UKH

It's been getting a bit frought round here lately, so let's try to remember what brought us all here. Brace yourselves, this is a climbing related thread. Remember those??

When have you had a proper epic on something that really should have been a path? I'm talking real type II fun on something a handful of grades below your regular onsight (or even warm up) level. A day you're ready to forget. Ideally one that wasn't life threatening but that you're ashamed of and have nobody to blame but yourself. Let's try to keep it to bad choices rather than misfortune unless required for scene setting or maximum schadenfreude. 

Who wants to go first?

Great thread! 

Calcutta Crack (HS 4c)

I haven't done it for years but I remember that you have to layback. When I got near the top the other day, I couldn't remember how to stop laybacking, ran out of hand holds and nearly ended up horizontal. Scared the crap out of me!

I'm blaming it on being rusty.

Edit: it's not really an epic but it was the first thing that came to mind. 

Not exactly an epic, but leading Long Chimney (HVD) at  Almscliff was my one and only lead fall.  In my mind, there was enough green stuff and pigeon muck that the gear placements whilst apparently solid were suspect, and I managed to catch myself on something.  

The rewards was the outside finish.  Both as a great move, and for not being in that green-arsed chimney any more.

Then, I had an epiphany.  Stop Climbing Low Grade Chimneys In Yorkshire.  If I'd wanted to be a caver, I'd have gone caving.

Yes! Thanks for sharing.
These are exactly what I had in mind.
Only fair I 'fess up I suppose:

I'll go with F-route, Gimmer. After quickly handing over the rack and then attending to some other extraneous faff on the ledge, I did a far less-than thorough check of the gear situation and set off up the pitch. A bit before halfway up I realised I had both pairs of approach shoes and the guidebook still on my harness, and two quickdraws left. Luckily had enough cams to make it only a little exciting.

Cordelia (HVS 5a)

I know I've done this to death but, really, my biggest hope on UKC is that someone will get out and do this route  soon. I know it's been logged but some of those are aborted attempts

I don't care if they come back and declare it a path - I just want to have someone share the experience.

It fits most of your criteria except the one about being ready to forget it.

Probably the most isolated route in Pembrokeshire, climbed with a complete stranger, approached with an excess of confidence and therefore an inadequate rack of gear. 

So very lucky for me that Charlie from Wigan or wherever was up to the task.

Janker's Groove (VS 4c)

A 10m grit route. 

Found it really hard then got a size 4 cam completely stuck. Second couldn't get it out so I abseiled for it. After the ordeal of retrieving it and sacrificing most of the skin on the backs of my hands, I realised my knee (that I'd been sat on) was totally stuck in the crack and my leg had mostly fallen asleep from the arse down. Eventually managed to scream my way to freedom. Foolishly pulled the ropes from the bottom and they obviously also got stuck in the crack so I had to re-lead the first half of the route to free the rope and then down-climb it. It was dark by the end.

A 10m grit route. 

Be careful with that crack, it's hungry. 

See my entry on Hawk Traverse (HS 4b).

After a glorious day at Grey Crag in the Lakes, my partner and I summited around sunset (this was July, so it must have been around 8pm). Rather than take the easy, clearly defined, but somewhat roundabout path back down to the car park, we looked at the OS app and saw a red dotted line that looked like a much more direct route. And what should have been a luxurious descent turned into laborious down-scrambling, bushwhacking and stream-crossing. It was fully dark by the time we plunged into a wooded area. I kept thinking, we can’t be far, the lake is downhill, surely any path will take us there. But the wooded area turned into a bog with what I can only describe as bramble-cages that infuriatingly snagged any and all slings hanging from us. It started to feel a bit like a bad acid trip. There were moments of despair, and even more of tense, silent recrimination (always a risk when climbing with a partner who is also your romantic partner), as we had only had a peanut butter sandwich and a couple of granola bars since breakfast. But we did at last reach the main path around Lake Buttermere, finally making it to our car around midnight (probably 2.5 hours later than it might have been had we taken the well-trod path).

I remember that day fondly. 

Climbers' Club Direct (HVS 5a)

Despite being a solid E2/E3 leader at the time, jamming was not my forte (still isn't). I huffed and puffed my way up the first pitch and made it to the belay a little tired, but in good spirits, and took my shoes off to relax while my second came up. My second on arriving a the belay, then managed to drop one of my climbing shoes from the belay, leaving me to climb the offwidth crack of the second pitch with one climbing shoe and one approach shoe. I seem to also remember a lack of large cams which made it even more exciting. 

In the end I got up it without too much trouble, but it was a bit more dicey than I'd have liked.

I got lost on the way to Froggatt. In my defence, I'd only just started climbing, it was the first time my partner or I had gone and we didn't have a guidebook. We'd walked from Grindleford station and found ourselves on the approach path but with no idea how far it was to the crag. Fearing we might miss it, we scrambled down to crag foot level and set off into the bracken. Now, it's important to note that neither me or my partner topped 5'2" and the bracken gets pretty bloody high. We ended up totally lost in a sea of ferns, trying to find a boulder or something to get enough height to see over the vegetation. We probably spent about an hour thrashing about before the glorious sound of hexes led us to the rock.

Cannon Left Hand (HVS 5b)

I just could not do this. Even after sitting on the gear. For context I onsighted E2 that same day. Not really an all-out-epic but spending an hour trying to get on top of the cannon, supposedly HVS, did not feel very HVS. 

https://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crags/stanage_popular-104/flying_buttres...

I was taking a relative novice up it.  As I got to the lip, he decided that it looked a bit scary and took the rope in tight, which pulled all the gear at the back out. He decided that that was even more scary and so took in all the rope tight again, and started to prise me off the crag.  I was by now hanging straight down from the lip, with a tight rope to the belayer below.  I actually wondered how badly a fall to the slab and the ground would hurt, before getting a serious grip of myself, telling the belayer to give me loads of slack and hurling myself back in under the roof.  I climbed down, explained the duties of the belayer once again and reclimbed it, putting in a lot more substantial gear at the back and steaming up it before the heebie-jeebies caught up with me.

Oh yeah and after soloing Grooved Arete (HVD) a couple of summers ago I walked off the wrong end of Scafel Pike and by the time I realised it was definitely getting dark. Very much thought I might be doing an unplanned bivvy, but ended up re-summitting Scafel (nice sunset at the top!) after slogging up some scree on the other side. That was very Type II. 

And by “walked off” I do mean all the way down into the valley on the wrong side, which I wandered about in for a while thinking “the car park seems much further away than earlier”

Loved this route. Kind of an epic even when everything goes well! 

