DIY Parabolic mic part II - the mic

Initial mic tests
I made initial tests of the rig with a few mics. Ideally, a mic should be sensitive with low self-noise while being light and small enough not to unbalance the dish. I had high hopes for my LineAudio CM3, one of the smallest and nicest sounding cardioids around, but it didn't sound right inside the tubular mount and with the xlr plug attached was still a touch big and heavy. The best was one of my EM172 'clippy' lav style mics which weighed nothing and fitted neatly in the tube even with its bumblebee furry on. However the cable was a bit short and I didn't buy a Sound Devices MixPre-3 recorder to just run mics on plug-in power. A bit of googling turned up a simple circuit to convert EM172s to run on 48 volt 'Phantom' power, and the possibility of wiring two or three in parallel to improve the signal to noise ratio.

triple capsule viewed through handle

Capsule circuitry and assembly
I bought three capsules from micbooster.com with short cables already soldered on (safer, as the capsules are easily killed by excessive heat when soldering). I didn't bother with matched capsules as I figured any differences would be evened out as the outputs are summed by the parallel wiring. Once the capsules arrived I rigged up a breadboard and 1meg potentiometer to get my head around the 'simple p48' circuit to step the 48 volts of phantom power provided by the recorder down to the right voltage for the capsules.

Although there is plenty of info around online this post is about the best summary, with plenty more info in the comments too:
https://tombenedict.wordpress.com/2016/03/05/diy-microphone-em172-capsule-and-xlr-plug/
From reading it seemed about 7.5-8V was ideal, but I couldn't find any info on resistor values with multiple capsules. Using the breadboard and pot it worked out that to deliver ~7.5V across three capsules I needed a 10K resistor. Using the the MixPre-3 to deliver the power while wearing headphones was instructive; at lower voltages I could hear the sensitivity drop off, whilst at 10V and above (I got up to about 14V at one point, not intentionally!) the capsules seemed to get hyper sensitive and shrill, with the noise floor jumping up.

simple p48 components

With the components sorted I could build the cable and the mic. The 4.7uF electrolytic capacitor and 10K resistor fit in an XLR plug, I then added a bit more work by adding a 3.5mm jack and socket halfway to sit in the parabolic handle and avoid always having a cable dangling from it. Alternatively, a potentially neater but heavier option would be to put the electronics in an XLR socket installed inside the handle. For the mic itself, I first covered each capsule in heatshrink and then used sticky copper sheet to both hold them together and shield them from interference. A bit of electrical tape and heatshrink then beefed it up.

Initial tests were very encouraging. I was concerned there might not be an obvious difference, but it was clear as day. With hindsight, I was combining three improvements in one hit. Firstly, providing 7.5V to each capsule meant a higher quality signal - improved sensitivity and lower noise. Then by running three capsules in parallel I was summing three of these improved signals. Finally, the p48 XLR conversion meant I was now using the class-leading Kashmir preamps on the MixPre-3. Coupled with the physical signal boost from the parabola the whole rig was starting to sound like a very capable instrument.

Mic body
The mic needs to be supported at the focus point of the dish with a clear 'view' of the dish. After trialling a couple of pieces of PVC plumbing pipes with various shaped apertures I bought a piece of aluminium tubing and laboriously drilled and filed it to the shape seen above - giving each capsule a big 'window'. The challenge is to have as little material as possible near the caspules while providing a strong support. The ends of the tube were then plugged with foam with a socket cut for the mic capsules. Layers of electrical tape shimmed the tube to a snug fit in the dish holder.

Wind protection
Rycote sell kits of their acoustic baffle and fur for DIY wind protection. Sewing the two layers into a simple tube was all that was required, with an o-ring to prevent it sliding off. The final item was a spandex cover from parabolicmicrophone.co.uk. This is a bit tight but hopefully the elastic will loosen over time. The combination is very effective and in use the limits are more to do with the wind physically shaking the dish.

Handling noise
In my experience parabolics are very sensitive to handling noise - the Telinga I've used was just as bad as mine. Even if the mic is well isolated from the handle, the smallest vibrations from the handle pass into the dish which then amplifies them like a loudspeaker cone. Soft foam on the handle helps but the best trick is finding a comfortable grip and not to move your hand at all - easier said than done. As generally with nature recording with sensitive handheld mics it also helps if you can breathe silently and control your tummy rumbles!

Sound quality
I've got a few mics in my drawer now, but this one is by far the best performer for bird song. On-axis sounds get a significant volume boost with off-axis sounds not unduly distorted. Compared to my Audio-Technica AT4073A shotgun mic I get a much stronger and more directional signal with lower noise, at the expense of some dish 'colour'. Even professional models are reputed to 'colour' the off-axis sound in this way as the waves are reflected off the dish, with Schoeps providing an eq plugin to help correct the sound. Without direct A-B comparisons I can't say if mine is any better or worse than commercial offerings but the colour is definitely detectable if you're listening for it.


Sample recordings - coming soon

DIY Parabolic microphone pt.1 - the dish

 Recording bird song and other natural sounds has boomed in popularity over the last few years, particularly in the recent period of Covid-19 lockdown with many having more leisure time and reduced noise pollution. For many novice recordists the first thing they seek out is the audio equivalent of a telephoto lens. Unfortunately that doesn't really exist. Sounds waves travel as modulations in pressure, making them so pervasive that all microphones therefore hear sound from all directions at once. This is why noise pollution is such a pain - you can't frame sounds out of shot like in a camera.

 on location at Stanage

Traditional directional microphones (aka 'Shotgun' or hyper-cardioids) work by housing the mic capsule in a long tube with many precisely positioned slots. These attenuate the off-axis signal by phase cancellation, leaving the on-axis sound waves unaffected. But because most are aimed at recording human voices within short range (one or two meters, typically held on a boom just out of shot) to pick up bird sounds well requires the most sensitive, low noise models which are not cheap.

The second option is to use a parabolic dish to focus the sound from one direction. The precise curve of the parabola bounces all the sound waves from one direction onto your centrally mounted mic. There are a couple of complications - the size of the dish affects both the amount of amplification (bigger is better), and the frequency range - the wavelength has to be smaller than the dish. Dishes sized to be portable - around 500mm diameter is popular - amplify typical bird song frequencies while lower frequencies like traffic hum are unaffected. The links below have more info.

