Pembroke 2025

A return to St Petrox. Refer to A trip to Pembroke for the last time, in 2022. This is another CCCC trip, just me; D doesn't travel, E is oop North, and M is off Retreating. I wangle Friday off, and Monday is a bank holiday. As an innovation, I realise I can stop chez Mother over Thursday night, thereby breaking down the 6 hour journey into 2.5 on Thursday night, and 3.5 on Friday morning; so getting up at 5:30 and setting off a little before 6 I arrive at around 10. Now read on. Oh, pix: see Flickr as usual.

Friday: Giltar Slabs and Marble Arch

I'm directed by a WhatsApp pin just past Tenby to Giltar Slabs. I park by "the railway underpass" although it turns out that the station carpark would have been closer. Never mind, its a nice walk and a nice day. GPS trace.

Inviting, no? Pembroke is lovely in spring. Even with my slightly longer approach it is a quick walk-in. Meet up with Nick, Josie, James, and also Keith and Seb who are new to me, just as they're getting setup to ab in. We naturally pair up as N-J, K-J, and Seb with me; Seb isn't keen to lead and I am, so I do. Here's the slab:

It is, as you see, a main slab, and then a narrower slab to the right. And as you'll notice I got my drone out. The routes vary from D to VS and are all pleasantly enjoyable; on the right I do a nominally D Giltar Crack but by sticking to the center to avoid holds I up the grade a bit.

After a fair few climbs Keith suggests we look at Marble Arch for the situation, and indeed it's pretty good. Here we see him abbed in and setting up a hanging belay.

This does rather exaggerate the angle of the slab though. Closer. Here's Keith on the belay. After a gentlemanly will-you-will-I I get to lead it and do; we do the HS rather than the VS out.

Then we're done for the day, time to walk out; them straight to the station, me a bit further. Here's a range map. By happy chance we pass a nice chip shop in Jamestown, Jessie's Plaice, so that's dinner. And so back to the campsite; I shower and then setup the tent, by which time it is well past eight and all is quiet. Tom and Kirill have been to Mother Carey's I think; I'd like to go there in a day or two if the weather holds.

Saturday: vacillating, Stennis, and a walk to Bosherston

Saturday was officially slated for rain; indeed that's why so many of us came for Friday, since Saturday looked like it might be a wash-out. But while it is grey, and quite windy, it is dry. We'll go to... well, we vacillate. Cue yet another pic of Huntsman's Leap. Anything west facing isn't going to be good; Keith would like to try Myola but (a) someone is on it; and (b) it is an abseil into nowhere, seen from the top, and we're not too keen on that, at least in today's wind; and (c) we're three pairs. So instead we settle on Stennis Head. Initially we go to the east side to look at the traverse in to Maelstrom Chimney. I have vague memories of the disappearing platform, and am not keen on the rather vague "go around the corner and then up the chimney", since I know how bad I am at route finding. Later - when looking from the top at Nick finishing it - I realise it would have been fine. But anyway, leaving KNJ to the traverse (though J backs off), instead we head for the upper tier stuff. GPS.

So we - who is we? Me, Seb and James I think - do Highland Fling HS (here's someone else on it), Quickstep VS and North Corner VD, but the latter via the flakes on the R wall making it officially S and thus respectable. After that we wonder how the others are getting on. It turns out that Keith has topped out and Nick is just starting up the top pitch making for a nice pic; and of course you see that the corner is unmissable.

After that, I think primed by the expectation of rain, I feel I've done my climbs for the day, so I decide to go for a walk past Broadhaven beach and up by the lily ponds; back to the St Govan's Inn where James is having a half; and a bit later the others come along to take us back.

Soir: into Pembroke for a curry at Mehfil's, where we went last time; well, it is the only curry house in Pembroke. The food is still decent but they no longer have a liquor license - though you can bring alcohol in - and don't do lassi; and there's a certain amount of chaos and slowness, with comedy about deliveries in the background.

Sunday: Range West: Pen-y-Holt bay, and walk back via Stackpole

To the Range West briefing, since it is on. Summary. You can't miss the base, there are two enormous tanks outside: a Leopard and a Chieftain. The briefing is very much pro-forma and exists for no reason other than a bureaucracy's love of such. We park at the inter-range carpark; hello again, Green Bridge of Wales. We'd like to do Western Walls but they, errm, face west and there is a strong west wind so that seems a poor choice; Keith leads us out initially to consider Bulliber - no, and looks unappealling to me - and then Pen-y-Holt bay. This takes about an hour's walk, pleasant enough though into the wind. GPS,

Here we are looking back east from the grassy scoop leading down; in the distance the stack, and the triangle of Cabin Door, which we'll climb on. Note for the unwary: Cabin Door is tidal, as we were to discover.

