By Fraser Hale – June 2006

A few weeks ago I spent the weekend at The National Mountain Centre,
Plas Y Brenin, Taking part in the inaugural running of a new course.
Apparently, the trend in recent times has been towards the technical in
training programmes for Mountain Leader etc. and it was felt that something
to redress the balance was in order.

The Mountain Environment Workshop focuses on the physical environment
in which we walk and climb rather than the skills and techniques that we
employ once we’re there. The aim of the course is to improve awareness and
appreciation of all aspects of the mountain environment, its geology and
geography, its flora and fauna, its evolution and history.

Blue Flower (click on image to view in Flickr)

So, where to start? Well, breakfast, naturally. After a huge repast we
were introduced to our tutors; Mike Rouse is a Mountain Leader and
ex-geography teacher. Dr Janet Sumner is an earth scientist with a penchant
for volcanoes. Both these individuals, it quickly became clear, are touched
by the special kind of madness that allows their interest in and passion
for their subject matter to infect everyone in close proximity. Trust me
geography and geology were never like this at school. After a swift master
class in rock formation and the underlying geology of Snowdonia, we were
off out to witness it for real.

As well as knowing a thing or two about how the ground under our feet
came to be there, Mike and Janet identified a lot of the stuff growing up
out of it. Saturday’s walk took us to Idwal, past the Slabs and up to the
Devil’s Kitchen, in glorious warm sunshine. Along the way we discovered the
delights of Sundew, a tiny, carnivorous plant that frequents marshy ground.
Next time you’re out in the hills look out for this spiny red plant and get
up close, it’s bloody amazing! Further wonders were revealed as we climbed
above the tree line – orchids, ferns and lichens, all identified and
explained by our encyclopaedic guides.

From the head of the valley the unimaginable forces that created the
landscape were apparent through the dramatic shapes in the rock around us.
The folding and buckling of layers of rock, dozens of metres thick, the
grinding and gouging of millions of tons of glacial ice and, against this,
the relatively puny impact of man with his mines, quarries and farming.

Sunday found us on the slopes of Snowdon, with further plant life to
discover but with the emphasis on the impact of the search for natural
resources on the land. Copper mining and slate quarrying were important
industries in Wales for hundreds of years and the legacy of these
activities is to be seen in abandoned workings and buildings all over
Snowdonia.

The living environment and the historical elements of its formation are
brought together in the stories and legends that are attached to various
places, plants and people of the area, Mike had a wealth of these tales
which served to highlight the ways in which we strive to interpret and
rationalise much of the natural world around us.

Yellow Flower

The biggest impact of the course, I think, is that I realised that all
this stuff was always there. I’d been taught a lot over the weekend but
nothing so important as how to look. I have stood on hillsides in the past
and gazed around in contented wonder at my surroundings. Now I realise that
I wasn’t really getting it at all!

Mike and Janet would like to make the Workshop a regular course, watch
out for it in the brochures and on the web site. Training at PYB is always
first rate but this is something special!

An account of an attempt at Great Gully, Craig yr Ysfa, Carneddau.

By design, team BS found themselves in North Wales at Easter. Keen for
grand adventures of the type described in The Good Book, edited by a
certain K. Wilson, Easter Saturday saw them plodding up the service road en
route to Craig yr Ysfa to tackle Great Gully. For this particular
adventure, they were joined by mystery guest F who, it turned out, has a
peculiar penchant for this kind of climbing.

Some steep descending and scree scrambling deposited the intrepid party
at the base of the gully. It was soon evident that this was going to be a
very wet grand adventure – there was considerable evidence of flattened
vegetation in the gully and water flowing from its base.

Team member B took the ropes for the first pitch but the protection was
such that all 3 team members were moving together on the whole rope length
before the first piece of gear was placed. Eventually, a solid nut was
placed shortly before a spike belay.

Mystery guest F then took the ropes and made short work of a rocky step
and some gully scrambling before belaying under a dripping chockstone. Team
member S was rather less taken with the step and there was much swearing
and cursing as an alternative line was taken up the smooth gully wall. By
contrast, team member B made the step easily, padded up the gully bed and
wondered what all the fuss was about.

The ropes were once again swapped over, this time to team member S, for
the pitch up to the ‘Door Jamb’ and an iffy belay. So iffy, the call was
‘Climb but don’t fall off’. The door jamb itself is a deep cave with water
dripping from the edge and smooth, moss covered, walls on either side. The
entire team wondered what to do next – the guide book mentions a human
pyramid or a snow bank to surmount this obstacle, neither of which were
options. An alternative option up a steep groove on the right was also
mentioned.

The ropes were swapped back to team member B who tackled the groove,
which was certainly steep and wet too. Quite a challenge in big boots. At
the top of the gully, the way was less obvious. Going left looked to be too
hard so right it had to be. This option had evidently seen the passage of
feet before and some more protection was possible until a nervous shuffle
across a wet and sloping grassy bank led to another belay of the ‘Climb but
don’t fall off’ type.

The belay was outside the gully and probably off route. Eventually, the
entire team were gathered on the small ledge and, again, wondered what to
do next. From our position, the next moves were far from clear but despite
this uncertainty mystery guest F took the ropes again and stepped out to
lead the pitch. The first few moves were easy but unprotected but then it
was onto wet rock again. After some deliberation, mystery guest F took a
rocky chimney option and did much of it before declaring ‘This is too hard
for me’. At much the same point, team member S asked ‘What is the time?’ It
turned out to be about 4PM and a quick sum confirmed that it had taken
something like 3.5 hours to get to a stop point on the 5th pitch with
another 4 pitches and the crux still to come. Time for a mountaineering
decision.

Whilst we were all equipped for a finish in the dark, it wasn’t an
appealing prospect. So, mystery guest F lowered off and made himself secure
to a handy spike. Much rope faffing followed as mystery guest F secured the
ropes around the same spike. Team members B put himself on the rope,
teetered back into the gully until below the spike before rappelling into
the void below the door jamb, casually forgetting the dripping roof and
moss covered walls, thus getting a good soaking. Team member S and mystery
guest F followed. Further application of the same technique returned the
entire team to the mouth of the gully but it had taken something like 2
hours to get there.

