Tag: climbing

Defender of the Faith Aid Solo Climb

On May 12, 2022

Defender of the Faith Aid Solo climb – Christmas 2021.

Defender of the Faith is a somewhat more accessible Aid climb on the Mt Buffalo Gorge North Wall. In spite of this it is every bit as committing as the walls most formidable lines. It spans 190m at grade 14M3 climbed with mechanical aid.

Access is via multiple rope stretching rappels down to Führer Ledge. Escape from here is via the very undesirable and seldom used traverse to the foot of Ozymandias (a very unpleasant ordeal involving several more abseils and wet, muddy scrub thrashing). Even from this point, one would face the prospect of a full days technical hike back out of the gorge, with scrambles and sections of fixed rope.

Defender of the Faith takes the face crack above the sickle-shaped rooflet left of the central gully (and starts in a chimney more-or-less below the gully).

Access/escape to Ozymandias takes the route down the vegetated, craggy outcrop in the bottom right. Although I found evidence of a by-gone direct rappel from Führer Ledge down to Crystal Brooke, I fail to see the utility of this except under duress – indeed there were left-behind tat and caribiners.

I had in fact aid climbed Defender of the Faith many years before; as part of a two-person team with my long term climbing partner. Defender was my first aid climb done in anger; undertaken over 11 concerted hours including ingress. I led only Pitch 2 on this occasion and I recall my first time using a cam hook. It was at eye level in a horizontal seam up in the back of the overhang. The hook was inches in front of my face and I could see it flexing, bending, and working it’s way out with every gut-wrenching bounce. I remember willing myself to stay calm as I gingerly shifted my weight reaching for a more tenable placement above the overhang.

This article tells the story of my Aid Solo attempt – my first big outing after a two-year period of quarantine lockdowns. What was planned to be a gentle re-introduction to adventure climbing turned into an epic suffer-fest of exhaustion, dehydration and a serious of significant errors. Apparently the pandemic had taken more physical toll than anticipated (not sure if I can attribute this to vaccination, infection, or two years of obligatory/coerced/self-imposed sessile lifestyle). Thankfully my tenacity (foolhardiness?) was still in check.

Having thus weighed and diligently considered your singular merits, we could not have devised a more suitable name, nor one more worthy of your Majesty than this most excellent title, which whenever you hear or read it, you shall remember your own virtues and highest merits.
Pope Leo X

Plan

The plan was to rap down to Führer Ledge for the first night (night zero), wake early and nail-up half-way (at least P1+P2; P3 bonus) then sleep below on Führer after Day 1. Day 2 (Christmas) would be an easy jug back up to explore the upper pitches before topping-out.

By my estimation and from previous experiences on the North Wall, I thought 2-3 pitches per day would be easily achievable. I provisioned my food and water for two days on this basis. If I recall correctly I packed 5x 1.25l coke bottles of water plus a camel back providing about 4l per day for the anticipated 2 days. Plenty surely… Given the hot weather and strenuous workload I demolished this provision in no time; and was rationing myself on both days. I think at least 6 litres per day would have been more sensible in the conditions; especially with dehydrated food.

Gear Load-Out for climbing Defender of the Faith Aid Solo

Day 0

Left Melbourne in the new Delica L400 at approximately 1930 on the 23rd December 2021. I was stoked to take it out for it’s intended purpose. I blasted Jimi Hendrix and the Enormocast (Mark Twight episode – f*cking epic!)

Arrived at Mt Buffalo around 2330.

I could not locate the little A-frame hut sheltering the climbers intention book. I looked all around thinking perhaps the long drive and late hour had affected my perception. It was gone. This disturbed me. I could not complete my deep-rooted ritual of scrawling down my intentions. As though like some occult incantation this would have a tangible impact on the outcome of my expedition. An omen of things to come?

I suppose Parks Victoria no longer care; but I hope a climber recovered the book for climbers posterity.

I pulled some pages out of my journal, to create a new climber book; bound with sticky tape and lodged my intentions with the tourist brochures by the Guide Alice plaque.

'Guide Alice' Plaque - Mt Buffalo — ‘Guide Alice’ Plaque – Mt Buffalo

I set up the van to sleep by the oval – thermal screens convert it into a comfortable fortress. From this respite I considered how different things were for the early European visitors to the plateau. During the the restless night I woke to what sounded like a wounded animal.

