Rage against the dying of the light

Chat GPT, what is the probability of a 74 year old climber climbing The Bells, The Bells! at Gogarth?

I would not usually choose to include a quote from AI in a story, but when Rob Matheson told me his son had pre-emptively asked Chat GPT what his father’s chances of climbing The Bells – an E7 6b with a fearsome reputation for the seriousness of its climbing above poor protection – and Rob relayed the response, it felt like a fitting start to his story. 

Chat GPT’s response was perhaps predictable, but absolutely emphatic:

“In conclusion the probability is vanishingly small, not because it is physically impossible, but because it requires a perfect combination of physical conditioning, psychological readiness, historical experience, and risk acceptance – all in a 74-year-old body.”

Vanishingly small. It’s towards the end of our conversation that Rob relays this anecdote with a grin. It’s after we’ve spent the last couple of hours talking about his introduction to climbing, an entire climbing career condensed into a handful of hours, as well as diversions like a few years at the pointy end of competitive bicycle road racing. It’s after we’ve talked in depth about his methodical approach to reach the point where he felt comfortable to lead The Bells. It’s after he’s analysed the media pressure that he inadvertently put on himself. And it’s after he’s told me that he already has a new objective in his eyesight.

The Angry Pensioner

Our chat bounces from subject to subject, at some point during which I reflect that more often than not, I’m interviewing people at least half of Rob’s age. It’s a bit of a challenge to fit 74 years worth of experiences into a single piece. And more importantly, we agree, this isn’t an obituary. In fact, it’s very much the opposite. It’s a celebration of what is achievable, regardless of the number of candles on our birthday cake. So we begin in the past; but not too long ago. Rob retired from teaching in 2010 and shortly after, started sharing some of his climbs via his own YouTube channel under the moniker of The Angry Pensioner. 

“The Angry Pensioner name was a bit of a joke. One mid-week day, I’d made the trip across to Malham and the catwalk was so busy I couldn’t even get on a route. I had a bit of a rant about how it was full of young people who should all be at work!”

It was a few years later, in 2021, that Rob realised that it was coming up to 50 years since he climbed some of his most well known new routes. It felt fitting to go back and reclimb them and document them for posterity. First up was Paladin E3, 5c. Back in the late 60s, Rob had reached the point where he had climbed virtually everything there was to climb on his doorstep in the Lake District. He had been introduced to it by his father at the age of seven, and for the rest of his childhood and early teens, he climbed in a threesome with both his mother and father. As he grew stronger and more competent, he ticked off more and more routes. Then came his first foray into new routing. A climb he called Venezuela. Not long after, he spotted a line on White Ghyll in Langdale. He first climbed it with a point of aid in 1970. A few months later he returned and free climbed what he called Paladin. At the time, climbing ethics dictated that this was poor form; and the establishment made that known. He was called out by Allan Austin and the route was left out of the 1973 guide, despite Rob’s honesty about the style in which he achieved the ascent. 

50 years later, you can still tell how much that hurt Matheson; the sense of injustice still burns true half a century on. In his YouTube videos, he tells the story of that ascent, and goes into more detail about the controversy surrounding it. Oh and of course, he climbs it once more, commentating his way up a route that is still a stern challenge for many today. 

A number of other anniversary climbs have since passed, but Rob had his eyes on something more challenging.

“I need an objective. And an E7 at 70 sounds poetic, doesn’t it? The Bells has a fearsome reputation. So much so that after John Redhead first climbed it, and described himself as nearly dying on the route, no one dared go near it for years after. 

“I do have to be selective about the climbs that I do now. I was never a strong climber*. I’m not a hauler. I’m a footwork specialist. And I’ve always had a good head. I’m good at keeping myself out of the anxiety locker. It’s living those moments in time. Those can be transformational. You’ve got to be able to control them physically and mentally. I’ve always been able to do that. Interestingly, most other older climbers have moved to sport climbing. As they’ve aged they’ve struggled to emotionally control themselves on routes. Somehow, I’ve managed to keep the mental side of strength. So, I knew The Bells suited my style.”

*These things are all relative. This is the same man, who documents his training process online. He may not be as strong as he would like, nor as strong as he was, but I suggest Rob is being modest here. He relays a story of how back in 1990, after a hiatus from climbing he was invited to the World Climbing Championships held in Birmingham Indoor Arena. “The bloody thing was overhanging the whole way. I fell off after about ten moves and nearly hit the floor because I was too tired to make the clip.” The point, for him, is that he knows his relative strengths and weaknesses. There are plenty of E7s that are physically harder (but safer) that he simply would not be able to climb. The Bells, The Bells! Therefore perfectly treaded the line of being potentially achievable, while being far from guaranteed. 

More importantly, it inspired. 

Documenting the process

Before we talked, I had watched two videos that Rob had uploaded to the Angry Pensioner, recording his preparation for the route – and perhaps more specifically – the placement of protection. He details the remarkable intricacy of each placement; from the conventional, if tenuous, nuts and slings and infamous peg part way up the wall, to the protection that is better described as psychological. Skyhooks behind dubious flakes, secured by duct tape. Blutack used to prevent runners lifting out of their insecure home. Rob details which of these he counts as “fall protection” (self-explanatory) and which is “retreat protection” that should be able to hold his weight and little more. He explores the mechanics of any potential fall calmly, until what he describes as Advanced Base Camp.

