The daylight is gone. The skys are grey. Gunbolt metallic. Sometimes crystal, but not all that often

Certainly not at the weekend.

Early season adventures, you'd think they'd be easy. The snow just a dusting, the ice still on its way. Yet this year every trip out has been wading. Powder as deep as the thigh or perhaps deeper for those under 5'10. Step, push, step, push. The effort of moving is enormous. We're going downhill and yet it felt impossible. Poles pushing me forwards, but heavy feet, heavy legs, heavy bag, pulling me back. 

This for miles. Or at least it looks miles. In the white, distance lies in the eye of the beholder. The task was as mortifying as the methodical thoughtless nature of it, is one to relish. 

Hoods are up. The wind is dropping but the view grows faint. The hill goes flat, then up, then back again. We pass between boulders. Some big, some small. The Shelterstone is enormous, but the holes beneath other rocks are bigger. Could swallow a man whole, especially if its not a whole man. 

Settling down under 20 feet of granite. Sleeping like that you live for the moment, Its been still for an age. A sentinel for adventure, safeguarding those who venture into the wild. Strange to think its occurrence on the valley floor could be a product of such violent beginnings.   

The frost is everywhere. It  covers the walls, fills the torch light. 

Step, push, step, push. This time steeper and only up. At this hour you see little but sense everything. The brilliance of the stars shrouded behind white walls bathed in moonlight. 

In the end, the land was frozen, but the route was not. The vision of axes thunking into frozen turf 

was all it was. Good things come to those that wait, but better things come to those that go. Winter will wait, but i'll always go. After all, what is life without a role of dice.    

Walking out to Carn Etchachan after a night under the Shelterstone. A frozen landscape bathed in moonlight. 

Climbing seems to have taken a bit of a back seat this summer. A combination of work, studying for my masters and a continued obsession with triathlon has dominated pretty much all of my spare time. My desire to get out on the rock has also been thwarted by a series of rainy weekends dwindling ambition and refocusing what I want to do with my time.

The last few weeks however I've had a few good outings, so thought I'd share some thoughts and photos of the back of those. The first outing was a long overdue weekend with Rafe, where we were hoping to find some dry mountain rock. Alas it was not to be. We did however find some serious adventure!   

Overnight rain and a more than leisurely start time was not enough to deter the ambition of getting on Steeple, perhaps one of the most celebrated routes in the Cairngorms. A simple case of mega mountain psyche clouding all sound and reasonable judgement. We should have known after fighting our way up the totally dripping and slime covered first pitch that it wasn't meant to be. None the less bravado prevailed and the battle continued well into the evening until we admitted defeat below the upper 5b corner. Cap-in-hand we climbed the top two pitches of the Needle (which were also wet) in the dark and topped out around midnight. Turns out wet E2 is hard!

Rafe on the second pitch of Steeple (E2 5c). At over 250 meters this route is one of the biggest mountain trad climbs in the UK. Perhaps we should have thought about that a little when we started up it at 14:00ish after a lot of rain overnight. Either way it was a brilliant experience, especially topping out around midnight in the middle of the plateau.  We made it back to the car by the early hours, utterly exhausted! 

Another beautiful day spent on a cold north face. I bet that sunshine was really warm too! 

The next day we took it easy and headed to Creag Dhu near Newtonmore. We had ambitions for some cool stuff but with the onset of some rain all we managed was King Bee Direct (HVS 5a) before having to bail.

I was also recently visited by Ed again on another biblically wet Scottish summer weekend. Somehow we managed a day in the sunshine in Glen Nevis followed by a few hours pre-storm the on the Sunday in the quarrys around Stirling.

Ed making the exposed step out on the first 4c pitch of Secretaries Super Direct (E1 5a) in Glen Nevis. We arrived in the Glen to showers breaking and the sun shinning. What amazing luck. The only issue was the head height ferns everywhere which were covered in water from the rain of the last few days. Needless to say we were soaked by the time we'd bush wacked our way up the hillside but it was totally worth it. The rock dried so quickly and the friction of the microschist is superb! 

Higher up on the superb arete. The next pitch which constitutes the crux climbs through a small overlap and up onto a hanging slab and other than a cam placement at the base, is totally gearless and very committing. The climbing is scary but brilliant! 

