© J A D Healey 2014
Mummy and I went over to Newhaven and I went through the customs before the crowds from the boat trains arrived, and then the man at the gangway persuaded me to go onto the boat and get a deck chair for myself while there was still one free. When the crowds came, how glad I was to see some hands and axes waving to me (I had been afraid that the wire telling me it was Sunday instead of Saturday was a hoax).
We didn't wave goodbye to the white cliffs of old England, we were too busy having a meal! There was a haze over the water all the time, and then, at Dieppe it was raining.
In true Polaris style, we were some of the last off the boat and through the customs, but our unreserved seats in the second train were very comfortable. In Paris, the brother of the leader of the Y.T.B. party met us, and took us on the underground the Gare de l'Est. Our lack of reservations on the next train had been worrying Wyn a lot, but they talked a man round who let us on the platform 2 hours before the barrier was opened. He tore down the 'reserved' notice on several carriages, and let us in them and then turned the lights out. I had a corner seat, but then I found that Ken, in the next carriage was on the rack, so I went in there and got on the other rack, leaving all the luggage on two seats. This had repercussions at one of the places where we stopped in the middle of the night; a Frenchman wanted one of the seats. He summed up his attitude very well when he said, "I won't understand you", when I explained that if the luggage went on the rack we'd come down and take the seats. There was one most dramatic moment when he got out his pen knife to cut a rucksack strap. An official who was called did a lot of talking, but I couldn't decide whose side he was on. In the end we were left in peace.
At Mulhouse we had to change into the Basle part of the train. We did just all manage to get on. We were last through the customs at Basle, but there was still time for breakfast before catching the Berne train. The meal was made very interesting by the Swiss at our table, who told us that we were going to his favourite part of Switzerland. We had an early lunch on the train to Berne and then settled down to enjoy the scenery in the hot sunshine, the lake at Thun, the hills above Kandersteg, and so down the hillside to Brigg, where there was time for an ice before catching the train just before 5 o'clock. All went well until we came to a station, or a loopway and then we'd hang about for ages, as though we were waiting for the other train to come down. Then at one place we stopped and backed down a little way. Most people got out to see what was the matter, and saw a huge boulder lifted off the line, and so on to Randa. When we heard rumours of more trouble ahead, Ken and I started to walk up the line. When we reached some more people, they started shouting and pointing, and when they included us in it, we realised that it wasn't a game and then we heard the avalanche coming and set off at a run back to Randa. We soon realised that it wasn't coming our way and went back to see it, water bringing down more stones and mud, and, when they got in its way, it would mow down great trees.
We went back to tell the others, but when we got to the station at about dusk, we found it deserted. Our luggage had been taken out of the train and left on the platform. I insisted on wasting quite a lot of time in looking round the village for the others. My argument was, if they'd set off for Zermatt, they'd have left a note on our luggage. As there was no note, they were probably having a meal in the village. It was quite in keeping with the rest of the evening that one hotel (as I thought) where we enquired contained only children. Ken, meanwhile was getting a little information about the track on the other side of the river, but it was difficult, they'd look at my sandals and shake their heads. Back at the station there was an American couple who told us that if we left our luggage labelled, it'd be delivered to our hotels in due course. I put on my boots, put the very minimum of gear in my small rucksack and left my big one behind with Ken's little one fastened to it, and a very small label on it, addressed to Chalet Lehner. It was a crazy thing to do, to leave so much stuff at a station without saying a word to anyone, but I was looking forward to the walk by then; the moon was well up and my attitude was that this was the proper way to approach Zermatt – on foot, a train was much too civilised. We had no trouble in finding the path for people were coming back to Randa by it, also, very soon we fell in with a Swiss. He spoke very little French, but Ken was able to gather that we should pick up a train at Täsch. Although little was said, there was a friendly atmosphere, and half way along he opened his bottle of beer and passed it round.
At Täsch, we met the others, waiting in the train. I felt very soft when I found that they had brought all their luggage, my only excuse was that I though I'd have to walk all the way to Zermatt. Apparently they'd left in rather a hurry to get over the rough part before dark.
Arriving at Zermatt at 11 o'clock, we were met and conducted to pension 'Chalet Lehner' where a hot meal was waiting for us, but we were really a little beyond appreciating it. Wyn Rene and I tossed up about our bedrooms, eventually Wyn was odd man out, leaving Rene and me with the one with the balcony which was to become our sitting room.
I woke up early with the sun streaming into the bedroom, and eventually got out of bed and sunbathed until it was time to get up, when I went downstairs for my first real glimpse of the Matterhorn.(We had just seen it by moonlight the night before; it isn't visible until just before Zermatt. From lower down the valley it's the Weisshorn, which intrigues the train passengers.)
That morning was the first of many which we were to spend walking up and down the street until we began to know everything which was showing in all the shop windows. While we were drinking apfelsaft, Bernard came up the street; having suffered from mountain sickness, he didn't sound at all enthusiastic, and his description of the way up to the Täsch Hutte (our programme for the afternoon) was 4 hours walk, all uphill with the sun beating on our backs. After lunch Max appeared; I think he thought 3.30 rather late to set out, but we weren't ready any earlier. On his advice, I left my newly acquired crampons behind.
I changed my mind about a guide's pace after following Max that afternoon; it was one of the most energetic things we did the whole holiday. Our throats got very parched with the dust from the track, how we appreciated the milk, half way up. At the Täsch hütte we met Stan, Paul Doug and Leo, down from the Alphubel. I was so glad to find Leo so intelligent looking after Max and to find that his English was good.
And so to bed after supper, but there was no sleep for Rene and me.
I for one was very glad to get up at 3.30 and, in another hour, we were ready to start. It was quite light by then, and we followed Leo and Max along the path and up the moraine to the foot of the glacier (Wandgletscher). I was glad of a sweet to suck, my throat was as dry as it had been the afternoon before. I was thankful to find that Leo's pace was a little more reasonable than Max's. I think Stan arranged the rope as Douglas had stayed behind with a headache. Leo was asked to take Rene, Wyn and me, Max to take Eddie and Dick, Paul to take Arthur and John, while Ken, Stan and Jack, who had crampons, were to climb together. Leo did give me a chance, he asked me if I'd done anything like this before, and when I said no, he said he'd like someone with a little more 'strength' on his rope, and he changed Rene for Eddie. Wyn and I cursed at first, but it turned out for the best for Eddie had no more signs of mountain sickness than Wyn or I. Rene and Dick, on Max's rope were equally matched in that respect. When we saw the colour of Arthur and John at the top, how sorry we were for Paul, who had the pair of them to bring up.
We set off up the glacier with the rope tight between us all. It was about the first crevasse that Leo told us a guide had fallen in a few days before, and his companion had been unable to pull him out unaided. Leo was fond of these sort of details, and I think we had sufficient respect for the places without his tales! As the sun first shone over the snow slope we followed Leo's example and put on our glasses. An so up to the col (Alphubeljoch) for second breakfast. It was quite cold sitting still and I hadn't yet developed an appetite for solid food on the mountains. We continued on over a snow dome which we found later was the Feekopf, for which there is a guide's tariff.
By far the most interesting part of the day was the rock ridge leading to the Allalinhorn. I believe that usually it is possible to keep to the snow, but there was so little this year that we kept to the top of the ridge. It was mostly composed of rotten rock, but there was one little gendarme that I thoroughly enjoyed. I was glad to find that this rock work was no more difficult than it would have been at sea level. And so to the foot of the snow slope of the Allalinhorn. This is where I first realised Leo's worth; as we went up his halts became more frequent, allowing us to recover our breath and each time he stopped it was either to point out the view, or to tell us some little tale of an experience of his, i.e. he didn't make it obvious that the halt was for our benefit. The top was reasonably crowded, but we found room to sit down, after the hand-shaking ceremony. We ate oranges and basked in the sun until the others arrived.
Leo was in a hurry to get John and Arthur down. We thought we couldn't leave them both to Paul again, so we exchanged Eddie for John on our rope (we were glad to find that Leo thought he could dispense with his 'strength' on the rope). I was no good at finding the way down, we went down the rocky part, leading towards the Rimfischorn. It was a loose, mucky way.
We stopped on the col (Allalinpass) and I know that John was very loth to go on, but Leo was keen to get over the snow before it softened any more, also he knew that John wouldn't feel better until he got to a lower altitude. I quite enjoyed the glacier (Mellischongletscher), at first it was steep enough for a sitting glissade, as the angle eased off John sat on and let me pull him down; it was great fun (for me). At the moraine we unroped and came down the morning's glacier (Wandgletscher) like that, although it was much more slippery than in the morning. We were just amazed when we saw Arthur and John running down at twice our speed, in the care of the guides. It was about 2 o'clock when we got back to the hut. We went to bed, but there was too much noise for sleep. The clouds had been coming up in the afternoon and Leo wouldn't give an opinion about the weather. Then there was a thunderstorm as we went to bed. Of course I thought the weather had broken for the rest of the holiday. I was amazed that we were called at all the next morning and more so when I looked out and found that there was a cloudless sky.
We set out the way we had come down the day before. Water on the glacier had frozen, and Leo cut a few steps. He did this at such a speed that we were moving quite fast enough for me. And then down the moraine to the Mellischongletscher where we roped up. Leo had Wyn and Me, Max had Jack and Dick, then Doug, Arthur and Ed (whoever arranged that combination?) and Stan, Ken and Paul went together.
It was quite fun over the glacier (the new snow wasn't too deep!) and I felt we were doing real mountaineering when Leo went poking around with his axe to avoid crevasses. At one point he had to retrace his steps a little way, which put us behind the other parties. At the foot of the snow slope up to the col we stopped for second breakfast, before we got out of the sun. According to Leo we lost an hour on the next bit, and I can well believe it. It must have been very hard work for him, in fact he even let Max go ahead for a little way. Leo sank in at every step, and it wasn't such fun for Wyn; she'd go through nearly every other step; I can sympathise, for I went in quite often too. It was alright when Max was leading, the steps were pretty firm for the sixth person following, but Leo very soon took the lead again. We left our rucksacks on the col and started up the rocks, having innumerable halts to let the parties coming down pass us. I was glad of these halts, I must confess. At the time, I thought it was a grand summit, I was surprised there was room for as many people. And so down to our rucksacks. Leo was still using this awful reins stunt of his. Could anything be worse for my self respect! In one hand he'd hold the rope to both Wyn and me, pay them both out if necessary and come down himself at the same time! But this was the last day that he used it to any great extent. I like to think that normally, as I come down, I suit my pace to the person behind me, but with Leo in complete charge of the ropes that wasn't always possible, and on occasions I'd jerk the rope. I thought that was one of the biggest sins I could commit, but Leo just laughed if I apologised.
It was a pity to come down the same rocks. Along the ridge it sounded grand, but the new snow had made it out of the question; in any case, it would only have been for some of the party.
The only snow fight of the holiday took place on the col! We continued down over the rocks to a resting place for some more food; my chief memories of this are Max's dried meat, the mountain dolls (which was what Leo named the birds) and absinthe.
We had a wonderful, if exhausting time on the next glacier (Largenfluh Gletscher). The snow was pretty soft by now and well trodden, we'd glissade a few yards and then run for a little way, it was impossible to go slowly. We kept going until we got over the few crevasses and then stopped to get our breath back. Leo suggested we didn't go quite as fast, but the angle was easier and we were able to walk from then on. I was so interested when I realised where we were, on one of the glacies which had seemed impossibly far off from the Täsch Hütte.
After another rest on the col we continued down past the Flukhut to Findelen for milk and on to Zermatt to wash off three days dirt in cold water!
I was glad I wasn't present when the programme for the rest of the week was arranged, for I had a hankering after the Matterhorn while the weather lasted (although that was the one thing I didn't bind about!).
The Swiss national day we had as an off-day, we first saw Stan, Ken and Paul off as they started for the Härmli and then had ices in the Alpina.
After lunch we set off towards Zmutt, Arthur etc. started at his usual pace, but the rest of us didn't forget that it was an off-day, and, before the village, got the primus going for the tea. We were turned off the alp (they seem to value their dandelions) and had to sit by the roadside. After innumerable brews of tea, we continued on through and crossed the river and came back through Zumsee.
We were very disappointed with the evening celebrations; everyone was so sober and of course the speeches in French and German were rather boring to us. There were a few rockets, but by far the most interesting sights were the coloured fires on the hillside above the village. Another thing which astonished us was the way in which, in a place where all the houses are of wood, there were so many lanterns consisting of naked lights in paper coverings.
We met Leo and Max and caught the early train up to Roten Boden. I was most astonished when I heard their plans for us, for the rest of the week, Matterhorn, Weisshorn and Dent Blanche, the three 'giants'. I thought that a programme like that was sure to be too much for the weather.
We left our rucksacks at the foot of the Rifflehorn and roped up, the guides taking their usual parties. We first went up the skyline route. At the first place where we moved one at a time, I was in a great hurry for I didn't want any help with the rope. I was astonished when Leo told me to take my time, and I learned that he was very patient on the whole. Despite Wyn's beautiful example I made rather a mess of the little chimney.
After a halt at the top we descended the 'Eck'. I found the slab very interesting. The others apparently found an easier way of doing it, but that wasn't the way Leo told me to go! I was interested to watch Leo come down, to me he just seemed to clod-hop down in his usual way (but who am I to criticise, the way I got my feet tied up round my neck nearly, on the slab!).
We then went round and up the Gletscher couloir, a perfectly simple chimney. Leo lost interest in rock climbing after this which was, he said, harder than anything we should meet on the Matterhorn. We went down the east way to our rucksacks and had lunch and innumerable cups of tea by the lake.
We left Leo and Max to walk down to Zermatt and Rene to sunbathe while we did a last climb up the same face as the 'voie habituelle'. Douglas took Wyn and me. We wandered around, having a good time – there were no scratches to follow and we had to be careful of loose rock. Douglas found one traverse very interesting, in fact, half way across, he told Wyn to pay out the rope round a rock instead of round her shoulder.
We thought Rene must be having rather a dull time all this while, but far from it, apparently all the remarks carried across to her and, in addition, there were the comments from a French party (a lot about Wyn, or 'La Femme Rouge').
The three returned from the Matterhorn that evening, they seemed very happy, but I must say that if they had tried to put us off it they could hardly have made it sound more terrifying.
There was another happy incident, Leo met our train down with my rucksack. Was I glad to see it after all this time! His tale was that he got together with the station master over a bottle of wine, and was then allowed in the luggage room, where he soon recognised the rucksacks from my description. There was no label on it.
We had an early breakfast and set off about 9 o'clock for the Hörnli. After an hour or so we stopped for apfelsäft – I don't know that I'd have patronised the place if I'd seen the English "Ye Olde Half Way House" notice in time! At the Schwarzsee, we passed the hotel and went down to the lake where they got the primus stove going again and we started on our food. How the club must have cursed that I had a watch when I started to tell them the time every quarter of an hour. We eventually started off up the last lap to the hut. I put in all the zigzags, despite Arthur's and Jack's terrific example of pace. There was just room for us at the Hörnli (being S.A.C. members). We sat outside the Belvedere listening to some guideless Englishmen's 'escapes' on the Matterhorn, for some time.
Leo and Max arrived fairly early, but went to the hotel (much to our amusement).
We should have got up at 2.15, so that our start should fit in with other parties. We weren't called separately and didn't get up until Arthur called as at 2.45. Leo wasn't at all pleased that we weren't ready to start much before 3.30. We roped up outside the hut and started along the path. The snow wasn't frozen even at that early hour. Leo was fairly happy about the weather, saying that if there was a storm it wouldn't be until 12 or 1 o'clock. The moon was very bright, making the rockwork very easy for Leo's party, but those behind had difficulty in following; they were so much slower with their continuous belaying (which annoyed Leo a lot). What historic ground it all is, the two couloirs, the old cabane, and so up the Moseleyplatte to the Solvay. I had my second breakfast outside (I was hungry) and we waited half an hour there. There was a little bit of interesting rock and then we came to the fixed ropes. Leo was very keen that we should climb these with our feet against the rock, and I must confess that I thoroughly enjoyed it, despite my convictions against 'artificial aids'. An so on, up the snow to the top. 4¾ hours after leaving the Hörnli. I must quote that Leo said that we'd have got up in 4 hours without the other parties. At the top, it was the French parties ahead of us who kept holding us up, but I expect that it was thanks to these halts that we arrived so fresh at the top.
The snow at the top was frozen, and beautifully frosted over, and we were quite cold before we started down, although we were sitting on the sheltered side. While waiting for the others we had a meal and listened to Leo's suggestion about going down the Italian Ridge. What wouldn't I have given to have done the traverse, but we had left rucksacks at the Hörnli.
I was a little disappointed that we had a view only on the Italian side, and that didn't last for long. The others didn't think they'd had nearly long enough on top, but Leo (not to mention the rest of his party) thought it quite time we made a move.
Leo was last down, the party in front of us was Arthur, Jack and John, all of whom were feeling the effect of the altitude, and were simply dreading the snow slope. Leo took hold of the ropes above the first two and started them off down the snow. When he came to the end of their rope, he told John to take hold of the loop of rope between Wyn and me, and I was to move down the same time as John. Eventually Wyn and Leo also had to move down the slope at the same time. This is when I really felt what a liability a guide could be. I can almost believe that, without an axe and in soft snow he could have stopped a slip of Wyn or me, if the rope had been tight, but I can't see how he could have withstood a jerk of two or more people on the rope.
The trouble was that John wasn't pulling onto Wyn's end of the rope, but mine, and had he, or any of this party come off, they'd have pulled me off and I'd have fallen 3 or 4 feet before coming to the end of the rope, but all's well that ends well and we eventually came to the fixed ropes, and if anything is more enjoyable than climbing up fixed ropes, it is climbing down them! We had another little snack at the Solvay Hut and signed the book, and then I put on a woolly for it was starting to hail (it was 12 o'clock, the exact time Leo had foretold for the storm!). Leo helped the party in front of us down the Mosleyplatte and then he let me get down under my own power.
The hail at first bounced right off us, but we got a little damp later. At one stage, the stones started getting bigger and I thought that hailstones the size of eggs on the Matterhorn was a thing to quote, but ours only to the size of small mothballs. The hail on the ledges completely obliterated all trace of the path (at least to an incompetent route finder like me) and I had to have innumerable instructions from Leo, but I didn't feel so bad when Leo also had to direct another guide. We eventually overtook the other parties; they had stopped, and we ran across the couloirs and so back to the Hörnli.
There was another storm on the way back to Zermatt, but I kept on that we must go up to the Weisshorn Hut whatever the weather, in case it should be fine the day after, but there was no need for my binding, for we knew that the other three were up there expecting us.
It was misty when we woke up and there were showers all day. Douglas was up before breakfast and found out that the 2.40 didn't stop at Randa (not even if it was asked to). The party refused to miss their lunch and catch the 12.15, instead they preferred to walk to Randa. I was all ready before lunch and, when we had finished soon after 1 o'clock, I started to walk down the valley, so that I could go at my own pace. I thought that the others, knowing we were meeting the guides at 3 o'clock would hurry once they got started, but not they, it was 4 o'clock before they arrived. I thought that's what happens when I don't bind!
The result of the late start was that we were hurried up to the hut in 3½ instead of 4 hours (but we didn't cut out the stop for milk half way up). We took a short cut at one point and it must have been here that we missed Stan, Ken and Paul, who were on their way down, thinking that we weren't coming.
It was a lovely hut, without a keeper, the seven of us and Leo and Max had it to ourselves; I wish we had had more time to appreciate it. It was an experience to see the speed at which the guides got the cooking organised – it was the usual diet of tea, soup (twice), spaghetti, stewed fruit and more tea. It was 10.30 before I got to bed, which I considered rather late before a 1.30 rising (or did no-one really believe that we'd start of the Weisshorn the next day?).
