I realised before the climb, I had forgotten a chalk bag and a few gear in the car. But I didn't bother going back to fetch them, thinking this route must be easy enough. Having completed two other harder routes on this wall, my confidence level was high. Indeed I had been even tempted to solo this route in an evening to dispatch it swiftly.

Off I went, less than ideally equipped. I climbed up towards the estimated crux above the comfortable ledge. The rock was dry, but still kept a bit of moisture and was felt fairly greasy, where lack of a bag of chalk did not help. After a couple of failed attempts of the crux move, I climbed back down to the ledge. I tried again, and I climbed back down again, or tried to — my foot slipped and I got airbourne, ending up 1 metre above the deck…

I can't believe it! How come!

As soon as I climbed back down to the ground, stripping the two runners(*) on the way that had held my fall, Paul pointed out one of the ropes was damaged. Indeed! The sheth was cut through completely — presumably it was caught on a sharp edge of the spike of this slate rock… Well spotted, Paul, much appreciated!

Anyhow it did not bother me. This climb must be easy, the fall was just because of lack of appropriate concentration (I thought). The fall has woken me up. I have no doubt I will not fall again. I simply retied the rope beyond the damaged part, and started climbing straightaway.

My estimate was right — well, to some extent. I successfully made the crux move this time and reached a good hold above. Then I found it was hard to commit to climb above, being unable to trust the slanting small footholds in this condition, while feeling my feet slipping…

I looked down. Although the last two gear themselves are bomber, I'm higher above them, and so they may or may not stop me from decking. In either case there is a good chance I'd hit the pointy rock on the ledge while falling (which damaged the rope in the fall just a moment ago). I know well I was lucky not to hit it when I fell off. In addition the fact one of the ropes was badly damaged in my previous fall was discouraging.

The finger edge I'm holding now is good, nevertheless the steepness of the wall means fatigue is now kicking in. I am frantically shaking my arms alternatively. I wish I'd brought a skyhook, then at least I could get a much needed rest on the edge… By this time I have given up climbing this route. If there were another climber, I would be willing to call for a help to give me a rope from the above. In reality there is absolutely zero chance for it in this secluded crag. I regret my underestimate of this route.

Down should I go.

But how?

Before the climb I thought this route would be easily escapable by traversing to the left to the prominent corner crack of Mango. I found my guess was wrong at this crucial moment. The corner crack looks so close yet is impossibly distant to reach, no different from the hold above I was aiming to reach up from here in that sense… I have no choice but to climb down, reversing the moves, through the difficult section, where I have fallen off a moment ago.

I am now fighting for life. Desperately.

Some intense time passed. Almost eternal for me. In the end I somehow managed to climb down to safety. My head is resting leaning against the wall. Breathing hard. I don't remember how I managed, but it was certainly close. Paul later testified he thought I would come off.

I have survived. We left the crag.

Once started, I reached the high point two weeks ago smoothedly without any fuss, which means I have passed the crux. Now, the move above would not be any harder. I see a few good holds! Only the trouble is they all seem to be either at a wrong place or wrong angle, it has turned out after a close inspection…

But this time I can place a skyhook now! Unfortunately the placement is dodgy in even the skyhook standard, as the shape of the edge, on which it is hung, is not ideal or horizontal. Nevertheless it is something, well, optimistically speaking.

After a couple of up and down attempts, I tried a wide-leg posture. Maybe it works? But I wasn't sure, so I climbed down — or tried to. Shhh…

My left foot slipped and right foot followed, and I am hanging on just a left-finger edge. Thank goodness, I am strong enough and did not end up testing the skyhook! It is a vivid realisation of what could happen.

After a deep breath, I looked down. Brian the belayer below looked still normal and showed no sign of concern. That was kind of reasurrance to me. In fact, what Brian did not know at that time was the last runner was a dodgy skyhook, which he later testified he had simply assumed to be a wire… (I wished!)

Why did my left foot pop off? I knew the answer. The left-foot hold I used was a 70-degree heavily slanting side-edge (of slate), so the angle of pressure applied is absolutely crucial. Any sloppy approach would be severely punished. Now I have forgotten the estimated grade. It is irrelevant. I am concentrating purely to make the best effort to overcome this section in front of me.

So did I, committed. Precarious and technical moves.

And made it.

Relief. But only to some extent. Finding no trustworthy gear means the situation now is even more serious. At least the climbing above was easy or easier at last, as expected. Some minutes later I topped out.

After all it has turned out the move above the skyhook, not below it as I had expected, was the hardest. 5c. That explains why I felt it to be hard and could not do it two weeks ago, when the rock condition was not quite good. E1 5b? No. Way harder and more serious than that.

A lesson is that one should not underestimate the difficulty of the route, particularly when the grade is unknown or suspicious, and should give the route the appropriate respect it deserves and make the best effort always, lest you would pay a high price one day.