Like a Scuff Kneed Urchin
Our final day of climbing in the Costa Blanca was at the glorious Vall de Guadar. Echo 1.5 sector.
Now, I accept that much of that will mean nothing to many of you, but those select few climbers among my readers will be reaching for the Rockfax climbing App https://apps.apple.com/gb/app/rockfax-climbing-guidebooks/id786215304 to plan their next vertical playground holiday in the sun whilst salivating slightly. Those of you less interested in climbing should read on for amusing things may just happen today.
Glorious Vall de Guadar, Costa Blanca
There are certain signs of a ‘good day at the crag’ (translation: A jolly fine day climbing up bits of rock). Chief amongst them is a cheesy grin and much chatter about which climb was best. The most visible signs though depend on the type of rock you are scrabbling around on e.g. granite, limestone, gritstone because each leaves its distinct calling card on the body. Gritstone (Peak District, UK) for example leaves you with cut knuckles.
Belay Bunny
Vall de Guadar rock is super sharp limestone. You could cut yourself just looking at it. So, I knew we’d had a good day as I walked back to Gandalf (our van! Keep up!!), ancient shorts flapping gently in the breeze, from which protruded two scratched and cut knees. Add to that my filthy dirty hands, sore fingers and cheesy grin and it was plain that a standout day had been had by all. Well, almost all…
Spolier alert. It wasn’t us who had a less than sterling day. You’ll be pleased to hear that the knots in cotton (knees) protruding from Mrs P’s voluminous scouting for boys shorts were free from scratches and scrapes, she too was sporting a happy climber cheesy grin. No, someone else had a sub-optimal day at the crag. The above seemingly random photo gives a hint as to who.
What’s the collective noun for a group of RAF people? A Squadron perhaps?
We arrived at the crag (rock face) just ahead of a mixed group of about 15 climbers and just behind an English couple. This was not good. It’s not a huge section of rock and we had visions of them taking up the whole crag. This was not however to be a problem. These were a group of beginners. They were all from the RAF (Royal Air Force) and were a real mixed bag. From keen to keen to be elsewhere. This large group stuck to just 3 really easy and well out of the way climbs. Result!
One chap however, much to the amusement of his mates, was very unimpressed with the whole thing. About 10 feet (3 metres) off the ground on a slab of rock sloping so gently that the instructor was standing up on the same piece of slab right behind him, declared that he was, ‘Coming down.’ That he had, ‘…had enough.’ He let it be known that this activity was not for him. His attitude was however not going to be tolerated.
Instructor: “Oh no you’re not coming down. Get on up there.”
Climber: ‘No, I’ve had enough. I’m coming down.’
Instructor: ‘Well, that bloke there (pointing at a chap high up the crag) is controlling your rope and he isn’t going to let you down.’
This impasse didn’t last long and on he went, grumbling all the way. On the way back down, collecting the climbing gear on the way (usually done a careful and tidy manner), he was so scared to let go for more than a second or two that his gear ended up all tangled mess and he began to resemble a colourful metallic hedgehog with bits of gear sticking out in all directions.
They were a lovely bunch, our new RAF friends. Though you wouldn’t think any of them should be scared of heights, what with them all being in the RAF. I mean, most of their business is in the direction of up. That’s a bit like being a sailor who can’t swim.
This is far from the first time we have come across UK Services in the mountains. We’ve met the Navy in Austria, twice. The army in Switzerland and the RAF all over the place. Rarely in what you would consider their natural habitat. I question why people in the RAF need to climb. Surely that is what helicopters are for?
Some might think it a bit rich that they are having fun (except the guy who was scared of heights) at the taxpayers expense, but I think, good luck to them. We need to encourage the youth to join the services.
Mrs P leads the way.
How come she doesn’t have scratched and bloodied knees?
And so ended a glorious day for Mrs P and I. Back down to base camp a.k.a the seaside we went where wine, beer and medals were liberally partaken of.
Tomorrow, we head back north. Tune in for more tales of daring do… sorry, scratch that. Not daring do. I meant to say ‘more driving.’ Deep joy.
