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.

Sotra trad climbing - Trying to remember

Trying to control the fear, or contain it is what its all about, but then Perry reminded me while on the belay ledge, that after all this was supposed to be fun! Some how I had forgotten about the fun bit! I need reminding from time to time, that yes I am here on my own free will, and yes this is fun, but that gets all cluttered up and forgotten in the single moment of that time.

We did Maos Gate at 4+ very pleasant, awkward slanty ramp thing on pitch one, and awkward throw yourself round on smears corner thingy on the second pitch, but generally okay. We then decided to have a stab at some -5 called Indianerstein. The first pitch was relatively straightforward until the great hand of Norwegian grading spanked us back into reality. A particularly cruel sequence of smeary high steps, with no hands, all conducted above gear ensued at half height. Perry thought I’d fluffed it! But the hero inside blocked out the whimpering voice of doubt. Just! Anyway Perry the languishing E4 climber set to on the second pitch and after some comments like “I am scared”, and “that was terrifying “topped out looking much relieved. By this time the sun had hidden itself behind some clouds and winter had returned. Both hand and feet were numb with cold as I had decided on a light weight summer outfit. I started up the second pitch to find a melee of desperate thin slab moves inter-dispersed by imaginary gear, followed by a bold rising foot traverse (no hands – no gear) to a grass filled corner (smears and back foot), before a rightward traverse in an exposed position (wet, cold & scary) could be followed to a smooth exit corner (Very cold, very smeary very scary). The question remains how does 5- become some sort of E1, 5a death-fest?
Anyway, the rock was dry, the climbing season has started… the rat has been fed… it wants more… kanskje.... ja...