Kinder North: summer grit

Mention rock climbing in the Peak District, and my thoughts turn to the gritstone edges of Stanage and Froggatt, the tiered grit of the Roaches, and the limestone cliffs of Stoney Middleton. A short walk from the road and with a bounty of good routes on clean and solid rock, these venues are incredibly popular with climbers.

But the popularity of these crags is such that you often have to queue for routes. Mid-summer heat and midges can make climbing there a sweaty, itchy, frustrating experience. And sometimes when I want to make the best of a long summer day,  walking for 10 minutes from the car to a 12 metre high crag can seem just a little underwhelming.

There is another option. There are gritstone outcrops scattered across the high moorland regions of the Peak District: Shining Clough, Kinder Downfall, Laddow, and more. Often damp and dirty, and with walk-ins that count as a day out in their own right, these crags come into condition during high summer when the rock dries out and the long days make it worthwhile. 

   

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At the beginning of July the fates had aligned. It hadn't rained for a while, it was hot, and the weather was going to stay good until the weekend.  I made a plan to visit the Kinder North with John, my climbing partner for the day.

Fair Brook

On Saturday morning, after an early start from Leeds, we parked on the Snake Road just East of the Snake Pass Inn. We crossed the River Ashop and set off along a well-worn path running beside Fair Brook. 

The path along Fair Brook, with the Kinder plateau ahead.

The path stretched ahead of us, steadily climbing to the Kinder plateau. Although it was early in the day the sun was strong; we soon felt it.

Cotton grass on Kinder plateau

As we gained height, the landscape changed. First we passed through a small conifer plantation running along the River Ashop. Along the lower reaches of Fair Brook there was grass and the occasional tree, broad-leaved this time. Higher up the grass changed to heather and the trees ran out. This was grouse country, managed to provide the heather-habitat that the birds like. We could see grouse butts in the distance, awaiting the arrival of the rich and well-connected in a month's time, when they would enjoy a very different sport.

On top of the plateau the heather continued for miles, the sward occasionally broken by patches of cotton grass growing in damp depressions. For many people, one of the attractions of climbing is that it takes you to wild places. But is an unbroken blanket of heather, managed to remain that way, really more wild than wheat fields? Or golf courses? A landscape shaped and controlled for people's leisure.

A green and chossy buttress on Kinder.

A couple of kilometres of trudging later, we approached the plateau. By this point a sheen of sweat covered my sunglasses so that everything I could see was blurred and distorted. We started by climbing Misty Wall (VS 4b), which is on the first buttress you pass from Fair Brook. It faces Southeast, and was in good condition - dry, and only a little dirty.

The main buttresses of Kinder North do face North. After Misty Wall we walked round to the first of these. It was green.

Dirty, and streaked with green.

Up close we could see that the rock was covered in a slippery, dusty crust, and there were big lumps of turf, lush and green, on some of the ledges. You won't find that at Stanage.

Moving through the roof on Eureka, Kinder.

I followed John up Eureka (VS 4c). My guidebook rates this as a classic, but it turned out to be a series of dirty ledges with a couple of interesting moves in the middle, where you have to pass a roof. We weren't convinced about its classic status.

Next I set off up Ashop Crack, which goes up the crag a few yards to the right of Eureka. I climbed the initial crack to a ledge. Above the ledge there was a big roof split by a wide, almost off-width, crack. I got my largest cam in the crack, and thought about how I was going to climb through the roof. It looked like you had to swing out, feet in space, to get round it. I could see no footholds until you got established in the crack above the roof, and there were no handholds either. John's guide graded this route VS 4c - the same as Eureka - so surely it couldn't be that hard. I convinced myself to go for it, hoping that footholds and handholds would magically appear. I stepped out under the roof, gripped the sloping, dirty edge of the crack above me. Took a couple of deep breaths, and retreated back on to the ledge.

I down-climbed from the ledge, shaking my head at my failure on such an amenably graded route. Later, back in the pub, I looked the route up in my guidebook (a later edition of John's, but which I had left in the car), it had been upgraded to E2 5b. I was glad that I had not tried to battle my way to the top.

Heading west to find Twisting Smile.

