thelifeandclimbsofabr itishlegend

Joe
T h e
L i f e
Brown
a n d
c l i m b s
o f
a
B r i t i s h
L e g e n d
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As Britain’s greatest climber of the twentieth
century turns 80, Ed Douglas talks to him about
youth, age, and experience - and why today’s
climbers have got it so much tougher than he did.
t is mid afternoon when I drive
round to Joe Brown’s house,
but it feels later. Clouds are
blanking out Snowdon and
the drab light over Llanberis
is failing. Joe answers the door of his
modest terrace, rocking from side
to side on stiff legs, looking a little
perplexed.
‘You don’t know anything about
routers, do you, Ed?’
He gestures at the plastic box sitting
next to his computer, placed on a desk
by the front window. The man the
British press dubbed The Human Fly
has lost his connection to the World
Wide Web. He’s frustrated.
Images flash through my mind of
the young Brown, a grinning, sparky
boy exploring bombsites around
wartime Manchester with his gang,
looking over every high wall. He may
be turning 80, but the greedy curiosity
that has shaped and driven the life of
Britain’s greatest twentieth century
climber seems undiminished.
Joe’s position in the climbing world
is almost unparalleled. It’s not just
that he led the surge in rock climbing
standards that followed the war,
putting up some of the best and most
famous lines in the country. Or that he contributed
to a renaissance in British alpinism that made the
Europeans take us seriously again. Or that he is one
of only two Britons – both happily still alive – to
make the first ascent of an 8000m peak. It’s the
style of how he lived, always finding new directions
to explore and keeping a sense of excitement
and freshness in his life, decades after that initial
discovery of what climbing could offer him.
Joe Brown seems to me an essentially private
man, loyal to his friends, equivocal about his fame,
but fun and playfully inventive. In the 1950’s,
gossip that climbing’s bright new star had ‘bandy
legs, teeth like tombstones and hands like bunches
of bananas’ prompted a typically self-deprecating
photograph published in his autobiography The
Hard Years. The self-mockery won him affection.
Decades ago, Scottish climbing pioneer Tom Patey
wrote one of his famous songs about ‘The Legend of
Joe Brown’, with none of the satirical edge applied
to ‘Onward Christian Bonington’. Thanks to his
reluctance to lecture and an antipathy to journalists,
his presence now is almost ethereal, as though he
were some totemic but unlikely creature; a sort of
people’s unicorn.
While Joe settles in his chair, I glance around
the room. There’s a Ginger Cain print, and a
photograph of the Dru’s west face, which Joe
climbed with Don Whillans in 1954, famously
returning pride to British alpinism. Apart from
that, the pictures are of family. Curled up on a
cushion on a chair across the narrow living room
is a Jack Russell called Lucy, who has spent her
life burnishing her type’s reputation for pocketsized aggro. Last time we met, a few years back,
she was straight at my ankles. I found myself
hopping around the Dinorwig slate quarries, dignity
in tatters. Now she merely raises her head and
stretches cautiously. Time is overtaking Lucy, just as
it is Joe Brown.
That day, Joe had eased himself to the bottom of
Skyline Buttress to show me some of his latest new
routes, like an exhausted but proud older father
introducing his sixth child. He was in his mid 70’s
then, and despite suffering from
arthritis, moved across difficult ground
with a measure of fluency sufficient
to offer a consoling glimpse of youth.
He was still making his annual trip to
Morocco with a group of old friends,
panning the Anti-Atlas for new
routes like a grizzled prospector still
dreaming of the mother lode. That’s in
the past now.
‘The last time I went to Morocco
was in 2006, and then I was still
capable of climbing hard routes.
But coming down from the crag was
so hard and it was getting painful.
Friends like Claude [Davies] and Pete
[Turnbull] were saying come for the
crack. But if I went there’d be a group
coming back and saying what fantastic
days they’d had. And I’d be sat there
drumming my fingers.’
At 75, he says, he was still leading
E1, but now finds anything strenuous
too much. ‘It’s just old age knackering
all my joints. They’ve been poor for
ages, but in the last four or five years
my muscles have gone and I’ve found
my energy levels are getting less.’
