© J A D Healey 2014
I caught the 9.14 to Newhaven. Frank helped me get my things to the station and Iris Bettridge helped me change at Lewes. At the harbour I seemed to be almost the first passenger and I felt that, had I been royalty, the officials couldn't have taken more trouble to show me on board. My skis, they insisted, would have to be registered, so I sent them as far as Paris. I boarded the "Worthing" and settled down to await the arrival of the boat train, and Stan and John, two of the last to appear. Very soon we went below; it was too early for lunch so I chatted to the man – apparently we were the first customers for about a week. On Friday, although the wind had dropped, the sea was still very choppy, but by Saturday it was quite calm and I had my usual mill pond crossing.
At Dieppe we found our reservations in the train and the nearest to any excitement we had on the run to Paris was when the customs wanted a man in our carriage to open a case. It was a peculiarly large, flat case, but the contents were quite harmless. At the Gare St. Lazarre I collected my skis, while Stan and John found a taxi. We stowed all our things in or on the dilapidated vehicle and then the driver got out the handle and eventually got it to start, and it held together long enough to take us to the Gare de l'Est, where we paid the man 500 fr. and learned that the taxi was 20 years old.
We deposited our luggage at the station and then bought some bread and oranges for the journey (we had had a high tea, standing up at the bar on the boat train, 21/- for three, as we had to pay in English money).
The others wanted to fill in the time seeing a French picture – we walked some way before we found a cinema, enquired the price of the cheapest seats and found that we hadn't enough French money left. We asked the girl if she accepted English money, she said no at first, and then agreed to take it. We calculated that we owed 1/2½, so we paid that, and our French francs to the girl with the eyelashes which could only be worn in Paris, and went into the cinema. The seats were hard, the place was shabby and the main film was American with substituted French words. I think even without subtitles I could make quite a lot of sense of a French film, but I couldn't follow this American one at all. It made me realise that it depended entirely on the words, instead of the acting.
The short film showed some peasant dances, I couldn't really decide whether it was meant to be serious or funny, for it was rather amateurish and went on far too long.
We redeemed our luggage with English money and found seats on the 10.30.
The train was full, and I didn't enjoy the journey. At first I tried to rig up a contraption I'd seen a Frenchman use in the summer. I had a rope sling attached to the rack and rested my chin in it, but I couldn't seem to pad it well enough. Later Stan went into the corridor, to lie down, and I appropriated his seat, and dozed a little.
We arrived at Basle about 8 o'clock, made our way through the customs, and I reluctantly passed the Buffet on the Swiss side and boarded the Zurich train. Here we had some of our own food and called it breakfast, and then made our way along to the restaurant car for morning coffee. Some people had large blue cups and others smaller ones. I was very disappointed that we were given small ones. After I had drunk one cupful I thought that I must have a refill, whatever the price, but apparently one doesn't pay extra for a refill.
At Zurich we changed into the Chur train and ran first along by the Zurichsee and then along by the far more interesting Wallensee. The haze which we noticed at the far end of the lake, later turned out to be smoke from a chimney! We went through Landwuart to Chur, where we had an hour or so to wait for our connection, and we spent our time looking round the grand old town. Our next train took us through Thusis and then on a really thrilling run, spiralling through the hillside etc. The others slept through much of it, and I was quite incapable of appreciating it. At Samedan we had to change once more, and we arrived at Pontresina punctually at 2.40. We left our things at the station, found out that the last train to Morteratsch was at 4.35, and went up to the town.
Everywhere was shut and we could neither buy provisions, nor obtain skiing information from the Kuverein. The next train took us to Morteratsch where we got in conversation with a railway man. Soon Herr Arquint appeared; he could speak English and told us that camping was forbidden in the valley. We wasted precious time walking up to the glacier, and realised that Herr Arquint was right and that there was no possible site there, out of sight of either the path up, or the ski tracks down.
We returned to the station and decided that we'd find the first site to the northeast of the railway and that we'd pitch there, without letting Herr Arquint know, for we realised that he was afraid of getting into trouble for not stopping us camping. Stan and I skied down and found the site, while John started relaying the rest of the luggage down the railway to the nearest point and then I took Stan's skis for John to cross to the site, for, without skis, he sank in to the waist at each step and he'd never have made it. At one time I left Stan rolling in the snow, trying to consolidate it sufficiently, to pitch a tent. When I returned with the last of the luggage I found that he had given up this idea and started on the pit, three or four feet down in the snow. I can't remember seeing a more depressing sight. After the journey, the one thing I wanted to do was sleep, and here we were, at 6 o'clock, with the light fading and it seemed to me that it would be hours before the pit was big enough even for Stan's tent, let alone mine. After Stan had dug out the first half of the pit, he proceeded to pitch his tent in it, while John continued with the digging, and I should think that the whole trench, 12 ft x 5 ft was dug in about an hour. I pitched my tent, although, to leave sufficient room between the two openings I found that I had 1 ft too little room. The thought that, in the short tent my feet would, through the tent wall, come in contact with the snow wall, seemed a minor detail, compared with getting settled in. Supper was soon over and we had a good night's sleep (at least I only woke up every 2 hours, and then didn't stay awake long).
We didn't start breakfast until well after 7 o'clock, with the result that we had to run for the train at 8.57. John crossed to the railway on Stan's skis, which I then had to take back for Stan.
We bought tickets on the train to Surovas, at the upper end of Pontresina and then walked down to the Kuverein, for ski school tickets, and John found Herr Flück who fixed him up with skis. At the bottom of the ski lift we spoke to Otto Largiader who put John in class I, with Luigi Costa, and Stan and me in class II, with Hans Melchior. We (class II) carried our skis along behind the ski lift, until Hans thought we'd come to a suitable slope, where we tried firstly straight running and then pure stemming. It was in deep snow (until we had it flattened out) and I can't say I came through with flying colours, but at the same time they didn't seem a very brilliant class. They all found it difficult (one girl was sent back to class I) and Hans would tell me not to hurry so much when walking back uphill, as though he expected me to tire very quickly. At one point we were told to rest, while Hans helped class V bring down a first-aid sledge, and then we tried the last stem on a steeper slope. Stan finished this one as a Christy (much to the amazement of the class). I thought I did a pure stem, but then he asked both Stan and me whether we had done stem christianas.
We gathered that Hans wasn't very favourably impressed by his class, and when he suggested a 'walk' in the Roseg valley in the afternoon, I hesitated about going, until I found that one paid one's tickets for the whole day whether one went or not.
We had no provisions with us for lunch, which gave us a good excuse for buying a meal. We first went to the Kocheadorfer, but they only did teas. Next we called in at the Bernina restaurant, where, I believe, I rather disgusted the others by demanding to know the price of everything, before we ate. We saved a franc or so by having soup, and bacon and eggs and salad, instead of the lunch. We then had time for a little shopping, before meeting outside the post office at 2 o'clock. The post office was described as the place with the squirrel and the fox outside. It was at night that these animals looked their best, when the fox's eyes glowed.
We put on our skis and started down the road and then up the left hand side (as we were going) of the Roseg valley. It amused me that one could cross the railway here, although it is quite Verboten at the station. We continued for about an hour and a half through pretty woods, mostly making tracks through the snow by the side of the cleared paths. finally Hans found us a little run down in deep snow, to the bridge and we turned back. I was very sorry to return before getting out of the trees and having a view up the Roseg valley. Actually the view came later when we were nearer Pontresina and on the north side. Previously we had stopped by the house which, in the last century, had belonged to the king of chamois hunters.
We missed the last train back, but met John, picked up our rucksacks and more provisions and walked back. We went along the road as far as the first bridge (La Resgia) and then crossed over to the railway which we followed to the camp.
I was in front of the others when the 6 o'clock train went down, and I sat in the snow waiting for it to pass; one of the officials opened the door and shouted something at me as he passed. I was afraid he might think that I was hurt, so I got to my feet as quickly as possible, but apparently he also shouted at the others, so we gathered that walking along the railway line wasn't encouraged.
At the camp I settled in my tent and got my primus going, until they came back with the water bucket and water from the stream. The menu that night included pork chops, which we had bought in Pontresina, another customer in the shop explaining to us the differences between the various dried meats and salamis.
We kept bottles of water in the liquid state by placing them in our sleeping bags (they were anything but hot water bottles!) and hence breakfast was cooked quite quickly – I made the porridge and enjoyed it, but the next day Stan asked to make it, and I ate very little from then on!
We set out in good time and skied down from the camp, towards the road. The stream had many snow bridges over it, and presented no difficulty. We joined the road just before the Bernina-Morteratsch fork with its no-camping notices.
The day before Hans had given us permission to join class III and this we tried to do, at 10 o'clock. We learned that class III were out, also the ordinary class IV, but then Otto noticed another class and told us to join that – a special class IV, we heard afterwards. We skied down to the road, and then on down to the railway slope. We soon learned that it was indeed a special class with a special instructor. He knew everyone else by name except us, and he asked us to write our names on a piece of paper. While everyone else was referred to by the Christian names, we were surnames (and Grainger had a hard second G). We started by doing straight running through soft snow. I managed it alright until we came to the longest run, but here I fell at the second bump. After I'd done this twice, I binded to Simon Rähmi (our instructor) that I hadn't wanted to be in class IV, that I'd wanted class III, so he turned sympathetic and said that my skis weren't properly adjusted (after all the time I'd spent on them!) and that once they'd been properly fitted I'd be all right.
Next he had the inspiration that on Friday the class should try for the silver test, and he tried to get us to practice the gliding walk for this.
Lastly he got on to stem-christies. He didn't let me have my turn on the gentle slope and then expected me to do my first for a year at 20º - I soon spoiled his slope with the holes I made, and then he decided that the class should try them in soft snow. I wasn't the only one to find these difficult.
In the afternoon we again met at 2 o'clock at the post office, but this time we had a 50 centime ride on the post-autobus. I was on the back seat and had a lovely time bouncing up and down, as it made its way at a fair speed down the icy road. It had a real old post-horn, too. We got out at Muragl and took the funicular to Muottas Muragl where we put on our skis, and any spare woollies, for there was a freezing cold wind. We set off to traverse into the Val Muragl. The slope must be very steep, for there are no ski routes down it, and this afternoon it was completely frozen. My excuses are that it was my first run for a year, and that the traversing was on my right foot, whereas it is my left which always likes to do the work and the light was very bad. I was making very slow progress, for I found it rather terrifying, for if one had started down the slope one would soon lose a good deal of skin – it was all right saying lean out! On one piece of fluting, there was a little soft snow and someone fell on this – Simon had placed himself below, and she soon got up. Needless to say I did the same, and after this Simon decided that I needed help. He got above me and took either my hand or my arm and practically carried me along. I felt that he'd be stiff for days after his exertion. Once or twice we'd fall over, blocks of snow would get in our way, and we couldn't see them in time for both of us to avoid them, but on the whole we got on fine and arrived about fourth at the end of the traverse. I think the usual way is rather down the bed of the gully, but everywhere on the south was frozen, so we kept to the soft snow on the other side. It suited me fine to traverse and kick turn (the lesson in the morning had been a great help for running on this sort of snow). By the time it was my turn, the runs were quite fast, and we soon made our way down through the trees, seeing a chamois on the way.
We eventually came onto the road just below the village, long after the last train had gone to Norteratsch. We walked the same way as the day before, the train passing us soon after we'd joined the line, but they took our presence very calmly this time. Back in camp we found that John had cooked a huge pan of sweet macaroni.
The last two days had been a little cloudy, but this day, the weather was perfect. We met at the ski lift, where Simon told us that we were going up the first lift and along to the bottom of the avalanche debris for the lesson. I fetched Stan from the post office and we soon caught the others up. The first thing this day was side-slipping, we had to do it forwards and backwards, making a real turn of it. Next it was stem-christies; I wasn't brilliant, but I could do 2 or 3 in succession (although some of the others could do them ad infinitum). Next we traversed to the left for Simon wanted us to try them in soft snow, but it was all just as hard, so we came down the ordinary way from the ski lift. I found this terribly icy and couldn't do a thing; I fell at every corner. When we got to the bottom slope, Simon tried to get us to do pure-christies on it, but most people stemmed. I was delighted to see that if the angle were gentle enough, I found my version of a stem-christy easy.
I practiced a little on this slope, while Simon took Stan and Reg up again on the lift and then we all came down the lower part together again.
Simon next astonished me by asking Bobby, Stan and me into a café for an aperitif. When he had gone, we asked Bobby if he was always the same, and she said yes, and he liked to make real friends of the people in his class. We asked Bobby to try to get him to call us by our Christian names, as he did all the others.
We had our usual lunch by the skating rink and then went to the station where Reg lent us holiday tickets from some people in his hotel. With these we were able to get cheap tickets to Corviglia. Arriving at St. Moritz station we made our way to the funicular. Someone had told me that there was a good view on the way up – I couldn't see it, we were packed like sardines! It seemed a long way up, but that wasn't enough for Simon, and he said that we were going on up the ski lift. I was the first to have my skis on, and hence the first of our party on the lift. One strapped a belt on and then two men attached one to the wire, one of them saying 'hold tight' to the attachment. I don't know what it was, but I found myself sitting on the snow, and being dragged up like that. I couldn't seem to get to my feet, so I let go the attachment. I didn't know what effect that would have, but my string came away completely from the overhead wire, and I was ready for the men to start on me again. This time I got away safely, and had time to start to worry about the top. I thought how much better the anchors are, where one can have someone next to one who can prepare one for the top. I let go when I was barely up, and everyone following did the same, whereas if one holds on to the end the rope detaches itself.
I soon realised why we'd practiced side-slipping that morning, the snow was quite hard, but we could side-slip and go at a reasonable pace down the pistes. I don't remember much about the turns; I expect I made a mess of them, especially as those in front were falling quite a lot. Some of the ruts were exhilaratingly fast, and as I was hurtling along one I passed a stretcher case to the side! At the end, Simon let me follow him, I remember the turns seemed so easy behind him, but very soon we came to the wood and were stemming all we could, although we were still going at a good pace. Finally as we approached the street I called out to Simon that I'd never stop, but I soon did on the level ground.
All the way down I had been thinking "And I'd heard that St. Moritz was situated in rather an ugly valley". All the way down I just couldn't believe that anywhere could have such a beautiful setting. From Piz Noir, I was looking across the lakes to the distant blue snow hills, with the sun creeping round behind them. I think the distant ones will always be fairy hills, so unreal did they seem. And to complete it all I had enjoyed the run and I still had hopes that my skiing might improve. The run ended (inevitably, I was to discover) in the Chasa Veglia. As Simon had said, it was a wonderful example of Engadine architecture, both the stone, and the wood inside. Simon soon came down and said that he had a table for us, and we went up a flight of steps to a little hall, with a balcony round, with more tables in it. We were on a raised part to the right. There was a band of two and they were both capable of dressing up in little hats and false moustaches, if they thought they'd cause amusement by doing so.
They had obviously been trained by the English in the art of making tea, but the cakes were entirely Swiss. I had three, and then right at the end Simon bought me another.
I bought a loaf of bread in the town, just in case the Pontresina shops should be shut, and then we all caught the 5.15 train back. I started along the road back in front of Stan, for I knew I was the slower walker. Apparently I surprised him by keeping on along the road, after the first bridge. He was afraid that I'd take to the railway again, whereas, like him, I'd decided that the road was quicker and more interesting. We struck the tent long before I expected, on this perfect night after such a wonderful day.
The night before I had woken up about every half hour and at times during the day I had rather felt the lack of sleep, so this night I thought I'd do my best to sleep a little more soundly. I pulled down, without fastening, the door flap. It was the coldest night we'd had; in the morning the inside of the tent was covered with frost crystals, yet I'd managed to sleep except for waking up every hour.
The day before I had determined to thaw my boots by the primus, but we were short of fuel, and mine ran out, and so I was prevented, and I had the usual horror of forcing my feet in while they were frozen.
When at last I got my feet in, the uppers were still too stiff to fasten tightly, and I collected more snow in them before I got my skis on. At the station I had over half an hour to wait for the train to Bernina Haus, so I took off my boots and left them near the stove. Mr. Arquint found them and was most concerned. They contained some of today's snow, and ice from the moisture of the day before, and he warned me that if I wore boots like that my feet would be frozen. He said that my boots needed to be left overnight in a warm room to dry properly, and I began to think that perhaps he was right. I got my skins on my skis and then finally put on my boots which were still rather frozen.
The train was crowded, the Diavolezza seemed a popular run. Simon took his own line up, occasionally overtaking other parties and quite often being overtaken. We had 10 minutes halt half way up, and then, at the lake, we took the lower route and were soon on the final slope where we zigzagged and kick turned. The hut was very crowded, but we found room inside. Stan ordered some soup, but I enjoyed the solid food that I had brought with me. I wasn't very cheerful, my left foot needed some elastoplast where my boot had rubbed my ankle again, but it was my right foot which gave me more anxiety. I'd felt as though I had a stone under my big toe, but when I took my boot off I found there was nothing there, but that I had a large, semi-blood blister on my toe. I pricked this and put elastoplast on it, but, after Mr. Arquint's warning, I was afraid it was frost-bite, something which (in ordinary circumstances) one should be ashamed of, for it is due to carelessness. I had noticed that that foot had taken far longer than the other to warm up (it had taken a good two hours), but I had thought that all the time it felt cold it was alright, and that I should lose the feeling before I need worry about frostbite.
Eventually we started down, leaving this hut with its wonderful views of Piz Palu etc. I found the upper part of the run quite difficult. It was too steep for me to turn, and the runs between the turns were quite fast, but it was enjoyable for the line that it took – after the first run down from the hut, we ascended a band of moraine, and then at the top we pivoted round, and ran down the other side and finally walked up to the top of Isla Pers. How glad I was to see other people side-slipping down it, for I knew I should enjoy it like that. In fact, I wasn't the slowest, Simon helped down one girl, and still I had time to do quite a lot on my right foot, for I thought it would be a good idea to practice on that. At the bottom it appeared to be a zigzagging track over bumpy ground. It was only when we stopped and looked back that we realised that we were among the seracs. The two people in front of me were rather slow and I'd tend to overtake them. I don't know whether this was why I sometimes took a line of my own, but just before the end of the seracs, I got into some soft snow, and rather entangled my skis as I fell; it took me a little while to sort them out.
When Stan caught me up he was most annoyed with me for keeping the party waiting, but I was more sorry for myself than the party. Despite waiting for me, the others caught their train, and Stan and I went down to the tents. I put a bandage on my ankle, and then we had our first five o'clock tea of the holiday.
In the morning, when I had been worrying about my frozen boots, Stan had had his own troubles. John had run out at the last minute to catch the 8.57 to Pontresina and had picked up the first pair of skis he saw. These happened to be Stan's, so Stan had to frantically alter John's binding at the last minute, but he said that they didn't really fit and the skins were too long for them. He found the walk up tiring and the run down most infuriating. When John later told us that 'Dievolezzo' meant 'little she devil', I think we both felt that the 'she' should be spelt 'ski'.
While we were drinking our tea in camp, we heard someone ski down to the tent and flap the canvas. This was the moment Stan had been waiting for, ever since he had found that John had taken the wrong skis "Is that that blithering dunderheaded nitwit Hutchinson?" he called out, but a strange voice answered, so we both shot out of the tent. "I thought you were our friend", I explained as though we always greet our friends like that in England. It was a khaki clad official, who we thought of at the time as a soldier, but who we later learned was a policeman.
He soon asked for our passports and we both burrowed into our tents like rabbits going to earth. The passports have never been so carefully scrutinised before, he examined every stamp in them, but seemed to believe that we were harmless tourists, and he said that it wouldn't matter if we stayed another night or so. Before he went, I asked him whether he'd been told to find us, or whether he'd come upon our tent quite by chance. He said that he'd found us by accident, that he was making his weekly round, when he always comes down this way. This was typical Swiss diplomacy for, when I mentioned at the hotel that he had been, Mr. Arquint apologised and said that he had had to tell him where we were, for so many people knew; for instance, the snow plough went up, an important railway official had been on it, and he had seen us by our tents (the tents themselves were hidden).
We had ordered a meal at the hotel that night; John was late in so they served Stan and me first, and seemed to think nothing of the extra work involved in serving John later. At first Stan and I would only take two thirds of the dishes put in front of us, but the girl assured us that they were only for two, and that John's was being saved in the kitchen.
The effect of the warm room and the food was to make me very drowsy, how I longed to stay there and sleep instead of going out and being thoroughly woken up. The others must have been similarly demoralised, for, when Mr. Arquint again offered us cheap beds, they accepted (I had turned them down in the morning). The snag was that we needed our sleeping bags, but Stan and I had managed to persuade John that it was his duty to fetch up all three. John was let off this duty for Herr Arquint came back later and said that he had arranged for us to sleep in the house between sheets for that night, for the same price as if we were in the larger.
I went to bed early, but didn't sleep soundly, for one thing I was too hot. I had a scalding hot hot-water bottle, and I was too lazy to get up and remove the duvet which was too warm, besides being so heavy on my feet. My face was burning a little too, but I didn't mind that, it made me think of the glorious sun we'd had all day, and occasionally I'd remember the thrill of skiing fast enough to make enough breeze to cool my face.
I was quite demoralised when I got up; I could hardly walk on my left foot. I found that the others had nearly finished breakfast, but all I wanted was tea. John caught the usual train to Pontresina, while Stan and I bought some of our things up from the tents and arranged them in the dormitories. I found that my foot became less stiff as I began to use it and that it was easier to walk with a skiing boot on, than without, for the boot kept it stiff. About 10.30, I set off down the road to the village. It was much too good a day to waste like that, but there was nothing else I was capable of doing. We had our usual lunch by the skating rink. We felt rather proud of John, who had taken a test, and thought that he had passed, especially as he had taken it before having his skis re-adjusted. He admitted that there was a quarter of an inch to spare, each side, in the toe irons! But the day before he hadn't noticed until half way through the day that he had the wrong skis!
In the afternoon Stan practiced by the ski lift and I lazed about the village until I saw Reg and Dorothy, and went with them into the Piz Süss. The class had practiced in the morning, and gone up the upper ski lift in the afternoon. Stan and John joined us later and then Stan started making enquiries about the possibility of crossing the Fourcla Sella to the Marianelli hut. He was introduced to Veta, but Simon soon joined the discussion, and organised the whole thing. There was a party going the next week, who would be paying for the guide and we could go for practically nothing if we could ski well enough. From the difficulty I'd had in getting down the road that morning, I rather thought that it was out as far as I was concerned, but I thought that it was good of Simon to organise things so well.
We shopped, and then went to the hostel and cooked our supper, sharing it with a Swiss girl, the only other inmate. The warden couldn't speak English or French, but she could make herself understood very well. For instance, I knew that she thought, from the colour of my nose, that I spent all my time at Morteratsch boozing. Tuesday and Wednesday mornings we had called in there and washed, but Thursday and Friday only John had appeared, so she accused me of not washing. When it came to filling in the book, she let John sign for the three of us, as he was under 25.
About 9 o'clock, we returned to the Piz Süss for the ski school evening. John joined a table with the rest of his class, while Stan and I joined Simons' table. Between dances, Otto and Simon would make speeches in three languages and the badges were presented to those like John who had passed their tests.
Simon's speech seemed to be mostly devoted to praise of the Diavolezzo run the day before.
I realised how very much a village the place was, when I recognised our policeman. At about midnight, I asked Simon what I could do. I knew that he was going to the Paradis ski hutte, and I thought it would be too difficult for me. I expected him to recommend an easier class for me, but instead he said, "You must do something on your own, do Piz Alv, you can do that by yourself, you have a map haven't you? And you can do Piz Muragl, too, yes, do these by yourself and then come to me again to see what you can do next". I was rather surprised and I must confess that I wondered whether it was the effect of the whisky which made him recommend solo expeditions, but I didn't say anything for I thought it a good idea, and I should never have had the courage so to go against public opinion, if I hadn't had Simon's blessing for it. In another way I was disappointed for I wondered whether I was so bad that there was no class I could join.
I caught the 9.26 to Morteratsch and collected my skins, and then talked to the French speaking railway man. He assured me that it would be a lovely day, although it was a little overcast. I was also able to tell him, as I told everyone I spoke to that day, that Simon had told me to go on my own. On the next train was John and the rest of his class and he said that Luigi had said it was going to be a fine day, so, at Bernina, I set off up the Val del Fain, although a little snow was falling. I soon found that the tracks I was following were made by a party which must have come on the earlier train. I followed them along the valley, crossed it at Alp la Strella, and then started up Piz Alu. At about 12.30 I caught up the other party, just as they were stopping for lunch. They said that they were turning back, and invited me to join them, but I said I should like to get a little higher. All the morning the sun had been trying to come out, but it had not succeeded, yet it still had not occurred to me that the weather would not improve. I started up on my own, but soon realised that Simon had been wrong when he'd said there'd be plenty of tracks, for there weren't any. I zigzagged up, following the broad terraces between the rocks and was very pleased when I occasionally came on some hard snow with traces of old tracks, for I'd realise that I hadn't been so far off the route. Eventually, I got above a rock outcrop which had been my landmark all the way up, and it looked straight forward from there to the top of the ridge, but then the weather deteriorated, the wind increased and immediately obliterated all my tracks, and I could see that visibility would be very bad for the descent.
I took off my skins and started down, but I think it took me as long to get down as it had done to ascend. I couldn't see a thing, even at my snail's pace. I went over one 4 ft vertical bank without realising that it was there. I traversed and kick turned, and occasionally lost a little height side-slipping, and fell very often.
I had thought that the one good thing about being on my own would be that I shouldn't keep other people waiting, so I felt rather silly when I saw two people coming down the valley, stop and then go on very slowly, keeping parallel with me. They spoke to me at the station, but didn't bind at all, only said that they realised that it was the light which made it so difficult for me. I reached the station at about 2.30 and found that there was a train down in about half an hour, so I decided to catch it. This is the first time I have ever trained down, where I could ski, but it was too tempting, it just gave me time for a belated lunch at the station. Also I had a return ticket – I had asked for a single in the morning, but I rather gathered that there weren't any, for the man insisted on giving me a day return.
I knew I shouldn't enjoy the skiing or make any progress, so it really seemed more sensible to try to save my ankle.
My train got me to Morteratsch the same time as John and his class, who had skied down, and I joined them for coffee in the hotel.
Later John and I cooked the supper and ate our share, and waited for Stan. When, by half past seven, he didn't come we concluded that he must have joined the party going to Davos for the Parsenne, and we ate all we could of his supper. Finally, at about 8 o'clock in he walked, but he didn't mind about the supper, for he had spent several hours in the Piz Süss.
The kitchen was a hive of activity, a party of students from Basle were coming to tea on the Sunday, and hours were spent making Carnival Gateau for the occasion, besides many tarts etc.
We were beginning to get to know the people behind the scenes. Everyone said "Good morning" to us, but it was the boy who did the washing up who caused most amusement. He was obviously taking English lessons during the day from Maya – he had just the same way of saying "Oh yes" and "Oh no" as she had. When we came in he soon learned to greet us with "Good evening and have your had a nice day?" If we said the right thing he could continue the conversation, but more often than not I'd say something not in his repertoire.
I had gone to bed about 9 o'clock and slept soundly until about 7. The barn seemed the ideal place to sleep, it hadn't the disadvantages of the tent and it wasn't too hot like the house.
We got up at the usual time and cooked our breakfasts in the kitchen and then got out the way of the Swiss, for we knew that they had a busy day in front of them. John had had six days skiing and thought that he had earned an off day, and stayed at Morteratsch, offering his services to the management.
Stan and I went to Pontresina; it was snowing, but was quite pleasant. It made one think of the snow at Wengen the year before, when we were having blizzard conditions at Scheidegg. We had lunch at the Pension Barnshoff, thinking that it would be the cheapest place. It was still 5 fr., but the quality was excellent.
Stan practiced by the ski lift in the afternoon, but I didn't and soon made my way back to Morteratsch where I was in time to join in the end of the washing up – or rather drying. We asked about a meal and Maya seemed to recommend a café complete.
There was toast, bread, hot rolls, plenty of butter, thin slices of dried meat, jam and lashings of coffee. It was very cheap, the best value for money, we decided.
It was still snowing and we all caught the 8.57 to Morteratsch again, and joined our respective classes. John's called itself class II this week and Simon's seemed to be the only class IV. Simon started by making us do exercises – some of them were splendid practice for 'vorlage', and next we did straight running. One girl hadn't skied for about 10 years and I don't know whether it was for her benefit that the accent was on vorlage all the time. We practiced running down a steep incline, but each time I fell at the bottom of course; after I had fallen a couple of times it was inevitable that I should fall every time. Next we ran down a gentle slope, alternating running in the Vorlager position, with stemming, and trying to stop with a pure snow plough, instead of a turn. Finally we went up the first ski lift. With the new snow it was very much easier to descend.
At the end of the lesson Simon suggested that we should come to his house and eat our lunch in a warm room, and this I agreed to do. When I met the others they were most annoyed. Stan said that John couldn't come and they both said that they had planned to buy a lunch out and had been looking forward to it, so I went on my own to Simon's where the lunch I had brought with me was augmented by soup and coffee.
At 2 o'clock we caught the post bus to Muragl and then caught the train up to the first stop, where we alighted and began to descend the deep snow through the woods. Simon descended nearly to the bridge, and then started side-stepping back up again, for we were to do that turn properly. I fell once or twice, but managed to keep on my feet the last time and was allowed to go on to the bridge. The lower, open slopes, were sheer delight. We each took our own line through the new snow, the angle was just flat enough for us to take it straight under these conditions. How funny we looked with our skis underneath, looking almost as though we were travelling down on our knees.
