Yes it is true, the CUMC have shaved off their beards (including Rich), packed up their hobnailed boots, burned their plus fours, and hung their collective rabid trad. image up by hemp ropes and bowlines. This year's Varsity meet saw nine newly shaven CUMC rock jocks, complete with lycra, leggings, tendon tape, and testosterone, abandon Froggatt for the day (let's face it I've done almost everything I possibly can there anyway) and enter the Huddersfield University Bouldering Competition.
You may think that I'm over sensationalising this. Well, I'm not. When I joined the club the words 'climbing wall' would bring the Panton Arms to a deathly silence reminiscent of the pub in an American Werewolf in London. Invites from our fellow student climbers to join them for a day's rain-free bouldering were sneered at and binned, to be mentioned only long after the event had passed. Meanwhile the world outside the CUMC passed, lace ups were replaced by ever increasing numbers of slippers, and long hair fell in an attempt to reduce weight. The club became the Thatcher regime of the late 80's, until finally one invite slipped through the net. Now read on...
The long run up to the Varsity trip was met with great excitement and anticipation (well by me anyway). Having spent so long out in the cold, how would we fare with other universities? Would we disappear in the chalkdust, or would we be .html South Africa, returning triumphant after a (self-)imposed exile? I confess to having had delusions of grandeur (the CUMC is THE club after all) whilst Stu went to the other extreme, profesizing an opposition that lived in the cellar, ate only power bars, and carried clippers around for that essential pre-climb shave.
Preparations for the day were many and varied. Stu and I had an appointment with the hair clippers, courtesy of Sheila. I bought a Gripmaster, and engaged in a strict training programme of thinking about climbing. John, however, went for a more extreme approach (but much more effective), and built himself a wall in his living room (so he could train whilst watching Neighbours). Rich, as I have mentioned, rationed his beard to a mere four day stubble.
Finally the day came. A typical 6am departure saw two cars go to Huddersfield, and one car go to Froggatt to meet Oxford. We entered as three mixed teams of three, with Stu, Rich and Caroline (who was actually from Cardiff, but we won't mention that again) climbing in the morning, and John, Sheila, Andy, Martin, Leyla and myself climbing in the afternoon. The competition consisted of twenty problems from 4c to 6c+ to be attempted in three hours. Ten points for a flash, seven for second go and four points if you did it on your third (and last) attempt. Afternoon competitors judged the morning session and vice-versa. The whole atmosphere was very relaxed and friendly, with judges offering much 'Beta' (telling you how to do the climb), and before we knew it the whole thing was over. Well the competition was over, but the festivities were just about to begin.
Food and results were held at the S.U.. To preserve his modesty I'll say this only once. Stu won the individual event, and Stu, Rich and Caroline came second in the mixed teams event. Rich and John came a joint 15th over all. Satisfied that we had all had a really fun day, we partied until early morning before overrunning some nice Huddersfield girl's house, where Caroline insisted on talking, and talking, and talking...
Sunday saw us all head back to Froggatt to do some real climbing with the people from the other place. After a slow start that saw the remaining alcohol ejected form our systems, we soon forgot about damp weather and got down to the business at hand, ferreting out those climbs that would give our poor forearms an easy time. Inter-varsity climbing partnerships were formed, and Kat gave us all a lesson in crag fashion with (I think) a pair of leggings fetchingly wrapped around her head.
Come four o'clock, however, and the CUMC showed its true colours. Oxford decided that they had had enough for the day, abandoning the crag for the Chequers Inn and leaving us to fill the air with cries of '-----------------' (Ed - language like this is not acceptable). Only one of their number remained when we finally coiled up ropes and headed back to the cars just as the sun relinquished its hold on what was .html fantastic weekend's climbing with the CUMC.