After a initial late night visit to Cherry Hinton Chalk quarry I had pretty much written the place off as a choss pit of death.With a sprinkling of choss.
On the first outing I climbed a shallow groove line on the Brenva face, from the quarry floor it looked a walk in the park. In practice the crumbly, friable chalk offered no security what so ever. I got a little freaked out and vowed never to return.[!--more--]
A mere nine days later, I surprised myself by find myself back there itching for more.Several factors contributing to this. The excellent topo by the Cambridge university mountaineering club, repeatedly watching the Dvd of Ian Parnel climbing the Great White fright and not least a new pair of Terminator crampons to try out.
The quarry is huge, so with topo in hand I went for explore around the numerous chalk faces. A majority of the chalk is of the unstable nature, the one exception is the Classic of the crag area.This line follows a vertical solid band of chalk for about thirty feet, it even has in place belay stakes.
I tried out the first few moves, good solid hooks. I climbed back down.
With the added pressure of the old quarry soon to be turned in to a nature reserve, which includes re-profiling out any of the steep faces. I knew time was against me. The heavy earth moving equipment was already onsite, my worry was returning a week later this fine line would be reduced to a pile of rubble.
I decide to solo the route, the first handful of moves come easily.The hooks start to get less positive.
As I pull on the left axe it pops from its placement, the shaft thuds solidly against my helmet.
A little shaken from blow, thoughts of self doubt and my ability to finish the route start to creep in to my mind. Retreat is the order of the day, I attempt to reverse the moves that had presented no problems on the ascent. In descent they are a complex puzzle that I do not have the skills to solve.
Elvis is soon in the house, my right leg starts shaking, the left follows suit.The rest of my body joins in.I start to feel sick.
I closed my eyes, tried to lessen my grip on my bomber right axe and slow down my breathing. After several false starts I finally commit to the down climb, one initial awkward move then plain sailing.
Once safe, I curse my lack of commitment. Self worth plummets to new lows.
A few lines offer low level traverses, just the thing to restore confidence.
Twenty minutes later.
The ability to breath is eluding me, all i can do is make odd noises in my throat. What has always been so easy and requires no thought, is impossible.
After falling off the traverse, I have crashed through some bushes and landed flat on my back. As the reality of what has happened sinks in my confused mind, I become aware of a harsh throbbing pain in my back. Fearing that a branch a has impaled me, I frantically squabble around checking for blood. Relief floods through me as find no sign.
I hobble over to my rucksack,stow my tools,wince as I shoulder the pack and walk away.

Gary