A story I’d rather forget…

Recently, I received two messages a day apart from friends who were hiking in Chuulilla, Spain. The messages were all about the same topic, and in each one, my friend said there was a story going around and that I was a part of that story. When they told me what the story was, I responded that I was part of the story even though I didn’t want to be, and that the story could probably be written well, so here it goes…

Chulilla is a small town perched high on the side of a wide, winding gorge cut by the Rio Turia. A meandering body of water at the bottom of a canyon. Once the river passes the town, it cuts at an angle of one hundred and eighty degrees, forming something similar to Tepuy Venezuela, a large rocky island in the land between the U-shaped bends in the river. The reeds at the bottom of the canyon swayed in the breeze, and birds flew among the delicate reeds. I spent many days climbing, often being ejected off steep, high, yellow and orange limestone walls. In the evening, as the sun sets, it’s easy to lose yourself while jogging along the sandy path along the river, imagining you’re in a South American jungle.

The first time I went to Chulilla was about seven years ago, with Zylo. We weren’t together long but I do remember her trying repeatedly to pitch from the crux of a really nice and long 7a+ in the Serengeti. In and of itself, this is impressive, however, while stripping the line, the second bolt was clipped; taking the rope out of the quick draw rod where she was clipped, (so I could tighten the rope) she Somehow he caught the tip of her index finger and tilted it back. Her fingertips exploded. The blood that splattered from her fingers was perhaps more impressive than her tenacity as she climbed higher, and when she came down, the tip of the blast was bleeding. The next day she gave the Serengeti a few more tries with her fingers taped off, which I must admit I found both impressive and terrifying!

A few months later, during the Christmas period while we were still together (of course we were still together, she was tough as nails, albeit a little crazy!) Zylo and I spent a month in Chulilla. For several days, it rained heavily, so I went for a run. On one run I left the village, jogged past the sewage treatment plant (it’s a great van as long as you don’t mind the weird smell of human waste), and up over a col to the other side of the sewage treatment plant. Canyon leading to the dam, and parking lot for rock climbing. The rain was pouring, streams were flowing where they normally wouldn’t, the skies were dark and cloudy, and the temperature was closer to north Wales than to Valencia. I jogged from the dam along the sandy path to the suspended footbridge at the narrowest part of the canyon. The path leads along the opposite river bank to the largest and in my opinion the best climbing section in the oasis area of ​​Chulilla. Of course, no one climbed it, because it was really crazy considering the weather and conditions, but as I was walking through the soaked sand on the opposite side of a crag called Pared Blanca, there was a guy, clearly deranged, who The power is screaming. All the way up to one of 8a. I paused to watch this surreal spectacle. A man climbs a difficult hillside in the cold and a waterfall cascades from the top. Large streams of black water flowed past his sides. Touching. But definitely angry!

A few days later, Zylo and I arrived at a crag called Naranjito, where she climbed an unnamed 7a+ (and probably no other climbs, although she insisted it was good!), and any of her None of the fingers exploded, so that’s good. We then went to Pared Blanca and let me try a route called Kataplof, where I had put the clip on a few days before on Christmas Day. Kataplof is a climb by Pedro Pons. Pedro and his partner Nuria own the village’s Hostel El Altico, and both were involved in the development of Chulilla. On the first trip Zylo and I camped at a hotel and after trying the 7c I couldn’t remember the name or even where it was we went back to the hotel where I won my route to Pedro I’ve been trying hard, but I’m not sure. Pedro replied: “Of course it has caught Nick, it’s only 7c”. I pulled away and cried in my Waldam!

Kataplov has no stars, no chalk, no polish, and no entry in the UKC logbook (probably no polish, no chalk, has to do with no logbook entry…oh, the politics!). The fact that it was an unknown attracted me to it. It also looks great and long, so why not, (I have to admit, the honeypot thing, brought on by stuff posted on the internet, has been bugging me a bit, you might not have noticed 😉 ).

The rock had dried and there was another person there, who turned out to be someone I knew.

“Hey Josh, how are you?”

Josh Wharton is originally from the East Coast of the United States and Kelly Cordes (also from the United States) described it as a weapon. Josh has climbed all over the world, on mountains, rocks, ice and mixed, and has excelled on some very difficult and daring climbs.

“Yes, thank you very much Nick.”

I thought back to my run in the rain a week ago;

“Did you crawl up here in the rain last week?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s raining.”

Now I understand,

“No nonsense!”

I tried Kataplov and fell. Josh saw a long, thick 7c+ to my right (come to think of it, he might have climbed another 8a) and asked if he could try my route. He saw this too. I’m not planning on trying it again as I’m still excited, but inspired by Josh to go ahead and surprise myself by doing so, there may be a lesson to be learned from it, although I’m not sure what it is….. .

Chulila is great, all the stories above are from Chulila, but none of them are stories that are currently told in Chulila. This much-told story goes back a few years when I was best man at a friend’s wedding somewhere near the Cotswolds.

