Bar being a maggot as a child and climbing every tree, fence, wall and bit of scaffolding I could find, my climbing journey started around 2013 – but it would be nearly another decade before I actually put on a pair of rock shoes.

With my Scout group, we’d bring our Youth Members bottom-roping in Dalkey Quarry. For the first few years I was mainly hauling gear, running crowd control, belaying and offering emotional support and encouragement. I progressed to assisting with anchor building, and around 2020 I did a two-day workshop with Ambrose on building anchors and abs. I’d climbed a few routes on bottom-rope in my runners during this time.

In February 2022, I joined the IMC after hearing about the Intro2Trad from one of the Scout Leaders. By April, after buying my first pair of rock shoes in Decathlon (cleverly disguised as 1980s clown shoes), I was ready to give actual climbing a go.

Over the next four weeks, I seconded nine routes. At the end of April, I climbed Paradise Lost, my first lead, as well as my first lesson in rope drag.

I was paired with Martin for the Glendalough weekend with Dermot as our mentor. We climbed Provo, the second pitch of Forest, Celia, Lethe, finishing Saturday with Spillikin-Fanfare-Spéirbhean. I remember thinking that the step-around on Fanfare must be some of the boldest leading imaginable. (Who knew that a few short years later I’d be leading two Intro2Trad participants up the same route!)

Sunday brought Quartz Gully, Deirdre, with the “fun” (Type II) still to come. Dermot dispatched Cracks on the Garden of Eden in one pitch. I struggled to even get off the ground. By the time I reached the thin crack in the middle, I knew I was beaten. I tried and tried (and cried and cried) but the moves just seemed impossible. Only for the fact there was gear in the crack, I’d have sworn Dermot had gone another way. Eventually, after being told to place gear and pull on it, and with considerable effort (and some dropped gear), I aided my way up the crack and made it to the top. I apologised for my tantrum, but Dermot very graciously commended my persistence and not giving up. We called it a day.

The Intro2Trad lit a fire in me for climbing, I loved it, but that weekend was also my first experience of being stopped in my tracks. In the few short weeks till then, the climbing had been hard and tiring, but never impossible. This was different.

Later someone told me we’d actually climbed the HVS variant of Cracks on the Garden of Eden – not VS as I’d thought from the guidebook. I’m not sure if that made me feel better or worse. I’d gone into it thinking it was within my reach, and I’d failed. Hard. Looking back now, I wonder if that’s where the seed was planted – when my brain quietly learned a lesson: grades above what you think you can do mean you will struggle and fail. It would be over three years before I went back to that route.

HVS – Confidence by Accident

I spent that summer climbing in the quarry. I seconded lots of VS and HVS routes with Corinne – a strong French sport climber starting out in trad – and began leading more VS myself. At the end of July, I led Moonlighter – my third “VS” lead after Dirty Dick & Mahjongg.

Finally, in August, and with no small amount of trepidation, I jumped on the sharp end of Stereo-Tentacles as my first HVS lead. I’d seconded it twice and felt ready.

I led Gargoyle Groove the following week almost by accident. Tanguy couldn’t make the first moves in the groove, so I decided to give it a go – without really thinking about what would happen if I managed to start it. After a few false starts, I was up, and terrified, I had no idea what was to come as I had never been on the route and it was HVS. I got to the mantle on the last move, spent what felt like an eternity on the ledge and eventually, still terrified, I topped out.

The following week, now that I had two HVS routes under my belt, I seconded and then led Thrust, feeling fairly confident.

Going by the new guidebook, my first HVS lead would have been onsighting Moonlighter back in July… if I’d had the new guidebook, I wouldn’t even have considered it!

6A – A Lesson in Ignorance

October brought John’s legendary Sicily meet, and my first taste of sport climbing.

On our first day we headed to Scomparto Rifiuti for some practice cleaning routes, and Tony and I did a handful of 5a and 5b climbs. Around the corner was a route called Dave, graded 5c – this would be my hardest sport route yet. I figured as it was my namesake, I had to give it a go. It felt really hard in the middle, but I got up it clean. We had a great week and I climbed another three 5c routes on that trip.

