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

Avon Gorge and The Roaches

The Friday following our trip to Wales, I was back in the car again first thing on my way to Bristol, ostensibly for a job interview.

I turned up late to the interview (thanks to misdirections from my consultant), did well enough for them to ask me back for a second interview because that's how I roll, and turned it down anyway because I'm done with the financial services industry forever.

Far more lucrative was a chat with a professor from Bristol University. Watch this space, I hope...

Naturally I used the opportunity to get a quick climb in before racing home. Idleburger Buttress was a straightforward but enjoyable single pitch, with some polished moves lower down.

The next morning I once again found myself alone in a car full of climbing and camping gear. This time we were headed to the Roaches.

In typical fashion I arrived just as Will was setting off from Bristol and so had a several hour wait. I occupied myself by taking a few pictures of a team on the lower pitch of Valkyrie, then doing a little bit of soloing on some moderate ground of the Upper Tier. Then the weather which had been just about holding off closed in properly. I ducked for cover under a conveniently placed rock with a view of the Valkyrie top-out. The team from earlier were still making their way up the top pitch. The second was apparently able to find some shelter but for the poor leader, stuck on belay, there was absolutely nowhere to hide or escape.

Wrong place, wrong time. A bedraggled climber caught out in a rain storm.

As soon as the squall passed, the patch of ground in front of the Upper Tier resembled a meerkat colony, with people popping up from various shelters strewn around. At long last the Valkyrie team completed the top pitch with a much larger audience than expected.

You'll be glad to know that the sun came out shortly afterwards, and not too long after that Will arrived to rescue me from my boredom. We climbed a few short and easy VDiffs at the right hand end of the Lower Tier, before unroping and doing them again in solo. Will then struggled his way up Sifta's Quid, his first HS. Being somewhat more lithe, I was able to follow without too much difficulty.

Easy soloing on Captain Lethargy

To round things off, I had a half arsed attempt at leading the lower pitch of Valkyrie, gave up and jammed my way up Yong, a fierce little HVDiff.

I caught this view of the Hen Cloud on the way back to the car

We were slow getting started the following morning after a few beers and a surprisingly comfy night's sleep at the Roaches Bunkhouse down the road. Adam and Rachael were already gearing up by the time we rocked up at the crag, and had done a route before I even had my harness on.

First we attempted Jeffcoat's Chimney, a classic (blank, squirmy and slimey) VDiff. First Will and then I struggled to make any decent progress, eventually leaving half our rack hanging off the route at intervals. For the second time in a week, I found myself abseiling off the top to retrieve gear, then going up again to retrieve the rope. Don't try pulling a rope through on grit, it won't work.

We now turned our attention to Blacks and Tans, a classic gritstone Severe. Will lead the first pitch without too much trouble. I carefully stepped around and over him, then gently edged out along a hand traverse to a ledge. Stepping off this ledge required a committing move up on a smeary foothold.

From here it seemed as if the hard work was done, and a few more careful moves would lead to the top. Instead, I found myself on a narrow ledge from which the only way up was an off balance mantelshelf move. There was no protection to be had at all, and nor was there any way to safely climb back down. After standing there a few minutes, and with a growing crowd peering up at me, I took the only remaining option and shouted for a rope down.

When Will finally joined me at the top, he took great pleasure in pointing out to me the route around to the left which I could have safely taken if I'd explored just a little bit further round.

My mood wasn't improved by Adam's report on all the HS routes he'd lead in the meantime. After that debacle, I'd had quite enough of climbing for one weekend. And indeed by the time I made it home, I'd also had enough of driving for a month too. Convenient, since a month is roughly the amount of time before I go stir crazy and need to head outdoors again.

Hen Cloud and the view from the Lower Tier

Evening light on the Upper Tier

A walk in the dark

The Rhosydd slate mines above Blaenau Ffestiniog have stood abandoned since their closure in 1948, but are a popular destination for mine enthusiasts and other adventurous explorers. We had been planning a through trip for a while and the opportunity arose on the Sunday of our visit.

