This month Big G looks forward to a brave new world of ‘higher-than-highball’ bouldering:
Dear NWB.com readers,
For the boulderer, a descent of Llanberis Pass on a busy day can be an affront to the senses. One is confronted from every angle, by that mystifying phenomenon - the roped climb.
Observe if you will the time-hungry activities which replace any real joy in the “move”; runners being squidged into cracks, belays being assembled, ropes managed, abseils conducted, descent routes sought, sacs lost - one could go on.
We on the other hand, shall caress nature one tiny bit at a time, covering more of the valley than our roped numpty-peers; discovering the treasures of the landscape. One could go on.
But what happens when we have nothing left to...go on?
Surely just as each well placed boulder is consigned to history and each badly placed one is surrounded with an undulation of mats, we will start to run out of stuff - even in this post glacial ‘piss a drew’-sculpted paradise.
So - in search of virgin material, we will begin to encroach upon the steeper ground, and will - (with a terrible irony) - find ourselves in similar physical circumstances to the rack-rattlers all about us.
What are we on about here?
Well; take yourself to the superb little 4m shield, 50m left of Scimitar Ridge (Gr 634 565) and you will not only see the thing, but, the problem with the thing!
Feast your eyes on this rounded little item of perfect proportions, its compelling line - (no buggering about on contrivances) - climb the flake...if you dare. Oh, there it is...the landing; a good clear run down 100m of steep broken ground to the bottom of the valley, where you will be ...broken.
Highballs are going to get higher and ballsier, and we must endeavour to do them in the best style we can, even if it means that the finest of our generation are cut down in their prime, as they roll and bounce like wrong-footed sheep to their doom.
We’ll show those rope-crocheting mincers a thing or two!
Blessed are the brave, for they can persuade themselves of all sorts.
Love, Big G