Our guidebook was an older edition. In the next edition, Dave had been upgraded to 6a. Once again, had I seen that number first, I would never have even tried.

I was starting to notice a pattern. Every time I’d climbed something beyond what I thought was my limit, it was because I didn’t know the grade beforehand. When I saw the number first, something in my head would shut down before I even touched the rock. The routes weren’t any harder – but knowing the grade made them feel impossible.

E1 – The Unintentional Step Up

My first taste of E1 came seconding Conail on Bushmills in April 2023, and Phantoms with Luke later that summer. Throughout 2023 I was starting to get comfortably leading HVS in the quarry, but E1 felt a long way off.

In September, I seconded Tony, and then Luke on Great Eastern and led it the following week, thinking it was just another HVS. The top felt stiff, but my height helped. I actually owned the new guidebook at this point but had not looked at this route as I was initially just seconding it. Only later did I realise it was E1. My first E1, by accident – another number I’d have avoided if I’d known.

In 2024 I climbed a lot with Rob H, seconding loads of E1s and E2s and even the odd E3.

I’d read about David Craig’s own journey to E1, where he tackled Gargoyle Groove Direct as an intentional milestone and offered practical advice on how to progress through the grades systematically. His approach was methodical: climb lots of routes, trust your gear, play to your strengths. All sensible advice that I’d eventually follow – but first I had to get past my own mental roadblock. While David was building confidence through deliberate progression, I was accidentally stumbling into mine by not knowing what I was climbing.

Following that advice, I too chose Gargoyle Groove Direct for my first intentional E1. I seconded it, worked it on TRS for a few sessions, and finally led it that August. It had taken me nearly a year to build up the courage to intentionally climb a grade I’d already led by mistake.

6B – Coasting Upwards

Back to Sicily in October, I was a bit under the weather that week with a dicky tummy, and took it pretty easy climbing. I led a load of 6a and 6a+ routes and top roped two 6bs with no intention of pushing myself.

One of the 6as I had led, Serpente Nero turned out to be my first accidental 6b in the updated guidebook – another number I would have run from.

Falling – Breaking the Mental Barrier

The grade fear had a partner: falling fear. It wasn’t terror – just a deep, irrational resistance. I really didn’t want to let go.

I took my first lead fall on gear in June 2023 on Stereo-Tentacles. Everything was fine (though Vincent had a fair time freeing the nut!). I’ve also fallen on Spailpín. I’m not scared of falling – I just really don’t want to do it.

During the Intro2Trad in DCC, I spent one evening as the ‘fall guy’ while new members practised catching falls (backed up). No fear, no issue whatsoever.

By the 2024 off-season, climbing with Rob H and Jean, they basically beat the remaining hesitation out of me. I’d say “oh, I can’t climb that grade” or “I’ll top rope it” and they’d pull the top rope, hand me the sharp end, and say “on belay” before I had a chance to object. And I fell. Lots.

At that point I was leading 6b in DCC, and before long I was trying 6c/7a. By January 2025 I’d led my first 7a clean. Indoors, I was now 100% comfortable falling and trying routes almost regardless of grade.

Outdoors though, that same mental block remained.

Kalymnos – finally letting go

Myself and Jean took a trip up to Altnadue in September 2025 and I came off on Route 10 – 6b and I was delighted, the fall was clean and I was fine and I thought – finally this is it, I’m over it and just in time for our trip to Kalymnos.

My main goal for Kalymnos wasn’t to climb harder – it was to get comfortable falling outdoors. The bolting there practically invites it – most routes have a bolt every two metres and some have even more.

On the first day, we arrived late enough and we got a few 6a and 6a+ routes before losing the light. I told myself “tomorrow”. The next day we jumped on a multipitch; I was leading the second-last pitch, a 6b, on perfect vertical limestone. I got pumped a few bolts from the belay. “This is it”, I thought. But then: “It’s a multipitch… if something goes wrong, rescue is harder”. I downclimbed, and called “Take”. I just couldn’t let go.