Day 1 – Christmas Eve

Up at 0730. Two trips from Oval to the Defender rap:

1) with the Haul Bag.

2) with 3x ropes on my back and a camel-back on front.

When I returned with the ropes, a red-bellied black snake (I believe) was sprawled across the path, absorbing the the first rays of morning sun. Another omen? Rather than interrupting his morning activities I opted to gingerly creep around this section of the path.

View of the Victorian Alps - from Mt Buffalo - atop Defender of the Faith Rappel — View of the Victorian Alps – from Mt Buffalo – atop Defender of the Faith Rappel

Defender Rappel Approach

I made a total of 3 rappels on the ‘Defender’ approach as described in Lord Gumtree Winter Climb Attempt. The first of 60m on a single line which I left fixed. Riding the pig with a lot of weight. A prusik was absolutely crucial on the brake hand.

Upon gaining the ledge, I set about breakfast with coffee being the first priority. While waiting for the water to boil I pondered the task ahead.

Brewing Coffee at the muddy Führer Ledge Bivouac; just below the start of Defender of the Faith — Brewing Coffee at the muddy Führer Ledge Bivouac

I set my first anchor deep in the P1 starting chimney – a number 5 camelot set for upwards pull; supplemented with an orange totem and green camelot.

First Solo Anchor - in the Defender of the Faith starting chimney — First Solo Anchor – in the Defender of the Faith starting chimney

Defender of the Faith – Pitch 1

45m at M3. M4 Crux?

RPs, Cam Hooks, crux very reachy + awkward; even top-stepping with 180cm height.

The crux of the route requires transitioning from an RP seam to another crack system 1-2 metres over. This involves a blind cam placement made at full reach; around an arete.

I will be a little vague but if you don’t want beta on the crux then skip the next two paragraphs.

The trick I found is to aid as high up the seam as possible; selecting smaller and smaller body-weight-only RPs (micronuts) until the seam peters out to nothing. Then with tip-toes high stepping in your etriers, you can clip the rope off high to serve as a tension pendulum while pushing-off against the miniscule body-weight placement, orientating your body into a maximally horizontal extension, above the arete. Only from this position does it become possible to just reach the fixed-hanger by finger-tips.

Reaching the next crack-system requires a similar maneuver; however the next piece to be placed is a tenuous cam. This must be placed blindly with finger tips. There is no way to visualise the crack so the cam must be placed entirely by feel. The issue with this predicament is a pendulum fall at full reach while laying sideways against the wall. I attest to this as my first cam choice blew out as soon as I weighted it.

Top stepping (getting as high as you can on the piece you’re on) is one of the harder and scarier aiding techniques – and in the case of bleak aid – also one of the most hazardous!
Andy Kirkpatrick

I think this would be a completely different story for somebody with even slightly more or less height than me.

I vaguely remember a traversing bathook on my first ascent of Defender of the Faith (and a missing bolt?). My partner mitigated the reach by hooking a carrot-bolt using the wire of a nut (and he is at least 6″1′ compared to my 5″11′); however I did not require the technique on this ascent. The guidebook mentions two bolts here. I found only one (but did not find any hole). I suspect things have changed at the crux over the years.

After struggling up P1 I was very low in energy. Although simple climbing (mostly cam-jugging) the upper run on the wider crack-system found me resting a moment after each effort scaling the aiders. I recall during my first experience on Defender of the Faith my partner explaining to ‘try not to rest or look around after each sequence’.

I had a cup of tea before cleaning the pitch.

Defender of the Faith P1 Fixed - where the yellow cuts horizontally up high are the crux moves leftward into the beginning of the crack-system — P1 Fixed – where the yellow cuts horizontally up high are the crux moves leftward into the beginning of the crack-system

Cleaned.

Dropped the microtrax – crucial for hauling (although I retain a second device threaded onto the ‘far-end’ which I find indispensable for hauling while solo). Dropped a handful of bolt hangers.

Exploring the Führer Ledge Environs

Found microtrax on the ledge; and some of the hangers resting atop the bracken. Thoroughly exhausted I decided to blow-off climbing and went on mission looking for booty (I remember we lost a blue hex to Führer Ledge on my first outing here – I figure there could be a lot of items hidden amongst the thick bracken although finding it might require a metal detector!).

I found and removed an abundance of old tat and a conspicuous rubber mat, rigged over a small cave between large boulders (to facilitate hauling? Rescue abseil with a litter? – the rusty old chain was pointed directly to Crystal Brooke through the scrub). The rubber mat was extremely heavy but I managed to drag it back to my Bivvy along with the rest of the trash.

