Before I got into climbing dad would mention how he’d done a climb called Troutdale Pinnacle over 1000 times. At the time I thought he was insane and boring to have done this, having no foresight that I’d be drawn into climbing too.
Dad with Black crag and Troutdale Pinnacle behind
After the first couple of years of getting into climbing the Classic rock climbs were rarely on my radar, opting for the more difficult climbs whilst my body allowed it, but the classic rock routes are by and large some of the most pleasurable.
How would you describe many of the routes from the 3 books?
Extreme Rock: A brave lead, soul searching, brutal, eliminate in nature, bold.
Hard Rock: Strenuous, very exposed, pumpy, intimidating, old peg for protection.
Classic rock: Delightful, obvious line, great holds, good gear.
Don’t get me wrong, the climbs in hard and extreme rock are awesome, but if you are out for pure enjoyment the classic rock climbs are probably the best. They follow the most obvious lines up great pieces of rock, such as Main wall on Cyrn Las and Doorpost on Bosigran. If you explained to a none climber about doing these routes they probably understand whereas if you explained about the harder ones, “if you go 3 metres left, 9 metres up very dangerous terrain you get to say you’ve done this climb, of this grade…” they’ll be less likely to understand.
The classic rock climbs should still be taken seriously, I imagine many more accidents are had on them, by both the amount of people doing them compared to the harder ones, and lack of experience.
I’ve been fortunate to have some great times doing these routes, going to beautiful parts of the UK I wouldn’t normally have gone out of my way to go. From the early days of soloing a lot of them with friends in the 90s, it was 20 years later I started to take an interest again. During the pandemic, it felt great to be out in the hills again after being lockdown and the North Wales Classics I’d not done offered new terrain to explore. Great Gully with its endless lilly pulling to gain the great cave, Lliwedd, with its endless jugs, micro-gem slab and stunning sunset, immaculate rock on grey slab, high above idwal, the grooved arête of Tryfan and its horror offwidth ‘diff’ Gashed crag.
Having the idea to do all the climbs in a book always takes me a lot more time than I expect. Years and years when you take your eye off the ball around life and work.
Working at Glenmore Lodge in August 2023 on some of the best 10 days of work I’ve had, climbing with a young lad, Lewis for 5 of the days, whose granddad had put up some hard routes in the Cairngorms in the 1960s. After work I’d head out alone on missions to do Talisman, Needle, Clean Sweep and Savage Slit, with the golden evening light making Loch Avon look magical. The day after the work finished I went into Carnmore to do Dragon and Gob (~4 hr hike in), stopping at some services a few hours drive south I could hardly walk with legs stiff as fuck from the trudging.
How would you describe many of the routes from the 3 books?
Extreme Rock: A brave lead, soul searching, brutal, eliminate in nature, bold.
Hard Rock: Strenuous, very exposed, pumpy, intimidating, old peg for protection.
Classic rock: Delightful, obvious line, great holds, good gear.
Don’t get me wrong, the climbs in hard and extreme rock are awesome, but if you are out for pure enjoyment the classic rock climbs are probably the best. They follow the most obvious lines up great pieces of rock, such as Main wall on Cyrn Las and Doorpost on Bosigran. If you explained to a none climber about doing these routes they probably understand whereas if you explained about the harder ones, “if you go 3 metres left, 9 metres up very dangerous terrain you get to say you’ve done this climb, of this grade…” they’ll be less likely to understand.
The classic rock climbs should still be taken seriously, I imagine many more accidents are had on them, by both the amount of people doing them compared to the harder ones, and lack of experience.
I’ve been fortunate to have some great times doing these routes, going to beautiful parts of the UK I wouldn’t normally have gone out of my way to go. From the early days of soloing a lot of them with friends in the 90s, it was 20 years later I started to take an interest again. During the pandemic, it felt great to be out in the hills again after being lockdown and the North Wales Classics I’d not done offered new terrain to explore. Great Gully with its endless lilly pulling to gain the great cave, Lliwedd, with its endless jugs, micro-gem slab and stunning sunset, immaculate rock on grey slab, high above idwal, the grooved arête of Tryfan and its horror offwidth ‘diff’ Gashed crag.
