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Ebb & Flow Through 2004
Journal of an Onsight Maniac
By Niall McNair
Niall McNair is undoubtedly one of Scotland's most talented rising rock stars with a reputation for being bold; some would say reckless.
We asked him to talk about his past years climbing and his motivation ………..
January
A new year, a new challenge. A pink and orange sunrise; crunching over the snow to Corrie nan Lochan, the embarrassing antics of Hogmanay a fading memory. I progressed to the bottom of probably the most famous corner in Scottish winter climbing- Savage Slit. Dave Redpath led the first 15 metres, and with a heave to, gained the first large chockstone leaving the final 30 meters for me…So I huffed and puffed, scraped and torqued, foot and backed, spanned and bridged and the hot aches came and went, I got spindrift down my collar and one side of my face went numb from the wind…and it was fantastic! My first winter lead, and the first of many. That is, if we ever get any more winters…
I didn't manage to get out onto the frosty stuff again as I had commitments of a different kind. I felt cold again standing in an empty climbing wall at 8am in Liverpool for the first of the British Indoor Climbing Championship. The place soon filled up with competitors from all over Britain. I've always enjoyed competitions (does anyone remember the Scottish League?) but had never made the effort to do all the whole series of the BICC. Having increased my indoor onsight grade to F8a, I felt confident and the first qualifier route at F7b+ up a vertical wall felt like a path…and so I got cocky on the second route, the footwork got a bit slapdash, spitting me off two moves from qualifying for the finals.
February
After two months of anticipation and with work pressures getting worse every week, Emma and I got the train down to Newcastle for the 6am Flight to Malaga and El-Chorro. We checked in at Easyjet. Some concern was expressed about my passport. The supervisor must look at it…what's going on?
“Sorry, your passport's been tampered with, we can't allow you on.”
My passport, which is 7 years old, got wet at some point and the corners of the photo page were fraying. We reeled and cried all the way back to Edinburgh. Whatever happened to common-sense? On my birthday too!
The second leg of the BICC was at Sunderland and this time I paid particular attention to my footwork but probably held on harder than necessary. I qualified and went into isolation for the finals. While the seniors settled down for a long wait, the juniors got their hackey sacks out, ran about and generally got on every one's nerves. Thankfully, the hackey sacks were confiscated and the juniors were first out.
Walking towards the wall for the final route, a steep 20 metre F8a/b, everyone's face turned to me. With the sequences proving to be “basic” with long moves I managed to get 2/3 up the route before an accumulation of small mistakes pumped me off. Happier with my first BICC final and the sixth place I received, the journey home seemed quicker this time.
March
This is the essence of competitions: you can go to a crag to push your grade but if you're not feeling up to it, you can leave the route for another day. But here, you have no choice but to do your best without hesitation. The purists may lament that competitions are antithesis to climbing; that the artificial structures and rules are contrary to the whole ethos (I remember one particular chap saying to me that climbing walls are morally wrong. My response? That I must then be the anti-Christ). Ever since grades were invented to quantify an imaginary line up a rock, climbers have always compared their efforts with others, however covertly. Competitions simply bring this facet of human nature into the open.
With the British University Bouldering League taking part at the same time as the Final BICC at Ratho, the atmosphere was buzzing. Qualified, and back into isolation once more for a mind numbing 5 hours. Out to the foot of the final route, feeling dizzy from the long walk across the floor space and the sight of 200 watching faces. The lower overhang succumbed to the application of some bendiness, unfortunately popping off at the second overhang. Surprised but happy at my performance of 3rd place this time, and 4th overall. Then “Strong” Steve McClure strode out making this F8b look easy, to win the men's Championship.
April
The second planned trip of the year; now armed with a brand new passport. Ceuse is probably the best crag in the world if you can hack the 1-hour uphill walk-in. No problems for us Scots then! Having visited the previous year and broken into onsighting F7c+, my aim was to onsight F8a. We were the first climbers of the year at this alpine crag, evident by the lack of chalk.
Unfortunately it is at the same height as Ben Nevis and the weather turned nasty, with cold winds and blizzards. Despite this, towards the end of the week, we heard a bloodcurdling scream that turned jubilant from one of the other sectors at the crag - Dave McLeod had just achieved his lifetime goal of climbing F8c.
The routes started falling faster in the second week but with only five F7c+ routes onsighted I just didn't feel confident enough to get on the F8a's. But what amazing routes; gymnastic lines of pristine pockets up ever steepening walls with runouts to the chain for that final memory burning touch. The final night saw Dave Redpath and myself turned out of our luxurious Gite and forced to spend the night in a caravan the size of a port-a-loo with flea-ridden blankets. Relieved to get home, Scotland felt positively temperate when we returned.