A few years back I went on a sound recording workshop with Chris Watson and had the chance to use his professional parabolic mic.  The combination of a Telinga Universal dish and handle and Sennheiser MKH 8020 is reputed to be the ultimate rig for field recording. While it was way out of my budget at £1800 the dish and handle was surprisingly simple (the handle appeared to be from a drill) and it did look possible to have a stab at making my own.

I already own a hammer drill with an auxiliary handle and so, figuring I'd be unlikely to need both the drill and the mic at the same time, I was off to a good start. A trip to B&Q turned up a sheet of 25mm MDF and couple of plumbing parts that looked promising. Time to think about the dish.

The focal length can be short, with the focus well inside a deep dish, or long, like a satellite tv receiver with a flatter reflector and the focus well in front. There are some benefits to having the mic closer to the dish, such as wind protection and less phase-induced attenuation of certain frequencies. Most commercial mics share the classic '1/A' design where the dish is fairly open and the focus is level with the rim, creating a diameter four times the depth.

This template should print at the correct size (scale to 100%) or make your own at https://www.desmos.com/calculator/htfdxbgqdt

50cm, 1/A template

Dish material
Commercial dishes are made from either Polycarbonate (Telinga) or PETG (Dodotronic). Both of these can be easily obtained in thin sheet (ebay) and thermomoulded. DIY projects often use fibreglass, which is much heavier and said to colour the sound. I went for 0.8mm PETG as the moulding temperature is lower (90-160oC, depending on relief). Polycarbonate requires higher temperatures, and baking for many hours before moulding is also recommended to remove any moisture. Whether this is for solely cosmetic reasons I'm not sure, but it sounded beyond my DIY resources. The disadvantage of PETG is it a bit less robust and the lower moulding temps make it more liable to distortion if accidentally exposed to heat. In the Uk that isn't likely to be an issue but storing it in the car in summer will probably not be a good idea.

Making a mould
This is likely to be the stopper for most DIYers. Unless you have access to a lathe you are going to struggle. Luckily my Dad is a keen woodworker and has a lathe in his shed, and before finalising the design a quick call confirmed the size and weight he could handle. I made the mould from layers of 25mm MDF, five layers giving 125mm depth which in the standard 1/A shape gave a diameter of 4X the depth = 500mm. The calculated diameters for each layer were drawn on and cut out with a bandsaw. To reduce weight we also cut the middle out of the three biggest layers, and then aligned and glued all five together with a few dowels for added strength. A final MDF ring was then cut to hold the sheet being moulded, with an inner diameter of roughly 510mm. With a profile template and my Dad's skill we soon had the shape tolerably close. I later did some work with filler and sandpaper to tweak it further.

 finished mould ready for forming

Moulding
Ideally, thermomoulding would be done with an oven and a vacuum former. While these can be made at home - using patio heaters and aluminum foil to make big ovens, and vacuum cleaners etc - it involves a lot of work and expense for a single dish. I went for a more redneck approach using our gas hob and some elbow grease. I first cut a 600mm circle from the PETG sheet with a stanley knife, removed the protective films and attached the PETG disc to the MDF ring with a staple gun. This I held a foot or so above the gas hob, keeping it moving in the hope of heating evenly. The first attempt went badly - I didn't get it hot enough to mould to the full depth. Then it was harder to heat as it wasn't flat and the PETG got too hot. You'll know when it gets too hot as it stretches easily, even under it's own weight, quickly getting paper thin and crinkly and only good for the bin. I learnt my lesson and round two went better, pre-heating the mould so the sheet didn't cool so fast, and using a heat gun to further warm the perimeter for the final section. However the edge was still a bit thin, and I cut it too short making for a dish which looked ok but was a bit floppy. By the third attempt I actually ended up with something which looked good and held its shape well. If I was to try again I'd make a thicker MDF outer ring to hold the sheet without bending.

 Dish cooling after moulding - note staples

Assembly
After leaving a few minutes to cool, I pinned the centre of the dish to the mould and cut the excess plastic from around the perimeter, then sanded it smooth. Then it was just a case of carefully cutting a 40mm hole in the centre, screwing the handle and pipe-fitting together, and suddenly it looked like the real thing.

 cutting the centre hole

Testing
For initial tests I used a stereo pair of Primo EM-172 from micboosters.com. These small omni mics have low self-noise and are cheap. With the right mic at the focus and the left mic kept outside the dish it was simple to compare directionality and gain whilst recording, and in also by switching channels check for any 'colour' introduced by the dish and/or mic mount. It sounded promising, so I proceeded with building a bespoke mic - see section II.

References:

https://avesrares.wordpress.com/2016/04/28/diy-parabola/
Thorough blog, the main source of information for this project

http://www.naturesongs.com/parabola.html
Good overview from Klaus of Telinga

http://www.wildlife-sound.org/equipment/stereo_parabol/index.html
Discussion of stereo parabolics

http://puca.home.mindspring.com/Parabolic.pdf
A bit dated, but a detailed technical paper (pdf)

Commercial models:
https://parabolicmicrophone.co.uk/ Cheap, basic UK model
http://www.telinga.com The professional choice
http://www.dodotronic.com Mid-priced offering
http://www.wildtronics.com US-based manufacturer (also has some good info in the articles section)

Cornwall event

This is a tad short notice but I'm doing a slideshow tomorrow night with climbing legend Johnny Dawes, in Newquay, Cornwall. Johnny is also doing a climbing masterclass so not to be missed if you're in the area.

The event is to celebrate the opening of Deadpoint climbing wall, details on their Facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1504085936511703/

Pressure Drop, E3, Speke's Mill Mouth, North Devon

Slideshow

BB starting up the South Howser Tower, Bugaboos, Canada

I'm doing a slideshow this Tuesday evening in Heaton Moor, Manchester (9th Oct). Life has been a bit hectic for blogging of late, so if you want to catch up with what I've been up to on the grit and further afield, this summer's highlight being the Bugaboos with Ben Bransby, this might be your best chance!

