I remember that morning well. It was the tail end of 1997, and the excitement of heading to the National Indoor Arena (NIA) for Climb 97 was enough to get me out of bed in a flash. I was staying overnight at my friend’s place in Derbyshire, and we had planned an early start. After rolling off the sofa, it was time to drive to school; following a quick breakfast, we picked up a minibus full of children from Stancliffe, a local boarding school where some of my friends taught. We were traveling with a small group of their students.
By mid-morning, we arrived at the NIA and began the slightly chaotic process of parking the school minibus. Eventually, we found a suitable space.
We walked around to the main doors, but almost immediately, Lotte and I ended up in charge of the kids. Our friend Ad, one of the teachers, along with a few intrepid students, had hatched a plan to sneak in via the stage doors to track down Steve Jones. At the time, he was running the British side of Entre-Prises, the company that built climbing walls and had provided the wall for this competition. We were in the process of trying to extend the climbing wall at the school with some of their panels, so Ad was determined to corner him for a conversation. Meanwhile, Lotte and I stayed near the main entrance with the rest of the group, trying to keep them occupied.
Before long, someone must have taken pity on us. The staff opened the doors, and we were allowed into the main arena lobby. We reconnected with Ad and the others, who had managed a mini backstage adventure but had not found Steve. We walked past the “Have a Go” wall, manned by instructors from Plas y Brenin. I recognized one of them immediately: Carlo Forte, who had run part of my Summer Mountain Leader training the year before. Seeing a familiar face in a huge venue like the NIA was a welcome surprise, and it gave us an excuse for a quick catch-up.
Next, we explored the dozens of shops and stands, each loaded with shiny new hardware and discounted climbing shoes. I managed to pick up a new fleece jacket and some winter gloves that I still have nearly 30 years later.
Somewhere in the throng, I bumped into Dave and Lou, friends from the Warwick University Mountaineering Club that I had recently joined. We swapped stories and eventually drifted toward the seating area, where we found Stancliffe’s new headmaster.
Then Lotte and I decided to try tracking down Steve Jones once again. We had heard he might be up in the Entre-Prises box, so we made our way through winding corridors and up a few flights of stairs. At the time, the school was in the middle of building their own climbing wall: the original parts were simple wooden boards and we hoped to get secondhand panels from Entre-Prises to expand it. We wanted to corner Steve for advice although when we arrived, there was a full-blown meeting underway. A Hong Kong delegation was clearly in the midst of serious talks. Not wanting to intrude, we perched on the balcony, where an unexpected spread of refreshments: French cheese and drinks was set out. As tempting as it was to linger, after a few minutes we realised Steve was unlikely to appear soon, so we headed back down to check on the kids.
At last, we crossed paths with Steve Jones at the Entre-Prises stand on the main expo floor. He recognising Ad and invited us on a behind-the-scenes tour of the competition wall. We wove our way backstage, brushing shoulders with some of the junior finalists. These teenagers were unbelievably strong, chalk dust clinging to their clothes and nerves running high. Steve explained the wall’s construction, the modular panels, the adjustable angles, and how routes were designed differently for competitions compared to standard climbing walls.
Lotte and I were not about to miss an opportunity for more freebies in the Entre-Prises box, so we followed Steve back upstairs. We indulged in a quick glass of red wine, nibbled more of that distinctive cheese and glanced down at the climbing below. We could not stay long, though, because we had a minibus full of students to get home. We left before the men’s final to ensure everyone made it back to Derbyshire at a reasonable hour.
In the end, Climb 97 was a whirlwind of new gear, awe-inspiring climbs, a glimpse at the climbing world’s backstage workings, and small, unexpected luxuries like French cheese on a VIP balcony. I returned to Derbyshire that night tired but exhilarated, having no idea where the start of my climbing adventures would eventually lead me.