Information: sunlight and nightfall part 1.

I've got two climbs from the last week to record and report, both from crags on Sotra, a hilly island just outside Bergen. I think I'm happier about the first one, and I think I know why, but these kinds of responses-to-recollections are thin and mutable, easily influenced by other things that come along. I'm typing now because I've felt my thoughts shift about it over the last day and it's bothered me enough to want to write it out.

A week ago I climbed M-L Risset** (n5 / VS 4c/5a? – 60m), and the day before yesterday it was Sentralruta*** (n6- / E1 5b – 90m). I'm converting those grades from Norwegian to UK adjectival units myself, on the basis of a rough familiarity of what 5a/5b feel like and what the protection / exposure / sustained nature of the climbs felt like. I had a bit of a fight on both of them, more so on Sentralruta, but I'm happy with the achievement of both of them. I dogged them both, so I didn't climb them 'clean', but that's not a source of shame or disappointment – I've never had the tick-list mindset, I've wanted big days out, wildness and wilderness, some more opportunities to learn and practice and to watch myself and figure things out.

I was at Sotra precisely a year earlier (21st August 2016) taking A&B up Høyreruta*** (n5+ / HVS 5a), our first time at the massive Trollveggen crag near Telenes, and the first time in Norway that I'd attempted routes that were graded near to the level that I've climbed elsewhere. 

Trollveggen on an August morning, before the sun has quite reached round to it.

I've had trouble picking which routes to climb in Norway because the guidebooks have very little information about the any of them. There's just a photo-topo (black and white image with a wide red line superimposed) and a one-sentence description. For an example, here are the details for Sentralruta (it's to the right of this photo):

Sentralruta is the left-most line at the bottom here. Photo of the guidebook page snapped at the bottom of the route so we didn't have to bring the book with us...

"90m. The classic climb of the crag. Even climbing on solid rock, tough in the midsection. Good protection. Pitches: n6-, n5+, n4+."

Seventeen words of mostly useless description for 90 metres of climbing? Perhaps that's all that's needed – maybe people who climb n7+ or whatever just find this stuff so easy that they can bound along the line marked on the page, and they don't need any better sense of what to expect. I guess it fits with the 'onsight flash' mentality, climbers who don't want to be told anything about the route so that they can claim a kind of psychic victory for being all conquering and beta-less.

But I found that this minimalism was holding me back from having better times out on all this lovely rock. It wasn't clear to me how a bare number (e.g. n4+) was related to the climb – whether it just labels the hardest move required, or whether it takes into account the sustained/strenuous nature of the climbing (the difference between a 30 metre route which is easy romping with one move at a technical difficulty of F, and a 30 metre route which requires you to repeatedly make F-type moves for 30 metres). I didn't know whether that grade would say anything about the quality of the protection (would a well-protected F-type move get an F, and a poorly-protected one get an F+?). So to get a sense for how these things were working we had mostly climbed n4s and n4+s (Severes / Hard Severes), and I guess what's typical about these grades is that they're often found in gullies or corners – shady or dark, often damp lines on the rock – and often involve slabs, or walls that are at gentle angles, and that they are often quite contrived routes, snaking around to join up easier sections. A couple of consequences of this are that I had spent quite a bit of time in slightly gloomy parts of really incredible places, that the slab sections were often hard to protect (any distinct crack lines were always flared and rounded), that there was a lot of long run-outs over gently angled sections (usually at upper pitch), and that there'd be a lot of rope-drag. So it became even more opaque to see what the grade was corresponding to – was this route a n4+ because of that one (unprotected) awkward move at the start, or was it the bold run-out at the top, or was it somehow reflecting both of these things?

Since the people I climb with are relatively new to trad climbing, I didn't want to start out by taking us up anything that would present some unexpected and ugly surprises, anything that I wouldn't be able to get us through all by myself. I think the lack of information, coupled with this sense of responsibility, has meant that I've played it very safe. It's hard to reflect properly and have confidence in my abilities – it's as though the fact that I've climbed harder climbs doesn't seem like it's something that can be transferred into a new situation. I've had lots of successful HVS experiences, but does that entitle me to infer that I'll be okay on a Norwegian VS? In the UK I'd feel confident tackling a new VS, in part because I've all this mileage at that grade and above already, but because I haven't been sure how or whether the translations to N-grades work, I didn't feel I could take on an n5 lightly.

But a year ago I decided that Høyreruta was a good solution. The guidebook labels gives the three pitches as n4+ (30m), n5+ (10m), n4+ (45m), and it's easy to see from the topo that the middle, toughest-graded pitch is very short, perhaps less than 10m. So I took A&B up it, half-ropes, one on each strand. The first pitch got an n4+ because it had a very typical (for these crags) single 'crux' move: a high and awkward rock-over on to a steep slab with protection below but nothing above. It was practically the second move on the route – tall sideways movements off an initial block – but because it involved stepping up-and-right above a point where the ground-level fell away 5 metres it would make for a nasty point to slip up. The remaining 25 metres was easy terrain, pleasant VDiff / Severe stuff, good protection. I arrived at a long sloping ledge that had an open-book corner at the back of it made from two cracked walls, capped by a big flat roof. Anchored here, I brought A&B up, and they had no difficulty getting through the start.

