When I first set up this blog, I had never even considered using it to talk about politics. However it's a convenient place to write up my thoughts in as logical way possible, so I make no apologies.
At the last two general elections, I voted Lib Dems and Greens in that order. I voted in my parent's South West Hertfordshire constituency which I knew would return their long-standing Tory MP. Knowing that my vote was essentially worthless, I was free to waste it in the way that seemed best to me.
I'm now voting in the Bristol West constituency, which is a two horse race between the incumbent Labour MP Thangam Debbonaire and the challenging Green MP Molly Scott Cato, who is currently one of the MEPs for the region. This gives me a unique and indeed privileged opportunity: not only does my vote actually count for something in this election, but I'm not constrained by the need to vote for the best choice to keep a Tory MP out. That also means I have a duty to think deeply about how I cast my vote.
That choice has of course been influenced by the way this election campaign has played out. When the election was first announced, almost everybody assumed that the Theresa May would sweep away all in front of her, helped of course by Murdoch and Dacre, while Labour would be decimated and reduced to a party of infighting, doomed to split neatly down the middle. The assurances from Corbyn that he was fighting to win seemed risible. A week is a long time in politics, and 8 of them are a lifetime. Now if there is one politician who looks like a prime minister in waiting, it is Corbyn.
Now that a hung parliament or even a Labour majority seem plausible, if not likely, Labour would seem the clear choice for my vote. This brings with it an added responsibility. There is some comfort in voting for a party that couldn't possibly form a government, because when that government screws up down the line it's nothing to do with you. So would voting Green not be shamefully abdicating responsibility for a hypothetical Labour government's mishandling of Brexit? Taking responsibility seems to be a compelling reason to vote Labour.
The Labour and Green manifestos share much in common, but there is also plenty to separate the two. The Greens champion many progressive concepts, notably the Universal Basic Income (UBI). If implemented wisely, this could have the potential to completely revitalise the economy, along with the lives of many struggling on benefits and low incomes. They also back proportional representation. I have believed for years that first-past-the-post, outdated and broken, is the reason behind many of our political problems in the UK. How can people be fairly represented when the vote of entire constituencies is taken for granted? The numbers speak for themselves: in 2015, the Greens and UKIP combined received 16.5% of the popular vote yet won just 1 seat apiece, compared with the SNP winning 56 seats with less than 5% of the vote. Meanwhile the Tories were able to win a majority on just over a third of the vote. PR is a cause that must be fought for if we want to make society a fairer place.
Unfortunately the defining issue is Brexit, and here too there are difference in the Labour and Green approach. I am admittedly disappointed with Labour's approach, rejecting Single Market membership and Freedom of Movement, although their approach still seems eminently more reasoned than the Tory approach. There are risks too in the Green approach, shared with the Lib Dems, to negotiate a deal retaining Single Market membership then offer a final referendum between the negotiated deal and remaining in the EU. My concerns are twofold; firstly that a (presumably) pro-Remain government might deliberately engineer a bad deal in order to swing the vote in favour of remaining, and secondly that the referendum itself might be hijacked even worse than the first one. These concerns may be ill-founded, but we've already seen the damage that can be caused by a government calling a referendum when it actually supports the status quo. Nonetheless, insisting upon Single Market access is the correct course of action, and it is important to have strong pro-EU voices in parliament, that aren't tied to party policy.
But doesn't stealing a Labour seat put us at greater risk of a Tory government? Not really. A Tory majority is still the most likely outcome, and one less Labour MP and one extra Green doesn't change that. A Labour majority seems highly unlikely, their most hopeful route to government is via coalition or parliamentary pact with other parties, and the Greens are a natural party of alliance with Labour.
Contrast this against the gains another Green MP would bring. Caroline Lucas has been an excellent MP, speaking up clearly and eloquently on many issues. The fact that she is the only Green MP and that she is unencumbered by a whip gives her a further-reaching platform than the average Labour MP. A second Green MP would amplify that effect. I already mentioned the need for pro-EU voices in Parliament. Even more important are parliamentarians prepared to fight for environmental causes, now more than ever given Trump and Brexit. Climate chance is the existential threat and great challenge of our time. It is not enough for Theresa May to simply signal her disappointment with Donald Trump. It sounds cliche but a vote for the Greens is a vote to put environmental issues front and centre.
It will come as no surprise that I am opposed to Theresa May, but I ought to explain why. Everything about Brexit, from the original calling of the referendum, the way the campaigns were run and the fallout has reeked of party prosperity and personal ambition put before national interest. Theresa May called this election for personal gain. The "strong hand in Brexit negotiations" line is meaningless; a strong personal mandate nationally will not alter the resolve of the EU-27, but our interests are far better served by our negotiators needing to secure cross-party support for their plans.
At the time, I wondered if I was going too far in likening May's election to Erdogan's referendum as a political power grab. My comparison was later vindicated when she stood outside 10 Downing Street, using her national podium to accuse shady foreign actors of interfering in the election. This was pure Erdogan, a cheap and nasty tactic for short term popularity, which will do us no favours within Europe, and demeans the highest office in the land.
Her election campaign has shown contempt for democracy and for the electorate. She took people's votes for granted, choosing to eschew the building of a vision for society in favour of running her campaign based on a single slogan and the fact that she wasn't Jeremy Corbyn. But if you're going to attempt to build a cult of personality, it helps if you have a personality in the first place. "Strong and stable" has become a running joke, and Mr. Corbyn appears to be doing rather well. He has appealed to the public not just by putting forward a hopeful vision but by detailing it, defending his manifesto and his own record with far more enthusiasm and eloquence than May.
The chances are that May will still be prime minister this time next week, but her reputation will be irreparably damaged, and presumably she will have learnt a few lessons.
How can anybody who is afraid to take questions from voters or debate the opponent who she spent months dismissing possibly be trusted to negotiate the best future for our country?
Monday, 5 June 2017
Thursday, 28 April 2016
Dangerous driving and police attitudes
As a regular road cyclist, I've more or less trained my reflexes to
ignore the regular beeping of car horns. However when one suddenly blares on
directly behind you and stays on, you're immediately aware that
something awful might be just about to happen, and there's absolutely
nothing you can do to avoid it. Move left and you'll encourage the
overtake to happen, giving yourself even less room to manoeuvre in the
process. Swinging right to attempt to block the pass might get you
dragged down by a passing mirror, or simply mowed down directly. The
only sensible course is to hold your line and pray for the best. This
decision making process plays itself out in a fraction of a second
before the dice is rolled.
Upset and angered what had just happened, I cursed and gestured before continuing on my journey. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of this, and I have nothing to apologise for. However, this will become important further down the line. When I inevitably re-passed the driver a few minutes later while he was stationary at traffic lights, I considered tapping on his window and confronting him directly about his driving. However I was still upset and fuelled with adrenaline and, worried about the possibility of an escalation, instead I just rolled on by.
I'm not going to pontificate about the incident itself, since I've managed to emotionally divest myself. It was deliberate, aggressive, unprovoked and extremely dangerous; that much is clear from the footage. Viewing the footage for the first time in my office, I noticed it actually appeared worse than I had originally thought (often it's the other way round, what at first appears close is actually fairly benign). As the overtake progressed, I deviated off my original line slightly to the left and a fraction of a second later, the front wheels of the X5 had moved across onto this line as the driver avoided the oncoming vehicle.
This isn't the first dangerous moment I've had on the roads, and it certainly won't be the last. I've let many less serious incidents go since I decided it was down to a misjudgement by the driver, and I've had a handful of more dangerous or deliberate encounters before I starting recording my journeys. On this occasion, the maliciousness that was directed towards me made it clear that I had a duty to report the incident to the police. I was angry, but my primary motivation was in getting this driver off the road so he couldn't endanger anybody else in future. Apart from the driver's face not being visible, I thought I had indisputable evidence of dangerous driving.
I went down to the police station that afternoon, but after waiting 10 minutes was told that I might be better off trying again the next day. The lady at the desk was polite and helpful, but asked if I'd been hurt and seemed surprised when I informed her that there hadn't actually been a collision. (This became a recurring theme, and I feel is worth mentioning.) I came back the next day and handed over the full video on a memory stick, along with a written statement detailing the order of events. After waiting for about 25 minutes alone in an interview room, the officer returned and told me that no further action would be taken and no prosecution would be sought.
I had been half expecting that this would be the outcome. I'm well aware from reading various other blog posts of the difficulties in prosecuting dangerous drivers due to the wording of law and how juries are asked to interpret this. The lack of footage of the drivers face might also be considered. On the other hand I felt that the use of the horn would be perceived as deliberately threatening and aggressive, and that getting a driver who would be likely to re-offend off the road would be ample motivation. Furthermore, the footage was crystal clear and my riding was correct, there was no provocation and no previous altercation.
The reasons I was given were far more disappointing. Firstly, by swearing I had committed a section 5 public order offence, and a defence lawyer would seek a counter prosecution against me. I tried to counter that I was more than happy to defend myself in such a situation, and that no sensible judge or jury could ever seriously find me at fault given the context of my "offence". Let's be clear, I shouldn't have sworn, and now know to better control my feelings in future. However, there is clearly no comparison between an unprovoked, aggressive and life-threatening incident and a brief retaliatory curse. Anyone attempting to bring such a case against me would, in my view, be attempting to divert the course of justice.
The other reason given was that a defence might seek to pin blame for the incident on my road positioning at the time, and specifically that later in the video I declined to use a cycle lane that other cyclists were using, "proving" that it was safe and fit for purpose. Again I tried to counter, pointing out that I was using the correct primary position at the point of the incident, that cycle lanes are not mandatory to use and that my actions later in the video could not possibly be any sort of defence.