Ed on the central crack on the second pitch of Storm (HVS 5a). Whilst it looked a bit wet from below, it wasn't that bad in the end with the holds being huge and the jams being bomber. The pitch is really steep and sustained and contrasts significantly with the last pitch, with the 5a crux being a right stiffler! Thankfully it doesn't last long and whilst the crux was definitely wet, it was on jams which were sinkers so it wasn't an issue. The tree below at the top of the second pitch has to be one of the most uncomfortable places I've ever been on a multi-pitch route. As I was leading through I didn't have to stay there that long. Poor Ed!  

Warming up on Secretaries Direct (S). The rock had great friction, it just needed to be dry first! 

The next day the forecast was not so good so we stayed local and went for a session in Camby quarry. In the end we had quite a productive morning and ticked Not Easy Contract (E1 5b), Doobie Brothers (E1 5b), Malky the Alky (E1 5b) and finished off on Gobi Roof (E2 5c). All in all not a bad haul for a mornings work! An absolutely fantastic effort from Ed too considering his break from UK trad out clipping bolts and cranking on boulders. The only photo I have is from Emma who stopped by to say hi whilst out running. 

Alas summer is nearly over.

However this means only one thing.

Scottish winter is coming. 

A week of the wild

Spending time in the far north west of Scotland is always a pleasure. The chaotic but characteristic combination of mountain, bog, midge, rain and more rain always makes for a great camping trip. The reason we always camp is not because we're broke. The fact is we're both grown ups who own cars and pay mortgages, who have business cards and ties. We could stay somewhere nice if we wanted. Its just that camping besides a car rather than paying for a B&B keeps things flexible (which is the most important attitude on a trip to this part of Scotland). Alas, in reality such planning would infer we possessed logical thinking and forethought, so in all honesty it probably has more to do with the origin of these trips harking back to when we were impoverished students. Only now we don't tend to "mine sweep" pints and camp on the village green... 

With 7 days and 6 nights in the wild lands of sea stacks and lonely crags, this years trad pilgrimage had the potential to be the most adventurous yet. The tent was packed. The supermarket had been raided. Radio 4 had been binned for 00s trance. It was time to go. 

I've always thought that climbing is at its best when its way out on the edge. Away from polished rock and armored approach paths. Where the definitive guide is older than you are and the topos are all hand drawn from memory, on beer mat, in a pub, potentially by somebody thats never even been to the crag! Venues where gardening ability and gumption are as useful as iron fingers and expensive rock shoes. We wanted a challenge. We wanted a fight. I guess the thing about trouble is if you go looking for it, you usually find it. 

It was lunchtime and we'd already made it as far as Inverness Tesco. Although we had food and drink and snacks and batteries and jars of jam we decided we should probably buy water. Perhaps knowing our eventual destination has a higher percentage of water than the average human body meant it was neglected from our original big shop list. It didn't really occur to us until the man on the radio said there is going to be a heatwave next week. Seemed hard to believe with the car thermometer reading 8 degrees as we flew past Aviemore, snow clad peaks still glistening in the spring sunshine. Considering what our plan was that day stopping may not have been the best idea. Time really was of the essence.  

Our plan (which we cooked up on a warm comfy sofa over a beer the night before) was to monopolize a "fortuitously" late tide and start the trip with a bang on Am Buachaille. This tottering pile of Torridonian Sandstone thrust out into the Atlantic south of Sandwood Bay is often described as "the most committing of the classic 3 sea stacks". So it was with the greatest respect for one of the UKs most adventurous sea cliff adventures at 16:30 we pushed off the mainland into the swell, with an overloaded and under-inflated 1-man blow up boat towards the stack.  

 

The great sandstone stack of Am Buachille

First up was the HVS. Seems ironic looking back but the timing of our ascent that day was almost a year to the day when I'd been up it previously with my Stirlingshire pals. Funny how thing work out. The "classic" Landward Face Route climbs the worst rock on the whole stack in 2 or 3 pitches. Perhaps the most entertaining part of the climb is actually the 1st belay, which boasts a plethora of disintegrating pegs driven into brittle sandstone breaks which have filled with crud and solidified over time, all lovely tangled together by a web of rotten hemp. Bomber! 

