UKH

Supertopo are reporting the passing of the author of DOWH.

In reply to Darron:

Sad news. I was at Froggat one evening, he was picnicking with his family. He casually got up and soloed Downhill Racer. Bystanders who didn't recognise him were gobsmacked. 

In reply to Darron:

Sad news indeed. The inspiration for so many stunning routes. And, it would appear, a most complicated, mercurial character.

I only saw him once, on Stanage, on a rare visit home, after he'd gone to live in San Francisco. He led Censor on a raw, bitter day. He was brave. Wrote a little article about it for Mountain. Will see if I can dig it up.

Such sad news. Everybody seems to be leaving us.

Mick

In reply to Darron:

A huge loss. His contribution to climbing was massive. And to climbing literature.

In reply to Gordon Stainforth:

Agreed, best chapter in Hard Rock. 

In reply to Darron:

Sad news. Great climber and writer.
I was lucky enough to see his recital/tripod climbing at the Buxton Conference.

In reply to Darron:

http://www.supertopo.com/climbers-forum/3195076/RIP-Edwin-Drummond

In reply to Pedro50:

Seconded. A lovely piece of writing. A hero.

Very sad news. A rum old year and we've only just got to M5

In reply to Darron:

Another sad day. Was completely in awe when we followed in his Long Hope footsteps, some 27 years after him. RIP.

In reply to Darron:

Sad - a unique character, a great writer and an inspired climber. Met him on top of the Romsdalshorn of all places in 1972. 

In reply to Darron:

Sad news a classic climber of a classic era

In reply to pneame:

I think the only time I met him was in Romsdal, too, in 1969.

In reply to Darron:

I love this quote from an article on the BMC website:

'I didn’t want to bother with all the climbs that qualify you to do the hardest routes.
I wanted to tap in to a developing sense that you can trust the universe, that you can trust yourself. I went to Cloggy with Ken Wilson, and when I saw Great Wall, I told him that I was going to climb it the following day. I’d only been climbing for a year, I had no right to climb this route. I should have been out of my depth.'

In reply to Darron:

Another legend passes and leaves our world a little poorer.

RIP Ed.

In reply to Darron:

Sad news although not totally unexpected I suspect.  I first met him just after he and Dave Pearce had climbed DOWH.  He very kindly wrote out the description, literally on the back of a fag packet in the Padarn, so we could go and do the second ascent, adding that it was really quite straightforward.  We didn't manage it because we bottled out and finished up Wen as we could not believe that it went where it went at that grade.

Al

In reply to GridNorth:

It was graded extreme in the original west col hardback guide.  I think it only became really popular when it appeared in the Ron James bumper fun book at HVS-

In reply to GridNorth:

DOWH remains a contender for the most unlikely piece of climbing at an amenable grade. Positively trouser-filling neverthless. It is a fitting tribute to a talented, visionary climber.

In reply to Greenbanks:

It might be worth compiling a list of some of his best first ascents. In addition to those mentioned, here are a few more: Avon: Hell Gates, The Earl of Perth, The Preter, Last Slip, Limbo, Ffoeg’s Folly, The Blik, Krapp’s Last Tape; Stanage: Archangel, Wuthering, The Asp; High Tor: Delicatessan; Cloggy: Midsummer Night’s Dream.

In reply to Gordon Stainforth:

Linden.

RIP. A sad loss.

jcm

In reply to Darron:

Amazingly, I see that the whole text of 'Hard Rock' is now available on the internet (in the 'Internet Archive': https://archive.org/stream/HardRock_201801/Hard%20Rock_djvu.txt) so I suppose it's OK copyright-wise to put up Drummond's classic article 'Great Wall' - which many have argued is one of the greatest essays ever written on climbing.

Great Wall 
by Ed Drummond 

offSolesstickonicenice. Made it, snug as a nut, my doigt in the peg. While I’m not-resting at the peg he tells me he used it. I’m getting to like him. 

