Picos de Europa – July/August 2017, Mike Mowbray and Roger Gibbs
As the summer tries to establish itself against the vagaries of our English weather, and the mixed blessings of school holidays loom closer, it is time for Oreads to prepare for Alpine adventure. This year the meet leader appears to have had little schooling in geography as well as scant regard for the need to include glacier approaches, icy north faces and exorbitant Swiss prices. And so chose The Picos de Europa…
Although not in the Alps, these peaks do have some redeeming features, goldilocks temperatures, fewer storms, no crevasses and excellent rock on every scale. We based ourselves in Arenas de Cabrales on a lovely friendly, riverside campsite. All the usual facilities with an atmospheric bar restaurant – good beer and even a ‘full English’ in the morning!
The local crag was only 15 mins walk with a good selection of enticing single pitch routes from 4a – 7a. However there is a whole guidebook worth of crags of all kinds within 40 mins drive. Poo, despite its name, may be the best – and only a short bike ride too. Here you can wrestle creatively with overhanging tufas to your heart’s content, bridging up the curtains, laying off stalactites, egyptians, arm locks… or just sag on the second bolt. Some Oreads achieved the former, many the latter. Special mention to Spenser who bravely attacked a 7a as his warm up!
Next up in scale were the large slabs of Fresnidiello, a drive, a bit of a hike and seven pitch routes in the mountains on a 300m slabby wall. Although the routes are mostly trad, the bolt belays should at least keep you on track. Pete and Mike enjoyed their day on Elixir Para Calvos, if not the long run-outs, or their inability to locate the 5th stance. Trying to abb off via a route needing 60m ropes when you only brought 50s was perhaps the most exciting bit……
After the warm-up routes that Fresnidiello offers, the team were bound to be attracted to The Picos’ iconic mountain – The Naranjo de Bulnes (The Big Orange!). This really is a stunning rock peak with no easy way up, especially via the long routes on the N/NW face. Later in the meet strong contenders did do The Rabada – Navarro, and Murciana 78. But for now we should remember that Oreads can be cunning. Tim and Spenser, Pete and Mike scuttled round the side to the E face. Still a mighty impressive bit of rock – but happily only 2/3 scale! It allowed Tim and Spenser to go for Cepeda – a classic with cracks, chimneys and off-widths. Pete and Mike climbed a face route (Espejismo de Verano) to the left with bolt belays – so Pete couldn’t be tempted to shorten a pitch and belay on the nearest thread! The two routes join up after five good pitches so we could show Spenser the way through the window to the S face and the easy scramble to the top… Spenser had other ideas and invented a new crux chimney high above the keyhole escape. This allowed him and Tim to have an animated discussion about how best to extricate themselves, and then play cats-cradle for a bit while Mike and Pete enjoyed the summit sunshine. All this excitement left us a bit late and we reached the car, after a tiring descent, very thirsty indeed. Here Tim came to the fore, driving his (racing) hire car at breakneck speed down the hundreds of hairpins, and he did indeed reach the campsite bar before closing!
Most of us found it took about 45 minutes to drive up to the bigger routes, so those of us who are occasional cyclists remain in awe of Nigel who cycled to an even higher point in just over an hour! Maybe he was just pleased that this year he was not suffering any debilitating injury after his 24-hour time-trial!
Our next trip was a break with tradition. We visited Cuevas del Mar – a crag by the seaside! Not a sea cliff as such because you walk across the beach, put your sac on your deck chair and climb with an audience. Edd had a good day with a clutch of 7s, Pete and I tried to forget how steep the routes were, but eventually were compelled to cross the sand for ice cream – how we resisted the bar I cannot remember… If you decide to go, just watch out for the low bridge – better a slight detour with campervans.
Now the Naranjo is a mighty peak indeed, but really just a big rock climb – not quite alpine somehow. A friendly aspirant guide, Juanluis, worked on the campsite and suggested a more traditional route to us all. The Pena Vieja is one of the most popular walking summits via its N side. However the SE face rises 800m from the Aliva meadows and here lies the classic Espolon de los Franceses TD inf. Several of us thought this a worthy objective and in the end Spenser, Nigel and Tim set out early one morning for this long, but one day, route.
Mike and David, who had waited in the hope Emily could join in, set out the following day at 5am – somewhat surprised that the others had not yet returned. We made a quick approach in three hours and started up the 15 pitches of the steep spur. After initial loose sections the rock became fantastic on the steep arête with pitch after pitch of cracks, grooves and faces. The route finding demanded constant attention and the obvious need to get a shift on perhaps made the sparse protection easier to ignore. David had only done two multi pitch routes before, and as we got higher I was conscious of just how tricky a retreat would be in the absence of any fixed belays. Happily we arrived at the two gendarmes marking the end of continuous rock difficulties before 4pm. Snatching snacks and water we hurried on via an overhanging chimney to ‘the ridge’. Jeanluis had said we could unrope for this – but relative beginners do not solo in such exposed places – and neither for that matter do I!
