Mallorca - A Hard Day's Night
By Dave Whittingham
Our president, "Sr. Felix Roberts" has asked for a supplementary report on the Mallorca Meet; in particular an eye-witness account of a little adventure he was fortunate/clever enough to miss.
Five of us set out on a bright sunny morning to climb the Normal route on Sa Gubia. This is a superb 9 pitch 4+ (VS) following a soaring ridge, and almost entirely bolt-free.
We climbed as two teams, myself with Dave Shotton, and Phil with Sue and Rowena, two non-KMC guests. Sue, a Rucksack Club member, is an experienced climber. Rowena's outdoor climbing experience was limited to Windgather, so this was to be her introduction to multi-pitch routes.
Dave and I topped out at 5pm, and waited for the others before we abbed back down the route to our rucsacs. We waited and we waited. They eventually arrived at 7pm.
Phil had planned to walk off along the ridge and through the aggressively prickly Mallorcan vegetation, and had brought his 'sac up with him. Rowena by this time had experienced quite enough of her first big route and determined to follow Phil, in rock boots!
As they set off into the gathering gloom the other three of us set up the first abseil. I went down first and, after pausing several times to disentangle the ropes from big, prickly, stinky bushes that I hadn't even noticed on the way up, found a good solid thread for the next belay. Sue and Dave joined me at the belay and clipped in. Sue did mention that it would have been more convenient if I had found a belay near a ledge. We then pulled the rope through, about the first ten feet of it, and not an inch more. It was stuck! There was only one thing to do. I tied a prusik loop to the ropes and climbed back up, pausing whenever I could stop with both hands off to slide the prusik up to join me. Have I mentioned that by now it was dark? Well it was - very. I never ever want to repeat that experience. Eventually I reached the top, freed the ropes, re-rigged the abseil and slid back down to the others.
I clipped the belay and slumped in an adrenaline-overdosed heap. Dave volunteered to take a turn at the vertical battle of the bushes, and started down the awkward crucial diagonal abseil. Now as you may know Dave has to wear glasses, but since we had started (and fully intended finishing) in bright sunshine he only had the dark pair with him. Feeling his way down near-vertical rock apparently entirely covered in spiny malicious vegetables Dave eventually belayed after about half a rope length. We joined him tied to a large spike, still no ledge.
My turn again. We were definitely not following the line of the route. At last I identified the next belay, with ledge this time. I'm sure the bushes were tangling the ropes deliberately. Pausing only for an extended bout of reverse knitting with the ropes, I slid down to the ledge and clipped two shiny new bolts.
I shouted the good news to Sue and Dave who hurried to join me. The worst was now behind (above) us. Just pull the ropes through and three or four abseils would see us reunited with our rucsacs, with food and drink. Just pull the ropes through; what do you mean they're stuck? Not again! The tail end had disappeared into the darkness above and was still up there somewhere. I tied on to the one end we had and started back up, again. I knew I had reached the vertical section when my toes and nose were touching the rock simultaneously, and that was as far as I did get.
Back on the ledge it seemed to have shrunk. About 6 inches wide with a short undercut slab below, then space and blackness. I suppose the blackness was only to be expected, it was past midnight. With no rope there was no choice, we were here for the night. Mallorca is not just cold at night, it is noisy. There were squeaking bats, birds that went dong (frequently), screeching owls, rusty clockwork birds and even, at one point, mysterious heavy breathing. A game of I-spy didn't last very long. After s-for-stars and d-for-dark- everywhere-else we ran out of ideas. We just perched/hung there, the synchronised shivering team waiting for the dawn.
Eventually the sky began to lighten. Now that we could see, it was obvious where the rope was jammed. A little judicious flicking and it was free. We were on our way. The descent passed uneventfully, daylight making all the difference. We would be reunited with our rucsacs, and I was looking forward with eager anticipation to the cheese sandwich in mine. Thoughts of that sandwich had sustained me through the long, cold night. Whiz down the rope, unclip, and run to the 'sac. Oh no. The final straw. Some Mallorcan critter had chewed through my 'sac and eaten my sandwich, adding insult to injury by leaving the crust.
Thus far we had borne up pretty well but this was too much. I cracked, and was only restored to calmness and sanity when Sue made the ultimate sacrifice: she gave me half her sandwich. It seems the wildlife preferred brown bread and cheese to pumpernickel and lettuce.
The walk out and drive back to the apartment passed in a daze. No more climbing that day. The rest of the week was spent in clip and cruise mode. We even went back to Sa Gubia, but this time spent the day on fully-bolted single pitch routes with lower-offs. We had had our epic, now it was the walkers turn, but Felix Roberts can tell you about that.
David Whittingham.
