Merica.

So there was half a days skiing which involved much hilarity as I repeatedly fell over. A day rock climbing and whiskey drinking where I climbed half a route as I didn't want to ruin my arms for when it got cold again.

Successfully not dying! Photo: Anne Skidmore.

Impatience got the better of us and Bayard, Elliot and myself headed over to Cathedral one morning. We weren't in a rush it was warm and not much was going to be in. We headed to the shade and Bayard racked up and headed off up a route. As he squirmed up a chimney and established himself on a ledge there was a loud crack above. Ice that had been hidden from view came crashing down the wall. Elliot ran left and dived under a boulder. I sprinted the other way as fast as I could in crampons and dived into the show. If I was going to die I didn't want to see it happen. Bayard looked down to see me lying in the snow. 'Well fuck we've killed the Irishman. That didn't last long!' I picked myself up and there was nervous laughter all round. Bayard abseiled off and we went for a walk up Mount Washington.

Chomulagunga - The Great Mountain (Mt. Washington) summit. Photo: Bayard Russell.

It was really strange being surrounded by trees that got progressively smaller and then disappeared. Coming down the Lobster Claw into the ravine involved a lot of bushwhacking. There really wasn't much snow and the ground was soft underfoot. I just assumed that's the way things were until Bayard turned around and said he didn't realise there was trees in the gully! Just an indication of how little snow there's been this year and how much it thawed.

Above the treeline on Washington. Photo: Bayard Russell.

I'm pretty sure there was a rest day somewhere then myself and Bayard climbed Goofers on Cathedral. I got lots of useful advice on ice climbing and hopefully will become a much better punter as a result. What happened next is a bit of a blur but I'm pretty sure they don't know what a spirit measure is in New Hampshire. 'Live free or Die' and all that. A brief trip to the bar that doesn't measure spirits was followed by some Fin Du Monde a 9.5% Canadian beer and then a house party. Apparently I was worried about offending people but wasted no time in telling them they were all 'fucking mental!' Luckily this went down well.

The next day was a rest day...

I climbed with Anne that weekend at Frankstien and Trollville. Accumulating some more experience and arriving early to dodge the weekend crowds.

Getting steeper on Standard Right. Photo: Anne Skidmore.

I also managed to take in Sunday night football at Mark Ritchie's. I think I almost get the rules.

Me and Anne at the top of Standard Right.

Another trip to Frankstien happened with the Jimmy the wandering Australian and then some mixed climbing with Michael the following day at Toco as it got progressively colder. Trying to figure the moves on an M9 with a load of clothes on and wooden fingers is hard. I was eventually persuaded to wear the down pants while belaying. After a couple of successful laps by Michael we sacked it off and headed back to the car, it was about -15 C.

Embracing down trousers.

My last day involved a trip to Cathedral. It was fucking cold. Hovering around -18 C the sudden freeze had done funky things to the ice. It was explosive, then so hard picks were just bouncing and then hollow. It was scary.

Heading towards the pillar on Repentance. Photo: Bayard Russell.

Bayard dragged me up repentance. Its a stunning line and one of the classic North American routes. The climbing was made harder by hard ice and it being my fifth day on I really struggled. Trying to be delicate with the fractured pillar all got a bit too much and I slumped onto the ropes from having a heel hook on the pillar, locked off on my left arm and my right pick just bouncing off. This was followed by the crack/ chimney that you can only get one leg into the ice on. At the belay 60m up I got to rest in the -18 C temperatures. I've never felt cold like it. It just sucks the heat out of you the second you stop moving. One thing's for sure; those New Hampshire climbers are hard! Luckily the last pitch was short and soon I was fist jamming my way around the capstone on the route. Totally wild! A short walk from the top had us on the way to get some well earned chilli and beer.

Sometimes it all gets a bit too much! Photo: Anne Skidmore.

The following morning I was up at half six to pack and make the trip back across the Atlantic to a rainy Wales. It was amazing trip. I couldn't have done it without the wonderful hospitality of Anne and Bayard. The local climbing community is fantastic, the people are wonderful and I'll defiantly be back. Hopefully it snows a bit more and gets a bit colder down here otherwise I might have to do a few weekends in Scotland!