At the time of writing, team BS had still to return to Great Gully for
another attempt. Mid-summer after a period of hot, dry weather currently
looks favourite.

By Alex Purser – June 2006

The annual Sudbury fun-run: a gruelling 5 mile jolly around handsome
housing estates, un-remarkable country lanes and shop filled streets;
through brick-filled alleys, moraines of broken glass and over precipitous
curbs throughout.

This is the story of Alex Purser’s balmy journey from armchair to glory…

Plan:
Afflicted as I am, with chronic lethargy and a lack of fitness, simply
entering a running event (however small) came as a shock to me. Perhaps it
was the missus (already entered) who convinced me; perhaps it was a
deep-rooted sense of activity; or maybe I’d been hitting the brasso too
hard the fateful evening I signed up.

Development:
Contemplating my decision a few days later I decided I needed a way to make
things more interesting (well why not…). Ideas came from all sides until
eventually the mountaineering garb was suggested. Being of sound mind and
after not that much beer, I undertook to do the race in mountain gear:

• Waterproof trousers
• Waterproof jacket
• Gaiters
• Boots
• Rope coils around chest
• Harness
• Rucksack
• Helmet
• Gloves
• Ice-axes

Preparation:
No time like the night before.
00:36 – Perfect.
Having semi-forgotten about the event until I was reminded at a party the
night before, I underwent my standard ‘just in time’ preparation process –
It was after returning home from said party that I donned my race gear for
the first time. At first it was purely with the intention of admiring my
adventurous looking self in the bathroom mirror, but popping downstairs for
a drink I noticed the full moon illuminating the garden and was drawn
outside for a quick test. Well I suppose I better test it on the road as
well… so off I trotted. A lap round the field in front of my house seemed
like a plan, but took rather longer than expected when I popped into a
mate’s house. And of course, no training could possibly be complete without
just a little Don Whillans influence.

Greene King proudly sponsors the Armchair Mountaineering Association of Great Britain (click on image to view in Flickr)

I feel prepared.

Race day:
I feel tired. A quick run to said mate’s house to drag other mate
protesting out of bed soon livens me up. I now have a fan club.

I got to the start line ½ hour before the race began, just in
time to see the sponsored walk kick-off. It was here that most of the
fancy-dressed people were strutting their collective stuff, and when I saw
the runners begin to assemble I suddenly worried about looking a bit silly.
The wiry and muscle-bound fit young things limbering up around me seemed to
be taking this a lot more seriously than I was, but at least those
examining me in disbelief enjoyed the spectacle.

The race began at 10:00, and were it not for the threatening-looking
pointed-at-three-ends axes I had in each hand, I suspect many more of the
runners would have barged past my sluggish start. Being no match for most
of the other runners, I continued to be overtaken ‘til only a few remained
behind me, which I suppose was to be expected. As the race went on I
marinated well and gave many a marshal/spectator a laugh, cheerily waving
an ice axe as I passed. There was no real high/low point of the run, just
a pretty solid pace throughout. How boring of me.

The Perfect Crime: Ice axe – 8 flat tyres – Quick getaway – Gain 4 places

It was after 59 sweaty minutes and 4 clammy seconds that I crossed the
finish line – Not a great time, but (just) within the hour I’d reckoned on
taking.

The author alongside a more typically attired runner

I quite enjoyed it actually. ‘Sweaty’ has never been one of my favourite
sensations, but on this occasion it brought with it a certain feeling of
achievement.

So how about it ladies and gents? Next time you’re in a race of some
kind, don the gore-tex and boots, grab an axe or two, and give people a
show.

Alex Purser

P.S.

By Mike Hams – June 2006

Thanks to the Presidents’ organising abilities we had found ourselves in
Scotland with too much snow (previous visits had more wet than white) and
some interesting conditions to deal with. Steve Culverhouse and I had been
in Scotland since midnight on March 8th.

We had started our trip with a climb up Dorsal Arête in Coire nan
Lochain in Glencoe. Despite leaving the car at 8am we arrived at the climb
as the third or fourth group! Probably not helped by my lack of a good
breakfast we had been slow into the Coire. The route was my first in
Glencoe and also a first lead at grade II a good route to start on and very
enjoyable despite the sugary snow in places. We had so much fun we thought
another route would finish the day so we down-climbed Broad Gully! At 6pm
we got back to the car and thought we’d had a good long day (we would be
disabused of this later in the week).

Day two had Steve grumbling at the 7am start. Coire an t-Sneachda was
the scene of a return to the Slant and memories of John Buchan being
“pulled-off” by El Pres. Jacobs ladder was banked out with snow and the
scene of the fun last year was a very amenable climb. The weather closed in
slightly as we climbed and the spindrift showered down on all the belay
ledges. (These appear to have been chosen with maximum discomfort for the
second in mind.) Steve led with great style for the length of the route and
we topped out into partial whiteout conditions. A quick snack after we had
packed up and I confidently set off for the cornice! Always ensure the ice
axe is away from the compass when navigating, the party alongside shouted
just as I saw the edge and disaster was averted. The walk across the
plateau was unusually pleasant as the normal terrain had a thick covering
of snow.

Day three Friday saw us keen to try something on Craeg Meagaidh and we
were at the car park by 8:30. Conditions were not looking good as it was
hissing down at the car park and loading the avalanche slopes above with
vast quantities of fresh snow. A faff was instituted in best IMC tradition
and we retreated in good order to Newtonmore for a Cairngorms guidebook. By
11:30 we were under some very snowy gullies in Sneachda and assessing our
chances of getting anything done in all that snow. The Glenmore guides were
walking parties up and then retreating and what was being climbed had
queues forming at their bases. A little snack and a drink was undertaken to
assess the situation and we then attempted Café Direct in Aviemore.

Friday night in the pub and a plan was hatched to find some ice to
climb. Lurchers crag was looking good for it as the guidebook suggested
that there were several grade III climbs there that iced up. Saturday
morning we set off in high spirits. The avalanche forecast looked good, the
weather was due to get worse after we finished (ha!) but we felt the day
was going to be a success. Parking at the Sugar Bowl car park was a test of
skill in Steve’s car but it was all stowed safely inside 20 minutes on the
snowy space. A long walk through the Chalamain Gap followed to reach our
objective.

