Ozymandias Direct Aid Solo Climb – Part 2: Trip Report

Ozymandias is a classic and colossal aid climb situated on the North Wall of the Mount Buffalo Gorge. Ozymandias Direct takes the longest and steepest line, climbing over 280m. It is considered to be the premier Australian big-wall test piece.

I aid solo climbed Ozymandias Direct over a period of 4 days, spending 3 nights in hanging bivouacs. This was my first solo and first big-wall climbing experience.

Part 1 details preparation leading up to the climb.

Part 2 is a daily trip report with some beta and advice based on my lessons learned.

Glossary of climbing terms. Non-climbers may need this to make sense of all the jargon!

Day 0: Approach

Sunday 21/04/19

Driving the Great Alpine Road over Mt Hotham I briefly glimpsed the wildly exposed Razorback. A cloud-swept rocky spine spanning Mt Hotham and Mt Feathertop at summit height. An image that would stick in my mind.

Comparing the Razorback to the relatively sheltered Mt Buffalo gorge reduced any anxiety I had about Ozymandias.

In Bright I located a fantastic little outdoors shop, away from the main street. I bought some waterproof over-pants – much better than the plastic garbage bags I was otherwise intending to use as a skirt.

I arrived at the Buffalo lookout around 1300 and geared up in front of a confused family having a picnic. Departed towards the south side trail around 1400.

Approach via South Side Trail

I cannot overstate the seriousness of this approach.

Descent is difficult with a backpack. Heinous with a haul-bag. Would have been impossible without solid trekking poles. Foreshadowing what I was about to embark upon, I found myself “aid-hiking”. Finding placements in the rock where the carbide tips of the poles could make purchase.

The heavy load on my back continually compromised my balance, forcing me to bear down on the poles. On some rocky slopes, I could see the pole flexing. Right on the margin of performance of my shoes and the poles; shifting the weight any further back onto my feet would risk the shoes sliding out. Shifting any further forwards would mean the poles buckling. Either way would mean tumbling down the gorge with a 40kg load on my back.

There were also narrow traverses where the surface was built up with plant matter and sand, making it difficult to find purchase with the poles. In other places were long ramps covered in loose scree.

This was the most imminently dangerous activity I have done – just the approach hike. The only thing I can imagine comparing it to would be alpine soloing without the snow.

The sections with fixed ropes prove brutal. The first is down a flowing water runnel, and filled with mud. I wrestled with the pig, half lowering it, half cutting it loose and throwing down the poles.

I later discovered the one casualty from this ordeal was my coffee filter cone – thankfully it was still functional.

Past the turn off to “Where Angels Fear to Tread”, was new ground for me.

Another exposed fixed-rope traverse maneuvers to yet another more brutal rope section. Luckily with a haul-bag lower-off; unfortunately with a steep and awkward rope-ladder. Stupidly still with poles in one hand, I swung out, the pole got caught up in a flake causing me to strain my triceps.

Then a short roped down climb – more of a scramble. Compared to the huge difficulty donning/doffing the pig, it seemed easiest to down climb with it. The bag shifted and pulled me off-balance, again causing me to swing into the wall while still gripping the rope. I gripped so hard so as not to fall off as my hand and knuckles smashed into the gnarly granite with the force of full body weight and that of the pig.

Only when I got down from the rope and saw blood dripping all over did I realise something was wrong. Apart from cuts and scratches all over my right hand, one knuckle was missing a chunk. Not just cut, but a cavity scooped out of the front. I put on some band-aids and carried on.

Later that night, I would inspect the wound, and see what looked like distinct fleshy cords, as I flexed my finger.

As I descended into the gully floor I could hear flowing water. A beautiful sound. To save weight I only hiked in with 1 or 2 litres, which I had finished. I already felt exhausted, dehydrated and extremely hot but I knew for sure I could fill my 13 litres of water for the next 3 to 4 days.

Crystal brook was flowing plentifully. The trail crossed a flowing pond where there were two cascades of ice-cold, fresh, mountain water.

A short way up hill from the brook, on the North side of the gully, I found what seemed like the only clearing. Unlike Big Grassy, this was nice and grassy. Just big enough for a couple of people to lie down. I set up my tarp and bivy-bag, expecting rain. The forecast predicted 15mm overnight.

