Gower & South East Wales climbing

Pre-me, my parents lived in Burryport where my dad (working at its power station) fostered a love for the Welsh hills. Back in Bristol he would take the family to the Brecon Beacons; and I - for one - got hooked. B&W pics: left Pen-y-Fan, late-60s [Raymond Crocker]; right: Skirrid Fawr, 1969/70, on a school YHA trip. Unfortunately our Geography teacher, whom you'd expect to imbue others with the joy of the hills, didn't take kindly to our being 2hrs late - the lugubrious grouch nonetheless providing an early life lesson that to get inspired you must go your own way [Crocker coll./Guy Glanville].

Soloing above the sea at high tide in the Giant's Cave Area, Gower, 1972 [Dave Ford]. I remember this day well, as with all the trips our club (EGONS) would frequently make to South Wales: to Llangattock, Taf Fechan, and - especially - to Gower. Twas an early taste of what would much later become known as 'deep water soloing' (though maybe not so deep that day).

Aid climbing was still respectable in those days. Our plan was to peg under the entire length of the Giant's Cave roof. Ambitious? I only got 6 metres across before running out of pegs. So, after a soaking, we escaped up Tablette (free at E5 as Madame Butterfly). We would use Jeremy Talbot's fabulous 'red guide' of 1970. Inside was 'Gold Kappel' - the name as seductive as its description - and V1+ (the top grade in the book): 'go up direct on holdless rock to tiny pinch holds...' It showed how guidebooks and the constructs of climbers could help make an inert lump of rock irresistible. [Dave Ford]

I studied geology at Cardiff University 1974 - 1977. Here is a pic of a well attended university club 'freshers' outing to Morlais, during which I scared myself silly on the testpiece of the day, Pullover. Or maybe I couldn't handle the audience and peer pressure? You see, when applying for membership you had to state the grade you climb. On the bus there I couldn't but help overhear the mutterings of disapproval as the club's elite rustled through the application forms. It was unthinkable for a club member to lead extreme and, my word, it is we who show you how you do it, not the other way round.

Fellow geology student and university club member Nigel Watts with wife-to-be Barbara in Talybont student flats in 1976. Barbara is reading my thesis! Nigel was a staunch member of the local mountain rescue team, but increasingly he turned to technical climbing for himself. Hailing from Aberdare he proved a font of knowledge about the local crags - both climbed and unclimbed. That struck a chord with me.

This is Gwaun Cefynygarreg, which was explored in the late-60s by Nigel's Aberdare-based Snoopy Climbing Club. It is one of many Twrch Sandstone crags in the Brecon Beacons National Park, and perhaps the most prominent. However, access problems with the farmer meant that Nigel's team had to snoop in (and then run off when they got caught!). During the 80s I would often look up at this while walking in the Ystradfellte area with my wife. Only many years later did I check out hazy recollections and proceed to scour the BBNP for Twrch treasure, the CRoW Act assisting unfettered access.

The first ascent of Free World (E1) at Penallta in 1975 [Nigel Watts]. Penallta was the first local crag I got introduced to by the university club: my first encounter with Pennant rock, which seeded my life-long preference for sandstone. On most free Wednesday afternoons, I would take the train from Queen Street and spend a few hours soloing at the crag. Inevitably I noticed the possibility of a free climb through the top overhangs, which sported some old pegs and bolts - presumably from an aided ascent. So, Free World followed; as did the euphoria of doing a new route on sandstone!

Penallta in 1975/76; actually not so different from the current day, save the cliff-base trees. The name Free World was also a nod to 'Free Wales', the painted slogan at the foot of the crag replenished in perpetuity in the 70s. I guess the other thing missing from the pic is the fixture of local kids, now seemingly ready to jeer and chuck beer cans at you as you try to keep your head together and your balance intact while soloing Free Wall Direct.

Sennapod Corner (HVS), 1975 [Nigel Watts]. With valley-dweller Nigel pointing the way, a small group of university mates investigated Mountain Ash Quarry. We thought ours was the first ascent of this great corner, but later learned that Phil Thomas, one of the tough yet modest climbers from the South Wales Mountaineering Club, had beaten us to it by a few years. We were disappointed; but the route wasn't any the less just because someone else had got there first.