The night is organised by the Rucksack club and non-members are welcome.
Time: 7.30pm
Members and under 18’s: £2.00
Non members and guests welcome: £4.00
Raffle and prizes.
Venue for all Meets: Heaton Moor Sports Club, Green Lane, SK4 2NF, GR 879 912 Directions: From the “Glass Pyramid” at the M60 junction in Stockport take A5145 Didsbury Road, 0.66 miles to B5169 Moorside Road (traffic lights); in 0.3 miles turn right at traffic lights into Green Lane. The Heatons Sports Club is 0.25 miles along on the left.
More info at the Rucksack club's website.

2011 in pictures

Finally had chance to review last year's photography and thought I'd pick out a few favourites, and one near miss, that might be of interest.

Hazel Findlay, Apaloosa Sunset, E3, Five Clouds, January

One of those perfect Peak moments - the end of a great day and a reminder why we endure the rain. We started the day with a long drive to Bosley Cloud in middling weather, and after bagging some long-held ambitions on the Secret Slab, headed over to the Roaches and a clearing sky. Hazel went on to have an incredible year, climbing E9 in Devon and freeing El Cap. But for me this image is all about home, and the fact that it doesn't get much better than a sunset soloing session with a few good mates, on perfect rock, with a view as big as your smile. I've made several versions of this shot of over the years, but none have quite ticked all the boxes like this one. Shot on medium-format film, the detail and colours are amazing and I look forward to making a really big print.


Ben Bransby, Gathering Sun, E7, Nesscliffe, late March

What a place – Nesscliffe is an incredible crag. We made our yearly pilgrimage in late March, on one of the first warm days of spring, before the leaves shade the crag and slow its drying. Conditions were perfect. Jason wanted to headpoint this route – Gathering Sun, nowadays considered E7 but for many years (including during my own formative teenage visits) it was a benchmark E8. Having belayed Jase for a while, Ben felt he had the measure of it and set off on a flash attempt. Reading the moves perfectly, he climbed strongly to right below the top, only to be stopped by the very last move - a reach an inch further than he could make. With a bit in the tank he tried every which way until his arms gave out and he took the ride. Not the sort of ascent that gets reported, but its making attempts like these that build climbers like Ben up to another level.


Buttermilk country, Eastern Sierra, California, April

I'd heard plenty of good things about Bishop, but was totally unprepared for the sheer beauty of the landscape - on so many scales. Stopping by for a couple of days on our honeymoon, I never put my climbing boots on but spent hours wandering through the tor-studded sagebrush with my camera. I suspect spring may be the most colourful time of year, but I'm surprised the Buttermilks aren't just as popular with photo workshops as they are with climbers.


Red Grouse, Burbage Valley, October

Very occasionally, male members of the Grouse family suffer from a curious hormone imbalance that causes them to lose all fear and defend a territory against all odds. There are instances of Capercaillies in Scotland attacking people, dogs and even vehicles. Thankfully Red Grouse are somewhat smaller, but I still had the strange experience of feeling intimidated by a normally shy animal. The bird's confidence allowed me to get a great selection of straight portraits, but this image felt like it went in a little deeper, giving a Grouse's-eye view of the world as a covey creeps through the heather.


Dan Varian, Bewilderness, 8b+ (!), Badger Cove, June

Probably Peak's hardest boulder problem, I was blown away by the difficulty and quality of Dan's line. Limestone bouldering is rarely the most photogenic subject, and although Badger Cove is about as impressive as it gets in the Peak, it still needed some careful lighting to project the height and depth into a 2-D image whilst trying to retain a natural feel. This was published in Climb magazine over the summer, though heavily cropped removing much of the impact of the original.


Masked Boobies, Sula dactylatra, Redonda, Carribbean, June

A smaller tropical relative of our Gannet, these birds were nesting on the remote volcanic plug of Redonda in the eastern Carribbean. As well as hosting two other species of Booby - the Brown and the Blue-footed (no titters now!) - the island is also important for its colonies of Frigatebirds and three species of endemic lizard. Unfortunately the numbers are nowhere near what they should be due to the presence of Black Rats and Feral Goats, both legacies of a guano-mining operation a hundred years back. BMC chief exec Dave Turnbull and I visited the island to help Flora and Fauna International ascertain whether climbing or rope access techniques might be of use in eradicating the voracious aliens. Nice as 'tropical island' sounds, it was one of the most inhospitable environments I've ever experienced, and tackling the problem will not be easy. Whether or not climbers are required in the end, it was a huge privilege to visit such a remote spot, and I'm confident the island can be one day restored to its former status as one of the seabird wonders of the world.


Michele Caminati, Angel's Share, 7c (!!), Black Rocks, early March

Almost one of my favourite pictures from 2011, this frame captures the tiptoe dance that makes gritstone's blankest climb quite so special. Unfortunately there is just enough motion blur in Michele's face to prevent it quite making the cut. I have other sharper frames, but none quite capture the same atmosphere. There are a couple of good lessons to be learned here though: firstly, repeating the 'same' shot several times will often throw up something unexpectedly different - here the magic arises in the split second that sees both hands floating just off the rock, and secondly - 1/125th isn't quite enough to freeze even the slow sport of slab climbing. Here's to getting it right in 2012...

Review: Asus PA246q monitor

Asus PA246q

Monitors are not the most exciting bits of photo equipment. I think most of us see them as a fairly uncritical part of the workflow that helps us to get from the exciting bit at the start - the camera - to the exciting bit at the end - the print. But in the process of buying a new monitor I've come round to a different view.

My last two monitors were hefty but reliable - CRTs from Ilyama's Visonmaster range. The original one I never bothered to calibrate, having compared it with calibrated monitors and various printed output. Then I upgraded to a bigger model, noticed a green cast straightaway, and got a man in. £25 quid well spent; Simon threw in a few Lightroom tips and assured me the calibration would be good for six months or so. A few months later and things started to go downhill, with flickers, blanks and a constant need to recentre the image. With a vague budget of £300, I started my research for a replacement.

All I knew initially was I wanted a bigger screen without losing any more desk space. That means LCD, but an initial search came up with a bewildering choice, especially at the cheap end. The first thing to narrow the search was technology: IPS (in-plane switching) vs TFT (twisted nematic). TFT can give higher contrast and a faster refresh rate, but at the expense of colours that can alter as you move your head in relation to the screen. Crisp as it is, I find the glossy screen of my Macbook very frustrating due to both this issue and reflections, so a matt IPS screen was what I was after.

