Francois & Fred visit the Grampians

So I was at the North Nowra tavern the other night chasin' some tail of questionable quality, when I bumped into this crazy local named Richie Cunningham. He claimed to be an ex Victorian hardman, but was now living the good life at what he claimed to be the best crag in Australia... South Central. Obviously this cat was deranged, but proved to be full entertaining stories about love, loss and his disdain for psytrance. He proceed to regal me with a story, which I now pass on to you for your reading pleasure. Enjoy....


Francois & Fred visit the Grampians, by Richie Cunningham

“It’s ledgy, unsustained and most importantly… boring my friend” I insisted over the phone. But Francois was not taking my recommendations seriously.

“I’m coming to Taipan wall, and that iz final” Francois fired back. Before I knew it, the dial tone rang. He had hung up on me. Just like at Brussles in 1980, I had learnt a valuable life lesson. When big Frank sets his mind to something nothing can stop him. Not even me.

It was 1992 and the birth of sport climbing in Victoria, had just occurred. Francois and his then internationally unknown accomplice Fred were about to get mixed up in the dirty underbelly that is the Victorian climbing scene. And I was there, unable to help the situation that I knew was, some would say, inevitable.

I met Francois and Fred at the mount hollow carpark. They were playing a friendly game of handball on the banks of the old quarry. I was amazed that no Melbourne scenesters had interrupted the game. Foreigners aren’t welcome around these parts. And I knew it. Coming from NZ I had learnt to cleverly disguise my accent or risk a public shaming. You can never be too careful around these parts.

“ We go rockclimbing? ” Francois politely asked, after getting yet another cracking shot past fred’s rock solid defence.

“Sure why not” I responded.

Without a moment of hesitation we threw the packs into the back of my Datsun 180B. It was a fine motor vehicle; the sort of vehicle you wish would never grow old. As we arrived at the flat rock car park I knew that something was a miss though. It was a Wednesday morning, and yet the car park was full? Sh#t felt like it was about to go down, and I sure didn’t want to be the poor fool cleaning up the mess.

Behind the bushes we heard a lady giggling. As we peered over, we saw a young stocky chap laying next to her. He must have been 10 years her junior. The gentle art of seduction is an intriguing process. We all held our breath as the blonde boy spoke. The tension was intense; it felt like we were watching a blockbuster romcom at the cinema.

Then he spoke.

“I just can’t take this anymore….” the unidentified boy pleaded.

His English was so clear. He was either from southern England or was a former Geelong grammar student. We waited for more. But nothing came. He made his move, and she succumbed to his advances.

We left the lovebirds to trudge up flat rock. Fred and Frank were completely perplexed about what had just gone down. I explained that this was considered an advanced PUA manoeuvre, and pretended to know all about it.

As we approached taipan wall, I heard a crash.

“Sacre bleaue!!” screamed Fred.

A rock had just narrowly missed him as he dashed ahead. We heard the unmistakable sound of psytrance and crazed laughter in the distance.

“Don’t worry fellas, just some jokers playing a practical joke. Happens all the time around these parts..” I stated.

This wasn’t exactly true, but I knew that calming Frank down was a good move, no matter what the situation was.

As a warm up the boys wanted to jump on a Serpentine. Fred began to explain to me in stunted English that 8a is not particularly hard in Europe, and these Aussie grades are rumoured to be unbelievably easy. Who was I to argue?

Fred set sail on pitch one clutching five quickdraws, 3 hexes and a hell of a lot of confidence. He slinked across the traverse with an ease of movement I had never seen before. His body seemed to be like a mass of water transferring momentum though each movement. Suddenly he hit a crux section. Instead of using the well trodden sloper sequence, he opted for a line of shallow monos. I must admit, that he looked quite the sight in his stubby shorts. Much like fisherman’s pants in Thailand, Fred was under the impression that all climbers in Australia wore them. He was attempting to fit into Australian society. In racist Australia, this is the best and only thing you can do.

