”
Although also of a graveyard nature, Tombstone Territory instead elicits visions of the “Wild West” and Boot Hill, a result perhaps of the many Hollywood cowboy films watched in my youth. In Australia, Victoria has The Hangman, Queensland has The Noose, the ACT (Australian Capital Territory – Canberra) has Deadwood Crack but New South Wales maybe eclipses all as it has Tombstone Wall. Over the last two issues of Common Climber two of the classic cracks of Piddo have been reviewed namely Flake Crack (17/5.9) and The Eternity (18/5.10a). Now it is time for a classic wall, and Tombstone Wall certainly fills the bill.
 |
Tombstone Wall, Mt Piddington, NSW, Australia. "With an intimidating name like Tombstone Wall, I felt I needed to approach it with caution. But for a Trad climb on an almost crack-less wall it was surprisingly well protected by horizontal slots which suddenly appeared as I tip-toed up the face. The traverse at third height was delicate and the climb finished with a steep, overhanging but juggy wall. All in all, a memorable climb." -- Nathan Mas-Stephens Almost unheralded, its first ascent fell to none other than John Ewbank. In February 1965 he teamed up with another of the talented climbers of the time - John Davis, to ascend the 110-foot (30 metre) wall. Ewbank described it as "a very aesthetic climb taking a fine line up a grand black wall." |
Given the time it was put up, with shorter lead ropes prevailing, the climb was split into two pitches. The belay was situated on a reasonable sloping ledge in the shade of the final strenuous red/orange overhang leading up to the horizontal. While only graded 15 (5.7) the wall is not one to be taken lightly. It is now mainly led as a single pitch.
"A friend and I did Tombstone Wall on our first day of trad on the strong recommendation of a more experienced climber who then wandered off. My friend led. I cajoled/bullied her up the wall with naïve statements like 'It’s only 15 (5.7),' 'I’m sure your gear’s bomber.' Then I got on to second and yikes, it’s actually thin! Our first classic Piddo sandbagging experience, and certainly not the last. So many classic sandbags there.”
-- Josephine Roper
Tombstone Wall is a grand, black face that I probably climbed on every occasion that I visited the crag. I first lead it in the late 1960’s with Hughie Ward and have ascended it many times since. A steep rounded step leads to a leftward leaning incipient crack which requires a fairly difficult mantle to gain a small ledge. A good nut runner in a shallow crack above is followed by diagonal moves right to another runner. From here a delicate but delightful hand traverse leads right with another runner slot found on the way towards the distant range. Move diagonally right on some small ironstone footholds found on the edge of the arete, then move back left to another runner slot; back right; breathe a sigh of relief then pull up onto the lovely wall above
 |
"A delicate but delightful hand traverse leads right towards the distant range. Ian 'Humzoo' Thomas showing how it was done in 1974. |
 |
The author pulling through to the top in 1972. Photo Credit: The Daily Telegraph - Sydney |
"Tombstone Wall wastes no time showing its true colours with an exciting mantle that encourages you to smoosh your face up against the rock. But after you’ve survived that, it demands an airy traverse to the arete, ascending a wall above on fine holds, then a spectacular finish through a red bulging wall to top out. This gem is a choice introduction to Bluies Trad climbing."
-- Natalie Tan
On the original ascent Ewbank placed a piton at the top of the first diagonal wall section and a bolt at the base of the final overhang for an anchor. Since then, another bolt has been placed on the wall below the steep ironstone holds. The route was always clear of dirt and vegetation, so no cleaning was needed before the first ascent or subsequently.
Once when I was walking along the base of the cliff, I ran into an old mate who was somewhat wide eyed and jabbering. After settling down he managed to blurt out that he had just fallen on Tombstone Wall. Now I never asked him just where this occurred because I was immediately side-tracked when he mentioned the eccentric piece that had stopped his fall. Certainly not a cam because they were not around at the time. A hexcentric you might ask? No, then it must have been a Ewbank “Cracker?” Same era, but not close enough.
My friend’s fall was stopped by a Clog Brass Hexagon on wire.