While out hunting for more debris, I accidental discovered a geocache (my first – and perhaps the most unlikely and inaccessible in the state!). I made an entry and donated some some souvenir biners that I had found on random tat.

Set up Bivy. Slept on the found rubber mat and bracken – this helped smooth out the stones and roots.

Führer Ledge Bivvy at the foot of Defender of the Faith - Wet, Lumpy and Brackeny. The piece of rubber I removed from the area helped to smooth out the rocks and tree roots beneath my $5 yoga mat (standard big wall sleeping technology) - the half-empty pig served as a make-shift pillow. — Führer Ledge Bivvy at the foot of Defender of the Faith – Wet, Lumpy and Brackeny. The piece of rubber I removed from the area helped to smooth out the rocks and tree roots beneath my $5 yoga mat (standard big wall sleeping technology) – the half-empty pig served as a make-shift pillow.

There was a taught single rope visible above Big Grassy but I couldn’t see any climbers. I assume they were on Ozymandias? Later after dusk I could hear voices yelling in the distance. Glad I wasn’t having an epic.

One pitch in Day 1. I was exhausted and far slower than expected or required. Not a good start.

Wrote Journal. Drew Topo. Ate Dinner (rehydrated). Turned-in for Sleep.

Defender of the faith - P1 Topo and notes. Information redacted to preserve some of the challenge and mystery. — Defender of the faith – P1 Topo and notes. Information redacted to preserve some of the challenge and mystery.

Day 2 – Christmas 2021

0715 – 1330; 0330 – 0630 (Lunch P2/3 belay).

I woke at dawn to an incredible sunrise. It was a restless night. I had dead arms and a strong thirst. My food had been nibbled through the bag. It would seem the cold dark domain of the possum is not confined to the Bivvy by Crystal Brooke.

Sunrise from The Mt Buffalo Gorge - never fails to amaze. — Sunrise from The Mt Buffalo Gorge – never fails to amaze.

Defender of the Faith – Pitch 2

40m M2 to 3bb. Cam-Jugging and Cam-Hooking with hand-sized cams and big nuts for pro.

Pitch 2 is where the main crack system really takes off through the little rooflet and continues gloriously 100m all the way up the face through pitch 3!

P1 was already cleaned so I prepared to jug up and haul. I loaded up the bag. After coffee + ablutions I sorted gear and stowed the tat + garbage collected from the night before.

I jugged, hauled and made my way back up to the anchor. It was complicated setting up an upward pull anchor at the start of P2 while retaining downward protection. The available fixed gear consisted of a rusty piton with a cracked eye; and a rusty and bent down carrot bolt; hanging with no stance. I managed to move one cam and share the other with the rusty carrot.

At the Anchor ready to climb: The best rope bags money can buy ($0.99 grocery bags) and yes a gnarly dehydrated piss jug. See also: Ode to the Piss Bottle for the state of the art.

Double cam hooks at Defender of the Faith - one for each foot. Bomber if you don't jerk around too much. — Double cam hooks – one for each foot. Bomber if you don’t jerk around too much.

I climbed on slow and thirsty through Pitch 2; moving through the small roof with less reliance on cam hooks than in my prior attempt (rather larger gear in the continuing crack). I only had two coke-bottles of water left for the whole day, so I had 1.25l + 1.25l for P2, P3 and the as yet unknown P4+5 climb out.

P2 Anchor: Rusty Piton and finger cams (Fixed; just prior to cleaning)

Defender of the Faith – Pitch 3

50m M2 to ledge and chains. ~60m of rope on solo? More cam-jugging antics up the relentless face crack!

A rope-stretching pitch with bountiful cam-jugging. There were no photos taken from this point on-wards due to the circumstances I will describe.

Error 1 – Critical

Dehydration.

At the beginning of the pitch, 45m off the deck, I realised I had made a crucial error in my self-belay system. I was not effectively belayed at a moment when I absolutely should have been. You can imagine the risk factors involved here and the sickening consequences.

The seriousness of this is not lost on me – I won’t exaggerate the situation, nor pretend like it did not happen. I fucked up tremendously and the thought of this still plays on my mind.

This is the second instance that I’ve made a very serious error under circumstances of exhaustion and dehydration. Thankfully both times I have determined the error before the risk was realised.

