Jamie's dice with death...

Or slow asphyxiation... which I have always pencilled in as one of those nasty ways of of becoming dead. Anyway I was off my game a bit today, but still went skiing in Myrkdal ski area, it was busy which irritated me, so I nipped back to the car found some skins and went ski touring instead. Took the tow to the highest point and skinned up the local peak. I did noticed the scoured snow, and that it had been really cold with blue skies for days (facet crystal alarm) but just seemed to block all this out. Many people had been skiing the lower off piste slopes, even in areas I have thought are prime time avalanche trigger zones. I have been to a few and they really give me the creeps, especially as some many people take off at the tow and just slide across into them. Oblivious it may seems. Anyway I skinned up to the top, chatted with some guys who had just skied the face already and were getting ready for another shot, and then spoke to Siri on the phone. So of I went the snow was great, real powder, and deep. I was aware the slope was getting steeper so, traversed over to a new line, and suddenly found myself in unknown ground, steep. The slope to my right was a notorious avalanche spot. Normally cornice collapse of a rock face. To the left was a classic convex, concave slope on one of these steep bluffs I wished to avoid. Or straight down following some other guys tracks, which looked steep. I should have gone straight down (in hindsight this would have taken me into the run out zone), but hesitated not being on the ball, and traversed right through the key zone on the convex, concave slope, trying to get 30-40 m or so to a defined rib. This had also been skied. I crossed it, and about halfway across I saw that distinctive cracking below me, silent. Angular blocks, rotating, randomly, I checked above me, nothing was happening, and checked around me, nothing, I skied on heading for the rib and large boulder as sanctuary. Between me and the boulder was a hidden gully, not big but it was to risky to try and ski though it to the boulder, so had to go straight down. The avalanche by this time had finished in the key zone, and would not elongate to my new position. I watched it run out for 200-300m. I moved as quick as I could being careful to choose a new line, following ribs and getting ready to run and hid, but I had one thing on my mind, and that was simple get to the ranger station and tell them nobody was trapped in the debris and I was the only person involved. The snow was deep at the bottom and I could not get speed up. Slowly I go to the piste and shot down to the tow, where I found the rangers gearing up for a rescue. They seemed very understanding all considered. One of the rangers a Brit told me it was only 5 mins after the avalanche that a Lifty (tow operate) told him! And so if I had been trapped it would have been way past 20mins before they would have started a rescue. Which would have meant death for me. I never go into the hills expecting rescue, I never expect it ever, but I am sure at 4am tonight I will wake up in bed and have that dreadful thought of but and if and what's. Today I totally screwed up, but on a positive side when the slab avalanche occurred I did not panic and calmly assessed and skied out. On a negative side, today I went down a slope I new could avalanche, fully in this knowledge and skied straight into the key or trigger zone with full knowledge. And for that I am a idiot!

Vinteren kommet tilbake

Well suddenly the ski season stated with a trip to Hemsedal! Normally at this time of year you go to Hemsedal for a social and a bit of skiing on fake snow – ice thing and wonder why you bothered, but this year fresh snow had plastered the mountain. Elisabeth drove up, giving me a break as I have just driven back from the far north seeing Siri. It was good drive up and the road wasn’t to icy so I could relax in the back while our other passenger Jess from Canada periodically shut her eyes when it all got to much, which reminded me of my sisters black Labrador that is a shy and neurotic wreck and copes with everything by going to sleep. This occurred in the weirdest places like a visit to the pub. She would get nervous and just lie on the floor sleep while all danger had to skirt round her. To be a dog, may be I should learn from this, and fall asleep in scary Statoil Hydro meetings! Anyway I digress, it’s a habit don’t you know…. Hemsedal…. So off we went… and we found fantastic conditions in the forest (Jeg ha kompis i skogen!), and suddenly the mist of desire over took me, my usual diplomatic self evaporated, the impatient and impulsive person came out, dropping straggerlers and wasters at my side I charged off alone, wanting more of this powder filled forest drug. I skied harder, harder, steeper lines, only black runs and beyond to my legs burnt and the ghost within my mind where forced to the dark recesses, obscurity and beyond. But this wasn’t enough and as the road was blocked on Sunday night we stayed another night and found fresh snow, and for a few hours on Monday skiing between the trees I was invisible, and this lasted some time until my legs could take no more and I retired with grace before I broke something.


The best therapy is a steep run, with a fresh snow….

Ice has arrived…. That deep feeling of fear starts to awake, I sometimes wonder if it will ever stop knowing at my cranium, nibbling at my resolve, it would be so easy just to say no and go skiing, but I drive through the valleys the girls in the car giggles, your like a dog staring out of the window and they had never seen me so focused. Ice fall after ice fall, dominated my thoughts, I wish I had never seen them, which had slept through this journey, but I have seen them know…. I must go and see…

Cold Fingers part 3

I forgot to add!

If you like Radiohead? Yes I do! Then you might just like Radiodread! by Sugar Minott, its the reggae version of radiohead songs and is great. Just great!