The end of life – that process of
feeling your body fail – is a grim
prospect. But for an adventurer, and
one of such consummate ability? What’s that like? I
can’t help but think of William Hazlitt’s conclusion
to his essay On The Fear of Death. ‘A life of action
and danger moderates the dread of death. It not
only gives us fortitude to bear pain, but teaches us
at every step the precarious tenure on which we hold
our present being.’
Joe would have his own view on that. As a young
man, and in middle age too, he suffered his share
of hard bivouacs, shifting his weight to ease the
discomfort. Now he grimaces sitting in his chair as
a nerve pinches his back. His own father died when
Joe was just eight months old - horribly - from a
gangrenous injury sustained while working as a
merchant seaman. Like Joe and his brothers, his
father had worked in the building trade but went to
sea when times were tough, as they often were in the
early 1930’s.
Joe has no example to follow in the process of
aging. And modern medical advances – almost
beyond belief – can now delay nature’s timetable so
that the mind wears out before the body.
FACING PAGE: Joe Brown in action on his route Tensor (E2 6a) at Tremadog in April 1967; the first ascent of this route was made with two aid points in 1964 with Claude Davies. This classic photograph of
Joe has not previously been published. joHN cLEARE/Mountain Camera Picture Library. THIS PAGE: Joe at Gogarth on January 3rd, 1967. Joe was one of the most prolific explorers of the greatest sea cliff
in North Wales. His routes there include the dramatic roof of Spider’s Web, the Main Cliff classic Rat Race, and the wildly adventurous Mousetrap. JOHN CLEARE/MOUNTAIN CAMERA Picture Library
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I d o n ’ t wa n t t o li v e t o b e as o ld
as Ricca r d o C assi n was w h e n h e di e d .
For me, now, the difference between each year is now so pronounced that
I can’t imagine what it would be like to live that long. To be a hundred?
You’d be like a little walnut that can’t move.
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The exigencies of old age, he says, left him
depressed at first. ‘But you can’t be a miserable
bugger all the time, just because you’re getting old.
Everyone faces it sooner or later, and you can’t get
away from the fact that you’re getting a lot closer to
the front of the queue. It’s absolutely inevitable, isn’t
it?’ And then he laughs, the sound flowing warmly
out of the gathering gloom. I realise I can no longer
see his face, but it seems wrong to turn a light on.
‘Unless you’re lucky and you’re one of these
buggers who has an accident climbing – and you’re
gone. But now I think you just have to keep going
and have a couple of miserable years because you
can’t climb.’ This is courage, I think to myself, and
ask him if he means that.
‘I look back on people who died young climbing,
and I think, well, if you died doing what you like
doing then you’ve not had a lot of time being
miserable because you can’t do it. Dying is a funny
thing. A lot of people think they’d like to live to be
really old. That doesn’t make sense when you’re
old. Now I think I don’t want to live to be as old as
Riccardo Cassin was when he died. For me, now, the
difference between each year is now so pronounced
that I can’t imagine what it would be like to live that
long. To be a hundred? You’d be like a little walnut
that can’t move.’
This is all said with such lightness, and punctuated
at the end with more laughter. I once spent an evening
with Anderl Heckmair [the leading climber among
the first ascent team of the Eiger Nordwand in 1938]
towards the end of his very long life, and watched
him knock back a tumbler of Scotch and puff
contentedly on a cheap cigar. He was laughing too.
Lucy hops off her cushion and walks stiffly
across to him in an act of geriatric solidarity, as
Brown muses on the origins of his own physical
decline. ‘Much more than the climbing it was the
manual work I did. I’ve worked all my life in the
building trade. Even when I had the shops I usually
had building work. I was fantastically aggressive
towards it. I always wanted to beat what I’d done
before. So if I’d plastered half a room that day, I
wanted to plaster more than half a room the next
day. I loved working. I loved shovelling: any hard
physical work. But using a lump hammer for hours a
day, it’s shocking for your joints.’