Having the idea to do all the climbs in a book always takes me a lot more time than I expect. Years and years when you take your eye off the ball around life and work.
Working at Glenmore Lodge in August 2023 on some of the best 10 days of work I’ve had, climbing with a young lad, Lewis for 5 of the days, whose granddad had put up some hard routes in the Cairngorms in the 1960s. After work I’d head out alone on missions to do Talisman, Needle, Clean Sweep and Savage Slit, with the golden evening light making Loch Avon look magical. The day after the work finished I went into Carnmore to do Dragon and Gob (~4 hr hike in), stopping at some services a few hours drive south I could hardly walk with legs stiff as fuck from the trudging.
Loch Avon
The same summer with a crap forecast in Llanberis but a great one for Arran led to an impromptu trip to the island. The great ferry to Brodick and a stomp up Glen Rosa found me eating some quiche mum had made me halfway up SE ridge. Then the steep line of Labrynth (tough) and the super classic South Westerly slabs followed by the photogenic Rosetta Stone before a meal and beers in Bordick. The last time I was there was with a strong team in 2016 which had finished with a pub crawl and whisky finish.
SE ridge, looking down Glen Rosa
On a trip North with Ryan Pasquill the same year we’d talked big, do this that and the other E7 etc, then we came into contact with reality; hot, sweaty fear, holds snapping, gross amounts of moss, something about RPs and takes, Cubby whispering sandbags. Our attention soon moved towards some of the classic rock routes and the haze of fear subsided and we started to have a real good time. Agags groove, Archers rib, Long climb on the Ben topping out to t-shirts weather and a brochenspectre, pints in Clachaig and firepit beneath the Buchaille with no midges. Good crack with Cubby too who’d just hooked up with ‘just a little tease’ which was a lovely tale.
Pasquil and firepit
In May 2024 I was lucky enough to have a months work with Climb Torridon, the first day of which, climbing with a lovely retired chap called Chris was climbing the Nose on Applecross, which is a sure contender for the best severe in the UK, a huge blunt nose of granite with exposed climbing and lots of up and down scrambling across strange geography to get off. The last weekend of that work I went in to climb the Cumming-crofton route on Mitre Ridge and Squareface, it’s a fair journey in to access the remote crags here and it was almost too cold to do them, wrapped in every possible pieve of clothing I had a strong icy wind bit the fingers making it hard to feel anything. The day after Eagle Ridge on Lochnagar felt warm by comparison and I thought a 3 star climb.
Chris and me on the Cioch Nose, Applecross. An incredible severe
In 2025 there weren’t many left and towards the end of the good weather we had in the spring I had a day and a half in Scotland for the final Scottish ones.
I stopped at mums in Appleby on the way North. Often smiling with glasses she was now 80 years old. Although I rib her on social media about her raving and dropping acid she actually spends most of her time looking after her grandkids and gardening. It’s always lovely to see her. She’s been a Jehovahs witness since before I was born. I was worried as the years wore on and it became apparent I’m the opposite of a jehovahs witness it might have effected our relationship but it never did.
After leaving mums I arrived at the Buchaille a bit after 14.00, Christ it felt warm, perfect conditions for the Chasm. As I entered and started to make my up I could see it was aptly named, like making your way through several cathedrals, with the odd bit of techy route finding and lots of atmosphere. Low down it a steep, incredible looking rockface came into view, looking ripe for new routes I thought of Ian Small and soon after Niall Mcnair told me Ian had done a load of new 1s on it up to E8. It must have been as dry as it ever got in the Chasm but the routefinding isn’t always obvious and it would be easy to have an epic. One section of the climb, involving climbing the left wall of a chimney to a small shelf then bridging wide to the other side to continue feels pretty nuts.
A walk around to do North Face route left a particularly pointy silhouette of the Buchaille below.
I stopped at mums in Appleby on the way North. Often smiling with glasses she was now 80 years old. Although I rib her on social media about her raving and dropping acid she actually spends most of her time looking after her grandkids and gardening. It’s always lovely to see her. She’s been a Jehovahs witness since before I was born. I was worried as the years wore on and it became apparent I’m the opposite of a jehovahs witness it might have effected our relationship but it never did.