The foreshortened pictures do not do justice to a ridge that goes up and down, and on and on, seemingly forever. three abseils and five ‘pitches’ of about 600ft each found us finally pulling onto the summit at 9pm for a very nice sunset. It would have been nicer still were it not for 4.5 hrs of descent ahead. On the last steps to the car a Zimmer frame would have been welcome… It is rumoured that Spenser will be writing his own account of this fine route – now that he is finally down – so watch out for it in the next edition…
Arenas de Cabrales made a great base for a meet with its shops, restaurants, bars and cheese (!) It is not just the Swiss who make cheese in the mountains. The local stuff is flavoursome indeed – a sort of ‘Stilton on steroids’. It is probably best washed down with the plentiful and cheap local scrumpy cider. However this is not usually possible as you are expected to pour it blindly over your head into a glass held down at arm’s length – so it mostly goes on the floor or down your neck. Still the smell of apples is most pleasant. We managed to find a brilliant restaurant for Club discussions at the nearby petrol station. Beers, three fine courses and free wine for 21 euros is good value post-Brexit referendum. Spanish wine is certainly worth a mention as we were after all on holiday – it can be hard to decide if Rioja or Ribera do better justice to the tempranillo grape. What is easy to agree is that the white wines of NW Spain using albarino and godello are just getting better and better!
So in retrospect was this a successful meet? It seems everyone had something to do. Good day walks, cycling, cragging, big days out, beaches, ice creams and fine food. The weather was mostly good and the locals more than helpful. Experience was gained by some, skills refreshed by others. Character building routes were enjoyed and unscheduled bivvies endured. Ultimately no one fell in a crevasse or got any frostnip, but whether this was an alpine meet or not is for others to decide. But perhaps the meet leader can be forgiven his geographical lapse just this once, please?
Murciana 78. Roger Gibbs
Dave reminds me that I need to write up our summer holiday. It’s a wet September night, pitch black by 8pm. Summer’s gone. The memories are already getting a little softer around the edges. The tales we told have already become truth. Oh well, I think it went something like this and if it didn’t no one will mind too much…..
I’m pretty sure I can make out the start of the route but there doesn’t seem to be anyone coming and we don’t want to get it wrong. We’ll wait a little longer until the dawn creeps up closer. Here, under the imposingly steep West Face of Naranjo de Bulnes, we won’t feel the warmth of the sun until the middle of the afternoon and hopefully a lot higher up that wall.
The plan had been partly mine, which means it was a bit under cooked. Half-baked you might say. The route pretty much picked itself: Murciana 78, the super classic direct line up the stunning West Face. It forces an unlikely and highly impressive line cutting straight through the older wandering classic of Rabada-Navarro. Murciana 78 even appears in Parios-de-Legende, the ultimate tick list of all things long and alpine (rock only, none of that mountaineering nonsense). It had to be done, but how?
I’ve always liked the “in a day” concept. Sneak out of your van early doors and don’t wake the family. Hop on your bike (or cadge a lift), walk in, give the route a damn good British* thrashing, get down, back on the bike and back to the campsite for war stories and beer. Simple. Except there wasn’t a lift available. “Hop on your bike” involved a brutal 90 minute thrash up hill to get to a track of indeterminate length. Then the walk in proper – maybe another couple of hours. 500m of climbing and a long abseil descent. Then reverse the walk and cycle home. Hmm. This was looking like a very big day.
We sent an elite cycle squad out in the rain to recce the bike ride. They nearly got hypothermia and needed two café stops. After an evening cragging session at the amusingly named Poo crag we had a beer and considered our options. The weather looked a little unsettled, not a problem tufa wresting at the overhanging valley crags, but not what you want on the big stone. Finally we decided on three slightly overlapping teams, two climbing on the Saturday and the other one the Sunday. We’d give into common sense and book into the hut. Right then. Sorted.
“The hut’s full”. I suppose the first glimmer of a settled weather window for weeks and those lovely Spanish climbers will book up the bunks pretty quickly. Could we bivvy? I haven’t taken a sleeping bag on holiday for years, preferring a large luxurious duvet. It was going to be a struggle to stuff a super king size in my rucksac and Sharon wasn’t going to be best pleased. Back to the “in a day” concept. Could we do it? I ran over the timings in my head again. There was no way. I needed another plan and quick. Scanning the map I spotted another hut. It wasn’t right under the West Face like the other teams had managed for their route on Saturday, but it had space and it was a lot closer than my van. Ok, we’d drive up, stash the bikes for the descent and get an early start from there. What could possibly go wrong?
