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Two Plantations

Some words in the climbing world are so loaded with history and expectations that it’s impossible to actually assess the place objectively. Words that carry a lot of baggage one way or another. Just saying “Plantation” will elicit a response of some sort. It might spark memories of feeling like a hero cruising confidently on some airy line or other above a sea of onlookers, or finally solving the critical position and landing the top hold on your project as the winter sun sneaks out from behind a cloud. Or backing off Crescent Arête with trust in your footwork in tatters. An ankle-wrecking fall from high up on something, feet rapidly peddling an invisible bike down some tall arête, with the rest of your climbing year flashing before your eyes perhaps. Yep, the highs are high, and the lows are low at the Plantation. The soaring bulletproof arêtes, and the sandy battered orange holds and snappy flakes. Or maybe you’ve never been, so it’s a crag of the imagination yet to be experienced, which you’ve avoided because you’ve heard it’s always rammed.

It’s certainly a crag of contrasts, with two sides to it coexisting simultaneously. Like there’s two Plantations of diametrically opposed extremes occupying the same physical space - like that optical illusion, it’s either a rabbit or a duck but never both at the same time. And I never really know which one I’m going to get. I go hot and cold on it. I’ll go through phases where unless I make an effort to go elsewhere I’ll end up there regardless - its gravity irresistible - and other times I can go months without wanting to go near the place. Nothing new to try, and can’t face failing on the same old things again. Not feeling confident in my footwork? No point even turning up. It’s a punisher both physically and psychologically. Yet in summer if it’s way too warm for any projects then it comes into its own again, a good mid-grade circuit for a breezy evening.

Limping around there this last week, crisp and cold but freed from any obligation to climb, I definitely felt the good side of the place again. Even with your shoes and chalk left safely at home miles away the big lines still excite. Yet still the Plantation still has something of a mixed reputation, pre-dating the bouldering popularity boom of recent years. One exchange which I can still vividly recall, from about twenty years ago, illustrates this.

Having crammed a small hatchback full of paper-thin bouldering mats, Anasazi Velcros and massive beanies (some things never change) with nary a portable fingerboard or battery fan in sight we bombed up the M1, lamenting the fact that a litre of unleaded now topped 78 English pence. On the promise of reliable conditions on a marginal day, we found ourselves at the jewel in the crown of early-2000s Yorkshire grit; Almscliff. Mid-way through the circuit we lost the battle with the weather and a heavy shower rolled in from the west on a keen breeze. No need to bail to the car as it would soon pass through, and the crag would be dry again in short order, as is the Almscliff way. So temporary shelter was sought amid the carved initials, LUFC spraypaint and broken glass under one of the many low roofs. The pause in proceedings at least provided an opportunity to refuel with a quick Double Decker (back when they were still 60g!) and a chance to check the ol’ Nokia for any 160-character text messages incoming and maybe a quick game of Snake.

Sharing the shelter of the roof was a local guy, similarly hunkered down for the brief shower. Perfunctory hellos were exchanged and he enquired if we’d come far. We confirmed we’d driven up from Sheffield. This elicited the timeless response “Sheffield eh? Stanage Plantation is sh*t isn’t it?”. No small talk, just cut the chase mate.

I don’t remember what our response was, we were probably reeling in confusion, having been blind sided by this opening conversational salvo. Needless to say, somewhere deep in my subconscious this was logged as dynamite material for a future website/email endeavour, to illustrate the point that certain places sometimes provoke wildly different responses depending on the context.

Buy Grit Blocs

Fair enough some problems are looking very worn now, hence the only problem which made it into Grit Blocs was the one with the strictest door policy difficulty-wise. A frustratingly a few seem inexplicably popular and magnets for daft behaviour despite objectively not being that great - Captain Hook (lowball, knackered holds, chipped), Zippy’s Traverse (dabby, trashed looking, over-chalked, slow drying), Green Traverse (worn, and only good if climbed as an eliminate) etc etc. But beyond that the soaring clean lines are still there, the same rock architecture that brought you here in the first place, the stuff off dreams. That late afternoon winter light sets the place off a treat, to be fair just as it does at most grit crags, but there’s something a bit magic about that light at Stanage that I can’t put my finger on, something that makes you forget the bad parts and amplifies the place’s strengths.

So anyway, far from being “sh*t”, the Plantation remains a very special place, albeit one facing some challenges under the weight of increased participation. Ground erosion, wet rock bad practice, overchalking, parking pressures etc. You can regard the Plantation as being at the bleeding edge of these sorts of issues and how they then cascade out to other venues. It’s no coincidence that we chose Stanage as the venue to film the Stay Classy video last summer. Walking around midweek on a bone-dry crisp blue-sky day it’s easy to forget that the ‘other’ Plantation exists, but it still does very much exist, and we need to make sure we remember this. Especially when the good weather switch is flicked off again and we’re back to dark perma-damp winter days, we need to make sure what goes on during those damp days doesn’t ruin the good days for us and everyone else in the future.