Bat Out of Hell

Another day, another rocky outcrop. We´re just outside Salamanca today. On the way up, there´s some nice little boulders and a deep, wide red rock cave. I suspect I could be entertained here for a few hours. We continue on, looking for the climbing routes. It's very apparent that no one has climbed here for a while. Most of the rock has a good layer moss and the path to the climbs is non-existant.

We finally reach a climb, but I've come to the decision that I'd rather go it alone on the boulders and in the cave. We're three today, with our trusty skipper, and I only brought bouldering gear, meaning a lot of standing around and swapping gear. It´s hassle enough to climb with ropes and gear, it's certainly not a game for odd numbers. What's more hassle, is reversing though the non-existant path. Only after much stomping and blazing profanities do I escape.

On the way back to my cave, I spot another series of rocky cavernous lumps reaching upwards to my right. I wonder if there's mischief atop these. At the least, I´ll find a nice view - the higher the better. As I climb into the first little cavern, I spot a perfectly simply climb up and over. It certainly doesn't demand that I change into my size six rook boots - versus my street size, nine. As I place the first foot in a big jug-like foothold, I take a look down. The fall isn't vertical, but I´m going to roll down some uncomfortable rock - it looks to be not unlike falling down a flight of concrete stairs. I've got no protection, except for the cushioning of my backpack, and the boys don´t know where I am.

It reminds me of a trip to Turkey last year. I found an ancient crumbling byzantine fortress on the outskirts of a nothingy little town, Silifke - real Indiana Jones stuff.

Photo: http://www.castles.nl/tr/sil/sil.html

Just as in this case, I was alone and naturally insistent to get to the very highest point, for the best view. The highest point, if only by two feet, is up a buttress that has been cut vertically in half, presumably by time. Despite a few rocks coming away in my hands, I get to the top with relative ease. I enjoy a lovely smoke with the view. Then I look to climb down, only to discover that I can't. Down-climbing is significantly more difficult than simply climbing upwards - for lack of good sight. I could try climbing down the way I came up, which risks an ankle break, at worst, or climbing down the crumbled outside edge, which looks much easier on account of a ladder, formed of big brick rocks in the standard, friendly bricklaying pattern, but open-ended where the buttress is halved. For the lay of the land, the easy route is a metre or two taller, so maybe eight metres, but then rolls into a moat via thin channel carpeted in bricks and rock of the fallen side of the buttress - another six metres. Yuck.

Photo: http://www.castles.nl/tr/sil/sil.html
With hindsight, and this picture, climbing was not a idea borne from wisdom. Great view, though.

After thinking about it for sometime, I see some tourists in the distance. Phew. I can wait for them to be close enough to hear my screams before trying anything. But, they come no closer. Then they leave. Crap. More time passes. It's coming into late afternoon and I've got no options, aside from climbing. I've got my phone, but who ya gonna call? Off in the distance, I hear the sky rumble with thunder. Oh, shit. I'm very definitely not doing this in the rain.

For some reason, I chose the theoretically easier, but physically deadlier route. I almost fell twice. As I slipped, I hastily reached to hug a big rock, at which point it occured to me, that if the big rock was loose, we would both crash down fourteen vertical then lumpy metres, and it might well crush my skull and/or chest. I had not calculated with that before choosing my route. Just as yesterday, I greeted the ground with ecstatic jubilation.

Back in the present, I have a good look at my situation. Then I recall words of wisdom, relayed to me from my old friend Jerome. I´m told that Jerome says, sometimes you live, and sometimes you die. What a hero. And with that, off I go - up, up, and away.

I eventually make it back to the big cave. I'm trying and failing to find an upside down route across the cave ceiling. I can hear squeaking or something from the dark depths of the cave. I still suffer from sissy girly, city boy hands that aren´t much good for long stints on sharp rocks, so I pickup my torch and go to explore the depths. At the nearly pitch black rear of my cave, I find an further small cave. it's big enough to squeeze into, but that's not especially appetising. I shine my torch into it, expecting to find Chunk and Sloth sitting in the dark with a couple of Baby Ruths. Out of the dark there's a flutter and a bat shoots past me. I've seen Jim Carrey in this same situation.

And so, I run. I run and run as fast as I can under a low ceiling and in a pair of size six´s. No such luck, though. A lone bat is all I get. Damn TV. There are more in there, but they seem happy to stay in their crack. I don´t blame them.