Sitting on a train heading up to the Blue Mountains to meet for some climbing with my mate Bruce Cameron, I thumb through Lyle Closs’s book, Climbing Glass to pass the time. I met Lyle sometime back in the 1970’s on his visit to the Blue Mountains and it has been a pleasure to reacquaint with him in these pages. As the train leaves the plain and starts to wend its way up the mountains my thoughts go back to an earlier era.
 
Back in the late 1960’s there were probably only 150 active climbers in Australia, mainly confined to the major East Coast cities with a lonely outpost in the south-western city of Adelaide in the state of South Australia. Perth, in Western Australia, might have had a cadre of climbers, but news of their activities did not manage to cross the vast and lonely expanse of the aptly named Nullarbor Plain. There were also climbers like Lyle, isolated from the mainland, hailing from the wild and rugged southerly island of Tasmania.

Comprised mainly of young suburban youths, society at large viewed climbers as "ratbags" with suicidal tendencies and many a parent wished that their climbing offspring indulged in "normal" activities such as Rugby and Australian Football in the winter and cricket in the summer. It is against this background that Lyle Closs begins his book, a collection of climbing and mountaineering articles written by him over the five decades since.
 
There are sixteen articles contained in the book with often grainy black and white photos scattered throughout. I really liked the photos as they showed an assorted band of climbers in their regalia either relaxing or standing before their rocky playgrounds, the mood of the photos exhibiting informal poses in a historical context. Like many books of late it is printed using a double-spaced larger font which combined with its compact 9" x 6" (A5) size enables it to be read easily and comfortably in a train or for that matter, tram, bus, plane, in bed or in your favourite armchair. But what of its contents.

Ian Lewis and Kim Carrigan on the second ascent of the Totem Pole, Tasman Peninsula,Tasmania !970's. (Book Cover)

​Many a young climber owes their prowess or at least their "stoke" to mentors and it is pleasing that Lyle, right from the start, names Bob Bull, Reg Williams, and Peter Jackson as the “few people who are important to me." Although I have not met any of these climbers, their names, deeds and prodigious talents are widely known and respected. Don Holmes’ name is also included as important, though his climbing ended too early, taken by cancer. 
 
Lyle mentions the powerful Eurydice and the bold Missing Link - timeless, classic climbs at Mount Arapiles in Victoria, Australia. The early ascents of these Arapilean benchmarks are sufficient testament to the aura associated with his mentors’ names: Bull, Williams, and Jackson - “Gods of a Victorian climbing dawn."

How gloriously - or scarily?- primitive their equipment was... Lyle Closs (Left) and Karl Prinz (Right) after the first ascent of "Carlyle" on Federation Peak, Tasmania, 1972 (photo from the book "Climbing Glass," page 12)

Ian and Lyle's "harnesses" shown [above] were de rigueur of the era. Ian Lewis (Left) and Lyle Closs (Right), Lost World Tasmania, 1972 (photo from the book "Climbing Glass," page 40)

Many of the articles describe the first ascents of early big routes in Tasmania put up by Lyle in the company of the above and other climbers who entered the fray throughout the 1970’s. Among them two names stand out: Ian Lewis throughout the seventies and Tom Williams in the decade after. Cliffs such as the Organ Pipes, Ben Lomond, the phallic Candlestick with its neighbouring matchstick, the diminutive but striking Totem Pole, are spread through its pages. Their constituent dolerite columns form striking crack lines and columns, coloured light brown with amazing friction. Lyle often mentions the loss of skin on their rough and textured surfaces while undertaking or attempting his many first ascents.

​Raging seas, tyrolean traverses, numbing cold, long walk-ins, success (and failure) are often associated with these ascents. While Lyle mentions his climbs with a good friend on Federation Peak in southwest Tasmania, I was disappointed that their first ascents on this isolated and majestic mountain were not included. Maybe next time Lyle?

The Candlestick with its neighbouring matchstick, the diminutive but striking Totem Pole peering over its right shoulder. Tasmania, Australia (Photo credit: Phil Robinson)

Tyrolean traverse to the "Candlestick" (Photo credit: Phil Robinson)

It’s a cold chilly day in Hobart in 1973; Lyle’s door bursts open and Ian Lewis storms in: “Get your arse out. Come on, it’s time we did that f’ing climb."  And soon they are trooping along a track under the Organ Pipes high above Hobart on their way to “a narrow spear of shadow – 100 metres straight up” Lyle grudgingly leads the first pitch leaving Ian to tackle the next steep off-width section. The sun peeps through as Lyle leads the third and last pitch.

​“Out on the face of the world with moves hard enough to work the mind and the muscles to a slow tilt of movement that takes the spirit closer to the soul."
 
As Lyle leaned out to watch Ian climb, two crows skimmed by the crag below them. “Hey Lew – two black birds." While Lew followed their flight Lyle shouted down, “Three black birds is bad luck, isn’t it?” On cue a third black bird sails past. “Third Bird!” And as luck would have it the name stuck. “Third Bird” (Pages 40-43): Interestingly, while climbing with Bruce Cameron at the end of my train trip he mentions that Third Bird (18/5.10a) was his all-time favourite route in Tasmania.

The Organ Pipes located on Mt Wellington above Hobart, Tasmania (Photo credit: Phil Robinson)

The Organ Pipes close up, "where big walls and pinnacles were ascended with some self-deprecation." (Photo credit: Phil Robinson)

Albert's Tomb in the Organ Pipes. To access this you leap from the adjacent wall. Reg Williams was the first to make this leap and Lyle Closs (author of the "Climbing Glass) the second. The gnome at the top has become local legend placed there by bth Lyle and the photographer for this image Stefan Karpiniec.