We went in search of a route called Twisted Smile which was on a buttress further along Kinder North. By repute this is one of the best routes in the Peak District. Kinder North stretches for some distance as a series of broken buttresses, but the guidebook provided few clues as to which of these had Twisted Smile. Moving over the rough terrain at the base of the edge was tiring, and after some time going back and forth, we gave up looking for Twisted Smile and retreated to the top of the plateau.

At this point I think John was disappointed. Twisted Smile is supposed to be so good, and the long walk in and the need for the right conditions meant that it was unlikely that he would get another opportunity to climb it any time soon.

Helicopter spraying on Kinder.

On top of the plateau we could see a helicopter. It had a huge boom hanging from it and it appeared to be methodically criss-crossing the plateau. Were they firefighting, or treating the land with chemicals?

John leading Legacy, Kinder.

We went back to Big Brother Buttress, which we had passed earlier. There was another pair of climbers at the buttress, the first we had seen all day. They had three dogs with them, tied up at the base of the buttress, who were happily passing time by digging a hole. I followed John up Legacy (HVS 5a), a fine rising traverse following a crack that crosses the buttress.

Next I set off up Brother's Eliminate. This involved climbing out of a cave and following another rising crack. It was very different to Legacy - the crack was rounded, difficult to protect, incredibly dirty, and there was not much for my feet. I moved out along the crack, unable to place any more gear. I was soon at a point where, were I to fall off, I would hit the ground before my last bit of protection caught me. I was also right above the dogs, who were barking at me, and the crack was getting dirtier.  I retreated back to the top of the cave, dangled from the gear that I had placed there, and admitted defeat. John lowered me to the ground, tied on, and also tried to climb the route but he turned back at the same point as me. Brother's Eliminate was given HVS 5a in John's guidebook, but, I later found out, had also been upgraded in my edition, this time to E1 5b. I was not having much luck.

Finally I followed John up Intestate (E1 5b); this was a fine route, marred, as every route was, by dirty holds.

We were topped out on Intestate feeling pretty tired, and although we had only attempted 6 routes, with the time spent searching for Twisted Smile it had been a long day. We set off back down the path along Fair Brook, and we were back at the car by 8pm. Both of us had no water left so we drove to the Snake Inn for a drink. It was at this point I got my up-to-date guidebook from the car. Sitting in the pub, a pint of squash in my hand, only then did I discover John's old guidebook had sandbagged me twice.

Would I go back to Kinder? I'm not sure. Getting there is a long uphill slog, and as Kinder tends to be in condition on hot summer days, you have to be willing to suffer. It was also really dirty, although I think this may have been the accumulated results of the previous two wet summers. On the other hand, once we had reached the crag we were in the shade where it was cool. The more accessible gritstone edges would have been grim in these conditions. On balance Kinder North is a good venue for a hot summer day when, for whatever reason, you can't head to Wales or the Lake District to climb on high mountain crags.

Slipstones

Yorkshire's finest gritstone - a religious experience.

Giant Hogweed

Travelling from Central Leeds on the Alwoodley to City Centre cycle route signs divert me away from the Meanwood Road, past some old mills (now student residences, highlighting the change that has occurred to the city in recent decades), and onto a track heading North through a green and peaceful valley.

A stream runs through the valley. Giant hogweed (Heracleum mantegazzianum) grows along the banks of the stream, 10 feet tall, clustered, triffid-like.

A stand of Giant Hogweed

In the UK giant hogweed is an invasive plant. Originally from Central Asia, like many plants regarded as invasive in the UK, it was deliberately introduced in the 19th Century. It looks like a giant version of its native relative common hogweed, and it also looks similar to food plants such as carrot, parsnip, and fennel. These plants are grouped together in the family Umbelliferae, a name which references their parasol-like flower heads (the Latin for parasol is umbella).

It is a perennial herb, which means the giant stems grow in a single year, die off in the autumn, and grow anew the following year. Impressive stuff.

A single Giant Hogweed plant, about 9 feet tall

Giant hogweed is phototoxic; contact with its sap can trigger an allergic reaction to sunlight, causing rashes, blistering, and scarring. If you come across a patch it is best to stay well back.

It is not hard to feel a vague air of menace around these plants. Perhaps looking out the window to see that a stand has appeared where there were none yesterday, a distant drumming sound suggesting more are on their way...