Enjoy, especially Let down again!

Cold Fingers part 2

Well I just keep squeezing in those days on the rock, although increasingly short sessions as night keeps coming earlier. Its been great weather in Bergen and Keith and I have been making the most of it by taking a few illicit hours of work during the day and goig for a forced march over Floyen and some other hills. If my boss is reading this, which is highly unlikely as you never read anything I send you! I do return to work, well Keith does! I checked my time sheet the other day and to my horror I have not worked since mid September! 65% of my team was axed, and I can see the writing on the wall for me! Time to dust off the CV (Climbing!) and get in trim (climbing) and start looking around for new opportunities (Sotra, Rosandal, Jotunheim!!!), and direct my attentions in a more productive way (up hill on smallish holds, preferable with good protection).

I should work in HSE, no really I shouldn't I just can't tow the line, when it comes to paper bullshit and paper exercises to keep the client happy. I was reading on the great impartial web site called the BBC (If you don't get it yes I am being sarcastic), about some scientist being ignored by the government! Shock horror no shit! ignoring our wise impartial words, welcome to the real world. I have been ignored for years, if the powers that be, be they whoever actually came down and had a real look they would be shocked at how much the impartial voice has been ignored because some middle layer just couldn't tell bad news, or didn't think the news was in there interests so spun it a bit.

Where is that climbing guide?

Who needs a beer?

Cold fingers

Well back in Bergen for awhile, and back on the rock which seems like an age. Mainly just down at Hellenset on the slabs, but also some bouldering out on Sotra. The evenings are drawing in, and its not the cold that stops play, but the dark. On the first foray, blowing on finger tips we got some good slab routes done, with Camilla and Elisabeth doing a route under head torch. Been back with Keith, and even thought it was cold he pulled his finger out and lead two 5s in fine style. Next person up for grabs was Jessica, who has been increasingly keen to get out. What she lacks in strength is made up with superb style, for which she gets 10 out 10 every time. What is more impressive, after only say a handful of trips out she can second Norwegian 6 on slab!!!! Shocking!! go girl... Well with the cold brings crisp dry conditions and so even thought the days are short I still feel the urge to drag the trad gear back to Sotra for one more trad routes before the snow comes and if the snow comes I'll just drag it out with axes! On Sunday, ignoring the rain and wet roads we drove out to Sotra for bouldering and even rain on the way did not deter our eager soles, even if Keith was muttering doom and gloom. We found the very spot, and although a little damp we launched at the smooth rock with much gusto, which normal ended up back on the bouldering mat with a thump. But a good day spent. As it was pointed out, the hardest part of bouldering is letting go of the ground, for which I have much affection for, especially my left foot...

Post Permittert

Permittert is a word, simple, almost like Permit, but means one thing if you get a call, and that is simple your no longer needed at work. Well I never got the call, which isn't surprising as they never call me about anything unless its to use my body to sit in some seat on some boat. Anyway I digress, I never got the phone call, but 50% of the Geo team did, cut down in there youth. Sad. I am sad about it. They were all better at doing there jobs than me, and I have never in 12 years of working offshore had a boss that inspired me, but I have always been inspired by the people around me and may be that is why when I got some text message on Monday night and flight details to join the boat without any explanation. So cold. I flipped out, didn't sleep and sent a mail, worded in such away they decided not to invite me on there little cruise. Timing is everything is seismic, everything, and it would seem I got my timing to perfection by flipping out on the Permittert day! But there you go, I have a job. Mellaine, Ole, Oyvind, Timo, Danny, Andre, Gabi, Hollie, Susie, there are two more but I don't have there names, don't.

Anyway, missing the good weather I headed up Øyfjell above Mosjøen today, the snow in places was deep, and cloud low to form mist. I saw nothing, and even if the mist did move I saw very little. Had to navigate to the summit, like the old days but had the joys of using Trackback on the GPS which brings you back to the start. Winter was here, -10 and now its back to Autumnal. Wet with soft snow.

Extreme Knitting Part 2

Following on from my last post, a knitting theme, I am shocked to inform you the spreading of this dark religious cult to seemingly innocent supermarkets. Sandwiched in between the breed and the domestic goods this cult have slipped in a rack of wool for sale. I wonder if anyone else has noticed this sort of thing in other parts of Norway? If not we may still have a chance to nip this one in the bud and stop this evil cult from spreading further. Although in all honesty I think it might be to late.

Well up here in Mosjøen, it started snowing, and is something like -4, apparently it want last but it looks very pretty.

The picture quality is poor as I took it secretly and undercover with my hidden mobile phone in case anyone noticed me and reported me to the cult (or Supermarket security, how the hell would I explain that one, well officer I have a blogg, hmm....)