In terms of the climbing, the first pitch is also bold as brass and starts quite steeply too. Definitely not somewhere to linger and think about how far a swim, then walk (or hop) then drive you are from Inverness A&E. Thankfully the second pitch is better, with some good rock and burly moves through an overhanging chimney crack which are guaranteed to conjure a smile. The ascent of the HVS also meant for Rafe he'd now ticked all of the classic stacks in Scotland. Such an achievement surely deserved a celebratory dram on the summit, however I'd forgotten my hip flask and the bar on the top was closed so a gentlemanly high five had to make do. 

With the HVS dispatched and the sun still just about lingering above the horizon we thought it would be rude not to have a go at the more mysterious and obscure E1 that climbs the seaward face of the stack, Atlantic Wall. A combination of its difficulty and its isolation means it receives few ascents, so the only information we had to go on from online forums was that it was tricky and it was bold... Hardly inspiring, but being such a compelling line it couldn't be easily ignored. The first pitch climbs a short steep crack (which has good gear) before making a wild traverse around the edge of the stack along a wide crack (size 4 cam plus) onto the overhanging seaward face. From there a tricky move through an overlap lands you on a super exposed and exhaustively guano covered belay ledge high above the swirling Atlantic swell. The second and third pitches climb a burly groove off the belay to a tricky wall split elegantly by a widening crack. If the HVS gets 3 stars, this route deserves 4. Better rock, better moves, better gear. Just a shame your still top out onto the same pile of biscuit blocks on the summit! After the abseil we managed to get back across just before sunset, with the darkening sky chasing us accross the moor back to Sheigra just in time for a midnight snack.

Rafe on Atlantic Wall (E1 5b)

Our exit was timed to perfection.

As the "heat wave" wasn't due to arrive until the next day and with a cold northerly still blowing we opted to stick to the coast for a little while longer. A combination of indecision, need for camping gas and a desire to use the boat again meant we settled upon a return trip to the Old Man of Stoer. Having done the classic VS up the stack before our plan was the attractive Diamond Face Route which takes a direct line up in southern arete before pulling through a large roof and weaving up the impressive upper diamond shaped head wall. Both pitches were a fight, with the lower section offering some committing arm bars and knee wedging up overhanging chimneys, whilst the sensational upper pitch makes a tricky move through a roof before climbing the remaining easy cracks, grooves and corners to the summit. A solid route on solid rock. Amazing how two stacks can contrast in their rock quality so much. Literally like chalk and cheese (or perhaps concrete and cheese would be more appropriate?).   

Rafe and I on Diamond Face Route (E1 5b) on the Old Man of Stoer (thanks Laura for the photo!)

A crucial tool for any sea stack assault 

The alarm went off. For the first time on the trip I wasn't shivering, nor had I needed the dog blanket from the car to top up any warmth in my £25 mountain warehouse "summer" sleeping bag. This could only mean one thing. 

Heatwave time. 

And we'd certainly saved the best until last.  

Foinaven is famous for falling short. Originally excluded by Sir Hugh Munro in his original list, the mountain's main summit (Ganu Mor) briefly attained formal status when it was incorrectly surveyed by the OS at a height of 915 meters in the 1990s. Nowadays its pretty widely accepted that it actually fails to reach the required 3000 feet elevation by a mere few meters. It is perhaps for this reason that the mountain maintains its allure and mystique, being an objective for those curious enough to venture onto its slopes for the sake of adventure alone and not because a list in a famous book tells you to. The unrivaled isolation and opportunity for a adventure was a tantalizingly poisoned chalice, and so with our Tesco bags in-hand we started the 10 km walk up Strath Dionard to the mighty cliffs of Fionaven. 

Our chosen campsite was a heaven of flat grass among a sea of tussocks and peat hags. Positioned no less than 10 feet from the edge of Loch Dionard and surrounded by humongous cliffs and even a waterfall, it felt like a set from The Lord of the Rings. The upper glen was also a definition of absolute stillness. No roads, no people, no signal, not even any paths (which my wet feet would attest to after stepping into a knee-deep bog twice in 100 meters on the way in). Not wanting to waste the day we pitched camp, racked up and headed over towards the towering Creag Urbhard. At nearly 200 meters high it feels somewhat disrespectful to call our afternoons endevours craggin, but that's exactly what it felt like it was going to be. The walk-in from the tent would take less than 10 minutes and we'll be able to see our campsite oasis set amidst the moonscape for the duration of the climb. The route we choose was Iolaire, a  direct route up the left hand end of the buttress, with the highlight being an overhanging 5b chimney on the 3rd pitch. 

