Friday 18 October 2013

rigor mortis

Between 1974 and 1976, I spent almost all my free time exploring the ‘miles and miles of unclimbed sea cliffs’ that had lured me to Hong Kong (the quoted phrase formed part of a job advert for instructors at the local Outward Bound school). Most of this exploration was carried out with a colleague at the school, Keith Hazelaar, and we soon discovered that most cliffs were composed of loose, rotten, dangerous rubbish. This is because at the latitude of Hong Kong, chemical weathering predominates (mechanical weathering, which is the dominant type of erosion in more temperate latitudes, tends to produce cliffs that are more solid and more stable).

However, we did find some exciting climbs, and this is the story of one of them.

The island of Wang Chau is one of a group of four islands in the east of Hong Kong that forms part of the territory’s National Geopark (so designated in 2009). As an instructor at Outward Bound, I had had a chance, from the deck of the school’s motor launch, to reconnoitre possible climbing opportunities along the entire east coast of the Sai Kung peninsula. Most of these had been accessible overland, but in order to climb on Wang Chau, we would need logistical backup.

In March 1976, I persuaded one of the school’s seamanship instructors to give us a ‘lift’ to Wang Chau. This could be only an exploratory visit, to see if climbing there was even possible, and the section of the island we chose to investigate more closely is shown on the map above, on which the red asterisk marks the approximate position of the section of coastline shown in the following photograph.


The most obvious line is the huge chimney on the left of the photo, which we climbed on a subsequent visit, but I was immediately attracted to the slanting corner in the centre of the picture. It certainly didn’t look easy, but it did look possible.

The first problem was getting from the rescue inflatable onto dry land, although on this occasion it was easier than it usually is, given that out to the right of the photo it’s next stop America, and a big swell is usually running. We quickly scrambled up 6–7 metres to the top of a projecting beak of rock, which we immediately christened ‘the pulpit’ and where we could contemplate the corner at closer range.

There is a huge difference between consulting a guidebook, which provides a description and a grade of difficulty for any intended climb, and tackling a route that may turn out to be impossible. The eventual difficulty can only be guessed at in advance. However, the first few feet looked straightforward enough, as illustrated by the photo on the right, which was taken by Keith with a miniature camera that we used on such occasions.

The delusion that this might turn out to be easier than we’d originally anticipated lasted only as far as the first overhang, which I overcame by stepping up to the left then back right above the overhang. Retreat would now be more difficult, and the last move was only the start of the serious difficulties. The next photo, taken by our seaman colleague from the school’s inflatable, merely hints at just how difficult this section turned out to be.


Almost 40 years on, I can remember few details, except that upward movement became more and more difficult, until I reached the position shown in the photo, at which point I became stuck. I couldn’t work out what to do next, and I spent 45 minutes in that one position. Finally, by a series of precarious balance moves, I was able to reach the point shown in the next photo.


Although I had clearly overcome the crux of the climb, progress still wasn’t easy, and yet another problem began to impress itself on my mind. We were using 45-metre ropes, and on a long runout it’s customary for the second to shout out estimates of how much rope is left when it looks to be running out. I reached a suitable ledge with less than two metres to spare. The rest of the climb was easy.

I’ve written before of how it is the prerogative of the first climber to do a route to assign a name to that route. So what should I call it? I may not have felt that rigor mortis was about to set in after spending three-quarters of an hour in the same position, unable to move, but Rigor Mortis seemed an appropriate name nevertheless. We assigned a grade of extremely severe (E1), with a technical grade of 5c, and it is a fair bet that it has never been repeated.

There is a reason for that. In the 1990s, two expats put together a guidebook to climbing in Hong Kong, and several local climbers told them that they should speak to me. They never did, so to this day very few of the dozens of new climbs that I pioneered between 1974 and 1989 are known about. This one is certainly worth a visit. It wasn’t the best of the climbs that Keith and I did together—that was Nightmare, which is another story entirely.

12 comments:

  1. You really have had some great adventures in your life Dennis. That climb looks like sheer madness to me. I mean, I can't really see anything to cling on to etc, and it looks like a long dead drop if anything goes wrong. I just love the angle of that photograph because it truly shows you the size and scale of everything.

    45 minutes in one position? I would have had the coastal guard/mountain team (not sure what help is called) come and get me out of that situation within the first 10 minutes.

    Rigor Mortis is a brilliant name, but I can't wait to hear about Nightmare. It can't be worse than this, can it?
    Brilliant Post.

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    1. Not quite as serious as it might appear to a non-climber Rum. Notice the red slings at five and three o’clock from my position in the main photo. These are temporary protection devices, and (I assume that) Keith would have held me on the rope if I’d come off. Mind you, not every climb is so easily protected. You do need some positive thinking to tackle long runouts without such protection.

      As for Nightmare, I lost all the photos I had of this climb, so it would be difficult to make an interesting post out of the story, although I’m pleased to say that I was able to repeat the climb with Siegfried in 2002. The name came from Keith’s comment on reaching the top: “What are you trying to do? Give me bloody nightmares?”

