Arapiles, in far-western Victoria, Australia, is undoubtedly one of the finest traditional climbing crags in the world, and I look back on ‘discovering’ the cliff and the early climbing days there with considerable nostalgia.

When I consult my copy of the first Arapiles guide to refresh my memory, I am reminded how different the world was in 1963! We hardly ever used the phone, there were no photocopy machines, and only a few of us ever went anywhere by car. It's actually not easy reading my first Arapiles guide today, as I duplicated it in 1964 at the school where I worked, and the ink is fading away.

Virtually everyone who went climbing in Victoria then, was either a member of the Melbourne University Mountaineering Club or my club, the Victorian Climbing Club. We all knew each other.

There were no ‘proper’ climbing guidebooks in Australia, yet, but my father had brought out bound guides to North Wales climbs when we emigrated to Australia, and they were handed around and studied with the reverence we might accord today to early Stones recordings on vinyl.

Three or four cliffs were being explored in Victoria, all in heavily forested country. The biggest was Rosea in the Grampians, still being exploited today. At 130m high and about a 2km long, it was big and steep, but purists would probably sneer at the number of ledges with full-sized trees— a priceless asset as belays in the pre-nut days.

When we first went to Arapiles, an isolated escarpment set in endless miles of flat wheat fields, some complained bitterly about the absence of suitable belay trees!

So why did  we muddle around doing long easy routes, and why did it take years for climbers to become sufficiently interested to find the inlaid gems of micro crags which today attract international climbers to Araps? I set down a few rfelections for Keith Lockwood recently, while he was writing his exciting new book, Arapiles, a million mountains...

As the story goes, in November 1963 I persuaded the first party to drive for hours across the wheat plains to find Mitre Rock, a small crag which I had seen as a tourist photo on a train. The climbers in the group included my father Bob; Greg Lovejoy, my climbing partner; Doug Angus; Peter Jackson; and Rob Taylor.

Obviously we were surprised and impressed by the vast bulk of cliffs over the road, but in some ways were underwhelmed, too, and that response is commonplace for first-time visitors today. There were dozens of small crags and a few big ones in an escarpment about 3km long, but only the Watchtower Face looks particularly impressive from a distance. The walls were scrubby and mossy, because there had obviously been a few wet winters, and no climbers to garden the rocks clean.

How different they look now, particularly the wire-brushed project lines up the slabs and faces!

We argued about the size of the walls, but there was nothing to give them scale, and we didn't realise the enormity of some of the walls until we did the first routes.

Like mid-Victorian period alpinists we were explorers. We walked and scrambled for hours, naming features,  determining short cuts, spotting lines of weakness and the relationship between walls, gullies, towers, and pinnacles. Yes, our first routes were easy, even by current standards, but by the end of the first few weeks, we had climbed each of the major faces, and confirmed our overall geographic understanding.

How excited were Greg Lovejoy and I, that we had navigated a tortuous route up the 140m Pharos, a substantial rock tower, and genuinely experienced the peak-bagger's pleasure of being the first to stand on top.

Of course we saw all the polished walls that are the focus of international interest today, and we knew that they would all "go" one day, but we were proud of our long rambles, and they are still done with pleasure. There is  still nothing like those long, unfashionable multi-pitch routes for building trust, confidence, deft manual dexterity, stamina, perhaps even long-term friendships. Greg and I were delighted to be able to repeat our first ascents in 2003, for the fortieth anniversary. We still think Siren is a great climb.

But others were more ambitious, smarter, technically superior climbers, more excited by the possibilities. Pete Jackson and John Fahey's Red Parrot Chasm was a hint of what was to come — subtle, hidden round a corner, a steep, smooth test-piece, and the race to find the hardest routes was on.

For a time, the family responsibilities — marriage, children intervened, and the long drive to Arapiles became a drag. Later Greg and I got back together and did more new routes in the Grampians and at Killiecrankie on Flinders Island. For me, the pleasure of exploration in climbing has been life-long. I have no regrets about leaving Arapiles to better, more motivated climbers.

Arapiles guidebooks

Over the years, many guidebooks to Arapiles have been

produced. Easily the best to date has been Glenn
Tempest’s Arapiles Selected Climbs with its wonderful photos, maps, and topos. It may be called ‘selected’, but
it details over 1,000 climbs!

This edition has now been completely revised.

general books on Arapiles

The big news of summer 2007-8 was the publication

of Keith Lockwood’s brilliant new large-format book, Arapiles, a million mountains. Primarily, the book provides a detailed, illustrated account of Arapiles climbing, but there’s much more. There are also chapters on local history, native plants and animals,

and many other subjects.

Link to the Arapiles website...