A pleasant walk through the hills above Blaenau leads to the mine entrance. On the way we pass plenty of reminders of the departed human presence here, including a row of barracks right outside the entrance to the mine itself.

Barracks and junk outside the mine entrance.

We waterproofed and helmeted up, switched on our headtorches and waded in. The mine entrance is via an adit, which is a straight and very gently sloping shaft cut into the hillside to allow for water to flow out. No specialist equipment or skills are required, although we were thankful for gaiters and helmets for low ceilings.
 

The first steps into the tunnel. How do you lose a boot here!?

 For the first few hundred feet the water was ankle deep and each time we looked back, the entrance appeared smaller and dimmer. To either side of the main tunnels were entrances into huge excavated chambers which are never touched by daylight. Eventually the main tunnel forked where the adit reaches the main part of the mine, and here there was more evidence of mining equipment; a set of tracks for mine carts, and various old axles and cogs.

An ancient axle looms out of the darkness

We followed the left fork. The entrance to the tunnel could now no longer be seen, and we were able to peer down into flooded lower levels. We passed by several collapsed chambers before our progress was halted at a point where the tunnel itself was completely caved in.

We retraced our steps and took the other fork instead. Not far along we reached a steeply sloping ramp which was piled with loose slate. This option looked unenticing enough without the ominous 'DANGER' daubed on the wall next to it in big yellow letters.

In case you needed it spelt out for you

 Instead we went through a narrow gap and found ourselves in the largest chamber we'd yet entered. We found ourselves on a narrow bank, next to a vast underground lake which filled most of the cavern. In the opposite wall across the lake was a doorway leading into another tunnel. However none of us fancied finding out how deep the lake was, or what might lurk in it, so we turned our backs on and headed back towards daylight and fresh air.

A boat might come in handy here!

Hint - For other would be explorers, the ramp was in fact the correct route to take to reach the exit! And according to this resource, a longer excursion is possible which includes crossing the lake in a boat! Note that more gear and skills appear to be necessary for this trip, so don't blame me when a member of your party gets themselves killed!

http://ukcaving.com/wiki/index.php/Croesor_Rhosydd_Through_Trip

Our return to the cars took us past various openings to other parts of the mine network, some horizontal and some vertical. Not a place to go blindly stumbling around in the dark. Plenty more to explore on some rainy day!

Down and up

Come August, it was about time for another trip to Snowdonia. The weekend in the middle of the month saw us gathered at the campsite above Llanberis on a Thursday evening (or 3am on Friday morning if you're Jack and Will!)

On Friday we took on Dolmen Ridge on the face of Glyder Fach. A vague tramp around the base of the cliffs led to a vague gully, above which a vague slab led to another vague gully. It started to rain quite vaguely. The route ahead seemed very... not clearly defined.

We started to get that familiar wet-loose-gully feeling, the one bordering on misery. The decision to leave wasn't questioned. We looped the rope over a convenient rock and began our orderly abseil retreat back down the gully.

It wasn't until Will had pulled the rope through that he remembered the cache of gear he had left lying up by the abseil rock. Up I went, retracing our footsteps and our abseil, only for the rope to come stuck the second time round. Clearly not our day...


On Saturday we had a much needed day at Tremadog. Climbing as a rope of three on multi-pitch trad is not efficient and it wasn't a day for breaking new ground. We first repeated Boo Boo. Then as a special treat I was allowed to lead all four pitches of Christmas Curry.

There was a lucky escape on the first pitch when, squeezing through a tight corner, I felt something dettatch from my harness. I watched in horror as my camera bounced away down the rockface. I shouted to Will who, without missing a beat, grabbed it out of the air.

The climb took forever. A major tangle with the ropes and an extra delay to allow a faster pair through probably wasted about half an hour. Nonetheless I had great fun. On the final pitch I felt an incredible sense of elation and would have happily deroped if it hadn't left Will and Jack in the shit. I don't know why I felt so strongly - it was after all our third trip up this route, albeit the first time was on an instructor's leash and the second time I went off route and screwed up badly. So it wasn't a major milestone. The fabulously exposed topout in the teeth of a howling gale certainly gave it an epic feel!