Well with all this talk of You tube I checked it out and found these very funny monty python clips taking the micky out of climbers! Very funny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9U0tDU37q2M&feature=fvsr

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0F2SJS6B1wQ&NR=1

Extreme Knitting

For sometime now I have had this feeling that there is a darkness within Norway, a sub culture and today I was shocked and horrified a person very close to my heart is apart of this dark sub culture or even a full member of this cult. Its not even that well hidden, and even normal people, seemingly normal people are apart of it. It also runs through families, but can just leap generation and plant itself firmly in new believers. Knitting may seem to be harmless but this cult like occupation, have stores all over Norway, and often in busy streets. Today quite unsuspecting I was lead into said shop and exposed to the full horror of this evilness. The place was full of normal looking people browsing through shelves of wool, knitting needles and piles of papers, templates and magazines. I just kept my mouth shut, and tried to blend into the wool, which isn't to hard as I was wearing a wool jumper at the time. I felt like a fraud and any sudden movement would clearly expose me as an intruder. I browsed quietly feeling the wool in my hands, but muttering under my breath anything to ward of the evil wool spirits. I escaped, by bring up the idea of lunch, and I was free. While eating lunch I suddenly realised many of my friends are part of this cult, and openly knit in public places. You would think it would be outlawed. May be I should tell somebody, or may be it to late, they are amongst us and in control at a very high level of government...

I was driving down from Mosjøen the other week, trying to find the road conditions from Lom to Songdal over the Jotunheim but the person on the phone hung up with out answering me, and the sign said open so I went for it. At first the dry road was replaced with ice and then snow, and you would think the stuck lorries or crashed car would have persuaded me to turn back but being stubborn I did not and then started to seriously regret my erroneous ways especially after slipping into a ditch and then sliding down the road started. At one point I was going 10kmh when the wheels just started loosing grip on the steep road, I was left wondering can I get the seatbelt off and jump before the car falls off the edge of the road. I made it down, what should have taken 20mins took 2 hours. its supposed to be the end of September and over the hills it was +4 with snow. A reminder next time take the snow chains winter is back!

Mosjoen, Get you Ark spares while they last

Unknown to many, even myself this rain that is falling isn't some sort of terrible weather front but biblical, and as I write half my unused brain is working on a new Ark design, come the floods. It has never ceased to amaze me that in Norway you can't find spares for your Ark, or little ads in papers advertising special rates for doubles in Arks, anyway as you can probable sea this Mystical Northern town in the middle of absolutely know were is getting and with the concept of only 4 ours of day light soon, I might be pushed to do something radical and start writing a book on How to survive in a northern tow without snow, or somehow equally irrelevant. I might even be pushed to right, dare I say it a BLOG! and become a world renowned blogger, with a special section in the local paper. Unlikely as it may seem.

With have no internet at home so I make the pilgrimage each day to the local library, the staff view me with some suspicion as I come in roughly the same time every day and type frantically for a few hours before the battery fails on my lab top and then I leave. Nobody has once asked me what i am up to, which is great, but they do swan by me and smile occasionally.

The town itself is occupied by from what I can see, local types that have the misfortune to have been born here, people that work in the Aluminium works and people that work in the hospital. There are also a collection of Artists that are easily distinguished from all the rest because they are normally Swedish and wear colourful, often very bohemian clothing, like yellow suits. It would also seem most of the people working in the Aluminium works or Hospital are forced here by necessity or are on some forced tour of duty, therefore they always seems to look south in preparation that they shall soon be leaving. The hospital seems to be full of German, Swedish or Danish doctors with the occasional Norwegian doctor.

anyway enough for today.

The abandonment

Many people don't realise that there are many periods in life, one classic one being The Enlightenment, where (I think, I haven't been emancipated yet) the great people of France decided you could obtain intellect without the helping hand of the church, thus releasing themselves from emancipation. Here in Mosjoen, the town in the middle of nowhere they have completely ignored this concept, as being to hard work, tow the line and gone straight to the "The Abandonment". The Abandonment period, is only in its infancy, however in the is northern town it has reached epidemic proportions and involves, the abandonment of anything that you own, for example at the local swimming pool, this large building containing tepid water, which is surrounded by a first world war battle field style car park. I suppose the local council just think well it will snow soon and then all the shell holes and trenches will be full and nobody will notice until next summer when they will be full of rain again. Anyway I digress... The swimming pool, in this vastness of space surrounding the building local types feel the need to ride there bikes right up to the front door and then abandon them. Many get so close there front wheels touch the door stop, and anyone else trying to get to the front door need to squeeze on through the labyrinth of bikes to get to the tepid waters within. Why, is this Chaos's in motion, can't they use a bit of sense and use the perfectly good bike store to the left, and then I noticed the do the same with there cars. Healthy sporting people, so engrossed with the philosophy of Abandonment, drive there cars right up to the back door of the sports hall and then park in some haphazard way rather than 20m away in a perfectly good quagmire of first world war hell. Anyway this leads me nicely onto the the swimming pool... The great thing about swimming is you need very few in appurtenances of the sport, unlike other activities like climbing or road biking etc. Swimming is very simple you need water, contained in some space, not to cold so you don't die of hypothermia, and pair of Speedo's and goggles. That's it, nothing fancy. Very simple. Cheap (ish) after all its Norway, and you even have a place to Abandon your towel! Everything is sorted, all you need to do is wave your arms around, kick a bit and you move forward. be careful to to wave them randomly with gulping sounds as someone in the little glass booth by the side of the pool might have to get all heroic or something. In the UK, or the pools I go to the UK in, you couldn't see the water for Floats, but come to Norway its a Float free pool and when I asked for one (training!!!) they told me "Bring your own". Great, I will. They did have one, but it was so gigantic it was probable part of the pool cover. Anyway not to worry.