Now you’re big enough to fly, jugs come lovely, hands full of rock up I go like a slow balloon, pink knees bumping up after me. Two rusty pegs peep; ‘That’s as far as Brown got.’ Uncle Joe beams at me from his advert and Pete sounds a long way away. 

Now once upon a ledge in the middle of Great Wall I sat on a jammed half arse and dangled. A tidal wave of rock swelled out all around. Above me a twenty-foot groove groped to a slim bulge; above this straggled a ragged crack. Where this began was a tiny sling, waving to me. Suddenly hungry I took off my sock and lowered it on the slack to the deck where someone put a block of my dates in which I pulled up to suck. For a while. I’d turned cold. While someone else held the rope Pete ran on the spot for warmth. Climbers below moved off home silent as fish. 

I was delighted now to bridge, push, flow, no runners since the ledge, warmer. The little sling was trying to reach me. Boysen, perched, smoking, watching. 

The bulge slid into my arms, frigid with cold. It was staring me in the face. Thirty feet above a runner, only noholds here. Sixty feet is long enough to see where you’re going. The noholds in front of my eyes float up, slowly. First you see them, then you don’t. 

P.A.s on wheels I move quickly, fingers whimpering. The little sling stops to tickle my chin and I put a krab on it and hum. One thin nut on eyelash tape. Then I put my foot in the noose. 

Down I glide, invisible, in the lift, and slip among the staring crowd on the street. He’s still up there. He must be holding on to something. Then he moves jerkily. Suddenly no one is talking, upturned white faces eating the sight alive. You blink and stop breathing. He stands in the sling. ‘This is like cracking a safe,’ he yells. We look at each other. He’s all right. I’m all right. Pete shouts something up. 

Now the crack grins for two sweet nuts. Elephants bounce past trumpeting. I would like to put my fingers in its mouth, free as air, but I’m saving that for a sunny day. Then the crack shuts up and it shut me up until he said there was a peg behind a hidden flake to the right. After that parabola there’s just a human sucker move with a ledge after, just lying there waiting for you to stand on it. Pancake hearted I plopped a fist in five feet above, just as my feet skedaddled. I’m not usually lucky. 

It was too late for him to follow now, and I sat chilling, the silly rurp still in my pocket, while he abseiled down to unstick my runners. ‘Well done Scream,’ he’s said. Five years ago. He was still in love with that wall. Lovely boy Crew, arrow climber. Wall without end. 

In reply to Gordon Stainforth:

Thanks - saved me digging out my copy!

'Lovely boy Crew, arrow climber. Wall without end'. 

Unforgettable, powerful words.  Met him once only - and I almost blurted out that sentence. I was star-struck; he was humble.

In reply to Darron:

RIP.

He produced some of the most luminous writing on climbing.

Met him once on stanage, I was faffing about on the left unconquerable and he strolled up and soloed the right in about five seconds, just pausing to say 'better be careful, we might pull this flake off'. I think he could have done that on his own, he exuded great strength.

In reply to Gordon Stainforth:

Gordon, is the beginning of the Great Wall essay missing?

Mick

In reply to Mick Ward:

Unfortunately Gordon has missed the first column of page 141. 

In reply to Darron:

Sad news - Arrow climber - gone but the great climbs live on.

I only met Ed a few times, on one occasion we were chatting on Stanage - he came over and complimented me on an ascent of Calvary (E4 6a) I thanked him for the brilliant Archangel (E3 5b) and suggested - half in jest - that the other side of the arete might be fun. I believe he did Don (E4 5c) a few days later.

Chris

In reply to Darron:

That is sad news.

My dad was Dave Pearce (fellow Dream of White Horses author) so there was a family connection although I met Ed only the once (as an adult anyway).