The alarm went at 1.30 and Leo and Max got out and looked at the weather. The report was that we'd better wait another hour and see what the weather was doing then. We all noticed that they didn't alter the alarm and so none of us went to sleep. At 2.0 we told them the hour was up, and they had another look outside. The verdict was that the weather was still unsettled, but we'd better have breakfast and see what it was like then. I can't believe they were really interested in the weather, they didn't even look at the barometer which was an instrument they normally quoted when talking about the weather (I was surprised, I had expected them to go only by instinct). After breakfast there was no question of our not setting out, although we expected to be back again very soon. I thought it a most glorious morning, thick mist below, patchy mist where we were, made light by a glorious moon above. We set off up the path, crossed a bit of glacier and so on over more moraine until the order came to rope and put on crampons. I'll never forget this, the first time I put on crampons, in the mist, before dawn, and then being hurried over alternate glacier and moraine. Dick hadn't any and I really think he had the best of it, for I found them very awkward on the moraine and the ice seemed to me no different from usual. The real trouble, I think, was that Leo had the bit between his teeth, but he did silence Eddie; inevitably Eddie started to lag, so Leo turned on him and asked him if he was tired, saying we must turn back at once if he was. It seemed as though, if the weather failed him, Leo was going to find some other excuse for turning back.
The race went on until we came to a ridge which started to lead up; there was snow at one place and Leo announced that this was the breakfast place; we were very surprised for we had gathered that the way was simple from the breakfast place on. Leo said weren't we hungry, wouldn't we like to eat, but the party couldn't seem to do anything that morning to please Leo, and we said no, it was too early. At that, Leo had to say that we must wait there in any case to see what the weather was doing. He said it was nearly sunrise, and, with the sun, the weather would change either for the better, or for worse and we'd know whether or not we could go on. Sure enough, with the sun the mist cleared from above us (although it took all morning to clear from below us, much to our delight). Gradually the ridge ahead of us came into view – very steep and rotten looking, so Leo sent Max to scout around on the left. That morning I wished more than ever I could understand what they said to each other. We eventually went back down onto the glacier and up a ridge to the left of the one we had been on. I've never been on such a rotten ridge, just nothing was sound, but we got up it without incident, and eventually joined the ordinary route.
The last little bit was by far the most interesting; "come along like this", said Leo, doing it au cheval, to get out of this position I thought it a nice little move – and thence to the breakfast place. The top looked so near, yet Leo said it was 2 hours away. The rock was sound, though. At first it was a grand scramble up the 'lovely' firm rocks. The climbing was of the Tryfan type, there'd be jug handles at about shoulder level, and, I must confess, I thoroughly enjoyed pulling up on them, it would rest my legs to use my arms! There was one little gendarme where Leo ordered us to use the rope; it was a pity though, for while we couldn't have used the handhold which he and Max were able to reach, there were intermediate holds which would have been sufficient with a little patience, I'm sure. Apart from this, there was nothing in the rest of the climbing. We came to the beginning of the snow ridge, but Leo said we could go round on the rocks; it was longer, but more in our line. The rock all the way was firm too, but I'm afraid I thought we were cheating in not doing the snow ridge, after all it must be from that that the peak gets its name. Exactly 7 hours after leaving the hut, we got to the top, not bad going, I thought, considering the detours, and the halt at sunrise. I don't know when I've appreciated a summit rest more. I sat down and promised myself an off-day the next day. I almost envied those going home. I thought what a wonderful last climb this had been for them, and looking over to the Dent Blanche, I thought what a lot of toil they'd be spared, in not trying to get up there.
I wished Wyn had been there, Leo might have slackened his pace for her (although I doubt if she'd have wanted him to), he certainly wouldn't whatever I said. However, once at the top all the effort was forgotten, with Leo pointing out the other ridges, and then the view all round; the mist had been slowly clearing, but it had certainly not all gone from the valleys by 10 o'clock. It was one of my favourite tops, it wasn't too big, and we were the only party on it, and we weren't such a bit party ourselves. Leo had taken Jack and me, Max had Dick and Eddie, and Arthur and Douglas formed the only guideless party.
It was Eddie who amused me, he arrived at the top fresher than any of us, yet he was still bemoaning that he wasn't up his wretched little Mettelhorn (he thought that we ought to do a small peak after the Matterhorn, yet, at the hut when John decided not to do the Weisshorn, Eddie didn't take that opportunity of doing the Mettelhorn with a companion).
I thoroughly enjoyed the way down, no hard work, only interesting scrambling again, down to the breakfast place – we all used the rope again, down to the breakfast place – we all used the rope again down the gendarme. After picking up our axes and crampons we went down a few yards the same way as we had come up, but then started to cut down on the right, just below the big stuff, mostly on very small scree. Leo soon got tired of the way I always seemed to choose the most difficult way and went first himself. This suited me fine, the rope is so much easier to manage when it is all in front; also, with a guide on the rope, I had no real responsibility (or is that the wrong thing to say?). One or two places were made more interesting by Leo! I was climbing down one little step when Leo pulled my foot off its hold, to put it on another. I was just putting all my weight on that foot, I thought he was going to have me off! I got him really mad a little further down, I sat on the loose stones, as he directed, but if I'd tried to reach the next foothold I'd only have slipped, so I went back to come down an easy way to the left. Leo wouldn't let me, fortunately the party behind me gave me a rope as a handhold.
Back at the hut I found my little store or peaches and apricots which I hadn't taken up with me. I ate them with condensed milk.
We hurried down to the cheese makers' hut, passing Derrick, Grace and Bernard, on their way up. Max's party gave him lessons in English; they taught him left and right, up and down, stop and go. Just outside Randa, he pointed to a short cut and proudly said 'right'. It was too bad that we all replied 'good night', thinking that he was going off home.
We were in plenty of time for the 6.30 train. At Zermatt, Stan, Ken and Paul were at the station, they were disappointed to have missed the Weisshorn, they had been in the hut the night before and had followed a guided party part way up, but had turned back as the weather was so bad. They must have missed us as we took the short cut on the way up.
What a holiday this is, that I could so enjoy an off-day. It was true to type, we spent the morning mostly at the Alpina, with cakes or peach melbas and then, in the afternoon, we went south of Zermatt on the right side of the river. We only got as far as the wood, and sunbathed and made tea.
In the evening we started at the Alpina again; we learned to ask for Christine, who spoke English. We had peach melbas and cherry brandy, and then Christine brought us some Kirsch wasser. After a while we began to get cold and started home, but Dick got us into the Mont Corvin. Zermatt certainly contains some contrasts; a good job we'd had some Kirsch wasser, or we might have realised that all the other women were beautifully dressed, lovely hairstyles etc. and the men! the tennis champion of Abyssinia was outstanding of course. Were the beard and hair really not false? The dances all seemed to be Tangos or Rumbas and the Kirsch wasser was inferior to that at the Alpina.
It was a lovely morning, how I envied Stan, Ken, Paul and John on the Obergabelhorn traverse.
In the afternoon we set off for the Schönbühl Hut; we didn't seem to have as much food as usual, so I spent all the coupons I had on me on some little crescents of bread. Just before Zmutt, the men insisted on stopping for Apfelsäft, but we began to realise that celebrating wasn't a good thing before going up to a hut. At Kalbermatten we had to stop for milk, and they insisted on still another stop before we got to the hut. We had our bread crescents with jam. At the hut we found the others trying to get some sleep, they'd had a wonderful day, with the guides taking them over all the gendarmes, and right along the crest of the ridge. Although they'd only just had a meal, they were quite ready for another, when we had ours.
We again set out on a glorious moonlight morning – up the moraine and over the glacier. We kept well to the right all the time. Another party of Englishmen cut straight across the glacier and got in front of us just before the rock. The glacier had a lovely surface, as though there had been new snow on it, but I'm sure there hadn't been a cloud in the sky all night. The surface of the glacier was uneven and distances were very hard to judge in the moonlight. The way onto the Wandfluh was rather loose; we went very slowly behind the other English party and had breakfast before crossing the next glacier. I enjoyed the next part of the rocks, of course old Leo was telling Wyn and me that he'd have taken the two of us over the gendarme, but there wouldn't be time with the other parties. I found it very difficult to believe that the rock was as firm as Leo said, the thing looked crazy to me. Apparently it adds an hour (not to mention an extra tariff) to the ridge. We turned a few more gendarmes either to the right or left. I was amazed at one point to see Leo take in the rope round a rock; it was while Wyn was on a little traverse, just before the most interesting piece of climbing on the ridge. After a traverse to the left, we were always glad to get onto the crest and into the sun again for the rocks were cold out of the sun. We seemed to wait nearly an hour at the top of the last little bit of climbing, waiting for our last guideless party. Leo and Max had both taken their usual pairs that morning and Ken led Stan and Arthur and Douglas, John and Paul.
The top was quite crowded. I enjoyed the way down – Leo insisted that we kept to the crest of the ridge as far as possible. The trouble was that we were continually having to stop, even in the middle of interesting little pitches, while Leo saw that the others were following. As on the Matterhorn, Wyn and I struck up one of those silent friendships with a French girl whom we overtook one or twice. And so down to the glacier where we picked up our axes before crossing the Bergschrund. I first put Leo in a bad temper here; I stood on the snow bridge, while Wyn was sick at the top, but our party got across without incident, and Leo watched the next party. Arthur got across and then stood there holding coils in his hand, waiting for Stan to come. This started Leo off again, but when he said 'Come on you', all three thought he was talking to them. Wyn and I shouted to Arthur to come on, but he didn't move, in all the excitement, when Stan came to the part, he jumped. This didn't leave Ken enough rope and he was pulled into the crevasse (the way down the far side had been along the left of where Ken had been standing). Leo had immediately started back towards the crevasse, but Wyn and I, when we felt the pull on our rope, instinctively braced against it. At first there was no reply when they called Ken, but eventually a voice from the depths asked for his ice axe. Apparently Ken had landed on a bar of ice, but he had no trouble in scrambling out and the grazes on his face soon healed up.
We had a short halt at the breakfast place and then started down towards the Schönbühl glacier. We started off altogether, and Leo's party in front were going very slowly for Wyn was feeling so rotten, and Leo and I were both thinking of Wyn and not of the other parties who, despite our slow pace were getting further behind. This caused our second little incident; it sounds much better as the others told it. Apparently they saw this stone, the size of a cricket ball, which had fallen about 100 ft and was on its second bounce, hit the back of my head. Actually it caught the side of my head and the first I knew was when I felt a gentle blow and realised I hadn't been hurt. It was old Leo who nearly frightened me, he pretended to look at it and told me so seriously that there was a big hole! This caused much swearing first by Leo and then by Arthur when he got down. I felt so sorry for Leo getting the blame for it. Leo followed the other parties down after this. After the glacier we unroped, and ran down to the hut for tea, and later, on the way to Zermatt, had Apfelsäft at Zmutt.
The guides weren't very enthusiastic about Ken's idea of going up to another hut in the afternoon, so we had the day as a complete off-day. In the afternoon we were going to follow Derrick and go for a picnic, but we ended up by having tea in Zermatt. It's surprising how hungry you can still be after five cakes.
We had to leave the Pension Lehner, but the Weisshorn Hotel put us up for 12 francs a day. John and Jack had a room in the pension (running H. & C. water in the bedroom!). Wyn, Rene and I had a bedroom opposite, the approach was smelly, but the room itself was beautifully clean. I could well believe that even the wooden ceiling had just been scrubbed. Arthur and Douglas had a room further down the street; it was in quite a modern building, the only snag was that it was five stories up! This was too much for Douglas and he decided to go home, afraid of spoiling a lovely holiday.
In the evening Derrick asked us into his room at the Monte Rosa and we drank to Grace and him in his Chianti.
We were ready to catch the 11.55 train down to Randa, but we didn't leave until about 12.20. Leo met us at the station and we had the meal he had ordered for us. We'd have been quite contented with the hors d'oeuvres, but no, the main course followed on.
Eventually we were ready to set out for the Dom Hut. It was the steepest path up to a hut that we struck, and no milk half way up. At places steps had been built, and then there was the one little pitch where a tired party puts on the rope when coming down. It was a lovely last hut, we also found there two of the English men from the Dent Blanche and their objectionable little guide (known as "you climb very bad, I pass", after a remark of his on Saturday). Also there was the English girl we had noticed on the station.
What a supper we had; after the soup, we had the spaghetti fried in the bacon fat Ken had supplied, also it had a good supply of cheese (most of Frank Stephen's tin) and bacon in it, and we ate a hard boiled egg with it (we had four each). The views of the Weisshorn on the way up had been very interesting but, on the whole, the evening was misty and there was very heavy rain at bed time.
I woke up at 1.30 and heard more rain and thought we'd had it as far as the weather was concerned, hence I was astonished when Leo called us at 2.30, and even more so when I looked out and saw the cloudless sky. We all felt rather doped when we got up. We think it must have been because no windows were open, although I must say I felt rather the same all day; it was funny that from the Matterhorn onwards I found the peaks easy and tiring alternately, and it was the Dom's turn to be tiring.
The moon hadn't risen when we set out, so Leo lit his candle lantern. I had been waiting for this all the holiday. The moon gave us a shock when it first appeared from behind a mountain. We didn't at first realise that it was the unilluminated side that we could see. It was an intricate way over glacier and moraine alternately. We soon left old "you climb very bad, I pass" and his party behind. He wouldn't take Leo's advice and got lost on the glacier.
We had our second breakfast just below the cross before starting on the ridge. We soon put on our crampons. I've never read anything about rock climbing in crampons, but the spikes seem to fit into tricouni holds all right. I found the odd bits of rock most interesting. Between the rocks there was soft snow. We did offer to take our turn with Leo over this, but I for one was very thankful that he didn't accept. I found it very tiring even to follow on. I couldn't understand this at the time for the steps were very firm once Leo had made them, but afterwards Leo explained that, to make the steps firm, he'd made them far apart, which was very tiring to shorter legged people.
At one point Leo cut steps in the ice beneath the new snow, as he was afraid the latter wasn't firm. This was on a traverse and this was the second place where I saw Leo take in the rope over a rock. It was a long time afterwards that I worked it out that Leo only seems to take this precaution on traverses. Our crampons were a great help; we were able to leave a party of two a long way behind; the guide was having to enlarge our steps.
And so to the final dome; the bergschrund, if it ever presents any difficulty, now seemed filled with new snow and we went over it without noticing it. The next wall was so steep that there was no fresh snow on it. Leo cut his last few steps and very soon we were at the top. This was easily our coldest summit and we didn't stay long. I was disappointed that the mist didn't clear on the Saas Fee side. On the way up we'd had the most wonderful views over the usual hills. We'd happened to turn round and see them just for 'the moment' they were pink when the sun first caught them, etc. We were only two ropes, Leo took John and me, and Ken had Jack and Arthur. We let the other rope go down first; Arthur was very unhappy, Jack gave him a tight rope, but still he slipped, and pulled Jack off. The trouble was that Jack wasn't vertically below Ken, and the jerk pulled Ken off, but he was able to brake before they'd gone far. Ken started trying to cut steps, but found it hard work cutting them down hill; I think Leo eventually took his rope. I don't know whether I horrified everyone, but periodically I'd say, "Can't we glissade?", for it seemed to me that the angle eased off after the first steep bit. Leo finally said 'all right, go straight down', but he gave me a tight rope. I realised that I needed a lot more practice with crampons; if I thought I was going to slip, I'd instinctively turn my foot horizontal as though to dig in my tricounis, instead of trying to dig in all the ten spikes. John came down the same way and then Leo soon cut a few more steps and joined us. Leo asked us which way we wanted to go down, the way we'd come up, or, to the right. The latter way was irresistible, with the sparkling new snow. What a lovely way, running through the snow, or trying a sitting glissade, if the slope was steep enough – on over a crevasse or so to the glacier. The others thought I was insulting the way down when I compared it with Ringing Roger; they won't realise that that is the highest praise I can give to a snow slope! After a sip of Leo's kirsch wasser (very superior to that supplied at the Alpina), we continued down the glacier, at one point hurrying past where there had been miniature avalanches, to the breakfast place where we had another meal.
Leo had to go ahead to find his way over alternate moraine and glacier, on the way back to the hut; how ashamed I was at one point when I went sprawling when I was last on the rope!
At the hut we learned that the others had set off down. We wondered why the tea was so pale until we looked in the tea pot (this was the one but without infusers). There was more lime than tea leaves inside (not as bad as the clove tea of the Täsch Hütte, though). And so down to Randa, I was very relieved that Leo didn't rope us for that one little pitch which is almost a climb.
While drinking beer and waiting for the 4 o'clock train, Wyn and Rene appeared; they'd hoped to catch a train before us and have a bath.
Leo came up to Zermatt on the next train; we persuaded him to have dinner with us before he set out for the Riffelalp.
This was to have been an off-day, before the whole party did the Unter Gabelhorn on the last day. At breakfast, John put forward a counter suggestion; he said that he'd prefer to train up to the Gornergrat and walk along to the Stockhorn, and Wyn and Rene supported him, Jack was undecided, and Arthur was still in favour of the Untergabelhorn. I went up to Ken who was in the middle of cooking his breakfast. I suggested that the three or four of us might be able to do the Rothorn, and Ken promised to think about it. We made our plans lunch time; Jack decided not to join us, so the three of us asked for food to take up to Trift that night. It was ready at 3.30 and we set off about 4 o'clock, after supplementing our rations with Maggi soup, chocolate and oranges. We got to Trift in 1½ hours, although we'd walked at a ridiculously slow pace to save our energies for the next day (also Ken had his Bergan R.S. with sleeping bag etc. – not that he set the slow pace!).
They asked about a cheap room at the hotel. The lady said that if we called again at about 7 o'clock, she'd know whether she could let us have the guides' room. We went off in the meantime to cook our supper; we found a lovely little barn, with a fireplace in the loft upstairs, and Arthur got his primus going there. After some tea, we boiled the spaghetti and then used the water for the soup. Ken's corned beef was the making of the soup. The spaghetti which followed was delicious, cooked in Ken's butter substitute. We put a lot of cheese in it and ate one of our boiled eggs with it. We rounded off the meal with Ken's marmalade and more tea. Two lads Ken had met last time he was at Trift were surprised to see us there. Ken found that they had remembered his English lesson, and they enquired about our 'cooking' a word Ken taught them last time.
Soon after 7 o'clock, we went back to the hotel and were shown the guides' room in the old building. We then came out and set the map on a table, facing the Rothorn and started to read the guide. We felt rather like army generals planning the next day's campaign. Before long we were joined by the Englishman to whom Arthur and I had been speaking; he had said that if he thought there was going to be another party of the Rothorn, he'd like to try it. He came out with a very different tale – he must strongly advise us not to go, it was too dangerous this year. There had been six Englishmen killed in the Alps already this year, and only the guides knew the variation which made the Rothorn safe. He went on about the delights of the Obergabelhorn, and I couldn't make him understand that Ken, having done it previously, wasn't interested in it. Altogether he was most objectionable, his attitude was (although he didn't put it quite so bluntly), "I've had more experience than you. I've had 10 seasons in the Alps, therefore I know best, and if you don't believe me ask the headmaster of Eton, who's in the hotel; he's had 25 years alpine experience, and he'll advise you not to go". Then, from his point of view, he made a bad move, he called out this headmaster, but he positively refused to advise us not to go. He proved most helpful, he told us where the danger was and then even called out his guide to get a few of the finer points about the variation. He also told us that there was a guided party going that way, and in the end the other Englishman thought that he might like to try it. Then we saw what he'd been driving at all along; he had no candle lantern and was rather slow and wanted us to promise to wait for him!
We went to bed very happy, for the wind had changed and all seemed set for a good day on the morrow.
We got up about 1.30 and started to make the tea, but the primus ran out. We drank the fairly hot tea and Ken went to the hotel for some hot water to make some more. Apparently they make the tea overnight and keep it hot in thermoses, anyhow we got a pot of tea in exchange for our dry tea.
