A Blouberg
Experience
By Chris Ziranek
We were at the top of pitch 7 of ‘Hey Jude’ on Blouberg, three pitches to go,
and it was 5 in the afternoon. Below was the challenging hand-jam grade 20 pitch
which I had aided up, knowing that it was more like
21 going on 22. Paul had followed me, miraculously getting out all of the gear
that I thought would be wedged in solidly from my standing on it. Now it was his
turn to lead the beautiful looking prominent crack, topped by a chimney-type
recess. A solid 19 pitch, of the type much loved by traditional trad climbers.
Paul started climbing in his solid dependable unhurried way. As he inched up the
prominent crack, I wondered how the opening party in 1981 would have protected
themselves without my ‘big Bertha’, a number 4 Camelot I had purchased 18 months
previously. The crack was too wide for anything that I had seen from those days.
Paul said that maybe they had used a huge hex, and then a big ‘bong’. Not having
climbed in that era, I could see that there was quite a jargon attached to the
variants of pitons.
Calls of “watch me” came down to my answers “I’m always watching you.” I noticed
the sewing machine legs. I also noticed the shadows lengthening as sunset
approached. Then Paul was into the chimney, saying that the only way to get up
this one is with your back against the wall. “This must be one of the most
amazing climbing views in the whole of Blouberg” he said. “Sod the view” I
thought, “just get on with it. We haven’t got much daylight left.” I may have
actually used stronger language.
At the top of the chimney, I expected Paul to make a stance. Now, only the tops
of the mountain and clouds were still in sunlight, with darkness slowly
embracing the earth. Paul had asked if he could leave me with his rucksack,
which would have only got in his way leading up the chimney. I already had my
own bum bag. The last thing that I wanted to do was climb such a hard pitch in
the dark hauling all the baggage. Nevertheless, we did have head torches this
time; I didn’t want the embarrassment of another special award at a Mountain
Club Dinner for being benighted out on a rock face.
But Paul just carried on climbing, saying that there was a better stance not far
ahead. For interminable minutes, the rope inched out. I became additionally
worried that Paul and I would end up being out of earshot. At last came a far
too distant call “Off belay” then “Climb when ready.” There was just enough
light. I flew up the prominent crack, screaming for a tight rope whenever there
was any slack. The last thing I wanted was to fall, and then have to repeat hard
won meters. On the way, I must have retrieved my trusty big Bertha.
On entering the chimney, in order to ‘put my back against the wall’, I must have
turned my bum bag stomach-side and I must have slung Paul’s rucksack below me. I
can recall, wedged in the chimney, forcing myself to actually look at this
amazing view. It was amazing, for the whole 2 seconds I allowed myself. It would
have looked even better, I thought to myself, in the sodding sunlight.
When I got to Paul’s belay stance in a solid tree, I silently and begrudgingly
acknowledged it as being the right option. It was dark now. We had 2 long but
easy pitches of 14 and 11 above us to the top. It was the first time I had
climbed in the dark. Previously, I had regarded head torches as unnecessary
equipment shown off by egocentric climbers. Now I acknowledged their full value.
We topped out at 9.15 pm. We had been 14 hours on the face. We were tired,
dehydrated and hungry. But we were exhilarated from completing the near vertical
300 meter climb and very relieved at not having to spend a cold night bivvying
out on the face.
A stop by the nearby pool of water to slake our thirst, and its brownish colour
just didn’t worry us. It was midnight by the time that we got back to the tent,
20 hours after Paul’s alarm had raised us. All I wanted now was sleep. Paul
insisted on tea. I must have been gone before the water boiled.
The hike back down the mountain the next day was long and hot. But the
indigenous forest is always calm and peaceful, still with a sprinkling of
towering majestic yellow woods.
As we neared Francis’ kraal to collect the car, we passed an old man relaxing
with his women and family. He greeted us, and said “Did the mountain give it
what you wanted?”
From Johannesburg section of MCSA May 2003 Newsletter
Jo, Hector and Alan on a magnificent route with the poor name!
Teddybear's Picnic at Blouberg
More photos of South Africa by Pieterjan de Roo
Johannesburg Sunset by Mike Grant