These protests fell on deaf ears. The officer told me she had reviewed the footage with another officer and they had reached this conclusion. It seemed clear to me that she was not particularly knowledgeable about road law or safety, and was simply sticking to a script. I don't mean this as a criticism, I don't expect every police officer to have a complete understanding of every area of law. However it was disappointing that I couldn't talk to someone with expertise in traffic incidents. At this stage, I also want to avoid inferring anything about the views of the force or individual officers - it could be the case that they were sympathetic, but that this was genuinely how the case would play out in court, with no positive result. I was told that the incident would be logged and therefore it wasn't as if the police were doing nothing, which struck me as a good way of doing nothing while pretending otherwise.
I find the point about my road positioning and cycle lanes particularly disturbing. My road positioning at the point of the overtake was correct beyond any doubt. I was holding the driest line, keeping out of the door zone of parked cars and attempting to discourage overtakes in a compromising location. I roughly calculated that I was averaging between 20 and 25mph - the speed limit for motorised traffic was 20mph at this point so I couldn't have been holding anyone up, and the driver was almost certainly speeding. I'm not sure why I should have to show that my riding was whiter than white in such a serious incident, but regardless, I was clearly not at fault in any way.
The National Standard for Cycle Training has this to say about the use of cycle lanes:
Having returned to my office and given myself time to calm down and think things through, I decided that this was simply not good enough. At this point I did two things. Firstly, I contacted the CTC (now Cycling UK) to find out if I might be able to receive any legal advice or assistance from them. Secondly I contacted the police on their non-emergency number, informing them that I intended to take the matter further, did not wish for the case to be closed and expected to be given clear and sensible reasoning for the case not being pursued. I was given the names and collar numbers of the officers who had looked at my footage, but I made it clear that I was not making an official complaint.
The following day, I received a lengthy email reply from a legal expert with the Cyclist's Defence Fund (CDF). The main thrust of this was that although there were several possible routes I could go down, the priority was to get a Notice of Intended Prosecution (NIP) served against the driver, without which no prosecution could be brought. The problems here were twofold: firstly, since I didn't have the driver's name and address, only his numberplate, the police would have to cooperate with me, even if I intended to serve it myself. Secondly, there is a 14 day deadline in which to do this in, so I would have to act fast to convince the police to take me seriously. It was to the legal expert's credit that he replied at all, since at this stage I'd been unable to supply him the footage so he took my word for it. It goes without saying that at this point, I hadn't made the footage public at all.
The following day therefore, I again presented myself to the police station to try and force the issue. I received my log number, and the lady at the desk left a note to either of the officers to contact me. This began a few days of further phone calls and station visits, being passed from one operator to another and generally running in circles. Bizarrely on one evening I was phoned a few minutes before midnight, simply to be told that I would be contacted on the morrow! Things were becoming almost slightly Kafkaesque. Up until this point, I had been polite, patient and friendly in all my interactions with the police (except for the late night phone call where I was a bit blunt, but not rude). In return they were also polite and helpful, if somewhat disorganised. Most seemed to sympathise with my situation when I explained it, although as mentioned above they also appeared surprised that I had contacted the police to report a non-collision. I wasted a lot of my own time, and was stressed and frustrated. No doubt some will see it as pestering the police, but they had failed in their duty to properly investigate a very serious incident.
If you're still reading - well done! I'm getting to the crux. I finally received a phone call, from the officer who had originally reviewed the footage (but whom I hadn't met). Unfortunately the tone of this phone call became very unfriendly indeed. I voluntarily went to the police in good faith, with evidence of someone who is a danger to other road users. The way I was spoken to was completely unacceptable so I'll go into more detail.
The officer started by telling me that he'd been through the footage again with another officer who was a cyclist himself. (Good, I'm thinking to myself, no more sad attempts to invoke cycle lanes and my decision to avoid them.) Having looked again (with an open mind presumably), he had come to exactly the same decision as before for exactly the same reasons.
He once again cited my failure to use a cycle lane when other cyclists did. I checked whether he was aware that use of cycle lanes are not mandatory. He understood, but according to his logic, they were put there for our safety and since other cyclists used it, that proved it was safe. Therefore I was simply cycling inconsiderately by not using it. The facts that I was overtaking those other cyclists, that I'm best placed to make my own decisions for my own safety, that I was travelling at or faster than the flow of traffic and that this cycle lane was several miles down the road from where the incident occurred, didn't appear to be of great importance.
Then we come to the issue of my language and gesturing... As he put it, only one of us actually committed an offence, and that was me. In the eyes of the law, there's apparently nothing wrong with displaying deliberate aggression towards vulnerable road users while operating a vehicle in close proximity to them. On this occasion, fortunately the police don't think it's in the public interest to prosecute me for my offence (actual phrase). Naturally I'm incredibly grateful for their leniency.
It seemed to me that language was being used systematically against me. The motorist's driving was "inappropriate" (I couldn't get the officer to admit it had been dangerous). Meanwhile my riding was labelled as "inconsiderate" (heedless of my attempts to point out that I was moving at the same speed as the traffic). And so what was a clear violation of my space and rights became, in the official police account, a 50/50 disagreement between two road users. The officer referred regularly to the "manner of my riding", attempting to paint a picture of me as someone riding round with no regard for anyone else. Every time I got too argumentative, he reminded me of my "offence". I felt like he was attempting to incite me into saying something that might have gotten me into trouble. And underlying the whole conversation there seemed to be a hidden threat, that if I should continue to be difficult the police might decide it was in fact in the public interest to press charges against me. For swearing under extreme duress...
Quite.
Another phrase which was mentioned a lot was that the officer considered that he had a duty to "consider all the evidence provided in it's entirety". Presumably this is supposed to leave the impression that he was even-handed, open-minded and thorough in his investigation. The problem with this argument is that it makes absolutely no sense. Why does all the evidence matter? How can someone's aggressive or violent conduct be excused by events which occur in the future at which they aren't present? The absurdity is quite clear.
If my cycling that day had been whiter-than-white (by his own exacting yet completely inconsistent standards) would he then have seized my hard-drive, demanding to see all the footage I have saved of my rides, to check that I had never put a toe out of line? When it transpired that I do in fact delete most of my footage, would that be regarded as an admission of guilt? Is it now police policy to view motorists as judge, jury and executioner for cyclists who they feel may be about to commit some minor infraction of traffic law, or indeed simply who have ideas above their station? Or, from a different perspective, would they refuse to deal with a case of a stolen vehicle simply because it had been inconsiderately parked?
The other problem with this approach is that the officer appears to have missed other vital bits of information. The points at which I did show courtesy to other road users, and the fact that I was mostly travelling with or faster than the speed limit or the flow of traffic, are simply ignored in his analysis. Amusingly, he also failed to pick up on the couple of occasions where I do make genuine minor mistakes (but then safely correct these). It's hard to escape the conclusion that the officer was in fact cherry picking the footage for excuses not to take things any further. When I had the temerity to argue back he had to get a little more forceful to keep me in check.
I was tossed one bone in all of this. The driver would be sent an advisory letter, explaining that he had been recorded and reported to the police who considered his driving to be inappropriate. Realising that this was the best I was going to get, and that the longer this call went on, the more likely I was to commit some further public order offences, I left it there. [As of 27/04/2016 no record of this letter being sent exists against the log, although this doesn't necessarily indicate it wasn't sent. I should be updated shortly. Update - I was informed on 11/05/2016 that this letter was sent. This in no way vindicates the officer, it's less than a slap on the wrist. Perhaps the letter will have some positive effect. On the other hand it seems equally likely to me that the affronted driver will simply take it out on the next cyclist he sees.]
If this sounds like a rant against the police, I'm far from alone in reaching these conclusions. The recently published report from the House of Commons Transport Committee identifies this issue:
So giving them the benefit of the doubt, we must assume that the police are unwilling to take up these cases because they recognise the futility in doing so. Until the wording of the law is changed however, this means they are failing all road users and allowing violent, nasty bullies to get away with everything bar murder. It seems to me that the wording of the law should be sufficient motivation to press all possible cases with sufficient evidence onto the CPS in the hopes of getting a conviction and setting a new legal precedent. This isn't the easy path, but it is the right one.
This blog post deals with the requirement to get an NIP served within a time limit, although it should be noted that some of the points are specific to the particular police force. Even if the reporting cyclist understands the NIP requirement, stalling and poor organisation confound the cyclist, rendering it highly unlikely to be served on time. If I were being cynical, I might be tempted to conclude that the NIP is a tool the police deliberately reserve in their arsenal to allow them to ignore cases of dangerous driving with minimal effort.
I'm at pains to stress here that my motivations in pursuing this case were positive. I was angry certainly, but I was less interested in revenge against the driver than I was in getting an obviously dangerous driver off the road. Understanding the difficulty in the courts, I feel it is right to pursue every similar case in the hopes of setting a new precedent.
With this in mind, there is a further option open to me, which is to pursue a complaint against the officer directly through the IPCC. Once again this would not simply be an act of retribution but it could help to shape police policy in future cases. Even if the complaint were not upheld, the possibility of further complaints might weigh in to the decision on how seriously to treat future cases. As mentioned above, I don't wholly blame the officer and indeed I feel some level of pity for him, but given the tone of the phone call my sympathy is limited. I have done him a favour by refusing to identify him here, and even if a complaint against him is upheld it would be unlikely to result in any major disciplinary action. Therefore I am strongly considering pursuing an IPCC complaint.
So what have I learnt from all this? In truth not a lot, but a few lessons come out of this. In future I will attempt not to swear or make any display of my emotions, not because it's wrong, but because it's easy ammunition for any officer trying to find excuses. It is probably worth making slightly more effort to directly identify the driver for the video footage, something which I had the opportunity to do in this case but declined.
My riding style will not change, because I know what is safest for me, and the CDF legal expert has confirmed that my cycling is at a safe standard. My cycling isn't perfect in the footage, and indeed this is part of the reason I record my rides, to see if I failed to anticipate anything or could have approached any situation better. Perfect behaviour should never be a pre-requisite for a case against anyone else to be valid. Nor indeed should it be a pre-requisite for your human rights to be respected.
