Monday, 3 June 2013

The Old Country










So I finally got round to putting together a video of last summer's expedition. It's here for anyone who's interested.



It's been a while since I've posted anything on this - I've been busy. I moved back to Ireland mid-April and have since been doing a bit of work at climby places around Belfast.

Despite the ridiculously late start to the Spring, trad climbing season arrived and I've been getting out when I can. A few trip to the Mournes and Fair Head have reminded me how outstanding the climbing is around these parts!

One particular highlight was an ascent of 'The Sheugh', a **** route on Buzzard's Roost in the Mournes described as 'just on the humorous side of character building' and 'best savoured by a large party in high sprits or preferably full of spirits'

The Sheugh is the cleft in the middle. Old school climbing

Stuart and myself had gone to Lower Cove but it had been far too windy to climb there. It didn't take much to convince Stuart (a caver in a past life) to make an attempt on the Sheugh, which was as wet and manky as you could ever hope.


Stuart at the start
The Sheugh, justifiably, has a fierce reputation and is avoided by most - see here for an excellent account of a rescue of some local 'notable climbers' being rescued off it a few years ago!

In the belly of the beast
It was, in short, absolutely terrifying. Scrittly damp rock and airy traversing on bad gear. The top-out involved trying to find the most solid grass to escape on. Brilliant fun.

The slightly grassy top out

Avoid wearing good clothes


I've fallen in love with Fair Head (again) and had some great days out there recently. Cúchullain (E2) with John O'Hara was an incredible experience, somehow holding in past almost all reserves and bellyflopping over the top after 5 hours on the wall.

On the top pitch of Cúchullain (Photo: J McCune)

The Fair Head meet was on at the weekend just past, and it was great to see so many people there. The weather was good enough to get climbing, the craic was great and Nick Bullock's talk hilarious. I had a go at the famous 'route for the aspiring hard man' GBH (E3 6a) at the Prow but fell off the crux repeatedly. My hands are now numb and mangled. Oh well, next time...

I also cleaned The Offence - a great HVS at the Prow that has been neglected (probably because the guide doesn't paint it in a very flattering light). Well worth the effort and it saw a few ascents on Saturday after cleaning.

The forecast is looking great this week - off to Gola island in Donegal on Wednesday for some seacliff fun. Yay climbing!



Friday, 5 April 2013

Smith's Revisited

I posted my previous entry about the epic on Smith's on UKClimbing, out of interest in seeing the reaction and also as a cautionary tale. The response was (perhaps surprisingly?) overwhelmingly positive and constructive, which is great. I thank everyone who read it and those who gave advice - I learned a lot from the experience, and some of the suggestions from UKCers will definitely be taken on board in future. I hope the lessons learned are useful to others - as the saying goes, "A smart man learns from his mistakes, but a truly wise man learns from the mistakes of others."

Here's what I would do differently in future:



  • Not attach my axes to a sling around my shoulders (common sense really)
  • Pay more attention to cornices, before starting up a route.
  • In Winter, try and keep open the option of retreat. Don't climb into a position you can't get back down from
  • Carry a deadman on the Ben (or anywhere there's likely to be cornices). This could have allowed us to build a belay in the snow
  • Practice the art of cornice tunneling
  • Carry 2 ropes rather than 1
  • Handwarmers in first aid kit
  • Get more practice on steepish ice
  • More malt loaf
I'm sure I'll come back and update this list in future.

Below are photos taken from Tower Ridge of myself and Stuart on the route, taken by Cédric Moreau. You can see me hanging from a screw well below my axes, and the monster cornice well above. There looks to be a way through the cornice on the left, but we were not able to get anywhere near there thanks to the vertical snow in the way.
photo: Cédric Moreau, 16.3.13
Taken not long before the blizzard. I'm visible in the centre, below(!) my axes. Stuart is belaying from the ice cave. Daft cornice visible above - didn't see it properly from below!

photo: Cédric Moreau, 16.3.13
close up of my flailing below my axes after falling off

Meanwhile, winter conditions have continued well past Easter, but I've lost the head for it (for now). Probably for the best. I've been getting a bit of trad done, though - including a taste of Central Belt Dolerite and an entertaining week in the Peak District that involved getting snowed in in a pub car park, a lot of digging, not being able to climb on gritstone because of cornices (irony), setting up an ersatz 'refugee camp' campsite in the trailer of an articulated lorry on a farm in Barlow and getting my revenge on a hand-jamming crack I failed miserably on a few years ago. 
A remarkably fun experience, in all.