A day of dangling at Stanage

All this happened in October 2012. After an especially wet summer, the sun was finally out...

“So what is your history with Quietus¹ Mike?” asked Bruce.

“Well I had a go, but I came off. My foot was on the heel hook so inverted as I fell.”

“There was a lot of rope stretch, so I landed on the ledge below, hit my head, and got concussed. Luckily I was wearing a helmet.”

On the promise of good weather Bruce, Mike, Wayne and I were driving to the Peak, but so far we had no clear plan of where to go (Millstone? – to shaded, Bamford? – not enough to do). In that moment it was decided: High Neb.

We arrived, warm from the walk in, at a beautifully tranquil High Neb Buttress². Mike and Wayne got started on High Neb Buttress Variations, while I followed Bruce up Norse Corner Climb. Next, I balanced my way up Where did my Tan Go?, while Wayne was around the corner getting pumped out of his tree leading The Dalesman. With full sun and a light breeze, it was some of the best conditions this year; T-shirt weather at the end of October!

The Dalesman

As Bruce and I scrambled down the descent to the right of High Neb, our eyes were drawn upwards.  Above us lay a roof; gloomy, horizontal, jutting out a body length from the cliff, and split by the crack line of Jeepers Creepers. Bruce had been contemplating this line for a while. He was ready to give it a try.

He quickly dispatched the lower section. Stood on a ledge, with cams in the roof crack above, he then spent several minutes trying different ways of placing his hands in the crack before finally making an attempt. A tentative reach, a couple of moves, retreat back to the ledge looking confused.  He made a couple more attempts - leaving the ledge to hang from the underside of the crack - before deciding that for him, today, it wasn’t going to happen.

Under the roof of Jeepers Creepers

I couldn’t miss the opportunity to try Jeepers Creepers, especially since Bruce had already placed the gear. I climbed to the ledge below the roof and stuck my hands in the crack. It was smoother than I expected (and this with Bruce telling me how smooth it was!). There was nothing for it but to grab a hold just to the left of the crack, feet up, launch outwards, sink a jam… and retreat back to the ledge looking confused. I gave it several more attempts – jug, hand jam, heel hook – each taking me further than the last, before I peeled off, broken, exhausted, dangling like a puppet. I skulked off to one side and finished the climb via the Severe variation.

But all that is unimportant. Because down below anticipation was building as Mike taped up his hands.

By the time Bruce and I had cleared our gear from Jeepers Creepers, Mike was making his way up to the ledge below the roof section of Quietus. A crowd gathered as Mike sorted out protection in the roof.   Eventually he was ready. He edged out, Gecko-like, across the underside of the roof. The crowd started to cheer as he reached upwards around the end to get his first jam in. It looked like he was going to do it! More importantly, Mike had groupies!

In seconds it was all over as Mike slumped onto the rope, then retreated back to the ledge. He had a couple more goes but didn’t better his first attempt. For Mike, too, it wasn’t going to happen today, but at least there was no concussion.

Under the roof of Quietus

After that the day coasted gently to a close. Bruce and I climbed Icy Crack, an indifferent route, before wandering along the crag to watch Wayne climb Quantum Crack. A bank of mist that had been moving along Stanage for a while reached us, and Wayne finished the route in cloud.
We walked down to the car in cool, misty, conditions - a change over the course of the day that echoed a greater change: the last of summer fading into autumn.

Notes
1. Quietus is the central line through the huge roof that dominates that crag at High Neb.
2. The day before Bruce and I had been at the Popular End of Stanage, which was swamped with several minibuses worth of climbing clubs.

RHS Harlow Carr alpine house

Recently I visited the Royal Horticultural Society's Harlow Carr in Harrogate. It has a great collection of alpine plants, many of which are flowering right now. It was great to see lots of alpine plants up close (although not as much fun as devoting a summer in the Alps to searching for flowers!).

Alpine plants are a distinct set of plants that are adapted to the mountain environment, and are typically found above the treeline. Large temperature changes, intense sunlight, exposure, and lack of water make this a challenging place to live. The plants have adapted to cope with these conditions. Adaptations include staying close to the ground to reduce exposure, thick or hair-covered leaves to avoid drying out, and reproductive strategies to ensure success in the short growing season. Many species produce big, bold flowers, perhaps to attract the attention of pollinating insects, which are rare at high altitudes?