When we're pretty well there NJ head back, but we intrepid four push on; T+K are at St Govans being bold. Of which slightly more anon. Anyway, across the beach - boulders - to the Cabin Door. The rock around is mostly disappointing in that it is nice big overhanging chossy blocks; but Cabin Door, and the face behind it, is more compact. Unfortunately the face behind is only nice to 95% height, the last 5% is rubble then soil, so I think if you want to climb it you'd be better off abseilling in and using the rope as pro for that last 5%.

Cabin Door is full of "nautical" names such as Black Pig and Seaman Staines. Keith leads the "inset" slab on the left (east) face, Simon the Bar Steward S; and we discover that the very top is a bit loose; and there's no tat. Fortunately the scamble down the far side is trivial. I lead Seaman Staines, how could I not, a lovely thin HS 4a on the central slab, which is bigger than it looks in this photo. See Keith's photo here. Sadly none of this area is in my Rockfax app. Keith then lead The Black Pig, the obvious crack on the left of the main face, and at this point it was rather noticable that the tide was coming in. Oh err. I moved his shoes higher up, and raced up as fast as I could, and we hastily scrmabled down from the top and just about got round, traversing above the little rock pool you see here, before the tide got to us. We then also hastily packed up our gear and headed off, I  - after a little thought - not waiting for the others, as in the event of problems it was going to be more useful to have at least one person at the top. But, although Keith got wet feet, we did just about get out OK.

Here is the retreat from  Moscow. This section is safe; it's the pinch point just before Cabin Door that you have to get past. Anyway, after that we walked back, most of us feeling that was quite enough excitement for the day. Keith was itching though; he showed us the marker for The Abseil Hole; and we had a look down. But not for today.

I decided to walk back some of the way; Keith dropped me at the corner and I went down to the Stackpole Estate and walled gardens; GPS.

It is all very lovely, especially on this sunny day; and very pleasant to relax over an only-just-in-time-after-closing cup of tea. Whatsapp says that N+J are heading home; I can understand this, it is all quite full-on. We also discover that Kirill has fallen at St Govans on The aptly named Butcher; happily whilst he is bruised and gone to A+E for precautionary scans, he and Tom join us at the St Govan's Inn for the evening meal.

Monday: Newton Head and elsewhere

What will the day bring? Somewhat unexpectedly, not rain, at least not immeadiately. This rather throws out my plans: I'm feeling a bit battered; not seriously, but I have various minor wounds on my hands and don't feel like anything serious. After some thought we pack tents up and go for Newton Head upper tier, which is close and friendly. GPS. Wx is grey with threatening cloud out to sea; the rain can't be long but for now it is dry but still windy.

With Kirill out Tom joins us; and we re-pair as him+S; and me-K-J. Here we have Keith on Bridge Cracks HS, and Tom on Left-Hand Crack VS. Bridge turns out to have a steep section just above Keith's head on smallish hold before relenting; really it is all fine I'm only being weak. After seconding that, I say my good byes and head off, after a "survivors" photo: L to R: Tom, Kirill, Keith, James, Me, Seb.

I have only vague plans. I end up having a look around Bosterston church, then driving down to Stackpole Quay which offers a nice National Trust cafe; a little sit down over a coffee is welcome. From there, walk over to Barrafundle Bay and look around. GPS. Nice; you could probably even climb there. Various families beaching, but not crowded since it is a twenty minute walk across.

And then a token visit to Freshwater East; GPS from carpark to beach. But while it is a nice wide sandy beach, we're now out of National Trust territory into something more like caravan park lands, so I don't visit the village. Instead, to Pembroke; by now it is raining. Coffee and cake in the games cafe; a look around the castle and then drone it; and then I'm about ready to head for home. I have a look at Carmarthen but don't see anything interesting and it is quite rainy; so head home, via coffee with Ma. Looking at the map, now, I think I intended to take the A40 ENE out of Carmarthen rather than the A48 ESE, and had I done that might have gone through Hay-on-Wye; I'll try to remember for next time.

Book review: Mrs McGinty's Dead

Another Poirot. Mrs McGinty, uninteresting charwoman, has been killed and her equally uninteresting lodger has been convicted, but Inspector Leopard of the Yard isn't happy and calls in Poirot. Who discovers that Mrs McG had noticed an article in the local rag about famous old murders in a where-are-they-now style about related persons, and so we then have suspects: people who, thirty years ago, might have been in one of four photos. After this point I got somewhat lost in who all these people were, and towards the end had lost the will to care, though I was still happily reading along: it is all quite engagingly written. Wiki has the details.