Off to Dunkeld tomorrow. Then back to Belfast next Friday...

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

"On belay. Don't fall"


A misadventure on Ben Nevis, 16 March 2013.

“On belay. Don’t fall”

I’m sitting awkwardly into the snow slope, attached to two ice screws and half buried in drifting snow. Stuart has just reached the base of the cornice atop Smith’s Route on Ben Nevis, just 4m from the summit plateau. The walkie talkie crackles his pronouncement on the reliability in his anchor. I think back to the numerous other occasions I’ve heard the same worried call over the radio. It’s never been particularly inspiring.

The snow’s gotten pretty bad now, and any mark of his passage has already disappeared. Scottish winter weather at its finest. The screws come out and I’m moving up again – this terrain is easy enough, certainly a lot easier than the last pitch, which I failed miserably on. My gloves have frozen solid while belaying in the blizzard and ice has formed on my eyebrows. This must be what they call full conditions.

Following the rope up the steepening central ramp, the ice turns to hollow honeycombed unpleasantness. I join Stuart at the ‘belay’, the cornice looming over us, the summit mocking us in its proximity. It’s 2.30 – last time we were on the way down by now.

The day started off as well as any Scottish day ever could. A glorious weekend on the Ben a fortnight ago left me very psyched, and I managed to infect Stuart with my enthusiasm on a visit home to Belfast last week. He caught the citylink bus over on Friday, and north we headed in the Focus cragmobile estate. Down went the back seats, and out came the sleeping bags. A clear night, good sign. The alarm set for 5.30.

As it does with almost depressing regularity, 5.30 rears its ugly head - but for once I find it quite easy to rouse myself at this inhumane time. Hard not to be psyched – it’s perfectly clear, total visibility, a good forecast, low avalanche risk. Couldn’t be better. Today is going to be good.

Alpine glory, from the CIC hut


The 2 hour slog to the CIC hut passes in no time at all, and Ben Nevis looks splendid in its winter coat. There’s no wind, and we. The usual banter with the other climbers emerging from and getting ready at the hut – it’s all very pleasant and civilised for the Ben.
“What are you going for?”
“Tower Ridge, haven’t done it before”
“You’re in for a treat, it’s a classic, did it 2 years ago on a day like this”
“Excellent, what about you guys?”
“We’ll have a go at Smith’s, bit of a slog up to get to it but sure it’s quite short, then we’ll drop down Number 4 gully and maybe have a go at Italian Climb or something. Sure we’ve loads of time, and when I was here last week we topped out by midday, plenty of time to do two routes.”
I think I know what I’m doing by this stage, having spent the season in Scotland, on a university placement at a power station in Ayrshire.

There’s a well worn track up Observatory gully. Two teams on Point Five Gully and another two gearing up for it, despite routes either side being empty. Seems a bit silly to me - having climbed it (and somehow had it to ourselves) a fortnight ago I wouldn’t fancy being underneath someone in that chimney. At least Smith’s looks free.

Echo Wall

Sure enough it is – past Point Five we’re breaking trail. Echo Wall looks steep. That Dave MacLeod is a mad eejit. Slog slog slog. I must be getting good at this walking up hill lark.

Stuart enjoying a classic Scottish approach

We reach Gardyloo Buttress at 9.20am. Smith’s Route looks good, plenty of ice on it. The weather’s still glorious – still and cloudless, an Alpine feel to the whole affair, might as well be in that amphitheatre on the Italian side on Mt Maudit in July, nor Scotland in March! Hard not to feel a bit smug and superior.

