A Minor Obsession

There are climbs which become minor obsessions, not the big climbs, but those we should have done but haven't, the ticks in the guidebook that are not there.

Countdown Direct at Whitestone Cliff is one for me. Every time that I try to do it, something prevents me. Is there some supernatural force preventing me doing it ? Laugh if you will, but then . . .

Months, or is it years, ago I decided to climb it on a shunt, at least. I would have to do it between dropping children off at 9 o'clock and picking them up at 3. But then I had to drop something at my parents' house. I was losing valuable time. Then I needed petrol.

Incredibly, the door of the filling station jammed and it took 15 minutes before the staff opened the emergency door letting those in to pay and those out who had payed.

I sped down the A19 to hit thick fog. At Thirsk, the road to Sutton Bank was closed so I had to pass by Kilburn. A car hurtling down Kilburn Bank missed me by inches, the driver yelling obscenities. The car park was deserted. One car sped past me in even denser fog. I heard it turn around and return. The driver angrily demanded the way to Thirsk now that the road was blocked. I explained exactly how to get there via Kilburn. He looked at me as if I was mad. Gravel flew as he raced off in the opposite direction.

I stood there alone as if in a black and white scene from a 60s Italian movie. The overhanging branches dripped moisture on the walk in, and a gradual realisation came upon me. I had thrown my normal climbing gear into my sack, plus a few ropes. But the shunt was not part of my normal gear. It was at home in the utility room. I wouldn't be doing Countdown that day.

Not all was lost. There were a couple of VS climbs near the descent gulley that I had not done. I reckoned that with a system of prussicks and knotted ropes I could try them in reasonable safety - well, not suicidal anyway.

The first went well. Domino, a steep crack, overhanging enough to be dry, with a layback, some jammed elbows and pull ups. The top ledge was dripping water and covered with a luminescent green slime, slippy as verglas. I slipped, banging my knee-cap - the funny bone, ha ha - hard on a rock. I doubled over feeling sick and dizzy, and tried not to glide off into the void. I was shaken up, so I abseiled down for a coffee, a kit-kat, and some serious thought.

The second climb, One Half Shift, took a parallel line. From below I could see a block at about 10 feet which seeemed completely detached from the crag. In my mind, I worked out a way of avoiding it. Whatever you do, I thought, don't stand on that block. Of course, when I got there, the only way up was to stand on the block. Heart in mouth, I did so. Then came some finger pulls on holds resembling shortbread biscuits. Was it too dangerous? Should I opt out now? I yoyoed up and down and then made the move. With still a steep crack above me, the rope seemed tangled and twisted, chaos everywhere. As I definitely decided that this time I would opt out, I was already pulling myself up the crack and onto the slippy top ledge: another climb achieved.

Before I could celebrate, of course, I slipped and banged mt kneecap hard in exactly the same place as after the last climb. I doubled over again trying not to glide off into the void. It was a sign. I packed my gear and left. Countdown Direct had won again.

I drove home through Hawnby and Bilsdale, where the fog vanished, and an impeccable sunny blue sky gently mocked me for my folly.

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	Swaledale Outdoor Club

A Minor Obsession

Mike Readshaw