With most of the cheap screens (under £200) being TFT, that narrowed things down fairly quickly. At the £200-250 mark were a bunch of similar looking 23" IPS screens by the likes of NEC and HP. Unfortunately they were all glossy and proportioned 'widescreen'. The 16:9 aspect ratio is popular as it fits the proportions of a film screen. But for photography it means a full-screen view of a portrait orientated image is much smaller than in landscape. Looking for squarer screens dropped the choice again quickly - 4:3 is pretty much restricted to 19" screens, any bigger are mainly 16:9 with the odd one 16:10. Most of the 16:10 screens were in the professional bracket running from £850 up.

That was more than I wanted to spend, ideally, but a bit more research narrowed things down: as of 2011, there is plenty of choice below £250 and above £850, but only two screens in between. Both of these are near identical 24", IPS, 16:10 wide-gamut models, around the £400 mark, by Dell and Asus. The cheapest similar 'pro' monitor is an NEC model (PA241W) - with an almost identical spec but more than double the price. After doing some reading on wide-gamuts (some will warn you it makes colour management a nightmare, with web-pages in fluoro colours) I went for the Asus, mainly on the basis that it was a newer model. Amazon delivered it within 36 hrs. Reviews warn of quality issues with dead pixels and uniformity issues, but a robust guarantee was some reassurance.

Having got set up, checked for dead pixels and found none, a few things were immediately impressive. Firstly the size - both saving on desk space, and increasing screen size. Build seems very solid and the stand is great, allowing easy rotation from normal landscape to portrait orientation. Any wide gamut concerns are allayed with an easily implemeted sRGB mode, though with a colour-aware web browser like Firefox I've not used it much. Brightness was very high and needed turning right down to around 20%, with the only slight quality issue being a slightly 'hotter' area bottom centre. Overall colours looked very good and it was reassuring to see them change very little after calibration. So far so good, monitor replaced, back to business.

 a quick switch to portrait is a real boon

What I hadn't expected was the enjoyment boost from working with such a quality piece of kit. It reminded me of switching from 35mm to medium format film ten years back and suddenly spending hours over the lightbox. It also made me think a little harder about what is the end result of my photography. How much actually makes it into print - perhaps 2%? And when published, that's usually at less than A4 apart from the odd double-page spread, and bar scrutinising the repro quality I don't study them for long. With display prints, the big prints usually go out to customers fairly quickly, and there's not much room left in the house for new prints. Whilst having a good monitor aids getting the printed output up to my standards, I've realised its main role is far more important: it helps me enjoy my own photography and stay enthused about it. Having had this thought, and reflecting on how much use some of my lenses with a similar value get, I won't hesitate to budget more next time. As with many quality-based issues however, I doubt the double or triple cost of an NEC or Eizo display will deliver more than a 10 or 20% increase in quality, and for now the Asus feels like a bit of a bargain. Reccomended.

LINKS:
http://www.scs-imaging.co.uk/ - Sheffield-based colour management http://www.tftcentral.co.uk/ - the best source of monitor reviews, though not the Asus PA246q so far

Books

On of the more enjoyable projects I've been involved with over the last fifteen months or so has been photographing a walking guide for Vertebrate Graphics. The book is now in print and we're all pretty chuffed with the result.

Original image here

It should be in local book shops soon, or buy direct from V-Publishing here.

The book is illustrated predominantly with landscape images, but shooting it was a very different experience from my normal landscape work. I normally go out for dawn or dusk with the object of getting one great image and ideally a few extras if conditions allow. All the books and magazines will assure you that 'slowing down' is an essential practice - the slower you go, the better the result. I've always been a little wary of this advice, but for this project it had to go firmly in the bin. With a budget stretching to about four days shooting, but no less than seventeen 'day walks' to cover (the author shot the other three, for a total of twenty), this was all about speeding up!

With the area being the North York Moors, it was important we got some great moorland shots. This meant catching the heather in bloom. Now with a book you have to work a fair way in advance - the book was laid out earlier this year in June, then sent to the printers in July. Heather blooms in August. So last August I got a rather hurried phone phone call offering the contract if I could get started immediately - before the heather went over. At that point the author hadn't written the text, so I had to work with was a list of villages the walks were loosely based around. Thankfully I managed to squeeze in a day the same week and the weather and my map-based guesswork came together... and we had some cover options in the bag.

I fitted in another day in autumn which got some nice moorland walks ticked off, though there were fewer trees than I'd hoped and autumn colour was mostly provided by bracken. Then time ticked by and we were into the new year. Late winter and spring are when the landscape are at its dullest, so I put the project on hold and waited for budburst. Carefully balancing a panicking editor and an improving landscape, I finally headed out in early May for a shoot that had to finish the job. Starting from Sheffield late morning, I shot all afternoon through to dusk after nine. A hurried drive to a chippy, then across the Moors to the coast and a short doss in the car saw me back up shooting sunrise at half four, followed by another full day shoot and back to Sheffield for dinner.

Sunrise at Boggle Hole

Shooting so intensively was a very useful experience which I'd wholeheartedly recommend. Its very easy when shooting for yourself to get into a perfectionist 'uninspired' frame of mind where nothing is quite right. Having an absolute need to get a publishable shot or three, and a limited time frame to do it in, really forces you to engage with the subject. Doing that repeatedly over a couple of days pushed me into a groove that became very productive. There were parallels with similarly sustained climbing trips I've had, where you feel permanently warmed up and get into a real rhythm - that combination of fast and slow that becomes 'flow', (or, as a mate quipped, 'medium') - above all effective, efficient and deeply satisfying.

Also out now is the JMT yearbook. Lovingly compiled in Bamford by John Beatty, its a must for every nature lover and makes booking dull business appointments somewhat more bearable. It's always an honour to be featured alongside the UK's finest nature photographers, but doubly so this year as John has used my image as one of the few used to promote the book. You can buy direct from here:
http://www.imagescotland.com/buy-online.asp?c=A-Diaries%20and%20Calendars

Public land in The Peak; good news and bad

Froggatt Edge: in good hands for the next fifteen years

Last week, the Eastern Moors Estate was finally signed over to its new management partnership led by the RSPB and National Trust. It hasn't been the easiest process, but its definitely good news for both the landscape and wildlife of this fantastic landscape - and the climbers, walkers, photographers and everyone else who visits it.