Once when I was walking along the base of the cliff, I ran into an old mate who was somewhat wide eyed and jabbering. After settling down he managed to blurt out that he had just fallen on Tombstone Wall. Now I never asked him just where this occurred because I was immediately side-tracked when he mentioned the eccentric piece that had stopped his fall. Certainly not a cam because they were not around at the time. A hexcentric you might ask? No, then it must have been a Ewbank “Cracker?” Same era, but not close enough.
My friend’s fall was stopped by a Clog Brass Hexagon on wire.
"Having seen Tombstone Wall deliver a wrecking-ball pendulum for an unsuccessful second removing gear at the mantle before the traverse, I was selfishly keen to lead it rather than follow. And rightly so, given that its grade reflects the average difficulty, not necessarily the hardest move. But this just adds to its classic status, a character climb offering varied styles, occupying a proud position amongst the wonderful architecture of Piddington."
-- Nicole Alice Kelly
Now this will certainly be viewed as an anachronism by modern climbers with their array of bright, shiny, anodised, colour coded, lightweight, active and passive protection - I would no doubt have to agree with them. Even at the timeI saw it as a rather useless piece of metal. The hexagon was exactly that, about 5 millimetres across the flats, 15 millimetres long with vertical ends.You will realise why I was surprised it held and why my friend was jabbering so much when you check it out in the above pictures. Tombstone Wall seems like a fitting way to "put a nail in the coffin" of this mini-series of three classic climbs found at Mt. Piddington (Piddo) in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, Australia (see Flake Crack and The Eternity). Of course, Tombstone Wall's legacy will be carried on by those who choose to pay homage to its presence and continue to climb there. Many other climbs can be found at Piddo, and, indeed, another climber could easily have selected three different climbs to place in their frames. What this triptych clearly illustrates, though, is the amazing legacy that Ewbank bequeathed to his generation and to those who have followed. As a budding trad climber in the early nineties, Tombstone Wall was one of my first leads. I remember it clearly, perhaps one of the best tests around for someone aspiring to lead that grade. A great combination of carrots, the odd piece of gear, a tricky mantle, then a careful traverse out over the void, all while looking up with fear at the overhanging wall lurking above. A gem worthy of its name." |
Piddo has allowed generations of climbers to cut their teeth on, not only the three classics outlined, but many others as well. John used words as well as he climbed, and he penned this before he passed in 2013.
“If each succeeding generation feels the need to outstrip the achievements of the past — which they must, for muscles are there to be used, not merely flexed — then I hope it may be done with a sense of reverence for the cliffs themselves”.
I don’t think that John would be disappointed with the state of his masterpieces at Piddo.
“If each succeeding generation feels the need to outstrip the achievements of the past — which they must, for muscles are there to be used, not merely flexed — then I hope it may be done with a sense of reverence for the cliffs themselves”.
I don’t think that John would be disappointed with the state of his masterpieces at Piddo.
 |
Climbers on the top section of Tombstone Wall. Photo Credit: Justin Robinson |
I.5 Tiptoeing Through Some Bungles
Common Climber - 2021
https://www.commonclimber.com/tiptoe.html/
I6. Quick link to all my COMMON CLIMBER articles and Book Reviews:
https://www.commonclimber.com/keith-bell.html/
J. BOOKS
J1. South Pacific Pinnacle: The Exploration of Balls Pyramid
Edited by Jim Smith and Keith Bell
Published by Den Fenella Press
2016
65 Fletcher Street,
Wentworth Falls NSW 2782
Australia
ISBN 978-0-9943872-0-2
 |
| The front and back cover of the book. |
The 50th Anniversary of the first ascent of Balls Pyramid occurred on the 14th February 2015 and was celebrated by many of its ascensionists and others at the house of John Davis, a member of the first ascent team in 1965. Arriving early I met up with Jim Smith who was on a later expedition in 1969 that John organised and led in conjunction with Gary Steer. Theirs was a photographic expedition and is still the largest party to land on the rock.
When talking with Jim he mentioned that he had some earlier notes that he had written regarding the Pyramid and was toying with the idea of adding to it with the idea of assembling a publishable book. As I had been on the Pyramid twice, and had climbed both ridges, I said that I would be keen to get involved if he required any help or assistance. And so, from this conversation a book was produced after many months of research and hard work.