“Then all hell brakes loose”, he plainly proclaims in his Cumbrian accent. There are times where your eyes play tricks on you as he holds his camera to the wall. Edges look eminently crimpable. Flakes appear large and secure. Then his hand creeps into shot. Finger pads dwarf the holds. And the sense of absolute seriousness of the position takes hold. It’s easy to get sucked into Rob’s calm assessment of the protection. Maybe it isn’t so bad. It’s in a throw-away comment during our chat that Matheson only partially jokes. “It’s got thirty runners! And they’re all shit.”

“It was really important not to over-practice the route. Partly because I wanted to climb it in good form. I wanted to honour the style in which it has been climbed. But also because the wall is so fragile, there is a real risk of a hold getting broken off. I hadn’t even fully toproped it when I first went for the lead. I hadn’t even got through the crux from the start.”

False start

On a cold March day, he made his way up the start of the route, a biting wind harrying him as he repeatedly reached for the wrong skyhook while balanced precariously below the first crux moves to the peg. The wider Angry Pensioner Productions team looked on, cameras trained on Rob, as he eventually moved leftwards, questing out and looping a sling over the 20 year old peg. He made it a couple of moves further, but peeled off the wall. His protection held, and he even decided to have another attempt, only to fall at the same point for a second time. 

“Craig [Rob’s son, and a strong, talented climber in his own right] was pretty concerned. He’s a very thorough climber and he suggested I go back and focus on eliminating the mistakes and methods of preserving energy to ensure there was enough left in the tank to get through the crux.” 

In fact, Rob has the sequence of moves to reach the peg replicated on his garage wall. Small edges and blank open spaces, all a foot off the ground, rather than above jumbled rocks and a swirling sea. It draws parallels with the much younger Rob who was happy to return to his aided route of 1970. Pragmatic and forward thinking. Pushing himself physically, but happy to use all of the tools and methods available to him to achieve that (and in case it needs to be explicitly stated, in the most ethical of manners to boot). There’s a willingness to adapt and change; whether it’s his training regime, “I now think it’s important to train your strengths and caress your weaknesses at my age”, or his foray into road racing. “I broke my finger and got an indoor cycle trainer to keep fit while I recovered. I ended up winning a national series, until I ended up burning out.”

A slow release of tension

“The media attention did really put the pressure on. I’ve never been a sponsored climber you know? I was never a professional. I first got given some stuff by Scarpa and Rab when I was doing the YouTube stuff. It’s all quite new to me. I don’t regret releasing those first two videos before I’d climbed the route, but it certainly turned things up a notch.”

A month later and Rob returned. This time in a t-shirt and under blue skies he starts up the delicate moves for a final time. Feet dancing and stepping through. Movements precise, measured. Not slow, but never hurried. Not everything goes to plan. A skyhook lifts and slips down the rope. “I hope that doesn’t catch”, Rob can be overheard saying, against the rustle of breeze. It doesn’t. 

He pumps his fist and exhales loudly as he tops out. 

“There was this slow release of tension. It felt like I’d been carrying this rage up the wall. Rage against the dying of the light. The rage slowly let go and all that was left was deep relief and reflection. And finally elation.” 

He sits looking out over the sea, bathed in the early evening night, a smile on his face. The last part of the process is complete.

I haven’t peaked yet

I ask Rob whether he’s ever able to go out for a Sunday cafe ride, or if he enjoys a day of gentle cragging with friends. 

“Yes and no. Of course I can, and do. And I enjoy it. But I need more in my life too. I can’t drift along with no spice. I need that goal.”

“Let me tell you a story. Earlier this year, I’d got sick of The Bells and all the media attention. So I thought, fuck this I’m off on-sighting. Set off a route called Deygo, with my friend, Terry Smith. So there we are, this 77 and 75 year old about to set off on this E3, 5c. The tide was in, but the weather was lovely. Half way up, it started absolutely chucking it down. With no option for retreat, we had to push up and try to get out. So I climbed on. Nearing the top a hold snapped and I fell 60 odd feet. I smashed my ankle and bruised my ribs. Try again. This time I was virtually climbing on one leg. I needed to use aid, but there’s no runners. No aid to use. And as I said, I’m a footwork specialist. That’s not so easy with one foot. It was harrowing stuff. Just near the top, I slipped. I felt like I was in slow-motion. I took another 60-70ft fall. Landed with a jolt upside down. By this time, the tide had just gone out a little so we abseiled into the sea. We managed to scramble and reach the abseil rope, which we jumared up. And sat at the top, soaked through – literally dripping – all I could think was what a bloody good day that was!”

It’s one of those stories that Rob tells with such dry humour, that it’s impossible not to see the funny side. 

“Every now and then you need something to bring you back down to earth”, explains Rob. I’m not entirely convinced that I ever want to be brought down to earth in quite such a literal sense, but his wider point stands. When he described his first climbs with his parents, he expressly recalled the sense of adventure; the joy of just being out there. And, he reflected, “what’s better than a day in the hills with your dad?” And you genuinely get the sense that all Rob is doing is feeding that same sense of adventure, close to 70 years on. 

There’s just one last question to ask. What’s next then? 

“I’ve got my eye on something. Of course I have. You know Indian Face [perhaps the most infamously dangerous rock climb in the UK] right?” he says, with a wicked glint in his eye, “no, not that. I reckon Jonny Dawes would be furious if I did Indian Face. But yeah, I’ve got my eye on something. And of course if I did E7 in my 70s, I’ve got to do E8 in my 80s”. This time, the glint is still there, but I’m not entirely sure whether he’s joking. I don’t know if he does either. 

“Anyway, I haven’t peaked yet.”