The Gunter Tapes old version: A Tale of Derring Do

It was September 29th 2002.

We'd made a plan of sorts for that Sunday. I think it might have been hatched in the week before at the after-work climbing session at Aycliffe Wall. Looking back it must have been that Thursday, because somehow Colin and Katy got entangled in the loop. Anyhow the fix was in, the die was cast, and there was no going back.

These days my mind is a blank as to the journey there, mind you it was blank then as well. Somehow my guard had been caught napping the night before. Now the body had slipped from its temple. It was in a sorry state. Something to do with that second bottle of red. I’d slept well but woke up badly.

Memory of that morning starts somewhere past Seathwaite farm. The headache was fading and Peter and I were going reasonably well along the horizontal bit up to Stockley Bridge. I was even beginning to feel keen. The G-Man declared himself to be "Champion!". That always made me feel better. Knowing my partner was in tip top shape filled me with hope that a similar level of well being was possible, merely by sticking close to him.

So we crossed Stockley Bridge and headed on up the wrong path. When we got to the top of Grains Gill it was obvious we were above Styhead Tarn and way out of wack. So we descended westwards. In due course a voice drifted over on the wind. "What are you doing up there?". It was Colin. Katy and he were parked up serenely by the rescue box near the tarn. It was good of them to wait, but by then they'd had enough and set off up towards the Napes.

We caught them up eventually somewhere in Hell Gate Gully and exchanged notes. I had thought they would be joining us on the route. That was my recollection of the Thursday chat anyway. Memory had failed me again as they had other plans that didn't involve shepherding us up the hulking frown of a crag that loomed above. But it was bathed in sun and full of potential.

Colin was generous enough to lead the way along the base of the crag and point to the start of the route. We'd clearly revealed our route finding limitations. He probably thought that was better than abseiling down "The Vikings" later on to scrape us out of some off route fandango. After a spot of lunch he and Katy set off up the screes up to the summit of Gable. By this time the sun was long gone from the crag. Now it looked full of threat. Our detour had cost us over an hour and it must have been about half past one before we got going.

The first pitch turned out to be mine. Straight away there was trouble. Small holds. Off balance. There was plenty of gear but it all was five metres higher up. I got across to the crack and waved a few wires at it until one of them wobbled in.

I had cams back then but they weren’t really part of my routine. It would have saved a lot of bother if they were. A couple more moves up then a long reach landed a hand round a big spike and salvation. Diagonal trending up a steady staircase led to a belay off to the right on a narrow ledge.

The small block was a bit wobbly but a couple of wires tightened things up. It felt solid with the sling. The G-Man followed up with alacrity, and said the climbing was Champion.

He was soon with it and headed up the steep wall quite quickly on half decent holds. There was no point faffing about because there was nothing to faff with. Hence the speed. The block belay was now out of the line and beginning to feel a bit sub-optimal. "Any gear up there youth?" No reply. Seven metres up and a shout came, and a frightening factor two faded into a happy place. There is gear, a God. And his name is McGarry!

"I'll keep going" said the man. A bit later came the “Climb When Ready!” so I followed on. There was no gear on that wall. Bold climbing buddy.

My lead again. The classic traverse pitch. Although the moves were steady and the gear was good the crag is undercut there so the exposure is big. It was sensational but all more straight forward than its reputation.

A solid belay was the business. All around looked formidable. Up left was overhanging and impossible. Further right disappeared into the unknown. Between, a stack of steepening corner cracks called out "We are the way"! Time had of course long flown and it was later than we would like.

We swapped gear quietly.

We felt good

Peter set off. The pitch started out up two pinnacles, one leaning above the other. The first went quite easily. The second was something else.

Our intrepid leader perched below the headwall as the wind came whipping round the arête. Trousers were flapping wildly, audio contact lost in the maelstrom up there. The stance was sheltered though and I looked on with an odd sense of detachment. Above the pinnacle the wall was proper steep.

The G-Man committed. Head, hands, feet followed each other and HE WAS UP! A little wait and the ropes snaked away. Was that a call? I waited a bit then the ropes stayed tight on as I shuffled over to start the first pinnacle.

Up to then we'd been all alone in the high fells. Looking down now there were a couple of guys running the first two pitches into one. Blimey they were really moving! Maybe two at most three runners in the whole forty odd metres. Peter had got the cracks sewn up though. Those last moves were out there, everywhere else was down there. Except up there was the G-Man and redemption.

The belay was back a bit along a good ledge above a plunging drop down to the red screes of Hell Gate. Whilst we were sorting our gear a climber arrived from the top of the route. Already! How can that be? He was about sixty maybe, grey beard and tussled hair, craggy features, wire rims. Not Doug Scott surely?

It wasn’t. But even so I knew his face from somewhere.

A quick how-do and he moved away from the edge and dropped in a big bomber wire before our belay station. Then clipped in with a screwgate and clove. Some fancy handiwork with the hitch gave him slack to walk back and take up position above the gulping void. A couple of pulls on the slack rope, a quick tug on the anchor rope, take in and all was tight and CLIMB WHEN READY! It took less than thirty seconds. So that's how it's done! By then we were into our fourth hour.

The descent was no gimme, climbing down at about diff into Hell Gate Gully. Feet were pinching badly now round the scree to the sacks. Stash the gear, down and away past the Napes, Styhead Tarn, Taylor Force, Stockley Bridge, Seathwaite and thank God for the car. 19.30 and the light is lost.

Home. What a day.

Monday came. After work at the wall, Nick was there.

Good weekend Andy? I said yeah. What did you get up to then, big fellah? I said me and the G-Man popped up Tophet Wall. TOP MAN!! he exclaimed, grabbing my shoulder and offering his hand. We shook on it and it felt great. Only better than that.