Back at the station, there was no-one else waiting for the funicular, so it ran especially for us. This time we went on past the first stop, and got off half way up to the top station. It was lovely at first, down through the woods, the only trouble was that the tracks were faster for those behind, and we had to continually brake to avoid running into the person in front. All too soon we got down to our previous run, which we were supposed to do better this time! At the end we made for Pontresina, instead of Muragl.
Stan hurried on to catch the last train back. I didn't bother for I needed to get some more food from the village.
At Morteratsch, the others said that they hadn't started cooking as they wanted the others out of the way first. I thought that it was more the other way about, that they wanted us out of the way. While I was still standing about, the fair girl indicated that the water which she had just put on was for my maccaroni. I had brought over the maccaroni, thinking that a little could go in the soup (I would have been sat on had I made maccaroni cheese on my own, without consulting the others). I couldn't disappoint the girl and asked her how much I needed for three, and she soon had it weighed out. Next she said 'cheese' to me in English, and when I produced it, she gave me a grater to shred it.
Very soon the maccaroni was cooked, put on a dish and experienced hands added fat and cheese. They had the pork chops cooked so quickly that I only had time to cut up one onion to go with them.
When the main course was ready it seemed silly to keep it waiting while I made soup, so I called the others instead. As soon as our cooking was out of the way, the week's washing was started in the kitchen.
We trained to Pontresina, and met Simon who said that the class were going to the top of the upper ski lift. I bought an Abonnement – if only I'd done that the Sunday we arrived!
At the top of the first ski-lift Fraulein Strelle started to say how steep the second one was, and I began to dread the thought of it, whereas once I started, I didn't find it any worse than the other. Simon had said that we were going up to the cow hut, and all the way up I was wondering whether I'd recognise it when I saw it, but I went on to the top, and that turned out to be right.
Stem-christies were the order of the day and I couldn't do a thing, my straight knees got into trouble, and when Stan and Elaine started doing the same, Simon lamented "Now all the English are doing it!" Very soon Simon lost patience with me and said that if I didn't do better I'd have to go down to class III in the afternoon. I didn't do better, so he said I'd have to go down to class III (I wouldn't have minded if I hadn't know that he was quite right). After that I side-slipped quite a lot of the way down, for I knew I could never turn at that angle. Lower down the angle was a little more gentle and Simon began to take an interest in me again and I actually did a few turns, and quite enjoyed the lower part. At the end, Simon asked the class if they knew anyone in their hotels with a holiday ticket they could lend me, in other words I could come to Corviglia in the afternoon. I was so pleased, for the weather, which had been bad at first, had gradually cleared during the morning, and by 12 o'clock I thought I had never known a more beautiful day, with the sun on all the new snow.
We caught the 1.35 to St. Moritz, and then went on up to Corviglia, but didn't go up the upper lift. The snow on the pistes was already hard, and the runs were easy; it was very much like the last week, except that the day was even more beautiful. I had tied up my ankle so tightly that my foot didn't warm up all the afternoon, but at least I felt that I could trust my foot like that. We descended to Chasellas and then went up the ski lift to the half-way point. As usual I was the first up, and as usual I was worrying all the way up, how I should recognise half-way, when I saw it – as though one doesn't always go as far as one is allowed, on these lifts! At the top, instead of going down the same way again, we traversed up and to the right, and then went down the standard run to St. Moritz. It was all sheer enjoyment. In the woods it seemed very slow compared with the week before, in fact, I even had time to read the notice, just before the last slope, telling one to take one's skis off. The run had the proper ending, i.e. in the Chesa Veglia.
Again, after the St. Moritz run, I thoroughly enjoyed the walk back to Morteratsch. This time the moonlit night was as beautiful as the afternoon had been, and I was so fully of hope again for the weather and my skiing on the Diavolezzo the next day.
We had ordered a meal at Morteratsch, and were very sorry that John had missed the 5.15 from St. Moritz, for we felt that we'd be giving them a lot more work.
I had begun to wonder whether they were regretting having given us the run of their kitchen, but from the trouble they took with the meal, it seemed very much the reverse. The soup was thick vegetable (they knew our tastes) and then two dishes were brought in containing night lights. The silver plate on one of them contained bacon and broccoli, and on the other there was veal, peas, and potato cakes fried in deep fat. The salad wasn't the inevitable lettuce; it consisted partly of grated raw carrot, and partly of a white vegetable, which was new to me. The sweet was brought in on silver plates. On the plate a white paper serviette was folded to look like petals and on this was an orange with an orange-flavoured filling inside, and with cream on the top.
John came in when we had finished, and just as much trouble was taken with the serving of his meal.
Stan and I had an extra half hour in the morning, as the party were catching the 9.26 train to Bernina Haus. We put on our skis, with skins, and again started up for the Diavolezza. We were a slower party this time; it took us a good three hours to get up, although the going was very easy. At the lake we took the upper route this time, and at the end we went right round the shoulder to the hut, instead of zigzagging up the short cut. In the hut, Elaine pointed out Alexandre Graven. After lunch I tightened my bandage and hoped that it would get me down in fine style, but it couldn't reduce the angle of the slopes, which is the only way I could ever do a turn on them. It had been a lovely morning, but it was bad for the run down, reminded me a little of Piz Alu, but of course the presence of ski tracks made it much easier. Two of our party were very tired from the walk up, and my chief difficulty on the way down was to decide where to run. They were much better skiers than I, and I felt should be in front, and yet they seemed to prefer the rear and were slow, and seemed to like to stop after each effort. A kick turn was a very lengthy operation for them.
There was too much snow in Isla Pers to make side-slipping really enjoyable, in any case Simon recommended traversing, and, for me, kick turns. At one halt I guessed the angle as 30º, but Simon said that it was 28º. The run at the bottom would have been quite fun, had the light not been so bad; one either used other people's tracks to go faster, or made ones own if one wished to brake.
At one point in the seracs, Simon had stopped and was shouting to me to go to my left, at first I went right over to his left, and the got back, about to the middle when I came to my first ski jump – about a foot in height over a serac, and I didn't fall down. They lost the train at Morteratsch, which brought a little more custom to Herr Arquint, and some washing up to us afterwards. We showed Elaine the 'larger' and she agreed that it was a palace of a barn.
It was a perfect morning, so there was no question as to what we should do, the Fourcla Surlej. The night before we hadn't been able to agree about the trip, but with the cloudless sky that morning, all was different. We caught the usual train down the valley, but this time went on to Pontresina, instead of to Suravos. Then we started up the Roseg Valley. Once more I had 'Fido' on a lead, faithfully trotting behind me. As I towed my skis with my sticks, I couldn't help but think of them as a little dog. Mostly they followed, seemingly of their own accord, but just occasionally they seemed to have a will of their own, and try to go round a lamp-post.
It was a cold morning (-19ºC at 8 o'clock) but it couldn't have been better; I could have taken a photo every few yards along the track. The foreground varied so, at one time it would be the tree shadows, or the trees themselves, or the snow formation. Then the distant peaks started to come into view.
After 1¾ hours, we reached the restaurant Reseg and had cold milk to drink at first, and then hot chocolate. I set off first up the slopes towards the Fourcla. This was a great thrill, to make the first tracks in the snow. John had taken over the pack, which he and I were sharing and I was well in front of the others, so I took my time and didn't over-exert myself.
I zigzagged up the first slope, and then joined the main track – it was wide enough to show up through the new snow. At times there was quite a trail ploughed – by the animals. At one point I couldn't resist just one more photo of the valley. It was right into the sun, so I held my camera balanced on my ski sticks, and shielded it with one hand, while I took it, hoping that it was still pointing in the same direction, and that it wasn't a portrait of my hand which I was taking.
After the wood I waited until Stan came, for my map was in the pack. Stan didn't wait for the map, he must have been very impatient of my gentle route for he began to zigzag much more steeply up the hillside. Eventually John caught us up and I took the pack and he took over the lead. We were on wonderful slopes, grand for photography, but eventually we saw the first chalet, far below, so we knew we were right off the track, which went by the chalet. We were having half hour leads by now, and by the time it was my turn again, we were nearly level with the second chalet, and I was glad to be able to traverse across to it. I found it hard work to lead, with the pack still on my back. All the morning we had been facing the sun, and we had one halt to put on more cream. I don't know when I have felt a more scorching sun. Stan hadn't a watch and didn't seem to believe John's and my timing of his second half hour, but we were playing fair. John had the last lead, and made straight for the cairn at the Fuorcla, not taking the obvious easy way round.
I began to wonder about the weather on the way up, but by the time we reached the Fuorcla, it was obvious that the few clouds were only for ornament, and didn't mean business. At the top we found the tracks of a party which must have come up from the other side the day before, so we knew that we shouldn't have to worry about the way down. Firstly, we took a few photographs, then we took the skins off our skis, and finally we sat down to a belated lunch (the ascent had taken about 4 hours).
When we started down, I kick turned in the soft snow at the top, despite John's good example – he was trying to stem round. We found that the tracks traversed round to the left, i.e. were making for Silvaplanna, which was what Herr Arquint had advised us to do. There were some fine downhill traverses, followed by some punting along and even a little uphill. The best parts were the direct downhill runs. By each choosing fresh snow, we could take this straight. At first, I had lagged behind to try to get a few photos of the others, but soon I had used all my film. How sorry I was that I couldn't take some later, as John came down, up to his knees nearly in the snow, which was flying up behind him. We stopped for a few moments at the chalet half-way down and I was able to identify the valley and confirm that we were really making for Silvaplanna.
I found the run rather difficult, once we reached the woods. There were plenty of tracks, but they hadn't consolidated the snow in the least, and at most corners I fell into metres of snow. All the same, I was very sorry when the run came to an end. There was breakable crust on the bottom field and this led us to a bridge across a narrow part of the lake (I had been looking forward to crossing the lake itself).
At Silvaplanna I found that a bus left for St. Moritz at 5.20. I left my skis at the post office and went back to find the others. It was nearly 5 o'clock, but we hoped that there'd be time for tea. We found a café, but they said they'd no cakes. We said that we'd be content with a glass of tea. Really this was a mistake, for when it eventually came, it was too hot to drink and it was nearly time for the bus. We ran down to the post office, put our skis in the trailer behind and got in the bus, where we found Annamarie and her mother. I thought that we were all set to go when I learned that tickets had to be obtained from the post office. I thought 2 fr.10 rather a lot for the short ride to St. Moritz.
We had a little while to wait for the train so we thought we'd have another attempt to have some tea. We went to the nearest hotel and this time ordered glasses of milk. In addition, we were able to get some very good slab cake.
We found that John's class were also catching the 6.30 train back to Pontresina. At first they were on to John for slacking that day, but they changed their tune when they learned that he had been over the Fuorcla. Stan joked with Luigi about his jeep, and when we got out at Pontresina, Luigi said that he'd run us up to Morteratsch. John and the skis got in the back and Stan and I in the front.
Very soon I remembered that the road hadn't been cleared very far, and we were disappointed to find that the snow plough had made no more progress, and we had to get out half-way there. I felt so sorry for Luigi when I tried to turn his jeep, he ran it at the banks of snow, but he couldn't flatten them and he couldn't turn, so he had to back down the road. We didn't mind the walk in the least, for it was another perfect evening.
It was our last night at Morteratsch and we had to fill in forms in triplicate, and then Stan and John got Maya to translate some Swiss songs for them. We also rang up Simon for he had given us a ring to tell us that he was going to Fuorcla the next day. Apparently when he learned that we had gone, he had rung up the Roseg restaurant to find whether we had gone on from there.
It was another perfect morning. How annoyed I was that we hadn't taken down the tents during the bad weather, for I knew that there wouldn't be time for a long run after we'd done all our packing. We cleared all the snow from on top, and then dug down to release the guys and finally released the groundsheets, which were stuck to the ice beneath. I got my things up in two journeys, and left the tent to dry while I packed the rest of my things. The tent was practically dry by the time I was ready for it. We had all our things round the front, and had settled, with about 10 minutes to spare before the 11.50 train was due. We spent these minutes enjoying the soup which Maya had brought out for us. When the train eventually arrived, Herr and Frau Arquint and Maya helped us get our things in and then stood waving us off until we were out of sight. I think we all felt this to be a most memorable occasion.
I had packed everything for the night in my small rucksack and had planned to go on down to Pontresina, and leave my large one there. The others got out at Surovas, and when I looked out, they told me I'd better get out too, for they had my stuff out of the luggage van, along with their own! I made two journeys from the station to the hostel, and then took my big pack down to the main station, in case there wouldn't be time for two journeys in the morning. Back at the hostel I found that the others had left a note saying they had gone to the Piz Süss. I joined them there for bacon and eggs. Stan next had to wait until the post office opened, and then the ski lift started running again. We went right up to the top and I started putting on my skins. When the others arrived Stan said that I didn't want them on at first, but as he started uphill, I left them on.
There were tracks going up and tracks going down, but Stan chose a way between. I didn't like the look of his traverse, so, as I had on skins I made for the uphill tracks. The others also soon tired of their traverse and followed me. They should have known better, for Stan had been there the previous Saturday, and also he had my map. After about half an hour, we got a good view over into the Languard Valley, and could see the proper tracks. Stan decided to go down from this point, but John and I thought we might as well go on, having come so far, and traverse into the valley higher up. The tracks we were following went up and then along, and then down a gully. I hoped that it would be easy to side-slip down this gully, but I had reckoned without the condition of the snow. We had to side-step down the upper part, and when it opened out lower down, the snow was often too sticky to give us any run.
Eventually we joined the main tracks and thought we'd better start down. John hurried on for he wanted to get to the bank before it closed. I took my time to get a few photos on the way. All too soon (I thought) I reached the glade, i.e. the main run down from the ski lift. I didn't try to turn on the upper part (or only once or twice), I thought that I had better get down to the more gentle part, and practice there. I side-slipped a little and then thought I'd make long traverses into the rough, but the snow was horrible, and I thought I'd never get it off my skis, even when I got back to the main track. Eventually I reached familiar ground, and, when the experts weren't whizzing by, I started to practice, and rapidly improved. All too soon I was onto the lower ski lift run, and really enjoying it. At the bottom I immediately got on the lift again – by now I had almost learned to enjoy the lift – and again did the same run, which I was beginning to know by heart. After one more turn on the ski lift, I found that I had lost my abonnemont, I explained this in English to the man who didn't understand the language and he let me have another lift. The next time I presented myself at the ski lift the man found someone who could speak English and I was told that I couldn't go without a ticket. I explained that I had lost it and that it had 8 or 9 more goes on it. I was told that if someone else picked it up they'd use it. I said yes, of course they would, but that didn't help me. Eventually he stopped pushing the anchors away from me, and let me have one. For the last run I came down the other side for the first time. I didn't fall on the upper part, but when I got to the old familiar part, I fell a couple of times, but I didn't mind, for I was trying to improve my technique instead of merely trying to get down without falling.
How I wished that I'd had a few runs on my own before. I determined that the next time I'd spend the afternoon when I arrived, like this.
Back in the village I met one or two of Simon's party, and learned the details of their trip. They were driven to the Roseg Restaurant in dog sleighs, which then brought back their coats. At Silvaplanna, they had a lorry to bring them back to Pontresina. They said they had seen our tracks and thought that we had done the climb several times over, for our tracks were so steep. I left these and went into the Piz Süss where I had tea with Elaine and Simon, and the Edwards.
Simon wasn't quite so down on our tracks. He said that, considering we had none of us been that way before, they were "absolutely all right" (to use a favourite expression of his).
We learned that half of Pontresina had done that run that day, so how glad we were that we had had it to ourselves the day before.
After supper at the hostel we went along at about 9.30 to the ski school evening, at the Kochendorfer this week. We found that most of our class had taken the Swiss silver badge on Thursday. All the rest of John's class had taken the class 2 test.
I left about 12.30, although the evening was getting really jolly.
We got up at 6.0 and were in plenty of time to catch the 7.57. We were a little annoyed to have to change at Samedon, but then went straight through to Zurich. The day was a little overcast, but I felt that we should really have spent it skiing, instead of shopping in Zurich. At about 11.30 they came round announcing lunch, so we thought that we might as well have it on the train to save time in Zurich. We seemed to walk for miles along to the train – I was reminded of the tale of the girl who walked from London to Edinburgh in one night. We enjoyed the meal in the coach belonging to the international company of Wagon-lit (it was also quite an exciting train, going to Scandinavia). We sat with some Americans and were quite interested to hear their opinion of Switzerland. I was surprised that they should find it so expensive.
At Zurich we left our luggage at the station and then John enquired about trains back. He only told Stan the times, but I gathered that we had to leave much earlier than 9 o'clock, the time we had expected. Next I followed the others as they raced along out of the station, cut through a couple of streets and then into a large departmental store. I followed them in this until they went up a flight of stairs, where I lost them. I made my way to the sports equipment, but they weren't there, so I looked round the store and eventually, when I went back to the sports section, I found them. John bought a rucksack and then raced off to catch a train out to the house of a friend of his. Stan and I then spent the afternoon shopping. We walked down to the lake and then started going in the shops, on our way back.
Stan tried several shops for rucksacks, but they were poorer quality than John's. We went into one jewellers where Stan bought a watch, and then into another where we had a wonderful time, sitting down while they brought tray after tray of wonderful things for us to choose from. We chose a bracelet for Maya, and Stan also bought a bracelet, and I bought a silver brooch.
Next we got some nylons and then Stan bought a very Swiss apron, and finally we made our way back to the original store, where Stan tried to get a rucksack like John's. They hadn't another exactly the same, but he got quite a good one. I then had tea, with cakes not up to the standard of the Engadine, but Stan was too late. I spent my last few minutes trying to get bread for the journey, but I could only get part of a loaf and a few rolls.
We next reclaimed our luggage and boarded the 6.30 trains, hoping that John would catch the 7.10 (or so) changing on the way.
At Basle we stayed on the Swiss side and made our way to the buffet. I rather fancied hors d'oeuvre and found that the cheapest was 3.50 fr. I determined to have it, although I felt it would be rather an expensive meal. It wasn't – it was such a huge dish-full, that I needed no 'main course' after it, a little fruit and cream to finish up with, was all that I could manage. Stan had steak and chips. The chef had been fetched while we were ordering the meal, and he agreed to cook the chips the English way.
Next we went through the customs to the French part, and boarded the 9.30, along with some of the organised tourists who we had seen on the boat a fortnight before. We kept a lookout for John, right up to the last, but there was no sign of him, so Stan and I spread ourselves along the side, which were able to kept to ourselves. The extraordinary thing to me was that I wasn't hungry all night long, so good had been my send off from Switzerland.
The seat was too narrow to hold two people comfortably, and the outside person was continually rolling off, but, apart from this, we had a very good night and arrived at Paris on time.
While we were making the double journey to get our luggage to the station entrance, we missed the inter-station bus, but soon found a taximan to take us to the Gare St. Lazaire for 300 fr. (how glad we were that we didn't listen to the man in the train who promised us a taxi for 800 fr.!). We said that we had no French money, but he didn't seem worried, and soon had us and our luggage on or in. We had one anxious moment when he stopped the car in a side street, but this was only to pour in petrol from a can. At the station I offered him a 10/- note. He took my word that it was a "demi-livre", but wouldn't give me any change, for, as he explained, it might be months before he could dispose of it.
Again at the bureau de change, I tried to change a note, and again I thought how low England had sunk when they said they didn't want English money. The man in the buffet was quite different, like the taxi man he seemed quite indifferent to the fact that I had no French money and poured us out the most delicious hot chocolate. We had a refill and might have had more, had we known that it was less than 6d a cup (he was very exact with his change too!).
I queued for the train and we were able to get 2 unreserved corner seats when it drew in. The customs came round the train, and we indulged in morning coffee, otherwise there was nothing of note in the journey to Dieppe.
On the s.s. "Worthing", we were soon in the dining room, but we weren't very impressed with the English meal.
At Newhaven I was foolish enough to declare 6 pairs of nylons and had to £1 for my honesty!
I let the first Lewes train go, saw Stan onto the London train, had a cup of tea and caught the 4.45 or so straight through to Brighton.
My skis went quite easily into the vanguard taxi and the man even carried my things up to the front door.
Marjorie, Arthur and I caught the 8 o'clock from Nottingham to Grantham. Here we let the 9.04, the special to Aberdeen, go and had a cup of tea while waiting for the Aberdonian, which departed pretty well on time at 9.17. We were a little disconcerted to see so many seats reserved. I piled in rather far back, and found that we were in a Fort William coach, so we moved further up, leaving our large packs in a guard's van en route. The guard wouldn't let us travel in the van, so we found a nice piece of corridor, away from the general stream of traffic, and were preparing to settle down there, when rumours of plenty of room further forward reached us. Arthur investigated and found a whole side vacant, so we moved into that carriage. At first we talked, at York we couldn't see Don, but Arthur fetched cups of tea and then we settled down for the night. We had the luggage on the floor, Arthur spread his sleeping bag on the rack, and I spent a wonderful night on it. I didn't sleep much, but I was very comfortable. Arthur was very annoyed with the ticket collector, but Marjorie soon learned to get my ticket out of my rucksack on the floor and show it to him.
It was a perfect morning – too good to be true, we kept saying, praying that we'd prove to be wrong. I hadn't expected such a lovely coastline and began to regret that we'd be leaving the sea. Eventually the mountains to the left became interesting, particularly one with snow on the top.
At Edinburgh a railway man came into the carriage and I asked whether there'd be a breakfast car. He said yes, and that it'd be put on at Dundee. About half an hour after we left Dundee, we tried to get along to the breakfast car. The guard's van was locked, so we got out at the next station and ran down the platform to get further back. We got in again in a sleeper, and the attendant informed us that the train carried no breakfast car!
At Aberdeen we met Don, who had been on the relief. There was just time to have breakfast on the station (bacon and egg, bap and marmalade) before boarding the 8.05 to Ballater. There were a few clouds in the sky, but it was still a lovely day for this grand run; how I wished I were a little more capable of appreciating it. As we got nearer the end, Lochnagar looked most impressive, the tops around were white, but the cliffs were black, obviously they were too steep to carry snow.
At Ballater we bought bread, and oranges, and those with sweet coupons got chocolate. Then we found the taxi we had ordered from Strachen's garage. There was plenty of room for the four of us, and our luggage in the great grey Daimler. The road was a little rough in the middle stretch, but not too bad. The driver pointed out the Bailey bridge which had been put up for the king, and that is the only thing I can remember about the run.
At the Spittal of Glen Muick, we started carrying our things towards the farm we where stopped to speak to a man who turned out to be Mr. Robertson, the stalker to whom we had been told to report on arrival.
When I mentioned camping at the far side of the second wood, he said that it was usual to camp near the farm, and I eventually realised that he meant that camping the other side of the river was forbidden! He walked a little way with us, and pointed out a suitable site near the first wood, but we didn't use it, partly because it was in the field with the sheep, and partly because the wood gave no protection from the east wind which was then blowing. We finally settled on the north corner of the wood. This was protected and also it had a lovely view of Lochnagar. We got the tents up and then made a fire and cooked tea, and Marjorie and I had steak and pom and tea. Eventually, at about 1.30, we set out. The clouds were coming down over Lochnagar, and I thought that the east, towards the sunny hills was the most sensible direction, but the others insisted on Lochnagar.
We joined the track, which led us to the bridge across the River Muick, and on to the Allt-na-Giubhsaich. From here we had a perfectly delightful quarter of a mile through the wood, and then on over the moorland. After about a mile and a half on this path, which led us so gently uphill, we came to the watershed and the dividing of the ways (not to mention the mist!). We followed the track for nearly a mile, when it began to steepen, and we were among quite large snow patches.
We decided that it was time to traverse if we were to get to the col between Lochnagar and the Meikle Pap. We consulted the map and compass and thought that if we went due west we ought to get there. Due west led us straight up the hillside, and eventually we came onto a more level stretch of ground which, from the force of the wind we decided was fairly near the summit plateau. This idea was confirmed when, on bearing to the right, we came to the track. We realised that we had started for the col when we were at the eastern end of a zigzag, and so had gone up to the left of 'the ladders'. It was too cold to linger long, we went up to the cairn (Red Spout) and then hurried down the path.
The mist had lifted slightly and we were able to see the place where the route to the crags diverged. We traversed across until we imagined that we were facing the eastern corrie of Lochnagar. We couldn't see a thing, and soon returned, making a mental note of the large cairn where one must leave the main track. Once out of the mist, our spirits rose and, at the dividing of the ways, we decided to take the track which would bring us to the south end of Loch Muick.
We were soon regretting the decision; Marjorie had boot trouble, and it really was the longest mile and a half I have ever known. We were back in the mist, and the path was slightly, yet steadily rising. Eventually we crossed the Glas Allt and all was well, as we had a jolly run down to the Loch. I don't know why, but the path made me think of the one down from Trift to Zermatt.
There some lovely falls on the burn, and looking back through the mist, they seemed absolutely huge. Near the bottom, we got out of the mist and had delightful views across the loch, and the wood was in the best Cairngorm tradition.
We joined the loch track at Glas allt Shiel, Queen Victoria's 'cottage' and then set off 'home' – 2 miles along by the loch, and another mile beyond.
We had a most leisurely breakfast and, eventually, at 11.30 we were ready to start. Arthur then noticed that the others had arrived, and he insisted on waiting for them. I was equally insistent that the rest of us should start, for I felt that we'd had a short day the day before, and if we stayed to speak to the new arrivals we'd end by waiting for them, and so our second day would be wasted. I had left a note in my tent with all the gen, and instructions for finding the guidebook, but apparently they didn't look in my tent.
Marjorie kept waiting for Arthur on the way up, but he didn't come into sight and eventually she was persuaded that he was waiting for the others, and came on into the mist. We crossed the col, dropped some way down the other side and had lunch. We sat on one side of a large boulder, but I wouldn't call it the sheltered side, and altogether it was rather a cold meal. I hadn't the guidebook with me, but I decided that a particular hash on the map represented Black Spout, and this was opposite the southwest corner of the Lochan. Don and I agreed on a traverse up towards where I expected to find Black Spout. There was almost a path on this traverse (it went below two buttresses and then above a third, which went down to the loch) and then we reached the snow in which there were footprints. We followed these diagonally upwards and decided we were in Black Spout which can be distinguished because it goes obliquely up. The fact which we didn't realise was that we weren't yet in a gully, but still on the snow which covers the scree beneath the crags.
I had been partly cheered by the sight of glissade marks down, thinking that people had used the gully as an easy way down. It was therefore a blow to discover that the descending marks had been made by the ascending party, whose steps we had followed, and that they had turned back very soon. With Don in our party, retreat was, of course, unthinkable, before we got to an insurmountable obstacle.
Soon after it steepened, I had one of my bright ideas that I ought to do some of the work of step-kicking, to save Don for the more difficult work ahead. Almost at once I decided that we had reached the more difficult part, for the new snow seemed slipping on the more icy stuff beneath. To the side it was firm, so I cut a step here and we roped up, and Don continued cutting up what seemed to me to be an ice wall. He traversed to the left, and then back to the right and then announced that he was in a splendid stance. I didn't find the steps altogether easy to use. For one thing I am never good at making a long step up, and for another I never knew how far to trust them. The bottom ones were soon filled up with snow from the higher ones, and I never knew which were cut in the solid ice, and which were only kicked into the snow. Marjorie quite put me to shame the neat way she came up. All three of us assembled in the little grotto, and then Don continued up. I was well back and had a commentary from Marjorie about Don's progress. Firstly, he ascended the rock to the right of the gully, and this took him a little while, and then he set to work step-cutting to the left and then back to the right. When he had had all the rope to me he didn't sound as though he had found a belay, so I untied, but he said 'come on' so quickly after that, that I tied back on again, only slightly nearer to Marjorie, and I was almost able to reach Don before I got a shout from Marjorie. This time there was a rock belay, but the stance was merely a cut step, so Don went on before she joined me. I took off a waterproof mitt before taking in Marjorie's rope on the rock pitch, and I dropped it, but Marjorie was in no position even to hear what I said, let alone retrieve it. I had found the rock difficult; I had put my axe through my rucksack and had taken off my mitts, and had only just managed to get up before my hands became too numb to hold on.
I think Marjorie's opinion of the rock was the same as mine. After this, Marjorie and I moved together most of the way. After one long step over a rock, we merely had to walk up in Don's very adequately cut steps. Soon Don announced that the angle was easing off, and he was able to cut quick steps in the snow, instead of proper ones in the ice. I was beginning to cheer up at this stage, for I felt that we couldn't be in Douglas' gully after all. This had been my fear all along, that we might be in a gully which had never been climbed to the top, and we should have to get down all the difficult pitches we had ascended. I might not have minded, had we set out earlier in the day, but I always think that people who set out at about mid-day for a difficult climb are asking to be benighted. Soon we thought we could see the top and, as we approached it, it did not disappoint Marjorie or me. Don, of course, would have liked to have had a cornice to tunnel through! We had a stop for chocolate just below the top, for fear that the wind on the other wise should make a halt unpleasant. All the way up we had been hearing, at intervals, a noise like an avalanche and we realised that it was the wind hitting the edge at the top. There was no cornice, but the top 6 ft or so were practically vertical and of fairly soft snow. Marjorie stayed to the side, belaying in the firmer snow, while I paid out Don's rope from nearby, as he kicked his way up the last few feet.
We had thought it cold and blowy all the way up, but once on top we realised how sheltered we had been, and when Marjorie and I were up, we set off, without bothering to unrope, to follow the crest along to Red Spout, and then down the ladders, where there was a little shelter. I was glad to unrope, for I found it a little difficult to carry coils, an axe, and also to keep my mitt-less hand in my pocket for warmth.
We soon caught up Arthur, who had done an unnamed gully with Ann and Michael. Marjorie's descriptions of Raeburn's (which I was sure ours would turn out to be) was the "the helliest hell" she had ever been in.