By comparison, he suggests, climbing is quite
a gentle activity compared to manual labour. ‘If
you’re climbing well, you use a lot less energy that
someone who isn’t climbing well.’ Having seen film
of him rock climbing in his prime – something that
should be made readily available – I have to agree.
But then he was on Everest – twice – in his 50’s,
and he reached over 7000m on Cho Oyu aged 60.
Before that, in the 1980’s, he’d attempted technical
routes on peaks like Thalay Sagar in the Garhwal
with his great friend Mo Anthoine. All this followed
his more celebrated mountaineering achievements in
the 1950’s and 1960’s, such as his 1955 first ascent
(with George Band) of Kanchenjunga, the world’s
third highest mountain.
There is something warmly sociable about
Brown’s career, and the banter seems to have meant
as much to him as the result. I had in mind before
I met him a brief but intense portrait of a younger
Brown at Mowing Word, written by Jim Perrin and
published in 1981. The two goad each other on in
a perilous situation, and at one point Perrin recalls
how ‘his eyes narrowed, recognising the game.’ The
moral logic is clear: give everything you’ve got, and
then don’t care a damn about the outcome - as long
as you’re still laughing.
‘People always said I was the most competitive
person they’d ever met, but I don’t think I was.
Competitive people don’t like losing and I didn’t
mind losing. What I liked was playing well. It was
only a game, and if I played well then I was happy.
Okay, so I was happier if I won, but I didn’t think it
was a disaster if I lost. Pete Crew was definitely the
man to beat because he always took it badly. I loved
climbing with Pete, he was terrific. And it was a big
loss to the climbing world, especially to those of us
who climbed with him, when he packed it in. I did
talk to him and I can’t be certain, but I think like
other friends who gave it up, he felt like he’d wasted
a part of his life.’
The motivation to climb still fascinates Brown.
Most of the kids in the bombed-out slums near
his home in Manchester must have followed the
rails laid down for them. How did it happen that
this scruffy kid in his hand-me-downs ended up
as Britain’s greatest climber of his era? The same
thought occurred to me years before as we stood
overlooking the slate quarries. When Brown first
moved to Snowdonia in the mid 1960’s, after
almost two decades of climbing there, men were still
working the slate, hacking at the guts and sinews
of the mountains around Llanberis. He pointed
out favourite routes through the complex of levels
and tunnels, among the broken rusting works,
facing page: Joe Brown leads the first ascent of the Castle of Yesnaby (E2 5b), a sea-stack off the west coast of Mainland island., Orkney, in July 1967. Rusty Baillie first swum out to the stack and rigged
a tyrolean traverse for Joe and Sidney Wilkinson, the third man, to reach the base of the stack dry-shod. JOHN.CLEARE/Mountain.Camera Picture Library. TOP left: Gear used by Joe Brown and Pete Crew
after climbing a route on Gogarth in 1967. A primitive machine nut - predecessor to the modern wire - is clearly visible on the top left. JOHN CLEARE/Mountain Camera Picture Library. above: Joe Brown and
Julie Collins descend from Craig y Castell, Snowdonia, in April 1967. JOHN CLEARE/Mountain Camera Picture Library.
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THIS PAGE: High above the boiling swell of Wen Zawn, Joe makes a 1970 repeat of his own 1968 route Spider’s Web at Gogarth. Joe used some aid on the first ascent and three ropes, hence the name.
Crossing a huge ceiling, the climb was a visionary ascent for its time. It can be climbed either as Joe originally did it at E2 5b / A1, or free at E5 6b. It is regarded as one of the most spectacular and unusual
routes at Gogarth. JOHN CLEARE/Mountain Camera Picture Library
facing page: Casting adrift on the expanse of Gogarth’s awesome Main Cliff on January 3rd, 1967, Pete Crew belays Joe on an early ascent of Rat Race (E3 5c), the first climb to break into the central
section of this imposing sea-cliff. Joe made the first ascent of the second, crux pitch of this highly significant climb the previous year, in July 1966. JOHN CLEARE/Mountain Camera Picture Library
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the roofless huts, the luminous streaks of minerals
oozing from cracks in the blue stone, the deep pools
of cold green water.
