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.

The magnificient Mont Blanc de Cheilon from the Dix Hut.

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!)

One of the many rivers winding across the surface of the glacier. Beautiful, but another hazard to be carefully negotiated!

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.

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).

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...

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!

A brush with fate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Will and Adam queuing to cross Tower Gap, a deep notch in this narrow section of ridge

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.

The Mamores from the CMD Arete

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.

The North Face of Ben Nevis. Tower Ridge and the Douglas 'Boulder' are left of centre