Sadly, before the book was published John Davis was killed in a helicopter crash.
 |
| A pyramid of Balls Pyramid books. |
This book is dedicated to the memory of John Davis (1943-2015).
 |
| The team on its way by flying boat to Lord Howe Island, the nearest land to Balls Pyramid. John Davis is third from the right. |
John Davis will always have a special place in the history of Balls Pyramid, being a member of the first ascent team in 1965, and the leader of the 1969 expedition and the organiser of significant reunions for Balls Pyramid veterans.
J2. The Red Curtain: Climbing Expedition to Mars 2043
Dave Barnes
 |
| The front and back cover of the book |
Dave Barnes is the Assistant Editor of Common Climber. In 2019 he contacted me and asked me to write a book review. Others followed, then at his urging I delved into my archives and started writing articles. By this time, our love of climbing and writing was apparent and Dave shared a long held document that he was aching to develop.
From his home in Hobart Dave emailed the embryonic document to me in Sydney. Over many months we sent the document back and forth always developing and fine-tuning it. Eventually named 'The Red Curtain' we had a load of fun, talking, writing, imagining, researching while on a long journey to Mars.
All credit to Dave for taking this endeavour from a dog-eared manuscript to a a novel beautifully illustrated by Karmelo Ornate. I was so pleased to be able to travel with him along the way. Dave asked me to write a foreword and this is reproduced below.
"As one who was in the first line of ‘baby boomers’, I have been witness to some interesting times. As a youngster in the aftermath of World War II, I read avidly about Spitfires, Hurricanes, Mosquitoes, and even Messerschmitts. But the aircraft that really caught my attention were Germany’s swallow-like Me-262, the squat, stubby Me-163 rocket plane, and the VI and V2 secret weapons – an unmanned jet and a rocket. My interest in aviation was soon joined by a love of the outdoors when I joined my local Cub Scouts pack.
Somewhere along the line, I took up climbing and loved it. My climbing skills improved, and I began putting up first ascents. Having had the privilege of naming these creations allowed me to delve into astronomy, rocketry and even science fiction. Names like Antares, Telstar, Starlight Express, Caladan, Terminus, Childhood’s End, and Blast Off were thrust upon many an unsuspecting climb.
On the side of Tonduron Spire in the Warrumbungle Mountains of New South Wales in Australia, there is a feature that a friend and I climbed. It is a reasonable replica of the 1969 Saturn V rocket fashioned out of stone. My friend, Ian ‘Humzoo’ Thomas, shared my enthusiasm for climbing and rocketry, as well as science fiction – my favourite climbing photo shows him posing defiantly on a subsidiary ‘booster’ tower to the ‘rocket’ with acres of vertical space surrounding his tiny platform.
Forward to 2019, when I was contacted by Dave Barnes. I live in Sydney and Dave in Hobart, Tasmania, but we both share a love of climbing, writing, families and dogs, not necessarily in that order. Dave, Assistant Editor of Common Climber – a contemporary climbing magazine – asked me to write a book review. It must have been OK as he then asked me to write another one. Dave is a persuasive and determined character, and he signed me on to write more articles for Common Climber. I was thrust into the deep end.
Dave had this idea in his mind just itching to get out. In a phone call, he explained the premise and then sent me a rough draft. From such meagre beginnings, I assisted him meld the text into a more thorough story. The manuscript flew back and forth between Hobart and Sydney, largely via cyberspace, being built upon all of the time. In a nutshell, Dave wanted to go climbing on Mars and needed a companion to share the journey.
The Red Curtain is the result, a book that contains adventure, escapades, climbing, space travel, and above all teamwork in a story that hopes to provide salvation in a dystopian future for the inhabitants of planet Earth. In this story, you can blast off and travel with our four intrepid team members to Mars on a journey that is sometimes humorous and often inspiring. On arrival, the action takes place on a subsidiary cliff of Olympus Mons, at fourteen miles high the largest and tallest mountain in our solar system. The climbing contained within these covers is based on our collective experiences with some acknowledgement of the technological advances that might have occurred in the years between now and 2043. David has worked hard to research and include the edge of what may be possible.
For those who are not climbers, Dave has you covered. There is a glossary of climbing terms as an appendix to assist you as you go. So grab a seat on the rocket, strap into the Mars exploratory vehicle, then step into a harness to experience the longest and most dangerous rock climb in our solar system. I hope that you enjoy the journey as much as I have."