The nature of a great climber’s new routes surely
reveals much about their own: Menlove Edwards’
compulsion for unstable ground; Don Whillans and
his blunt, steep lines; the cool composure of Ron
Fawcett’s masterpieces; and the ultra-calculated,
wildly ambitious modern challenges set down by
climbers like Steve McClure and Dave
Macleod. Brown’s hallmark, I would
suggest, is a kind of crafty elegance, with
Vector being a clear example. It’s no surprise he was the first to
embrace the Llanberis slate quarries
when they became deserted. Such
ruined marvels must resonate with his
memories of the streets of Manchester
where he grew up. With a grin, he
recalls climbing over the ten-foot walls
of Belle Vue Zoo and landing in the
bison’s enclosure, squeezing through the
bars to get away and then discovering a
storeroom full of fireworks.
Although his father’s death when
Brown was an infant had left the family
in desperate financial straits, his sisters
and brothers kept each other going, and
as the youngest, he was shielded a little
from the harsh reality of their situation.
The grotesque inequality and privations
Brown experienced in working class
Manchester in the 1930’s and 40’s –
but perhaps did not comprehend as a
boy – were exposed by an invitation
to join the 1955 British expedition to
Kangchenjunga. Brown can still recall
the boat trip out to India. ‘You’d go for
dinner and have as many courses as you
wanted. You could eat all day. I didn’t
know what to do. You’d have a big line
of knives and forks and you’d worry
about picking up the wrong one.’
I ask if he ever felt patronised but
he says not. He recalls staying at the
embassy on the way back from his
successful first ascent of the mountain.
‘At dinner one evening they sat me down
in front of an artichoke, and I thought, bloody hell,
what do I do with this? I had to watch and learn.
There was a butler and you took breakfast from the
sideboard. It was an adventure of a different kind.’
Given that there were eight Browns living in a
house with four small rooms when Joe was born,
and the loo was very much outside – they sheltered
in it when the house next door was destroyed by
a German bomb – Brown might have cause for
either resentment or self-satisfaction. His famous
partner Don Whillans saw currency in the role of
individualist northerner, which played well with his
audience. Joe didn’t play that game, perhaps because
he was unwilling to be categorised or to pander
to someone else’s image of him. This may be part
of the reason he dislikes the media. ‘I met a lot of
journalists in the early part of my climbing career
and they’d hardly ever told the truth. You’d tell them
something and they’d always embellish it.’
It was the inclusive leadership style of Charles
Evans on Kangchenjunga that clearly impressed him
most. ‘It was like winning the lottery, getting invited
on an expedition like that. Everybody who was
on it was terrific to be with. Charles said the most
important part of bringing together an expedition is
having people who will get on with no hassle. And
there wasn’t any. I didn’t know him before the trip,
but I stayed friends with him up until the moment he
died, and climbed with him when he was still able
to climb.’
While Himalayan climbers in the 1920’s and
1930’s had been drawn from a narrow clique, the
war’s galvanising social impact opened the door
for Brown. As Vin Betts put it, Joe was ‘off with
the toffs as the first of the working-class lads to go
on a Himalayan expedition.’ But why him? ‘I think
Charles had got a tip from Geoff Sutton. Alf Bridge
would have been pushing for me to go.’ Whillans
felt betrayed by Brown’s selection, and believed Joe
had put in a bad word. Contemporaries felt that
Whillans was the equal of Brown as a mountaineer
and Nat Allen saw Joe as ‘close, hush-hush, so I can
see how the suspicion came about.’
It’s daft of course. ‘There was no way Don would
have been chosen for Kanchenjunga,
because he was only 20,’ Brown says.
He and Whillans had met at the Roaches
after Joe’s second failed to follow
the first pitch of what would become
Matineé. Don stepped in instead and
then led the second, harder pitch. ‘I
didn’t have a mentor, but Don definitely
had. He’d only been climbing a short
time when he met me, and I’d been
climbing three years and done a lot of
new routes. He was a very intelligent lad,
and you didn’t have to tell him twice.’
When I suggest Don was jealous of
Brown, he says that’s not quite right.
