TRUE GRIT: CLIMBING GOD’S OWN ROCK

Widely recognised as one of the trickiest rock-types in the world, gritstone attracts its most devoted fans during the coldest months of the year. Ellis Brigham ambassador Natalie Berry explains the joys of climbing in ‘grit season’.

Once again, I hit the mats with a dull thud. I heave a sigh, examining my burning hands. I cast an eye at the blank scoop of stone in front of me, fl itting between my pink fi ngers and the crag, in search of holds and excuses. “There’s nothing there!” I cry in frustration. I step up for a fi nal attempt, pressing a toe into the shallowest of dimples, and willing the rubber to stick on the granular rock. Reaching tentatively, I grasp at a sloping edge and awkwardly pull my weight upwards. The foot slips, and the hand with it. Defeated, I return to Earth. Grounded, once again.

I was 11 years old the fi rst time I sampled ‘grit’ at Stanage Edge in the Peak District – arguably the most famous gritstone outcrop, or outcrop of any rock-type, in the UK. My friends, who to my frustration seemed to fl oat up the boulder, were none other than the now-prolifi c Whittaker siblings, Katy and Pete, stars of the fi lm Grit Kids. They had padded their way up local grit crags since they could crawl. I, on the other hand, had enjoyed a diff erent climbing apprenticeship: I was an indoor ‘wall rat’, with an eye for obvious, coloured holds and a fl air for gymnastic sequences that could be parsed from the ground. Clumsy and unbalanced, it would be a while before I became well-versed in the grammar of grit.

Gritstone is as divisive as it is abrasive. To some climbers, it’s overrated; to others, it lives up to its moniker of “God’s own rock”. An especially coarse and grippy type of sandstone, grit originated 320 million years ago as river sediment, which was then compressed, hardened, and eroded into its current form. The grit outcrops which push up through the Pennine hills are usually diminutive in size — rarely exceeding 10-20 metres in height — but plentiful in

abundance, and most crucially, character. Grit’s chasmlike cracks, exposed arêtes and featureless faces, dotted with the occasional polished pebble, loom large in the minds of even the most seasoned climbers.

The rock-type has an almost cult-like status among its devotees; both trad climbers – who shuffle along its sloping edges and squeeze into its deepest recesses, gear jangling as they go – and boulderers, who slap and grip their way up sculpted offcuts at the foot of the crags. Stories of ‘grit days out’ are recounted with pride over pints in the pub, and the rock holds such cultural cachet that, “but what have you/they done on grit?” has become a popular retort – the climbing equivalent of that perennial football cliché, “the cold, rainy night in Stoke”.

Climbing on grit is less about pulling and pushing than pressing on the rock. Leaning into it and working with it, rather than against it, making do with less, and hoping for more. Where there’s a will, there’s usually a way — even if it involves holding or standing on not much at all. As grit maestro Johnny Dawes once quipped: “Stanage is just one big hold.”

A grit climb can be a curious mix of poise and brawn. Body position is key. Moving from the hips and shifting the body’s centre of balance above well-weighted feet, rather than straining the fingers on sloping holds, enables a less strenuous, and more skin-friendly, ascent. If the chosen route is a chimney or crack, then this subtlety can turn into a full-body struggle with compression and opposing forces. But jamming and wedging body parts into gritstone usually ends in tears — the rock bites back. Climbers might leave chalk marks on grit, but grit will mark them in return, in the form of ‘grit rash’.

There are other idiosyncrasies too. Sometimes, the lines with the easiest grades are the most easily underestimated. The potential for ‘sandbag’ routes — climbs which are harder than their advertised grade — is high. Chimneys and wide cracks with no obvious flow of moves were the routes of choice for pioneers like Joe Brown and Don Whillans in the 1950s. But these ‘lines of weakness’ are less popular among modernday climbers, with their indoor-honed finger strength, gymnastic jumping skills, talon-like rubber shoes, and modern gear that protects even the thinnest of cracks, and blank face climbs.

In summer, gritstone appears to sweat in the heat. The rock’s water permeability enables it to absorb moisture from humid air, or sweat from anxious, thinskinned climbers. When Alex Honnold — star of Free Solo — made his second pilgrimage to the gritstone edges of the Peaks in the summer of 2016, he told me that coming to Stanage “felt like revisiting an old friend, albeit in terrible, warm conditions”. Nonetheless, he declared himself a fan: “I really like the grit. I really like the rock,” he affirmed.

Gritstone’s tendency to ooze grease in the warmer months often results in climbers saving their hardest grit climbing projects for the cooler conditions of autumn and winter – also known as ‘Grit Season’. It’s not unusual to spot climbers in Santa suits queuing on

the 25th of December to climb the classic ‘Christmas Crack’ route, or beanie-clad boulderers grunting their way up the stone in January, with a bonus blanket of snow underneath to dampen their fall.

The precarious delicacy of progressing up a grit route is heightened by proximity to the ground. On such short climbs, there’s no void to catch a fall – a climber slipping from near the top of a route could meet the ground before the rope pulls taught. Although many classic climbs boast plentiful cracks, seams, and slots that can hold gear, grit’s boldest lines typically lead up compact faces and off-balance edges, where opportunities to place protection are scarce. Even Honnold, who had the courage to climb the 2,300 metre high El Capitan without a rope, found one of gritstone’s toughest test pieces ‘Harder Faster’ (E9 7a) “too scary to climb”.

On a rock-type where friction can be the difference between life and death, conditions matter. Cold, crisp days that numb the fingers bring greater grip and adherence to the rock. The numbness, in reducing sensitivity and mobility in the fingers, also forces a climber to open up their grip and mould their skin more uniformly to the rounded breaks; to weight their feet more than their hands, and earn the trust of the rugosities under their rubbered toes. With desensitised fingers, climbers can push through the pain without feeling it, and slap sloping features harder, ensuring optimum contact and friction.

At the end of a Baltic autumn or winter day on grit, I’ve often stumbled down the bracken-fringed paths

with my fi ngers worn to pink, numb stubs, my lungs and muscles well and truly worked. Later, as my red-raw hands sting with the return of warmth and sensation, I regret revelling in the cold-induced anaesthesia. But this is the price a climber pays to play during grit season – the delayed pain of hot aches and burning skin, in exchange for perfect, chilled rock.

As a rock-type, many would argue that grit takes more than it gives. Yet still we traipse up to the edges and quarries in the coldest months of the year, freezing in the name of friction, eager to soak up the history of these outcrops, or to lose ourselves — and some skin — on their storied surfaces.

Natalie Berry is the editor of UKClimbing.com, and an Ellis Brigham ambassador. Follow her @natalie.a.berry.