At one point Poirot shows the photos to a group of people, one of whom recognises one of them, but is then rather backwards about saying why, and decides to invite <someone> round to coffee that evening. Aha, sez I, she's going to get killed too; and lo and behold she is indeed bumped off on schedule. This happens pretty often in Poirot novels, so much so that you'd have through Poirot would have noticed the pattern by now.

In the end it turns out that Evelyn can also be a boy's name, and so the cocky young son, Robin - which can also be a girl's name - dunnit.

Refs

* Agatha Christie sketch.

Book review: the Mysteries of Udolpho

This book is as famous as a weasel, though by no means as slender, weighing in at 672 pages in my edition. We have owned it unread for decades; I suspect M of originating it. Were one to subtract from it all those passages wherein the heroine mopes, sighs, faints, bursts into tears and generally indulges in fits of melancholia it would be a much shorter book. But I do not think we should blame her; it is clearly the behaviour expected of a gentlewoman of the period.

Wiki says The Mysteries of Udolpho is a quintessential Gothic romance, replete with incidents of physical and psychological terror¹: remote crumbling castles, seemingly supernatural events, a brooding, scheming villain and a persecuted heroine; this is fair. This review says it is the second classic Gothic novel, the first being Horace Walpole's Castle of Otranto (1763), which is better mostly because it's much shorter, which is defensible.

The plot is fantastical in many respects; one in which I think it is not deliberate is her geography; I think she has only the haziest notions of the regions that her characters traverse. The most obvious is that on quitting the Pyrenees somewhere near T(h)oulouse, the party goes through Arles, before returning to the region of Beziers; you see the problem of course. Of slightly more concern is the way her characters cannot traverse a mountainous region without encountering ridiculous precipices and the like; and can never find shelter at the end of the day, but are obliged always in the gloaming to pick their way through forests or whatever and end up in a bandit's hideout.

In accordance, or so I assume, with the sentiments of her time, peasants when encountered at the end of day willingly give up their beds to gentlefolk, and of course are to be found dancing and singing in the evening light while eating enticing repasts of fresh fruit and the like.

There are some slightly odd legal loopholes, because the things described are not real things but plot-drivers. So, Montoni (an Italian) inherits from his wife (a Frenchwoman) when she dies; yet he could provide no evidence of her death (which occurred in the Italian mountains) in France, and does not ask - as he quite reasonably could - Emily (a Frenchwoman) to write a paper witnessing the death.

The plot, and the events, and the remote castle Udolpho, and the remote abandoned chateau, are all there to make your flesh creep and to sigh in sympathy with Emily and the sad turns of fate that prevent - or rather delay - her happy marriage to Valancourt. Once they have served their purpose they are no longer needed, and there is a curiously brief unwinding at the end, where the usual long digressive speeches are discarded in favour of a brief here's-how-I-stuck-it-all-together kind of plot outline, which bizarrely resembles the end of an Agatha Christie where Poirot goes through all the subtle clues you missed. The smugglers-making-spooky-noises-so-people-think-it-is-haunted is eerily reminiscent of Scooby-Doo, but never mind.

Of the supernatural: much of the "terror" comes from exploring-crumbling-castles-at-midnight kind of stuff, but some of it is from Ghosts and Ghoolies. She - being a good Christian - naturally explains most of this away in arrears; I think only a few things remain, like Montoni's cup breaking due to poison.

Enough poking holes: I did read it, and enjoyed reading it, though I confess to having skipped most of the poetry and towards the end quite a bit of the emoting. I suspect, though, that I won't read another. The writing is of better quality than most moderns, though most will find the scenery over-described. Having characters with moral scruples is refreshing.

Notes

1. My favourite example of this is Emily discovering, behind the black veil, something so terrible that she faints - and we aren't told what it is. I think this is probably a plot error - the author had intended to come back to it, but forgot, so it gets cleared up in the big-reveal-at-the-end: it was just a wax figure of a corpse being eaten by worms. The oddity then is that the next time she comes to this door it is locked - so we are lead to expect something interesting. But now we know what it is, there's no longer anything to explain why the door would be locked.

New hat

It really doesn't get much more exciting than this, though New gloves / mitts ran it close.

This was a "SEALSKINZ | Kirstead | Waterproof Extreme Cold Weather Hat | Fleece Lined | for Outdoor Adventure | Protects Against Wind & Rain" available as both V1 and V2, so I got both, since it is nice to have a spare.

Indeed I thought I had a spare, until I lost the (Fjallraven) one I've been wearing for a while.

For once, I got the "large" version, though even that still feels a bit small.

Update: almost immeadiately, I lost one of these, I think the V1. But, just now, I found the old one (in Queens'), welcome back old friend. It is a Fjallraven Singi Field Cap, made of  G-1000.