‘He wasn’t jealous of me, but he was
jealous of any friendship, any woman
I was with, even Slim [Sorrell]. On one
occasion he called Slim out for a punchup, but Slim just said simmer down.’
The names Brown and Whillans are
linked in the new route lists, and they
provide a useful trope for historians of
northern working-class lads breaking
through the sport’s class barriers. But
they were fundamentally different people
with different views of life and climbing.
Whillans relished hierarchies and
nurtured his reputation. Brown, I would
guess, was less troubled by his own ego.
He maintains some interest in
the current climbing scene, but the
constant clamouring for attention of
our hyper-mediated world isn’t his style.
He mentions James McHaffie. ‘To be
able to do what he does, that takes
a very special person I think. When I
was doing it, I think the commitment
was nothing like as severe.’ He was, he
says, lucky to be around when he was. ‘Everyone’s
used up the rock now. It’s not like there’s another
Gogarth. Circumstance made it that I could keep my
enthusiasm. Things kept happening.’
I want to suggest to him that it worked the
other way round, but it’s evening now, and time to
leave. There will never be anyone like Joe Brown
in British climbing again. The unique combination
of his nature and era can’t be replicated. But what
he accomplished - and how he lived - will continue
to shape our ideas about the climbing life far into
the future. Immortality, of a sort. In the meantime,
happy birthday, Mr Brown. n
This page: Shortly before his 80th birthday, Joe stands under the most famous crag in Britain, Dinas Cromlech in Llanberis Pass. His first ascent in 1952 of Cenotaph Corner (E1 5c), the central line on the
cliff, exemplifies his visionary talent as a climber. The fact it remains the most sought-after climb of its grade in Britain is proof of Joe’s tremendous legacy. The line of the route is clearly visible directly above Joe
in the photograph. RAY WOOD
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www.joe-brown.com
the joe brown climbing shops
Capel -
Capel Curig: 01690 720205
NOW OPEN AT Pen y Pass
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Corner Llanberis: 01286 872660
PHOTO: GRUFF OWEN
Menai Hall -
Llanberis: 01286 870327 18/08/2010 16:43
Joe uncut:
r e c o ll e c t i o n s o f ‘ b a r o n b r o w n ’
I t was o n e o f th e m o st imp r e ssi v e
l e ads I hav e e v e r s e e n :
c o o l , c a l m , a n d t o ta lly i n c o n t r o l .
- Ben Wintringham on Joe’s first ascent of Rapture of the Deep (E4 5b).
‘In the autumn of 1978, Joe, my wife Marion and
myself had been exploring Gogarth’s Red Wall for
new routes, and had spied a line of sandy grooves
left of the established esoteric classic Red Wall
Route. Knowing Red Wall quite well by this time we
knew that grey sandy rock meant mega loose rock!
Red rock meant better, but it was still pretty loose.
As we could see some big loose blocks, I abseiled
down to clean them off and have a look. Finding virtually no gear, and having knocked off the worst of
the big stuff, I placed a couple of pegs, and jumared
out a gibbering wreck. I remember saying that there
‘was no way I would lead that’. Joe then quizzed me,
and I said that technically it ‘didn’t look too bad’,
but there was no gear for the first half, and then it
looked like it got hard, but with some gear and some
better rock.
‘Right’, he said. ‘No problem, I’ll lead.’ So off we
went, with me leading the first pitch of Red Haze
and then Marion and myself cowering under the
overhang covering the stance. As Joe calmly bridged
his way up the tottering groove above with just
a couple of desultory runners for reassurance. As
he got to the better rock where the sandy groove
finishes, the route steepened and started to overhang,
becoming very strenuous. At this point I was amazed
to see Joe fold his leg into a hole and promptly take
both hands off. Then with a few grunts he was up
and away onto easier ground. Finally he got to the
top and then belays right on the edge so he could see
us. Always a bad sign as he does like to watch you
have a epic!
