Yellowwood Amphitheatre maintains its allure and enticed me up there on Saturday 2 January 2010.  My victims were Dave Vallet and Nick, none other than my 11 year old son.  As always, I had a plan, and a back-up plan.  But a comedy of errors confounded all my plans and as a consequence Yellowwood remains a place that: “has a reputation for delivering the quintessential challenging multi-pitch trad routes of a very high standard and that requires above average skill, fitness and experience to complete a route in good style.  Many attempts by even very competent climbers to top out are often thwarted by the steep and intimidating rock and also the afternoon sun and other factors that can result in the upper pitches seeming 2 grades harder than indicated in the route description.”

Firstly, despite the benign weather forecast for Sunday the 3 January, it was sweltering hot on the Saturday and Nick with a rather overwhelming dose of Scottish ancestry genes that has bestowed red hair, sparkling and piercing blue eyes, freckles, a fair skin and a poor heat exchange system in him, wilted in the 37 degree heat.  David had dropped us off at the 1st electric pylon that was in line with the Yellowwood and then driven his vehicle to the Du Toit’s Kloof Lodge 4.7km away.  His rucksack was about the same weight as mine but included a litre of Coke, 2 beers, half a litre of whisky, half a litre of milk,1.5 litres of water, food - including the essential Grabouw boerewors – and all besides his personal gear. 

My pack included a laptop, 3 spare batteries, a DS playstation including the charger??? (WTF? How did that get in) , an I –pod, a harness and boots for Nick and various other paraphernalia related to doing a “hard core” route on Yellowwood. 

We were to carry both packs until Dave caught up with us.  This was not to be.  We considered it prudent and expedient to leave Dave’s pack at the firs pylon which is about 5 minutes above the road, very visible on a big white rock for him to collect on the way up and he could decide what if any he carried of “litre of Coke, 2 beers, half a litre of whisky, half a litre of milk, and 1.5 litres of water, food….including the essential Grabouw boerewors – all besides his personal gear.” Oh, I forgot to include the sugar, gas etc etc etc….

Nick and I sweated up the hill

and from time to time I phoned and SMSed Dave to ensure that he knew, as pre-planned that if we could not cope, we would leave his pack at the designated spot at the first pylon.  He did not answer his phone and this did cause significant concern but we nevertheless shouldered on in the steamy heat.

He caught up with us when we were about halfway or so up that very steep and fore-shortened hike and of course, he had not found the pack having gone to the pylon not where he had dropped us….. He also had left his cell phone in his pack…. The mind boggles indeed! 

And to top it all, he thought then it appropriate that I should go down and fetch his pack despite the fact that I had unloaded it of 1.5l of water and had carried my pack and Nick’s up the hill.  Of course I am just a mere 51 years old of pure brawn and muscle and he is in his early thirties having recently climbed Mont Blanc 5 times or so and done some serious hard core skiing down some outrageous couloirs in the Alps. (Dave I need the you tube link here

I was firm and simply said that “this doesn’t work for me Dave” and sent him down on his un-merry way.  Since when, in the modern age, do you leave your cell phone aka back-up aka communication tool, in your ruck sack?

Nick and I were then benighted with one torch due to the delay and had a hungry sojourn at the base until Dave arrived and we had our boeries at 01h00.  This is not a great way to start on one of the hardest multi-pitch trad routes in SA “Prime Time!.”   I set the alarm for 04h30 to the lamentations and gnashing of teeth of Dave, lubricated by whisky which he did indeed find the fortitude to bring up the mountain….

The saga continues…..

Sunday 6 January 2010.

Nick was asleep in Lucy’s Micky Mouse bag.



I extracted myself from Lucy’s newer pink sleeping bag. I made coffee. True to www.weathersa.co.za it was cloudy and cool. I uncoiled the ropes and managed to unfurl Dave from his sleeping bag and after making vitriolic and disparaging remarks about the bolt that the “Germans” (I can think of several politically incorrect terms) had placed on the first pitch Dave set off and did a very fine and efficient ascent on lead at grade 22. I followed the pitch and I must add that the crux is very awkward technical stemming move that I have no confidence that I could climb without falling off next time. So is it 23?

I then set off up the pitch that I have coined the Nemesis – at least until that day. It starts off with a tricky stemming move with a fall factor 2 and you get to a good point of stability where there is a rail that takes a 3.5inch and a 3 inch cam. And then the coffee and the fear got the better of me. (Nick was still below us fast asleep enveloped in Micky). Dave warned me, he threatened me – I think he got angry too (never seen that before). I had to have a piss! The wind was up, blowing from the east (left). Nick was below us remember…. Just 30m or so below. I still had to piss!!!!!

I did!

Again lamentations, grumblings, threats, promises of being drawn and quartered wafted up from Dave to me through the mist that was accumulating despite my assurance that urine remained sterile for at least 20 seconds. But the pressure dropped under my harness and I could continue up into the fear and loathing that was the crux of the pitch.