At 2 o'clock the first guided party left; we soon caught them up and followed them up the moraine until our route went off to the right (they were for the Obergabelhorn). The guide told us that our way was up the rocks where there was a path. This is partly what put us wrong (a poor excuse I know). We started up the moraine, but there seemed no sign of a path (when we came down again in daylight, we weren't surprised that we hadn't recognised a path among the stones) and so we wondered whether we ought to be higher up, if, as the guide had seemed to say, there was a path gully; it seemed worn, but whether it was by nailed boots going up or stones coming down, we couldn't decide; anyhow it made a pleasant scramble for us, and taught us quite a lot (I hope). When we got to the top, we found that the rocks along the ridge were quite easy, so we went that way instead of turning back as we should have done as soon as we noticed that they weren't scratched.
Very soon of course we came to a place which was impossible unroped, and the only way of avoiding it was to get down on the left hand side. We traversed some way along on this side of the ridge for the map almost gave the impression that there was a way through (although the diagram in the book didn't), but the ridge didn't prove a real obstacle in our way; we soon came to a sort of narrow gully which took us to the top. Again the way along the top looked easy, but once bitten ….. we could see down the other side onto the glacier with its spores, and it was only about 50 ft of height to lose. I was all in favour of abseiling down (it seemed to me it must be a very poor sort of alpine holiday which didn't include even one abseil), but they found that it was easy to climb down. At the bottom we roped up and sat on the first big stone and had our second breakfast. Ken left the candle lantern under this stone, he had burrowed it from the man with the shop opposite the Monte Rosa and wanted to return it in good condition. Before we'd finished another party came up the glacier, the guide was cutting a few steps. I started to laugh when I thought that we couldn't have less traces of our route if we'd landed on the glacier by parachute.
We followed them up the glacier and spoke to the guide when they stopped just before the rock. We asked him which way he was going to avoid the dangerous part, his reply was some thing like this: "Sometimes I go left, sometimes I go right, last time I went left, perhaps this time I go right. It is all the same." He traversed upwards to the right, across the loose stuff and we followed him. When they reached the East Ridge, the man left his axe, but the guide retained his, so we all did the same. We soon overlooked them, they kept to the rock while we went along the crest pf the snow ridge. How I longed to have a camera both for the rock of the east of the Rothorn in front, and for this ridge, especially looking back into the sun. On the right the snow went down at, it seemed to me, maximum angle for about a thousand feet to the Hohlicht Glacier. Next there were more rocks and we joined the usual way up, which we followed to Schneagrat, the head in the ridge which from Trift looks like a peak just below the summit.
Next there was more of the snow ridge, but not quite so steep, and at times the spores kept down on the left, away from the crest. This time it was the right hand side which went down to a hand of rock and the left hand side which went straight down to the upper part of the Trift glacier. There was a crevasse or so to add to the interest. We left our axes, crampons etc. at the end of this ridge and set off up the rock, what lovely rock it was too. According to the book, we had 2 steps to go over, I thought we had only gone up once and insisted that we went up higher. This certainly gave us climbing on the smallest holds of the holiday, but we only had to come down again. I don't know why I didn't trust Ken to find the way, especially after hearing him at Trift the night before, when his knowledge of the way had impressed me no end. It was just a scramble along the traverse and up the couloir. There was no snow and the rock was rather rotten. The last part was pure enjoyment, the rock was of about the same standard as the more interesting parts of the Dente Blanche. Ken at one point tried a variation, where apparently people have abseiled down, but then he thought better of it. On the whole, the route was to the left of the ridge, but at one point it was to the right. What a position that was, there was a platform nearly a couple of feet wide for the feet, and the handholds were similarly adequate, but the rock between the two sets of holds was jutting out so that we were practically overhanging the glacier 2,000 feet below.
We arrived at the top 7½ hours after leaving Trift (we had wasted about an hour on the ridge after Eseltschuggen) and we took 4 hours to get down. (This is the only peak where I remember the times.) I thoroughly enjoyed our half hour on the top, we arrived just a minute or so before a party of three guideless Swiss from Mountet. There was a very friendly feeling between the two parties. Just as we were leaving, the other two from Trift arrived; I was sorry they didn't speak, but apparently they hadn't recovered their breath.
The rocks were just as enjoyable to go down as they had been to ascend. I was interested (at this stage) to be in the middle of the rope; it seemed to me that it was easier for those further back to pick out the route. I suppose that while the one in front is concentrating on the part just in front, those behind are able to look further down and get a better general idea of the route.
And so down to the 'brèche surnommée Gabal' and then down the couloir and along the traverse to our rucksacks for a halt, and another snack of food.
Along the snow ridge, which was softening rapidly and then down the rocks. Arthur was going just that much too fast for me to enjoy the latter. We again kept to the snow when we came to the second ridge. Arthur went too far down it and enjoyed himself cutting steps to get off. I don't think it was so much fun for Ken, in the responsible position, with his arm still stiff from the Dom. It was very much easier going down the traverse over the scree than it had been coming up.
As we came up the glacier in the morning, we noticed the spores left by people coming down that way the afternoon before, so we concluded that it was the usual way. Also, we could see no other spores on the glacier. We didn't like the way as there were so many stones which had fallen. Arthur thought we could stop on the glacier, but Ken and I said no, we must get over this part quickly. Then we saw a huge block fall down; it was nowhere near us, but there was no stopping Arthur after that. May I never again follow anyone who has only the two paces, "stop" and "full speed ahead". It was so difficult with the crevasses, if you asked him to go on, wanting him just to keep the rope tight while the next two got across, he'd start haring down again.
Because we didn't want him to stop as soon as we got to the moraine (the cliffs still seemed to overhang!), he showed every sign of running all the way down to Trift, but when I could really go no further, I said so and just sat down. I got the scree out of my boots, and then, unroped, I could follow down at my own pace and quite enjoyed the walk. It was interesting to see the way we had come up in the dark, and the 'petit lac du Trift' does exist. Back at the hotel we had a couple of glasses of milk, finished our food and the others went to sleep. The lady took quite an interest in us, for instance she knew that we'd been for the Rothorn. (In the visitors book I crossed out the question mark I had put against our peak the night before.)
After more milk we set off for Zermatt, arriving at 4 o'clock, just 24 hours after we had left. I was quite footsore and weary by the time I got there, strange that I should develop blisters on the last day.
I couldn't face a wash in cold water, so I had another bath. While I was waiting for it, I sat in the bedroom to see for the last time all the people coming back with their axes and ropes, and the wonderful brown faces.
The Stockhorn party just got back in time for dinner, apparently they'd had a grand day, getting in a bit of rock and ice work.
We paid a last visit to the Alpina in the evening; I followed my peach melba with a pineapple one.
I got up in good time and packed before our 7.30 breakfast.
We caught the 9 o'clock train, and made the most of our last views. As there are two sides to look out it was fortunate that the elderly Swiss on the other side was a good scout. He'd call us across when it was worth looking out his side, he was as excited about it all as we were. It was a pity the top of the Weisshorn was in cloud.
There was nice time for the connection at Brigg, and we were in Berne by about 2 o'clock. The most frightening thing of the holiday I found was coming out of the station and seeing the traffic whizzing by on the right.
I stuck to Ken and Arthur for the afternoon, they were after primus stoves, but there were no paraffin ones, only petrol, so I was able to buy some nylons after all (I hadn't nearly enough money left for mummy's watch!).
We all gathered outside the Bristol Hotel, and our meal was ready by 5.30. I'm afraid I did my usual amount of binding; how I was longing for meat and then there was an omelette instead, but the chips were very good, and we thought how we'd miss when we got back their habit of offering second helpings.
We could have just gone on eating those pears with chocolate sauce!
At Basle the party insisted on having beer before going through the customs, but at the customs, we had a bit of luck. When they heard we were for Paris, they rushed us through, and onto the platform to catch the 9.40. I know I was as reluctant as anyone to catch it, it looked very crowded and I thought the 11.15 left plenty of time in Paris. How typical of our party it was, that we let the train go out without us! We then found that the 11.15 was usually 2 hours late and we only had 1 hour for our connection in Paris! Worse was to follow, we found that the 11.15 had no 3rd class. What an awful wait that was, being afraid that they mightn't let us on the 11.15, the only train before the morning.
Somewhere about 1 o'clock the train drew in, and then after half an hour's delay for the customs, we were allowed on the platform, and we settled down in the corridor of our train. Very soon the ticket collector came along and wanted to charge us the difference. When we said that we hadn't enough French francs he mentioned our getting out at Mulhouse. At Mulhouse he came along and got out of our door, i.e. he knew that we hadn't got out. After that we settled down in the corridor. Rene and I were fast asleep when another man shook us to wake us up. We found the others paying up the 12/6 difference for the 2nd class fare. Apparently the ticket collector had come along with a reinforcement and pretended to show surprise that we hadn't got out at Mulhouse. More important he threatened to put us out at Belfont.
With the 2nd class fare went a second class seat. We sort of accepted the seats on principle, but I didn't sleep nearly as soundly as I should have done on the floor.
At Paris we went straight across to the other station where we had 5 minutes to catch the Dieppe train.
The customs at Dieppe weren't very serious and we were soon on the boat with Ken and me queuing for a meal (the others had had one on the train).
It was a better crossing than we'd had on the way out; this time there was hot sun, and, at first, spray coming over periodically.
It was hazy as we approached England, but we saw the white cliffs.
Rene and I got behind, getting off the boat. It was a pity for the people in front of me at the customs set a high standard of honesty, also our official was much too conscientious. Mummy met me the other side. I tried to say goodbye to the others, but I couldn't find them, although I seemed to walk the whole length of two trains.
How silly I felt, on such a stifling hot day with everyone staring at my ski sticks.
I caught the 9.07 p.m. to Wales, changing at Tamworth, Crewe and Llandudno Junction. Douglas Joined the train at Derby. It's not a very satisfactory journey, there isn't long enough at any station, or in any train for real sleep.
At Bettws-y-coed the 6.45 bus came along very punctually and we were at Capel in no time. Llugwy still looked asleep, but some climbers had arrived on bikes at a C.T.C. place nearby. We joined them for breakfast there.
We were away in good time and started walking along the old road towards Llyn Ogwen. We were without packs, much to Douglas' annoyance. I insisted on leaving them at Capel, I wanted to camp there hoping to get to "Cloggy" the next day. At the first farm (where Douglas had hoped to camp) we enquired about eggs, but no luck. We did get a glass of milk to drink though. It was a glorious morning and the ridge of Tryfan looked as grand as ever, in fact I'd have said we hadn't started out early enough in the day to get up it, if I hadn't been that way before. Next, we cut across to the road and fairly soon got a lift to Ogwen Cottage. I think we were starting up for Llyn Idwal about 9.15, i.e. before the majority of the hostellers. We sauntered on, round the lake and up towards the Kitchen; some young girls came a little way up with us, but we couldn't persuade them to pass the jammed boulder. We went up the left hand side of this, and all I can say is that it was a good deal harder than it was last time I tried it in 1939 in pre-climbing days!
We found the climb quite dry (that is why I had suggested it) and Douglas changed into rubbers, and we roped up.
What a disappointment the climb was to me, I had only seen the Kitchen before in rain and mist and I had always found it most awe inspiring. On the climb I'd look down walls which were certainly sheer enough, but I could feel no sense of exposure, which normally forms half the pleasure of climbing. The first crack had a number of loose holds, but there were plenty of firm ones to choose from. The second crack was quite straightforward, also the traverse.
We had our lunch at the top and then eventually made our way to the top of Y Garn. There was a lovely little lake on the way down to Llyn Idwal and Douglas had a swim in it, the water was beautifully warm. I was surprised how much more difficult it is to run down grass slopes compared with the scree etc. of the Alps.
We had a cup of tea at Mervyn's (it was for this I had chosen Y Garn for our walk in preference to the Glyders) and then we had a full tea at Ogwen Cottage.
We walked back to Capel along the old road, had more tea at our breakfast place and then saw Derrick at Llugwy. We learned that Ken had been given a message that we had gone to the Devil's Kitchen (Douglas had given Mr. Arnold a message in the morning) and had set off that way. Derrick suggested running along there in the evening, after dinner to bring Ken back. Douglas and I meanwhile went after some milk, and then we took our packs into a field just off the old road and started to get our food out. Douglas then went back for another conference with Derrick, leaving me alone with the midges. They nearly drove me crazy, I eventually tied a scarf right over my face. Douglas came back saying that they had decided it wasn't worth while contacting Ken that night. I regretted very much that the decision hadn't been reached before dinner and suggested trying to hitch along the road. I don't blame Douglas for taking a dim view of this, as he said he'd wanted to camp along there in the first place and I said no. Let's put it that the midges drove me out of that field; I said I'd see if there was any traffic on the road, expecting to come crawling back in half an hour's time, but no, no sooner had I got onto the road than a car stopped, and dropped me at Ogwen Cottage just as it got dark. I recognised John's car in the park. I enjoyed the walk up to Llyn Idwal, at intervals I'd shout "John" or "Ken" and get no reply. At one point I found a girl sitting on a rock all by herself, as though she was reading the open book on her knee, but it must have been too dark for that hours ago. Eventually I got to the lake. I looked up towards the Kitchen, but there was no light. It was a wonderful night and I was thoroughly looking forward to my night on my own, but I just gave a last shout, and got an answer close to me. They had just had a swim in the lake, and hadn't got their packs with them, so I had to carry mine down again (not that I would have missed that walk for worlds). It was really just above the hostel where we camped, but it might have been anywhere, perhaps to the others it was just above the road for they had to bring their gear up from the car, but I didn't go down with them, and so, to me it was nearly an hour's walk from the road.
There wasn't a tin opener in the party, so I had to make do with a section of Swiss cheese, instead of sardines, but by 10 o'clock I wasn't very hungry.
It was grand not to have to worry about tents, but just sleep in the open.
We woke up about 7 o'clock, but didn't get up at once; it was too good to miss, watching Tryfan.
We hadn't a primus stove between us, but the little spirit burner just made tea, heated up our beans, tomatoes and sausage, and then more tea, for breakfast. Douglas was along before we'd finished, and didn't seem to bear me any ill will.
We left our things in John's car and set off for Glyder Fach. I had with me my glove fitting rubbers and hoped they'd bring me luck again.
Ken got us to the foot of the crag in good time and then he offered me the other end of his rope at the foot of Alphabet Slab. He had all his plans made, and set off up Alpha – "a suitable introduction to the direct route". On a rope, there was nothing remarkable about the climb, the holds were small, but perfectly adequate for rubbers. And so on to the direct route. The 'Capstan' once spotted was very obvious and I don't remember anything about the climbing until we got to Gibson's Chimney; how ominous it had sounded "The first 20 ft are climbed on small holds, which then fade out". Ken just ran up the whole thing and none of the rest of us found it very difficult. We all followed Ken's example and faced left (not right as the book said) for the 20 ft after the holds had "faded out".
Again, as on the Devil's Kitchen, with the rope above me, I couldn't feel any exposure on these "boulder problems", but this time I found the climbing reasonably interesting; for example, I found the walls of Gibson's Chimney quite far enough apart.
At the top, the ordinary route was too tame for Ken, he tried Hodgkin's Variation, combined with the Final Crack. He waited until Douglas was up to the foot of the Final Crack, before attempting it, but he was up it in no time.
Eventually it was time for me to try Hodgkin's Variation. I soon got into a lay-back position and immediately realised it was wrong, for I could never have got out of it. I got down on a tight rope before my hands quite gave out. I then managed to climb it more or less by Ken's methods, but my hands weren't as much use as they would have been had I not tried the lay-back. The joy of swinging over onto the easier angle on the right and more or less lying on it to rest my hands (in another moment they'd have just let go of their holds). And to think I disapprove of people being taken up climbs above their standard! Douglas had by now retreated from the Final Crack, so I thought I ought to try that, as Ken had done, instead of finishing the variation. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I know I was puffing and panting, but I like a little hard work for a change. I think it would have been easier if I'd faced right a little lower down.
Ken brought up Douglas' rope and then we set off down while Douglas was bringing up John. I enjoyed the next part too, scrambling roped alpine fashion, although I'm afraid Ken (thinking of his rubbers) would have preferred a way with less scree than the one I chose. When we came to Alphabet Slab we moved one at a time, but we didn't bother about routes, we just chose the holds we fancied and I ran out nearly the whole 100 ft of rope before stopping. Then the rope just let me reach the bottom, although some people were pointing out some belays we were missing! We had lunch with Ken's friend Clive.
Ken had the afternoon as well mapped out as the morning had been. We were to start up East Gully (the traditional approach to the Hawk's Nest Buttress).
Of course the gully was quite dry, so perhaps I shouldn't criticise the guide, but neither Ken nor I seemed to use the hold which Kirkus makes to sound so essential. Ken found a hold well up on the left and then walked daintily up the wall. I chimneyed it, facing right. And so to the foot of the buttress. The real thing this time, not the Needle's Eye.
I think it was the third pitch I spent a little while over, I changed feet very cleverly, I thought, but I had to change them back again before I could proceed! Then Ken was up the 'crux of the climb' in no time. When my turn came, I got my hands over the edge, and my right foot onto a hold, but getting my left foot round the corner was a different matter. "I must go back and take off my watch" was my first excuse to funk it. Then I turned back again with no excuse at all. The third time I thought to move my right foot further along, which left a hold for my left one. I had been afraid all along that, if I changed the direction of pull on my hands, the holds would be of no use. This wasn't so and I was soon able to swing round and lie along the ledge. The chief interest I had in the last part of the climb was to look down onto the Needle's Eye climb.
Next we walked along little ledges to the foot of Lot's Wife. I was very relieved when, half way up the vertical part, Ken thought that perhaps it should be seen on a rope first. He came down and untied and I hurried up 'Chasm' before he could change his mind (as he was beginning to do before I got all the rope coiled). It was a very easy way to the top of the climb and then down the top 20 ft. I threw the rope down and it just reached and there was a belay quite handy for my sling. At first I couldn't see Ken and, in my anxiety not to give him too tight a rope, I sometimes didn't take it in fast enough. However, once he moved over to the left, I was able to watch him. We hurried down to the bottom again and Ken left it to me to decide whether he should lead it. Eventually I was able to forget the warning we'd had from Ogwen Cottage to be careful, and said 'yes' (not that there was anything reckless about this lead of his). He led up just as swiftly as he had done it on the rope; he didn't hesitate once.
When I tried to follow, I could really appreciate his lead, the 'initial overhang' was alright, and so was the first part of "the vertical section which is climbed with the aid of small, widely spaced finger-holds", but half way up I suddenly realised that all the strength was going from my hands, and above and below there wasn't a 'hold' in sight, only these little rugosities. "High up on the left" said Ken, and, sure enough, there was a jug handle round the corner. It was more than that, it was a whole ledge, and when I had reached it with the help of a tight rope, I was able to get my arms along it and rest my hands. I felt I'd love to try it another time, earlier in the day. The rest was sheer enjoyment, always just about my limit, but, with Ken's instructions, just possible.
The climbing was taking all my attention so I wasn't able to see if I was sensitive to the exposure or not. Ken found a more interesting way up the last 20 ft than the way we had gone the time before.
One thing I was thankful for was that the audience which Ken had had the first time he did it had gone before my turn came.
We went down at a reasonable pace and met Douglas and John, back from their walk over the Glyders, at exactly 5.30, at the road.
We had a high tea at Ogwen Cottage and then John drove Ken to Capel, where Derrick picked him up, and Douglas and me, to Chester where we had plenty of time to catch the 11.03.
Fortunately the tea hut was open for our wait at Tamworth.