While at the quarry, I thought I'd have a go at the cracks in the right wall of the corner. It didn't quite work out this time and I got beaten back by dirt, dust, and wilting arms. (In the mid-80s the line became 'A Load of Rubbish' - a somewhat unfair title.) But I did return for the bare wall to its left, and others, 13 years later. Whiter than White Wall (F7b) was one of the vanguard of a new quarried sandstone era, though with bolts the vexed solution to blankness.

Bouldering on the apocalyptic sandstone sprawl above Pontypridd in 1976 - you know, the one you can see from the A470 as you head for the clip-ups further north. [Nigel Watts]

George Traish at Wyndcliffe in 1975. An outlier, George, was one of those climbers who was oblivious to his own talent. He had struck up an unlikely partnership with northern star Jim Moran while training as a teacher in Cardiff. His immunity to situations that would frighten the living daylights out of anyone else never failed to amaze me, as did those elaborate silver foil pipes he'd construct whenever he needed a bhang. We did lots of climbing throughout Britain in the late-70s and early-80s, and he was always happy to experiment at esoteric new pastures. One time he said I had beautiful legs.

Don't talk to strange men! A geology field trip caused us to examine the Lias strata somewhere or other near Cardiff (Ely valley?). Naturally we returned with some kit, enjoying top-roping as far as the ivy cornice, and showing off to the girly cheer-leaders who provided a round of applause. I expect the crag is now plastered with ivy, or bolts, or both. Amongst the group was 1975 flat-mate Rob Illingworth.

Rob Illingworth near the Gabalfa roundabout, asserting his charm to cadge a lift to Taff's Well. It didn't work, so we took the bus instead. Rob occupied the top floor room in a shared flat in Cathedral Road. I had the room below from which I could hear the incisive discussions he'd have with himself in the early hours. His was a great mind; sometimes I'd have to join in. Our landlady, Mrs Morris, was a rough diamond: she disliked the smoke I'd create cooking bacon and fried bread each morning yet was happy that I let rip on my drum kit, weaponizing it perhaps against her neighbours (or maybe her husband).

Taff's Well was a regular destination, my first encounter being Catwalk which seemed adorned with wonderful crystalline finger-jugs. Not knowing any better I pulled on one, but went flying in a humungous swing as it disintegrated to dust. At least the leader had his laugh and I wised up. From Cardiff I'd some times pop up there on a spring evening to solo up Sub Wall and down Pine Tree. It was a favoured excursion for bubbly Judith of the Rhymney Valley.

The Fang (E1), Cefn Coed, in 1975/6. [Nigel Watts]. Cefn Coed was one of my favourite SE Wales crags: the climbing style agreed with me, and the lines were good. It was always quiet, even into then 80s and 90s; and you invariably had to deal with some vegetation and loose rock. But so what. Decades later, like many others I was dismayed to learn that some individuals had - without consultation - tried to terraform the site, a nature reserve, which led to climbing being banned.

In 1983 I met my wife-to-be Beverley, care of a blind date from our respective school/university friends. Her late parents, Brian & Betty, lived in Newbridge, Gwent, which effectively became a second home, especially when our children arrived on the scene. Their support and tolerance was inestimable, nurtured by traditional Welsh family values.

And a mere 4 miles away was an old haunt: Penallta, still with routes I hadn't done. Above, in 1984, soloing Scabs (E3) after a finger-nail session on the leaning wall right of Y-Fronts ( I expect the problems here have been claimed scores of times since; and I can't imagine Rhondda wonderboy Andy Sharp would not have clawed up them too). [Beverley Crocker]

The first ascent of Have Mercy (E4 6a), Ogmore, in 1985. [Matt Ward]. My first fling at Ogmore, in 1975, was an inauspicious affair. I was pathetically weak from too much slabby Avon, and super-steep Pinocchio melted my arms. But in the early-80s, after 5 years of reorganising my body on Sussex & Kent sandstone, I worked through many of the existing extremes, first with Damo Carroll and then with Matt Ward ('the first'). I grew to love the exhilaration of deadpointing jug-lines on overhanging rock, and swinging about more-or-less care free.

Matt Ward at Ogmore in 1985. A more perfect climbing partner you could not ask for: reliable, good company, and motivated by local climbing exploration.

The first ascent of Mantra (E5), Ogmore, in 1985. [Matt Ward]. This was the first of my routes in Tiger Bay, which illuminated its remaining high-end potential. Incidentally Mantra provides a relatively amenable deep water solo, with easy access down the chimney to its left. The Uncanny (E6), just to the right, was climbed a few weeks later. Somebody has since drilled two stainless steel pegs into The Uncanny, the rationale presumably to replace the long-rotten two pegs I had placed. I wonder how that action will be reconciled against the imperative that Ogmore is strictly a no-drilled-gear cliff.

