The route
Limbo follows a shallow groove on the left side of the Suspension Bridge Buttress, a limestone cliff in the Avon Gorge. In the British grading system the route rates as "Extremely Severe", or, less dramatically: E1.
As the name suggest, the buttress forms one end of the dramatic Clifton Suspension Bridge; a masterpiece of 19th century engineering and one of Britain's most easily recognisable landmarks. The river Avon, which runs through the gorge for several kilometres, connects the old Bristol city docks with the Atlantic-facing port of Avonmouth. There are cliffs all along the east-side of the gorge, up to about 100m high. Unfortunately, most have been quarried in the past. The Suspension Bridge Buttress is an exception: natural limestone well supplied with pockets and natural threads.
The context
I attended Bristol University between October 1982 and June 1985. In theory, to study Biochemistry. In practice, like many undergraduates, my attention was primarily focused on the awkward larval transition to adulthood. I chose Bristol because it was the only occupant of the intersection of two sets: universities regarded as a respectable backup choice for "Oxbridge rejects"; universities with local climbing. The Avon Gorge was genuinely close. From the medical school, where lectures and lab work took place, I could bike to its base in 15 minutes. The university climbing club was well-established and quite popular, so there was no shortage of partners. Bristol's climate was also mild. Rain fell often but temperatures rarely got prohibitively cold. It was just about possible to climb all year around.
On the negative side, most of the climbing in the Gorge was on the old quarried faces; very unusual in character and needing specific technique that was not obviously transferable to other climbing areas. Main Wall, the largest expanse of rock, was all about crab-like shuffling with weight mostly on the feet. The Sea Walls, further north, were more sculpted, with blank corner and arete features, requiring tenuous low-friction moves. Aside from the Suspension Bridge Buttress, the only recognisably "modern" and steep'ish cliff was the Upper Wall, but the routes there were all hard.
Protection was also typically poor: rusty pitons in horizontal breaks backed up by cams or sketchy horizontal wired nuts. Adding to the challenge, the prevailing UK ethic in the early 80s was to climb ground-up, and never top-rope or "work" routes. Attempting to climb harder always seemed to go hand in hand with taking more risk. Consequently we failed on routes often, and rarely by taking falls - far more common was a tactical retreat ("wimping out" was the usual expression).
As mentioned before, useful climbing gyms were still well in the future. The only training I recall anyone doing was traversing on any accessible bit of architecture made from stone blocks. The gorge itself had the "Bog Wall", a circular toilet block directly under the Main Wall. Later a similar but steeper wall, closer to town, The Hotwalls, became fashionable. Some people say that I have reasonable crimp strength and finger stamina. Conversely I don't feel that I have ever had much power for big upwards moves. If that's accurate, I probably have the 1980s traversing fad to thank/ blame.
In the British grading system, there is an obvious discontinuity from the adjectival grades ("Hard Very Severe", etc) to letters and numbers (E1, E2, etc). I believe the history runs something like this. In the 1960s the top grade was "Extremely Severe", but, inconveniently, standards continued to rise and climbers scratched their heads for grander superlatives. In the 1970s, "Exceptionally Severe" was toyed with, also prefixing "Extremely Severe" with "Mild-" and "Hard-" qualifiers, but neither stuck. Eventually, the E-grade appeared: an open-ended system of "E" plus a number, to be applied to all "Extremes". This system was in widespread use by the early 1980s. Inevitably, E1, the first rung on the Extreme ladder, became seen as a "magic grade" and rite of passage. For most of my first year at university it mattered hugely that I should do one.
In 1983, standards in the university club were fairly low. The best of the students were managing E1 and perhaps an occasional E2, and were quite proud of this. Standards were higher amongst the older "town" climbers. Most Bristol climbers gathered at a pub, The Port of Call, on Thursday evening every week. Some mythical heroes, who were climbing E5 and even E6, could be seen there - but they never spoke to us. (Amongst them a fierce-looking guy called Steve Findlay, these days famous as "Hazel's dad".)
