News has reached this office of a recent trip to the world Mecca of bouldering by a crack multinational team of MMC climbers. Consisting of two south Africans (one of whom claims to have bouldered with the great J Moffat), a Kiwi, and two rosbeefs, they set off for Fontainebleau via Paris and, err, couldn’t find it. Perhaps it was the lack of mountains to act as land marks, or more likely the combined lack of sleep and surfeit of alcohol from the previous night, but the boulders proved to be surprisingly elusive. After much driving in circles via enumerable picture postcard French villages (actually it may have been the same village visited from every possible direction), they eventually happened upon the fabled “Trois Pignons” forest. This area is absolutely packed with boulder problems, all neatly colour coded and catalogued and arranged in to convenient circuits. The team wasted no time in setting about the rocks, displaying a dynamism and technique that would certainly have raised eyebrows amongst the local “grimpeurs”. But it was a Friday, so the only other climbers there were Germans who had claimed all the best lines by laying down their bouldering mats the night before, and Brits who looked as if they had been living rough for several months. Not wishing to burn out too early, our intrepid team soon returned to their campsite to recuperate and tell tales of desperate slaps, rounded finishes and tendon searing mono-doigts deep in to the night.

They awoke bleary eyed the next morning to a campsite laid waste with empty wine and beer bottles, so wisely opted to return to the now familiar Trois Pignons rather than risk more navigational incompetence. But today the forest was transformed: where Friday had been almost deserted, Le Weekend had brought the crowds from Paris. The place was awash with bouldering mats and wiry French climbers stripped to the waist powering their way up the routes. Not to be outdone, our intrepid team where soon to be found cranking away with the best of them. And all without the aid of a “girly” bouldering mat! Indeed our heroes would only allow themselves a small “bouldering log” in order to elevate their toes out of the sand, relying on their “spotter”, or perhaps a passing child, to break their fall. It was clear from the low muttering to be heard from the locals that respect had been earned!

Of course, our team conducted itself with as much decorum during the evening as during the day. Another fine night was spent consuming the local wine, followed by a midnight dip in the pool and friendly chatter until the early morning. Indeed, so fine was the quality of conversation that several other campers felt compelled to pass comment.

Perhaps feeling slightly the worse for wear, our climbers again returned to the Trois Pignons on Sunday morning. One particular problem is worthy of note. Lulled in to false sense of security after watching a portly local glide up the towering arête, our team laid siege to the boulder. It soon proved to somewhat tougher than expected. Indeed, only one member of the team managed it by way of a spectacular one handed dyno, proving that Dutch ancestry is no bar to climbing prowess.

Eventually it was time to begin the long drive back to Britain. Sad to leave behind the enchanted forests, our team was now quite subdued, each lost in their dreams of climbing and the quest for the perfect boulder problem… But in the words of the next president of the United States, “They’ll be back”.