Tuesday 26^th.

Staccato fiddles. Shockingly loud it wakes me from deep sleep and before I know it I'm on the floor by the bed trying to turn off Leila's little portable stereo. Romanian gypsies curse me with a change of pace as I manage only to skip the CD to it's next track. Long seconds of howling verse pass before I am able to switch the damn thing off. It's completely dark, the time is 4.45 am.

We're climbing today. Leon and I are going to meet some people at the Shawangunk preserve in New York state this morning. It's possible that Leon is right now upstairs staring wildly into the darkness wondering what the hell that noise was. He passed last night in our spare room. I stagger off to the shower and try to drag myself into the waking world.

From the kitchen I call up to Leon and wake him. "Grab a shower mate, it'll help." I lie.

"Gnyaaa." he replies.

Pretty soon we're ready to go. The dude is packed to the ceiling in the back seat with all of our climbing gear and all the warm clothing that we can reasonably assume to need. Which is pretty much everything we've got. It's cold, damn cold. About -8 ºC according to the weather guy on ABC. New York is likely to be even colder than that. Likelyhood of temperatures going above zero today? Zero.

We roar off into the darkness, after some time the dude's airconditioner finally starts warming things up and I half doze most of the way while Leon does all the driving. The sun comes up around the time we cross over into New York.

Pulling into New Paltz we follow Tradgirl's (Dawn Alguard) instructions to reach the meeting point. It's a bakery and at 8 am it's open and warm inside. Eventually the other climbers arrive in dribs and drabs to introduce themselves, there's a little over a dozen of us all-told. Directions are given for the short drive between New Paltz and the Gunks, which is what the cliffs at the Shawangunk preserve are called.

Everyone parks at the same pull-off near the trail and we crowd around for cheesy group photos. This is (after all) the second annual meeting of the East coast rec.climber crowd. Tradgirl is organizing everyone, and everyone is goodnaturedly following along, it's a cheerful and friendly group. There's a French-Canadian (Marc) who drove 300 miles down from Montreal, a Californian dude (Greg) who's visiting family in the East, an asian-american guy (Alex) going to school in Illinois but visiting family in New Jersey for Christmas, there are a few from Connecticut (John Peterson and his son Eric, Tradgirl, Steve Cherry, as well as Leon and I), a lass from Boston (Julie Haas) and a few others for whom I didn't really get to know much about (Mark, Tom and his son Colin).

At the base of this quite long line of beautifully stratified cliffs is a nice footpath (no scree field, no talus, yipee!) which made the approach quite pleasant ... so long as one didn't slip and fall down on the ice (although everyone did this at least once during the day). There was a very light dusting of snow everywhere, as it had snowed lightly sometime in the preceding days, so the whole area looked quite beautiful. Cold, but beautiful. The sun was shining directly on the cliffs, but it was weak and not very warming at all.

The cliffs themselves appear to be composed of quite clearly pancaked layers of stone, promising a multitude of horizontal cracks and ledges. No wonder that during the warmer months this place is crawling with literally scores of climbers at any one time. It is one of the premier rock climbing locations on the East Coast. Leon and I wondered why the hell we hadn't got here earlier in the year.

Tradgirl made a few suggestions and gave some beta (information) about some good classic climbs that beginners or intermediates should enjoy doing. Leon and I picked on Rhododendron, rated at 5.6 it was a relatively small (20 metres) single-pitch climb. Leon won the paper-scissors-rock thing and got to lead it first. The line follows a vertical crack that promises very good protection all the way, and according to Leon it was a fun climb. He seemed to have very little trouble with it and, while his hands were very cold, he enjoyed it very much ... so I was greatly looking forward to my own ascent. As I lowered him down Leon cleaned out all the protection he had placed and then we pulled the rope through once he was on the ground. Right. My turn.

"Hey man, use my rack, it's got everything you need and this is a pretty easy climb." said Leon with all the nonchalance of a champion bullfighter.

"Sure, ok." I agreed.

Ok, so up I went. I did not have any fun. I didn't think it was very easy. It is now abundantly clear to me that while Leon likes, even relishes, a good crack climb where hand and fist jams are typical requirements, I have no such predeliction. Added to that was Leon's rack. He sets it up a bit differently to me so it took me some extra time to find what I wanted. On top of that I had sandbagged myself pretty badly.

I had casually mentioned, before Leon's ascent, that the route looked so short that one might get away with only four placements of protection, five on the outside. Leon had placed about six or seven. I was determined to play the hardman and not "sew up the route", i.e. not place protection so frequently it looks like you're trying to stitch up the crack, in other words I wanted to climb with some style. Ha!