When Ed came to Kendal Film Festival on the back of the Hot Aches film The Long Hope, I took the opportunity to meet him and say Hi. His lecture had obviously been difficult for him, due maybe to the drugs for his Parkinsons, but afterwards he relaxed and was charming. I went out with him and his family and friends for a meal, and had a very good night. He was full of wit and intelligent insights about climbing and the balance of family life, and memories of his time climbing with my dad. I really felt a connection with him.

I was so glad to have met him and make the connection again between him and myself, and also on behalf of my dad. I also met his son Howarth, who I just about remember playing with when we were about five.

So, deep sympathies to Howarth and the rest of his family,

Lex Pearce 

In reply to Pedro50:

Oh dear. I am away from my copy of Hard Rock at the moment, since I'm staying at my partner's while convalescing from hip op. That on-line text was split up. I hope this is correct (but can't check it with the book until tomorrow).

Great Wall 
by Ed Drummond 

‘You’ve just got to climb it now.’ That was all the man said: Boysen slipping quietly off to climb. Seal cold in my shorts I was feeling a little blue. Below us Llyn du’r Arddu flashed black glass. On the line of the mountain the toy tiny train crept, its gasps of steam signalling like heartbeats. 

‘Come on lily legs.’ Crew didn’t like to be kept waiting; it was him holding the rope. 

Above me the wall beamed gleamy with rain, bald as a whale. Easter Sunday 1967. I gulped to see there was a line; my pub outboast still stoodered. This wasn’t funny. 

A paraphernalia of cameras, wormy ropes, comments, draggles of steel krabs, oh, and a talisman rurp I’d hidden in the pocket of my shorts; he said I wouldn’t need any pegs. The camera shot me in black and white, glossing over my burning cheeks. My knees were news in wild Wales. Boysen was slinking up his route on velvet feet. 

On blunt finger-tips to a jingle of krabs, I footjigged the first wall to the small overhang. ‘That’s as far as Banner got,’ floated up. I can rest up there thought I, peering, manteling. 

I could not and, mouse nervous, I not-rested for an hour, Crew spearing me from below. ‘I didn’t have a runner there.’ But I did, after an hour, and then I rose again. Ten feet. There was a quartz break and I took one too and looked around. 

I could just make out Llanberis smudged between hills; woman and child would be up now asking where I was. Below me a delighted Pete was blowing advice to a numbed Boysen. Above me was a peg; with an open eye. If I could poke my finger in, he certainly wouldn’t be able to see. If I had a ten-foot arm. 

I lift up to the left, ‘Clements fell off that way,’ bless you sir - a five-foot arm - my fingers start to finger the slippery dimples, toes walking backwards. A ten-foot arm. 

Then he tells me he moved right, ‘then a quick layback and then up to the peg.’ I note the connective; he didn’t say a quick layback up to the peg, so what happens when I get to that ‘and’ ? Climbers arriving below would ask how long I’d been there. I felt established as a kind of gargoyle. Stuck. 

A five foot arm suspension bridging your life inyourhandatthreefootarmldon’thavetofalloffSolesstickonicenice. Made it, snug as a nut, my doigt in the peg. While I’m not-resting at the peg he tells me he used it. I’m getting to like him. 

Now you’re big enough to fly, jugs come lovely, hands full of rock up I go like a slow balloon, pink knees bumping up after me. Two rusty pegs peep; ‘That’s as far as Brown got.’ Uncle Joe beams at me from his advert and Pete sounds a long way away. 

Now once upon a ledge in the middle of Great Wall I sat on a jammed half arse and dangled. A tidal wave of rock swelled out all around. Above me a twenty-foot groove groped to a slim bulge; above this straggled a ragged crack. Where this began was a tiny sling, waving to me. Suddenly hungry I took off my sock and lowered it on the slack to the deck where someone put a block of my dates in which I pulled up to suck. For a while. I’d turned cold. While someone else held the rope Pete ran on the spot for warmth. Climbers below moved off home silent as fish. 

I was delighted now to bridge, push, flow, no runners since the ledge, warmer. The little sling was trying to reach me. Boysen, perched, smoking, watching. 