Marion fought her way up with a certain amount
of squealing, so I knew it was not exactly going to
be a piece of cake. Starting off, I was not surprised
to find the rotting groove horrendous, not helped
by Joe’s cackling laughter from his safe perch at the
top. By the time I got to the hard part I was finding
it very strenuous, as I was freaked out after seventy
feet of total grip, even seconding. I tried to work out
what he had done with his leg, which wasn’t obvious
at all, but when eventually I got in the position it
was a great hands off rest. This was typical of Joe’s
ability to read the rock almost instantaneously.
It was one of the most impressive leads I have ever
seen: cool, calm and totally in control. So afterwards
it was quite revealing when he came up with the
name Rapture Of The Deep [the route is now given
the somewhat ominous grade of E4 5b]. When I
asked him why he chose the name, Joe said:
‘You know that they say when divers start getting
the bends, they get a happy feeling just before they
die. Well, that’s how I felt on that! I kept looking
down at the sea swirling around the bottom of the
zawn. I was trying to work out where I would end
up, knowing I was going to die somewhere down
there if I fell off.’
- Ben Wintringham
‘I can’t actually claim to be one of Joe’s “oldest
friends” and did not really climb with him till we
starting going on exploratory trips to the Moroccan
Anti-Atlas in the late 1990’s, a paradise for doing
big new trad routes. Of course I knew him and, as
a young lad, held him in the same awe as everyone
else. I approached his climbs with great trepidation,
and it was not until the first modern nuts arrived in
the mid ‘60s that I regularly began to climb his great
routes.
Joe loved the Moroccan climbing scene and was
happiest with his small group of friends (including
me by now!) in the 12 years or so before the
Guidebook came out (2004) after which more
people began to arrive. Along with Pete Turnbull
and others, Brown was continuing on a grander
scale the kind of exploratory climbing he had
been doing in the Costa Blanca through the 1980s
without any fuss, publicity, bolts - just for the
sheer enjoyment of climbing where no one else had
been. When Chris [Bonington] joined us in 2001,
after seeking the Master’s approval of course, Joe
bided his time for a few days and then impressed
Chris and I by leading us on the fierce first pitch of
Hidden Crack (E2 5b). A couple of days later on
one of the biggest crags he found yet another new
route and led the first two sensationally exposed
pitches of Space Walk (E1 5a) before offering us
the lead on the upper pitches. Joe continued to find
new routes till his last visit in 2006. Amazingly, that
represents nearly sixty years of new route activity
and mountain exploration.’
- Derek Walker
‘It is hard for me to be independent in writing
about Joe. I was, after all, his ‘Rope Boy’ when
I was young. He was the outstanding performer
on British rock of his generation, and one of the
reasons we identified with him was his workingclass background and his lack of any pretension. He
always knew he was the best, but there was no side,
no selling out on his friends or colleagues. And when
I spent time with him when I was a teenager it was
fun; we always had a laugh at the crag - climbing
never became too serious. There are so many
outstanding Brown routes, but the two which gave
me the biggest buzz when I made early repeats of
them were Great Slab on Froggatt, which I led in the
summer of 1959 with Martin Boysen as my second
man, and Vector in 1963, leading through with
Robin Barley. The latter had a fantastic reputation
for difficulty at that time.’
- DENNIS GRAY
this page Joe and Lucy at home in Llanberis in spring 2010, a few months before his 80th birthday. ray wood
Joe’s First ascents the top ten
1. Right Eliminate (E3 5c) Curbar Edge, Peak District, England (1951)
2. The Great Slab (E3 5b) Froggatt Edge, Peak District, England (1951)
3. Cenotaph Corner (E1 5c) Llanberis Pass, Snowdonia, Wales (1952)
4. The Thorn (HVS 5a) Beeston Tor, Peak District, England (1954)
5. The British Route (TD+ [UK 5c]) Aiguille de Blaitiere, Chamonix, France (1954)
6. Kanchenjunga (8,586m) Nepal - the world’s 3rd highest mountain (1955)
7. Bow Wall (E2 5b) Bosigran, Cornwall, England (1957)
8. Shrike (E2 5c) Clogwyn Du’r Arddu, Wales (1958)
9. Vector (E2 5c) Tremadog, Wales (1960)
10. Mousetrap (E2 5b) Mousetrap Zawn, Gogarth, Wales (1966)
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