Keith Bell
Sydney, Australia, November 2020
My involvement with this book was solely as a friend of Dave to help with the writing and editing. I will make no financial gains from this or the sale of the book.
This information is included to help those who might like to own a copy of The Red Curtain.
https://www.amazon.com.au/sk=the+red+curtain+climbing&crid=1J17RV8SBEDDH&fbclid=IwAR35Ed1oRxHkbwvmDu4itK7J1Wp1auJ7R5suZ3tyPjc9AeWdS5ykQOLCVWE&sprefix=the+red+c%2Caps%2C449&ref=nb_sb_ss_ts-doa-p_1_9
Within Australia, Mountain Equipment and Bogong also stock it.
K. DEPARTED FRIENDS:
K1. Ben Sandilands (4.12.1943 — 27.10.2017)
 |
| Ben at the launching of the Balls Pyramid book at St Peters Gym. The Master. (Keri Bell) |
When speaking to a couple of friends they mentioned that Ben had led them to take that particular path to the outdoors and I guess there were many others so motivated by him. In a strange way Ben had a similar effect on me.
In the mid 1960’s, I was browsing through a copy of the now defunct Walkabout magazine when I came upon a poetic, magnetic and inspiring article on a Traverse of the Eastern Arthurs and the climbing of Federation Peak written by one Ben Sandilands. One particular photograph in the article stood out and it featured Hanging Lake with a mention of its campsite poised precariously above the huge drop into Lake Geeves. Within a year I had camped there and had stood atop Federation Peak. The name of the author stuck with me and I finally met Ben in 1969.
 |
| A jewel of South West Tasmania - the aptly named Hanging Lake as seen from Federation Peak. I was inspired by Ben to tramp and camp there. |
A conversation with Ben was like savouring a good red: it was a compendium of travel, characters, experiences, laughter and then more laughter. In his beautifully moderated tones I remember he spoke about circling around Malcolm Fraser while interviewing him at an airport as each of them tried to get the wind behind the other so that their hair would be blown into their eyes. Ben was full of such stories but I would like to relate a few about Ben.
In early 1973, I was in Melbourne and Ben and I had decided to go to the Grampians. For convenience I was to sleep at Ben’s ready for the customary ‘alpine start’. Now shades of Noddy Lockwood, Ben had just been overseas and thought the spirit of our conversation was in need of some elixir. We had hardly settled down for an after dinner chat when Ben introduced me to his bottle of duty free Cointreau. Somehow we chatted for hours and managed to finish the bottle. I’m not sure whether we got to the crag on the Saturday or Sunday but we did manage to do a couple of climbs at Mt Rosea or Mt William — badly.
 |
| The 1965 First Ascent Team of Balls Pyramid. Ben was the reporter and is second from the right. (Davis/Steer Collection) |
In the late 1960’s, Ben climbed the Brenva Face on the south side of Mt Blanc, a not insubstantial climb. In the late 1970’s he also made a foray into the realm of the Himalayas (*). Let me tell you, and Ben always had a hearty laugh about this, the time that he suffered from hyperthermia not at the Blanc, in the Himalayas nor even the New Zealand Alps or even at great altitude but in summertime at Mt Arapiles. A group of us were climbing at the ‘Piles’, it was a very hot day and around lunchtime we decided to head into Natimuk for a fabled ‘Willows’ milkshake. Now this was not a contemporary thick shake, it was the ‘crème de la crème’ of milk shakes on a par in quality and quantity with the equally fabled Aroney’s Hot Chocolate which many of you would associate with the Savoy Cinema, Katoomba and intermission, all three unfortunately have now long gone (fortunately along with ‘God Save the Queen’). You could go through a box of straws trying to consume just one of these treats. At the Willows, some opted for one, others opted for two but Ben went the whole hog and drank three. On the way back to the camp he had acquired a decidedly icy pallor, by the time he reached the campsite his teeth were chattering and this was followed soon after by bouts of shivering. My memory fails here but a glass or two of Cointreau probably revived him. I quite often recounted this one to Ben and he always laughed — nervously.