My friend is a climber, a good friend, but he has a bad habit of climbing the same mountains, driving a large four-wheel drive vehicle, and wearing too big, expensive, heavy watches. We have a lot of the same friends and most of them were at the wedding. Personally, I think the only reason he asked me to be best man was because he knew I wouldn’t be going to town on the speech, and believe me, the potential to go to town is huge! But even though I can be outspoken at times, I would never include something I know, certainly not in a best man’s speech, otherwise it could be a very short marriage, and my friend knows that. Yeah, this time, I’m a safe bet, who would have thought!

In the evening, everyone went out and drank a lot. The venue is a luxury hotel and bar, with dark nooks and crannies and open fires. There were about fifteen of us standing in an alcove. Everyone standing in the circle is a close friend. I met most of this group during winter in Chamonix. I’ve slept on their couches, skied and hiked with them, and we know each other well. One of them was and still is a great companion. In some ways we are very different, he barely drinks, he has pictures of himself all over social media and he always seems to be following some weird diet. He’s also fitter than me and a better climber and skier. We’ve done alpine climbing, skiing, rock climbing, training, running, adventure climbing, Scottish winter climbing, pretty much all together and on a regular basis (for those trying to guess, it’s not Andy Hausman, although you probably know because I said I train and run with this guy and they don’t drink 😉).

Among the many days we spent together, I still remember one snowy and sunny day in Chamonix when my unknown companion (whom I will call Iggy in this story) and I had some free time. So, on a whim, we hopped on the mid-morning ski lift to the summit station, scurried through the ice tunnel, strapped on our skis and skied over the top of Val Blanche to the Italian side. Giant ice waterfall. From the top of the icefall we peeled off the skin of the Periades Glacier; zigzagging through monotonous zigzags for about 600m before reaching the cliff strip where we fastened crampons to our ski boots and strapped our skis Fastened to the backpack and kicked off another 300m, from the southern ravine of Breche Puiseux, to finally reaching Breche Puiseux, a rocky gap in the sticky debris on the right side of the glacier (looking up from the Leschaux glacier). A ridge across the north face of the Grandes Jorasses (I know that’s not the best description, but I hope you get the idea). I must admit I was hanging by the time we got to the trunk, we had barely stopped since leaving the Midi and it had been in the sun. The altitude is just over 1000 meters. Iggy, who was very fit, picked up the pace because he was worried we would miss the last Montfort train back to the valley. I’m also pretty sure I didn’t eat any food or water!

We didn’t stop, in fact when I got there Iggy was already abseiling on the north side and we were now 3000m down. After two abseils we put on skis and skied non-stop on the Mont Mallet glacier in the shade on the north face of the Grand Choras until we reached the flats of the Leschaux glacier, almost opposite the Leschaux shelter. I didn’t learn to ski until I was 37 and I gave all my friends a ton of fun skiing and I must admit, my thighs screamed on the descents to the point where I’m pretty sure I yelled at my My companion said: “Leave me alone, I will follow the tracks back to the valley, I don’t care!” But once we reached the ground we continued to the lower part of the Vallee Blanche and the Mer de Glacier. Glace), about four hours after leaving South Station, we joined the queue for a cabin, which brought us to the train station. As I stood walking in line, my arms began to lock up, my legs cramped, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Here you go, man.”

My friend had a bar of dark chocolate and water with orange isotonic flavoring; he always took care of me.

Anyway, back to the wedding, we were all standing in the alcove. Iggy, who rarely drinks, had a few glasses of red wine this time and was almost as funny as my skiing style. He waddled like I did when I was waiting for the train, then sat down in the chair. I don’t think he was in a relationship at the time, although let’s be honest, Iggy and relationships are often, shall we say, fluid, or at least that’s how he sees it! There was a woman in the circle who had a past with him. He sat down, looked up at her, lifted up his tea shirt, exposed the ribs on his stomach, and said: “Continue to love and be kind to yourself.” Needless to say, this caused a reaction from a group of friends. .

I don’t remember what time I went to bed, but it was late and I was kind of badly dressed. As best man, I was supposed to share a room with my friend who just got married, but he went out of his way to move the room in with his wife, which meant I was now living with Iggy. I collapsed on the bed and a thought flashed through my mind, “He better not”. I fell into a bit of a stupor with that thought, but even though I was drunk and he was drunk too, I was pretty sure he wasn’t.

I woke up in the dark and heard a sound I hadn’t heard until Breche Puiseux. It was Iggy who was a little out of breath. He was actually breathing very heavily!

Oh no, I couldn’t believe it, she had apparently accepted Iggy’s offer and decided to “treat herself” so I rolled over, pulled the blanket and pillow over my head, then stuck my fingers in my ears and started humming Theme tune to Postman Pat.

I’m not sure at what point the proceedings stopped, but I sensed two more people nearby, and for a moment I wanted to sit up, turn on the light, and ask either of them if they had any cigarettes, but at the end, because I Ki was my partner and he offered me a drink and a piece of chocolate in the queue, which I decided not to drink, but even a glass of water with some isotonic ingredients and a piece of luxurious dark chocolate, 80% only buy Chocolate you are so loyal. 😉