Not really an epic but I was pretty sketched out seconding the traversing bit of Inner Space (HVS 4c) and ended up walking cams above my head all the way to the belay! 

Extra points for claiming the O/S. Brilliant.

What a curiously cheering thread!

In my case, the bad choice was going for an easy grade. On holiday in Applecross with the future Mrs C when she was new to climbing (and before that meant, “but cruises 6b indoors”). I really wanted to do the Cioch Nose but thought it might be a bit too exciting. Found another Patey route round the back of the Cioch: Dexter (D), now seemingly forgotten.  Diff, I thought, that’ll be an easy, scenic day out. The (ancient) guidebook even used the word “scramble “.

Well, the first 40m taught me that you can haul up on heather and wet peat at a higher angle than you might expect. But you can’t get any sort of runner in. The sparse bits of rock were no better- compact sandstone with rounded shallow breaks and a slimy lichenous surface. Progress was excruciatingly slow, made worse by the need to give my beloved novice belayer the impression everything was fine and she was going to enjoy this.

At the end of the first rope length a decision had to be made. No belay of course. Shuffling sideways proved no more confidence-inspiring than upwards, but it used up plenty more time. At least it established that there was no clean rock in view in any direction. So down it had to be, but how? And how to do it without letting on how gripped I was feeling?

There wasn’t really any choice: I downclimbed the heather, using even more full-body friction than on the way up, until I reached the top of a bigger rock step. This greasy bulge  was clearly beyond my down climbing skills, but its top edge offered a slight lump that might have been a tiny spike before the last ice age. It was nearly as high as the sling I draped over it to lower from.

After all that it was teatime so we called it a day. I don’t think Mrs C noticed I was shaking a bit. A year later we went back and did the Cioch Nose and we both had a brilliant day out.

Gashed Crag on Tryfan sometime in the early 1990’s.

November so dark by 5, a late start due to a hangover not a good idea.
(Route chosen to avoid the westerly gale force winds).

Carrying far too much gear - even though I’d forgotten any food or water - so slow progress along the Heather Terrace.

Arrive to see a party of three just beginning the route.

Don’t pick different route but sit and wait.

Slavishly follow extremely slow party up route choosing not to escape at various points.

Finish climb just as darkness descends, into the teeth of the forgotten gale.

Remember that route finishes on top of  3000ft mountain.

Discover that packing one head torch between two wasn’t the brightest idea.

Not having replaced aged, stretched and now non elastic headband on head torch makes wearing head torch impossible.

Not replacing aged, almost flat batteries in head torch makes already not very bright Petzl head torch bulb even dimmer.

Extemely slow descent as a pitch black night, head torch not working at all and guided only by the occasional glimmer of a light from Ogwen cottage.

Arrive at tea shack to discover friend has called Mountain Rescue who, luckily, had told him that it wasn’t unusual for people to be late off the hill and to call them back if we didn’t  show up later.

Walk back to car only to fall down a set of steps hidden in the dark.

Worst decision of the day - choosing a pint of Gwynedd bitter in the Tyn Y Coed to celebrate our survival.

Just thought of another good one, scratching around at the bottom of main cliff gogarth trying to work out where the start of scavenger was. A helpful soul told me I was standing right underneath it and instead of triple checking we flaked ropes and I started up the first pitch. What was meant to be relatively easy climbing grew increasingly harder on greasy jams as I worked my way up.

I looked to my left and saw a party on a belay ledge... I called over and asked them if that was the scavenger belay, they said yes and they were on nightride... F*ck! I was climbing the wrong route. I downclimbed a few moves and sat on a sling on a little spike, quickly lowered off and retrieved the gear. Then I managed to flick the sling off of the spike and we moved across left to climb the correct crack which felt way more 4c.

I'm still not 100% what I was climbing but I think it was the first pitch of the assassin.

Hope (VD). A combination of misreading the weather (as 'will get damp later' instead of 'small chance of torrential rain later, otherwise fine') and confidence in my ability to get off and down fast led to me lending out my waterproof trousers to a friends climbing partner on her first multi-pitch. Forgot that the way off can get congested and slippy when very wet, leading to more time lost and an eventual walk down a descent path now crossed by raging torrents requiring bracing and near immersion to cross safely.

Never been so happy to reach the hot showers at the YHA...

Climbed Corvus (Diff) last year, just before lockdown.  I pointed to a fairly benign weather forecast, my friend pointed to a far worse one but I was desperate to have a go at it and well, they say Corvus will go in any conditions.  We took minimal kit because it was such a lovely day.

It was raining by the end of the first pitch and I was shivering violently by the start of the third, as rainwater poured down the crag.  My friend pointed out the famous hand traverse to the left and then pointed out what looked like an easy set of grassy terraces to the right....

We set off up the grass but quickly found ourselves trying to climb sections of saturated, vertical, bottomless, protectionless moss, followed by a bit more rock climbing which we no longer knew where it would end.  If the rock was slippery before, it was no better now that we were covered in green slime and mud.

Emerged at the top of the crag into very high winds and more awful weather.  Got back to the car at 7.30 pm, several hours later than we had been expected.  Can't wait to have another crack!

Climbing at the Donner Pass with my husband.  Can’t remember the route name but it was one of the easiest grades on the crag (apparently).

It started badly with a big crack - we are from Scotland and don’t encounter cracks that often/usually manage to avoid them when we do.  But hey ho, we are in California so we set off up this crack, leaving lots of skin and swearing behind.  First couple of pitches take waaaay longer than they should because we are so rubbish at climbing cracks. 

Next pitch looks slabby for a change. Rounded convex slabs means Mr S, who is leading this pitch, soon disappears from view.  After what seems like forever, the rope comes tight and I start to climb.  The wind has got up so we can’t hear each other.

Things are progressing nicely, I quite like slabs, especially as I didn’t lead this one, as there doesn’t seem to be much gear around.  I notice one of the ropes isn’t being taken in at the same rate as the other, and both are kinda slower than Id be really comfortable with.  Give Mr S a friendly shouted reminder to take in.  No reply.

I can see where there’s a bit of gear.  There’s a niche in the slab with a roof above it.  Niche has a bush groeing out of it.  Rope goes into niche and out at roof.  Work my way into niche and stand where Mr S stood to insert gear.  He must’ve been at full stretch to place it.  He is 15 inches taller than me and has long arms.  The bush is spindly and very prickly.  And great for causing rope drag.  Neither rope has been taken in for a while now.  I yell a bit more, but I’m now under a roof, so unsurprisingly no reply.  Not that I let that stop me.  

