Mangurs†adh secre†s & traditions of trade.
Even Leo Houlding has made it out here in the past, leaving a healthy stack of hard & well approached lines in his wake. Given that climbing in the rain is fast becoming the style at Mangurs†adh, when my fingers heal over enough from the Cuillin gabbro, I'll see if I can stick with the growing tradition & skid, half out of control, up at least one project in a downpour. It's about never forgetting to play, not some onslaught for bigger numbers. It's about never becoming default in approach to the rock - never becoming purged of idiosyncrasy & inventive reaction. Climbing is vertical Parkour, the rock is theatre to an unlimited resource of body expressive. I've been stuck in this loop of saying, children move naturally - adults spend a lifetime forgetting how to. Be the exception... for years.
Well the other project will need perfect conditions, more than hellish commitment & buns of brightly coloured steel. Check out the spanky Hirundos. Brilliantly, the cuilidh ósda is perched perfectly above 58 Degrees North. You could almost belay from the wood burner in a freefall of cliff down to the sea...If in doubt, adding some v-grades to the house sized boulders further along is always going to be monster. Mangurs†adh has always quietly rocked, with its leaning gnarled stacs & awesome individual precipitous leaps into the void. I'm going to enjoy swapping a harsh mountain bivvi for the lush iniquities of the cuilidh ósda. Sleeping beside a crackling burner, while night waves boom out tidal rhythm through pitch darkness; & waking in fresh light to zip down & prep a line while the bacon cooks is tough on the soul you know...really...it is...
First up though & along the way, an obligatory tussle with the always awesome & vastly entertaining - Srooooooon Ulladale.
