by Marian Birkett

What do I remember about The Castle? Well it’s people, days out climbing, for instance days with Dave, well known for his enthusiasm for climbing anything, anytime although preferably a traditional route on Kinder. If it’s a vegetated chimney and it’s just starting to rain, well that’s approaching Nirvana. The ideal route description might be, “Climb straight up for 200 feet with much botanical interest a fine ten foot chimney then leads to the top. First ascent 1892.”

One day Rosie, Dave and I headed for a Peak District equivalent: short, insignificant and green, on some boulders which think they’re a crag. Yes, the in famous Rumble Groove on Carl Wark. Not heard of the route? You’re doing well if you’ve heard of the crag!

Dave and Rosie had though, in fact it was Dave’s third attempt at this route. He had spent several hours pitting his strength and skill, definitely in that order, against the rock it’s that sort of route , retreating with bruised arms, legs, ego, everything. Today would be different.

We approached the crag. Crag, did I say? I noticed some rocks huddled together. “That’s Carl Wark,” said Dave. " Rumble Groove is well over to the left there.” “Oh, really?” “It’s super. A real classic.”

I tried to sound enthusiastic but failed miserably. We uncoiled 150 feet of rope, 130 feet of which was totally unnecessary. Peak District climbing is like that: crags that are too short, ropes that are too long and, as we were to find out, cracks that are too wide.

Dave tied on and Rosie belayed, so I was free to escape from the midges and to wander about looking at the groove from different angles none of them in the least encouraging. I hadn’t seen Rosie for a while and we chatted whilst Dave grunted. After half an hour we’d caught up on all the news after an hour we were dragging up insignificant crumbs of gossip.

Dave was struggling. First there’s a wide crack leading up left. The jams are painful, insecure, slimy and the crack overhangs slightly: a gritstone climber’s paradise! Standing on a rock at the foot of the crack starts you off. Then you must lurch onto the holds on the left slight indentations in the vertical rock and power your way up the green crack.

The first runner is quite low, only useful if you fall off the first nine inches of climbing and have an attentive second. A number forty two hex would have been helpful higher up but Dave had left it at home. I suggested wedging two hexes together or passing up a large stone to jam in the crack I thought the latter might appeal to his traditional inclinations. But he’d had enough.

He’d lost count of his attempts to get off the ground and offered me the rope. Now I can’t resist a challenge and certainly this was one. However, I am a coward and my first priority is always to get a runner above my head well, even one a bit higher than the last would help. Somehow, to hurt yourself falling off a “Classic Rock” route on Cloggy or Gimmer might be acceptable, but to fall off a boulder near Carl Wark, well the indignity of it all.

So with much ingenuity and a lowering of ethical standards this was a traditional route after all I slammed a Friend in as high as I could. This superhuman effort reduced me to a quivering jelly, wobbling back next to Rosie. I quickly returned the rope to Dave after Rosie had refused it she’s got more sense! With the confidence of another runner and fresh from a good rest, Dave attacked the rock with daring spirit. We gave him lots of encouragement by pointing out that we had only five minutes left before we were off home and suddenly, to our great surprise and consternation, he was cheering from the top. Oh no! That meant that we’d have to do it.

I went next. After an interminable fight in the crack, leaving it dripping with blood, I emerged secretly vowing never to let Dave pick the route again. Rosie went next, the fastest ascent yet.

Our attention was then drawn to the only other route on these boulders, Green Crack . A similarly attractive climb, its name being most descriptive a green, slimy, rounded crack. They gave me the rope and, teetering and complaining, I reached the top. I was surprised when they declared it twice as nasty as Rumble Groove . So if you’re wanting to reduce someone’s enthusiasm for grit, I thoroughly recommend a day out somewhere near Carl Wark. As for climbing with Dave… you have been warned!