(by Rachel Cinnsealach, from IMC Newsletter Autumn 2004)
A weekend in Wales, with climbing, craic, and a serious accident.

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On Friday 30th July, a group of enthusiastic IMC climbers departed Dublin and drove to Rosslare to catch the 9.30 pm ferry to Pembroke. Dairín, Dave Dye, Martina, Denis, Marcus and Rachel met up with some of the Dal Riada crowd at the port and boarded the boat. As it was a Friday evening, a few drinks were consumed on board and it made the crossing an enjoyable affair.

Arrived in to Pembroke about 12.30 and docked, It was about 2.00 am by the time we got to the campsite, where we all fumbled about in the dark, pitching our tents. Saturday morning, all us were up bright and early … not, but we did manage to get up, breakfasted and on the road by about 11.00 am. It was a glorious day. The group split in two. One half went off to Govens East and the rest of us headed off with Toni Burd to Crystal Slabs.

The day was amazing, the climbing was not difficult or taxing at Crystal Slabs, but just really, really enjoyable, We set up an ab rope, and abseiled right down; the cliff was so large, that the 60 metre rope did not reach the bottom of the climb and hence a second rope had to be attached. This was an experience for all of us, using our prussiks to anchor ourselves as we swapped ropes; I must add Toni was an absolute superstar, almost like our personal guide for the day, talking us through different situations. All of us led one or two long climbs and thoroughly enjoyed the experience of climbing a sea-cliff route, with the sea bashing around beneath you.

Embedded within the cliff was a mini cave, which you could crawl right through, and out the other side, here you got a view of the other crags, an amazing experience, being half way up a cliff and crawling though a cave. The tide was quick to come in, hence the second and third times we abseiled down, we could not belay from the bottom. Hence we had to set up hanging belays and belay from the cliff itself; again this was a new experience for most of us, and invaluable experience. It was really great that the climbs were of VD to HS standard, so we could learn all then new techniques in complete comfort. We returned to Pembroke about 10.00 that evening after a long day of climbing.

However, all was not good. When we arrived back to the campsite, about 11.00pm that evening, we heard there had been an accident. This hit us all really hard. One of our fellow members, Marcus, had been climbing with the Dal Riada group and had taken a lead fall. The folks climbing with him at the time, Steve McMullen and Paul Harrington, were absolutely fantastic in the situation; they administered first aid, they did not move Marcus, but removed his harness and shoes, they talked to him and kept him as comfortable as possible. Jules, a doctor from UCDMC climbing club was also present and she came down to help out, while waiting for helicopter rescue to arrive. Marcus was brought to Swansea Hospital. The above incident was a big shock for all of us, and I guess there are a number of lessons to be learnt from it. All climbers should take responsibility for themselves. It is beneficial to attend courses such as the SPA training, to learn techniques, and to practice gear placements and techniques at a low level with experienced climbers about, before leading at your limit. It is also worthwhile for all members of the club to have first aid training, so that they can help out in situations should they arise.

The following day, we got up about 9.30-ish; again it was a gorgeous beautiful sunny day. Dave kindly said he would drive to Swansea, to visit Marcus, and “the girls” were to accompany him. Ralph had arrived the previous evening on his bike, and was buzzing to get some climbing done. We split up; Denis decided to climb with Ralph at Saddle Head, and the rest were to join them on their return from Swansea.

Saddle Head is an excellent climbing spot, for those that are looking to lead VD – VS type level. Again it is necessary to ab into the climbs; however, the climbs are shorter than at Crystal Slabs and no hanging belays are necessary. Again, even with the late arrival, all of us got some good climbing in, and by the end of the evening we were all buzzing to do more, each of us with our own targets and goals, and each of us wanting to come back to lead new routes.

We returned to the pub for a night of drunken debauchery. The Dal Riada crowd had headed off to Huntsmans and we met up with them, at this stage we were no longer Martina, Dairín, Denis, Ralph, Dave and Rachel, but had decided to get into the Welsh spirit and were answering to the names of Gwyneth, Gladys, Garent, Edwin and Hue. Leaving the pub at 11.30-ish, we headed back to the campsite, where the party continued in the “party tent” for some time after.

On the Monday morning, the weather was not as good; a faff-around day was had by all. We struck camp after a nice fry-up and headed down to White Haven beach for some swimming and bouldering, We boarded the ferry at 1.30, with our spirits still high; we had our de-naming ceremony to renounce our welsh names, and this was followed by a dancing ritual on deck, I must admit we did get some strange looks. An exhausted but contended crowd drove back from Rosslare to Dublin on Monday evening.