After lunch we were on the first pitch and the wind speed was rising as we climbed. Lovely plastic ice on the first two pitches which Steve led placing ice screws like a master (his first in Scotland I believe). I arrived at the top of the pitch with severely cold hands and unable to grip
the axes properly. Steve led again while my hands warmed up (new gloves on
the Christmas list then) and I got the snow pitch. A full rope length on 5
bits of gear through thigh deep snow, quite a bit of thrashing around and
swearing followed. A short ice pitch and we were finished and it was 5pm
what could possibly go wrong? (© Johnboy)The walk off involved crossing the top of Lurchers crag through a saddle and then down into the Corries area, followed by a walk down to the ski car park. A doddle in fair weather, but with 60-70mph gusts and driving snow in
the dark a much more exciting proposition. Navigating was easy to start
with as it was uphill on a bearing and there was the saddle. There was also
no shelter from the wind and the drifts were starting to cause problems.
The route was changed slightly as we discovered the stream at the base of
Lurchers had huge snow banks either side. (Steve and I both thought at
about this point it could be a snow holing night out as we had brought a
shovel and some bivvy gear along for the walk)By careful navigation and some luck we struck the Coire an-Lochain approach path and followed it down to the base of the ski-tows. Numerous pratfalls later we were in a corner of the ski centre building trying to
get some shelter and re-arrange gear for the walk to the car. At this point
Steve lost his hat in a particularly sharp gust and as luck would have it a
very nice man gave us a lift down the road to the Sugar Bowl. Some minor
fun with the car ensued as we extricated it from the car park and set off
into Aviemore. It was well past beer-o-clock and food was needed. Aviemore
has a chip shop that serves The Best Fish and Chips in the World… Ever™
under theses conditions. Then with extra beer supplies we set off to Newtonmore to yarn with Pete and Louise and drink said beer. Stamina levels were low and only a couple were drunk before exhaustion overwhelmed us.The following day was going home time and the infamous dry trip to the pub by the IMC.

By Jester – April 2006

My left hand is squeezed in the crack. My right one is holding the
edge of it, pressing away from it. My feet are jammed in it so much
that I feel I almost can’t pull them out. The first ringbolt is
about two metres below my feet, the next one just out of reach
above me.

One more move. Oh no-the crack widens a little and it becomes
harder to jam. My hands start to slip though my feet still feel
solid.

“Josef, watch me!”

Another a few seconds of struggling, a terrible feeling in the pit
of my stomach.

“Look out! Coming off!”

A confused blur. I’m flying-but downwards. I hear the rope whizzing
through the air; something whips past me moving upwards and after
that – nothing.

I can’t figure out what’s happened. Everything is upside down. My
feet are above me; my head on a stone pillow and my chin is pressed
on my chest. I begin to feel my tensed muscles.

It is my lucky day: I had fallen, head first, about 8 metres, and I
had hit the ground but I don’t seem to have a scratch. Joseph is
hanging above me, about 2 metres from the ground – my fall had
pulled him up. It was him that I had seen going up as I was coming
down.

That had been about a year ago when I had decided to start learning
how to climb cracks. I had thought that Prachov’s Whip would be the
perfect choice – I guess it wasn’t. Over the next few months I
tried to persuade myself to have another go at it but I couldn’t.
But now, at the beginning of the new climbing season, I was ready.
I knew that the climbing would be painful on the day but when I
suggested that we go to ‘crack the Whip’ Joseph agreed, and David
enthusiastically joined us.

We are standing at the foot of the crack racking up. With
satisfaction I pull out from my rucksack the big ‘child’s head
knot’ that I had tied specially for this route. I know exactly
where I want to place it – just where I had fallen the last time.

Let’s go! Lay-backing to the first bolt-ring – cool. The beginning
of the crack –slightly wet inside but not too bad. I am closing in
on the spot where I was spat out last year. Now it is ‘big knot
time’. I know it won’t be easy: I have to get it into the crack,
and it has to be solid. Things don’t start well. The first couple
of goes I can’t even get the knot into the crack: each time the
‘child’s head’ flies out and hits mine. Finally I get it in but
even now it’s not solid – it’s not jamming enough. I spend a few
seconds trying to set it better but it’s useless, psychological
benefit only. I don’t feel good about moving on after what happened
to me last time, but I know I have to. After a few moments of
hesitation I make my mind up to continue. With my hands scratching
in the rock I go for it. And suddenly – the second ring! I grab it
thankfully, Czech Sandstone ethical rules forgotten for the moment.
Even if I’m not good enough to climb the next section of
the crack I don’t care – this far had been a personal triumph. I
had done the crux: the crux because of the difficulty of the
climbing but also because of my bloody fear.

I’m resting, sitting clipped in the ring. I guess that it took
about 10-15 minutes from the first ring to the second one. David is
telling me that this part was all right, but that the “best” is
still to come. I feel “much better” straight away. My belayer is
having a smoke: I am shaking my hands out and scanning the next
section, looking at what is to come. And then the cigarette is
finished and the show can go on.

A couple of moves higher (there is a beautiful fixed-knot here
which David reminds me “has been here since his father’s
time”) and I’m into the crack again. I scramble higher but very
slowly. It’s awkward. I’m getting stuck. My leg starts shaking. I
need a rest. I’m moving my weight from one foot to another one and
changing my hands. A moment later and it is gone but I’m not
rushing to continue. I’m hanging about. But come on, I want to do
it! I move my left hand up the crack, and with my right latch onto
a sloper. I’m just under the ring now but I’m not there yet. My
hand is slowly slipping out from the crack more and more. I let go
of the sloper and grab for the ring. I get it and then I’m
clipping in and sitting. What a fight.

The crack veers to the right above. My fear is fading because the
rings are closer to each other and though I am having to trust the
friction of my feet a lot more there is no longer a danger of
ground-fall. However I am so pumped from the earlier part of the
route that I have to sit at each ring now. After a couple of
minutes I am finally at the fifth ring. In fact this is the end of
The Whip. I make a hanging-belay and bring Joseph up first and
David after that. We finish our route by climbing through a chimney
system.