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  2. Oh, I get woozy just looking at those pictures. What an adventure, though!

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    1. No head for heights then Kris? Essential in this game.

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  3. A brilliant climb and the crux was scary I remember. I think the most technical climb that we put up though was Holocaust and the up and down traverse we made in order to gain the slab.

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    1. It’s too long ago to remember the details, but we gave Holocaust a grade of HVS, while this climb definitely merited a higher grade. Are you still climbing? I had to give up because I didn’t have anyone to climb with, and nowadays I get my kicks exploring the New Territories on a mountain bike.

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  4. Hi Dennis,

    I actually discovered your blog back in summer 2014, when I was seeking some hiking and cycling-related resources in Hong Kong, as I was looking to devote more attention to these activities during some unanticipated free time during that period.

    Although I always found your cycling content enjoyable, it was this particular post which really captured my imagination. It planted something of a seed of interest in my mind to give climbing a try someday, which I did a couple of years later, in 2016. It has remained one of my primary interests in the outdoors since then. Yours was probably the first material I had read about climbing in Hong Kong or indeed anywhere else! I love the way you captured a very special experience of intimacy with rock, nature and sea, and the adventure and exploration of pioneering a climb in such a remote and difficult-to-access area.

    “Nightmare” is also a brilliant story of course which you published on your blog a couple of years later, and I am glad that your blog has now also come to the attention of some of Hong Kong’s current route developers and writers. I would also love to some day see your unpublished writings and guide to the Sai Kung area which you’ve discussed in the “Nightmare” post!

    Also, I’m not aware of any other online or written works which make any mention of climbing on Wang Chau island, so your post here seems very unique and noteworthy. The Ninepins however gets some attention in Brian Heard’s mid-90s guide (I assume that’s the guide you refer to in this, and some of your other, posts?).

    Best wishes and I look forward to reading more from you,
    Richard

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    1. Hi Richard,

      Thank you for such detailed feedback. It never occurred to me that any of my writings on climbing in Hong Kong would inspire someone to take up the pastime, but of course it’s very satisfying to learn that this post had such an effect. I merely wanted to record the experience for my own interest.

      I’d be interested to hear which of my cycling posts you found most interesting/useful. I currently have quite an extensive list of cycling segments that I want to shoot videos for but haven’t yet managed to do so. My personal favourite of the videos I’ve produced this winter is probably Serendipity.

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  5. Rigor Mortis.
    Me again Dennis. Been checking your 'back catalogue'.
    I thought at first that this would be about an E2 on Castle Rock but I guess that this is your 'companion' route.
    Main reason for this post is that I 'climb' at an indoor wall at Fort William [when Covid permits] along with several other 'Golden Oldies'. Two of them are Rod Pashley [who can still make a good fist of the routes] and Tony Shepherd who can outclimb most of us except that he is recovering from a paragliding accident in France or was it Spain. They both recall you at Eskdale. I still climb outdoors summer and winter - brilliant.
    John

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    1. Hi John. It’s good to hear from you. As I indicated in a reply to an earlier comment on this post, I no longer climb, and I do miss it. I used to go soloing when I didn’t have anyone to climb with, but I promised Paula that I wouldn't do so again at the age of 57. However, if you’re passing through Penrith during the summer and fancy taking me out, get in touch. By the way, I remember Rod and Tony, so say “hi!” from me the next time you see them.

      Incidentally, it’s probably my climbing background, but I do like to give names to specific segments that I discover when out cycling. Examples include ‘the corpse road’ ‘swiss roll’ and ‘way of the dragon’.

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  6. Hi Dennis,
    I've been digging through your blog, talked to the guys over at OB, and read through the descriptions of your exploits putting up routes in the 70's. It's been really fun seeing HK through your experiences and I'd love to hear more from you about your (mis)adventures.

    I'm an adventure photographer/filmmaker and am working on a plan for a bit of an adventure to some of the more far flung crags in HK. Would love to dig into your experience and maybe get some advice if you were interested in sharing. If things evolve, I'd love to save a seat for you around a campfire.

    If you're interested, you can reach me at mike (at) sakasphoto com . Excited for a chance to chat with you. If it's a coffee up your way, I'm down to come up.

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    1. Hi Mike.
      I was surprised to read your comment. This all seems so long ago, but I’m certainly up for a chat sometime. I also did a lot of exploration in the 1980s, which I haven’t written about here, although I did write a guidebook in the mid-80s that was never published. However, I did typeset it myself, and I still have it here in HK if you’re interested in reading it.

      I note that you describe yourself as ‘an adventure photographer/filmmaker’, so you might also be interested in my off-road cycling exploration around the northern New Territories, which is my main focus of attention nowadays. I’ll email you about a possible meeting.

      This is a link to a video on my YouTube channel, which focuses on my cycling exploits: Serendipity.

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