Disclaimer
No children were forced up climbing walls in the production of this blog post. All sporting opinions are entirely my own, memories become increasingly unreliable with age, and any climbing advice contained below should not be mistaken for professional instruction. Particularly if it involves me saying, “Just put your foot there.”
With the final weekend of the summer holidays lurking ominously in the background, we suddenly found ourselves in an unusual position.
There was no tennis tournament.
No cricket match.
No martial arts grading.
No county championship.
No need to leave the house at 7.15 in the morning carrying three water bottles, seventeen snacks and sporting equipment worth considerably more than my first car.
Clearly, something had gone terribly wrong.
So, naturally, we decided that what the Richardt household really needed was a little problem-solving activity.
Not board games.
Not chess.
Not tennis.
Not cricket.
Climbing.
More specifically, Clip ’n Climb at the climbing centre down on Exeter Quay.
We have been there a few times before and it is a genuinely excellent activity. While adults can absolutely have a go, the Clip ’n Climb section tends to be predominantly populated by children enthusiastically scaling brightly coloured walls while their parents stand underneath offering helpful advice which is either completely ignored or immediately disproved.
It is parenting condensed into ninety minutes.
The different climbs vary in difficulty and are colour-coded, ranging from friendly-looking green routes through to the considerably less friendly purple ones.
Green essentially says:
Come on. You can do this.
Purple says:You have made several questionable decisions which have brought you to this point
The Perfect Family Arrangement
Our plan was beautifully simple.
Eddie and I would go climbing.
Olga would go shopping in Exeter.
This meant Olga would have approximately ninety minutes wandering around Exeter entirely by herself without me quietly asking whether we really needed to visit another shop and without Eddie announcing every seven minutes that shopping was boring and asking when we were going home.
Everyone benefited.
Eddie climbed.
I supervised.
Olga experienced what I imagine was a brief but glorious period of peace.
It was possibly the most successful family planning exercise of the entire summer holidays.
We normally park in the car park above the Quay and walk down towards the climbing centre. It is a nice little walk, although naturally the return journey involves going back uphill after ninety minutes of climbing, because Exeter apparently understands comedy.
Back When I Could Actually Climb
There was, once upon a time, a period in my life when I actually climbed myself.
Quite a lot, in fact.
This was before having a child transformed my sporting role from participant to chauffeur, logistics coordinator and mobile snack-distribution unit.
At my peak I was a reasonably competent climber somewhere around the British 5–6 technical grades indoors, although comparing indoor and outdoor climbing grades directly is always slightly dangerous.
Indoor climbing takes place in a relatively controlled environment: clearly defined holds, predictable surfaces and equipment placed exactly where it is supposed to be.
Outdoor traditional climbing introduces considerably more entertainment.
You have weather.
Loose rock.
Route finding.
Exposure.
Protection placement.
And the fascinating realisation halfway up that the handhold which looked enormous from the ground is actually approximately the size of a digestive biscuit.
British traditional climbing therefore usually gives routes two grades: an overall adjectival grade, reflecting seriousness, exposure and sustained difficulty, and a technical grade, describing the hardest individual moves.
Before I went to work in the Middle East, I somehow managed to climb a route near the suspension bridge which I later discovered was graded Hard Very Severe 5a.
HVS 5a.
Even writing that now makes me wonder what precisely I was thinking.
At the time I remember it being extremely difficult.
Looking back, I have revised that assessment slightly.
It was bloody difficult.
Nevertheless, somehow I reached the top.
These days my climbing achievements are somewhat different.
I successfully climb into the car.
Drive to tennis.
Drive to cricket.
Drive to martial arts.
Occasionally I even find a parking space.
Age brings different challenges.
From Green to Purple
Back at Exeter, one of the genuinely lovely things about going to Clip ’n Climb repeatedly has been seeing how much Eddie’s confidence has developed.
When we first started coming, the green climbs provided enough of a challenge.
There would be hesitation.
Long pauses.
A certain amount of looking down.
And occasionally the unavoidable parental discussion:
“Put your foot on the green hold.”
“Where?”
“The green one.”
“They’re all green.”
Fair point.
But over the last year things have changed noticeably.
Routes which once required considerable encouragement are now dispatched fairly quickly and, more impressively, he has started reaching the top of the occasional purple climb.
There is something particularly satisfying about watching your child attempt something which previously looked impossible, work out a solution, adjust their body position and eventually smack the button at the top.
No medal.
No tournament placing.
No ranking points.
Just a little light flashing and a child twenty feet above you looking extremely pleased with himself.
Sometimes that is more than enough.
Apparently Feet Are Useful
Climbing is also a surprisingly good problem-solving exercise.
Each wall presents a slightly different puzzle.
Where does the next foot go?
Which handhold gives the best position?
Can you reach directly or do you need to move sideways first?