It is hard to describe our feelings as we sat on the top. Anyone
who has been through some similar battle, beaten first but coming
back and succeeding, they will know what I mean. We compare our
hands: David’s look all right, mine are in the standard
post-crack-climbing condition but Joseph’s . . . Joseph’s hands
look like he has been in a to-the-death bare-knuckle fight. But we
are happy. We relax; chatting and watching the sunset, and then
abseil down and go home.

By Peter Krug – April 2006

“The situation is dire,” announced the President somewhat gloomily
as he stomped up the high street in Newtonmore. “Here we are stuck
in Scotland on the wrong side of the Drumochter Pass and we can’t
even get pissed!”

How did this come about? Well unless you were on another planet you
would be aware that I was organizing another excursion to Scotland
and ten of you answered the call making up a crack, or possibly
even cracked, team of eleven that assembled in Newtonmore in early
March for some playing with the white stuff. This time we decided
on the driving option rather than the more traditional fly-drive
route taken in the past few years as we considered it cheaper and
more environmentally friendly and indeed possibly slightly quicker.

Early arrivals were Mike and Steve who drove up on Tuesday night
and spent Wednesday, whilst everyone else was either working or
driving, playing on Dorsal Arete in Glen Coe and had a long but
thoroughly good day before heading to Mrs Mac’s thoroughly
salubrious bunkhouse to be joined by six other IMCers with the
overspill ensconcing themselves in the Newtonmore Hostel.

The majority of the group were interested in doing gnarly winter
routes but there was a group of wimps who were intent on doing
something winter-hill-walkingish and bagging some Munros and
Corbetts!

As we woke up somewhat bleary-eyed on the Thursday morning Louise,
Fraser and I knew our objective. The target was Stob Ban in the
Grey Corries, which Louise and I had backed off the previous year
when we had felt we were there too late in the day for the whole
group to make the top and be down before night fell. Mike who had
been with us on that occasion was silently sniggering because he
knew what Fraser was about to let himself in for!

What Fraser was about to let himself in for was an eight to ten
kilometre route march along a track (with a sack on our back) up
the Lairig Leacach just to get to a bothy at the base of Stob Ban!
As we set off on the walk passing through some recently felled
forest land (“I could have sworn there were some trees here last
year” I muttered to Louise) it started to drizzle which was not
what I ordered when arranging the meet! According to the forecasts
this was supposed to be the best day of the trip!

Sgurr Innse and the Lair Leacac (click on any picture for larger image)

Good time was made in the murky conditions and less than two hours
later we were sheltering in the bothy having lunch before the
onslaught on the mountain was due to begin. We had failed to get
our first sight of Stob Ban which is only visible when you get to
the bothy because in was hidden in the clouds. Louise and I knew it
was there because we had seen it last year.

Soon we were on our way having safely negotiated the stream our
route took us in a southwesterly direction up a ridge that lead to
summit. Even we couldn’t get lost on it. It started with a mild
scramble and soon we were in the snow and once reasonably high on
the ridge were exposed to a brisk breeze. We made steady progress
in the murk but the last hundred metres or so proved hard work for
us all with Fraser, feeling the effects of a long walk in and the
sheer scale of Scottish mountains, getting cramp in his toe!
Obscure or what!

As it was blowing a hooley up there summit celebrations were
somewhat brief especially as we had a grey view, i.e. none, before
an uneventful trip down the mountain apart from Fraser’s left foot
finding every little stream that there was. I am considering taking
him on the “Marathon des Sables” as I could use the extra water
his divining foot could find! As we trudged our way down the track
we saw a herd/leash/parcel of deer (Red deer) on the hillside that
livened up proceedings somewhat.

Back at the bunkhouse we caught up with the gnarly climbers and
exchanged stories. Most of them had spent the day in the
Cairngorms. The main talking point concerned the two teams who were
climbing a route called “The Vent” and were discovering how it got
its name! Keith had just reached the crux of the route when a
cornice parted company with the terra firma and crashed down the
gully. Apparently Keith saw white before his eyes and felt
something warm and brown trickle down his leg but happily all
concerned were unharmed by the experience.

Day two dawned, an altogether grey affair, and as events turned out
it I think it was only the wimpy walkers that really managed to get
anything down. Keith and Nick drove all around Scotland taking in
the Cairngorms, Craig Meagaidh and Crowberry Buttress near Glen
Coe. Team wimp were eyeing up hills near the bunkhouse with ideas
of trying to bag a couple more Munros.

After a delay for a dash to Kingussie we found ourselves parked at
the foot of Allt a’ Chaorainn. We followed the track on the eastern
side of Allt a’ Chaorainn and missed the obvious three stone cairn
which marked the turn off to the hidden bridge which crossed the
river. A quick back track secured the bridge and soon we were
steadily stomping up the flanks of A’ Chailleach.

Bridge over troubled Waters, Allt a’ Chaorainn

Tussocky bog soon gave way to beautiful snow that firmed up as we
got higher. Soon we were walking amongst the hares which were
mooching around and we even managed to get within ten metres of
one. We figured he/she was either unwell or taking the piss!

Hare she is

Someone had kindly broken trail for us and although we had set the
compass bearing right for the summit I was getting the impression
that we were heading slightly to the left of the summit but as the
going was easier we stuck with it and ended up at the col between
Geal Charn and A’ Chailleach. By now there was a fair breeze and
surprise, surprise no views so we took a new compass bearing and
headed for the summit, which was not hard to find.

Is it lunchtime – Fraser and Lou at the Summit cairn of A’Chailleach

At the summit we met and thanked the guys who had broken trail for
us before whipping the bothy out and seeking its shelter to have
some lunch. There was some (mass)debate about what to do now. I was
all for testing our navigation skills and trying to find Carn
Sgulain but Fraser and Louise preferred to go down and the majority
won (in truth the weather did kind of look foreboding before it
disappeared!).

Needless to say that when we reached the col the clouds lifted
somewhat but we elected to continue on the way down. By now Fraser
was learning to read the ground better and was not finding every
buried puddle and we decided it was play-time and tried find the
deepest snow which I won by sinking to crotch level and we also
spent some time glissading before reaching the car mid-afternoon.

El Pres, as usual, up to his hip in %%%% !