I lurched upwards and place the size 2 micronut, the size 1 BD nut and stepped out onto the face where I trembled and then controlled. I did the sketchy move up and had to snatch the thin rail (which anybody taller than 5’3” doesn’t notice) and found the rail to be as thin as ever. I toe’d off on the right foot nubbin and placed the oh-so-shallow blue alien and the even less confidence inspiring tiniest purple alien. The jugglet above defied me once and then I crimped it and hastily placed the tiniest BD micro-nut on my rack. (I was distraught to find that I did not have no 2 with me which is stronger and fits better). I was beginning to blow as I had done 3 time previously! And as I punch out these words 4 days later my forearms are still protesting with lactic acid). I felt the next move, the move. It is an impossible move to read. You are in a left facing shallow dihedral on small holds (which I usually excel at) and one has to find a fingertips gaston hold behind you with your right hand that is not visible – you have to know it’s there!). I tried it and my right deltoid swelled, creaked, then groaned and said NO!). I sagged back down.

“Dave, I can’t do this!” I cried.

He shouted obscenities up at me that translated means “you can, you must and if you don’t I will rip you to pieces….. or something like that.)

I tried again, my fingers strained, my right shoulder burned. I selected the further sloping micro-edge to place my left foot. (The closer one was too off balance.) I stepped up, grabbed the gaston and gave up and decided to pull on draw on the micro-nut. I grabbed it and yanked it to test it and let go.

Dave shouted something; I looked away from the tiny micro-nut and thought NOT about it or about the two micro-cams 2m below me. This is what trad climbing is about. A bolt or fixed piece would ruin the moment, the pitch, the route and the overall experience. This is the sharp and very thin edge of what makes me feel alive. It made me think of the song Life is Live by Opus.

I sagged down for a final shake out on the impossibly small edge below the micro-nut.

I went up again.

My left hand searched and valois! I found the thinnest, tiniest but sharp micro-edge that allowed me to bounce to the good hold above. It was done!

I bellowed with delight.

The saga continues….

The sensible thing to do now, would be to make a stance as one is on balance and arms are blown. But that would denigrate the pitch. I continued up the tricky stemming corner with the sneaky knee bar and up to the rail. I went right on to the arête and this time had the right sized cam. Pumped, I did the thin move to the flake and made the peremptory comment to Dave that the flake might exfoliate and I would see some air time. I reached up, the flake held and then it was a cruise up to the belay ledge.

I was elated and although I did the moves I give Dave at least 49% credit for the free ascent owing to his encouragement. He literally shouted me up the pitch. And that is how one sometimes does these things – with a little help from your friends. Or rather, a lot of help.

Dave then followed. He had been on the pitch before and after several disgruntled sounds he succumbed to the finer nuances of the technical difficulties and gravity and stretched the two ice floss ropes. He then worked the moves a few times and came up.

So this begs the question? How hard is the pitch? Well, between us we free climbed Africa Arette 25 on Africa Ledge recently which is a test piece for its grade. And this is as scary and technically probably harder on a very uncompromising wall. As I already intimated, a bolt would ruin it. For the record I would grade it 25 with beta but the on-sight as to affirm the difficulty.

Dave the led the next pitch (22) sailing through the first crux but got a little unstuck on the second crux which entails a difficult mantel move after a long run out with only a tiny cam in a very shallow slot for protection. He eventually did it the more forgiving way by down-climbing a few metres and then climbing up on the left.



I led the next 55m grade 21 pitch which had become quite overgrown and was more demanding than I remembered.
Yellowwood Amphitheatre maintains its allure and enticed


Reaching the half way ledge was a great relief and lunch was had.

After considering continuing up Prime Time we decided to rather find new pitches on trad before other climbers applied the soft option and bolted more pitches. We found a steep thin overhanging crack and I set off up it. It was thin, tricky, but by and large safe. I sort of climbed all the moves with rests on gear and I got to a point where Dave mentioned that it was 4 o’clock and we had to bail. (In fact it was 14h00). I had also run out of gear and needed more RP’s and nuts. Nick was at the base alone and Deon Van Zyl, who was meant to come up and re-supply us with whisky and boerewors sent me an SMS that he was being subjected to a tax audit of all things???? So we rapped off as, under the circumstances, I had to get Nick down the same day.

The rest of the descent was uneventful except the 4.7km walk into the sun back to the hotel to fetch my van while Dave “guided” Nick down to the road at a leisurely pace where I had left my pack and placed the beers and the litre of coke in the shade to cool for them.

So there it is: Yellowwood reigns supreme. The amphitheatre looms ominously above Du Toit’s Kloof. She is seductive and entices you into her cracks. Then she rejects and ejects you and you leaves humbled and emasculated. Again a concerted effort to top out was thwarted. It is truly awesome……It is the quintessential uncompromising and unforgiving trad crag. There is nothing else like it.