Check the Forecast
Climbing in the Wolgan rarely goes by without incident, and by the end of the day there’d be a season’s worth.
The cliff is visible and unmistakeable from the field at the end of the road, but we still managed to walk past it, engrossed in conversation as we were. There were three of us out today, due to me having been successful in tacking myself onto a trip I had overheard being planned earlier in the month.
Multi-pitch climbing is best done in pairs, adding another person increases the time required considerably, complicates the rope work and reduces the comfort factor, especially if the time between each pitch is spent hanging in your harness rather than sitting comfortably on a nice ledge. In spite of all this being known when I edged my way into their day I was welcomed overwhelmingly.
The cliff we climb today is broken in two by a large ledge running across most of it’s width. The bottom is rarely climbed, being of poorer rock than the top, with most parties walking further to the gully and then back along the ledge. That option not for us today, we climb a route almost directly below our main objective on the taller, upper cliff and discover why most choose to walk the extra distance: the route being sandy, poorly protected and harder than anticipated.
The start to the climb proper on the upper cliff begins with a section of awkward and thrutchy climbing off the ledge, including surmounting a short overhang. Only then is the line visible for miles reached: a clean crack that splits the impressive rock face. Our anchor points at the end of each pitch, and the protection in between, is provided only by the pieces of climbing gear we can wedge into this crack. Secure, to an extent.
By the time we had finished the first pitch on the upper cliff the weather had changed dramatically. Brendan, anchored a few metres below me, mistakenly uttered the regrettable words, “I think the storm might pass us by”. The storm cells had indeed been missing us, sliding to our left and right, creating a spectacular sound and light show in the valley, but leaving us dry.
There are times when I have no desire to be, ‘as one’, with nature. Nature at times can be a terribly powerful and destructive beast.
There are times when I have no desire to be ‘as one’ with nature, being as it can, a terribly powerful and destructive beast.
Picture one of those large kettle drums, of the type that sits right at the back of an orchestra. Imagine being affixed to the inner wall of one of the drums as the drummer thumps a disjointed rhythm. This is how it feels to be stuck on a cliff deep in the Wolgan Valley during a thunderstorm.
The darkened sky cackled with lightening above us, the thunder, resembling a beat of the drum, echoed off the cliffs surrounding us, and the rain poured down upon us. Our view obscured by the cliff above, it was impossible for us to forecast if and when the next storm cell would arrive.
Giles had almost reached the end of the pitch when the storm hit and we decided to retreat. With no fixed anchors to rely upon his only option was to lower off the highest piece of gear he had placed in the crack. As he lowered he removed the other pieces, but with the crack running diagonally across the face he would swing away from the crack after removing each piece. The constant swinging created the risk that the highest piece might shift in the crack, become loose and eventually dislodge, with Giles then falling uncontrollably to the large ledge below us.
By the time Giles swung in to meet me on the belay the storm cell was passing and heading down the valley, the rain was easing and shafts of light began piercing the clouds. Stuck on a cliff is the worst place in the world to be during a thunderstorm, but it becomes the best place once the storm has passed.
I love the mountains after a storm, the clouds and falling rain create a soft diffused light that is offset in places by the starkness and brilliance of the narrow shafts that pierce the clouds. The cliffs in the Wolgan have a mix of colours from bright white, tones of grey, yellow, orange and red, all of which are accentuated when wet, and made more dazzling by the mix of light.
“Giles, look at the light on the cliffs over there, it’s so beautiful after a storm.”
“Yes, Neil, I can SEE the %$#@ing cliffs, I can see the #$%@ing light, yes it’s #$%@ing beautiful.”
… to be fair, while I had rested on a secure belay paying out rope, Giles had swung back & forth across the cliff, to clean the climb and retreat back to the belay, at great risk, whilst I had merely suffered discomfort.
The emotional tension discharged, and almost entwined due to the nature of the hanging belay, there was really no choice but for the pair of us to laugh, and for one of us to enjoy the view ….
Brendan meanwhile had abseiled back to the large ledge using the extra rope we carried. Having joined him, we commenced the trudge back to the car.
Before we had even reached the descent gully, another storm hit, this one more fearsome than the last. There being no safe place to rest we scrambled down the gully through the most incredible booming thunder, blinding lightning and torrential rain.
Laughter amongst us returned with the three of us sharing the bench seat in the ute for the drive home as we recounted the day’s ordeals, until Giles exclaimed – ‘I thought you guys checked the weather forecast’.
“I did” said Brendan,
“So did I” I admitted.
“Were there no storms mentioned” Giles inquired.
“Yeah, these storms were forecast, but when you guys didn’t say anything about them, I figured you were happy to take the risk”.
The person you know as Gentleman Giles is not the person sitting next to me in the car right now ….