Several photos show the gear utilised on these ascents, not the assorted shiny anodised and coloured, pristine passive and dynamic devices barely used by the new-age climber today. No, check the photographs on pages 12 and 40 to see how gloriously - or scarily?- primitive their equipment was. Ian and Lyle's "harnesses" shown on the latter photo was de rigueur of the era. The protection, Ewbank "crackers" and MOAC chockstones as Lyle laments, forgotten by several generations of climbers. The superlative MOAC?  I have written in a blog that “climbers would rather lose their boyfriend/girlfriend than to part with this amazing piece of aluminium." It was the go-to nut for every occasion and as Lyle observes “blessed of a generation."
 
Although “Glass” (Pages 79-82) is a short article, it is a rather powerful one recalling shards of a life with memories “half-remembered, half-forgotten." Party tricks, escapades, climbing, life and death are viewed as anomalies of the human condition. Playing guitars "shockingly," only to find out from an electrician that the earthed instrument would cause instant death. Broken bottles, blown out windowpanes poorly placed, an anxious Lyle shattering a glass in his hand; his walking around Hobart in winter with bare feet picking up slivers of glass that embedded and crept up under his skin. The death of his good mate ‘Mungryl’ (Peter Reynolds) while climbing at Kangaroo Point in Brisbane. Memories, like an anomaly, “shifting round within my flesh like old glass."

I came away thinking that the above and the books title was an analogy of the way climbing gets under one’s skin, into one’s psyche, and becomes a barely or largely uncontrolled addiction. Lyle also refers to a mirror of buffed rock and in many ways too, I see his work as a "looking glass,” a reflection of an era of mainly Tasmanian rock climbing where big walls and pinnacles were ascended with some self-deprecation - as evidenced in "We Were Just Boys" (Pages 106-115, and also published by Common Climber).

Ewbank "cracker" (Photo credit: Stephane Pennequin of the Nuts Museum)

MOAC chockstones (Photo credit: Stephane Pennequin of the Nuts Museum)

Tasmania is not the only place described in Climbing Glass; there are cameos of Lindfield (Sydney), Blue Mountains (NSW), Frenchmans Cap (Tasmania), as well as overseas areas, such as the Roaches in Derbyshire, United Kingdom, Greenland and Antarctica. North Head, the sandstone sentinel at the entrance to Sydney Harbour, is also featured in an article that, cryptically, you will never "tyre" of having a laugh at. However, you will need to "Claw" your way through a "Climbing Story" (Pages 33-39) to get some traction on this one...
 
Then there is the article on the “endless outrageousness” of eighteen pitches up the crumbling conglomerate of the Red Rocks Ridge in Greenland. “Blooming red waves of crumbling geology … that crowned us silly little men who went out one day to climb." (Story: If there was a yesterday it is this instant. Pages 84-88)

“Blooming red waves of crumbling geology … that crowned us silly little men who went out one day to climb." Greg Mortimer on pitch 15 of 18 of Red Rocks Ridge in Greenland (Photo credit: Lyle Closs)

Perhaps even more remote is the story that Lyle recounts of his trip to Mt. Minto in Antarctica - "The Last Expedition" (Pages 63-70). While this isolated mountain was climbed, the retreat from the hill was a race against the last boat leaving - the pack-ice gathering and the imminent onset of winter storms - although the methods used to avoid the race ended up being an affront to Lyle's notions of seclusion and isolation. To him, “an adventure of the world that was, began to be overwhelmed by the world that is now." With the convenience of their eventual rescue by planes, helicopters and modern communications, Lyle lamented: “The world of expeditions travelling to places where the world could not help them had gone forever."
 
With five decades of climbing behind him, a climber of that longevity has always an incident or two that took them to the brink and Lyle does not disappoint. His juxtaposition in his chapter "Instinct" (pages 47-55) describing two incidents makes compelling reading: One in the Blue Mountains, the other on K2’s North Ridge.

The north ridge of K2 from the book "Climbing Glass" by Lyle Closs (Photo credit: Lyle Closs)

Although you know he survived, I found myself hanging onto the book with tight and sweaty fingertips. Likewise, in the Blue Mountains, Tom (Williams) on belay above “watches helplessly, wide eyed with distant fear … Fuckin hell Lyle!” This is a brilliant piece of writing that all climbers should read. Quite often our decisions walk a fine line between survival or demise, or at the very least serious injury. Epics are part and parcel of climbing if you climb long enough, they are what is often clearly remembered, and hopefully more importantly, learnt from.

​Lyle states from the outset that his writing: “Does not include gushing descriptions of routes, holds and comradeship.” All I can say two out of three ain’t bad! Routes with the associated cameradie are associated with every chapter while hold-by-hold descriptions are thankfully minimised. I so enjoyed Lyle’s multilayered and textured prose that dances with deep thoughts, actions, humour, climbing and insights taking the reader into the many facets and corners of a life however dark or light. The actual climbing might be compelling, all consuming and of great importance but after five decades it is the characters that you have shared this with that are paramount in your memories. This book is testament to this. Lyle finishes his work with the line: “Sometimes things just work out OK.”
 
I reckon that you have done better than that, my friend.

You can find the book Climbing Glass: Climbing Articles From Five Decades" and other books by Lyle Closs at: https://www.lylecloss.com/climbing.html​

Author (Keith Bell) acknowledgements: A special thanks to Stephane Pennequin of the Nuts Museum Corsica, for allowing me to use his excellent images of climbing gear. My thanks also to Stefan Karpiniec and Phil Robinson for sending, and allowing me to use their photos of Tasmanian climbing.