Page 2 - The Gathering E8 6b, first ascent June 2004
I thrashed out a plan to hit the island once more with Mr Tweedley. Bouldering was the main objective, but with the opportunity to nip up to the Cioch and ‘do the deed’. The third day dawned clear and warm, and Michael’s fingers bore the battle scars of Gabbro – I had my chance. Walking in to try hard mountain routes can never go fast enough. The only way to avoid the inevitable agonising over-analysis is to walk faster and faster until you cant hear yourself think. “It’ll be too warm. No, It’ll be fine. I’m feeling tired, no I’m fine….shut up and keep walking!” Finally I was sitting back on the neck staring at the jaw dropping edge of the Cioch, no more analysing to be done – just doing. I brushed and practiced the line once more. The moves were not a problem. I knew experience, strength and confidence would see me through them. However, it seemed that despite repeated brushing, tiny crystals on the surface of the bristly Gabbro would break under the force of a finger or foot on the holds, causing at the very least a wobble. A worry crept in that on the lead, such a wobble combined with a little tightness from fear would be enough to cause a catastrophic fall. How could I fool myself into thinking this worry should be crushed rather than listened to? I reasoned that was solid enough on the moves that if my concentration was sharp I could be ready to absorb the wobble from one hold breaking with my other points of contact. This seemed dubious, even without hindsight, but resting in the sun on the neck looking across at the line, I was just so motivated to climb it. It was that simple. I indicated to Michael that it was going to happen and he quietly climbed down to the belay while I sat for a minute more and collected myself. I was in familiar territory psychologically and felt calm and positive. As I tied in I wondered about my landing on the slabs should I mess up on the crux. I tried to visualise turning in the air and then tumbling down the slabs until the rope came tight. I smiled – I knew in reality it would be more like splat and dribble than land and tumble. I also smiled because this thought didn’t bother me, I was so locked in and confident for the task ahead, and with nothing left to say or do, I bridged onto the wall and launched into the first crimping sequence. It was all going to plan. As usual the shock of the first hard moves made me wake up and realise it was really happening, and then my thoughts drifted away into the flowing movements from edge to edge. Breathing hard, I moved across the tiny pockets towards the spike and safety. Then came another shock, this time definitely not in the plan! As I took my right hand off to reach for a good edge, my left hand in a shallow two finger pocket suddenly creaked with a crystal breaking. I snatched my right hand back to correct the wobble and stayed on, but thoughts streaked across my mind, options, fears and panic. I closed my eyes and in a flash I tried to cancel them out and bring back concentration. My experience of seven years of bold routes came through and I flicked instantly back to ‘robot’ mode. Without another thought, I reached for the edge a second time, feeling inside that I could have reached for it a hundred times. Perched on the Cioch summit, I wondered what Collie and McKenzie would have thought of my climb? It seemed to me that they took their own protectionless leads much more in their stride than I had. I suspect that had they lived a century later, I would be following in their footsteps on this climb as well. Text first published in Climber Magazine, November 2004.
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I was quietly relieved when we woke the next day to cloud and spots of rain, pouring cold water on any plans for a ‘big lead’ on this trip. The end of the gorgeous spring gave way to the start of a diabolical summer, so the Cioch line boiled away in the back of my mind through another year of prospecting ‘must do’ projects. ‘Holdfast’, ‘Hurlyburly’, ‘The Fugue’, and ‘Sabotage’ all got sent, but this one never seemed to happen. Unusually for Scotland, I was given a bit of competition to galvanise my motivation to return. Si O’Conor had been sniffing around the Cioch and was wondering if the steep side had been climbed. I sat up and took notice! 