MESSING WITH THE MISTRAL IN THE MED

A guiding trip to Sardinia results in Cubby reviving his seafaring skills, meeting old friends, coming at close quarters to Madonna, hearing some interesting revelations from his client and last but certainly not least climbing some great rock.

As we sat down to eat that night in the warm Mediterranean air with the sound of the waves breaking on the beach, I was aware of a voice that was vaguely familiar. Just as I was about to take a mouthful of my focacia, a rat scurried up the alleyway adjacent to the terrace that we dined upon. "Rat sandwich," I thought.

Yvon Chouinard told me a brilliant story about John Cunningham eating a rat sandwich at "The Ville" in Glencoe. Well he didn't really eat a rat sandwich but when an over curious National Trust for Scotland warden knocked at the door of the Creag Dhu hut, Cunningham answered it with a rat slung between two slices of white bread to scare him off. Apparently it worked! Chouinard howled with laughter as he told the story.

Isn't the climbing network amazing like that? It was my first trip to Sardinia and who should be sitting next to me but Yvon with his wife and friends. They had just returned from climbing the Aguglia di Goloritze, a needle of rock almost 600 feet high, towering above a remote beach to the south of Cala Gonone.

The Aguglia di Goloritze has become symbolic of rock climbing in Sardinia and I suspected that it would be high on David's agenda for the week. Tales of smooth, holdless limestone, sustained 7a, monster lobs and much pulling on slings left a lump in my throat. David's eyes widened by the second. Not bad for a 6b+ I thought. We swapped conversation, which eventually ended with Yvon asking me to say "hi" to everyone in Glencoe.

I was kind of hoping that David would go for Kos in Greece but the recent article on Sardinian climbing that appeared in Climber Magazine was the deciding factor.

I'm always wary of those who profess a sense of adventure in climbing. I'm not against it - it's just that personally speaking, climbing in itself provides more than enough adventure. I suppose everyone has their own idea of what adventure is, or should be. For some its aspiring to top rope a 4+ at the local climbing wall, while for others it's epic, white-hell death, survived to tell the tale stuff.

Whatever turns you on, everybody's individual interpretation of adventure depends to a great extent on when they started climbing, early influences and how they served their apprenticeship. When I started climbing in the early 70s, there was a great emphasis on doing multi-pitch climbs in the mountains. In fact, the longest climbs in the most remote areas and on the highest mountains, were always the style of ascents that received the most attention and respect. Thus the Himalaya became recognised as the ultimate.

"Aye, gymnastics and ballerina are one thing sonny but dae ye climb on the hill, wae loose rock and bad weather?" - a familiar attitude of that time. In many respects I was weaned on this sort of stuff and believe it or not, despite having participated in competitions and sport climbing, it is an influence that still nags at the back of my mind even today.

As a mountain guide, my most natural inclination is towards control, or at least not letting things get out of control as far as adventure is concerned. Easier said than done because, ironic as it might seem, fee paying clients want adventure.

So there I was, the most pumped I've been for a while, wrestling at the wheel of a 15 foot dingy, powered by a little 25 hp outboard motor. This was my first visit to Sardinia and I was here with a regular client for a week's climbing. I refrain from using the word "holiday" for as a guide, this is work though I hasten to add that it's as good as it gets. More importantly, David and I get on well together but he does like his adventures.

Like a scalded cat, David cowered in the belly of the dinghy. Occasionally he would peer over the edge to sneak a preview of the cavernous, rugged coastline but quickly retreated as I barked at him for upsetting the balance of the boat, which ducked and dived and tossed and turned in the Mistral. Water is not my domain, in fact far from it. But after listening to David's tales of his own boat epics, there was no way that I was letting him anywhere near that wheel!

I was annoyed with myself for giving in to his insatiable appetite for mini epics, as I had done so often in the past and all of course in the name of giving somebody a good time. I rather fancied the one and half-hour walk-in, which would have made a change to the five minute approaches we had sampled so far on the trip. The thing is David really looks after me and being greedy at heart, I can't resist fine wine and good seafood. However, at 6a+ I'm not burning up enough calories to accommodate the next gourmet food extravaganza. So you see, the walk-in did have some appeal.

For mid October there were surprisingly few hotels open in Cala Gonone. So having just arrived after a long day travelling, David booked into the first place we stumbled across in fear of an enforced doss in the car. Hotel Pop turned out to be an excellent choice with good rooms overlooking the harbour and if we ate at the hotel as well, our patron offered a further 10% reduction. In fact, he offered 10% off just about everything! So Ten Percent, our patron became known, showed us to our room, rubbing his hands at another extended week for what would normally be a quiet time of year.

As an ex army officer, David was keen to catch up with the latest situation in the Middle East. "Cubby," he would say in his upper class, hooray Henry accent. "One can never be too sure but a situation such as the one in America could have a ghastly effect on the carrots." David is a carrot farmer from Perthshire and as the majority of his produce goes to the big supermarkets such as Safeway (an American company), he had every right to be concerned. We turned on the TV and scanned the channels - like you do.

More Anthrax scares. It's terrible to relate everything to climbing but the scare prompted me to ask the question, "have you ever climbed at Gruinard?" Gruinard is a spooky place on the north west coast of the Scottish Highlands, which for many years bore the legacy of a germ warfare experiment that took place after the Second World War. Only in the last decade or so has it been given the all clear from Anthrax.

"Well Cubby, I have but I'll tell you an interesting story," Dave replied. "With all this hype and the recent scares, I read a piece in the local tabloid that described Gruinard Island as showing signs of contamination with nothing growing there and how sinister the place is. Good Lord, David howled, these journalists do make me cross.

