Discussion: First Ascents Notes

First Ascents Notes

Martyrdom Training

by Jim Truscott

Fly-blown camels whose sores had to be emptied of maggots with a pint-pot, constipated camels which had to be relived by enemas administered through double-barreled shotguns, demented Afghan camel-drivers, and festering camel bites were just a few of the expeditions tribulations… By the time death reaches us, we shall not regret exchanging our present misery for that in which the weary are at rest. Peter Egerton Warburton 1873

It was December 2001 and Matt Rosser was clearly manic, intending to use his nemesis to his advantage. He had given up the grog, and had obviously built himself up into a frenzy in order to ensure success on our yet to be climbed directissima up Sophocles Pillar on Bluff Knoll. It was little wonder as it was twelve months since Matt had first rapped down the face on a 100-metre rope to scope out the route. It had also been four years since Bjorn Aikman and I had contemplated repeating Peter McKenzie’s original route, which zigzagged up the overhanging face. At that time we had trudged to the access chasm only to find that Bjorn had left his helmut behind. It was foolish to contemplate an ascent without a stack hat, although the precipitous face is largely free of loose rock. The Pillar had become something of an ogre since McKenzie in his inimitable style blasted up the major prow in December 1992 in just six and half-hours from the deck. In the intervening nine years, no one had dared repeat the route, which Peter had described as serious with minimal protection. Even Ron and Ronald Master had not been on the Pillar, choosing only to climb Sophocles, the lesser companion route on the left-hand side of the Pillar, which Peter had also put up in January 1992.

When Matt returned to the scene it was inevitable that our attention would return this classic Australian climb. We summonsed our courage and asked Peter McKenzie would he mind if we bolted a direct route through his original wandering line? Peter had turned to competitive road racing and he had no objection. We suspected he was happy that someone was actually contemplating an ascent. Peter had moved left and right several times to bypass the bottom roof and to locate protection on the front face. This wandering had taken four pitches. We planned to climb the roof and head straight up in three pitches; hopefully establishing a line which others would be prepared to repeat.

Our first near attempt in December 2000 was completed in scorching summer heat. I had just seen Vertical Limit at the movies and it had left me with a sickening feeling in the guts. I was little use to Matt as he rapped and jugged the routes several times to place the bolts. Even moral support was of little comfort to him as he and the rope often swung wildly in space some 300 metres above the burnt out scree slopes below. It was like being on Ozymandias but without a surrounding gorge. Matt himself became a bundle of nerves and neither of us had any stomach or energy to give it a go. The nonsuccess weighed heavily on our minds during the drive back to Perth and the months that followed. Had we taken on too much? We knew that the climbing was achievable and within our capabilities although the roof would absorb a lot of energy. Sure it was overhanging for a long way, but with the right headspace one could rest and do it cleanly.

Buoyed by the absence we returned in Easter with Ronald Master who had elected to aid the roof crack. All was going to plan until he stepped out of his etriers and slashed his hand open on some jagged edges of rock. There was blood everywhere so we retreated to Albany Hospital for some repair work. Neither Matt nor myself were in the mood to return so we head for some coastal granite to vent our remaining adrenaline. The months went by as overseas work and travel intervened to prevent a speedy return. We threw ourselves at boulders around Perth knowing that the Pillar would not go away. Information security was tight but we feared that the word would get out and someone would steal the route. We made a plan to return between Christmas and New Year and I headed off to China for work. It is amazing what a stress break does like this both physically and mentally.

As we drove down to the Stirlings, it was as if Matt had already mentally climbed the route. He was totally focussed like an Olympian and the endstate was clear, we would get up it. His demeanor was overwhelming, totally cathartic. I felt no nervous anticipation, rather strangeness and calm. Opting for a late afternoon ascent, we were ready to start by 2pm. The forecast was for a seachange and we knew that we had about five hours before dark. We allowed two hours for the roof and easily got thorough in an hour and half. Matt was on a roll and he cruised the second pitch casually calling out when he was at the crux. We were both soon standing on the surfboard, the airy belay that signals the end of 85 metres of overhanging climbing. Out forearms were okay and our headspaces were in good order. We knew we had it in the bag even when Bluff Knoll started generating its late afternoon swirling mist. We could hear other climbers just around the corner and we guessed that they must have been wondering which route we were on as well. When we topped out just a little after 5pm, it was almost as if one wondered what the fuss had been all about twelve months ago. The route had to be called The Mark of the Lion after the only man who had won the VC twice through supreme ability to calculate risks.

We camped at Waddy’s Hut below Marmabup rock in the Poronurups that night. Could it be possible that we would be able to knock this bastard off as well? Three years previously Harry Butler and I had launched ourselves up the arrow-like sliver on its unclimbed southern prow to find ourselves blocked by a an unprotected slab. Some of the Western Australian oldies must have been to this high-point before, but I could find no record of their attempts. At that time harry and I joined our climbing ropes to rap down from the top of the dome to recover our gear from the top of the arrow. Overseas work again intervened and we returned a year later with a drill to bolt the slab, only to find that it had no hammer action. This time Matt and I had a 100-metre rope, a drill and more bolts than Ned Kelly. The weather was blowing a gale but we had to do it. Surrounded by man-eating vegetation, access to Marmabup Rock requires a degree of determination and knowledge of the climber’s track. Reminiscent of earlier ascents we trudged up the climber’s track through the forest, our bodies starting to feel the effects of previous day.

It took no time at all to place the bolts although the southerly buster made for near exposure conditions for us and near-perfect flying for the eagle that soared continuously overhead. It seemed that every time I had been on Marmabup Rock, gale force winds were trying to knock me off the top. One can understand why the Aborigines who used to live in the area were always recorded as being miserable. But we had to do it, so I set off to regain my high point some seventy metres above the deck. Matt led through, with strong and gusting winds making every friction move a battle of force vectors. We called it The Fate of Abasalom after the namesake who got hung up in a tree.

Two new routes down and how many to go? We had no projects left so we scoured the out of date guide and old magazines for inspiration. There are a huge number of unclimbed faces in the Porongorups but all involved lots of bush bashing and we were in a lessening mood to be carrying our heavy gear through this scabrous scrub. We settled for Mount Manvat at the eastern extremity of the National Park. According to Ron Master, Mike Smith had been here before but there were no recorded lines. Its vertical east face stood out from Marmabup Rock and it beckoned a visit. A road and path now leads to the communications tower on its summit and it is amazing that it had not been climbed out. Resplendent in moss, the main wall will have to await some judicious route finding in better weather, and we settled for three short routes closely the tower. With one day to go we headed west to Mt Lindsay. It had been on my list for a few years, but it had never quite reached the top. We arrived at this most unusual piece of rough rock to find recent evidence of conquest. Even the classic arête had been bolted with carrots, proof that the word was getting around. At least I guess it was good to find that competition was alive and well in the West Australian climbing scene. How much better has it been than lounging in too great comfort at home. Scott of the Antarctic on his last adventure. We shall return.

Those were the days !