A late season trip to Bregaglia, Chamonix and the secret gardens of Fontainbleu actually exceeded,expectations. Two weeks, a big red unreliable Audi, a Visa card and a shiny new guide book promised the usual incompetant and farcical trip we have come to get used to.
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A sun-kissed week of climbing on the perfect limestone towers of the Costa Daurada beckoned after finally getting fed up with the unreliable conditions Scotland kept throwing at us. For once things went perfectly well. Except for just the odd minor detail, of course...
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I am officially in love with Eskdale. Offering some of the best crags, the highest mountains, the longest and most spectacular routes, the friendliest pubs and campsites where you can have fires, it is difficult to come up with anything negative about the place. Oh, alright then, that stupid miniature railway is naff!
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It had to happen. I had avoided it all my life and when it came I was powerless to stop it. It was time to go climbing with motivated people. Chis had been trying for a while, and failed. Miserably. Alex and Dim, however, were a different matter. The destination was St. Just, outside Pensance, and the lads were raring to go.
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