Back in camp I made use of my wet state to wade into the river and recover a pan which the wind had blown out of my hand in the morning. There was a large array of tents by this time; Ernest's new 'itisa', which Arthur was going to share, Ed's similar one, complete with fly-sheet, which he was sharing with John G. and Kon Manley. Ron and Geoff, Jack S. and Jack Nelson and his friend Jack completed the party.
I went round all the tents, drinking any tea I was offered, until I had no excuse for not removing my wet clothes. I got into the tent and threw them outside, for other people to hang on trees.
The night before the wind had dried anything left on a tree, but this night it poured all the time, and in the morning nothing was dry.
Early I had every intention of putting on my wet clothes and going to Lochnagar again, but as the time drew near, I weakened, for hadn't I had two days in the mist on Lochnagar? I thought that later on, when the rain stopped, we could walk round Loch Muick and go on to the Dubh Loch. In actual practice the heavy showers continued all day, and I didn't do a thing. Jack came in the tent in the morning and we gossiped and drank tea. In the afternoon I spent some time in bed, and eventually got out and put my things round the fires. Then I had a great longing for a dainty afternoon tea. I even wondered whether farm could be persuaded to do a meal. Instead, about nine of us crowded into Ed's tent and he produced just what I wanted, a plate of very thin bread and butter, and there was even strawberry jam to go with it! We drank innumerable mugs of tea and, as usual, thoroughly outstayed our welcome. Arthur, Ernest, and Don, who had had most trouble with their tents decided to move into the cottage by the lochan, which Mr. Robertson had told us about. Marjorie, I think, would have liked to have joined them, for my tent leaked where we had been touching the sides. I wanted to go on camping, and laziness was on my side, so we moved a few yards into the wood, where we were protected from the wind. It was a fairly fine night and I slept soundly, for the first time this holiday. We could hear the wind outside the wood, but it was not flapping our canvas, so it did not worry me.
It was a glorious morning, fresh but sunny. Marjorie and I got up at 8 o'clock and I went round to the tents to wake them up. I didn't get a very good reception, they all seemed rather sorry for themselves, after their bad night. I found that Eddie's tent pole was reinforced with a second ice-axe, and five of the guys of his fly-sheet were broken.
After breakfast I set out, with a camera, along towards the loch. What a splendid morning it was; the water was a navy-blue, and the wind was whipping it up into white waves. The best sight of all was the spray at the end of the loch; the sun was shining on it, and it was rainbow coloured.
The cottage was wonderfully placed by the side of the loch, and I found the others nearly ready, so I returned to camp.
The tents from the field were moved right into the wood by this time, so Marjorie and I thought we'd join them, in case the wind got any stronger. I was rather amused that we ended up by camping in the place that Mr. Robertson first suggested. He obviously knew that the east wind which we first sheltered from, was harmless compared to the southwest, to which we were exposed.
Again, at about 11.30 we set out for Lochnagar. What a delight the wood was, on this sunny morning, but the greatest thrill was a mile or so beyond, just before the dividing of the ways, when the main Cairngorm mass, complete with new snow, came into view. Lochnagar had been covered the whole morning, but it didn't occur to me that it wouldn't come out of the mist before we got there. A snow squall hit us head on, as we were crossing the col. For the first time we got a good impression of the crags, for only the tops were covered. How the photographer in me longed for a little sun, for both the crags, with the new snow, and also the lochan below seemed to me to be ideal subjects. We had lunch in a similar position to Friday – the wind and temperature were similar too. Next we traversed up towards Black Spout. I found the traverse quite difficult, with the new snow filling up the holes between the rocks. Fortunately, Don was ahead and his footprints gave a good idea of what was firm for my ankle still hadn't recovered from its first Diavolezzo run and I repeatedly jarred it this holiday. There was no mistaking Black Spout this time; we could see almost to the top. We also got a view of Raeburns, which looked most impressive.
Black Spout was just a slog. It was at an easy angle, and there was a foot or so of soft snow. The left-hand exit looked steeper, so naturally Don took this. Half-way up I got the idea that I ought to do a little of the work, and I kicked steps until I was quite exhausted, when all I had done was mark time. My step would be so near the one below that it would collapse into it, whereas Don, with his longer stride, could make the steps far enough apart to be firm. Near the top Don noticed a side gully to the left and said that he'd like to try it. We got in as sheltered a place as we could find, and Marjorie, Arthur and Ernest waited while Don and I roped up and then Don started flogging his way through the snow. He got to the rock and firstly cleared the snow to the right, only to find that there were no holds (all the rock slopes the wrong way) and then to repeat it to the left. I wasn't a bit sorry to see him return, for it was so cold waiting! We kept on the rope just in case there should be an obstacle at the end, but, by traversing to the right, the loose, new cornice could be avoided.
We found the cairn of Cae Cairn Mor, and waited on the sheltered side. I had my hair de-iced, and then we started along the top of the cliffs, admiring the gullies we passed en route. It was a most infuriating day for Marjorie and me, with our cameras. The sky kept brightening, yet the sun never succeeded in breaking through, and, at the moments when it was brightest, the wind would be fiercest, whipping up the loose snow and making everything fuzzy.
Don and I stayed on after the others, feeling sure that it would soon clear and we could get a photo of Raeburn's which looked terrific, but at last we decided that we should have to go down without, and we cut straight along to the others. We didn't realise that they had missed the way down from Red Spout and had gone on to Cuidhe Crom. From here the Little Pap looked such a delightful shape that we had to go up it, but it was a pity, for we missed the glissades we might have had from Red Spout.
There was a snow storm on the Little Pap, so we made due east. When we came to Thursday's track, no-one seemed to favour the descent to Glas Allt Shiel again, so we continued east, over a few groughs, until we found a stream to follow down to the usual path, which we joined about half a mile from the wood.
Marjorie really found her appetite that evening, for the first time of the holiday. We started with soup (Maggi, lentils, dried onions, oats etc.). Next we had maccaroni cheese and this was followed by bacon, tomatoes, and stuffing. The sweet consisted of soaked, dried bananas, and custard.
There was a light covering of snow on the ground, the sun was shining and the tops were fairly clear. Arthur, John, Don and I couldn't join the lucky people setting out for the tops, for we had to pack and leave.
I used the phone at the farm and ordered a taxi at 2 o'clock. Next I packed and then I went on a photographic expedition along to the loch. I got back to camp in time to join in the communal stew, and then we carried our packs to the road. There was a fierce snow storm on the way to Ballater, but the sun came out again. We left our things at the station, and then went into a café to drink tea!
I had hoped to photograph Lochnagar from the train, but it didn't show up well enough, with the stormy clouds behind.
What a wonderful ride it was, both to Aberdeen, and then down the coast, until it was dark. The sun was shining, there were wonderful clouds about, and the country and sea coast were so lovely.
We were very pleased when, at about 7.30 the attendant came along with tickets for high tea, for eating always passes the time so pleasantly on a train.
We arrived at Edinburgh punctually, and made our way to the platform for the 9.53. We found Derrick and Grace in the queue, and heard details of the Crianlarich meet. Their weather seemed even worse than ours; on Saturday, they said, it was as much as they could do to walk along the road.
Derrick and Grace looked very comfortable in the 1st class compartment, but we couldn't fine a 3rd class one with seats for the three of us (John had left us to go to Glasgow), so we settled down in the corridor. Derrick came along and said that he'd spoken to the ticket collector to see if we could join them. The trouble was that there was no collector on the train.
We were very happy as far as Carlisle, sleeping or dozing on the floor, but then a crowd of R.A.F. got in, and I have really never met such a rotten crowd of men. As one of them announced, "If we can't sleep well make sure that no-one else does either", and they were certainly as good as their word. We were only half an hour late at Nottingham. I hadn't bargained on our getting in so early and I hadn't a key. Fortunately a little window was open and I was able to crawl in.
I hurried with my tea and bus'd over to Derby and arrived at the railway station exactly at the appointed hour of 7.30. Don was 20 minutes late, but I wasn't surprised, for I knew he was coming from Sheffield by motorbike and I hadn't much faith in them! We strapped the packs on the panniers, fastened the frames on top, chatted with Douglas, who was passing that way with Betty, and eventually, at 8.25 we were ready to leave. We went through Uttoxeter, Stone and Audlem. It was practically dark by the time we got to Stone, and we didn't find route finding particularly easy – at times, we'd take a side fork in mistake for the main road, and neither of us knew the way through the towns. I occasionally got a little exercise, running back to see the signposts.
After Whitchurch, the Llangollen road wasn't very well signposted, but we eventually reached Ruabon and the way was straightforward from there. I suggested that we should stay the night there, and go on the next morning when it was light. We didn't cross the bridge, but continued on the same side of the river, until we were opposite the Abbey (we discovered in the morning). There was a lovely smooth grass path by the side of the road, but we found a flat patch of ground just above that and got in our sleeping bags there. It was a perfect night; there was no question of bothering with tents. I was surprised that there wasn't a dew the next morning. There was no moon, but an incredible number of stars.
It was 7.30 on a brilliant morning, when we crawled out of our bags and set off in about half an hour, promising ourselves a cup of tea in a café, but we didn't bother. I have never appreciated that run nearly so much before; the sunny morning, the spring colours and bluebells in the woods couldn't have been bettered. Firstly, we went through the obviously beautiful vale of Llangollen, and then on through the wilder country, with the view of the mountains ahead. Very soon, it seemed we were at Bettws-y-coed and on the familiar run to Capel. Just before the junction we decided on the Snowdon fork, thinking that there was Lliwedd, even if we weren't up to 'Cloggy' standard. At the Pen-y-Gwryd we filled up with petrol, but I couldn't get any milk. We went on to the Pen-y-Pass, which was also without milk; we left the bike in the car park and carried out packs for the minimum distance. We walked up the track until the Horseshoe came into view, and then walked along a little spur until we came to a suitable flat spot, which we called our camping site. We didn't bother with tents, the weather was perfect and we were able to spend the whole weekend out of doors.
At about 10 o'clock we started our breakfast cum lunch. I made the porridge much too thin, and this was followed by bacon and egg, and, of course, the much needed tea. Eventually we had finished, and started off for Lliwedd, which we thought would make a good practice crag for Cloggy the next day.
We thought that Paradise would make a gentle beginning to the weekend's climbing. We roped up for the scramble onto the heather shelf and I was glad of this. I suspected everything of being loose. It made me remember that this was my first climb on "real rock" since the new year (I had been on Cratcliff 3 weeks before, and had had wonderful practice in using a shoulder!). I very soon lost this feeling, and my confidence increased as the day wore on. The climb was typical of Lliwedd, the holds were small but all there, even if some of those for the hands were of the vertical variety. We were in rubbers and climbed up to the "extinguisher-shaped rock" and then on over what the book described as the "crux of the climb". I had difficulty in keeping Don on Paradise, he was very tempted by Purgatory, especially for the last 90 ft. How fitting it seemed, that the two should be so close together. After Gorphwysfa, we continued straight up, finding the way quite interesting, but losing time and realising that the cliff's reputation for looseness isn't quite so undeserved as one would think from a lower climb.
We went round to the bottom again (my rubbers didn't enjoy the way down) and along to the west face of the East Buttress, where Don decided that Shallow Gully would be worth trying. Despite the page and a half in the book describing the start, we weren't at all sure that we were at the right place, for we were unfamiliar with Child's Buttress etc.
However, after we had started, I recognised the traverse of route II and knew that all was well. We went up the gully at the bottom, and I found this part quite awkward.
Next we came to the cracks, and I was quite impressed with the look of the last section, for all the rock strata appeared to be vertical. However, when I came to examine it I found that there were small, but adequate footholds inside the crack. I mounted on these and then thought that I needed a better handhold and I put my hand further into the crack and, just where I wanted it, I found a wonderful hold in a vertical crack. After this I backed up, with my feet on the outside holds.
Next there was quite a lot of scrambling and then a real cave pitch, such as we didn't think existed on Lliwedd. It was easy enough for it was dry. We were still wearing our rubbers and carrying or hauling up boots, and after this we decided we could put them on. There was quite a lot of scrambling and then we came to the final problem. Don tried to get up the chimney, but found it difficult and decided to retreat – also a difficult operation, so we traversed further left and actually found a belay which encouraged Don to try the wall above. Fortunately it dawned on both of us in time that this was Red Wall, so we retreated and went back to our gully, where Don changed back into rubbers. This time Don tried the slab, and was soon up this and the groove above, and was hauling up his boots.
When it came to my turn I found that the horizontal crack, which appeared from below to give such a splendid fingerhold was too thin to be of any use. However, the slab was possible without it, despite my lack of confidence in my nails. For the next part, I felt that my confidence in my nails had returned, but that the usual Lliwedd tricouni hold was missing. Don had put his rubbers on the rough rock, but I needed more than that for my nails, as the handhold was 9 inches too high. Eventually I jammed in a heel. I couldn't see anything on which it should stick, but it seemed firm enough, so, with the rope above me I trusted it and reached up, first with my right hand for a loose flake, and then with my left hand for the real hold. As I suspected, as soon as I moved my foot it came away from its invisible hold, but I was prepared, and swung it up onto a hold, and so the last interesting move on the climb was over, and we were soon scrambling to the top. I think we had both found it a delightful climb, varied and interesting, and not at all difficult. We dropped all ideas of the Horseshoe, deciding to save our energies for the next day. We felt that it had been a good preparation for Cloggy, for we had got ourselves used to steep places, without tiring ourselves unduly. Also there would have been no view from the top, for the heat haze was obscuring everything, even the view of the sea from the top of Lliwedd.
We strolled back to camp, arriving about 9 o'clock. Supper consisted of soup, steak and beans, and cocoa, and then slept out again for the night was as good as on Friday.
We got up at 7.30, but the stove was leaking and, thanks to that, and packing our packs and leaving them at the cottage, it was 10.30 before we set off on the bike for Llanberis. What a wonderful run it was, down the green pass, with the deep blue lake at the bottom, one could almost overlook the slate quarries. I had hoped that the bike would take us some way up the Snowdon track, but it was too rough at the bottom. "Are you going up the mountain?" asked a lady at the cottage at the bottom and I said yes, although I thought that I meant a different mountain.
We had the track to ourselves, and strolled leisurely up it, and passed the half-way house without taking any notice of it.
At the top of the ridge we stopped and looked out the various climbs from the book. We also saw five other climbers dropping down the col from Nant Peris. After a brief halt, we made our way back to the track, which we followed as far as it went, and we then traversed across the screes to the foot of Curving Crack, where we watched the others' unsuccessful attempts at the first pitch. I soon recognised Clive of the M.A.M. and when Ray got down from the rock I recognised with him the fair boy, with whom I enjoy talking 'alpine climbing'. One of the others recognised me, saying that the last time he had seen me was in 1948 at the Customs at Newhaven.
Don had told me about his friend, whose first reaction to the cliff was to wish to turn away and be violently sick. It didn't affect me like this, I was very hungry, and immediately got out my dry bread and butter, and hard boiled egg. The others were amused at the sight of the latter, for the shell had been cracked and it had collected the tea leaves from the mug in which I had boiled it.
While I was half way through my lunch, Don decided to try this pitch, as he admitted afterwards, partly because he wished to try it before the others put him off any more, but also, as he said at the time, while they were still there to field him if necessary. The others had tried jamming, but Don lay-backed the whole thing, making it ridiculously easy. I thought I had better demonstrate that the pitch was beyond me, before retiring from the climb, and getting one of the others to second Don. I used to have very occasional days when lay-backs didn't seem quite impossible. It was so many years since I had experienced one of these days that I had long ago concluded that I should never again be able to do a lay-back (I put it down to increase in weight). I believe that this first Cloggy day was one of my rare 'lay-backing' days, the trouble was that I didn't recognise this fact until much later.
I jammed the first part of the crack, and complained that it was too difficult for me. Those below encouraged me by saying that the bottom was the most difficult part, being polished by the boots of those who got no higher. I tried to rest, but as I could only stand holding on with a hand, I think it would have been better to have gone straight on up. I had instructions from below to jam, and my preconceived idea was that if I were to do the climb at all, I must jam it all. When I got there that seemed quite impossible, and it was just asking to be lay-backed, even I, with my objection to them, had to admit that and I also had to admit that it was the easiest lay-back I have ever done, the edge was so good for the hands, and the rock so rough for the rubbers. I can't say that I put up a good show. I'd gain height by a lay-back show and then pull up into the jamming position, only to discover that I'd have to make another lay-back more if I was to get up any higher. I was protesting the whole way up, of course.
When I was up, not even the plea that I was in need of rest, would persuade the others to come up, they said they'd prefer to look at another climb, and they weren't speaking very hopefully about our second pitch. Don and I were both hungry, but our lunch was below so that all we could do was to divide the chocolate we had with us. Next Don attacked the second pitch "Hard to move up on, but hard to fall out of". He moved up to the belay, and informed me that it was strenuous. How I enjoyed the pitch. I suppose that on a rope I was able to keep well out and, although there was a slight hint of slime, I don't suppose the rocks have ever been in better condition. It was just the sort of climbing I delight in; I could have my back against a wall, and find holds on both walls, and use all sorts of muscles to help me up. The next two pitches were, as the book said, without incident; I chiefly remember them for the number of slings I had to collect up. Next Don "as is pleasant and customary" traversed over to the right ridge, and started raving about the exposure. When it came to my turn to move up I could well understand it, for surely the exposure of that wall couldn't have been out of place even at Chamonix. It was such marvellous rough rock too, but the wall was sheer and absolutely hold-less.
We were soon up, sitting in the sun, but that didn't please me, I had so enjoyed the climb that my one thought was to try another. Don had considered this climb strenuous, and wasn't so keen, but agreed to go down to our food. This wasn't very appetising by now. Don's search for water took us to the foot of Pigotts, and I was then able to persuade Don to look out this climb for another time. Once Don started on this he became very keen on it, while I had to admit that a class VI on Cloggy can have its difficulties!
Even the first part wasn't quite the scramble I had expected, while the "hard steep bit of 20 ft" I found most strenuous. Next came the steep corner "as hard as any part of the climb", but, thanks to the advice of the party ahead to back up, I found this difficult, but possible. Next we had quite a long wait while the other party continued to climb the crack, and then traversed round and threw the rope over the top, for they asked us to wait until there was a little more room at the stance. Don didn't find the first crack too difficult; I was most relieved to see him traverse to the right, for the top part of that crack looked so difficult! When my turn came, I had quite a game taking off all the slings, and once they were off, I couldn't pull up on them! There were two other slings which were permanent fixtures. The first one I avoided for it looked old and rotten, but the second one was of nylon, so I pulled up on it most gratefully, only to see when I got level with it that it wasn't tied on at all, merely wedged by its knot under a chockstone. After that, there was certainly a ledge for the feet, but it wasn't quite the usually, rough, Cloggy rock and there seemed no holds for getting higher (I had taken off the sling). I told Don that I was in an awful position, but he didn't seem to realise that I wanted a tight rope! However, I didn't drift away from the rock as I expected, but got up to the traverse, where I was surprised to find that all the difficulties of that pitch weren't over.
We watched the last two of the other party being hauled up the last pitch, and then they insisted on giving Don 2 ropes down. I think Don could have lay-backed that last crack, but he wasn't given a chance to try, they just pulled him up, and I followed in the same way. As they said, a party of two is too few to manage the rope for the subsidiary crack, but there was no complication for the main crack. I found that being pulled up was even exhausting for the human 'sack of potatoes'. We hurried down to our boots, for by now it was about 5 o'clock, the time I had hoped to leave Wales! We said goodbye to the others and went at a good, but not exhausting pace down the track. We stopped for tea at the half-way house, for we knew that we shouldn't have time to make our own. The man there recognised us as 'Cloggy' types, and we found that he takes quite an interest in the frequenters of the cliff. Once at the bottom we were soon on the bike, which took us to the pass, where we claimed our packs. I was in a hurry to be off, but when I found that Don had different ideas, I followed his example and had a wash. Ray passed us on his new bike, with its 30 m.p.h. limit, but eventually soon after 7 o'clock we were off.
We passed Ray just before Bettws, but then we all met again at the petrol pump. The route through Stone had irritated Don, so this time he resolved to keep to the better roads through Shrewsbury and Lichfield. We stopped at Llangollen for more tea and then our next stop was beyond Shrewsbury, where Don had to find out why his light wasn't functioning. There was a short near the battery, which he successfully insulated with elastoplast. It was dark, but one car and one motorbike stopped to see if they could help, which rather cheered me. Soon we were able to go on, along the long, dreary, almost deserted roads, through Lichfield, and Burton to Derby, which we reached at midnight. Don filled up with petrol and then insisted on taking me on to Nottingham. I wasn't sure whether I was glad of this, or not. Against it was the fact that my thighs were aching so from sitting on the bike, but for it was the fact that I was beautifully warm while we were moving, yet as soon as we stopped I'd start to shiver, for the midlands were as cold as Wales had been warm. It was only afterwards that I realised that this proved that I was quite unable to relax on the bike! Used as I am to the bus journey from Derby to Nottingham, we seemed to get to the Y.W. in no time at all and by about 12.45 I had my pack off and Don re-arranged his, but I was so cold that I scarcely waited to see him off.
Inside I found that my supper had been left as promised, but I felt a little mean enjoying my ham salad while Don still had to get to Sheffield.
I caught the 9.06 to Tamworth, with Ed, and Ernest joined us at Derby, with the news that Ron and John, with the derationing of petrol, were going by road. The 12.07 from Tamworth was on time, and I got a seat, but there was no sleep for me. I was going over in my mind, Ed's problem of the 12 weights – how to find in 3 weighings, which was the faulty one, and whether it was heavier or lighter. Ed had to tell me the rest of the solution at Crewe!
The first person I met at Crewe was Ray, on his way to Langdale, and Don soon appeared. We queued up once or twice for tea and biscuits while waiting for the 2.15 – it was an hour and a half late, owing to the derailing of an engine near Stafford. When it eventually drew in, Cecily was leaning out of a window and I got a seat near her before going up the carriage to talk to Rene and Wyn. With the problem off my mind, I was rather surprised to find that I had some rather long dozes in the sitting position.
At Windermere the lorry which Ernest had organised was waiting, but the driver was quite willing to let us have breakfast before he started. The little café soon had our bacon and egg cooked, and then Ernest hurried us out into the open lorry. It was such a pleasure to be driven by this man who must have known every inch of the road.
We stopped in Keswick for bread, and then, instead of taking the Newlands road, he went up Borrowdale and over Honister. Newlands is nearer and an easier road, which, I think proved that the driver was a real enthusiast. The rain squalls had prevented our seeing as much of the scenery as we should have like and we alighted at Richardson's in rather typical Lakeland weather. We went over to the wood, and Ernest and Ed decided that the problem of the campsite was a choice between the shelter of the wood, and the dry ground outside it. To me this was no choice at all, for I considered the shelter essential, with my ordinary tent. I soon found that Cecily believed in comfort, and she organised a beautiful floor of moss and firtree tops. Next we had a meal, and then waited for someone to suggest that we went out into the rain. The suggestion never came, and we spent the afternoon in camp. Cecily slept, Margaret, Rene and Wyn had a session in Ed's tent (also Arthur, when he arrived soaked from his walk from Grasmere). I joined the gathering in Ernest's tent – Don, Val (who had travelled overnight on his new motorbike), and Ron and John, who had overtaken the lorry several times on our ride from Windermere.
After tea, Cecily and I decided to walk round the lake (apparently we were followed by Rene and Wyn). How I enjoyed that walk, it always surprises me that I haven't lost my love for these conditions (my only object to the rain is that one does less climbing). Cecily was less happy, she had seen (or not seen!) the district in these conditions 12 years ago, and wanted some sunshine this time. It was a lovely walk, with the yellow broom on the east side and the bluebells on the west side. (The bluebells had been lovely on the ride from Windermere.) At times, the weather looked as though it were clearing over Cockermouth, but there was another shower before we got back.
Jack and John, Don and Bryan arrived on various motorbikes later in the day.
Cecily and I had supper and were asleep before the party from the pub quietened down.
It wasn't very hopeful early on, but I put my rubbers in my rucksack, in my usual optimistic manner, and we set off at about 10.30 to Birkness Combe. The party roped up at the foot of Harrow Buttress – Cecily and I were left out, so we had to rope up together. John Cotteril started leading Margaret and Norman up the Buttress, and Arthur showed signs of following on with Wyn and Rene. Ron thought that Harrow wall would be more in his line so he started up this with Jack and John Martin. I hoped that the traffic would clear quicker on this route, and decided to follow them. Some of the footholds were outward sloping, but there were some lovely jugs for the hands. Even so, we didn't make the climb look quite as easy as Cecily, not used to English rock, would have liked. The trouble was that she got the idea before trying it, that she would find it too difficult; also the whole thing seemed terribly artificial to her. While I was waiting for the other party to move from the second belay (where I was), firstly Ernest arrived on his own, but he turned down the offer to join our party, for he knew that Don (with Val) was on his way up. Next Don Wilman arrived and was only too glad to join us. Ron found the traverse on the 3rd pitch delicate, so I said to Don that it would be a good idea if he changed into rubbers, so that he could lead the next pitch. He took me seriously; on being told that it would be easier in rubbers, Cecily had hers brought up and changed into them, but I think she regretted it.
Despite his lack of recent practice, Don found the lead of the rest of the climb to be child's play. At the top we traversed along, and slightly down to the top of the first pitch of Mitre Buttress Direct (it would have meant the loss of too much height to have descended to the 1st pitch!). Don and Cecily ascended the 2nd pitch and then suggested that I should wait until there was more room, before coming up. This gave me a chance to look at the 10 ft wall. I had two unsuccessful tries, but they showed me the holds, so that when my rope was taken in, I was able to get up the wall without using the holds to the side. Next, Don offered me the lead, and I accepted as I get so little chance to go first. I'm not quite sure which was the Mantleshelf; I made an old mistake of mine, I got a knee on a hold and then wished to change knees – I expect the Mantleshelf was somewhere near there. Next, the way was up a steep wall. The holds seemed to me rather polished, but I got up after only using a knee once or twice more. Cecily's wrong attitude of mind caused her to unrope on this pitch. Don got up and gave her a shoulder on the Mantleshelf, but couldn't make her believe that she had done the hardest part, she decided that the easier part which followed would be too difficult for her, and decided to take an easy way into the gully, which she had noticed. Don then came up and led the rest of the climb. We descended the western gully, watching John start to lead up the Slabs, Ordinary Route. They asked us to bring up their lunch when we came, and we agreed to do this, after eating our own. We found a large party lunching in a lovely, sunny, sheltered shelf, all the Harrow Buttress, Rib and Wall party, Don, Val and Ernest, and Cecily.
Next 'the tigers' went across to Eagle Buttress, and finally Cecily, Don W. and I went up to the slabs, carrying Ron's party's lunch. We could see this party high up on the Oxford and Cambridge Buttress, and we shouted to them, but they didn't hear, so, as soon as it was free, we started up the Slabs, Don leading the whole way. Cecily was in boots this time, and seemed to prefer them. I found the wall distinctly difficult. At the top of this pitch Ron caught us up. They had gone down the other gully and found their lunch missing and realised that it was in my rucksack – murder wasn't quite done.
At the top we found that John C's and Arthur's parties were all on or waiting for the Oxford and Cambridge Ordinary route, so we thought that we had better try the Central Route, to save a long wait in the cold wind. We thought that we had identified the start, but it wasn't scratched, so we asked John C. He replied that the route was indefinite, but that in any case we should have to come up the crack for we should never do the overhang. I have never before considered an overhang to be my type of a lead, but I've also never before had a challenge like that! I remembered that the book said that there was no belay below the overhang, so I didn't think of organising one above.
There was a small foothold on the left wall and a jammed left hand hold, and with these I could get my arms on a flat ledge, but I didn't seem able to get any higher, so I retreated to warm my hands (my watch was already off, or the removal of that might have been my excuse for a rest). This second time, I was able to get my right foot up high onto a ledge, and then push up on that, until everything ahead looked easy. The other two came up (Cecily was a little undecided, but I persuaded her to come up as I didn't want her to have to wait until the crack was clear, for I didn't know that Arthur's party were going to think better of it).
Then I went on up the crack – John C. was up the top and telling me that it was very thin. How I enjoyed that pitch, it was unscratched, and the end was in doubt, but instead of thinking, "How silly, I must have lost the route", I began to envy the pioneers who so often had those conditions. I took my time on the last bit, the holds were small but adequate for tricounis, until I came to the last move. Here there was a foothold missing, so I played around looking for another way, until John C. told me that he could let me have a rope down if I wanted it. This was enough for me, I thought that I'd have a try at leading it before giving in and I went back to the first holds I had looked at and tried the pull up on the finger holds. Once I had started it, it was quite easy for the lovely unpolished rock let my feet help quite a lot and I was soon able to reach up and get the real handhold, and then I was up. Cecily followed up the scratched, Ordinary way, but Don did the Central Route, making very little of it. Other people were impressed, John because he said looking down he could see no holds (there were no scratches to show them up) and those below who claimed that they could see so much of the sole of my boot, that there can have been very little on the holds, but I thoroughly enjoyed it, and had no wish for a rope above etc.
Next, Don changed into his boots, and then we set off for the top. The clouds were down and there was a very slight shower, but the weather didn't get any worse, and we managed to get the views to the west – over Ennendale Water to the sea, where the sun was still shining. This was the view I wanted, but we could all see all round – point out the Scafells and Gable to Cecily, also the Longdales. From High Crag, more by luck than good judgement, we found the long patch of scree, which took us straight down to the camp. I couldn't really remember whether it was the H.F. scree, certainly it was rather worn out. In places there'd be practically no stones over the rock slabs.
Back in camp, Ed had the tea made and he was able to supply the whole meet with that much needed liquid, as they arrived back.
We went to bed reasonably early, hoping to get up in good time and go to Pillar the next day.
