Welsh Classics: A Spring of E6’s and E7’s

Leaving Scotland is becoming rarer and rarer for me these days, but a lack of available climbing partners meant I was forced to make a trip south. Luckily, it was to somewhere that is almost (but not quite) as good as Scotland… WALES!!!

I’ve climbed a bit in Wales over the years, but if you can believe it, I’ve managed to avoid some of the major venues like Dinas Cromlech, Cloggy, and—until last year—Gogarth. In fact, my first Welsh climbing experiences were on the slate of all places, where I climbed routes like The Quarryman (E8), Coeur de Lion (E8), and even added my own hard link-up in Twll Mawr: Space Cadets (E8), a beast of a multipitch that strings together an E6, two E7s, and an E8.

I was lucky enough that two friends—Calum Muskett and Tom Pearce—were free for some days out in North Wales. Neither needs an introduction, really. Calum is North Wales born and bred: a guide, guidebook author, E8 flasher, and somehow manages it all while being a dad to two lovely kids. I think the best term for this is HERO!

Tom is the 20-year-old crusher from the North York Moors who first came to prominence through Al Lee’s film Fall Theory, which shows him making short work of some very bold routes up to E9.

Bonnie chilling on top as we descend to sneak another climb in at the end of day

The Cad (E6 6a) – North Stack, Gogarth

The first stop was Gogarth. The original plan had been to try some steep E7s in the caves, but the humid conditions had left them wet. Calum suggested The Cad, a bold wall climb on North Stack, known for its intimidating and serious test pieces.

First climbed in 1978 by Ron Fawcett, The Cad became one of the most iconic routes at Gogarth and a symbol of the new wave of bold British trad climbing. Fawcett’s ascent, on such steep and sparsely protected ground, marked a defining moment in climbing history. With its spaced gear, airy position, and committing moves, it remains a rite of passage for any climber operating at the top end of traditional climbing.

I’ll be honest—The Cad’s reputation hadn’t passed me by. I even remember telling a friend not so long ago that I had no intention of ever trying it. I do enjoy a bold climb, but poor rock and bad gear is a combination that doesn’t usually light my fire.

Andy Politt on an early ascent of “The Cad”

Calum, however, reckoned I’d be fine—said it was only around French 6c climbing. I asked if he’d onsighted it. “Yes… when I was 14,” he replied. Well, now I had to climb it. Would be a bit embarrassing getting burned off by Calum’s 14-year-old self.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the climbing much better and the rock more solid than I’d expected. The first 10–15 metres, which are supposed to be “bold,” felt more like F6b, and I found plenty of decent spikes to sling. It didn’t really feel that bold anymore?

A bit higher up there was a big flake, some decent nut placements, a couple of cams, and even a bomber thread—suddenly I was feeling very safe.

The only beta I had came from Calum at the next decision point. After running it out a little, I spotted some chalk out right and started heading that way. Calum shouted up, “I think it’s straight up, mate! You’re climbing onto The Bells.”

Earlier that week, Rob Matheson had been on The Bells The Bells (E7), so there was fresh chalk across the line. Like a Siren drawing a sailor into an early grave, The Bells was calling to me. I made a slightly tricky reverse from that line—probably the hardest moves I pulled on the whole wall—and got back to a restful position.

Looking up, I couldn’t see any obvious holds, and although there was a sprinkling of chalk above, the shape and colour of the rock meant it was basically invisible until I was committed.

Then I spotted it—a good flake jug high above. Something to aim for. A couple of committing moves on a big (but safe-ish) runout later, I was on better holds. One final rockover and a thankful jug later, I topped out with a grin—glad I’d ignored my old reservations.

Lord of the Flies (E6 6a) – Dinas Cromlech, Llanberis Pass

First climbed in 1979 by Ron Fawcett, Lord of the Flies quickly became one of the most celebrated and photographed climbs in the UK. Its soaring wall of perfect rhyolite, technical movement, and serious runouts captured the imagination of a generation. Fawcett’s ascent helped usher in a new era of bold, athletic climbing on the clean-cut walls of Llanberis Pass.

