Barranc des Grillons, second bit.

Yesterday was a glorious climbing day. Pablo and Agus picked us up and drove us to the crag. Their poor car was groaning with our weight and that of our massive rucksacks, roughly 190 litres worth of climbing and camping gear, clothes, books, food and random "essentials" we have found absolutely no use for. Simón loved it though. Good thing massive golden retrievers are the friendly type.

We had enough energy after skipping our daily two hour trail to get on some serious climbing, so, as Simón happily pranced round the steep base of the crag like a bloody mountain goat, we geared up and set off up the wall.

I'd read and heard quite a bit about a particular route, Apadrina un Banquero, that after some good strong warming up I set off up it, Ellie belaying nonchalantly below me. Now this is a long route. Long enough for Pablo to lend me four quickdraws, and I still found, later, I needed an extra one. A beautiful 40 metre route, needing a halfway anchor point to absail down in two stages. I was told it was pumpy. Greatest damned understatement in history of man.

As I started up this 6c behemoth, it turned out to be similar to the 6b+ I had just led but harder, way more demanding. Small finger biting crimps, bulgy ragged sandpaper slopers to hold with a big flat hand, delicate balance and rhythmic, slow progress. A little steep. The halfway point marked a difference, though. By then, I was fully exposed to the wind, was pulling up 20 metres of rope up and the few jugs became scarce and very tricky to balance from. Every time I came to one, I would have to rest my arms, I was so pumped!

Then it got really hard. It became a crack climb, but the crack wider than any I'd ever attempted before. Smooth rock up until I had my arm in up to the elbow, then I had to jam my palm on to one side and my elbow to the other, only just creating enough leverage to raise my feet a few inches and pray I could find a hold there. I could hardly hear Ellie shouting up encouraging advise, the chilly wind was having a laugh pushing me around and making a racket. Several times I had to stop and rest at key points, try a move several times before I could go up and reach the next bolt, clip a quickdraw and pull the rope in.

Then the rock tilted outwards, an overhanging crack with just five metres to go. I was shivering but my arms felt like burning brands, heavy and clumsy. My legs were shaking, and all I could afford to think of was going on. If I looked down I could see drops of blood my raw knuckles had left behind. When I finally got to the top, scared, it took me a couple of minutes to get to the task of pulling up the rope to abseil down. Ellie told me the wind kept pushing me away as I picked our gear back off the wall. When I finally touched ground, I must have made a pitiful image, shaking with exhaustion, bloody, and scared. I'd just finished the hardest climb I'd ever tried, on my first attempt! Wheeeeeeeeeee! (Yes, being a climber does involve a certain glorified masochist nature).

After a bit of lunch (which Simón clearly thought he was fully entitled to take part of), Ellie set off to have a go at this same demented line. She looked a tiny bit nervous as she stepped up, maybe. This was definitely the hardest climb she had tried outdoors. She sped up past the first bolt, then the second. She has this annoying quality of being quite small, so her little hands can use little bits of rocks I would hardly think big enough to clean out my fingernails as holds. Knowing the difficulty of her route, and still stinging from the cut the previous climb had given her, she moved with particular fluidity. Her feet stood firm, her arms locked and pulled in perfect time, and her balance was flawless. I could only shout out occasional advise, she didn't need any, not really. I didn't even realise how hard it must have been till she got to the first anchor and called the most relieved, "Ready!" ever. She was beaming when she came down, but her hands and knees were as bloody as mine. Oh the lovely pain.

We all drove away from there overjoyed at the climbs we had done. I had spied Pablo doing a blank looking 7a I definitely have to have a go at, and Agus had gone up a couple of impressive looking cracks to. So they brought us to Sant Llorenç de Montgai, a new campsite, a new bar, new Catalan crags to subdue. Beer and wine flowed, and we exchanged plans for the near future. They might even come to Chulilla with us for Christmas! We're staying there with Pedro Pons again, where we plan to climb, eat, drink, and sleep with a relish. And wow, really really need a good sleep.