Pete Crew

More

• Change Log
• Library

John Alcock:

The news of Pete's death was emotional for me. He and his friends had a profound influence on my young life, while getting to know my Dad had a profound influence on him.

My Mum and Dad had been keen climbers in the 40s and 50s, but had given up climbing when my sister and I were born. When we started to show an interest in the late 60s/early 70s, my Dad booked a week's guiding with Pete to learn about modern equipment such as nylon ropes, hemp waist lines and chockstone runners, though of course we were still using waist belays, had no harnesses, no nuts and the accepted rule was that "the leader must not fall." They got on from the start: both driven, self-made, working class men who'd won scholarships to Oxford.

My Dad (Professor Leslie Alcock) was one of the country's leading archaeologists and Pete became fascinated by the subject. His focus switched with remarkable speed from climbing to archaeology. With the same passionate, ruthless, single-mindedness that he'd brought to new-routing, he rebuilt his life around archaeology. My Dad helped guide him on his new path.

For me, however, their friendship had very different consequences. Pete kindly allowed me to spend large parts of my summers living in his home in Deiniolen grabbing every opportunity to climb that I could. I believe that I earned my keep by sometimes baby-sitting his children Patrick and Angharad. Unqualified of course, but perhaps I was more responsible than many adults on the North Wales climbing scene at that time.

It was quite an eye-opener for a church-going, scouting, goody two shoes from suburban Cardiff who hadn't yet reached his teens. Pete lived a relatively "normal" life, but the Byronesque Jim Perrin spent time there apparently hiding from the police and angry women.. He emerged to take me up Cloggy and play "let's go continental" with the wild Al Harris. If we saw a car we thought was being driven by Al approaching on the narrow twisting road to Llanberis, Jim would immediately switch to the wrong side of the track to see who would blink first. Somehow we survived. For the first time I was exposed to a rebellious, swearing, irreligious, womanising, drink and drug-taking disorganised gang of individuals- many of whom were brilliant, bold climbers. I never looked back.

Although his focus was now elsewhere, Pete sometimes took me climbing in the Pass and on Cloggy. Evenings were often spent wandering the then deserted slate quarries beneath his house or bouldering at Fach Wen. Other climbing legends like Joe Brown and Martin Boysen sometimes joined Pete, Jim, Al and others. For all his ability to battle his way up audacious routes, Pete was a useless technician compared to climbers like Boysen and Harris.

I have vivid memories of Pete's wedding to Liz- me somewhat awestruck surrounded by my climbing inspirations. My Dad and I spent the morning drinking Bloody Marys. By early afternoon we were pretty pissed so decided to go for a walk up Snowdon to "clear the air". To Pete's bemusement we asked if he had a rope we could take as we always carried a rope on the hills in Scotland. He gave us an old tatty climbing rope he used as a car tow rope. We staggered off up the Miners Track and before long found ourselves using the rope to rescue a walker who'd fallen two hundred feet down one of the Trinity Gullies. Amazingly he only had two cracked ankles, so we lowered him to Glaslyn to await the trained and sober MRT. We then wobbled back to Pete's wedding party to resume our drinking.

Of course I hero-worshiped Pete and his friends. Pete gave me a tatty white chest harness he'd used on North Faces in the Dolomites, the battered shoes he used to climb the Boldest, the oiled wool sweater he wore in some of the iconic John Cleare photos in Rock Climbers in Action in Snowdonia. I wish I still had them. For all his extreme competitiveness, sharp tongue and fierce intellect, Pete was always kind, supportive and generous to me. They were attributes shared by my Dad, so I guess I knew how to cope.

In 1974/75, when I was 14 Pete and I teamed up to help my Dad excavate Castle Rock Dumbarton. We used our climbing skills to work on the steep slopes outside the castle walls. Evenings were spent occasionally doing routes on the cliffs below, but more often traversing Glasgow's famous Finnieston Walls.

After that I saw less of Pete though my Dad kept in close touch. What remained with me though was the inspiration of Pete's boldness, ambition and drive. Being a tiny, insignificant part of that vibrant North Wales scene for a short while helped fire the enthusiasm to climb which remains with me today. [2]

References

[1] https://www.ukclimbing.com/forums/rock_talk/pete_crew-138403

[2] https://www.ukclimbing.com/forums/rock_talk/pete_crew_-_rip-783907

[3] Obituary by his son Patrick Crew, August 2025 https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1FGC2W817j/?mibextid=wwXIfr

[4] https://www.climber.co.uk/people/peter-crew-the-climbing-years/