May
Finally! The Trad season has arrived. But as usual, rains and showers continue to lash Britain. A weekend up the Aberdeen coast brought me into the vicinity of the Lunatic Fringe, a well known E7 at Cove and one which I heard was safe. Taking a daft decision to warm up on adjacent Teetering on the Brink of Madness, I found myself tussling with the gnarliest of E5's. Slightly worried now, I started up the perfect granite of Lunatic Fringe. Snapping into shock at finding myself above the crux with the final move onto a hanging slab, I couldn't move…just one more move…but everytime I take a hand off I start to barndoor…getting pumped now…can't hold on…have to let go…
Another long drive home. My arms still feeling the cramp that had seized them up after the inevitable whipper. Reflecting on this latest failure to progress my Trad grade, I realized I couldn't simply pick-up the level where I finished the previous year even with loads of training and Sport climbing. My inability to cleanly onsight routes such as Dalriada and Romantic Reality (both E7) last year stemmed from an accumulation of little mistakes and poor strategies for the unexpected, such as wet holds. Climbing perfectly and coping with hostile territory is not something that can be learnt from a book. I needed to build up my mileage successfully on slightly easier routes.
An unexpected phone call at the end of the month: an invitation to join the British Climbing Team as the result of my performance in the BICC…a new focus opened up: International comps.
June
One of the most unique experiences of modern Scottish climbing is the annual pilgrimage out to the remote uninhabited isles of Pabbay and Mingulay; big character routes among bizarre architectural sea cliffs appealing to the adventurous and those with big racks! Partnering up with wee Ally Robb, I reflected on how I had just started employing the term “the younger generation” at my grand old age of 24. Ally, 17 at the time and already cruising E5s is one of the very few climbers of this age coming through the grades in Scotland.
Abbing down the superlative Dun Mingulay, the guide disorientated us. Eventually we found our route and a few hours later, after 100m of climbing, we topped out on the 2nd ascent of Perfectly Normal Paranoia (E6 6b). A few days later at a different crag on the other side of the island things changed imperceptibly for me. Floundering, 100 metres above the maelstrom on a serious E6 pitch, RP's and half-cammed Friends, questioning my ability and motivations; feeling precarious I realized I wasn't enjoying this anymore.
Despite the promising start, the turn in weather over the week seemed to echo my mood, frequent rains and dark clouds. It dawned on me; I had lost the “psyche”, the eagerness for difficult terrain. Working full-time, as an Occupational Therapist, and trying to climb and train full time was taking its toll; I was starting to burn-out.
July
Reducing the level of training through the week, the routes started to fall thicker at the weekends as the summer picked up. An ascent of an 'Old School' route in Glen Coe confirmed the Revengeance of my psyche. At a particularly stiff E6, and climbed over 20 years ago by Dave 'Cubby' Cuthbertson, this route still commands a respectful approach.
Another Cubby test-piece, Angel beckoned Steve Richardson and I to the Etive Slabs at the end of the month. Having never climbed here before, was making a beeline to an unrepeated E7 sensible? We quickly forgot our apprehensions as the day turned out glorious and we started to focus on our feet to pad up seemingly blank stretches of granite. The third pitch proved problematic as I ended up leaping for a hold on the lip of a roof, only to miss twice, careering in to the slab beneath and losing a hearing aid: how am I going to explain this one to my Audiologist? Third time lucky but not over yet as said hold had to be manteled, a long away above the gear and slab. Ever mindful of the “Etive Kiss”, Steve slipped up the upper slabs with considerably more style than I had just displayed.
The final and crux pitch, a bald aręte leering out of the slabs, was my lead. Approaching the technical crux on this pitch but feeling pumped, burnt, dehydrated and battered, I reluctantly drew the conclusion I wasn't going to do this today. I Lowered off with the excuses ready, disappointment starting to seep in yet again: “it was top-roped on the first ascent”, “I've got a holiday coming up- don't want to get hurt”. The Angel had kicked our arses.
August
This time Emma and myself were going to have a proper climbing holiday. Driving up to the North West, the weather reports seemed poor: torrential rain over most of the UK. Our fears were dispelled on the first day of the trip as we joined Tess Fryer, up on Stac Pollaidh, the skies blue and without a midge in sight. High up on the west buttress, an ascent of the uber-classic Expecting to Fly (E4) followed by the ultra-run out Fear of Flying (E6 6a) left myself bug eyed and Tess and Emma resolutely determined to enjoy the view…
At the end of the week we teamed up with Cubby, in-situ photographer, and Dave McLeod who had travelled up from his beloved Dumbarton to bag two of the most sought after E6s at Lochan Dubh crag, Gruinard Bay. Whilst planning who was going to belay whom, in order to preserve the onsight for both Dave and myself, I twinged slightly in resentment. I realised I felt pressured by Dave's presence and the similar goal we both shared for that day. Although I've climbed with Dave for many years, we've always had different aims and approaches and thus I hadn't felt conflicted like this.
