Finally found my broken digital compact and extracted some old shots from it before consigning it to the recycling. Some of Rivelin in the snow this January, Kat climbing at Brimham and a load more from Costa Blanca last new year.
A small selection (66) of the holiday snaps from California this summer. Or if you want to see all (a lot more than just 66) of them, then starting in Yosemite Valley we'll head upto Tuolumne Meadows. Across onto the Eastern Sierra around Mammoth Lakes, visiting Mono Lake, the ghost town of Bodie and then around to Jason's in Sacramento. Finally down to some chillin' on the beach at Santa Cruz and exploring San Francisco.
Jason's sent thru more photos and videos of Consumnes River Gorge and Rocklin so there's a few more in the "holiday snaps and a lot more in the Sacramento set. Thanks Jason.
Thanks for (all) the fish (eye camera). I'm loving the effect but the 35mm film is prohibitive so I ordered an equivalent lens for the dSLR. Hopefully it'll arrive before we head across the Atlantic.
Photos from last weekend; wandering over Strines Moor and Kat's friends wedding which seems to be mostly pictures of Kat. I also took three films with the Lomo camera, but only put them in for processing today so it'll be a little while before the results show up here... stay tuned...
Another first on the Grindleford fell race last night. 4.5 miles up, along and down the hills around Grindleford. Just 500 feet of ascent but all in the half mile or so and a river crossing at the finish. My time was 46 and a half minutes-ish. Here's Lisa-Jane looking scary on the final river crossing.
Just bought my first DSLR from those lovely people in Jessops, off to pick it up this evening and play with some photo opportunities by the seaside this weekend. Watch this space for the results...
The scottish roadtrip is now heading down to the southwest and Tobs has bacterial tonsilitis. Apparently the back of his throat looks just like the photo on Wikipedia and he's highly contagious. That'll be two separate tents for the weekend then. Nice!
Bruised and battered with achy all-sorts. The list of demons now includes both blacks on L'Elephant (number 1 and number 2 - both Font 6a), le Surplomb Statique (Font 6b) at Isatis, Drôlesse (another Font 6b) at Rocher Guichot and the mountain orange circuit at Franchard Cuisiniere, which goes at facile. A high effort, low grade-orientated-ticks visit with a tonne of excellent memories.
Photos from Dave.
After a good session at Wetherby last night I had an hour to kill - time enough for some esoteric rock just outside the Leeds ring road. Adel crag first appeared in the book Where to climb in England by Pyatt in 1960 but has been eclipsed by the rest of Yorkshire ever since.
Dave Musgrove says "having lived within a couple of miles of it for some 20 years it never inspired me to put my rock boots on" in the millenium guide so armed with a grid reference I went exploring. Never before has so much polish, chipping and green slime been concentrated on two boulders. I did put my rock boots on but I wasn't inspired! More detail on the nearby disused quarry and underground bunkers in the map section...
Endless bus journeys on the first day to escape the lunacy of Marrakesh. Idyllic muti-pitch sport climbing and mountain biking in Todra Gorge. A night-time arrival back in Djemma el Fna and early morning runs around the souk. My first holiday with some culture for six years :-)
A quick trip north of the border, which might prove (with hindsight) to be the only one of this winter. A long long Saturday in Hells Lum followed by a lazy Sunday around Dunkeld.
Highlights of the year included a pre-season trip to the Alps, camping in Chamonix when only the Midi telepherique and Montenvers train were open. Back in the UK the memorable HVSs of Eliminator, Saul's Crack and Tody's Wall and an early introduction to inland limestone :-(
The year I started climbing! Odds and ends in here by the way of photos: some first climbs at Birchen and Kermit's tour of New Zealand, Hawaii and Las Vegas. And a small trip to Nepal to Everest base camp and Goyko Ri, but there's no electronic photos of that.
First tentative steps on a black mat. The lake shimmers far below. The landing site falls out of sight and out of mind as the mind soars upwards. The wing comes up square, a small correction and then forward. Commit. Run run run. Airborne above the meanacing trees as the vista opens up beneath my feet. The lake shines a deep cold blue, stretching into the distance. Ridges descend from every side to meet the water in thick swathes of darkness. Welcoming fields of smooth browns and green beckon with the reassurance of terra firma. Not quite yet. Straight out over the water. Hang a left and settle on a new bearing. A straight glide to the landing site. Loads of height spare, got to lose it somehow. Tracing curves in the air. Turbulence disturbing the tranquility for a moment. Figures of eight laid one beneath another towards home. Large, green, flat and deviod of obstacles. Check the windsock one more time. Straight into the breeze, still lower. Ground rush. Stand up. Flare! It's time to become a biped again.
Paragliding is the simplest form of flight. Except falling. I had a repetitive dream for several years when I lived in London. I went to a school where people knew how to fly. They'd soar around the woods that lay all around the playground. I couldn't fly. All I saw were their silhouettes against the bright sky. About this time I stopped running in real life. In my nighttime world I would try to run, forcing myself forwards in vain efforts to build up enough ground speed to take off and join my airborne friends, striving for friction along the ground. Nothing ever came of it. My dreams remained earthbound. I became accustomed to the feeling of not making traction against the ground. Of never getting beyond a slow trot. I stopped moving any faster than a walk. For real. Then I found that feeling of running hard and getting nowhere for real under my wing. After building your wall, reverse launch and turn to face takeoff. Step forwards. Step forwards. Again. And again, and run, balancing against the pull of the wing above you, soaring in the same ridge lift that pushes against your face. That moment when you are striving forwards but the wing is lifting, your toes losing contact with the grass, traction and gravity left behind. I dreamt it.
Thoughts of altitude that rule my dreams, day & night. Aspirant alpinist, obsessional climber, big wall rat and paraglider pilot. I love mountain routes: snow, ice and mixed routes from Wales and Scotland to the Alps, from Africa to the Himalayas and the roof of the world. The pristine lines of beauty on grey, brown and white rock that form the skylines above our valley homes in so many corners of these green islands. That single move on an isolated boulder in fields of heather and bracken, or the view around a summit. When keeping going is all that matters. The first breath back on solid and horizontal earth. The rock, the mindset and the moment that has already passed.
It's all change under the covers to move the content across to flickr, google maps and blogger. The design that you see shouldn't change though. Please let me know about any problems you have viewing it all.
Regarding the content, there is one simple but blunt way to express it: it's my blog, and I'll write what I like on it. If you don't find it interesting, don't read it. It isn't offensive (though it might not be safe for work), it isn't defamatory (at least not deliberately), and it's purpose is purely for my own enjoyment. Mine. If you also enjoy it, I'm glad. Happy reading.
But enough waffle, let's get on with uploading the old material...