Eventually I manage to bridge and squirm my way through the bush, get a hand in the back of the roof and get a look at the gear.  It’s so well seated there’s no way it’ll come out without a fight.  There’s no way I can hang on to do that, so I unclip and promptly fall off.

Much to my surprise and luck that fecking bush slows me down and I land on my feel on the slab and slither, stumble to a halt when the rope comes tight.  More swearing - still no response.

Still, slab looks much easier ahead, pretty much a walk, albeit an exposed one.  So I set off up it, coiling the ropes in my hand as I go.  Find a narrow crack where one rope was jammed and manage to yank it out.  Still no ropes being taken in despite my yelling.  Am wondering  now if something bad has happened to Mr S........

And there he is down climbing the slab towards me.  No wonder the rope wasn’t moving, I’m not on belay.

Turns out rope drag and one rope jamming made him wonder if something had happened to me.  As it was fairly easy terrain near the top he had tied me off and decided to come and look.  

As far as I can recall, we got back down safely and other than me dropping my first ever belay device (tuber - remember them) down the crag never to be seen again, there was no further drama.

Must be an Almscliff thing. There's one on Low Man (V chimney?) that I remember as being pretty horrible.

Observatory Ridge in winter. Started around 8am on the route. Considered sitting out the night half way as time marched on but carried on. Topped out about 2am....1 hr in the shelter huddled at one end cos someone had used it as a toilet.....back to car 24hrs after left it....It just goes on for ever. WH Murray and co did it in half the time in winter. Yeah....it felt epic. No regrets tho.

I had a similar experience on La Grande Fache.

A thunderstorm was approaching and i was going a lot better than may mate so we agreed to separate at the last col; I would push on and he would wait, estimated time to finish and return less than an hour.

I carried on to the top in a black sky with golden flashes in the clouds, turned round and started my descent. Immediately I saw a lightning bolt hit the ridge a couple of hundred feet below me. I panicked.  I decided that any one of the gullies was better than staying on the ridge so headed for the nearest one and safety. Luckily I could see the base and reckoned there were no cliffs in it so I committed myself. By now there was massive hail bouncing off the rocks and when I eventually slid to the bottom of the scree below the gully it was a complete white out, three inches  of  hailstones covering everything. I tried to see the col where Mark was waiting but it didn't look  familiar. I looked around and saw in the distance a couple of cabanes and a small tarn. Looking at the map and searching around I eventually found them.

In my panic I had lost my bearings and ended up on the wrong side of the mountain altogether, in Spain.To get back to the starting col I would have to move to the next col then contour round for  a couple of miles to get back to the starting point.

Two and a half hours later I rounded a rib and got my first sight of the col .Unbelievably there was a lone figure in a red jacket, still waiting. I rushed across, nearly crying with gratitude at this man's steadfast ness and loyalty to his mate. I thanked him effusively for his patience and devotion. 

He gave a shivering reply.

"Don't talk like a tw*t! I'm not stood here  freezing mi bollocks off 'cos you're a mate! I've been scared o' going back to t'campsite  and 'avin  to tell your lass that you'd copped it! Come on, let's f*ck off out of it!"

So we did.

Pigs on the Wing (HVS 5a) - should have been happily within our capabilities except...

...me and Matt decide to consolidate our gear into one rack to save weight - hence less large camming devices - oops.

Abseil down to the start of the traverse. Matt leads off, up and round the corner out of sight & sound. After a while, the ropes come tight and I follow, round the corner to find Matt on a hanging belay in the middle of the first pitch - he didn't know where the belay was so decided to stop where there was enough gear. Before I get to him I manage to owe him a camalot by fumble dropping our largest cam into the blue and white froth below.

I carry on past him to the proper hanging belay on threads on the arete, great position with overhangs above and below, sea 100' below my feet. Matt comes across and we survey the next pitch; looks like it could do with a few large cams, certainly the one that's in the sea and the large friend that's in my rucksack would be rather helpful. We decided to bail, reverse or...

Another party has abbed down to do Deep Throat (E3 5c), we ask if we can prussik up their ab rope, they kindly flick it across until we can grab it. Matt prussiks up (hanging free, there are overhangs above remember) until he gets back onto rock and then leads up to the top, my turn now.

The ab rope is hanging up and out, I attach my prussiks and take off the belays one by one. Last one off, I let go and wheeee, I swing out in an exposed pendulum above the waves. It is then that I discover that my memory of how to tie prussik knots is faulty - I have done one too few turns around the rope and every time I try to ascend, I end up back where I started.

After a while I realise that the best solution is to swing madly until I can reach the hanging belay and grab on, sling one of the threads, clip in, and redo the prussiks properly. I then do a repeat performance of the un-attaching myself followed by the exposed pendulum. After that, prussiking is easy with the right number of turns and I arrive at the top without further incident.

Friends on Crickmail Point did wonder what was going on when they saw somebody swinging about 😁

Pigs is still on my to do list.

You're not alone; I came round the corner to find the first pitch half-finished there too.
It was a draggy hell-battle to get all the way to the end with basically one rope for me and one protecting the second.

Wonderful bunch of bad choices led to a memorable day in Chamonix. 

    I was with a relative novice who was managing to second 5c / 6a single pitches all day so I thought; 'I've always wanted to do the Papillons Ridge, it's in great condition, it will be a great day out!' 

   Sunny forecast, knowing the route got sun later in the day I thought; 'no need for a cold / early start, let's catch the 9.00 am bin up - we'll be on the route by 10.15, plenty of time. So also no need for head torches...'

   Got to the lift station to find several coach loads of Japanese tourists arrive before us making an instant very long queue; ' never mind, the queue will quickly go down...'

   Having already bought a ticket we were determined to go, all psyched up and single minded. Time passed, more time passed. We eventually got to the route for 2.00 pm; 'Never mind, we'll race up it and although we will miss the last bin down we can walk down in the evening light...'

    I raced up each pitch in about 10 minutes but my novice partner did not. Lots of single pitches that we had been doing were fine for him, pitch after pitch on top of each other made his eyes stand out on stalks. As the exposure increased he got more and more tired, the wonderful letterbox pitch and exposed steep wall afterwards nearly finished him. At least the route wasn't busy, we did have it to ourselves....

    Finally, after a brilliant route, the sequence of poor decisions came home to roost as we got back to the lift station in time for sunset. We started walking down which was fine at first but once under the canopy of trees it got really dark. Strangely, the light on a mobile 'phone is not very bright and doesn't last for long. With much tripping over tree routes and swearing we finally got down to the tantalising lights of the valley - but a bit late for a celebratory Poco Loco or beers in Le Pub.