I cycle because it is the cheapest, fastest and most environmentally friendly way around a city. It's great exercise, causes no congestion, and poses far less harm to the public than other forms of transportation. More to the point, it's great fun. I'm not asking for much, only roads that are safe to cycle on and a police force that treats dangerous driving as the serious crime that it plainly is. In a country where 50,000 people a year are dying prematurely due to air pollution and there is increasing pressure on the NHS due to inactivity, the incentives to promote cycling as a mode of transport have surely never been greater.
As an amusing aside, a couple of weeks after uploading the footage to YouTube, I was surprised to come across this thread discussing my footage. It's reassuring that condemnation of the driver was almost unanimous. I've responded to the reasonable criticisms of my cycling. It's a powerful reminder of the power of social media, and I wonder if the driver is aware that a small corner of the internet is dedicated to denouncing him. If he had been driving a commercial vehicle adorned with contact details, no doubt his employer would already have received a barrage of emails. My mind is still split over the usefulness and indeed ethics of this sort of approach to policing road safety; however when the police so obviously fail in their duty to promote road safety, they are indirectly encouraging this sort of keyboard vigilantism.
And finally, in case you were desperate to see me recklessly ignoring cycle lanes and holding the primary position, here's the full footage of my ride as submitted to the police (slightly cut short to hit the 15 minute time limit).
The incident
For many cyclists, this is a familiar experience. A few weeks ago at about 9:30 a.m. on my regular morning commute down the Gloucester Road into Bristol, it happened to me, captured in full in the footage above (footage of my full commute is at the bottom of this blog post, if you really want to watch it). Keeping wide in the lane to avoid the door zone of a line of parked cars and holding the driest line, I suddenly heard the aggressive blaring of a horn behind me just after one oncoming car had passed us. I was then subjected to an appallingly close overtake with a second car oncoming whose driver also sounded his horn to signal his displeasure at the incident. The numberplate of the car, a BMW X5, is Y448AKK. He kept the horn jammed on throughout the overtake for 4 or 5 seconds.
Upset and angered what had just happened, I cursed and gestured before continuing on my journey. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of this, and I have nothing to apologise for. However, this will become important further down the line. When I inevitably re-passed the driver a few minutes later while he was stationary at traffic lights, I considered tapping on his window and confronting him directly about his driving. However I was still upset and fuelled with adrenaline and, worried about the possibility of an escalation, instead I just rolled on by.
I'm not going to pontificate about the incident itself, since I've managed to emotionally divest myself. It was deliberate, aggressive, unprovoked and extremely dangerous; that much is clear from the footage. Viewing the footage for the first time in my office, I noticed it actually appeared worse than I had originally thought (often it's the other way round, what at first appears close is actually fairly benign). As the overtake progressed, I deviated off my original line slightly to the left and a fraction of a second later, the front wheels of the X5 had moved across onto this line as the driver avoided the oncoming vehicle.
This isn't the first dangerous moment I've had on the roads, and it certainly won't be the last. I've let many less serious incidents go since I decided it was down to a misjudgement by the driver, and I've had a handful of more dangerous or deliberate encounters before I starting recording my journeys. On this occasion, the maliciousness that was directed towards me made it clear that I had a duty to report the incident to the police. I was angry, but my primary motivation was in getting this driver off the road so he couldn't endanger anybody else in future. Apart from the driver's face not being visible, I thought I had indisputable evidence of dangerous driving.
A trip to the police station
I went down to the police station that afternoon, but after waiting 10 minutes was told that I might be better off trying again the next day. The lady at the desk was polite and helpful, but asked if I'd been hurt and seemed surprised when I informed her that there hadn't actually been a collision. (This became a recurring theme, and I feel is worth mentioning.) I came back the next day and handed over the full video on a memory stick, along with a written statement detailing the order of events. After waiting for about 25 minutes alone in an interview room, the officer returned and told me that no further action would be taken and no prosecution would be sought.
I had been half expecting that this would be the outcome. I'm well aware from reading various other blog posts of the difficulties in prosecuting dangerous drivers due to the wording of law and how juries are asked to interpret this. The lack of footage of the drivers face might also be considered. On the other hand I felt that the use of the horn would be perceived as deliberately threatening and aggressive, and that getting a driver who would be likely to re-offend off the road would be ample motivation. Furthermore, the footage was crystal clear and my riding was correct, there was no provocation and no previous altercation.
The reasons I was given were far more disappointing. Firstly, by swearing I had committed a section 5 public order offence, and a defence lawyer would seek a counter prosecution against me. I tried to counter that I was more than happy to defend myself in such a situation, and that no sensible judge or jury could ever seriously find me at fault given the context of my "offence". Let's be clear, I shouldn't have sworn, and now know to better control my feelings in future. However, there is clearly no comparison between an unprovoked, aggressive and life-threatening incident and a brief retaliatory curse. Anyone attempting to bring such a case against me would, in my view, be attempting to divert the course of justice.
The other reason given was that a defence might seek to pin blame for the incident on my road positioning at the time, and specifically that later in the video I declined to use a cycle lane that other cyclists were using, "proving" that it was safe and fit for purpose. Again I tried to counter, pointing out that I was using the correct primary position at the point of the incident, that cycle lanes are not mandatory to use and that my actions later in the video could not possibly be any sort of defence.
These protests fell on deaf ears. The officer told me she had reviewed the footage with another officer and they had reached this conclusion. It seemed clear to me that she was not particularly knowledgeable about road law or safety, and was simply sticking to a script. I don't mean this as a criticism, I don't expect every police officer to have a complete understanding of every area of law. However it was disappointing that I couldn't talk to someone with expertise in traffic incidents. At this stage, I also want to avoid inferring anything about the views of the force or individual officers - it could be the case that they were sympathetic, but that this was genuinely how the case would play out in court, with no positive result. I was told that the incident would be logged and therefore it wasn't as if the police were doing nothing, which struck me as a good way of doing nothing while pretending otherwise.
I find the point about my road positioning and cycle lanes particularly disturbing. My road positioning at the point of the overtake was correct beyond any doubt. I was holding the driest line, keeping out of the door zone of parked cars and attempting to discourage overtakes in a compromising location. I roughly calculated that I was averaging between 20 and 25mph - the speed limit for motorised traffic was 20mph at this point so I couldn't have been holding anyone up, and the driver was almost certainly speeding. I'm not sure why I should have to show that my riding was whiter than white in such a serious incident, but regardless, I was clearly not at fault in any way.
The National Standard for Cycle Training has this to say about the use of cycle lanes:
It would be disappointing under any circumstances to be told by a police officer that I should have been using the cycle lane. To be told that my decision not to use one several minutes after the incident is somehow a mitigating factor for a driver whose deliberate actions could have left me seriously injured or even killed in slightly different circumstances almost defies belief. There's a strong undercurrent of victim blaming in this line of argument: that since I was on the road, moving with the flow of traffic and positioning myself in front of motor vehicles, therefore drivers can't be held responsible for their actions around or toward me.In the UK no cycle facilities are compulsory for cyclists to use. Therefore the choice over whether to use any facilities provided should be on the basis of whether or not they will give the cyclist any advantage in terms of safety and/or access. This will be for the individual cyclist to decide. Staying in the normal flow of traffic rather than use a cycle facility is therefore a valid choice. Cycle facilities are of varying quality. The choice of whether to use facilities should always lie with the cyclist.
A few more trips to the police station
Having returned to my office and given myself time to calm down and think things through, I decided that this was simply not good enough. At this point I did two things. Firstly, I contacted the CTC (now Cycling UK) to find out if I might be able to receive any legal advice or assistance from them. Secondly I contacted the police on their non-emergency number, informing them that I intended to take the matter further, did not wish for the case to be closed and expected to be given clear and sensible reasoning for the case not being pursued. I was given the names and collar numbers of the officers who had looked at my footage, but I made it clear that I was not making an official complaint.
The following day, I received a lengthy email reply from a legal expert with the Cyclist's Defence Fund (CDF). The main thrust of this was that although there were several possible routes I could go down, the priority was to get a Notice of Intended Prosecution (NIP) served against the driver, without which no prosecution could be brought. The problems here were twofold: firstly, since I didn't have the driver's name and address, only his numberplate, the police would have to cooperate with me, even if I intended to serve it myself. Secondly, there is a 14 day deadline in which to do this in, so I would have to act fast to convince the police to take me seriously. It was to the legal expert's credit that he replied at all, since at this stage I'd been unable to supply him the footage so he took my word for it. It goes without saying that at this point, I hadn't made the footage public at all.
The following day therefore, I again presented myself to the police station to try and force the issue. I received my log number, and the lady at the desk left a note to either of the officers to contact me. This began a few days of further phone calls and station visits, being passed from one operator to another and generally running in circles. Bizarrely on one evening I was phoned a few minutes before midnight, simply to be told that I would be contacted on the morrow! Things were becoming almost slightly Kafkaesque. Up until this point, I had been polite, patient and friendly in all my interactions with the police (except for the late night phone call where I was a bit blunt, but not rude). In return they were also polite and helpful, if somewhat disorganised. Most seemed to sympathise with my situation when I explained it, although as mentioned above they also appeared surprised that I had contacted the police to report a non-collision. I wasted a lot of my own time, and was stressed and frustrated. No doubt some will see it as pestering the police, but they had failed in their duty to properly investigate a very serious incident.
The verdict
If you're still reading - well done! I'm getting to the crux. I finally received a phone call, from the officer who had originally reviewed the footage (but whom I hadn't met). Unfortunately the tone of this phone call became very unfriendly indeed. I voluntarily went to the police in good faith, with evidence of someone who is a danger to other road users. The way I was spoken to was completely unacceptable so I'll go into more detail.
