Weekend Alpinism

Wednesday Morning – walking across the meadows to George Square
“Do you fancy going to the Alps for the weekend? The weather forecast is good and I’ve heard the Droites is in good condition.”
Konrad doesn’t need much persuading.



GBH Party – Thursday night, 11.30pm
I push my way through the body painted mass of the EUMC and head for the door, having felt slightly old and self-conscious whilst clasping a cup of tea for the past half hour. I pass Konrad dressed in a wedding gown and remind him of the ten to five alarm call in the morning.



Car Park of the Grands Montets Telepherique, Argentiere, Friday 2pm
“Have you got a lighter Sam?”
Cue frantic search of pockets followed by a hurried drive back down the road to Chamonix.
One hour later back at the car park, I pull my boots out of the car and suddenly remember the broken lace on one. Another trip down the valley is needed, delaying the walk in by a further hour.




Argentiere Refuge, Friday 8.30pm
The long slog up from Argentiere is a drag, four and half of walking and 1500m of height gain drains the legs, especially in the knowledge that we have to get up in four hours time. Still, the autumnal trees were pretty and the setting sun turning the Aiguille Chardonnet and Aiguille d’Argentiere blood red was a memorable sight.
First glance at the face in the fading evening light worryingly reveals ice in all the right places, no excuse now and the knot in the stomach tightens further.




Bergschrund, Saturday 3am
We left the refuge an hour and a half ago, the whole situation feels increasingly bizarre considering we were at the GBH party 24 hours ago. The 1000m of La Ginat (ED1) lies above us, 500m of 60 degree ice slope, followed up an orion face (harder on the day) style headwall tacked on top and then 100m of easy ground to the breche, just what my unacclimatised lungs called for. No moon tonight and the ‘schrund rears suddenly rears out of the slope, a quick ferret around reveals an improbable way through on the right but fears are assuaged by the reassuring squeak of perfect neve.
We continue up into the darkness, moving easily together over the lower icefield, the only respite for burning calves being the occasional pause to place a screw.


Headwall, Saturday 8am
A cunning sleight of hand (and a rather strange decision by Konrad to stop 50m below the steepening) gives my partner the first pitch. He pulls it out the bag on the unconsolidated 80˚ wall, no decent runners for 25m with the consequence of a slip unthinkable for both. The next five pitches fly by, most of them more than 60m due to a magical extending rope.
The wall is plastered in Styrofoam, a pleasure to climb but yielding mainly ‘sub-optimal’ screws. We climb up in virtual silence, the need for conversation negated by the practised efficiency that comes from the cumulative hours spent climbing together (plus Konrad’s chat stinks). The spell is broken on the last steep smear. I get halfway and begin to wobble, worn out by 900m of ice below and the thin air around, with my calves on fire I manage to traverse a little left and belay. Konnie doesn’t fancy the last 30m either and we manage to avoid the meanest looking bit by some steep mixed climbing to its left.





Breche des Droites (3950m), Saturday 3pm
The view of Mt Blanc and the Valais is breathtaking, but this is maybe down to the last 150m of deep, soul-destroying powder in the final gully coupled to my unacclimatised lungs straining for oxygen. The view of the gully we have to abseil down is less pleasant. Five hours later we’re sitting on a small ledge, its dark, getting cold and I’m certainly exhausted. The rap down the gully was worse than it looked. Both of us managed to narrowly avoid being squashed by huge falling blocks, the ropes got repeatedly tangled thanks to the shallow angle of the couloir and to top it all off I ran out of water about two hours ago.

Rognon de Talefre, middle of the Talefre Glacier, Saturday 11pm
“Konrad, I can’t go any further lets just get out of the breeze behind this rock and spend the night here.”
I eventually stirred from the small ledge and we completed the last rap to the glacier, the bergshrund was hard to cross and we blundered about in the dark for a while. By the time we reached the middle of the glacier I was completely spent, my fuel tank was pushing empty and the lack of water was contributing to a very dodgy head gasket. Even though the Couvercle hut was only about an hour further on, reaching it would involve traversing a very crevassed area or a considerable descent and re-ascent. I was spending the night here.



Couvercle Refuge, Sunday 8am
I’ve had better nights but also worse. It can’t have been colder than about minus two and you can get surprisingly warm in a bothy bag, I also managed to resist the dubious pleasure of spooning with Konrad…
The stove was on at the Couvercle when we arrived and after draining enough water to cool Sellafield, I was revived by soup and smash that’d been meant for the previous night.



