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Grab #threeamigos and let’s #cruise together! #cruisewithfriends #portparty #urbaneventsglobal #urbancruiseweekend

#threeamigos #urbaneventsglobal #cruisewithfriends #portparty #urbancruiseweekend #cruise

Rodeo Roaches

Twas the night before the Roaches, when all through the hut no climber was stirring, not even Tom Nichols. The racks and ropes were laid out with care, with the hope that tomorrow the sun would be there.

And lo the sun rose high and the sound of thirty people stirring filled the hut, the shuffle and scuff of sleeping bags and people on the floor being trodden on. The Roaches is composed of callous and dark, uncompromising gritstone. A place where boys can compare fist sizes but should you forget your nerve then prepare to sit around nursing a nice cup of safe tea.

I was holding onto my cup tightly, trying hard to force the warmth through the ceramic and into my flesh. It was gone lunch time and I hadn't climbed anything. I wasn't the only one feeling unenthusiastic. Conor was looking at his climbing shoes as though someone had just pissed in them, Gareth wasn't going to take off his two down jackets anytime soon and Tom, well Tom was just looking under rocks in case someone had left some port. There was one person enjoying himself however and was currently making his way through a cheap ham and coleslaw sandwich. Having waltzed all over the spring slab boulders as a warm up before padding up Track of the Cat, Will was having a better day than most. He had tried to persuade me I should do it using the old trick of, 'oh I'm not even any good at slabs'. It's like an albatross saying he's crap at flying, so you, the dodo, should give it a go, except the albatross comes across as more modest. I didn't even make it onto the slab, swinging round the corner without using my hands... 'Numb fingers' and 'can't feel anything' were mumbled. Shortly followed by, 'you lanky git'.

Will Hunt shows the boys how it's done.

The rest of the day was spent down at the 5 clouds near the Tetris block where upon arrival we were greeted by Britain's manliest man. Jason Pickles, with someones baby (I'm assuming it was his) strapped to his front gave beta and at last I was granted a climb. There was another baby who was sleeping on top of a bright red down jacket and incidentally turned out to be a rubbish spotter. Late that evening Tom had run out of port and disappeared only to return with 10 more bottles a couple hours later. Apparently Leek didn't have a 24 hour store, but Buxton sure did. Feeling festive he had also bought himself a pair of antlers to go with his port party. The next morning there was much less of a stirring and those kicked or trodden on didn't really wake up, just grunted to let you know they would like a cup of coffee should one be going their way.

This just about beats the keel

People had driven from as far as Edinburgh to make the weekend trip and I didn't envy their journey back. The weather had turned foul and people were lugging their kit out from the hut, down the path and back to their cars, returning at a run for a cold rain had settled. Tom would still need a couple of hours until he could drive again. I want to thank him again for organising such a great trip, the hut and Jamie for the food. It was like an old climbing club reunited with new acquaintances, only everyone knew which bunk was best and no one forgot their toothbrush. Conor even remembered his sleeping bag this time, much to our hidden disappointment.

To everyone a great Christmas, whether you're freezing your nuts off outdoors or overheating at the kitchen table. I'm going to bed, apparently santa got me cuff links for christmas, is that a type of carabiner?

#climbing #roaches #don whillans #rock #portparty