The officer started by telling me that he'd been through the footage again with another officer who was a cyclist himself. (Good, I'm thinking to myself, no more sad attempts to invoke cycle lanes and my decision to avoid them.) Having looked again (with an open mind presumably), he had come to exactly the same decision as before for exactly the same reasons.
He once again cited my failure to use a cycle lane when other cyclists did. I checked whether he was aware that use of cycle lanes are not mandatory. He understood, but according to his logic, they were put there for our safety and since other cyclists used it, that proved it was safe. Therefore I was simply cycling inconsiderately by not using it. The facts that I was overtaking those other cyclists, that I'm best placed to make my own decisions for my own safety, that I was travelling at or faster than the flow of traffic and that this cycle lane was several miles down the road from where the incident occurred, didn't appear to be of great importance.
Then we come to the issue of my language and gesturing... As he put it, only one of us actually committed an offence, and that was me. In the eyes of the law, there's apparently nothing wrong with displaying deliberate aggression towards vulnerable road users while operating a vehicle in close proximity to them. On this occasion, fortunately the police don't think it's in the public interest to prosecute me for my offence (actual phrase). Naturally I'm incredibly grateful for their leniency.
It seemed to me that language was being used systematically against me. The motorist's driving was "inappropriate" (I couldn't get the officer to admit it had been dangerous). Meanwhile my riding was labelled as "inconsiderate" (heedless of my attempts to point out that I was moving at the same speed as the traffic). And so what was a clear violation of my space and rights became, in the official police account, a 50/50 disagreement between two road users. The officer referred regularly to the "manner of my riding", attempting to paint a picture of me as someone riding round with no regard for anyone else. Every time I got too argumentative, he reminded me of my "offence". I felt like he was attempting to incite me into saying something that might have gotten me into trouble. And underlying the whole conversation there seemed to be a hidden threat, that if I should continue to be difficult the police might decide it was in fact in the public interest to press charges against me. For swearing under extreme duress...
Quite.
Another phrase which was mentioned a lot was that the officer considered that he had a duty to "consider all the evidence provided in it's entirety". Presumably this is supposed to leave the impression that he was even-handed, open-minded and thorough in his investigation. The problem with this argument is that it makes absolutely no sense. Why does all the evidence matter? How can someone's aggressive or violent conduct be excused by events which occur in the future at which they aren't present? The absurdity is quite clear.
If my cycling that day had been whiter-than-white (by his own exacting yet completely inconsistent standards) would he then have seized my hard-drive, demanding to see all the footage I have saved of my rides, to check that I had never put a toe out of line? When it transpired that I do in fact delete most of my footage, would that be regarded as an admission of guilt? Is it now police policy to view motorists as judge, jury and executioner for cyclists who they feel may be about to commit some minor infraction of traffic law, or indeed simply who have ideas above their station? Or, from a different perspective, would they refuse to deal with a case of a stolen vehicle simply because it had been inconsiderately parked?
The other problem with this approach is that the officer appears to have missed other vital bits of information. The points at which I did show courtesy to other road users, and the fact that I was mostly travelling with or faster than the speed limit or the flow of traffic, are simply ignored in his analysis. Amusingly, he also failed to pick up on the couple of occasions where I do make genuine minor mistakes (but then safely correct these). It's hard to escape the conclusion that the officer was in fact cherry picking the footage for excuses not to take things any further. When I had the temerity to argue back he had to get a little more forceful to keep me in check.
I was tossed one bone in all of this. The driver would be sent an advisory letter, explaining that he had been recorded and reported to the police who considered his driving to be inappropriate. Realising that this was the best I was going to get, and that the longer this call went on, the more likely I was to commit some further public order offences, I left it there. [As of 27/04/2016 no record of this letter being sent exists against the log, although this doesn't necessarily indicate it wasn't sent. I should be updated shortly. Update - I was informed on 11/05/2016 that this letter was sent. This in no way vindicates the officer, it's less than a slap on the wrist. Perhaps the letter will have some positive effect. On the other hand it seems equally likely to me that the affronted driver will simply take it out on the next cyclist he sees.]
Some observations
I didn't sleep much that night. Counter-arguments and witticisms chased each other through my head. The truth of course is that there was nothing I could have said that would have changed his mind or the outcome. Reason and evidence didn't work simply because he wasn't interested in those things, only in batting me off. In many ways it's not his fault, he was just a pawn used by the force to keep my evidence at arms length and avoid a fuss. To a point I even feel sorry for the officer. It must be pretty embarrassing for an experienced police officer to have to explain to a member of the public who approached them voluntarily that they were lucky they weren't getting into trouble for a bit of colourful language and a gesture in the heat of the moment.
If this sounds like a rant against the police, I'm far from alone in reaching these conclusions. The recently published report from the House of Commons Transport Committee identifies this issue:
Local campaigns and individual cyclists submitted evidence that claimed police were unwilling or unable to pursue accusations of unlawful driving where a cyclist was involved. The following is representative of these views:
“The police frequently decline to take action in instances of deliberate, dangerous, aggressive behaviour towards cyclists by drivers of motor vehicles.”
“People know they will not be caught. There is no effective policing. Even when camera footage evidence is submitted to them, in my experience, the police are more likely to present excuses for the offending driver than to take the matter further.”
A “near miss” involving a cyclist can be close to a fatal accident, and “near miss” reports involving cyclists should be considered in that light. It is clear that there is a problem with the actual and subjective safety of the roads for cyclists, as well as the perception of the likely result of reporting offences to the police. The level to which cyclists feel unsafe on the roads due to a perceived failure to enforce traffic law is at odds with the Government’s aim to promote cycling, and must be addressed.So why do the police turn such a blind eye to dangerous driving around cyclists? The answer, I believe and hope, is not due to an inherent anti-cyclist bias, but rather due to an understanding of the difficulty of securing a prosecution for dangerous or careless driving, even in cases where a collision occurred or it appears to have been deliberate. This excellent blog post, and this one, explain the issues with the wording of the law and its interpretation by the members of a jury. Jurors are regarded as experts in the standards expected of a careful and competent driver, yet most don't meet those standards (this link contains some eye opening statistics). Defence lawyers seem to have a manifold of possible lines of argument available to pursue, including character assassination of the victim. Prosecutors have an uphill struggle, even where the evidence is strong.
So giving them the benefit of the doubt, we must assume that the police are unwilling to take up these cases because they recognise the futility in doing so. Until the wording of the law is changed however, this means they are failing all road users and allowing violent, nasty bullies to get away with everything bar murder. It seems to me that the wording of the law should be sufficient motivation to press all possible cases with sufficient evidence onto the CPS in the hopes of getting a conviction and setting a new legal precedent. This isn't the easy path, but it is the right one.
The follow up
Having been failed by the police, there was still the option of pursuing a private prosecution open to me. To render this a possibility, I still needed to get an NIP served against the driver, and since the police weren't interested in helping I would need to do this myself. I now had only a week left to convince the police to release the driver's details to me, and to draft the actual notice. Having discussed the issue with the CDF legal expert, I agreed to drop this possibility. Even if I managed to get the NIP served on time, the chances of success in a court were slim and would be highly stressful and time consuming.
This blog post deals with the requirement to get an NIP served within a time limit, although it should be noted that some of the points are specific to the particular police force. Even if the reporting cyclist understands the NIP requirement, stalling and poor organisation confound the cyclist, rendering it highly unlikely to be served on time. If I were being cynical, I might be tempted to conclude that the NIP is a tool the police deliberately reserve in their arsenal to allow them to ignore cases of dangerous driving with minimal effort.
I'm at pains to stress here that my motivations in pursuing this case were positive. I was angry certainly, but I was less interested in revenge against the driver than I was in getting an obviously dangerous driver off the road. Understanding the difficulty in the courts, I feel it is right to pursue every similar case in the hopes of setting a new precedent.
With this in mind, there is a further option open to me, which is to pursue a complaint against the officer directly through the IPCC. Once again this would not simply be an act of retribution but it could help to shape police policy in future cases. Even if the complaint were not upheld, the possibility of further complaints might weigh in to the decision on how seriously to treat future cases. As mentioned above, I don't wholly blame the officer and indeed I feel some level of pity for him, but given the tone of the phone call my sympathy is limited. I have done him a favour by refusing to identify him here, and even if a complaint against him is upheld it would be unlikely to result in any major disciplinary action. Therefore I am strongly considering pursuing an IPCC complaint.
So what have I learnt from all this? In truth not a lot, but a few lessons come out of this. In future I will attempt not to swear or make any display of my emotions, not because it's wrong, but because it's easy ammunition for any officer trying to find excuses. It is probably worth making slightly more effort to directly identify the driver for the video footage, something which I had the opportunity to do in this case but declined.
My riding style will not change, because I know what is safest for me, and the CDF legal expert has confirmed that my cycling is at a safe standard. My cycling isn't perfect in the footage, and indeed this is part of the reason I record my rides, to see if I failed to anticipate anything or could have approached any situation better. Perfect behaviour should never be a pre-requisite for a case against anyone else to be valid. Nor indeed should it be a pre-requisite for your human rights to be respected.
I cycle because it is the cheapest, fastest and most environmentally friendly way around a city. It's great exercise, causes no congestion, and poses far less harm to the public than other forms of transportation. More to the point, it's great fun. I'm not asking for much, only roads that are safe to cycle on and a police force that treats dangerous driving as the serious crime that it plainly is. In a country where 50,000 people a year are dying prematurely due to air pollution and there is increasing pressure on the NHS due to inactivity, the incentives to promote cycling as a mode of transport have surely never been greater.
