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splitclimber
climber
Sonoma County
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some from CA coast
[img]http://puffnattie.smugmug.com/photos/165109561-L.jpg
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MH2
climber
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 5, 2008 - 03:52pm PT
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Ah, California, how is the weather there?
Where all the days are sunny,
And all the skies are fair
(unlike, say, Montreal)
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MH2
climber
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 6, 2008 - 02:27pm PT
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...a sense of wilderness and isolation persists; the sea is moody, the moorlands mysteriously conceal a wealth of prehistoric relics, the farms are remote, and the place names - Mousehole, Chair Ladder, Woon Gumpus, Brandy's Zawn and Ding Dong - are those of an enchanted, make-believe world. The moors are covered by gorse, the headlands by thrift, honeysuckle and blackberry; the beaches are sandy and pleasant, and over all hangs the aura of the ending of the land.
Frank Cannings in Mountain 15, May 1971
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duncan
Trad climber
London, UK
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It's not all "Damp, sandy holds, small pro arranged carefully
behind fragile features, gale-force winds howling and waves thumping around me, ..."
Sometimes the sun shines (all picture taken today).
Unknown climber on Elysium, Boulder Ruckle.
Pete Debbage (see above) on Thunder Groove, Boulder Ruckle
Thunder Groove, pitch two.
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healyje
Trad climber
Portland, Oregon
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Yeah, while it may seem unlikely, that photo of Jim is my personal favorite climbing photo of all time - it so evokes what it means to climb and lead.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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duncan, thanks for another view of Boulder Ruckle (and say hi to Pete for me).
On the day I was there we saw no other climbers -- I figured it wasn't always that brisk.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Another peaceful scene from Acadia (age 12).
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Mighty Hiker
Social climber
Vancouver, B.C.
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Speaking of all this, when was the first sea cliff climb? Would it have been the things that Crowley and Eckenstein did on the chalk cliffs at Dover in the 1890s? That is, Alesteir Crowley, and Oscar Eckenstein - the latter the father of bouldering, the crampon, etc? We might have to wrangle about what makes something a sea cliff climb, but I'd say starting at sea level, within spitting distance of the sea, would be a good start. Large rivers and lakes perhaps also acceptable.
Mick Fowler's stories of climbing at on the chalk cliffs in the 1980s and 1990s are classic.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Here is your answer in long form from Seacliff Climbing in Britain by John Cleare and Robin Collomb, 1973.
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MH2
climber
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 6, 2008 - 10:18pm PT
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I see that Peter Biven calls A. W. Andrews, "the father of sea-cliff climbing", and Frank Cannings refers to him as, "the originator of Cornish climbing."
A. W. Andrews wrote: "The sea forms unique climbing surroundings and the weather is good. There are no long walks to the crags and there is no necessity to be miserable in order to feel that the sport is being suitably indulged."
We saw a little sun last Wednesday.
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crunch
Social climber
CO
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Ahhhhh, Swanage. Indeed, sometimes the sun shines. . . .
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crunch
Social climber
CO
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Nick Buckley, trying the first ascent of a route near the far west end off the Swanage cliffs. Back around 1981.
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MH2
climber
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 7, 2008 - 01:22pm PT
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Holy collapsing wave equation, Bartman!
Have crazy people tried to invent ways to experience that up close, like Project Grizzly or Niagara Falls in a barrel?
(nice pre-lycra 80s in the other)
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Crunch's wave makes our day at Ruckle look placid.
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Steve Grossman
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Nice shots Crusher!
How about Joe Brown and the 25' dip at Gogarth!?! Never heard about that incident.
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crunch
Social climber
CO
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This formation is called the Parson. It’s part of a pair of sea stacks called the Parson and Clerk, off the south coast of Devon. Most of the other tower, the Clerk, fell into the sea a few decades ago, so now it’s just the Parson, preaching to the waves.
This sea stack is near Teignmouth, a popular seaside resort, bustling with tourists, children and ice creams. To get close to the spire involves a long walk along a sandy beach crowded with dogs, frisbees and sunbathers. Right behind the beach is a railway line, the main line from London to the southwest of England, and every few minutes a train thunders by. At the far end of the beach, if the tide is low, and the sea is in a friendly mood, you can scramble around wave-blasted black rocks crusted with limpets, and find yourself in a different world.