The bulge slid into my arms, frigid with cold. It was staring me in the face. Thirty feet above a runner, only noholds here. Sixty feet is long enough to see where you’re going. The noholds in front of my eyes float up, slowly. First you see them, then you don’t. 

P.A.s on wheels I move quickly, fingers whimpering. The little sling stops to tickle my chin and I put a krab on it and hum. One thin nut on eyelash tape. Then I put my foot in the noose. 

Down I glide, invisible, in the lift, and slip among the staring crowd on the street. He’s still up there. He must be holding on to something. Then he moves jerkily. Suddenly no one is talking, upturned white faces eating the sight alive. You blink and stop breathing. He stands in the sling. ‘This is like cracking a safe,’ he yells. We look at each other. He’s all right. I’m all right. Pete shouts something up. 

Now the crack grins for two sweet nuts. Elephants bounce past trumpeting. I would like to put my fingers in its mouth, free as air, but I’m saving that for a sunny day. Then the crack shuts up and it shut me up until he said there was a peg behind a hidden flake to the right. After that parabola there’s just a human sucker move with a ledge after, just lying there waiting for you to stand on it. Pancake hearted I plopped a fist in five feet above, just as my feet skedaddled. I’m not usually lucky. 

It was too late for him to follow now, and I sat chilling, the silly rurp still in my pocket, while he abseiled down to unstick my runners. ‘Well done Scream,’ he’s said. Five years ago. He was still in love with that wall. Lovely boy Crew, arrow climber. Wall without end. 

In reply to Darron:

Sad news that.

I have just reread his book ADOWH recently. At first his style of writing is quite difficult to understand ,like his character no doubt. But as I persevered I found the book one of the best personal accounts of climbing and life of a very complex person. His Poetry was a bit too deep for me though.

Only ever met him once when we were doing Calvary and he popped  up (beret and all) from nowhere, watched us climb then just asked if we enjoyed it, then bid us farewell. My mate asked me who that was, when I told him he said we should have gotten his autograph, but he'd gone off soloing somewhere. 

In reply to Darron:

A sad loss of an exceptional, unique and courageous man. He will live on for us climbers in his many outstanding routes. RIP.

In reply to Darron:

Many years ago I spent one day climbing with Ed at Avon. I was there alone midweek. He wandered over and said "Like to do a route?" I did, of course - I knew who he was. We had a great day. I never forget Ed, he was a real gent, very modest, quiet, unassuming, and great company. And of course a superb climber. RIP Ed.

In reply to Darron:

Very sad news. RIP

A big loss to the climbing world.

In reply to Gordon Stainforth:

Thanks for that Gordon. Phrases from that have lived in my mind over the years - "Seal cold in my shorts..." and the last two sentences, in particular. 

In reply to Oliver Hill:

Yes, courageous, and as I'm sure you mean, not just in a climbing sense. His extraordinary personal honesty amazed me. A real loss.

In reply to Ghastly Rubberfeet:

Sad news indeed.

I too was lucky enough to see his Tripod poetry performance. I once bumped into him at Stanage and complimented him on the publication of DOWH. It just so happened I was going through my Drummond acolyte phase and wearing a pink beret at the time.

Great loss to the writing, climbing and public demonstration communities.

My condolences to his family.

In reply to Darron:

I only met Ed once, in a pub in North Wales, though he never met me.

However, there was one occasion he left me gobsmacked.

In 2007 my partner and I were climbing at Boy Scout Rocks near San Francisco, and we had quickly exhausted what we could lead.

So we started top roping some blank sections. One was called Earthcling. Neither of us could do it, even on top rope. I looked it up in the guidebook to see it was graded 5.11b. Ed did the FA, -but the showstopper was reading that Ed had hand drilled and placed the bolts on lead on the FA.

