Costa Blanca '19 trip report by John O'Hara, brought to you by Sammy G

An impartial and incomplete recollection,
Concerning the first officially sanctioned and formally ratified BCC sport climbing trip,
Occurring in the region of Costa Blanca,
And on the approximate dates, Saturday 16th Nov 2019 – Sunday 24th Nov 2019

Featuring BCC members:

Rónán Davison-Kernan
Vicky Ward
Kyle Stewart
Michael Carey
Eva Kočičová
Myself (John O’Hara)
Sammy G (Honorary)

Saturday 16th

The BCC, represented by Rónán, Vicky, Kyle, Mick, and myself, arrived in Alicante and made our way to famed former brothel and climbers' lodge The Orange House in Finestrat (the finest rat this side of Donegal). We met friends of the BCC Anthony and Daisy and chased the last of the daylight hours to Sella and just about won. At least I saw the sunset from the top of a rather chastening 6a. The rest climbed by starlight and headtorch. Back at the house we dined on paella of our own design.

Sunday 17th

Anyway this is it. The first full day. The first BCC sport climbing trip starts proper. This is it! Time to climb hard. Eat lean, pull mean. Set the standard. Carrefour, celery, lettuce, tomatoes -- what's this here, 56 cans of San Miguel for €16? Jesus. All right, don't panic, relax, pace yourself, that's only eight cans a day. At Echo Valley the lads go taps aff. Raw, no suncream. Bring it on. Sink a few cans of Sammy G. Kyle did the 7b+ glue-on eventually. Trad flute. Carrefour pizza x4.

Monday 18th

Hoping for minimal traffic, Vicky and I aim to start and finish Espolón Central Direct on the Monday. This takes in the ridge line of the Puig Campaña that dominates over Finestrat, and can be seen from the Orange House. We got a lift with Southern Englishmen Kim and Glyn, who were to attempt the same feat. These lads had stories to make you wince and/or laugh. We left the Orange House at 06:30 in the dark to make good time. However on the walk in, first we went too far left, then too far right, finding the base of the route only at 08:50. Vicky was outraged at the "obvious mark". On the rock we made good progress, stringing pitches together, ascending to the top of the main arête, and meeting a German team (from whom I acquired some trip booty). Vicky pulled off a jug and there was blood and swelling, and delirium. Who is this mad woman? Was her medication kicking in or wearing off? Trying to do the classic finish to the route, we seemed to get lost, end up on a pinnacle, perform a dodgyish ab, traverse, and further ascend in trainers, to the top, the top! (This was apparently in fact the classic finish). We abbed via trees to the horrendous scree slide for sunset. Back on the road we see the lights of K&G high on the mountain. We called for evac (car to car time 12 or 13h I think) and Rónán arrived bearing sweet Sammy #12. Meanwhile he and the other lads had been at Sella on soft-touches, absolute gifts I presume. Thus Rónán onsighted his first 7a, and sank a few Sammys in celebración. Who cares anyway? We had home-made chili. Then the main event, Trivial Pursuit circa 1997: Prince Charles, Prince Charles, a condom vending machine, Barbara Streisand, Prince Charles. It was a war of attrition. Eventually I was the only person not in bed. I won. I'm the champ.

The Puig Campaña as seen from The Orange House. Espolón Central follows an arête in the middle of the face — *The Puig* Campaña *as seen from The Orange House. Espolón Central follows an arête in the middle of the face*

*Kim, Glyn, Vicky, and I, finally at the start of the route. Do you see the obvious marking?*

Tuesday 19th

We went to the Sierra de Toix. Rónán and I multipitched to the top and traversed the surprisingly short but pleasant ridge. Vicky and Mick followed later, with it being his first multipitch. The amphitheatre saw Kyle on another 7b/+ Dynosaurus, while I started up the amazingly varied Monkey Wall 6c. Kyle swung in from the descent of his route with emergency draws, which I managed to place higher and higher (see lesson 2 below). Tapas in town. Kim and Glyn were to be found here also, in good spirits, enjoying beer and enjoying not performing umpteen dodgy tree abseils atop the Puig Campaña in the wee hours of the morning. Mick left, and then there were four.

*Rónán having flashbacks to Iwo Jima, on the Toix ridge*

Wednesday 20th

The four went to Gaudalest, where the 1 minute walk-in was more like 30s, or was it 90s. Anyway we had made it to the occupied territories. Irlanda del Norte was a pleasant route, becoming better yet more unstable with progression towards the anchor. Stringing together the first two pitches of Son Goku was an excellent idea of Kyle's, and myself and Rónán happily followed the draws. Vicky had the misfortune to be the first one up the benchmark 5+ Malvinas, followed by Kyle, and after an interlude of coffee and beer in town, the other two of us attempted to prove that the 5+ was really nothing more than a 5+. This was a total failure. Truly a benchmark. Rónán left his down jacket hat here in disgust. Cue Bohemian Rhapsody. He's just a poor boy, he needs no sympathy. Dinner was pasta con chorizo. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, and Whiskey. Oh Sammy boy…

*Vicky, probably being sandbagged at Guadalest*

Thursday 21st

The fantastic 5+ four set off early for the Bernìa ridge. Arriving at the parking and observing the majesty of the ridge, it took a few minutes to accept that indeed the absence of a rope in the car meant that there was no rope in the car. Rónán got "white line fever" and reflexively sank a few Sammys to take the edge off. Two hours later and we are back in the same place, minus Kyle (who took the racing line to Sella to visualize the 7s), but plus rope. It was a grand old ridge. We made good time, passing alpine accentors and a party that I think had set off between our first and second arrivals. Was the rope really necessary? Some will say yes, but then they didn't carry it. The exposure of "the fins" was a definite highlight. 4h40m (+2h). Jesus of Suburbia. The Finestrat pizzeria followed. Más cerveza. Molto buono.

*The Bernìa ridge, 2 hours before we set off*

Friday 22nd

Sella. 47 Sammy Gs in, French 4 is no longer a rest and 5+ is approaching a project. Chalk up, make it look like you have some idea of what you are doing. At least touch that hold over there for God's sake. Trouble and fun on a flaky sickshee. I have now heard that Taylor Swift song. She had a beef with yer wan but it's settled now. Eva arrived, bringing much rain, and then there were 5. Bolognese at the Orange House.

Saturday 23rd

Vicky departed, and then there were 4. Sella once again (a nice flake, that big roof and Kashba amongst other things). Sammy Gs once again. The pizzeria once again. Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus once again, or near enough.

Sunday 24th

Rónán and I left for home. This was uneventful except in that I smuggled a body across the border in the Dublin-Belfast Goldliner. Kyle and Eva remained in Spain to harass the limestone some more...

Lessons:

1. More than one week is needed.

2. Draws-in takes a grade and a half off (but only if I was the one to put them in).

3. The holds are all there.

4. Wear an armoured codpiece when operating a chainsaw.

5. Sure isn't it always the way.

John

*The author on Espólon Central, doubtless dreaming of Sammy G [Ed.]*

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