Yes, I know it’s fallen down! So did I! Read on and all will become clear…

Paul and I were heading along a rainy A55 on the way to Gogarth, because, as usual, it had been voted “Place most likely to yield some climbing”. We were reminiscing about the first time we’d made this now familiar commute in 1993 (August according to Paul’s notes in his guide) and done Gogarth, Dream and The Moon. That’s 9*s and about 300m of climbing – not a bad haul, and I was reminding Paul of his wise words: “We can’t carry on being this greedy or else we’ll run out of routes”.

Prescient – Almost 30 years and over a hundred ticks in the Gogarth guide later, we were scratching around for inspiration. Paul came up with the UKC-inspired suggestion of Lost Time, E2 5c, ***: Brilliant new way through Wen Zawn for anyone who never did T-Rex.
P1. As for Wen (or abb in to here).
P2. Follow Concrete Chimney for 20m until a pair of great holds on the arete. Swing around the arete and cross the actual Concrete Chimney to reach the slab traverse of T-Rex. Follow this to the original P2 belay.

We had both already climbed T-Rex (in my case with Kevin in 1995) before the first pitch fell into the sea, but the suggestion of a “new” 3* E2 seemed attractive, even if it only involved about 20ft of new climbing (and had only had one recorded ascent on UKC). Arriving at South Stack, the usual miracle-microclimate failed to appear. Holyhead Mountain was completely invisible, and a thick fret hung over the sea, despite the fact that it was blowing an absolute hoolie. That helped make up our minds as surely it would be sheltered in Wen Zawn.

As an added bonus we’d hopefully have some company as Bill and Steve were heading that way (and there didn’t seem to be much sign of any other climbers braving the conditions).

Sure enough, as we rapped down from the Wen/Dream abseil point, we got to exchange brief words with the boyz (or rather shouts – the wind, if anything, was more ferocious in the Zawn).

We passed on by, taking advantage (if that’s the right words…) of the low tide to take in Pitch 1 of Wen (though it must have been a neep tide, as the foot of the crag remained completely submerged, and reaching a hanging belay in the corner required a bit of pendulum shenanigans.) In for a penny…

The view upwards was far from appealing – dripping wet rock either side of an off-width chimney which oozed fluorescent green for the first 20ft. A couple of months of Spanish bolt clipping and a week’s trad refresher in Morocco had left my slime-climb skills a bit rusty, but I prevailed.

Here’s Paul following…

… watched by a curious seal.

Paul headed off up pitch 2 into the maelstrom, while I shivered on the stance (for once the trusty “it’ll be much warmer on the crag” mantra had failed to deliver), eventually reappearing having crossed over from Concrete Chimney onto the tricky traverse of T-Rex. This took a while to puzzle out, with no chalk (presumably it’s only been climbed about once in 5 years), wet rock, and mounting rope-drag (the contorted line has more ups and downs than a soap opera) all adding to the challenge. A very impressive lead in the conditions!

By the time I started climbing I was chilled to the bone, and was glad to be moving.

Arriving at the arete, Paul captured the moment as I contemplated the downwards traverse across the band of rubble and detritus that comprises the bottom of the Concrete Chimney (sensibly avoided by the namesake route).

Moving tentatively on creaking holds I finally stepped down onto a good foot ledge and breathed a sigh of relief… shortly before it crumbled into the void, with me following after. With all the gear to one side, and the zigzagging in the ropes, there was plenty of slack in the system, and I ended up inverted, a good 20ft down, and pendulumed with a thump into the wall. A quick inventory suggested all major moving parts still intact, and a very sore side. No point worrying about that now; the only way is up! As a ‘bonus’ I’d have an extra 20ft of T-Rex to enjoy. Paul said “Smile!” as I approached the belay, and I’m actually pretty proud of my effort in the circumstances:

Any thoughts of the ‘Golden Bough’ finish were out of the window, and I picked up the gear and shuffled along the top pitch of Dream – still able to enjoy the magnificent exposure despite the nagging pain in my ribs.

Topping out, we were very grateful that Steve had kindly retrieved our ab rope and sacks for us, and we were soon stomping back to Paul’s van for a celebratory beer and ibuprofen.

Bank Holiday Monday dawned a bit murky, but dry with the odd chink of blue. I wasn’t at all sure if I was going to be up to doing anything, but fortunately reinforcements were on the way in the shape of Stan speeding along the A55. The boyz hatched a plan for a Main Cliff excursion, with the option for me to test my injuries and at least have the possibility of scrambling out rather than swimming.

Emulator fitted the bill: a 30m 3* E1 5b up the spectacular clean corner on the right of Main Cliff. Here’s Stan starting off…

… and nearing the top:

I somewhat surprised myself by following successfully, though the occasional gutteral yelp as the pain kicked in surely had other parties scanning the sea for mating seals. Confirmation, if needed, that I really ought to sit out proceedings for the rest of the day.

By now, the Holy Island microclimate was busily trying to make amends for the previous day, with an immaculate “Goldilocks” optimum of brilliant sunshine, blue skies and a gentle breeze, without being too hot. We bumped into Tom and John and got some great pics of their ascent of Aardvark (adjacent to Emulator)

I retired to the comfort of the gearing-up spot, for a recuperative afternoon of sunbathing with a good book and more analgesics, which also gave a great vantage point to keep an eye on Paul and Stan on Resolution Direct:

Paul leading P1 with the Gogarth pinnacle clearly visible in the background, and a team ahead on that route.

Stan following P1

… and leading the start of P2

If you look closely, you can just about make them out in the shot below, having overtaken the team on Gogarth.

Another memorable (mis?)-adventure at the Gogarth gift-that-keeps-giving – Not entirely the weekend I’d planned, but yet another that will live long in the memory.

Postscript:

A couple of days later and, now the euphoria and adrenaline have worn off, I’m feeling a bit battered and bruised – looks like a couple of broken ribs, though there’s no point in x-rays as there’s nothing they can do either way. The first time in almost 30 years when a climbing injury looks like putting a temporary pause in my cragging. I guess that in itself is something to be very thankful for (and also the fact that broken ribs heal well and relatively quickly, if painfully, I’ve been told).

Unpicking the anatomy of the incident, I’ve come to a couple of conclusions (apart from the bleedin’ obvious that climbing on friable rock carries attendant risks and at some point the roulette wheel will stop on 000).

I generally think that one of my (few) strengths in climbing is my ability to handle loose rock. Being too weak to pull hard helps, but I thought I’d mastered the art of the “four-points-of-contact shuffle”. On this occasion I suspect I was rushing and my “Choss-DAR” was desensitised with being frozen and buffeted. I also didn’t fully take on board that these 20ft of new climbing had probably only been covered by half a dozen climbers, and I should have been even more attentive than usual.

In terms of preparedness for an incident, at least I was wearing a helmet (of course!) and had the means to ascend a rope (though not actually needed) and had an ab rope in place (though way beyond reach), plus someone knew where we were (more by luck than judgement). The only thing I would do differently in hindsight is take an extra layer (I was REALLY cold, which I think affected my judgement) and just be even more cautious.

Hey ho – fingers crossed for another 30 years of uneventful Gogarth adventures. Meanwhile, be careful out there!