A Rainy Tour of the Blueys

G'day everyone!

Well, after cancelling a weekend camping trip out to the Wolgan last weekend, I managed to organise a last minute trip out to the Blueys with Hayden Brotchie on the Sunday.

Although the weather looked pretty dubious, Hayden had some ideas of places that might be dry, so off we headed through a variety of mist, drizzle, and pissing down rain. Although at times it looked like the weather might be clearing up, it never really did, and this set the mood for the rest of the day.

From Bell's Line of road it was apparent that we'd be lucky to get any climbing in at the closer crags, so off we headed to Tarana (which is further West).

The walk up the hill in light drizzle didn't do much to dampen our enthusiasm, but after the cloud closed in up the top, it seemed apparent that we'd be lucky to get much in. A bit more humming and haaing, however, and Hayden decided we might as well do some of the shorter, easier routes on Deckout Buttress.

He quickly grabbed the sharp end, tied it around his waist, and with a "I'd better not fall, 'cause it'll hurt!" romped up a very slick 8m 13 called "Deft". To complete the picture I would have liked to belay him with a dynamic body belay, but the nylon kernmantel ropes and nice shiny camalots might have spoiled the image a bit!

From the top of "Deft" we set a toprope on the grade 14 just to the right ("Lipstick"). While "Deft" had basically all been sharp, granite edges (which were fine in the wet), "Lipstick" had a couple of moves of smearing on the slick, wet granite. I must admit that I didn't think it'd be possible to do these moves on the soaking wet face, but both of us managed to get up the climb without falling. Thank god for modern, sticky rubber!

With the weather closing in again, we jumped back in the car and drove back to Mt. Victoria, where we started out towards Perry's Lookdown. Before long, we ended up in thick cloud and rain, so we turned around and headed back to Mt. York, in the hope of finding Andrew Jones and some of the other SRC guys. Although there were lots of climbers there, no one from the SRC was there, and the drizzle was getting heavier so we bailed again, this time heading out to Mt. Piddington.

With the gate open, we drove right down to the end of the point and parked there. It wasn't raining and the rock looked pretty dry so we grabbed our gear and headed on down. The initial plan was to do either "Joseph" (14) or "The Phantom" (15), but after stopping under the big roof of "The Spartan" (16) for a bite to eat, we decided that we might as well do it instead. Hayden had done the climb a couple of times previously, so he graciously offered me the sharp end for the first two pitches.

Now to get to the main areas at Mt. Piddington, you walk under the hulking roof that caps "The Spartan". The rock at the bottom of the route looks absolutely abysmal, and to be quite honest, I usually sprint past this particular section of cliff, just in case it decides to fall down as I walk underneath!

So my first surprise was to find that the rock quality on the first pitch was actually pretty good, with a couple of sandy patches, but basically good, solid sandstone the entire way up. A couple of slightly nervous moves, some bomber cam placements and I was up, my initial butterflies slowly quietening. With a bomber belay off some small cams and a bolt, I brought Hayden up on second, and eyed the intimidating second pitch.

The first thing I noticed about this pitch was the quality of the rock: excellent, yellowy orange almost peach coloured stuff that is just gorgeous to climb on. This helped to calm the nerves a bit so without further ado I started off.

The first part of the second pitch heads up an offwidth corner crack on a steep slab for about 12m or so. Being somewhat inept at crack climbing (particularly up cracks this wide!) I began to get a bit nervous again. Some wide, rattley armbars and a couple of minute crimps got me going, and before too long I was committed and beginning to enjoy things. A bomber number 5 camalot placement and I pulled through to a rest at a chockstone about halfway up the crack. At this point I made what I realised later was a pretty good decision: I pulled the camalot and placed it again above my head. A couple more insecure, layaway moves and I'd reached the roof, where a great rest and another bolt let me take a well earned breather and scope out the traverse left under the roof.