And then the great fall on the South Side of Buffalo. Ben for some reason was selected as the designated belayer. We had climbed up a pitch and Ben was anchored back into a recess on a good ledge with a large overhang cutting out the sun from above. I went up first and got onto the slab above the overhang. Protection was really scarce and got scarcer. Finally, I did the wise thing and retreated. Now it was Noddy’s turn. Up he went but soon found as I had that a bolt was probably required, retreat was inevitable. But Noddy, the shyster was not going to leave any gear (Thanks Noddy because I think it was all mine), he cunningly tied off two trees, err saplings, come to think of it they were probably weeds. Ben started lowering, then there was a Noddy gasp followed by even another louder Noddy gasp, Ben and I looked to the heavens either in anticipation or supplication. Noddy came roaring over the overhang wrapped like some Pharoah in shrouds of double rope intertwined with his ‘anchor bushes’. He went flying past us and somehow fell into the groove just below the ledge, which saved him from hurtling to the bottom of the crag. Ben was hanging tightly onto the rope and I had stupidly reached out and grabbed many strands of it so that maybe it was a shared save or just divine intervention. Anyway, we were probably all in need of a stiff Cointreau or five after that one.
 |
| Ben abseiling on Balls Pyramid back to base camp. (Davis/Steer Collection) |
But on a more serious note Ben was a consummate journalist with very high ethics. His long swim at dusk to the boat from the Pyramid is now legendary but he managed to get the scoop on its first ascent in 1965. But many might not know that Ben got the world-wide scoop on the crash of the Concordski (Tu-144) at the Paris Air Show in 1973. This was probably instrumental in prompting Ben to eventually start his blog — Plane Talking.
Jim Smith and I asked Ben to give the Introductory Speech at the inaugural launch of our Pyramid book to which Ben readily agreed. He gave a consummate performance, which was very much appreciated by all. I would like to finish as a tribute to Ben by including his speech. I hope that you enjoy it as it demonstrates the abyss that exists between the social media that exists today and the means of communication that existed then. It also demonstrates what a magnificent but modest wordsmith and storyteller he was. No mention made of triangular waves, teeth, fins or the inherent danger of such a long swim at dusk.
Vale Ben my good friend, I miss you but you are always in my mind; planes, climbers, bushwalkers, Federation Peak, Mt Blanc, the Pyramid, rock walls, the Australian bush, and a glass or two of Cointreau are always there to remind me of your friendship, presence and your immense impact.
 |
| Reunion of the First Ascent Team of Balls Pyramid at John Davis' house. Ben is second from the right. (Davis/Steer Collection) |
THE UNNAMED REPORTER — Ben Sandilands — 1965 Balls Pyramid Expedition
I was the unnamed Sydney Morning Herald reporter on the 1965 first ascent expedition.
In those days, ‘old school’ journalists were never the story. We were the narrator, the observer, the reporter. I liked it like that. I even pushed the boundaries of the times a little because I was also a participant, having only recently joined the SRC (Sydney Rockclimbing Club). I had been press ganged in a manner of speaking, into joining the Sydney Rockies while on a bushwalk that used the now vanished Fish River water supply pipeline ladders on the Narrowneck Peninsula in the Blue Mountains. I’d expressed curiosity to a few Sydney rockies who we saw in action beside the ladders, including Bryden Allen, who roped me up on the spot, to do the sensationally unchallenging but picturesque Giucco Piton route.
I even had to leave the Pyramid a day early to stop the Lord Howe Island’s resident ABC correspondent scooping me at my own story having learned that our state of the art 20 kilogram acid battery and vacuum tubed radio base apparatus had been ‘overheard’ every time I dictated copy to the Postmaster on LHI, for transmission to the GPO in Sydney via a daily 30 minute morse code session.
‘Granny’ Herald had chucked in a few hundred pounds to sponsor a successful climb, and if I was beaten through such competitive treachery, I’d have to find a new career. So I swam for Clive Wilson’s hastily summonsed boat to ensure that the Morse code operator sent my ‘Pyramid victory’ story, filed in person rather than by radio, to the GPO in Sydney in time for the first edition to go out before the other reporter would have realised there was a reason for the sudden silence from the pinnacle.
Some context. It was still 1965, hemp ropes were being replaced, controversially in some quarters, by those made of nylon. John Ewbank has arrived on the scene, but his grading scheme only followed a few years later. The use of jammed nuts was in its infancy. The hardest climb being done at that part of Narrowneck was Fuddy Duddy, pre exfoliation of the classic main pitch.