It rained off and on all day; they weren't heavy showers, but they were rather wetting! Ernest had agreed with John C. that we should leave by 9.30 if the weather were good; it wasn't and John arrived at 10.30 by which time all the camp except Ed and the girls were ready to start. We went up the Scarth Gap and then we all, like sheep, ran down the other side, only to be told by Ernest (when he arrived) that we had gone in the wrong direction, for we should have taken the track leading down Ennendale. We walked along the path at the bottom, soon reaching John C. and Norman, who had taken a better path down. Soon we went down a fire-break, crossed the river by the stones, and started up the other side. Here there was a difference of opinion as to which was the best route up. John C. was for traversing at once, but others started resolutely up the hillside; however, very soon we were all traversing. Although we cannot have been far apart, we were three very distinct parties, and we didn't see each other until we got to the top; Eric, Ernest, Jack, Cecily and I formed one party, and Eric seemed very good at finding and then keeping to a little track which wound a very easy way up the hillside. We followed it until we could see the curve of the stream on our right and knew that we must be between Robinson's Cairn and Pillar. Here we continued to follow our path which now traversed the hillside to the west, instead of gaining more height. The result was that we then had to traverse back, giving more height. At the stream, at the level of the High Level Route, we found John and Norman, trying to pretend they had been there for hours. Actually they had followed us on our little path, until it started to flatten out, when they had got ahead by going straight up. We had lunch in what we hoped was a sheltered spot at the foot of Walkers' Gully, and were then joined by the others who had lunched further up and to the east. Next the party split up, most going round the west side, the Old West Route being mentioned. I was in favour of Route I on the Shamrock – 500 ft of moderate climbing (also I hoped that that side would be more sheltered). Don, Ron and John M. started up, intending to do a more difficult climb, Cecily and I were next, and Don W. and John W. followed us.
I was foolish enough to let Don C. have my guide book and I had no idea where my climb went. I was relying on him to tell me. We all went up about 200 ft together, and then I was told that I had come up a pitch too far, Don then, rather ungraciously, sent down my book, and I found that my route went round by the right, so we all retreated. Here Cecily who had shown no enthusiasm for the climb from the start seemed rather determined not to go on. I thought if only she had joined Ed's party, when he had come up to see us. As it was I thought that there was no alternative to going down with her, for I couldn't leave her, without map, compass or local knowledge to go down on her own. I went round to Don and John who were waiting at the foot of the next pitch and handed my book over to them, and then, reluctantly, went back to Cecily. I was bitterly disappointed for, although it was so wet, it wasn't too cold, and I was just in the mood to battle with some good honest 'moderate' rocks. Ron had said that the gully was 'easy', so I told Cecily to go down that. Fortunately, before she came to the 'severe' pitch (we were below the 'vs' part), she traversed over to the true right. At first this went quite well, but about 50 ft from the bottom, Cecily said th\t she had come to a long step. I had seen a possible way down into the next gully, but I was rather intrigued with the block by Cecily. It rather reminded me of some of the better blocks which André Roch used for abseiling on the Requin and, remembering that Cecily had never abseiled, I thought it time she tried, and she duly got down, using a sling. The rock round which I had the rope was very rough, and I knew that if I followed in the same manner, I should never get the rope off, so I took it off and tried to climb down. I couldn't get down that way, so I went back to the way I had seen and got down there into the further gully. Twice I had to re-ascend a few feet, for twice I jammed an arm in and, once I had moved down, I couldn't get it out again. Just before moving down to the valley we found that Don W. and John were following us down, but we were too cold to see them off the rocks. Apparently they employed our tactics. We followed the stream down, or rather to the next fire break, which we followed down to the stream. Here the sun almost shone, Cecily produced her nuts and raisins, and we waited for the others. Everyone, but the 3 Route II (vd) wallahs appeared, and then we all ascended the very gentle path up to the Scarth Gap. The beginning was most indistinct, but it followed on alright. Near the top it started to rain again, wetting the clothes we had so nearly dried. Back in camp, Ed again had gallons of tea ready. I took off my wet clothes and put on dry woollies and a cape over them and was very happy like that. Someone already had a fire going and, after supper, I joined the people drying their clothes around this. I'm sure the most memorable thing that evening was my high kick. As usual I had bare feet, and unfortunately they were nearly covered with the mud in which I was standing. I forgot what Ron said, but I know everyone knew what was going on in my mind, that I thought Ron deserved to have some of the mud from my feet on his face. The trouble was that I didn't think I could kick as high, I dithered for about 5 minutes, until I thought that I might as well have a try. I took hold of Bryan's shoulder (the other foot was in the mud, and wasn't too firm) and kicked and I don't know whether Ron or I were most surprised when I deposited the mud on his face. Ron was waiting with his hands at chest level to catch my foot and I was so much higher that he missed me completely.
The evening was rounded off with cocoa in Ed's tent.
It was still raining, so we resolved to go home. There were only five of us without transport, so the lorry was too expensive, the afternoon buses didn't fit in very well, so we thought that we had better travel back by day, in comfort. We left soon after 10 o'clock, and Norman and Eric took our packs, while we enjoyed the walk to Buttermere. Here everyone was waiting under a tree, but I soon had them inside for coffee, and the bus left soon after 11.15.
At Keswick we caught the 12.30 to Windermere, arriving just before 2 o'clock. How we longed for our lorry, as we crawled along those roads and round those bends. There was no time for anything to eat. We caught the 2.20 and then got out our own food and ate until we had to change at Oxenholme. Ernest was disappointed that there was no corridor, for he was longing to have a shave. The 2.56 at Oxenholme was a Manchestesr train, and we said goodbye to Cecily at Lancaster where she was hoping to pick up a London train. After we had all washed and changed, we moved along to the tea car, but it was the liquid tea which we appreciated far more than the toast and cake.
We were in on time in Manchester and got taxis across to the other station where we left Don and Ernest. Ed and I caught the t.40 to Derby. Lastly, Ed and I caught the 7.45 (at about 8 o'clock) to Nottingham, where I had to walk home though the stares of the population, and offers of help from one motorcyclist and one pedestrian.
Don arrived on his bike in Bakewell at about 1 o'clock, when we set to work to fasten on the two packs. Eventually we started off, going through Buxton, and then having a lovely run, past the Roaches, to Leek, from where we took the road to the Potteries. We went through Newcastle, and then on to Nantwich – we seemed to miss the Audlem turning. Next we made for Whitchurch and then the signposts began to point to Llangollen. The rest of the run wasn't quite the inspired ride it had been the month before, for the atmosphere was beginning to get a little damper. We went on to the far end of Llyn Ogwen for we thought that if it was a wild night it would be best to camp in the shelter of the trees.
We had a cup of tea at Mervyn's and then finally pitched camp on the grass grown old road, just beyond the waterfall. It started to rain heavily as soon as this we done, so we spent the evening cooking, instead of climbing as I had hoped.
It had been rather a wild night, but it wasn't raining in the morning, so I binded at Don until he fetched some water, and about 8 o'clock we started to get breakfast. At about 11 o'clock we had actually finished and packed. We left our rucksacks in the hostel drying room, and then rode along to Glan Dena, from where we started up towards Heather Terrace. For the last few hours I had been quite sure that it was going to be a lovely day. Patches of blue sky would appear, but as soon as I'd think that the rocks would be practically dry, there'd be another short shower. It was certainly a "sweaty 'ot" day for the walk up to the climb. On Heather Terrace we discussed what we should do. I suggested 'Crevassed Rib', something that I have always meant to do, but while I was finding it in the book, I came across "North Side Route". I had never heard of this, but was immediately intrigued by the comparison, in situation, with the Munich climb. I didn't see why the "severe in boots" should put us off. Near the top of Little Gully, Don found some scratches on a wall above a perched boulder, and we duly set off up there. We climbed the first three pitches of the climb (as we thought) and then came to the perched block which marked the real beginning of the climb, and we had to climb those first pitches again. We found this rather a bore, particularly as the pitches were so much harder this time. I led the first half of the first pitch and belayed, thinking that I was at the top. Don then led on and assured me that the real Slab and Crack, which formed the second pitch, was higher up. When it came to my turn to go on, I found that this second half of the pitch was distinctly difficult, and I realised that I had some sense in belaying below it!
Next Don did the "crux of the climb" – he kept mostly out on the slab, and kept telling me that it was just the type of pitch he disliked most. Half way up he was able to get a running belay on, on the wall behind him, and eventually he reached the top, and it was my turn. I started up the crack, and kept there more or less all the way, for the holds on the slab were very sloping, and the sort on which one must move very quickly. Half way up, Don thought that I was trying to use a head jam, but it was only that my balance was better with my head right round to the left. With the hardest pitch behind us, I thought that all would be straightforward, but not a bit of it. I found the next pitch decidedly steep, the footholds were small, and the handholds were not the usual Tryfan jugs, but vertical grips, and, in their present slimy condition, I didn't consider them much good. I remember one place where I put one finger vertically upwards into a mass of slime, and called it a hold. Towards the top it seemed to me that everything gave out except one loose hold, so, with the confidence of the rope above, I used this for first one hand, and then the other, and finally for my boot; I could certainly see the book's point of view, that the pitch was interesting for the leader!
The next pitch was quite a delicate little traverse, the rock at this point was covered with barnacle-like protruberances, any of which could be used as a handhold (Brassington in reverse).
Don assured me that the last pitch had never been done direct in boots (the book didn't even insist that the ridge proper should be taken), so I was only too pleased to take the easier alternative on the left, and finish the climb. We went on to the summit where we had a little to eat, and met some of the parties which we had been watching on North Buttress.
We sheltered from one shower and then started down, stopping at intervals to try to keep dry, for I wanted to wear my jacket home. Quite soon the bike was taking us back to Mervyn's for a cup of tea, and then we were fastening the packs onto the bike and, at about 6 o'clock, we started back. Don bought petrol and a new plug at Bettws, where we learned that the weather had been good there all day. It was a grand evening for the run back, this time; after Whitchurch we went through Audlem, Newcastle, Stoke, Longton, Uttoxeter and Derby, getting to Nottingham at about 11 o'clock.
Once more Frank took me to London Road station, but this time I caught the 9.46 train, which got me to Newhaven between the two boat trains. It didn't matter that I hadn't a ticket; I got on the s.s. "Brighton" launched October 1949 and found Don, and we watched the crowds from the last boat train, as they went through the customs.
Eventually we were able to attract Jo's attention, and the sight of me on the boat took the worried look off her face. Eventually she joined us and handed me my ticket. "You're one of my regulars", said the man with the landing tickets to me, and I was able to ask him why he had deserted the s.s. "Worthing". We ate, and knitted, and eventually reached Dieppe and the Paris train. At the Gare St. Lazaire, we caught the inter-station bus to the Gare du Lyon, where we left our luggage and went out and had an omelette in a café and bought a little bread and fruit for the journey. Back at the station we found that the seats which had been reserved for us were 2nd class and that we should have to take our chance in the train. We couldn't find any seats, so we put our things in the corridor and consoled ourselves by saying that it was better to lie down on the floor than to sit upright on a seat all night. We became quite friendly with our French neighbours in the corridor – we tried their wine and they tried our beer. The night wasn't altogether a success, I had sent my sleeping bag on with my registered luggage, so at first a Rucksack Club member lent me his, but all too soon he wanted it himself, and I was left without one. The other trouble was that more and more people kept getting into the corridor, not to mention the usual to and fro traffic.
Eventually we got to St. Gervais and then into the electric train, and had the usual superb views of Mont Blanc. At Chamonix we were met by Eileen Austin who had arrived the day before and had had a night at the Biolay. We were soon installed in the old place and put on the primus for the tea.
In the afternoon we began our shopping for 3 days at the Couvercle. Fortunately we didn't altogether listen to Eileen, who said that meat in the huts was unnecessary, and we included corned beef in our stores.
Later we made our way to the Bureau de Guides where we ran into André Bossonay. We told him that we were having three day's climbing from the Couvercle on our own, and should then like him to come up to the Tour Range hut with us on the Friady. I was completely amazed when he agreed to do this. Only Don was disappointed, for he would have liked to have tried the climb guide-less!
We completed our shopping; Don and I had the most worrying time, trying to get paraffin. The usual place hadn't any and they sent us along to a M. La Mure. He hadn't any, but tried to direct us somewhere else. I understood 'Rue de la Gare', but not much else and had to go back again, with a pencil and paper, and have a plan drawn. With the help of this, we found the Avenue de Bouchet, and the Droguerie Mont Blanc, where the bearded man filled our bottle with colourless paraffin, instead of the usual brown muck we had got in Chamonix.
We sorted the food into that to be left at Montenvers, and that to be taken to the Couvercle and were ready to catch the 12 o'clock train.
At Montenvers we left the large rucksack at the station (much to the amazement of the man who thought that the bread wouldn't be much use after 3 days!) and then set out up the Mer de Glace, although I thought that it was lunch time before we started. I soon realised that I was not going to enjoy the afternoon, for the weight in my rucksack was such that I had to rest my shoulders from it occasionally. The others didn't seem to have this trouble. We didn't choose the best line up the glacier, not keeping to the edge, and having to go round many crevasses.
The chief excitement was when Eileen dropped her loaf of bread down a crevasse, and then we reached a derrick rigged up on the ice. Here the men told us that they were taking borings to find the depth of the ice (600 ft in the middle) and that there was a suggested scheme to build a dam beneath the ice, to control the water flow which would be used by a factory in the Chamonix Valley. Next, we went on to the second moraine, where we actually stopped for lunch! We were too high to cross the glacier below the moulins, and we had to go a long way up to find a feasible crossing of the streams, after which we took to the moraine and made for the red-painted boulders, which led us to the foot of the ladders. We had a rest at the bottom and then I had many rests on the last part. I even considered leaving half my load and coming back for it, but I wasn't quite reduced to this. By this time, Don was miles ahead, with Jo next, and Eileen not so far ahead of me. When I eventually reached the hut, what a welcome I had. Don had just made the tea! When I went inside the guardian immediately recognised me and told me that I had last been there in 1948! We were a little disappointed to find that the 18 of the Rucksack Club party were also there.
I asked to do something different from the Moine or the Nonne the next day, and we all agreed on the Eveque – we tried to look out a traverse to the Cardinal, should time permit, but this didn't seem very feasible. We discussed our peak with the guardian, who told us that there was no need to start out early.
We set out in broad daylight at about 5 a.m. and followed the way we had looked out the day before. On the guardian's advice we took no crampons, and did not regret their absence. We went over the moraine and then up the tracks on the glacier, not bothering to rope. We passed the way up to the Moine-Nonne brèche and went on to the next line of weakness, which we hoped was the one we wanted. We scrambled to the top of this, arriving half an hour before the guide-book time, and roped up, Jo going with Don, and Eileen and I climbing together. At first we wandered along easy ledges, and then got to the foot of the chimney. I bagged the first lead in this, hoping that it was the difficult first pitch, but I later realised that we had unwittingly avoided this first difficulty. After this, we led through, but I should have been much happier doing all the leading, for we should have been quicker. When Eileen reached me, she would have to rest before going on and leading the next pitch. We carried up our packs and axes, still hoping that we could fit in a traverse, and Eileen didn't consider that a leader ought to carry these. Eileen had the lead of the pitch which we bridged, and then I had the pitonned pitch higher up. Apparently Don had overtaken the Englishman and Swiss at this point, and the Swiss had been most annoyed that he didn't wait to help us. Don's reply was that he'd be afraid of getting his head knocked in, if he offered us help.
We then continued on to the top, where, besides there being no room, it was too cold to wait for long. We found a sheltered place on the other side, and ate, and discussed our traverse to the Cardinal, but thought better of it, and eventually descending again to the Nonne-Evêque brèche. Don and Jo were full of energy and wishing to continue to the Nonne; Eileen had been saying that she had had enough, and I hoped that we could leave her to go down with a French party which was descending the Evêque, so that I could go on to the Nonne, but she changed her mind when the time came, and we all went on together.
I suppose to make up for the fact that I had been the last on the rope on the way down, Eileen went in front for the traverse. This was really lovely at the 'au cheval' part. There were sheer slabs apparently going straight down to the Charpona Glacier. Most of the time I traversed it with my hands on the top, for I found it quicker to do it like this rather than astride.
It seemed no time at all before we reached the summit blocks; here I managed to get in front of the other rope and climbed the chimney, but let Don and Jo pass me and climb to the summit. Finally, I led the last pitch; I found that it had one delicate move even under these ideal conditions. I had to move up with my right hand on a hold with only two of my finger nails.
Soon we were having our second abseil of the day (our first had been down the piton pitch of the Evêque Chimney) and then started to move down the easy ledges of the east face. We wanted to find the route Pez had taken us, but there was nothing in the book which corresponded, and our way began to look a little less straightforward, so we retreated back again to descend by the voie normale. Later we concluded that Pez route must have taken us back to the gap in the rocks at the brèche Nonne-Evêque. I quite enjoyed myself being last down until it came to the final move. I started to back down the chimney, but I could feel the hold in my pants getting even larger, so I stopped and, as I could see no other way of getting down, I accepted a shoulder from Don. I was a little annoyed about this, for, even if we had been slow, at least we had been independent until then.
We finished the day with pleasant glissades back to the Couvercle, which we reached at about 4 o'clock. I had much needlework to do, and borrowed Don's pants to wear, until I repaired my own. When Eileen heard that a R.C. boy had offered me his spare pair, she thought that she would like to borrow them. The trouble was that she mislaid them in the hut, and couldn't find them for a day – she never heard the last of it!
We watched the various R.C. parties come back, one of the first was the Droite-East Arête party, and Don seemed particularly taken with their route. The Courte party were rather late, some of them having suffered from mountain sickness.
We went to bed at about 8 o'clock, but it was hours before there was quiet in our dormitory, for we had been taken out of no. 1 and put in with the R.C. Our place in no. 1 was taken by a Scottish party who announced that they were going to do the Moine, Nonne and Evêque the next day.
We were rather thrilled when we heard that Armand Charlet was at the hut; I should have loved to have joined those who were going to follow his party up the Verte, but this seemed a little ambitious for a second day, so we decided on the East Arête of the Droite instead and asked to be called at 2 o'clock.
At about 2.20, when I was tired of waiting to be called, I got up and found that we were down to be called at 3 o'clock. We were ready soon after 3 o'clock and descended to the Glacier de Talèfre, which we then began to ascend gradually, although we were to the west of the Jardin. We put on our crampons as soon as the glacier turned a little icy, and kept them on for several hours. We roped up when we were near the level of the top of the Jardin. We were three on one rope this time for we had left Jo behind, as she had hurt her knee glissading the day before. We had one or two crevasses to cross, but on the whole, the way was not intricate. After a more horizontal traverse, we began ascending the steeper snow towards the Bergschrund, which we eventually crossed near the stone shoot.
We knew that the R.C. party, not having crampons had ascended the rocks on the left bank of the couloir, but they said that they were very loose, so we resolved to try the snow. It was easiest to get onto the stone shoot, and we started up this, later traversing onto the snow at the side, which was considerably less icy. The ascent of this snow seemed to take hours, before we could traverse off onto the arête where we stopped for second breakfast. Next we started up the ridge. At first it was very broken, but higher up the rock was in larger lumps and finally I suppose we came to the "muraille abrupte de rocher plus solid", for it was quite firm and there were one or two moves which could almost be called "climbing" as distinct from the walk up the lower part.
I had forgotten the view of the route from the Couvercle and I estimated the distances from the diagram in the book and concluded that the top of the couloir was half way up the ridge. As the R.C. had told us that there was about 1000 ft of snow at the top, I was astonished at the length of this intermediate part. Eventually, after fortifying Eileen with rum, we reached the snow and started up the final section. The snow was soft by this time, so we left our crampons at the bottom, and started up in the steps of the previous day's party. It was a surprising ridge for views, all the Valaisian peaks showing, and also I was very taken by the Courtes, as seen from that angle. The snow on it looked very steep, but there was such a large party on it that I felt much more select on our ridge. The last part of our summit was very pleasant, over snow, and an occasional rock outcrop. We went very slowly, I had the intermediate position on the rope, and was between the two extremes of pace. We eventually reached the eastern summit 7¼ hours after setting out.
We had a rest and a meal, although for some time we had been watching the clouds. Low cloud was blotting out the Swiss peaks, but it was the higher clouds coming in from the south which caused us more concern; it was obvious that the Grand Jorasses and Mont Blanc were in for a thunderstorm, and we didn't know how soon it would be before it reached the Droites.
I had been dreading the descent of the snow, but once we started on it I found it great fun; it was soft, but the axes held well. It was Don who did the first glissade, without his axe too, and he was under the impression that I had held him – so I had, but only because I happened to be standing on the rope at that time, and because he had chosen to slip the right side of me, so that his rope went round my axe, which happened to be driven into the snow at that moment. After that we decided that glissading was the best way of getting down this snow, and we went down several rope lengths in this way, but we could only move one at a time, and we finally concluded that it was quicker to walk down. The final part was more icy. Eileen and I glissaded down, and had removed most of the snow before it was Don's turn.
I quite enjoyed the descent of the rocks; we were able to move together all the time. I usually enjoy managing a rope in front of me when I go down, and this time I felt that I had an efficient back-stop behind, should I need it.
Eventually we reached the top of the couloir, but there was no question of descending it at this time of the day, and we had to take to the rotten rocks to the left, until we reached the Bergschrund, which we had to cross at the stone shoot. It was a simple matter to get over –just a glissade and a jump (I was well belayed from behind!). Fortunately the upper cliff would have protected us from any possible stonefalls, for we had to wait until Eileen felt a little less sick (Don had carried her rucksack most of the way down). Once on the snow, we decided to follow the tracks of the previous day's party for we realised that the route we had taken that morning hadn't quite fitted in with that recommended by the book. Very soon after embarking on the other route, we had reason to regret it, for it went very much uphill and down dale, and at times went along the lines of crevasses. There were some awkward steep icy parts, and on one of these I had to lower Eileen, with the rope round my axe which had only the pick in the snow – not a recommendable procedure! Eventually we reached the Jardin, and continued down this, choosing our own line (we found no path) until we reached the glacier. Don (despite the two packs) was ahead by this time, and I was afraid that Eileen and I would get wet, but there were only a few spots of rain and we reached the Couvercle at about 4 o'clock.
We were cheered by the sight of Jo. She had been shown how to massage her knee, and it seemed improving rapidly. The two Frenchmen who had set out the same time as us for the Triolet had an interesting tale to tell; they had fallen 180 ft on rock and snow, but had only superficial cuts.
The Armand Charlet party apparently had got back at about 2 o'clock, having taken 6 hours to ascend the Verte. Apparently Armand had left the Dutchman to the porter on the way down, so disgusted was he with his slowness!
We discussed our next plan with the Frenchman from the Triolet, and when we asked him about the three passages of IV on the way up to the Tour Rouge hut he told us that there were iron ladders, and also that the hut had a guardian! We consulted the Couvercle guardian who told us that this was not so. He seemed quite interested in our plan, and said that he would watch us on Saturday.
I had promised myself a good night's sleep, but it wasn't to be. It was a doubtful morning, yet Allen and Co of the R.C. were called and set out for the Verte, only to return in about an hour, complaining that heavy rain had sent them back at the foot of the final rock buttress (near the head of the glacier, he meant). The next disturbance was the workmen, who started on the extensions again at 4 o'clock. As they had only left off at 10 p.m. when the last of the light had gone, I was very surprised that they started so early. It was the little man who carried the stones who had my sympathy. He spent all the hours of daylight filling a can with stones, carrying it on his back, and tipping them where they were wanted.
We got up at 6 or 7 o'clock and had porridge for breakfast. Most people were about the hut, wondering what to do, and when the R.C. decided to do the Moine, Don thought he'd join them, while the rest of us went down to the Montenvers. We took practically all the food, but left the primus for Don – we later regretted this.
We found our own way to the Mer de Glace, and then found that there were a couple of porters in front of us, so Jo and I hurried down to catch them up, and find the best way through the crevasses.
The porters soon realised that they were being followed and stopped to talk. They were Italian and I had difficulty in understanding their French. However, I did understand that I had made a hit with one of them, and I thought how useful to have a follower who is used to carrying 112 lb bags of cement up to the Couvercle – but I hadn't made as big a hit as all that, in fact as we approached the 'unaware tourists' he soon left me for a 'skirt'.
We left our packs by the side of the moraine and took our axes and found a slope of ice and practiced step cutting. We cut down, and cut up, both straight and diagonal, and eventually made our way to Montenvers, where we secured four beds in the 'dortoire' – in other words we had room 50 to ourselves.
The bread we had left at the station was too stale to eat, but we were able to get more at Montenvers. At first the afternoon was quite amusing, reading the notice for "unaware tourists" and then watching those same tourists. The trouble was that it began to drag, and we couldn't even made any tea, let alone cook the supper, for Don had the primus.
At about 6 o'clock Don appeared, he had taken about 6 hours to get up the Voie Normale of the Moine because firstly they had missed the way and got in an impossible couloir, and secondly because his companions had been slow and had insisted on belaying on every possible occasion.
We set out at about mid-day for the Tour Route hut; on the way we got a message from André's brother that we were to wait for André at the Bergschrund. From the Mer de Glace the first few feet up were over loose boulders, but after that we reached a most delightful zigzagging path, between the greenest of grass and alpine flowers. I remember particularly alpine roses and chocolate coloured gentians. At first we missed the branch onto the glacier, and continued along towards the Envers des Aiguilles hut, but we soon realised our mistake, and stopped for lunch.
Once on the glacier we roped up, four on one rope, and Don put on his crampons. Even with an axe, I didn't find this the easiest of ascents, for it was icy in patches. At the Bergschrund we saw a snow bridge away on the left, but we didn't even bother to inspect, so frail looking was it. Don tried to get up under the ice, between the ice and the rock, and retreated, partly because he was getting wet, and partly because it was proving difficult.
Next he tried to climb the rock; he got up some way but decided he'd need a runner. I got him down by telling him that there was a piton to his left. I didn't expect him to climb up this over-hanging crack, I merely agreed with the others who said that perhaps André had asked us to wait there because he didn't fancy going up alone to the hut. We waited an hour until 3.30, the time André had mentioned, but we had to wait another hour until he actually appeared. He had taken someone up to the Couvercle and down again, and the silly man would keep stopping and wanting to know what everything was!
André said that a week before the snow bridge had been feasible, but this time he first tried Don's first route, under the ice, but soon retreated and tried Don's second route. Don had belayed his second with a piton he had found in the rock, obviously for this purpose. The first thing André did was to knock this piton out and add it to his collection. He got as high as Don had done and then started to knock in a piton to give himself a running belay. He got Don to come up next and recover the piton for him.
I was the next up. The bottom part of the rock was easy enough, but I didn't feel that I climbed it at all neatly. I enjoyed the more difficult second half of the pitch, for I had begun to warm up to the rock by this time. The next pitch I found a little difficult, with a hold-less slab, and then we took to the snow. We moved across to the left, eventually reaching a 'knife edge' and finally having a jump across to the other side, from where we started up the rocks.
All the lower rocks were water-worn and belay-less, and they gradually improved in this respect, as we got higher. Nothing could have been more different from the 'laddered' route to a 'guardianed' hut which the Frenchman had mentioned. We soon came to a chimney where we had to send up the sacks, and which André said was grade V (Eileen, who was climbing with him said that he hadn't climbed it very neatly, for the rest of us didn't consider that it was very difficult). There was a fairly delicate traverse and then another chimney before the difficulty eased off and we could traverse to the right to the hut. What a position for a hut – a ledge which would just take it. André then broke the news that there was no water, but he asked for all our water bottles and said that he and Don would fetch some. As soon as they had gone I found the proper can in the hut, for I was sure that the collection of bottles wouldn't hold enough for both supper and breakfast. André led the way and Don carried the rucksack, an arrangement which we were soon to find was typical of André. The expedition seemed quite a serious undertaking and the descent involved 2 rappels.
Jo meanwhile had been hanging out the blankets to try to air them, we were rather appalled at the number of rents in them and we were glad there was no other party in the hut. As soon as the water carriers appeared, I got the primus going and we made tea and soup, and then ate bread and butter and jam. We were short of food for we had asked André to bring some for himself, and he hadn't done so. Apparently he had expected to hear from us confirming the arrangements, and when we hadn't left a message for him he thought that the trip was off until he met his brother. At least that was his excuse, it may have been that he preferred an empty rucksack. He was most annoyed when he found that we all had axes, and wanted us to leave them below the bergschrund, but we refused.
I wasn't at all sorry when the alarm went at 3.30. I had been too hot when I first went to bed, so I offered to change places with Jo, who was on the outside, and cold. I hadn't bargained for the number of holes in the blanket which I inherited in this position, and regretted the change for the rest of the night. Apart from the question of temperature, there was a restless atmosphere in the night. André hadn't done the route before and was worried about it (he had taken the guidebook with him on the water expedition and had started to look out the way). He could get no sleep, and neither could the rest of us.
We had about half a litre of water left, and made tea with this and ate more bread and butter and jam, and then, as it began to get a little lighter we roped up and started. The night before Eileen had climbed with André and Don and taken Jo and me, but now Jo roped on behind Eileen, and Don and I followed behind.
We started up a series of chimneys which had their interest, at least I was glad that I wasn't climbing them in the dark. Presently we came to the place where water was to be had the night before, but it had all frozen up by this time. This was a disappointment for we had had so little to drink at the hut.
We slowly gained height, and could measure our progress by watching the Red Tower until it became a mere gendarme below us. Eventually the route became quite tricky (as far as finding it was concerned for technically it was easy enough). We traversed to the left, crossed a chimney and reached the place for the "rappel pendulaire". I handed André my rope, and watched him get into a dreadful mess, for he treated it as though it had been done up in the French fashion, instead of singly. Eventually all was ready and we made the rapel and traversed the couloir. Don and I stopped for a drink at a pool of water, but André didn't think that a couloir was the best of places in which to stop, so we hurried on before we could fill our water bottles.