Mosjøen, byen i midt av Norge.

So I am in Mosjøen, the town in the middle of Norway! The town in the middle of nowhere until we drove last night to Sandessjøen, a town on the edge of insanity, out there just at the edge of the world and the known universe, and to make it even more fun, they put it on an island. They had this rock called Norway, sturdy and strong, but needed to place the town at the edge of the universe on an island to make some point or another. One of the great things about all this Norwegian obsession (Skiing, tunnel building and making suspension bridges between rural areas) is this amazing semi suspension bridge from land, Norway, the known world out at an angle away from the town of Sandessjøen into the sea, quite literally the sea. The bridge leaves perfectly good land, and then heads boldly out into the unknown to a man made island of rock in the middle of the fjord, before the road, sweeps in this semi elegant ramp back towards the windswept town on a 1km causeway made of chippies! Most elegant but why? May be they just had a suspension bridge free, left over from some other crack pot scheme, or they are all made to a fix length in Norway and you have to make do. Who knows who cares, it was a very nice bridge! We went to town, it was windswept, and had all the feeling of a forgotten west coast town in Scotland, but with less hooligans and thus less culture. Another outstanding things was a hospital, it was huge, the kind of things a town of 100,000 in the UK would die for, literally. On this windswept and increasingly rain soaked island they have this hospital that services the entire area, or 10 people or so. It has Akute mottak (A&E to you and me) operating theatres, plastic surgeons hundreds of beds for sick people and loads of doctors walking around in white coats looking important (I didn't see any doctors I made that bit up, I just imagined a hospital of this size must have hundreds of white coated doctors).

After this extravaganza we drove back in gloomy weather, and heard the local weather station has closed as they said it it going to rain for eternity so what's the point of being a weather forecaster, boy it rains here. Anyway I notice some 30km from Mosjoen some cliffs and then a more solid cliff high above the road, so made a mental note, and today I returned in biblical rain to check it out. I had to wade through millions of water saturated bilberries to the base of the crag. Between torrential rain I counted 15 obvious lines with some desperate slab routes in between! If and when this rain stops I'll go back and bag the lot, and nobody can touch me for it! Or care for that matter! After all it will be known as the crag of 20m high in the middle of bloody nowhere, and who in the right mind would go there just for that.

Wait a minuet the weather! Its just started raining more heavily! And way do these locals have an obsession of building there west coast towns on Island, and know historically they have all been trying to leave but this is ridiculous.

Mind Monkeys: Part 1

Life on a boat. I try not to remind myself that even working on this fantastic Norwegian contract that for every three years one is spent at sea. I quite like working at sea, I get to work with some really good people, and that is probable why I continue to work at sea, as well as the good pay and off-time. It a continuous battle however to keep focus on what you want, and keep the balance right, between off-time (climbing and skiing) and money (so you can climb and ski) and on-time (when everything stops for two weeks). When on-time starts to effect off-time then you have to correct the situation or you end up on a slippery slope, of working all time, and in this offshore life this is very easy. It is true we have a staggering turnover of staff, less so in Norway, but a quick calculation for the last 2 years has shown I have worked with over 60 different people. People mainly from Norway the UK, but also Pakistan, Egypt, Iceland, the Faeroes, Russian, Mexicans, Brazilians, Polish, Italians, Belgians and the Swedes. This all adds to the wonder of working at sea, but is also extremely tiring having to teach new people every two weeks how the somewhat chaotic systems work or don’t, and what to watch for. I once read it takes 10 years for a geologist to become useful in an oil company, and at the time with 2 years under my belt I thought rubbish I am almost there! Now I have 12 years and I think I understand less know than I did then, and see my erroneous ways. Then I knew enough to be dangerous, but didn’t know it. Then you pass the mile stone; you are dangerous, and you know it but don’t know how to make it better. The next stage is; your know enough to be dangerous, you know it, and you can act to change this, but decide to go skiing or climbing instead.
I find the boredom the hardest thing to cope with offshore, it eats me alive at times, and with all this spare time you would think I could improve myself , like learn better Norwegian, or create a webpage or plan an expedition but somehow the monkeys of boredom grind you down, swinging from the branches of my mind. Swinging, swinging, tumbling and laughing, the monkey of apathy really knows how to swing. Many moons ago I was working with a guy who had spent time in a Scottish prison, and he told me prison was better than the boat we were on! I found it hard to believe, and then he said the cabin in prison was bigger and you got to walk outside once a day. The Sea Profiler had been a good boat, at one dizzy time the flag ship of British Antarctic surveys, back in 1954, but now it limped along, over heating engine that occasionally just stopped. I wedged myself into the bunk, as we slipped down the waves, it had risen to force 11, I was scared. The sound of the tappets on the only engine, rhythm ever present, comforting my frightened mind, the bow would rise, I would slip down the bunk, then down the wave, the prop would wiz as it came out of the water, crashing back into, cavitate for a while until it got something to push on. The tappets would momentarily drop out; I would grip the bunk, wondering could I get my survival suit on, and out onto the back deck before she capsized? Probable not… The storm passed, I passed out with exhaustion, making promises I never would keep…
What’s the alternative, well with all these redundancies going on I might just get what I want and then regret it. But how do I get the feeling I might get spared.
There has been talk, probable to much talk, about going climbing in Alaska, and the monkey of apathy has been knocked off the mind branch by the monkeys of ambitions, ego, fun, fear, desire and doubt, and suddenly I find myself checking PHD design sleeping bags against Feathered Friends, and should I go for -40° or go for a -20° and wear my down suit inside for the summit push? Do I really want to plod all the way up some glacier, knowing I could lose my toes or worst my mind! But the monkeys are swinging again, they always do, and I just can’t stop them anymore.
I should be happy with this offshore life, just accept it, buy a hytta get in more debt and be a slave to someone else dreams, but them the monkeys always think they know better, and they never shut up, they just keep eating bananas and swinging… They need more coffee, I know it makes them crazy, they love it, they want me to eat more sweets, they love that to, and it makes them, swing so quickly…