The following day, I promised myself again: “today”. A lovely 30m 6b+ was the perfect chance. I got halfway up, ready to fall… then just kept climbing. “Next time”, I thought, clipping the chains clean but feeling annoyed.

The following day came another 6b+, steeper and full of jugs. I clipped the fourth bolt and heard Jean shout, “Fall!” To my surprise (and his) – I just let go. I climbed back up, past the bolt, and let go again. Then higher again, and fall again. Finally, I got to the chains, but instead of clipping, I launched off the wall – wahoooooo! It was my best route of the trip so far.

The next day, at Little Eden Vathy – a crag reached by free boat ride from a restaurant owner (on the promise you’ll eat there later), with my new-found super power, I decided to try Tiny Dancer, a 6c on a short 22m slightly overhanging wall with cracks and pockets followed by a few bulges.

I get up the first half OK, but it’s sustained and I’m tired. I hit a bulge. Hands are rubbish, I can’t see my feet, and I start to come back down. Then something happened: I just keep going. I make the next move – and then fall. Properly fall. It wasn’t planned, and it was brilliant. I try again, clip the chains and come down like a Cheshire cat.

Jean grinned and fist-pumped: “First 6c, nice one!”
“Yeah”, I said, “and I fell”

We went on to try The Line – 7a, where I took a load of falls trying to inch higher, but eventually ran out of steam and lowered off. Jean then jumped on, finished the route, and rescued the draws.

After my breakthrough with falling the previous day, I had intentionally decided to push myself. Tiny Dancer was to be my first outdoor 6c attempt, and based on how well that went, I’d decided to try for 7a on the very next route.

The Line felt stiff for 7a – both Jean and I agreed it could easily be 7a+. Later, when logging my climbs on UK Climbing, I saw Tiny Dancer graded as 7a and The Line as 7a+. It seemed to fit my pattern perfectly – I’d accidentally climbed harder than I thought. But reading through the comments, it became clear that Tiny Dancer had been downgraded to 6c years ago; the UKC grade just hadn’t been updated. So it turned out I’d climbed exactly the grade I thought I had. The route felt like 6c because it was 6c. But if I’d checked UKC first and seen that 7a – outdated or not – would I have been so quick to jump on it?

The Pattern

Looking back now, every significant grade progression happened when I didn’t know what I was climbing. When the number came first, my brain would decide I couldn’t do it before my body even tried. The route stayed exactly the same difficulty whether I knew the grade or not, but my head treated them like completely different climbs.

The same thing happened with falling. I was never actually scared of it – logically, I knew it was fine. I’d tested placements, bounced on gear while working routes on TRS, caught falls for others. But knowing something is safe and being willing to do it are two different things. Once I proved to myself – first indoors, then outdoors – that I could just let go, the mental barrier started to crumble. Just like with the grades, the limitation is entirely in my head.

In August this year, I finally went back to Cracks on the Garden of Eden and led it clean – the same HVS variant that had broken me in 2022. By then I was comfortably leading HVS but, being honest, I was scared to get back on this route. Three years of climbing made it feel straightforward. That first struggle had planted something in my head that I am still working through.

Reflection

I suppose the point of all this is that I get ‘grade-scared’. It’s not that the routes are harder because of new or conflicting guidebooks – it’s that when I see the number, something in my head changes. I think, “I can’t climb that”, or worse, “I’ll fall on that”. I immediately dismiss even trying the route or, if I’m seconding, I have the grade front and centre in my mind and get scared, over grip, make desperate moves and exhaust myself.

I think I’m turning a corner now. Being comfortable falling – first indoors, now outdoors on sport routes, and working trad lines on TRS – leaves my mind calmer and more focused. The thought of falling on gear still makes me uneasy. It’s not about trust; I’ve tested my placements, bounced on them in slings, rebelayed on single pieces while working routes. But still, the idea of actually falling on trad scares me. Something to work on.

I used to think progress was measured in grades; now, for me at least, I think it’s better measured in calmness. The routes haven’t changed. The rock doesn’t care what number is in the guidebook. The only thing that changed was what I told myself before I started climbing.

If you’re feeling held back by the number, you’re not alone. Find a safe route, find a good belayer, and start falling.