The first thing I noticed about the traverse was the great foot ledge that runs the entire length of the wall. "This'll be a piece of piss", I thought to myself. It was then that I noticed the second thing about the traverse: about halfway across, the roof drops down to within about 2 feet of the foot ledge! Hayden must have remembered it from his previous ascents, since he commented at almost the same time that pulling under this bulge was the crux of the traverse.

Now the first couple of metres looked pretty easy, with some great gear on offer before the bulge, so I wandered on over to suss things out. Boy it looked hard! Images of hanging way out over the void off bleeding jams filled my mind, and it was all I could do to just feel around a bit to see what holds were on offer!

With a bit of perseverance, I found the hold I was looking for (a good hand jam in nice gritty rock), and hunkered down and crouched my way around the first little bulge. Damn! My first impressions were wrong, and the bulge turned out to continue for another couple of metres before the roof lifted back up again.

With my nervousnes mounting again, I had a minor win, finding the perfect gear placement stance: a head jam in a slight indentation in the roof!! Instead of mucking about with wires or hexes, I made use of Hayden's extensive rack of cams, and placed two or three before continuing the crouched traverse.

As I strenuously pulled under the next bulge, there was a funny rumble and all hell broke loose outside! Having had about an hour and a half of clear weather, the Rain Gods had suddenly decided to reassert their authority!

My first thought was "Shit! I'm climbing and it's raining. That's a BAD thing!". But then I noticed something unsual: I wasn't getting wet. In fact, the roof above "The Spartan" is so big that I was probably a good 10m away from the nearest water, and Hayden on the first belay ledge was completely sheltered as well!

With the rain pouring down outside, the water dripping off the lip of the roof in strings of droplets and the cloud blowing up the valley below, a whole new dimension was added to the climbing, and I pulled through to the far side of the bulge in quite a state of excitement!!

From here the crack opens up into a very short chimney that leads out to the belay on the face, but with a small waterfall running down the chimney from the face, I decided to cut the pitch 3m short and belay in the chimney under a rather large chockstone (which offered some protection from the rain).

With a bomber natural belay, the rain pouring down outside and water beginning to run into my little belay stance, Hayden started up the pitch. Now the wide crack that had caused me so much concern, didn't cause Hayden too many problems at all, because (as he described later) he used a special technique called "rooting the crack". This basically involves burying as much of the left hand side of your body into the crack as possible, and then grunting and squirming your way up it, being careful not to let any projecting appendages get snagged on the sharp edge of the crack!

Hayden then dispatched the traverse in fine style, which must have been just as, if not more, scary than leading it. He duly appeared at my little stance (I couldn't see him at all on the traverse), and quickly headed off up the third pitch (a very short 8m pitch that gets to the top of the cliff).

Now in passing he mentioned that he vaguely remembered something funny about this pitch, and being unable to see him from my cosy, sheltered stance, I started to get rather concerned when all I could hear were grunts and curses from above my head. After some apparent drama he called for lots of slack, and before too long he was "On belay!".

I quickly pulled out my belay, since the water was really starting to get in under the chockstone, and headed out into the rain to see what all the fuss was about. It was almost immediately obvious: a short, ridiculously undercut overhang, running with dirty water from the bush above. A squeeze chimney ran up the right hand side of the overhang, and it appeared that this was the way Hayden had gone, since that's where the gear was.

Standing there facing this wet, dirty squeeze chinmey, I realised that this was one of those times when there's nothing to do but thrutch. So, without further ado, I stepped up to the chimney, pulled Hayden's gear out and squeezed, cursed, squirmed, grunted and fought my way to the top.

Hayden had found the perfect belay: a comfy spot under a small roof about 6m up the hill, so I continued up and joined him, trying hard to wipe the water, grime and massive grin off my face. "What a great climb!" I think were my first words, and after a brief breather we headed off again, collected our gear and returned to the car and to Sydney.

The moral to the story? If you're looking for a great route, even in the rain, "The Spartan" offers it all: great gear, great rock, big exposure, and almost perfect protection from the elements.