As an amusing aside, a couple of weeks after uploading the footage to YouTube, I was surprised to come across this thread discussing my footage. It's reassuring that condemnation of the driver was almost unanimous. I've responded to the reasonable criticisms of my cycling. It's a powerful reminder of the power of social media, and I wonder if the driver is aware that a small corner of the internet is dedicated to denouncing him. If he had been driving a commercial vehicle adorned with contact details, no doubt his employer would already have received a barrage of emails. My mind is still split over the usefulness and indeed ethics of this sort of approach to policing road safety; however when the police so obviously fail in their duty to promote road safety, they are indirectly encouraging this sort of keyboard vigilantism.
And finally, in case you were desperate to see me recklessly ignoring cycle lanes and holding the primary position, here's the full footage of my ride as submitted to the police (slightly cut short to hit the 15 minute time limit).
Tuesday, 1 December 2015
Shattered dreams and sun-drenched rock
I carefully moved up, inching my foot nervously forwards, trying to avoid showering Will and Rachel with scree. It seemed futile - the gully was full of loose rock and grit almost to knee level and the slightest movement set off a mini avalanche. Every promising looking handhold simply snapped off as I gripped it, the cams I'd placed seemed like a cruel joke. I wiped my brow in an attempt to stem the streams of sweat trickling down my forehead and stinging my eyes. This was not the Alpine vision I'd been sold, I reflected bitterly. We hadn't even meant to be climbing this mountain.
We'd spent so long planning a trip that was both ambitious for a first Alpine holiday yet well within our grasp if things went well. Adam, Rachel, Will and myself were headed to the Arolla region of the Swiss Alps, a popular training ground for novice alpinists. Our plans had been carefully laid over several months; a campsite chosen, ferries booked, routes picked, maps and gear purchased, alpine clubs joined, techniques practiced. We were intending to climb Mont Blanc de Cheilon, a mighty pyramidal peak frowning over several glaciers and Aiguille de la Tsa, a sharp rocky spire thrusting into the heavens above the village of Arolla. Despite appearances, both of these peaks should have been attainable.
We were even considering heading over to Chamonix and having a crack at the Cosmiques Arete, if all went to plan. And how could it not? Will's insurance was booked ahead of time, my satnav couldn't take us anywhere near Strasbourg and we were packed and on our way to Dover in great time on the Friday. The only dark cloud on the horizon was the threat of bad weather suggested by the long term forecast. But mountain weather is unpredictable, and long-term forecasts are nearly always wrong... Right?
Things started going wrong long before. No sooner had we made it to France then I started to feel rather uncomfortable indeed. As we headed across France and into Switzerland, the level of discomfort and the frequency of required stops increased. No one will ever know the truth now, but my suspicions lie with the Burger King at Dover ferry port!
Nonetheless, it's hard not to get excited when the big mountains are growing larger through the windscreen. After rounding Lake Geneva, we caught up with Adam and Rachael in the Sion Valley by a roadside crag where, shirtless in the baking sun (and sandwiched by urgent loo breaks), I followed Will up a baking hot sport route to bag the first tick of the holiday.
The following day, while the others headed up to the Ferpècle Glacier to acclimatise and practice crevasse rescue, I sat in the tent reading a book and listening to the rain hammering down outside, too weak to move far and afraid to move too far away from the toilet in any case. Later, things began to look up. A three day weather window was opening and I was feeling strong enough to at least trek up to the hut, so we broke camp, packed bags and cars and embarked on the grueling march up to the Dix Hut carrying food, climbing gear, clothes and hut stuff for two days.
As the trail wound up through alpine meadows, the peaks reared up around us and the scenery became ever more impressive until we reached a final col and the view expanded to encompass Mont Blanc de Cheilon and it's glacier. The Dix Hut, perched atop a ridge of rock above the glacier, appeared as a tiny speck in the distance. To reach it we still had to descend a series of ladders from the col, pick our way carefully down the tumbled screes, cross the glacier (avoiding a dip in the rivers winding their way across the surface) and negotiate the medial moraine. After one final, exhausting slog up the ridge we were finally at the Dix Hut and able to grab a drink and cool off, enjoy the surroundings (and in my case, dash to the loo!)
Our plan was to stay two nights in the hut, tackling Mont Blanc du Cheilon in one long day followed by La Luette, a lower and easier peak on the second before heading back down to the valley. Our plans suffered a severe setback that evening while packing for the next day, when Adam discovered to his horror that he had left his crampons safely in the van back down in the valley. For someone with a reputation for being squeaky clean and super efficient, his wounded pride must have been at least as difficult to bear as the thought of a day lost. Rachael, Will and I decided to instead tackle La Luette as a 3 on the next day since logistically it made more sense to climb Mont Blanc du Cheilon as two ropes of two. Secretly I was relieved as my full strength had not yet returned, and I had doubts about my ability to perform in the state I was in. There was the added advantage of avoiding the 4am start time and opting for a slightly more civilised 6am start instead.
Our room in the hut was incredibly stuffy and a constant dry mouth kept me awake. I moved bunks to be able to stick my head out of the window and catch a chilly mountain breeze. The mountain looked mesmerising framed against a splash of stars across the night sky, with tiny distant pinpricks of light that signified climbers winding their way up the glacier, avoiding the worst of the crevasses and seracs. It was with some relief that we arose before dawn a couple of hours later, leaving Adam slumbering in his bunk, and set off along the path through the moraines under a sky turning rapidly from purple to pink to daylight.
I soon found myself labouring slightly, with my poor fitness and lacking the extra day's acclimatisation. By contrast, Will claimed to be feeling at his physical peak. We soon discovered why when we reached the first short stretch of glacier to be crossed to gain the col: Will had left his crevasses rescue kit and helmet back in the hut! Exasperated, we were able to cobble together 3 slimmed down racks from mine and Rachael's full sets, and continue on our way.
From the col we had a choice of routes: turn right up the rocky ridge or continue along the glacier on the other side and find an alternate route up the side. We chose the former, winding our way up a lose shaley ridge until we came to a sudden cliff which was too large to safely abseil. Cut off from the rest of the ridge, we retraced our steps back to the col and instead stepped out onto the glacier, roped together as a three. We skirted along the edge, looking for a likely line of weakness up the screes to gain the crest of the ridge. The going was easy even without crampons in soft wet snow, and we were easily able to step over numerous small crevasses. Further along, our path was blocked by a much wider crevasse yawning open ahead of us. A suspect-looking snow bridge was the only way across, so treading carefully and keeping the rope taut between us, we were able to safely bridge the gap. Looking down while stepping across, I could see the crevasse twisting down into impenetrable depths: not a place to hang around admiring the view!
A short tramp further and we disembarked from the glacier and began the exhausting scramble up the shattered scree slopes towards the ridge. We snaked back and forth across the slope, not entirely sure what we were supposed to be aiming for and sliding back one step for every two taken forwards. As we gained height, a series of gullies began to come into view above us, heading towards the ridge. From below it wasn't remotely clear which would be the most amenable so we headed for the nearest large gully to us. It looked like a fairly straightforward squirmy scramble but to be on the safe side we roped up anyway and I elected to lead on up, placing gear when possible.
The climbing tuned out to be miserable. Although it was at an easy angle, there were no positive holds to be had at all and everything was built of the same friable rock that crumbled or snapped when you touched it. This fed a torrent of scree that had completely buried my boots in the floor of the gully. I heard a shout from Will asking why I hadn't placed any gear yet. I called back to say that I hadn't found any decent placements. To hell with it I thought, and pushed on up anyway, emerging from the gully onto a large intermediate ledge, with more gullies leading up to the ridge. I was at least able to place some marginal protection, and positioned myself and the rope to provide Will and Rachael a passable belay up to join me.
With a sigh of resignation I started up the second gully, reaching the point where this story began. After more thrashing and tunneling, I reached the top of this second gully to find... yet more gullies above, and the ridge apparently no closer. A brief shouted discussion with Will and Rachael followed, in which we quickly agreed that it was getting too late in the day, we were getting nowhere, noone was having fun and this stupid mountain wasn't worth all this toil and danger anyway. So I carefully retraced my steps back down the gully to reach my companions. For the descent of the second gully, I had the luxury of being lowered on a rope, and being able to kick as much crap down as I wanted without worrying about anyone below. For Will's sake I placed a few bits of (mostly psychological) protection on the way down, and retreated out of the line of fire. It was with palpable relief that I discovered a nut placement which, when weighted in a certain direction, was absolutely bomber, so I shouted this to the others and leaned back to wait. Rachael shortly joined me and nearly sent us both hurtling off our ledge when she leaned the wrong way on the nut, the precariousness of which I had conveniently forgotten to mention. Without the aid of a lowering rope, Will took rather longer to join us but we were soon safely assembled back on our ledge.
We'd spent so long planning a trip that was both ambitious for a first Alpine holiday yet well within our grasp if things went well. Adam, Rachel, Will and myself were headed to the Arolla region of the Swiss Alps, a popular training ground for novice alpinists. Our plans had been carefully laid over several months; a campsite chosen, ferries booked, routes picked, maps and gear purchased, alpine clubs joined, techniques practiced. We were intending to climb Mont Blanc de Cheilon, a mighty pyramidal peak frowning over several glaciers and Aiguille de la Tsa, a sharp rocky spire thrusting into the heavens above the village of Arolla. Despite appearances, both of these peaks should have been attainable.
 |
| The magnificient Mont Blanc de Cheilon from the Dix Hut. |
Things started going wrong long before. No sooner had we made it to France then I started to feel rather uncomfortable indeed. As we headed across France and into Switzerland, the level of discomfort and the frequency of required stops increased. No one will ever know the truth now, but my suspicions lie with the Burger King at Dover ferry port!
Nonetheless, it's hard not to get excited when the big mountains are growing larger through the windscreen. After rounding Lake Geneva, we caught up with Adam and Rachael in the Sion Valley by a roadside crag where, shirtless in the baking sun (and sandwiched by urgent loo breaks), I followed Will up a baking hot sport route to bag the first tick of the holiday.