It is apparent when solo you need to take time to systematically check yourself at every system transition – as though you were checking another person. It is also apparent the need to preserve attention and focus through adequate hydration.

Continuing Up

Pitch three is relatively simple cam-jugging; however it is long – very long. Indeed it takes a full rope length when rope-soloed. I continued with frequent rests and finally ran out of water after rationing through the second pitch.

Again I remembered Dan’s insistence years ago, not to pause, not to look around at the view, just continue move after move, gaining height with each step. Over a 9 hour climb, every minute adds up. Ten minutes wasted every half an hour means + 3 hours and maybe the difference between topping-out and an epic…

Climb one piece. Stop and rest.

Climb one piece. Stop and rest…

Dehydrated and fatigue were really setting in. Even in the morning I had only made a 1-shot coffee to conserve water – running coffee through the filter twice. I know caffeine is a diuretic but I also needed the energy and the motivation afforded by this essential creature-comfort.

All I could think of was water and the roar of Crystal Brooke was taunting me relentlessly.

I decided it was too risky (certainly after events at the anchor) to push through dehydrated so rather than climbing-out I planned to climb on to my P4+5 fixed rope and jug out, leaving gear and haul bag in situ. I’d go straight to the nearest water source and clean after myself later.

This is actually a common way of completing the climb when using aid; as the upper pitches are indistinct and typically wet and slimy aka “make for an excellent mountaineering challenge”.

“an excellent mountaineering challenge”: a meandering or indistinct route, frequently wet, slimy and/or chossy.

Error 2 – Significant

I ran out of lead line (~60m) about 10m below P3/4 anchor at the big ledge. Luckily my fixed line was hanging down just enough that I could traverse right and reach the fixed line, then join the ropes to facilitate jugging later.

Using an Alpine Butterfly on each end and weighting the upper rope I was able to join the two with a carabiner.

Jugging up the fixed line was simple work but when I got off the rope it rested into slight tension – gradually becoming tighter as the ropes relaxed further.

I fitted a prusik off the P3/4 anchor onto the P3 lead-line to hold the load on P3; avoiding the full 120m of rope stretch when later jugging back up (dynamic ropes typically have a 5-10% stretch in them; which reduces efficiency when climbing fixed-ropes)

This left tension on the upside fixed rope. I didn’t think much of it in the moment but this became a significant challenge. Rather than a traditional rope ascent it became a 60 degree up-hill Tyrolean Traverse all the way to the fucking summit block. This is about as difficult as the situation could possibly become – much worse than either a semi-vertical rope-jug up the escarpment OR a semi-horizontal Tyrol.

Tyrolean Traverse: To haul oneself (while clipped in) horizontally along a line fixed between two points.

After immensely struggling to jug the taught, 60-degree rope for what seemed like hours, I stammered off the block to the tourist track and bee-lined to Crystal Brooke bridge. I thought I would drink and a swim; however due to the steep banks Crystal Brooke was inaccessible from above unlike the exposed rock-bars and pools down in the gorge.

I walked up-stream to find only a stagnant pumping dam. continuing up the road to the Delica I finally doffed my gear (unneeded pro + camel back). I drove back up to the look-out car park where water was freely available on tap.

Error 3 – Annoying

My remaining food was still in the haul bag, 100m up Defender of the Faith (or 100m down depending on how you look at it…). So for dinner I ate only a packet of chips + an apricot juice cup I found in the van… of course accompanied with copious amounts of water.

Haul Bag (with my food) half-way up (down?) Defender of the Faith (yellow highlight at the P2 Belay)

Error 4 – Problematic

It didn’t occur to me until I’d sat and imbibed about 2l of water and a packet of chips that it would be near impossible to get a rappel device onto this taught fixed-line, let alone descend it with so much friction.

I planned in my head about 2-1 de-tensioning the line with prusik and pulley in order to fit a gri gri and failing that to simply reverse jug down (very tedious option). Of course in retrospect even fitting a gri gri over a de-tensioned bite would be useless as soon as I released tension through the 2-1, as the friction would render the gri gri immovable.

The party on Ozymandias were completing their final pitches in the waning sunlight – the chimney to Gledhill Memorial ledge and summit block. I contemplated walking to the look-out to greet them at the summit but honestly I had no energy left to spare. We never saw each other after. Sleep was fleeting (dreams) and I was up again at dawn.