The next halt was at the Niche des Amis, which seemed a most friendly place, with its sandy floor and little cairn. Don and I had to wait sometime before the next pitch was free, for this was where the climbing really began.
I began to think that perhaps we had tackled this route a little too early in the holiday, for I found it distinctly strenuous, although I realised that technically it wasn't too difficult for me. I got some consolation by thinking of the words of the first ascensionists, that never before had their muscles been so tried by the sheer continuity of climbing within their powers.
I was usually panting by the time I reached Don and in one or two places I was glad of a tight rope. There was a bank of snow just below the "short fissure without holds" and I ate some of this and then carried more up as a snowball. I think I should have found that lay-back about my limit even without the hindrance of my little store of moisture.
Jo had climbed a slab to the left, but I don't know how, for it was steep and I couldn't see a ghost of a hold. I also wasn't very happy at the "oblique detached monolith". André had lassooed it, but I found it very strenuous to pull up on the rope. I found myself muttering "tirez", half hoping that Don wouldn't understand.
This section of the route didn't all consist of strenuous pitches, really it was delightfully varied with many delicate steps between; I remember particularly one traverse on a hold-less slab beneath an overlying block.
For a long time we had seemed to get no nearer the skyline, and then I suddenly realised that the others had stopped in the Brèche Balfours and were trying to look as though they had been there for hours. I thought we were actually stopping for food, but no, before I had a chance to eat more than a few raisins, André was up again and along the balcony. He got Don to second him up the Knubel Crack and take off his sling from the chockstone. Apparently a party from the top had offered him a rope down, but he got up without. He had done the Crack twice before, he said.
Don then shot up in no time, apparently he lay-backed the whole of the crack and found it very easy instead of "très athlétique" which is the book's opinion of this method of doing it.
Jo was the next up, and only Don could witness the most amusing (fortunately) incident. André was standing right on the edge of a sloping slab, chatting to an Englishman, when Jo swung round to get onto the slab. The rope caught around the bottom of the overhang and there was a jerk as violent as if she had come off. André wasn't expecting this and, to use Don's words, he was whipped right down to his knees, the Englishman gripping him violently around the waist. Jo wasn't given a chance to climb the pitch after that!
My turn came next, I suggested that it would be easier to help me if I tied onto a thicker rope (I was on ¾ wt. nylon) and when the full weight nylon came down I tied onto that as well, although I realised that it was a defeatist attitude to go up on two ropes; I think I had given up hope some way down, of doing this Vsup. unaided.
The crack at first was typical of many that day and was made considerably less strenuous by a piton half way up. I rested for a moment below the overhang and then moved out onto the slab. I forget how I did this, but I know that it was a very easy move to stand on the "demi-lune", but there I stood for some time! Someone abseiling at that time had plenty of advice to give me, but all to no purpose, the edge on the left was beautifully sharp for a lay-back type of pull, but it was only about an inch deep, which isn't nearly enough for me at any time, let alone on the nth lay-back of the day. While I was arguing, the two ropes gradually tightened and I began to gain height, and soon the top hold came within reach, and in time I had joined the select company on the top, and we were sending the ropes down for Eileen.
I didn't know about the incident, while Jo had been climbing, and I was surprised when André asked me to move over so that he could stand further back while taking in Eileen's rope!
This time I fixed the ragged rope, so that André shouldn't have to swear at the muddle he had made of it (I hadn't done it up the French way) and soon we were descending to the balcony.
I was the next to the last down and I didn't have time to get along to the brêche to take the photo I have always wanted of this rappel. I am beginning to know the way down, firstly down the chimneys, and then the traverse to the second rappel, but this time we climbed down the chimneys, the same as my first time. The traverse at the bottom was still quite delicate, and then I had to slide down the rope, and up to the C.P. Terasse, from where it was easy ground to the glacier. We found some water here and had a drink of lemonade and then started the descent of the soft snow. There was one icy patch near the top, on which I managed to catch my hand, and after that it was easy, although I couldn't keep up with the rope ahead. They waited on the Rognon, and we all kept together down the rocks and also on the lower part of the glacier, for André actually cut some steps. Really, the most exciting part came after we had taken off the rope, for the ice was steeper and running with water, and quite slippery.
We soon gained the path which we followed to Montenvers without taking any short cuts. I could tell André was tired the way he was half stumbling down the track, also, as soon as he got to a few steps of uphill. He'd slow down as much as I should have done, had I been on my own!
We were all very pleased to see Montenvers at about 4.30 and thought we'd celebrate in the hotel. Our leaders drank beer. I had my favourite drink, cold milk, and then we caught the 5.15 train to Chamonix.
I felt we had been particularly lucky with the weather. There had been a few clouds, when we had started out, and soon it had looked most ominous. I was most thankful to think that we were guided, for I felt that a guideless party with any sense would have turned back. However, the weather didn't get any worse, in fact it steadily improved until it seemed stiflingly hot at Montenvers.
We had planned our next climb on the top of the Grépon. André had seemed quite willing to do the Drus, and he said that it was only a little more strenuous than the East Face.
That night we had our first meal out, at the Deux Gares. "Whiskers" still eats there, but the girls were strange to me.
This was a complete off day, so we didn't mind that it was wet. Eileen went to church and Jo went to Les Praz de Chamonix to spend the day with Mlle. Engel, and collect the £20 which the latter owed her.
Don and I shopped and gossiped with the new arrivals. The first party of English were Stan Moor and the Birmingham Cave and Crag Club, and then about half a dozen of the M.A.M. appeared, including Ray and Clive with their most ambitious plans, leading up to the Innominater. Hamish Nicols was down, having done the Ryan Lochmatter Ridge on the Plan.
The butcher's was open in the morning and I got liver for four and also beef for four, and with that and the vegetables our lunch and supper more than made up for our lack of food the day before.
Once more we had an English breakfast, and a cooked meal at mid-day and then, at about 2 o'clock we made our way to the station and into the train. At this point I realised that I hadn't got my sling and Karabiner, and went back to the Biolay, but couldn't find it. Fortunately I came back into the station by the back way, and was able to get into the train with the others, while it was going, for it left at about 2.15.
At Montenvers, while we were waiting for Jo and Eileen to return from leaving a rucksack at the hotel, who should come along but Joseph Maryllac. We told him that we were for the Charpour and he said that he was for the Couvercle and the Verte. Next André came along and he and Joseph got into conversation. I suppose Joseph thought he'd do us a good turn by telling our guide that we weren't quite incapable, and started to tell André how well Don had led during the bad weather in 1948 – but André could go one better and say how well Don had led on the Mer de Glace Face! Joseph used his usual expression about me, "elle marche très bien" and I wondered whether he still had his prejudices against women.
When Jo and Eileen arrived, André opened his pack for anything 'lourde' and took ropes from the other two and then shut his sack before I could give him my rope and said that André was très fort, but he didn't know André as well as I did, for André didn't take the hint. I felt Joseph's sack, it weighed a ton, and I envied his party, having everything carried. We started the usual way up the Mer de Glace, and then crossed it below the Moulin, and crossed the lateral moraine, and started up the steeper slopes. At one place there was a wire rope which we didn't bother to use. Next we had a long band of moraine to follow up and this brought us to the foot of the slabs. There were steps cut in these, yet a party we had caught up were finding the going difficult. I wondered how they would make out on the climb the next morning; I needn't have bothered, they didn't climb! Just before the hut, two youths pushed past us, puffing like the Montenvers train (to use Jo's expression) and rushed into the hut to book their places.
The cooking was a real shambles. I expected André to look after us, in the manner of the best Swiss guides, but not he, he did nothing, not even fetch water. We got the primus going, and then André pointed to a pan on the fire and told me to use that for soup. I explained that we couldn't afford the wood, and was told that the other party were paying for that!
There was lashings of the soup, which was thick at the bottom with cheese. Afterwards there was bread and butter and jam, and finally tea made on the primus.
Outside that evening, I was certain that our climb had had it. It was a lovely evening, but in a very, very wild way, with clouds in horizontal layers in an almost turquoise sky. I was foolish enough to be the last of our party on the bed, and there just wasn't room for me. I started with my head in the hollow of the waists of Eileen and Jo, and my feet hanging over the edge. When the others turned over, I was cramped even in this position, and the only way I could get any rest was to turn round and lie along by people's feet. Sleep was out of the question, for one thing I was getting too many kicks, and for another I was too much afraid of falling off (we were on the upper tier). I remember that the thought of the candle in the middle of the table below me worried me. I lay awake listening to the wind and thinking what a pity that we hadn't more food so that we could attack it the day after, as I was sure that Tuesday's weather wouldn't be good enough.
There were about 30 of us in this hut which was meant to accommodate 12. The infuriating thing was that many of them had come up only for the night, and had no intention of climbing the next day.
The alarm went at 2.30 and everyone got up as though it was to be a climbing day. I was astonished when I looked out and found that the weather was good. Somehow, despite the crush and lack of organisation, breakfast was over in about an hour, and we were all ready to set out at the same time. We started up the moraine, and then put on our crampons and crossed a little ice, more stones and then got onto continuous glacier. We soon had to stop for André to adjust his crampons (the usual thing with him, we were to discover). Soon we stopped again, and, in the half-light, I could hear steps being cut. I thought 'what a luxury, steps and crampons', but Don told me that the steps were not for me, that we were overtaking a crampon-less party.
The glacier was reasonably steep, we were going at a fair pace and I found the cramponning quite a strain on the legs, but when I found that we were stopping and taking off crampons, I wasn't at all happy, for I knew that I should also have to leave my axe with them, for André had said we were to have only one axe per rope and that Don was to take Jo's collapsible one.
Somehow, it wasn't the nightmare I should have expected, crossing the frozen glacier in the half-light, in vibrams and with no axe. We traversed down and around crevasses, André, who had the lead, occasionally cutting a few steps. Finally there was quite a long traverse, with André cutting steps all the way. For the first time I felt a little proud of myself on ice, for I did most of the traverse upright, while those ahead crawled on all fours.
On the rocks, while the axes were being put away, the two other guided parties got ahead and Don and I were last, being followed only by the guideless British party (Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, and John Herzog). The way took at first the line of least resistance, traversing to the left and then ascending an easy gully, gaining height rapidly. Eventually we reached the arête and were duly impressed by the view of the West Face. Next there was one difficult move (optional hand-jam) and then we found everyone stopped for second breakfast. Afterwards Eileen was most annoyed with herself for André had suggested that they should go on, but Eileen said that she wanted to eat. Had we gone on we should have got ahead, as it was we were held up by the bad climbers in front of us for the rest of the day. The first party consisted of a man and woman and guide, and the second of a very bad guide and an even worse client. André followed the latter pretty closely, pushing him up when necessary.
At first the other English party got ahead of Don and me, but we overtook them when they stopped after Mrs. Hunt had pulled some stones down onto her head.
We traversed to the right, ascending various chimneys, and the next hold up was at the slab with the piton. We were interested to see that Jo, after her Grépon training, neatly lay-backed up. Don tried to fix a running belay for it, but the stone came out and he climbed it without (I was well belayed with a thread below). When I was up this pitch, Don went on and, before I joined him, I asked the party below if they would like a rope, and they were only too pleased. This enabled Don and me to get onto a single rope – on André's advice we had climbed on the double abseil rope up to this point, but we didn't care for the system on rock. Don untied one of the ends, which I sent down to the party below, and then I coiled the spare half of the rope around me.
After this we couldn't wait any more for those behind; we hurried up to keep in touch with those ahead. I wasted a little time at one point. I tried to the left and then thought that the chimney to the right looked easier, but when I had started on this, I found that this involved a through route. As I didn't want to undo the complicated roping system, I retreated and found the left hand chimney quite easy after all. There was one other chimney I remember, it was a jamming crack, à la Mummery. Don gave me a tight rope for this – I might have got up it without, but we were still some way behind the others. The final move onto the summit was our old friend a lay-back – at least that was how we climbed, being so lay-back minded.
At the top we finished our food (we had brought far too little, André seemed annoyed, but he hadn't offered to carry any up himself!) and then started down. Don and I didn't hurry to the Brèche for I hoped to get a few photos of the climbing on the Z. The trouble was that this face was in the shade.
I have seldom seen a more impressive 200 odd feet of rock, it looked sheer for the bottom two-thirds, and I couldn't see an easy way of getting round the overhang at the top. Some of the people who started to climb it didn't make it look any easier. The woman ahead seemed to find that the first traverse had its moments – I wasn't altogether pleased to hear her told not to climb it like an 'Anglais'.
Always we had to wait for those ahead, so I didn't hurry on any pitch. The first crack had no jugs, but the traverse was just a wall, and the slab and crack were nothing like the holdless rocks which they had appeared when other people were climbing them. After a traverse back to the left, and another crack, I had to wait so long that I got quite cold. Eventually André moved up, enquiring half-way whether Eileen was belayed. Eventually Eileen moved on and then André moved up again. This time there was the sound of the cutting of ice and there was another long wait before Eileen joined him and Jo started on the bottom half of the pitch. When she got to the traverse, she shouted up "ne tirez pas", but obviously her words were not noticed, for the next moment she was pulled from her holds, and swinging across the rock above us. Fortunately there were holds within her reach and she was able to continue up. Don was quickly up and I followed, I like to think, equally speedily, removing en route the karabiner from the piton before the traverse.
Next came the part which I was afraid would prove more formidable, particularly as Don seemed to find it a little strenuous. Actually I found it most enjoyable; at first there were steps cut in the ice at the back, and then I quickly gained height by backing up, facing right, and that brought me to a flake on the left, along which I traversed onto the summit snow.
I was most disappointed that the other hadn't waited near the top, as they had kept us waiting so long in the cold it seemed most unsociable for them to hurry down so quickly.
All the way up the Grand Dru, we had been watching the other English party, still on their way up the Petit Dru and, just before we started down, they asked Don to mark the descent with cairns – he had plenty of time to do this, while we were waiting for those ahead.
Soon we passed a trickle of water from the snow and Don stopped to fill his water bottle. I went a little lower and found that everyone else had stopped. I was told that we were holding everyone up, for they wanted our spare rope and they seemed a little peeved at being held up while we built cairns and filled water bottles.
When we did reach them there was some delay while we took off the long rope, on which we had been climbing and André did it up and passed it onto the first party, who duly moved off. Don and I meanwhile roped up on the 120 ft of rope which had had carried up, and then we were ready to follow down. I found the descent a little tedious; there'd be so long to wait before we got our turn to rappel, and then the others would seem to get so far ahead while we had to recover and coil the ropes. There were the two French ropes and then our nylon. We used them all once, and I knew that we were getting near the end of the rappels, so I hurried down to André with the lighter French rope, for I was particularly keen that we should pass it on and not have to carry down all three ropes. André just looked at me and said that we had finished with and wouldn't take it, so fool that I was, I strapped it on me. Next there was a rappel on my rope, and after this the going was straightforward and André got ahead, so I added this to my collection of ropes.
The cairn building added interest to the descent. I was always pleased that the rappel loops indicated the beginning of the rappels, until we came to some which we didn't use. Instead we swung round the corner to the (true) right on a rope and rappelled down the next chimney, from an iron piton.
Don built a more elaborate cairn at the beginning of the traverse to the right, and stuck a piece of paper in it to emphasise that it was a new one. I wish I had taken off the loops of rope, for I now have quite a horror of subsequent guideless parties abseiling down the wrong chimney!
The going was easy for some way, we went down, traversed to the right, crossed the couloir and descended its left bank for some way. Here I actually caught up André, as his party descended a slab one at a time, but when it was my turn, I took so long on it that the others got as far ahead as ever. I must have seemed so unreasonable to Don on this part. The ropes were obviously very much in my way and, although they were slowing us up considerably, I refused to part with one of them, and was ready to fight to stop him having one. Actually I had a reason for this, I knew that there was another abseil coming, and I wanted to get rid of one of the ropes at any rate, for I was afraid that if Don carried them André would just let him add the other thick French rope to the collection, as though he were everyone's hired porter.
There was one final difficulty before the last rappel – I looked superficially at three different ways down, and didn't like any of them, so we used the double rope, and after that we stopped and had a little to eat. When we moved on we found that the others, waiting for the rappel, were only a few yards away.
This last rappel must have been about 100 ft, and part of it was free, at the bottom André greeted me "La pauvre fille", as though he had only just noticed that I had the ropes. He offered to take one and I gave him the thin French one. Then Eileen offered to take the nylon one, as she hadn't a rucksack.
Then the others set off. I watched Jo and Eileen walk down in the steps, and then saw André glissading behind, spoiling the steps which I was hoping to use! Eventually Don had the thick French rope coiled, and strapped on himself. He had Jo's axe put together, and we started down.
It was steep at first, and I had no axe, but by this time Don had a fair idea of how I like the rope behind me, when I'm descending snow and ice, and we lost height steadily, if not rapidly. Far sooner than I'd expected we reached our axes. At first we strapped our crampons onto our packs, but when we realised that the others had strapped theirs onto their boots, we did the same, and we were able to run down the steepish ice to the moraine. We spoke to the two objectionable youths who had pushed passed us just below the hut the day before. The hadn't got up to the top of the Drus, but they had had a wonderful day making a new route, and climbing grade V and VI pitches!
Jo says that the East Face of the Grépon has nothing severe on it; I disagreed, but I could say the same of the Drus traverse.
I had always heard that it was a strenuous climb, but I hadn't found it at all exhausting, for I always maintain that I like chimneys. The lay-backs on our last climb had been a different matter.
The traverse had taken us 15 hours, but, considering the delays, this wasn't surprising.
Back at the hut we got rid of the last rope, made tea and saw André off to try to catch the last train from Montenvers. We then stayed gossiping. Dick Viney arrived with John Saxby. I had never seemed to get on very well with the latter, not since I had proposed him for the C.A.F. and he had said that he trained by walking up to Montenvers and I had said that walking up from Montenvers to the huts was quite enough training for me. However, we were interested to hear Dick's news. They had brought up food for four, for Tom and Hamish were coming to the hut after climbing the North Face the next day (they hoped).
Eventually we set out, at first for a quick run down the moraine and a scramble down the slabs, and then we went straight down the gully for the last part. At the bottom we had to turn slightly south to get round the marginal crevasses of the Mer de Glace, and then the way was straightforward. Don had gone down first, and we had imagined him in front of us all the way. We hurried on down for we wanted to get on the path before it became quite dark. The surface seemed almost freezing over, and we placed our feet with care.
We crossed the glacier, and continued down the left side of it, past the tent by the borers (no-one was at home!) and just got off before dark. We recognised the slope where we had practiced with out axes, and thanks to this we were able to find the beginning of the path, and we arrived at Montenvers at about 10 o'clock.
We collected our rucksacks, but they looked rather blank when we asked for the places which had asked to be saved for us in the dortoire. Eventually they said that there was no room in the dortoire, but we could have a room in the hotel for the same price. Don arrived next, looking very hot, apparently he had waited for us at the foot of the moraine, at the same place as we had started up, and we had missed him by going straight down the gully. It had been his torch which we had seen on the glacier, when we were well up the last part.
They took the sheets off the beds, but all the same wasn't it a treat to be shown into the hotel room, with its basin with hot and cold taps, but wasn't it a disappointment to find that no cold water, let alone hot, would come out of those taps!
We soon made our usual shambles of the room, we made tea in the one small pan of water which we were able to collect and then fried an omelette, but I was more interested in sleep than in eating.
Eileen went on a shopping expedition to Chamonix, while the rest of us made the most of our morning in a real bedroom. I tried to wash my hair, but both the water and the soap supply weren't really adequate. When Eileen came back, we moved into the dortoire, where we were spending the next night. André came in to see us after we had cooked our supper, and how pleased he was to tell us that he would be sleeping between sheets that night! His two clients for the Grépon the next day must have been far less impecunious than the English. To me the funniest thing was when we all went over to the hotel for a meal (for we were still hungry). The guide walked in at the main entrance, while we had to go round the back and into the 'salle des guides' and even there all we could afford was a plat du jour. Before returning to the dortoire we found André still sitting in state in the dining room upstairs, and asked him to wake us at 2.30 the next day.
It was a doubtful sort of morning, but we thought we would set out and go on until we were actually turned back. We went along the level part of the path in the dark, and dawn broke on the steeper section. We went along the band of moraine, and then stopped to put on crampons before the first ice. We roped up, four on one rope, before the first crevasses and found the way to the Rognon easy enough in crampons. We hurried up the rocks (Don was in front!) put on our crampons again and set off up the second half of the glacier, reaching the rimeye 3 hours 40 minutes after leaving Montenvers, in other words, 10 minutes behind schedule, but I always think that the Vallot times for the Nantillon routes are too little, and I don't think our time was at all bad for this one which involved a horizontal distance of practically 3 miles and a vertical one of 4,700 feet. In other words I found the glacier an awful slog (as always!) and was very disappointed that the weather was deteriorating rapidly, for I felt that after the slog we deserved our climb!
There was no obvious way across the rimeye, so we followed the tracks which led us round and then back to the brèche supérieure du Col des Nantillon. Here it started to snow, but those of us used to climbing in British conditions said that that was not enough to turn us back. We separated into our usual two ropes, Don and Jo went ahead, and Eileen and I followed on behind. Don started up over some ice, and as we had left our crampons and in the brèche, Eileen and I started up on the rocks to the left, and at first we had the best of it. My first pitch I found most enjoyable climbing, and it seemed to lead over into the gully up which the others were now making rapid progress. Eileen came on and continued up, trying to keep to the crest, but when she belayed she admitted that it didn't seem feasible higher up, so I went up the way I had first intended and got into the gully. When our rope was strung out horizontally between us, Eileen said she would traverse to me. I finally gave her a shoulder down, and she maintains she was on a 'vs'! Another pitch or so brought us to the brèche 3376 where the other had waited for us, despite the cold; here our route joined the main one which should have started up the nevé had the rimeye been crossable, and we should have enjoyed the climb up the arête, but, just as Don was starting up, the storm began to come nearer, and we thought that the arête wouldn't be quite so jolly with the lightning any nearer, and it seemed prudent to retreat. This time we descended down the gully all the way (it was horribly loose) and at the bottom Eileen, the first down, was very pleased with herself for cutting steps in the final ice. We put on our crampons and started down the glacier, still on our two ropes. The crevasses were easier to cross going down, although for some of them I had to use my old method of swaying on the edge trying to make myself giddy, and then falling over.
On the Rognon, while we were taking off our crampons, André arrived back from the Chermoz. He had not allowed his two clients to put on their crampons, and they had been rather terrified on the descent. However, we felt that André was paid back, for he had left his own crampons at the bottom of the couloir and he had to go up and get them, crossing several nasty crevasses solo.
Don and Jo stopped to eat, while Eileen and I continued down. At the bottom of the Rognon, the storm returned, covering the rocks with hailstones and the interval between the lightning and the thunder was one second. We continued down, put on our crampons and descended the rest of the glacier, and hoped that we should dry out on the way home. This wasn't to be, for there was still another heavy shower when we were on the lower path. Several parties were sheltering under boulders, and one of these consisted of the three French lads who had invaded our dortoire the night before. They had had to stay in the hotel, and they were looking inside the dortoire out of curiosity, when two of them recognised me. We had met at the Plan de l'Aiguille the year before; in fact, they were the ones who had put 'Blaitière-Cizeau-Fou into my mind. They had climbed the Carmichael on the Pelerin while we were on the Peigne.
Back at the dortoire we dressed in blankets and put our clothes out to dry, for the sun was shining by this time. It was grand watching the clouds roll back from the Dru, and I had a photographic session.
Some other people I bumped into were the Hunts and Herzog. The were all most profuse in their thanks for the cairns on the Dru, saying that they'd certainly have been benighted without them, and saying how well Don had done the job of cairning. It was Mrs. Hunt who then amazed me. She asked me how long we had taken for the traverse, and when I said 15 hours, she said that she was glad that we had taken a long time, for they had been slow too, they had taken 19 hours.
The afternoon went very quickly, gossiping to the French lads, and also to the Rucksack Club who were our neighbours in the dortoire. They had set out about an hour later than us that morning and had sat in the wrong place on the Rognon, waiting to see what the weather was going to do, when one of their members was knocked out by a stone. He was ordered a fortnight in hospital. Some of them were packing and leaving, and others gave Don such a terrific account of the A. du Diable, that for a while he declined to agree to try them.
Alan Alsop and co. were back from the Grépon East Face (I couldn't understand how they had failed to find the Knubel Crack!), but it was the nice quiet Cambridge man from their party who amused me. He explained how he had been dragged up the climb, and then he said that he didn't mind doing the climb once, but he had been taken up that climb at least 6 times subsequently, and that was what was getting him down, he was never free from it!
I felt that really we should have timed the Blaitière again, but as no-one else suggested it, I didn't put it into their heads that we should slog up that glacier again. Instead I filled in with the general idea that we should go to the Couvercle again, and then try the Verte.
Jo first rang up André and came back and said that the weather was not settled enough. We then all went back with her while she rang him again, and this time she said that if the Verte was out of the question we should do something else with him. He agreed to come and we said that we should see him there.
Our late breakfast seemed almost to run on into lunch, and it was 2 o'clock before we got away (my watch had stopped at 12.00). We all went our own paces, right from the start, I had quite a heavy load, and I was determined not to be hurried. We had various halts to talk to acquaintances on the way. The bad guide from the Dru was on the Montenvers path with some touristy people, and he pointed out the Dru to me "Très joli" was how we were able to dismiss the climb!
I was very pleased to go the 1948 route across the glacier and traverse below the moulins (interesting sight). On the moraine we left Don talking to Dave Thomas and Gordon Dyke. They were inviting him to join them on the Diable (he told us afterwards), but he declined, saying he was hoping to do it with us (optimist).
I plodded steadily up the ladders and upper section of the path and was so pleased to find that I had done it in exactly 3 hours.
André arrived before very long, and we had our usual scramble to cook our meal with only one set of pans. André seemed rather disgusted with our perpetual corned beef; he said that in France they call it monkey!
I woke up at 3 o'clock and mentioned to Eileen that we hadn't been called, and she got up and looked out and said that it didn't look too bad, but there seemed nothing we could do about it. It was sometime before I could get to sleep again, for I was afraid it was a plot to make us do the Courte, or some other such molehill, instead of the Verte.
We got up at 6 or 7 o'clock and made porridge and tea, and had a leisurely breakfast. Eileen announced that she would climb something alone with André and suggested that she should lead him up the Moine. In the end he took her up the Arête Sud – 4 hours from hut to hut and 5,100 ft! They left before we were ready, so there was no question of our going as well and sharing the tariff. Don and I thought that the Cardinal would make another summit for us, so we set out up the familiar Glacier de Talèfre. I had said that we needn't bother with crampons, as the last time we had been this way the guardian had said they weren't necessary. It's good for the technique to go without crampons, was the way I consoled myself later! We went remarkably slowly for Don, who at times had to make a few steps. The crossing of the Bergschrund presented no difficult, we left our axes and then we were on broken ground, where we could take our pick of routes. Once or twice we passed a cairn. We traversed to the left, found ourselves at the foot of a chimney leading up to the arête and climbed it. I regretted the fact that we had no rappel rope, as I was struggling up it, for I considered it to be definitely grade IV and quite long too. At the top we saw a far easier chimney on the right, and we didn't know whether to be glad or sorry we hadn't come up it; we were sorry we hadn't found the easiest way, but glad we had done a little real climbing. On the arête it was quite exciting, there was some ice on the north side, and quite a lot of frost. We duly traversed all the gendarmes and monoliths, and sat down just below the western summit and ate and then stayed there watching the mist clear in patches. I wanted a photo of the Verte for it looked so impressive with all the frost on the rocks. "What is this life if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare". This was really a delightful off day, with this peaceful 1½ hours on top, and, unlike valley off-days, I was quite free from the primus and perpetually dirty pans. We had taken the ascent very slowly, but it had only taken us 3½ hours from the Couvercle (it's Don who makes me so "time" conscious).
On the way down we were able to direct some French voices in the mist to the Cardinal.
I enjoyed the way down the glacier, most of it was fairly flat, but there were a few glissades at the bottom.
Back in the Couvercle I thought I'd swank and describe it to André as Montagne des vâche"! We found that Jo had gone down, she had sprained her angle on the way down from the Blaitière and she had come up hoping that it would improve, but it seemed a vain hope.
We went to bed again hoping to be called at 2 o'clock the next morning for the Verte, but for my part I thought it rather a vain hope.
Some German speaking people in our dormitory had kindly wakened us at 1 o'clock (they didn't get up very early themselves!) so I was only too glad to get up at 2 o'clock, and we set out at 2.45. It was a perfect morning, bright moonlight, and not a cloud in the sky by the time we started, so that we didn't need to bother with lanterns. There was another party going the same way, a guide with the "little monsieur" – I had noticed the latter in the hut the night before and had been most impressed with the agile way he would jump onto the top bunk.
We stopped at the foot of the glacier and put on crampons, the guide put on the first one for the "little monsieur", and then left him to put on the second. A severe reprimand was administered for the way this was done! All this time we were waiting. I said that it was because André knew there was some step cutting coming! I was glad that we set off as the second rope, for André behind soon had to stop to adjust his crampons.
We crossed the bergschrund at the same place as yesterday, but then the guide preferred to cut steps up a tongue of snow, instead of taking to the rocks as we had done. At the top we left our crampons and half the axes and set off up. We soon passed a cairn which we had reached a lot more easily the day before.
It was fairly light by this time. We had set off on a brilliant moonlit night, and then we watched the dawn colours gradually light up Mont Blanc, and eventually the sun itself appeared. It was all just as great a thrill as my first alpine sunrise, in fact far more so than Mont Buetr, 11 years before.
The guide in front amused me very much, he never left of talking and it was obvious he was trying to impress his client with the difficulties and dangers of mountaineering (perhaps the sight of Don and me managing without a guide didn't help).