Smith's Route takes a line through the middle of the buttress


Stuart takes first lead. He’s not done a huge amount of winter climbing but he’s keen, and stronger than I am. He got through an epic on Glover’s Chimney last year fine and he’s used to suffering, coming from a caving background. He’s about to become President of QUBMC anyway, so he should be well fit for it.

Stuart leading

Sure enough, he is – despite a pair of knackered crampons borrowed from the club which don’t seem to stay in ice very well, he makes short work of the deceptively steep first pitch and belays in a cave between two icicles. I’m feeling good; this is what it’s all about. The ice isn’t as plastic as I’d hoped - explains Stuart’s difficulties with the crampons. We’ll be at the top in an hour or two, sure it’s two hard pitches then easy ground after that.

The second pitch is the crux and my turn to lead. A steep traverse followed by a sustained vertical section. This looks scary. Oh well, I’ll give it a bash, man up and all that.

And lo, it is scary. Traversing on steep ice is difficult and slow. I’m Irish, I’m not built for this ice climbing lark. Thoughts of summer weather and jamming cracks at Fair Head drift through my mind. My crampons aren’t going in as well as I’d hoped; I’m over gripping the axes. There’s a hymn I haven’t heard since primary school stuck on repeat in my brain. I get across and fire a screw in, relief. Moving up – Christ, this is steep. Another screw goes in. Axe, step, step, lock off. Getting tired. In goes the next axe. Keep moving – looks like a rest a couple of moves up ahead. Crampons keep popping out – breathe! . Midnight Cruiser, that’s a nice soft touch E1, far better than this cold suffering Another screw goes in, but my arms are really suffering. Axe, step, step, slip, axe. Lock off. Lots of nice bridging rests at Fair Head too. I let go of one axe to shake out – my other arm begins to unravel. Uh oh. Switch over – the same happens again. I haven’t got enough strength left to hold the lock-off while placing the other axe above me. B*llocks.

“Stuart, watch me, I think I’m about to come off!”

Now I’ve embraced the leashless approach to winter climbing, and my Matrix Lite axes are attached to me with a length of 5mm cord through the grip rests. I used to attach this cord to my harness with a karabiner, but this would always get tangled up in my crampons – so I’ve taken to clipping it to a sling that I carry over my shoulders. This, it turns out, is not the brightest idea.

My prediction to Stuart was right. I come off, but the rope doesn’t come tight – the axes hold and I stop abruptly, hanging with a sling over my head, holding me up by my right shoulder. Right arm going dead. Oh dear.

I struggle out of the sling and slump onto an ice screw. Now my axes are out of reach. Brilliant.
20 minutes and some ersatz aid climbing later (hanging clipped to a screw, placing another screw at full reach, clipping the rope to the top one, standing in a sling and hanging from the top screw, repeat) I’m back up at my axes. Five metres to easier ground, but I’m shattered and my arms hurt. Maybe I bit off a bit more than I can chew.
Eventually I wobble onto the snow ramp above, and in go two ice screws. I can see the cornice above, happy days. I can also see a big wall of cloud coming in from the southeast – that wasn’t in the forecast.
Stuart races up the pitch, not needing to rest at all. Very impressive, maybe I should’ve given him that lead as a Development Opportunity. At least he was terrified on it as well, wouldn’t do for him to enjoy himself too much.

Stuart reaching the belay atop the crux pitch

 We swap over the gear and Stuart sets off up what I hope is the final pitch – my antics below having put us a bit behind schedule.
The cloud arrives, and there goes the lovely Alpine weather – replaced with heavy winds and a lot of snow. Damn.
Spindrift down my neck. Ahh, it’s been a while. Jaysus, it’s cold! My gloves rime up and start to freeze. That’s inconvenient.

P3. Just before the blizzard. Daft cornice visible above


Stuart doesn’t see an obvious way through the cornice. He sets up a belay of sorts and makes clear his feelings toward it over the radio. I follow him up over the increasingly bad snow and ice until reaching the honeycomb and powder affair of the monster cornice. Ah now, this doesn’t look great. No matter – there must be a way through further over.

