I’m hesitant to post this but here we go. Its an account of a harrowing day at Gogarth last week with Simon King charting a sequence of mishaps which kept narrowing our options culminating in…..well, grab a mug of tea to find out - if you have a spare 10 minutes that is.
I started climbing when I went to University in October 1983 and my first visit to Gogarth was in September 1985. I’d just got back from my first (and only) trip to the Alps and had decamped to my girlfriend’s in Chester. Seb Grieve was one of my main climbing partners at the University club. Together we had a tour of North Wales hitching between crags culminating in a few days dossing at Gogarth where we climbed Spider Wall E1, Big Groove E2/3, Spiders Web E2,A1, T.Rex E3, Wonderwall E3 and Blue Peter E4.
Significantly I also failed on Graduation Ceremony E4 where I backed off the start of the second pitch which was damp and we abbed off. This must have irked as I went back the following month with another club member, Charlie Stripp for another go. Again, I backed off the start of the second pitch and this time escaped up Big Groove as it got dark. Towards the top we had to time our moves with the beam of the South Stack lighthouse as it swept round.
Thereafter my love affair with Pembroke blossomed which relegated Gogarth to being a plan B option for me at least. Most of my subsequent visits were weekend trips whilst living in Manchester in the mid 90’s ticking off the classic test pieces on the main cliff - Citadel, Hunger, Mammoth Direct, Positron - but for some reason I didn’t go back on Graduation Ceremony. My last visit to the Main Cliff was in 1996 with Andy Perkins when I failed on Alien, then graded E5 (now E6).
Roll forward to last week. Simon King and I had scheduled a 4-day trip. Pembroke was an option, but we decided on North Wales. I was keen to get my trad head back in a run up to a Scottish sea cliff trip in May as well as to continue to make the most of the fabulous run of good weather.
On Tuesday we drove over stopping at Craig Y Forwyn. The weather and scenery were gorgeous. Unfortunately, Simon discovered he’d left his boots in Sheffield so I was on the sharp end. I had a lovely day climbing Sunset Strip E1, The Groan E2/3 and Sangfroid Direct E2/3 abbing each time to retrieve the gear. Lovely that is apart from a pair of climbers who decided to lob a pair of fully coiled ropes off te top of the crag which landed 20 feet away. I had words.
That evening we drank far too much at the pub but with an ambition to step things up a few notches the following day by attempting Graduation Ceremony as I figured I could always bail up Big Groove.
In the morning we went to Anglesey via Llanberis so Simon could buy a pair of shoes. There was no rush as low tide wasn’t till 1.30pm. Again, a bluebird day. The sea was calm and crossing the tidal traverse along the base of the cliff was uneventful except at some point I lost my climbing specs. However, in the full sun climbing in my tinted specs would be fine.
Simon got the first 5c/6a pitch. This climbed to a low bulge followed by a crux move over it into a groove. Not having climbed harder than E2 this year he struggled and ended up aiding over the bulge up the groove and taking an early belay to its left. I followed ok but also found it hard and led through to finish the pitch. There was more climbing left to do on the first pitch than I anticipated which ended with some nervy moves that deposited me on the right side of Big Groove’s large sloping ledge. From here a quartzy groove marked the start of the second pitch.
With modern protection and some fiddling I was able to protect the start of the second pitch to my satisfaction then set on up the groove and then a steepening crack above. I was doing alright and may have even done the crux but then encountered crumbly rock where it steepened even further into an offwidth that looked equally crumbly. Without huge cams I couldn’t see any alternative protection for the next 15 feet and was unwilling to run it out so reversed a few moves and jumped off and hung there mightily fed up with myself.
I gave it some more goes but after a lot of faffing, dogging and self-berating, I lowered off a high nut and krab on one rope stripping the gear as I went with Simon taking in on the other rope to provide some protection in case the nut popped. I was tired and powered out but nonetheless was looking forward to an enjoyable romp out up Big Groove.
We shifted the belay to the left side of the ledge, and I made some awkward and not brilliantly protected moves to gain a higher shelf which had a large spike with three rotting slings to which added my own. The open groove above looked tricky and the way up looked to be on the left wall. It was brown smooth rock with poor foot and hand holds no doubt made glassier after a day of full sun. Up and down I went. What was going on? My recollection was that this was easy E3 at most. Did I just switch my brain off in the past and go for it? New levels of despair. I spotted a potential tiny placement but Simon had my RP’s so I hauled them up. I have quite a collection from original RP’s and tiny Chouinard wires from when I first started climbing to newly acquired DMM peenuts. However, nothing was going in - then suddenly I dropped them. I nearly cried.