And here's another first ascent in Tiger Bay in 1985: Matt Ward following Daughter of Regals (E5) - he hated that name! Though mild-mannered and inhumanly tolerant it wasn't rare for Matt to speak his mind and put his foot down. It was a necessary skill both in relation to climbing with me and his other main climbing partner of the time, this man....

Gary Gibson, and canine friend, in Cheddar Gorge for CragAttak, in 2008. [Carl Ryan]. Even by 1985, Gary's mission to rule the world of new routing was well underway, his scattergun incursions leaving few parts of Britain without at least one or two (or hundreds) of new GG routes. He'd already sent out feelers into the South Wales quarries, and had spotted Pembroke. If I recall correctly he sent me a letter seeking an opportunity to do a new climb at Ogmore. The result was...

Tiger Sanction (E5 6a), Gary Gibson in his distinctive stripes following the first pitch. [Matt Ward] A photo from this strip made the cover of New Climbs 1986, a brilliant though short-lived guidebook series supported by the BMC. The guides, compiled by Gary, were a perfect platform for those, including Gary, wanting to unveil their routes in the public domain.

The first ascent of White Witch (E5), Witches Point. [Crocker coll. /Roy Thomas]. With Matt and I engaged in Ogmore it was inevitable that we'd cross paths with Roy Thomas, an activist from Bridgend. Roy had a fetish for home-made pegs he called 'specials', which we liberally 'welded' into the crag. Lots of wild routes resulted, especially in 1986, including E5s at Witches Point that Roy was keen to explore. Ten years later, under the influence of Gary Gibson, Witches Point became a leading sport climbing site, a laudable concept though sadly at the expense of the unapproved retrobolting of the 80s trad routes.

The first ascent of Yellow Regeneration (E5), Yellow Wall, Gower, in 1986. [Matt Ward]. Matt and I had ticked off the existing routes on Yellow Wall the previous year, and noticed this pearl - one of my top ten S Wales first ascents. (Skyhedral Wall, E6, climbed five years later - with my wife belaying - proved almost as good.) For the sharp-eyed, no I hadn't dropped my glasses, but was trying out contact lenses instead. Unfortunately brushing dust off ledges at Cheddar didn't agree with them, the dust getting under the lenses, and causing eyes like Dracula. Hence the route names opposite.

Matt Ward following on the second ascent of Earthly Powers (E5), Thurba Head, Gower in 1985. Yellow Wall is one of two powerful trad cliffs on Gower, Thurba Head is the other. I'd long acquired a wandering eye. While climbing, it had become instinctive to look around for other possibilities, to tuck those ideas away, and resurrect them in - say - five, ten, fifteen, or twenty years time. They were amongst the reasons to come back.

Masterpiece (E6), Gower, second ascent? So it's back to Giant's Cave, but this time for a beautiful arete, which I'd failed on before. I haven't mentioned Pat Littlejohn yet, but Masterpiece is one of Pat's, so now is timely. While drafting a guidebook script in 2003, Dave Pickford suggested I lose the psycho-analysis. Fair point; actions define people, not words: and you can get to know a climber by repeating their routes. For Masterpiece that's: drive, stamina, boldness, and (according to my diary) a dogged resistance to pain. No one, whoever they are, gets things right all the time, but 99% of the time is fine by me.

The second ascent (first on-sight) of Rogues' Gallery (E5), Morlais, in 1985. [John Harwood]. Developments on inland quarries have always been key to the history and culture of SE Wales climbing. Extraordinarily so, sometimes. This blank wall (justifiably dubbed the Great Wall) came under the radar of Gary Gibson, but - importing his own method - he only climbed it after placing a bolt runner. Various locals were apoplectic about the action (though too civilised to show it); and the route was not climbed bolt free until 2010.

One such traditionalist unamused by the bolting of Great Wall was Tony Penning, here pictured on Wintour's Leap in 2007. Tony relished the trad esoteria of SE Wales - dust, loose rock, warts'n all. He appeared to share the viewpoint that: 'You should take the rock as it comes: it's your responsibility to adapt to the rock, not adapt the rock to you'. We'd often meet at the crag, and I'd hear animated tales of his prospecting at Morlais, Cefn Coed, and Llangattock during the late-70s and in the 80s. His resolve to keep Llangattock bolt free, even if cowed elsewhere, endures to this very day.