Even away from artificial structures and rules of competitions, competition does exist within climbing and climbers. Everyone who's gone to a crag with a mate of similar ability has felt this aspiration to better their peer or “burn them off”, and climbing history is littered with routes that were achieved through rivalries.
Warming up, I dismissed my irritation as I stepped onto Major Domo (E6 6b), a bulging crack striking down the entire length of the crag. I awoke to the crux; having it too easy to this point my footwork had become complacent. A flash of blue with red and yellow blurs; I had fallen from the crux.
Climbing through my highpoint second time round to the top, silently swearing and cringing, I set up the abseil to get the gear. Dave emerged from his walk with surprise that I had fallen. The banter took on an edge as Dave started up the crack-line. But as he topped out I accepted that I had made the pressure, the competitiveness from within, and it had affected me. The next route, Dead Calm (E6) seemed strangely apt as I paid more attention through the crux.
September
The North West trip had produced a keenness and sharpness to my motivation, to start pushing my grade again, to bag an E7 before the year was out. But the perennial problems of Scottish Trad caught up with me as the weather fell apart and suitable partners dried. Instead an unexpected day up at Cummingston sea cliff with “Topcat” Tom and Mike ”da Tweedmeister” bought home the spontaneity and pleasure in simply climbing itself.
A new venue to us all, we sought out the best problems in the caves, spurring each other on with the crack and banter of a bunch of young lads and later, swinging between pornographically proportioned jugs along the 65 degree roof of The Prow (the steepest E5 in Scotland). Cutting loose with my feet on the crux but knowing I wasn't going to come off; releasing my everyday worries. I felt refreshed in the days thereafter.
Somewhere south of the border (The Peak District, I believe this insignificant region is called) I attended my first British Team training event. Appears you have to pay for the privilege of being on the team, as there is not enough funding to pay for expenses; an ongoing problem, due to the lack of recognition climbing competitions receives in Britain. Plans are discussed for future training and then come the hard part: the qualifying routes are F8a+/8b with the final F8b+!
October
With summer receding, irritation and annoyance grew. It rained at weekends and the sun shone while I was working. Despite my ever-expanding experience of climbing my goals had eluded me this year. Paradoxically, I have learnt to enjoy this process of frustration within ambition, as my goals remain just out of reach and I am forced to learn new ways of approaching climbing.
But at an end-of season trip to El Chorro with Emma and not-so-wee Sam Clarke, I certainly seem to have learnt something; Reading and executing the moves on routes in a clear headed, instinctual manner, I realized I was climbing better than ever before.
Standing under Lourdes (F8a), I felt confident in breaking into a new grade. Dripping with tufas up a 30-degree overhanging wall for 30 metres, Lourdes provides the ultimate stamina route, which I had chosen for this very reason.
The last and crux section, weaving around two drainpipe sized tufas, I distilled everything I had learned over my 9 years of climbing and focused calmly as I grabbed the final jugs. Those last few metres being the most emotionally fulfilling of any route before…the magic grade of 8a: onsight!
The following and final day, we decided to check out the neighbouring crags of Desplomlandia. Warming up, onsighting a 7b+ and a 7c, dispelling the fug in my head from the previous night's celebration, I decided to go for broke and promptly started up Mar de Ortigas (F8a), a gently overhanging pitch on crimps and small pockets. A different style of challenge to the day before but now feeling relaxed within my capabilities I adjusted my approach, stealing up the small holds and searching for those efficiently sneaky sequences to success.
Next up, Connexion Pelirjola (F8a); just pushing my luck now…mid-route and now having to fight for the right to onsight! Little entertaining slaps for the crowd, a manic grin and once again the chain is clipped. The journey home passed in a pleasant haze, having achieved my lifetime climbing goal so soon.
November/December
Plunged immediately back into working life, I struggled to keep on top of the backlog that had accumulated during my jaunt to Spain. Stressed out and knackered by Friday, I flew down to Cardiff and to the Welsh International Climbing Centre for the first round of the BICC.
Feeling empty and heavy as I attempted the first qualifier, the crux spat me off. Having not climbed on an indoor route for a month, I struggled to make the transition to simply pull down hard in contrast to the cunning footwork and efficient technique employed on the real stuff. A disastrous attempt on the second route left me third last in the men's rankings.
On closer examination, I was exhausted and the adaptability and sharpness that I had in El-Chorro seem to have deserted me. Sustaining a high level of performance through an extended period is difficult: I had been trying to do this for the best part of a year combined with a full time job.
The next few weeks before the second round at Liverpool, I attempted to regain the fitness for plastic. But I was swimming against a current of spiralling de-motivation and diminishing returns. A slightly better but still poor result at Liverpool confirmed my lack of spirit. I decided not to attend the final round and instead catch up on some much needed, serious partying.
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