UKH

Inspired by the James Pearson story and as I'm stuck at an airport, I thought it would be interesting to here peoples tails of shame, rather than the usual tails of darling do. Those times you got away with it but instead of the glorious feeling of being in control and strong in a dangerous situation you feel angry and shame and the pointless risks and your crappy judgement.

I've got a few, but a bit if a wake up call for me was when I got into soloing on grit more regularly. I had been doing lots of the classic  HVSs and decided it would be cool to solo all the 2 and 3 star HVSs at popular end. I'd done all the ones I liked and had moved on to ones I didn't know so we'll, I got to the crag, warmed up badly and jumped on Mississippi variant. I got half way across the traverse, felling stiff, the moves felt unnatural, and forced. I didn't really want to be there, but i had taken the day off to tick a few off the list so regrdless this is what i was going to do. I told myself it's only 5a there will be jugs and blindly launched towards the final crack, finding nothing but rounded holds I just wedged my arm in the break and ungracefully lurched to the top pretty out of control, not feeling scared, just angry I had mis judged so many factors. Needless to say I had a word with myself, realised soloing stuff for some totally arbitrary tick list was stupid, i had somehow cheapend something i get so much out of and whent boldering.

"Navigating" off the top of Blà Bheinn in the mist and somehow managing to descend into Strath na Créitheach in the West instead of towards my tent (which was now a very long way away) on the lower slopes East of the mountain. I blamed the magnetic rocks back then, but to be honest I was young, pretty clueless, and it was my first time on Skye

Three days later I had taken my boots and socks off to wade a stream, and gashed the sole of my foot so badly that there was no other option but to pack up and go home. Boy, was I mad at (and ashamed of) myself.

I soloed Captain's Perogative at Birchen many years back. The route is basically three matelshelves one after another. First mantel went OK and still very escapeable. Second mantel went OK, but now 100% committed to top out mantel and realising I'm not actually very good at mantels and no longer want to be there. Top out went OK in the end, but reminded me not to solo moves I can't reverse. 

You may be shamed by the staff at the climbing wall if you dont tie a stopper knot in your tail when tying in

I thought the thread related to my embarrassing attempts to hide my prehensile appendage.

Keep your prehensile appendage modestly hidden please.

Sea Walls, Avon Gorge - late 90's. Had a summers day off work mid-week, callow youth that I am I decided to go down and try my hand at a bit of easy grade soloing. Sun shining, Troll striped tights on, Think Pink vest - I was for a moment or two a continental Rock God!

My shame comes not from my attire as it was bang on for the time, it comes from getting stuck!  I think I was just bimbling around at the time as I can't see the route in the Logbook and none of the names ring a bell, but I got stuck. Couldn't climb left or right. couldn't climb up and out to The Downs, and down climbing was out of the question. So I sat there, for aaaaaages, in the sun, getting dehydrated and red, gingerly trying moves to get myself out of my predicament, and it's surprising how despondent you can get sat on a ledge, in the middle of the urban sprawl, a stones throw away from a can of pop. And obviously there was no-one else there as it was mid-week, no mobile phone at that point so couldn't call anyone. So I waited, and god did I wait - eventually a couple arrived to climb and offered me a rope and I was lowered off, looking very pink and sheepish.

It gets worse, I'd caught the bus in to town from Fishponds, so had the joy of walking up in to Clifton and then down to town to get the bus with the weekday commuters who must have thought I was auditioning for Readybrek I was radiating heat and light so strongly!

Lots of calamine lotion!

Ha! I once managed to end up about 4km where I wanted to be by on a trip to Alaska by forgetting my GPS was giving me degrees minutes seconds, but I had drawn a decimal grid on the map. Confessing to my mates when the clouds cleared and we realised where we were did not make me popular!

A long time ago. Chopping wood to light a fire in the hut after an evening in the pub I lopped the tip off my index finger, just down to the bone. I bought a tubular bandage for it, and taped in the thimble like plastic applicator to afford some extra protection.

A few days later I visited Trowbarrow for an evenings soloing. Two thirds up Jean Jeanie (VS) the plastic applicator opened up in a finger crack like a cavity wall fixing. It took a very long time to eventually firtle out my finger before I could escape up the rest of the climb.