And, perhaps most importantly for enthusiastic young climbers:
Can we avoid attempting to perform the entire climb using only our arms?
While I stand underneath — importantly, not belaying because this is Clip ’n Climb — I occasionally try to offer some advice.
“Use your legs.”
“Push yourself upwards rather than pulling.”
“Move your foot first.”
“Keep your hips closer to the wall.”
“Shift your weight across.”
All perfectly sensible climbing advice.
It also allows me to briefly pretend that the HVS 5a incident remains relevant to modern life.
The fundamental lesson is that climbing efficiently is much more about balance, positioning and using your legs than simply performing repeated pull-ups.
Your legs contain substantially larger muscle groups than your arms.
This is useful information.
Especially when you are eight.
And especially when your initial strategy appears to be:
GRAB EVERYTHING AND PULL REALLY HARD.
There is also a lovely moment when you can see the problem-solving happening.
He reaches what looks like a dead end.
Stops.
Looks around.
Moves one foot.
Changes his centre of gravity.
Suddenly another hold becomes reachable.
Up he goes.
It is physical chess.
Except the pieces are attached to a wall and falling off is considered completely acceptable.
The Leap of Faith
The centre also has something called the Leap of Faith.
The concept is beautifully simple.
You climb somewhere around five or six metres into the air.
You stand there.
You look across at a suspended target.
And then you jump.
That is apparently entertainment.
To be fair, it looks brilliant.
You leap away from the platform, try to grab the target and, whether successful or not, the safety system lowers you gently back towards the floor.
Eddie has not attempted it yet.
He has looked at it.
He has considered it.
He has watched other children do it.
And then sensibly returned to something where the wall remains attached to him.
I suspect that will change.
Given how much his confidence has improved over the last year, I would not be remotely surprised if sometime during the next twelve months he suddenly announces:
“I want to do the jump.”
At which point I will provide calm parental encouragement from below.
While being extremely pleased that I am not the person standing five metres in the air.
The Mysterious Café We Never Visit
Another slightly strange tradition is that despite repeatedly visiting the climbing centre, we virtually never stop for coffee, tea or cake afterwards.
I am not entirely sure why.
The café looks nice.
There is seating overlooking parts of the main climbing area and you can sit there watching considerably more accomplished climbers perform movements which appear to involve temporarily ignoring gravity.
Whenever we arrive Eddie tends to be fascinated by them.
Someone will be halfway across an overhang with their feet somewhere above their head and Eddie will stare upwards as if watching a nature documentary.
I normally stare as well.
Mostly wondering whether my shoulders would remain attached to my body if I attempted the same thing.
Perhaps next time we will actually stay for cake.
Although adding cake to exercise does risk converting the entire expedition into a net calorie gain.
Still.
Balance is important.
Climbers keep telling me that.
Where Did the Summer Go?
By the time this article appears online, the climbing trip will already feel like ancient history.
Because on the day this is published, Eddie will be back at school.
Another summer holiday finished.
Yesterday I asked him what the best part of his summer had been.
He looked thoughtful.
Then struggled to remember half of it.
Which initially seemed slightly disappointing until I started listing everything he had actually done.
Tennis camp.
Cricket camp.
Cornwall.
The Eden Project.
We The Curious.
The Somerset Tennis Championships — producing two fourth-place finishes and one tenth place.
Climbing.
Board games.
More board games.
Possibly an unreasonable number of board games.
Friends coming around.
Days out.
Sport.
More climbing.
And, somewhere amongst all that, plenty of time spent with his parents.
Suddenly it became obvious why he could not immediately decide.
There had simply been too much.
Children also have this slightly wonderful ability to experience something completely, enjoy it enormously and then quietly file it away somewhere in their brain without producing the retrospective ranking table adults seem compelled to construct.
Perhaps in ten years’ time he will not remember which tennis tournament he finished fourth in.
He might not remember which purple climbing wall he first completed.
He probably will not remember every cricket score.
But hopefully he remembers the general feeling of those summers.
Driving somewhere. Doing something.
Laughing. Arguing occasionally.
Eating snacks.
Playing games.
Climbing walls.
Losing tennis matches.
Winning tennis matches.
Getting muddy – well not during the heat wave this year
Visiting places.
Spending time together.
Because ultimately those are the things we are collecting.
Not medals.
Not trophies.
Not tournament points.
Memories.
Although, knowing our family, there will probably still be a spreadsheet somewhere recording the tournament points.
Summer 2026 is finished.
School starts again.
Normality returns.
Whatever normality means in this household.
And I strongly suspect that before long I will once again be standing beside a tennis court somewhere in Somerset at an unreasonably early hour holding a coffee and wondering how exactly we got there.
For one final weekend, though, there were no rackets.
No cricket bats.
No scorecards.
Just a wall.
A child.
And the increasingly ambitious question:
“Dad… do you think I can do the purple one?”
Yes.
I think you probably can.
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