Peter and I caught the 9.06, via Tamworth to Crewe. At Crewe we got in the waiting Welsh train, and soon Wyn and Rene came along from the London train. They lent me October 'Nos Montaigne' and then found another carriage so that we should all have more room. At Chester I woke from my partial doze, realising that someone was looking in the carriage. It was Stan, he'd had his 'heads' mixed and got on a Birkenhead train in mistake for the earlier Holyhead one. The journey was according to plan; we had a little rest in the Bettws train and, at Bettws, we caught the bus up to Llugwy. It was Mrs. Arnold this time who came to the door in her dressing gown.
We had breakfast with Bernard (meet leader), Len, Jack, Stan Mason and John Goldsworthy, also Ernest who had arrived with us.
There was enough transport to take us to Gern-y-gof Uchaf from where we took the usual track to Heather Terrace and then got the parties sorted out. Len and the two Stans did Grooved Arête, Ernest, Wyn and Rene, John and Jack did Pinnacle Rib, while Bernard took Peter and me up Gashed Crag. Peter had on his brother's boots, the first time he had worn climbing boots and he found the climb quite difficult; he soon forgot to use his feet. Higher up, I found myself shivering, so I gave Peter 'more than a little moral support' on the rope, which didn't help his technique in the least. I was pleased that the first chimney went reasonably easily. The second chimney was alright the second time I tried it, but the first time I just fell out of it, my hands were numb certain, but that isn't excuse enough. Bernard was surprisingly nice about it, saying that Derrick had done just the same on the Obergabelhorn.
At the top I actually had time to put on my woolly (I'd found it a full time job being in the middle of the rope on the way up). We met the other parties and had lunch.
Apparently, Bernard had actually listened to my binding about going down a climb, and suggested North Buttress. I thought that the two of us, moving alpine fashion most of the way, would get down nearly as quickly as the North Ridge party, but Ernest's perpetual questioning added him to the party. At the farm they made another pot of tea for us, the others had emptied theirs. We were driven back to Capel in plenty of time for a bath before dinner.
The weather had been very good, Tryfan was clear for the trip along the road, then when we were climbing, the mist came down in patches.
Derrick, Douglas and Ken arrived in the evening.
There were two parties, the climbing party going to Glyder Fach, and the others who were for the Horseshoe. I was nearly left at Capel with no transport, and I had only myself to blame. I wanted to climb, but wasn't keen on Glyder Fach, for my last day there was only about six weeks before and, after my six climbs with Ken that day, I didn't want to spend hours on Alphabet Slab etc., so soon after.
I was hoping that the Snowdon party could be persuaded to climb, so I started to get into Bernard's car, but the climbing party thought I was going in the wrong direction and persuaded me to get out of the car, but there wasn't room in the remaining Nant Ffrancon car. Fortunately, Stan M.'s car hadn't left for Snowdon, so I sat on Wyn's knee to Pen-y-pass.
Wyn, Rene, Bernard, Jack, Stan M. and I set off up Crib Goch. We waited quite a while before starting to let another party go along, but we soon passed them.
The top was just in mist most of the time. At about Crib-y-Ddisgyl we had Brocken Spectra. We had lunch at the top. At one time we left the shelter of the wall to go to the top of the cairn for the mist had cleared towards the east for a few moments. There were more Brocken Spectra.
Down the Watkin we passed several smartly and strikingly dressed people.
Going over the Llewidd, Bernard compared the route to that up the Eiger, but I'm afraid it seemed rather tame to me. I couldn't believe it was the same place as I had last seen in snow, although it wasn't nearly such a disappointment as the top of the Pen-y-Gwryd track had been.
My new boots felt very comfortable at the end of the day, so I though that I could call them broken in. It had really been a lovely day, the best weather I had had for the Horseshoe, and the colours were grand. Only a fortnight before, in Yorkshire, I had decided that this wasn't a very colourful autumn, but Wales was quite different.
After a high tea at Llugwy guest house, Bernard drove Len, Jack and me back to Nottingham.
Stan decided he couldn't come so near Christmas, and that only left Frank. I wasn't looking forward to the weekend a bit. I think I was so sure Frank wouldn't come (I kept thinking of February when both a letter and a wire had gone astray). I kept thinking that if only I knew he wasn't coming, I could spend my time walking on some of the lesser known hills which I've always meant to explore, but as I was expecting Frank, I knew I'd have to keep to my original programme.
I had four hours to wait at Tamworth. I wasn't surprised; hadn't we missed all our connections this weekend a year ago?
At Crewe a "Chester and Holyhead only" followed my train in, but there was no Frank on it, neither was there on the Llandudno train which followed it in, as far as I could see. I got into this train, which drew up at the Junction at about 7 o'clock. I waited about on the platform a long time and, when eventually I was going to get in the Bettws train, he turned up! He had been right at the end of my train, and his carriage had been off the platform. Ted, complete with ice-axe, with whom Frank had travelled up, got into our carriage until his own train came in.
At Bettws, the next bus, I thought, was the 10.05, so we thought our best plan was to get breakfast first. This wasn't so easy, until we found a little C.T.C. place (Tegwen?), where we enquired, put a plate of fried egg, sausage, etc. in front of us in no time. Things seemed much more cheerful after that, we started to walk up the road, for it still wasn't time for the bus, when a lorry stopped and let us share its back with a cement mixer. That took us all the way to Pen-y-Gwryd, where we changed and left our packs.
It had been cold on the lorry and the wind seemed very fierce round the Pen-y-Gwryd and I began to wonder what Crib would be like, but it didn't get any worse as we got higher.
We wore out our boots on the road, and then on the usual short cut to the col before Crib. The mist was down on Lliwedd and Crib but, in my usual optimistic manner, I was sure that it would clear before we reached the top!
Crib was mostly in mist, but we did get an occasional view down on the right. Frank didn't think it necessary to ascend the crazy pinnacle, but he did take an interesting route up the little bit of rock onto Crib-y-Ddisgy! On Snowdon we could find no way into the hotel and so we sat on the sheltered side for our lunch, and then set off down the Watkin, taking short cuts at first. We soon got out of the mist; it's the same every time, but I shall never get tired of getting out of the mist and seeing the sun over the sea, with stormy cloud above.
I was rather envious of a couple of parties who were climbing on Llewidd, but I was glad I hadn't thought that there'd be time for us to climb. From Lliwedd the top of Snowdon cleared a couple of times, just for a moment. We soon seemed to get down, and to Gorphwysfa, and walked down the road to the Pen-y-Gwryd for tea. We picked up our rucksacks and set out up the Miners Track at about 4.15. Frank didn't seem to notice his pack, the pace he set off! It was a wonderful walk, the sky behind Lliwedd was red at first and higher up it was more a turquoise shade. The cloud seemed coming down onto the top, but the east peak managed to keep clear.
Further to the left there was light shining onto the sea, and between us and the sea there were the two lakes. A couple of lights also appeared in the valley. We got fairly high before it got dark.
It was a grand evening, the moon shone very occasionally, but most of the time it wasn't quite so light, but light enough for us to avoid the crags on the way down. (We were prepared for the dark, Frank with a torch, and I had my candle lantern.) At the top we left the path (list it!) and cut straight across the plateau, and then started down Cwm Tryfan. At one point we had to get round some little cliffs, on the whole we followed the stream, but it took us over some rather boggy ground. I would hear Frank squelching, ahead, but it seemed simplest to follow him. I thoroughly enjoyed the walk. When we got down to the Pen-y-Gwryd, we rather felt that we'd had a good day's walk, but tea revived us, and we had a meal at Mrs. Williams to look forward to. When we reached the farm we were glad that they had got our card and were expecting us. There was a fire in the front room and I took off my boots to dry my socks as far as possible. We tried to interpret the smell, 'dogs' we were afraid, so it was a pleasant surprise when the roast beef appeared. We lingered over our tea by the fire, in case there was no fire at Glan Dena.
When we set out for the bungalow it was lit up, and I know that I was looking forward to meeting other climbers. All day I had been wondering how I should announce the fact that we were using reciprocal arrangements, but I thought that other climbers would be sure to welcome us. What a hope? We went in without knocking, perhaps that was wrong, anyhow we had to give a full explanation, and I wondered whether I should have to produce Cyril's card as evidence. They tried to be pleasant later in the evening, but I'm afraid the atmosphere was spoilt for me. There three M.A.M. members and later three Climbers' Club arrived.
We had 9 o'clock breakfast at the farm, we felt that the two huge pieces of liver we both had, made a good foundation for the day.
I had intended starting up the Milestone, but from Mrs. Williams' that seemed right out of the way, so we cut straight up to Heather Terrace and along to the foot of Grooved Arête. I chose this route thinking that it would put rock climbing up in Frank's estimation, for I think that it is a grand way to reach the top of North Buttress. I realised afterwards that an easier climb would have been better, especially if I could have got him to have led through.
The Grooves seemed much harder in clinkers than they had done in the summer when I had been taken up in hob nails. It was on the Arête when I got to the step across when my bad climbing must have started to put Frank off. I wasted some time here by going too high. When I came down, I found that the step round to the haven wasn't so bad. Derrick's route of last June looked absolutely impossible – the last word in exposure.
Then there was the slab. The last time I had avoided it by taking the direct route, but the first time I had done it I had been very surprised when later I had heard it was the famous 'knight's move', and I'd been leading them.
This time I tried to traverse low down, but wouldn't trust a foothold which was rather polished. (To put in all the "extenuating circumstances" – although it wasn't raining the rocks were dripping with water in the wet mist, and several times on the way up I'd had to warm my hands, although I was wearing my mitts.) I retreated and left our lunch behind (I had made it into such an awkward package that it had to be tied to a scarf round the neck!). Eventually I followed Frank's suggestion and climbed higher first of all, this brought me to a suitable line of jug handles and I got across without further incident.
Frank didn't look as though he found any difficulty and I was glad that while I was on the next pitch he watched a 'real' climber 'walk up it' (as he said) for, from my example, he had no idea how it should be done.
I hurried up the rest, leaving out the little chimney at the top, for the time was getting on, and I knew that Frank was rather bored with the rock. When we got onto the ridge we realised how lucky we were to have chosen a climb on an east face. We had our lunch on the sheltered side of Adam and Eve, and then hurried down to keep warm, going half way down North Ridge and then going further to the east.
Back at Glan Dena, we went round to the back, but the little hook which should have held the front door key was empty. However, the drying room door was open and I'm afraid I took rather a delight in walking across the carpet in my boots to pick up my pack. I left Frank to have a wash and hurried out about 3 o'clock to walk down towards Bethesda. I thought that if I didn't have any luck on the road I could get a train from Bethesda and just catch the 5 o'clock train. Just before the hostel I was walking on the right of the road and neither of two milk lorries which came along would stop for me. The wind was blowing the wrong way and I hadn't heard them until they were nearly on top of me. That was the last bit of traffic on the road until I had nearly got to Bethesda, when two cars went by without stopping. I thought this very bad on the road where I'm always lucky, but very soon the parson came along and took me right to Bangor Station.
I had the usual journey back to Nottingham, arriving about 12.30.
I caught the 9.06 to Tamworth, and then the usual train on to Crewe, where I picked up the Whitehaven train. I got out at Ulverston (which was as far as I'd booked my ticket) and asked the porters if there was an early morning bus to Coniston. They seemed rather doubtful, but the train drew out while I was still wondering what to do, so I set out to walk to the Palladium. It was about 6.30 and dark, but everyone was most friendly and helpful, and seemed almost ashamed that their town couldn't offer me refreshments at that time of the morning. Someone in a bus queue asked me where I was for, and said there was a bus about 7 o'clock to take me part way, even if there wasn't one to take me all the way. I walked round the town and came back before seven. The news had got around that I was for Coniston and I was told where to wait for the 7.05 bus, which took me all the way there. I woke up at one stop on the way, but the conductor said he'd wake me when I got there.
At the Black Bull, my breakfast was ready almost at once (about a month's ration of bacon to be followed by toast and honey). The first climber I saw was Cyril. I tried to tell him he shouldn't be there at a Pinnacle meet, but he was able to say that he was the officially invited guest from the M.A.M.
I sat on and talked to the others when they came down for breakfast (they only had scrambled egg). I sat at the table with Joan and Annette, and finally we made room for Peggy. She had been on the London train and had stayed on it and arrived about 1¼ hours after I did on the bus.
Peggy and I were shown across the road to the house where we were sleeping. We changed and eventually all set out for the crags, with Cyril setting the pace. The Crag was in mist, but I was hopeful, I even had rubbers with me. After lunch in the cave we sorted ourselves out for climbing, Cyril seemed to take it for granted that he'd be with me. It was his first visit to Dow, and I think he hoped that I'd know the way. We started up Giant's Crawl, I went first up the first pitch for it was only a scramble, but Cyril led all the rest. I know I was letting down the Pinnacle Club, but Cyril is so much better than I am. I enjoyed doing the climb with Cyril; he said that, compared with, say Tryfan, it seemed quite exposed (I was surprised at a Welsh enthusiast being impressed with a Lakeland 'd'). We went on to the top of the crag – I remembered Cyril's weakness for getting right to the top of everything (in Skye when I was wondering if we'd even get back that night, Cyril would never leave out a single bump on the ridge). Then we went down the easy way. There was snow in the gully; I was thrilled to descend snow again – remembered the instructions – "lean forward, dig your heels in", but the snow was very short, soft and easy!
We went down to the cave where we found Evelyn, and she joined the end of our rope for Woodhouses. Cyril led up the first pitch and came to the chimney. He tried it and came down, so Evelyn led it – did it beautifully in klettershue, although the rocks were very wet. Evelyn thought she'd better get back, so, after leading the next pitch, she left us. Cyril was quite impressed with the 'easy angled slab', and then I gave him a rope down for the last problem (I knew I couldn't even follow up this bit). I then took Cyril down my favourite way, the other way down Easy Terrace into the amphitheatre to look up at Hopkinson's Crack etc., running with water. We were soon down Easter Gully and picking up our things in the cave and hurrying back to Coniston in the rain in the twilight. We were at the Bull in time for tea, which included a slice of Christmas cake.
I was glad that I had brought a dress to change into for the dinner was a much more formal affair than I had expected. I sat at a little table with Annette, Peggy and Joan. It hadn't struck us, but our table was laid with brandy glasses and our wine was just the colour of brandy, apparently the top table were looking with horror at our glasses full of "brandy". When Joan got up and made the speech of welcome to the guests, she seemed completely happy, just to add realism to the "brandy" idea. The main guests speakers were T. Howard Somervet (A.C.) who found that we (climbing women) were mentioned in Isaiah and Iris Blaickie (L.S.C.C.) whose speech was centred on a comparison of her own and Bray's visits to Saas Fée.
Later Harry Spilsburg sang and Stella 'ballet danced' a climb (the low ceiling rather hampered her). Kelly couldn't remember any recitations (which were the usual thing, I gathered). Lastly Trilby sang.
We all made our way up to the crags again and had lunch in the cave; before climbing, Evelyn sorted out the ropes, and she put Cyril and Harry together and they, with Evelyn, Joan, Stella and Peggy, did 'Gordon and Craig'. Freda took Shirley up 'C' and I was left with Annette who agreed to 'D' ordinary. It was raining before we started to climb and it was the sort of day when your hands soon got numbed. I was glad to see 'D' again on the front end of a rope, under those conditions. At the top I wanted to look at 'Blizzard Chimney' as a way down, but another party was in occupation and Annette was in a hurry to get down. We went down by the side of South Chimney and then Annette started down Easter Gully, but she wouldn't believe that the first move was the most difficult; she must have been within 2 or 3 feet of the ground when she decided to return. Leslie Somerval's party were still on 'Blizzard', so we went up the easy way, and down Easy Terrace.
Back in the cave, Annette decided that she'd had enough and I went up to try to find someone who'd do another climb. Soon Freda and Shirley appeared, the latter had had quite enough. Freda wasn't exactly enthusiastic, it was the fourth day in succession she'd been soaked and was going home that night, but she agreed to another climb. We wanted to do 'Raven Route' but we found ourselves on the 'Falcon Variation'. This had a better ending though; we descended 'Blizzard Chimney' and Easter Gully. We seemed the last people to leave the crag, but how I enjoyed the walk back with Freda, who I found would be willing to camp in Switzerland on £5, if that were all we were allowed to take. Freda told me about her holiday at the F & R meet at Arolla – 10 peaks and 4 days guideless, while I talked Zermatt.
In the evening the F. & R. remnants came down, the party included Chorley, who had amused the party he lost on the hills, because they thought it made a good story – to be lost by a labour peer because he would go right when the correct way was left!
They brought with them 75 of the slides Poucher had just given to the Fell and Rock. They made me realise that I didn't know a fraction of the Lake District.
What a thrill it was to look out and learn that, while we were having rain in the valley, there had been snow on the hills. We set out in the sunshine up to the crag again; it was such a different sort of morning from Sunday and I was quite certain (as usual) that the fine weather had come to stay. We didn't stay very long in the cave, it was too cold, and then Evelyn, Joan and Shirley went up to the Giant's Craw, hoping that it would be sheltered from the wind. Tony and I had both done it this visit, so we set off to find another climb. We were a little too ambitious when we decided on Crocks Crawl. There was a fair amount of snow in the gully leading up to the climb and, although it was rather soft, it brought back happy memories. I happened to mention it later and found that, in that gully I had rather puzzled Tony. He said that it seemed just as cold and miserable to him, but I suddenly seemed to be perfectly happy.
We found the climb alright, but it was very little scratched. I felt that I was letting down the Pinnacle Club in allowing Tony to lead, but when it was my turn to climb, I was glad to have the rope above. The holds were very mossy and the moss was full of ice-cold water. The next pitch was dry, but steep and involving a pull over the top. Tony retreated once, but had another look at it and came down not quite under control.
I knew that I ought to try it, and I thought it ought to 'go' in stockings, but my feet were so cold by then (they were wet) that I was all in favour of an easy way to the top of the buttress. We came onto the ridge (and the wind) at the top of Abraham's Route and continued up to the top of Dow Crags. It was Tony's first visit, and the view couldn't have been better. There was heavy cloud just above the hills, most of which were white and looked very wintry, but one was golden, with the sun shining on it. We didn't have a view for long, we were soon in a blizzard as we made our way round and up to the top of the 'Old Man'. We tried to shelter behind the cairn and eat banana bars, but it was cold and we soon ran down to Goats Water (thoughts of summer evenings last Whitsuntide!) and then up to the cave for my rucksack. Again, I was in the last party down, but as usual I was in time for tea. This time I was able to sit down to it, for I was dry (one party which had returned rather early had been low enough to have rain instead of snow and had got wet).
We had an early dinner and Shirley, Tony and I caught the 7 something bus to Ulverston for the night train back. Tony changed at Preston and I got out at Crewe for the Tamworth connection. I was the only one at the tea hut and the lady who kept it had quite a heart to heart talk with me!
Arthur and I caught the 9.06 and had tea and sandwiches in the tea hut at Tamworth. At Crewe we found John Smith in the waiting Welsh train; the 8.15 from Derby had missed the connection. At Llandudno Junction we found Stan and his M.A.M. friend, John, in the Bettws train. John Smith went on to Bangor where he was meeting Geoff and Ron. At Bettws, Arthur made tea before the bus came. At Capel the others were rearranging their packs so I started along the road, for I can't usually keep up with a full pack. I walked as slowly as I could and it took me exactly 20 minutes to get from one milestone to the next. At Glan Dena I had time to put my boots on before the others arrived. I found by then that, if I camped in the wood, I'd camp alone, so I though it'd be a better idea to go with Arthur and Stan, and I left my tent at Glan Dena. Apparently Stan, as a joke had written to Ed. suggesting a camp in the Castle of the Winds. Arthur had taken the suggestion seriously and agreed to it.
The three of us went along to the church porch for breakfast. After porridge, I went down to Blaen-y-nant for milk and eggs (there were just 3 new laid ones). Back at the chu-rch, I found that the others had saved me some bacon and egg (I hadn't brought anything to cook).
