Living the Dream

The dream began in 1970 on a weekend meet of the university mountaineering in North Wales.  Appropriately enough for one of our oldest universities, the climbing activities on these meets were organised on strictly meritocratic principles – the bumblies were kicked out of the minibus at Ogwen to go and play at Idwal, leaving the A team in splendid isolation to continue to Anglesey for some real climbing on Craig Gogarth. No need to tell you which group I was in.

In those days the climbs on the Gogarth sea cliffs had only just been opened up and it was seen as a rather serious place for experts only, but the A team were operating at a high standard – their leading light, both on the rock and in generally outrageous behaviour, was a very young Alan Rouse, who was to become one of the country’s leading mountaineers before he died on K2 after making the first British ascent in 1986.

On this particular weekend, after we had spent the day pottering up Charity on Idwal Slabs, we met up with the A team who returned from Anglesey enthusing about a route called A Dream of White Horses.  Apparently it was very spectacular but quite easy and I innocently wondered whether it was something that I might aspire to, but, not wishing to appear ignorant, I didn’t ask them the grade and went and looked it up in the guide book later.  In the grading system of the time it was ‘Extreme’– in other words on a totally different planet to the V.Diffs that were my habitat in those days.

A panorama shot of Wen Slab at Gogarth. The climb traverses the slab from right to left.

From North Wales, August 2007

Fast forward more than 30 years and A Dream of White Horses had become one of the most celebrated Welsh rock climbs, not just because of the intrinsic merits of the climb, but more because of the inspirational route name and a first ascent photo which has become one of the iconic images of British rock climbing - two climbers poised precariously on an enormous slab rising straight out of a turbulent sea, just out of reach of the spray as an enormous wave explodes beneath their feet.

More importantly, the grade had dropped to a soft-touch HVS, a level which ordinary punters like me might be able to cope with on a good day, and it became one of those routes which you just had to do.  I remember an account of Dream in one of Jim Curran’s books, prompted by Don Whillans asking him ‘Have you done that Dream of White Horses?  Because every other bugger has.’  Except that ‘every other bugger’ didn’t include me.

The plan to rectify this was made in a mountain lodge in Nepal last Easter when, with brain cells not functioning properly due to the lack of oxygen at over 4000 metres, I allowed Norman Wright to persuade me that Dream would be a suitable objective for the summer.  Back home at sea level I sought guidance from the Swanage oracle, a legendary grey-bearded figure who claims to be the fount of all knowledge on anything to do with climbing (and on most other subjects for that matter).  Of course he had climbed Dream.  He reckoned I should be OK, but told me to make sure that I led the last pitch.

We drove over from Pen y Clogwyn to Holyhead on Friday the 13^th, perhaps an inauspicious date for a first visit to Gogarth, but it was our last chance to avoid the weekend in the hope that there would be no-one else around to get in our way or to witness any epics and displays of general incompetence.  On arrival at North Stack, the cliff was out of sight below but a well trodden path led down a grassy spur towards the sea, so we followed it until suddenly we found ourselves confronted with a spectacular grandstand view of the crag – a massive steep slab of white rock, almost 300 feet high, rising straight out of the sea on the other side of a zawn.  After all the time studying the famous photo, it was almost a surprise to find that there were no white horses, just a flat calm sea  and a light mist swirling round to add to the atmosphere. Even without white horses it all looked pretty scary, but it was too late to back out now.

The 'grandstand' view of Wen Slab, with a climber on the crux of Dream.

From North Wales, August 2007

The route is a long rising leftward traverse for almost 400 feet, two pitches across the slab and then a horrendous looking final pitch traversing round the back wall of the zawn, with overhangs above and a huge cave below.  At low tide you can start from sea level, but today the tide was in so we abseiled nervously down to a small ledge at the start of the traverse, relieved to find that the slab was actually rather less steep than had it appeared from the other side of the zawn.
After a bit of a struggle to sort out the ropes on the tiny stance, I set off across the traverse - easily at first, then a couple of slightly more tricky moves past an ancient peg and then…  I prevaricated for a while, contemplating a blank section of slab and unable to decide whether to go high or low.  A few spots of drizzle fell, adding to my uncertainty.  But eventually I managed to fix a couple of high runners and once I made the commitment it only needed a long reach and one delicate step to reach good holds and a comfortable resting place.

After reading several accounts of the route, I knew what to expect for the belay at the end of the pitch – standing on one large foothold and hanging in the harness attached to two rock spikes and a couple of wire nuts.  Fortunately I did not have to wait long, for Norman breezed across the traverse, as if to shame my hesitation, and then made short work of the next pitch.  This was quite a contrast - a rising diagonal crack with good handholds, climbed briskly as there was little for the feet apart from small rugosities on the steep slab.  At least there was somewhere to stand on the next stance in the well-named Concrete Chimney, a vertical fault filled with a strange conglomerate which fortunately was far more solid than it appeared.

Now for the last pitch over the cave, trying not to remember the guide book’s warning that a fall by either leader or second could leave you hanging in space 200 feet above the sea.  The start was simple enough – a traverse across a steep slab under a roof, but the slab soon ended and I had to make a precarious descent, searching for footholds while trying to avoid looking down past my feet to the sea a long way below.

The amazing  final pitch of Dream, much easier than it looks.

It was now clear why the oracle had told me to lead this pitch, for a solid runner under the roof meant that I could make the moves in complete safety with a rope almost directly above, and after a couple of awkward steps a long grope round a rib revealed a perfect incut hold for a swing round onto easier ground.  And then it was all remarkably straightforward, for what had appeared to be a trouser-filling traverse on steep walls of crumbling rock was in fact a sequence of delightfully easy climbing on solid holds where I could stand in balance, fix plenty of runners to calm the nerves, and enjoy the spectacular position.  A final awkward step, pulling against the rope drag, and a short bottomless groove led to the top.  Quite a pitch!

I fixed a belay on the edge so that I could enjoy the view of the ropes trailing back across the traverse to Norman, waiting anxiously on the last stance.  The step down is much less well protected for the second, but he made it without any fuss and soon joined me. Well worth waiting over 30 years for.

That account was written in 2004. In 2007 I returned with Carolyn Lyness and repeated the climb on a perfect summer day, when the photos were taken.

Carolyn, very pleased to have survived the Dream.