The beach vanishes. Below, the fidgety sea burbles and sighs, slapping against the rocks. Above, unstable cliffs seep. The normal sounds—dogs, cell phones, cars, children, the background hum of civilization—are gone. Instead, there is a cacophony of screams, trills and squawks; sea gulls, cormorants, ancient birds, at home. They don’t like intruders.
The Parson was first climbed back in 1971 by Keith Darbyshire and Pete Biven. Darbyshire died a few years later, after slipping from the top of a sea cliff, from wet grassy slopes. He was a thatcher, a person who made the straw roofs on those cute picture postcard cottages.
The approach to actually get to the base of the Parson is through a sooty tunnel which carries those same express trains that have been rattling by every minute or so. Once inside the tunnel you run to a hole. To get to down the sea itself, there are some shenanigans involving lassoing a spike, a rusty old chain or some such. The climb, if you actually get on it, has three pitches. The middle pitch utilizes a feature referred to as the “Brown Spider.” Rumor has it that the last pitch, which ascends cobbles up the final spire, was protected on the first ascent by the judicious use of a kitchen knife stabbbed into the rock. The belay under this pitch has no anchor. The “descent” is a wild leap to the wet grassy slopes of the mainland.
Anyway, this is as close I have been. Anyone out there in Topoland been any closer?
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MH2
climber
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Topic Author's Reply - Dec 8, 2008 - 03:27am PT
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a story from the traverse, 2003
This year, since I work at night, I’ve been on the traverse more often than usual because it makes such an excellent evening destination. The setting sun blazes a path across the Strait of Georgia. The waves turn green and gold where the sun comes through them. The cliff and the water distance you from the residential neighborhood nearby. The only sounds are water and birds. The sky slowly loses its color.
There are some worries. I might get stung by a wasp. In some places a fall would probably break an ankle, at the least. Falling into the water could wash my glasses off despite the retainer. A fall into the water might not be good for the camera.
I’ve been trying to get some characteristic but unmistakably amateur pics of this traverse. After all, it’s low-key. No photo is too humble.
So there I am happily going by a tricky section when I reach out to a hold and notice that it’s occupied. My eyes open wider and the optics of this somehow magnify the already large enough spider sitting there. The color of the thing is a tick fever dream orange/yellow. That’s on the abdomen. The thorax, head, and legs are a stealth black so that even though I look real hard for movement I can’t see any reassuring fixity of outline in the shadow.
I know the spider doesn’t want to do anything to me but that is only the weak voice of reason. Nearness to spider overcomes reason. I have an irrational aversion to spiders near my face. I recognize this beast as a jumping spider and they have a disconcerting way of seeming to teleport from one location to another.
Then I notice that this cute furry predator has in its fangs another sort of spider, about the same size as itself. Thank goodness supper has stopped wriggling or I would have been truly freaked. There is something about spiders and their legs and the way they move that gives me the willies. I’m glad I didn’t arrive for the death throes.
Well, now, I’ve always wondered about spider-on-spider predation. I’ve heard that there are no vegetarian spiders, and I think that the young sometimes eat each other, and that black widow thing, but I don’t think too many spiders specialize in eating other spiders. Anyway, I had to capture the moment, and I had my camera with me.
My brain is usually taxed to capacity just trying to climb the rock, but here is what I had to do, now: make sure my feet were at the proper angle (holds were sloping), use the only handhold outside the spider-affected radius as either jam or layback (alternately so as not to overtire the muscles), get the camera out, get the lens cap off then back on, push the right buttons and try to get enough distance so that focus would work, keep enough attention on the spider so as to notice any threatening moves (a digital camera viewfinder has poor resolution).
Like Mark Twight recommends, I put everything I had and everything I am into the effort.
Oh yeah, I truly didn’t want to fall off. I didn’t have brainpower left over at the time to analyze the possibilities of the situation. With hindsight I see myself get stung, pitch off, smash an ankle, plunge into the water, $300 bifocals sinking, and a trail of blood attracting the nearest shark. On the plus side would be losing the camera.
The crack under the spiders is finger size, about 1-1.5 cm.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Now that's a pair of great seacliff stories and photos, Crunch & MH2. Both kinda
cosmic, in very different ways.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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A couple of St. John's climbers took me out cragging at Flat Rock, which sits on
a sloping rock shelf overlooking deep water.
They told about climbing there one day while a whale surfaced and splashed around
below them. I didn't see that, but wished I had.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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A few more shots from Flat Rock, Newfoundland. I think the route is Yellow Fever.
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