In retrospect, Pitch 3 had a cascade of problems exacerbated by dehydration any of which could have become much worse. All of which cost significant amounts of time, energy (and water).

Day 3 (Day 2.5?)

Cleaning-Up

0730 – 1330

More water + muesli bars + apricot cup for breakfast. Drove back down to the Oval to tackle the descent to P3 and retrieve the gear and haul bag.

Set up pulley on manky chain + prusik to pull-up slack in rope and get a gri gri on. Rappel was difficult to start pressed into the rock with too much friction.

As I gained more rope, I gained more stretch above lengthening the rope and reducing friction so the abseil became quite tolerably after 10 or so metres. Continued down to ledge, then to P2/3 belay. Released the pig.

Jugged up and cleaned (off the joined rope to prusik/anchor) Far end hauled the bag over the small roof, before continuing on.

Error 5 – Demoralizing

From big ledge I was sure the bag wouldn’t get stuck so I didn’t bother far-end hauling but instead just positioned it favorably and jugged back up to the tree below the summit block (the rope now free, this was much easier). Began to haul and the bag literally got stuck immediately. I let it drop + repeated haul a bunch of times to no avail. Set up a 3-1 pulley. No dice. Had to rap back down and far-end haul half-way up (past shrubs) then continue to jug back up to the ledge.

Resting on the Big Ledge - view to South side of the Gorge. — Resting on the Big Ledge – view to South side of the Gorge.

Escape to Reality

Two-trips to get gear back up to the track. Encountered some tourists and experienced deja vu. I don’t think it occurred to him that the immense mass of gear on my back was not in fact in preparation for the Tourist Circuit day-walk. They clearly had no concept of the kind of ordeal I had just been through.

Now here’s a guy who’s prepared for anything.
Russian Tourist with His Mum and Hot Wife

They tried to make conversation but exhausted near to the point of collapse and smelling like human shit due to the waste container strapped to my haul bag I excused myself and continued. Disheveled and rancid-smelling, I passed through a family picnicking and playing frisbee on the oval.

After setting down my gear, I began disposing of all the tat I had hauled up the cliff. One of the picnickers asked if I dispose of my rope after every climb and I explained that I had cleaned this all up from the environment.

Exhausted I was unable to pack the heavy rubber mat on top of all my other gear. After hauling it up onto the summit block, I rolled it up and stashed it below the anchors – perhaps it will serve as a useful rope protector or somebody else will have the energy to pack it out and dispose of it.

I returned to Bairnsdale via Mt Hotham in the Deli for family Christmas dinner!

Later that night

I received a government text message stating I had been potentially exposed to COVID-19 some days prior to my expedition.

I enjoyed Christmas dinner.

The next day my family managed to obtain some of the last RAT tests in the rural city and I tested negative. I guess I can’t blame (recent) corona-virus infection for my exhaustion, poor performance and absence of mind during the prior days.

Solitude and Commitment

By hpt

On January 3, 2022

In climbing, travel

Solitude and Commitment: On climbing, travel and life. A 2020 retro-post.

Climbing and the Runout

Runout: A lengthy or unknown distance between points of protection requiring committing moves and in some cases perceived as frightening or dangerous. May also be used as an adjective to describe a route or part of a route; or as a verb, for example to describe the act of running-out into unknown terrain.

In higher grades of traditional (trad) or aid climbing, sections of climbing are encountered where protection is not present or forthcoming. “I fancy I can get a piece in after that feature” I whisper to myself reassuringly; or simply “I fancy it”. This is my response to whatever imagined protection may lay ‘around the corner’. Or to whatever objective risk I estimate in my head… 2 metre fall or 5 metres? Clean? A pendulum-swing? I quiet my mind and run it out resolutely.

In trad it may be a sequence or a couple of runout moves. Moves to reach that next bomber piece on the tricky pitch of a climb. On aid it may be ten-, twenty-minutes of what feels like an eternity runout on the sharp-end. Negotiating sequences of body-weight only gear placements to reach potentially marginal protection only. Not just once or twice but over and over again for a one or several days of climbing.

Sharp-end: The end of the belay rope that is attached to the lead climber. “Being on the sharp end” refers to the act of lead climbing, which is considered more psychologically demanding than top-roping or following, since it may involve more route-finding, as well as the possibility of longer, more consequential falls.
The most challenging or difficult part of an activity.

Solitude and Commitment

Superficially these moments may seem scary, stressful, critical. But in all of these moments, only after I commit, my mind is quiet. Focused. Focused single-minded on the next movement in a sequence bringing me inevitably closer to a point of relative safety. These are moments of extreme clarity. These are also moments of control. Moments when I alone am absolutely, irrefutably in control of my destiny.

I yearn for these moments as a respite from the chaos, stresses and anxiety of normal life; and as affirmation of my personal agency.

Diving

There are other times too. Preparing for a cave dive where amongst other risks, a physical ceiling prevents direct surfacing to air. Or technical diving where a non-physical but insidious “decompression ceiling” prevents direct surfacing, without risk of severe or fatal bends.

Apprehension gradually increases as I visualise the planned dive and emergency procedures until the moment that my face goes below the surface of the water. From that point of psychological commitment my mind turns to pure clarity and focus. Focused one-by-one on the sequence of movements that will complete the goal returning me to safety.

Driving

Hell, even that last-chance overtake on the final straight-away before the mountain pass. An on-the-fly estimated risk with catastrophic consequences but you know the machine, the gear, the placements… A low enough likelihood of consequence that you “fancy” your chances and resolve to commit. Only one thing for it, drop a gear, open the throttle and make the pass. I’d love to be a rally driver.

My vocation as an engineer is heavily predicated on risk-management. Perhaps that is all this article is really about? Risk-management. The runout is just allegory. No. It is more – the psychological or actual commitment of one’s being to an end.

Travel is like Climbing

In a moment of trepidation in downtown Cairo I caught myself whispering “I fancy I can make it”. I was about to commit myself by entering the Embassy of the Republic of the Sudan. Embarking on a solo overland backpacking journey from Cairo to Khartoum.

There would be many moments on this adventure when I would reassure myself in the same way. Assessing the risk and knowingly stepping out from social, legal or governmental forms protection. A kind of travel runout.

Embassy of Republic of the Sudan; Cairo — Embassy of the Republic of the Sudan; Cairo

It occurred to me that traveling really is a lot like climbing.

Often when people first develop an interest, they start of in a social setting, on predefined, objectively graded routes, with a guaranteed safety mechanism, partner, and ample insurance. The fixed routes and abundance of other participants are a motivation, a comfort and a point of interest. But perhaps there is a kernel of annoyance or a restriction.

This was me when I first joined the local climbing gym. I clawed my way up coloured-plastic grade 8 top-ropes with clenched teeth. The guided tour bus of climbing.

With time some people may yearn for the more intrepid experiences without giving up the convenient safety nets of the climbing gym. Perhaps they join their first local university club for a taste of outdoor sports climbing. A solid belay, no runouts – and fixed bolts reliably appear just right where you need them! The intrepid tour of climbing.

Some will still not be satisfied and begin to explore trad (traditional) climbing. One must locate and assess the route, select and rack up the required gear and place it correctly at specific intervals to ensure safety throughout the climb. You still have your partner or team for support. This is like organising your own overseas journey. Ensuring the transportation, accommodation and insurances are all in place to provide a safe and enjoyable trip.

For some sickos this is still not enough.

Ultimately I have enjoyed to travel the way I have enjoyed to climb. Chasing those zen moments. Solo. Committed. Runout on the sharp end.

This is how I found myself disembarking a bus into the far north-western tracts of Egyptian desert. Some 50km from the Libyan border, an Oasis dotted by mud-buildings, palms and the most ancient and remarkable mineral springs.

This is how I found myself one of only two foreigners on a passenger ship in the middle of a 525000 hectare lake, itself in the middle of the largest hot desert in the world. Nothing but burning sand for some 4000km to the West and beyond the hundreds of kilometers of desert to the East only the sea to be found.

I was entering a country with no diplomatic relations to my own. A country where I could not derive any consular assistance and would struggle to secure resources or evacuation in a state of emergency. A country which in the same year had suffered heinous state perpetrated genocides, continued civil war, and undergone a popular revolution overthrowing their dictator of 30-years. I was crossing the border from Egypt into the Republic of the Sudan, over Lake Nasser.

This is how I found myself woken at 3AM to be led by strangers into steerage amongst dozens of dark faces with limited or no English comprehension. I would be holding an insulin syringe in one hand, sugar in the other, confronted by a man slumped on the floor in diabetic coma. (A pensive nervous wreck, I joined the Muslims for their dawn prayers!)