So while I was not enjoying what turned out to be a tricky crack climb, I was at the same time running it out between placements in an effort to keep up with what turned out to be macho posturing on my part. My hands were freezing, I made at least one obviously poor placement and had to back it up before moving on, my shoes weren't gripping at all (someone later said something about the cold having an adverse affect on the "sticky rubber" which coats the sole of our climbing shoes) and I was pretty sketched (panicky) for much of the climb. Nevertheless I finished it, without falling either, but on the way I had dropped my bravado.

Back on the ground I told my Mexican mate that if there was to be anymore leading done this day, then it was his job. I had settled in for a day of top-roping. Leon and I did a couple of nearby climbs on top-rope, one of which had (for me) a bloody hard and frustrating start. Julie and Leon had their work cut out cajoling me up that one. Julie subsequently showed us how it was supposed to be done. But I was still enjoying the day, there was no wind and other climbers where friendly and ready to chat. It wasn't very long after our third climb that Leon, on sortie, came back with some very interesting news.

"There's ice," he said, "just around the corner by Ken's Crack."

I went back with him to check it out. It was a flow of seepwater that had come over the cliff in a two yard wide swatch and eventually formed a really pretty little mantle of ice all the way down to the base. Leon spotted a handy tree for an anchor situated almost directly above it at the top. For him this was an opportunity not to be missed.

"Hey man we could do this."

I was a bit hesitant. We had weeks ago discussed going ice-climbing, a concept which held some trepidation for me because of all the horror-stories I had read about the sport in the last couple of months, but that wasn't going to be until early next year when we go up to New Hampshire. A prospect that was comfortably distant for me to accept in the interim.

Suddenly it was right there in front of me. To top it off this absolutely insane Mexican was frothing at the mouth for us to get on it. He had even brought the necessary gear with him.

"My stuff is back in the car, I'll just go and get it."

I was numb with fear. I was so paralyzed with fright that I was unable to act on a compulsion to grab Leon and hold him down until this madness (for that is what this clearly was) had passed. Scarcely believing the sound of my own voice I uttered the following.

"Uh, ok."

Off he raced, trailing whisps of spindrift behind him. Tradgirl wandered up and saw me staring at the ice.

"Hi Dawn." I said.

"Hi Keith, you guys gonna climb some ice?" she jauntily asked.

I nodded morosely. "Would you mind taking some pictures for us?" I asked, reasoning that there should be some sort of photographic warning left for succeeding generations ... not that it looked like I was going to have any generations following me now.

"Cool. Sure." she said.

A few others gathered to see what was going on. Leon soon returned with boots, crampons and the world's most evil-looking ice axes. Greg the Californian was looking pretty interested. I asked him if he wanted to have a crack at it. Sure, all he cared about was whether or not Leon's boots would fit him. He gots big feet see.

Leon climbed on top-rope the adjacent "Ken's Crack", a bloody hard 5.7 (all these classic climbs are sandbagged to hell) and then skated around on the ice up top setting the anchor and ropes for the ice climb. We dubbed it "Mexicold City" and Leon figured it would have about a WI2 rating (WI is short for "winter ice") whatever the heck that meaned.

Actually, the ice had formed over a chimney climb named "Boston".

Anyway, while he was back down and starting to get ready. This other dude (Joe I think he said his name was) showed up and saw what we were doing and asked if he could climb it too. We let him go first. I belayed because Leon was still struggling into the boots and crampons. Well, Joe wacked and hacked his way up the ice and I kept trying to move further and further out of the way. I had read stories, you see, about ice-climbing accidents where the belayer loses an arm or a leg or a head to a razor-sharp wall of falling ice.

After crushing enough ice for about fifty tumblers of scotch-on-the-rocks Joe made it to the top and I lowered him back down. He thanked us both for giving him a ride and was soon on his way. Leon, ready and champing at the bit, practically lept at the wall once he was tied in. The way he brutalized his way up the ice put me in mind of an axe-wielding beserker. The pile of broken ice was building up at the bottom of the flow, and I doubted that there would be any left for me. Oh well, c'est la vie. All the while, Tradgirl sat in the snow and snapped and clicked the photos away.

Leon came down with the dismaying determination that I could, no, should have a go too. Well ok, I thought, it sure didn't look that hard really. I guess. Besides, how could I argue with a guy waving around two of the most dangerous looking hand-tools that I had ever seen in my life?

So I booted up, snapped on the crampons, strapped on the axes (which threatened to put my eye out at the first opportunity) and tied into the rope. It was surprisingly easy. Just wack in the axes good and hard. Kick the ice at about knee height solidly. Step up. Repeat. Ice smashing everywhere in a pleasing sort of fashion. Sun shining brightly. Hey, this is great! Pretty soon I was at the top wondering what it was that had me all so worried about before. Leon's not totally insane either, he confessed that he would think twice before leading on ice. Good thinking mate, don't do it. But he's right about top-roping it, safe as houses and heaps of fun. Just don't chop through the rope.