I filled all the water bottles. The water was so cold I could only fill one bottle before changing hands. The brook was crystal clear, living up to it’s name (unlike big Grassy). I drank straight from the cascade it was so fresh and invigorating. I rinsed my face and hands and felt restored.

I hiked up to the start of Ozy, first with the rack, then with the ropes. This was steep, wet and scrambly. I put the rack and ropes in garbage bags to protect them from the rain. From a small crows-nest across from the foot of Ozy (a good bivy option maybe for one) I pondered the climb. Specifically, how to solo the first pitch.

I set out to build my first ever solo anchor out of trad gear. All I could see was a knife-thin crack, a small shrub with exposed roots, and a dubious, rusty hex-head bolt.

The best I could manage in the crack was a brass RP micro-nut oriented for upwards pull, equalised to a small bootied ball nut (from The Shroud at Mt Arapiles) , all held in place by a directional-opposed HB micro-offset.

I equalised the nest of nuts to a sling around the base of the small shrub and brought it all up to the dubious hex-bolt.

Off to a good start. The next morning I would stick-clip the first (real) bolt, and clip off the pig to absorb some shock in a fall.

Night 0: Approach Bivouac

I returned to my makeshift camp, and laid down on a fallen down tree trunk. It crosses the path from Crystal Brook to the small clearing and Ozy. The tree was pointing out east and dead straight down the gorge, like a giants diving board. I stretched all my burning muscles and laid down to rest my back.

While I cooked dinner, I could see the sky flashing sporadically from above the gorge rim. I was unsure if this was people with torches or a camera, but I couldn’t see anybody. I couldn’t see at all above the rim of the gorge. A possum startled me in the twilight and observed me eating. He was probably quite familiar with climbers being in this area.

Finally a chance to stop and rest in my makeshift shelter. I took some time to inspect and clean the wounds on my hands. Flexing the finger I had smashed up earlier, to open up the wound I doused it liberally with hand-sanitiser and wiped it out. I could see what looked like distinct, fleshy cords nestled in a split within the scooped-out chunk of my knuckle. I checked for movement. Luckily they were not compromised. When I smashed into the wall, the rock must have carved out a chunk and as I was gripping so hard it just split down to the tendon.

Remembering the superglue I packed, I glued the split shut and capped over the hole. I continued to glue over the many other cuts on my fingers and hands, and the tip of my index finger I had sliced while packing on Friday.

By the time I had patched myself up, the storm rolled in over the rim. The sudden intensity and volume of rain was astonishing. I had to lower down the tarp to just above the bivy sack (just above my face), and prop up the centre with the haul-bag. I frantically pegged two corners with my only 2 pegs, and tied down the others to a log beside me.

As I was camped in the floor of a valley, everywhere became a water runnel. The heavy rain beat down my tarp, and huge amounts of run-off washed around my bivy sack. I tried to divert the water with any sticks and stones within reach. My efforts seemed to work – I stayed dry and fell asleep to the sounds of rain and thunder.

I woke once to the the feeling of crawling over my legs. It was the ravenous possum. In the morning I had to clean up my scattered rubbish bag.

Day 1: Pitch 1 to Big Grassy

Monday 22/04/19

Wake at 0500.

I ate breakfast, packed up camp, and for the final time hiked up to the base of Ozymandias.

I discovered the crack holding my micro-anchor seeping water and the entire wall was wet. No hope for the pitch 1 free slab moves. I flaked my ropes into their rope bags, stick clipped the first bolt, and left my approach shoes on. I was on the wall by 0820 (much later than 0600 as scheduled!).

Pitch 1

Aiding the usually freed first pitch makes it cruxy right off the deck. The aid moves required precarious consecutive talon and cliff-hanger placements with many falls onto the water-fountain micro-nut shrub anchor. Luckily the slab is well protected by fixed bolt runners.

Pitch 2

Lot’s of hook moves. Consecutive cam-hooks. Felt like the aid crux.

Cam hook blew, two-hooks up and the piece below me ripped out (small cam). 8 to 10m fall. My first big whipper.

Pitch 3

Jesus nut was a brass micro-nut directional opposed to a cam!

Jesus nut, or Jesus pin, is a slang term for the main rotor retaining nut which holds the main rotor to the mast of some helicopters.

Another use for the term is found in rock climbing, in which it refers to the first piece of protection (some of which are also called “nuts”) placed on a pitch. In addition, the Jesus nut prevents the possibility of a factor-two fall onto the belay anchor.