As it was so early we decided to introduce Fraser to the delights
of gear-fondling in Aviemore, an experience that was spoilt by a
sneering public schoolboy type (Note: I am not implying that all
public schoolboys are like this but you get my drift) making known
his views on articles in the paper he was reading to his friend
(who was clearly doing his care in the community duty) and just
about everybody else in the tea-shop. Later Louise had the
opportunity to run the little twat over but forgot to press the go
pedal in the car!

We also heard the latest forecast which described the weather as
‘interesting’ and that usually translates as ‘dire’. Now I have a
theory that mountain weather forecasts for Scotland, which as you
know are found in gear shops, are always ‘going to be dire’ because
the less time you spend on the hill means the more time you spend
in shops hence the more money you spend in said shops (QED).
Scottish shopkeepers are a canny bunch!

Anyway, everybody spent that evening in the pub (after feeding on
Haggis, Neeps and Tatties) discussing plans, which for many
involved an alpine start, as we believed the weather would
deteriorate during the day. The walking wimps had a cunning plan
involving heading for Glenmore Lodge which would give us two
options; head for the Ryvoan Bothy and from there to go either for
Bynack Mor or alternatively climb Meall a’ Bhuachaille which was
the lower and much the shorter of the two routes.

Needless to say, my theory was proven correct: it was gloriously
sunny as we walked through the Glenmore Forest Park and onto the
moorland but it would be true to say that the wind was picking up
and behind us there was an air of brooding malevolence on the big
hills of the Cairngorms. We opted for Meall a’ Bhuachaille and were
jolly glad we had when we heard the stories from the climbing
parties; all had headed for Lurchers Crag (Creag an Leth-choin) and
all but Mike and Steve, who were in the throes of an epic (and did
not get down until well after dark), were turned back by poor
visibility and vicious winds.

After an early lunch at the bothy we headed up the flanks of Meall
a’ Bhuachaille and, for the first time that weekend, enjoyed
fantastic views with a panorama that extended further as we got
higher and higher. The views to the south of the Cairngorms were
particuIarly dramatic. I was getting trigger happy with my camera
until it decided to take the day off (it is still taking the day
off). As we got higher the snow got crisper and in some ways, as
Fraser commented, you got a real sense of mountaineering as you
were moving up the snowfields because you could see the angle of
the slopes you moved up rather than looking into murk.

It did not take too long to get to the summit and from there it was
a great ridge walk taking in the subsidiary peaks with ever-present
views all around. There were quite a few folk around including some
ski mountaineers who were finding the going tough. It was one of
the most pleasant walks I have had for some time. But end it must
and all too soon we were descending back into the Glenmore Forest
and back to the car.

Overnight the weather worsened and when I awoke early next morning
my first words were “Oh expletive deleted (by the author not the
editor)” as there was well over six inches of fresh snow on the
ground. My fears were founded when we turned on the television and
Ceefax said that the A9 was closed. We spent the day mincing around
Newtonmore waiting for the road to be opened. It seemed it never
would but suddenly just after four o’clock in the afternoon things
started to move and so did we. The first 20 miles or so to Blair
Atholl were very exciting as drove through blizzard conditions
praying that the car in front wouldn’t stop and there were
literally hundreds, if not thousands, of deer sheltering beside the
road. It must have been wild higher up! As dusk fell there were
slightly surreal views of a murky but alpine nature with trees and
houses laden with snow. And then there was the tedium of the A1 and
a very late return to Suffolk.

All in all a great trip and I would like to take this opportunity
to all of you that came and made it so enjoyable. Same time, same
place next year?

‘Below’ at The Vent … An IMC adventure in the Cairngorms

By Nick Green – April 2006

“I don’t believe it!” Victor Meldrew shouted in my head. As we had hoped, there were not many ropes in Coire An Lochain; in fact only 4, but 3 were headed for the same climb as Keith and me- “The Vent”, a grade II/III single star 100m gully climb to the summit of Cairn Lochan.

We had set off from Aviemore car park with Nick Willis and Phil Crouchman, planning to split up when we reached the Corrie. Visibility on the crags was non-existent from our central and sheltered vantage point. As mist and snow enveloped the upper crags the four of us struggled to identify the start of any of the guidebook climbs. It was Nick W who puzzled out ‘The Vent’. ‘The Vent’ it was then, and we agreed to regroup at the top.

Spotting another couple heading that way Keith and I headed after them, hoping to follow their trail. The snow was deep and hard going, we often sunk to our knees or even deeper. Other climbers’ foot placements were much easier. Nick W and Phil headed lower, also hoping for easier going.

The Vent – Before (click on picture to see image in Flickr)

I was not happy that they beat us to the start, as did the other
rope: as Keith’s second it meant I would go last, and therefore had
a long wait ahead. Settling down on freshly cut platforms the four
of us watched the first rope struggle up the two steep ice
sections. Cries of ‘below’ were regular as chunks of dislodged ice
tumbled down. Most missed our station where The Vent widened below
the crux. The steep sides of the gully protected us from the wind
and we were grateful for that as we drunk yet more hot liquids to
keep warm.

Nick W quickly set up a belay position as the other couple
disappeared over the crux onto what the guidebook described as
‘easier ground’. Keith agreed to re-use the belay to save time, as
there was not much protection around.

We could clearly see the exciting ice sections, but not what lay
above. A chockstone blocked the narrow part of a funnel-shaped
steep-sided gully. Steep ice to the right looked to be the key. It
appeared easy from below and both Keith and I got frustrated as
Nick also struggled at this first challenge. Plenty more ‘below’
and falling ice bouncing off our helmets. At last Nick was up and
moving efficiently, placing plenty of pro and looking cool. Phil,
seconding, was also delayed at first. ‘Come on’ echoed in my head.
In a blink Phil was also up, then disappeared over the remaining
ice sections into the mist and spindrift above. ‘I can’t wait any
more’ were Keith’s words. We had waited 12 months for this. We were
both raring to go!!

I couldn’t pay the rope out fast enough as Keith scrambled up the
steep snow slope to the chockstone. Then he stopped . . .. I
wondered . . . maybe it is quite hard after all! (Sorry chaps!)

Then Keith was up and over-heading towards the next steep ice
section, ‘PRO!!’ I shouted. He only had one piece in, just up from
my belay position. He would have a long way to fall! But Keith was
going for it. Up he went. Hanging from two axes, both feet looking
for a purchase in the steep ice, he moved on.

