'Climbing with a Gin and Tonic in One Hand.....'

Shirley Smith

The story begins on a balmy evening in a villa, on the Costa Blanca in Spain. You know, one of those trips organised by Fred Smith that takes in luxury accomodation with a pool and ten bedrooms; not a real climbing holiday at all. That evening, after having eaten well and consumed vast amounts of alcohol, the discussion turned to our plans for the next day. It would be our last day and we wanted to go out on a high.

I had been climbing with my friend Christopher Hodgins (not a member of the MMC but his father, Malcolm Hodgins, has been for many years). Being very timid, I had spent the week on nothing but bolted sports routes. However, Chris had climbed a route in the Mascarat Gorge, on natural gear, with Bob Turner (prior to the Stanage adventure) and was eager to do more. Several ideas were discussed, when one 'Mr Sutherland' piped up with "Why don't you climb the Via Valenciannos on the Peñon? It's a multi-pitch route using your own gear". I could see Chris' ears prick up, and I suddenly got that churny feeling in my stomach. You know the one you get when fear comes running your way. Following much discussion and persuasion I said "See how I feel in the morning". Needless to say, I didn't get a lot of sleep that night.

For those who are uninitiated to Spanish climbing, the Peñon de Ifach is a large lump of limestone that juts out from the end of Calpe harbour. I, being an inexperienced and rather nervy climber, was not happy with climbing something so high and scary.

Anyway, the next morning we arose to another day of bright blue skies and gathered around the breakfast table.

"So, what's this Via Valenciannos like then Bill?" I said.

"Oh, its easy. You'll walk it. No problem. The first pitch is a scramble, steep, but not difficult. The second pitch is a short traverse. Then for the third pitch you'll need two hands free. One to brush the bushes back and another to hold your gin and tonic as you stroll across! Then comes the hard bit. It's graded 4 but it's so polished it's a bit harder than that; but you'll get up it. Once you've got past that, it's a walk in the park - two nice pitches on a slab and a scramble to the top. Bingo! You're there, and you can walk past the tourists down the path. No problems, listen to 'Uncle Bill', do it!"

I found myself hesitantly saying "Okay then I'll give it a go" (as I was having visions of being rescued from a precipitous ledge in a yellow helicopter).

So, Chris and I found ourselves at the foot of the climb. Blazing sunshine, beautiful sea below. Then a seagull opened its arse on my head. 'Bloody birds' I shouted, and Chris laughed; "It's lucky to have a bird shit on you, that's a good sign". Looking ahead I noticed six Germans laying down their beach towels, and roping up to do 'OUR climb'. 'Oh hell', we thought. 'They'd better not hold us up, we've got a flight to catch'. Chris considered the more difficult Diedro U.B.S.A. to the right. I didn't. I was having kittens about the easy route! We decided to wait, and settled down in the sunshine, dodging the artillery of crap from the birds above.

By the time we started off on the route I was really nervous. Dry mouth, dodgy stomach, the lot. So Chris led up the first pitch. Bill was right, it was a scramble and I followed up, no problems. Then I took over for the second pitch and placed my first ever bits of gear. Very shoddy they were, but they had to do. I went straight through, onto the 'Gin and Tonic' pitch and thought 'Yep, Bill was right about this too' as I forced my way through the brush. I belayed, and up came a smiling Chris, exclaiming niceties about sunshine and fantastic views. I was trying not to look down! Instead I scrutinised the next pitch, the crux, and thought; 'I think I'll leave that one to Christopher'. As he ice-skated up the polished bits, a few mild obscenities were muttered, but nothing too bad. Then the air turned blue as I slithered, slipped and swore my way up it with a few pulls from the other end of the rope!

Anyway, once that was passed things just got better and better. The final two pitches were beautiful. Lovely sharp little holds on a gently angled slab. I was really enjoying myself and thinking 'I'm so glad I did this, it's gorgeous'. Christopher, from his belay above me, was blinking into the bright sunshine shouting, "You'll love it up here the view's fantastic". I clambered over the edge. There was a sharp intake of breath as I spotted the drop down into the harbour below. I don't know if it was the beauty of the sight that made me gasp or the exposure! I crawled along the ledge and we took it in turns to scramble our way to the top. On topping out I had my first climbing adrenaline rush. Wow! We did it, that was fantastic. Better than a gin and tonic any day", and I was hooked.

Two members of the Karabiner Club who had climbed Polvos Magicos (Spanish 6a) topped out at the same time as us. They had taken a few pictures of us and vice-versa. So we exchanged addresses and shared in the delight at being in such a beautiful place, before making our way back into the town below.

In the town, Chris vanished, and moments later reappeared like a shining angel, with four ice-cold San Miguels. We sat in the harbour and drank them, savouring the moment, before dashing off to make the airport run.

Via Valenciannos was a beautiful end to a fantastic holiday. It was a wonderful introduction to 'proper' climbing. That night, back in my own bed, I dreamt of little limestone holds and a time I could be there again.....(And not a mention of snakes anywhere, Fred!!).