BANG! The crash as I missed the step out of the hut at 4am probably woke people in the valley. I’d carefully laid out my shoes and my kit and was sneaking out, trying not to wake the room full of sleeping people. Giggling and whispering apologies Dave and I bundled out the door. “We’re just going climbing, bye!” Oops. We started walking in the darkness.
The approach was easy and uneventful. Naranjo loomed into view. Wow, it looked even more imposing in the starlight than it had last night as we’d watched the last rays of the sun illuminate it before bed. At the proper hut nothing stirred and the cluster of tents was still silent. We filled our water bottles and headed up the short scree slope to the base of the route. After gearing up and a short wait for daylight we scrambled up the ramp. There are two grooves off the ramp and it wasn’t entirely clear which was ours but after a tentative foray we found the correct way and Dave was soon happily reporting back that he’d found the belay. A smiling local appeared to collect some kit forgotten the previous day, then, just as I was setting off, the next team appeared to follow us up the route. “You’ve got to get up early to get one over on the Derby Crew,” grinned Dave in his best Irish accent. The first pitch was beefy but honest crack and groove climbing. 12 pitches like this was going to be hard work. “It’s only going to be like 12 E2’s at worst,” Dave had said. I tried to work out how “only” had crept into that sentence. Anyway a dozen lots of Shape Up in Huntsman Leap? Or a dozen Sentinel Cracks?
The next pitch was mine and looked a little more spicy. Juan, our friendly aspirant guide from the campsite, had warned us to be careful of some poor rock and tenuous moves. I moved down and across, clipping a good peg. The rock wasn’t perfect but I’ve been to Stoney plenty of times. A few more delicate moves and I was into the groove and lots of good gear. More beefy climbing took us to below the crux. It looked suitably desperate and the Spanish team below were hot (well warm) on our heels. Dave set off. He grunted a bit and clipped some gear. It looked decidedly overhanging and this was only the easier intro before the really hard stuff (which I for one was definitely going to be aiding). After a brief consultation, he avoided an old belay out right and battled up to the shiny new one. My turn. I’d forgotten how physical aiding is with just a couple of slings. After some grunting of my own, I joined Dave at the hanging stance. We gazed down at the chalked holds of the wads who had done that pitch free. Seriously impressive.
We swapped over and I set off on “my crux pitch”. There was a brief outbreak of free climbing, but I was soon back to pulling on bolts. All in the interests of speed you understand. Finally the bolts ran out. I took a deep breath and launched up on good but spaced holds, plenty of air dragging at my heels. It’s always difficult to move from aid to free, your body feels like lead, but the rock was so perfect and the climbing was brilliant. At the belay I checked my watch. Around three hours and the two hardest pitches dispatched, great! Below us the next team were still battling with the first hard pitch.
The pitches came thick and fast now. Mostly steady climbing on perfect rock but many sections had only cams in pockets for protection. We stopped to grab a butty where we crossed the Rabada-Navarro. On one pitch high on the wall I was grateful for some chalky handprints to show me the way through the blankness. Again the climbing was steady if a little bold – if you find the right way – but it felt very easy to get off route into a lonely old place. On pitch 11 a tiny thread waved in the breeze above. I had time, while bringing Dave up, to notice the “NO” scratched on the rock with an arrow pointing to the thread. I recalled Juan’s warning about taking extra care route finding on the top section and to avoid the threads which were abandoned from someone retreating after getting off route. Pleased with getting 11 right, I made a total hash of 12 and ended up with some serious rope drag. No matter, we were up. We had drinks and snacks to celebrate and gazed with consternation at some crazy local hanging out on a sling over the sheer drop for a selfie.
Half way then, I told myself and followed Dave along the summit ridge to the descent gully. More scrambling, a few abseils, the compulsory abseiling cock up and we were back on terra firma.
The scree thrash down was suitably unpleasant, it must have been really grim in reverse for the A team’s ascent of a route on the East Face the previous day. Dave heroically volunteered to race back up to rescue the spare sac from the base of the route, while I trudged on down. We rendezvoused at the lower hut with a warm glow of satisfaction spreading through me. Even better we scored a lift down the rough track from some friendly locals and an angel of salvation in the shape of Victoria was waiting to give us a lift down so we didn’t even get to ride our bikes. In the pitch black, that ride would have been pretty exciting!
Back at the campsite, we wolfed down dinner, told tall tales and managed a beer or two to rehydrate. Other teams did lots more climbing (Mike almost certainly needs to tell us all about his adventures), biking**, running, swimming, eating and drinking. A mighty fine adventure, thanks to all who came, and to Mike for organising it.
*other varieties of thrashing are available.
** Sharon also tried to cycle through her husband. This proved less than entirely successful. It was apparently my fault. Makes a change from it being Simon’s fault I suppose.