Moments after starting out it became immediately obvious that this was not "craggin" and that conventional climbing techniques were going to be of no use here. The rock, a heavily metamorphosed sandstone quatzite (similar[ish] to Gogarth), some of the oldest in the UK, was highly fractured yet somehow very compact. This meant that the rock appeared solid but holds could be easily pulled off if not thoroughly tested. Most importantly however, it had very little opportunities for protection and belays, which when faced with a cliff that size is enough to make the hardiest esoteric protagonist question their motivation. Whilst the chimney pitch was superbly exposed, the best pitch actually turned out to be the 4th (4c) corner, which was simply brilliant and deserves a bunch of stars in its own right! The other pitches all had a fair amount of filth and loose rock, but were still amicable.   

Loch Dionard and the might cliffs of Fionaven. Perhaps also the first ever visiting Tesco bag for life 

Pitch 2 of Iolaire (HVS 5b)

Rafe on the amazingly positioned 5b chimney on Iolaire

Over the next couple of days I started to fall into a routine of climbing existence. Waking up as the sun warmed the tent. Going for an occasional swim in the icy loch then lying on the beach and basking in the deafening silence and isolation, only for it to be broken by Rafe asking from his sleeping bag where his coffee was. After a breakfast comprising of porridge and half a jar of jam we'd gear up, taking only a handful of snacks and head out, knowing full well we'd not be back until night fall. Being scared kind of spoils your appetite anyway. As we started to get the measure of the place routes started to fall by the wayside, Gargantua, Whitewash, Cengalo, Marble Corner. All massive. All mountain. All loose. All committing. All an adventure.

Gargantua (HS 4b)

The crux slab of Cengalo (VS)

Marble Corner (HVS 5a)

Campsite kitchen. Yes, before you ask, he's grating cheese with a spork.

We'd saved something special for day 4. Everything we'd climbed so far would be preparation for this day. If the main bastions of the Dionard Buttresses and Creag Urbhard were mysterious, then Lord Raey's Seat was by all accounts a total unknown. After all, for somewhere to have a reputation, a few people must have gone there (and made it back to tell the tale!).  

Set high up in the shadows of Ganu Mor, Lord Raey's is a bastion of Scottish Mountaineering. With few routes relative to the size of the cliff, it has probably only recently risen to its current meager fame (or infamy?) since its publication within Great Mountain Crags of Scotland. Indeed this book one was of the only sources of information we could find on the routes on this buttress other than the guide, which explicitly stated that "if hollow blocks make you nervous, this isn't the crag for you".

Challenge. Accepted.

The morning was cool. The sky was bright and clear. The peat creaked and the gravel crunched as we bounded up into the moonscape of Coire na Lurgainn. If the base of the Starth Dionard felt isolated, then this place was on another level. Rocks and desiccated peat soil ran as far as the eye could see. The river in the bottom barely had the energy to cut itself a channel, instead surrendering to the solid bedrock beneath and scattering among the many boulders and hollows from when the glaciers left, which looking at the landscape could have been yesterday. As we climbed higher into the Coire, vertical walls rose up and surrounded us, forcing us towards our objective, making our destination a total inevitability. Eventually bubbling rivers gave way to ribbons of scree. Blocks bigger than houses. After sacrificing many steps back for every step up we made it up the talus the base of the crag. Although its broken by a few horizontal ledges, the buttress appeared to bow out above us, like standing beneath the prow of a magnificent ship, the white lichen clad quatzite scattering light in every direction. Thank god I had sun cream. 

First up was Breakway, an E1 where the "E" is for excitement. The line climbs a series of corners, grooves, pedestals and chimneys in 4 or 5 pitches up some of the most horrifyingly loose and steep rock I've ever climbed. Adventure is what we came for and adventure was what we were getting. Perhaps the highlight of the route was at the top of pitch 2. Rafe having climbed a bold groove reached the top only to find the exit totally covered by an assortment of precariously perched "death blocks". It was also whilst on this route we saw the only other person we saw that whole week. Ambling along the ridge in what they thought was total solitude, they must have been quite surprised to see two colorful blobs fastened to a giant vertical hobnob. 