In my first few months at Bristol I climbed several "HVS" routes and seemed poised for the E1 breakthrough. The diary records that I tried one: Catholics in late November 1982 but "wimped out ... abbed off a minute thread". Then there was a hiatus for several months. Miraculously, I had found a girlfriend: Kathleen, an elfin half-french girl, approximately as shy and peculiar as me. Fortunately (not really ...) by June 1983 she had dumped me and the E1 quest was back on.
The ascent
I don't remember much about climbing Limbo or why I chose it. There is no earlier mention in the diary so it must have been an onsight ascent. I recall one or two abrupt pulls on pockets and a strenuous effort to pass a sling through a natural thread in a hole for protection. I imagine it would now feel like a warm-up route (6a'ish?) at a european limestone sport climbing venue, but without the bolts. The diary is silent on the actual climbing, devoting more text to the girlfriend crisis and that before the climb we had visited the Avon Gorge Hotel, a posh pub near the bridge, where we had "Nicked one of their umbrellas".
No more E1's were climbed until October, after which they started to become fairly routine. Notably, in early-November, I led all the hard pitches on the 130m Coronation Street in Somerset's Cheddar Gorge, "probably the best limestone E1 in the country".
Subsequent ascents
I climbed Limbo several more times while at university and during the next few years when I was still loosely in orbit around Bristol. It eventually became very familiar; the diary records that in June 1987 I seconded it "in bare feet".
My next two or three E-grade progressions were also at Avon. In April 1984 my first E2: The Preter, a multi-pitch on Main Wall. Later in the same month I then (unknowingly) notched up an E3: the runout Krapp's Last Tape, also on Main Wall, then only graded E2. In July 1986 I led Them, on the steep Upper Wall, in my opinion the best route at Avon, sometimes considered E4. However, by then, I had climbed two or three routes in Australia that were probably at least as hard, so quantifying the progression becomes more blurry. (Them was also the last route I climbed in the Gorge, on a fleeting and chilly visit to Bristol in January 1989.)
It would have been nicely ego-stroking had these higher grades been achieved in isolation. However, from 1984 onwards there was a sharp increase in competiveness amongst the younger Avon climbers and less complacency about the standards being achieved. I felt more that I was falling behind than getting ahead.
Amongst the newer university intake, the previously-mentioned Crispin Waddy was climbing E4's and E5's soon after his arrival. Similarly, several strong student climbers appeared in the Gorge from Bristol Polytechnic, an institution I had not known existed. Amongst them, I climbed a little with Guy Percival and Phil Windall, who were both keeping pace with Crispin. Another local student, Jamie Ayres, was diligently documenting the scene with his camera. He maintains a great album of 1980s Avon climbing on Flickr (and kindly gave me permission to use a few for this post).
And another thing ...
It used to be traditional that students performed annoying stunts and pranks from time to time (presumably that is still true, or are the current generation too busy waxing their moustaches?). In the 1980s, the surreal redeployment of common objects was especially popular. A 19th century civic statute modified with a traffic cone on its head, or condom on an appendage, would be a lame, entry-level undertaking. Or planting a pub umbrella in a grass-topped platform above a road tunnel entrance; as we did with the one we had stolen before climbing Limbo in 1983.
My only really significant contribution to this genre occurred in February 1984. One evening I walked past a builders' refuse skip, near where I lived, which contained an undamaged and apparently-clean toilet. On a whim, I contacted my friend John to suggest that we install it somewhere in the Gorge that night. We spent several hours messing around dangerously with headtorches on rappel ropes in order to secure the toilet to the hanging belay at the end of the first pitch of Malbogies, Main Wall's most classic route.