Back at the bottom I was happy as Larry. "Thanks mate, that was really cool." I said.

"Yeah, it's pretty good." Leon said grinningly.

I belayed for Greg, who was to be the last to try the climb that day, and he seemed to enjoy it as much as I. Leon, in the meantime, had headed off up the trail to join some others for another rock climb. After Greg was done he and I chatted for a bit while we dismantled the ice climbing stuff, Tradgirl kindly went up top to take down the anchor and drop the ropes for me. I went and put all the gear with everyone else's stuff and then wandered off to find out how Leon was going.

This far down the trail the cliffs where getting fairly big. From about 20 to 25 metres at the start they eventually begin to get upwards of 75 metres in height towards their far end. After walking for many minutes, with Leon's helmet in hand (he had loaned it to Greg for the ice climb), I began to wonder if I would find them (Leon and whomever it was he was climbing with) halfway up the cliff somewhere. But I heard a shout and I spotted Leon by himself at the base.

"Did you bring a rope?" He called to me.

A rope? My first thought was that there was some sort of problem, or even an accident. But no, I could see the climbers above him. John Peterson had climbed up to a ledge not far from the top and was belaying Alex who was half-way there. Leon was tied into the second rope between Alex and himself, waiting for Alex to finish before starting the climb himself. They were doing "Minty", a two pitch climb rated at 5.5. I realized then that Leon was asking if I had brought a rope because if I had done, then I would be able to join them.

"No sorry mate, I left it with the other gear." I called back.

Up above I heard John shout down. "Don't need it!"

He was right. We could, in theory, simulclimb ... tied some distance apart into the same rope (like beads on a string) and climb together, one just above the other. In fact, Leon and I had done this very thing before with Alain Comeau in New Hampshire. Leon indicated by a shrug that he thought this was a viable option.

"I don't want to slow you guys down." I called back.

"Don't worry, you wont." Shouted John.

I got up to Leon and, as he thought it was perfectly ok, I tied in to his line about three or four metres "above" him. Leon, strapping on his newly returned helmet, pointed out to me the line of the climb. Alex was moving steadily up towards John. I noticed that the first piece of protection was about ten metres of the ground.

"John is a very bold climber." Leon said. It must have been something to watch, John had (by the look of it) run it out quite a bit between placements. Then again, this was a climb rated at 5.5 (easy) and he is a pretty experienced climber. The rope was getting short as Alex neared the end of the pitch, so Leon and I climbed up onto a higher ledge to give him enough length to complete it. Once Alex finished, John put us on belay and we started up.

While it was a little ticklish keeping ourselves separated and climbing at more or less the same pace, it was a highly enjoyable climb. Enough handholds to feel secure and the occasional exposure to give us a thrill. With a minimum of communication Leon and I managed to move together relatively quickly up to the waiting pair. At the top there was a broad and friendly ledge with a nice tree into which both Leon and I clipped. John explained that we would be rapping down from this ledge after finishing the climb above so he set Leon and I to organizing a rope for that while turning to Alex.

John talked Alex into leading the last pitch, which involved an early unprotected reaching move around a roof about ten feet above the belay ledge. Risky but doable. Alex agreed to try, and while not greatly experienced he seemed a strong climber. So with John simultaneously belaying and spotting for him, Alex managed to do the move and giving a great deal of effort cranked it over the roof (had he fallen John would have had to try and catch him because the first protection wouldn't be placed until after the roof had been achieved). All the while John's exhortations rang out across the cliffs. "Don't worry, this is the Gunks! This is the Gunks!" Apparantly code for "place-where-you-cannot-die".

As Alex finished up, the rest of the climbers had walked down the trail to us and shouted that we were all done for the day and to meet them at Bacchus' restaurant at New Paltz. Tradgirl and Steve would grab all our gear for us. I was all done for the day myself and decided to rap down early, Leon wanted to finish the climb so he would come down for the others. At the bottom I grabbed everyone's stuff and placed it near the rope. In the time it took me to do that they had already started descending. So I waited until the others were down and walked back to the cars with them. It had been a great day's climbing.

Directions to Bacchus' had been left on the cars. John was taking his son home, so Alex bummed a ride with us. At the restaurant one of the climbers, Tom, announced that he would be paying for everything so not to worry. Instantly earning himself a sainthood in the hearts of starvingly poor climbers everywhere. Leon and I indulged in a couple of Skullsplitters (very strong Scottish beer), enjoyed our meal and good conversation flavoured the evening very nicely indeed.

Drove home in darkness, very tired, but immensely pleased.