Sat on the top of the crag looking over Arkle and the rest of the northern Highlands which were glistening in the afternoon sunlight, I remember thinking that this places makes Skeleton Ridge on the Isle of Weight feel solid...

Lord Raey's Seat basking in the morning sunshine

The first pitch of Breakaway (E1)

Rafe high on the first pitch of Leftfield (E2)

The final tricky corner of Leftfield on Lord Raey's Seat

For whatever reason, we decided we needed more. Any sensible person having survived a round with such a crumbling beast would have probably gone home and had a good old think about what they were doing with their lives. It was only 15:00. Foinaven isn't even a Munro. We've got time for one more. Rafe's pick. Leftfield was actually in the book and came recommended so it has to be better than Breakaway right? Quite a serious place to climb E2. No matter, at least we've got plenty of day light. It won't get dark until September. 

If Breakaway was horrifying loose, then Leftfield was unnervingly hollow. The route was hard and steep. So whatever hold was there, you had to use regardless of its level of attachment. The crux is also the first 10 m of pitch 1. As I watched Rafe gingerly ascend the initial groove, I'd be lying if I said my heart wasn't in my mouth. I felt as much panic as he did when the crucial foothold snapped and he somehow held on. Nothing but fresh air beneath him apart from the small cam behind the exploding flake below. 

When I grabbed the last hold on the final 5b corner, it felt like we'd cheated death. I gave Rafe a shout to say I was safe. The first time I'd said it all day and actually meant it. The belays. The blocks. In my mind I vowed to never venture onto that face in summer again. I was done with choss. However as we sat on the summit of the crag, watching the sky grow from a deep red to lilac and purple, making shadows dance across a land as ancient as time itself, all the terror of that day, indeed the last few days was forgotten. 

Miles from people. Miles from the road. Miles from the path. Miles from anywhere. Intoxicatingly addictive isolation. We walked out the next day with lighter bags, but heavy hearts. The normality of life was beckoning. 

It was not the winter we all hoped for. Dreams of a repeat of last years seemingly endless abundance of thick chewy ice weekend after weekend were crushed following a week of high summer in February, but it wasn't until March when everything was stripped again that all hopes of getting some descent stuff ticked were truly thwarted. However, even amidst all the heartache and longing, the cold was around for long enough to whiten the cliffs just enough for a few mad but sucessful missions.

Fresh snow and swirling winds were apparently loading slopes left right and center. The solution to this debacle was to go somewhere that would be high enough to be well within winters grip but also that minimized the amount of time we'd be wondering through risky terrain. Ben Cruachan and its Munro height winter corrie seemed to fit the bill nicely. Perhaps the classic of the crag, Tainted Elixir, proved to be a worthy adversary being buried under a considerable layer of powder and cruddy ice which made it earn all of its grade of V,6. The next day we went in search of more adventure in the Loch Avon basin. Unfortunately the snow conditions weren't playing ball, looking extremely loaded on our descent aspect. It also didn't help that it was thigh deep in places making for some spectacularly long stints of wading and crawling. In the end we opted for Wobble Block Chimney (IV,5), which apart from the top pitch was pretty average and only just worth the walk.   

The approach up past the very eerie Cruachan dam

Rafe battling through pretty challenging conditions on Tainted Elixir (V,6)

Topping out in the storm (still!)

Wobble Block Chimney (IV,5)

The final outing of the season was a big one. With a return to cold conditions due to be followed immanently by some substantial warming we grasped the opportunity by both hands and rode it all the way to the north face of Ben Nevis. The route of choice was Point 5 Gully. It was always going to be a long shot based on just how little snow and cold there had been this year and so it was pretty sad (but unsurprising) to see gaping holes in the ice on the first pitch. Not to be dismayed, we opted for our second choice, Observatory Ridge (V,4) which was thankfully coated in snow and ice from top to bottom. After quickly dispatching the difficulties lower down, we found ourselves enjoying a particularly calm and settled day on the well consolidated upper ridge with wicked views and brilliantly hard and chewy neve. Its perhaps a bit unfair on OR to call it a consolation prize, as at nearly 500 m long, its one of the biggest routes on the Ben and was a major undertaking. We left Stirling at 3am and didn't get back until after midnight with the route alone taking nearly 8 hours. The next week it got warm and that was that. 