And this is Llangattock: Bristol climber, and sport convert, Gordon Jenkin making a rare visit there (after much persuasion), following on the first ascent of Funky Flowstone Route (E3), in 1985. I'd previously traipsed along the entire escarpment and was staggered by the remaining potential, my 70s visits being policed by the EGONS predilection for the pub. OK, there are rubble slopes, mud-streaks, and midges - but there are also wonderful views across to the Black Mountains and, then, acres of unclimbed flowstone.

When actively climbing together I even managed to get Roy Thomas to Llangattock. Here, Roy is following on the first ascent of The Roaring 80s (graded E5 6a, but significantly harder than Lord of the Flies - but there again most routes are harder than Lord of the Flies!). Funny, I've heard various people (including a mis-educated BMC officer) lambasting the 80s; but - like its music - there was much that was diverse, challenging, and vibrant about the decade, notwithstanding (or perhaps because of) the flux of ideas and technologies.

It takes a lot to keep this man down: here is Roy Thomas nursing a broken leg, having driven to and climbed at Taff's Well in leg plaster. Credit. About that time I repeated Crowman. Under-rated by first ascensionist Pat, I was well-impressed by its sustained, nervy climbing, often only marginally protected. It amounted to a milestone of SE Wales's climbing legacy: its first inland E6. So, it seemed utterly baffling that Crowman, along with a new E5 to its left I led without any fixed gear, should be retrobolted 15 years later. The bolts were subsequently removed.

In the productive late-80s respect was generally shown to new bolted routes living alongside new and existing trad routes, without conflating the value of either. Development shifted from Taff's Well east to Taff's Well west, where the earlier bolted inroads of Andy Sharp were followed up with a fine set of sport routes. Above: the first ascent of Streaming Neutrinos (F7b+), in 1987. Looks like a big reach. 'Telescopic' was the adjective Gary would use.

The first ascent of Spore Wars (E6/F7b+; I pt aid), Dinas Rock, in 1988. [Crocker coll./Roy Thomas]. The largely unquarried Dinas Rock is SE Wales's finest outcrop, and it still presented many challenges in the 80s. This drew many movers and shakers to its sheer walls, and - pre-area bolting policies - with each feeling free to apply their own ethics. At a similar time I climbed the 'holdless' groove right of Spore Wars, which became Subversive Body Pumping. An obtuse stemming problem, I got carried away and graded it UK tech 7a. It wasn't of course; after all, how could a southern softie possibly climb 7a!?

The first ascent of Powers that Be (E6 6c/F7c), Dinas Rock. [Crocker coll./Roy Thomas]. I'd first climbed at Dinas Rock in 1975, sampling the quality of Strider with university chums. The ivy and dusty slick rock reminded me of Cheddar; and aid routes predominated (featuring the odd bolt here and there). Ten to 15 years later the site had become a melting pot of ethics, the old aid bolts had become protection bolts, and sport climbing had won out, though sadly with the loss of characterful trad routes like Dream Academy. Yet the trad stalwarts ultimately let it go, such was the swell of opinion in favour of sport.

The first ascent of Calling the Shots (E4), Llwynypia, in 1989. [Crocker coll./Roy Thomas]. A trademark of SE Wales climbing is its diverse venues. Tucked away in the valleys are countless sandstone quarries, a remnant of the area's early C20th coal mining industry, which shaped the landscape. In the late 80s we would often study maps and make drivepasts to check out new sites and the old ones that got a line or two in the SWMC's 1973 guidebook. Llwynypia was hardly our discovery, but I recall the satisfaction of finding seven new trad' routes there on a lovely spring day.

The first ascent of The Caerphilly Contract (E6/F7b+), Llanbradach, in 1988. [Matt Ward]. The vast Llanbradach quarry was hardly invisible; I'd catch a glimpse of it from the train on my way to Penallta in the 70s. Pat had made a foray of perceived insanity with The Expansionist, up a tottering flake. He also placed a bolt runner here, which (considering his stance on bolts) others found to be surprising. It was a disclosure that proved highly influential locally. Gary Gibson eventually turned up, concluding the quarry's evolution into an outstanding sport climbing venue (outside the midge season).