Lots of bomber cam-hooks. I skipped the left-hand ledge (but bootied an offset nut from it 🙂 as there is no rope drag leading solo and went direct to Big Grassy. The final move to gain Big Grassy is not a mantle. More like panicked squirming as you grip onto a tussock of grass, feet skating, trying not to pull it out.

Hauling the pig up, my stomach is aching. It’s already dark. I am so hungry and each heavy lunge on the haul system raises my food only a metre closer. The haul bag gets hung-up. I cannot raise it any further. My prospects of dinner are further delayed while I rig a 3-to-1 advantage pulley system. The bag comes unstuck but now every lunge raises my food only 30cm…

I finished setting up the anchor and bivouac at 2020 after 12 hours consistent climbing. Food and sleep were a matter of urgency!

Night 1: Big Grassy

Big Grassy is neither big nor grassy…

Night fall. The moon is rising big and red. Set up hammock and tarp across corner. Establish camp.

The only flat area is just big enough to set up a stove or take a shit (whoever said not to shit where you eat never bivied on Big Grassy).

Cooked and ate on the sloping ledge. Retired to the hammock to write in my journal and get some much needed sleep.

Day 2: Big Grassy to the Great Roof

Tuesday 23/04/19

Wake at 0500

First morning on Big Grassy! I brew some coffee and enjoy the sunrise across the valley.

Not expecting to return, I pack down all of the shelter and equipment, preparing it into the haul-bag. I embark on the next day’s pitches.

Pitch 4 and 5

Pitch 4 seemed straight-forward climbing – but I don’t remember much. I think I was on auto-pilot (not a good state of mind in the circumstances).

After cleaning and hauling I progressed up to the Great Roof capping pitch 5. The roof grew bigger and more intimidating the closer I came. I had planned to pull through the roof, climb pitch 6 and reach the Gledhill Bivy for the night.

I had already made some small mistakes with my system, and suffered another stuck haul-bag, greatly slowing me down. One big mistake would stop me altogether.

It was getting late in the afternoon. My head ached and I was losing focus. I was calculating if I could just make the lead to Gledhill Bivy before dark and then haul in the dark. The idea of leading the difficult Roof after sunset was daunting. Frustrated, I rappelled down to the P4/P5 anchor, so I could jug back up the haul line and clean the pitch.

As I clipped into my jumars and began to jug, I noticed the lead line not getting taught. Maybe a lot of friction on the rope… Maybe the knot (alpine butterfly) had capsized. Surely not… perhaps I had tied it wrong? I could have anchored the free end where I was situated but I decided against this idea and jugged back up the haul line which I had just rappelled. I discovered I hadn’t fixed the lead line!

At this point it was obvious to me that exhaustion and dehydration were impacting my awareness. That was it. I decided I was on “tilt” (to use a poker term) and would stop for the day.

I lowered the pig two pitches back to Big Grassy, belaying it down on an ATC (it was fairly technical to rig a belay device into the loaded haul-line while hanging from the anchor. The pre-rigged far-end haul device payed dividends). I reestablished the camp which I had only packed up that morning, and dug in for another night on BG.

On Day 2 I have now committed my contingency supplies.

A friend later commented on this story that the biggest risk in soloing is that there is nobody around to stop you making stupid mistakes.

Night 2: Big Grassy

I was startled awake when by a voice below yelling “rope fixed, ready to haul!”. There had been no voices around me for days. I got out of my bag as quickly as possible so I could explain I didn’t realise they were coming up. I knew there were another party descending into the gorge today but I expected they’d only fix the first 2-3 pitches and camp in the gully below. I’m not sure if I surprised them as well. Maybe they thought I’d reached Gledhill Bivy.

I had my hammock strung across all the anchor bolts. I case the party below wanted to come up to Big Grassy, I free up a pair of bolts on the right hand side. This meant re-suspending my hammock onto a bomber nut placement. Aid-camping! There would be more of that to come!

The other party chose to bivy on the small ledge below and left of Big Grassy. In the morning I glanced down and saw them laying like sardines. They had brought a portaledge. Cramped but softer, more versatile and infinitely more comfortable than the rocky slope of Big Grassy.

My apologies to the Godwin brothers if I came off abrupt – I was keen to make my presence known and get back into my warm sleeping-bag as quickly as possible!