Francoise on the other hand was a traditional frog. He subsided on a diet of Baggett’s, had a slick European hairstyle and wore white tights to the crag. We both seconded up the elementary first pitch to arrive at the small belay ledge.

Francois started the second pitch in good style. But then, it was like something switched off. His movements became less intentional and intuitive, and to be honest, he was fighting to stay on the rock.

“Yis rock, it iz too orange” he moaned.

In all my time at the cliffs I had never heard that one.

“Keep at it bro, it’s ledge to ledge climbing up there” I yelled.

He paid little attention to the encouragement.

“Ze music, I need silence” he muttered.

Blondie’s disco classic, Heart of Glass was now pumping out of the speakers from above. A party was happening at the top of Taipan at bloody 2pm on a Wednesday. A chill ran through my body. Things were apart to turn pear shaped. I could feel it in my bones.

It was obvious to all, Big frank was finding it tough going. Arriving at each higher horizontal visibly a more broken man than the last.

Now two meters from the top.

“SILENCE” he screamed. The smash hit band Chumbamumba was now absolutely cranking at this point.

“Gday mate, you like psytrance?” asked the inebriated young man, with a stubby of VB in hand.

His unkempt appearance reminded Francoise of a street fighter he had tussled with in a Venice back alley before the famous 1982 world cup qualifier.

“No, please let me finish zis rockclimb in peace” pleaded Francois.

“Listen mate, it’s me bucks weekend, and I’ll do anything I like as I’m the king of taipan, Frog!!” claimed the young man

Francois was left speechless.

The spectacled thug was about to learn why Big Frank was the 6 time world champion. Nobody messes with big frank.

Before the young fella even knew what was coming at him, Frank whipped a concealed Magnum from his white tights and unloaded 6 shots at the young punk in succession. Each bullet narrowly missing its intended target.

“Holy crap” I screamed.

A body just whizzed past me. His wirey frame was attached to a peculiar pair of fluffy blue pants, and a “Psytrance forever” t shirt.

“You killed A….” Screamed a young hooligan.

In a state of pure madness he launches his body at Francois. Unable to hold his own weight and that of the attacker from his hand jam, they both take to the air. One by one the carrot bolts popped out of there holes. And they plummet into the trees.

Both guys are instantaneously knocked out by the impact.

“F#ck let’s get outta here” I scream at Fred.

We rap with a barrage of projectiles being thrown at us. I know that if we don’t get outta here soon we’re toast.

We drag Francois away from the scene. The canopy above provides shelter from the masses of beer bottles being thrown. As we stumble past trackside I notice his knocked out attacker is sporting a strange cape and vest combination. My wandering mind can only assume that it must be the latest trend from Chapel street.

We load Frank into the trunk of the car, I turn to Fred.

“I told you it was a bad idea to come to the Grampians… you frogs are always getting yourself into trouble”

Perhaps he didn’t understand me, but he stares blankly at me, seemingly unaware of the direct consequences of our actions.

Suddenly a hand taps me on the shoulder. Expecting the worse I react.

“Hey mate, ease up… it’s your mate Martin… from Smith rocks. Don’t you remember me ?”

Indeed it was martin from Smith rocks. His luscious locks are a dead giveaway

“Hey mate, do you mind if I get a ride into town?” he politely asks.

“Yeah no worries, just get your stuff in the car quicksmart” I promptly say.


Martin begins a conversation with Fred, oblivious to the events that have unfolded today.

“So you didn’t like Taipan eh…”

I interrupt.

“No mate, just ease up on him eh ?... He has just had a bad day OK?“

Martin goes on.

“Oh you don’t say. Taipan is nothing but a photo crag anyway. Well I’ve been developing this great new secret cliff that you may be interested in. A cliff with no kneebars, no hand free rests and most importantly no f#cking psytrance allowed.”

“You don’t say? ” I enquire.

“Yep, you should pay it a visit some day, it’s called………. the Dungeon. “