You took WHO climbing?
By Roger Dyke
A long hot summer, 1970ish. We had them in those days, before Global Warming set in. Keith Bolton & I were in the Pass for the weekend, kipping in the 2/- a night squalor of Humphrey’s Barn. The Min of Ag had probably condemned it as unfit for keeping hens in, but that didn’t stop them trying to share it with us.
Sunday was blistering, and the crags were crowded.
Inspiration: Lliwedd! And Ron James gave Avalanche / Red Wall / Longland’s Continuation three stars. Sure enough, Lliwedd was cool and almost deserted. We had walking boots, a 120ft hawser-laid rope, a couple of MOACs, some knotted rope slings with steel karabiners and a few bits of home-made gear: very adequate for this route, which is only VD despite finding its way up through some impressive scenery. We led thro smoothly, and only once did Keith complain about me not putting gear in. This was on pitch(es) 3+4, and was only partly because I was getting carried away with the delight of the climbing – there just hadn’t been many places that would take the primitive kit we had. But no worry, except that a 120ft rope is not ideal for running together 40ft + 80ft pitches.
It really was – still is, I hope – an ace route, and we thoroughly enjoyed it. At the top we turned left and went down the long scree slope, gradually catching up with a lone walker who stopped off to one side as we approached. “Would you lads either go in front or go more carefully? I really hate having stones kicked down on me.” A very smartly-dressed, middle-aged man with a commanding way of speaking and a slightly strange accent. Keith and I don’t take offence easily, so we apologised, putting it down to our exuberance from enjoying the climb, and carried on down with him. He was really very civilised, and obviously enjoyed being in the mountains as much as we did. By the time we reached the track back to Pen y Pass he was telling us that although he enjoyed walking he had always wanted to climb but never had the opportunity, in his native New Zealand or in Britain, being based in London.
It was only 5ish, too early to be going home, so we asked if he’d like to do a route with us. Flying Buttress, then only Diff. He was absolutely taken with this, and at the car park he went off to tell someone he was going to be another hour or two while Keith & I had a quick drink and a nibble.
Our friend rejoined us and we flogged off up the scree to the Cromlech. He was fit! We must have looked an odd team, Keith & I in our usual tattered rags, with a tall smartly-dressed gentleman on the rope between us. He took to climbing like a natural, and wasn’t the least phased by the exposed belay below the steep wall. Getting into the chimney at the top, he listened carefully to instructions and made the crux moves without any great difficulty – there wasn’t so much polish in those days, and he was strong. It was obvious he really enjoyed the outing, and we enjoyed his company. He was bubbling over as we went down: the little expedition had made his day.
The car park was almost empty by the time we got back. I was parked near the entrance, so we said goodbye as Keith & I took our boots off and he went away. We realised that all we knew about him was his first name, but it had been fun to be with him and share his pleasure.
We were finishing off the last of our food and airing our feet when there was a strange deep honking: a highly-polished black Rolls Royce was gliding towards us, flying the New Zealand flag on one front mudguard and some ornate flag on the other. The peak-capped chauffeur smiled at us, while our protégé gave us a very formal wave – a salute? – and a big grin as he was whisked away.
