N.B. This was originally supposed to be published in the subversive counter-cultural "steer the wavering ship of the climbing scene by gouging a hole into it's hull" fanzine UFCK, but god knows what's happened to that so I'm posting it here. Given the nature of the 'zine I went for a deliberate and unashamedly flowery / OTT style of writing but at least it's not as torturous and po-faced the old Moles / Cookson "wannabe-Redhead" word-soup. Normal service / moaning may resume next time.
RITUALS
Runes align, signs condense out of the e-ther. A freshers' meet here, a send train there, maybe a bank holiday swarm. The portents push acolytes into directions both obvious and obscure.
Candles or maybe headtorches are lit, casting the dark into light and the surrounding world into darkness. Tomes are scoured and revised, the beauty being the message is hidden in plain view: Condensed paragraphs after main crags, hollow stars, sub-notes squeezed in before the next honey pot.
Attire is donned - Adidas instead of Arcteryx, Sports Direct instead of Sportiva, shiny consumerism will get caked in grimy chimneys and shredded on old barbed wire, so why bother. Similar are tools of the trade - crowbars and blades.
Acolytes are summoned to the chariot, an understated approach is recommended - V.A.Group instead of a #vanlife, a scruffy hatchback easier to squeeze in to corners, easier for locals to ignore. Fellow explorators are chosen according to enthusiasm or gullibility or more usually availability regardless of personality. A mascot or companion may provide resolve or moral fibre - 4 legs being preferable to 4 spinning rotors.
Belatedly, subject to the vagaries of lift-sharing, coffee-imbibing, and Google Map's willful obfuscations or indeed outright objection to the chosen destination, the temple may be approached. This is usually from a tangential angle - a rear assault may be optimal or just thematically pleasing for the team. Eyes must be kept open, there are auras to be discerned - greens and browns - as well as the existence of rock and stone, sometimes separate from the base earth, sometimes all too separate.
At the place of worship, rituals postures are settled into. Lying collapsed amongst rucksacks, kneeling in the dirt, scrying and scrutinising, squatting in nooks drinking tea and avoiding looking upwards at the horrific edifice.
Phrases are intoned to bring joy to the participants: "Why the fuck are we here instead of Malham?"..."Are you sure this bit hasn't fallen down?"..."I wish we had a pad party with us"..."We'll have to ab and clean it won't we?".
At last, excuses fade away before the mighty open-ended proclamation "Well we're here now...", and the suffering commences: flesh is torn in descent gullies and abraded in clefts, fingernails are chipped and worn excavating slots and mis-timing brush strokes, legs cramp up and numbify from prolonged abseils, all the senses are full of grit and moss and dust, torsos stiffen and corpsify as the ritual mercilessly extends and ropes must be held "One more go, I'll get it next time, I wish I'd brushed that fucking pocket"...
As the physical form is flagellated, the mind is set free from the shackles of convention - reliable descriptions, informative grades, conventional styles, hive mind shared knowledge, successful ascents.
Eventually enlightenment might be attained, but through more earthly pleasures. A soothing drive home, a hot bath, the relieving de-vegetation of clothes and crevices. And finally the dilemma of either smugly posting "Well who knows what THIS crag is then?" photos on social media and basking in the knowledge of obscurity, or defacing and destroying pages with a solemn vow never to attempt a farce like that again....and knowing that both choices are entirely correct.
...
As should be obvious it is about exploring esoterica which is what I was "commissioned" to write about, and mostly inspired by actually doing so with UFCK himself (and Pippin of course). In honour of that here's a few relevant photos, some of which have been posted before:
