The route
Right-Hand Crack at Brimham Rocks in Yorkshire is a short unexceptional crack climb graded VS (~YDS 5.7 or 5.8). It is the second-from-the-right of a quartet of crack routes on the buttress. The route to its left is called Central Crack and is a tad harder. The route to its right is not called Even-Further-Right-Hand Crack. Guidebook length for these routes is forty feet or about thirteen metres, but I suspect that is slightly exaggerated. Brimham is a pleasant area of moorland, trees and eroded gritstone blobs, popular with tourists as well as climbers.
The context
In August 1998 Shoko and I spent a long weekend in Yorkshire intermingling gritstone climbing and sight-seeing (primarily the spooky ruins at Fountains Abbey). Shoko was pregnant with Leo but not yet showing it. The diary records that we stayed in a "nice" B&B in Grassington. We visited Ilkley on Saturday then Brimham on Sunday.
The ascent
I don't remember why we picked Right-Hand Crack as an objective. Perhaps I wanted to introduce Shoko to hand jamming - often a fraught exercise with new climbers. I also don't remember anything about climbing the route. I do know that I belayed from the top, despite the route's modest height, as is normal for trad pitches in the UK.
As Shoko began following the route, I noticed a middle-aged male climber advancing up Central Crack, just to her left. He had all the characteristics of what the Brits unkindly call a "bumbly": mildly-overweight, uncertain in his movements and possessing a rack of gear apparently chosen with little forethought. He was belayed by a younger man that I guessed was his son, who was standing too far back from the base of the cliff. It may have passed my mind to say something about this, but there were other climbers at the cliff-base and I probably felt that it was their responsibility.
Near the top of his route, the leader paused below an awkward-looking wide crack section, which I guessed was the crux. I watched him place a classic bumbly protection piece: an ancient hexentric nut threaded with an absurdly-long rope sling. Even before he attempted the hard moves, the carabiner on the sling was level with his ankles. I began paying more attention to him than Shoko, who was roughly level with him. They were both just three or four metres below me. It was soon clear that the guy was having trouble. He tried to reverse his last move but slipped. I had a bird-eye view of the arc of his fall. First the long hex sling snagged one of his feet and tipped him out horizontally. Then his belayer was catapulted forward, creating enough slack for a possible ground impact. The rope went tight as the guy hit a slab at the base and inverted completely. His head, thankfully in a helmet, hit a boulder with a loud bang.
The next few moments were very ugly. Shoko was in shock at what had happened and was almost unable to finish the last easy moves of our climb. The victim began making animal-like groaning noises. People rushed over but could do little as it was obviously unwise to risk moving him. The son was understandably distressed. It passed my mind that his father might die in front of us. Rescue services were called. The victim went quiet.
Wanting to help, but lacking any better role, I rappelled their route, cleaned the gear and coiled their rope. It seemed pointless but somehow respectful - signifying unrealistically that all might be well and that they could soon be climbing together again. The rescue team came quickly and thankfully confirmed that the otherwise-unresponsive victim was still alive. For reasons that were not explained - proximity, I assume - the stretcher was carried to an ambulance pick-up location different to the regular car park. However the son felt that he needed to retrieve the family car, which was parked there. Shoko and I walked him to the car park. I want to believe that we then offered to help him find the hospital where his father had been taken but that he declined - but I am not sure if that is actually true. For some reason, whenever I think about the incident, this detail troubles me. Could we have helped more? Was the boy safe to drive himself in his shocked state?
We never learned what transpired next, how serious was the victim's injury or whether he made a full recovery. 1999 was still a year or two before it would be normal for climbing accidents to be discussed on internet forums. The incident remains the worst climbing accident that I have witnessed. As my description demonstrates, I can rationalise it as a combination of avoidable errors - the poor belaying and the outdated poorly-placed protection - and so have shrugged it off. I even climbed the next day. For Shoko, the effect was more disturbing. She has only climbed a few times in the nineteen years since.
Subsequent ascents
I have been back to Brimham once, in 2003. I did not climb Right-Hand Crack.
Right-Hand Crack at Brimham Rocks in Yorkshire is a short unexceptional crack climb graded VS (~YDS 5.7 or 5.8). It is the second-from-the-right of a quartet of crack routes on the buttress. The route to its left is called Central Crack and is a tad harder. The route to its right is not called Even-Further-Right-Hand Crack. Guidebook length for these routes is forty feet or about thirteen metres, but I suspect that is slightly exaggerated. Brimham is a pleasant area of moorland, trees and eroded gritstone blobs, popular with tourists as well as climbers.
 |
| unknown climbers on Right-Hand Crack, Brimham © unknown The fall described was from the wide section of the crack to the left |
The context
In August 1998 Shoko and I spent a long weekend in Yorkshire intermingling gritstone climbing and sight-seeing (primarily the spooky ruins at Fountains Abbey). Shoko was pregnant with Leo but not yet showing it. The diary records that we stayed in a "nice" B&B in Grassington. We visited Ilkley on Saturday then Brimham on Sunday.
The ascent
I don't remember why we picked Right-Hand Crack as an objective. Perhaps I wanted to introduce Shoko to hand jamming - often a fraught exercise with new climbers. I also don't remember anything about climbing the route. I do know that I belayed from the top, despite the route's modest height, as is normal for trad pitches in the UK.
As Shoko began following the route, I noticed a middle-aged male climber advancing up Central Crack, just to her left. He had all the characteristics of what the Brits unkindly call a "bumbly": mildly-overweight, uncertain in his movements and possessing a rack of gear apparently chosen with little forethought. He was belayed by a younger man that I guessed was his son, who was standing too far back from the base of the cliff. It may have passed my mind to say something about this, but there were other climbers at the cliff-base and I probably felt that it was their responsibility.
Near the top of his route, the leader paused below an awkward-looking wide crack section, which I guessed was the crux. I watched him place a classic bumbly protection piece: an ancient hexentric nut threaded with an absurdly-long rope sling. Even before he attempted the hard moves, the carabiner on the sling was level with his ankles. I began paying more attention to him than Shoko, who was roughly level with him. They were both just three or four metres below me. It was soon clear that the guy was having trouble. He tried to reverse his last move but slipped. I had a bird-eye view of the arc of his fall. First the long hex sling snagged one of his feet and tipped him out horizontally. Then his belayer was catapulted forward, creating enough slack for a possible ground impact. The rope went tight as the guy hit a slab at the base and inverted completely. His head, thankfully in a helmet, hit a boulder with a loud bang.
The next few moments were very ugly. Shoko was in shock at what had happened and was almost unable to finish the last easy moves of our climb. The victim began making animal-like groaning noises. People rushed over but could do little as it was obviously unwise to risk moving him. The son was understandably distressed. It passed my mind that his father might die in front of us. Rescue services were called. The victim went quiet.
Wanting to help, but lacking any better role, I rappelled their route, cleaned the gear and coiled their rope. It seemed pointless but somehow respectful - signifying unrealistically that all might be well and that they could soon be climbing together again. The rescue team came quickly and thankfully confirmed that the otherwise-unresponsive victim was still alive. For reasons that were not explained - proximity, I assume - the stretcher was carried to an ambulance pick-up location different to the regular car park. However the son felt that he needed to retrieve the family car, which was parked there. Shoko and I walked him to the car park. I want to believe that we then offered to help him find the hospital where his father had been taken but that he declined - but I am not sure if that is actually true. For some reason, whenever I think about the incident, this detail troubles me. Could we have helped more? Was the boy safe to drive himself in his shocked state?
We never learned what transpired next, how serious was the victim's injury or whether he made a full recovery. 1999 was still a year or two before it would be normal for climbing accidents to be discussed on internet forums. The incident remains the worst climbing accident that I have witnessed. As my description demonstrates, I can rationalise it as a combination of avoidable errors - the poor belaying and the outdated poorly-placed protection - and so have shrugged it off. I even climbed the next day. For Shoko, the effect was more disturbing. She has only climbed a few times in the nineteen years since.
Subsequent ascents
I have been back to Brimham once, in 2003. I did not climb Right-Hand Crack.
And another thing ...
My impression is that this kind of climbing accident, a bad fall while climbing, is fairly rare these days; in Squamish, anyway. Protection and belay devices have improved and knowledge of how and where to use them seems to be better disseminated too. Anecdotally, the most popular way to kill yourself climbing now is to lead sport routes with a newbie or - less forgivably - a set-in-their-ways ageing traddie, especially an american. They will take you off belay when you reach the anchors, making the assumption that you are planning to rappel rather than lower, guaranteeing a ground fall unless you spot their error. (Famous example.) I try to make a habit of always checking tension in the rope before committing to being lowered. This actually saved my life about three years ago.
