To revisit the first article by Anja Jones on the team's trip to Chateau Vert, click here


Bouldering at Font

By Ryan McHenry aged 16

This is an article about bouldering (bōl'dər-ĭng - climbing carried out on relatively small rocks that can be traversed without great risk in case of a fall, usually with a high power/athletic component). Craic (fun, enjoyment or light-hearted mischief), Font (Fontainebleau – A forest national park just south of Paris, bouldering Mecca of the world). The pointless necessity of a grade (7a) and brackets (!).

First, I think I should introduce the team…

Paul (17) – In his own words; he’s “built to boulder”. And he’s not a liar.

Louis (16) – Strong Mayo lad with a permanent bouldering psyche

Eddie (47) – He tells us what to do. He’s good at it.

Dave (17) – He’s strong (and he can quote lines from “Blood Brothers”)

Cheryl (23 again) – She does things that she “never thought I’d be able to do”

Anja (19) - In her own words she’s “a midget” but it doesn’t stop her

and me (16) – I’m tall and thin. And my shoes smell.

My last glance at the bundle of climbing gear that congregates around the front door was not reassuring. It should be in my sack. I’m a trad climber (or at least I pretend to be), I go climbing with ropes, slings and lots of metal. This was all too simple. The large pad was squeezed into the back seat alongside a rucksack full of clothes, rock shoes… and that was it, it doesn’t feel right. But we were away, no going back for one comforting piece of gear; it was all crash pads now.

The absurdity of the fact that the French have a Mairie in a town of less than 40 houses was only increased by the fact that we were staying in it. The 2-½ hours of navigating from the maze of Charles de Gaulle airport had brought us here. And the only thing I was happier about, other than finally getting a bed, was that the second car didn’t have a map to see exactly how bad my navigation was.

Waking to hear the sweet chiming of the birds outside the window, would have to be one of the most refreshing experiences of the trip. (Read – Being woken at some ungodly hour by the suicide-inducing squawk of some bag of feathers that wouldn’t leave the window; would have to be the one experience that made me want to jump off a high building). But the day started with everyone intact nevertheless. We eventually arrived at the roche-sur-subot car park after some more ‘amusing’ navigation from myself.

But it was no Mourne walk-in here, (so I’ve convinced myself that we made up time with that ‘alternative route’) a short stroll on the sandy paths of the forest led to the first boulders of Font.

As we turned the corner they sprawled down the gentle hill, the little clusters of bulging, swollen rocks hid under the trees. Like trolls. Or not like trolls at all in another way. There were rocks anyway, lots of them; big, small, dog-shaped, long, Matterhorn-esque, thin, overhanging… (You get the picture).

It’s overwhelming at first, with so many lines and problems, although it’s clichéd; I had no idea where to start. Eventually I followed Paul on an easy traverse where, still in my captivated trance, I managed to find a no-hands rest that was so good that I couldn’t move at all. Embarrassing…

Paul and Louis showed everyone just why they came looking to climb that rite-of-passage grade of 7a. Both were dispatching problems with the ease that a gorilla eats bananas (any reference to climbing style is completely unintentional). The Font grading system proved ‘entertaining’ as I eventually gave up on a hideous 3c mantle, which was followed with a 6b flash. Although earning the highest compliment of “I’ve never seen someone climb so badly and still get up” from Eddie. But the summary of the day has to go to Paul, with the inspired - “Oh Yeeeah”. I couldn’t have put it better.
The plan for the next day was to rest our already trashed skin.

It didn’t last long.
Leaving the cars, we decided that we wouldn’t need anywhere near the number of pads we had yesterday, it was just too much hassle carrying them. We left one behind, the small one.

It was our introduction to circuits, Font style. After what seemed like hours of boulder-hopping between problems we stumbled on a perfect 7a roof problem that finished on horribly sloping holds, leaving the other half of the group to finish off some of the circuit. Louis showed us how it was done; pulling through to the top after only a few goes. The rest of us continued to struggle with it, Paul getting agonisingly close before peeling off onto the pads. On the walk back we stopped at one of the classic problems of the forest. The looming wall was dotted with only a few small pockets, with a unique landing (it started in a hole). Everyone took the opportunity of relaxing, watching, photographering (word courtesy of Anja), eating and maybe even a little climbing. Paul’s persistence was rewarded, topping out just as light faded.



To talk about the next day, you only have to say “the most amazing day ever” and everyone on the trip will understand. The lizard covered boulders of the ‘95.2’ area sit perched on hills that loom off the sandy paths. There’s an atmosphere about the place, it can be anything you want, relaxing, inspiring… the plan was for another day of circuits for maximum climbing time. It almost worked.
Awesome. The circuit wound its way up the hill to our eventual picnic stop in a huge clearing strewn with boulders. I realised the strong sun may have caused a touch of sun stroke when I was pulling on my down jacket as everyone else was taking their T-shirts off. But luckily Paul was there to keep me right, explaining that he thought I’d “cool down if I took my jacket off”.

‘Think Fairy’ (i.e. light on your feet) was the motto of the day as Dave sailed up some blank slabs with the grace of a small Russian ballerina. The fact that Louis ended up “eating so much I couldn’t move” didn’t stop him ticking his second and third 7a. Paul revealed his vampire tendencies by again getting his hardest problem so far (a powerful 7a arête), just as the sun sank.

Both Cheryl and Anja were enjoying the tricky circuit, although they may have regretted offering to get the lunch after they got back from their 45 minute trek to the cars. To save Paul’s dignity I won’t even mention the 7b+ that he did first go, only to find it just might have been 7 grades lower. Oh no, I didn’t mean to write that. Sorry Paul.
Big Jim, they use ‘big’ with a sense of irony. They really mean huge Jim. The Big Jim boulder presides over the forest car park from its hill-top perch. The line of pockets through its slightly overhanging face begs to be climbed… or attempted. Along the path to La Baleine (the whale), where I experienced serious rage at being told to rest by Eddie, he’s infuriatingly right sometimes.

Then to sector Isatis, a place with a real fun atmosphere, Italian kids ran through the boulders as their parents tried some hard problems, crowds gathered around slack lines slung between trees encouraging whoever was wobbling along it.

It suddenly hit me that we’d only been in Font for a few days, it felt like months, days had faded into one and we were leaving tomorrow, it was a strange feeling to be leaving so soon.
Tomorrow we’d go to where it all started, Bas Cuvier where ninety years ago, the first problems in Font were climbed. But for us, it’d be the end for now. After being in Font, there’s no way you wouldn’t want to go back.

Boulders ooze history; this is a place of firsts. A lot of firsts; 6a, 7a, 7b, 7c. For me I’d finally managed to get over my obsession with following Paul and Louis to 7a, I was climbing for the climbing, not the grade. The way it should be. Everyone was getting on with it, enjoying it.

So there it is. Font. The climbing is nothing without the craic. The climbing is the craic.

You never want to leave.