MS Oldenburg
Perhaps stopping for a breakfast bite just off the M5 to let the traffic subside was a poor idea. It certainly seemed one as we lurched around the minor roads of North Devon trying desperately to make the ferry on time. Hemmed in by caravans, stressfully screeching round corners and in near-constant (albeit broken) communication with Simon ‘Central Command’ Chandler, the beginning of the trip seemed more like Saving Private Ryan than Let’s Go Climbing! Nevertheless; Alexes three made it to the boat (just) in time. [Simon's comment - the boat waited for them!]
The first good look at the island is certainly a magnificent sight for the Lundy virgin. Rising steeply from the sea on all sides it immediately screams, “LAND OF OPPORTUNITY!” at the approaching climber before settling back down to its habitual impressiveness. After sorting out provisions and gear at the barn I headed off with Alex Rigg, Simon Chandler and Bob Butcher to Threequarter Buttress. Alex and I took in just the one route to familiarise ourselves with the island: A deliciously tense scramble/downclimb finished at a decent ledge for the route to start at. Alex Rigg lead the first pitch up the edge of the slab in fine and solid style allowing me to lead the steeper but easier second pitch in excellent position. Certainly a nice familiarisation with the island, with the rock and (for me) with sea cliff climbing.
I am most impressed.
In the evening we returned to the barn to assemble ideas for the forthcoming week. Guide books and bottles of wine were passed around and plans were made.
Today I would climb with Simon Chandler, veritable Lundy veteran. As a first timer, I was particularly glad of this as he knows the island quite well and I didn’t know it at all.
We headed firstly to Beaufort Buttress, the Burbage North of Lundy for a couple of easily accessible hits before shifting round the corner to the less popular Freak Zawn. Finding routes here was far harder because frankly, the guidebook isn’t much cop for some areas. Simon coolly lead an intimidating looking fluted overhang (Dog Watch, VS we thought) before moving round to the more wild and woolly looking South wall. Here we did a couple of pleasant routes from wave-lashed ledges before spotting the esoteric and seldom-travelled Dihedral Zawn to the South. Simon puzzled over the lines in the guidebook whilst I went for a dip before joining him in scoping potential new lines. We decided to return here the next day.
Back in Dihedral Zawn Simon and I quickly set about climbing the lines we had looked at the previous day. They proved tricky to find because of questionable guidebook descriptions but provided pleasant outings. Most started steep, turning into shallow-angled grooves at about one third height and finishing on blocky ground. The three routes, Dreaming, Illusion and Reality were all done but I have no idea which of these were new-routed by us, which of these we thought were new-routed by us but were in fact other routes poorly described in the guide, which were existing routes or in fact whether they weren’t Dreaming, Illusion and Reality after all. Simon is the chap to consult on this matter. Separated from these climbs is a smaller slab further towards the sea, which (according to the guidebook) had no recorded routes on it. Named ‘Arf Slab because it’s about ‘arf as tall as the main lines in the zawn and was under close observation from a seal (think what noise a seal makes) when Simon and I climbed a line quite definitely not mentioned in the guidebook. Whether it is a new ascent or just deemed too easy to be mentioned is unknown. Very easy but with the advantage of being easily recognisable, I can at least remember which route it is!
After lunch we headed to Immaculate Slabs. Impressively bare and with the starting ledge tucked away out of sight under a bulge, it was with some trepidation that I abseiled in. Let’s face it; abseiling isn’t much fun and this outing was no exception. Possibly by further guidebook error or possibly by using too much rope to equalise the belay anchors, it didn’t reach the necessary ledge. I had volunteered to go down first and had luckily taken the precaution of taking some jumar equipment down with me should the rope not reach. Had I relied on using prussic cord I might well still only be half way up (I admit, I am painfully slow at ascending ropes with prussic cord)!
After us failing to even reach his desired route, Simon was rightfully a bit annoyed and had to console himself with a second go at a previous project.
Centaur (HVS) in Landing Craft Bay takes a meandering line, firstly up easy slabs, then tricky, thrutchy and awkward chimneys before a delicate ramp system. It’s really all about the second pitch, which Simon lead better than I could second it! Padding up the lichenous and featureless ramps felt precarious enough seconding, let alone on the sharp end of the rope. Tricky for HVS to my mind.
Still a little early to head back to the Barn, we climbed the lighthouse stairs to take in the view and relax a little from the day’s exertions. It was here that we ran into Alexes Rigg and Harpur and exchanged stories of derring do before heading back for dinner.
Today I would team up with Andy Hemstead to take on one of the island’s classics; Double Diamond (HVS 5b). One of the few magnificently perched routes on Flying Buttress, Double Diamond takes in the longest length of an impressive slab of rock suspended from the mainland offering perhaps the finest positioned route on Lundy. The first pitch a damp affair to a belay in a notch at the bottom of the face, which I lead. Andy lead the second pitch, the entire length of the main face. Steady climbing laced with the occasional tricky rockover makes for a fantastic pitch well worthy of its reputation – I’ll certainly be going back and leading it! Well protected and not as daunting as the grade suggests, I heartily endorse this route.