After leaving mums I arrived at the Buchaille a bit after 14.00, Christ it felt warm, perfect conditions for the Chasm. As I entered and started to make my up I could see it was aptly named, like making your way through several cathedrals, with the odd bit of techy route finding and lots of atmosphere. Low down it a steep, incredible looking rockface came into view, looking ripe for new routes I thought of Ian Small and soon after Niall Mcnair told me Ian had done a load of new 1s on it up to E8. It must have been as dry as it ever got in the Chasm but the routefinding isn’t always obvious and it would be easy to have an epic. One section of the climb, involving climbing the left wall of a chimney to a small shelf then bridging wide to the other side to continue feels pretty nuts.
A walk around to do North Face route left a particularly pointy silhouette of the Buchaille below.
Buchaille silhoutte
The following day had an early start for Long crack in Glen Coe. Jesus my body felt tired that morning, the feeling of old age catching up. I walled over the top of Unicorn and Scansor before scuttling down and around to a snow gully which I still had to kick steps up and across another to gain the base of what is surely one of the best and most unique Vdiffs in the UK, The Crypt Route. Mental chimneying to amazing rock architecture high up. “Take a headtorch” my housemate, Gemma Roberston had said. You get 3 different options to climb it in the guide, some involving ‘chambers’. After following the descriptions a little way into the bowels I felt claustrophobic and opted to chimney direct.
I headed down and drove round to Tower Ridge which is more of a scramble than a climb but very imposing from below, a great effort by the first ascentionists. I was last on it via Glovers Chimney with Sophie in 2008.
I trotted back down via number 4 gully and feeling slightly baked drove back to Clachaig for the last 1, Clachaig gully. I didn’t take the guides advice about the rockfall, and went in direct, being worried about not finding the way in the guide describes. Agricultural is how best to describe the lower sections, clinging on reeds and veg, sometimes sliding down a few metres and jumping for ‘off ledges’, it felt like a proper adventure and took me right back to being a teen in the Lakes.
The upper sections felt very techy and comparable to the Chasm, even though it had been dry for ages I still got soaked. It felt a little claustrophobic and that it might be hard to escape, as well as something of a race against the dark, but it was immersive, engaged all the time, always moving, an escape of itself.
As the Ukcraine war was kicking off I was sat at home one evening, really wanting to escape reality. I bought a ticket on a whim and headed to Hendre Hall, promising myself I’d stay dry and go home at midnight. Some friends were there, Ella, Gwion et al and the music soon swept me up with the curfew forgotten. It was Lisa Oaks playing at first, then Ben Simms. There was someone there who seemed to be on the exact same wavelength (I think they call it synchronicity) and we danced together a lot of the night. I’ve no idea who she was, but I just know her as ‘the dancer’. The evening did help me evade reality for a few hours, a similar immersive experience.
I was thinking about this when my trainer slipped high in the gully. I locked in on 2 good handholds and looked down at the fall zone, cursing my stupidity and negligence.
I eventually escaped the gully as darkness was starting to take hold and the views were stunning with the lights of Clachaig beckoning.
I headed down and drove round to Tower Ridge which is more of a scramble than a climb but very imposing from below, a great effort by the first ascentionists. I was last on it via Glovers Chimney with Sophie in 2008.
I trotted back down via number 4 gully and feeling slightly baked drove back to Clachaig for the last 1, Clachaig gully. I didn’t take the guides advice about the rockfall, and went in direct, being worried about not finding the way in the guide describes. Agricultural is how best to describe the lower sections, clinging on reeds and veg, sometimes sliding down a few metres and jumping for ‘off ledges’, it felt like a proper adventure and took me right back to being a teen in the Lakes.
The upper sections felt very techy and comparable to the Chasm, even though it had been dry for ages I still got soaked. It felt a little claustrophobic and that it might be hard to escape, as well as something of a race against the dark, but it was immersive, engaged all the time, always moving, an escape of itself.