At the beginning of the rocks he told Eileen not to talk for her voice might send down stones! (he obviously thought that his own was pitched so that it couldn't do this). They rarely moved together for the guide would stop and give the "little monsieur" a tight rope on the easiest scramble.
Very soon, even the thought of the ice to be cut higher up couldn't keep André back and he overtook them. We kept very close behind and were able to overtake at the same place. Soon our Cardinal looked a most insignificant gendarme far below, and we gained height rapidly until we got near the ridge, where the route became more interesting. I can hardly remember any of the parts in particular. I merely have the impression of a thoroughly enjoyable climb, a mixture of easy rock scrambling and snow, sometimes it would be possible to climb the snow with the hands on the rock to the side. At other times, this wouldn't be possible, and at the top there were a few snow crests.
There was one amusing incident. Andreé climbed up a bit of rock and, not liking the look of the next part, he brought Eileen up to belay him. Next he tried to wedge his axe, and stand up on it, but it wouldn't wedge very firmly, and eventually he asked Don to climb the snow chimney to the side, and give him a rope down. This Don did, although André had rejected that way because the snow in it was liable to collapse. I followed Don, and this put us in the front until André found the opportunity to overtake us. Don did have the pleasure of cutting the steps up one ice chimney. Remembering the description the Englishman had given of the climb after following Armand Charlet up, I had expected the snow at the top to be much longer, and, it seemed in a ridiculously short space of time, we were on the summit (5½ hours from the Couvercle, to be precise!) Like the climb, there was nothing difficult or dangerous about the summit, it was just a thoroughly enjoyable place to be. One could stand and move about on it, yet it wouldn't have been big enough to hold many picnic parties, and I found a thrill in having it to ourselves.
There was quite a cold wind on top, so we didn't wait very long, starting down as soon as we had pointed out the Zermatt Peaks to André.
I was rather pleased to see that André had a non-collapsible axe for this climb, also that his boots had tricounis in the heels. In other words it seemed to me that he was treating this route as something a little more than a mere rock climb.
Imagine my astonishment on the upper snow when I was quoted as an example of how to descend snow; Eileen insisted on crawling on all fours until eventually André handed her his axe in disgust.
I imagined that we should stop at the first suitable place for breakfast, but André thought differently, he had only done the climb once before, and that was in 1945, and he wasn't very sure of the way and wanted to get the intricate part over first. The way down, just on the Talèfre side of the ridge seemed almost longer than the way up and, about an hour after leaving the summit, we stopped, and had breakfast and watched the approach of the other party, still on their way up. The step of the "little monsieur" had lost all its springiness, but the guide was still talking just as much.
Soon André got us moving again, but then, either he lost the way, or, to give him the benefit of th doubt, perhaps he tried to improve on the way we had come up, but Eileen didn't think it was an improvement! Eileen descended a little chimney and then came to some verglaced slabs, and she refused to use the rope, and André binded a lot while she climbed down 'pure'!
André traversed higher up, cutting steps in some snow. Don and I put our rope over a rock and slid down that, and got down very quickly, and then Don was able to flick off the rope. Soon after this we had lots of loose easy stuff to descend and the others got ahead, but stopped half-way down, and then at the bottom we caught them up again. I was very pleased to be re-united with my axe, but was sorry to put my crampons in my pack, instead of on my feet. There was one place on the bergschrund where André watched anxiously as I descended, and then took in Don's rope as he came down, but the ice held O.K.
We got down the first part of steep snow easily enough, and the, just before the icy part, I asked Don to belay me. I may have just slipped, but I wouldn't be surprised if the steps were in the upper snow, and at this time of the day this was not adhering to the ice beneath, for it was just before the grey icy part where the steps were firm enough. At any rate down I went until Don stopped me. I'm sure nothing could have pleased Eileen more!
After that the descent was without incident, except that the glacier was much softer than the day before, and the glissades correspondingly less frequent. I enjoyed sliding down the lower icy parts, and I was beginning to get the hang of it too.
We arrived back at the hut at 12.24, 10 hours after setting out.
We immediately put on the primus, but André couldn't wait for our soup. He had some from the house, and then some bread and cheese, all of which appeared on our bill.
Our main course consisted of pom and sardines which was all we seemed to have left in the way of food, but André didn't consider this to be any better than the "monkey" we usually fed him on.
We left at about 2 o'clock and made our way to Montenvers in a leisurely fashion. Don and I got on ahead, but even without Eileen's numerous acquaintances, it seemed that there was someone in nearly every party who we knew, and we'd stop for a chat. They'd either be English people, or else French acquaintances who we had met in other huts. For instance there were the three French lads on their way to the Tour Rouge hut (I was pleased to hear that Jo had sold one of them my nylon rope that morning). Later we met a guide who seemed to know us very well, and we discussed the Verte with him (he seemed to think we ought to have found it long!) It was only afterwards that Don told me that he had been the first guide on the Drus.
At Monenvers we were pleased to find that they were running an extra train at 4.30, and we got in it. It was when it waited nearly an hour on the way down that we weren't so delighted, thinking that we could have walked down quicker.
Jo was a real brick that night. All we had to do was to sit back and eat the meal she provided – and what a meal it was, chips, carrots, fried egg, and ham from a huge tin she had brought out with her.
I remember later that evening that I washed out my socks, so that I should be all ready to go to the Requin hut the next day.
Later Ray and Clive appeared, both looking tired, and Clive with a limp, from a fall into a crevasse. We were proud to know them when we heard that they had just done the Innominata. Apparently they had spent a couple of days in the bivouac on the Col Eccles and, having no food, they thought the best way of getting some was to do their climb and come down to Chamonix. This they did, despite the new snow on the rocks.
Decisions were taken rapidly that morning; Clive realised that he wouldn't be able to do any more climbing for some time, so Ray said that he was looking for someone with whom to do the Brenva. Don jumped at this opportunity. Ray then asked me if I'd join them (I thought how little he knew!). I said no, for Don didn't believe me capable (now why did I say that when I believe myself quite capable of such a route?). Later Eileen also turned down the offer. It was agreed that they should go up that day to the bivouac on the Col de la Fourche with food for one day. The next day they should either do the climb, or return directly to Chamonix, they'd have Wednesday to get over it and then on Thursday Don was to bring Andrè up to the Torino hut where we'd have food from Italy, and all would be set for the Diablo.
The first part of the plan worked fine, Ray and Don shopped, packed and set off for the Fourche on the 11.30 train, but then things began to look a little blacker for me. Eileen considered that the ascent of the Verte deserved an off day and, with Jo's ankle to support her, I was in the minority and I had to agree to wait for the next day. Fortunately we met Richard Meyer soon after this and found that he was catching the first train the next day and going up to the Torino, so we thought we'd better not catch a later train. It was quite a hectic afternoon and evening, fining snobs to mend Jo's and Eileen's boots, and then Eileen and I would rush back at the appointed hours in the evening to collect them. All this time we were leaving Jo to cope with the cooking, and feed our guest (Hamish back from the north face of the Drus). It was an elaborate meal too, banana custards are all right, but we hadn't really sufficient pans for such delicacies (someone had presented us with the custard powder and we thought we ought to use it).
The peaches and cake which Hamish had brought were very nice, but we were a little full by the time we got to them. I think Jo scarcely had time to eat, so busy was she with the cooking.
Andrè had been helping with the rescue from the Moine, and we missed him when he came back, so a note had to be written to him telling him that Jo also wanted to do the Diablo, this would involve a porter, for Andrè wouldn't take more than one on his rope.
At one time that evening life had looked very black for me. Someone had told them that the Torino was very expensive, so they were then in favour of a first night at the Requin. I told them that this was the last week of my holiday, which shut them up, and it was left that we should catch the 7.15 train in the morning.
It had been raining in the night, so we thought that it would be all up for the Brenva party. It was quite nice by the time we were about and we easily caught the train. Richard didn't catch it quite so easily! I found that the rest of his party consisted of Tony Bertram and Gordon Dyke, the latter made no secret of this belief that a woman's place was not on a mountain.
I was surprised at the number of people abroad on the Mer de Glace at 8.30 in the morning, but I couldn't blame them for wanting to be about on this lovely day. The two parties kept quite separate, the men soon got ahead, but we drew close again, by keeping to the edge, while they had to go round many crevasses. Soon our party began separating. Eileen drew ahead while the two donkeys (or perhaps we didn't go best loaded!) lagged rather. I had the primus and a spare 1½ pints of paraffin, and I kept remembering that I believed that it was better to buy meals in the huts, then have the weight of a primus to carry up! Jo's pack was of similar weight to mine, and we'd occasionally rest them on suitable boulders and sympathise with each other in silence. The route was particularly well marked on the last part of the glacier, and then we had the steep moraine to get up. We arrived at the hut just as Richard had made the tea.
It was soon time to start again, as I was putting on my things I dropped my sling over the edge. Fortunately there were two ropes draped over the nearby piton, and I was able to abseil on these (the old fashioned way!). The lay-back to get up again was quite strenuous.
We put on our crampons at the beginning of the ice fall. The way at first seemed a little more straightforward than last year. Very soon Richard realised that he'd left his knife behind at the Reqin hut and went back for it, giving Gordon his sack to carry. We continued up towards the lump of rock which Richard had pointed out, and then sat down to wait for him. When he didn't appear we started to look for him and found that he had traversed lower down. We cut down towards him, on a route which had its interest and then we roped very soon.
About half way up we had a halt and ate sweets and snow. It was on the upper crevassed area that my boast (which I had never made) that I had never had two feet in the same crevasse at the same moment, was taken away from me. I was following a track made by a small party, and it really took us too far to the left. At one place I tried to cross a crevasse at the same place as the tracks I was following. I had one foot across and was getting my axe in before getting my other foot over, when the landing seemed to give way, and I started to go down. Fortunately, it was a narrow and snow crevasse and I soon chimneyed out. Soon after this we met the other party again who thought it was time for still another rest. I was pleased to find that, even if I had been the last up to the Requin, I was by no means the weakest in the party by this time, in fact I was able to take a few things from Jo and not notice the extra weight.
The weather had been steadily deteriorating and soon after this halt it started to snow, but it didn't make us very wet.
The others seemed to have come to our way of thinking, that the old cabane on the Col Due Gèant would be a better place to stay than the Torino hut (it was cheaper!) and so we all made for the Margharita hut. I was amazed at the sight of the prefab next door, and even more amazed at the nice fittings inside, not to mention the butterflies and flowers painted on the shutters. There was an Italian party in residence, and they told us that there was no room there. We said that we'd cook in the new hut and sleep in the old.
The coming of the guardian to collect the money caused some excitement. Apparently the C.A.I. lets out the Torino hut to the highest bidder, and this poor man then has to get his money back by fair means or foul, from the unfortunate people who use the hut. We paid 250 lire each, which was 50 too many, but still he wanted more. Eventually he turned to the little boy he had brought up and said wouldn't we give 100 lire to his little nephew. The poor boy looked most embarrassed, and we were adamant.
We discussed plans for the next day; Eileen was very keen to visit Courmayeur, so she said that she would go down and bring up the food. That left Jo and me to climb and, as Eileen wanted to do the Tour Fonde the day after, we were left with the Aig. du Rochefort to climb. Tony said that if they couldn't do the Diablo, as the hoped, could he come with us. I was only too pleased at the thought of having a third on the rope. Richard said that we should have to set out at 2 o'clock to get back along the ridge before the snow softened.
Richard brought back rather disquieting news from the Torino hut; he said that four English had set out at 6 o'clock (instead of 2) for the Brenva, and had been seen just below the final seracs before the weather broke. Richard's verdict was that if they had the sense to get into a crevasse they might be all right, and with this thought it wasn't very pleasant to hear the storm blowing all night.
We got up at about 7 o'clock and found that it was still snowing. We were glad to leave the old draughty Margharita hut and go to the new prefab and warm ourselves by cooking breakfast. Eileen left us to take the teleferique to Italy – she was soon back saying that the electricity "ne marche pas" – but it "marched" later on apparently. She was able to get all our needs, except paraffin. At the end of the day I was beginning to get a little worried about this for we had used nearly half our stock, for the water wasn't running and we had to melt snow.
One day in the hut was reasonably bearable. We shared the new one with John and Dennis, and also three French people. The morning was spent mostly in singing (Gordon and Tony represented the English). We were all glad when mid-day came and we were able to warm up by making and drinking soup and tea. In the afternoon, when we began to feel a little chilly we discovered the other downstairs room in the hut and thought that it was big enough for country dancing. There's nothing like an eightsome to restore the circulation!
The next change was when the clouds lifted, and we all took our cameras out into a wonderful white world. I went onto the col to try to get a photo of the Chamonix Aiguilles. The cloud wouldn't quite leave the top of the Verte.
Mont Blanc came into view once or twice, but we had no illusions as to the conditions up there, we could see the new snow being blown over it all the time.
While we were waiting for supper, Gordon amused us by just talking – we heard all about a strange character in Mansfield called Shirley, and then the talk got on to unusual bivouacs. Dave's on Cloggy, on "Faith and Friction" on Longlands must take the cake.
Envious eyes were cast at us at suppertime as we tackled our liver and tomatoes, which we had with maccaroni cheese. We finished with bread and butter and jam, also peaches.
It was a bitter disappointment to find that it was still snowing. Until then I had hoped that I might get the climb in, for Raymond Lambert in the Torino had said that it would be in condition in two days, for the rock was so steep that not much snow could settle! (he should know, he climbed them in February!). I thought that if Thursday and Friday could be fine we might do it on Saturday (I had told Andrè to come up whatever happened, but this was worse than I had anticipated!).
Richard made the day start as well as was humanly possible; he made chocolate to drink for breakfast. Next we had porridge, we made the oats spin out by adding fècule to them! and then we made great inroads into the perpetual bread and butter and jam.
The whole hut was in a dither until about 10 o'clock, not knowing what to do. Eventually all the men decided to go down to Chamonix, and we thought that, despite our stock of food we might as well retreat with them, for it was a good opportunity to join a large party on the glacier, and we knew that no climb would be in condition for some days.
We packed hurriedly, returned the keys to the Torino hut, and set out at about 11 o'clock, while the snow was still falling.
It was the night before when Richard had had his lengthy argument with the guardian. The latter had gone of and returned with two carabinierie, who had collected up our passports and alpine club cards. We had got on famously with the police, yet all the same they walked off with our passports. Richard accompanied them, and paid over our money in return for official C.A.I. receipts and, after we had paid, our passports were returned. This had all kept us highly amused for an hour or so of the otherwise rather tedious day.
We had more food to carry down, then we had brought up, and I found it hard work getting onto the col. However, we soon finished with the uphill part and started down. We were on two ropes, Richard went first, followed by Tony, Eileen and Gordon. Jo and I followed, between John and Dennis. All the first party were falling into crevasses at one time or another; Gordon, although last, was particularly unlucky in this respect, but it meant that the crevasses were pretty obvious before we got to them. We halted for a while at the beginning of the way to the Col du Midi. We watched a party ascending that way, but we didn't like the look of the crevasses they were crossing and the mist closed down again, so we went on, for it never left off snowing (Richard had wanted to visit the cosmic ray station on the Midi).
On the crevassed zone before the icefall we at first kept too far to the left, but later found the little "valley" which is the usual way. We had a halt for chocolate, and then tackled the seracs. These were great fun; coming up we had been thankful to wear crampons. That was impossible now for the new snow would have balled. The trouble was that this same new snow wasn't a great deal of assistance, especially for the second rope, who would often find the ice bare, but as I say it was fun, we glissaded, we jumped and we trod delicately, which was needed. There was one place in particular which I remember, when we moved along a knife edge. We eventually arrived at the Requin and unroped. We didn't stay long in the hut, but started down for Montenvers. At this altitude the snow was turning to hail, and it rather stung our faces on the Mer de Glace, where it was accompanied by a considerable wind. The Mer de Glace even, almost had its moments in its slippery state (one had to run down some slopes for they were too slippery to walk down).
We got to Montenvers in plenty of time for the 5 something train, but Eileen and I said we'd rather walk down and keep warm (we were a trifle damp!) and gave our tickets to some of the footsore members of the other party, also leaving them our packs. I started to follow John and Dennis, but as they were literally sprinting down, I soon lost them, and that was the last I saw of them. I continued down on my own, at a steady pace, being careful not to take too many short cuts (I remembered landing at Prez in 1948). Half-way down I met the nice R.C. man and stopped for quite a chat. He told me that he had seen Don in Chamonix, which was the first news I had had of him since he was seen on the Brenva. I arrived at the station just as the others were leaving (Eileen had come down by the railway and was down in front of me).
At 8 o'clock the six of us with Don, adjourned to the "Deux Gares", but the meal wasn't up to its usual standard. There was no fruit, even, so afterwards we adjourned to a café. Don left us, for there was a bottle of rum at the Biolay. His had been an interesting tale, he had set off at 8.15 (not 6, as we had heard) for the old Brenva, with two Swiss middle-aged doctors, one of whom had set Douglas' shoulder after Nadlehorn incident. I think the Swiss were very glad to have company, particularly when the weather broke. They were able to go on over the top to the Vallot hut, where they spent the night. This must have been a terrible experience for Don, for they had no food; he describes how they were even picking up biscuits from the floor. They spent 24 hours in the hut, and then, with the break in the weather, they had made a rush for the A. du Gouter. They found this hut deserted, apart from one snow-blind man, who had been left there with four day's food supply. They were down to the Tête Rousse in no time, glissading down the gully, and here they found food, and also an interesting American family, with the address 1 Wall Street".
The next day they got down to Chamonix, having had a free lift on the teleferique.
To get back to my first evening visit to a café this holiday, I had chocolate (not nearly as good as our breakfast) and a patisserie – also not very interesting, so, when I saw Tony's sundae, I had one of those as well.
Next it was suggested that we should visit the Premier de Condée chalet, where we could stay the night. We thought that this would be quite a good idea, as the Biolay was so packed (everyone had come down to the valley).
It was late and everyone else was asleep in the Chalet, but in the third women's dormitory we tried, we found room, and had a fair night's sleep, even if we didn't feel at home in this room with all its feminine dresses and elaborate underwear.
Eileen and I got up at 7 or 8, and, leaving Jo in bed. We paid and returned to the Biolay for breakfast. Don cooked this and we had masses of bacon and eggs.
Next I went into town on a preliminary shopping expedition, I was waiting for Eileen in the post-office, but she didn't come, so I slipped out and ate three meringues at the bakers. At the guides bureau, the Canadian stopped me for a chat, and then I returned up the main street, eventually finding the others in a café with Peter Knox etc. I joined them and we stayed there until the waitress asked us to leave. Next we accompanied Richard who said that he knew a place where we could get a 10/- meal for 5/-. By the time we had walked there I thought that we'd need it to satisfy the appetite we had developed on the way. I needn't have worried, the Cremerie Mont Blanc, at the Pelerins could cope with it.
We started with melon, and this was followed by hors d'oeuvres. The next dish was meat and beans, and then the main dish arrived, beef and sauté potatoes. I was only just able to get through my portion of this. When Richard was asked if we'd like any more he said yes, and the others shared this out. We finished with plums and grapes.
Next we wandered down to the main road, which took us past the Ecole Descalades. This was crowded with people, and cars were stopped at the bottom with people watching, and at first my reaction was "fancy people making fools of themselves in public like this" . Then we went up to the rocks and I had an irresistible longing to do some real rock climbing, and my reaction to the audience was "no-one will bother to watch me". Eileen had on a tight skirt and was rather out of it. Jo and I with our fuller skirts, were able to tuck the hem at the centre back into the belt in front and we started barefoot, scrambling up the moderate. Jo got a telling off from a man who turned out to be an instructor, and finally lent us his abseil rope to climb with. He told her she had climbed very, very well, but all the same she shouldn't have come up without a rope. We descended the same way and then I put on my sandals, for I found that the Phillips rubber soles gripped better than my bare feet.
Next we queued for the arête on the left, for which we roped. Tony seconded Richard, and Jo and I followed on. This was much easier than it looked, but was thoroughly enjoyable, as it was quite exposed, although well supplied with holds (not to mention pitons).
While we were waiting for this we had been horrified by two Frenchmen, just as the leader was on the most delicate part, the second, who had been fooling around, and following up, fell off backwards. Fortunately the leader had just got his rope through a karabiner, but in any case the second came to a stop before he had jerked the rope.
At the top of this climb, Tony led up the groove to the right. This was quite interesting, for there were only just sufficient holds. Tony hurried down to fetch his crampons which were being fitted to his boots. We waited for him on the road and then made our way to Chamonix where he and Richard shopped, for they had invited us out to a dinner they were going to cook for us. We had great fun loading Tony up with all the vegetables; I filled his boots and pockets with potatoes, he carried tomatoes in his hands with a couple of leeks hung across the top, and then he wanted to see if he had any post-restant in the post office. I had to take him in, get his passport from his hip pocket and present it for him.
At 7 o'clock, as we had arranged, we were at the Bureau des Guides, to pay André. It was half an hour before he turned up! We had already paid him 4,000 fr for the Grépon, East Face. We had to fork out 1,000 fr for the Drus, 8,000 for the Verte, and Eileen had 5,100 for her Curête Sud.
We purchased some meringues at the bakers, as our contribution to the feast. We started with melon, and then had sliced tomato, and the main course consisted of potatoes, liver and mixed vegetables – leek, celery and some things I couldn't recognise. Next came the cheese. It was some time before I could tackle this, and then there were black grapes, and finally meringues. We had drunk two bottles of wine with the meal; I was beginning to feel delightfully drowsy, but we finished with coffee which kept me awake until 2 a.m.
Back at the Biolay I found that there was still room for me on the straw and I was just going to bed when Ray told me that Stan and John had arrived, so, despite the late hour, I had quite a long chat with the two travellers from Austria, hearing all about our mutual friends in Pontresina, and finding that our storm had also hit Zermatt. A Frenchman was a little annoyed with all the latecomers and took the bulb out of the light, and I had to struggle back to my place in the dark, until someone lent me a torch.
We caught the 9.58 to Mont Roc, Jo, Eileen and I, also Ray, Tony and Richard. We walked to the Aiguilette d'Argentière, which we reached in about an hour from the station. There was quite a crowd there, including the Frenchman who had come off on the Triolet, our first time at the Couvercle.
Tony and Richard immediately started to climb, while the rest of us ate at first. Then Jo and I climbed together, and Eileen and Ray.
Jo and I were leading through, but the easy way was of only one pitch, so Jo was last down the abseil. Next we went up the chimney, Jo leading all three pitches. She offered me the lead of the 'Grand Pas', but I refused. It was bad enough on a rope, so Jo had had a rope down for it. Next we tried the other ridge; I led the first pitch which was easy enough, with holds in the crack and then I envied Jo her lead of the airy part. I had to wait some time before the congestion eased, and I could follow up.
By the time we were down, it was about 2.30 and I thought I had better leave. I was down at the station by 3 o'clock, with 40 minutes to wait for the train, so I started alone to walk along the road. The first car I thumbed stopped and took me to Chamonix. The occupants rather intrigued me. There was a bright young thing at the wheel, with, I imagine, her well dressed mother at her side. In the back was the most elegantly dressed man; he had on cords and a grey sweater, but those clothes were never intended for wear on a mountain. They were talking climbing the whole way down, but they addressed no remarks to me.
I bought food for the journey, and oddments to take home and arrived back at the Biolay where I re-packed while waiting for the primus. After I had finished that cup of tea, Don, Stan and John arrived back (they had another first class meal at the Cremerie Mont Blanc) and they got another primus going. I handed Stan the tea and then ran after him saying "you're not going to spoil my last cup of tea". He replied that he had reformed, he had learned to drink tea with lemon in it and now made it weak. We had no lemon, and this tea was so weak that I was the only one to enjoy it with milk in it!
Stan and Don came to the station with me, and I left my things there while I made a last purchase – Maggi soups. When I got back, Don said that he had just seen Nell Axe, so we ran down the street until we saw Marjorie and Nell. They didn't need to tell me what they were going to do, for I knew, they were the clients who the Canadian guide had been telling me about! I was so envious of their Mont Blanc plans that they suggested that I should join them, but it was too late to change my mind with my things at the station.
I said goodbye to Don and Stan and went on to the station, where John appeared. He was very useful, he helped me climb over the side into an open carriage, and then handed me up my things. The rest of the Aiguillette party had returned on that train, but only Ray saw me.
My rucksack had my seat and I stood to St. Gervais, eating my box of patisserie, which I had only just managed to preserve for as long as this. St. Gervais Station was crowded, but a relief train was running and I got on this and had a most comfortable journey, for it was much emptier than the official train. I had a corner seat, but then other people came in the compartment and I had to sit upright, and I preferred to go into the corridor, where I was able to lie down at the end, fairly well out of the way (not that there was much traffic to and fro during the night. I slept quite well and began to sit up when the sun was up. I was in Paris long before I expected.
I made my way to the stopping place of the inter-station bus and waited. It arrived about half an hour late, and then announced that we must wait for the 8.15 for St. Lazaire. I found a taxi, I suppose the 200 fr. wasn't bad, but I resented the 20 for my luggage when the man just sat there and watched me lift it in and out myself. I though that ought to do as his tip, but he didn't think so!
At the Gare St. Lazaire, I firstly obtained a reservation for Dieppe, and then found the refreshment room. It was the same man who served me in the winter, but this time he insisted that I had coffee instead of chocolate. I was able to give him a tip this time.
I ate some of my food in the waiting room, and then boarded the 10.02 train and spent the next few hours in a semi-conscious state.
As I was getting out of the train at the harbour I was hailed by Marjorie, and found that Arthur and Geoff were on the train, on their way back from Austria. We boarded the "Brighton" again, and soon found our way to the restaurant, for the second sitting of lunch.
I took two pairs of nylons through the customs for Geoff and then, after drinking tea, I caught the 5.50 straight through to Brighton and had my last extravagance – a taxi home!
Don and I met at Derby station at about 7.50, and soon had our packs strapped on the back of his bike, and were away along the Uttoxeter road. There was no excitement on the road, for Don had had the bike re-bored and he kept very well to his 30 m.p.h. speed limit. We seemed to avoid the rain; there were a few spots just before Stoke, so we stopped for a cup of tea – the rain got worse, so we stayed on for a meal, and it had cleared by the time we were ready to proceed. With the roads in their greasy state, I had no wish to go any faster, but at the same time I found that 30 m.p.h. wasn't enough to keep me awake!
We found the same spot at Llangollen and I just got up my tent before the rain started again. The next morning, as usual, we went on without breakfast to the Nant Ffrancon. The weather didn't seem too bad; there was a little drizzle beyond Corwen, but that was all. After Capel, we passed Ray Hanley and Norman on a motorbike, going in the opposite direction. We camped in the usual field at Gwern-y-gof Isaf, collecting milk and eggs from the farm. We were able to have our breakfast-cum-lunch outside, and then set off with our rubbers to the Llanberis road.
We thought Cloggy would still be wet, so Don said he'd show me the Three Cliffs. He wanted to try Crackstone Rib, but we over-ran Carreg Wastad and, finding ourselves at the foot of Clogwen y Grochan, decided to climb there instead. I picked out Ledge Way as a III, and therefore of suitable standard. We found that it started through a waterfall, and it didn't occur to either of us to get wet. I pointed out to Don a possible (or impossible!) variation start; Don tried it but soon retreated. Eventually we picked out Hazel Groove and we scrambled up the first pitch. Don then went on up the groove, put on a running belay and did the traverse, and went up out of sight, and then it was my turn. I had been longing to start, for I thought that I ought to be in good form, having had my holiday, and then a fortnight to recover from it. I reckoned without the demoralising effect of three weeks in vibrams. I was just about terrified when it came to "swing gingerly down". I couldn't believe that my nails would stay on the ledge and the handholds were slimy and I didn't think they were sufficient to withstand the jerk, should my nails skid. I dithered for some time and then I made myself do it, by making the moves I should have made, had my feet not been going to slip. Of course they didn't slip, which was as well, for the rope went obliquely up from me. I rejoined Don again at the 'Good Hollies' and then he went on, finding the next pitch very difficult. He didn't like the right hand groove, so he started up the left-hand one. At first he couldn't see where to go from there, so he came down and tried the right-hand one again. He eventually got up by starting in the left-hand groove and then stepping over into the right-hand one, trusting to the doubtful vegetation for a handhold. When it was my turn, I had a look at Don's way, but I couldn't make the first move so I had to do it by the way recommended by the book; I retreated once, but eventually got the moves sorted out so that I could get the correct foot in the groove. I was most miserable once I was in the groove, I had one foot on a good hold, but my hands could find nothing but slime for my hands and, as the rock was steep, I found it rather a desperate move to find a hold for the other foot. Eventually I reached the 'large Hazel' and thought for the moment that the climbing was over. The next pitch was on steep earth under the yew tree, then there was more rock past the oak to a holly, and then a last 'swing up' on a holly tree, and the climb was over at last! I realised that it was only what I deserved, through expecting to find British rock easy. I felt that we had better leave well alone, and call it a day, but Don wanted to do something else and chose 'Scramblers' Gate'. We descended to the east of the crag. For some unknown reason I found myself behind Don on the descent, and I thoroughly enjoyed managing the rope on the way down.
I was dreading another 'IV', but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Again the description was mostly concerned with the trees. One started up through the primeval jungle and then reached t he rock, which, if steep, had adequate holds, and wasn't slimy. We came down the same way and so back to the bike. I remember strolling across the few yards of flat ground at the bottom, with that slow and lazy step one develops when one is tired after a really good day (such as the Grépon East Face). I then realised that all I had done that day was ascend a few hundred feet and climb about 500 ft). Definitely, I mustn't let a motorbike spoil me when I'm trying to work up form for a holiday!