Where most young boys might have posters of footballers or models on their bedroom walls, I had posters of climbers. Slightly embarrassing to admit—but one of those posters was of Rob Greenwood climbing Lord of the Flies. I’ve known Rob a long time now, so I’m sure he’ll have a laugh reading this.

I also remember a story my old buddy Jacob Cook told me about his own onsight of Lord. It’s estimated to be around F7a+ in sport grade, but pretty bold. Jacob tried it when his sport onsight max was only 7a, making it a pretty hair-raising effort involving desperate moves, being totally pumped, and throwing between holds on a big runout. Terrifying.

I can’t claim anywhere near as impressive an ascent. My sport onsight max is F8b, so I had a pretty healthy safety margin in the tank. But still—it’s a route I’ve built up in my mind for years, so it felt special to finally try it.

Today I was climbing with Tom Pearce, who, despite having lived in North Wales for quite a while, had never done Lord of the Flies either. We headed up with Bonnie in tow and warmed up with a lap of Resurrection (E4), which we both led.

Me questing up “Lord of the Flies” - the initial runout looks gnarlier than it felt!

Tom went first on Lord and made very short work of it. North Wales has clearly done him good—he’s not only bold now, but strong too! After his ascent, he abbed down and stripped the gear, and then it was my turn.

I was a little nervous to begin with. Years of stories had given this route a mythic quality in my head. But face climbs like this tend to be quite “sporty” in a way—not because of the gear, but the climbing style. If you’ve got the fitness, you can hang around, shake out, and move at your own pace.

The start was bold, as expected, but the climbing was relatively straightforward. I’d heard there was a sling you could place with your foot on a spike, but I didn’t bother. Tom had placed a skyhook, but I found enough gear to feel happy. When I reached the big pod, I was able to slot in a good nut, two cams, and even sling a spike inside it. Altogether, I felt totally comfortable falling there if I had to.

Above that, the climbing was just really fun—technical, interesting, and about as well protected as you could ever hope for on an E6.

To finish the day off, I did Right Wall (E5). And would you believe it—by then I was actually feeling pretty wrecked. I hadn’t brought enough food to the crag, and as a result, Right Wall genuinely felt harder than Lord! Haha.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (E6 6a) – Clogwyn Du’r Arddu (Cloggy)

Cloggy is a place that looms large in British climbing folklore, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of its boldest and most iconic testpieces. A technical slab with sparse gear and smeary, delicate movement, it’s a route that requires commitment and quiet confidence.

After ticking two absolute classics of North Wales climbing mythology—Lord of the Flies and Right Wall—it felt rude not to round things off with what I saw as the final part of a trilogy: A Midsummer Night’s Dream. So Tom and I headed up to Cloggy, home of legends, to give it a go.

Cloggy’s not often in condition this early in the year, but we’ve had a run of incredible weather, and most of the wall was dry. Midsummer hadn’t seen an ascent yet this season, so the face was completely free of chalk. Since I’d given Tom the lead on Lord, he kindly returned the favour and handed this one over to me.

The initial moves were steady, with a few good pieces of gear to settle the nerves. But before long, I was high above my last runner, stepping into the undulating blankness that gives Cloggy its reputation. I knew there was a peg somewhere behind a flake up ahead—that was my target. When I got to it, the angle made it hard to peek behind, so I just tickled around blindly with my fingers, feeling for anything peg-shaped.

FOUND IT.

I grabbed a quickdraw and clipped it with a little internal cheer—“Bolt!”—and immediately felt the nerves settle. That tiny bit of fixed gear did wonders for my confidence on the smeary rock.

Tom leaving the security of the gear…

Climbing on again, I hit another runout and then reached what I now reckon is the crux. With no chalk to follow, I was completely on my own—just scanning the rock ahead and moving on intuition. A few tentative smears, some subtle body positioning, and eventually I was through, stepping up onto easier ground and finally reaching the belay ledge on Great Wall. I turned around to look back at a sea of brown rhyolite, now peppered with fresh little white smears—my chalk marks tracing the way.