We then set off up to Llyn Bochlwyd, where we found the other three who had just found room for two tents among the stones to the south. Arthur then hunted for a site for himself, Stan also half heartedly did a little looking, but he didn't take of his packs and complained that he felt so shut in down there. I knew the signs and I knew that he'd be camping higher by himself. I realised that I'd have to choose one of the tents. The most sensible thing to do seem to me to go higher. We knew that the snow tents weren't waterproof, and it was raining down by Bochlwyd. Higher up, there'd be more chance of having some snow instead of rain. There was another reason too, if once in a lifetime I was going to camp at the top of a ridge, this seemed a good opportunity for my pack didn't seem such a hindrance as it often is. I'd even cut down food to make it light and all I had of the communal gear was Stan's rope (my argument was that we should have been three, therefore a rope was one third of the 'one rope and one tent' necessary. The trouble was that Arthur insisted on bringing his own rope and tent, and then didn't camp high, so I'm afraid that my argument didn't help Stan at all).
I started up the Gribin Ridge, but when I got into the mist I left my pack and went down to the others who were taking longer than I'd expected over the tents. Eventually we all started up the ridge and I soon had to shoulder my pack. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected, we went so slowly (the unladen ones must have been frozen). On the top of Glyder Fach we sheltered, as well as we could, among the huge stones and had a little to eat, and I looked at my pack. I was wet through and had my pack been the same I should have returned and stayed in a bed. My sleeping bag was beautifully dry, I was glad to find that I hadn't carried my things up for nothing. Stan eventually found a campsite on the grass at the top of Bristly Ridge and the others helped pitch the tent before going down the ridge.
In the tent I changed into dry clothes and was rather horrified to find that my wet ones had made the groundsheet rather damp (later our ideas of dampness altered!). I had a gas cape to protect my sleeping bag from the tent. When Stan was settled in his sleeping bag we made the tea, it's the first time I've had to melt snow. Later we had a meal, I'm afraid it was Stan's beans and Stan's chop I shared. Before turning in we had cocoa – and we had more milk than we had water for it.
At first it rained very heavily and the rain dripped straight through onto Stan's sleeping bag. Stan stopped this by tightening the end guys and steepening the angle of the roof, and we could feel snug again (before I had been counting the hours to daylight, for I knew that we'd have to stick it out until 7 o'clock at least).
The wind during the night didn't trouble me in the least, I had such confidence in the tent, and, although my wet clothes beneath the cape were in pools of water, above the cape I was beautifully dry. Stan wasn't so lucky, both his sleeping bags were wet by the morning.
In the daylight we weren't so keen on the dirty snow and did without porridge and tea and made our breakfast of bacon, beans and egg, followed by bread and butter and marmalade.
The dreaded moment was when we came to put on our wet clothes. Once we had them on we kept moving, got the tent down in 10 minutes and packed into Stan's rucksack, and we started up and over the two Glyders. We looked over into the nameless cwm, but there was little snow even there. Our ice axes may have looked rather silly, but I found mine invaluable. That alone, used as a walking stick, had got me up the Gribin Ridge the day before and I found it so useful for the 'boulder hopping' parts. Both a pack or a high wind make rough country difficult, and when you have both together! After Glyder Fawr, Stan and I were agreed that the pull up to Y Garn would be too much (we had hoped to continue round the ridge to Bethesda) and we went down the path by the Devil's Kitchen, getting out of the mist.
The cliffs looked most impressive, with the amount of water and their tops hidden by mist. We continued round the west side of Llyn Idwal and down to the road where we met those from the Bochlwyd Camp and John Goldsworthy and Paul Russell from the hostel.
We couldn't get tea at Ogwen Cottage, so we decided to make some at the hostel. Arthur meanwhile was trying to get people to race down for the 3 o'clock train. I was sure that I'd never get to Bethesda in an hour, so I was glad that Stan also preferred tea to the early train. We had tea and malt bread and spent a pleasant hour or so with some friends of Stan's M.A.M. John arrived just as we were leaving and we were able to walk down together, having a very pleasant time. John had been on the same N.U.S. party to the Bernina Oberland as Geoff Thompson.
At Bethesda, the three of us had a double decker bus almost to ourselves, but we stood all the way to Bangor.
We had half an hour to spare, so we got the primus going and heated up the macaroni cheese, with added cheese and pom. and water it made quite a meal for the three of us in the train. Ron and Geoff soon arrived and helped us to carry our stuff into the train when it arrived. I had found my dry clothes which I had left in the middle of my sleeping bag, were still dry, and I had changed on the station. The others changed in the train, one at a time, while in the carriage we were sharing our food. I was handed once, a thin piece of bread with peanut butter spread on it. On top of this was piled cheese and kipper snack. All three flavours remained, most surprisingly.
At Chester there was barely time for tea, and in the next train, John showed us his Swiss photos.
In the Crewe train we found John and Arthur; their earlier train doesn't run on Sundays!
We were in Nottingham soon after 12 o'clock. I left my rucksack of wet clothes until the next day to unpack.
Jack and I caught the 4.10 to Crewe, where we left our skis and huge rucksacks in the cloakroom and went out to the hotel for a meal. In the lounge afterwards we sat on after we'd had the black coffee we didn't enjoy, and presently a man came in, in skiing boots and started talking to us. Once we found that he was Douglas Milner, we realised that we had quite a lot in common, besides Derrick and John Goldsworthy as mutual acquaintances. Soon after 10 o'clock, we went back to the station and collected our gear, met Stan and had time for more tea before the train arrived. Milner left us to find his sleeps; we left our things in the luggage van and then found a Pullman coach for ourselves. The trouble with being separated from our skis was that we couldn't use this time for adjusting the binding.
After we'd stopped talking we got a fair amount of sleep until Perth. Here we had to move further up the train, as our carriage wasn't going on. Soon we went up to the breakfast car, for, from what we'd been told, it should only have been about 10 minutes to breakfast. We seemed to wait hours, but it was worth it, a typically timed train breakfast, eaten just as it was getting light, and we were approaching interesting country. This time it was real snow mountains, which thrilled us. There were other skiers in the carriage, but they didn't seem to be the 'camp-ski' type. Milner was just too late for the first breakfast.
The officials seemed doubtful whether train would stop at Kincraig, in any case we rather thought that we should have more chance of getting a taxi at Kingussie, so we got out there. The little boy at the station was most helpful in trying to get us a taxi. He phoned up Dean's garage, but there was nothing doing, so he told us to go along to MacCormach's. Meanwhile, I changed from my navy skiing trousers in which I had travelled, into my camouflaged 'wind proofs' and put on my boots after my skis had been adjusted to fit(?). Stan went along to get the taxi and I had a look round the village (town?). It was just like the Kingussie of my dream a week ago. The Rolls soon appeared and we were able to get into it our skis and packs, besides ourselves. By now it was a perfect morning, cold, but that was as it should be at 8 o'clock in the morning. We knew that the sun would gain more power, and we were soon going towards the hills. Certainly there were only streaks of snow down the sides, but hadn't Jack's books said that often excellent skiing could be had in these conditions? We went half way round Loch Insh, I rather felt that a cycling speed would have given us more time to appreciate the valley, but I'm sure I wouldn't have been capable of noticing anything, if I pedalled with that load on my back.
Down the Glen Feshie Road we stopped at a cottage for the key to the gate, and very soon we were just beyond Stronetoper (I think) our destination. We crossed the river Feshie by the foot bridge, one at a time, and wound our way up by the Allt Fhearnagan to the top of the wood. We crossed the stream to the south side and found a lovely camp site in the heather just above the wood.
Soon we saw six people shouldering their skis up the path we had just left, but they didn't get any higher than the lowest patch of snow at the end of the Cairn Bàn Mòr Ridge, just before Càrn Bàn Beag. These were the last people we saw until we came to leave Glen Feshie. The making of the camp called for tea, and eventually we set off up the track up Càrn Bàn Mòr. The path showed up well from the distance, for the snow had remained on its level surface, while it had gone from the heather on either side.
At last we came to the real snow, and continued to carry our skis up this until the angle slackened off at the top. We still couldn't get the real view over the other side, but we thought it time we put on our skis. Stan was rather annoyed that I wasn't even capable of adjusting my own bindings, but eventually we were all ready. I soon lost the others, I went to the top of the little southern summit of Càrn Bàn Mòr, for I was impatient to get the view to the east. I wasn't sorry to be alone when I did at last see over, for solitude so heightened the vastness of the snowfields. The patches of snow on the west side of the Cairngorms had absolutely thrilled us, but over here, to the east, there was nothing but snow, and on gently rolling country too, which didn't look quite so difficult for a beginner!
I didn't at first know that the most imposing mountain in the view was Braeriach. I was nearly 3 miles south of Sgoràn Dubh Mòr, but on the same ridge, and wasn't it Collie's often repeated opinion that "The sculptured sides of Braeriach, as seen from Sgòran Dubh Mòr, is in reality far richer in beautiful, intricate mountain sculpture than the whole face of the Matterhorn as seen from the Riffel-Alp". But my impression of the view was that, under snow, there was nothing 'intricate' about it, just bold outlines. It was a wonderful day, really alpine conditions; the bright sun in such a blue sky with only a few wisps of cloud. There seemed no haze on our hills, but there was a layer of dark haze just above the tops of the hills to the west, in fact we got very little view in that direction.
Stan rather impressed me for he seemed to have understood the very complicated weather systems which obtained at the time, and he could assure us that the anticyclone to the east was not losing to the depression to the west.
I went back to the place where we had put on our skis, but couldn't see anything of the others so I went back to the hump, thinking it was a better viewpoint. Fortunately, I saw some other ski tracks, and followed them down eastwards and soon saw the others. It was quite a gentle run down, traversing, but what a mess I made of it, falling down again and again. We had one or two other runs and I fared no better. Then I had one final run; it must have been at a slightly more gentle angle, for, for the first time in my life on a ski run, I felt as carefree as other people always look. I was partly helped because the run flattened out at the end, i.e. I didn't have to worry about stopping. I was so cheered by this little run and soon rejoined the others and we went on to Meall Dubhag. We had to leave our skis for the last few hundred feet, for the snow wasn't deep enough. We got a good view over into the Coire Garbhlach and realised that if our skiing failed, we should be able to get practice with axes in the district. We also decided that the north slope of Meall Dubhag should make a good way down for us. We went back to our skis, and started traversing the hillside.
As usual I was soon left behind, but I wasn't too discouraged at first, for hadn't my last run proved that I was beginning to get the hang of skiing? and then there was one little patch of snow on which a traverse was impossible, and I was able to snow plough down that to save side stepping? But then! - that slope became an absolute nightmare. When I fell down I didn't mind if I lost height by sliding down, in fact, rather ashamed myself, I'd prolong these falls by sitting on the back of my skis, until I'd decide I was going quite fast enough, for it was the only way in which I could lose height.
To add to my trouble, after each fall my bindings would need readjusting, they were nearly as much trouble as on 'church' skis. The others waited half way down; they must have got quite cold, I was so slow. They then started traversing eastwards and I tried to follow them, but I just couldn't. The surface was either crust, on which my edges would make no impression, I could only side slip down it, or else the soft snow which looked as though it should be easy, but which I found just as difficult. When I found that I couldn't even make a horizontal traverse along this, I gave up. I had kept my skis on all this time, telling myself that if I took them off as soon as I got to a difficulty, I'd never learn anything, but when it was obvious even to me that I wasn't learning anything even with them on I stopped. It seemed a pity to walk down the lovely gentle slopes (as they had become once the horrid skis were off) that I tried tobogganing, but later decided that the best way of doing this was with the skis on the feet. I found it difficult to keep the two skis together, so I sent one ski down on its own – I had such an agonising time watching it go down and down that I decided not to do that again! Soon the others traversed back to my gully, they also had had enough. I wasn't sorry to learn this, for I had felt particularly silly as I was under the impression that they were enjoying the descent! Stan was quite good at the tobogganing and developed the stick for steering, by holding the two sticks together with a point at each end.
If I hadn't been so depressed over my skiing I'd have enjoyed the trudge 'home' over the long heather. As usual, back in camp the first move was to get the tea started on the primus, then, in the mood "If you want a thing doing well, do it yourself", I started on my ski bindings; fortunately I got some help and we used a stone to bang the iron to fit my tricounis quite well.
Jack's tent was the expedition's dining room; we started with fried egg on toast (my cracked eggs) and then went on to Stan's tomato soup from his tin of tomato juice. We had blackcurrant purée on pancakes and then cocoa to finish.
As soon as the sun went, it turned quite cold, in fact there were 5 degrees of frost by the time we got back to camp. During the night, the temperature only got down to 24º.
We got up about 7.30 and found that it was to be another perfect day. During breakfast, we cut sandwiches for the next two days and planned our food, which we then packed with our sleeping bags into our small rucksacks.
We set off again up the Càrn Bàn Mòr track. This time, we seemed to get over the first part much more quickly, but the snow seemed longer. Once on the ridge we realised that this was quite a different day, for there was mist low down and the tops were clear, also there were clouds gathering right over in the west. We skied down more or less S.E. into the mist, agreeing to follow each others' tracks, for we soon lost sight of each other, and of the sun and blue sky. Just as I was entering the mist, I looked up at the sun and could see blue sky with a white sun in it, I can only remember seeing a white sun in a grey sky before.
It should have been a lovely run down, but apparently I had learned nothing from the day before and couldn't make anything of it.
We then crossed a little ridge to the dip of the Allt Sgairnich where the others had stopped beneath a miniature cliff which they considered a good place for a cup of tea. While we were waiting for the snow to melt on the primus, we practiced climbing up the cliff and then Stan tried using the snow brake (he had brought an axe with him). When it was my turn, I found it would be much too painful without gloves and didn't try it.
After lunch we continued up in a N.E. direction towards Braeriach. I soon found that I was taking about twice as many zigzags as Stan, so I had to shoulder my skis, and Jack did the same. I waited for the others at the South Peak (point 4149) and it was decided to go down from there to try to get in a good ski run (we'd have had no run if we'd carried out the plan of walking down to the Lairig Ghru from point 4248.
We went down more or less the way we had come up, as usual I was last. Stan was soon down out of sight, Jack was a little below me and he hadn't gone very far before he started to take off his skis, preferring to carry them down as well as up. That discouraged me a lot, for I didn't realise at that time that once Jack has on a pack he loses all his skiing ambition, all I knew was that he was a lot better than me and he was finding this slope too much for him. They looked perfect slopes for traversing, yet I couldn't traverse, all the time I'd be going too slow or too fast. This made me realise that I must learn to control my direction on skis, so as I seemed to make no headway in learning straight running, I decided to learn to learn to turn! The number of times I fell over(!), but I persevered and only very occasionally tobogganed down to lose a little height, if I was really too far behind. I didn't do a single complete turn and was rather afraid I had wasted the slope. At the bottom we started travelling eastwards, the angles were more gentle and I was almost enjoying a few runs. On the last run I thought I was really going well, but the light had gone and I couldn't see the changes in the texture of the snow surface, hence my nose came into contact with a nutmeg-grater variety of snow! We must have been just above Loch nan Stuirteag when Stan found the two boulders. There was a large one, and behind it a smaller one and the space between would make a good bed we decided. The snow must have blown through between the two, leaving the floor pretty clear, and the snow had piled up alongside the smaller boulder, continuing the protection which that boulder afforded. All we needed to do now was to pile in a little snow onto the floor to make the surface flatter.
This bivouac site overlooked a rather deep valley which ran at first, north and south. We called this rather hopefully, the Lairig Ghrue, but the next day we realised that it was the top of Glen Gensachan.
We heard water in the distance so I volunteered to go down for some and set out with a billy and a water bottle. I soon regretted that I'd offered, for it was much further off than I'd realised. Eventually I got to the floor of the valley; there was no sign of water and I put the bottle down, but I hadn't chosen a level bit of snow and I was soon having to chase it down the valley. I was just a yard behind but I couldn't gain on it and eventually I got my axe too far in and had to stop to get it out and gave up the chase. I walked down to the water, and found that the stream soon disappeared again under more snow bridges, so I knew it was no good looking for the bottle and I filled the billy and returned.
There was a greater volume of tea waiting for me, than the amount of water I had brought back! Stan had his orange waterproof material roofing in the space between the two rocks and we settled down for supper there.
Our main course consisted of a stew of peas and tomatoes and my week's ration of meat, as stewing beef. Afterwards we had marmalade on malt bread, and there were several lots of tea. We decided afterwards that this isn't a good sleeping draught, but it didn't really matter, for it was much too wonderful a night to waste in sound sleep. It was a fitting end to the wonderful day. There had been such wonderful effects, on the whole the sky was so blue, it was only over Loch Einich that it was green and at the top of the green there was a belt of clouds. As we got higher on Braeriach, Ben Nevis and the other coast hills came into sight, and, with the valley mist blotting out the intermediate country, they seemed to be only the next range of hills to the Cairngorms.
I expect really I dozed quite a lot, but when I wasn't asleep I was perfectly happy to be awake and get an occasional glimpse of my surroundings.
Towards daybreak an occasional cold wind would blow round our large protecting stone, but it didn't chill us. The mist also came up, which was only to be expected. At one time, the mist almost cleared from above the ridge to the east and the sky was pink beyond, but the mist soon came over again. We hadn't a thermometer, the only way we could judge the temperature that night was by the fact that the tomatoes had frozen.
After breakfast Stan set off on skis, Jack and I left ours behind and Stan left his when we crossed the Allt Clais ant-Sabhail (our Lairig Ghrue). We then started up the steep ground to the east. Too soon, it seemed to us, we came to a cliff – we kept away from it in case of cornices – and continued up, although we were going slightly south of east. Next we started to go down, and in a southerly direction, so we knew we were wrong and turned back and were able to follow our ridge north. It kept getting lighter and we hoped all the time to get out of the mist, but it took a long time. Eventually the miracle happened and there was blue sky above and a noble snow covered lump ahead. We couldn't see very well down on the right, but Stan was muttering about it looking like the Lairig Grue. I didn't take this very seriously, we went up to the second summit and then had such a good view of the three corries which form the Garbh Choire that it was obvious even to me that we were on Cairn Toul.
When we first got above the mist, there were blue skies, but afterwards the predominating colour was grey, but there were lovely effects all the same. We came, more or less straight down the 'Allt Clais ant-Sabhail' – perfect shining snow, Stan lamented – and so back to the bivouac site for tea.
We had developed quite an affection for our big block of lovely red granite. Stan seemed to have spent his night planning climbs on it for little people about three-quarters of an inch high. Eventually we set off and Stan and I started up Monadh Mor, Jack, with a pack, preferring to keep to the level. What a joy the run down was (or should I be ashamed to say this?) for with the milder weather, the snow had turned much slower. I really felt I was beginning to learn; the day before, whichever way I traversed, my right foot would always lead, now, whichever way I went my top foot would automatically lead. Also, if I were really only going at a walking pace I could TURN, but I had nothing to make me conceited, for instance straight running made my legs ache. We met Jack at the bottom and continued on to our old lunch place for more tea and then continued on over Càrn Bàn Mor. Right at the top I could enjoy the run down, even doing a turn or two, but it soon got too steep for that. We traversed round to the ridge, but I didn't enjoy the snow there, it was too patchy to traverse and too steep for me to take direct, so I again finished a day tobogganing down on my skis. Stan crossed to the next slope to the south to get a longer run. Jack and I walked down the path. We celebrated our return to civilisation by making a camp fire, and I even had a wash!
Back in the tent I didn't get as sound a night sleep as I'd expected. This time the trouble was that I was too hot! – when we got up the next morning we found that the temperature was up to 45º.
This was really quite a lazy day, we spent our time practicing on the northwest slopes of Càrn Bàn Mor. We started up the path and then crossed over into Coire Ruadh. Again it was a sunny day, but a very cold wind was blowing over the ridge. Our corrie was fairly sheltered.