That night a booming explosion resonated through the valley, like lightening had struck the bottom. I suppose it was the sound of rockfall.

Day 3: Big Grassy to Gledhill Bivy

Wednesday 24/04/19

Wake at 0500

Another day begins on Big Grassy with a phenomenal sunrise! I am pleased that the next two pitches are already fixed and cleaned a 60m haul to the Great Roof ready to go. I feel comfortable to relax and enjoy the sunset over my coffee, taking many photos.

Packing up the camp I say another last goodbye to Big Grassy.

Pitch 4 and 5

Jugged back up my fixed line, while “far-end” hauling the bag past the edge on pitch 5 where it got stuck yesterday. Continued up line and top-end hauled into the Great Roof. Having a far-end haul system in situ on the bag is a great advantage and practically mandatory for solo when there is no partner to guide the bag. Muscling the pig over a lip on a 3-1 takes a great deal of time and energy and damages the pig.

Yes – the Great Roof to Big Grassy on a plumb line is less than 60m.

The belay under the Great Roof was two rusty carrot bolts sticking out uncomfortably far from the rock. I equalised these a metre or so down to a newer fixed hanger, to form a reasonable anchor to haul from. For lead this required some finagling with a lower carrot bolt to yield a redundancy for the upward force.

Pitch 6

Pulling through the roof, I was surprised to find none of the vaunted fixed gear, and aided off a previously glue-reinforced flake that would flex out precariously under body-weight. The glue had since detached from the wall.

The roof moves hanging on aiders were wildly exposed. Cutting the bag loose and swinging it out was a nerve-wracking experience, but not as much as rapping back own the haul line into free-space, over the roof, metres away from the wall and 160m off the deck. I had to pull myself back into the anchor with jumars.

Psychological protection is a term for piece of protection that everyone knows will not hold a fall, but makes the climber feel better about having gear beneath them anyhow.

I jugged back up into the Gledhill Bivy, cleaning as I went. After hauling ,I docked everything and roughly planned out the hammock anchors. I utilised a three-piece natural anchor in order to avoid the awful rusty carrots that I was even nervous to aid on (definitely NO bounce tests). This also resulted in a better hang.

The Gledhill Bivy is a perfect book-corner protected from the elements by a smaller, but substantial roof.

Pitch 7

Navigating the Pontooth was a thrutchy and torturous ordeal. The Pontooth is a huge, overhanging, pointed fang of rock disguising a bottomless body-sized off-width beneath it. This hidden Pea-Pod narrows towards the top, forcing your feet out over the void while your arms and shoulders thrutch around deeply, just managing to clip the old brittle-tat on an ancient rusty piton. The next piton is in an absurd horizontal break under a chockstone! But you have to aid off it, maneuvering out over space.

I surmounted the Pontooth, thinking VERY carefully about the task of cleaning out the deep-set yellow cam in the offwidth. I fixed the lines and rapped back down to Gledhill Bivy, and set up the nights hanging belay. Cleaning the Pontooth will be a job for tomorrow.

I made sure to keep a good pair of bolts clean near the corner in-case the party below me fixed up to Gledhill Bivy.

Thanks to the fixed lines on pitches 4 and 5 it was a relatively early finish (before dusk!). I was able to put on my warm clothes, boil water for a cup of tea, lay back in the hammock and enjoy my lofty perch above the clouds. As it got darker and colder I got into my bag and started dinner. The dehydrated meal pouch made a great hot water bottle as it was cooking!

Night 3: Gledhill Bivy

A restless and cold night strung-out in the hammock, 200m off the deck. The insulating down of my sleeping bag, compressed under my weight in the hammock, severely reducing it’s effectiveness.

As an inexperienced hammock sleeper, I found myself pushing my arm slightly to create tension in the fabric and support my head. As soon I would nod off to sleep, my arm would relax, and my head roll off the side. Needless to say, that woke me up very suddenly! Eventually I figured out a way to get more secure in the hammock, but rolling around at night 200m up does not bear thinking about! I wonder if anyone has woken startled hanging on their tether…

Late in the night there was another booming roar of rock-fall. The powerful echo through the valley jolted me awake during the night.

Day 4: Gledhill Bivy to Summit

Thursday 25/05/19

Wake at 0530

Today I wake up on a bed of clouds!

I notice a tiny prick of light on the south side. I watched as another party descend the south side trail, weaving their way through the many obstacles. Later in the morning they would begin climbing Where Angels Fear to Tread. I wonder how they fared entombed in the rising cloud.