Both of us in an adventuring mood, we took a stroll to the South-West of the island to the area surrounding the Devil’s Limekiln. The Devil’s Limekiln is basically a whopping great hole in the island with tunnels heading out from its bottom to various areas not trodden as often as many by dint of the effort consuming approach. The scale of the thing has to be seen to fully comprehend. However, what I reckon’d to be a fairly good description of the size, is, “a hole large enough to fit a medium sized cathedral in upside-down.” The mind blowing exposure of the few routes out of the limekiln is pulse raising to merely imagine, let alone abseil into and solo back out of on a shunt. This is of course what Andy did later in the week (onlythe E3 route though…)!
In this same area of the island is Great Shutter Rock. A tottering pile of choss approached by slightly iffy scrambling on loose material (alpine styled ropework helpful) and a loosely compacted bridge of mud and rock, Great Shutter Rock rises almost vertically from the tidal boulder field below and is not subtle in the slightest. For lovers of the perverse it is the ideal climbing location on Lundy: imposing, loose and steep. I rather liked the look of it and made a note to come back. Feeling that we should probably do some climbing after all this mooching about we headed over to Kistvaen Buttress where we abseiled down and climbed up. It was suggested that the route taken might have been Justine (VD).
“Rest Day” my arse; Six go adventuring on St Mark’s Stone. (See the related article)
Party to this extravaganza were Simon Chandler, Andy Hemstead, Simon Pelly, Steph Summerside (?), John Pereira and I (Alex Purser). We made our way to the headland and set up the long abseil onto the ledges opposite the island. This was to be our launch platform across the sea to our target for the day: St Mark’s Stone, a less travelled area of Lundy for obvious reasons. Since he quite closely resembles the bald, pint racing Italian from the Guinness advert several years ago John “Iron Man” Pereira was the obvious choice to first send across the briny to establish advanced base camp. Our first mechanism of transferring gear across to the island was tough at first, trying to haul the dry-bag across, above the water. The weight proved too much so Simon’s inflatable dingy was brought into play, making things far easier. Luckily the sea was calm enough at this point for us to be heard on either shore, thus allowing our learning curve. All made it safely across with particular merit to Andy “One Man In A Tub” Hemstead for the style in which he accomplished this (see Simon’s photos of the day).
Once on the island we set to work in pairs climbing a good number of routes for our relatively short visit. Of particular note was the three ascents and three different taken routes of ‘Arguably The Most Inaccessible VDiff On Lundy’ (VDiff). A guano soaked, overhanging, blocky scramble of a meandering route leads up the shoreside buttress of the island and was enjoyed immensely by all (in whichever form). The more intrepid pair of Simon Chandler and Andy Hemstead also completed a new route, the girdle traverse of the island.
Of course though (to my mind anyway) the main focus of the trip was the getting to and from the island. The less observant and the more intent on fitting as many routes in as possible might have failed to notice the rising tide, increasing height and ferocity of the waves and the somewhat important fact that the Barn and the Marisco Tavern were back across the water.
I headed back first to man the (now reasonably slick) boat towing system. Later I discovered this move to be to my advantage and others’ detriment*. Climbing ashore was made a little tricky by the swell. This is accomplished firstly by getting close enough to the ledge to be bashed into it. From here, the swell must be allowed to carry the victim to the apex in order to spot holds. This takes several bobs (bashes included). When confident the holds chosen are nearly positive enough to haul on when filled with water, one waits ‘til the next high point before grabbing said holds. The water then drops away below you (it is standard form to fall off at this point) dragging first one’s whole body mass, then (if still attached) one’s legs (neat trick of scraping bare feet off their wet smears) downwards (it is standard form to fall off at this point). There is now the psychological issue of not being supported by the water to contend with (it is standard form to fall off at this point). Eventually, a bloody mess will haul itself ashore.
I think we all picked up a scrape of some kind on the return swim.
Apart from Simon (Chandler) going for his third swim of the day after dropping his dry-bag into the sea, the rest of the event went off without much ado. Minor rockfall down the abseil chute sustained interest for any slacking at the back.
After congratulations and regrouping of gear most returned to the barn for tea, medals and sleep. I quite appreciated the rest considering the next climbing several of us (including myself) would do would be at 01:30 the next morning. Read on…
* I inadvertantly made the self-preserving decision of going first and Steph inadvertantly the semi-suicidal decision of going last (when the swell was at its greatest). Top marks to her for managing to get out relatively unscathed in such difficult circumstances. As said by Andy – "Not bad for a girl".
