Tribal cuts

Not a cloud in the sky all day yesterday, and this morning another beautiful sunrise. In some respects, being too busy to flex the afternoon off is not such a problem at the moment - its light later, and baking in the sun so theres no point racing off at lunchtime anyway. Conditions are strange here at the moment. It should be mint, the air is cold, really cold, but when its still and the sun is out its h.o.t.

I'd had grand plans. The attendees list pulsated as Monday became tuesday became Wednesday. Folog had to work, Dylog too (for once) which left me and a not climbing Ned. Then at the eleventh hour Katpee Whittaker joined the party and Rubicon was our destination. With retrospect my alternatives of Cheedale 2tier or WCJ Cornice would have been wise from a conditions perspective, but I'd been reminded about Beluga, and wanted to try that and Let the Tribe Increase.

The lake was low, the ground totally dry and you could even walk to the base of the jug pillar without getting covered. As it was rather warm footholds were not weight bearing, and the 3b traverse felt like it was coming from the arms. I got pumped. Felt like the blood in my forearms wasnt moving, like i'd been inflated, the skin taut to the touch like a sausage left in the sun to putrefy. This doesnt bode well i thought. After attempting to let it subside and making more than a token effort to warm up we decided that a perfect introduction to the summer of roped climbing would be with an ascent of the route Rubicon. Off I set, quickdraws dangling from my harness, rope limply swishing between my knees. I tottered up the jugs to the break. You'd be doing well to fall off here, but the creaking snappy jugs and slimy pockets aren't a great confidence booster. I think I was overgripping everything because i had the fear. Fumble placed the first drawer, clipped it, felt a bit calmer (or so I told myself) rumbled up to the next jug, made the next clip, and the next one. Now the 'crux'. Climbed past it, looked at the jugs, climbed back down again. Got a bit pumped - wimped out. Disappointed with myself I shouted 'take' to Ned. The admission of failure. Not a good start to the season of routes. Katy cruised up, as did Ned, me again. Fully piss. Its about 3c. Realise that A - not fit, B - have irrational fear of falling off. Its not the height, its of falling off above the bolt. Whilst I need to work on this, I dont need Paul B aversion therapy (big lobs!), or else I will become a boulderiser year round.

With that done, its up to the business end for er... business. The wall has now come into shade and it feels cold. The rock has other ideas and is doing its best to radiate the days heat back out again. Rat crimps feel bad. I go on Tribes, Katy goes on Caviar. First go feels horrendous, I am crimping like my life depends on it and my finger split massively reopens and starts gushing blood. Although not injured I basically cant bone with it which puts Tribes in the impossible list. Work out a sequence and thats pretty much it. Actually, on subsequent goes i get better and better and remember my feet and how to use them. It looks feasible but not today.

Meanwhile Katy Jane throws shapes on the Caviar headwall. With some innovative moves bordering on madness, and that I have never before seen to pass those festering little finger biters she makes progress but doesnt seal the deal. None of which stems the tide of beta I throw in her direction, forgetting that she'll find her own path without my almost certainly incorrect advice. I remember how to do the start and again try to pass this on, but I think she might be taller and it doesnt work. By the time we leave its dark, and despite not really doing anything, I am tired.