Trying to demonstrate twin rope technique on Powder Monkey Parade (S 4b), I made such a hash of it that rope drag forced me to untie from one of the ropes in order to finish it!

Debauchery (E1 5b) - spent an eternity trying to work out where to go, as had 2 guide books that didn't agree on where it went or where it finished!

You've reminded me of the time I did Grooved Arête (HVD 4a) with a relative novice.

Walked up from the campsite down the road, bizarrely bumping into someone I'd known from school at the start, although he went off to do something else.

Once committed on the route, we got stuck behind another group of 3 with a very nervous climber that took what seemed like forever to do one of the pitches. Finally got past and eventually got to the top as it was getting dark (November, I think, so dark early), with a very cold partner, to find that my head torch had turned itself on in my bag and run the new battery out!

Ended up picking our way down in the dark and got back to the campsite to find nearly everyone had buggered off to the pub, except for one person waiting at the campsite and another who was driving up the road to see if we had made it down somewhere else.

Was in the days before mobile phones, so couldn't tell anyone what was happening.

Pfunffinger in the Dolomites. First trip there so we'll keep it simple. Had a written description which suggested doing the first finger then bailing out as the rest are not meant to be so good (and would make for a very long day). Climbing as a 3. Not very efficient and some sketchy traverses. Anyway, made it to the chossy top and abbed down. At that point we realised our route knowledge was based on a quick glance at a postcard in the shop before we set off. Earnest discussions about abbing down the 'gulley of doom' which confronted us, the realisation we would have a very cold night if we stayed put, but wouldn't die etc etc. Then noticed a bolt around a corner. Tentatively shuffled over to this and thought it looked promising. At this point a guide appeared with a client. Asked if this was the way but got very short shrift (should book a guide I guess). Was then convinced this wouldn't have been a good idea as he lowered the client at full speed. To be honest, he let her fall and stopped her at the belay. I've never heard such a continuous scream....

Anyway, at that point he asked where we were staying. "Peter's Stube in Colfosco" - Ah Peter! Motioning of dancing and partying from the guide. Much friendlier, pointed us in the right direction and off he went at speed. We made it back having missed the last gondola down, but we really didn't care. I'd certainly recommend Peter's Stube for the effect it has on grumpy Italian guides, the great food and accommodation and Peter's mime of how he fitted an entire birch tree into the stairwell of the place when he doesn't speak any English (and I speak little Italian).

This one https://www.scottishclimbs.com/wiki/A_Minor_Epic_for_March.html Re-reading just now made me shudder at the memory. 

I once got epically lost walking to Lawrencefield - somehow took the wrong path from the car park and did 3 sides of a square instead of 1!

That reminds me of a very funny article by Steve Ashton that he wrote in response to Touching the Void. It hinged on the idea that everybody else’s epics now paled into insignificance. 
Like your story it was based in Chamonix and involved some kind of cock-up with the lift. If I remember rightly they ended up stumbling and falling on steep forested slopes in the dark, and had to bivvy. They awoke to find themselves being eyed curiously by a stream of tourists- they were merely yards from the path back to Chamonix. 
Can anyone else remember this, or even better, find a copy?

I remember getting lost going back to the NT campsite from the ODG. Hard to do. I was monumentally drunk at the time, that’s my excuse. 

Once left the Little John pub in Hathersage in a group to walk back to the North Lees campsite - my mate swore he knew the way, going past the St Michael church. Walked for what seemed like hours, apparently uphill all the way, and ended up back at the church!

Got it on the second attempt, though.

So I created a new account to to relate this tale, as those involved are now upstanding pillars of various communities with respectable and highly responsible jobs.

This story relates to the first ascent of a route called "No, it's behind the Hoover". Don't bother looking it up, you won't find it in any guidebook. It's not Type 2 fun either (that would require terror at the time, moderated by a rosy glow of memory) - this is Type 2' fun - fun at the time but horrifying in retrospect. 

Sometime in the early 1990s I was spending a lot of time on the West Coast of Scotland, climbing with a local crew. It is fair to say that there was what could be charitably described as a "Work Hard, Play Hard" lifestyle.

On this particular occasion, my friends came to pick me up one morning for a day's climbing at a well known crag. When they arrived (several hours late), they had made a start on the slab of beer in the back, and were pretty high as well. We had to stop at a shop on the way to the crag as we ran out of beer before we got there.

We finally made it to the crag, where we met some other members of the local crew, and proceeded to stagger off to what was then a new and unexplored area of the crag. Having identified a rather nice looking crack line which looked as if it would go, I started unpacking my rucksac. It was only at this point that I noticed that my climbing harness was not in the sack. Never mind. I could simply tie on with a bowline round the waist and lead it (on--sight of course!) anyway. Which I did.

Never mind that I was fairly pissed and high, as were my belayers. I think someone even seconded the route. We might have even climbed some other stuff. We did all make it home safely without injuring ourselves or anyone else.

As for the route name: "No, it's behind the Hoover". That's where I thought I might have left my climbing harness. 

Prerty sure it was on the 100th edition of High magazine

Ah... I've got that somewhere still. Will investigate. 

I was once rescued from the saddle belay on Little Chamonix by a passing soloist. First multipitch lead, only a handful of easy leads on the county sandstone under my belt, and with an equally enthusiastic and equally clueless partner (the recently mentioned young man who tried to lead a group of students up Central Gully) who was only there for the ride. Self-taught from endless reading, and both very enthusiastic and very naïve in that way that only young men manage.

Found the first pitch pretty straightforward, and the start of the third (ie second) pitch - but had a 'mare on reaching the sloping block. Couldn't arrange adequate protection and couldn't suss out the move. The team behind eventually suggested shuffling to the edge and leaning over with both hands. Now fully committed, I tiptoed along the ledge and onto the arete, got a 'thank God' hex in, made a few moves up the arete...and was promptly stopped dead by the rope. Screams of 'slack! SLACK!' made absolutely no difference to my plight. Our single rope was going up the slabby corner, across the block via a rubbish cam, out into space, completely around the arete, through the unextended hex and straight up to me. Couldn't move. At all. A rising panic, choice language and serious squatting effort saw me eventually arrive at the belay, but not before pulling the hex completely out. No gear for miles. No gear of any note, really, after the initial corner.

I brought matey up to the belay and was in the process of recomposing myself when a friendly soloist appeared. He offered, in the mildest terms possible, to take the rope up the final pitch if we so wished and if it wouldn't spoil our adventure. I gladly took his offer up. Still need to go back and do the job properly.