I suppose it could have been construed that we were making some sort of scatological comment on the route (personally I did think it was over-rated) but, frankly, it was just spontaneous silliness. For good measure, I did the first Malbogies-plus-toilet ascent the next day. Weirdly it then stayed there for at least a decade; either local climbers must have decided that they liked it or - more likely - no-one could be arsed (pun unintended) to take it down. Even more strangely we never received any flack for it, though our involvement was an open secret.
Limbo follows a shallow groove on the left side of the Suspension Bridge Buttress, a limestone cliff in the Avon Gorge. In the British grading system the route rates as "Extremely Severe", or, less dramatically: E1.
As the name suggest, the buttress forms one end of the dramatic Clifton Suspension Bridge; a masterpiece of 19th century engineering and one of Britain's most easily recognisable landmarks. The river Avon, which runs through the gorge for several kilometres, connects the old Bristol city docks with the Atlantic-facing port of Avonmouth. There are cliffs all along the east-side of the gorge, up to about 100m high. Unfortunately, most have been quarried in the past. The Suspension Bridge Buttress is an exception: natural limestone well supplied with pockets and natural threads.
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| Clifton Suspension Bridge from the south |
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| Climber on the second pitch of Hell Gates, directly under the bridge, mid-1980s © James Ayres |
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| Last few moves to the bridge parapet, mid-1980s © James Ayres |
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| Climber topping out on the bridge parapet (no longer allowed!), mid-1980s © James Ayres |
I attended Bristol University between October 1982 and June 1985. In theory, to study Biochemistry. In practice, like many undergraduates, my attention was primarily focused on the awkward larval transition to adulthood. I chose Bristol because it was the only occupant of the intersection of two sets: universities regarded as a respectable backup choice for "Oxbridge rejects"; universities with local climbing. The Avon Gorge was genuinely close. From the medical school, where lectures and lab work took place, I could bike to its base in 15 minutes. The university climbing club was well-established and quite popular, so there was no shortage of partners. Bristol's climate was also mild. Rain fell often but temperatures rarely got prohibitively cold. It was just about possible to climb all year around.
On the negative side, most of the climbing in the Gorge was on the old quarried faces; very unusual in character and needing specific technique that was not obviously transferable to other climbing areas. Main Wall, the largest expanse of rock, was all about crab-like shuffling with weight mostly on the feet. The Sea Walls, further north, were more sculpted, with blank corner and arete features, requiring tenuous low-friction moves. Aside from the Suspension Bridge Buttress, the only recognisably "modern" and steep'ish cliff was the Upper Wall, but the routes there were all hard.
Protection was also typically poor: rusty pitons in horizontal breaks backed up by cams or sketchy horizontal wired nuts. Adding to the challenge, the prevailing UK ethic in the early 80s was to climb ground-up, and never top-rope or "work" routes. Attempting to climb harder always seemed to go hand in hand with taking more risk. Consequently we failed on routes often, and rarely by taking falls - far more common was a tactical retreat ("wimping out" was the usual expression).
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| The lineless intracy of Avon's Main Wall, mid-1980s © James Ayres |
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| The Bog Wall, mid-1980s © James Ayres |
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| Me at Hotwalls, mid-1980s. © Owain Jones Bizarrely the photographer made this into a commercial postcard, sold for several years in gift shops around Bristol! |
In 1983, standards in the university club were fairly low. The best of the students were managing E1 and perhaps an occasional E2, and were quite proud of this. Standards were higher amongst the older "town" climbers. Most Bristol climbers gathered at a pub, The Port of Call, on Thursday evening every week. Some mythical heroes, who were climbing E5 and even E6, could be seen there - but they never spoke to us. (Amongst them a fierce-looking guy called Steve Findlay, these days famous as "Hazel's dad".)
In my first few months at Bristol I climbed several "HVS" routes and seemed poised for the E1 breakthrough. The diary records that I tried one: Catholics in late November 1982 but "wimped out ... abbed off a minute thread". Then there was a hiatus for several months. Miraculously, I had found a girlfriend: Kathleen, an elfin half-french girl, approximately as shy and peculiar as me. Fortunately (not really ...) by June 1983 she had dumped me and the E1 quest was back on.
