The last two days have been dry and cold, and finally we have been able to experience what those in the know consider 'good conditions' in Fontainebleau. Temperatures have been between about three and eight degrees, typically considered perfect for some sloper slappin' on sandstone. Our thoughts have been mixed. On the one hand the friction has been excellent in a bit of a giddy way, sticking moves unexpectedly and finding different sequences. On the other, the friction isn't necessarily so beneficial when your fingers are numb. Eating massive amounts of honey bread, wafers, anything with sugar or carbs, in an attempt to maintain core temperature can also be detrimental to both waistline and wallet. Longevity is also a problem, the smaller amongst us getting cold and tetchy after a few hours. This is actually a scientifically described phenomenon; heftier animals (i.e. Sam) lose heat at a slower rate due to a smaller surface area to volume ratio. Another upside to climbing in February is the solitude. Everywhere, even Isatis, is tranquil and quiet, and everything feels a little lazy. The white skies that cloak some days give everything a dreamy quality, only sharpened by the bite of gritty rock under balding finger tips. The people we have met, scattered about, have been friendly and interesting; local French boys, a German astrophysicist, a northern lad roughing it for a month. Hazy days drift by, days spent wandering the forest, followed by nights in front of a fire locked in from the Baltic temperatures outside. It's a bit of a shock for two fair weather climbers, but one not totally unpleasant. ...because we have waffles !
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Around Fontainebleau forest, many signs bear the legend 'beware of processionary caterpillars'. Their hairs are extremely irritating and can cause death in susceptible humans and dogs. They can fire them like harpoons, and also use them to follow each other head to tail like these; an entomologist once attached them in a circle, and found that they continued marching round for a week. We were very excited to find a genuine procession making it's way to le Cul de Chien. On the first day of Font the forest gave to us...more stupid rain. We went for a walk and ran our hands over wet rock, marvelling at how much harder all the problems looked with a glossy veneer of rain and algae. Along a path we discovered a massing of thousands of ants, bustling between gargantuan pine needles. They were fascinating to watch, and to listen to - there were so many that you could hear their rustling - until memories of Indiana Jones (Amber) and Marabunta (Sam...we watched a bit, it's awful) panicked us into an undignified retreat. The weather reports have been generally conspiring against us; we have spent an inordinate amount of time flicking between three or four sources which contradict each other significantly. Eventually we just went climbing when it wasn't raining or wet, which seemed to work okay. The above photos are from our second day's climbing, an eerie grey afternoon at Franchard Isatis. Nezzo is an elegant prow that Sam had done a few years back and I wanted to give a quick send. In the end it took me over twenty tries, and Sam about four to lay it to rest. On the positive side we had the beta nailed and it's an interesting route to spend an hour or two working every possible variant. And for no apparent reason other than forgetting to start the post with this, below is the rather romantic view we had from the ferry in Newhaven harbour; gulls sweeping over a scrap metal mountain juxtaposed against an epic ocean skyline.
One sunny mid-January morning, two naïve but enthusiastic boulderers from down South West ventured NORTH. They had a wonderful time climbing hard gritstone in the Peak District, in perfect crisp conditions with winter sun that warmed their backs. Sam was thrilled to have climbed Brad Pit and Amber climbed a 7a roof. At least, that was how it was supposed to go. In real life, we basically just went for a bit of a ski, a walk and went home again.
It began with some treachery from the weather forecast. Promises of glorious cold sunny weather for Sunday had been broken; on the actual morning the BBC's cheerful sun icon had been replaced with a gloomy grey cloud. We ignored this and went anyway, because this was our climbing trip, and it couldn't be bad weather, and because shutting your eyes means no one can see you. Duh. |