There are so many memories of the trip. We arrived, stunned into silence, at this jagged and gigantic place resembling the ruins of a gothic cathedral of unprecedented scale, surrounded by wheeling and screeching congregations of circling sea birds. Like nothing any of us had seen on earth, (well, sort of it was after all the 60s), but this was special, a place of powerful magnificence totally indifferent, but not hostile, to the arrival of a boatload of awestruck if unintended acolytes.
When I began turning the pages of South Pacific Pinnacle I read story upon story of other Balls Pyramidians who I confess, I had in many cases never even heard of, or had known, but lost track of, all drawn to this incredible place, and all being admitted to its stacked treasuries of experiences. Some found the Pyramid in an astonishingly wild and difficult state, while others received the benediction of a warm sun and calmer seas, and all were allowed to go home alive but no doubt altered in some way by their adventures. …
(*) Ben Sandilands – Dunagiri Expedition
When the Sydney Morning Herald became the major sponsor of the 1978 Australian National University Mountaineering Club expedition to Dunagiri (7,066m) in the Indian Himalaya, they also undertook to provide and fund a reporter to accompany the expedition.
There was one clear and outstanding candidate — Benoni (Ben) Fairfax Sandilands: reporter, bushwalker, rock climber and alpine mountaineer. Ben Sandilands was an experienced climber, having spent many seasons in the New Zealand Alps, Alaska, the Rocky Mountains and the European Alps — and was the climbing reporter on the first ascent of the spectacular sea spire, Balls Pyramid.
Ben joined the expedition in New Delhi and recorded the arduous approach march up the Rishi gorge to reach the Nanda Devi sanctuary. He also reported on the CIA nuclear monitoring device installed by a climbing expedition to eavesdrop on the Chinese that went missing from the slopes of Nanda Devi — causing the sanctuary to be closed after the expedition entered.
From basecamp he sent stories and photographs back to the Fairfax press telling the nation about the arduous ascent of the SW ridge, and the final epic bivouac on the summit attempt by Tim Macartney-Snape and Lincoln Hall. His stories of the first Australian ascent of a major 7,000m Himalayan peak made front page reading. Arguably, Ben Sandilands helped launch the public profile of these two world-class climbers who went on to become professional Himalayan mountaineers.
My thanks to Kenneth Baldwin for providing the above information.
K2. Pete Giles (30.11.1944 — 30.1.2018)
 |
| Pete (Right) and John Ewbank share a laugh at the Mt Boyce camping cave. (Peter Giles Collection) Courtesy of Joe Lorincz. |
The story below was written for the proposed John Ewbank book but its inclusion here will become apparent.
‘Though I climbed throughout most of the sixties I never climbed with ‘The Messiah’. I did, however, come close to downclimbing with him in an alcohol and petrol charged incident on a dark Katoomba night.
My climbing partner and I had been at 'The Neck' and were staying the night in the small cave at the top of the pipeline road. We had decided to walk in for a meal at the AB Cafe and then as you do slipped across the railway line to the climbers’ watering hole – Gearins Hotel.
After imbibing quite a few the pub closed at 10pm and we were shown the door. Outside in the chill, misty air we suddenly realised that we had a long walk back to our pits. Some action was required before the few people with cars disappeared into that mist.
Now Ewbank was there and he was just stepping into his mate’s ute. They were staying as it turned out in the Upper Psyncaive at Narrowneck. After some fast, inebriated talking my partner and I were safely, we thought, installed in the back of said ute. We were soon zooming down Katoomba Street then swinging the right towards the scenic railway and heading rather quickly through the curves of Cyclorama Point. Now it was probably here that it started to get a little messy. While we had all had a few beers John had probably had a few too many.
As we flew around the top corner where it levels out directly above the Landslide John started shouting out: Go faster, I’ve always wanted to downclimb Dogface in a ute!!! The driver duly complied and we were soon doing warp speed across the top of the Landslide. My memory here fades in and out no doubt tempered by fear and trepidation and the fact that I was in a fetal position with my eyes tightly closed uttering a few “Hail Mary’s” even though I am not a catholic.
Our roller coaster ride continued down the windy O’Sullivan’s Road past the “Jesus Saves” sign finally coming to a rapid halt at the top of the pipeline road. My mate and I tumbled out of the back and kissed the sweet earth as the ute accelerated away showering us in a hail of gravel and dust.