I abseiled the line to strip the gear, not even bothering to check the peg I’d relied on so heavily. Later, I read a UKC caption saying: “The peg on the first pitch needs replacing. Tuffty had a good look at it on abseil after we did the route and could get his finger behind it.”

Ah.

Tom led the pitch next, and I seconded it, confirming that the climbing’s about Fr6c—but in my opinion, it’s a much harder lead than The Cad. It’s bolder, with more subtlety in the movement.

Tom hurredly pointing out his sponsors so as not to confuse people since he’s wearing my Patagonia belay jacket

We carried on up and did pitches two and three—rarely climbed—which made for a full-value outing. Back on the ground, I finished the day with Womb Bits (E5), linking it into pitch two of Great Wall for a monster 55-metre pitch straight to the abseil point. What a day.

I came back the very next day with Calum for another hit on Cloggy. We’d planned to try a new route, but when that didn’t go anywhere and Calum bailed, I teamed up with a new friend—Jack Thompsett (@inspired_guides)—and onsighted the lesser-travelled Pistolero (E6 6b). It’s been upgraded in the new guidebook, and rightly so—it felt tough for E5. Maybe it’ll feel a little tamer with more traffic.

“Heart of Stone” E7 6b – Gallt Yr Ogof

Unlike some of my bolder friends (Tom and Calum spring to mind), I need a bit of a warm-up before I’m ready to commit to harder onsights. Iain Small had recommended “Heart of Stone” as a good E7 to try in Wales — apparently quite sporty — but I hadn’t thought much of it until Calum mentioned it the night before. Also, young Jim Pope was in town for a stag party and, fresh from flattening nearly every E9 in the Peak, was keen for a Welsh classic too.

We reached the crag mid-afternoon. I was dragging behind the mountain athletes Calum, Jim and Bonnie as they charged up the hill. All this walking had flared up an old ankle injury from the winter — a worry for future approaches, but something to park for now. When we arrived, the line stood out immediately: steep, proud, and plastered in chalk like a Spanish sport route. Me and Jim looked up and I joked that it felt like we’d just walked out of isolation at a comp.

I wasn’t feeling ready straight away, but Jim was keen and racked up. Calum belayed so I could preserve my onsight. I could hear Jim moving quickly — too quickly, it turned out. Just a few minutes in: “Oh shit…” I turned around to see him swinging low on the rope. “I was quite pumped!” he said, which I hadn’t expected to hear from him.

Calum, who’d done the route before, tied in for a go next while I rested. He got to a similar point apparently but eventually lobbed off due to pump, by which point my ankle had calmed and I was feeling more up for it.

Stepping up to the base, I still felt like I was in a comp — not out of competition between the three of us, but because of the way we were taking quick-fire attempts, avoiding watching each other’s beta. Five moves in, a big foothold broke and I nearly fell, jarring my arms badly. I downclimbed and took a few minutes to reset.

When I started climbing again I moved glacially compared to Jim — I’m sure he noticed. I later found out I’d missed a whole line of jugs at the start, but it hadn’t felt desperate. The gear was great and obvious, with a couple of committing moves low down. Soon I was on a massive jug below the crux, chalked to the hilt. I could read the whole sequence from there. I waited out the pump, then committed. The holds were small but mostly positive. One moment of doubt flickered mid-sequence, but I made a snap decision and it worked. Before long, I was stood on the ledge. After a good shake, the final groove went, but not without a little effort I was surprised to find!

To be honest, the experience felt more like onsighting E6 given how chalked the route is, but I’m not complaining — it’s been a while since I’ve onsighted E7, and getting that confidence boost early in the season is gold. Jim pulled the rope and crushed it second go, taking about as long to climb it as I had to put my shoes on.

I make that face even when I’m warming up :P

What’s next?
After an incredible stint in Wales, climbing all-time classics and hanging out with brilliant people, I headed home to the motherland — finally with some partners lined up for the rest of the month. I’ve got a few more E7s in mind for onsight attempts… hopefully Wales has got me ready.