Montenvers, Sunday 1pm
Always a nice feeling when you’re down safely, wasn’t looking forward to the final slog down to Cham because the train was closed but the tingly glow of success was beginning to flow to my weary extremities and the thought of a 'special' at Poco Loco drove me on.



Micro Brewery, Chamonix, 7pm
Beer!



Edinburgh, Monday 1pm
Mission Accomplished. We made it back on schedule despite a very blonde morning that involved me losing my wallet twice, once in Geneva airport and once on the plane (got it back though).
Weekend Alpinism certainly beats vegetating in the Burgh. It was knackering, but nothing equals sitting in the sun at around
4000m on a Saturday afternoon with a 1000m ice face below you feet and the whole of the Alps spread out on either side.

Only fit for a mountain goat

Whenever I go walking in the mountains with my dad we inevitably end up on some dodgy scrambling that wasn't in the original plan and which he doesn't really enjoy. Normally he gets through it ok but without lots of muttering about how this sort of terrain is only suitable for a mountain goat. Kiwi Steve, Helena and I went to the aptly name Goat crag in Borrowdale on Sunday and I spent a large part of the day thinking similar thoughts. The crag gets a glowing report along the lines of 'showcasing the best that the valley has to offer' and has lots of multi-starred HVS's and E1's including the Hard Rock classic Praying Mantis. Perhaps we should have had second thoughts about visiting a slow to dry north facing crag in early October but the weather had been dry for three a days, Saturday was supposed to have been glorious and the Geoffcast was fairly positive...



I was in a particularly buoyant mood after England's unexpected triumph on Saturday (cue much jumping around the living room by myself) and despite having only got having had three hours sleep (imminent work deadline) was pysched for a day of 'cranking and sending' (© G.Marshall). My partners were slighty stiff after completing the Pentland Skyline the day before and Steve was probably suffering after New Zealands loss (choke?) the night before. The walk up to the crag felt more like the jungles of South-East Asia than the bracing fells of Cumbria, it was warm and sticky and a heavy dew dripped off the trees and bracken whilst the worrylingly vegetated cliff loomed out of the gloom like the facade of a long lost temple. The scramble up to the base was precarious and the lichenous rocks were greasy to put it mildly. We chose to an HVS to 'warm up on' before possibly tackling something harder. The route we settled on was called Cursing Caterpillar' a **HVS and the beginning at least looked dry.




I slightly concerned when Steve almost slipped off the first move but he soon arrived at the belay and we quickly followed him up, I wasn't sure if the rock the slippy or whether it was my mind just playing tricks, but the climbing was straightforward enough. The next pitch was the crux, skirting a bulge, traversing a slab and then through an overhang and steeply up to belay. The first bulgy section was wet and I went up and fannied about for while before sacking it in. Helena was sent up and ignoring the overhanging dry bit I had tackled she squirmed her way up a unpleasant looking wet and mossy groove to the right before traversing onto the slab. Deciding she preferred the look of a more direct 5b way through the overhang, she gave it a few trys before being spat off and going for the normal way instead, this gave by far the best climbing on the route; a few burly moves through an overhang then some steep face climbing and finally a pleasant slab.



The next pitch was a masterly lead from Steve, although its debateable whether it was actually classifiable as climbing. It started innocuously enough - a thin traverse across a slab before he disappeared out of sight and then sent down a fairly steady stream of moss and earth. The next 15m of consisted of extreme heather climbing: a precarious mixture of grabbing huge tufts and hoping the big grass clumps that passed for footholds didn't rip out. Definitely one one for the amateur botanist. This was followed by a wet mossy slab that both Helena and I pendulumed across seconding before a final few steep horticultural moves were needed to reach the belay. Without a doubt the hardest ungraded pitch I've ever done.



By now the mist had descended and we'd already spent a good five hours on the route, so much for warmup. The guidebook warned that the next pitch climbed a jamming crack that had now fallen down and that it was 4c. The guidebook author was either fibbing or hadn't reclimbed it, I've climbed a fair few 4c pitches and this felt more like solid 5c. The rock was also very different to lower down, having smooth surfaces and sharp edges more akin to quarried dolerite (visions of rosyth) and was covered in a decent coating of greasy lichen After climbing past a sizeable birds nest I flailed my way up what remained of the crack, rested a few times and then gave up, not my best leading day. Steve went up, got a little higher before resting and then managed to pendulum to another groove, this looked hideously loose but was actually ok before a final mossy cornice needed to be overcome to reach the top. As the walk off is supposed to be a lengthy faff we got dn in 3 raps and got back to car as darkness fell, feeling slightly sheepish at taking 8hrs for a 120m route. I'm not sure if I can really recommend Goat crag unless you go during a really dry spell and stick to the real classics, I dread to think what state one star routes or less are in, if especially two star ones feel like something out of the Lost World.

