WHAT YOU SEE IS NOT ALWAYS WHAT YOU GET!

Dave discovers that his illustrious climbing past is destined to be ever present in his future. And finds fame isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I've never really considered myself to be a particularly vain person but in a small way making a bit of a name for yourself in climbing, or any other area for that matter, does affect the way in which you interact with people, or more accurately, the way in which they interact with you.

So breaking down barriers is very important in terms of establishing some sense of normality in conversation. However, there have been more than enough occasions over the last few years that have left me feeling slightly embarrassed.

For example, my wife Joanna managed to drag me out to a climbing wall recently. Our nearest leading wall being Inverness or Glasgow - a mere 180 mile round trip!

There was a time when I wouldn't have thought twice about driving to Edinburgh or Glasgow for an afternoon or evenings on-sighting, but recently I've been suffering from numerous injuries.

Anyway, there I was in the changing room at the Glasgow Climbing Centre, aware of a few turning heads. We seem to be living in a day and age where the media have made people very impressionable regarding those who are well-known or of celebratory status - but then why not?

As I donned my rock shoes and harness the last couple in the changing room left, and as the door closed behind them, I overheard one of them say, "Do you know who that is?"

At least the other one said yes!

It was nice to be recognised for achieving something in climbing, - I'd be telling a lie otherwise. But I then felt obliged to go out and perform superhuman feats of daring-do on the wall!

Fortunately for me, the twosome from the changing room had finished their session and didn't hang around to watch. Just as well because the 5+ and 6a warm ups felt very hard.

In fact, I was so demoralised with my performance that I resigned myself to some top roping. Everything seemed to be about confidence, building up slowly and not placing too much stress on the body.

Injuries never seem to get any better, with age at least, and just when you think that everything is coming together nicely - bang! It's back to square one.

The last three years or so have been a nightmare for me in this respect and to some degree, the result of the previous years operating at the cutting edge working as a mountain guide and then getting involved in sport and competition climbing relatively late in life.

It's true that I'm probably one of the first of my generation in Scotland, but it's also true that I've over trained. Traumatised injuries to arms and shoulders, complicated by neck, hip and back problems - most of which are the result of war wounds dating back 15-20 years.

Suppose I'm lucky to be alive in some respects!

But perhaps I should feel humble and content with my achievements. After all, it's a time to reflect and look towards other things and interests. You can't keep pushing at your limit - can you?

Climbing harder and breaking new ground doesn't make you a better person, but what it does do is make you feel a better person!

It sounds selfish but it's not easy to stop when you've been doing it for over 25 years. I'm now 43, I still have great ambitions but my mind is so much stronger than my body will allow - frustrating but true.

My problems are premature though, especially when you look around at others my age, and ten or even twenty years older; red-pointing 8c and achieving great things in the high mountains.

I blame it on the Education Department, that's the easy way out! Seriously, education is the key, or in my case a considerable lack of it - but that's another story altogether!

All of which brings me nicely to my experience on holiday recently in southern Spain. There I was eyeing up some obscure 6a on an esoteric crag bearing the name of El Inventador and though the nearby railway line and pylons did not quite befit the guide book description of "a fine crag in idyllic surroundings" it was still pleasant enough, and in the five hours or so that we were there, only one train passed.

The area was popular with the Spanish who, at the weekends, would go climbing, walking or fishing, and later eat tapas at the local bar...(I just love those tapas - even more than the climbing!).

El Inventador is one of those crags where the topo shows line after parallel line, all crammed in like a squeezebox. It sounds repetitive and I suppose it was, but now and then a nice wee feature such as a crack, a groove or a tufa would catch my imagination.

Out of the 50 or so routes, there were a handful of climbs worth the effort. In any case this was an attempt to get back into the swing of things, to get my head together and slowly stretch those ligaments, tendons and scar tissue back into some sort of workable shape.

There were times when climbing up and down featureless grade 5s felt like a mindless form of therapy. This is not to denigrate climbs of this standard in any way but the agreeable temperature, just touching the rock again and adjusting to movement, did bring a smile to my face.

There's hope yet, I thought, as I nervously eyed up a couple of 6as. Some years ago, I was winning competitions at national level, putting up E7s, E8s and potentially E9s on rock, climbing grade IX in winter and on-sighting French 7c+ and 8a.

And here I was about to embark upon a 6a, nervously checking to see if my knot and buckle were done up properly!

The climb started with pleasant grade V wall climbing, Verdonesque in character, and full of vertical 'goutes' and little flake holds.

Towards a diagonal overhang, the calcified rock adopted a more daunting character. Bolts were everywhere and you had to be careful not to stray onto a harder line. The diagonal overhang or bulge presented the final obstacle before the lower off, which was situated off to one side in the scoop above.

To my right, direct entry into the scoop was rated 6b, to my left another 6b. Confidence was everything, and if I was to make any progress, I had to get it right.

A delicate step left suggested that this was the crux. The holds were disappointingly poor at the bulge but a bolt above gave me something to go for. After another awkward move I anxiously clipped the last bolt, thinking about the fall as I gripped the rope between my teeth.

My arm strained from the injuries. This is not what I wanted and scuttled down to take stock of the situation.

Despite my panicked state, I was aware of a noisy Spanish family larking around on a sector of the crag typically reserved for mum, dad and the kids.

In France, areas like this are known as La Sector de Famille, where most of the grade 4s and 5s are to be found. One of them asked Joanna my name and as I started climbing again,

"Bravo!" the Spaniard cried as I pulled over the bulge, and not, I have to add, in the most dignified manner.

"Bravo Daveed!" he cried again.

But I was having a right old jibber, the lower off was still a long reach away and my arm ached from the stress of holding on too tightly.

I thought he could have saved his 'Bravos' until I reached the lower off, which fortunately after a tussle I did.

"Bravo!" I heard once more.

I lowered down, greeted by an explosion of flash as Marcus Rodriguez brandished a new digital camera for all the world to admire.

"Daveed, if you like I can send photo - yes?"

Joanna, very diplomatically stepped in and said that would be very nice and handed Marcus one of my business cards exhibiting an International Mountain Guides logo, and innocently putting her foot in it (as she often does!).

Perhaps somewhat naively, Mountain Guides are treated like demi-gods by most Europeans. The last thing I wanted was to make it known to our new friends that I was a Mountain Guide, but it was too late...

"You are a Mountain Guide?", he questioned in disbelief. "Where? In Scotland?"

"Yes, in Scotland", I replied to save face, as I nonchalantly rubbed my injured arm to suggest a reason for my unprofessional performance.

To add to my embarrassment, Joanna suggested an alternative route back to the car, which ended up with both of us emerging Jimanji-style from a swamp infested jungle, only to be neatly overtaken by the Spaniards who we had left behind half an hour earlier!

During the holiday, I bumped into others who expressed surprise at the standard of routes I was doing. Now, I can understand people's expectations of somebody who has achieved things in their chosen field, but it still never ceases to amaze me just how much they expect. After all, we are human - are we not?

When I got back home from our holiday, there was a picture of yours truly in my e-mail signed Marcus Fontana Rodriguez. We sent him a calendar as a gesture of our own appreciation!

So, a word of warning to all you budding rock stars. Learn to warm up properly and if you are into doing routes, don't get too obsessive about power. Stamina and average power levels will get you up a high percentage of the world's hardest routes, but power alone won't (although it does help!). Look after your body!

Cubby
6/4/2001