No holds? No problem! Andy Sharp joking around for the camera while preparing what would become La Rage during his and Pete Lewis's blitz of superb face climbs at Cwmaman, in 1988. I first met Andy in the mid-70s when he worked in the YHA shop in Cardiff; he'd blag selling me the odd sling or nut, and tell me climbing in North Wales was much better than Taff's Well. Enduringly he has remained Gower & SE Wales's 'golden boy' embracing, and sometimes spearheading, change - all the while retaining an enviable ability to seer up the smallest crimps imaginable. He's the man with magic fingers.

Very rarely would the seepage lines of the Pennant sandstone outcrops and quarries freeze up: here's Roy Thomas jangling his ice gear above Treorchy, in 1988. It was the first ice climbing I'd done since 1975 - once I'd exhumed my rusty crampons and Chouinard ice hammer from the attic.

It was in humble tones that the name 'John Harwood' would be whispered in university climbing club circles in the mid-70s. He was a Biochemistry lecturer at Cardiff uni, and had the reputation as a N Wales hardman - a stratosphere above our numpty undergraduate status. Ironically I never met John while at Cardiff, but eventually we did coincide, at Shorn Cliff in 1992. Finding we shared most climbing values, including the love of wild unexplored cliffs, we hit it off and remained climbing partners ever since. If there were any sliver of sunshine at a crag, he'd be sitting in it, like being in a spotlight.

The first ascent of Cointreau (F7b), Mountain Ash, in 1994. [John Harwood]. Yet another return to Mountain Ash, with Cointreau representing a fine complement to my Pastis on Ice from 1988. But by the mid-90s I was rounding off my interest in new sport routes; besides which John had a pathological hatred for bolts and their spread in South Wales (in which, ironically, I and other mates of his participated!).

Here's another obscure sandstone quarry find: the first ascent of High Force (F6c+), Deri Park, in 1994. [John Harwood]. Good belaying is required to prevent getting dropped into the pond below the climbs. When gearing the routes, I was visited by the local constabulary. Apparently a resident on the hillside had trained their binoculars on me thinking I was nicking heron eggs (what heron!?). Not my greatest crag find: Sirhowy and Treherbert were better.

John much preferred classic climbing, as here following on the first ascent of Error's Corner (E1), Rhossili, Gower.

Cashing in one of those 'notes to future self': the first ascent of Cool Brittania (E6), Thurba Head, Gower, in 1998. [John Harwood coll./Pete Kille]. High magazine described it as 'the perfect arete'; can't disagree with that. Heavy on the 'gggrrrr' factor, the ascent required a few flyers motivated by some timely 'come on you old git!'. We got out just as the breakers took command.

Around the turn of the century Gower still offered many opportunities for exploration in its hidden coves, gullies, and neglected tiers. One such was Devil's Cwm in which lurks The Freaks Come Out (E4); the first ascent, in 1999. [Carl Ryan]. It was another fruitful trip out for climbing's Guy Bourdin.

Wales's nuclear power plant, Carl Ryan in action in 2003. A day out with Carl was like no other. Not only did you have to climb the route, but you had to obey a rain of instructions mid-crux as the sun disappeared behind a cloud: 'Hold it there Mart, just a little longer'. Originally we'd got together, with John, in 1995 to shoot Pembroke's epic E7, Suzie's Plot. That left Carl 'foaming at the gusset' for more 'coconuts' and the chance of a front cover.

Gower shoots were easy to arrange since Carl lived near Swansea; e.g. the first ascent of A Grave End (E5), in 2000, with Jim Clapham.[Carl Ryan]. He would arrive loaded like a sherpa, with more gear than John and I combined: cameras, tripods, lenses, static lines, plus his climbing kit. In Carl's company there was never a dull or downbeat moment. On one walk-out, deep in conversation, but not looking where he was going, Carl tripped fully laden, and performed a perfect somersault only to land upright without flinching or stopping talking. (Hence the route: Ass over Tit.)

John and I investigated all manner of Gower cliffs, often with Carl 'locked and loaded'. Above, John is following on the first ascent of a route at Rams Tor, I think. [Carl Ryan]. It's difficult remembering every single one.