Bergers of Middlesbrough

Well I found this old photo of my grandpa, his front middle, with his brother Jim sitting behind with the natty scarf. The two other lads are unknown, but almost certainly Bergers of Middleborough, a select gang of climbers that during 1938 to 1942 have their deeds recorded in the Bergers climbing diary, which sits, only a few feet from my very presence, as I type. It’s fascinating, and has helped me survive this somewhat arduously boring offshore trip. To think these people have paid me hard working wages to read, and in many cases re-read, the annuals of time of the Clan Berger is beyond a simply mans dreams!
When I get back, week Wednesday I will be ever present for follies on the rock, high up there on priorities, as well as tending to the every need of Kjæreste Siri.

Bergensteigern - Mountaineers

For ages now I have been trying to read the hand written climb club diary of the Bergensteigern climbing club from Middlesbrough. It is a collection of minutes from a climbing club my grandpa was a founding member off. It’s a record of events between 1938 and 1942. It wonderfully naive, simple. Just young men getting out on the rock. They never talk about work, just getting out on the hill, and joke merrily between them. They all have nicknames and make up feuds between each other, which are never real but need settling with beer or climbs. You have to read between the lines to see the true story. But underlying the climbing is a more sinister landscape, one which they don't understand, and why should they, after all they didn't know Hitler was about to start a war. Recorded in the minuets of this old and tired diary, you see a sudden realization; people can't make it to climbing weekends due to air raid duties. A tardy meeting is held, as they are tired after spending the night in the shelters, and food and petrol are rationed. In a time of internet and fast information it all looks so naive, but they just didn't know what was happening. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, if you already know the future.

Turtigrø fortsatte...

During my brief visit to Turtigrø high camp I had the opportunity to see a few talks, one such talk was by this Norwegian climbing team that climbed in the Himalayas, on a mountain called the Great Trango... How exciting... The talk was, well quite impressive, but mainly about logistics and some in jokes. The whole thing was marred by a continuous stream of people walking into the room, sitting, realising something and then leaving. At the end of the talk I was left impressed by the commitment of these guys as it took ages to get up, something like 30 days! how much was spent on the wall... well I just don`t, but long. Another thing that got me was, they didn`t have many photo`s of climbing, just aid climbing. At the end some guy in the audience piped up, "So why didnt you free climb it?" This kind of left the person giving the talk a bit stumped and he just shrugged his shoulders, and made some excuses, like it was cold, and at altitude etc. The man piped up again, it wasnt that cold during the day and other people climb this sort of thing free....

This sort of thing would never happen in the UK... or may be not...

After Haukelister I was buoyed up for some more topptur action, and so headed of to Hurrungane fjells which lie in the SW part of the Jotunheimen. These are Norways alpine mountains and have a very short summer and winter season. The summer is short, because it snows a lot, and the winter is long, but short in human terms as the roads are closed for most of the winter, and really only open after Easter. This is May, and both roads from the famous Turtagrø Hotel, one to Øvre Årdal and the other to Lom where closed due to snow. This left the road from Sogndal open, which is handily for me as this is the road people from Bergen use! Due to the bad weather forecast most sensible people didn’t go, or should I say as it was pointed out to me, the good people from Bergen didn’t turn up. Those that did, a mix of hardened toppturers, sponsored celebrities, seasoned hardened ski festival drinkers (in smart looking never used in anger ski gear) and me were hell-bent on doing something but quite what is often mystery… I have to admit I don’t like these ski festivals, mainly because… I can’t ski downhill very well, but that’s not the truth, I can, well kind of, but what I don´t like is the whole thing, its just not what I call going to the mountains. There is quite a lot of being seen, and being seen to do the right thing at the right time, and there is loads of heavy drinking…. Anyway to the skiing, the weather was not good, well not good for me, as the visibility was poor, and I just don’t like skiing down new slopes with poor vis, but I did go out and drag my body up hill and then return at a leisurely Jamie sort of pace. It was fun, but on Saturday night at eleven, while the revellers revelled, to the current trendy tunes, I had had enough and pulled away and went for a walk on my own. I just find the heavy drinking to much, and all the being seen. I´m getting old, but to be honest I have felt this way all my life… Not sure I will go back, but will but with mates and not hang about a Turtagrø or as I like to call it Turd-a-grø!

