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!
Tuesday 13 January 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!
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| 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.
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| 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 |
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| The Mamores from the CMD Arete |
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| The North Face of Ben Nevis. Tower Ridge and the Douglas 'Boulder' are left of centre |
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