Suitably anonymised belay photo

I always feel slightly humiliated about this – the difficulties that I deal with when something is a bit exposed or bold are completely opaque to someone seconding, since they only encounter the requirement to make certain moves (in this case, relatively easy moves), unaccompanied by the dread of the consequences if they mess those moves up. I imagine that they found my hesitations over that low crux completely mysterious; after all, they just had to put their right foot out and rock over on to it – it didn't matter to them that there was nothing on the slab to pull against or to grasp once standing because the rope was running up from their harnesses.

So this was the test pitch: what would n5+ be like on lead – could I climb an HVS-graded pitch in Norway? I climbed the 5 metre right-hand cracked wall in sunshine – it's vertical, a little loose in places, but good gear – up to the roof block. I got a big cam in a crack below the roof, and then reached my right arm up and over. I felt around and found a big flat slot nearby that I could get a couple of big cam and a hex into. Then it was a question of stepping feet much higher, and working my hands along to the right, to find out how to surmount it. Having arranged the protection and then tried several different ways of tackling it, I was starting to get pumped in my forearms. I downclimbed back to under the roof and shook it out, and then went for another explore. This time I found I could get my hands further along, out to the right, on to a flat rock, and then I'd need to swing my right leg up to the same height further along the block. I attempted at it but I didn't get a good placement for my left foot to help push against, so I backed off to have another go, and started to downclimb, but I was too pumped, so I told A to take my weight on the ropes. The protection held fine, and so I was able to rest properly and psyche myself up a for proper push. I pulled up, got the high foot, looked down to get my left toe on an edge and pushed down on it, pincering my right leg, pulling and then pressing with my arms, and came around and over to large jugs. I felt a powerful jolt of elation – it had been a very acrobatic move, high legs and horizontal above a big chunk of open air – and I probably shouted out something ecstatic, and got a cheer from below. While still nearer horizontal than vertical I was able to sling a block, and then straighten up to pull through the jugs and end up on a nice, slightly vegetated pinnacle-block ledge. I made an anchor, pulled off my shoes, and had just got those guys on belay when I realised that the root-litter of the heather bush I was standing on was a swarming ants' nest, and big black ants were darting all over my feet. I jumped up on to a couple of blocks and kicked as many off as possible.

So the n5+ pitch was an education: the cracked wall was straightforward, and the roof was excellently protected, so there was no question of it being graded on the basis of objective risk. But it required the leader to be comfortable with exploring and experimenting in the dark, so to speak – it wasn't possible to see where the holds would be ahead since they were on the outer-and-top-side of the roof block, and that means being able to trust the gear placements and to have enough strength to be able to go up and down (more than once if necessary!) while trying to find them. Finally, even though the pitch was short and the difficulties were limited to climbing out of the roof, the moves were quite acrobatic – it needed a flexibility and strength to be able to be pull them off, the sort of biceps-and-high-feet stuff that people might feel comfortable doing on a big-jugs slightly-overhanging indoor wall climb at sport-5+, but might never have done outside on trad before. There might be other ways to climb that section, but it felt like a (UK) 5a technical move, requiring slightly more technique than, say, the overhanging jug-fest of the (UK) 4c 3rd pitch of Cornwall's classic South Face Direct (which also has powerful moves in an exposed setting with great protection).

The delight was that we were climbing in the sunshine with great exposure – no dank groove, but right on the wall – and getting to do some of the expansive, expressive, full-body-moving climbing that feels so good. A&B followed up very quickly. I think A had two attempts to get over it, falling on the first go from foot-placement issues, and plus she had a backpack on. B, who is incredibly strong and spends at least 4 hours most nights in the climbing gym was able to muscle through it on his first attempt, and made it look easy. This year, last week, when we came back to Trollveggen, he was happy leading this pitch, getting it 'clean', despite having only lead on trad two or three times before. His approach and attitude to climbing (and ability!) are very different from mine, one of the things that's prompted me to write this today, because his experiences put him in a very different position and make me question what I'm up to and where I'm going.