The last day on the wall, with only two pitches left to lead, I take some extra time in the morning. I relax with my freshly brewed coffee and enjoy another perfect sunrise appearing out over the valley below!

The cloud seemed to be receding as the sun heated up the valley. This wouldn’t be the case for long.

I gradually put on my climbing clothes, packed everything up and prepared to move out. First I lowered out the bag, then I lowered out myself!

I jugged up P7 cleaning my gear from yesterday, up and over the roof that protected me through the night. And the dreaded Pontooth. Pitch 8 offers a hanging belay on a bomb-proof anchor. Nice.

Pitch 8

By now, the valley was covered by a bed of cloud, and whispy tendrils were licking their way up the sides of the gorge. As I climbed, the cloud kept rising faster, engulfing my haul bag some 30m below.

The top of pitch 8 is an “easy” chimney. I found it cramped and thrutchy, particular as I had to dig in deep for aid placements. The moist, cloudy air, and early morning condensation, combined with my badly worn down approach shoes, offered little purchase. I thrutched my way up with a combination of aid and free moves, and pulled through the top beneath a big choke-boulder. Cleaning the chimney would prove to be much more tedious.

Now I am at the base of the head-wall, relieved that it is early in the day, and I have only one more pitch to go. I sat and enjoyed my last compressed beetroot-patty roll, admiring the stunning expanse.

As I was solo on a 60m rope, I had enough rope to traverse left to the front of the summit-block, and anchor to the hauling anchor. This required a long runner off a shrub, to keep the lead line away from the corner of the summit block and low horizontal break underneath. I was then able to flick and maneuver the tagged-up haul line, over the shrubs on the ledge and rig it up for rappel – much better than climbing back down the dreaded chimney!

Cutting the haul bag loose from the P7/P8 anchor was a spectacle, as it trundled, spun and swung out left into the cloud. I mad sure to cry out just in case another hapless climber were in it’s path.

Pitch 9

The final pitch, starting beside the beautiful lofty perch of the Alan Gledhill memorial plaque.

This final 30m crack is the first and only part of the climb 300m requiring the #5, and second #4 Camalots I had tagged all the way up. It is a big, almost off-width crack, larger than a fist crack and eats up #5s and #4s. For the most part a straight-forward and pleasant affair to cam jug with small pro on the left.

This is a false sense of security as once you get higher up, the crack flares out wider and the pro on the left drys-up. Now I wish I had brought double #5s! I managed to JUST scrape through by planting the #4 arm-deep into the crack and top-stepping my aiders. This way I could just stretch-out to reach what turned out to be the shittiest, mankiest rivets on the entire climb. Rusty, bent downwards and pulling out! I was afraid to even body-weight onto these yet alone assume they provided any realistic protection!

My final placement for the climb was a gold hex.

Ozymandias Direct Summit

Finally, I pulled onto the summit block but no time to celebrate yet. The barrier fence provided a convenient anchor to rappel, jug and haul from.

By around 1500 I had completed the logistics and finally climbed over the fence, elated. After four days on the wall (and an appalling hike), I had achieved the climb I had dreamed of for so long, in the best style I could.

All that was left to do was the long walk back to the south side of the gorge. I bumped into several more bemused tourists who wondered why I was so dirty, smelly and battered, carrying a ridiculously oversized pack. Some seemed incredulous when I tried to explain.

Half-way back I doffed and hid my equipment where I could retrieve it later by car.

Although I managed Pitch 9 with double #4 and a single #5, if one or both of those manky rivets ever pulled out (very likely), it would become a sketchy bat-hook move at best. In this case I feel as though a second #5 would be almost mandatory, or a #4 with a bit of wood. If you are not tall, then I suggest the second #5 would be comforting anyway. Consider this if you attempt Ozy direct, as it would be very bad indeed being unable to ascend just metres from the top!

Back home I had many bruises, cuts, and abrasions to take care of, mostly on the hands. Some big impact contusions I only discovered later, which must’ve been from falling into the wall with protection hanging between my thighs and the wall. Small price to pay for such a wonderful adventure!

Stay tuned for my next post – a multi-day snow hike through the Australian Alps!

What would you like to learn more about in a follow up post? Please leave a comment, and don’t forget to subscribe below for more cursed ascents!