As we were leaving, we passed a couple of American youths, arriving toting a battery power drill. We were tempted to comment, but decided not to, being mere tourists, although wanting to be loyal to our compatriot.

Fred

In reply to Darron:

Sad news, a big and controversial character in the history of UK climbing. I certainly remember some of  the controversies. New grading system, elite guide book to the Avon Gorge. One bit of trivia that sticks in my mind was an ongoing argument in Mountain where, if I remember correctly, he was stating that Whillans harnesses were unsafe if the krab on the crotch strap were used. No instant media, these arguments were conducted over months and one thought it sort of gave an insight into character.  Mind you,I could be wrong and it was someone else with a bee in their bonnet. My perception always was that he was outside the circle and wished to be so, however his achievements speak volumes on his climbing ability and his volumes speak eloquently of his literary ability. The climbing world , IMHO, is a richer place because of him. 

In reply to Darron:

I loved his open letter to Keith Myhill in Mountain regarding the Linden controversy. Superbly worded whatever the rights or wrongs of the affair. Does anyone have access to it?

In reply to overdrawnboy:

I think it's in Games Climbers Play.

In reply to Coel Hellier:

Cheers I'm off to dig out my copy!

In reply to overdrawnboy:

Will check Games Climbers Play. Don't recall it, actually. Mind you, drilling holes in gritstone to take sky hooks would take some justifying.

In reply to Pekkie:

Yes the Linden controversy is in GCP. 

In reply to Darron:

What's DOWH?

In reply to Pekkie:

Two Letters p 335.

In reply to aln:

Dream Of White Horses.

In reply to aln:

A Dream of White Horses. Both a route and a book by Drummond. 

In reply to Cog:

Oops, can't find Games Climbers Play. Just Mirrors in the Cliffs. Don't suppose you could post the letters (like the good chap you undoubtedly are). Just intrigued as to what how you could argue the toss about such an act.

In reply to Darron:

A climber on the Edge, his climbs and his writing tested the boundaries - and encouraged others to do the same. Sad news.

In reply to Pekkie:

This might work, but taken from a 40 year old book and there are probably copyright problems.

http://www.colinmoody.com/Site/Letters.html

In reply to Pekkie:

Hi Pete, am putting a together a retrospective piece on Ed Drummond and part of it deals with this controversy. Think it was more 'dots' for skyhooks, rather than drilled holes, per se. Obviously still beyond the pale. The thought of standing up in slings on skyhooks on Linden fills me with horror. And if you fluff it on the top wall...

Mick

In reply to Darron:

Ed Drummond. Climbing poet. Inimitable.

In reply to Mick Ward:

Hi Mick, I'm sure you've already seen this 2014 article about Ed Drummond (and I recommend it to anyone who likes to read it, there are some great photos too):

https://www.expressandstar.com/editors-picks/2014/08/20/peaks-poems-and-pro...