We ate the food we had with us and then ran back to Capel, and then along to Mervyn's for a cup of tea, and to see if there was anyone we knew. We couldn't see anything of Ray and Norman, so we went back to the camp, cooked our meal, and then ran along to the Royal to try to see the others. Ray was taking up two seats, apparently he had worn his knee right down to the bone in a motorbike spill. Fortunately for him Norman could drive, but he wasn't looking forward to pillion seat back to Derby the next day.
The news seemed to have got around about our East Face ascent, and we chatted about France, or about Norman's Austrian holiday, until another familiar face appeared – Val. He was with the Camping Club and we then arranged (without his knowing!) for Eric Sproston to take Ray back the next day.
It had been a lovely night at first, but later on the rain started and it continued all the morning, With the thought of hours of sitting still on the bike, neither of us showed any enthusiasm for getting wet, and we sat on and let breakfast drag on into lunch, and then, when the rain eased a little, we packed up and went to Capel, where we ran too and fro trying to find the Camping Club. There was another violent rain storm, so we did not regret our decision to pack up and leave the district.
As we were leaving we found the campsite, some way along the Bettws road. We found Val, Eric, Ray and two or three more of the Camping Club.
Once away from Wales we seemed to get into the fine weather, and we chased a storm across England to Nottingham, occasionally we'd catch up to the tail of it, but on the whole we were just behind it. I got back at the most respectable hour of 9 o'clock or so.
I caught the 7.10 to Derby, where I met Don and we caught the Crewe train. That journey, as usual, seemed never-ending, but we had nice time for the Chester connection, where we drank tea until the North Wales train appeared. It was after 2 o'clock when we got out at Llandudno Junction, and, at the second attempt got in the waiting Bettws train. We got out our bags and even I was soon fast asleep, and only woke up when we drew out of the station.
At Bettws we didn't have long to wait for the bus and were soon at Capel, admiring Snowdon, which showed up above the valley mist. We stood at the fork, wondering what to do, so a Welshman told us that the left-hand road took us to Caernarvon – obviously that didn't please us, so next he said that he was a stranger there himself, but he did know that the cottage down the road made very good tea, so we made our way there and, after the tea, we made our way along the Nant Ffrancon. I had wanted to camp Llanberis way, but I had promised 'Poppa' that I'd bring back some bog myrtle from the Nant Ffrancon. As I didn't see how I could combine the two, we decided to camp Tryfan way. I surprised myself by the casual way I remarked "of course we can always do the Munich". It was a lovely morning as we made our way along to the usual camp-site and entered the field by the back way, asking permission later. There was another solitary camper in the field, but he seemed a good sort.
Again we had a leisurely breakfast, and the set out for Tryfan. We went along Heather Terrace, passing ropes starting up North Buttress, and Pinnacle Rib, and we stopped at the foot of Gashed Crag.
We decided to start up in boots, taking everything with us until we took to rubbers, where we'd leave them, and later come down the gully and collect them.
I found the first part of Gashed Crag quite desperate in boots and I was very slow on it, and thought that perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew, in thinking that I could go off onto 'Munich'.
I managed the chimney, rucksack and all, and soon after that we left the climb, traversed to the right and put on rubbers. The centre groove of the first pitch of 'Munich' was a little wet, so Don climbed the left-hand one. I found the move to get off the ground the hardest part of the climb, fortunately Don had left a sling within reach, and I was able to pull up on that! The next slab was the "crux". Don was soon up the first 15 ft, and he put on a runner well to the left and then tried the difficult 15 ft. He tried to step round to the right, but didn't like that and eventually did it up the main slab. I could quite understand how a piton would help! I gathered that the foothold was a little thin, the way he had to keep moving his foot, and then he couldn't seem to get a satisfactory handhold in the crack. Eventually he made the move, but he didn't look altogether happy on it, his right hand was on the edge and it seemed a most delicate manoeuvre to get it higher up. When it was my turn, I, like Don, got my rubbers wet taking off the runner, and then came face to face with the problem. The foothold had been made practically non-existent with nail scratches, and I could find nothing for the hands. I knew that it was the sort of move I should never be able to do, and, as nothing could be worse than that side, I stepped round the corner. It was still a little thin, but at least there were hand and foot holds, and had I known that the route would 'go' all the way up, I think I should have been quite happy. There were footholds for the left foot on the edge and others for the right foot further in, and I expect I squirmed on my tummy over the top. From the top Don's way looked quite vertical and more impossible than ever, he said that he could just reach a finger hold, and he moved up on this one finger.
The next pitch was over the nose, and wasn't as simple as it looked. To avoid going right down to the ledge I started up the crack, but I belayed just before it began to get wet, and difficult, and followed Don up to the top of the pitch. I don't remember much about the groove, but I do remember that I was greatly tempted to avoid the last pitch, it was slimy for one thing, and I couldn't do it at first for another. Don had walked straight up it; I had tried his way, but got stuck with two hands and two feet on the rock, and couldn't move anything up. I eventually moved up on the first holds, and then swung round to the left, into another crack, which I was able to climb.
From the South Peak, we went along to Adam and Eve and ate the chocolate etc. we had with us, still hoping the mist would clear. We realised that it was a lovely day on the hills, with the tops clear and the mist still hanging about the valleys. The trouble was that the mist was also around Tryfan, and we only occasionally got a view through it. Eventually we went down for the rucksack and then I broke the news to Don that I had always had a leading ambition on Tryfan; he guessed what it was and we went over to the North Peak, and down to the foot of Terrace Wall, where we changed into rubbers. I said that I should be quite content merely to lead the middle pitch, but Don insisted that I should do the whole thing. The first pitch didn't seem the scramble I remembered it, and then laden with all Don's slings I set off up the 60 ft. At one point before I had got very high, my foot slipped off, instead of allowing me to take it neatly off the hold. I was in no danger of coming off, but I was rather ashamed of Don seeing the incident – apparently he hadn't noticed it! I got past the part which had seemed a little smooth in vibrams, and then came to the difficult move. For the first time, Derrick's advice, the first time I did it, seemed useful – for the move this time seemed a cross between a mantleshelf and an open chimney. I bridged the open chimney and soon reached the grove of bollards. Don romped up, only stopping to take off my two runners. Next, we were up to the Terrace, and then back to the foot of the wall again.
I was against another climb for a cloud of midges had infested the rock, but, as Don had followed me, I couldn't show my lack of enthusiasm to follow him. He chose Long Chimney, an easy 'vs' in rubbers. He didn't find the ascent of the overlapping leaves altogether straightforward and then he couldn't get over the bulge, so eventually we decided on Cheek climb, and I joined Don – I also found the overlapping leaves most awkward. The angle wasn't too steep fortunately, for there seemed no real holds. I wasn't sorry when we turned back from Cheek and, after all, we'd done two 'vs' that day. We put on our boots, and were soon back in camp, drinking tea, before cooking our meal. Afterwards we had a chat with our neighbour and he offered us a lift to Birmingham the next day. For our part we suggested that he should join us for a climb.
There was a little rain in the night, but then it cleared and was fine all the time we were out. Maurice led us to Cwm Tryfan, and then let Don and me take over, and find our crags. There turned out to be a very easy traverse over the screes to the foot of Alphabet Slab, for I remembered that the book said that it was one of the two climbs suitable for an absolute beginner. We roped up with Maurice in the centre and Don started up. Maurice followed very well – extremely well I decided when I came to follow, for I found it quite difficult, although the rock was better for boots than the Tryfan blazed trails. At the top, we thought we'd go on to 'Chasm' and started up. Again I found some of the parts quite interesting in boots. It had all been too easy for Don, and when he found himself at the foot of the final crack of the direct, he couldn't resist going up it.
Maurice tried it and kept at it for a long time, but it was asking rather a lot to expect a beginner to do it in boots, and eventually he came down, and I had to go up to recover the sling Don had left on the way. I had begun to get the feel of nails again, and after a short rest half way up, reached the top without too much effort. Next, Maurice came up the rest of 'Chasm', missing out the vertical vice – he admitted that he was whacked after his try at the crack. It was such a shame, for he lost some of his confidence after that. We descended the gully, had a late lunch in the last patch of sunshine, and then discussed future plans. Don suggested Hawk's Nest and I said Needle's Eye (thinking of Maurice). Maurice then said that he'd prefer to walk to the top of the mountain and leave us to climb, so next I suggested to Don that I could give him a rope down for Lot's Groove (I hoped that after Don had done that, he'd let me try to lead the Wife, but it wasn't to be).
I scrambled up the Chasm and down the top 20 ft of the groove and then, at the second attempt, I got the rope to Don, who tied on and started up. When he came into view, I gathered that he found that first part quite tiring, yet, as I looked down, I realised that the right wall, on which he was just embarking was vertical, and with no visible holds. How glad he was to be up that, and able to get on a sling and try to rest, but I gathered that it wasn't the most comfortable of places for resting, and he then started on the overhang, but he found this less difficult than the rest, and soon he was up to my stance where he sank down and admitted that he'd had enough. I had derived moral support from two other climbers watching us, who occasionally gave Don some advice from the book. When they asked him when he'd be leading it he said it wouldn't be for a very long time. Next, we had to hurry up the last 90 ft, get down to our things, and move off to the Bwlch where we met Maurice at just 5 o'clock, and then descended to the camp together.
Don and I made a brew, struck camp, packed and we were away by about 7 o'clock.
I was surprised to find that Maurice was quite a tame driver, when he had said 3 hours to Birmingham I thought that he must be rather reckless. We went through Llangollen and I began to doubt whether we'd be there before midnight; the Wrekin light that night was quite a menace, we couldn't seem to get any nearer it, but eventually we did get round it, and so to Birmingham, where Maurice left us at the station at 11.10 or so. I asked a policeman whether the 10.40 to Derby had gone, and found that it had, but I learned that there was a special at 1.40. Don and I spent some time finding connections from it to Nottingham and Sheffield. How overjoyed I was when I learned it was going straight through to Nottingham. It drew into the platform at about 12.30 and got me to Nottingham about 3.30, so I didn't do too badly. It was Don who had to wait on Derby station until morning, who had the worst of it.
Bernard picked up Eddie, Ernest and me at 9 a.m. in Nottingham. I had been disappointed that we hadn't gone the night before, so I tried to make up for it by enjoying the ride. The first part was lovely, it was such a good road, and very little traffic.
The A1 wasn't nearly so good, and then we cut off towards Leeds. We missed the centre by taking the ring road, and then went through Ilkley to Skipton, where my mind went back to Pinnacle meets. A little beyond Settle we stopped for lunch, I hadn't brought anything, but the others seemed to have plenty. We went on into the rain, as we approached the Lake District. There were some quite good views of Langdale, and then, at about 2 o'clock, we arrived at Coniston where Bernard drove up to 'The Sun'. I took a dislike to the proprietor at first, but that was only to be expected, I suppose, for no pub in Coniston could be as good as 'Bull'.
After tea and biscuits we set out for a walk (taking a rope just in case). We went up the old familiar track. How impressive the crags still looked, when they first became visible, with the tops separated by mist. No memories of Mont Blanc could spoil that. We cut up the scree to the left of the crags, and then went up the gully (no-one was interested in the rope in my rucksack!) and I had to admit that the gully made pleasant scrambling on such a day.
Once at the top we were in the mist and the full force of the wind, so we walked on over to the summit of Dow, down to the col and then up to the Old Man. How pleased Ernest was to ascend the highest mountain in his native county (not the highest one in Manchester, as he once said). We then found the track down, and descended quickly, firstly to Levers water, and then to Coniston, where we arrived at about 6.55. I had a bath changed and was down to dinner soon after 7 o'clock, but what a long time the men kept me waiting! However, the meal was worth waiting for, finishing with trifle and real cream, and then biscuits and cheese. Next, Norman arrived from Bristol, and while he was still eating I was told that I had two visitors. They were Don and Mat, from Langdale where they were climbing with the great Joe Brown. – I heard all about 'F' on Gimmer etc.
Later that evening we were showing round our holiday photos, I showed mine to Mrs. King who was also at "The Sun".
The weather wasn't perfect, but Jim Cameron (with whom Mrs. King was climbing) said it was going to be good. He also said that he wasn't usually an optimist, so I was quite certain that I was in for a good day on Dow. Mrs. King left for Langdale, and Ernest, Norman and I for Dow. We stopped to photograph a rainbow on the way and the weather steadily deteriorated after that. The cave was its usual wet chilly self; Ernest had never done 'Woodhouses', so, well as I knew it, I said that that would be the most suitable one for us. I think Ernest wasn't very impressed with the thought of a mere 'diff' – at least he was very keen to do the direct start. I let him lead it; Norman didn't like it, so he went round and when I joined Ernest he again suggested that I should lead, and I agreed.
The first chimney was without incident, and then I had my usual doubt on the polished holds on the next one. At least after having done it with iced holds one New Year, I couldn't complain because it was cold! Next I made the "easy angled slab" look horribly difficult, while Norman simply romped up it. Lastly, I went round the final optional part, which the others didn't find particularly difficult.
We had lunch and then, despite the fact that we had carried up rucksacks, we made our way down Easy Terrace. Above the cave Ernest introduced me to two of the older generation whom we had seen climbing 'C' – one of them was George Bower.
The three of us then hurried down to Goatswater and, while crossing the stream, Norman slipped and hurt his ankle; Ernest and George helped him down until we got to the Walna Scar track, where we let George go on. We kept together until we got to the first gate, where we met two climbers in a van which they used as vehicle and bothy, and they offered Norman a lift down.
Ernest and I were back long before him, and had cups of tea with Bernard and Eddie, who were down just after us.
Next, I had a bath, packed, ate my high tea and caught the 7.14 bus. In the 8.40 from Ulverston I got in the train with a P.M.C. I changed at Crewe into the Birmingham train, and it was there that the ticket collector said to me, "That will be ten and ten pence" – I said that I hadn't the money and that he'd have to take my name and address. This he did, and at Birmingham I looked up the by-laws. The only one which seemed to apply to me said "If the fare to an intermediate station is greater than the fare to the destination, and the ticket is used to go to the intermediate station, then excess is payable to cover the total distance travelled. Birmingham is nearer than Nottingham to Ulverston, so I decided not to pay, should I get a demand.
None of the other collectors worried about my ticket, and I reached Nottingham about 7.30 a.m.
I was outside 'Toby's' punctually at 5.30, but it was nearly 6 o'clock before everyone was ready, and we could start. We picked up Geoff and Len at the Astoria, along with others and the next halt was at Highfields. It was some time before all of them could be dragged away from their canteen and their packs stowed away. The Derby contingent were all waiting, and we then had only one more halt, to pick up a girl at Stoke. We stopped at a pub just beyond, and then went on through Dudley and Whitchurch, but here the driver passed the little 'Wrexham' terminus. I think that most of us knew that we were wrong, and I was all for telling the driver, but the others said he mightn't take it! So we went through Shrewsbury and then had an uneventful journey along the A5. At one point I realised that we had stopped and woke up; the driver was having a walk along the road, he didn't feel so good!
I hadn't been able to take much gear as my frame was being repaired and all I had was a small rucksack. I hadn't written to the hostel, so I was pleased to find that some of the others had booked in. However, it was shut when we arrived, but there were five of us and five bunks on the verandah, so we all crawled in.
I felt rather guilty the next morning when I told the warden that I had spent the night there, but she didn't seem to mind, and even let me have breakfast, but she couldn't find a place for me the next night.
After breakfast, I was going to walk along to Helyg, when Don appeared, having spent the night at the usual place. He took me along on his bike, stopping at Glan Dena en route. Cyril wasn't at home, so I made no further enquiries about sleeping there.
I left Don to go to the campsite and have breakfast, while I went on to Helyg. Someone told me to tap on the window – I could see the point, when I realised that the front door led into the bathroom! Geoff and Len were packing up, but neither they, nor anyone else took kindly to my suggestion of Pinnacle Wall on Craig yr Ysfa (I had expected Helyg's reaction to this to be "You can't do anything less than the Gimmit on that crag". However, I had an enjoyable chat with a lad who was sure he had seen me before. At first he thought I climbed on the Harrison rocks with the L.A.C., but when we got on to Chamonix, we realised that he was going to Montenvers with Roger Acheson, when I was descending from the Torino.
I soon found that Geoff had his mind made up about climbs - that we were to walk on the Glyders and then perhaps climb on the upper cliff of Glyder Fawr. We told Don the plan as we passed the tent and borrowed his guide, but that was the last we saw of him. We went up to Bwlch Tryfan, and then on up Bristly Ridge, to Glyder Fach, from where we went on to the Fawr, and then tried to find the top of the upper cliff. Len went down, after lunch, and Geoff and I descended an easy gully to the east of the greys, from where we located 'Central Arête'. There wasn't very much time before dark, so we agreed to start up unroped. We had only 100 ft of rope, so we tried to find the ordinary start. We went up a well scratched way and then found that we had done the direct start. We roped up after that. It wasn't that we were finding it particularly difficult, for my part it was just that I thought how foolish we should look if anything did happen when we were unroped.
Perhaps it was the demoralising effect of having a rope in front of me, but I found the top more difficult than the direct start. Next we went over to the Devil's Kitchen, and had a look down it (I wasn't particularly anxious to descend it in vibrams) and so, on down the ordinary track by Llyn Idwal, reaching the road just about at dusk.
I collected my gear from the hostel, and called at Ogwen Cottage in my quest for a bed; I was told that they didn't take anyone for one night, and the door was nearly slammed in my face. In the morning, I had found that Gwern-y-gorf Isaf couldn't put me up, so I tried Uchaf next. The boys said yes, but I had better ask Mrs. Williams who was at Glan Dena – I went over to the hut and found most of the women in the district cooking a meal for the M.A.M. and Rucksack Club. Mrs. Williams hummed and ha'ed for some time, complaining that there was no-one to give me a meal, but she eventually said yes, and I went back to listen to the children talking Welsh, and to eat a meal prepared by 'the boys'. Fortified with this, I made a journey back to the hostel to collect my shoes which I had left there, and so back to the farm. I found that one of the boys knew about the Pinnacle Club, for he had just started work at Cwm Dyli – that made us talk about climbing, and he even seemed interested in a few of my Chamonix photos.
I was delighted to find that breakfast was for eight. Apparently the Rucksack Club were getting up by the old time and half a dozen were having breakfast at the farm. I recognised one of them from Chamonix, and Fred Piggott was another.
I was very disappointed to find it was raining when I set out for Helyg. This was the day when Geoff had planned to walk on the Carnedds. We set out towards the reservoir, but cut up the hillside before we got to it. We reached the col between the two paths.
We had lunch at the top of Craig-yr-Isfa. it was raining and Pinnacle Wall was out of the question (I think it would have been in any case, for Geoff wasn't keen on it, and I don't suppose he'd have let me try it. Geoff had recently done Amphitheatre Buttress, and didn't recommend it in nails, so we went on in the mist to the top of Carnedd Llewellyn. A compass bearing from there took us due southwest to the col, from where the ridge ran west to the Dafydd. Pen-yr-Ole Wen was southwest again and our chief difficulty was to decide which was the summit cairn. However, we soon struck the ridge down, and then I missed the others. I was to their right (as we were descending) and struck the usual way. Apparently they were further to the right by the time they got down. Half way down I was out of the mist. It was in the morning that there were such wonderful effects, with the mist low down in the valley; the trouble was that it was raining where we were, so I didn't bother to get out my camera. I had a chat to the driver in the Ogwen car park and then went back to the farm for a change and a meal, again with the R.C., also Harold Rastall.
I walked along to Helyg for 5.30, but it was nearer 6.30 before the bus arrived. This time the driver didn't miss his way (except to take us through Wrexham), and so on to Newcastle. The driver took us all round the town, eventually arriving at the Y.W. a minute before 11 o'clock, which was zero hour for one girl. Next, he went along a London Road, overtook a lorry, stopped it and got a lift for the two who were wanting to hitch to London. He made a circular tour of Nottingham, and dropped me (the last) at 1.30 at the end of Shakespeare Street.
I caught the 5.08 to Trent, and had some tea on the station and then met Arthur and Marjorie, and Arthur drove us to Derby. Ed was duly waiting for us in the market square and the Marriotts lashed the luggage on behind, while Marjorie and I chatted to Ernest and Geoff who were waiting for Alf to pick them off. Arthur had a new idea about route and after getting to Uttoxeter and going round the town several times, he took the road to Weston and reached Stone that way.
Next, the way was familiar to me, through Woore, Audlum and Whitchurch (I feel I'm worth my seat if I can point out the Llangollen turning in Whitchurch). It was nearly 11 o'clock when we reached Llangollen, and we stopped outside the Fish and Chip shop. They were just closing and wouldn't let us have tea, but we had four nice hot pieces of fish to take outside (they had no chips). Just as the shop closed Alf drew up, and we stood in the road talking for a long time, for, apparently, Alf had been mending punctures all the way along. When my feet were so cold that I felt I could stand it no longer, I got inside, and the others soon did the same and we drove off.
I gradually warmed up and became drowsy; I remembered passing through Bettws and then dozed off. When I next woke up, the others were talking about snow on the hills. I couldn't see any, I could see the three black Snowdon peaks with the white mist above them, and coming down between them, but it all looked like mist to me not snow. It was a long time before I got the view sorted out, I eventually realised that we had passed through Capel and I was looking at the Carneddau, and that my white mist, impossibly high in the sky, was the snow ridge. The snow came down into the Cwms on Pen-yr-Ole Wen, and this gave the spurs the appearance of black peaks. The full moon shining full on it, gave the scene its brilliance.
Tea was made when we arrived at the hut and someone heated up some soup before we went to bed.
The day started well with Paul, the perfect meet leader, bringing round tea in bed. After that it was very much easier to get dressed in the cold bedroom. After breakfast, Paul drove along to the phone box to try to order dinner that night at the Pen-y-Gwryd, but Mr. Briggs already had the Rucksack Club booked there, so we had to shelve our plan of a moonlight walk back, over the hills.
When Don suggested that I should join him and Don Chapman and Nat. on Pinnacle Wall, I jumped at the idea, for that climb fascinates me. We were the first to set out and walked a mile or so up the road, and then started up the spur of Pen-y-Helgi dû. I was slower than the others, but I didn't even let that fact prevent me taking photos, I took three: Carnedd Llewellyn, Tryfan and Y Garn, before realising that they were all out of focus, so I repeated the last two. Next we were on the snow and there was another photo to take of the snow under foot and the distant hills appearing above the valley haze. Higher still, the three musketeers traversing to the col used up even more film, and then we began to think about Craig-yr-Ysfa, instead of photography. We soon picked out the quartz ledge, the snow on it made it most conspicuous. We got very cold having lunch at the top of the crag, for the mist came down, while we were there. We discussed the climb; Don was still in favour of having a look, the others were a little more doubtful. I suggested Amphitheatre Buttress, but the others said that they found 'vd's' harder than severe, and I rather felt that they were afraid to try a 'vd', so I said no more. Eventually we got up and looked over the cliff, but such a blizzard greeted us that even Don changed his mined, and we started up Carnedd Llewellyn. I thought I had seen the last of the sun for that weekend, so I used my last film snapping the three musketeers ascending the snow. The snow would have been perfect for skiing, there was an inch or so of powder on top, and hard snow beneath, and most of the rocks were covered.
The top was in mist, and difficult to recognised and the others considered that we should strike due west. I hadn't a map to prove that it should be southwest, but I had a compass. Just before we got to the level of the col, we got out of the mist and could see that we were too far to the north.
We were rather a scattered party as we traversed back, the others running and jumping for joy, while I immediately changed a film, hoping that the mist would hold off while I got a few photos, also that the three figures wouldn't be too far in the distance. There was a very little snowballing, and finally we all made our way along to Carnedd Dafydd, meeting Paul and Co. on the way. I couldn't persuade them to continue to Pen-yr-Ole Wen. They insisted on going down to Ffynnon Lloer, hoping for some steep snow on the way. We didn't need our axes, it was just a run, and quite a quick way down. Later on, I got in front of the others, for the first time that day( and possibly any day!) and arrived back at Glan Dena first. The kettle was already on and, after tea, as Don couldn't get anyone else to accompany him to Bethesda, I said that I would go with him, and John G. put me in his wonderful motorcycling coat, on top of all my climbing things, but even so I was only just warm enough. The road was treacherous, but Don took it steadily. I bought cake for John M. and John G., grapes and figs for myself and then another film in the chemists. In the last shop a man recognised by Lawries boats said that he was going to Lliwedd the next day. I advised him to take an ice axe and he said he would, but my ears would burn if it wasn't needed. My ears didn't burn the next day.
Back at the hut, Marjorie and I heated soup, and then ate our steak and kidney pudding with pom and green peas, and finished off with grapes.
Most of us spent the evening in the lounge, one awful type keeping on her boots. Some people made a round of the pubs in Capel and even got as far as Pen-y-Gwryd.
The 'three musketeers' were off to climb on the Three Cliffs with 'the great Brown' and I was left to my own devices. At first everyone seemed for the Carnedds again, but eventually I found that John M. would come on Tryfan. I set out slowly, took yet another photo of Y Garn, and the rest of the party caught me up – John, Ernest, Alf and Geoff. I enjoyed North Ridge, with all the holds snow covered, and at one time I went my own way, having a race with Ernest (there are some people I can't follow, just as there are some people I can't lead).
There were one or two other people on top and I expected to eat there, but I soon learned that there was another ridge to climb before lunch.
South Ridge was in the sun, and we were soon down that and starting up Bristly Ridge. On Tryfan I had kept warm in just a blouse, but towards the top of the Glyders there was a cold wind, and I put on my jacket. I followed John M. and had a wonderful time with the snow and the rocks. Eventually Ernest appeared, saying that Geoff and Alf had gone down from Cwm Tryfan. We had our lunch in the sun near the summit of Glyder Fach, but it was too cold to sit long, and we finished it walking along. The going was much easier than usual, for many of the spaces between the rocks had been filled in with snow. At the top of Gribin we left John to continue the walk, while Ernest and I ran down the ridge. We were very sorry to leave the top while the sun was so high, for the view was so clear; Cader was easily distinguishable, besides many ranges which I didn't know.
The descent was by no means the least enjoyable part of the day, the snow was almost (but not quite) hard and steep enough to be exciting. Half way down, the sunlit top of Tryfan was just reflected in the part of Llyn Bochlwyd which was free from ice, and lower still we got below the snow level, to a world where the autumn colours appeared of a richer shade in contrast to the snow above. Not even Ernest clomping down behind me could mar the peace of that November afternoon.
Back at Glan Dena I found that Marjorie was heating up more beef pudding and peas, and we just had time to eat it and finish our packing before 4 o'clock.
We left at about 4.15 and drove very cautiously on the treacherous roads, thinking that once we reached England the going would be better.
Just before Bangor/Bettws Y Coed, we had a taste of things to come, when we ran into mist, but it cleared as soon as we reached higher ground. We ran into real trouble at Woore, for the mist we found there was to last as far as Nottingham. At times we had no idea how far it was to the side, while at other times we could go along quite gaily, following cats' eyes. Sometimes Marjorie, while she was sitting in the front, would open her door and steer, while she was watching the curb. I kept my eye on the offside the whole time, but we were never in any danger of running into anything that side.
We missed the way to Weston and found ourselves in Stafford, but it was a straight road from there to Uttoxeter. To add to our discomfort, we had to have the windscreen wide open as the fog was freezing onto it. Once at Derby the fog didn't seem quite so thick, and it was a familiar road, so we made fair progress into Nottingham, where I was left in Burton Street at 2 a.m. after a memorable weekend.
I was so tired of the Tamworth route to Crewe that I determined to catch the 7.10 and go direct, and have all my waiting at once at Crewe, I little knew how long I should spend there. I had a cup of tea and then settled down in the Ladies room, where there was a good fire. The mopping of the floor broke the monotony, and finally another girl with a rucksack arrived, who turned out to be Ada, also a 'Pinnacler'. We heard that the London trains were all waiting just outside the station, that they couldn't get in because the points had frozen, and that they had sent for the gangers to free them and one man had turned up. Eventually at 4.30, the 2.18 drew in on Platform 2, and Ada and I were able to find a carriage where only the corner seats were taken. The train had no idea of making up for lost time, and I began to think of another time when I had arrived at Coniston at 3 in the afternoon.
It had been snowing ever since I had left Derby and I hadn't my skis and the whole weekend began to look like being a dead loss.
We crawled along, stopping at every station, and at Grange over Sands, our carriage was invaded by shoppers on their way to Barrow – they had intended to catch the third train in the morning, and were quite excited to be on a train with sleepers!
I had forgotten that Foxfield was the next stop after Barrow, but I was soon out and meeting Peggy and Doreen. They had spent a comfortable night having been put by the guard in a first class compartment! Ada and I passed the time in the waiting room and the youngsters snowballed until the Coniston special arrived.
We reached Coniston about 10.45 and found most of the club still at 'The Bull'. Someone asked whether we'd like morning coffee, but we said 'no', breakfast was what we wanted, and we got it too – two slices of ham each and lots of the tea we had been longing for, for the last 4 hours. Cyril offered to wait for us, but we said no, he'd better go out, apparently he had been driving all night and had only just arrived. He was with Jo's friend, Joan. Apparently Jo had come earlier and had already set out for the rocks.
After a leisurely breakfast, we found our way to Mrs. Tyson's and changed and then set out for Dow Crags. It was snowing all the time, and we got no view, but the way was well trodden, so we had no difficulty in finding it. I was soon consoled for my lack of skis, for I realised that the snow I saw would be useless. It was very soft, and there was no foundation for it. On the road I should have come straight through to the grit, and on the grass the surface was too uneven. The walk was quite exciting, for in places the snow hit clear ice, and the unprepared one in front would usually go down! On the way back, I found tricouni heel plates a great assistance. We met Cyril and Joan by the lake and learned that Jo was leading Richard Myer and Joan up a gully, but that at their present rate of progress they'd have to turn back, so we realised that we'd have no time to follow.