The temperature was very high and the snow rather wet, but slow, thank heavens! We started traversing down and I was quite as bad as I had ever been! I then took off my skis and walked up to join the others. We then each made our own way to the top of the ridge. I rested half way and was able to enjoy the scenery by looking north towards Meall Tionail – the snow there was much too patchy for skiing – when I turned round and saw the snow slopes to the south, it was too much of a challenge and I soon got up and continued on to the col before Sgoran Dubh Mor, to get a last look towards Braeriach. I didn't stay on the top long; the ice was good enough for skating. I was able to do a turn or so before the angle steepened and then I followed Stan's traversing tracks. I was far from good, but I had improved on my first run of the day.
Stan took a good line which ended up on a tongue of snow which was only just too steep for me to turn on, but a miss is as good as a mile and it was too steep! How aggravated Stan was when I repeatedly tried to turn on that slope, falling down each time, and, as he said, learning nothing.
We then made our way up towards the ridge over to the Allt Fhearnagan, stopping at a deep gully in the snow to play. There was about 15 ft of practically vertical snow for glissading, we used our sticks as an axe and practiced trying to use them as little as possible. Further along there was the remains of a cornice, and we built a snow wall at right angles to this to try to make a sheltered place for lunch, but it was still very cold and we didn't linger long, but this had shown me that in soft snow igloo building might be possible. Jack eventually returned from the top and we had some last runs on the nearest stretch of snow. After several tries, I did actually do a turn. Then we walked down the ridge to the last patch of snow and I think the others enjoyed their run, but I found that it involved a turn on a surface that I could only describe as crust, and after that I had lost too much height to have a very long run. Hence this last day was true to type, ending on a depressing note as far as skiing was concerned, but that didn't really matter, as it was so good just to be in the Cairngorms again.
We woke at 6.30 and thought we heard the sound of drizzle on the tent. Stan shot out and covered the tent with his orange waterproof material, for he didn't want to carry a wet tent. I didn't get up until after I'd had my early morning cup of tea! We rather had breakfast in the intervals between packing, and were ready to leave before 9 o'clock. We arrived at 'Achlean' at about 9.10, not 50 yards behind the car, as it drove off!
When the lady saw us, she said what a pity we hadn't been a minute earlier, for there'd been plenty of room for us in the back of the car. She advised us to cross the river and get on the other road, where we might get a timber lorry. We went upstream to the footbridge and hurried onto the road, but then we could take our time. We rested at the junction of the Kincraig and Kingussie Roads, I don't think we discussed which we should take, but when we got up we just started along the Kingussie track, knowing that we should have to walk all the way, while if we had chosen the other there was the chance of a lift.
I certainly didn't regret the decision, we didn't hurry, we walked for 20 minutes and then rested for 5. It was lovely country, heather with occasional trees, and a river to ford, and soon the Cairngorms seemed impossibly remote.
Eventually, we got to our first hamlet, Drumguish, and the inhabitants stopped their work on the potato clamp to speak to us "Have you come down from the snows?" they asked. For the first and last time I felt quite like a Himalayan explorer! Another 2 or 3 miles brought us to Kingussie, and, thanks to an old man with whom we discussed the names of the hills, we just missed the 1 o'clock train. The next wasn't until 5.23. We weighed our packs with skis. How ashamed I was of my 49 lb when Stan's came to 70 lbs and Jack's to 61 lbs. We gladly left our gear and went into the town for lunch at 'The Star'. We spent the afternoon wandering about, and watching the schoolchildren. Tea at Wade's restaurant wasn't altogether a success, and then it was time for the train. Jack and I left our things in the Edinburgh part and Stan in the Glasgow end. We had our last views of snow hills, and then it was time for dinner, which we had in plenty of time for before Perth, where Jack and I were shunted onto another train.
At Edinburgh we caught the 9.50 and Jack and I had a carriage to ourselves and were able to have a good sleep. In fact, I was sorry to have to get out at 5.30 when we got to Nottingham.
I caught the 8 o'clock to Grantham where I joined the Fort William carriages of the 'Aberdonian'. I think I was rather astonished to see Frank on the train, for it's such a change for our meetings to go off smoothly. The train wasn't crowded, but we were three a side and I think I sleep better on the floor. Tony joined us at York, and the attendant came round soon after. "I haven't seen you two before", he said to Tony and me, so I knew that we'd be well looked after, as he took such a personal interest in all his passengers.
It was at about 3 o'clock in the morning that the engine broke down and we were shunted onto a side line to let the relief train by. We were only held up for about an hour, and soon made most of it up, but the worry of wondering how late we should be prevented us having any more sleep.
We forgave the railway everything when the attendant brought round the tea, and soon we were going along for breakfast which we had almost finished before we got to Loch Lomond.
Back in our carriage we took an intelligent interest in the view, with the help of the quarter inch map. The Buchailles seemed to take a long time coming into view, and then the interest was on the other side, finding Schiehallion (the peak which had intrigued me when climbing on Buchaille Etive Mor). And so past Loch Treig to Glen Spean for the views of the 'Stob Ridge'. Eventually the Aonachs came into view – there was so much snow (comparatively!) that I began to wonder whether skis wouldn't have been a good idea. Finally, just before Fort William, the cliffs of Nevis itself came into view.
At the station I was a little disappointed that we couldn't weigh our packs, but had we done so I expect I should have been ashamed of the weight of mine, for Tony was carrying tent, rope and stove himself, while Frank's tent must have been far heavier than the rope, stove and spare paraffin which I had, for I had bought nylon line, especially to lighten my load.
We left our things in the centre of the town and had a snack in a café – three tier cake stands! and the others bought their bread. Apparently Fort William doesn't bother about B.Hs.
We caught the 11.30 bus the two miles along to the beginning of the pony track. An old man on the road took a dim view of the others allowing me to carry a pack, but I'm sure they didn't look as though they could carry any more! When he heard that we were from Nottinghamshire, he said that it must be very beautiful there. At any rate he was very encouraging about the weather, apparently it was clearing up after a bad spell. The others set a good pace to Achintee where we had our first rest and collected some milk. The path then started up the hillside and we started having 5 minutes rest every 20 minutes. I'm afraid the 20 minutes walking soon became 15 or even less and the rests became even longer. Normally I don't seem to need rests, provided I walk slowly enough; I found with my heavy pack that I just had to stop at frequent intervals to rest my shoulders. All the way up I was saying "never again", I really found it just sheer drudgery. At first we passed the time by noting the hostel and forestry commission place in the valley, then we noticed that we were nearly level with the col opposite and therefore had made nearly half the height. The zigzags also broke the monotony a little. At the broken bridge, I wasn't very proud of myself; I chose a higher path than the others and ended by having to hand down my pack to them (rock climbing was out of the question with that on my back!). Fairly soon we were in the mist, it was just the sort of weather I had imagined I should find in the Allt a Mhuilinn, and the thought that the wet might make me bring all my load down again before all my food was eaten made the journey up seem even more of a mug's game. Eventually, after the third zigzag, we struck off to the left, as the path seemed to wind down and down, I began to wish we'd chosen the other way to come up. Our halts were still as frequent, but we were able to cover a little more ground in the same time. Then, as we got further over into our glen, so (it appeared to me) a miracle began to happen, there were patches of blue sky! The mist was still blowing over from the south, but on our side it was quite clear.
At about 4.30 we arrived at the C.I.C. hut and left our packs while we looked for a campsite. We soon found it just to the south of the hut over the rocks. The final few yards of pack carrying seemed the worst of the lot, yet as soon as the tents were up I forgot all about it. In fact before we'd even made tea, I got the others up on the nearest patch of snow. It was too soft for a standing glissade, but they could practice the axe brake (I didn't want the responsibility of being out with anyone who had never tried the brake – a theoretical knowledge does not replace practical experience). Then we settled down to our well earned supper. How much better it is to "arrive" than to "travel hopefully". Frank and I soon saw how lucky we were to share food with Tony; he had the spoils from a freshly killed pig. I don't think anything could have been more tasty than the liver and bacon which we ate with pom, and we finished with a sweet made from apple, orange, date, oatmeal and milk. There were numerous brews of tea, but by 7 o'clock we had finished and had even found a little surplus energy which we wanted to work off.
The only place to go was the col at the head of the glen, we were feeling really shut in in the Allt a Mhuilinn and we had to get up somewhere to get a view into another valley, and the col was the nearest place. We set off up the glen keeping to the south side. The large boulders made interesting going, and when they alternated with snow, we found it rather soft. I was very interested to note at one point a newly fallen rock avalanche on top of the snow. Eventually we got to the steeper slopes at the head of the Corrie Leis and ascended the alternate snow and rock. For a change I found myself in the front and made good use of my time by cutting a few steps in the snow (I knew I wouldn't get the chance to later in the holiday). It was so grand to be finding our own way up, and it took us much longer than we expected, we traversed up to the right of the central little chimney. Eventually, we reached the crest – all the way up I'd been expecting to see a sunset or something spectacular over the other side (although I knew we were facing east!). I wasn't disappointed – the moon was almost as bright as the sun and so unexpected. By then it was 8 o'clock and I was afraid the light wouldn't last much longer, so I suggested going down the same way which we knew to be easy, although I think Tony was a little disappointed not to go further along the ridge for a long snow slope down. Frank was the party's expert on the Mamores and was able to name all of those in sight; how grand they looked with the snow in their corries.
We soon varied the route down and got a few standing glissades, before the snow got really too soft and we had to sit. Tony said that he was glad to use the brake a couple of times. Frank was more cautious and slower. Next we traversed onto Carn Mor Dearg and had one or two more sitting glissades. We found the way down to the north of the glen much easier going and got back to the C.I.C. hut at dusk. I wanted to see inside the hut and it seemed a good excuse to leave a message for the rest of the club. The inside of the hut was in as big a mess as the outside. We found four residents and I was surprised when I mentioned the 'Polaris' to find that we were known. Apparently a friend of Derrick was in the party. They said that conditions had been perfect for Tower Ridge that day.
After cake and cocoa we turned in, but watched the moon rise over the Cairn Mor Dearg Ridge – we had been watching it shine on the snow in the corrie above number five gully. In the Allt a Mhuilinn the foreign travel allowance doesn't seem very important.
We watched the sun in the morning light up the same snow as the moon had done the night before, and then had breakfast, and started out. It was another perfect morning and I felt rather guilty at not taking the opportunity to climb. I knew that if the weather lasted, this was the best thing to do, to walk and get the views and appreciate the Ben from the distance and really whet our appetites for a climb on the cliffs, but against this was the chance of wasting perhaps the only good climbing day and the fact that I knew it was only because I hadn't the courage to lead that party on a snow and rock climb, that we turned north, away from Nevis. We only went a little way up the glen before starting up towards Carn Mor Dearg, and reached the ridge not far to the east of the summit. Again it was my axe which did the work (which wasn't really essential!), but that was about the last time for the others had caught up with me the little I know about using the ice axe. It was a grand ridge down to the Col before the Aonachs, nothing exciting about it, quite a broad edge of soft snow, but I ran down and my steps seemed a giant's distance apart.
It was the snow slopes to the left which intrigued me. eventually the last clear slope seemed to end on a broad horizontal stretch of snow which it would be possible to traverse to the col, so I suggested a glissade. When I think of it now, I think I must have been crazy, but I think in my mind now I have got that slope rather confused with the slopes from the Zinal Rothorn, which went down for thousands of feet. The others agreed with the glissade idea and I set off. It was in perfect condition and it is the one glissade which I thoroughly enjoyed, quite fast, but not too long for the speed to worry me, it seemed much too soon that I got to the snow, which the sun had softened, and stopped, just managing to keep upright as my feet sank in the snow. Tony came down next; I was surprised how fast he appeared to be travelling. Frank came down head over heels, but his axe, the soft snow and the easier gradient eventually helped him to stop. I had an awful moment when I thought that the snow at the bottom was only flat in comparison, and if Frank didn't stop on that there were rocks lower down. However, I needn't have worried, but I must say that snow slopes were never quite the same after that. Without further incident we reached the col and started up the Aonachs; I tended to traverse to the right, for we were making for Aonach Beag, the furthest and highest one. On the col we were rather delighted with the cornices, in fact the nylon which I had rather hopefully put in the rucksack came in useful to safeguard the photographers. We reached Aonach Beg at about 1 o'clock (shows after leaving camp) and had lunch on the snow dome. There was no sign of a cairn, just the gentle snow slope up from the west, and crags, and cornice to the east. We picked out the 'Stob Ridge" and all the Mamores, although, of course, Nevis was the centre of the view, no wonder the plate in the front of the guide is the view from here.
We retraced our steps to the col and then ascended to Aonach Mor, mounting the Cairn so that we could claim another 'four thousander'. We then descended to the col before Cairn Mor Dearg. Both from the summit cairn and from the ridge we descended, we greatly admired the ridge which led up to the nameless peak, just to the north of Cairn Mor Dearg. There was a tower near the top, and when we thought that the rocks near there looked steep we told ourselves that we should be able to get up with the help of the nylon. A very wrong conclusion of mine was that, because there was no snow on the ridge, it must be steep!
Frank led the way, traversing slightly upwards in the corrie until we reached the ridge just before the tower, which was of course very disappointing. Fortunately, I was last when I got my second great shock of the day. I touched two huge loose blocks (and I hoped I was beginning to develop into a mountaineer!), I thought they were coming down onto me. One did graze my face, I had no alternative but to drop my axe to push the block to one side. Fortunately the axe didn't follow the boulders down the hillside. We shared an orange by the tower and amused ourselves by watching stones travelling down the hillside – they'd go down and down long after we thought the snow was quite level.
At the summit we met a lone walker – in Scotland for seven weeks – and then continued over Cairn Mor Dearg and down the ridge until we came to a suitable snow slope. Frank preferred the rocks to the snow as a way down. I found that I was funking glissading as much as I do skiing; I'd wait until Tony'd tried a slope before I'd glissade. We controlled our speeds very well by turning to the left whenever we thought we were going too fast, but we didn't try it to the right. All too soon, we were reduced to sitting glissades and then to the walk down the valley to the camp. All day we had imagined Arthur trudging up on his own; we got back just about at the same time as Ken and Arthur arrived. Ken had set out Tuesday night and got a lift straight through to Glasgow, from where he had caught a bus.
It was another perfect morning and we'd soon finished breakfast and were walking up the glen for the Northeast Buttress. Ken seemed to have more respect for this route than I did, that's because he didn't use Abraham to get a general idea of the cliff, I expect. We traversed right round to the east, to walk along the first platform.
When the snow began to mix nicely with the rocks, we roped up, Ken taking Frank and me, and leaving Arthur and Tony together. Those with alpine experience had lots of advice to offer those without! The book said that the climber must overcome the tendency to be pushed to the left, off the ridge proper, therefore Ken did his best to keep to the right, as much on the crest as possible.
The first difficulty was a little chimney, Ken didn't make much of it, so I was most ashamed of myself that I was glad to have a hand pushing me into the rock to help my balance. Ken was very nice about it; I was glad to hear him blame the rucksack even if I didn't notice it myself. Frank then came up without any trouble, and he gave Arthur a rope down, but Arthur thought he'd prefer to find another route.
Ken ran out the whole 100 ft of rope and I started to follow when Arthur changed his mind and again wanted a rope down. I tied onto a piece of rock, Frank untied and I gave Arthur a rope down, but he still didn't make it. My belay looked as solid a piece of rock as any on the mountain, yet I was glad to think that Ken had my rope. I suppose it was after my experience the day before that I suspected everything of being loose. Eventually Frank tied on again and we continued up. When we stopped, we sometimes amused ourselves by looking at our yesterday's tracks on Cairn Mor Dearg. The face on view didn't tend to diminish the angle of the snow, but the little steps we took to the right, instead of turning in that direction looked rather feeble. At one point Ken pointed to the snow and rocks to our left and compared it with some of Graham Brown's 'Brenva' photos. There certainly was a similarity, but I suppose on a very different scale, for aren't the Brenva photos the last word?
At the "smooth, overhanging wall", I "attacked the face directly by traversing slightly to the left", and was duly impressed. The next obstacle was the 'Man Trap' – I found the balance a little precarious until I reached the hold on the right, but the rocks were dry and conditions really couldn't have been better. While I was bringing Frank up, Ken disappeared round the corner to the right; soon there came the sound of the axe in use, and of ice tinkling down and I was glad when I could give all my attention to the rope. It was rather like the occasions one reads about so often, the rope moving up inch by inch, and then the sound of the axe ceasing and the rope coming back again, almost as slowly. Eventually Ken said that he was down for a rest and would like me to go round before he attacked it again.
I was surprised when I got round the corner, for it didn't look difficult. The snow made a very firm axe belay, and how thankful I was for the stout shaft of my Zermatt axe. Ken soon started up again, I couldn't watch him, I preferred not to get the ice on my face, he was able to get a sling over the chockstone at the top, and, safeguarded by that, he traversed to the right and up onto ground of an easier gradient. When it was my turn to move, I appreciated Ken's difficulties; in summer there would have been large holds in a sort of gully, now they were all full of ice, and my hands got very cold removing the ice which Ken had sent down. I put my left knee on one hold, and then found that changing knees was a more serious undertaking than changing feet! Next there was a big step up for the right foot and then I was removing the sling and making the little traverse.
After this I think we moved Alpine fashion to the top, where we had a belated lunch. We walked over the top and then round to the west, inspecting the gullies on a rope, until we came to number three gully. Frank decided there wouldn't be time for a rope of five, so he left us to go over Carn Dearg and down to meet the new arrivals. Ken, on a rope improved the steps down and then Tony went over the edge and traversed along under the cornice and then down until he had no more rope. Arthur did the same, then, before it was my turn, two others came along and asked if we'd mind if they went down first. The first one almost jumped over the edge and took a few steps down and then started a glissade, using the pick as a brake. We then spoke to his companion and remarked that he must be very experienced – his reply was that he'd never done a glissade before! We felt very much the older over-cautious generation! Ken let me down the steepest part and then we unroped. Tony tried a standing glissade, but found the snow much too soft, so did a sitting one, he and Ken were soon down. Arthur was below me and going very cautiously, I had to wait a long time until he was far enough down to be out of my way, then I started off, sitting, using the point of my axe. The surface of the snow soon became harder, but it wasn't much use regretting that I wasn't standing, when I was travelling like an express train.
My next thought was that the part of my anatomy in contact with the snow was getting very hot and I thought I ought to do something about it, so I tried to apply the brake. I nearly lifted myself from the snow, I pressed so hard on the axe, but nothing happened, so I tried to dig my feet in. This had an immediate effect and I turned a somersault, and continued down a little way head first, but I was nearly down by then and the snow was very soft and at a gentle angle.
We discussed glissading with our two new friends and then we all mounted up on the left for a few more sitting glissades, and then the others tried going down head first. I didn't like the look of either way of carrying the axe, either above the head, or else to be on it.
We passed the frozen Lochan na Ciste and went down to a last patch of snow which was hard. It was only very short and slow, but I was rather surprised to find that the two specialists in sitting (or rather lying) glissades had far less idea of standing ones than Ken, Tony and I. Back at the camp we thought it a good idea for Ken Tony and I to cook together, and we decided on a cheese meal as Frank doesn't like it. Shades of Alpine huts when we fried the vermicelli with tomato flavouring and cheese. We also had pom and fried onions, to be followed by dried fruit which had been soaking all day.
Then we made lots and lots of tea, for the others were beginning to arrive; first came Bernard, then Wyn and Rene (Frank and Arthur were their porters for the last part) and Eddie, Douglas and John, Ernest, Stan and the two Johns.
It was my turn to be cook; I tried to start the primus at the prearranged time of 6 o'clock, but part of Tony's stove was missing, and I didn't realise it, and wasted about a quarter of an hour on it before I gave up and lit my own. This was rather slow and put us behind, and we were only in the middle of the bacon and egg when Ken called to give us ten minutes warning.