Not a bad morning view

Looking up one of the crux grooves on Observatory Ridge (V,4)

Seb high on Obervatory Ridge, just before joining Zero Gully

 

Last weekend saw another return to winter action with both days being pretty contrasting in terms of weather, route and everything really! The first day myself and Sebastian decided to go for an early start and headed all the way out to Hell’s Lum in the northern Cairngorms. Conditions had been quite cold and snowy all week, which made for quite tough going out over the plateau through deep drifts down into the upper Loch ‘An basin. Once at the base we found the crag totally plastered with snow and ice, no doubt thanks to the slight thaw that we had at the end of the previous week. Our route of choice was the well-travelled and Cairngorm classic that’s Deep Cut Chimney (IV,5). The route starts up the innocuous looking slabs before climbing the progressively narrowing gully up to deep and foreboding the chimney proper. Although the wind kept things entertaining by continually dousing us in mountains of spin drift, the route was well iced in the low section, which made for some really enjoyable and secure climbing. After some more battling we eventually made it to the exit pitch, which makes an outrageously positioned traverse out from the back of the chimney towards some chockstones on the edge of the buttress. The traditional way to overcome this section involves back and footing, bum shuffling and whatever other chimneying techniques you have in your tool box. Unfortunately for us, the walls were totally plastered with a thick layer of spin drift and completely obscured all of the holds needed for our escape. Thankfully after quite a bit of digging we managed to find the line and escape to the top of the crag, although unbeknown to us the weather outside has significantly deteriorated since we’d started out, so no sooner were we out, we were almost wishing we were back in again! Conditions on the walk back out continued to be testing, going from white-out to black-out in seemingly no time at all. A testing end to a testing day.  

Hells Lum totally plastered in snow and ice. Just how we like it! 

Seb moving up the lower snow and ice gully just before the chimney proper

The deep and spin drift lined upper section of Deep Cut Chimney. From here on the chimney is blocked, so a rising traverse is made up the walls, however as you can see this required a lot of excavation for us when we started heading that way! I ended up going slightly high initially but eventually managed to figure out the line.

Seb escaping the chimney and entering the storm

The next day was a total contrast. Calm and settled skies which were almost totally cloudless. Following a cold night with some overnight snowfall, Rob and I decided to take a chance and head over to Glen Clova and see how some of the ice routes were forming up, specifically the classic grade IV, Look C Gully (IV,4). The day started with a slight hitch owing to the extensive overnight snowfall totally clogging all of the roads and lanes with a mass of fresh powder, which was being re-shaped into impenetrable drifts by the morning breeze. Eventually we made it to the car park and headed towards Coire Fee with the first rays of the morning sunlight breaking through the snowy canopy of the forest. It was about half way up we bumped into two climbers that had already walked up into the Coire and decided that nothing was in and were headed elsewhere. Not to be dismayed we went for a look anyway and boy am I glad we did. I’ll admit that from afar the ice did look thin and perhaps incomplete, however by the time we were at the base and up close, we could see thick blue ice running the whole length of the climb. Not only this, but there wasn’t another climber in sight!

The ice turned out to be a bit hollow low down, with a few sections that required ‘careful handling’ however for the most part it was in great condition, especially on the main icefall which was amazing and even took a few screws too!

A perfect winters morning in Glen Clova

Looking up at Look C Gully in Coire Fee, Glen Clova. Ice falls galore from top to bottom

Rob starting up the second pitch chimney on good chewy ice

The main icefall pitch on Look C Gully. Steep but not sustained and thick enough to take a few screws too. What more can you ask for?

More ice on the 4th pitch of Look C Gully. As we got higher up the ice narrowed and thinned a little, meaning we could hear the roar of the water underneath quite clearly which made for some careful tool placements..

Rob following one of the more exposed icefal sections

What a contrast. White-out the day before, and this the next. Scotland really does keep you on your toes.