Diamond Crack, Froggatt Edge, Peak District
Hard Severe 4b **
A pleasant days cragging at Froggatt Edge last summer - it's getting
towards the end of the day and I'm thinking about that one last route
before heading home. An inviting-looking crack catches my eye, not too
tall and perfect size for wedging hands, feet and protection alike. I
check the guidebook. 'Diamond Crack HS 4b ** 8m. The slanting crack
gives a fine exercise in jamming. Steep, strenuous and well protected. A
popular route for logging your first flight time!' Sounds
interesting, two stars and comfortably within my grade - this is the
one.
The ritual begins. Gear on the harness: a place for everything and
everything in its place, tie in then sit at the base tying laces on my
battered rock shoes while in my head I'm already on the route above,
picturing the moves and planning where I'm going to place protection. I
stand up and glance at my belayer. "Ready?", "Ready" I
reply and turn to face the crag. A quick final check of knots and buckles
then a dusting of chalk on hands and I pull onto the rock.
The moves are strong but comfortable, the protection is solid and the
crack is as good as I knew it would be; I'm enjoying the climb. Then a
couple of moves up and reality bites with a jolt - my right foot is stuck!
I'm not in imminent danger of falling, but I can't move and in those few
brief seconds as I wiggle it and tug to no avail, a practical corner of my
mind begins to weigh up the options. Then just as suddenly, I'm free and
all thoughts of an embarrassing top-rope rescue are banished. I'm
confidently climbing again, the momentary panic forgotten.
I'm nearly there. Another move and now the top is just a foot or two
above my head. Only something is different. Where lower down I had a solid
hand jam, I now have my whole right arm braced as the crack flares wider
and I'm hugging tight against the rock like one of those Garfield toys
stuck in a car window. Unable to reach around into the crack to place a
bit of gear (if I'm even carrying anything large enough) my left hand
futilely searches for something solid enough to allow me to free my right
but the balance is all wrong for that. My heart begins to beat faster. The
last protection is below my feet, there's not a cats chance in hell of
placing more and I can feel my strength ebbing away rapidly. It occurs to
me that I could well fall here and with a wry half-smile I remember the
guidebook reference to 'flight-time'. For the first time mid-route, I wish
I was wearing a helmet but it's a bit late now and that practical little
mental voice interrupts my musings. It's decision-time. Go for it; one last
unprotected move to top out or just give up. It has to be now; if I don't
choose right now then fatigue and gravity will choose for me.
It's getting late, I'm tiring fast and for a second I contemplate how
easy it would be to simply relax, let go and let myself fall. But then a
stubborn, competitive, sheer bloody-minded part of me yells an emphatic
"NO!" that echoes inside my skull and the tired, scared part
cowers back to a dark corner. A fatalistic acceptance washes over me. If I
fall, then I fall - and it seems a distinct possibility - but it's NOT
going to be because I wimped out and let go! The adrenaline surges. This
is it; no half measures; all or nothing. If I don't give it everything,
then I'm sure to fail and I have a split second to hope that it is enough
before I take a breath and make the move. I'm committed now, no going
back...left foot into the crack, step higher with the right and pull hard
upwards...
It's a bold move to top out, but not as difficult as I'd anticipated it
might be from my somewhat precarious position below. The mixture of
triumph, relief and adrenaline is intoxicating as I stand tall for a
moment before taking a few steps back from the edge and slumping down
against the rock. With arms pumped and hands shaking, I take a few moments
to slow my racing heart before I can do anything. I call down to say I'm
safe and build a belay. My second follows and after my own challenges on
the route, secretly, I'm gratified that she doesn't just romp up it like
it's a walk in the park. "Good climb! You know I really thought you
were going to fall off on those last moves there" she says when we
finally sit together at the top. "For a moment I really thought so
too" I reply.
So am I scared of climbing hard now? Nah, roll on the decent weather -
I can't wait to get back out again!
|