The following day, while the others headed up to the Ferpècle Glacier to acclimatise and practice crevasse rescue, I sat in the tent reading a book and listening to the rain hammering down outside, too weak to move far and afraid to move too far away from the toilet in any case. Later, things began to look up. A three day weather window was opening and I was feeling strong enough to at least trek up to the hut, so we broke camp, packed bags and cars and embarked on the grueling march up to the Dix Hut carrying food, climbing gear, clothes and hut stuff for two days.
As the trail wound up through alpine meadows, the peaks reared up around us and the scenery became ever more impressive until we reached a final col and the view expanded to encompass Mont Blanc de Cheilon and it's glacier. The Dix Hut, perched atop a ridge of rock above the glacier, appeared as a tiny speck in the distance. To reach it we still had to descend a series of ladders from the col, pick our way carefully down the tumbled screes, cross the glacier (avoiding a dip in the rivers winding their way across the surface) and negotiate the medial moraine. After one final, exhausting slog up the ridge we were finally at the Dix Hut and able to grab a drink and cool off, enjoy the surroundings (and in my case, dash to the loo!)
 |
| One of the many rivers winding across the surface of the glacier. Beautiful, but another hazard to be carefully negotiated! |
Our room in the hut was incredibly stuffy and a constant dry mouth kept me awake. I moved bunks to be able to stick my head out of the window and catch a chilly mountain breeze. The mountain looked mesmerising framed against a splash of stars across the night sky, with tiny distant pinpricks of light that signified climbers winding their way up the glacier, avoiding the worst of the crevasses and seracs. It was with some relief that we arose before dawn a couple of hours later, leaving Adam slumbering in his bunk, and set off along the path through the moraines under a sky turning rapidly from purple to pink to daylight.
I soon found myself labouring slightly, with my poor fitness and lacking the extra day's acclimatisation. By contrast, Will claimed to be feeling at his physical peak. We soon discovered why when we reached the first short stretch of glacier to be crossed to gain the col: Will had left his crevasses rescue kit and helmet back in the hut! Exasperated, we were able to cobble together 3 slimmed down racks from mine and Rachael's full sets, and continue on our way.
From the col we had a choice of routes: turn right up the rocky ridge or continue along the glacier on the other side and find an alternate route up the side. We chose the former, winding our way up a lose shaley ridge until we came to a sudden cliff which was too large to safely abseil. Cut off from the rest of the ridge, we retraced our steps back to the col and instead stepped out onto the glacier, roped together as a three. We skirted along the edge, looking for a likely line of weakness up the screes to gain the crest of the ridge. The going was easy even without crampons in soft wet snow, and we were easily able to step over numerous small crevasses. Further along, our path was blocked by a much wider crevasse yawning open ahead of us. A suspect-looking snow bridge was the only way across, so treading carefully and keeping the rope taut between us, we were able to safely bridge the gap. Looking down while stepping across, I could see the crevasse twisting down into impenetrable depths: not a place to hang around admiring the view!
A short tramp further and we disembarked from the glacier and began the exhausting scramble up the shattered scree slopes towards the ridge. We snaked back and forth across the slope, not entirely sure what we were supposed to be aiming for and sliding back one step for every two taken forwards. As we gained height, a series of gullies began to come into view above us, heading towards the ridge. From below it wasn't remotely clear which would be the most amenable so we headed for the nearest large gully to us. It looked like a fairly straightforward squirmy scramble but to be on the safe side we roped up anyway and I elected to lead on up, placing gear when possible.
The climbing tuned out to be miserable. Although it was at an easy angle, there were no positive holds to be had at all and everything was built of the same friable rock that crumbled or snapped when you touched it. This fed a torrent of scree that had completely buried my boots in the floor of the gully. I heard a shout from Will asking why I hadn't placed any gear yet. I called back to say that I hadn't found any decent placements. To hell with it I thought, and pushed on up anyway, emerging from the gully onto a large intermediate ledge, with more gullies leading up to the ridge. I was at least able to place some marginal protection, and positioned myself and the rope to provide Will and Rachael a passable belay up to join me.
With a sigh of resignation I started up the second gully, reaching the point where this story began. After more thrashing and tunneling, I reached the top of this second gully to find... yet more gullies above, and the ridge apparently no closer. A brief shouted discussion with Will and Rachael followed, in which we quickly agreed that it was getting too late in the day, we were getting nowhere, noone was having fun and this stupid mountain wasn't worth all this toil and danger anyway. So I carefully retraced my steps back down the gully to reach my companions. For the descent of the second gully, I had the luxury of being lowered on a rope, and being able to kick as much crap down as I wanted without worrying about anyone below. For Will's sake I placed a few bits of (mostly psychological) protection on the way down, and retreated out of the line of fire. It was with palpable relief that I discovered a nut placement which, when weighted in a certain direction, was absolutely bomber, so I shouted this to the others and leaned back to wait. Rachael shortly joined me and nearly sent us both hurtling off our ledge when she leaned the wrong way on the nut, the precariousness of which I had conveniently forgotten to mention. Without the aid of a lowering rope, Will took rather longer to join us but we were soon safely assembled back on our ledge.
Saturday, 25 April 2015
Dogs are bloody brilliant
Well once again it's been a while since I've been on here so a few updates are in order...
Adam invited me to attend the GMC hut meet in Snowdonia on the first weekend of February. Eager to get my axes stuck into some Welsh ice, I not only agreed, but decided to head up a couple of days early to get some solo time out and clear my head. So on the Tuesday evening, I packed the car and went to bed early. And on Tuesday night, I had an insomnia attack and managed not to sleep for a moment. Annoyed but feeling the sooner I got started the better, I rose early, had a fry up and a strong coffee (I'm usually a tea drinker) and went to start the car. At this point I realised that one of the headlights was gone and on closer inspection that it was on the side that's almost impossible to access. After more than an hour of fiddling about with cold fingers, I had the light replaced and was on my way.
The journey was extremely unpleasant, but I was at least able to remain sharp and alert throughout. I stopped early to imbibe some Valentino Rossi inspired liquid energy, and then at regular intervals after that to pee and drink more. Inevitably I also suffered through the Birmingham rush hour traffic and so by the time I reached the Idwal Cottage car park, my journey had lasted 2 hours longer than normal and I was already exhausted.
At this point most sensible people might have decided to take it easy, go for a gentle walk and call it a day. So instead, I geared up and headed up the path towards Cwm Idwal. Instead of the long sweaty slog into Cwm Cneifion, I decided to follow an easy snow gully up the left hand side of Idwal Slabs. Unfortunately this was wildly out of condition, with soft snow sitting on top of loose turf. It was a welcome relief to finally reach the familiar arena of Cwm Cneifion (The Nameless Cwm).
My goal for the day was Hidden Gully, a well-trodden grade II winter climb. Having soloed the slightly easier Tower Gully a couple of weeks beforehand, I didn't think this would be a massive step up in difficulty. I sent a text to my father, informing him of my plans and check-in time, then checked out my line of ascent. A line of deep footprints led invitingly upwards, entering a deep cleft between high walls. Feeling heartened, I started upwards, and indeed the start was no more difficult than climbing a ladder. The first thing that struck me was the intense cold. The walls and floor were coated in thick rime ice, and all the wind from the valley funneled up through the gully to cut through me like knives. Within no time at all, my fingers had lost all feeling.
Moving further up, the difficulties started. I came across a slab of rock which appeared to be covered in rime, but no more secure ice. My crampons skittered off it, while my axes also refused to find any solid ice above the slab. My calves were beginning to complain from the strain they were taking. Nervously I looked behind me to consider a downclimb. The first thing I noticed was that a downclimb didn't look particularly appealing, and a slip here would be a very bad idea. The second thing I noticed was another solo climber starting up behind me, preceded by a cheerful looking husky. By way of greeting, I shouted a vague comment about the cold, by which I meant that I was in fact rather scared. But taking heart from the fact that a dog could climb this route, I steeled myself an lunged upwards. After a couple of rather inelegant moves, I was above the slab and hacking my way up to the summit.
In mist, the shattered and twisted rock formations that adorn the Glyder Plateau make it a creepy place to be. Iced up, the effect is especially chilling. Attempting to stagger behind one of these to escape the wind, I found myself almost unable to walk with the cramp that had set in. I reached down to touch my toes and to my dismay, this only tightened the cramp further. Meanwhile my fingers were beginning to thaw, resulting in the worst hot aches I'd ever felt. Wracked with pain, I yelled my frustration into the wind.
At that moment, the husky dog from earlier chose to reappear. Popping up over the lip of the cliff, she bounded towards me with the enthusiasm of a child at Disneyland. Crouching down to say hello turned out to be the cure for my cramping legs and the dog, a young female named Kira, gave me a wet slobbery kiss by way of greeting before burying her nose in my pack to try and sniff out my lunch. Now pain-free and feeling suitably re-motivated, I fired off another quick text to my father to update him and set off on an unhurried descent, enjoying the views whenever the clouds shifted enough to allow a peek at the scenery.
About half way down the Devil's Kitchen path, I became aware of my phone ringing in my pocket. I just missed the call from my father, and noticed that the previous message had failed to send and my check-in time had come and gone. I rang him back just in time to stop him phoning the police to report a missing person!
Adam invited me to attend the GMC hut meet in Snowdonia on the first weekend of February. Eager to get my axes stuck into some Welsh ice, I not only agreed, but decided to head up a couple of days early to get some solo time out and clear my head. So on the Tuesday evening, I packed the car and went to bed early. And on Tuesday night, I had an insomnia attack and managed not to sleep for a moment. Annoyed but feeling the sooner I got started the better, I rose early, had a fry up and a strong coffee (I'm usually a tea drinker) and went to start the car. At this point I realised that one of the headlights was gone and on closer inspection that it was on the side that's almost impossible to access. After more than an hour of fiddling about with cold fingers, I had the light replaced and was on my way.