Røldal – Topptur

Over the weekend Anti and I went to Røldal for some topptur or what we Brits call Ski-mountaineering! We drove from Bergen on Saturday in the r ain, and this continued till we got to Røldal! I was not impressed but I was with the valley or dale running up from Odda. I remember how beautiful this valley was when I first visited Norway on my motorcycle in 2004. This place is truly magical, and the somewhat decaying industrial town of Odda somehow seems to this in really well. Its quite an amazing town, it has this very fine old part with wooden buildings and then this huge industrial estate right in the middle and for what I can see its decaying with all these cranes smashing it apart. You drive above this town, to this lack, which is surrounded by just amazing waterfalls (Ice climbing alarm! Beeb beeb!), huge rock walls (Rock alarm! Beeb! Beeb!), and endless boulders (bouldering alram! Beeb! Beeb!). Its just great! We didn’t actually stay in Røldal but in a DNT hut called Haukeliseter, which is right by the road, and has a restaurant and café. It also had a sauna with a huge glass window in it so you could sit and go wow and ooughh! Also a hot tub!

Anyway Anti and I went for a wee Topptur, but as it was raining I was running low on get up and go, so begrudgingly went. We had no map or clue what we where getting into. At first it was flat, but we then started climbing up, I dug some snow pit ad waffled on about how I would not like to be on a convex, followed by concave slope to day in large numbers. There was loads of avalanche debris around, but thankfully old, so we carried on, it started to get really steep, and we both started making noises about it being steep! So we topped out, and both decided not to ski back down what we had flogged our way up! And made the dreaded mistake off looking for another decent, without a map, weather deteriorating and visibility starting to fad! This was bid mistake, as the ground suddenly became very steep, so I traversed over to a gully, which looked okay, and started to descend, very carefully! While traversing I started a very small surface avalanche, more a surface slump, and they are not uncommon this time of the year, with the top section of the snow becoming very warm and slushy in the daytime sun, I shouted back to Anti to avoid this slumping, as although not enough to bury you, enough to sweep you off a cliff, which had handily appeared! After this I started to feel that sick feeling and that voice was starting to say, your fucked! Then I noticed I was right in a concave part of a slope, below a convex section, and this slope was sizable. Everything I had s aid to avoid before! I just went into survival mode and instructed Anti to ski from rock out crop to rock outcrop, we both pepper potted down the slope, it was really steep, and all the time we triggered these sluthing avalanches that ran out 200-300 m down the slope. Eventually we skied out, and I was much relieved. After wards I explained it all to Anti who was much relieved that I had not told him everything that was going on through my mind as he would have become extremely anxious. Back at the car, I looked back and noticed the gully we descended was twice as steep as the one we had backed off. Lesson learnt!

On Sunday we teamed up with Anti’s friend from Stavanger called Tobion. Tobion is ultra fit! And this New Zealand guy turned up, called Kes. Kes talked a lot, more than me, and always about how much things cost! We set off for some peak, again with no map, but I had the GPS so I logged our journey in case of bad weather. At first is was very easy angled, but then Tobion made some bee line for this face and off he went. He never broke stride all the w ay up the hill, even on the really steep section! Anti, Kes and I found the steep section, really steep and I had a moment of blind panic when I had to turn on the steepest part. I actually dug a pit, sat in it and then turned around! Kes made comments like he would climb down this bit, and if he had a rope he would use it. We all agreed a fall would be very serious, and when we traversed above the cliff, a fall would have been helicopter time! The weather was fantastic, and eventually we climbed above the difficulties and onto the summit, were Tobion had been sitting probable for some time. Tobion and Kes zipped off, and Anti and I had some lunch and slowly made our ay down on almost perfect conditions. I made a few moves! It was great. Approximately 5km to the summit from the road, resulted in 5km run back to the car. Perfect. The steep section was steep, and need quite a lot of care and defensive skiing. A fall here would be serious, and you could easily fly for several hundred meters until you hit the valley floor!

A good weekend!

Nemesis-veggen

In the gentle art of sport climbing, which should be gentle, but in my case seems to involve frantic jumping for small holds, to somehow drag myself up to the top. This is normally associated with me speaking in short sharp tones, followed by “take in” and “watch me”. When all is said and done, and nervously try to build my shattered esteem back up by reciting endless tails of woe, normally along the lines, of “When I was lad, the rock plastered with snow, my crampons squealing, the tied off piton, a distant memory….” You get the picture… I am the guru master, of self-justification!