Over 30 years ago, when I was a scruffy student I went out to Millstone Edge one weekday morning, in order to climb something with a shunt for protection.  I scrambled down to the large ledge which is at 2/3 height on Embankment 2 and set up a rope to protect myself.  I successfully climbed Embankment 2 and then decided to abseil down, rather than gather up my clobber and scramble back out.  There was a single rusty peg with a bit of tat through it which can't have been much thicker than a bootlace.  I had no idea what the tat was composed of or how long it had been there.  I didn't even inspect it where it was rubbing against the peg.

I threaded my rope through it and abbed back down the climb, totally alone.  The strain as I leaned back at the start of the abseil must have been quite high.  The peg seemed to flex a bit but was otherwise fine.  I reached the bottom and carried on with my day.  Even then, I realised it must have been a bit risky, just for the kicks of doing an abseil rather than scrambling off the ledge.  Looking back now, I can't believe how utterly, utterly stupid I was.

To quote George 'Dubbya' Bush 'The thing about when I was young and stoopid, is that I was young and stoopid'.  I rather miss him nowadays.

Falling off the easy 5a pitch of White Slab on Cloggy a couple of years ago. I'd led up it and, if I'm honest, was making an absolute meal of what should've been a bit of a bimble. I was climbing badly generally (I'd had a proper epic on Cenotaph Corner not long before) and was finding it a lot harder than I should. I got to the point where I was supposed to traverse off left and up easy terrain to the belay but I forgot where I was supposed to go. I had a photo of the route description on my phone but it was tucked into the pocket of my windproof, which was stuffed in a bag and clipped to my harness. My feet were sore and I didn't want to faff around trying to get it out one handed.

The terrain above me looked quite hard but I reasoned that, well, it had all felt quite hard and that was just me climbing badly. So I set off up the gearless arete and immediately realised that a) this was definitely much harder than 5a and b) that I couldn't reverse what I'd just done. I should've jumped off at that point but I kept thinking I could see a way through it so I carried on. I managed a couple more moves up (to holds that were not as good as they looked from below) before my foot popped and I went flying. A long enough fall that I had time to scream 3 times before the ropes came tight and I stopped not far above a pair of horrified climbers on a different route.

In retrospect I made so many mistakes that day. I could've read the route better, I could've realised there was no chalk above me, I could've taken the time to check the guide (even if it meant sitting on the rope) and I could've jumped off as soon as I realised I'd gone wrong. And I could've not been wearing really garish leggings that meant everyone on the crag knew it was me! I was incredibly lucky - as I was falling I was convinced I would hit something and break a bone but the worst outcome was my partner shredding his knuckles as the force slammed him into the wall - but it could easily have had a worse outcome.

There's a good story of Robin Smith getting stuck and spending a night out while trying to repeat an HVS on the Ben, then climbing out at first light before any rescuers arrived. Happens to the best of us!    

Ha ha Kevin, I vaguely remember the silence at the Vags hut when the chopping stopped... followed by Sean offering everyone 'fingertip on toast"

But i don't remember hearing about Jean Jeanie.  I guess that tale might gave ventured into 'mug of the year' territory.

At some point in the late 80s (which probably tells you all you need to know) I was lacking a climbing partner one day, but drove over to Glencoe anyway. I soloed Agag's Groove, then on the way down decided to solo Line Up. Or more realistically, I thought "that looks nice" without much thought of what it was. It all went pretty smoothly.

Afterwards, I thought about wandering round to look at soloing Shibboleth - I had done it a month or so before and thought it was OK. And Mark McGowern had soloed it. But I decided to be sensible and headed down to Glen Etive for some bouldering at the Guiness Pools.

After about 5 minutes bouldering I snapped a hold and went fully into the pool. 

I drove back to St Andrews very wet, very cold and very scared rather than triumphant.

I reckon you can add a grade for garish leggings, it's the sartorial equivalent of announcing your about to crush. I had to give my lime green euro bling trousers away as I couldn't cope with the pressure.

There's getting lost, and then there's getting lost on a trans-continental scale.  I did a long summer ice route in the Canadian Rockies many years ago - an endless sheet of ice that finally ended in the clouds.  To get down, we just had to follow a ridge.  As we emerged out of the clouds, instead of seeing the nice green valley we expected, we saw the Columbia Icefield.  Not to put too fine a point on it, we were on the Pacific Side of the Rockies and not the Atlantic side.  As we trudged back up into the clouds, the slight step in the ridge and a fork heading off down to the Atlantic side were painfully obvious.