The journey was extremely unpleasant, but I was at least able to remain sharp and alert throughout. I stopped early to imbibe some Valentino Rossi inspired liquid energy, and then at regular intervals after that to pee and drink more. Inevitably I also suffered through the Birmingham rush hour traffic and so by the time I reached the Idwal Cottage car park, my journey had lasted 2 hours longer than normal and I was already exhausted.
At this point most sensible people might have decided to take it easy, go for a gentle walk and call it a day. So instead, I geared up and headed up the path towards Cwm Idwal. Instead of the long sweaty slog into Cwm Cneifion, I decided to follow an easy snow gully up the left hand side of Idwal Slabs. Unfortunately this was wildly out of condition, with soft snow sitting on top of loose turf. It was a welcome relief to finally reach the familiar arena of Cwm Cneifion (The Nameless Cwm).
 |
| Clogwyn Ddu (The Black Cliff). Climbers can just be seen starting up Hidden Gully. |
My goal for the day was Hidden Gully, a well-trodden grade II winter climb. Having soloed the slightly easier Tower Gully a couple of weeks beforehand, I didn't think this would be a massive step up in difficulty. I sent a text to my father, informing him of my plans and check-in time, then checked out my line of ascent. A line of deep footprints led invitingly upwards, entering a deep cleft between high walls. Feeling heartened, I started upwards, and indeed the start was no more difficult than climbing a ladder. The first thing that struck me was the intense cold. The walls and floor were coated in thick rime ice, and all the wind from the valley funneled up through the gully to cut through me like knives. Within no time at all, my fingers had lost all feeling.
 |
| Looking into the jaws of some icy hell: Hidden Gully. |
Moving further up, the difficulties started. I came across a slab of rock which appeared to be covered in rime, but no more secure ice. My crampons skittered off it, while my axes also refused to find any solid ice above the slab. My calves were beginning to complain from the strain they were taking. Nervously I looked behind me to consider a downclimb. The first thing I noticed was that a downclimb didn't look particularly appealing, and a slip here would be a very bad idea. The second thing I noticed was another solo climber starting up behind me, preceded by a cheerful looking husky. By way of greeting, I shouted a vague comment about the cold, by which I meant that I was in fact rather scared. But taking heart from the fact that a dog could climb this route, I steeled myself an lunged upwards. After a couple of rather inelegant moves, I was above the slab and hacking my way up to the summit.
In mist, the shattered and twisted rock formations that adorn the Glyder Plateau make it a creepy place to be. Iced up, the effect is especially chilling. Attempting to stagger behind one of these to escape the wind, I found myself almost unable to walk with the cramp that had set in. I reached down to touch my toes and to my dismay, this only tightened the cramp further. Meanwhile my fingers were beginning to thaw, resulting in the worst hot aches I'd ever felt. Wracked with pain, I yelled my frustration into the wind.
 |
| Kira the husky, my new best friend. |
At that moment, the husky dog from earlier chose to reappear. Popping up over the lip of the cliff, she bounded towards me with the enthusiasm of a child at Disneyland. Crouching down to say hello turned out to be the cure for my cramping legs and the dog, a young female named Kira, gave me a wet slobbery kiss by way of greeting before burying her nose in my pack to try and sniff out my lunch. Now pain-free and feeling suitably re-motivated, I fired off another quick text to my father to update him and set off on an unhurried descent, enjoying the views whenever the clouds shifted enough to allow a peek at the scenery.
 |
| Shapes in the mist: the weird rock formations on the Glyder Plateau. |
About half way down the Devil's Kitchen path, I became aware of my phone ringing in my pocket. I just missed the call from my father, and noticed that the previous message had failed to send and my check-in time had come and gone. I rang him back just in time to stop him phoning the police to report a missing person!
 |
| Only my shadow for company. The joys of solo climbing... |
Tuesday, 13 January 2015
2014 end of year roundup
Ben Nevis wasn't the last trip of my year, but due to personal commitments and crappy weather, I was only able to snatch a few weekends away.
October saw a return to my favourite Snowdonia stomping ground, staying in the GMC hut. After heavy delays on the M1 I turned up late to a humiliating welcome from the Nottingham Mountaineering Club. It turns out Will isn't to be trusted with any details of my private life!
We did the Carneddau circuit on the Saturday, taking in the summits of Pen yr Ole Wen, Carnedd Dafydd and Carnedd Llewelyn last but not least. Incredibly I hadn't set foot on any of these summits previously. The weather was wild with the wind howling incessantly and broken cloud cover smothering the summits on and off. We tested out Adam's group shelter during a particularly unpleasant squall near the summit of Carnedd Dafydd. A bit cramped for four people but a great place to enjoy a cup of tea!
The weather conditions actually helped to enhance the stunning views, with the clouds throwing alternating and swiftly moving bands of light and shade across the mountains, and at one point creating a double rainbow. Across the valley, the rocky east face of Tryfan glistened in the sunlight. I reached for my camera to capture the moment and discovered I'd made the rookie error of leaving the memory card at home. Feeling almost a sense of relief, I was able to enjoy the rest of the day for what it was, without the nagging urge to get the perfect photo of each new scene. It's disturbing to realise just how much of a pull technology and social media can have on your subconscious even in such a remote and beautiful place.
Before the ritual of the late Sunday drive home, we snatched a few hours in the slate quarries above Llanberis. I had my first taster of sport climbing. My first taste of cleaning the lower off bolt turned out to be quite a nerve-wracking experience, and I hope it's something I don't ever become complacent about! We had a wander around the quarries too, and it's definitely somewhere I need to return on a better weather day and with a camera and tripod. The scale on which the mountain has been modified is incredible! There is a walkway which goes out to a viewing point above Llyn Padarn, which has a stunning panorama (on a good day at least). As we started out along the walkway it was a bit breezy. Twenty meters from the end we could hear what sounded like a jet engine. From five meters we were really struggling to walk into the wind. At the end of the walkway the updraft of air was so powerful that we had to hold onto the railings to avoid getting blown over!
I managed to get down to Bristol for couple of weekends in a row in December. Will, Jack and I hit the town hard on Saturday, and I wont brownie points for managing to climb and impromptu boulder problem in the main square in style, with Will resorting to knees instead. I suspect my Scarpa casual shoes helped compared to his smart shoes.
To work off the hangover on Sunday, I lead my first HS (Pharos HS 4b) at Portishead Quarry. I'd personally question both the tech grade (didn't seem any moves harder than 4a) and the adjectival (crack full of lovely gear) but it's still good progress. The next Saturday I was back in the South West, this time at Wyndcliffe. We warmed up on a couple of sport routes in the quarry and then did a spot of jungle-bashing through the woods to reach the impressive trad crag. Will and I elected to climb The Crack, a stylish looking Severe.
Will climbed the strenuous first pitch to a tree and I started up the second. A short way up the crack I reached for a hold, missed and completely lost contact with the rock. Flailing, I stepped back with my right foot, made good contact and was able to save the fall. So I've still managed to avoid taking a proper lead fall!
A couple of moves further up, I got completely stuck. I got a bombproof wire in, but was completely unable to move past it, whichever way I tried. Each move I attempted lacked a good positive handhold just when I needed it, and with my confidence already gone I was unable to commit. Dejected, I resigned myself to the lost gear and asked Will to lower me back down. However Will was determined to teach me a lesson and prove that he could retrieve the gear and downclimb the section. He bellyflopped his way back up to the point I got stuck, spent several minutes taking in the situation, then conceded that he too was stuck. After several more minutes dealing with the tangle of ropes (I never said this was a professional operation), I was able to lower him down too, proving that it was at least a bomber nut.
At this point the sun was beginning to set. Thankfully I'd had the foresight to suggest we carry headtorches with us, and we were able to rig the abseil back down without the pressure of a ticking clock. The trek back through the woods was fun, but it was a relief to get back to the car eventually.
So that rounds off 2014. A busy year full of ups and down, which finished on a slightly sucky note, but thankfully no-one's lost any limbs yet (true at point of publication). So roll on 2015!
October saw a return to my favourite Snowdonia stomping ground, staying in the GMC hut. After heavy delays on the M1 I turned up late to a humiliating welcome from the Nottingham Mountaineering Club. It turns out Will isn't to be trusted with any details of my private life!
We did the Carneddau circuit on the Saturday, taking in the summits of Pen yr Ole Wen, Carnedd Dafydd and Carnedd Llewelyn last but not least. Incredibly I hadn't set foot on any of these summits previously. The weather was wild with the wind howling incessantly and broken cloud cover smothering the summits on and off. We tested out Adam's group shelter during a particularly unpleasant squall near the summit of Carnedd Dafydd. A bit cramped for four people but a great place to enjoy a cup of tea!
The weather conditions actually helped to enhance the stunning views, with the clouds throwing alternating and swiftly moving bands of light and shade across the mountains, and at one point creating a double rainbow. Across the valley, the rocky east face of Tryfan glistened in the sunlight. I reached for my camera to capture the moment and discovered I'd made the rookie error of leaving the memory card at home. Feeling almost a sense of relief, I was able to enjoy the rest of the day for what it was, without the nagging urge to get the perfect photo of each new scene. It's disturbing to realise just how much of a pull technology and social media can have on your subconscious even in such a remote and beautiful place.
Before the ritual of the late Sunday drive home, we snatched a few hours in the slate quarries above Llanberis. I had my first taster of sport climbing. My first taste of cleaning the lower off bolt turned out to be quite a nerve-wracking experience, and I hope it's something I don't ever become complacent about! We had a wander around the quarries too, and it's definitely somewhere I need to return on a better weather day and with a camera and tripod. The scale on which the mountain has been modified is incredible! There is a walkway which goes out to a viewing point above Llyn Padarn, which has a stunning panorama (on a good day at least). As we started out along the walkway it was a bit breezy. Twenty meters from the end we could hear what sounded like a jet engine. From five meters we were really struggling to walk into the wind. At the end of the walkway the updraft of air was so powerful that we had to hold onto the railings to avoid getting blown over!
