Deep Water Soloing
Top Six Deep Water Soloing Dos and Don’ts: a Hypocritical Oaf
Never go deep water soloing alone
I’m a fine one to talk. For me deep water soloing is about self-reliance, and problem solving to stay safe. But going it alone is also about learning to understand and respect your tenuous place in the sea-cliff environment.
For most people, DWS is not about dealing with danger like when soloing above the ground. It’s about fun with friends, and pushing yourself in safety – and I can happily sign up to that ethos too. In effect DWS is bouldering above water.
Buddying up with fiends means potentially there is someone to help you out if things go awry, reducing the likelihood of your recreation impacting upon the rescue services. A self-sufficient community will help portray a sense of responsibility and preparedness (especially when compared to tombstoners!). But, as an aside, don’t be afraid to resist being egged on to do things your gut tells you not to do.
A snapshot of my Portland days, and my outlook on DWS, can be found in Head above Water – it’s an article published in Climber in 2001. (Portland & Ogmore pics by Carl Ryan.)
Left: The deep water solo first ascent of Buzzarena (F7b+), Ogmore, in 1999. Pic: Carl Ryan
Don’t solo too high
Practise what you preach: hmmm. On-sight soloing the 60-metre high arête of Missing Link (F6b), Costa Blanca in 1995 is not a good advert for this advice. In my defence, wanting to keep on climbing safely has always been about probabilities and managing risk. If you’re climbing well within your standard – the chances of falling should be close to zilch and therefore the risk of harm equally close to zilch. The whole point of DWS is to use the sea as a safety net. So, an in-control fall from a low height shouldn’t be too traumatic, assuming good conditions. By contrast, falling from 45 metres is unlikely to see you swimming away safely. So, the pic isn’t DWS; it’s SOLOING.
Assuming good water, deep water soloing anything up to 8 metres should feel comfortable and exhilarating. You can showboat ‘til the sun goes down. Now, between 10 metres and 12 metres it’s beginning to feel high, as rising concentration levels testify. In my experience it’s very rare to feel frightened while DWS, but when above 12 metres or so let’s say I’ll be doing my utmost to avoid a splashdown!
Mind any Loose Rock
A lot of DWSs I’ve established have been on cliffs with crappy top-outs. (Twenty First Century opposite required removal of some very loose rock from the fragile cliff-edge bands.) The primary risk here is that of rockfall. Imagine you’re say 10 metres up; you’re about to top out; you pull on a big hold; it moves outwards and loosens your grip so you fall into the sea – harmlessly so far. Trouble is you’ve pulled on a block which you’ve destabilised and which has been slowly easing out above you. Your false security is soon shattered when one or two seconds later the block is on its way down – to you! Forgive the doom mongering, but If you’re prospecting on a cliff with loose rock at the cliff-edge, no one will criticise you for binning the idea completely or checking and cleaning the top first, even on an ab rope. Don’t feel gaslighted by an unconditional on-sight ethic propounded by ‘purists’ (who sometimes have more skeletons in their cupboard than Dr Crippen). It’s perfectly reasonable for people to make rational judgements in order to look after and enjoy their climbing lives. It won’t neutralise the adventure.
Left: Twenty-first Century (F6c+). Dave Pickford climbing. Pic: Martin Crocker
Plan for cold water shock
I detest cold water. It is this factor more than any other that motivates me not to fall. That’s why I wear water wings. No, infamous Freddie the Frog wasn’t an attempt at a personalised branding, though the encouragement from two inane amphibians smiling up at me is immeasurable. So, wearing buoyancy aids isn’t to be sneered at: if cold water shock knocks your breathing out of sync, they’ll help keep you afloat enabling you to relax and recover your breathing method.
Ideally, you won’t be DWS until UK seas hit their peak temperature, in July/August – a still bracing 16°C. Impatiently I used to start the DWS season in May when the sea is still cold (about 12°C), and even made the first complete free solo of The Watchtower in Torquay at the end of March, which at 9°C might look a bit crazy. The sun may beat down in spring but the sea has yet to warm up. August to October is best, and a lot more inviting than May or even June. And, you could choose to lengthen your season a little by wearing a wet suit: lightweight short-sleeved shorties or a sleeveless vest are fairly unrestrictive. They’ll also mitigate water-slap.
In response to a slightly different risk: don’t entertain falling into the sea if you’ve got cold. I’ve axed many a project because the sun had slipped around the corner, or the easterlies had picked up, or it had started raining (!). Get cold and your core will only get colder quicker when you dunk.
Don’t solo above shallow water
Whoops: do as I say, not as I do. There’s something about tombstoners. It’s easy to look down your nose at these party-prone kids. But while soloing at Babbacombe just recently, I was bowled over by the apparent skill and expertise of children as young as 12: they knew exactly where to jump and the margins for error. They had even rated jumps according to those margins (‘nutters 1, 2, and 3’ etc.). So I had no qualms when they started jumping over me while climbing 8 metres below.