More up and downing but I wasn’t prepared to fully commit on the slippery holds when the consequence of a fall could have meant hitting the shelf below the flake and breaking my ankles. I was so frustrated with myself but finally reconciled that I wasn’t prepared to do it. (I later found out that a massive flake had come off the right side of the groove and it was now widely recognised as E45c. Unfortunately my new guide hadn’t been updated to reflect this).
Simon suggested I escape up an HVS further left. I knew nothing about this route. All I could see was walls covered in furry lichen and concluded it was overgrown and hadn’t been climbed for decades and so I would be merely jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Had I known Simon had done it the previous year I’d have been encouraged enough to try it. He later told me he’d offered to lead it but either I didn’t hear that or didn’t register. So wrong assumptions on my part and poor communication between us led to us instead to abseil from the spike.
This was not a welcome option as the tide would now be in and retreat by retracing the traverse out might not even be possible depending on the height of the tide. Inevitably the ropes were going to get wet. Time was getting on and we only had a couple of hours of daylight left.
I went first bouncing against the rock so I could reach the base of the cliff. The sea was choppy. With one last bounce I grabbed holds at the base of the cliff just as a wave rolled in and drenched me. I scrambled up to the right and put a couple of pieces in and set the ropes up so Simon wouldn’t be similarly afflicted. He joined me on the ledge and pulled the tail ends of the ropes from the sea and started untangling them as I started pulling the end down. We got the knot but then unexpectedly the second rope snagged on god knows what. I pulled as hard as I could and could only bring it down an inch at a time. Simon suggested abandoning it and retrieving it tomorrow. Easy for him to say as it wasn’t his rope!. I carried on pulling and then he joined and with a combined effort we got it to come down, dropping into the sea. Simon hauled it out and coiled it up and set across the juggy traverse with me following behind. He timed the waves better as I got caught out twice more with the waves rolling up to my chest.
Towards the end of the traverse you go round a large steep pinnacle (Gogarth Pinnacle) via a perfectly formed narrow rock gangway about 20 feet long which unfortunately takes you at a low level close to the sea and lacks holds on the wall to grab onto. I believe in high water it is submerged in which case roping up to climb the pinnacle and abseiling down the other side is required.
Having been hit three times by waves I was gripped at the prospect of scuttling along the gangway despite the sea seemingly having now gone calm. Simon was already on the other side perched safely 15 feet higher on the promontory at its end.
I cautiously made my way across and was almost at its end when Simon shouted, “There’s a big one coming in”. Oh no. I braced myself as the water crashed over my head. Despite this I maintained my footing and thought I was ok but then as the wave rolled back, I was dragged with it off the gangway into the sea. Fuck.
When I emerged, I was 15 feet out from where Simon was on the promontory above. My helmet had been ripped off and my specs gone. This wasn’t a fun dip in the sea that we could have a laugh about; this was serious. I don’t the know the ways of the sea with its dark and mysterious currents and undertows, but I did know that experienced climbers have drowned at Gogarth before me. It was clear in my mind I was about to join the list and become a statistic.
I’m not a strong swimmer and generally avoid it. Laden with an already heavy sodden 60m rope on my back, full rack of climbing gear and shoes I was struggling to keep my nose out the water with the swell lapping at my face. Simon was shouting at me to keep going as he frantically uncoiled his rope. I felt bad for him.
Sculling my arms in the swell failed to propel me back towards the cliff. Time was short. It was exhausting work treading water and I knew I couldn’t keep going for long especially if submerged by another wave.
It occurred to me that it would be all too easy to give up early when you felt all hope was lost and I briefly wondered how many did go that way. Discarding the thought, I resolved that I would keep fighting from going under until the very end even though it would just be delaying the inevitable.
Almost on a whim I worked my feet up to the surface to see if trying to float was easier than treading water. It was! The best decision I’d made all day. I’d bought myself time. I don’t know what residual memory prompted me to do this. Probably early water survival lessons over 50 years ago at the open-air swimming pool of my primary school in Devon. Simon later said that seeing me do this was an encouraged sign that I was thinking not panicking. I tried to ditch the rope from my back but found I needed to keep my arms outstretched and paddling to stay afloat.