There isn’t. I remember that according to the UKC logbook no-one has climbed this in two weeks, and there’s been a fair bit of weather in that time. I traverse along the steep powder, towards Tower Gully. Between gusts there are voices from Tower Ridge but I can’t see more than 10m in front of me in the intermittent whiteout. The snow under the building powder starts making worrying whomping noises as I go along and there’s nowhere decent for gear or a gap in the cornice. Eventually it clears just enough to see that there is no way through the cornice. Hmm.

I turn back and find a patch of what seems to be good ice in the cornice above my head. In go a couple of ice screws and I belay Stuart over. We hatch a plan – Stuart, being tall, will reach as high as he can, plant his axes, and pull up through the overhang. A bellyflop over the top should see him on the plateau.

He gives it a go. The axes go in, he pulls, he’s over the lip, he’s moving up and then he’s lying upside down on the slope below me.
“It’s just powder.”
Unperturbed, he tries again. Slightly farther but whoosh, down he goes again. And a third time. This isn’t going well.

I have a go at aiding my way through like I did on the steep bit earlier. Hanging off the belay, I place a screw as far up in the good ice as I can. Seems solid. I clip a sling to the belay, stand in it, clip myself to the highpoint.

Bang.

Now I’m upside down on the 65° slope below the cornice – and so is Stuart. Not only has the screw I was attached to ripped out, but so has half the belay.

Right.

Now we’re running out of options. The weather’s just getting worse, its 4pm, we can’t climb up, there’s nothing to abseil off, and the blasted cornice is too big to dig through. In any case we’d have to chop away what little we’re attached to. And so, out comes the emergency phone from the first aid kit.

“Mountain Rescue, please.”

Of course, the helicopter can’t come near us in this weather. Clag all the way down to the valley, according to Donald on the phone. It’ll take at least 3 hours for the brave folk of the Lochaber MRT to reach us – Donald advises we try and force a way down. We’re not keen, there’s no way we can get down the way we came up, everywhere else is steep powder with the gods know what below, and there’s no anchor worth speaking of. But we’re getting cold, and I don’t know how we’ll be in 3 hours’ time. I traverse back over to the top of the route to hunt for good ice, just for something to do.

No luck. It’s just honeycomb ice and powder. Even worse than the ‘good’ ice that failed before! We need something better for an abseil. I keep digging.

And then, like Zhukov’s armies at Stalingrad, salvation appears from the winter gloom. Another climber appears out of the murk below us – coming up from a different direction to we had. A shouted exchange reveals he’s also on Smith’s; furthermore, he has come up an easy ramp that he’s happy to down-climb when he sees no way over the top. Not only that, his belayer is attached to a peg belay 40m below. Happy frigging days.

I inform Stuart that we were back in business, and start climbing down. Snow coming in so heavy that the tracks from the climber below are already gone by the time I reach them. How did we miss this way up? This is far better. Decent snow, I even get an ice screw in and tell Stuart he can start moving. We’re downclimbing on grade II/III snow and ice but I don’t mind, the axes are going in nicely and the feeling’s coming back in my hands. Yes lad! I call Mountain Rescue to say that we can get ourselves down now; they’re glad to hear it and stand down. Thankfully they haven’t set off yet.

I reach the peg belay. We only have one 60m rope, meaning we can only abseil 30m at a time. The Three Wise Men of the other party are happy enough to let us abseil on their pair of 60m ropes, meaning we can reach easy ground in one go. Manna from heaven.

By 6.30pm we’re back at the base of the route. It’s getting dark, I don’t notice the snow anymore. I put my hood back on, filling my jacket with powder. Damnit. The snow is thigh deep, probably not the safest – but we have to get down. Wading past Echo Wall (definitely mad, that MacLeod) and the Douglas boulder, the snow somehow doesn’t part with the mountain and soon the lights of the CIC appear below. We’re unscathed. Time for some celebratory chocolate and to take off the gear we don’t need any more. Out comes the camera to capture this moment for posterity – Stuart’s photo sums up the mood perfectly.