As the Ukcraine war was kicking off I was sat at home one evening, really wanting to escape reality. I bought a ticket on a whim and headed to Hendre Hall, promising myself I’d stay dry and go home at midnight. Some friends were there, Ella, Gwion et al and the music soon swept me up with the curfew forgotten. It was Lisa Oaks playing at first, then Ben Simms. There was someone there who seemed to be on the exact same wavelength (I think they call it synchronicity) and we danced together a lot of the night. I’ve no idea who she was, but I just know her as ‘the dancer’. The evening did help me evade reality for a few hours, a similar immersive experience.
I was thinking about this when my trainer slipped high in the gully. I locked in on 2 good handholds and looked down at the fall zone, cursing my stupidity and negligence.
I eventually escaped the gully as darkness was starting to take hold and the views were stunning with the lights of Clachaig beckoning.
Top of Clachaig gully
A month later I was attending my friends, Emma and Harrys wedding. I told myself I'd take it easy there but it didn’t end up that way, started drinking before I'd even arrived. Emma is one of my longest term friends, having some great days out together in the 90s and for nearly 30 years now. Harrys lovely family from Canada were over and one of them was a terrific DJ, Theo. It was a great day with perfect weather.
A few days later at Kilnsey with Ryan I was still feeling ropey. Ryan made lite work of my last Hard Rock route, Mandela, and I did it with 2 rests which I was happy enough with my gammy finger.
The eve was too stunning to go home straight away so I drove round to Pen Y Ghent. Asking a DofE group if it was the right way I set off walking fast. There was a ton of cotton grass everywhere, a sea of it. Although sunny there was a chill wind. Dropping over the top and down to the base of the climb the wind stopped and it felt warm, with amazing views across the Yorkshire plain below. My friend Tony Greenback wrote of this routes position: “It is a wild, lonely and beautiful setting”.
There was a red pencil someone had placed in the rock at the base, a thoughtful touch. The line of the climb, following a corner, wall and further corner looked great. I slipped rock shoes and chalkbag on and enjoyed the suns heat and the feel of the grit. I thought it was a great route, for position, view and line.
Returning home I looked at the Classic rock book and the routes in it, specifically the 3 at the top of the Lake District section caught my eye. Little Chamonix, Troutdale Pinnacle and Gillercombe Buttress. These were the 3 that helped capture me into climbing, I climbed them in a month in winter 95/96 with dad. All in Borrowdale.
The memories of the days get more vague by the year. Of the day on troutdale I just remember sliding on snow in the rock shoes on the way down. And for the others riding next to dad on our bikes in the valley to get to the climbs and him chatting as we climbed. Although the memories are growing vague they still have a powerful feeling to them. I'll never do Troutdale Pinnacle as many times as dad did but I've a great understanding now of why he got such enjoyment from that climb.
A few days later at Kilnsey with Ryan I was still feeling ropey. Ryan made lite work of my last Hard Rock route, Mandela, and I did it with 2 rests which I was happy enough with my gammy finger.
The eve was too stunning to go home straight away so I drove round to Pen Y Ghent. Asking a DofE group if it was the right way I set off walking fast. There was a ton of cotton grass everywhere, a sea of it. Although sunny there was a chill wind. Dropping over the top and down to the base of the climb the wind stopped and it felt warm, with amazing views across the Yorkshire plain below. My friend Tony Greenback wrote of this routes position: “It is a wild, lonely and beautiful setting”.
There was a red pencil someone had placed in the rock at the base, a thoughtful touch. The line of the climb, following a corner, wall and further corner looked great. I slipped rock shoes and chalkbag on and enjoyed the suns heat and the feel of the grit. I thought it was a great route, for position, view and line.
Returning home I looked at the Classic rock book and the routes in it, specifically the 3 at the top of the Lake District section caught my eye. Little Chamonix, Troutdale Pinnacle and Gillercombe Buttress. These were the 3 that helped capture me into climbing, I climbed them in a month in winter 95/96 with dad. All in Borrowdale.
The memories of the days get more vague by the year. Of the day on troutdale I just remember sliding on snow in the rock shoes on the way down. And for the others riding next to dad on our bikes in the valley to get to the climbs and him chatting as we climbed. Although the memories are growing vague they still have a powerful feeling to them. I'll never do Troutdale Pinnacle as many times as dad did but I've a great understanding now of why he got such enjoyment from that climb.
Dad (Ray) on top of Little Chamonix
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