Lost in the Forest - Rock Climbing in the Frankenjura

The old city centre of Nuremburg on a drizzly morning

After the best part of two weeks in Paris, my European work trip ended with a visit to the Siemens offices in Erlangen in Germany on a Friday.  Fortunately for me, Erlangen is just on the edge of the Frankenjura, a legendary climbing area which is home to the red point and Action Directe, the world’s first 9a.

The main market square,
a good place for a breakfast pretzel

I had hoped that Jeremy would be able to join me but he was busy with a Buck’s party at Hossegor.  As Kate was in Australia with the girls and the temperatures in Dubai were touching 50 deg C, I decided that it was still worthwhile to check out the Frankenjura even though I didn’t have a climbing partner.

Compared to the Fiat, a much more masculine Golf out front
of the apartment in Wolfsberg and you can just one of the many crags
in the Frankenjura in the distance

After my meeting finished, I picked up a hire car at Nurenberg Airport and drove the 40 min to Gasthof Eichler at Untertrubach, a renowned climbers hang out.  On arrival I was met by Martha, the famous Oma Eichler and matriarch of the guest house.  She was very welcoming and knowledgeable and immediately set about trying to find me a climbing partner.

I stayed in a two bedroom apartment in the neighboring village of Wolfsberg in the middle of a line of crags in the valley.  I was sharing a large two bedroom apartment with three Danes, who were down for a long weekend; Henrick, Martin and Mia.  For twenty euro I had my own room which was very clean and comfortable and the shower was warm and the water pressure was strong.  What else could you ask for?

The Band in full flight with curry wurst and beer for my first dinner in the Frankenjura. 

Well, as it turned out, SV Wolfsberg, the local soccer team had set up a Octoberfest style tent as a fund raiser and there was a local “om pa pa” band.  As all the local restaurants stop serving at 8 pm and it was now 9 pm, the only option was a curry wurst and a stein of the local while listening to the band.  What better way to mark my return to Germany five and a half years after leaving Berlin.

The village of Egloffstein

It was raining the next morning and I had no climbing partner so I set off to Nurenberg to do some jobs and check out the town before everything shut for the weekend in true German fashion.  Nurenberg was a typical large German city with a mix of historic buildings and new, a castle and Saturday markets.  It was good to look around but it didn’t seem right to be exploring a German town without Kate and Ada.

The roofline of a residence at Nurenburg castle

It was still raining when I returned to Wolfsberg so I headed into Agnesia, the large climbing gym at Fochheim about 25 km away.  After a good workout I retruned to Wolfsberg before enjoying a hearty German dinner at  Gasthof Alte Post at Obertrubach before settling in for a good night’s sleep.

A great climbing gym for a rainy day!

I had the best night sleep for several weeks before I was woken by my Danish flatmates who were preparing to head out for a climb.  After a quick good morning, the Danish team asked if I wanted to join them for a climb and I jumped at the opportunity.  As it turned out they had planned for a fourth person but he had damaged some finger tendons and stayed behind in Copenhagen. I quickly packed my gear and we were out the door.

The Frankenjura has over 10,000 routes spread over hundreds of small crags, many deep in the forest.  Henrik had identified a spire that he wanted to climb but finding it was proving surprisingly difficult.  We set off on foot after several false starts with the car and soon found ourselves wandering in the forest asking passing locals, out for the their Sunday walk, the location of the crags. After walking down one path we notice that there were four crates of beer and soft drink in a small creek next to the bridge under a sign.  My German is not good but Mia translated. Basically, the sign gave a price and you could help yourself to the beer and soft drink and leave the money in an adjacent tin. You have to love Barvarians!

Beers and soft drink in the crates in the cool water with the terms of trade on the left and a money box on the right.  I am sure the crates are empty at the end of a warm day and the money box is full!

Henrik moving up to  the overhanging hand crack

Eventually we found a crag.  Not the one we were looking for but it was in the sun and it would do.  Henrik and I did a couple of climbs that seems to be typical of the experience in the Frankenjura.  The first had a couple of bolts next to a slightly overhanging hand crack but the whole climb was about 23 meters and there were only these two bolts.  The climbing at the top was easy but it was mossy and some of the holds were loose and a fall would result in a ground strike after hitting every mossy bulge on the way down.  This potential was demonstrated when Henrik pulled down a large handhold which landed several metres from where I was belaying.  Fortunately there were plenty of trad placement provided you had the gear and the ability to place it.

Moving through the easy terrain....

The next route was harder with a couple of stiff overhanging bulges on three finger pockets. The rock was still a little loose in a couple of places in the easier terrain but the bolts were well placed and solid and there was no moss.  All in all a well-considered sports route. Based on my observation an emerging sports climber with limited knowledge of trad gear could get themselves into some trouble!

... and cranking hard on overhanging pockets.

After a couple of routes, the Danes needed to start the long drive back to Copenhagen so we returned to Wolfsberg and packed up.  I bid them farewell then settled my bill with Martha who made me promise that I would come back for a longer stay.  I drove back to the climbing gym via a Barvarian pub where I had a beer and an open salami sandwich for a late lunch.  I had a final fling at the climbing gym for 45 minutes before cleaning myself off and driving to Munich Airport.

A reminder of the history and the risks.
There were a couple of old pitons and rings on route that look like they dated
from the 1930's.

Of course the final pleasure for the weekend was a blast down the autobahn and, despite the roadworks, I was able to give the VW Golf a good work out.  It didn’t respond as well as the Audi Quattro RS 4 V8 that was our car while living in Berlin but beggars can’t be choosers.