I managed to get down to Bristol for couple of weekends in a row in December. Will, Jack and I hit the town hard on Saturday, and I wont brownie points for managing to climb and impromptu boulder problem in the main square in style, with Will resorting to knees instead. I suspect my Scarpa casual shoes helped compared to his smart shoes.
To work off the hangover on Sunday, I lead my first HS (Pharos HS 4b) at Portishead Quarry. I'd personally question both the tech grade (didn't seem any moves harder than 4a) and the adjectival (crack full of lovely gear) but it's still good progress. The next Saturday I was back in the South West, this time at Wyndcliffe. We warmed up on a couple of sport routes in the quarry and then did a spot of jungle-bashing through the woods to reach the impressive trad crag. Will and I elected to climb The Crack, a stylish looking Severe.
Will climbed the strenuous first pitch to a tree and I started up the second. A short way up the crack I reached for a hold, missed and completely lost contact with the rock. Flailing, I stepped back with my right foot, made good contact and was able to save the fall. So I've still managed to avoid taking a proper lead fall!
A couple of moves further up, I got completely stuck. I got a bombproof wire in, but was completely unable to move past it, whichever way I tried. Each move I attempted lacked a good positive handhold just when I needed it, and with my confidence already gone I was unable to commit. Dejected, I resigned myself to the lost gear and asked Will to lower me back down. However Will was determined to teach me a lesson and prove that he could retrieve the gear and downclimb the section. He bellyflopped his way back up to the point I got stuck, spent several minutes taking in the situation, then conceded that he too was stuck. After several more minutes dealing with the tangle of ropes (I never said this was a professional operation), I was able to lower him down too, proving that it was at least a bomber nut.
At this point the sun was beginning to set. Thankfully I'd had the foresight to suggest we carry headtorches with us, and we were able to rig the abseil back down without the pressure of a ticking clock. The trek back through the woods was fun, but it was a relief to get back to the car eventually.
So that rounds off 2014. A busy year full of ups and down, which finished on a slightly sucky note, but thankfully no-one's lost any limbs yet (true at point of publication). So roll on 2015!
Sunday, 4 January 2015
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!
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.
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 |
Tower Ridge and the CIC Hut
Tower Ridge is a route that has captured my imagination since I first ventured into the mountains. A ridge of almost Alpine proportions, with easy climbing and some magnificent exposure, leading almost to the summit of Britain's highest peak - what aspiring British climber wouldn't want to tick this one off?
We 'gave it a go' in August 2012 at the end of a week in Scotland, following successful trips across the Aonach Eagach and up Curved Ridge. We did everything we possibly could to guarantee failure that day. We set off far too late from the car park in miserable weather. We were horrendously underequipped with one 30m rope between 4, and lacking in the sort of basic skills to use it safely. And owing to an unfortunate piece of news regarding a girl, my head was completely in the wrong place before we even got to the North Face. I wanted to climb it to soothe my ego and threw all caution to the wind.
Some scrambling over the slippery slabs above the CIC hut leads to the base of the Douglas Boulder. In a fey mood I stormed off around to the right of the boulder, without waiting for my companions to catch me up and forcing them to follow. (Anyone who has climbed the route will immediately have spotted my mistake). The route led diagonally upwards across some steep and unstable screes poised above a deep river canyon. At the bottom of the Western Gully I waited for my companions to join me.
After a long wait they eventually did. As Ben had been crossing the slope, the scree had started to slide beneath him and didn't stop until just above the lip of the canyon. After this close shave, going back across the scree slope was not an option. At the same time, heading up through the gully seemed particularly uninviting. Some basic research in hindsight reveals that the correct route would have been the Eastern Gully on the other side of the ridge, and the gully we were in is only ever used for winter ascents when banked out in snow and ice. There's a good reason for this. The floor of the gully was covered in scree and slimy moss-covered rock. Every promising looking handhold broke away as soon as it was weighted. It was impossible to avoid knocking down rocks at every step and impossible to protect against a fall.
After scaring ourselves silly all the way up the gully and the exit chimney from the Douglas Gap, we finally arrived on the actual ridge. At this point we finally accepted that we were in trouble, and had no chance of safely negotiating the ridge before darkness. So Ben bit the bullet and phoned mountain rescue. After a well deserved telling off, they informed us that any chance of a helicopter rescue was off and they would mull over the options. So we had a little comfort food and sat tight. They got back to us shortly with the news that incredibly, there was a grassy escape path leading down from the ridge almost right next to where were stood. It wasn't long before we were all down again, had informed mountain rescue of our position, and were on our way back to the pub to drown our shame in a round of pints.
In the two years since that day we've learned a lot. We're certainly not immune to mistakes (as evidenced elsewhere on this blog), but we'll no longer head into the mountains with such a lack of forethought. We decided to stay in the CIC hut so we could wake up within a stone's throw of the Douglas Boulder. Actually getting hold of the key was a minor epic in itself. After a day's drive up from Bristol, during which we heard the news that Scotland had narrowly voted to remain in the Union, we lugged our gear in from the North Face car park.
The Saturday dawned bright and full of promise. The upper reaches of the North Face were still shrouded in a blanket of cloud but we were hopeful the weather would improve.
There's not much really to mention, since everything that was wrong the first time round was right this time. The Eastern Gully was much less of a death trap and I was happy enough to not use any gear in the climb out of the Douglas Gap. The weather was fine and the Tower Gap section as thrilling as I'd expected. Apart from a brief detour in which Jack strayed off route and had to traverse delicately back across, everything went without a hitch. If anything it felt a bit anti-climatic given how long I'd wanted to tick off this route.
The summit of The Ben was predictably both crowded and misty. We had a quick stopover then continued over to summit to the slope leading down towards the Carn Mor Dearg Arete. As we descended down beneath the cloudbase, stunning views towards the Mamores and Glencoe were revealed.
Eventually the ridge rises again towards the summit of Carn Mor Dearg and and as we continued around, the entire North Face in all it's glory was revealed as well, giving us a view of the morning's climb. From the summit we descended down the screes and grassy slopes back towards the CIC hut and a hard earned rest.
We 'gave it a go' in August 2012 at the end of a week in Scotland, following successful trips across the Aonach Eagach and up Curved Ridge. We did everything we possibly could to guarantee failure that day. We set off far too late from the car park in miserable weather. We were horrendously underequipped with one 30m rope between 4, and lacking in the sort of basic skills to use it safely. And owing to an unfortunate piece of news regarding a girl, my head was completely in the wrong place before we even got to the North Face. I wanted to climb it to soothe my ego and threw all caution to the wind.
Some scrambling over the slippery slabs above the CIC hut leads to the base of the Douglas Boulder. In a fey mood I stormed off around to the right of the boulder, without waiting for my companions to catch me up and forcing them to follow. (Anyone who has climbed the route will immediately have spotted my mistake). The route led diagonally upwards across some steep and unstable screes poised above a deep river canyon. At the bottom of the Western Gully I waited for my companions to join me.
After a long wait they eventually did. As Ben had been crossing the slope, the scree had started to slide beneath him and didn't stop until just above the lip of the canyon. After this close shave, going back across the scree slope was not an option. At the same time, heading up through the gully seemed particularly uninviting. Some basic research in hindsight reveals that the correct route would have been the Eastern Gully on the other side of the ridge, and the gully we were in is only ever used for winter ascents when banked out in snow and ice. There's a good reason for this. The floor of the gully was covered in scree and slimy moss-covered rock. Every promising looking handhold broke away as soon as it was weighted. It was impossible to avoid knocking down rocks at every step and impossible to protect against a fall.
After scaring ourselves silly all the way up the gully and the exit chimney from the Douglas Gap, we finally arrived on the actual ridge. At this point we finally accepted that we were in trouble, and had no chance of safely negotiating the ridge before darkness. So Ben bit the bullet and phoned mountain rescue. After a well deserved telling off, they informed us that any chance of a helicopter rescue was off and they would mull over the options. So we had a little comfort food and sat tight. They got back to us shortly with the news that incredibly, there was a grassy escape path leading down from the ridge almost right next to where were stood. It wasn't long before we were all down again, had informed mountain rescue of our position, and were on our way back to the pub to drown our shame in a round of pints.
In the two years since that day we've learned a lot. We're certainly not immune to mistakes (as evidenced elsewhere on this blog), but we'll no longer head into the mountains with such a lack of forethought. We decided to stay in the CIC hut so we could wake up within a stone's throw of the Douglas Boulder. Actually getting hold of the key was a minor epic in itself. After a day's drive up from Bristol, during which we heard the news that Scotland had narrowly voted to remain in the Union, we lugged our gear in from the North Face car park.
 |
| Carn Dearg Buttress rears up behind the CIC Hut |
The Saturday dawned bright and full of promise. The upper reaches of the North Face were still shrouded in a blanket of cloud but we were hopeful the weather would improve.
There's not much really to mention, since everything that was wrong the first time round was right this time. The Eastern Gully was much less of a death trap and I was happy enough to not use any gear in the climb out of the Douglas Gap. The weather was fine and the Tower Gap section as thrilling as I'd expected. Apart from a brief detour in which Jack strayed off route and had to traverse delicately back across, everything went without a hitch. If anything it felt a bit anti-climatic given how long I'd wanted to tick off this route.
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| Will and Adam queuing to cross Tower Gap, a deep notch in this narrow section of ridge |
 |
| The Mamores from the CMD Arete |
 |
| The North Face of Ben Nevis. Tower Ridge and the Douglas 'Boulder' are left of centre |
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