My first climb on Thursday was indeed at 01:30 but only involved getting out of bed (noisily). Apologies to those woken by me knocking my rucksack of clink off the bed. The chilly and breezy moonlit stumble down the island revealed to me how foolish one of my previous ambitions had been. To my mind (I can’t remember where I got the idea from), it would have made a far better story for the Devil’s Slide to have not merely been climbed by the light of a full moon, but to have been climbed naked by the light of a full moon. Alas; one can’t have everything.
Come 04:00 it was my time to abseil down the peripherary of the slab. I was finding it a bit difficult at first but put this down to the weight of rope hanging below me. However. By the time I’d winched myself further down the slab I could see the cause of the problem was a bit more of a challenge than previously thought. The rope had snaked off the edge of the slab and the rope bag was unfortunately hidden in the boulder choked gulley off this side. Not too taken with the idea of abseiling into the gulley I heaved and wiggled the rope at the bag, but to no avail. It is here where the advantage of being 4th in a queue of teams on a route becomes apparent. The nimble finger’d Simon Pelly climbing from below managed to make a short traverse and help me out (much to the gratitude of others still waiting to abseil in as well as me!).
The route itself is a corker and went pretty smoothly. I led the first and third pitches with Andy (Hemstead) leading the second. The only real tricky part of the route was the monstrous rope drag on the top pitch (pitches three and four merged). This provided a bit of a challenge and ensured I didn’t get cold – It really was like towing a car!
Andy and I topped out at 07:10 and celebrated with biscuits, before heading back to the barn for breakfast proper. Tea was taken on in absurd and necessary quantity before we could collect ourselves for another adventure.
We had been strongly recommended to make a trip to the Devil’s Chimney and with the tides so conveniently timed, it would’ve been rude not to. Set against the imposing buttresses of The Devil's Chimney Cliff the stack (more a Dibnah chimney than a Piggott or Puttrell y’see) jaggedly rises from the boulder shelf below. The abseil in is from a conveniently placed flake on a grassy ledge hidden from view from above and snakes down various square grooves to the slippery boulders below. In fine style, I promptly slipped over whilst fell-trained and nimble-toed Andy hopped across unhinder’d. Andy lead the first pitch, starting with a thin, greasy and unprotected (apart from by the bombproof pillar-thread belay) traverse to a blocky overhanging arête. From here the route meanders back left by way of easier ground to a large ledge (the side elevation of a small Volvo estate I reckon). The second pitch begins from the left hand end of the ledge up two leaning corner-slab combinations joined by a tricky block. I was leading and found the first leaning corner pumpy (although safe), consequently slumping onto the rope. However, after (in no better style) getting the crucial pull over the lip the real extremis moments began. By dint of whole bodily friction and my nipples performing cilia type functions on the slab I managed to moved up and left to another slab and then easier ground. It is here that Andy’s remarks on how he thought the route was a bit stiff for HVS were mainly based (to quote Andy: "Alex does brilliantly to stride awkwardly left onto another slab!! The Purser Udge is too hard for me....."). The route finishes in fine position on steep but easy and well protected ground leading to a cracking little summit. Guano, feather, carcass and bone matted, we stayed awhile taking in the view and eating sandwiches before abseiling off. A pain in the arse jumar on dynamic rope followed (possibly poor execution by someone in need of far more tea and sleep) to get us back topside. A well worthwhile outing on a fantastic route in a fantastic setting.
It is probably prudent to mention that the described might or might not be White Riot (HVS), our intended route, but was the closest we could find. Maybe this is why we found it tough for the grade (E2 5c was reckon’d).
I can’t remember what happened for the rest of Thursday.
Thursday night’s preliminary plans were confirmed, and based on Tuesday’s reconnoitre Mike Bailey and I were to have a crack at Great Shutter Rock. We approached the choss bridge; me full of enthusiasm and dreams of derring do, Mike slightly more reserved (perhaps his greater experience of loose rock rearing its head in the name of self-preservation). I lead out across the bridge at first only displacing the odd footprint of gravel but soon moving fist sized, then head sized and finally super-microwave sized blocks. The seals watching from below were luckily at a safe distance from my quarrying. From the far side of the bridge I could confirm a couple of conceivable routes as doable but was unable to convince a less optimistic Mike to follow.
On returning to relative terra-firma, I recalled an adage about old and bold climbers and understood. The rest of the day was spent exploring the seawards tunnels leading from the Devil’s Limekiln and the far North end of the island. Taking a stroll to the far North lighthouse is a lovely outing, greatly supplemented by seal watching from the loading platform below.
After lunch, packing and cleaning of the barn, Andy and I found time to go for a final stride around the island. It is here that my fitness is put to shame by that of a man’s thrice my age. No more need be said of this…
A very enjoyable trip to a fantastic place - I’ll certainly be going back!
P.S. Alex Harpur would here receive special congratulations for being the only one of the group to successfully complete the mantelshelf in the Barn but forfeits for losing his breakfast in undignified circumstances on the return crossing.