I think if he hadn't appeared, I'd have set off after a few more minutes and would have found the final pitch fine. But the team behind were starting to sound a bit agitated...

Though not a 'path', had a bad day on Mousetrap (E2 5a) many years ago. Set off very late (mistake 1). Pulled the abseil ropes down (mistake 2). Failed on pitch 2, had to abseil off. A high tide with high seas was crashing into the zawn below, and meanwhile it was getting dark. Managed to reach the clifftop eventually with great difficulty.

Got home well after midnight. Next day was my A-levels, for which I had not done any revision whatsoever (mistake 3).

Failed A-levels

(I appreciate it doesn't fully tick your criteria, but I think it was unwarranted by sheer virtue of the difficulty of climbing - ie any reasonable man, with or without dog, could do the moves in question).

Does it count as an epic if you really enjoy it? 

More a long uncomfortable wait than an epic but ...lovely day, tide just on turn, just enough time to drive to cliff and do a couple of routes before family Saturday commitments take hold. Drive to Ogmore and ab off. 1st mistake being overconfident with my ability. Decided to solo an E1,5C. Didn’t take any back up gear detached from ab rope which promptly swung out into space. Started first pitch and got to 1st overhang which was dispatched which left me on one small smear as I contemplated the friction slab ahead of me leading to the nice big comfy ledge. The sun hadn’t come round yet and the slab was lovely and slimy. Must have been my state of mind but I bottled the traverse and decided to wait for said slab to dry off a bit while the ab rope gently and mockingly swung just out of reach. 2nd mistake was abbing off with tide on turn on my own with no back up plan. 3rd mistake not thinking about snotty rock especially as I know the area well. I probably could have reversed the crux but my escape was firmly shut. Mrs O was not impressed with her day being cut short.

Me and my climbing partner once failed very badly, on the walk back to Woodcroft from the North Crag at Wintours Leap.

We'd climbed something like Notung and finished by about 9pm, one summers evening.  All perfectly normal with a pint in the Rising Sun in prospect.  Just setting up the ab above Joe's Route when a bloke appears.  Asks if he can use our ab rope as they'd come up on a single?  Yeah, no probs.

Then he tells us that he has not one partner but two and neither of them has abbed before.  A slight risk to that pint is briefly entertained.

And boy are they slow.  We finally coil the ropes at 10pm, by which time its quite dark in the trees. Still,its only 20 minutes to the car - still time for a pint.

 Except that we lose the path and stumble through the bushes, trip over, find the path, lose it straight away, trip over etc. Ad infinitum.

We were giggling as we got back to the car at 11:15pm.   There wasn't even a pint as compensation....

So what exactly were they intending to do as a three with one rope if you hadn't been there on the ab?

Presumably one of the pitches above the terrace and walk across the garden - is that still ok to do?

Edit: we managed to make the pint after doing King Kong one sweaty evening - but only just.

https://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crags/willersley_castle_rocks-127/sycamo...

Looked OK and was well within grade. Set off up a wet section, did some gardening and as I got higher it got worse. Climbing was easy but the slime was horrific. The route traversed right as I got higher and now the rope drag is like pulling a car and my rack has been reduced to a couple of prussiks and slings so I'm sticking them round branches and fighting through brambles.

Got to the top where I shout safe to my wife and then the pouring rain starts. She doesn't even get started as the route is now a waterfall. We abandon her atempt and like a hero she runs around to the top of the crag and abs off down the whole lot to get the rack back.

Yeah, and that abseil is not exactly the friendliest - it's 45m or so!  And no it's not been OK to walk across the garden for ages now.  Here's a photo I took for nostalgia's sake of the old sign at the top, almost exactly ten years ago!

My first trip to Creagh Dubh was amusing. Memory is hazy of the details but I was with a then girlfriend who was a capable climber but had done no leading. We had a single 11mm rope, not that much of a rack and I had done very little leading beyond about HS.

We arrived in the evening and did Romp, a VD corner which ended at a tree with rope marks round the base. When she arrived, she abbed off rather than me lowering her, as we were both clueless. Someway down her waist-length hair got jammed in the Lowe Tuber. While she extricated her hair without either tearing it out nor plummeting downwards, we talked about learning outcomes such as pony or pigtails and wearing more than T-shirts and shorts in the evening because while she struggled it got uncomfortably cool, very dark and extremely midgie. 

Next day we did Epar, of which I recall little but maybe it wasn't a very good route. I do recall the final pitch involved pulling through a little overlap on P2 or P3 and not being able to move because of rope drag. I basically had to manually pull in enough slack to be able to make another move, make the move and then pull in more slack. This went on for maybe 1/2 a rope length and took a long time. It was extremely strenuous and insecure, plus by the time I got anywhere near a belay I was miles above the last bit of gear and on loose vegetated ground. Learning outcomes were to buy some long extenders, get into double ropes, avoid routes that ended on steep choss and to check the risk to one's campsite from base-jumping sheep.  

Talk of Wintour's reminded me of this.  One summer evening, Sparrow (of this parish) and I set off to do Kangaroo Wall.  It was perhaps a trifle long for a summer evening and indeed we began to run out of daylight on the penultimate belay.  There was some tat, and so a retreat in good order was arranged.  Sparrow went first, and I followed.  The ropes just reached the ground.  More specifically, the ropes reached the nettle patch, which was about 4 feet high.  I was wearing shorts, which was a concern, and so I stopped a slightly above the nettles.  It was clear that if I gave smart kick out from the wall and let the rope run, I could reach the clearing where Sparrow sat.  I kicked off, let the ropes run, which they did until the prusik took hold.  I swung back into the nettles at that uncomfortable height of neither being on the ground nor off it, but spinning gently among the nettles because of the swing and the 60m of rope above.  The prusik was doing a solid job.  I freed that, which allowed me to lower myself to the ground in the nettles and get some good stings on my arms to add to my howling legs. And then walk boldly out.  Sparrow - well, you can just imagine.  Sympathy - there was none.  I had a pint in the Sun, glowing like a man bathing in deep heat.....

Years back, when I was really into aid climbing, my climbing partner and I were asked about doing The Curse A4 for a film project.

My friend a very capable climber and me, an enthusiastic adrenaline junkie type, said we would oblige.

It all started off ok, dragging the usual ton of gear and starting with Warthog pegs for the muddy crack belay. The route starts near the back of the cave, which was to be my residence for several hours, proving to be quite atmospheric with the waves crashing in constantly.

 My partner battled admirably for several hours with the first pitch but by the time he got to the first belay it was getting late. The film crew were getting a bit frustrated with the slow pace and my head was fried sitting in that cave for hours on end, not helped by the car sized block landing in the sea at the mouth of the cave (dislodged by one of the film crew).