A first ascent on Gower. Looks gnarly (do people say 'gnarly' any more?). [Carl Ryan]

The first ascent of Total Eclipse of the Sun, Ogmore [E8 6b], in 1999. [Carl Ryan]. Pat had lit the runway with solos of A Bigger Splash, but I was looking for a lower route, and one which dared enter the cave of Tiger Bay. Jagged rocks lay a few feet below the surface; any comfort was illusory. Carl lapped it up and subsequently got approached by a South African publisher. Thus the route, to my surprise, entered a compilation of the world's great climbs, but not without a couple of Sheffield-based magazine blokes moaning about it in the press. As Ian Parnell aptly put it - forget them, it's 'just sour grapes'.

The first deep water solo ascent of Delirious (E6/F7a+), Ogmore. [Carl Ryan], in 2000. Strange how soloing a route at Ogmore can be much safer than leading it. Delirious, led with Matt Ward in 1986, proved Ogmore's most terrifying lead for me. I'd underestimated the headwall, and arrived at it pumped out of my skull. Fiddling around for hours, the gear looked dire, with nothing to stop a groundfall. As forearms cried out from the brink of failure, babbling escalated to shouting and screaming. Afterwards we learned that someone at the cliff-top had heard my wailing and called the emergency services.

You've got to hand it to him, with routes like Sorcery (E6, SE Wales's first) at Ogmore, Pat Littlejohn's legacy is legend. Above is my deep water solo ascent, in 2000. [Carl Ryan]. In the late-70s to-mid 80s I expended much effort in repeating Pat's routes far and wide. Sorcery wasn't plain sailing. On my first attempt in 1984, I couldn't commit to the break, choosing to hit the air, a twisted Rock 2 in a square pocket pulling through just a little bit more each fall. Two years later, with Matt Ward, I had more success, uprating it to E6. The solo ascent again felt much safer, but I can't guarantee that I wasn't fooling myself.

The deep water solo first ascent of No Fakin' It (F7b], Ogmore in 2003. [Carl Ryan]. Pretentious or what. The name was a deliberate ruse and the ascent ornamented with a score of false grunts. I had top-roped the upper wall first, because of some wafer-thin flakes-holds that I didn't want to risk breaking off and knocking me out. Multi-talented Carl filmed the ascent too, the Hang Loose film crew originally planning to release an Ogmore soloing film. But I wasn't a babe-hunk with biceps and couldn't imagine for one moment anyone wanting to buy such a thing. We focused on a film about Pembroke instead.

Ian Parsons, cam-clad and bat-like, on Flipside Genocide, Ogmore, in 2008. Well into the noughties, there were still lots to go for at Ogmore in lead mode. In particular the stunning wall hosting Phaser seemed worth a fresh look. John didn't get on with overhangs, but Ian (who had helped with the Cheddar project), was game. With a rope access background, Ian excelled with gear, but normally he'd bring too much (out of his bottomless sack would pop at least five pairs of rock-shoes, the choice of which depended on the prevailing state of his bunions).

The first ascent of Prawn Brain (E4), Phaser Wall, Ogmore, in 2008. [Carl Ryan]. Climbing these 'layered' routes is very, very strenuous. Problem is you can't see the diameter of the breaks and which nuts/cams go in, until you pull up to them. Deadpoint training and multiple welsh cakes recommended.

The first ascent of Lysistrata (E5), Witches Tip, Ogmore, in 2004. [Jonathan Crocker]. A nice place to hang-out with my son; there's lots of cool bouldering and highballing on the low walls west of Dunraven Bay too.

In the late noughties I was increasingly getting back into bouldering and soloing, often choosing places that made a good family day out too. Above: the first ascent of En Guarde , (E1 5b), Llangattock. [Jonathan Crocker]. This obscure pit, had been filled with rolls of jagged wire netting, providing an interesting landing-site.

Ian Parsons on Box Jelly Fish, ( E3/V0+), on a roadside quarry south of Llangattock. Fun titbits and flowstone tweaks in grand surroundings a mere 6 metres from your car.

Green Mind, Atomic Heart (E2/V5), in the same quarry. [Crocker coll./Ian Parsons]. Don't be fooled, the camera doesn't always tell the truth: there is a stack of mats out of shot below.

Bouldering on the Lonely Shepherd, Llangattock. [Jonathan Crocker]. One of the quarries you can see behind the pinnacle is Gilwern.

Flow Job, one of the F6a/b sport routes at Gilwern, in 2007. A delightful flowstone wall teeming with bolt-lines. Quite the contrast to Llangattock, complementing it nicely, and keeping everyone happy, more-or-less.