If there's a way of strongly saying "don't solo Shibboleth", that's probably as good a way as any!

Many years ago, on a weekend at Baggy, I soloed Pink Void, for all the wrong reasons - I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and was, very out of character, taking deliberate risks.

On the second pitch a handhold came away, fortunately before I had my full weight on it and became aware that I had quite an audience on the cliff tops above Slab Cove. After a big rush of adrenaline, the rest of it was straightforward, but when I got to the top I got a proper telling off from my selfishness from the friends I’d been climbing with, not only for putting them through watching me but also for setting a terrible example for lots of non-climbing holiday-makers. Not to mention the lack of consideration for my family.

It really brought me up short.  They were completely right and I had never really thought about how self-absorbed and inconsiderate climbing could be in the wrong circumstances.  I didn’t completely gave up soloing but I never again did it not really caring about the outcome.

You might have a point - I was also wearing really garish leggings the day I fell off The Moon (E3 5c)! Though that at least was less of a tale of shame and more a tale of embarrassment - faffing too much on the steep section and getting pumped, my hands uncurling from the jugs literally as I was pulling round into a balanced rest position.

Went to climb Left Edge on Mont Blanc du Tacul with a friend in about 2005. We were going to do it alpine style until she slid down the first pitch leaving me to try holding her with my axes.

Then we pitched the entire route with me leading the ice sections and her the rock ones. We topped out well after the last cable car and ended up sleeping in the cable car station tunnel - definitely a cold night with very little sleep as we had nothing except our climbing kit.

One of our friends in the valley was quite concerned for us, but we got the first cable car down and he was waiting at the bottom ready to call rescue if we didn’t turn up. Well before I took a mobile phone in to the mountains. 

A few years earlier than your experience, and I cannot remember the route we were aiming for on the side of Tacul, but with our usual suspect route finding abilities... I led off, and immediately found the climbing much harder than whatever grade it was we thought we were doing.  Grass filled cracks gave me a hint that this might not have been the trade route we thought we were on.  I called down to my [very over confident in his route finding ability] partner who reassured me it was correct.  I then passed a wooden peg with an old frayed cotton cord passed through a hole drilled in the end and once again suggested that these were unlikely to be found on a trade route.  Same reply.

I continued thrashing more or less upwards when suddenly a French guide and his client abseiled past us, giving us a long disparaging stare.  Yes, we were climbing up the abseil route.

Shame might not be quite the correct word but yesterday I debolted Torver Low Common's premier sports climbing venue, Inking Knott.

Bored during lockdown, I remembered spotting a small quarry in the distance from the bridleway on a mountain bike ride ten years previous. It was 25 minutes walk from the house so I spent a few hours cleaning off loose rock, putting in five bolts and two  stakes  for three short routes.

Never convinced about the crags validity, I never wrote the routes up and frequently had the p*** taken by anybody in the know. I think my son was trying to be kind when he said it was pathetic.

The bolts needed to be checked for corrosion, they are a new style of screw in/out stainless hybrid I blagged from the manufacturer.

The rocks I had hidden the belay stakes with ( so sheep or cattle would not gash themselves ) had been disturbed so if anybody else climbs there , I can always put the bolts and stakes back in. 

 Anyway, shame over, feel better now.

We spent a night in the toilets of the midi top station after a ‘British’ ascent of the cosmiques arête one April (ie slow, incompetent). I’d climbed it in good time previously in summer, but on this day we were wading across to the start in thigh deep new snow (should have twigged at that point, the cable car had opened late after 2 days closed due to weather), and the whole route was a slow swim up unconsolidated fresh snow which hid everything. We reached the exit ladder to shouts to hurry up from the staff, but they didn’t hold the last staff cabin so we got well acquainted with the hand driers in the toilet through the night. Nice sunrise though!

Sometime in the mid 90s I got into a spot of bother on the top crack of bachelors left hand at Hen Cloud. Being unable to jam and expecting an easy ride,  I gibbered to the top with a loud, running commentary of foul language. What I failed to notice was the party of primary school kids a teacher had brought to the bottom of the crag to "watch the climbers in action". Worse, the teacher then led the group around and over the crag right past the now mortified "climber" attempting to hide while bringing up his not very happy friends.