The only viable option, was for my partner to abseil from the belay (directly above the sea) using the tag line and we would pull him across to the land.

Once landed, we discussed the cleaning of the route (my job) the conclusion was to go up the first few bits of gear as normal and then on a suitably positioned piece of gear I would hammer the peg out with my weight on it and hopefully zipper the lot out.

Normally this would have been right up my street, but my head was fried after sitting for hours in that cursed cave. It was very long four hour drive home

My partner went back a few weeks later to retrieve the gear with someone else, I said he could keep my nearly new rope as a reward.

It was the last proper climb I've attempted, now its just the occasional bit of bouldering, tree climbing and vicarious adventures through sites like this.

My unwarranted low grade epic was Bosigran Ridge - I suspect I am not alone in this!

My climbing partner of the time had that page of the new guide as it was the one which had been given out as the preview for I think the Rockfax Selected West Country guide, and we'd planned, with little thought or foresight, an 'assault' on Commando Ridge.

Thing no 1 - low tide on the day we'd picked was five in the morning.  
Thing no 2 - on the morning we were due to travel down from Brizzle to Cornwall my wife let me know she was pregnant.

Still off we rushed down the M5, stopping at the Miners' Arms in Zennor where we hoped we'd find camping.  No such luck.  We ended up staying to closing and then bivvying near the old minehead (sorry to the Count House/the land owner/everyone else) and snatched a couple of hours of uncomfortable sleep.

To be fair the next morning, once we'd got a pint of coffee down our necks and the sun had come up, was glorious.  A beautiful day and (unsuprisingly) we had the crag to ourselves at 5.00 a.m., and all the time ringing in my ears "We're going to have a baby".

Despite going to Lundy and leading VS  a couple of months later I had an attack of the screaming collywobbles half way up the first pitch and had to take an impromptu belay and let my partner finish it.  From there the route meandered on in a sleep-deprived haze, including some terrible route finding, rain, and one point where I had to pinch myself whilst belaying from next to the Commando plaque to stop myself falling asleep (why was I belaying next to the Commando plaque - that's on the ground, it's a mystery!).  We opted out of the VS finish or knocking off anything else on the main cliff and headed home up the M5.  My partner, who professed never to sleep in cars, fast asleep, dribbling and farting beside me.

At a club pub meet (remember them?) a week or two later a couple of the old timers asked us how long it took us - 7 hours!  Oh how they laughed.  At least we weren't holding anyone else up with our ludicrously early start.

Still looms large as one of my favourite climbing memories, I have a picture on the wall at home with some climbing photos in a collage and there is one of me at a belay half way up a ridge sitting there looking like a stunned mullet.  I think I was just stuck thinking "We're going to have a baby!".

Good thread : )

Spent a fantastic October day doing the Steck-Salathe on The Sentinel.  Started very early as we had heard some decent teams had recently been benighted.  It seemed like we climbed pretty quickly, though nothing like the speed that some people do the route.  Nonetheless, as I led the last pitch, darkness descended.  Andy followed, somehow unclipping a BD6, but failing to remove it from the crack.  The team following didn't even see it, so it had become truly dark.  We did have a headtorch and set of down the descent gully, knowing that it included a few abseils.  Of course, it wasn't your classic gully and felt more like a fairly steep, smooth groove down the granite.  Every tiny steepening seemed like it should be the top of an ab, so much time was spent scoping anchors, before realising that an eight foot down climb would regain the bed of the gully.  Several frightening hours later we emerged at the foot of the Sentinel, at which point out came a brilliant moon.

The route was great, but we both were quietly reflective when we got back to the car.  

its not one of mine but I enjoyed hearing about it so I'll relate it for everyone's enjoyment.

those who know Ocean boulevard at Boulder Ruckle know that there is a convenient abseil point at the top for rope solo attempts for training. Otherwise the abseil is free hanging as the route overhangs. my friend whom I shall not identify decided to do this one day during a working day, however on reaching the crag he realised that his 30m abseil rope is not long enough, so he rather rashly decides to lengthen it with slings. he lowers down to the base  at the terminal end of the rope and begins setting up for the shunt session. He attaches the shunt backwards I assume as the stretch in the rope yanks up the rope beyond his grasp and way out of reach from the route itself. 

My friend is now well and truly stuck. There are only three easy routes our of boulder ruckle (going at HS and one of them has fallen down I think) but they take some nerve. He climbs the first to the break at 20m but can't bring himself to solo the top half which is more exposed. Reverse and boulder hop eastward for an hour or so trying to recognise the other HS, go back and fail on the ramp again, try a few other routes but eventually hop all the way down to subliminal where 4 hours later evening climbers turn up and help him out. 

not the greatest of ways to train for ocean boulevard.

i guess it passes as a minor epic rather than a bad day out. 
I must have been about 17 and tagged along with 2 other guys from the club I was it to do Tower Ridge from the CIC hut. The weather was a bit iffy but I was told “it will go in any weather” and “it’s a test of character”. Not knowing anything different it sounded good. Fast forward a couple of hours on the Douglas Boulder, water running down the rope, in our sleeves and out through our jackets we’d all had enough of having our characters built. The decision was made to un rope and solo off. I was told to wait whilst the other two checked out the route down. I found a sheltered spot and watched a waterfall being blown upwards like smoke. I guess a while must have passed and I realised no one had come back for me so I set off alone down. Eventually I found the other two in a bit of a panic having thought I’d fallen off as they’d not been able to find me. I was totally unfazed having just thought that this was normal for mountain routes.....

Diedro UBSA (5c)

This plays out exactly how you'd expect it have played out. We set off as three parties. Obviously, the second two had never climbed above 4+ and so didn't enjoy HVS trad.

We, being stupid and cocksure having just led out first 6a+, continued. In fact, apart from swimming on loosely held in blocks of dirt held in by more dirt, we made out way steadily up to the main cave.

If you haven't climbed it, you have to abseil about 8m down and about 5m across before continuing and the wall overhangs slightly so it's a bit of a nause to swing over.

I, having exactly one more experience than my partner (i.e. the only experience) rigging abseils ran  ropes through and set off on the diagonal sloping abseil. I decided to tie knots in the ends of the rope. Why I didn't just tie them together, I don't know. Upon arrival, we decided to pull the ropes. I untied the two knotted ropes, and was untying a knot at the end of one of the ropes, my partner pulled the other end and the now still knotted end swung out of my hands and out into the wide blue yonder, now hanging about 1.5m away from the wall, 5m away, directly below the abseil point.