We then made the usual mistake and went up to the cave for lunch (Ada and Doreen hadn't been there before); we got thoroughly cold, and then ran down the way we had come.
Back at 'The Bull' we didn't have quite the usual tea by the lounge fire; we found that Jo and Richard were having it in the bar, so we joined them. I learned that, as Jo had expected me at 8 o'clock, she and Richard had set out at 6 from Langdale, a stout effort I thought.
They soon had to leave to get back to Langdale that night, and the rest of us went off to our digs to change.
The dinner was really filling (we started with hors d'oeuvres) and when it came to biscuits and cheese, I had to say no. Mrs. Jeffries was the first speaker and just as she started I was called out to a visitor. It was Don who said he was with 'the Great Brown'. I wanted to get back to the speeches, and the only way I could get rid of him was to promise to meet him at the crags the next morning. Molly Fitzgibbon replied for the guest, she was deputising for John Hurst. It was her first speech.
Lawson Cook proposed the Club and President, and it was rather strange that both he and Trilby had as one of the points of their speeches, some advice to speakers, which they had come across together.
Next we adjourned to the upstairs lounge, where they had the lantern working, and we saw firstly some lantern slides of the club, and secondly some of Mrs. Jeffries. I shall never forget her sunset on Marsco (they were in colour) and I was most intrigued by her collection of mountain flowers with suitable backgrounds.
Next, party games were announced and I went to bed, for it was nearly 11 o'clock.
It wasn't actually snowing, but visibility was very poor. I thought that if I could get someone to take my guidebook to Don, I should try to catch the 2 o'clock train home from Ulverston. No-one else seemed to be going to the Crags and there was a committee meeting on, but my early train wasn't favoured as there were no buses connecting with it. First of all, I showed Mrs. Jeffries my photos (she told me to make some lantern slides) and then I realised that I should have to set out for the rocks by myself. The way is always only half the length the second day, and this visit was no exception. I followed tracks along the Walna Scar road, but then I had to pioneer the way to Goatswater. I thought Don was in the Barrow Club's Hut and therefore I tried to keep to the right of where I thought the party was. Instead of that I must have kept pretty well to the path, for I came out at the right place near Goatswater, but I missed the hut (visibility had been very poor all along, but then it cleared slightly and I went down towards the hut. Just before I reached, I saw four figures lower down. I called out and Don replied, and I met him by Goatswater, apparently he was at the Lancashire Climbing and Caving hut, near Torver. It was a great moment, standing on the ice of Goatswater, for I was introduced to Brown – The Brown! I got out the book and we discussed climbs, Brown said he wasn't in favour of rock-climbing (I didn't know he had so much sense), but rather fancied a nice icy gully. Eventually he agreed to try a 'diff' – Great Gully. All along I had intended to hand over my guidebook and go straight down, but somehow at the rocks that didn't occur to me and I found myself toiling up the screes behind the others. The two Lancashire climbers made for the cave, but we went straight to the climb, and I duly tied on behind Don. Brown led up the direct start (severe strenuous) and Don followed just as easily, and then it was my turn, I got about 3 feet up, and I honestly believe I might have got a little higher if it hadn't been for my rucksack (I had my rope in it) – it was a case of working my back up higher (a thing I can normally do), but my rucksack was jammed under an overhang, and even when I freed one shoulder from it, I couldn't get it away, so eventually I had to warn Don that I was jumping down, feeling a little exhausted. I then tried the ordinary start, and this was the only part of the climb which I didn't do in gloves, for the holds were quite small. By the time I had recovered from this pitch, Joe and Don were over the next difficulty, and so it was all the way up, they were always waiting for me; I have never been nearly such a drag on a party in my life before. I suppose really I had an excuse, for perhaps there aren't two better climbers in the country than Joe and Don, and they had had four wonderful days at Christmas to work up form and practice their ice technique. For my part I had a cold, hadn't climbed for months, and couldn't get myself to use any intelligence in getting over the rocks – for instance when we went between the two chockstones there was nothing difficult about it, and yet I made it awkward by always using the wrong foot. I found a strenuous part in the middle – I retreated from it once and then the second time it seemed to me that it was just a case of pulling up on the handholds and I heard myself say to Don "Pull" and pull he did. Between the rock pitches there was masses of snow, now I have got quite cold being a guide, watching him sweat blazing the trail – and it has been so easy for the 2nd and 3rd to follow on. Now Brown could lead up through the snow faster than I could follow as third man. After my pull on the rocks, Don offered to pull me up the snow and, quite indignant, I refused, saying that it was easy enough for the third to follow up. I wondered whether I was going to regret that when I came to snow which was literally waist deep. I put my feet in the holes the others had made, yet, when I tried to take off to make another step, the foot that was in the snow just went further and further down, I couldn't seem to reach anything solid, so I crawled through on my knees – this distributed my weight and was quite easy.
The rocks on the way up had been iced, but the pitches had been short, and there had been jug handles, the last pitch looked in a different class. I remembered the words of the Lancashire climbers. They said that even with a top rope they hadn't managed it the week before and had to retreat down the gully. Brown was up in a moment, and then Don, although he was impressed with the look of the place, soon followed him, and took in my rope – I cautiously mounted the icy slope leading to the rocks (Joe and Don don't cut steps in ice at a mere 45º) and then tackled the problem. My attitude was that I should never do it, but I had asked for a pull once that day and I wasn't going to ask for another, if Don couldn't see that I needed it, he deserved to freeze up there! What ingratitude for eventually his patience got me up unaided, I couldn't work out the moves and repeatedly got the wrong foot in the crack. Eventually I managed to get a knee out on the right onto the hold which I rediscovered from beneath the snow, and, hanging on to my icicle for dear life, I moved up until I got my feet onto the holds and eventually joined Don.
At the top we stopped to eat. I was lovely and warm but not hungry, the others had got cold waiting for me. It was a good thing I wasn't hungry for I had forgotten to bring a lunch. Still roped they told me to find the way down. I started to go past the gully we ascended in September, but Joe called me back and asked what was the matter with it – I felt rather silly telling him that there was easy moderate rock in it! I explained that I had a train to catch. They said they were going down it, and that I couldn't unrope there, so, as it was 2 to 2 I gave in, and, telling Don to stand well back I plunged boldly down it. To my delight and surprise I didn't strike ice beneath the snow, and I knew that Don was soon following me (the snow was far too soft for a belay), I was sending showers of the soft snow down, hoping that no-one was coming up, when I saw two ropes of two, but they were out of my line of fire. Just then there were a few rocks showing through the snow, and it looked steeper and awkward. I was afraid I'd slip so I told Don to look out for I was going to glissade. Fortunately, I climbed down quite easily facing out, and then chatted to the ascending parties until the others reached me. What hard work it looked going up compared with my carefree descent and, in comparison, how much more worthwhile our gully had been, at that moment all the toil up had been well worthwhile. Next, there was a low chockstone and I did a sitting glissade, putting my hands over my face, for the chockstone looked very low. I tried more sitting glissades but, as 1st man, I didn't go very fast, and the others found the snow had worn very thin over the stones. How glorious it would be after it had consolidated. On the screes Joe suggested that it was time to unrope. I was going to run down, leaving them to coil the rope and catch me up, but Don reminded me that he had a bad ankle and we all descended to Goatswater together. Soon our ways diverged, the others to go down to Torver, while I wended my solitary way back to Coniston. There had been more footprints added to mine, and very soon I was back drinking tea in 'The Bull', and describing my waist-deep snow!. The water was hot at Mrs. Tyson's and, as I was the only one in I had a bath before changing and packing. High tea was at 5.30, and I had it with Peggy and Eileen, Doreen and Ada, and Jean Carter soon came to chat to us and get away from the bridge in the lounge.
We learned that the 5.15 bus had been half an hour late, so we ordered a taxi for 7.15 which got us to Ulverston in good time.
We crowded into the same carriage, where there was only one other person and, when he eventually got out, he wished us a Happy New Year, so I don't think he found us too noisy. It was a very pleasant ride to Crewe, my voice didn't sound like me at all, I don't know whether that was what made me reminisce quite a lot, or whether it was the appreciative audience I had, not that I did all the talking, by any means.
We got to Crewe at 12.05, and so just missed the New Year there. Ada got tea for the other three, then we had tea ourselves and Ada saw me onto the Birmingham train before going back to wait for her own.
What a miserable station it is at Birmingham. I eventually found a Ladies waiting room with ashes in the grate, but it was too cold even to pretend to sleep there, so I went next door into the general waiting room and sat down looking at the fire. My train was half an hour late, but it was warm, and the other inhabitant of my carriage promised to wake me at Derby. The ticket collector had a long argument with me, said I ought to go Leeds way – as though I wouldn't if I could! – I wasn't asleep, but I had lost count of the stations and was surprised to find myself in Derby. The Nottingham train was waiting and I got back soon after 7 a.m.
I caught a bus soon after 9 a.m. to Derby and, in the bus station, I saw Nat waiting for a bus to Uttoxeter, he told me that he also was one of Val's party that weekend, and that we were going to Wales after all, and not to Langdale as I had been told. He came along with me to the railway station and Don turned up 20 minutes late, on his bike. There was frost on the roads and I had expected him on the train. I persuaded Nat to ride pillion (I didn't realise at the time that Nat's opinion of motorbikes is similar to mine) and I caught the 10.48 or so to Uttoxeter. Both bike and train arrived at Uttoxeter at about the same time, i.e. 11.30, and we waited an hour for Val. We had just rung up his digs when he appeared. Don had left his bike at the station. We knew that he wouldn't be able to get it out after 10.12. on Sunday night, but we thought that this would be an added incentive to get back in time for me to catch the last train home. We even told Val that the train went at 9 o'clock, to be doubly sure! We ate a few sandwiches and lots of sweets, and Val drove us through Stafford, Wellington, Shrewsbury to Llangollen where stopped at the first milk bar for tea, crumpets and cakes. It was snowing all the way from about Wellington to Corwen, and I began to think that perhaps my ice axe might be useful after all (the others hadn't brought one), but we found that Snowdonia was bare of this new fall.
Val drove to the chapel, and by the time we got back to the hostel it was 5 o'clock and we could get in; Ray Hanley had booked for us the night before, when he arrived. I hadn't my card, expecting to be sleeping in Wall End Barn, but the warden believed me when I said that I was a life member.
Val began to collect up our food in the common room, as though he was going to start cooking, so, full of admiration, I said, during a hush in the general conversation, "You not only drove us here…" I got no further, for I remembered where I was!
After supper we drove to the Royal. Before we had warmed up we were overtaken by a Ford 10; that was enough for Val, he was soon in front again, with the needle swinging to 70! Fortunately, he knows that road pretty well! The other four joined us on their new bikes; we (the passengers) were afraid that there'd be a race back, but the bikes weren't in any hurry to start.
Everything was white in the morning, it had stopped snowing by 8 o'clock, but the tops were still in mist. My duty was to clean the self-cookers place, so it was well after 10 before we got away. The motor-cyclists thought they'd go straight home, with the bad roads. We went round to Pen-y-pass. Don and Nat were for climbing on the Three Cliffs, while Val and I favoured Snowdon. Val said that he was tired of the Horseshoe, so I suggested going over Lliwedd, and Val led the way in this direction. The top was in mist, but we had some wonderful effects to the south, when we got below the mist – it was as though there was a light coming from Llyn Dinas, and lighting up the mist, the tops were covered of course, but there seemed to be layer after layer of cotton-wool clouds in the distance.
From the col, we noted a large party coming our way, as we started up the final slopes of Snowdon. With an axe and nails I soon got ahead, and started kicking zigzagging steps. Next we got up into the mist and I noticed that it was 2.15 and I suggested to Val that we should turn round, and, with my axe in my hand I started to retreat. Then I stopped to watch Val. As he turned round he slipped and started sliding down on his tummy muttering a faint "help, help". I watched him, realising that there was nothing I could do, he had the rope even – I noticed a glove he had left behind and thought that I should be able to go down later and retrieve that!
Fortunately it wasn't necessary, just before it steepened there was a flatter section, and he was able to stop on that. Val's version of it is that his one idea was to tear off his gloves and dig in his hands. In the middle of all this the vanguard of the large party appeared – I asked them how far it was to the top and was told a quarter of an hour. Next I enquired about the condition of the Pen-y-Gwryd track and was told that that would be alright as some friends of theirs were coming up that way. In the light of this, it seemed best to continue, for I felt that it would be easier to continue up than go down the few hundred feet we had already ascended. In addition I was eager to get to the top (I still hoped that the mist would clear), especially as I hadn't been there for about 18 months. Val also wanted to go on, after his slide in front of the others.
We reached the top at 3 o'clock. The leader of the other party shouted back for their axe, when it wasn't sent forward he eventually asked if he could borrow mine – by this time I didn't mind parting with it (at first, after Val's slip, I felt it would be suicide to proceed without it!). He cut straight up very rapidly, and my spirits rose as the mist got thinner and thinner, until I could see through it – the sight I got was astounding, to my right, through the last of the mist was a huge snow covered peak, thousands of feet high it looked, and a wonderful ridge led up to it, with beautifully frosted gendarmes. I knew that I had the scale wrong, but I couldn't persuade myself that it was any lower. A few more steps and the hotel was below me. The summit cairn, with a stone wall as my ridge!
My axe was returned, and we hurried down, before waiting for the rest of the party, which we learned, was Liverpool Y.H.A.
Val found the beginning of the Pen-y-Gwryd track, and we found that someone had been down that way, so we roped up and I belayed Val over the edge. He was soon back, saying that he didn't like it.
Next we proceeded to hurry down the railway. Val mentioning a possibility of getting down Cwm Glas (I remembered 1947) and I thought that, if I found myself in Llanberis, I should definitely have a taxi up. As the railway became covered, so did the surface become more icy, and Val wouldn't come near it, so again we turned back. This time we found a large party at the top of the Miners' Track, and learned that our Y.H.A. party contained 19 people, including about half a dozen, mostly girls, who had never been on a mountain in their lives before. They practically commandeered our equipment. Their first few men had gone down the length of their rope, and they were able to go further down with the aid of Val's rope. Their axe was down making steps; there was nothing left for the last man. Their two intermediate men hadn't axes, and therefore they were completely dependent on the ropes above.
Eventually, they started to get the girls down; they were supposed to walk down, using the ropes as hand-rails. As the first trod on one of the first steps it gave way, and, as she slipped, she knocked all the other steps away, for they weren't very firm in the hard snow beneath the recent stuff. The girl didn't seem to mind and continued down to the first man. The next girl was called Margaret, and she was obviously loathing it, so I thought of my sling in my pack, and passed it down to her, and eventually I got her to understand how to open the Karabiner, and she clipped herself onto the rope and arrived safely at the first man. He hadn't the sense to clip her onto the next rope, he took the sling off her and sent her down to the next man. She soon slipped, she pulled the man above her onto his top rope and then she continued slipping – she was below the rope. She was hanging on by two straight arms, she was hanging on by one straight arm, but then she stopped, and got down without further incident. I thought the rest of them did marvellously, considering that they had had no experience. It was the fellows I blamed entirely for taking them on a stunt for which they were so badly prepared.
This went so slowly, there was about a half-hour wait between each one, and the only thing which made the wait bearable was the view, for the mist cleared down, towards the west. The hills lower down looked wintry as snow covered country always looks when it isn't brightened by sun. The sky was a beautiful orange colour, and between the hills and the sky were grey, exciting castellated clouds. The mist never cleared from the top of Snowdon, but it got rather thin along the ridge in the other direction – almost bright enough for me to get out my camera, but not quite.
5:30 came and went (two hours) and still I was at the top and surprised that it was still so light. At 6 o'clock, all the girls were down and they turned to me to go next. I had been complaining all along about the cold – none of the others did. I don't know whether it was the cold I had which made me more sensitive to the temperature, but when I got the invitation, down I went! sliding down the first rope, with it held behind my back and through my elbows. Just as I was starting, I heard one of the men ask whether anyone had had any experience at glissading. My conscience pricked, but not very hard, for I had felt what it was like out of the wind, and I had no desire to return up to. After the first rope, I walked down using the rope as a hand-rail, and soon got to the bottom where I caught up a man shepherding down two girls. I overtook as soon as I could, and continued down; there was just enough light to follow the tracks. I was quite proud of myself when I made little glissades in that light, with no axe. I was astonished when I caught up the makers of the tracks – about 8 people – I had thought that they would be nearly at Pen-y-pass by this time, but no, the girls had been sent down the ropes first, with no man to take them further down. I overtook them, finding that it wasn't quite so easy with no tracks to follow, but soon found the gradient easing off, as I approached Llyn Glaslyn. Once on the broad track, I hurried along, thinking that I'd tell the others we were safe, and leave Val to bring down the rope and axe. On my own the track seemed quite long. I suppose it was a lovely night, but I was too annoyed to appreciate it. Eventually the lights of Pen-y-pass came in sight, and then I heard voices coming my way. It was Val and Nat. They had some news of us, for the leader had hurried down to say that the party would be late, but he had missed Val and me on the way down. Apparently he had just started up the Pen-y-Gwryd track, as the others had started along the Miners Track. Nat continued along, in case they would like to borrow his torch, Don came back to the hotel with me, and then started after the one on the Pen-y-Gwryd track. I found the Y.H.A. party's driver in the hotel, and I had two cups of tea and discussed it with him. He said that they had been warned that morning not to go.
After half an hour Nat arrived back with the Vanguard, and more tea was drunk, and, when Val arrived, we got in the car ready to start, when our equipment was brought back. Val got his rope, but they said my axe would be some time, so I left my address and at about 8 o'clock we started back. When my axe arrived in Nottingham the next week there was a note saying that the last man got down at 9.30 and he would certainly have had to spend the night on top without it. The road on the pass was completely iced, and Val went very cautiously, but it was much better by the time we reached Pen-y-Gwryd, although Val was on the lookout for ice all the way home.
The milk bar in Llangollen was closed so we went on to Shrewsbury where we found the transport café by the station still open (it was just before 11). I was the only one able to finish my fish and chips! The obliging man in it impressed me most favourably.
We went on and on, striking fog before Stafford and arrived at Uttoxeter at 1 a.m. just 3 hours too late! Val eventually turned us out of the car and drove home, while we got out our bags in the waiting room and had a few hours sleep.
We got up at 5.30 and packed up, and Don was able to get his bike out when the station opened soon after 6. The first train would get me to Nottingham at 9 o'clock, so I gave Nat my ticket and asked to go on the bike to Derby. I thought Nat looked a little forlorn as I left him on the station, but by the time I got to Derby I felt more than a little forlorn, for there had been freezing fog all the way. I thawed out gradually in the Nottingham bus, and arrived in Nottingham at about 8.15 a.m. i.e. just in time for breakfast.
I rushed to Station Street, arriving just after 6 p.m., as Ed suggested, only to find that the bus was waiting until 6.30 and I could have had my tea after all!
Margaret Joyce, Ed and Reg and one other made up the complement to Derby, where the bus filled up. Nell shared my seat, and Don joined the Valkyries in the back. We stopped for a drink about 10 miles before Wellington, and for tea in Llangollen. The driver elected to take us to Pen-y-pass before going on to Ogwen, as the latter car park was less draughty.
At 2 a.m. we alighted at Pen-y-pass, collected our luggage from the rear and made for the hotel. Marjorie and Nesta were still up, and made tea for everyone, including Don and me, who weren't staying at the hotel. We might have considered finding shelter in an out-building, but the others were so sympathetic that our attitude was of course we'll camp, and we soon set out down the road. I had come particularly badly equipped and was very glad to borrow Ernest's cape and Eddie's torch. The rain was still teeming down, and the wind was very strong, and we set off down the road looking for a campsite. Any patch of level ground had turned into a bog and nowhere seemed sheltered enough for my tall tent, so we gave up the search and determined to walk down the road to the cave which Don knew.
We found it just beyond the bridge; there were two cars outside it, but no-one in it. What may be at times a sandy floor, was flooded, but there was a very useful rock shelf, above the level of the water. We soon had off our wet clothes and had settled down for the night; the rock wasn't too uncomfortable for, whichever way I turned, I seemed able to find a depression for my hip. The trouble was the double entrance, for the wind was blowing through in gusts the whole night, and we really got very little sleep.
I had promised to return the borrowed equipment to the Polaris at 10 o'clock, so we started breakfast before 8 a.m. and cooked porridge, bacon, sausage and tomato, and finally tea, and then walked the mile and a half up the road, arriving at 10 o'clock, to find the party just finishing breakfast.
We had brought up our wet clothes (they were our travelling and not our climbing ones) and John S. was able to get them dried for us, and also to order dinner for us that night.
About 10.30 we watched the parties set out, John with the moderate people and beginners for Lliwedd, and the descent of the Gribin, and Paul, Ernie, Arthur, Ernest, John W. and Don W. for Crib Goch and Snowdon. It was snowing before they left, so Don and I said that we'd also be for Crib Goch, as climbing on the Three Cliffs would be out of the question in that weather. We sat on and waited for the Valkyries – when I first heard that they'd be over for 11 o'clock, I had been visualising them setting out at the crack of dawn, and coming over the Miners Track; imagine my disappointment when I learned that they'd even had a taxi to Capel to catch the bus to Pen-y-pass. When they arrived, they still seemed to think they were going to the Three Cliffs, and Don and I were told to get in the bus. I asked the man for a ticket to the Three Cliffs and was charged 3½d. When we'd passed the Three Cliffs, he asked me to let him know when I wanted to get out, so I told him that I'd wanted to get out a long way further up for it grieved me to lose all that height. Eventually we got out and made our way to the Climbers Club hut at Beudy Mawr, where we found Val, also Ernie and Ronny. I can't remember such stinging hail as we had on our faces on that short walk to the hut, and I felt I would be quite content to spend the day in there, especially when they lit the fire and Ronny made us some coffee. By this time Snowdon had won, over the Three Cliffs, and about 11.45 we set out up Cwm Glas Mawr. Nat led the pace, and Don, I could see, was in the same class. Ray was slower, and Roger sometimes put himself as rearguard, but I felt his ability was probably pretty high. I felt at first that if I turned back I'd leave them as a useful party of four, when it came to roping up, but then we started up a gully on the right, and I soon realised that it would be no place for a solo descent, so I was rather pleased to have an excuse not to turn back, and on the ridge Ray's vibrams made him slower than me. There was no real difficulty in the ascent of the gully, Nat kicked practically all the way up, but in one or two places he cut single blow steps, with a professional touch which was a delight to see. At the top was a miniature cornice – masses of soft snow, and then we were in the full force of the gale on the ridge leading up to Crib-y-Ddysgl. Parts of the surface were of clear ice and Ray was most thankful for the tricounis in the toes of his vibrams. When a gust of wind came, we'd put our axe in front of us and stood until it had passed, for there was always the drop to our left. The walk over the top and onto Snowdon was really inspiring for the views – at first it was to the west, but later on we could see the Rivals, the sea beyond and, I believe, Moel Hebog. I made my last exposure fairly early and then it was too cold to change a film. How I wished I could have got a later view, with a sunlit sea behind a stormy ridge, off which masses of new snow was blowing.
Eventually we reached the hotel, found the open window at the back and slid down the snow inside. I hadn't felt tired outside, and imagined that I could have gone on for several hours, so I was rather surprised to find that inside I could scarcely walk straight. The first feeling of warmth soon gave way to one of coldness and, although the fire of cardboard roasted our faces, I was still shivering. I changed my film, had a little to eat (Don was very glad of the sandwiches, which at breakfast he had considered unnecessary) and then we roped up before going outside. Much as the others would have liked to have descended the notorious Pen-y-Gwryd track, they decided that the Watkin might be more sheltered from the wind. We didn't realise when we made the decision what inspired views we should have. Ray started down; the first few feet were awkward, as the new snow was loose on the older stuff beneath. Ray found it particularly awkward in vibrams, so we suggested that Nat, in his nails, should kick the steps. Thinking of Ray he kicked beautifully big ones, reminding me, as he did it, of the way Louis Lachenal tried to show Margaret and me how to do it (we never learned!). Occasionally he even used his axe. How I enjoyed that descent, my tricouni heel-plate was almost as good as crampons, but I think it was being between two such superb ice-technicians which gave me complete confidence. I realise I didn't show up particularly well. Nat was so quick that, in gloves, I never seemed to have time to manage his rope.
We were quicker than Ray and Roger and I used this time to snap the view – Moel Hebog with a golden sea beyond and, as a foreground, there were snowy ridges, once with the snow being blown off, and looking silver with the sun behind. Towards the bottom we took to glissading. My rope did it very nicely (I thought) on their feet, but those behind didn't try to keep upright. All too soon we were on the level and unroping. We passed the top of the Gribin Ridge, but thought we'd go over Lliwedd, at the bottom of which we met John's party, sensibly roped. We shouted to them, for the wind was still very fierce, and then went on over the top, sometimes in sunshine, and sometimes looking down that most impressive of cliffs.
The third peak, Nat and Don started down a steep gully and I was foolish enough to follow them, for I found that, unroped, I hadn't the same confidence in my tricounis.
At one point I made a bad ankle my excuse for not jumping down 6 ft – they thought it was only an excuse! Ray and Roger went round and were down ages before me.
Next it was a stroll back to the Pen-y-pass where we asked for afternoon tea (5.45) as we realised that we should be too late at the Pen-y-Gwryd, where we had hoped to go. They treated us as honoured guests, and the supply of hot water was unlimited. At about 7 o'clock they said they'd have to start laying the dinner, so we retired to the hall again and watched the arrival of the Polaris; first John's Lliwedd party, who were quite fresh, and then Paul and Ernie. They had reached the hotel just after we had left, and we were disappointed to hear that they were still inside when the top had cleared, and that they had had bad weather all the way down. They had considered the descent very dicey. Apparently they had shepherded down two youths they had met up there. They had seemed very vague about the whereabouts of the other four, who they said had lost the way.
Just before 7.30, Ernest came in, sat in the nearest chair and asked for someone to go out and bring Arthur in. No-one moved and Ernest got a little annoyed at that, but, when we found that a car was needed, John Smith was found and drove down to the Pen-y-gwryd where he retrieved Arthur from the bar! Eventually we got the tale; they had started down the ridge to Aran, and, when it came to traversing, Ernest said no, it was too dangerous, so they continued down their ridge and eventually reached the lower part of the Watkin track, where instead of ascending to the Gribin, they had continued down to the road. Arthur had rushed on ahead, "To stop the panic". The others got a lift up (keeping their heads low as they passed Arthur, for there was no room for him). Nat, Ray and Roger caught the 7.40 to Capel, and Don and I were the first in the dining room. Seeing that we were in our socks, the management fetched sheepskin-lined slippers for us! There was lashings of beef and, when it came to the cheese, I could hardly tackle any. We moved with the residents into the lounge for coffee, and then, after giving Ernest a little advice about the meet he would like to hold at Chamonix, we descended to our cave. One of the snow ridges on the right was lit up by the moon (most of the sky was overcast) and it looked to me exactly like the A. du Gouter. We heated some soup and settled down early, but not to sleep, we had a tent over us for warmth, and the wind flapped this every time a gust blew through the cave, and the noise was just as disturbing as if the tent had been pitched. Also the pans belonging to the car sleepers were blowing about all night.
As we passed, we asked them if they'd had a good day (we didn't recognise them as Paul's acquaintances). What a miserable voice replied "Yes, but it was nearly too much of a good thing". To think that I, the world's worst on snow and ice, should have so enjoyed a descent which horrified everyone else.
It had been suggested that we should meet the others at the foot of the Ogwen Gribin at 11 o'clock – we were a little late! We woke up at 8 o'clock after our disturbed night, and Don cooked the breakfast – a week's meat ration, a fortnights' bacon, and fresh and tinned tomatoes, with tea before and after; next I packed up my things and started up the road, leaving Don just beginning his packing to catch me up. At the hotel I found that a taxi hadn't been procurable, but Nesta agreed to take our packs to Capel for the bus.
Don and I ascended to Llyn Cwm Ffynnon and then traversed gently until we joined the Miners Track, which we followed over the top. What a wild sight was the cwm the other side, but the line of the track was reasonably obvious and quite easy to follow, until we came to Bwlch Tryfan. Here we were greeted by such a blinding hail storm that we sheltered until the worst was over. We were soon down by the frozen Llyn Bochlwyd (avoiding the quite deep holes which we sometimes saw in the snow) and so to the foot of the Gribin. Ray and Roger were climbing, Ray in rubbers descending a severe in all that hail. Don said that he'd like to do the Monolith Crack, and I followed him to the foot of it and, to keep the peace, I tied on the rope. On the first pitch, Don's waterproof came off and then to get into the crack he had to shed his windproof and pullover, by which time he could see my point of view about the thing and threw down his end of the rope, also his gloves. I put on some of his clothes and carried the rest down to Ray and Roger. I couldn't help laughing at the thought of Don; I thought that if anyone saw him on top in that weather, in his shirt sleeves they'd practically certify him!
He came down eventually, rather wet, very cold, and, he said, completely exhausted by his struggle. We were all only too pleased to retreat to Ogwen Cottage and drink tea. We wanted to sit on and talk to the rest of the Valkyries who had been walking, but we were turned out.
At 4.30, the bus arrived and at Capel we picked up our rucksacks, the Polaris, also seven of the Liverpool Y.H.A. who had come to collect the girls' rucksacks. Those near me didn't speak to me, but at Llangollen one of the others got in again for a chat. He said that he had heard that the girl who had lent them an ice-axe was in the bus. Val had previously told me that the girl and fellow had been two of the party we had got stuck with, three weeks before.
After that we got home without incident. I was in the back of the bus with the Valkyries, and food was passed round until everyone had had enough. The stories provided a few songs and, when I couldn't translate a French one to Nat, he was disappointed in me. We returned the same way, stopping at the same pub, and I got back to Nottingham at 11 o'clock.