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Rock Odyssey: Simon Carter's new book & slide show 4-Dec-2011 At 2:09:23 PM Tommo

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On 22/11/2011 onsight wrote:
>Which photograph has triggered an adventure in your life?
>(Doesn't have to be one of mine).
>
>Tell us your story!
>
>Best story wins a copy of the new book and calendar. Winner announced
>16th December.

Simon, very much looking forward to seeing your new book. Love your work!

Many moons ago, in one of those mini-guidebook inserts in Rock magazine, I found a black-and-white photograph of the huge wall in Little River Gorge, Victoria. The wall was home to the route Grand Old Duke of York (17), one of the least known yet longest routes in Victoria (Australia?). I knew I had to go there, and ogled the picture and vague route description many times over a few years. I was always captivated by enough detail in the shot to get me excited, but enough missing to fuel my intrigue. My choss-buddy and I finally made a trip, arriving in the dark after an epic drive, which included broken bridges and hitting kangaroos. We got a little drunk and bivied next to my old yellow Toyota wagon. We tarted at dawn with a miserable bushwack down into the gorge through sooty bushfire regrowth. Hours later we reached the cliff, with no idea where the route began, but started climbing anyway. The day flew by as the drama unfolded, and then it got dark. With the headlamp technology of the time, we couldn't safely go on. We spent a very cold night huddled together at a small stance, wrapped in the rope bag, and staring into the black void. We could feel the awesome exposure, but not see it. We were clipped to a couple of wiggly carrots from memory, and careful not to fall off our perch when we stood up every half hour to stretch, and massage the shivery cramps from our legs. When light came we finished the climb with relief, then bushwacked some more to a road. We were scratched, bloody, sooty, thirsty, hungry and deliriously tired, and faced a long walk back to the car. A couple of blokes came along in a shiny, sporty looking ute, and offered us a ride. They lifted the cover to the ute bed so we could put our climbing gear in. I saw a lot of guns in there, but the pair of rednecks seemed pleasant enough... until my buddy, in his exhaustion, dragged a sling of climbing hardware across the paintwork as he lifted it over the side, with a horrible jingle-jangle that put fire in their eyes. Scenes from Deliverance flashed through my brain, followed by the image shallow bush graves. But after I cursed at my friend repeatedly, and assured the lads that it hadn't left any scratches, they gave us a ride anyway... in akward silence. We got to the car 27 hours after starting out, having survived on our foolish rations of a litre of water each and a few muffins to share. I arrived home to a pissed off boss (I was a day late for work) and friends and family about alert the authorities. It was a top trip, and a top photo that triggered it.

Some pics from the climb (horribly scanned transparencies):