And so it came to pass that I never climbed nor thankfully descended rock with John Ewbank but I did share a wild ride with him in the back of a ute.
The driver of the ute was of course one Peter Giles. This was the beginning of a long and lasting friendship.
He had only recently arrived from Queensland with the reputation of climbing their then classic hard route ‘Flameout’ and the Beerwah Overhang. He hooked up with John on the first ascent of Colossus on Dogface and was a member of the SRC.
This was my introduction to Pete in the late 1960’s and his driving remained fast and steady with the later introduction of techno music into the mix.
Pete was also a strong and steady climber. He put up the first ascent of Kamikaze (18) at Mt Boyce and led the first pitch of The War of the Roses at the Wolgan on its first ascent in fine style. He was on the first ascent of Fer de Lance at the Zig Zag and Slipstream at Echo Point. He also completed an early ascent of Gone With the Wind at Echo Point (*). I had the pleasure of meeting up with him in Yosemite in 1973 and among the climbs we did was to have a great day on the East Buttress of El Capitan, this I believe was its first Australian ascent. Afterwards he travelled onto Europe and climbed with John Fantini in the Calunques and then onto Chamonix via the Pic de Bertagne. At the bivvy for this multi pitch climb they met up and chatted with the famous French climber, Rene Desmaison in their ‘best’ French. In Chamonix they climbed the Polish Route on Mt Maudit, a significant subsidiary peak of Mt Blanc and another first Australian ascent.
 |
| Pete on the East buttress of El Capitan in 1973. |
He also took my T-shirt with a cartoon portrait of ‘Bazza’ McKenzie with Pommy Bastards emblazoned underneath. Wearing this in Yosemite had almost got me arrested or at least detested: Pete wore it around Britain and was regaled with beers accompanied by an exceedingly jovial spirit by the Poms.
In the early 70’s Pete in the company of Ray Lassman almost brought the city traffic to a standstill when they climbed the Central Railway Clocktower as a protest against the mining of the Colong Reserve. When it was their turn to face the Magistrate Pete was always a bit miffed that Ray only got a good behavior bond whereas he copped a fine too. This area is still untrammelled, pristine wilderness protecting the beautiful Kowmung River.
 |
| Pete climbing the Central Railway Clocktower to hang a 'Save Colong' flag in the early 1970's. (Ascent, Vol 1 - No 5, 1971, Page 4) |
Pete moved to New Zealand in the late 70s where he climbed in the Southern Alps until work took him to the North Island where he rock climbed extensively at Whanganui Bay with Robbie McBirney and many others. In 1979 he returned to Australia with Marilyn and loved being able to resume rock climbing here and to enjoy his old friendships.
Pete and Marilyn spent many Easters climbing and camping with members of the SRC at Blue Lake. Many a good weekend was also spent camping, climbing, swimming, drinking and eating in the Wolgan Valley, not necessarily in that order.
Blue Lake - The jewel of the Snowy Mountains.
Camping is no longer allowed in the cirque.
Many a night was also spent with Pete and others at the Savoy Theatre in Katoomba with its accompanying rush for an Aroney’s hot chocolate at interval. Such movies as a They’re a weird Mob, The Canterbury Tales and Play Misty for Me were seen in the mandatory comfort of a sleeping bag given the cold comfort of the theatre. After the latter movie we slept in a dark, fake concrete grotto near the scenic railway. Everybody was a little twitchy as it was the scariest movie that most of us had seen. Our sleeping quarters did nothing to allay our anxieties.
Pete's work in the 1990s took him out of Australia and he was never able to resume climbing as intensively again. In his later years he could not climb much but he still had an intense interest in the 'Games Climbers Play'. While he could we would often meet for our weekly dose of the vertical stuff at the St Peters Climbing Gym. Eventually though, his illness curtailed even this.
Pete, with the amazing support of Marilyn, family and friends, lived life to the full through to the very end.
Farewell my good friend, may you rise to the heights and standards that you have always lived by.