I'd wanted to get out on routes in better positions with a more satisfying challenge to them – fewer of those awkward high steps on to slabs in awkward slightly unprotected grooves, and more interesting moves on better rock lines. This n5+ pitch proved that some of the stuff that's got me climbing HVS in the UK can still work on rocks that are new to me, so I don't need to be daunted by the mysteries of the grades or the opacity of the guidebook, I just need to pick routes that are in the right ballpark that I want to climb and then just get out on them and work it out. I think in the UK I worry a lot about crossing those boundaries, from VS to HVS, and then from HVS to E1 etc, and one of the liberating things about having to negotiate a new scale and learning how to translate it or understand it is that it lets me see how those UK grade boundaries (with their richer or more expressive range of information) also act as a kind of limit on what I do. I've started to pick up the idea here in Norway than I should just go and experience what the climbs are like and whether I can manage them, since I don't really have a feel for what the numbers represent, while in the UK I've kidded myself into believing that I properly understand what the grade stands for, that these are rigid limits and that I shouldn't make a serious undertaking of something in a higher grade unless I'm prepared to back-off a route or take a fall. 

And it was an education for me to take that rest on the rope in the crux on this route, to trust my gear and to allow myself to recover from the pump. It was reassuring (the gear's alright!), it felt like I was doing the right thing and making good decisions, I remembered that lots of climbers regularly take rests on climbs (I think especially of sport climbers, although that's obviously slightly different), and while some of them get upset about having 'dogged' and that they didn't get the clean ascent, I figure this is a good way to get confident with climbing these more adventurous routes. It's possible to negotiate the tricky moves on a climb that's a bit harder than you're ready for if you have good protection and give yourself the time, the choices aren't just to either get it clean or else abandon (or fall).

A, leaving the anchor for pitch 3.

We swapped the rack over and A, feeling happy about how things had gone so far, lead the final pitch of Høyreruta. It's a long and nicely exposed series of big moves up short cracked corners along a sort-of stepped ridge/rib line, with lots of freedom to pick any path left or right towards the top as the slope becomes more gentle, although the final ten or 15 metres becomes more of a rope-dragging scramble. She had no difficulties with it at all, she got a decent anchor set up  quickly enough when she got sick of the rope-drag (plenty of ledges and options). Me and B seconded up in gorgeous sunshine, beautiful views of the valley and the fjord in wide a panorama to the South and West. The final pitch is given n4+, and like the first pitch again I think it's mostly down to one awkward high-footing sideways move up on to a slab with protection low down.

Two-thirds along the final pitch.

This year, last week, immediately after B lead up this route, another mate A and his partner C did it. A&C, like B, have done very little on trad, but they push themselves very hard, and unlike me they climb hard on sport and go to the climbing gym a lot. They had to wait around a lot because B's partner was quite slow and cautious on this final pitch, but A had no difficulties getting through the 5+ pitch – he did it first attempt, just as B had done half-an-hour before him. A&C ended up climbing the third pitch after the sun had set, with C only putting in about 4 pieces of protection in an effort to keep moving and because she couldn't see where the opportunities were.

High enough to see the North Sea.

Again, I feel slightly selfishly dismayed that my friends, relatively new to trad climbing, can be so confident at going up routes (even as the sun sets) that I've had to steel myself to climb. But I suspect that, in at least one respect, I've opened the way for them: in so far as I lead up this route last year, I made it seem like a viable possibility to them this year. Consider it as a question of available information: I just didn't know what n5+ would represent on lead. I know that I can certainly climb n5+ and harder on a sports crag in Norway, but I had no idea what n5+ was going to be like on a multi-pitch mountain crag. [The bolted crags we've visited around Bergen have been very varied, with the ones nearer to the city being really quite polished. Most sport climbs here have been athletic, and, as is perhaps usual, have required greater strength than comparably-graded trad climbs.] And think about the other pieces of information available: before I'd taken A&B up Høyreruta, we really didn't know what the difficulties involved would be, whether there'd be decent protection, whether route-finding would be a problem, how committing it would be – we really didn't know anything about it because the guidebook and the internets say nothing about it, and we didn't know anyone who had been up it, and so one of us had to do that initial adventuring up to find out what was involved. In addition, A&C and B all know that they climb harder and push harder than me at the indoor gym and on sports crags, so they know that if I was successful getting A&B up it last year then they should have enough strength, talent and resolve to make it. They know that I'm more experienced at placing gear, at trad leading, so this might have given them pause. But I think they also know that the only way they're going to get better at trad leading is to get mileage, to get out and have a go placing more, and to trust in their climbing abilities to be able to keep moving, even if it means they're missing possible points of protection, to be able to get to places where they can find good gear. In that respect, they're less risk-averse than I am (or than I have been) – I think part of that is because they're in their confident 20s and part of it is because they've all got a lot more drive/ambition to climb harder and harder routes. I'm not in my 20s, I have confidence issues in most bits of my life, and like I said above, my climbing ambitions are just to have big days out, wildness and wilderness, and opportunities to learn, practice, puzzle.

So that was Høyreruta, last year, and in terms of Norwegian climbing that was the end of my achievements for last year, which brings me round to this year and to last week. I'll cover that in the next post.