‘BEELOWWW!!!!!’ I dared to glance up, this sounded serious!! All I
could see was a white mass engulfing Keith. Ooooh SHIT! I held the
rope and ducked. Fully expecting to have to hold Keith’s fall I
braced myself. Snow, snow and more snow hurtled down The Vent. Most
missed me, but I still found myself up to my knees. All of it would
have hit Keith.

As silence followed the snow down the gully I lifted my head, not
knowing what I would see. My eyes followed the line of the rope …
having held on there was Keith, climbing again!!

Nick W bravely retraced his steps to check on Keith. Both he and
Phil were also caught by what we later learnt was a cornice
collapse. They were both safe, located to the side of the upper
section of The Vent; a widening funnel, also with steep rocky
sides.

Adrenaline pumping I reached Keith who was now belaying me. ‘Carry
on up!’ he shouted, visibly shaken. ‘Tell you later!’ As we went up
another two pitches of steep snow I was last again. ‘Someone’s in a
hurry’ I thought, as I was virtually pulled up the last pitch and
through the cornice……………. only to be met by a white out.

Nick W and Phil had waited for us in blizzard conditions. Pacing on
Nick’s compass bearing, and giving thanks to Louise for showing
Phil the way on a previous occasion, we made it back to the car.
Then hot shower, food and beer! What an adventure!!

With many thanks to Nick Willis and Phil Crouchman for their
support; and Peter for pulling the trip together.

Little did we know the journey home would be even more dangerous . . . .

See you there next year!!

By Louise Burness – April 2006

Before I start I would like to make it very clear that the New Year
weekend was really enjoyable and relaxing.

The drive to North Wales was no worse than normal on a Friday night.
Indeed the traffic was very light. However, the journey wasn’t fast as
spray and surface water left from the melting snow meant that speeds
needed to be curtailed. Every move to overtake a lorry was a precision
operation. Stage one; wait well back until you have a good clear run
for a safe distance past the lorry. Stage two; study the road layout.
Stage three; turn the wipers on full blast, charge and try to keep to
the line you memorised as all visibility is obliterated in the lorry’s
wake. There was a moment of total terror when I heard a loud bang and
then a hiss of escaping air. I gripped the steering wheel, slapped on
the hazards and started heading for the hard shoulder when Pete
informed me that his bike tyre had burst! There was another moment to
total terror when I noticed two men doing the highland fling – very
seasonal – but they were on the inside lane at the time. I realised
that they were directing traffic away from a car that had clearly spun
out of control.

Eventually, we arrived during a dry spell and whipped the tent up
extremely fast. We were camping at Nant Peris, whilst the rest of the
party were staying in the bunkhouse over the road. We popped into the
bunkhouse to say hello to the other partygoers, most of whom arrived a
few days earlier. Although it was not late, most were already in bed.
Despite two groups dropping out at the last moment because of
depressing weather forecasts, there were still eleven people including
us.

It was our first night in the new tent. And by about midnight we
regretted not adding extra guy lines as the wind gusted up the valley
and the rain lashed down. And we regretted it at 1am, 2am, 3am and so
on. Still, we emerged dry the next morning. Although we are hardy
campers, we felt that it was our duty to be sociable, to join the
others and cook in the bunkhouse. I am sure we would have done the same
had it not been lashing down. Actually “down” is hardly the right word,
as the strong wind meant that the rain came at you sideways. The
bunkhouse was very convenient as John had borrowed a large urn for us
to boil water in – the local reservoir had been polluted and the water
was then un-safe to drink.

Steve and Caroline had a plan to go on a bike ride, and since I also
had a new bike to try out, we decided to join them. While they did a
bit of shopping, Pete mended his tyre and I tried to remove the toe
clips that had come supplied with my bike. Steve and Caroline returned
half an hour later and five minutes after that Steve had actually
removed the toe clips, and we were almost on our way. Pete and I
arrived at the designated car park before Steve and Caroline who had a
bit more shopping to do. We were at the start of the Marin trail, just
outside of Betws-y-Coed, which was 25km of prepared hard and exciting
trail. Being a bit further from the mountains than Nant Peris, it was,
to my relief, actually a lot drier! We set off, but within 2km Caroline
had been sick. She took herself back to the car, and possibly a bit
more shopping. The three of us carried on. A few kilometres later
having just reached a bit where I felt that walking might be the better
part of valour I realised that Pete was also walking. Once off the
steep technical section, he explained that his back wheel had come off.
Half an hour later, we decided that Pete could have back brakes or a
rear wheel but not both. Time to retreat and go shopping.

That night was New Years Eve. We ate in the bunk house, exchanged the
days stories, admired the purchases, and it was still only 9 o clock.
For completeness, Martin and Adrian almost did a shopping directisimo
(shopping curtailed by cursory glance at conditions in the Tryfan
region before retreating to the sanctuary of a shop somewhere in North
Wales), whilst the others headed up a hill, and then abandoned the rest
of their route in favour of a shopping trip. In an effort to make the
time pass, the boys started trying to climb round the table. Width-ways
was achieved and then the length-ways challenge commenced. Steve C
managed a traverse, but his technique (feet first onto the supporting
strut) was then disqualified on the grounds that he had too much weight
on the strut and not enough hanging off the tabletop. All seemed lost,
until Adrian had a good idea. Although he failed, twice, to complete
the manoeuvre, landing, twice, hard on his back, it was well enough
demonstrated to enable Steve G to complete the feat. The New Year was
seen in style although most people got the lyrics of Auld Lang Syne
wrong for goodness sake.

The next day was wet again. Very wet. Adrian decided his sore bum
needed to be taken home for some TLC. John decided that he needed to
get home and prepare for work on Tuesday. A shopping trip was organised
for the rest – except for Pete and me who took ourselves walking.

I may need to propose a new definition of walking for the Oxford
English dictionary to cover paddling across waterlogged fields and
crawling near steep edges in strong, gusty winds. We saw no one else
out that day – although that might just have been the poor visibility.
Then again, it probably wasn’t. When we did have views they were very
confusing. We finally realised that many of the rivers we caught
glimpses of were actually roads through Beddgelert forest. Despite the
foul weather we actually extended our route by 3km – OK so we needed to
find a way around a minor stream that had turned into an impassable
raging white-water torrent.