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| Half-french elf-woman. The climb is Terriers Tooth in Cornwall |
The ascent
I don't remember much about climbing Limbo or why I chose it. There is no earlier mention in the diary so it must have been an onsight ascent. I recall one or two abrupt pulls on pockets and a strenuous effort to pass a sling through a natural thread in a hole for protection. I imagine it would now feel like a warm-up route (6a'ish?) at a european limestone sport climbing venue, but without the bolts. The diary is silent on the actual climbing, devoting more text to the girlfriend crisis and that before the climb we had visited the Avon Gorge Hotel, a posh pub near the bridge, where we had "Nicked one of their umbrellas".
 |
| Leading Limbo, possibly in 1983 (or a later ascent?) |
Subsequent ascents
I climbed Limbo several more times while at university and during the next few years when I was still loosely in orbit around Bristol. It eventually became very familiar; the diary records that in June 1987 I seconded it "in bare feet".
My next two or three E-grade progressions were also at Avon. In April 1984 my first E2: The Preter, a multi-pitch on Main Wall. Later in the same month I then (unknowingly) notched up an E3: the runout Krapp's Last Tape, also on Main Wall, then only graded E2. In July 1986 I led Them, on the steep Upper Wall, in my opinion the best route at Avon, sometimes considered E4. However, by then, I had climbed two or three routes in Australia that were probably at least as hard, so quantifying the progression becomes more blurry. (Them was also the last route I climbed in the Gorge, on a fleeting and chilly visit to Bristol in January 1989.)
It would have been nicely ego-stroking had these higher grades been achieved in isolation. However, from 1984 onwards there was a sharp increase in competiveness amongst the younger Avon climbers and less complacency about the standards being achieved. I felt more that I was falling behind than getting ahead.
Amongst the newer university intake, the previously-mentioned Crispin Waddy was climbing E4's and E5's soon after his arrival. Similarly, several strong student climbers appeared in the Gorge from Bristol Polytechnic, an institution I had not known existed. Amongst them, I climbed a little with Guy Percival and Phil Windall, who were both keeping pace with Crispin. Another local student, Jamie Ayres, was diligently documenting the scene with his camera. He maintains a great album of 1980s Avon climbing on Flickr (and kindly gave me permission to use a few for this post).
 |
| Snarly young punks at the Bog Wall, Crispin second from the left, mid-1980s © James Ayres |
And another thing ...
It used to be traditional that students performed annoying stunts and pranks from time to time (presumably that is still true, or are the current generation too busy waxing their moustaches?). In the 1980s, the surreal redeployment of common objects was especially popular. A 19th century civic statute modified with a traffic cone on its head, or condom on an appendage, would be a lame, entry-level undertaking. Or planting a pub umbrella in a grass-topped platform above a road tunnel entrance; as we did with the one we had stolen before climbing Limbo in 1983.
My only really significant contribution to this genre occurred in February 1984. One evening I walked past a builders' refuse skip, near where I lived, which contained an undamaged and apparently-clean toilet. On a whim, I contacted my friend John to suggest that we install it somewhere in the Gorge that night. We spent several hours messing around dangerously with headtorches on rappel ropes in order to secure the toilet to the hanging belay at the end of the first pitch of Malbogies, Main Wall's most classic route.
I suppose it could have been construed that we were making some sort of scatological comment on the route (personally I did think it was over-rated) but, frankly, it was just spontaneous silliness. For good measure, I did the first Malbogies-plus-toilet ascent the next day. Weirdly it then stayed there for at least a decade; either local climbers must have decided that they liked it or - more likely - no-one could be arsed (pun unintended) to take it down. Even more strangely we never received any flack for it, though our involvement was an open secret.
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| Phil Windall with the Malbogies belay toilet, mid-1980s © James Ayres |