Most established, popular DWS cliffs are accompanied by reliable beta on water depth for all tidal states, all proved by local expertise. But if you’re into experimenting elsewhere, where there is no reliable data, take time to do your research first. British waters can be very tidal i.e. the difference between low and high waters can be as much as 10 metres (Bristol Channel). It’s really difficult to gauge water depth from above: seawater has the deceptive capacity to appear deeper than it is, and even the colour of any boulders beneath will make a difference. So scout/swim the cliff base at low tide, look out for any boulders/reefs under your line, and maximise water depth by waiting for a high spring tide. On Portland in the 90s I’d occasionally use my kids’ six-foot fishing-net cane as a dipstick. One batch of hard routes was so serious I headpointed them first, so from a top-rope I was able to poke around with the cane to check that I had at least 2 metres of water before committing. But do remind yourself if you’re going to solo above a metre or two of water: that is not DWS, that’s SOLOING!
Left: Extreme Lives (E7 6b), Portland; the first ascent, in 2001. Pic: Carl Ryan
Know how and where to get out of the sea
We’ve all done it. Left it until arms begin to wilt and think: ‘umm, now how do I get out of the sea if I fall in?’ So, you’d best suss the way to get out before you start, the distance you’d have to swim, how difficult it looks, whether the escape point is being hit by waves, and so on. Any modern guidebook to a popular area should have the escape points marked and described, and sometimes there’s an in-situ line to assist. But beware of getting cut to ribbons as you clamber out; limestone in particular is prone to raggedness in the wave-splash zone.
If you’re operating on a less well known crag or one where there is no immediate obvious escape; then you could always drape the end of a semi-static rope into the sea, perhaps even leaving ascendeurs attached to the rope, within reach. I would often do this on my Ogmore solos where it can be about half a mile to swim to the nearest scramble-out. Sure the setting-up is a faff, but it could save the day and avoid an incident which impacts upon innocent third parties who’ve got more worthy people to save.
Right: Taking the plunge from Tentacle Master (F7a+), Portland, at lowish tide. Pic: Carl Ryan
A Seventh Wave: too obvious for words (but here are a few)
Sea conditions; of course they reflect weather conditions, not just the prevailing weather but also incoming weather features currently off local radar. Wind strength and direction rule: I’ve found that onshore wind speeds above around15m.p.h pretty much rule out safe DWS because of swell. Yet the same wind strength blowing offshore can leave flat waters in sheltered locations (e.g. a strong northerly blowing over a south facing cliff). But you cannot generalise; sea states can vary from cove to cove, and it is absolutely vital to do your research first: via the Met Office, surfers’ or fishing websites like Magic Seaweed, the Coastguard service, and local climbing guidebooks and experts. If you turn up and have got it wrong, just turn back and go bouldering instead.
Most falls happen because we run out of arm strength. And falling into a rough sea where we have to fight against currents, swell, and chop will be no easy matter if exhausted or even tired. I had an incident while ‘swimming ‘just north of Biarritz in big waves, but with lifeguards immediately present. Behold another cocky know-it-all Brit underestimating the power of the sea. After being twisted, turned and tossed upside down a few times, and winded, I could barely make it out. Humbled and embarrassed then, the tendon injuries to my knees have morphed into arthritis now. Knackering yourself is one thing, but don’t put anyone else at risk through poor judgement.
Friends, flat seas, & deep water. Have a happy lifetime of deep water soloing!
South Devon
In 2020 I started climbing regularly again in South Devon, following a reunion with Dartmoor granite a few years earlier. The wonderful area guidebook of Pete Saunders’s helped draw me back. So much still to do, the guide being packed to the paddles with many curious places off piste. Initially I had zero plans to deep water solo, but somehow found myself bouncing about again above the sea like a 15-year old. ‘What had I been doing for the last 20 years?’. Rediscovering some old haunts from the 90s is proving fun, as has exploring new places. I’ve even notched up a few new routes here and there including on Petit Tor Point, in respect of which I’ve produced a very simple topo you can download here if you wish. In collaboration with Pete, and guidebook helper and major trad activist Simon Wooster, I may churn out a few more.
I’ll reorganise this part soon but – in the interim – here is a running commentary on Some New Routes in South Devon. It was written in a form to update the guidebook authors; some of the routes will have been done before, which is cool. At least it can be used to X-reference against other information sources or personal records especially as the DWS season is upon us, between storms.
A tombstoner at Withy Point, Babbacombe. Freddie the Frog is just about visible 8 metres below him, on the traverse-in to one of Simon Wooster’s serious deep water solos – Life’s an Ocean (F6b+). Pic by Emily Crocker