Nemesis-veggen, known to other sport climbing, as Møtteveggen is a brutally steep cliff, on the island of Sotra, which is west of Bergen. Home to a handful of desperate sports routes and equally desperate traditional routes. The crag, has become my Nemesis, as it had become for my fellow comrade in arms. This weeks special guest, Comrade Anti and Comrade Camilla. Møtteveggen isn´t a bad place it just a place that extenuates my weaknesses to the maximum. This results in a lot of “TAKE IN….” and “Watch me” statements. Today was no different apart from today I was able to actually get up some routes, but only just… The first route a Nosk 5 was typical untypical for the crag and was very Scottish, basically brutal and awkward. After this I launched up some 6+ and after passing the crux, I just didn´t have enough go go juice to carry on and fell off. Anti and Camilla swarmed up it, and a after a brief rest I mounted the climb with a top rope and got up it.

Bring back trad climbing all is forgiven….

Baked beans on Toast - Sport climbing and Winter tyres!

There is one thing I hate, and I really mean it, and that is having to change my tyres on the car twice a year! I don't know why it drives me up the wall but it does. Growing up in the countryside as I did, a year never went by without some farmers son getting squished to death under his car because the car jack failed! This scares me a bit, especially as you have to do all four wheels on this flimsy jack. Anyway to increase my life expectancy I decide to buy a proper car jack, from Biltema. As you know everything in Norway is expensive, but stop! Shock horror! Car jacks, the proper one's with red paint and a pump, and stuff cost 199 nok! 20 squids! I mean which poor sod in the world went without so I could have a red car jack for 199 nok!

Anyway its been done, the summer tyres are back on and its only 7 months to do until I have to put back on the winter tyres. Joy... Anyway this old guy comes out from the flat near me and starts talking to me, it happens nearly every time I change my wheels, but my Norwegian is so crap, and he speaks no English so we have this sort of strange conversation. He really tries to get this point across about something, but fails. This has happened many times, but today while he was twittering on, I suddenly realised my Norwegian has improving… I understood him, and it basically what he is trying to say is very simple: You not allowed to work on your car in this area, please stop! Anyway today I understood and so we had a laugh about it and while I fixed the car we chatted about this and that, and it kind of made sense. Kind of.

And so due to this I have been forced to go sport climbing, several times, mainly at Hellenset and Hellen festning. Both these crags offer a variety if desperate slab moves with awkward smears between. I quite like it, in a sick twisted sort of way. Today was no exception apart from it was really cold so I had to smear my way up some thin slab with fingerless gloves...

The other day in the supermarket Siri pointed to a tin, and said what do you do with that... I looked... it was a tin of beans in tomato source... I tried explaining this great British tradition of Baked beans on toast, even throwing in an analogy of "Skinheads on a raft" but I could see all this was lost.

Recently I tried the Potato Mash advert on a Greek friend, but that also failed… First we find them, then we peel them, then we boil them, and then we mash them, ha ha ha ha ha….

Sotra - Love hate climbing relationship

I have this love hate thing with climbing, I think of it all the time, and have generally directed my life in such a manner that climbing is number one, and nothing else gets in the way. There is one problem, it scares me stupid at times, and although I am safe I am not a particularly good technical climber. A somewhat ironic situation to be in, dedicating your life to climbing and not actually being at the top end of it. I’ve tried giving it up several times, and every time I fluff a lead or get scared I say “That’s it! Just stop this ridiculous game right now and take up knitting”, but that never ever happens. May be when I get old, the legs weaker, the ego less stubborn, I will just drift away from this, and be happy with short walks by the fjords….

Another SMS from Perry… I pick him up… we head to Sotra…. A new crag called Liafjell Nord… a new route… Pinsevennen…. And it begins again… steep slab, cold hands, tentative smears and traverses, hand jams in wet cracks, and scary rockovers, brings us to the first belay, and more highsteps, rockovers, watch me, smeared feet slowly creeping earthward… I knew I should have gone for the pinch, but just panicked and went for the hand jam, it was wet and muddy, and when I tried for the pinch I just covered it in water and mud, so had to go back to the wet sloppy hand jam and make it work. It worked… just… Fingery moves to fingery and hard for the grade, the grade means nothing anymore, it’s all adventure climbing.

