A very responsible number member of the club suggested the idea that each outgoing member of the committee should write a brief description of their job, with a few hints to enable the new committee members to perform their tasks more easily. This of course would turn the club into a smooth running machine instead of the random succession of crises that has characterised the club this year. No fun - no fun at all. If we were organised then meets like Snowdonia would never happen - read on.
In keeping with tradition the trip after the novice meets was a weekend in sunny, scintillating Snowdonia. This year saw an almost-full (one person didn't turn up) 15 seater minibus and two Corsas set off to N. Wales. We all arrived safely at about midnight and set up bivvies in the huts at the vivian slate quarries. Sleep, of course, was not possible due to Tom and Cynthia's new hobby of 'stargazing'. A surprisingly noisy pastime that left them looking very sheepish in the morning.
Saturday morning saw myself stood on top of Nicki's leap in T-shirt, shorts and trainers, with a group of nervous looking CUMC members down at the bottom of the quarry. "I want nothing to do with this" muttered Tim, obviously feeling responsible as the President. After 15 minutes or so and a few false alarms, I finally stepped off into free air with a loud cry of "FUCK" followed by a very loud splash. Feeling very pleased with myself, and with far too much adrenaline coursing through my veins, I then very confidently lead a dozen people to completely the wrong crag.
At about the same time that I was trying to set a new trend in free falling, Rich was to start a much more popular trend of pranging hire cars. When setting out for Gogarth Rich suddenly forgot how to drive in reverse and turned the steering wheel the wrong way and driving into a very solid concrete post. Thus a new game was invented and the tally for this year is - one Corsa, one Metro, one minibus, one Cavalier, and three broken down heaps.
Even though it had rained all day some people just didn't want to leave the crag, and so when we all met at the Heights Hotel for a few bevies, it was noticed that Tim and Jane had not arrived. As alcohol flowed this fact was forgotten, and people only commented again the next morning when they were still missing. As we tried to remember where it was they said they were climbing they turned up at the slate quarries. Their story - we got benighted and couldn't hitch back - was not believed, I mean, Tim's a man and Jane's a woman, nudge nudge, wink wink. (It is worth noting that the pair are now engaged to be married, Jan '96.) Whilst grilling the 'lovebirds' we drove off and left Dan on the bog.
Fifteen miles later on we noticed his absence, and so after dropping everyone off, Marcus set off back to pick him up, only to run out of petrol after a couple of miles. When we met up that evening to leave, Marcus had acquired a petrol can, and Dan had become an expert in soloing slate routes in the rain wearing hiking boots. Rich and Viv, however, were nowhere to be seen. Five o'clock turned 6 and 7, and Tim started to become seriously stressed about their absence. Mountain rescue were contacted, and just before the helicopter was due to search for them on Tryfan they arrived at the Cottage.
Such are the makings of a legendary meet. Very little climbing, lots of rain, but most importantly a great atmosphere throughout, and plenty to talk about at the pub for, oh at least a year if not more.