John Harwood following on the first ascent of Wall of Balls (E4/5 6a), Gilwern East (Pen-y-Galchen), in 2007. A beautiful compact wall which reminded me of Wall of Straws in Dovedale, but this one requiring even bigger balls. We did other routes on the cliff, but - unfortunately - they were all retrobolted about eight years later. Initially the guy who retroed the routes volunteered to remove the bolts, but inexplicably he then changed his mind. It was left to John and me to restore the best two, as best we could.

John Harwood in sex bomb red following on the first ascent of All Dumbed Down (E6), Llangattock, in 2007. Just one example of the huge trad challenges that remained; none are routes to forget in a hurry.

Yet another Llangattock revival! (Cue: yawn, or huzzah!) The first ascent of Greetings from the Unemployed (E2), in 2011. [Jonathan Crocker].

Here's another: Fifty-five Club (E5), commemorating another year passing at Llangattock, in 2011. [Jonathan Crocker]. A giant roof-stack looms overhead, introducing some shaky ironstone and shale bands. But either side are immaculate grey walls featuring sustained tech 6a climbing.

There are still a handful of old bolts at Llangattock; either aid relics or those placed on free routes before area bolt policies outlawed bolts here. Above: climbing Hitman (E5) without its bolt runner, in 2011. [Jonathan Crocker]. We had to place a few peg runners instead; not an ideal solution, agreed.

Posing after the first bolt-free lead of No Mercy (now E7 6c), Morlais, in 2010. [John Harwood]. On an earlier occasion I'd returned to Rogues' Gallery to eliminate its bolt runner (E6). These actions had the benefit of 'cleaning-up' the crag of its anomalies and bringing it in line with its 'no-bolting' trad ethic. But No Mercy is not a route to be politicised any more than any other that once had a bolt; it's a stunning and mercilessly thin face route of national appeal. But what a shame the pegs on the wall (which is used for abseiling) get stolen so readily; we would have otherwise left the two we used in place.

The alter ego of SE Wales: Pennant sandstone. Trad developments on limestone were becoming out-run, even marginalised, by the sport development of the sandstone quarries. Pic: one of my favourites: Cilfynydd, in 2007. [Jonathan Crocker]. With the splendour of a sun-centric mountain crag, Cilfynydd isn't your average dank dusty hole. Twenty-five metre high trad routes from the early 80s rise cheek by jowl with quality sport. It's curious it had been missed in the 70s. But back then sandstone was considered a second-class citizen.

Matt Goater climbing at Treherbert (Rhondda Pillar) Quarry, in 2015. I would try to keep up with sandstone developments; and - like most others - appreciated the efforts that go into cleaning and equipping new routes in the quarries. It's generally a selfless task where a minority enable the majority to recreate in sites of otherwise limited social value. And the pressure had been mounting, including from the BMC, to accommodate guys fresh from the climbing walls. I'd heard about the new developments at Treherbert, a crag I'd first spotted and established routes on, back in 1988. It would be good to return.

Many of the climbs at Treherbert, including a couple of striking finger-cracks, were climbed trad: the rock was amazingly sound and protection was obvious - straight in front of your face. One such was a pristine jazz-drumstick-wide crack for thin fingers (and wires), hidden just around the corner from the main wall. I climbed it with Roy Thomas, in 1989, and we called it Little Big Ego - a somewhat childish dig (but route names have always been a platform for creative free speech - factual, libellous, or otherwise). I thought I'd climb it again, but was saddened to discover....

Not only had the route been bolted but great chunks of the impeccable crack had been drilled and hacked out, presumably to create bigger holds. It seemed as though SE Wales ethics had slumped to an all-time low when sport climbing campaigns appeared to embrace the heinous damaging of existing, published routes. I couldn't understand, and I still can't understand why anyone should do such a thing.

And so to recapture spacious 70s soloing days at Twynau Gwynion; this pic 2015. [Jonathan Crocker]. Under-valued but just over there, Twynau offers classic soloing and bouldering on great rock, a highlight being the rippled pillar of Corrugation (E1/3). In the 80s Matt Ward and I investigated the scarp all the way north to Baltic Quarry. One route, 'Appear, Smear, Disappear, then Reappear' was an attempt to take the mick out of GG. I don't normally win anything but that one earned me the High Magazine award for 'silliest route name of the year'. Clearly Neil Foster had nothing better to write about.

