Metalcore

I’m a bit flabbergasted at how the last week and a half has gone. It started the weekend before last with a fantastic 3 day weekend in the Highlands, climbing plans abandoned thanks to the unreliable forecast. Instead we ventured off in search of a living legend by the name of Frank, raconteur extraordinaire, welcoming host and keeper of the bothy at Tarbet on Loch Nevis.
 
 

Frank recounting his wild days! (Photo: Helen Black)

If I can be as animated, alive and kicking in my 80s, I will be a happy man indeed. Helen tells the story beautifully on her blog. High on life from meeting such a man and after a little life affirming fresh water swimming I felt revitalised for the week ahead and a rematch with the bugbear that is Metalcore. I had restarted earlier this month my account after a month of successful weekend raids to Yorkshire. I found myself a new convert in the form of Mark McQuade who was looking for something different to do while patiently waiting for winter. The boy has a big project of his own.

A rock athlete needs his ice bath (Photo: Helen Black)

After 2 visits I found myself back to where I was last October when the weather stopped play. Falling at the penultimate bolt, the sting in the tail, which I know saw to Dave a few times when he put the route up. At least I was in good company falling there.

Mid-week I was invited to take another look at TCA Glasgow. I was blown away by the progress and the scale of the place, oh and the possibility of becoming assistant manager. In fact I didn’t manage to sleep on it before writing my acceptance. I literally cannot wait to get in there!

Training for Santa Linya in this corner (Photo: Paul Twomey/TCA)

I pencilled in the weekend for the next bout at the Anvil, seeing life with a real positive bent after meeting Frank, swimming in the sea, scoring a job at the future coolest wall in the UK and discovering that when you go to the UK mainland’s most westerly point you find like-minded people.

Ardnamurchan Lighthouse Saintees! (Photo: Helen Black)

I arranged a date with Matt Pycroft fresh off the back of filming the MacLeod machine on his latest scary epic. What I had to offer was a lot tamer but he seemed just as psyched to get something in the can. Unlike Dave, I had a lot of self-doubt that I could actually produce the goods while the camera was rolling. Sure enough 5 redpoints on Saturday before the sweltering heat became too much saw me unable to nail the bottom crux move. I was miffed, I was doing the move in isolation better than ever and linking it to the top, yet it eluded me from the ground. Perhaps the pressure of wanting to do it while Matt was there to provide the evidence was getting to me.

Trying hard to stay warm and stay on last October (Screen grab: Matt Pycroft Media)

Unable to find a belay for the Sunday, I really didn’t think it would happen for yet another few weeks. What a delight to roll over in bed and check the time on my phone, at 2 am as it happens, and see a text from Mikey Jeans. He was ready to push his belaying to the next grade.

Mikey Jeans, one of Scotland's greatest belaying talents (Screen Grab: Matt Pycroft Media)

And he did. One more go was all it took. The route felt fine, not easy, not hard, but within me. I think that was a satisfying conclusion. To have invested the effort, to climb the route well and get it all on film to boot, seemed like a dream. I await the footage with excitement but my mind is already turning to what is next. Once is never enough.

Chilling on the rest before the heartbreaker sequence (Photo: Dan Walker)