This is how I found myself alone – within this vast, arid country – the only deranged sicko stepping off a bus halfway along an 800km highway in the middle of the burning desert, 300km from the nearest town. I had two options: hitch-hike out or sleep exposed in the sand with only the snakes and scorpions for company.

This is how I experienced the most tremendous and rewarding travel experiences of my life; and how I met so many of the kindest and most generous people on this planet.

Friends on Ship to Sudan 2 — Some of my friends on the ship to Sudan

Life and the Runout

After six months without working, an aid solo attempt at climbing Lord Gumtree in winter, and 4 months of challenging solo travel, I realise I am still reaching for that even greater piece of protection in an even bigger runout. I have used up a lot of my gear to get this far!

I have returned to my country still alone without a home. Without a job. Luckily I have secured some “aid placements” through family and friends to help me reach this next critical goal.

After every runout in life, even if I fall, I fancy I can reach the next piece just around the corner. Just like climbing.

In life as for climbing, don’t be overcome by the subjective fear of the fall. Assess the objective risks and consequences, prepare, and run it out!

If in doubt; run it out!
Very questionable advice

Addendum

In the time between writing and posting this article, my country has overcome the most devastating and extensive wildfires ever recorded.

The world has succumbed to a crippling pandemic – a situation which is still in flux.

At the beginning of the year I was fortunate to find a place to live (which would turn-out to be a COVID epicenter in my city) and a new employer with immediate travel requirements to Europe.

As Norwegian restaurants, and other businesses shutdown around me my last few ‘business’ meals were microwaved TV-dinners (a luxury compared to dehydrated hiking packets!).

I returned home on one of the last regular international flights. Many others were delayed and cancelled. I passed immigration 20-minutes prior to the implementation of unprecedented mandatory quarantine measures.

Now over twelve-months have passed without climbing or diving. A most unwelcome surface-interval.

A surface interval (SI) is the time that a diver remains out of the water between two dives. During this time, the nitrogen absorbed during the first dive continues to off-gas, or to be released from a diver’s body.

I am resolved to seek adventure in 2021, regardless of circumstances.

Addendum 2

In the time since first editing this article, I’ve remained on the fence about publishing it. The pandemic has continued relativity unabated. As vaccines are administered in the first-world, global inequity has of-course allowed the evolution of newer more virulent strains. These strains are diminishing the effectiveness of our response, possibly rendering it futile.

I suppose lock-downs, confinement, and home-working have taken their toll on my motivation. I did manage one notable adventure at the conclusion of 2021; but as it would turn out this was more than I’d bargained for. The pandemic has also taken it’s toll on my physical condition.

I am resolved to seek adventure in 2022, regardless how small.

Ozymandias Direct Aid Solo Climb – Part 2: Trip Report

By hpt

On July 26, 2019

In climbing

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.

Ozymandias seen from the Tourist Lookout — Ozymandias from the Tourist Lookout.

Heading down the valley. Ozymandias in the background. — Heading down the valley.

Approach via South Side Trail

Mushroom Rock on the Ozymandias approach. — The famous Mushroom Rock.

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.

Ozymandias Direct seen from Angel's Buttress. — Ozymandias from Angel’s Buttress.

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.

Cooling down after the strenuous approach hike. — Cooling down after the strenuous hike.

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.

Pond and Cascade in Crystal Brook. Some Frosty Water Bottles!

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.

Gazing up from the foot of Ozymandias Direct, Australia's premier big-wall aid climb. — Gazing up from the foot of Ozymandias.

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.

The Fallen Tree, near Crystal Brook — The Fallen Tree.

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.

Bivouac before dawn — Packing up the bivouac before dawn.

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.

View from the Big Grassy — Early morning view from Big Grassy.

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.

Pondering the days aid climbing while gazing up Ozymandias Direct — Pondering the day ahead – The Great Roof!

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.

Under the Great Roof, while on rappel. — Under the roof, on rappel.

Big Grassy in view, retreating from the Great Roof.

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

Treated to an epic sunrise on Big Grassy, Ozymandias. — Treated to an epic sunrise on Big Grassy.

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.

The valley comes to life - looking out from Ozymandias. — The valley comes to life.

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

Ready to leave Big Grassy. This is about the whole area. The long, flat rock is on a significant angle.

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.

Anchor below the Great Roof on Ozymandias Direct. — Anchor below the Great Roof.

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.