Unfortunately what should be cause for celebration is overshadowed by the uncertain future of developments elsewhere. The news may be full of the Coalition Government's plan to sell off land owned by the Forestry Commission, but the proposal to offload 'unprofitable' public land also extends to other landowners. Here in the Peak District the FC is a fairly small player when it comes to public land ownership. Natural England looks after a few key sites, like Lathkill and Cressbrook Dales, as National Nature Reserves, but the greater proportion of public is in the hands of the National Park. Since the change in government, the Peak District National Park Authority has been tasked with disposing of 80% of its landholdings within the next five years. Some will be sold outright, others will be leased as with the Eastern Moors. Amongst a host of smaller properties two stand out by virtue of both their importance to climbers, and outright landscape value: Stanage and The Roaches.

Stanage: For Sale

It is within living memory that both these iconic landscapes were acquired for the nation, and with the intention that public ownership would see them safe 'forever'. Not for sale thirty or forty years later...

Thankfully it is not simply a case of highest bidder wins; at least not yet. The Eastern Moors partnership solution should provide a model; as long as the Park can alleviate themselves of the costs of managing the land, bids should be considered on merit.

For Stanage, the bigger picture  looks promising. On a map Stanage (along with Burbage) form a missing link in a chain of National Trust properties which run in a horseshoe from Mam Tor, round Kinder and Edale, via Longshaw and White Edge to the Eastern Moors. An extension of the RSPB partnership to Stanage would be welcome but not vital, either way the National Trust look to mount a serious bid that will be difficult to better. Whilst I have some reservations about the NT's management style, on the whole it is overwhelmingly positive. And the NT have one major advantage: they have the capacity to declare the land inalienable - exactly the protection in perpetuity that was sought from National Park ownership originally. There are some details to be worked out with aspects of the estate such as the campsite, but things look to be headed in the right direction.

The Roaches: future uncertain

Sadly the same cannot be said about The Roaches. Although (or perhaps because) the National Trust have been making grand statements in the press about 'saving' FC land for the nation, they remain markedly lukewarm over The Roaches. Why? Perhaps because with so much land on offer, they simply can't take it all.

So who will take it on? Of the organisations that have expressed interest, perhaps the most serious looks like the Staffordshire Wildlife Trust. Although they have other land nearby, it would represent a huge increase in the acreage they have to manage. The Wildlife Trusts do a lot of great work, but their usual attitude to access (fences and restrictions) will not be suitable for the Roaches. Another interested party is The Land Trust - an organisation that has hitherto mainly worked with brownfield sites. Again it would seem a big step for them, and as their ususal approach seems to result in a third party being contracted to manage the land, something of an unknown.

Locally, the Staffordshire Moorlands Council is throwing its hat in with the Wildlife Trusts. A local group has formed in Leek, but whether their funding can compete with the other bodies remains to be seen. Its worth mentioning that the Eastern Moors experience suggest deep pockets may be required; the costs of completing the legal agreement alone topped £40K. The other serious declaration of interest comes from a grouse shooting organisation, who may well have the cash, but with what motive? In the short term shooting rights are not being offered, but long term who knows what may happen. They are likely to see it as a long term investment - as Mark Twain said 'buy land - they aren't making it anymore' - and with the current political direction that could see National Parks privatised in ten years time, its unlikely to be a good direction for access or biodiversity.

Perhaps its not entirely surprising that The Roaches might slip through the cracks. It has always had a lower profile than it deserves, facing as it does out into the small towns of the Potteries, not adopted by a city as Kinder by Manchester, or Stanage by Sheffield. Yet it is a local beauty spot of national significance. Nowhere else in The Peak is the geology so expressive. More than any other site in the country, this rugged, beautiful landscape represnts the precise meeting place of lowland and upland Britain. It deserves a bright future.

If you want to know more, get along to tomorrow night's BMC meeting at The Maynard's Arms, Grindleford. The National Trust's General Manager for the Peak District will be attending, and answering questions on the direction they will be taking in The Peak.

Peace of Mind

 The Roaches, Staffordshire

In 1996 I was nineteen and, like most people, at a pivotal time in my life. In the previous twelve months I'd left school, got a driving licence, got stuck into what remains one of only two periods of full-time employment in my life, and then spent my earnings on a rack and a plane ticket. I spent more than a few days that winter at The Roaches, often alone, and it was during those magical days that my feelings on ethics began to slowly coalesce. Like many youths, I was keen to test myself, and got straight on with shunting a few of the areas classic testpieces. It felt wrong, but I wasn't really sure why. This was how the top guys worked wasn't it?

Some months later, I finished up in Yosemite. It was early August, and the heat was debilitating. I marvelled at how anyone could contemplate spending days on the shadeless walls. Arriving alone, in Camp 4 I hooked up with a loose bunch of Californians and got a tour of the valley. In the heat of midday we followed the Merced downstream, and swam in deep pools of frigid water where great boulders had tumbled from the valley sides to dam the river. Later, as the shadows grew and the air cooled, we toured the boulders behind camp, chalk and voices hanging in the thick still air. At dusk, we'd eat, settle onto the picnic benches, and share stories. It was a meeting of religions. For them, they were at their Mecca. Nothing could top it. Climbers packed for El Cap with typical American enthusiasm; “Tomorrow we'll be a thousand feet high on the biggest stone in the world!” For me, it was incredible... but not perfect. The rock a little lacking in friction, a bit harsh in its shapes, the moves a bit obvious. Size isn't everything. (I'm not alone here. A few years later a friend from down the road in Cheshire landed in Camp 4, met Ron Kauk, and immediately asked him if “he knew The Roaches at all?” Somewhat disappointingly, he didn't.)

El Capitan, Yosemite

One evening, over dinner, I made the mistake of bringing up gritstone. The superior friction. The magical moves. The pure style in which we climbed. At first the lads seemed impressed - “No bolts? No pins? At all? But what do you do on the face climbs?” “Well, if there's no gear, we just solo them” I told them. “Wow. Even the new routes?” “Yeah, sure, after a bit of top-rope practice.” The bombshell dropped, and they laughed, shook their heads, turned away. As the ridiculousness of dropping a top-rope down a giant Valley cliff dawned on me, someone started on another story “... its plumb-vertical dude! 5.11C, maybe D... so bold! Bachar goes way out, sixty feet man, just on these shitty knobs. Finally he puts a skyhook on a crystal, and drills a bolt. Each time he lowers back to the belay, and starts again, so he's not usin' the bolts to rest. Radical, man!”

