writing | Wobbly Teeth

An afternoon climbing on the tump.

I slung the bag of climbing shoes, chalk and snacks over my shoulder, while Sally heaved the bouldering pad on. We headed out. The walk to the tump is a 40-minute trek out of the urban, along the river and into the woods.

Today was a hot sunny cloudless day, so getting off the streets and into the shade of the woods was welcome. A luscious green canopy enveloped us, huge limbs stretched out, fighting for space to catch the light. The leaves had appeared slowly, from bare branches they curled out to reveal themselves over the last few weeks. Soon they’ll change again, producing a bitter taste to stop creatures like caterpillars from eating them.

Blackbirds, blue tits, wrens and chiffchaffs flew overhead, darting through the gaps in the trees, and out into the perfect blue sky. Insects buzzed about and the gentle ebb and flow of the river could be heard over the sounds of families walking along it, out of view but never far.

We arrived at the tump and got to work, cleaning what we could with brushes, and getting rid of loose soil, grit and stone. Picking up any pieces of glass and clearing away rocks and bricks, to make the landing ground safer.

Described as a nice mix of bouldering problems ranging from f4 to f6c, Glenfrome Tump is a block of sandstone about 5 metres high with a south face. The various layers formed over millions of years, have weathered down and left this gnarly rounded rock with a flat face and overhang on one corner. It stands in the middle of the woods on the north side of the valley, high up from the river and hidden away in plain sight.

With no name in the book but a f4+ grad, we warmed up with a game of ‘the floor is lava’, and took a low traverse across the face from left to right. There was a good mix of slopers and crimps, obvious ledges for feet and some nice pieces to toe point.

Continuing along the face we edged under the overhang and round the corner, doubling up to squeeze and twist through, while negotiating unseen footholds and awkward handholds. Some of the holds started to break away as we tip-toed to the end of the route and came off.

After taking a minute, we decided to go back the other way across the traverse and try other hand and foot holds. Finishing off again, we felt pumped and suitably warmed up.

I then looked at an easy slab climb up the left side, an f4 called The Tumptress. To get onto the route, I negotiated some obvious steps in the rock to the start of the slab. The left of the slab was an easy off onto a mud slope, and the right was an exposed arete with a drop into the air.

I got on the slab and found a few nice notches for my feet, and pressed my palms flat on the rock to get some balance. Slowly stepping my way up, I used the ripples in sandstone to move up and more to the right. Feeling the slight exposure, I looked down across the face of the crag and kept moving.

Using the layers to stick my toes in, while I open palmed gripped the dry rock, I got to the top. It was thick with dry mud, soil and leaves, so I traversed back to the left and found somewhere l could step off. Short but satisfying.

After a few more traverses across the face, I thought I’d try an f4 route straight up the middle and left of the overhang, called The Mighty Tump.

The first section was easy enough. Some nice hand and foot holds to work my way up onto a small ledge under 2 metres high. I could stand on the ledge comfortably but found I was getting pushed out slightly by a beer-gut bulge on the next section. I managed to get my left hand onto something to steady myself, while I looked around for a way up the high break and finish.

I looked at the overhang to the right of the bulge to see if it yielded some clues. I thought I could pull up on some of the holds across the top, and work my feet higher, but after a few tugs, it was like pulling on wobbly teeth. I had no confidence in any of the holds.

I looked around for some other good handholds, forgetting my feet altogether, but what little bravery I had left was quickly leaving. Not confident enough to commit, getting pumped and tired, I jumped down.

Further quizzing of the guidebook showed that the route avoids the overhang and goes straight up. I could see enough foot holds to slowly pick my way up, but after a few more exploratory climbs, I couldn’t muster up enough courage to commit to the next section. I was beaten. Shaking it off I looked for something else to do.

After messing around for a bit I climbed an unnamed f5+ crack line running high across the traverse, just under the overhang. Coming off, my fingers were cut up by the sharp edges. Cursing, I cleaned them off and taped them up. My session was over.

We cleaned off the chalk, packed up and left the tump. The afternoon was getting cooler and there was a nice breeze rustling the trees. The walkout gave me time to think and reflect.

I took solace in failing to climb the route. Failure is just an opportunity to learn and come back stronger and more confident. Bouldering outdoors is not like gym climbing. The exposure is very different. The air between you and the ground seems thicker and makes your actions slower, like climbing on glue.

Every move has to be considered and accounted for. Slipping, and aiming for the climbing mat, in the split second of gravity taking over is not really an option. The mat is there to give you false confidence as your partner stands under, arms outstretched. It might break the fall, but a fall at over 3 metres will hurt.

It’s a double-edged sword to battle with mentally. Without trying to push your limits of exposure, that feeling of being out of place high on a crag without rope will not seem normal.

But what about climbing is normal.