A brilliant route.

From when this was on Rockfax...

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Well it’s not recent, but it was a great climbing experience. And the rain is lashing down again so why not recount it to keep morale up….

Desolation Row E2 5b ** (note these stars must be a mis-print!) Great Zawn, Cornwall.

This wasn’t the hardest route I did all summer. It wasn’t the most rewarding, nor the most meaningful. It wasn’t a route I’d been dreaming about. It wasn’t a route that had immediately inspired me. It wasn’t something I’d really planned to do. It was just there, and so was I, and so was Doug, and so was The King later on.

It was, however, utterly brilliant.

We were all down, hanging out in Cornwall during the Indian Autumn. The Pylon King, The Pylon Queen (containing then, The Pylon Prince), Doug, myself. And of course Fairfax. I had a flying visit past Lower Sharpnose (you know, the amazing fin-like Culm sea-cliff that you walk past the RADAR DISHES and COW HERD to get to), doing routes that were for me, hard, meaningful, inspiring etc etc. So I was in chill-out mode which suited the lazy campsite vibe, basking, drinking tea, swearing, playing with the campsite slugs, watching Doug trying to beat the world pasty consumption record, and occasionally venturing out to get spanked on the Cornish granite.

So this was one of those spanking days. Doug and I had managed an alpine start sometime between brunch and afternoon tea, and were sort of milling around aimlessly for a suitable venue. I’m sure I was trying to persuade Doug we needed to go do something hard and committing with a high chance of failure and equally sure he was justifiably dragging his heels in his sly way. So we sort of ended up at The Great Zawn, Doug with aspirations towards Xanadu and myself following The King’s hunch that Desolation Row might be worthwhile.

It all looked a bit ominous from the top, which indeed is The Great Zawn sales pitch. We mused on the options and decided to abseil down for Doug to inspect Xanadu and for me to do Desolation Row to warm us both up (a curious concept given that the gearing up point was sun-baked and the zawn bed was icily clammy). Xanadu looked utterly imposing from above, and to our mutual relief, entirely sopping close up. Thus Desolation Row was the route, and I was on the lead.

What can be said about it??

I think “perfection” sums it up.

The perfection that comes from combining many great aspects with brilliant climbing, and ticking all the essential pleasure boxes, that although aspects could be improved, to do so would merely be an exercise in turning the amp up to 11, or the stars up to 4.

A long single pitch of 40m, rising from the depths of an other-worldly zawn into the afternoon sun above. A natural line of least resistance in a distinctive setting. An intricate traditional experience of boldness and thought-provoking yet reliable protection. A continuous slab of delightful delicate climbing and several mini-cruxes interspersed with good resting holds. A culmination of challenge with a committing and technical crux right at the last move.

That’s not an exaggerated sales pitch - that’s the experience I had.

(And one The King had because he cropped up and I encouraged him to lead it so I could sit belaying philosophically in the dank below.)

So there you have it, climbing at it’s best, Desolation Row, go climb it next summer.