Despite sharing adaptations, alpine plants are a pretty diverse group: saxifrages, gentians, primulas, cinquefoils, mints...

In Europe alpine plants are typically found above 1400 metres. In the British Isles there is no land above 1400 metres, but you can find alpine plants at lower altitudes; in the mountainous regions of Scotland, the Lake District and North Wales, and even close to sea level on the West coast of Ireland. Its only a small subset of the species you'll find in Europe though, and they tend to be in isolated pockets.

Here are a few of the most charismatic plants I saw in the Harlow Carr alpine house:

Primula allionii

The picture above shows a cultivar of Allioni's primrose, which an inhabits limestone cliffs of the Maritime Alps, which is the Southwesterly part of the Alpine mountain range, on the border of France and Italy.

Like of all of the plants I photographed, Allioni's primrose was growing in a pot submerged in a bed of sand. Because it is adapted to the harsh mountain environment, it likes specific conditions, and this method of growing makes it easier to maintain those conditions.

Saxifraga x. elizabethae

This saxifrage is a hybrid between one-flowered cushion saxifrage (Saxifraga burseriana) which is found in the Eastern Alps across Bavaria, Slovenia, Austria and Italy on rocky limestone, and Saxifraga sancta, which is found in South Eastern Europe (Greece, Bulgaria and Turkey).

Tulipa bifloriformis

This is 'Starlight' a cultivar of Tulipa bifloriformis, which is native to mountain ranges in Central Asia, including the Tien Shan and the Pamirs.

20 minutes in the alpine house and I had been taken on a journey away from cold, blustery Yorkshire, and across the mountains of Europe and Central Asia. Definitely worth a visit!

A summer dawn at Almscliff

The other morning I watched the sunrise at Almscliff. This was unusual and unexpected. Between early spring and late autumn I am rarely awake at dawn. The evening before, making the best of good weather, I visited the crag to do some bouldering with friends. On return home I was unable to find my wallet and became convinced that I had dropped it while bouldering. One sleepless night later, during which I dwelt on all the problems that come with losing and replacing the contents of a wallet, I found myself in my car on the road to Almscliff.

Although most of my attention was devoted to scouring the ground  for my lost wallet, I did manage to take few photos.

Sunrise from Almscliff

In the East the sun rose into a hazy sky.

Looking West

To the West the farmland was covered by wisps of mist, reminiscent of casually draped lace. The sun quickly burnt this off, revealing the more substantial forms of a few sheep.

Great Western buttress, Almscliff

Different aspects of the crag's character were revealed by the dawn light. Great Western buttress was lit from behind. With its features in shadow, the buttress was a dark monolithic lump of gritstone, even more imposing than usual.

I didn't find my wallet at Almscliff. After a frantic search, and a drive back to Leeds, during which my mind went over every card that I would have to cancel and replace, I got home, walked through the door and decided to check my climbing bag one more time.

My wallet was in the top pocket.

The coming Spring and cold climbing at Froggatt

Crocuses flowering beneath a tree in Harrogate

Over the last few days I have seen more and more bulbs flowering, probably due to the unseasonably warm temperatures the UK has seen over the last week.

Besides clumps of snow drops, with their monochrome flowers that bring to mind the passing winter more than coming spring, there are large patches of colourful crocuses, like those in the above photo, and even a few daffodils tentatively starting to flower.

I admire the optimism of these plants, and I hope that they herald the arrival of spring for one reason: it is the perfect time to get out and rock climb on the gritstone crags found around Leeds and the nearby Peak District. Then I will be ready for more adventurous climbing on mountains and sea cliffs just as the warmth and long days of summer arrive.

Indeed, enthusiasm got the better of me this weekend and I visited Froggatt in the Peak District to try and kick start my rock climbing season. Although my climbing partner and I managed a couple of great routes (including the notorious Three Pebble Slab), the temperature had fallen from the mid-week high, and, combined with a bitter wind, made the experience of placing hands on cold rock an unpleasant one. By lunchtime we admitted defeat and were back on the road home.

Come soon spring!