Ready to pull through the roof on - out over the void. — Ready to pull through the roof – out over the void.
The bendy death-flake visible right of carrot-bolts.

Bare crack and the expando death-flake on Ozymandias Direct. — Bare crack and the expando death-flake.

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.

Rappel over the roof.
Slung bendy death-flake as “the Jesus nut” – epitome of psychological pro.

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.

Rappel over the roof.
Slung bendy death-flake as "the Jesus nut" - epitome of psychological pro. — Gledhill Bivy Hammock Anchor with natural pro.

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.

Setting up the Bivy; hanging above the void on Ozymandias Direct. — Setting up the Bivy; hanging above the void.

The other hammock anchor, haul-bag dock and main tie-in point at the Gledhill Bivy — Left to right: The other hammock anchor, haul-bag dock and main tie-in point.

Cooling my feet after a long day Aid Climbing — Cooling my feet after a long day in the aiders.

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!

Boiling water on my DIY hanging stove at the Gledhill Bivy — Boiling water on my DIY hanging stove.

Enjoying the evening sky with a cup of tea.

View to the South Side and "Angels", from Ozymandias Direct. — View to the South Side and “Angels”.

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.

A party descending south side trail, headed for Where Angels Fear to Tread.

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 valley is hidden in clouds — The valley is hidden.

Sunrise at the Gledhill Bivy — Ready for a new day!

Clouds receding as the sun heats the valley - high up on Ozymandias. — Clouds receding as the sun heats the valley.

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

Don't forget to brush your teeth while big-wall aid climbing! — Don’t forget to brush your teeth.

Gledhill Bivy - I don't want to leave! — Gledhill Bivy – I don’t want to leave.

Suspect old carrot-bolts with red hero loops at the Gledhill Bivy — Suspect old carrot-bolts with red hero loops. These were major points I had to aid-off, both climbing and when moving around the bivy.

Big-Wall Accoutrements at the Gledhill Bivy — Big-Wall Accoutrements – everything must be clipped off!

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.

Cloud rising up the valley on — Cloud rising up the valley.

Contemplating a critically exposed and run-out free move to gain the ledge below the Pitch 8 chimney. — Contemplating a simple but critically exposed and run-out free move to gain the ledge below the P8 chimney; meanwhile the clouds a closing in!

View to the south side, hidden in cloud — View to the south side – Angels Buttress hidden from view.

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.

Breathtaking view from the Ozymandias plaque ledge. — Breathtaking view from the plaque ledge.

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.

Exhausted but happy, at the Ozymandias summit! — Exhausted but happy.

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.

Singing out the intentions book with busted knuckles.

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!

The scooped-out knuckle - typical aid climbing injury... — The scooped-out knuckle, caked in superglue and wall-scum.

Thigh contusions from falling on the early pitches of Ozymandias. — Thigh contusions from falling into the wall with gear hanging on harness.

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!

Tag: climbing

Defender of the Faith Aid Solo Climb

Defender of the Faith Aid Solo climb – Christmas 2021.

Plan

Day 0

Day 1 – Christmas Eve

Defender Rappel Approach

Defender of the Faith – Pitch 1

Exploring the Führer Ledge Environs

Day 2 – Christmas 2021

Defender of the Faith – Pitch 2

Defender of the Faith – Pitch 3

Error 1 – Critical

Continuing Up

Error 2 – Significant

Error 3 – Annoying

Error 4 – Problematic

Day 3 (Day 2.5?)

Cleaning-Up

Error 5 – Demoralizing

Escape to Reality

Later that night

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Solitude and Commitment

Climbing and the Runout

Solitude and Commitment

Diving

Driving

Travel is like Climbing

For some sickos this is still not enough.

Life and the Runout

Addendum

Addendum 2

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Ozymandias Direct Aid Solo Climb – Part 2: Trip Report

Day 0: Approach

Approach via South Side Trail

Night 0: Approach Bivouac

Day 1: Pitch 1 to Big Grassy

Pitch 1

Pitch 2

Pitch 3

Night 1: Big Grassy

Day 2: Big Grassy to the Great Roof

Pitch 4 and 5

Night 2: Big Grassy

Day 3: Big Grassy to Gledhill Bivy

Pitch 4 and 5

Pitch 6

Pitch 7

Night 3: Gledhill Bivy

Day 4: Gledhill Bivy to Summit

Pitch 8

Pitch 9

Ozymandias Direct Summit

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