Hear you Smile (V0), on the slopes of Disgwylfa, in 2015. I adore sandstone, any form of sandstone: Pennant, quartzite, grit, and even the Permian and Triassic stuff that turns to fire at sunset. Pebbles are a bonus. Gwaun Cefnygarreg had switched me on to Twrch Sandstone, wanderlust following fast in its footsteps. Limitless moorlands, room to roam, mountain air to breathe; and no one around save a hiker singing at full voice thinking she's alone too.

The V3 lip traverse Hook, Line, and Sinkhole near Sinc y Giedd, deep in the moors west of Glyntawe, in 2015. At the time I was helping to look after my father in-law, Brian who had pancreatic cancer. Inbetween care shifts and, later, hospital visits, I'd blast across to Craig-y-Nos, the starting point for my travels aloft. It held a special meaning since Brian was a lifelong opera buff. I would bring back images of the Tawe valley and vignettes about Adelina Patti, the C19 opera prima donna who owned Craig-y-Nos Castle. It helped prompt precious memories.

Release the Gecko (V0-), Point 345. [Jonathan Crocker]. When, in the winter of 2014/15, I first stumbled across Point 345, west of Ystradfellte, I was surprised not to find it plastered in chalk. It looked like the Swansea bouldering lads had yet to find it. The crag is limited in size for sure but comprises sublime Twrch quartz conglomerate. A few years later, on a walk with my son, I spotted the inevitable chalk: the next gen had arrived and torqued up the too-hard-for-me prow (Sansa). About time; good for them.

You can truly lose yourself on the moors of the Carmarthen Fan e.g. Budget Travel (V1/2), Tyle Garw. There are hundreds of problems and even a few lead routes from the mid-2010s, and they're not so elite or rock-strewn that you need to haul a mat the 3 to 5 mile walk-in. Beneath, lies the paradise of The Twrchish Jumble, a serene set of boulders with the Afon Twrch lapping at their feet beckoning a summer's splash. Your very own private mountain spa; too perfect to be other than your imagination.

I wasn't the first person to climb on Tyle Garw. Hardly surprising, its existence had long been documented in the climbing world. One who had been there before is Joe Squire. A true boulderer-explorer, Joe loves the mountains and isn't afraid of a long hike: above, on Fatboy (V2), in The Badlands, Garreg Las, in 2014. [Selfie]. He'd also set problems on Twrch Sandstone crags like Carreg Y Truman, to the west, and on the fantastic Pen-y-Foel below the SWCC HQ, Penwyllt. The odd YouTube film would spark interest but, mischievously perhaps, Joe would economise on the detail to leave people guessing.

Obscure limestone too: the first ascent (or quite possibly not) of Dyn Ogof (E2), Carnau Gwynion, Ystradfellte, in 2015. [Jonathan Crocker]. This route is sited above the deep cave of Ogof Gwynion. In the near distance the path of the Roman Road, Sarn Helen, strikes into and over the central Brecon Beacons.

Jonathan Crocker on The Arête (V1) at Herbert's Quarry. Much potential remains on adjacent limestone quarries, following on from mid-2010s probing and the intense 1994 (F7b), brushed up that year, but only climbed in 2015.

Present day, take 4 or 5 years. A V3/4 roof at the panoramic Craig Bedw. Just one tiny, yet valuable, sandstone outcrop amongst hundreds still to be climbed upon. The chalk suggested others think so too.

A V3 at Buckland Hill, Bwlch, in 2017. Old Red Sandstone this time, with its welcoming rough texture, vibrant oranges and reds, contextualised by the surrounding mountains. It's just one grainy morsel in the expanse of eclectic climbing sites in Gower & SE Wales - more than enough to last any lifetime.

Flashback to 1991. A wintry Boxing Day's drive with my wife and inlaws. I couldn't resist throwing some gear and rock slippers into the car boot, just in case. An impromptu stop at Troedyrhiw, kind of, having noticed a cool looking slab on the hillside. Quick dash, brush up, and headpoint: Solo Para Tus Zapatos - 12 metres tripping the light fantastic, a Boxing Day bonus. Then it's back to the car and on with the tour. Thirty years later fellow pluralist Guy Percival tells me: 'it's one of the best micro-routes on South Wales sandstone. Perfect slab.' So, why not get your kicks, on Route number 6. (And 3.)

A tsunami of mist cascading over Craig Gwaun Taf.

The Bridge