I stuck to listening for the rest of the evening. I'd formed my views of right and wrong on the Pennine Edges, not realising they were being shaped by the landscape itself. Headpointing was no more suited to Yosemite than ground-up bolting was to gritstone. My perfectionist mind had followed simplicity as a sign of purity; now I realised all is compromise. But I could see a beauty there too, in those concessions - they fitted to their environment with a rightness apparent in all things that evolve in response to natural forces. For me, that rightness is something that is felt in the gut first and only later intellectualised. Perhaps nowadays the over-analysis of methods and tactics gives us a clearer view of the hierarchy of styles, but the visceral reaction remains, and I trust it.

So sat that evening in Camp 4, I struggled a little with this idea that bolts might be justifiable, but what resonated with me most strongly was something else. What is more natural in this sport than a ground-up approach? The gut feeling I'd had back in February swam into focus. Top-rope inspection suddenly seemed contrived and deeply unadventurous. Headpointing, for me, was a compromise too far. I never top-roped again.

This month's Climb magazine - out later this week - has a piece of mine on Grit on-sighting - partly my own story, partly the bigger picture. The above was part of the original draft of the article, but didn't make the final edit - word counts can be a struggle! I thought it worth sharing anyway -  hope you enjoy it.

Turn, turn, turn

Callow Bank, November morning

 

Every year, around now, I take great delight in being a gritstone climber. As August slides into September, the summer ends. Holidays are over, its back to school, to work - another disappointing summer over, and a long winter ahead. For most, a good excuse to moan. For the gritstoner, every chilly morning, every dark evening, the strengthening wind and the first falling leaf - all are reminders of the cold, crisp magic ahead. Come November - not so long now - and a clear sky will freeze the moisture from the air, leaving the Pennines sparkling like crystal under a cold, blue dome. The hills will be full of colour - great swathes of bracken red as a fox, beech leaves twisting copper and gold in the low sun. I can't wait.

In the meantime, things are busy. I've got lots of photography projects going on, including shooting a walking book, and some work on the new RSPB/ NT Eastern Moors partnership. I've also just finished a big article for next month's Climb magazine. New editors Dave Pickford and Ian Parnell have got some exciting ideas and its been great working with them. I'll expand a little more on the piece nearer the time, but its about finding my way to a fulfilling ethic on gritstone.

I'm also still teaching Rope Access - having just set up a new company with an old friend. Access Techniques Ltd will be running regular IRATA rope access courses from next week. Aide and I had both taught regularly for ATS over the years (something of an institution in the Sheffield climbing scene - being the first rope access training venue in town, and next door to the Foundry) and when they ceased trading it seemed like a good opportunity. Our new venue near Bramhall Lane is a much better building than the old ATS warehouse - being bigger, higher and with more interesting steelwork - and I'm looking forward to running some exciting courses there. Whether you're an old hand needing to reval, or just curious to find more about the industry, get in touch with us via the website.

Aide sorting gear down at ATL

Yet despite a busy year, I've somehow managed to keep a reasonable climbing standard. Back in June I managed my first sport 8a - The Ogre on Chee Tor, and in July I managed a clean on-sight of Supersonic at High Tor, which whilst not especially hard has been a long-held ambition. Last week I spent in Mallorca on a Deep Water Solo stag trip. Its not something I've ever been massively drawn to but can highly reccomend it - amazing. I'll post some more later, but here's a taster. Looks shit doesn't it?

Cala Barquez, Mallorca 12m high, sea temp 29 deg.

Midsummer in Wales

Finally I could rest. I wriggled down into my bivvy bag, breathed deep and slow the mountain air, and tried to sleep. It was well after midnight, and late on this solstice night the darkness was almost complete. The patch of sky framed by my sleeping bag was small, and a lone star glowed small in the centre. Below, the skyline was reduced to a black cut-out against the last glimmer of light on the horizon. Bristly ridge, Tryfan, shapes from my childhood - when climbing meant mountains, and long days moving through them. I hadn't been back in a long time.

 Wild Goats, Glyder Fawr

Starting as the last walkers left the hills, I'd climbed Y Gribin to the high plateau of the Glyders, where a tribe of goats relaxed in the evening sunshine. My plan had been for Castell Y Gwynt, but on a whim I turned west and photographed the sunset amongst the little tors and scattered stones of Glyder Fawr. While the sun still lit the summits I worked on the view I'd pre-visualised - the vista of  Yr Wyddfa to the west. As ever, the elements that make the scene sing can rarely be planned, tonight - a great sea of cloud filling the west but held back by the hills, sending long tendrils of vapour along the valleys to the south.

The Snowdon massif from Glyder Fawr

As the sky glowed gently in the minutes after sunset, I made my favourite photograph of the night, facing east along the broad ridge of the Gyderau. I composed it instinctively, trying to simplify the elements and create a gentle balance between land and sky. There aren't many of the rules of compostion being obeyed here, but I'm happy that it works.

Glyder Fach from Glyder Fawr

A long stumble over Glyder Fach in the gloaming led me, finally, to Llyn y Caseg Ffraith, where I had water for my dinner and a plan for the morning. The dawn came slowly. A crimson bleed on the horizon, high clouds first dark then pastel pink, a cold breeze strengthening. The cloud sea had crept up the valley in the night, and spilled like a tide over the bwlch, burning away in the light of the sun. I was cold in my bivvy, and delayed rising too long. The gentle colours of the pre-dawn were far superior to the blast of light as the sun appeared. The air was clear, too clear, with no haze to soften the light, and no cloud to fill in the shadows.

First light on Tryfan 

I took the long way back to the car by way of Cwm Cneifon, hunting amongst the rocks of Clogwyn Ddu for the Snowdon Lily. It was perhaps a little late, and I found none. It was a treat to see the cliff decked in alpine flowers though - Stonecrops, Roseroot, Starry Saxifrage and Navelwort. As I walked down cloud boiled over the ridge and played with the light, conjuring pillars and gullies from the crags. All was silent, save for the dry ringing of my footsteps in the scree, and a Ring Ouzel's piping song echoing around the Cwm.

