A brush with fate

The day after Tower Ridge, we were in no particular hurry to leave The Ben so we elected to climb Castle Ridge, the most north-westerly of the ridges on Ben Nevis. Although lower, shorter and less difficult that it's neighbors, this is still a fine outing and provides more interest than it's moderate grade would suggest.

The approach to the ridge from the CIC Hut is perhaps as tricky and dangerous as the ridge itself. Ascend the screes beneath Number Five Gully and then traverse rightwards beneath Carn Dearg Buttress and above a band of low cliffs, taking care on the scree and boulder fields.

As on the previous day we formed two ropes, Will teaming up with Adam and Jack and myself tying in together. It happened at the top of the first pitch of easy climbing. Will and I were standing together at the belay on a wide grassy ledge, with Jack climbing up to meet us and Adam leading above. Adam completed his pitch without hassle and as Will left our stance to join him, I was in a world of my own, enjoying the scenery and the warm sunshine.

Without warning I heard the unmistakable sound of rock grating over rock, like the door of a tomb being rolled aside*, and without making any conscious decision I threw myself to one side while swearing loud enough to be heard in Fort William. And just as well! Perturbed by Will's proximity, a slab of rock a couple of inches thick and more than a foot across had detached, slid down the rock face then crashed down through the space occupied a moment before by my shins. Without being melodramatic, it seems beyond a doubt that I would have been very seriously injured had I not moved in time.

* Apologies for this unintentionally dramatic simile. It was the only way I could think to describe the sound.

After taking a few moments to regain my composure, Jack and I unroped to cover the rest of the easy territory and rejoined Will and Adam. We alternated between pitching and moving together along the rest of the ridge. A steep corner with good holds formed the crux of the route, but the rest was fairly straightforward scrambling. The day was bright and hot, but a haze in the air hid the rest of the Highlands and gave the strange sensation of Ben Nevis being the only mountain in the area.

After completing the route, we carefully descended down to the point where the tourist track splits, and from there we slowly wound our way back around to the hut to collect our gear and start the long walk back to the car. We arrived back exactly 48 hours after leaving with the soles of our feet burning up. After showering at the Fort William Backpackers hostel, we headed to the pub to make up for all the calories we'd expended in one sitting!

A last glance at The Ben from the Allt a' Mhuilinn stream on the walk out

It was overall a successful and very enjoyable weekend, but it certainly left me with food for thought. I've been in dangerous positions before now. Usually these have only had the potential for some accident to occur, and have generally been a result of my own ill-preparation or judgement. This incident shocked me not only because of how close I came to a very serious injury, but because occurred out of the blue on easy terrain and in perfect weather. And it's also powerful knowing that my own reactions were good enough to save my legs and perhaps my life. I always knew I had good reflexes, but wow. Most importantly, it's a useful reminder that if we choose to venture out into the hills, our return can never be one hundred per cent guaranteed, no matter how easy our objective may seem.