In reply to Darron: I met Ed through a friend in the late 80s/early 90s and climbed a handful of times with him. Always great company. My most memorable and archetypal 'Uncle Ed' outing went as follows, in brief: it was just before he left the UK in September 1992 to go back to the US following his by-then estranged wife Leah and daughters; Would I like to join him for a mad dash to Anglesey before he left the country? He wanted to climb The Moon - he had never been back to it since his FA; Of course I would!; So I drove down from Newcastle after work on the Friday evening, picked him up in Sheffiled, then drove on down to Wales arriving in the small hours at South Stack we her we slept in the car; next day dawned fine, and off we went down to the bottom of Yellow Wall, and started up the route, with Ed leading, except he was on the wrong line; he was absolutely adamant he was right, despite the guidebook and the fact the line he was on was choosy as f**k, but he carried on regardless, until two guys arrived on the belay ledge and said, "No The Moon is over there", so we relocated; they didn't recognise Ed, so their effusive praise for the man's vision in doing such an audacious FA back in the day was pleasing to Ed's ears and ego!; so we did the route, with him leading the (damp and greasy) crux pitch in impeccable style, one of the best bits of climbing I've ever witnessed, to be honest; We finished the route, coiled the ropes, stashed gear etc,  BUT........peering towards Snowdonia, he then says 'Hey, let's go and do Vector"!.....bear in mind it was September, and by now early afternoon, also it obviously been raining over cloud-shrouded Snowdonia all day; nonetheless, off we drove; the lady in the petrol station at Portmadoc confirmed it had indeed been pissing down all day; "Hmm....well let's have a look, just in case" says Ed, "I try and do Vector at least once a year"; and so ion to the route.....P1, my lead was dry; P2, his lead, was dampish, and his execution of the moves on the Ochre Slab was another masterclass; which left me with P3 to negotiate, by now in the gathering gloom, in fact the pitch dark by the time I was fumbling my way up the final groove; descent was fun in the blackness; and then we drove back to Sheffield, I dropped him off, back to Newcastle. I never saw him face to face again, although we kept in touch by mail for a while. The mutual friend Paul, who Ed introduced to climbing, has some even more hair-raising tales, eg ascent of Central Park on Gogarth on a late January afternoon in pouring rain when ropes got stuck......the best of days (in retrospect!). RIP 'Uncle Ed.'

In reply to MadProfessor:

PS That lead of the damp top pitch of Vector in the dark was one of my finest moments!!!

In reply to Mick Ward:

Did he not have the skyhooks taped to his wrists. I’m sure I read that somewhere.

In reply to webbo:

That might make more sense!  But it still seems less scary to just climb it normally. I suppose the problem was that the route was just a few years early in terms of technical difficulty, sustainedness and scariness. Although, of course, nobody knew how standards were going to leap in those few years.

With hindsight, obviously he should have left it for someone better - or just got better himself.

But, back then, the notion of going up that wall just seemed ridiculous. So credit to him for having the vision.

Mick

In reply to MadProfessor:

Wonderful story. Clearly mad as a hatter!

Mick

In reply to profitofdoom:

Thank you so much for putting this on. I think I'd read it back then but, if so, it had certainly slipped my mind. Some wonderful photos too. I feel a complete fraud writing about him, as I only ever saw him once and I don't think we exchanged a single word. But I hate the thought of some kind of retrospective not appearing about him. What's clear from yesterday's effort is the number of different phases of his life and his attempts to reorientate himself through them. What a fascinating, endlessly complex character he seems to have been!

Mick

In reply to Mick Ward:

I’ve just had a look in Peak Rock and it would appear that he used the skyhooks in the conventional way as in his reply to Keith Myhill when he criticised the route. He says “ The route is there for you too. Go on- open your legs- let’s see what you can do. Balancing on these two impeccable skyhooks should keep you quite. You might even learn to pray; and not prey.

In reply to webbo:

Thanks, Steve, you're absolutely right. I both read that and used it yesterday!  Am obviously getting a bit brain-dead. An awful lot to get through, trying to do some kind of justice to the man. Impossible, really, to do full justice to him.

Brilliant letter, re Linden! Even Myhill must have chuckled.

Mick

In reply to Mick Ward:

Hi Mick,

Two interesting nuggets of history re Linden. Phil Davidson soloed the route on sight not long after the controversy - though after Mick Fowler had led the route clean - and Jim Perrin witnessed the chipping for sky hooks from an adjacent route. On noticing that he was being watched Drummond said 'Do I know you?' No doubt Jim can confirm this story. This doesn't take away from the fact that Ed Drummond was a talented climber and writer and though I never met him he does look like an interesting and amiable character from the old photos. And there is also the hilarious anecdote in Extreme Rock by John Allen which describes Drummond climbing at Frogatt wearing a huge water-cooled helmet and with an equally huge bag of chalk dangling between his legs like an enormous swollen scrotum.

In reply to Pekkie:

Linden first ascent April 1973 first free ascent December 1976 so that’s not really not long after.