This is the life


“Something tells me we’re not getting another route done today.”

9pm, back at the car. Everything is soaked. Bacon and pasta never tasted so good. The police pay us a visit to fill in a mountain incident form. I’ve never sat in the back of a police car before, I suppose this means people in Belfast will respect me more.

We write off Sunday (St Patrick ’s Day). There’s a lot of fresh snow, but mostly we’re completely shatnered and need to recover physically and psychologically. Retreat to Paisley, but our plans to have a quiet pint in Wetherspoon’s are shattered – the local team have won a game of fitba, it seems, and everyone is quite jolly about it.

Lessons learned: never, ever, underestimate the Ben. All that extra stuff you carry ‘just in case’ is sometimes very, very useful. Two-way radios are the business for mountaineering; I don’t know how I managed without them. It’s worth carrying 2 ropes in case you have to abseil. Always be mindful of escape routes while climbing. Cornices are b*stards. The weather forecast can be wrong. Malt loaf is the business when you’re cold and tired.
Pile jackets are still the best

There are 3 guys out there (whose names I never caught) to whom I owe pints. And that’s not to mention Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team, whose services we didn’t require but whose support was invaluable. Their dedication is incredible, particularly as they are all volunteers, and they don’t get near enough recognition.

Wednesday, 6 March 2013

The Ben


The West coast of Scotland saw its best February weather since 1897 in 2013.
Which was nice. Sinéad came over on the 15th, and we had fun doing tours of Glasgow and Edinburgh. We tried our hand at snowboarding (Sinéad's idea, I wanted to try skiing!) which was good fun and involved much falling over.



  

I banjaxed the A2 pully on my left ring finger in Jnuary and its been slow to recover. I always think pully injuries are the most pathetic injury ever - "Oh I can't climb, I've hurt my finger!" It's been very hard to discipline myself not to crimp or pull too hard on it, and I took a fortnight off pulling on holds entirely in early february, running and swimming like a mad eejit instead which was oddly fun. I hope to do a bit of fell running this summer, all being well.
On the 23rd I went along to a coaching session with Dave MacLeod at the Ice Factor in Kinlochleven. It turns out this was probably the greatest weekend winter climbing weather ever, but the opportunity to learn from Dave was not to be missed. The afternoon was spent on the bouldering wall and I learned a lot from Dave, despite my pully. It's a bit scary being analysed in your climbing by one of the best climbers on the planet but his advice on momentum and self-analysis were really useful. I also learned how to use a fingerboard properly - this 7-seconds-on-3-seconds-off-and-repeat nonsense only trains endurance and not strength, with a '4 seconds at maximum effort then 30 seconds rest and repeat'regime being more useful. So I've started to train my openhanded grip more as all this crimping has been what knackered my A2 in the first place.
Anyway, last weekend I got back out in the big hills again. Om Friday night I met Sam (who I met through the Lifts/Partners forum on UKC) and his modified van in a carpark in Dumbarton and we headed north for Fort William. Temperatures were up a bit and our original plan of Creag Meagaidh was abandoned for Ben Nevis instead. We hatched a plan to try North East Buttress on saturday, and I was psyched. I'd had a go at it last year with Alek, accessing the route via Slingsby's Chimney (ostensibly a grade II). A combination of a late start and Slingsby's being grotesquely out of condition and terrifying led to us reaching the route at 1.30pm and abandoning our attempt. So I was keen to have another go.
We didn't leave anything to chance this time and the alarm went off in the north face car park at 4.30am (yay for Alpine starts). Sam's van is very comfortable but a bit of psyche made getting up easier. By 5 we were on our way, reaching the CIC hut by 7. Sensibly, we avoided Slingsby's and got on the route by the access ramp from Coire Leis, reaching the First Platform and the start of the route proper at 8. Conditions were perfect, with solid snow and the odd bit of ice.

