So over the next couple of days I thought I would try and write up about the competitions I’ve been doing.
Starting with Romania, and what was it like going back to Romania? Well it’s like going back to a new friend that you had just got along with the minute you met. Romania for me is a funny, weird, random country with some of the nicest people I have ever met.
After touching down in Bucharest, Andy Turner, Harry Holmes and myself jumped into our hire car and made the 2 hour drive north towards the mountains. There was a lot less snow than last year as this competition was being held 3 months earlier. We pulled up outside what we thought was our apartment, and was met by a man who literally filled the doorway.
‘Hi we’re looking for the Alpine Club apartments, is this it?’ Andy questioned.
‘No. This is my house. I’m Alex, welcome.’
We looked at each other and walked in without argument. After a short discussion we were in the right place, but we call it by the wrong name.
The Youth Harry Homles knows his place on the sofa!
Alex was a huge dude, ex rock climber, an by the sounds of things was pretty handy in his day. He talked about, well everything. He had bolted many routes and crags nearby Busteni where we were. He made lots of different things, from souvenirs to growing plants, building his house and the list, believe me, went on and on. I thought this guy was super interesting and every meal that was fed to us was made by hand. The wine was made with him and his mates, and calmed to have 500 liters of the stuff! The vegetables and mushrooms were hand picked or grown, and was also made into jams.
Alex’s store room. Everything here has been hand made or picked!
From my room I could see the comp structure lite up below the ski pistes, and tomorrow we would register and be on our way for a climb.
Sitting on a 10 year old mattress with questionable stains on it, I put all my competing gear out so I could see everything.
Axes, check.
Harness, check.
Helmet, check.
Fruit boots, check.
Number? Shit. Where’s my number? I looked in the small rucksack I had, and it wasn’t there. I went to ask a guy who looked at important as he was holding a radio.
‘Hey man, I think I’ve lost my number’.
‘Really? That’s bad.’
‘Yeah, I know, but I think it is in my car’. I didn’t know that for sure, I just hoped it was in there.
‘You can’t compete without your number.’
Yeah dude, I know! But if someone could just take my keys and get it, then it would be ok.’
After a lot of ‘where’s your car?’ and ‘Your car is not there.’, someone did find the car and no the number wasn’t there. Shit.
‘You have to pay 40 more euros, and I can give you another number.’
Another 40 euros left my pocket and I was number 102, not 100.
Soon it was my time to go, and I started to get my gear on. Nerves were kicking in hard and my head was buzzing like last pint of the night you shouldn’t of had and you know you’ll pay for it later. I got escorted out to a small tent with a heater in it. I could hear the cheers and whoops from the crowd as each climber tried there best to stay on the wall as long as they could. With each foot slip or axe rip the crowd gasped and then cheered encouragement to the climber to go higher.
‘ok, Johnstone? you climb now’.
Without saying anything, I grabbed my things and headed out of the warm awkward comfort on the smaller tent and into the bracing cold night air. I could feel the chill on the back of my neck as I walked towards a hanging rope. As I tied in, I took a step back to look again at the route. I still remember it the same, and as I walked back towards the wall to set off, I played out the plan in my head.
Climbing after the difficult start.
The first few moves were the only thing I worried about. They were thin unresponsive holds that I have made mistakes on before. After the first difficultly I got a bit of a flow on. Move, hold, feet. Move, hold, feet. Soon I was just below the over hang, five or so moves more, and I was going to top this thing! I settled myself for my next move, there was no pumped in my arms or nerves in my mind, and with that. My tool ripped. My progress to the ground halted by the rope. My feet slowly touched down the icy floor, and before I thought about untying, I realize that its over. The world of competing is harsh, and second attempts is not an option. I looked back on my climb, and although there’s nothing more annoying than coming off when your not suppose to. I didn’t do too badly, the problem was that everyone did much better. Semi finals? Not a chance.
Parking at the new Dry Tooling crag near Busteni.
The next day we met a guy called Lillian, ‘my friends call me Lily, like the flower.’
After a short discussion, Lily had printed off a map and a topo of a crag nearby that he want to take Andy, Harry, and myself to. We were also join by Jennifer Olson and some wee mad french dude Pac.
After a hour we were standing below the crag and it looked promising. It was located 45 min north of Busteni in a deep gorge with steep walls on one side. Shortly after arriving, we were met by Lily’s friend, who quickly grabbed some draws, ropes and a massive camera and set up towards the crag. We didn’t have any gear with us, but Lily assured us that it was no problem and he would sort all that out. Between them, they put draws in the bolts, they had tea and biscuits for everyone, and then announced that two of the route we were gearing up for climbing had not had any ascents!
‘Please, you can climb it, It’s our pleasure’.
The Crag.
Remember when I said that Romania was full of some of the nicest people…..
I could rattle on and on about Romania, the awesome people, the hundreds of stray dogs running around, the dodgy red wine, and the very dodgy clear spirit that should only be drank if your not planning anything for the next few days.
My time ended in the after party, which consisted, as usual of half naked Russians and other sweaty climbers throwing down possible the worst cringe worthy moves on the dance floor I have ever seen! As I gabbed my last free beer on the night, I heard a little voice.
‘I remember you.’ Said the little lass be hide the bar. Well I say bar, it was a small table with drinks on it.
‘Me? Really?’
‘Yeah, from last year. You drink a lot!’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I said sheepishly as she was not wrong..
And with that, being remembered from my drinking habit, instead of everyone else being remembered for their amazing climbing ability. I left.
In the morning we were met by more generosity and made loose plans for our return before the winter and competition start again.
Stay tuned for part 2……..Saas Fee!
Andy Turner doing the first ascent of Tatai M9.
Long Reach Climbing 