Life and Death at Donington

 

To the north, the fields and farms of the Midlands stretched away to the Ashbourne hills and the start of the Pennines. Closer, the parkland sloped downhill to the deer fence bordering the woods, through which the sparkling reflections of the lowering sun betrayed the River Trent. A little upstream, two swans turned gracefully on the current, silhouetted black on shimmering gold. Water from much of the English Midlands flows gently past this point on its passage to the sea. To the west tributaries fan out to drain the Black Country, the Potteries, and the southern Peak. Just downstream they are joined by the Derwent, bringing both the acid waters from the high moors of the Peak, and the warm, hard waters that rise from the caves and springs of Buxton and Matlock. Together they turn and flow slowly north across the drained fens of Lincolnshire, to a muddy confluence with the Ouse in the broad valley of the Humber.

Running east along the ridge was the broad tree-studded grassland of classic English deer park, on which my companion, Guy, was conducting a bat survey for English Nature. Mentioned in the Domesday book, it has been been parkland as long as records have been kept. Strictly private too, with a concomitant style of gentle management that can disregard concerns of public safety, liability, and tidiness. Here perhaps a third of the great Oaks are classed as 'veterans' - some 250 in all - often huge, always gnarled, and left to grow into a state of majestic decay that would be deemed dangerous elsewhere. It is not a unique site, but certainly significant - the famous ancient pollard Oaks, or 'Dodders', of Windsor Park number barely 100.

The younger trees are typical oaks, with a neatly deer-browsed base supporting the full canopy that the open setting allows. As they settle in to old age - and great age it is, according to the old rhyme 'Three centuries he grows, and three more he stays, Supreme in state, and in three more decays'  - parts of the trunk begin to die, and the tree seems to slowly collapse in on itself. Trunks become great barrels, often hollow, whilst upper limbs typically die first, creating the classic 'stag-headed' Oak - bare, pale branches reaching up from a shrinking canopy. With the gradual decline comes great character. No two veteran trees are alike. Their charisma is impossible to resist, deeply individual but always with the same qualities of stately, regal bearing combined with a deep, aboriginal wildness. I climbed a little way up one, and it unnerved me. The thickened, ancient bark felt light and weak, and poorly bonded to the dry trunk that groaned hollowly beneath. It was as if the tree had gone, leaving only the husk.

Quietly approaching a huge oak with a great almond-shaped cavity high in its trunk, a pale shape resolved blinking amidst the darkness. Before I could raise my binoculars it was out; the sandy back and silent, buoyant flight of a Barn Owl. I smile at the presumption of our name in this ancient setting - trees like this would have been their homes long before barns were even an idea. Its flight takes it past another Oak, this one long dead, its barkless, bleached limbs reaching upwards still into the dusk, frozen in life like a figure struck by lightning. It was from such a tree, perhaps, that Herne, the great hunter and keeper of Windsor forest, hung himself in a tale that was old whilst this tree was young. As the last rays of the sun left its branches a perfect full moon rose pink in the east.

Our transect takes us back to the woods above the river, and a sudden scuffling in the undergrowth. The striped head of a badger nods as he squints at us. He seems unable to convince himself that we are not just deer, and dashes noisily away only to return once, then twice, to stare, snort and rush off again. By the woods the bat detector chirrups constantly - the steady chip-chip-chip of a Noctule, then the staccato rush of a feeding Pipistrelle. Earlier their dashing, twirling flight was visible against the sky, often close enough to touch, but here by the woods the darkness has collected, thickened and now they fly beyond our senses.

Website move

My main website, www.adamlong.co.uk, will be down for a few hours today whilst I switch host servers.

The new servers have much more potential, and will help me expand the site and its functionality. I'm looking into hosting the blog there too, or I might host a photography blog on there, and keep this just as a climbing blog... any preferences?

Golden Feet

I've been climbing a lot recently with Neil 'Nige' Kershaw, a man memorably described by Si Wilson as the 'beady-eyed, self-proclaimed cock-of-Lancaster'. We've got a lot in common in terms of size and climbing style, and a habit of regularly climbing with The Best without quite making the grade ourselves. Kind of Premier League reservists, if you will.

Nige

The last few weeks, though, have seen Nige step it up a gear and hit a real run of form involving onsights and ground-ups of many sought after routes. As a result I've written a bit of a profile on his achievements (in what you have to remember is his second sport - his sports teacher thought he was god's gift to cricket...) over on UKC. On here I can cut to the chase, and instead of sober listings look at who he's burned off. Recently that has included all comers. Not just consistently myself (no big feat), the likes of P Whiddy but even Caff himself, a feat Pete Robins calls 'the best feeling in climbing'.

After I blew my car up checking on the Ring Ouzels last week, I was stuck without transport amidst perfect blue skies. Frustrating, but Nige was on hand in the evenings, so he provided the transport and by default therefore got to choose the crags. Tuesday night saw us up at Burbage South freezing our arses off. Its never easy judging your clothing on an April evening with a northerly breeze, but I was cold. Too cold to climb, so I settled for belaying Nige and getting some fresh air.

 Nige cruising Ramshaw Crack at the weekend

After a swift warm-up on Goliath, Nige got onto Braille Trail, sporting a bizarre rack of gear Pete had lent him. In the first slot, reached from the floor, went a bracket pinched from the gear display in Outside's rock room. Above is another slot, for which Nige had two allen keys finger-taped together, then a sort of metal spatula, again sporting a taped on quickdraw, which was presumably for the slot further out. Strange thing was, it seemed to be a better fit here. But surely the allen keys wouldn't go in further out? Turned out that they didn't, and neither did any of his sliders. Somewhere amidst this, rapidly chilling, something popped and he was off. Round two went a bit better, this time the allen keys went high and the spatula went in the slot. It looked terrible. Then onto the crux, desperately smearing out right, he threw his right foot out high onto the arete and started rocking. And he was off, the spatula came straight out, and he ended upside down, hatless, in a tangle of ropes. It was nearly dark, so we bailed.

Twenty-two hours later, we're back and the conditions are great. Warm in the sun, cool in the shade and the breeze has lost its edge. Ryan has come along for the ride, freeing me up from belay detail so I can take photos. We warm up on a few classics, then a couple of obscure slabs that are perfect training - Bath House Pink and Mad Llehctim. Then its back on with the programme. Nige is fannying about and I'm struggling to subdue my enthusiasm. Nige gets the hint, a coin is produced, tossed, and I lose. Balls. With painful thoroughness, he ties on and squeaks his boots. I fidget with my camera.

