Warning: reading this book significantly increases your risk of selling all your possessions to go and live in a tent in the mountains.
Are you willing to take that risk? Then let me tell you about Space Below My Feet. Gwen Moffat is a legend in the world of female climbers. In her early 20s, she went AWOL from her army post in order to live the dirtbag* life in Wales and Cornwall, squatting in abandoned cottages and taking odd jobs chopping wood, winkle picking and as an artists model to make ends meet. It wasn't long before she discovered climbing, and with it, a lifelong passion. Gwen is now in her 90s and is the longest serving member of the Pinnacle Club, the UK's only national all female climbing club, having joined in 1949.
Gwen did eventually return to the army to finish her service, but purely for the purpose of getting a passport to travel to the Alps, a trip which only cemented her love of climbing. What followed was years of living for the rock, from Skye to North Wales, often living in tents, and always following the best climbing. Gwen became one of the UK's best female climbers, and eventually, the first woman to qualify as a mountain guide. Space Below My Feet is a memoir these exploits, focusing on her best and most memorable adventures, and whisking the reader away on a whirlwind of high altitude, adrenaline filled climbs and starlit bivouacs.
In case, dear reader, you're not a climber (in which case you're definitely missing out), let me explain some things about the evolution of traditional or "trad" rock climbing. In this wonderful modern age, rock climbing is relatively safe. We have robust harnesses, strong, dynamic nylon ropes, sticky rubber shoes and fancy pieces of protection that we can put into cracks in the cliff to catch us if we fall. That's not to say it doesn't still carry risk - gear can fail, rock breaks, human error happens, people still occasionally get injured or worse. Back in the 1940s and 50s though, when Gwen was learning the ropes (pun definitely intended) it was an entirely different world. Harnesses were non-existent, climbers simply tied hemp rope around their waists. Although rubber shoes made their debut in the '50s, much of the rock was still scaled either barefoot or in big, nailed boots; and protection consisted of actual pebbles with hemp cord slung around them or steel pitons that had to be hammered into the rock mid route. All in all, it was a hell of a lot scarier, a lot riskier, and dare I say it, a lot more badass.
The climbing scene back then may have been more dangerous, but it was also very much a male dominated environment, making Gwen's achievements all the more impressive. The attitudes of the time are clear throughout - even as a mountain leader, her male clients come out with classics like: " I thought it was going to be easy when you went up it". When climbing with her male friends, she is often relegated to seconding, despite being an equally competent, if not occasionally stronger, climber. I found this quite frustrating to read, not least because I have definitely experienced similar attitudes - how much have we really progressed in 70 years?
This isn't your standard autobiography. There's no information about her early life, we're thrown straight in at her Army desertion. Lovers and her daughter are secondary characters to the main focus of the climbing. At some point she leaves her first husband, but it's so glossed over I barely noticed, and I certainly couldn't tell you why. That's fine though - much like Gwen, we are here for the rock. That said, I did have to double take at the passage that describes her leaving her week old daughter asleep on a rock, watched over by a stranger so she could climb Idwal Slabs (below) in Snowdonia's Ogwen Valley! She was, indeed, mad for it. I found myself leaping from expedition to expedition, mountain to mountain, enchanted by Gwen's passion and very much wishing that I was out there on the cliffs too, instead of stuck reading on the 30 minute lunch break from my boring, conventional job.
Don't worry if you're not a climber, there's a glossary at the back for all the terms, and if you're not familiar with the locations when you start, a handful of google searches later and you'll be longing to visit. The only negative I found was the abruptness with which the book finished - she and her second husband come down from an incredible route in the Alps that, between the climbing itself, the ice and the bad weather, pushed them to their limit - and suddenly, it's all over. There's no ending, but that's understandable. Space Below My Feet was written in 1961, so doesn't even come close to covering all of Gwen's exploits. She has written another two volumes of climbing memoirs - On My Home Ground (1968) and Survival Count (1972), though these are, unfortunately a lot harder to hunt down as they, unlike Space, haven't been reprinted recently. I would love to read these too, so no doubt you'll find me trawling through various second hand bookshops for them.
If, that is, I can ever tear my self away from the mountains.
* In the climbing world, a dirtbag is someone who eschews the typical 9-5 life in order to climb as much as possible - often living as cheaply as possible, in cars, tents or vans. Jammy bastards.
Images:
Gwen Moffat at the summit of Stob Coire nan Lochan, Glencoe, in 1957 - Credit: JR Lees
Idwal slabs - my personal collection
Comments