North East Buttress, 2.3.13
The route was brilliant, and the cloud occasionally cleared to give great views of the Ben and Lochaber. The ice gullies all looked in good nick, with not much sign of melt. We made great progress on quite an Alpine route, pitching one or two tricky mixed steps. Before we knew it we were at the famous 'Mantrap', notorious for its difficulty in icy conditions.
The Mantrap turned out to be quite overhyped. It's only 3m tall and is well protected. The good conditions certainly helped, A reach over the top to good nevee, a high step and a biiiiiiiiiiig pull and it was done. I belayed at the base of the 25 ft high corner above - the famous '40 ft corner' (the bottom must have been banked out). This was so heavily rimed up I was able to get an ice screw in it! Sam's axe popped out of the nevee that seemed bomber to me while he was pulling through the Mantrap and he took a bit of a tumble, just goes to show that you can never be 100% sure of your placements in Scottish Winter!
20 ft corner
Sam dispatched the 40 ft corner in no time and before we knew it we were on top of the Ben. We had planned enough time for a 4pm top-out; we topped out at 10.30am after 2.5 hours on the route! A surreal experience, and we took our time on the way down No. 4 gulley, getting a good look at the conditions. A pint in the Grog and Gruel in Fort William after one of the longest walk-ins and biggest routes on the Ben was surreal.
Topping out

Psyche levels stayed high after that, and we felt quite fresh so on Sunday we were up at 5.30am and off up the Ben again. This time we went for the ultra-classic Point Five Gully. I'd been wanting to do this all season and there seemed no better time.
Approaching Point Five Gully
After the long sweaty slog up under Observatory Ridge we were on the route by 9. The ice was perfect and plastic, and the route was quite stepped from all the traffic of the past while. There was no wind or spindrift and we had the route to ourselves. What more could you want?
Sam led off up pitch 1, turning round to tell me that the route was 'tremendous' which my innate Scottish Winter pessimism heard as 'horrendous'. But tremendous it was; steep but secure, with plenty of bridging up glorious ice. The second pitch was a dream, probably the steepest pitch but good footwork allows half-decent rests to be found. I somehow dropped a screw which someone below picked up, hopefully I'll get it back through UKC.
P2
Sam on the Rogue pitch
Moving together to the top

Sam finished off the difficulties with the excellent 'Rogue Pitch'. This led to easier grade II/III ground above with one last icy step to pitch. I took the hardest line up this for the hell of it and then we moved together to the plateau, topping out for 12.30. We sat on the top and had a bit of a picnic, the summit to ourselves; I've never been up there when it's been so pleasant!


Day 2 atop the Ben

Point Five is more than worthy of its reputation and I was very pleased to climb the most famous ice gully in the world as a first ice grade V. We headed back to the van and stopped off in the Clachaig Inn Glencoe (probably the best pub in the world) for a celebratory drink on the way back home. A brilliant end to the best weekend of winter climbing I've had!
Back home in Ireland this weekend for Mum and Sinéad's birthdays. The weather is set to get cold again so I'd like to get back up to the Ben for St Patrick's Day weekend...

Saturday, 9 February 2013

Ben Mudlaidh

There's something fundamentally wrong to a 4.55am alarm setting on a Saturday morning.

Or is there? Today's mission: Ben Udlaidh in a day from Paisley. Doable? Very much so.

The forecast was for a bit of a thaw, so we set off early. Brendan picked me up at 5.30 and me proceeded on to Dumbarton where we met Andy and Vicky. Obviously still asleep, I kept sitting in the wrong car for a few minutes before realising what was going on.

