As we sweep through the hellish month of June, clinging desperately to greasy slopers (as if clinging to our sanity), and all the time harassed by clouds of increasingly blood thirsty midges, it is perhaps some solace for the dedicated boulderer to know that Big G is still out there in the little visited cwms unearthing fossilised behemoths which once ruled the oceans of our ancient earth. That these very same sea monsters now give us fresh ground upon which we might practice the dark art of the well-timed slap is, at least in some small part, a tonic to souls still mourning the loss of winter friction. Indeed, it is hoped that Big G will find more Wild Whales on his travels, lest we all give in, don harnesses, and join the braying throng on the crumbly ramparts of Cloggy itself!

The Stone Minkey of Trwyn y Graig (gr 524 511)

Sperm? Blue? It isn't easy to say. But it is one of the larger examples thus preserved, languishing at the source of the Afon Craig-las, trapped by receding glacier ice it has led the loneliest of lives.

It is decorated with an incongruous heather collar, as though it has donned a warm garment in anticipation of the long wait. The narrow stream trickles close by, as if to torment its immobilized bogside bulk.

Just like the Nant Ffrancon Whale it is well overdue a little human company; its imposing east jaw providing significant opportunities for person and animal to physically bond in a very beautiful and meaningful way. (Best confine this to the boulder-eh.) Imperfections in its rough skin may, to the elite few, be considered of the utmost quality.

Oh-you’re thinking-its just a bloody big rock. Well, yes that is true. But we must invest some imagination; a little legend into our sport, lest we simply appear to be pulling on bits of rubble in a weird vacuum.

And that's not right - is it.

Blessed are those who go the distance.

For they shall know virtue through suffering (and also foot-rot).

Love, Big G

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