Norsk 5-, (HVS 5a, 75m)

After this we head back to an old route I have done before on a crag called Ørnanipa, which is really near the road. Lovely crag and we wondered up the front face for two pitches at about Norsk 4. A really good route, not to hard at any point, although on the second pitch the original line goes left up a hanging corner, which has a few very rusty pegs and old tat in (alarm bells, images of epics spring flood through the mind!). On both occasions when I have done this route I have gone right, and climbed a short, boulder corner, possible British 5b (Norsk 6?). Its short and well protected but brutal, but it brings you to an easy leftward traverse. It’s a shame this route isn’t more consistent in grade throughout as it would make a lovely first time trad route. May be I will go back up again, and see if I can find a more consistent line… hmm…

Perry has his eyes on some Norsk 6 and 7 now…

Sotra trad climbing - Its raining.... the saved and the drowned

It rained in the night, and when I got the text saying the climbing was off, I felt a sense of relief, but this was soon followed by disappointment, and the rat starts scratching at the cranium again, and passing the corridors of my restless mind, gnawing at anything it feels needs gnawing, and I turn to drinking tea to save the day, or may be I should thrash out on the bike, scare myself stupid... Or may be not.

One of the great delights of moving to a new country like Norway is discovering the simple homely delights you took for granted in the UK, but are seemingly ignored or just banned over here. This simple find, that filled me with delight, and brought me to tell every Englishmen I could find was a shop selling PG tips, loose tea, in a huge catering (addiction size) bag! I was amazed and felt a feeling of salvation as I bought said PG tips tea, clutching my find to my chest like a teddy bear and headed home for the first real brew in over a year. There is one thing however that really got on my wick! After my great find, the find of the century, I told any Brit I could about the tea bags, to find that everybody new, even my Norwegian teacher about the secret shop, which is actually not very secret at all. Even after months of telling my Norwegian teacher about tea drinking she did not feel the need to tell me that there was a secret shop selling good tea! It was by pure chance I was out on the bike, that I saw with my own eyes the Norwegian teach, walk under her own free will into the PG tips secret shop, and by the way she walked it was clearly evident she had been to that shop before (There was no signs of euphoria or hesitance in the body language that you would expect from a first time buyer). I want let this one go, I have been pushed to say something.... next time I see her... I will unleash another great English tradition.... sarcasm!

Sotra trad climbing - Its starts again...

Another text from Perry, "Around over Easter? Weather looks good tomorrow!

I reply...

It starts again.... may be the Sotra bridge will have fallen down...

Sotra trad climbing - You'd think I would have learned by now!

Well I got this text from Perry, like it’s a surprise! I mean what was I thinking... Send Perry text stating the weather looks okay tomorrow... hoping he will say something like, “he's given up climbing” or that “Sotra drifted off or sank”... anything, but no he replies enthusiastically and it begins again... I wake up on Friday and the first thing I think of is my head hurts. Beer and decorating don't seem to mix well together, and I feel like calling our mini adventure off right there and then, but the rat is addict and so needs a fix. Again... So I go over to Perry's at 1pm and we drive to Sotra to this new crag called Veatåa, and route called Sveitsereggen, some Norsk -5. After some previous frolics on the rock I have come to the conclusion Norsk climbing guides are just random words, and pictures with these random numbers associated with them. This fills me with fear. So we head out and get wet feet, and find the route and it looks good, and that's enough. Perry seems very interested in looking at the guide, and I know I should but the fear is too much and the guide isn't much help, a therapist would be better help right now. Probable just advice me to look at the guidebook, or probable in a round about sort of way help me realise that I really should look at the guide book... And so it begins again... I start up, and find it awkward, and the beer and paint fumes increase till I can go no further and slap in some belay, halfway through my pitch. It’s just not my day. Perry comes up and thankfully says all the right things like, poor gear and awkward moves. He leads on and after sometime, I relax, and watch a master at work, and try desperately to ignore the looks of concern Perry gives down to me from time to time. His pitch, the crux of the route, involves this awkward slot thing, which involves quite a lot of commitment, and trust, and flexibility, but mainly trust in smears, friction and trying not to think about all this while trying to place you feet where your hand was just smeared. It kind of works, it kind of always does, and it best not to think too much about this sort of thing. EVER! The therapist agrees.... well kind of. After this Perry leads on, he is well trained, and starts up the last pitch, a thin slab, with very poor gear. He makes light work of it, even the diagonal rock over above a dodge cam placed in a flaring crack. The rope goes out, and you try to feel the feelings of the other person through this lifeline. It runs smoothly out, this is good, easy ground, but them it stops, for what seems a long time, and then starts, more jagged, with stops and starts.... I get worried.... the fear builds.... It seems an eon... I hear nothing.... the rope goes tight... it feels like winter climbing, just trust Perry, he got that belay in... And so I climb, the slab is thin, and the rock over high step is okay, but with poor gear and the potential for a ledge fall it has this edge, which all slab climbing has. Round the corner I see the problem, and exposed sharp vertical edge, with stacks of gear in it. The climbing is solid, technical, fun, and I forget about the fear. Failure is not an option, and so everything is passed to the back of the brain. Perry's rope work is impeccable, but a fall from here with rope stretch would see me hit the ledge... but I only think of this while I type not then. Right then I am in the zone... and make the moves, twisting my body to maximise the holds... And reach a jubilant and very talkative Perry on the ledge... The sun goes, mist roles in, it becomes cold, we walk away, and head to another climb but time is not what it was and we both made promises to girlfriends we want to keep.