Cuillin

With the weather looking pretty peachy if a bit parky in the North West and a pretty minimal chance of rain, there was really only one place that I was going to go last weekend. Pysche levels were pretty high and by midweek the lure of the Cuillin Ridge on Skye was proving too strong to resist, Will and Steve were roped in Jones's party on Wednesday night and the plan finalised.



After the normal faff leaving Edinburgh, a swing by Rik's to pick him up following a last minute decision to come along and the usual disorganised shop at the Forth Road Bridge Tesco, we didn't really get on our way till almost 8, not ideal for the long drive to Glen Brittle. Still the journey whizzed by, aided by England's rugby victory and the sexy voice of Annie Mac on radio. We rendez-voued with Steve and Will in the Slig and managed to fit seven people and kit in the drive down the glen. We turned in at about twenty past one, not really relishing the alarm going off at quarter to four.



Alpine starts never get any easier, and after a minor path dilemma, found the right one and trudged up into Coire Ghrunda. The only exciting moment on the walkin was Will dropping his Platipus somewhere near the lochan in the dark, but he swiftly found it and dawn was slowly breaking as we pulled up onto the ridge crest. We dumped our sacks and scrambled along the ridge to Garbhs Bheinn, the first point of the ridge. The problem about choosing the easier walk up the Coire instead of the scree slops of Garbhs Bheinn is that you have to retrace your steps back, so for the first part of the ridge you feel like you're making no progress. It was 0707 when we turned and began the traverse proper.



The first part of the ridge to the TD gap is pretty straightforward, the legs are fresh, the rock wounderfully rough and featured, the sun is shinig and the whole thing seems a bit of a breeze, after the first Munro of Sgurr nan Eag we made a detour off the ridge to bag the optional one - Sgurr Dubh Mor (you might as well if you're there). The gap is a wee bit of a struggle but very short lived. From here its a shortish scramble to Sgurr Alasdair - the highest point (sort of all downhill from here...). At this point a quick glance at the watch showed that Es had just about finished by now on his record breaking run, we still had another 8 hours to go - I'm not sure he's really human.



The Kings Chimmney passed easily and at about 1130 we were standing atop the Inn Pinn. I was quite happy with the 4hrs 30mins we'd taken to this point. This put us inside the rockfax split for a total time of 12hrs end to end, the time we roughly needed to take if we wanted to finish in daylight. The weather had clouded over a bit but still looked good, so the sunnies came off but still no need to wear more than a t-shirt. The next section went on and on and on, lots of semi-technical scrambling that was easy enough but needs a little care and constant ascents and descents. By the time we reached Bidean Steve was feeling it a bit and had run out of water, I gave him an energy gel and some of mine and he perked up considerably.



It was now about 3pm, we felt we'd made good progress but the guide suggested a further 5.5 hrs from this point to the summit of Sgurr nan Gillean. This was a bit of a sick joke as the end was clearly in sight now and it would also mean we'd finish in the dark. Nothing to do but plow on. The next section was definitely the hardest for me, traversing Bidean was fun but the slog up Bruach na Frithe wasn't. I was running low on water but had to ration it a bit in order to share with Steve and Will, I was feeling pretty dehydrated and the legs were beginning to protest. However, the sun came out again bathing everything in late afternoon light and when we reached the summit of Bruach in an 1hr 40mins - well inside the rockfax time of 3hrs30mins, I knew it was in the bag.



The last sting in the tail was Naismiths Route up the Bhasteir Tooth, Rick calmly soloed it and I led up after with Will and Steve behind. Although super exposed, it's on massive holds and was surprisingly straightforward despite the tired legs. From here its another load of scrambling down and then finally up the last bit to the top of Sgurr nan Gillean. Topped out at 7.27pm, 11hrs and 20mins after starting. It was pretty cool sitting at the top as the Red Cuillin were illuminted by the setting sun and looking back at the torturous 7 miles of ridge crest and the 300m of ascent and descent we'd done. It really lives up to its tag as the best alpine outing in country and although never hard it does keep concentrating the whole way as a slip would be pretty fatal most of the way along. It was a great time of year to do it as well, no midges or people and the weather wasn't too warm which meant dehydrating was less of a problem. Great day out and I reckon the team photo on the top says it all really.