Climbing Castle Crag

Lots of people go climbing in the Lake District. On any day you may see a bright dot of anorak colour moving slowly up a grey cliff face, or come across a group of jolly helmeted individuals girded with clinking harness and coils of nylon rope, making their way towards the base of their bastion for the day. Whole books are written about the climbs, many within yards of each other,  describing the entry points and routes and carelessly throwing in succinct words and  phrases and letter/number combinations as to their difficulty; E1, 5.12a, severe, very severe, difficult, moderate. I should have been warned, during breakfast and dinner conversations, when neither Joe nor Alex mentioned the words easy or moderate.
Alex is President of a University climbing club and currently my lodger whilst she does a work placement on the West Coast. Enthusiastic, funny, an experienced mountaineer and full of boundless energy, it seemed the obvious thing to do to ask if she would take me on a first-time climb. 
Joe is her friend and has a lot of hair and is Alex's equal in discussing climbs. Certainly reminiscences about the scarier routes make better stories than the ones that go well without any petrifying moments.
So, very early this morning we yawned our way through breakfast and then drove off as the day brightened to Castle Rock, a crag on the East side of Thirlmere. It was a brisk short walk across a field and up a narrow footpath to the cliff, which as these things do, took up more and more sky space as we hopped closer over the fallen boulders, let fall from above on other days of the year, probably.  However, the sun had come out, I could hear peregrines screaming around the corner and the view down the valley was idyllic; this could be fun.
'By the way,' said Alex as we ascended the last zig-zag, 'This climb is rated 'severe'. But you needn't worry; mountaineers like to label their rocks with frightening names. 'Severe' isn't very hard. There's only 'difficult' below that.
'There's 'very difficult' as well', Joe spoke up encouragingly. 'Oh yes,' replied Alex dismissively and there's 'moderate' and 'easy', but there's none of those around here.
The point is, you'll be fine'.
A small high pitched squeak seemed the only possible pertinent answer but Alex was already unpacking her knapsack.
'You lead on this one Joe - here's the gear'. A bunch of iron-ware clinked across. 'She can borrow my harness and helmet. And you can try my climbing shoes Bar. They grip much better than trainers and have firmer soles......
Oh - unless they're too big. I'm size 7. Yes, probably no good for a size 5. Really, trainers are just fine. Are you ready Joe?'
Carefully, I tied my trainer laces in double double bows. It might work like crossed crossed fingers. Then I watched Joe.
He had attached 2 ropes to his harness and was swarming up the first face, ducking under a small holly tree growing in a crack. It actually didn't look that difficult, if you ignored the fact that he was a wiry confident 20 year old man and I wasn't.
'Does the route go up this wet bit?' he called down as he arrived at a wide dark stain dribbling down the rock.
'Yes. Is it very slippery? There's lots of lumps to hold on to', yelled Alex happily. 'He's being a bit meagre with the gear though.  I would have thought a couple more points would have been better.'
I looked up at the two thin spider ropes crossing the width of the face. Only 3 bits of gear inserted into cracks as far as I could see. The wet bit seeped sullenly.
The top of the cliff, 25metres up according to the book, was in his range now. He had slowed right down feeling up a ridge of rock sticking out from the face with his right hand, whilst his legs splayed at an impossible angle on some non-existent nodules leaving a long, long left arm stretched to capacity to take the strain.
'It's a bit trickier here.'
'It's a bit trickier there' my lips reformed the words silently.
Then with an athletic heave he was up and over the lip and attaching the ropes above so that I could climb next.
It's rather more difficult to describe my climb and a blow by blow account would be extremely boring as much of the next half hour was taken up by non-movement.   A series of interminable stills on my part would be analogous, as compared with the video fluidity of Joe's climb. . I found it extremely difficult, for example, to let go the comforting branch of the holly tree, Not only did it afford a proper grip that did not score into the tips of my fingers but there was something organically kin in its feel - we were both hanging on here to an unliving, uncaring and painful substance and, importantly, surviving.
A low spot came in the next 12 feet where I found I had to physically catch hold of my left foot with one hand and force it up above my waist height to the only available ledge and then banged my other knee excruciatingly as I straightened up.
Getting across to the wet bit was horrible too but surprisingly there were indeed good lumpy bits when I got there.
A litany of encouragement and advice came from below and above. 
Alex, bright-'I'm really surprised how well you're doing in those trainers - I never thought you'd get a grip on that bit! Lots of people fall off with them.'
Joe, laconic - 'There's a ledge left a bit, a bit more, now up and right again - you've got it.
Bar  - It's not a ledge and my foot's slipping and so's my hand and I can't see or reach anything.
Amazingly, at snails pace I did indeed ascend although with every move the 'tricky' top bit loomed closer and closer.  As expected it was heart-thumpingly terrifying and burningly painful as my centre of balance, seemingly situated in my bottom, kept threatening to tip me out over space. Of course, Joe and the rope had me quite safe, and if I just said the word I could be lowered down. But somewhere inside a small blossom of unexpected tenacity made me really want to reach the top. I didn't want to fail.  
So, with a haul on the rope from Joe I clawed up the last few feet and suddenly was over the top, sprawling on blessed horizontal earth with a few blades of grass under my clutching fingers.  The peregrines were still calling but this time below me instead of above and I could see a view instead of coarse rock in front of my nose.
I can't say I enjoyed the experience exactly but it felt good sitting up there, contemplating the achievement that up to that moment had been highly unlikely.
Severe climb? Done!
Thank you Alex and Joe.