We were the first to arrive at a worryingly mild Glen Orchy farm at 7am, and the scary pigs (I like to think they're called Snowball and Napoleon) that block the way were out in force and wanting fed, so bearing in mind the movie Snatch we went the long way round. There wasn't much snow in evidence for a while and the path was pretty muddy, and it was still very mild (3degC) when we reached Coire Daimh but compared to last week, the view was lovely, there was no wind and there still seemed to be plenty of ice about.
Brendan on the tropical approach. Quartzvein Scoop on the left, Green Eyes on the right

9am saw us finished the walkin to Scotland's premier roadside crag. Our plan A was to try Peter Pan Direct (V, 5) which seemed in but thin. Not the day to be pushing the grade, as there was a lot of melt. Plan B was the catchy South Gully of the Black Wall (IV, 4).
The clouds don't work properly

Approaching the route, the snow underfoot was bomber nevee, which is always a good sign. Brendan had the first lead, a narrow funnel of ice through some sopping crappy rock. The ice was good, if a bit thin.

Crap photo of Brendan on P1.
Winter shouldn't be so enjoyable. Photo: Brendan Bailey

The only rock gear we brought were 3 tricams, all of which got placed in the first pitch. I think I may have brought Brendan over to the dark side.

 The second pitch was amazing. Perfect fringes and curtains of steep ice draped over the gully. Plenty of calf pump and giving yourself a good talking to in order to trust unseen axe placements over bulges that 'seemed' fine. It was even good enough to take screws, although the steep positions I found myself in meant I placed them badly. Something to work on.
Me enjoying P2. Photo: Brendan Bailey

It seems Scottish ice climbing can actually be fun! There were some very unusual features in the top 10m metres, lots of ice mushrooms and what looked like upside down drops frozen improbably above the ice.

Brendan topping out

We topped out to the traditional turf belay at 11.30am (I don't normally even get started on a route until 12ish!). We considered doing Green Eyes (IV, 4) but the top of the first pitch looked very thin and everything was melting. So we made good our escape, meeting Andy and Vicky back at the car after they had just climbed West Gully (Andy's blog here).
Coire Daimh on the walk-out. Thawing rapidly but a big drop in temperatures due tonight.


Back at the car by 1pm and in Crianlarich Hotel pub at 1.30 for a pint of the black stuff. All very surreal for Scottish Winter!

Also, Soreen is the best food ever. Yummy squidginess.

Sinéad's over form home next weekend, so no winter climbing (unless I can talk her into it). Now just to force myself to allow this blasted finger injury to heal...



Monday, 4 February 2013

A Car Boot in Glencoe


January was busy. The gods of the Scottish weather conspired to make every weekend good enough for climbing – so after the escapades on the Ben previously mentioned, I managed to get out every weekend following.
After the unfortunate incident with the Mx-5*, I decided to go with the slightly more sensible option of a Ford Focus diesel estate. This turned out to be a masterstroke, making weekend trips to the mountains easier through the simple expedient of being a mobile tent – folding the back seats forward allows enough room for two to sleep comfortably!




 Glamping

 Alek came up from Keele on the 18th and we headed for Glencoe in the new car. A great advantage of camping in the car is that when the alarm goes in the morning you can just turn on the engine and heating and get back in the sleeping bag until it warms up!
Objective for Saturday was North Buttress (IV 4) on Buachaille Etive Mor. Conditions were good, and the walk-in was very civilised, taking under an hour. A fun scramble up to the ridge put us third in the queue for the route, but we were moving before long. 3 pitches of excellent mixed grooves and chimneys brought us to slabby moving together terrain.


Alek on North Buttress

I had some fun on P3 when my crampon slipped off a spike I was standing on and I started to fall, dropping my ice axe – which caught behind the spike. The axe was attached to a bandolier (none of which ripped somehow) and I came to a halt with a seatbelt-style bruise under my arm. Sometimes you just get lucky.
Typical Scottish views were to be had from the summit in the clag. The descent was OK – we were worried of avalance conditions in Coire na Tullach (not unwisely as it later transpired that four were killed in Stob Coire Nan Beith a couple of miles away that day) but there was a well worn thoroughfare down the coire and all was well.
Ahh, Scottish Winter