In reply to webbo:

But surely standards had leaped up in those few years? 

Mick

In reply to Pekkie:

I asked Jim once about his animus re Drummond (though I think they became friends later). If I remember correctly (and I may not!) Jim was doing one of the Unconqerables with yet another of his ladies and Drummond came soloing up. Which naffed him off. (T'wasn't as though Jim couldn't have soloed them in his sleep.) Animus or not, Jim would have been shocked by the chipping, however minimal. Brilliant effort for Phil Davidson soloing it on sight (shudder!)  Which, I guess, is more proof that, after Pex (should one survive the rigours), owt else is a piece of piss.

Mick

In reply to Mick Ward:

I didn’t type that right what I meant was  three and half years was quite a long time and as you mention standards had risen a lot in that time.

In reply to the thread:

I see there is no Wikipedia page for Ed Drummond.  Is he notable enough (not just within the narrow climbing community) to merit one? Anyone want to rectify the absence? 

In reply to Mick Ward:

You are very welcome. I was very glad to read above that you are putting a together a retrospective piece on Ed Drummond, and will look forward to reading it. (PS please don't say you're "a complete fraud writing about him" - personally anyway I really enjoy reading what you write)

I also thought the photos in the article were great, and completely agree with you that "some kind of retrospective" is needed for the unique person Ed Drummond was

In reply to Darron:

Oh, there's a mini-cull going on; Smiler Cuthbertson and now Ed Ward-Drummond; a hero of the era. Ascending DOWH was the climb of my life when I did it. His essay in Hard Rock was wondrous prose; climbers slinking home silent as fish; seal cold in shorts, arrow climb; wall without end. That Linden controversy letter. The protest climbs. Always an outsider it seemed to me. And then to be struck by three bastard hammer blows; the Parkinson's, the bowel cancer and the dementia - God, life can be viciously cruel. 

I grew up with Drummond as one of my climbing heroes. I shared a caravan once in the pass with Smiler and some Birmingham friends a long time ago. Life's a bitch, a fun-filled, gleesome rewarding bitch, and then you die. Quietly and calmly if you're lucky, and in a vile horrible way if you are not. Jeez, I hope he treasured his memories, because I do mine of him, his climbs and his prose.

In reply to Chris_Mellor:

yes, Ed's AA protest deserves a mention:

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/oct/21/anti-apartheid-protestors-m...

youtube.com/watch?v=BXwOQLkkKWQ&

In reply to Gordon Stainforth:

By God, that's beautiful writing 

In reply to Chris_Mellor:

That caravan was it opposite the bus stop?  And did you share it with Eddie Plum ,Manchester Rick, & a  Brummie called Clive

In reply to Removed Usercapoap:

Oh yes!!! Clive was totally bonkers. I remember being driven through Tremadog with him in the front passenger seat filling a bicycle pump with water and spraying pedestrians on the pavement. Mad days.

In reply to Chris_Mellor:

Some say little has changed except I now have a 220+ hp Lotus 7 to go up the pass in and a licence now.

Sorry for thead drift,  I never really met Ed  Dummond  but repeated DOWH a few times over the years and had total respect for him.      That pic of the 1st ascent !!!!!!!!

  As said before a bad week with the loss of Smiler also. Im sure they can share some tales together.  RIP

In reply to Removed Usercapoap:

More thread drift. Clive Powell was the Clive I mentioned - checked an old climbing diary. Mick Coffee is also a name I associated with the caravan. I used to hitch-hike up from London for weekends there. Eddy Edkins might have been another. I drifted away and started climbing with the North London Climbing Club of the LMC; I forget which.

So capoap, would you be CAP who is an OAP, and is CAP Clive A Powell?

In reply to Chris_Mellor:

Yep Tiger Mick, Dave Pearce, Eddy Edkins re Plum.  Smiler. Erick Jones all had connections there.

 John De  Montjoy just mailed me also!!!!!