Into the Woods
Crag spotlight: Bouldering in Churnet Valley
If you go down to the woods today, you’re in for a big surprise.
If you go down to the woods today, you’d better…take your climbing shoes and some chalk because there’s some really great bouldering down there.
Deep in the Churnet valley in Staffordshire, there is a quaint little tea room called the Rambler’s Retreat. Though the drinks are good and the cakes are excellent, that isn’t where I want to take you today. Instead, swing your boulder pads onto your back, pass the gardens of the Retreat, with its wrought iron chairs and cultivated flowers, and follow me as we head into the green, dappled light beneath the trees to hunt out some sandstone.
In mid May, the trees are a riot of leaves, the vivid green canopies so dense above that it gives the wide paths wending through the trunks an almost other-worldly quality. When I found myself there with a group of friends a few weeks ago, it certainly felt as though I was entering another realm, one of wild nature, mythic creatures lurking in the shadows… and slopey boulders. The boulders are dotted around the woods, some clearly visible from the path, some tucked away in their own little worlds, so hidden that pulling onto them almost feels like falling through the veil into an alternate realm where everyone else has disappeared. We were lucky enough to be there as guests, getting the grand tour from friends who call Churnet their local, eager to show off all their favourite rocks.
Our first stop for the day was Gentleman’s Rock. We traipsed along the path, through the crisp brown piles of last year’s leaves and headed up the steep in-cut dirt steps to the long expanse of steep, overhanging sandstone. Beneath the crag, a rock sat, so perfectly flat and table-like it was hard to believe that it hadn’t been deliberately quarried, placed there intentionally for you to dump all your stuff on. The crag itself looked painted, moss and lichens of all shades stippled across the rough surface, pastel greens next to rich bottle shades, interspersed with the white powder of climbers’ chalk. The problems we tried here centred around huge dynamic moves on steep, intimidating ground.
Tried being the operative word for me. From the starting rail of The Nose I gained the flake in the roof and kept trying for the massive leap to the finishing jug. Hanging horizontal, feet pushing off the corner where roof met vertical I drove myself upwards and backwards over and over, core tight, hand reaching, only to continually slap flat rock, just millimetres short of the good edge. Eventually, after no sign of improvement, I conceded defeat and instead stepped into the role of photographer, as the others successfully made the high, finishing moves of High Speed Imp Act. As each one of them snatched the final hold their feet cut loose to swing out backwards, defying gravity to reach a peak, a moment of inertia almost horizontal to the ground, though metres above it.
Dynamic power ebbing, we left Gentleman’s Rock and headed back down to the main path. The track courted the edge of the river, which in the sunlight, without a breath of wind, stood stock-still. It perfectly reflected the world above, a green mirror turning fallen, half-submerged branches into complex symmetry, ritualistic talismans. We emerged back out into the gardens of the Rambler’s Retreat, briefly coming up for air before delving back into the trees on the other side of the road, this time Farley’s Wood. We dropped down the side of a bridge and crossed a boggy stream to head up to Discreet Block for some pebble-pulling. Some of the sandstone here forms in a conglomerate manner, and this is the perfect example. Smooth, round pebbles stick half-out of the main sandstone matrix, providing undeniable crimping opportunities, for all their unsettling nature. They look like they shouldn’t be able to take your weight, like you should be able to pull them out of the wall, and yet they’re embedded so securely.
With its severe right angles, the problem we picked, Propeller Head, stumped me again. I could easily make my way along the underside of the roof, tucking the heel of my foot into the shelf and camming my toes against the rock to stop myself swinging out and brushing the ground. I could reach around the 90 degree edge and grab the pebbles curiously buried in the wall, snatching once, twice, at their rounded edges. I could get my other hand into the shallow pockets slightly further up, but as my chest pressed into the wall, my body bent and curved at the same angle as the corner, my right leg still tilted viciously outwards, I would become stuck, unable to go further, unable to make the swing out and round that would bring me wholly onto the face. Repeated attempts wore down my fingertips, the rough sandiness rubbing off the layers of skin to leave raw pink patches. I wasn’t the only one - everyone was going to struggle picking up their hot drinks in the morning.
We were almost ready to call it a day, but not before one final boulder had been explored: The Amazing Tree Block, fully living up to its name. The huge tree burst directly out of the boulder, its ancient roots pouring out of the trunk and over the edge of the rock like a waterfall. If anything perpetuated the idea that these woods were enchanted, it was this tree. To add to illusion, occasional screams punctured the still air. In reality, drifting over from the rollercoasters of Alton Towers just a few fields over from the edge of the trees, but easy to imagine them as the cries of the bewitched, trapped in the gnarled branches of the tree. The problems there were more of the same huge moves, big slaps to distant holds from tight heel hooks. I did finally manage to send a couple of easy problems before the midges descended in force and we were forced to abandon the day, or risk being eaten alive.
And so, we made our way back to the car park, tired, raw but buzzing after a great day. This is the first year I have gotten into bouldering, usually spending my winters training indoors, my summers on a rope, but in an effort to get stronger, develop my dynamic power, I have spent countless weekends making incremental progress on hard boulders. I admit, I am not very good at bouldering at all, and my winter/spring goal to boulder 7A has been mostly an exercise in ego-destruction as session after session passed at a range of different venues without the send I was after. This day may have been no different - I tried hard, but mostly without success, but who cares, really? You don’t need that little green logbook tick for a good day. All it really comes down to is great conditions, great boulders and great friends, oh any maybe a little bit of enchanted woodland - what more could you ask for?