Cue about 45 minutes of slightly terrified shuffling placing shit gear as I led directly out across a blank wall using the other end, only to not be able to reach the rope. Cragfast, all I could do is swing a long quickdraw behind me until it caught the rope. Suffice to say, this was slow work in now 30 degree heat and I was convinced I would die throughout.

Obviously that's not the epic.

Once I got back with the rope, we patted eachother on the back, took a drink of water and set off up.

Up you say?

Yep, Diedro UBSA goes left from the stance at 4+.

Up is Costa Blanca at something like 7a.

The epic was two punters, out of water, clip-to-clip dogging our way up a massive overhanging 7a cave 200m above the deck. I dropped my shoe half way up one pitch because the heat and dehydration had swollen my feet. Two pitches in three hours?

Apologies in advance for the long read

In 2008 my wife's dad died so I took her to Scotland to do some winter climbing to take her mind off things. I'd been on 3 week long Jagged Globe Scottish Winter courses so after teaching her a lot of the basic winter skills over on Aonach Mor for a few days I felt "Dorsal Arete" on Stob Coire nan Lochan on our last day (Sunday) was well within the both of us. It's also important to note here that the company I worked for had recently been bought out and I was reporting to new management who appeared to be less friendly than the previous team.

We walked up to the corrie, kitted up and set off just ahead of two youngish lads who were also doing their first winter climb together. The visibility was quite low with some light snow but perfectly manageable and the forecast was to stay the same. When we were about half way up we heard 6 blasts on a whistle coming from the corrie floor. I'd made a belay about 8m above the lads so we were able to communicate with each other. We talked about abbing down into Y gully to provide assistance but decided between us all we were probably not experienced enough and might end up making this worse for a would be rescue team. We then heard shouts from the rim of Broad Gully asking 'ARE YOU HURT?' a weak call came back up from the corrie, 'yes I'm hurt'. The caller on top of Broad Gully said he'd contact Mountain Rescue. The casualty had fallen the length of SC Gully when the cornice collapsed.

A couple of pitches later we were at our penultimate belay when we heard the thump of rotor blades as a chopper came in to extract the casualty. As I'd run out all of our 60m rope I'd ended up making a belay about 9m short of a nice big block at the foot of the finishing snow slope so told my wife when she arrived to just carry on to the block and throw the rope around and tie herself off. Already spooked by the accident and the thump of the chopper she set off and as she arrived at the block the visibility cleared, she looked down to her right into Y gully and the exposure hit her. She froze for a bit and I ended up shouting instructions and swearing at her trying to get her moving as the cloud had come back in thicker and the snow had started falling a little heavier. 

After a bit of freaking she sorted things out and I said on the last pitch I wouldn't belay at the top I'd just walk back and when the rope came tight she could de-construct her belay and I'd body belay her.

It was at this time that our first winter climb together started to become a minor 'epic'. When she came up over the rim I walked over to give her a hug and to start coiling the rope. I dropped both DMM Fly's on the ground as I coiled and then looked at my watch. It was 16:00 and our flight from Glasgow back to Cardiff was 20:15 However, we'd left our cases and clothes in the Ballachulish Hotel as we assumed we be back, showered and having half a beer in their bar before a sedate drive back to Glasgow.

A quick calculation revealed we'd never make it and I would miss work on Monday and maybe get the sack. It was my turn to freak. But, as I'd been coilng the rope and having a mini meltdown I'd been pacing around a little and the drifting snow had now covered my axes and I couldn't find the fecking things. After losing precious minutes scrabbling around in the snow and scree I finally found them and we set off NW around to descend the snow slopes back to the corrie floor. 

As we walked we made a plan. As soon as I'd got her safely down that steep little snow slope at the mouth of the corrie I'd give the rope, one of my axes and the rack to her to lighten my load and I'd run all the way down the path to the lay-by, drive back to the hotel, get our stuff and come back to meet her at the lay-by.

It worked perfectly. I was back at the car park by 18:00ish and I was starting to think with a bit of luck we might make our flight. That was until I arrived at the lay-by and looked at the path that comes off Stop Coire Nan Lochan. She was nowhere to be seen. I locked the car and was just about to jump over the wall and peg it back up the hill when her little face appeared coming over the wall. Much joy.

I then drove, breaking every probable law of the road to arrive at Glasgow airport by 20:00. But,  we'd missed boarding definitely by this time. To make matters worse when we ran into the terminal building we ran into International Flights not Domestic so wasted more time and upset lots of people by my use of pretty foul language to express my frustration. Amazingly, when we ran up to the check in desk, although we were the last people there the flight had been delayed 40 minutes so we walked onto the plane with a couple of minutes to spare, my wife still in her full winter kit, harness and B3 boots!

Well all the independent climbing on the line was done O/S... the finish was just a repeat!  

'Not much light left and we're in shorts and T shirts but we'll be quick.' Many a mini epic starts with those words. Route and partner to remain nameless to protect the guilty.

Multi pitch well within our abilities (theoretically) with a traverse near the top. Really windy so communication difficult. Romped up to near the top, alternating leads.

I was due to second the traverse: I arrived at the start of it to find the rope arcing across it with no gear at all and disappearing around the corner and up out of sight. I was a bit put out at the lack of gear and stopped briefly to indulge my irritation. Before I could start, the ropes came really tight. Me bellowing 'Slack!' into the void had no effect. As long as the ropes were tight I couldn't do the traverse safely. So I stood my ground and waited for the ropes to go slack. They did, and after a few moments I put a foot out onto the first hold, only for the ropes to be hauled tight, forcing me to step back to the start of the traverse on rope stretch.

'Slack! SLACK! EFFING SLACK!' Ropes ease off, I step out, ropes go tight, I step back, lots of swearing. Repeat.

The sun has gone down now. I am getting really cold with the wind chill. 

Try to pull in slack with the aim of chucking it down and racing across the traverse before getting pulled off it. But the belayer battles me and only concedes about two metres of slack. I chuck the slack, take a deep breath and ... the ropes go tight almost instantly.

I contemplate the nasty pendulum into the gloom if I come off this thing and feel prickles of fear. Only one thing for it. When I have a bit of slack I untie from both ropes and watch them twitch off into the... jeez I can hardly see a thing. 

The traverse is embarrassingly easy. I could have done it even being pulled sideways. Solo to the top in about 30 seconds. 

Low key shivering recriminations at the top. No I didn't need 'the reassurance of a tight rope'. Yes I know you hadn't realised I was at the traverse. Yes it was really easy and not very far. 

