Since becoming a BMC Ambassador, Steve McClure, 44, has had a full-on year. Alongside pro-sport climbing and parenting, he made the first British on-sight of trad route Strawberries, E7 6b, starred in a new BMC TV film, Verdon, and released his autobiography, Beyond Limits.
This kind of multi-faceted output; all considered and artful, is why Steve is one of my real-life heroes. Open and unassuming, he’s in still in our world despite his ability, not beyond the limits of belief. Like his climbing, Steve’s new book is accurate, flowing and damn hardcore, and he effortlessly transfers his unique persona to the page. It’s really not that often you get such a wide-open window into the experience of a climber at the top of the sport. Verdon is an equally honest portrait. How, and why does he do it, and of course, what’s he going to do next?
Why did you decide to add to the ranks of glossy climbing hardbacks and write your own book?
That’s a good question, probably the biggest. Not for the money, that’s for sure, not for fame and glory. Maybe it’s an ego thing? I initially wrote a magazine article that became too big, but I liked what I’d written and didn’t want to bin it. So it started there. It then turned into a personal journey. I wanted to do a good job, like a DIY kitchen where you make your own units; attention to detail becomes critical, even if no one else ever sees it. I wasn’t sure I was even going to publish the end product. I could have left it on my hard drive forever, but to make something people might actually want to read…that became another challenge.
Where there any other titles in the running before Beyond Limits hit the shelves?
I struggled with a title. I left it 'till way after I’d finished, maybe I wasn’t sure of the story or ending. Once I’d finished and could see the whole picture I wanted something that expressed the enjoyment of climbing. Whilst hanging in a harness 300m above the floor in the Verdon, with a big smile on my face having just climbed an incredible 7b pitch, easily within my ability but just so, so good, I realised that now I didn’t need to climb at my limit all the time for a day to feel like a success. Maybe in the past I had felt that need.
You write very well, whether about the movement of climbing, the forethought or the characters. Is this a skill that you’ve put your mind to with the same tenacity as climbing?
Writing is perhaps something I shouldn’t be any good at. It doesn’t fit with my ‘skills’ which are very engineering spod-based. I’ve never tried to be any good at it. I just write like I speak, I’m amazed it’s worked out.
I think that’s exactly why it has. What’s next in your writing career - is there a climber whose book you would ghost write?
I definitely don’t have a career in writing. I don’t consider myself a writer. However, if by some amazing twist of life it worked out I think I’d rather like it. It fits well with my life, a flexible schedule around my desire and need to be in the outdoors. But what to write? My story is done now, unless I go for ‘Beyond Limits II’. And I’m not sure I could write anyone else’s, I feel the only thing I can give in my writing is my own personality.
And what about your climbing, ‘career’ or otherwise. Are you heading on up?
Often sports people write their story after the game is up. I’m no spring chicken but still feel I have a way to go. Gains are small and hard to make, and sometimes the definition of getting better is being happy with staying the same. But I still have moments where I feel I can move forward and get stronger, fitter and more intelligent with my climbing. Just last week I felt I was climbing as well as I ever have and with plenty left in the tank.
For most climbers, an element of competition inspires us to push at our own limits, but at your level there are few, or none to chase, so what spurs you on?
I feel my position in climbing is totally accidental. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. Perhaps my strength is that I want to do as good as I can in everything I do, which can be a failing too. I have a deep-rooted love for climbing and want to be my best. I don’t need others to spur me on. It’s a personal journey only. The whole climbing-pro thing is a by-product.
You’ve been in a bunch of climbing films, most recently Verdon, made by Rich Heap and Ben Pritchard. In the film you go significantly off-route, Ben’s hanging above you, knowing you're several grades out. Should he have told you?
For sure, no. We’d gotten into the mess, not his fault. His job is to capture the adventure, to keep it real. However, if I was heading into danger without knowing then maybe I’d hope for a heads up.
Is the relationship with a filmmaker important, or would you head out to make a climbing film with a stranger?
The relationship is very important, on many levels. I need to know they are safe, and won’t compromise my safety. I need to know they are going to do a good job, because I’m excited about being in a film and there is nothing worse than getting terrible results because the camera man didn’t know how to do his job. My films are usually made in the moment, there’s no going back generally. And I have to simply get on with them. It’s got to be fun!
What about other pro-climbing relationships, who is your nutritionist, your ?
Erm. I’d probably do well to see one. Are pies and chocolate OK?
Seem to be. At the 2014 BMC Injury Symposium you learnt about the ‘pulpy stuff’ between fingertip and bone, developed over years that allows you to hang on a 5mm razors at Ravens Tor. Should Pulpy Stuff be at the top of every climbers Christmas list?
This was really an interesting revelation and makes so much sense. I’d not thought of this. My deadhang finger strength on a normal wooden edge is nothing special, but how come I can climb 9a on tiny edges? Maybe this is actually my only strength. As a heads up to the kids, I used to spend three hours every other night crimping my way along a brick edge traverse on my garage wall when I was 12 years old. No campusing, always feet on. That’s got to help with this pulp stuff. And just consider, the stars like Ben Moon, Ron Fawcett and Jerry Moffatt used to spend so much time traversing on tiny edges too. It’s all we had before climbing walls were invented: squeezing tips between the bricks or the ‘natural’ edges on a building wall. It’s ironic that this form of training should be so appropriate and important, considering the dedicated training facilities we have these days, where it’s all about body power and swinging between giant blobs.
Aside from discovering it’s pulp not strength that’s your secret weapon, what else have you learnt from being an Ambassador for the BMC? And what do you hope to pass on?
Like most people in climbing I was aware of the BMC and how it looks after our sport, but taking a more detailed view has made me realise just a little bit more of how climbing is a privilege. It’s not our right. The BMC put vast amounts of time into keeping the hills as our playground and it’s easy to take this for granted. Without their work we’d lose some of our most precious places. People have a tendency to say how great climbing is; ‘it’s free’, well, it’s not exactly free. Someone has to look after these beautiful places.
The various climbing scenes described in your book are just so rad. These days we mourn the madcap, consequence-free climber, what do you think’s exciting about today's yoof and their scene?
Things for sure are different these days. The scene used to be totally off the wall back in the 80s. It wasn’t about performance; it was all about a kind of rebellion. Characters were really colourful. People spent years on the dole sleeping in sheds wearing worn out clothes. Routes were mental slate chop routes, or crumbling horrors on Gogarth. There were parties all the time. I think the indoor scene has taken over these days. No problem with that, it’s just different. Kids are into climbing hard and being healthy. Maybe more of that would have helped us back in the day.
Carrot sticks may well be their secret weapon. Or maybe we just don’t know what they are up to. Cheers Steve! See you on the dance floor
BUY: Steve's book, Beyond Limits in the BMC shop
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