We set off at about 8 o'clock on another perfect morning and made for the foot of the Douglas Boulder. I felt rather mean at leaving Frank behind, after waking him for the early breakfast. Apparently he amused himself by watching our progress up the rocks. Ken was the only leader for the direct route, he thought that John H. and I would like to follow him, and that left Stan with John D. and Tony for the ordinary route.
Perhaps I had more confidence in my feet by this time, but I found the direct route of the D.B. infinitely easier than the three interesting parts of the N.E.B. We started off moving alpine fashion, but on the more interesting parts John would bring me up while Ken went on. At the top of the boulder we waited for the other party as Stan wasn't too pleased with the division. We changed John for Tony, who tied on behind me. We went one at a time up the first chimney and then moved alpine fashion most of the way. I don't remember anything about the climbing, I think it was only the snow present which gave the interest to it; we went over the Little Tower and on to the foot of the Great Tower. The sun was very hot by now and was shining right onto the snow of the Eastern Traverse. Ken had a look at it and announced that it was as soft as he had feared. His extreme caution here was such a contrast to his usual methods, that Tony and I certainly developed a healthy respect for the place, and doesn't the book say "The Eastern Traverse may be a steeply sloping sheet of ice or, worse still, unstable snow". Ken made his way very slowly along, he couldn't belay with his axe, the snow was so soft and there was no rock belay so he had to continue round the corner, before I could follow him. The final rocks up the Tower were some of the most interesting of the day, although I didn't think they looked too firm. We tried to get out of the wind on the top, and had our lunch; we then decided that the west side was catching all the breeze and moved over to the east, which had the advantages that we could watch our other party up the final rocks, and also we could watch another party descending Tower Gully. Two other parties appeared to be converging on the lower gap, so Ken hurried us off to be the first party up the final slope. In their dry condition the rocks on the far side of the gap were easy, and the steps in the snow from the day before didn't need much improving.
Ken had got ideas from the party descending Tower Gully, and suggested that we did the same. We had to walk down the upper part, as it was rather essential not to miss the traverse to the east. After the traverse, Tony unroped, but I begged to be allowed to keep on the rope, and Ken agreed, although it spoiled his glissades for him. A friend of Ken's was wanting to photograph a standing glissade; I was the first down but of course I was much too cautious to get up any speed. The sight of the camera was too much for Ken's balance and he went careering past me head first. I didn't show up at all well, I only just had time to get the axe in; I didn't get the rope round properly, so it was a good job that Ken had practically stopped before he got to the end of the rope. We then went back up again and sat on a rock, coiled the rope and wondered what to do next. We found that there were too many missiles, both snow and rock, to stay where we were, so we went down, getting some quite nice standing glissades. Ken was very proud of one turn of his which he claimed was a christy. I could still only turn to the left, but if I use my sling attached to my axe head it is too difficult to change over quickly. Once on the way down I found that I was only holding the axe with one hand, so I thought I'd better not dispense with the sling.
At the bottom we traversed round the D.B. and started up Number Two Gully, at first each taking it in turn to lead. By our reckoning it only took us three quarters of an hour to get up, but that seems far too short a time. We found the steps already made in the narrow part of the gully. I wouldn't fancy it for glissading, it is so steep and good steering ability would be nedded. The walls were iced over and water was dripping from between the rock and the ice, making the latter, to my way of thinking, liable to peel off. Ken then started to cut steps in this ice, explaining that one can't cut one's first ice in Gardyloo Gully! I didn't mind him cutting the steps but I tried to put my foot down when he suggested using them, for the snow in the gully was too soft for an axe belay. To the suggestion that 200 ft of rope would reach to the top of the gully, Ken's reply was that that would make the conditions too artificial. When I refused to tie onto the rope, Tony did so and belayed Ken from above. I got above Tony and put the rope round my axe as well. Of course, Ken got up safely, I should have know that his judgement was heaps better than my own. I then tied onto the middle of the rope and we continued on. The steps by this time certainly seemed at the maximum distance apart, reminding me of the Central Climb at Black Rocks. When the made steps traversed off to the left, Ken continued straight up. I was able to belay him this time, for the snow was very hard. He then brought me up to the cornice, but decided that it was too soft to cut through, and, instead, he traversed along beneath it, until he could make a way up. While I was paying out his rope, I looked in the other direction and saw Cyril with a couple of the M.A.M. He waited until we were safely up. I warned him not to shake hands with me, but he did; I didn't mind for I needed warming! He then continued down to Fort William while we made for No. 3 Gully.
Tony unroped, but I didn't, Ken let me walk down the first steep part and then I started to glissade, very cautiously. Take off those brakes said the road-hog as he whizzed past me. I waited until the rope tightened for I realised by then that the gully was much slower than the day before. When Ken got to the end of the rope, I had a very pleasant tow down. I seemed to be sitting on the top of a miniature avalanche, which I was hoping was protecting my pants!
And so back to camp where Tony and I joined Frank for supper; he, with Rene, Wyn, Arthur and Ed had completed the Carn Mor Dearg Horseshoe after doing the Tower Ridge.
Quite a crowd of us joined Rene and Wyn in their tent, until our hostesses made it quite obvious that it was bed time. I had decided to sleep out that night and took my bag up to the others with the same idea. I seemed to see less of the view than usual for, while normally I made the effort to peer out of the tent periodically, when I was outside I knew that it was all around me and didn't make the effort to open my eyes.
It was a very satisfying night to me; I thought that all my belongings were safely in an arctic tent (I little knew that the guardian I had left with them had let some of them blow out!) and watched just all the ordinary tents blow down. It was Rene and Wyn I felt most sorry for. Stan amused me, his tent was already nearly buried in stones, but he got up and piled even more on it, describing himself as like a giant ant, perpetually carrying great stone eggs.
Ken and John were away in fair time for Observatory Ridge, the rest of us were slower for tents had to be repitched etc. It was extraordinary the way in which we recovered from the water courses everything which had blown away.
Stan etc. set out for No. 2 Gully, so Tony, Frank and I went towards No. 5. We found afterwards that we had been up Moonlight, but that was only because the steps we were following led up that way. I soon lost the lead to Tony, who kept it all the way up. We soon found ourselves up the narrow part and over the rock at the top and on the traverse. We roped and moved one at a time here for the snow was very hard and there wasn't a very long snow slope before the steeper rocks. Once we got into the corrie above, we could move more quickly. The steps led to an easy best view of the holiday for the heat haze had gone. Frank pointed out the Ardgour summits, and we began to know Bidean and the Aonach Eigach ourselves by then. We posed for photographs, went north to the Cairn of Carn Dearg and then made for the observatory, examining all the gullies on the way.
I was surprised to find the No. 2 Gully party still eating, and we joined them on the descent of the Cairn Mor Dearg Arête – doing sitting glissades. We wanted to glissade down the head of the Coire Leis, but the snow was icy and, as usual it looked much steeper looking down than we'd imagined it. We found some steps traversing back beneath the arête, and when they started to go down we did the same, no-one seemed to have the courage to start glissading. The only good thing I can think of is that at least I faced outwards without any binding from Ken! When we were a good half way down, I got Tony to take the plunge, he tried a standing one, and found it very slow and uneven. I was preparing to follow him when the wind blew me over. I felt so silly doing a sitting glissade, with my axe trailing helplessly behind me, attached to my wrist. I wasn't going very fast and didn't think it worth the effort to recover my axe, and I stopped fairly soon. I then had several little glissades, trying all the positions. John knew that he'd worn through his trousers and he'd ask Tony if he'd any blood showing and on hearing that he hadn't he'd continue until he left a trail of blood several yards long. While he and Tony were examining the damage, I had a terrible shock to see Stan at the top of the slope without his axe, but while I was yelling to the others to do something, he was able to recover it. We'd all had enough of that slope by then, Stan was limping from a bang on the knee and I found that the wind made balance so difficult, besides blowing icy particles into my face.
We had an early supper and then listened to the tales of the others as they arrived back. Bernard and Ernest from the Tower, and apparently Ken and John had had a wonderful time on Observatory, and also found that descending No. 4 Gully had its moments.
I got an extra cup of tea that night in Stan's tent and then slept out again.
We awoke round about 6 o'clock, with some pessimist saying it was raining, but it didn't come to anything. As I was leaving I was quite glad to see the glen with mist on the tops again, as it had been when we arrived.
We had a leisurely breakfast and then packed, and Tony, John D. and I set off down the glen. Soon the white haired hero of Gardyloo Gully and his companion of similar age passed us and were soon out of sight. Next, we passed Rene, Wyn and Eddie on their way and up and then, at the lower campsite, we added Arthur and John G. to our caravan. John D. led a terrific pace down the glen, but once we had reached the road, we eased up. It was outside a house that John passed out, but the man was very good, he organised a car, not to mention a 'wee droppy' for John, and then he even stopped a milk lorry to take the rest of us. At the hospital apparently John had a fine time with the climber-surgeon. He had been on the Ben and had seen us on the snow slope the day before.
The rest of us had a meal in a café which seemed to be quite a gathering place for climbers, and then we made our way to the station, meeting John en route. John G. stayed behind for the Glasgow train and the rest of us got in the King's Cross one. The club must have got tired of my perpetual query to the attendant "Is it nearly dinner time?" and after we had eaten we came straight back to the carriage for more cake and biscuits.
The mist was too low for us to see much of Nevis or the central highlands, but the Cobbler looked grand.
At Edinburgh Tony changed, but, against my better judgement, I stayed, and at York we had an hour to wait and then ages at Grantham, and finally got to Nottingham at 8.45. All the while we'd been in Edinburgh in plenty of time to catch the 9.50, which is due in Nottingham at 5.30.
I caught the 9.06 with Eddie and Jack. At Derby, Nell, Doug and his friend, Stan, and Ron joined us. At Tamworth we found that Bob, Len and Wilf had also been on the train, and we all spent an hour and a half in the tea hut. The train to Crewe wasn't very late, it was crowded as always, but I sat in the corridor. At Crewe we met Marjorie R., Stan and John H., and John D. was on the train when it drew in on platform 2 after all. I spent a very good night on the little shelf at one end; it was rather dirty, but I spread out my sleeping bag cover.
After Barrow we got in a carriage and watched the scenery, the hills to the right and sea to the left on this perfect May morning. At Seascale they seemed to be expecting us and promised taxis before long. Marjorie, Nell and I sat in the back of the Chrysler, the first taxi, which took us to Naylors, where we were directed to the camp by the river, past the church. Here we found Rene and Arthur who had arrived a day early. They both looked very brown and the smell of their breakfast gave the rest of us ideas, and we were soon sunbathing over our breakfast.
I got my tent up and well weighted it down with stones; I then put most of my things in Rene's new tent, for I had promised my own to Tony and Don, coming over from Borrowdale.
Life was very simple until now; I was to meet Tony and Don on Gable, and I had even looked out a few climbs. It was Stan who complicated matters by suggesting that they wanted a fourth for Piers Gill. I was very intrigued by this scheme, but at the same time there was Gable. I asked the others where they were for, and everyone except Bob and Len said Gable, so I gave my guide to Ron and asked him to give it to Tony and Don. I then repented and changed my mind, but by then Stan and the Johns had set off thinking that I was following, so I thought I'd better do so. I didn't bother with my guide, thinking that the others were sure to have one. We traversed round Lingmall and started up by the Gill. When the latter forked we chose the eastern branch, thinking that it looked more exciting, but it meant that we ascended Greta instead of Piers Gill. Stan and John D., and John H. and I roped up together. There was a lovely pool at the bottom and a pitch or so of climbing. I rather liked it, although the holds were small and not exactly incut. Next there was a walk up the stream and a bask in the sun and then John H. started up past a deep pool. Even on a rope I couldn't get the left hand route to go, so I followed John up the wetter right hand route. The next and last section was certainly the "the crux of the climb". John brought me half way up, and I tied on and must have spent a couple of hours there at any rate. John firstly tried to get up the wet right hand route, but retreated for the traverse to the left looked very inviting for it led into the sunshine. He next tried this traverse, gardening very thoroughly on the way – the overhang protected Stan and John D. from most of the stones! After going about 50 ft he had had enough and said he was stuck. Stan next climbed up past me and brought John up and then tackled the last pitch. He must have got soaked, but he said that the climbing took all his attention and he didn't notice it. John D. followed up and there was some talk of his taking John H.'s rope up, but I rebelled for he was in the sun and I was in the shade and so they next sent the rope down for me and I got up as quick as I could into the sun, while Stan, still in the shade, brought the other John up. Hot as the sun was, it seemed to take some time to thaw me out. I blamed my cold for the fact that I hadn't got my usual enjoyment from a mucky gully.
After drying out, we continued up to the Corridor Route and along it, Stan having some peak bagging scheme. Fortunately, we met Marjorie and Arthur and we stopped and sunbathed with them; Marjorie had had a rock on her thigh, and had rather been put off climbing. Eventually we set off over Lingmell and down. I was feeling rather like one would expect to after a night in the train (and as I seldom do feel on the first day), so I didn't mind not going over Scafell etc.
Back at the camp, Rene appeared before I had had more than tea with Stan and co., so I joined her for a meal of scrambled eggs. Just as it was getting dark, we went over to Naylors to see if they knew anything of Tony and Don, but the visitor who spoke to us from an upstairs window hadn't seen any suspicious characters about the place.
I slept out with a rather troubled conscience that night, when I had left in the morning the whole club had said they were going to Gable, apparently after I left they all decided to follow Bob and Len to Scafell, except Jack and Eddie, and they took up my book. At about 5 o'clock they had seen them on Eagles Nest Direct with Freda and couldn't contact them, and didn't bother, thinking that, with Freda, they were well looked after.
I got up soon after 7 o'clock, packed, made some tea, and thought that armed with this I could wake Rene at 7.30. Poor Rene she felt she had only just got off to sleep! We didn't take long over breakfast – porridge, and bacon and egg again, and then hadn't room for marmalade. I set off at 8.30 and it took me exactly an hour to get up Sty Head, but I couldn't see the two bodies I had expected. There were five tents by the tarn and I spoke to one of the campers, but he hadn't seen anything of Tony and Don. I was stumped. When they hadn't turned up at Wasdale, I decided that it would be much more sensible for them to stay on Sty Head, as they had carried their packs up that way. When they weren't there, I decided that they must have camped in Borrowdale, in which case they mightn't be on Scafell that day, as I had expected. I thought it would be easier to forecast the activities of the Polaris. When I left, Bob, Len, Wilf and Bernard were going to Pillar, and the rest to Gable, but I had an idea that in the end Pillar would be more popular than Gable, so I decided to make for it. I went along the Gable traverse, which I had to myself (I had to hurry past the climbs or I'd have found myself changing into rubbers). It was an easy way round to Kirkfell (different conditions from those we had Easter 1940, when Wyn and I followed Rodney this way).
I went over the top of Kirkfell; I didn't hurry and it only took three-quarters of an hour. It was so good to see the Langdales from the top and what a lovely little tarn it is between the two tops. There were a few clouds in the east, but they soon dispersed. Over towards the Black Sail there were hordes of people making their way over from Wasdale (the M.A.M. besides the Polaris).
I reached Robinson's Cairn at just about 12 o'clock (the time I had hoped). Bob, Len, Bernard and Wilf soon set off for the west face and I followed them. When they crossed the gully I hesitated but they assured me that the other would be coming, so I went on and eventually Doug, Jack and Stan also came round.
My trouble was that I hadn't a rope, I thought of it half way up Sty Head, and as far as I could see no-one would have any spare. I was hoping to do the New West (I thought that there were two reasonable climbs on Pillar, and I had done the North). I sat there hoping that the whole crowd would come round, but no-one else appeared. Eventually, Bernard and Bob set off on the New West, and Doug and co. followed them. Len and Wilf then revealed the fact that they had 180 ft of line and would take me in the middle of it. They wanted to do Rib and Slab, but the party we were watching on it were rather slow, so we set off up West Jordan Gully to fill in the time. Wilf was leading and at first didn't seem very impressed with the climb – I couldn't see his point of view for it looked to me as though the exit would involve crawling along the ceiling!
I followed Wilf into the niche and then he tried the traverse out, but couldn't make it, not even in stockinged feet. Len then joined us in the niche and very soon led it. When I came to follow, I could see their point of view, the footholds were smooth and sloping out and the handholds were just not good enough to compensate. Wilf's original undercut jug I considered practically useless. I took my time, occasionally putting a hand or foot on the wall behind, to help my balance. Outside the chimney, the final little wall was a delight, with rock as rough as Southwest, according to Len. We went round and down the Gully and waited for Bernard and Bob to come down the Old West and then Len made Wilf take me up Rib and Slab, the others to follow on as a three. What a delight the climb was, we had changed into rubbers, and the two of us could move quickly. It was a grand climb of fairly uniform interest, the rock was rough and what amazed me was the fact that not a single hold was missing (and there weren't lots of extra ones thrown in just to bewilder us).
The groove "hard to enter" was of course the crux of the climb, I fiddled on it a little and then more or less swung out on my right handhold to get my feet up – it worked alright for a second, but I could well believe that a leader might want a different method. Wilf and I then descended Slab and Notch, and sat at the foot of the West Face and watched Bernard lead the others up Rib and Slab, and lots of other people on the New West. Half an orange was left for us and I found that the peel took the dry feeling from my throat for a long time. I can't think when I've appreciated an orange more.
We got very cold waiting in the gully, so we eventually started following the sun up the Old West – in my case it was only the sun I wanted, but Wilf was also looking out the beginning of Route I. At last the others were down and at about 6 o'clock Bernard agreed to second Wilf up Southwest. They let me tie on the end of their rope. According to Len, the first slab was the most difficult part of the climb, and I hoped he was right when I saw Bernard use both knees on it. When I started to climb, I found that it was my idea of the perfect climb – from the distance the wall looked smooth and hold-less (no nail marks pointed out the holds). Then when I started up I found that at first the holds were quite adequate in both quantity and quality, and I thought this lasted over Len's Slab. Higher up, just occasionally a hold would be missing, but that was the cunning of the climb, it was teaching us that we could do without definite holds and just use the general roughness of the rock, for, at the corner, the real holds, as far as I could see, just faded out – my thoughts at this point were that if the climb was only a moderate on a rope, it was certainly a 'vs' for the leader for the corner was at the end of a 60 ft run-out. I know that I didn't climb on a slack rope, but I found the feel of the rope more annoying than helpful.
I found the traverse of the Jordan Gap far more difficult that S.W. – horrible boot polished rock! Bob and Len had left our boots at the top and we then went along the High Level route and down Mosedale. On the way down, it was Scafell, red in the last of the evening sunshine, that thrilled me and I had visions of climbing there at this time (9 o'clock) the next day. We crossed the river and passed a possible campsite for another time – among the May bushes above Naylors.
Back in camp I found my tent occupied! Tony and Don hadn't found us the day before and had carried their packs up to Scafell, meaning to go back to Borrowdale to camp, but they had come back to Wasdale with the stretcher party (a walker hit by a stone) and they had run into some of the club and been directed to the camp. Rene came back from the Steeple round soon after me and we made our supper together.
Tony and Don set off home hoping to climb on Gillercombe on the way. I didn't join them as I wanted to go to Scafell. I set out a little behind Len and co. and, when the path started to rise, he waited to say that he was going to order a meal at the farm, and I thought I'd like one as well, although I knew it would mean cutting the day short. We took as long as we could up Brown Tongue, and then waited in the sunshine below the crags. Bernard and Wilf set off for Scafell – I didn't blame them wanting to be two, but I must say I was very envious of John Cotteril when I learned that he had joined them. Len then suggested Pike's Crag and everyone thought it a good idea; I couldn't interest anyone in Scafell, although I had 'Keswick Brothers' looked out.