After that we took ourselves to Pete’s Eats for a bite of dinner – we
had grabbed cake en-route but had not felt inclined to have a proper
picnic at the top of Y Garn! Since we had now caught up with the
shopping trip troop we joined in for a bit. The staff at V-12 did admit
it had been an excellent weekend for sales. Then back to Pete’s Eats
for another giant cup of tea. Dinner, beer and admiration of the
purchases followed again in the bunkhouse.

The final morning was much drier, at last! We packed up quickly and
headed off to the hills (two little tops on the east edge of the
Carneddau), and stayed out for as long as we could. The journey home
for us was easy and along the way we did pass Ian, Christina and Monty.
No, I am not bragging about how fast I can drive – they were on the
back of a tow truck at the time! Pete said it was a surreal experience
for him as he awoke from a brief slumber in the passenger-seat to see
Christina’s car floating above him! BTW, rumour has it that further
shopping mission were executed by the other team members before their
return home! I am sure that the shopkeepers in North Wales are now
missing the presence of the IMC!

IMC Roll of Honour 2005

Master of Ceremonies: Peter Krug

Well folks it’s that time of year once again. You’ve wined and dined and some poor bastard has to sing for his supper and this year the dubious honour as ‘raconteur’ has fallen on me.

Firstly you may have noticed but largely ignored my appeal asking for notable achievements by IMC members and the response was deafening silence. No reports of young Bluebottle having climbing E12 although there are reports of Steve Gray aiding and nearly leading an E2 in the Lakes (more about that later). Furthermore, Steve Gray and Clare Lambert took the honours at this year’s Felixstowe Half Marathon and there was mention somewhere about Simon Chandler and a brush with the law (now what’s all that about?).

Your raconteur was scratching his head – but wait – at the end of November two IMCers have received their acceptances for the 2006 London Marathon ! Now you might say what’s the achievement in that? But after five attempts for Mervyn and four for myself to get in via the ballot I consider that an achievement! And I see that you are in training Mervyn … “Slainte mhath!”

Now getting back to more pressing matters it is good to see that there were some aeronautical experiences from new and unexpected sources this year. This certainly shows the depth of talent and ability at the disposal of this fine club of ours. However, not to be outdone by the ‘new kids on the block’ (err cough) there was aerial activity from some rather more familiar and indeed more experienced sources who should know better! Naturally, Mervyn – and what would be a LOTY without some mention of this much-honoured member of the Pilot License Club? – saw some activity at the beginners meet and later on at Wintours Leap in the Wye Valley.

Nearer to home the raconteur himself probably started proceedings off with an unscheduled loss of contact with terra firma, albeit of the white variety, in the Cairngorms when climbing a Grade1 or is it Grade 2 ice-climb called “The Slant”. If you haven’t already read about this please refer to Johnboy Buchan’s rather fine article entitled “Pulled off by El Pres” on the website. I could also refer to another more serious departure from the rock which occurred in Northumberland when Team Wuckfit were reunited for the first since climbing in the snow at Stanage last November which resulted in the raconteur hitting the ground, getting a limp, and rather more seriously nearly destroying his indestructible “terra pants!” The things I do to avoid getting another Lob of the Year

In June a ‘splitter’s’ group of Norman Smith, Adrian Fagg, John Sellars and Martin Stevens went to the Peak in search of easier limestone at Harborough Rocks. A short while after arriving Adrian decided he could tackle Overhanging Chimney Direct, S 4a and instead took a flying lesson of his own, falling from above his gear having passed the crux. He paused in his inverted descent only to hit his belayer before coming to rest scant inches above the floor, inverted. A short time was spent in recovery but no physical harm seems to have been the result although the clash of (helmeted) heads may explain away headaches on Saturday morning.

Norman Smith arrived little too late to witness the excitement of the first-ever-leader-fall by Adrian but not to be outdone Norman decided that ‘The Blaster’ at HVS 5b was very protectable and eminently ‘do-able’. The climbing was fine, but hanging about to place gear proved too much and Adrian was able to show movie-footage at the September slide show of a certain Mr. Smith proving he can’t fly. Footage was filmed in spite of the cameraman being harassed by the lobbist’s loyal pooch who was attacking him as he filmed his master’s fall from grace as it were!

A lob that may be worthy of consideration occurred in the lakes on the August BH trip. A damp Friday morning saw Adrian and Kearton heading up the valley to Raven Crag. Adrian’s usual navigational skills deserted him and they arrived directly at the base of their intended climb – Corvus. With both climbers sharing the lead on this justly celebrated climb Kearton joined Adrian at the base of the much-vaunted hand-traverse and was persuaded that this was really much easier than it looked. Kearton either knows no fear or is very gullible, for he shortly set out confidently to the right hand end of the traverse.

As he stepped out onto the face, the weather, sensing the occasion, proceeded to dump a heavy burst of rain onto the party. Nevertheless, Kearton made his way to the central platform, placing a friend and a hex in the horizontal crack, clipped in and with Adrian in position to criticize his every move, reached out and down with his foot, slipped, threw his weight back onto his arms, recovered, and got his breath back. Adrian pointed out that you need to keep your feet high as the low footholds gave very little grip when streaming with water. I think this advice would have been easier to follow if there had been any higher footholds than the big smooth tempting one down and just out of reach on the left. He set out from the mid-traverse having a second time kept his feet high for one step, then with Adrian saying “No, don’t reach for it yet.” he promptly reached out and down with his left foot and promptly fell off. The fact that the rock was wet probably saved him from any grazing as he slithered down and across, thankfully not hitting the sloping wall on the right with any force. To his credit, Kearton seemed quite prepared to have another go, but Adrian rather selfishly announced that he would lead it anyway as another club member had famously slipped at the end of the traverse. They did, as was customary, manage to delay their return to the campsite until after dark, mainly to keep the others guessing.

As I mentioned above one of our more senior members took multiple smallish lobs from the crux overlap of Spring Bank (on Glimmer), E2 5c and eventually had to be rescued by top-rope by the reporter. Carol then followed the pitch without appearing to spot the difficulty at all. Steve went back later in the summer and got the route done, but rumour has it that the tiniest of pulls on gear might have been involved. The same correspondent reported further tales on Left Hand Route, Ravens tor, Dovedale, E1 5b in July that involved a spectacular lob witnessed from across the river. Some fairly frantic scrabbling at the crux resulted in a 10 – 15 ft lob and the belayer herself parted company with the ground.