We headed south to the Arrochar Alps, aiming for the turfy delights of the Cobbler. The guidebook lured us in with talk of a straightforward and short walk-in – this of course was nonsense, with the powdery snow and 750m of uphill taking the guts of 2 hours. Winds were vicious on the col but we dropped down to the base of Central Peak and all was well. We went for Cave Route (III, 4) which was good value at the grade – the starting ramp was verglassed and tenuous looking, so I opted for an overhanging start on good hooks, after which a wild swing out left to good turf led on to the ramp. No gear for the first 20m disappointingly, with the climbing consisting of scratching up a slab while making the most of a seam of turf in the corner. One hex and 20m of snow-wading led to a decent belay, and another 2 pitches to a ridiculous step down and dynamic swing over the void to good turf and a crap belay. A reasonably straightforward belay led to the top. Some craic.
The Cobbler

Alek stayed at mine for a few days, generally buying meat and cooking with implausible weetabix-based sauce. On his advice I cooked Brownies, which were nowhere near as shite as I had expected.

The next weekend was Fort William with QUBMC. I took a couple of days off work and met the guys at Calluna – a lovely hostel owned by Alan Kimber. There was a good crowd over, including Alek and Vladimir. John Orr provided instruction for the novices.

The weather turned very Scottish indeed, ruling out the higher climbs because of the high winds. I went up to the CIC cascades on Ben Nevis with Niall, Conor, Stuart and Thomas and had a play on some of the single pitch ice there. Well worth it if they’re in and it’s a bit windy higher up. There was a great looking grade V cascade on the left which I considered trying but talked myself out of because of the dinnerplateyness (definitely a word) of the ice.
A rest day then Beinn Udlaidh with Thomas and Cecilia – a brilliant ice climbing venue near Bridge of Orchy. This time the walk-in was actually not very taxing, although things were starting to melt and our chosen route (Quartzvein Scoop, IV 4) was not in the nest condition. The initial ramp was quite hollow and had one section of snow over verglas, which took a while. While what ice there was wouldn’t really hold protection, it was very plastic and easy to climb on. It also had the best Scottish belay I’ve ever seen – a little cave between the rock and snow, with room for the three of us to sit sheltered from the wind!
The second pitch was disappointing, being banked out and quite easy. The top was very very windy. I’ve never had trouble walking downhill before, but that day it was almost impossible.

Belaying atop Beinn Udlaidh in breezy conditions


The next day the weather turned crap again so we went drytooling on the granite under Ballachulish Bridge. This is well worth it if the mountains are out – but be warned, there’s a bit of looseness and it’s roadside so watch out for cars and toprope only.

The forecast for last Saturday was amazing, perfect for a long Scottish ridge. To that end, I talked Alek into coming up my way again and we headed up to Glencoe on Friday again. Up at 7 and off we went to do the Aonach Eagach traverse (II) – apparently an ultra-classic. It didn’t disappoint.

Scotland?

 Weather conditions were amazing – clear, cold and calm. The initial schlep up Am Bodach (a Munro itself) didn’t take too long and the fun began almost immediately, with a tricky descent onto the ridge proper. From here, it stretches a couple of miles westward over pinnacles and tops.
Alek on the initial tricky descent

 It was a great scrambling day out, peppered with a couple of tricky steps and traverses. The pinnacles of the Chancellor were quite sporting, with the added excitement of Alek impaling his calf on his crampon.
Purposeful Soviet stride

 Although wearing harnesses and carrying the rope, we never bothered with it, and were at the top of Sgurr Nam Fiannaidh by 1pm, far earlier than expected. We dropped down to the col with the Pap of Glencoe and from there down to the road, easily hitch-hiking back to the car.



Ridgetastic

The Aonach Eagach is a brilliant day out – well worth keeping for a good day! Great views in every direction and a ‘proper’ ridge for a lot of its duration.

Glencoe and Ballachulish from Sgurr Nan Fiannaidh

Then the weather exploded again, so on Sunday Alek dragged me out trail running along the first bit of the West Highland Way. We did about 7 miles but it wasn’t long before he was well ahead of me – seems like it’s time for some cardio.

Fingers crossed for good weather next weekend to make it 6 weekends in a row in the mountains!

*a disagreement with a kerb. The kerb won