Mike Owen's blog: The punk has left the gym

We decided to start heading home from Spain last Monday. Driving up the AP7, approaching our destination for the night, I heard my mobile ping informing me that I had a message. We parked up and got ourselves sorted. Then I thought I'd better check my messages. It was from Andy Boorman, a climber friend from my early days back in North Wales. And it was bad news, really bad news. Our lovely friend Andy Pollitt had passed away.

Elaine and I have been stunned ever since and a deep sense of sadness seems to have settled upon us. I don't mean that we're maudling or feeling sorry for ourselves, far from it. It's just that losing Andy feels too close for comfort, I suppose. It makes us wonder how come somebody aged 56 can die so young? We are all reminded of the cliches about life being very short and that we should make the most of it. But specifically, in Andy's case, we also wonder if his years of apparent self-destruct (particularly regarding alcohol abuse) have taken their toll? Did that contribute to his life ending prematurely? On a personal level, I wish that I'd got around to replying to his message asking me if I'd seen his latest video podcast (I try to tell myself that poor reception in the mountains had meant that I just hadn't had the chance, but that's not good enough). I also wish that I'd heard my phone ring at the crag, just the other day (when I looked at my phone later on I noticed Andy had rung me though, sadly, he hadn't left a message). I hadn't got around to phoning him back. Now I can't. I won't ever be able to speak to him again.

I shall always remember climbing with my friends John, Brian and Huw at Forwyn, way back in the late '70's. There would often be a group of young kids with their teacher instructors, on the easier routes. One of those kids seemed keener, more enthusiastic, more motivated than the others, almost pushy in fact. Despite it being way to hard for him (at the time), my logbook shows that Andy seconded me on "Great Wall" in April '79. Inevitably, he had to sag onto the rope a few times but it didn't seem to matter to him. He arrived at the top with a massive grin and we became good friends. Of course, it wasn't long before he was able to lead that same climb himself (he also soloed it in 1982!). Then he just kept getting better and better.

We climbed together a few times during the next couple of years, but it was a chance encounter in early '83 that changed our lives. We saw him thumbing for a lift so we picked him up. At the time I was the assistant manager in Blacks Liverpool shop. They wanted to employ another person, preferably a young climber to help extend the climbing range. I told Andy about this, he expressed an interest in working for 3 months to save some money before going off to the Verdon in France, and then moving to Sheffield when he returned. Andy got the job and lived with us whilst there. It was great having Andy around for that time, his enthusiasm was infectious; after work we'd either be at Pex Hill (where I could usually burn him off) or scheming and talking about climbing. That's when we both started talking about "The Bells! The Bells!". Andy famously made the 2nd ascent in 1986 and I eventually made the 3rd ascent in 1990. We have both written about our experiences during our time clinging on that wall; it seems that we were both totally gripped and both of us came very close to blowing it. Despite that however, we both agreed that climbing "The Bells! The Bells!" was a major highpoint in both our climbing lives. I remember him phoning (from Ian Smith's office at "High") to congratulate me, which was a typically kind and thoughtful gesture.

Moving to Sheffield gave Andy the perfect chance to get much stronger (and further improve his climbing) by meeting up with some of the best climbers (possibly in the world) at that time. He became an iconic figure with his rockstar looks and lycra tights, as depicted in the Scarpa adverts of the time. From early on he started adding new routes of his own, originally at Forwyn, then during the Pen Trwyn boom years and, later on, at Gogarth and in The Peak. Many of his routes are simply outrageous, either for their sheer boldness or their quality, for example: "Skinhead Moonstomp", "Knockin' On Heavens Door", "The Hollow Man", "Thormen's Moth", "Chimes Of Freedom", "Over The Moon", to name just a few.

In the '90's he visited Australia several times and eventually moved there. His time there is very well documented in his autobiography "Punk in the gym". Most climbers know of his struggle and eventual success on climbing the route of the same name, as well as his immediate permanent step away from climbing, it has become folk lore to us. To most of us it seemed such an extreme thing to do, how could he just pack in at the top of his game? Why not use it as a stepping stone to climb harder? Surely he will miss climbing?

Initially, Andy was able to immerse himself very successfully in a career in Vertical Access work.
More recently it was wonderful to see that Andy hadn't just forgotten about climbing. He was obviously still very proud of his achievements and very happy to share his experiences with the climbing community, through his book, videos and podcasts, which have been very enthusiastically and critically acclaimed.

Over the years, he tried his best to tempt us to go to Australia. In fact we did recently come to an agreement: if we went, he'd take us to Taipan Wall and I could lead "Serpentine" and he'd second me. It would have been just like old times but, sadly, it's not to be.

Farewell my friend, I am so grateful for all the fun times we spent together and count myself so lucky to have crossed paths with you. You have a special place within my heart, I will always miss you but will cherish the memories. Love, Mike. RIP.

My thoughts are with his family and close friends.