(by David Craig, from IMC Newsletter, Spring 2007)
"Sitting there, with one arse cheek on a ledge, my knees wedged under my chin, and my head lolling on the wall in front of me, listening to the sea booming away in the darkness, the scary truth dawned on me… we were NEVER going to live this down!"

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With the two of us crouched on a belay ledge perched in the rafters of a sea cave in Pembroke, watching the water below lose the last of its light as it faded from a dark purple to merge with the blackness of the rest of the cave, the thought crossed my mind “isn’t this supposed to be a holiday”. Holidays have become an odd thing for me, not the holidays themselves, but trying to explain to work colleagues and other non-climber friends why one would rather spend a week struggling up crags and hills in wet and windy Wales rather then relaxing on sunny beaches in the Med.

This holiday was to prove no different. It started with a leisurely cruise from Rosslare to Pembroke, where we stocked up on supplies, had a bit of lunch and pondered our next move. This being a Thursday, and June, didn’t leave us much choice as a lot of the crags in the area have restrictions for climbers until late July, so they don’t disturb nesting birds, and mid week the army like to blow the be-Jaysus out of them since they are located in a military firing range. How you justify having these two things in the same place I’m not sure, but that’s how they do it. Eventually we settled on a route we thought wouldn’t give too much trouble, as a way of easing into things. There were no bird restrictions and the army would be finished firing by the time we got there, it was perfect. “Sure wouldn’t that be a grand, nice soft one to start with” we said, a quick, slightly rising traverse across the bottom of the crag to a cave, back into this, and then up and out a blow hole – “what fun”.

These being sea cliffs you arrive at them from the top, abseil into your route and climb back out. Finding said route was to prove difficult and time-consuming though, as it can’t be seen from the top. I think the phrase in the guide book for locating it was something like “from the westerly end of the crag look back eastwards and you can see a large cave” not our cave now but it means you’re at the abseil point. Not a mention of just how many crags with caves there actually are on the Pembroke coast. This led to a lot of to-ing and fro-ing atop the cliffs in the hopes of spying a crag similar to the one we should be at. Once it was located, finding its westerly end was much easier as the sun at this stage was kindly setting so as to indicate west for us. Undeterred, because we new we’d be quick, we set off with only a brief thought about the head torches we didn’t have. After spending ages on the traverse along the bottom, I found myself bridging back along the apex of the cave groping for holds in the dark. A voice came from behind me saying “maybe we shouldn’t be doing this in the dark, maybe you should come back”. I considered this and came to the conclusion that even if I make it to the next belay it’ll be pitch black for Síle to come out and then there would still be another pitch to do, or to put it another way, was bricking myself and willing to accept any excuse to go back to the safety of the belay. Forward wasn’t going to happen so Síle tried to get us back out, but at this stage it was well and truly dark outside the cave as well, so that was that, we were benighted, FEK!!

 Uncomfortable as it was we had managed to organise a decent belay and the sea was fairly calm despite the noise echoing around the cave, but no sleep was had which made for a long night. When it eventually started to brighten a quick foray was made into the cave, which showed it to be still quite dark and now wet and slippery to boot. Síle led us back out the way we had come which was also wet but at least there was daylight. After that an easy pitch should then have brought us back to safety, but on topping out the crackle of rifle fire let us know we had been out-flanked by the British army.

It didn’t take long for our presence to be noticed and the gate watchman to come careering out after us in his little white van, although he seemed more worried about the humor of the Colonel than about anyone getting shot or having spent the night in a cave. A lift back was offered and declined, and he rushed off to try to placate the Colonel. We gathered our gear and started sheepishly walking out, only to be met by a second vehicle, this one much fancier then the last, and out popped the much-feared Colonel. With the only thing more starched than his uniform being his upper lip. He launched his offensive “Spoilt the show you did, had to stop firing, still everyone’s all right, happy ending and all that, you’ll take a lift back?” My jaw dropped, only to clamp shut again as my teeth took a firm grip of my tongue as a surprised laugh tried to escape, we braced ourselves for the follow-up manoeuvre “not as bad as last week though, chap walked in front of the snipers, caused mayhem! Blighter!” He did, however, make it clear this lift wasn’t to be refused, so we jumped in as he ran off to investigate the remains of a caterpillar track on the cliff top, don’t ask me why. Leather seats though, it pays to be Colonel. A peculiar thing, sitting in the back of that truck as Síle related the story of our ordeal and the Colonel blathered on trying his best to be formidable, pondering the past 12 hours or so I found myself suppressing an overwhelming urge to sing … ’Who Do You Think You Are Kidding, Mr. Hitler?’