Book review: Helliconia Winter

Part three of the Helliconia trilogy by Brian Aldiss; now re-read after an interval of decades. I like it; it is well written and has a sweep and grandeur that most other books lack; the characters are real people.

Quick situational precis: the small sun orbits a big sun, leading to a Great Year of ~1.8kyr; we're heading into Great Winter; crops start to fail, the ice advances; the phagors grow bold.

We start with a young man joyfully arising after a long illness; leaving home and going into battle; the (northern) Sibornalese throw back the (tropical) Campanlatians; but then the settlement they've just defended is abandoned as no longer viable; and the returning army is itself destroyed because it may be carrying the Fat Death; and anyway, there are too many mouths to feed. So, I like that: the battle - nicely described - is multiply pointless and one gets a sense of people moving in the grip of inexorable forces.

The animals - hoxneys, yelk - are well imagined, as is the vegetation and the sweep of changes is managed much better than other efforts. The gossies are lovely, and the sinking into the Original Boulder which has become the Original Beholder, is excellent. The phagor equivalent of becoming keratinous, ditto.

The one obvious criticism I have is that the refuge of law-n-order is in their Arctic. It would be more plausible in the tropics. I really don't see surviving five centuries of darkness on fish as believable. Further, the natural thing to do for the northerners would be to invade the tropics.

Trivia: the Great Wheel is a lovely idea but it is hard to see how it could have been buildable.

The sub-plot of my-father-turns-out-to-be-the-oligarch feels unnecessary to me; it detracts attention from the sweep of the story. I'm also doubtful it could work. Also, if the oligarch is anonymous, why does it matter much if he is killed? Just replace him with another and don't tell anyone.

Oh yes and the twin sub-plots of Avernus and Gaia, which are both used to make commentaries on Helliconian and Earth mores, don't work for me; and the Gaian cod-philosophy would be better omitted.

This just makes it into my "top tier", for sweep-of-vision, quality of writing, and general inventiveness.

Peaks 2025: Stanage and Froggatt

Another bank holiday, another Saturday in the Peaks. D and I drove up, and met E in the cafe, she having trained down from Durham. Per immemorial tradition^{1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6} we started at Stanage; then back for lunch and after to Froggatt. In a certain sense it would have been better the other way round, as the afternoon was sunnier and warmer; but never mind. Since the Peaks are now - happily - becoming quite standard I didn't take too many pix; see here. I only traced Froggatt: GPS. We came up the way we should have gone down, for Sunset Slab. There's a drone video of D on Wright's Route, and the Edge in general. My logbook has our routes.

Anyway, to Stanage Popular. Opening the back of the car the children naturally ask where their harnesses and helmets are; I realise that like an idiot I have just thrown my "going climbing" stuff in the car, but that dates from Cornwall. So we do have two harnesses (but a long sling suffices for seconding), but only one helmet. D doesn't really care and E only wants a hat so she gets my purple Roku one; this is fair enough, in the Peaks. We went a fraction further left than before. I lead Flake Chimney HVD which was nice, even if I did go in and grovel in the crack. E followed "inside"; D then did the "outside" S variant (by me pulling the rope up and over the chock). Then D top-roped Hybrid E1 5b (HVS in the old guidebook). And then led Wright's Route VS 4c, which involves a harder-than-it-looks-from-the-ground move right at half height. During that, I flew the drone, then seconded it (as did E, with some effort).

At lunch, E bought a chalk bag and D thought it finally time for a harness, so for the afternoon we conveniently have three. After lunch, to Froggatt. Just like last time the weather and the light was lovely.

We started off at Tody's Wall area. I lead Silver Crack HS 4c but I think we all found that grade a touch ungenerous if you're not used to jamming your body into cracks; even D was forced to put in some effort and E distinctly more.; but it is a great route. There isn't a lot of gear, and the two bomber chockstones are quite hard to reach and use. There's plenty of time to look out at the steepening of the top wall of Todycade as you slowly thrutch up. Rockfax says "The crack on the right-hand side of the slab is a widening thrash, recommended for those who feel like a punch-up" which seems entirely fair.

Then D top-roped Todycade E1 5a (which is the direct version of Tody's Wall HVS; the top above the hard move has no gear just vague pockets; Tody's Wall instead gets you a crack to use). The "step up" is quite hard; D is straining to reach and he is on tip-toe. The top is steeper than it looks from here. He didn't quite fancy leading it; that was perhaps fair as he isn't that used to placing gear, and the step-up is quite dramatic.

Then we moved over left fifty metres or so to Sunset Slab area, because E wanted a D to do her first lead on; so that was Slab and Crack, which is a nice little protectable Diff, that I seconded. Oh, and then there was the amusing descent under the chockstone.

And so we finished, all feeling well used, at about quarter to seven I think. And drove to Mother's.