Guy Reid has been very busy lobbing during the summer. There are preposterous tales of him lobbing from Preposterous Tales at Pembroke where Guy took a small but highly exciting lob while seconding the traverse pitch in the dark section (not the first IMC member to do so). He was left hanging in space above the crashing sea contemplating a 10ft prussic to safety. Simon and Martin were safely ensconced on the next stance, out of sight round the corner, trying to communicate with Guy during lulls in the waves. Famous last words: Martin says to Simon. “Does Guy know how to prussic??” – He does.

Further rope weighting activity occurred on the Peapod at Curbar, HVS 5b, in July which Guy chose to lead in spite of an aversion to jamming and he’s never having “backed and footed” up a chimney before in his life. Peapod is not really the climb on which to learn either of these skills. Several occurrences of “weighting the gear” was the inevitable result, but eventually the “pod” succumbed.

There were several bouts of airtime for Guy at Hen Cloud in July most memorably on Hen Cloud Eliminate where Guy’s aversion to jamming was in evidence again. Even Guy’s renowned arm strength was insufficient to permit lay backing this superb but flared jamming crack. Again, after several “lobettes” Guy succeeded on the route, forcing the “nipple-eroding” final groove with great ease, it has to be said.

Did I mention Martin Hore’s allegedly “minuscule lobette” from Avalanche Wall (Curbar) that he blamed on a slippery jam? And then there was the extra-ordinary concept of young Mick Enright lobbing three feet and breaking his ankle, which off course ruled him out the running! Selfish bastard! Mind you who am I to talk?

All in all this year has proven from the quantity of falls that have been recounted within this oration that there is plenty of talent within the club although you may ask where is the young talent as all the contenders are the senior side of forty? Who says “there’s no such thing as old bold climbers?” After much soul-searching and deliberation the jury has decided that in view of the comedy value and indeed the tone lowering possibilities offered by a clash of helmets to bestow the honour of Belayer of the Year “for his willingness to sacrifice his helmet for his leader” and Lob of the Year for 2005 “for being prepared to risk everything, even his helmet, for the sake of the climb” to Martin Stevens and Adrian Fagg respectively for their antics on Overhanging Chimney at Harborough Rocks!

By Adam Fletcher – December 2005

A couple of things from the Brummy division of the club…

For those of the Club who are not aware, there is now a wet weather
retreat for when you have been blown or rained off the peak crags:
it is of course my new home, Creation. We are a wall of over 800m2
(Stow is about 180m2) and have almost everything you can want
(including a bar) on site. I would like to thank all of the club
members for their advice (and ear bashings over grades, Mr
Gilbert!) while I was at Stowmarket: it gave me a huge number of
starting points for the team at Creation (www.creationwall.co.uk).

Now on to the epic:

I have had the privilege of climbing in Croatia twice this year;
the first trip in May gave me my first taste of new routing, whilst
the second took me into ‘epic’ territory.

On the first trip in May we found a limestone crag (with lots of
loose stuff to try to miss my belayer with) where we had a very
successful time putting up two new routes, one at HVDiff and a VS
4a, and we didn’t come away with any injuries. We called the HVDiff
“Yellow spider” as apparently I had one chasing me up half the
route, and the VS got called “Scorpion” as we saw one nearby.

The second trip in late October (I went with a colleague from
Creation, Roni) on the other had did not go nearly as smoothly.

Day One: We fought our way to the crag through trees and brambles,
and then spent the next half an hour finding the bottom of the good
looking crack that we had spied from the car. Having cleared
enough foliage to scramble up the first 30 feet we made a belay
point and then we are off and climbing! About 30 feet up this
wonderful looking crack we hit a loose boulder; no way round it, no
way over it . . . ok hold it (gingerly!). Roni got some gear in
just below it and decided to back off at this point. So, Adam’s
attempt – I got up to the boulder, proved it was loose and backed
off-to the pub! We left the gear in the rock for the following
morning.

Day Two: After an early start (midday) we found ourselves at the
bottom of the crack again, me to start this time. At the boulder
the decision was made to try to shift it off the crag and then
mosey on up: forty minutes of lassoing and shoving the boulder
finally saw it bouncing downward . . . straight at the hire car.
Luckily it missed! Breathing a sigh of relief we were off again .
. .or so we thought. Another 10 feet and I am stuck – I now
officially don’t like laying back on overhanging cracks. Roni’s
turn: but yes, you’ve got it, by now the beer had started to call
so we decide to get the gear back – nip up the HVDiff from May and
abseil down-and then head for an hostelry. We got to the top and
fought through the shrubbery for about 40 minutes, dropped the
ropes where we thought we should be and . . . night fell – like a
lead balloon! Plan B: leave the gear, abseil off (leaving the ropes
because they were jammed) and get the beer! (But only after another
thirty minutes in the brambles and shrubs at the bottom!).

Day Three: The end of the trip is in sight so we needed to retrieve
everything. Another early start – 1pm. We soloed up a Diff with
more trees in it than rock, found the ropes (so far, so good) and
after fighting through the trees again (anyone got a chainsaw)
dropped them over the cliff: this time over the gear (woo hoo!!)
Abseiling down we find what would have been in store for us had we
ventured much further above the boulder- twenty feet of blank wall,
unless you climb British 6c that is. Back on the ground we
collected up our ropes and gear and what was left of our sanity and
headed down to the sea for a swim.

This unfinished project is tentatively called “Lizard” as there was
one watching, and probably laughing at, our struggles.

I would recommend Croatia to anyone who wants a laid-back holiday,
Dubrovnik is stunning though a bit full of tourists; get out onto
the islands, however and there is very little in the form of
organised entertainment so a good book is needed, but it’s great
for just chilling. The food is good, the local beer not bad (avoid
the home brew grappa-the back of my throat never made it to the
plane) and the locals very friendly (they start learning English at
7). Turn up, have fun and get a tan!

Anyone interested in new routing in Croatia is more that welcome to
contact me (rockorang@gmail.com)