"Actually Cubby, I own the Gruinard estuary and Gruinard Island and my family and I have been picnicking there for years. It's a wonderful spot. Has Prince William been in touch with you yet Cubby? He loves the outdoors and I'm sure he would take to you." Who is this man I thought to myself. As the evening drew on it transpired that David had also inherited An Teallach from his great aunt, which he shared with his sister and as the outdoor enthusiast in the family the onus was on David to look after it. But unfortunately family pressure ultimately forced the sale of his favourite mountain.

Looking at the way David studied the pages of the guidebook to Sardinia, ticking routes and putting together a hit list for the coming week, you would never have thought that he was nearly 60 years old. Tall, lean and charming, David is a most likeable character and a capable climber, having led routes such as Inbred at Creag Dhu. Had he stuck with climbing in his younger days, I'm sure he would've been outstanding.

Even Chouinard complimented him on his climbing at the crag. Confidence though was always at an all time peak after a hearty meal and a bottle or two of the finest Sardinian dry white. "Damned polo," he would curse, "hope the old tennis elbow holds out Cubby," said David popping an anti- inflammatory before switching off the lights..."Cubby...sleep well".

When I woke up in the morning and looked out of the window, all I could see were whirlies surfing at high speed across the top of a rather choppy sea. The week so far had been still and very calm. Life's like that. On a day when it would have been nice to relax on a calm sea, the Mistral pops up and says "hi, have I got a surprise for you". I call it fate, repayment for having such a luxurious week. David organised the boat but it would not be ready till 10.30am and would have to be returned for 5pm. Allowing for an hour there and an hour back, it was going to be tight.

I once spent a summer creel fishing so at least had some experience at boat handling. My biggest worry was the motor breaking down, or a rough sea which I dreaded most of all. We hugged the coastline for protection where we passed by some fantastic cliffs and caves. Cala Luna and Cala Fuli, two popular and idyllic cragging venues were unfortunately monopolised by Madonna and a film crew, so climbing was out there. "Rather like Madonna," said David, humming "Like a Virgin" to himself, as the waves began to get more and more choppy.

The final third of the journey proved to be the worst as our little dinghy bounced and crashed on the not so small waves. Finally, with a sense of relief we rounded the headland into Cala Goloritze, which was nicely sheltered from the gusty wind. We lifted the motor and moored the boat and like two castaways on a deserted island we paddled ashore.

Set back from the beach, the pinnacle towered impressively above whitewashed boulders and translucent turquoise sea. The Aguglia was bigger than I expected. We wasted no time. I stepped up a gear and quickly dispensed with the first pitch. David I suspected had not seen this rather direct no nonsense approach in me before. 5+ the topo said. It was more like a slippery 6a. My sentiments confirmed when David slipped off seconding.

The next 5+ pitch was perhaps correctly graded but some suspect rock and the steep, almost dolomitic nature of the climbing added something extra. At 4+ has got to be the biggest sandbag I've experienced for a while. A steep grunt up a flared chimney and with no extra large friends on my rack, it looked like I was in for a challenging lead. But the eye of faith detected some chalk marks out to the left, which led to a solitary bolt.

Sure enough a line of hidden pockets led the way but the climbing was steep and impressive and where the holds petered out, I had to launch awkwardly back into the exit of the chimney. Thankfully, I only had to scrape my way up its few remaining moves. The belay was on the top of an impressive obelisk, the ambience of which was reminiscent of the Verdon. 6a+ were my thoughts!

David did well - especially since he opted for the uncertain security of the deep crack. "Cubby, well done...one felt the sensation of having been lodged in an elevator shaft. Bit of a bugga, never 4+." A line of pegs up a shallow peapod shaped groove indicated the way ahead - another 5+! "Okay David, just watch me on this next section."

I couldn't face the indignity of being seen to pull on the pegs, much that their proximity was very tempting. The pitch started with a stiff pull on a slippery finger jam and in a steep position, I placed a small wire. After that I could wedge my back in the peapod. Pockets out on the left wall suggested the key to resolving this impressive 5+ but a quick inspection revealed otherwise, sending out all the warning signs. I scurried back in to the security of the little peapod groove.

Tempted by an old 8mm bolt at my nose, I held on to my dignity, found a subtle hand jam in the back of the pod and after that it was plain sailing. "Surely 6b+, David just do your best," I said and ran the next pitch together. David did really well, "Lord Cubby, ones arms feel twice as long as they did before we started - 5+, a difficult pitch, very impressive. My God! There are some naked ladies swimming on the beach as well. Where now Cubby?"

"Well David, the next pitch is the crux - Yvon's 7a, monster lobs, much pulling on slings pitch." "Good God, if 5+ is anything to go by Cubby, then surely there won't be any holds at all." I had to admit to feeling slightly apprehensive but so far so good, as I worked my way up a pocketed jamming crack with plenty of protection. At a bulge, the crack splits to form an Y, presenting a choice of lines to follow but protection is easier to place in the right-hand crack so I stick with that. The jams are still good and I can bridge out between the two cracks.

I'm climbing this thing like a 7c+ but I'm soon on the finishing jug - "6b David, you'll be fine, it's easier than the last pitch". The sun was now beating down but David swarmed up the pitch without recourse to pulling on any pegs. Another 5+/6a pitch and we were on the summit. Handshakes all round, a mouthful of water and three abseils later we're back on the ground.

The boat fires up first time and we're back in Cala Gonone for ten to five, soaked as the Mistral hits our dingy broadside as we pull into the harbour. Looking at the strength of the wind the hire company greeted us with evident relief. It did feel like a little adventure!

Cubby
8/11/2001