Lookwood's Chimney for me. Only a V Diff, mostly inside the cliff, sounded perfect for a wet day! I really didn't think I'd have any trouble backing and footing up a chimney, but in fact it's far too narrow for that and hideously polished. It also seemed devoid of decent holds so the only way to gain height was by desperately thrutching slowly up to the ledge.

I rightly suspected my climbing partner would have even more trouble so I belayed as close to the edge as possible. Sure enough she struggled to get up but with a tight rope made it as far as her head being about the height of my knees at which point she got stuck. I did wonder if I could remember how to make a crevasse rescue style improvised pulley to haul her the rest of the way but in the end by dropping my knees and taking the rope tight I was able to stand up I was able to help more height be gained, and with a few goes of this she'd made it to the ledge. Then it was an easy scramble to emerge into sunlight on the face of the cliff. Character building. 

Almost exactly as per Derek Furze above - Steck Salathe on Sentinel, benighted during descent. Only major differences were it was June, we got to the top before complete darkness, knew there were at least 2 abseils to find and only had a cigarette lighter for illumination. Kept expecting to plummet over a precipice but never did. Back to tent at midnight, only sustenance was a tin of beans and half a gallon of Californian white. Splitting headache in the morning, didn't really enjoy the route that much either...

I've not yet had a serious epic, but one of my first multipitch climbs was Bowfell Buttress (HS 4b) as a complete novice, seconding a friend who I thought was experienced but who was also quite new to trad climbing. We were with two other friends, making up two ropes. Somehow it took us 7 hours!

With the same friend, I went on my first roped winter climb up Central Gully Left Branch (III 3) in great conditions. It was only my second time in crampons and we pitched everything. Somehow it took us about 8 hours. He'd told his pregnant partner we'd be home by 4pm. They rang mountain rescue around 7pm. Around 8pm we managed to call my friend's partner at the top and let them know we were safe. Then we proceeded to get completely lost, trying to find the descent in the dark in a whiteout. We eventually got down to the car sometime after 11pm and home by 1pm. We were a bit shamefaced for a while; made guilty donations to the MRT; tiptoed around partners. A week or so later my friend confided to me: "but... it was fking great, wasn't it?"

When I first did this route my partner (in both senses) at the time had done it before. On both occasions the climbing was being done on a pair of half ropes.  He recalled an epic of stuck ropes (stuck below them) that had resulted in part from them using both ropes to complete that very short abseil.  So he suggested we ab on one of our ropes and coil the other and bring it down with us.  We'd already started bickering due to impending rain and differences of opinion about this one rope or two thing added to it.  Eventually, I went down first on one rope.  I was expecting him to have coiled the other rope while I was abseiling and just jump onto the rope I'd abbed on.  But he wanted me to pull down the rope I'd used so he could ab on the one he had in a pile at his feet.  After some arguing, he agreed to coil his rope and come down on the one that was already there.  But he had started messing about with it in an attempt to get it out of the abseil ring.  The middle of the rope was therefore no longer at the correct point in the abseil ring. If he'd abbed on it, he would have abbed off one end of the rope.  As we were already arguing, he was disinclined to listen to my attempts to prolong the discussion and just wanted to get on with abbing down. In the end, after he had put the ropes through is belay device, I shouted as loudly as I have ever shouted anything in my entire life "stop what you are doing or you are GOING TO F*CKING DIE".  The crag was reasonably busy that day and I swear everybody stopped what they were doing and the whole place went very quiet.  You could've heard a pin drop for a couple of minutes.  Fortunately, that was enough to make him listen to me and rearrange the ropes. 

Like many people, I tend to think there's no need to knot the ends of the ropes when the ab is obviously so much shorter than the rope length.  But recalling this episode does make me think it is probably a good idea to do it routinely (and especially if the short abseil is above a big drop).  And it adds to my irritation that beal sell half ropes without middle markers. Thankfully, I usually shell out for their ink and mark them myself - which helped make the problem in this scenario obvious to me from the ledge because I could see that the middle mark wasn't where it should be.

I guess that is more of a cautionary tale than an amusing anectode about an epic ... but thought I would share anyway!

Another cautionary abbing tale rather than an amusing mini epic. As an almost complete beginner I seconded The Brink of Solarity https://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crags/portishead_quarry-42/the_brink_of_... in Portishead Quarry. The leader, with only a fraction more experience than me brought me up and then what you do is ab back down the slab.

My partner belayed with a sling round a small tree. She took me off belay, we both untied. Then she tied the ropes together, put the ropes through her big figure of 8 ab device and dropped the ends down the slab. She then said 'I'm not sure I am doing this right.' She had forgotten to put the ropes round the tree.... Very nearly her last as well as her first ab.

1. Scafell Pike. Winter. Tons of snow. Sunny day. 5 year old son, 8 year old daughter, Helen (wife). Helen totals the car on the ice on the drive to Wasdale, hence a little late. Summit bathed in sun. Sudden white out. Been there a ton of times. Walked 90 degrees off course. There's a big cliff. Descend via snow gullies (I had brought an axe and a rope). Theo loved being lowered. Helen less impressed.

2. One year on. Ben Nevis. Winter. Tons of snow. Went to descend. Sudden white out. Use compass as not a place to mess up. Something tells me something is wrong. Really wrong with the steepness of the ground. Check compass. Says we are heading the right way. Give it a little shake. Needle falls off and floats in the oil. Took a long time to get off. Had to give the 6 year old a can of red bull near the end. Impressive stuff. 20 mins of jogging with a him talking rubbish non stop. Clipped him into his car seat as he went unconscious. Helen less then impressed.

3. Yosemite. Descending from Leaning Tower. Haul bags and all. Pitch black. Mate's headtorch fails. I give him mine as I'm done a bit more of this kind of thing. At the last set of anchors I lose my footing and spin. Twisting the daisy, the bags and the belay device into a complete mess. This turned out to be very hard to sort out only by only touch as I had both very heavy bags and was worried I'd drop them or me.  

Last route of the weekend, Second Pinnacle Rib with a partner who's much stronger than me, albeit in a rather wall-bred sort of way. Making good time, actually going to finish in daylight for a change. Partner getting a bit bored with the VDiff, decides we should do evil thrutch chimney for the final pitch to liven things up.

Parnter gets stuck halfway up evil thrutch chimney. Merriment ensues. We make the somewhat dubious decision to haul our daysacks, which then get stuck. It gets dark. We sort out the enfanklement by feel, headlamps of course being in said bags. We eventually get back to the club hut well after 10pm, and home at around 3am ...

(We had at the time a bit of a reputation for late finishes. Can't think why ...)