We've got a better gear selection this time - I've dug out a few of my Dad's old mild steel pegs and a couple of the BD micro-cams. There are no hitches as Nige gets out to the slot, places one of the BD cams and continues. The foot goes back out to the arete, and he's out there. Looks scary. A couple of false starts and then he starts rocking up, right where everyone falls off in the videos... but he doesn't, and runs it out up the flutings to the top.

 probably the physical crux - gaining the arete

Now my turn. I get tied on, step on and fiddle with the pegs. They're okay, but I'm on edge, my heart is racing and head woolly. I step back down, deep breath and try to focus. Back on, and I nail the entry foot swap pefectly and click into the zone. Step out, down to the pocket, reseat the cam and glide out to the arete in a state of flow. Now I'm really committed. Twenty years climbing, thousands of hours on the ropes, and I've got my cheek on the rock telling myself not to look down. The sidepull is a stretch, and poor. The foothold is similar. Hmmm. Deep breath. Stretch again, I catch an slight positivity and seat my middle finger into it. My right hand finds an undercut pinch and I'm stepping up, reaching through... and its a jug! Its over. Just a stretch to the next fluting and a romp to the top; I expected to be gripped stupid but am already celebrating.

 initiating the rockover (pics by Nige)

I really can't believe that in twenty-six years no one has climbed this route in good style before - surely someone has? Its a pretty sad indictment of the local hard grit scene if it hasn't, and I include myself in that. Its not hard for the grade, you can pretty much see what to do, and its absolutely classic. I guess the gear may be a problem as it was for Nige, so for everyone else - here's the rack; leave your allen keys at home. Our ascents are there to be improved upon.

March Roundup

Well its been interesting month for lots of reasons. Did my first new winter route, lost my job, appeared on TV, and easily repeated what I had thought of as one of my greatest achievements... lots to think about!




Last night the BBC's Countryfile ran a short piece on the Ring Ouzels at Stanage (skip to ~52:40). It was nicely timed - the first birds arrived back from Morocco last week - but when we filmed it two weeks ago it was chilly to say the least. Its surprising how long these things take, and we were up at the crag for a full eight hour day, including a good ten takes of the topout scene (due to problems with wind noise on the mic), though having the same conversation repeatedly seems de rigeur for this kind of thing, and an interesting experience. Plenty of stuff didn't make the final cut, but overall I think the message that climbers and birds need not be at odds came across fairly well.

Elsewhere life has been a bit up-and-down. The contract which has been my bread-and-butter these last few years imploded during February leaving me both out of pocket and without a steady income. I didn't make any resolutions this year, but leaving my life more open to chance seems to be the new regime. So far its working out okay, with some interesting projects on the horizon, but adjusting to not knowing where the next mortgage payment is coming from can be trying.

 Sunset behind Mam Tor

Climbing form can be a funny thing. Almost exactly a year ago I did perhaps the most powerful problem I've ever done; this year my stock line is "well, I've not been bouldering much this year". Last time I tried Brad Pit I couldn't do it, and I haven't been to Burbage West in months. The weather, of course, has been the main factor, and I'm not complaining - this March a new route on The Ladders feels just as sweet as The Joker did last year.

Ben Bransby on the last hard move of The July Crisis V,5, Ysgolion Duon

But before the thaw finally set in I managed to bag not only that day's winter climbing, but also another classic day snowballing. It was pretty unbelievable to be up at Marble Wall almost seventy days after the main snowfall and still have huge drifts turning trad routes into highballs. Back in January Si Wilson reckoned Goosey Goosey Gander was perhaps the sweetest plum and I finally got it, and Nectar, done some six weeks on. Proud as these routes are, leading them is an experience defined as much by gear faff as it is with movement. Having the chance to go without, in a clean burst of pure movement was a real privilege, and one that's unlikely to come around again soon.

Nige Kershaw on Goosey Goosey Gander, normally E5 6a

Further along, under Good Clean Fun, several dead sheep remained in a huge hollowed drift that had become their grave. Huddled together yet frozen stiff, their fleeces moved with the wind, and it was impossible to think they weren't about to jump up and run away. Closer, a slight awkwardness of position belied the truth that the Ravens had long since had their eyes, and a stark reminder that for me a winter that has mostly meant fun has had another side all together. As spring gathers momentum, how the rest of the food chain will be affected remains to be seen. If previous hard winters are anything to go by, small birds will be the hardest hit.

Last of the snow cover, Wardlow

Yesterday I made my annual visit to Black Rocks, hoping to get some shots of a ground-up ascent of Gaia, but ending up highballing on The Block. A bit hungover, I struggled to get going and made very shaky work of the warm-ups. Amazingly neither Pete nor Caff had done much on The Block, a piece of rock to me that is almost the spiritual home of grit highballing. Thankfully a sandwich gave me some much-needed solidity and after an initial fumble I managed Velvet Silence fairly smoothly.

One from the archive - Jvan Tresch on The Block's entrance exam - Velvet Silence, E6 6b, 2002

Next was Jumpin' on a Beetle, on which Caff showed me a much easier sequence that went first go. Pete eventually followed suit, and ever-ambitious, Caff shifted the pads under Angel's Share. My ground-up of this three years back was certainly the most 'newsworthy' thing I've ever done, and since I think only Ryan Pasquill has managed a repeat.

Caff had a couple of goes, but didn't seem to be getting to grips with the palm I found crucial. I went up to show him, and next thing was on the top. I'm not sure at all where that came from! I knew last time I could have done it quicker given better form, but I'm really not sure that's the case at the mo. The clean Nige gave the slab back in November certainly helped (and proves a wet clean with a nylon brush is far superior to a dry clean with anything stiffer), as did having boots in perfect nick for smearing - ie soft to the point of being about to go through. But I suspect the bottom line is it isn't that hard. With seven or so pads, not an enormous number, its certainly a long way from cutting edge highballing nowadays. Things have moved on a lot in the last few years. The main lesson I could apply from last time was not to get summit fever. You can reach the top seam from the second smear, but not do anything with it. Try to, and your heels will lift and you're off. This is harder than it sounds, as most people are feeling somewhat adrift at this point and rather prone to clutching at straws...