Banter, Beer and Swedish Babes

(El Chorro, Spain- May 2015)

This was my first trip abroad with Wolverhampton Mountaineering Club and that's always a strange mix of nerves and excitement. Nerves as you never know how well you will get along with people after you only really know them from a few days together on weekends away. And excitement to venture into a new place made up of cliffs hundreds of metre high, large caves and a wilderness sparsely populated away from the masses.

The adventure began once we arrived at the airport and the sudden realisation the most likely person to miss the flight was stuck delayed on the train. And as we were a tight group and stuck together at all times, we decided it was every man for himself and checked in our luggage and headed for security without him. Jon eventually turned up and the group was united as we headed for the plane.

The heat as always hit us as we left the air-conditioned environment of the plane, and I stood sweat dribbling down the back of my neck in a slow moving car hire queue. The wait was worth it as Dave drove us out of the outskirts of Malaga and up into the hills towards El Chorro. We soon began following the edge of huge Caribbean blue watered lake, that would offer a playground later in the week for cooling off and soaking aching muscles. After a short break at a lakeside bar for a ice cold cerveza and fish bowl like glasses of gin and blue tonic, we continued our way down into the El Chorro gorge. Soon we were dwarfed by the towering limestone cliffs wetting our appetite for the week ahead and the endless lines to be conquered.

Towering cliffs around El Chorro

 

 

The villa which would be our base for the week lay high above the wild west town that is El Chorro, surrounded by endless orange and olive groves. Me, John and Chris soon found the pool after stripping off and diving into the cool, refreshing water after the long day spent sweating in the dry Spanish heat. We then ventured down the road to the Rocabella Restaurant, where was sat sipping freshly made sangria glazing from the veranda over the dying light seeping out of the valley below. I knew then we had arrived in a special place.

Light fading in the valley

 

 

Parking next to a concrete railway tunnel that looked as if it had burst from the base of the limestone crag towering above, we set off weaving our way through a woodland of tall knotted pines and thick undergrowth. The walk lead us to a huge cave set back into the cliff guarded by lumps of debris that had over time cascaded from the cliff above. Dale lead the way first up a steep and quite intense route inside this vast casum, using a variety of tufa's and pockets while the caves swallow inhabitants swooped around above. I followed him up after, twisting and pivoting to reduce the pressure on my arms. The steep section towards the top of the climb forced my forearms to tense the higher I moved. I clipped the final bolt and lowered off back to the floor and suddenly as I placed my hand out to steady my descent a swallow burst from one of the mainly hollows and holes on the face.

Cathedral like cavern filled with swallows 

Dale heading up his first route of the trip

The following day meant heading off to the grey slabs of Turon via the small traditional village of Ardales. We picked up some supplies mostly importantly some extra beer, Bacardi and large globe shaped bottles of wine. The walk into the crag crossed an area of farmland, followed by a combination of bushwhacking through tall thin spikey leaves and stumbling over hidden rocks. The first route scaled a smooth grey slab section where trusting my feet was the only way to make progress. I pressed and twisted my toes hard into small indentations and run my hands slowly across the sun baked surface to find anything to provide enough friction to enable upward movement. The sun continued to draw higher in the sky, baking us in the open area beneath the crag.

Grey slabs of Turon

My first 6b route right in the middle of the shot

I ventured out with Dale and Chris to a slightly more shaded area on some steeper and more strenuous terrain. Dale soon moved effortlessly up a technical and pumpy 6b, which I made the mistake of pulling the rope down after he was back on the ground. This required me to venture out to try and complete my first 6b, if I'm honest I didn't have much choice as most of my quickdraws were hanging from the bolts above. I tied in feeling the tension building in my stomach as I then pulled up to clip the first bolt. Each move higher I constantly focused on my feet to propel myself upwards as the strain on my arms grew, every clip meant shaking fingers as I fumbled to connect the rope to the wall. The last move tested my nerve as I stretch up and clipped the final bolt knowing a fall would send me tumbling onto an uneven and sharp edged face. But instead the rope fell into place and relief fell over me as I was lowered down to the ground.

Jon making new friends

Amptrax

The sky was still dark as I made my way upstairs to meet the other guys attempting Amptrax. A seven pitch route up a huge limestone face over looking the town and hydroelectric reservoir that was feed from the gorge. I was teamed up with Dan for the day and we were elected to head off as the leading group. This was my first time on a steep multi-pitch route of this length and it soon became apparent after mauling my way up the first steep and fairly strenuous pitch it was going to be a long day. I reached the final bolts of the pitch and set up a hanging belay and lent back into mid-air with nothing but two bolts and a length of rope supporting my weight. I began pulling rope up coiling it as tidily as possible over my legs. As I looked down to watch Dan moving off up the route below me, I noticed the low morning light rising and piercing its rays down the valley behind us. The early light flowed like gold coating the tree canopy below me, forming a golden carpet of leaves and beams of light erupted from the valley head between the huge towering limestone crags.

The route continued unrelenting as we soon began to bake exposed in the heat of the Spanish sun, sucking the moisture from our skin. As I reached the last pitch I began to cramp up with this loss of fluid. I had to grit my teeth and pull on everything and anything to hand to get my aching, parched body up to meet Dan at the belay. My last challenge on the wall was leading out across a 30 metre traverse knowing that a fall at any point would lead to a huge swing down the face and a difficult recover back up to my current position. Each step around large budges sticking out the face caused my heart to stutter as I searched frantically to find a hidden foot placements to stabilise my weight.

Amptrax hidding behind the trees

The final scramble to the summit was pure joy and huge sense of achievement in reaching the top of such a famous route and to be on flat ground and remove my tight sweaty climbing shoes was just as good. The route back into the village saw us follow the wrong trail to the edge of a steep cliff, bushwhack through undergrowth and stumble upon someone's home craved into the rocky hillside. What a great adventure!

Dan admiring the view off the top of Amptrax

A real life Hobbit hole!

 

The beer in the rustic station bar had never tasted so sweet as we told the tale of the route to Jon and Guy, who had unfortunately not been so successful. The return to the villa was made all the better by yet another dip into the pool, before to our shock Alex had managed to invite two tall blonde Swedish babes back for dinner. Placing the pressure on Jon, myself and Chris knocked up a dinner fit for our sophisticated guests, a combination  of paella, pizza, pasta and a pudding of fruit salad and yogurt. Oh, and of course some more beer! 

Last light over the beautiful lake

The rest of the week continued as it had begun. Jon spending large periods of the time naked (often in public), Chris telling us secrets of his past that would have ashamed most men into silence, Dale having his hat soiled by Chris's penis and Dan going to bed by 10pm every night to get some beauty sleep (unfortunately with no prevail)! Then the rest of us taking the piss out of them. 

I remember my first beer!

 

The trip was rounded off with a dip in the Caribbean blue lake and eating our final meal of the trip watching the sun slide behind the huge limestone cliffs  we had spent all week clambering up. The low orange hue on the horizon glowing like a raging wild fire. Then as the sun light finally extinguished, the blackness above us develop thousands of pure white stars. What a prefect end to a superb trip, with a bunch of nutters and endless banter!
 

Dying light on the last night

Look at all these ugly mugs after our final meal