(*) Gone With The Wind – Echo Point:
Pete’s good nature can be illustrated by an ascent he made of Gone with the Wind at Echo Point with John Fantini and I. During a spell of balmy weather they decided to carry sleeping bags, food and stove in order to experience a comfortable bivvy on the commodious half-way ledge. During the early part of night, and after some excellent red wine which Pete had selected, John’s snagging of the most level part of the ledge caused Pete to change positions which compelled him to alter the anchor point of my newly acquired single point Forest hammock which I was field testing for Rick White’s shop. In the morning, Pete leaned over to me and muttered good morning along with an apology. It seems as though he had somehow reattached my only anchor to a sling around the only block on the ledge, which was not affixed to the cliff! After trundling the rock and a quick re-sorting of lines and belays, the top two pitches were quickly climbed leaving a lonely Pete on the ledge attached by two long 9mm ropes which had been unclipped from all runners. At this point Pete’s steely gaze melted into something more like terror than anticipation, for the plan was for him to step off the ledge and jumar to the top, thus displaying his skills and rock craft to all. If you have been on that ledge you will know two things: 1. The top two pitches are very overhanging. 2. The bivvy ledge is in an incredibly exposed position. The two aforementioned heroes then had the opportunity to see Pete launch out into a giant pendulum (The Gledhill Swing) which because of the stretch of the thin 9mm ropes caused him to plummet down as much as swing out. John and I were treated to the sight of Pete’s quickly diminishing body, eyes the size of saucers and his mouth wide open yelling at the top of his voice, “its your shout tonight you bastards”. Even under such heinous circumstances Pete was a model of tolerance and good nature — not!
My thanks to Ian ‘Humzoo’ Thomas for the above details of their ascent.
I first met Pete through climbing when I was a schoolboy. Climbing forged many friendships back then ... and since. Of those friendships, a considerable number have gone on to become life-long and unbreakable. Climbing attracted individuals with similar values and qualities and that affinity created a powerful bond. Climbing gave us a sense of fraternity and belonging; a sense of identity.
We knew Pete to be a man of determination and courage.
I hope that these words are a reflection of that determination, not only in his climbing, but in the way he lived his life and of the courage that he displayed in facing the end.
Climb on dear friend, reach for that hold
Grip tight that tiny, tiny fold.
Grip tight that tiny, tiny fold.
Climb past the signs of failing strength
Just one more move ---
Just one more move ---
Up that steep and hard, rough, rocky road.
Climb on! Climb on!
Breathless, weary, with exhausted limbs,
Worn out fingers and worn out toes,
Each move harder and harder.
Each move harder and harder.
The crux still ahead, it is true
But your mind is set to see it through!
Climb on! Climb on!
But your mind is set to see it through!
Climb on! Climb on!
So fare thee well our Peter Giles.
You have left us with memories
Of your face, warm and gentle smiles.
The cheeky grin, that easy laugh.
We will miss you, Marilyn’s other half!
Climb on! Climb on!
Climb on our dearest friend.
Joe Lorincz
August 2018
K3. A Tribute to Bryden Allen
 |
| Bryden on 'Toyland' (25 -5.11d) At Cosmic County in the Blue Mountains, NSW. (Simon Carter) |
Acknowledgements:
To my wife Judy whose love, patience and support gave me the time and space to spend the many hours required to research, write and publish this document.
Due credit and thanks should be given to Peter and Acacia Cocker of K7 Expeditions for their long-term friendship, support and the planting of the seed that eventually grew into this Blog.
Thanks and appreciation to Michael Meadows and Ian (Humzoo) Thomas who helped guide me in the way of the Blog, for making many valuable suggestions, and for being very much appreciated sources of ongoing inspiration and support.
My thanks are also extended to Bruce Cameron for his invaluable suggestions and encouragement throughout the time that I worked on this Blog.
Eddy Ozols and Marilyn Wise in particular must be given due credit for scanning my 35mm slides into a format that could be included in, and certainly enhanced the text.
My appreciation to the Australian Museum, Sydney for including me as a climbing member of their expedition to Balls Pyramid in March 2017 as well as allowing me to use text and images relating to the expedition.
And finally, a big thank you to the many climbers both here and overseas who made possible my vertical experiences, many of which are included in this Blog.
Coiling up the ropes at climbs end.
Blue Lake - Southern NSW. (Brian Mattick)
Hope that you have enjoyed the journey.
Comments welcome and appreciated below.