Pikes Crag was just a pleasant off-day in the hot sunshine, and my trouble was that I felt on form and thought I had worked up to Scafell. Eddie, by being as vague as usual, found that people had put him on my rope. Len and Bob started up Grooved Arête, and Ron and Jack followed on after Eddie and me. I was quite pleased to be on the front end of the rope again, the traverse at the bottom was more interesting than it looked and then I was a little impressed with the crack. I used a sideways pull, apparently a jammed hand would have felt safer. We then went down the south gully to the foot of the climb again. Bob and Len started up Southern Corner and, as Eddie hadn't yet appeared, I did Juniper Buttress with Nell and Marjorie – again a pleasant enough climb, but I had on my "glove fitting rubbers". My party went down the gully again and were much slower than Ron and Jack who had used a grassy gully to the north.
We all collected back at the water, most of us went down and left Ron and Jack to go over to (my) Keswick Brothers. The rest of my party had a swim in a wonderful pool near the bottom of the track and we went along to Mrs. Martin's for our meal at 6.30. I had to help Bernard finish his sweet, but then I hadn't had a large snack at about 6 o'clock!
I called in the local in the evening, I found the cider a little disappointing, but the others seemed to come home very merry and soon had a huge fire going; at first some of the rest of the club seemed a little disapproving, but they all soon sat round it. I said that we should have cocoa and that reminded Ron that they had just made some in the tent, and my mug was filled.
Half the party were travelling back by day, but five of us set out for Scafell. Stan and John D. set off for Moss Ghyll. Ron said he wanted a 'vd' apart from Moss Gill or Keswick Brothers, so I found Pisgah from Moss Ghyll. This didn't suit Ron, and it seemed to give him and Doug the idea that I wanted to do Pisgah and they made their way to the foot of it. I had quoted Freda's leads trying to shame the Polaris into doing a little climbing, but I think that they thought I wanted to do the same, and I found myself starting up Pisgah. I was in rubbers and the others in boots. The first pitch was an 80 ft run out and the 'awkward bulge' was half way up. It was just a matter of finding the right holds and then it wasn't strenuous (my arms felt much too jelly-like to do anything like a pull up).
The rest of that pitch was alright, and the next one sounded easy in the book, but for the only part of that climb I was thankful to be in rubbers. I think I must have been to the right of the 'easy ledges'. Next there was the traverse and from the 'Fives Court' we looked down onto Stan and John lunching on the 'Tennis Court'. It's a lovely steep buttress all the way up, but the climbing gets les and less exposed. After the chimney I found the 10 ft wall made interesting by the block at the top. The block didn't feel loose in the least, but I couldn't help but think of my blocks on Nevis. I didn't pull directly on this block, but my hand jam behind it was just as bad. I quite enjoyed the final slabs, if it wasn't that they're optional and need gardening, they'd be quite good and they looked even better from the next buttress, where John C. was watching us. Doug then did a climb with John, while Ron and I led through down Keswick Brothers. It was quite thrilling to pass near the top of Botteril's Slab, but I was rather horrified to find how easy it would be to send stones down.
I should imagine that the climb is easier to descend than to ascend; it was so easy to lower ourselves over the pull ups. At one time I was very envious of Stan and John, they had such a lovely scree run down from Mickeldore.
We made our way slowly down to the farm for tea, some people bathing en route.
Back at camp we washed and packed, drank more tea and were rather late for the taxis to Seascale – apparently I rather disgraced the club, sitting in the front of the Chrysler, and dipping my finger into the condensed milk tin!
We managed to get a carriage to ourselves which was rather fortunate as we soon had food spread out all over the place. At one station we sent Stan out to fill the water bottles with tea, when we saw him with no shoes, among 'normal' people, we tried to dissociate ourselves from him! The fun must have been when they shunted our train onto another platform and he had to run down the subway to get back to us.
We went via Birmingham, I dozed a little in the ladies waiting room which had a very comfortable seat. At Crewe we met Graham and learned of the Stonnies activities on Cloggy over the holiday.
I caught the 9.06 to Tamworth and had the usual journey, changing at Crewe and Llandudno Junction. At Bettws-y-Coed the bus got me to Capel at about 7 o'clock. It wasn't too promising a day, but the conductor said that the weather was improving, so I didn't let the cloud over Snowdon way depress me. I was too lazy to put on my boots, so I set off along the main road. To pass the time I timed myself at the milestones. It took me 18 minutes to do the first measured mile and 19 the second. I felt very ashamed that the 45 lb on my back was slowing me up like that. There was just enough mist to make the pass look really wild. When Tryfan first came into view I looked at it with 'Alpine eyes' and wondered whether any of the Aiguille routes could be as deceptively easy as the North Ridge (I had spent the week before comparing 'On High Hills', with my newly acquired Vallot guides).
I couldn't see a tent from the road and so I was rather relieved when I saw Nesta's car near Gwern-y-gorf Isaf. "Where's your mug Eileen?" was John's greeting to me, and the world seemed a better place after that cup of tea.
The others were in favour of doing the Horseshoe, so I had to forget my rock-climbing ideas – it had been rather silly to bring 7 guides for two days! I had to admit that it made quite a good day to do it from Nant Ffrancon. We started out about 10.30 and Ron Delafield set the pace up over the ridge. I was so optimistic, so sure that the blue sky would spread – it didn't. We got in the mist on top, but the compass got us down fairly directly to Llyn Cwm Ffynon, although I made mental note that the Miners Track would save a lot of time another day. There was a nice little traverse along by the lake (I was on the look out for any scrambling I could put in) and then we dropped down to Gorphwysfa for a cup of tea. We set off at about 1 o'clock and had lunch before we got to the col below Crib. Ron first started to lag on this part, he was developing cramp in this thighs. We kept together as far as the pinnacles (I got in a little more rock work here) and then Nesta and I went ahead as we wanted to finish the horseshoe. The conditions were typical – a wet mist and the part over Crib-y-Ddysgal dragged rather. A train passed us soon after we joined the Llanberis track and made straight for the entrance against the advice of the drain driver who wanted us to go onto the summit cairn. I enjoyed my cup of tea and sandwich, but I really thought that the inside in July was as depressing as the outside in December. On our way up to the cairn, we met John and Ron who had just arrived, and then Nesta and I set off down the screes at the top of the Watkin Path. It was a great disappointment to me that we didn't get below the mist and have the usual view out over the sea; we didn't get below it until we were well down on the Llydaw side of Llewidd. As we joined the Miners Track, we saw the other two not very far behind, but we didn't wait, as we hoped to order tea.
It was just after 6 o'clock when we arrived at Gorphwysfa and they could only offer us tea and cakes, so we went down to the Pen-y-Gwryd where we didn't do nearly so well. It was only cider and cakes there and we didn't think much of the 'cakes'. Unlike Frank's and my trip in December, we didn't feel in desperate need of refreshment, and really think we could have carried on better without the cider. We kept to the left of the stone wall and struck the Miners Track just at the corner. The mist was fairly low and we had the same feeling that we'd had on Llewidd, that it was getting dark. When we got to the top and the path petered out, we took a compass bearing, and started off slightly east of north. It was Ron, from the rear who pulled us up and said we were going E.S.E., so we took another bearing, and continued north, as we thought. The next time we looked at the compass we found that we were steering just about south, so we took frequent bearings until we were well down on the Nant Ffrancon side. That's the third time that 'north has been south' to me on that ridge – I can't understand why, at other times it is always so simple. We arrived in camp at about 9 o'clock and supper was cooked in my tent. Soup was followed by a pan of macaroni and tomatoes and cheese and sausage. We had cocoa before finally going to bed.
It started to rain at about 11 o'clock on Saturday night and kept on all though the night. At about 9 o'clock we began to think of breakfast – I got more milk from the farm and we again had porridge followed by bacon and egg, and there wasn't much room for marmalade after that.
We took a long time over breakfast, but the rain didn't slacken – we passed the time by having John and Ron in the tent and brewing 'elevenses'. By this time, there was an occasional slackening of the rain, but every time we thought of a walk, it would come on again, so we had lunch still in the tents. At about 3 o'clock we packed in a fine interval – but the tents were soaking. The ground was very soggy, but the river hadn't overflowed. We did try to make the best of the weather by admiring the new streams which had appeared on the hillsides.
Nesta gave me a lift to Llandudno Junction. Glad as I was of it, it deprived me of my walk to Bethesda, for even that road walk would have made the day a little more worthwhile. Once we left Bettws, we got into lovely hot sunshine, but looking back towards the hills, we saw that they were still in cloud.
I had my usual journey back, catching the 8.50 from Crewe and arriving about midnight.
I caught the 7.10 to Derby and Crewe, just to vary the journey. The time passed very pleasantly, too, for I met Wilf, Chuck and Phyills on Derby station and travelled with them. We made coffee and tea on the platform at Crewe, until their North Wales train drew in. While I was looking up trains back via Manchester, Tony and Don found me, and soon Cyril appeared and introduced us to a few of the M.A.M. The train was nearly an hour late, but Cyril and the three of us were able to get into the same carriage. At Carnforth, the two original occupants got out and I was able to stretch out and have an hour's sleep until Windermere where we arrived about 7.30.
The Ambleside bus arrived very soon and we were able to look round the town and have tea and delicious sandwiches from the bus station café before the Langdale bus left at 8.40. We little knew how long we were to last on that snack!
The M.A.M. got out at Raw Head and the rest of us went on to the D.G. It was a perfect morning just like Whitsun and we changed and started up the Gimmer track – I took my usual route, but I was rather horrified at my pace, repeatedly I'd want to stop and rest. It seemed just like the route up to an alpine hut, but the U shaped valley, the cunning little path, the broiling hot sun, with my eyes smarting as the sweat dripped into them. Even my rucksack was of suitable weight to take up to a hut. I don't know how the others managed with sleeping bags and all.
We rested at the little level terrace and then went on to the beginning of Ash Tree Ledge. I was too hot to eat the cake Tony offered me, but I was glad of his shandy. We changed into rubbers and went round to the foot of Ash Tree Slabs and watched two of the M.A.M. up it before the first pitch of that, they could do all the rest of the leading, so I tied onto the middle of the rope and started up. Tony led the rest of the climb; it was obvious that he was in brilliant form. At the top I suggested that 'D' was a suitable continuation. Don went up to the "upstanding belay" and I followed and then Tony led through – he just didn't notice the "delicate traverse" and wanted to continue on an even more delicate one further to the left. After the belay in the "triangular recess", I found the climbing "typical Gimmer". I took my time, but enjoyed every moment of it. I'm afraid we did the final 15 ft of 'A' instead of 'D'! We then went down to the Crow's Nest and descended Lyons Crawl and Oliversons. I went first as I knew the way. On Ash Tree Ledge, we met some friends of Don's to whom we pointed out 'A' route, and we went down to the rucksacks for an apple and shandy for our late lunch. Tony was quite ambitious by this time and wanted to lead a 'vs' so we went round to 'Asterisk'. We found parties just starting up both 'The Crack' and 'Hiatus'. It was the latter party which shouted down to us that the final pitch of 'Asterisk' was technically far harder than anything on the 'Crack', so the rest of my party thought we might as well do the latter. Obviously, they hadn't heard half the tales I had about it! I felt it my duty to tell them it was a serious undertaking, but I was glad they didn't change their minds about it, for it had been my ambition for so long to do it.
Don led up the first two pitches combined, but he wasn't so keen on the little traverse, so Tony had to come up and lead this pitch. This complicated matters, for there wasn't really room for three on this stance. Or rather this is my excuse for letting drop the loop of rope between Tony and me (I had Don's rope on the only available ledge) and I had to call back Tony from the traverse while 'blue shirt' unjammed the rope from the crack at the bottom. Tony had no trouble on the traverse and I thoroughly enjoyed it when my turn came. The next excitement was in watching a party on 'Asterisk'. It had directed us away from 'Asterisk'! The leader had to have many tries before he could get the top pitch to 'go'. From our position it looked a very poor ledge he was standing on, but he looked in perfect balance on it. Eventually the leader got up and the second followed, rucksacks and all. Don then led the 'Mantelshelf' pitch on our climb, the 'Asterisk' party giving directions. They then said that we had done the technically hardest pitch on our climb. The next two pitches were easy enough and Tony and I belayed at the Sentry Box and Don led into the Bower. I was rather pleased that I didn't find that pitch strenuous. Tony led up the next 20 ft and I suggested that Don followed him. We weren't sure which of them would lead the final pitch, and from the last party's description of the stance, it was certainly no place for three, so I thought I had better stay out of the way in the Bower. My second great failing with the rope happened here. I suggested that Don tied on the rope between Tony and me – leaving 20 ft between him and Tony. It was at the awkward stance that we realised that while there was plenty of rope between Don and me, there wasn't nearly enough between Don and Tony. There were mutterings as they re-arranged the ropes! I had time to look around from the Bower and I realised that the mist which had been coming up wasn't heat haze. I could even imagine our party being caught in a wet mist before we got a rope to the top. I even went as far as to work out that we should have to leave slings behind if abseiling down was our only way off the crag.
Apparently Tony had a shoulder for the overhang, and he was soon up to the top, and when Don was belayed just above the overhang, it was my turn to come on. I could find no alternative to the "hard wriggle". After a fair struggle I managed to use a hand to get my right foot onto the hold, but it was no good, I was too far below it to lever myself up on it. I had to take the foot off again and do some more wriggling before the "major difficulty was over". Don then finished the pitch and I followed up. I believe I had a fairly tight rope and thought I didn't feel too bad after the overhang, but it must have taken more out of me than I though – at least that's my excuse for finding the rest of the pitch so difficult when the others had more or less run up it. I felt I had to move quickly all the time before my strength gave out, and I wasn't able to listen to a word that Tony and Don were saying at the top.
We hurried down the gully to our boots and rucksacks – it was raining quite hard by now, and then at 7 or 8 o'clock set out to walk over to Wasdale. It seemed a long way even to get to the top of Stake Pass. At times we were in the mist; we'd count the number of seconds between the lightning and the thunder to see if the storm was coming nearer or not, but it didn't come any closer than a mile or so.
From the top of the pass I was very pleased to find a path leading to Angle Tarn (it wasn't marked on the map), for I realised that we must make better progress than we had done the first mile, if we were to get to Wasdale that night. From the Tarn we struck off up the path to Esk Hause, soon getting in the mist.
We continued on a path past the shelter. I took a compass bearing here saying that we must be careful not to get onto the Scafell track – to my horror I found that we were going in that direction, but it was pointed out that the path then turned in the right direction, so we continued. The others had never been that way before, and therefore it was all my fault that we wasted the last half hour of daylight. When it was quite obvious where we were we did the sensible thing for a change and retraced our steps to the shelter and picked up the right track. It wasn't too difficult to follow it until after Grains Gill – here at one moment there was a good cairned track and the next there was nothing – several times I set off across country to try to pick up the path, but I never found anything but bog and stones. Fortunately Don was sensible and insisted that we went back – we'd tried that before and could find no branch to the track. This time we went further. "Sty-Head Tarn!" I said at one point, very jubilantly, but the surroundings didn't fit in and eventually we found that my 'tarn' was a few square yards of puddle! We continued back to Grains Gill – we knew where we were on the map by now so we turned round and started walking back, one on the path and one on each side. It was Tony who found the branch, on the left of the track (I had been expecting it to be on the other side) and we were soon passing Sprinkling Tarn and had no more real difficulties before Sty Head. We could just see the white scratched stones, it was only on the turf that we had to occasionally resort to the torch. We only had one of these and we knew that we should need it on the stony track down to Wasdale. How lovely it was to feel the turf under our feet after the pony track, and to be down below the mist. It was just midnight when we passed Burnthwaite – and we rested for a minute or two before tackling the road to Brackenclose. I had never been there before, so I was glad that Tony and Don knew the way. The lights at the windows, which had given us so much encouragement for the last two miles, went out just before we got there. We went in the front door and then opened the door straight ahead. It happened to be the drying room and contained Bertie. Margaret then appeared with a pair of boots, and was very astonished to see us. She woke up Freda, who got up as though she enjoyed being woken up at half past twelve at night. We were shown the dining room and, in no time, great pint mugs of tea were ready. They even cooked our soup and then left us to eat it.
A cup of tea in bed accompanied the ultimatum that it was time to get up. It wasn't an inspiring day, the mist was fairly low on the hills, but it was dry. We set off up Mosedale for Pillar, none of us was very energetic, so really the weather suited us – we climbed in boots, although it wasn't really wet. Tony, Don and John did the North, and Freda and I did Northeast. I wasn't particularly impressed, it didn't seem very well defined. Freda changed into rubbers to lead the mossy wall; on a rope I could enjoy it in boots. We seemed to have been a long time so we hurried up over High Man and down Slab and Notch to our rucksacks and lunch, only to find that we were in front of the others.
There was a lot of discussion after lunch as to what we should do, when we tossed the coin we nearly obeyed it when it said go home for tea at the farm, but we just had enough enthusiasm for another climb. John was all for 'Rib and Slab' in rubbers and Freda and I decided on 'New West', as I hadn't done it before. I was most impressed with the climb, I think Freda envied my getting the chimney, but I found it very polished in boots, it was a 50 ft lead out too and then I was tired of the stance long before Freda had led the next two pitches.
The others apparently had found 'Rib and Slab' a great improvement on the North.
We hurried back to Brackenclose, but didn't get there before 9 o'clock, hence it was midnight before we got to bed (we spent a little while with the books; I found the account of "the Crack" in an old F. & R. Journal, which I though Tony and Don would be interested to read).
The weather was an improvement on Sunday; we thought we'd better set off for Langdale and see how much time we had when we got there, for climbing. We were so interested to see the Esk Hause track in the daylight – our little "cairned cul-de-sac" led round the other side of Sprinkling Tarn, we found. We hadn't noticed our turning because it was over bog. When we'd gone round by Stake Pass on the Saturday I thought that perhaps it would have been quicker to have gone down the valley and up Rossett Gill, but after descending it, I thought that we had chosen the better way after all. Some of the people on Esk Hause amused me a lot; one party I decided were foreign students, they were so colourful. We saw no other climbing boots. We stopped below Gimmer and left our rucksacks and then went straight up the hillside to the Crag where we had lunch. It was fortunate that Freda had plenty of bread for, after cutting up nearly a whole loaf and putting real butter on it, I had left it at Brackenclose! We changed into rubbers and went to the foot of 'Asterisk'. Freda started up it with Tony following, and then Don took me. "A steep somewhat sensational wall, fitted with good belays and excellent holds" – there couldn't be a better description, it was so steep that, as I was paying out the nylon to Don, I'd notice how ridiculously thin it was, and wonder whether it could possibly be of any more than psychological use. And yet I'd have no such thoughts when it came to my turn to climb, for the good holds were all there, and it only needed a little patience to find them.
For the last pitch, Freda took the rope round for the whole party and then Tony and Don climbed it, keeping to the left, as the party had done on Saturday. When it came to my turn I thought that there were better handholds on the right, and Freda, when she came to do it, agreed that it was easier that way.
We discussed whether we should do another climb, but decided it wasn't worth rushing up one (particularly as we had done 'D' on Saturday and there was no other worthy continuation of 'Asterisk'!). We ran down to our rucksacks and then washed in the river and changed before catching the bus at the D.G.
At Windermere we got nearly down to Bowness, but decided that there wasn't quite time to see the lake. Tony and Don considered this a complete waste of energy!
We had a seat to Preston, but the train to Manchester was so crowded that Freda decided to spend the night at that station. Eventually they put an extra carriage on and we were able to get a seat. We were fortunate in getting a taxi across Manchester, and then there was plenty of room in the Sheffield train. I envied Tony going on in it to Retford. Don and I got out, Don to go home, and I had to walk in the rain to the L.M.S. station. While waiting for my train, I suddenly decided I was very hungry, and the only food I had was corned beef!
At 6.30 at Nottingham it was teeming with rain' it didn't slacken after half an hour so I though I'd better walk home through it.