The Jacket Debuts
I had desired the jacket for a long time. I’d been in and out of the shop trying it on many times but hadn’t been able to push myself over the line and buy it. It was nice, but pricey, it was one of those new styled soft-shells that look smashing and apparently work just as good as a daggy raincoat. I could afford it, in that I had the money in my pocket, but I couldn’t afford to buy it, not like it, and then buy something else.
It was the death of my father that triggered the purchase. The shop was conveniently located in Glenbrook, so I could easily just wander in when I was there for something else, which I did one day shortly after his funeral. I tried it on, again, looked in the mirror, and just thought – you know what, I’m buying it. The shopkeeper who’d been convincing me of the merits of the jacket and had lived with me through my prevarication made a little relieving laugh as I handed over my credit card.
Not long after the purchase I headed south to Victoria for a climbing trip. I had forked the aim of this climbing trip to Arapiles to include some time in the Grampians, a place I had not yet climbed at but had wanted to for many years, lured by the stories of long easy naturally protected multi-pitch climbs.
Sitting in the café at Halls Gap, having driven most of the day before and again this morning, stopping only for a quick kip where we rolled our sleeping bags out on the side of the road, I asked Pete – what was the purpose of this trip, what was his aim, what was he hoping to do: “To explore your inner anxieties”. My gut became slightly unsettled.
We played on a few short bolted climbs not far from Halls Gap that day, and then camped rough in a car park below the cliff we would climb the next day so we could make an early start.
The Grampians are a bunch of jagged hills that break the monotony of the western plains of Victoria. Atop the hills sit striking sandstone cliffs that are attractive to look at, and when on them offer superb views of the surrounding countryside.
Once we had both reached the ledge at the end of the first pitch of climbing it was possible to see far to the east. In the distance was the unmistakeable shape of a storm front rolling towards us.
“What do you reckon?”
“Yeah, it’s a storm.”
“Thoughts?”
“Might rain later.”
“Hmm, how much later.”
“Dunno, let’s go for it I reckon.”
“Alright, but you’re doing the leading if it rains on us.”
“Done.”
Rockclimbing enjoyed a brief spell in the sunlight years ago where much was made of the possible transference of the risk-assessment skills developed by climbers into the corporate world. If ever you are attending a corporate training course and the trainer invokes the wider decision making process used by climbers, be concerned and suspicious, for that decision making process contains a heady mix of hubris, agitation, ego, one-upmanship and desire.
We climbed on, actually, I climbed on as it was my lead. Pete joined me on the next ledge and then led off.
Once he had finished and I started up after him, it started spitting; I climbed quicker, and joined him at the end of the pitch. We hurriedly put on our raincoats. I don’t particularly like climbing in the rain, no one does, and I’d seen that storm front across the plains, and continued on; but I had my brand new super duper jacket with me, and all Pete had was his 20yr old torn in places lightweight mountaineering shell.
Now it was raining. I leaned back away from the cliff, weighting the gear placements that made up the anchor and belayed Pete as he led off, in hammering rain. No bolts to clip here, no rings, all the protection must be placed, in the rain, that gathers on the rock face and runs down the cracks that we were using as features to climb on and place protection in.
By the time I started up we had suffered a thorough drenching. My new jacket was no longer the smashing stylish jacket you throw on to run from the car through light mist into a café in the mountains. The jacket had absorbed rather than repelled the water and now resembled a terry towelling dressing gown last seen in caravan parks in the 1970’s. It both clung to me and hung off me, frustrating any movement I made, and beneath it I was completely saturated.
How was Pete doing – I didn’t ask.
Pete asked how I was doing – I didn’t tell.
We topped out, and as it always does in these situations, the rain eased, and then we walked off the top and back to the car, me trudging along wearing my pricey terry towelling dressing gown, having completed my first multi-pitch climb in the Grampians that I had spent years dreaming of.
Postscript
Upon returning home from the trip I emailed Mont Equipment and expressed my disappointment with their jacket, and how it had underperformed compared to my expectations. Through the ensuing correspondence we agreed that I had purchased the wrong bit of gear. Unrequested by me, Mont provided a replacement jacket of the type I should’ve bought, and being slightly cheaper than the jacket I did buy they threw in an insulated drinking cup, which I still have and works brilliantly.