What would happen to me next? I remembered dropping a chalk bag in the sea at Swanage. It floated on the water then gradually bobbed away out to sea until it was out of sight. My gloomy forecast was that by the time Simon uncoiled the rope I’d be too far out for him to throw it to me.
I’m not sure how long I was out there. Maybe two or three minutes bobbing up and down in the gentle swell – all the time working to stay afloat and thinking bitter thoughts. However, whilst I wasn’t floating out to sea, I wasn’t getting nearer to the cliff either. The 15 feet gap between me and the cliff felt like it might as well have been a mile away. I was in purgatory waiting for some mysterious sea force to carry me out to join my old chalk bag on the horizon.
My other close to death experiences were all over in a moment. This time I had the luxury of contemplation and recrimination.
Risk is an ephemeral elusive thing. You can try to minimise it in an inexact way but when things don’t work out it really doesn’t matter if you were reckless or careful, unlucky or unlucky - the universe doesn’t care. Just get on with the consequences. I was convinced I was a goner from the moment I was washed off the rock and pissed off that I was going to die this way - not the noblest sentiment when approaching the scaffold I admit. Strangely at no point did I register that the water was cold despite it probably being 9 or 10 degrees. I don’t know if that was adrenaline at work or because I had other things on my mind.
Then I felt it! - a much bigger rise in the swell. But instead of being taken out to sea I found myself gently propelled towards the cliff. Too gently for my liking as it didn’t seem like there would be enough force to reach it. And would there be anything to grab onto if I did? As I got nearer I saw it - a beautiful jug hold perfectly placed just above the waterline. But my progress was slowing and I pictured myself reaching inches away from the jug before cruelly being carried back out again by the swell. But no! Not today. I was there. It was in my left hand. The ultimate thank-god hold. I was going to live.
Nothing could have prised me off that jug and I wanted to carry on holding it come what may. It was my haven of safety. Simon by this stage had uncoiled the rope and set it up. He snaked the rope down to me. I didn’t see there was a knot in the end - my specs were long gone. I grabbed the rope, but it was hard to hold and not in the best place so simply let go. Simon wasn’t having it. He was shouting at me and flicked the rope back at me and so reluctantly I twizzled it around my forearm this time, so it was easier to hold and with his help left the jug and climbed up to join him.
The sun was setting. Simon was very attentive to my condition as we walked out but I wasn’t cold and was still thinking straight. Unfortunately, in the excitement he exited too early up the grassy slope. Easily done. Even without my specs I knew it was a bad idea to carry on up the steepening grassy hillside and said so. We backtracked and scrambled across boulders in the next bay and found the exit path. Even this is precipitous and slippery enough. A final scramble up a rocky gully took us to our sacs. Fortunately, I had some dry clothes. It was still a lengthy walk back to the car and Simon insisted on carrying most of the gear. We also lost our way a bit in the myriad of tracks to choose from. It was in the back of my mind that we should cut short the trip, but I was conscious that Simon hadn’t done any decent climbing. Unprompted he said we should head home (we came in his car) not least because the ropes and gear were wet.
It was long drive back to Sheffield and I was wired and rattled all the way.
Back home I washed my gear rack as soon as I got in. I spared Sonia the full details till the following morning.
Naturally I have gone over what we did wrong (and right) during that day. Whilst we made judgement errors, I don’t think we did anything particularly moronic. I suspect that many or even most climbers faced with the same situations, with the same knowledge would have probably had similar thought processes, arriving at similar decisions to take the same actions and risks we did, and most of the time you’d get away with it though hopefully less narrowly than I did.
In terms of lessons my two practical ones would be to rope up at the base of the Main Cliff if in any doubt about the state of the sea (especially when passing around Gogarth Pinnacle) and that treading water is harder than floating.
No doubt from now on I’ll take more precautions with tide-affected sea cliffs (with the best precaution being to avoid them altogether!) and try and think and communicate better when harassed.
In terms of what I learnt about myself I found I was stoic under stress but (as it turned out) unduly pessimistic. In the sea I skipped the denial stage, was initially angry, but then skipped bargaining, depression to arrive at an annoyed state of acceptance.
Has it changed me as a person? Doubt it. I was rattled for a few days and still think about it a lot but no bad dreams, so far. Will it change my behaviours? Expect so. A bit more caution, research and forward planning would have not gone amiss as well as communicating better with my partner.
That’s my take. No doubt everyone will make their judgements and draw their own lessons from this story but if it does nothing more than raise your appreciation for the dangers of tidal sea cliffs a notch that’s probably no bad thing. [1]