The Fulmar

Paul Davis

Most climbing articles you read are about successes but days which are not "successful" in the narrow sense can often be just as enjoyable and successful in a different way. This is the tale of just such a day.

In July about 10 years ago Bill Sutherland, Dave Melville and myself decided to try Pentathol (the climb not the drug!) on the sea cliffs at Anglesey. I had climbed it many years before and my main memory of it was of a tricky move across a steep wall to a ledge. This was on the first pitch so I was a little relieved when Dave set off to lead this. He made such a good job of protecting it that he felt too tired to make the moves to the ledge so he came down and I set off, hurrying up the wall to avoid his fate. This paid off for after a few tries I found the right sequence of moves that enabled me to reach the jugs at the near end of the ledge. Screwing up my small reserves of courage I swung across onto them and I was soon standing on the ledge, surprised at how smoothly it had gone and grateful to Dave's preparation of the first part.

The rest, about 60 feet, of the pitch is mostly up a leftward-facing corner. It was, I seem to remember, quite sustained and so at first I didn't notice the Herring gull wheeling and screeching above, after all they aren't uncommon on sea cliffs. I swung out to the right at the top of the corner onto a small slab at the top of which lay the ledge, the belay and safety. Just as I swung onto the edge of the slab I saw The Fulmar. It was about five feet away occupying the near end of my belay ledge! Not surprisingly, its hours of quiet contemplation disturbed by my sudden intrusion, it shifted uneasily but surprisingly did not fly off. I shouted a few times but it still did not fly off. I waved a sling around my head and shouted but it still did not fly off, it just quietly stood, or rather sat, its ground. I suddenly sympathised with this courageous bird's predicament. There was only one thing to do; we would have to share the ledge! I was certainly not reversing that pitch!

One of the methods adopted by fulmars to defend their nests is projectile vomiting over the trespassers. Keeping my head down and making myself as small as possible I crept slowly, with no sudden movements, across the slab underneath the bird fearing it would explode into flight or vomit at me at any moment. Reaching the ledge I tied on and relaxed, amused at the situation; me and a fulmar both perched a few feet apart on a narrow ledge half way up a sea cliff.

I brought the other two up, one at a time, so that finally there was The Fulmar at one end of the ledge and 450 feet of rope and three people huddled three feet away at the other end! Whilst all this was going on the Herring gull was wheeling about and screeching. As each of the others had neared the top of the corner the gull had become very agitated and made frequent, screeching dives at them. It seemed to have a nest on a higher ledge above the corner, a ledge we needed to go along.

Bill climbed back below The Fulmar and started to lead the next pitch, giving a passable imitation of a helicopter with the aid of a long sling in an attempt to keep the angry gull at bay but it became too difficult to maintain this and climb and, not wishing to spoil our so far impeccable environmental credentials, he returned to review the situation. We had a discussion and finally decided we had better try and go down. And all the time The Fulmar sat there watching this carry-on around it, not budging from its spot.

Now we didn't know whether our ropes would reach sea level or terra firma nor did we know if the tide had covered the ledges we had used to approach the climb; all we could see a long way beyond the bottom of the small slab beneath our ledge was the sea. Bill was volunteered to abseil off first, protected by a top rope; well, he was on the sharp end anyway. Fortunately there was a good bollard just below The Fulmar and we arranged a good abseil anchor, well backed-up by several others, around it. Just after Bill had disappeared over the edge he shouted back that the ropes had reached the sea and when he reached sea level he could just reach the approach ledges. We were relieved.

So it must have been after three hours at least that I finally bade farewell to The Fulmar and abseiled off the ledge. We had not succeeded on the climb but we had learnt how tenacious sea birds can be when defending their nests and in hindsight we had had an enjoyable day and certainly a memorable one thanks to that bird.

There is a post-script to this story. A month later Bill and I were climbing on Holyhead Mountain, perhaps half a mile away. Answering a call of nature at the side of a path he caught sight of something glinting in the grass. Investigating it he picked up a karabiner - the very one we had abseiled from on Pentathol the month before!