It's been the best part of a year since I did one of these things.Family matters notwithstanding,this is due to several things,not least of which is my worryingly successful bouldering over the last few months.All the hard work training actually seems to be paying off,projects have gone down and some tangible progress made.A direct result of this hitherto unseen phenomena has been a marked increase in my general happiness.And I can't write for jack shit when I'm cheerful and well disposed towards the world.
Fortunately of late it's all started to go a tad tits up,boulders are point blank refusing to capitulate,injuries are rearing their ugly heads and I'm starting to feel bitter and somewhat misanthropic.Normal service resumed.At least the bloc that's currently provoking my ire isn't some shuffling extension at The Cliff or a grotty piece of manufactured cack in a dingy Welsh cave.It's actually a three star banger and worthy of a siege.A splendidly sculpted ramp of Lakeland's finest andesite,just enough tenuous holds to make it a goer,and a perfect grassy landing to boot. Well away from the pad toting hordes that infest the popular venues like chalky flies round overrrated shit,a stunning view etc etc.Fright Night 7C,Seathwaite Circuit,Duddon Valley.
So what's my fucking beef then? Sunshine,that's what.Due to unseasonably fine weather this year,this dirty great chunk of extrusive igneous annoyance simply won't give up the ghost. Like any sensible Lancs boulderer,I head for the mountains in warmer weather,escaping the midges,crowds and non-existent friction that plague the lower lying sedimentary scrittle.This approach is usually foolproof,enabling some serious pulling down to be had,even in the stifling sweaty bollocks that constituted 2013's summer.But Fright Night aint playing ball.Apparently the fucker requires CONDITIONS.On a mountain crag.Ridiculous.Three times I've flogged up to the thing,and three times I've been scuppered by direct,warm bloody sunlight...in the bastard Lakes! What are the fucking odds,man? If ever proof were needed that we've fully fuckerooed the planet's climate,there it is,fifteen foot of pristine rampline feeling like butter with crushed glass in it three visits on the bounce.If it weren't such a belter,I'd never go back up there.To be honest,I might not-after being summarily shafted by that big yellow bastard in the sky for several fruitless,skin shredding hours on it today,it pissed down on the twenty minute trudge back to the car.Fucking bouldering;what a load of arse biscuits.
It's not all doom,sun and failing though.After sustaining three good quality finger injuries and a couple of trapped nerves along the way,I've not had a bad year on the blocs.I finally boshed a couple of good,hard 7C boulders...even did one of em in about half an hour,waaay quicker than the normally ruthlessly efficient bouncing East Lancs hobbit,Wilko Baggins.He got fuck off radged,whilst I nearly put my jaw out trying to keep a straight face.For the record,the problem was Acute Reggae at Horsehow Boulders.A rare example of 38yr old steel fingers whupping lightweight whippersnapper.He reckons the crux is morpho,but fuck him,eh.He is a short cunt though.Speaking of radged,Earl Crag witnessed a decidedly fuming Andy "Toehooks" Farnell the other week.It was admittedly less than primo connies on Yorkshire's finest grit edge,but even so...he got his limey sport arse handed to him.Trick Arete? Fail."Fucking shit problem".Desert Island Arete,arguably one of Earl's finest gems? No joy. Also "fucking shit".To be fair,he tried fucking hard,but at one stage it seemed like the toys were gonna be flung so far out of the cot they'd hit Kilnsey (which incidentally is "not shit").He's even started an Anti-Scrittle FB group.I joined to make him feel better,but I kinda like the grit really.Makes a change from me spitting the dummy anyway.I quite like it when the boot's on the other foot,especially when the boot keeps slipping off grit problems I can do and Scouse sport climbers can't.
Anyway,enough of this crap.It's Sunday night,and I'm need of a consolation prize G and T after today's unceremonious arse kicking.Hopefully this rumour of "Autumn Conditions" may prove to be more than just weeks of damp this year...the ticklist's ever increasing.Bring on the cold crisp days,man,cos despite the vitriol and cynicism I can't wait for the season to start.Lancaster Bomber,Jess's Roof,Mr Multiverse,Ben's Wall,The Yorkshireman,The Terrace,even fucking Fright Night.It's on like Donkey Kong.Let's 'ave it!
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